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messyemmy · 1 year ago

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Worst Wingman - Harry Styles x Reader.

[Premise: Harry is a shite wingman... or is he?]

Prompt Requests- send a couple numbers and a trope or dynamic! (18, 26, 31, 32, 35).

"No goodnight kiss for me? " // "Are you daring me to kiss you?"

Main Writing

Word Count: 2.3k.

🫧

Harry doesn't even have a chance to pull up the handbrake before she has the door open, clutching onto her bag and stepping out into the brisk autumn air, her shoes swiftly scraping against the concrete, hardly caring if the door shut (or if Harry was following) behind her.

She is aggressively rummaging through a cluster of items in pursuit of house keys, huffing at the incredulity of the man she can almost guarantee is hot on her heels, ready to grovel his way back into her good books.

By the time she comes to a stop at her door, it’s difficult to ignore the sudden invasion of Harry’s presence nearing her own.

He keeps a small space available in favour of her comfort, but his confident energy is so palpable that she feels he might as well have his lips pressed against the crook of her neck, it felt as if his hands were already ghosting around her waist, holding her with soothing security.

The key takes far too long jingling as she repeatedly misses the lock, her hands start to subtly shake with nervous frustration, and though Harry- already peering over her shoulder- wants to chuckle, he pretends not to notice, and that’s an easy feat when his gaze dips to observe the divets of her collarbone and shoulders- almost bare of materials- dedicating his attention to the scatter of sunspots and freckles along her skin.

On the third and final attempt, the keys twist with triumph and the front door clicks, unlocking, and instantly she turns the knob and pushes the door ajar- just enough to slide a shoe- perhaps a leg- through.

Harry waits in anticipation as she readjusts her bag and slants the door wider, making sure not to leave any space for Harry to follow her through.

He softly chuckles at her petulant stubbornness, staying put as she slips through the cracks and peers back at him from behind the wooden barrier with a stern frown, secretly living for the feelings of empowerment that surge up her spine.

But, Harry is only amused, and it only increases the longer he studies the dramatism painting her wide eyes, blushed cheeks, and bushy eyebrows with adorable misplaced anger. Well, he seems to think it’s misplaced.

She does not. She and Harry have had a simple and seamless relationship up until the past couple of months when he suddenly started acting up.

An agreement of ‘we’re thirty, time is running out, we should be each other's wingmen’ has turned into a blurred line of kisses and touches behind closed doors, and her focus is now wavering from setting Harry up with someone else in favour of keeping him all to herself.

The entire agreement hinges on the fact that they're both looking for different things and as far as she’s aware, Harry’s mind hasn't changed, even though they have evidently adjusted the rules- romance definitely wasn’t initially part of the deal- her fears of rejected reciprocity help refrain her from fully indulging in the fantasy of what life could look like if they just chucked the plan and chose each other.

But Harry thinks he’s made himself quite clear- at least he thinks it’s quite obvious after the numerous times he has interrupted or completely compromised any of her recent romantic prospects.

He couldn’t recall the exact moment or reason why, but this little ‘agreement’ between the two had rapidly turned into something more for him, and he hoped that she felt it too.

Sometimes he’s sure she does- that she enjoys each touch and giggle with as much endearment as he does- but then moments like this have him questioning it all as she works her hardest to create distance, visibly frazzled and very disappointed.

Harry doesn't challenge her defence, he doesn't make any attempts to step forward or push back, only leaning his shoulder comfortably against the wall, cheekily smiling in light of her next move.

Naturally, her chest tightens at his borderline childish nonchalance, but, resisting the temptation to chide him for every single thing he does that irritates the life out of her, she takes a deep breath and puts on a sickly sweet smile,

“Thanks for the ride, Harry.”

As quick as the words leave her mouth, she uses her palm to weakly attempt to shut the door, hoping to leave Harry as confused as she currently is.

But he’s been expecting it- actually amused that it took her this long to formally dismiss him- and as gently as he possibly can, Harry uses his own palm to stop the door from swinging shut, ensuring her grouchy face remains on full display.

She is in no mood for games, and they both know it, but Harry cannot resist the electric currents of endearment surging through him as she scowls and scoffs with impatience, foot tapping in anticipation for his next- and sure to be audacious- action.

His chosen tactic is to smirk lazily, leaning further- if possible- into the wall, his arm still extended, holding the door ajar, head tilting, eyes enamoured and practically pouting along with his plump lips as he ponders,

“No goodnight kiss for me?”

“You’re incredulous!” Her voice raises, mortified, as she makes a final attempt to shut the door.

Without even confirming, she turns on her heels- ironically immediately starting to rid herself of this evening’s chosen stilettos- but by the sounds of it, Harry has followed after her, just barely standing in the entrance hall, his eyes like a magnet to her bent body as he mutters,

“You like that about me.”

Levelling on the ground, she whips back around to face him, arms angrily folded across her chest, and currently she has to crane her neck to address him directly,

“Right now, I don't like you at all.”

“Don’t be mean.” He whines.

“Oh, but it’s okay for you to be mean to me?” She huffs.

Harry feels slightly stumped by that one, his arms absentmindedly straying up his chest, crossing sternly with sudden defensiveness, frowning,

“When have I been mean to you?”

“When you kiss me!”

Her arms flail, brows furrowed with such frustration that Harry feels a new level of confusion, mostly focused on her plump, peachy lips as he asks,

“Are you daring me to kiss you?”

“Are you daring me to punch you?” She threatens.

“Ooh, kinky.” He mewls.

“You make my blood boil!” She all but tosses flames his way, pairing her verbal threat with a hearty step forward, entering his personal space.

“You make me happy.” He takes a mirroring step, meeting her in the middle, his features slowly sinking from jovial into a clusterfuck of perplexion.

But this only seems to make things worse, she seems close to fuming and Harry swears he can see steam spewing from her ears and nostrils.

And she only creeps nearer, one arm collapsing to her side, the other raising to press a stressed palm to her flaming forehead.

After what feels like an eternity, she has soothed her twisted stomach and the thumping in her chest has lulled enough for her to huff with unmistakable disappointment,

“What the hell are we doing, Harry?”

Harry’s stare swells and steals his confident security as he tries to sort through the clues she so sternly requires,

“Well right now I’m trying-”

“Not right now. In general.” She demands.

“What do you mean?” Harry- definitely discouraged- concedes and asks for her aid.

It’s a sting to his heart when her face only surges with what he sees as sorrowful hatred.

“I mean,” Her tone has lost all patience as she gestures wildly at him, “What the hell is this?” and then her body slumps sadly, “Us.”

“I dunno. Guess I thought we were having fun.”

Harry’s head bows, his heart has a headache, and all he really wants is to reach out and smooth out the furrow in her brows, rid her frown with reassurance.

But as soon as he attempts to get nearer, she furthers the distance,

“My wingman constantly kissing me and ruining my dates is not fun… For me, at least.” She hopes the severity of her hurt stays hidden.

“I haven't been ruining your dates.” Harry pouts, still puzzled.

“Oh c’mon. You know exactly what you’re doing.” Her eyes roll at his ridiculousness.

“I don’t!” He hadn’t consciously considered it until this current crisis, and… she’s right. He’s been actively sabotaging the same opportunities he so sweetly sent her direction. He concedes, “Okay, I do, but-”

“But?”

“I thought you liked kissing me.” With honesty, Harry shrugs weakly.

“I do! That’s the problem.” She can hardly stay still, dragging herself deeper into the depths of suffocating frustration.

“Okay, now I’m really confused.” He can’t conceive of what she’s trying to communicate.

Suddenly, she’s the one closing the gap, walking straight for him until the only thing separating their chests is an arm's length, peering up at Harry with a gaze he recognizes from brief moments in between the sheets, his head resting in her lap, and after midnight goodbye kisses.

“I like kissing you. And I like spending time with you.” She announces with certainty, “But I don’t think you want us to be more than… whatever this is.” Her shoulders slump as she weakly gestures once more, “The least you could do is be the wingman you promised to be.”

“Then I don’t want to be your wingman anymore.”

Harry says it with such simplicity that it seems like a total throwaway comment- like none of this meant anything more than a verbal agreement- like this whole thing was nothing to him from the very start. She feels a lot of things, but the shame of it all is sickening.

“Okay, fine! You could have just said that!” Her voice, booming- cracking on impact, “Didn’t have to pity me.”

Teary eyes trail down to stare at her shimmering toenails, blinking at a rapid rate to avoid any falls, she hopes to the heavens above that a miraculously giant bird would just swoop down and carry Harry away from this catastrophic nightmare so she can cry in peace.

He doesn’t wish for the same- in fact, he just wishes she would look at him- he needs her gaze to reassure his entire existence, for her eyes to confirm the words slipping past her lips.

So, with the softness of a summer breeze, Harry nears her and though she still won’t look up, he feels it okay to assert,

“I’ve never pitied you, and you know it.” He tries to sound void of accusation, “Just wanted to help you out.”

“Well, no need to worry, your job is done.” She spits, finally looking up. Harry almost wishes she hadn’t.

“Fine.” He scoffs.

“Fine.” She mocks.

They stay locked in a stare-off of lust and maybe love all wrapped up in a bow of a fiery gift box about to blow open and burst their bubble.

Harry’s chest huffs and his next exhale is as childish as the last,

“Good.”

“Great.” She grits through a sarcastic thin-lipped smile.

Harry loves the little strands of hair that have stuck to her skin with sweaty fervour, the promising taste of her peachy plump lips, chubby flared and blotchy cheeks.

Her eyes- tinted red and swooping lashes slightly damp- are as comforting as always and they give Harry the last little push he so clearly needs,

“So, can I finally ask you on a date now?”

“Excuse me?” She actually wants to ask, ‘What the hell is happening?’.

“I like kissing you. I like spending time with you.” His voice is as certain as his words, “I’d really like to take you out, properly, and I’d love to be yours completely.”

Timidly, she peers up at him and after a moment of glancing his gaze to seek out any reason for Harry to be lying. But, there’s nothing more than the glimmer of adoration swirling around amorously in the forest of green.

Then, shyly conceding with insurmountable relief, she somewhat cautiously asks,

“... Really?”

“More than anything.”

“Okay…” It’s becoming impossible to hide the smile creeping at the corners of her mouth, “I’d like- love- to go on a date with you.”

Harry sighs out and releases so much untended pressure that he feels momentarily lightheaded, or it has something to do with the words- he had unknowingly deemed a necessity- coming out in a silky ribbon of a sentence, sung like a prayer from the prettiest of lips from the prettiest of people.

He ignores how silly and giddy he must seem as he eagerly removes the remaining distance between them, shoes gently bumping against her toes. One hand makes a home on her lower back,

“How does tomorrow sound? Pick you up around 7?”

“Sounds good…”

“Good.”

Harry concludes as her palms tentatively press to his torso, lashes batting lusciously as his face boldly leans closer, mouth glistening, garnering full attention as his free hand comes up to cup her jaw.

She can feel her toes trying to leave the floor, ankles stretching to get closer, hand leaving his chest in favour of the nape of his neck, her fingers faintly brushing the base of his hair.

Harry’s thumb slowly strokes at her cheek, then trails along her chin and lingers along the pillows of her lips,

“Now, would it be cruel to ask for that goodnight kiss?”

💞

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plethora-of-imagines · 2 months ago

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Why are you Still Awake?

AN: The SFW May Prompt from the Riters Ghuild: "Why are you still awake?". I may not have stayed completely safe for work as it is very suggestive at times, and there is talk of sex

Warning: suggestive, talk of sex, self doubts

Words: 1244

The words swam around the page in a dizzying parade past her eyes. An exhausting blur of Latin and ritual sigils. Refusing to let the book close to rub her eyes, she settled for harshly rubbing against her arm. Succeeding only in making her eyes water. Blinking back tears that freely flowed down her cheeks. Frustrating. Now reading was even more challenging. She was not feeling sad in any form, it was simply a biological response of her tired eyes. But she refused to rest now.

One again she was tempted to flick on a light to remove some of the strain on her squinting attempts to read. Having avoided it so that no one would know she was still awake and report on her to Papa. The hypocritical workaholic who was still not in their shared bed, had protested to her not getting enough sleep the past week. Studiously staying up to further her studies instead. It should have been seen as a good thing. Yet he had ordered his ghouls to help him set a bedtime for her like a child!

Silently she could admit to herself that it was kinda cute to have Secondo carry her to bed. Holding her close in a princess carry at first. Before her struggles had forced him to sling her over his shoulder. Of course that meant a hand resting firmly on her ass. For stability, he had claimed.

Helping her prepare for bed by brushing her hair. Bundling her under the covers once she had taken care of her needs in the bathroom. His prayers and wishes for sweet dreams sealed with kisses to her forehead and lips…

It had made her feel guilty for a moment for sneaking out of bed to fetch her book from the desk the moment the door closed.

Only a moment.

It would be worth it to be top of her class and make the Clergy proud he was dating her. It wasn't only for the praise of the Clergy that she wanted to study. Most of the time- when they were not wearing her down with talk of a Novice being unworthy of a Papa, even a retired one- she couldn't care less about what they thought of her. Mainly she wanted to do well for her own pride. To inspire envy in all the others by being at the top of the score list.

Being able to possibly skip some of the time required before moving past being a Novice was also a part of the appeal.

Frowning at her racing thoughts she forced her attention back to the candle lit pages. The creak of the door not enough warning for her to pretend to have been sleeping.

"Now, why are you still awake?"

"Couldn't sleep," rushed out before she could think of a better lie.

Claiming she wanted just one more chapter and lost track of time would have been a believable one.

"Couldn't cara mia, or wouldn't?"

Slipping into the bed beside her, Secondo reached across her to try and take the book from her hands. Tightening her grip she refused to relinquish it to him.

Soon a bookmark was slipped into the open book. Firm fingers pulling her own off of the book. Forcing her grip to go slack. Ignoring her whines of protest.

The bed shifted as his comforting weight left her side. Crossing the room away from her. The distance felt insurpassable.

"You need sleep," he affirmed once the book was returned to the desk.

"I get enough sleep."

Bundling her into his arms with ease as he lounged once again by her side. It soothed the deepest part of her that feared he would decide she was too much, too stubborn.

"That's an ever worse lie than the first," pressing a playful kiss to her lying lips.

"You don't go to sleep before the witching hour," she protested, turning away from him and halfheartedly wiggling out of his arms.

Yanking her back into his chest with desperate hands as he partially conceded her point.

"Ah, but unlike you I have long since proven my devotion to the Dark One and am not required by the Clergy to wake early for morning chores anymore."

Accepting her fate, she buried her face in his chest. Nosing her way past the gaps between buttons to nuzzle into his curly chest hair. Tickling her nose with the soft sensation and smell of incense that faintly clung to him.

"No one would even notice if I was late anyway, no upper clergy even watches us," she grumbled into his warm chest.

Already he was soothing her to sleep with gentle touches. Eroding her will power to continue to argue for her book back.

"Primo would. I still don't think the man ever sleeps."

"He wouldn't say anything so long as my work improved."

"Cara, he inforced a bedtime on me until I was sixteen," he laughed. "Once he even pulled me out of a Sister of Sin because it was a minute past ten o'clock. Literally pulled me out of her."

Strangled giggles consumed her as she pictured Secondo's face at having his cock forcibly removed from a woman.

"That poor woman," she cackled.

"She ended up with a crush on Primo, wouldn't give me the time of day afterwards. Not that Primo had eyes for her. I believe she ended up becoming a sugar baby once she was eighteen in search of a nice older sugar daddy she could enjoy."

Fingers gently played with the hair at the nape of her neck as she let the silence linger between them.

"So Primo would notice. I'll just have to get him some rare plant and he will pretend not to notice."

Her words were starting to slur with the effort they took to form.

"Ah, but he would take the bribe and still tell on you. He's dishonorable in all the best ways, and I'm not against bribing him to help keep an eye on you."

Scowling at her half formed plan being thwarted already. She could never afford something that would surpass Secondo's bribes.

"Can't even employ simple bribery nowadays, what has this Ministry come to."

"How horrible I know, not a single honorably corrupt person among us."

"Yes, how dare you all make me practice self care. And not even the fun type-"

"Oh if you needed me to tire you out all you had to do was say so. Enough orgasms to leave you in tears should tire you out enough to sleep. Alas, with it being almost two in the morning we simply don't have time."

Snorting before considering it. The idea sounded fun… and it would mean she would be able to relax her mind from its consuming thoughts. Not going to bed alone would also be nice.

"Could we, tomorrow?"

He hummed in affirmation to her scarcely spoken request.

"Now close those pretty eyes. I much prefer the dark circles under them to be make up than genuine."

Shifting around to get comfortable bought her a few minutes. Face pressed further against his skin to smell his musky scent hiding under the incense's scent. Too soothing a scent, his musk. It was already compelling her to relax further. Arms tangled around him to prevent his escape back to his work. If she would he forced to sleep, so would he.

"Okay."

A quick nap wouldn't hurt too much anyway.

#papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo x reader #riters ghuild prompt

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caughtnyact · 3 months ago

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DATV Companion Week - Bellara

Day 1 - Elven Traditions | Magic

I really hurt my own feelings with this one 😭

For @datvcompanionweeks <33

----

The damp grass felt cool in Bellara’s fingers as she combed through it. Keeper Telana was droning on about Falon’Din and Dirthamen, Mythal and Elgar’nan’s eldest children. Her little brother, Cyrian, was nestled close to her listening attentively. His back was straight and his eyes gleamed as he listened to the Keeper retell the story of their brief separation. The Twins had never been apart; they spent their days endlessly playing together and exploring the rich lands of glorious Elvhenan.

Bellara had requested they be the topic of today’s lesson, but she could not muster up the strength to focus.

“Da’len, pay attention. You were the one that insisted we learn about the Twins,” Keeper Telana chided gently. Bellara’s head snapped up in embarrassment, her hands haphazardly ripping a chunk of grass up with her.

Once she felt Bellara was sufficiently tuned in, the Keeper continued. “Dirthamen wandered without direction, desperate to find his brother. Then, he came upon the two ravens, Deceit and Fear. They attempted to break his resolve with taunts,” the Keeper said. Bellara wondered how the ravens could talk to Dirthamen; why did they want to keep them separated?

“But Dirthamen, in all of his wisdom, knew that Falon’Din had not abandoned him. He bade the ravens show him the way to his beloved brother. What lesson can we glean from this story?” The Keeper looked right at Bellara.

Bellara considered the question, trying to piece together the parts she had missed. Cyrian patiently waited his turn, but the Keeper could see his arm begging to spring up and answer. Bellara tried to string her thoughts together into words, but they failed her. She looked to Cyrian for a lifeline.

Cyrian cleared his throat and started. “The Twins are just like me and Bellara,” he beamed. “No matter where we go, even if we get separated, we will never be lost. We’ll always find each other.”

Bellara looked at her baby brother with full eyes. She looked at his missing front tooth— the tooth that fell out while they were climbing trees in Arlathan forest; at his jagged haircut— where she had to cut a thick glob of tree sap out with a pocket knife; at the freckles that peppered his nose— from all the time they spent playing in the sun. She loved every single piece of him, and she was so proud of him.

The Keeper’s voice brought her back to reality. “Excellent work, da’len. I think that is enough for today,” she smiled and rushed them off to return to camp before it became too dark to see the trail.

Bellara leaned down to scoop Cyrian up onto her back to carry him back to camp. As they walked, Bellara considered the Twins; the Keeper had said that Falon’Din was ‘Dirthamen’s shadow,’ and that Dirthamen was ‘Falon’Din’s reflection'.” She laughed to herself at how similar they were.

As they returned to camp, the sun was nearly completely set. They quickly ate dinner with their parents, then Bellara began getting the two of them ready for bed. Cyrian loved the way she even turned that into a game. If he dragged his feet too long brushing his teeth or laying out his clothes for the next day, she would stomp behind him, growling like a bear.

“I’m going to eat you!” she’d say, and he would giggle maniacally as he finished his routine and became tired enough to sleep.

This night, she tucked Cyrian into his bedroll and placed a kiss on his forehead like she always does. As she turned to leave, however, she heard a faint sniffle coming from under his blanket.

“Cyrian, what’s the matter?” Bellara soothed as she gently lifted the blanket over his head.

“I don’t want us to ever be apart,” Cyrian sobbed. “What if one of us has to leave where the other can’t follow?”

Bellara’s heart shattered in her chest. She didn’t want to ever part, either. But she remembered their grandmother’s funeral, and she was old enough now to know that was possibility even if it was one she didn’t want to entertain. She feared that he was still too young to understand; she wanted her baby brother to remain innocent to the world’s tragedies as long as he could.

“You said it yourself, Cyrian. We’re like Dirthamen and Falon’Din; even if we get separated, we will never be lost. We’ll always find each other.” She placed a hand on his head in comfort.

“Vora’shivan, can you stay with me?” Cyrian held out his pinky for her to swear on.

“Until it’s light,” Bellara smiled and crossed her pinky with his. She could pretend, for just a while longer, that they would never be apart.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #Bellaraweek2025 #bellara lutare #cyrian lutare

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year ago

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Physical Touch

He usually loved when his wife touched him, but it was slowly driving him crazy.

Part of the Love Languages series

-x-

Hi friends!

Well...I should have expected that the smut fic would win the poll by a landslide and here we are haha

I really hope you enjoy this <3 it's soft, smutty and full of Aaron just...pining for his wife. What more could you want on a Thursday evening?

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He’d known she was tactile long before they got together.

Aaron had watched her for years, always ready to place a comforting hand on someone’s shoulder or pull them into a hug. More than once he’d found himself wishing she’d do the same for him, the embargo they’d seemingly placed on physical contact between them a two-way thing, something they both upheld, as if they knew it was a line they could not cross.

He’d held her hand once before they became them. It was when she was in hospital, before she was stable enough to be moved to Bethesda. She’d still mostly been out of it, pain and medication rolling through her in a way he was also familiar with. He’d held her hand, squeezing it tightly as he wore the suit he’d worn to her funeral, a bitter taste on his tongue as he apologised to her. She’d told him since that she thought she’d dreamt it, that she’d pulled him out of her imagination, the warmth of his hand around hers something she’d made up in some strange attempt to self-soothe.

He’d always known she was tactile, but being in a relationship with her was a whole other level he hadn’t been anticipating. She touched him all the time, ranging from subtle moments, like her fingers trailing over his when she passed him a coffee or a case file, or squeezing his knee under the table when they were at Dave’s for dinner, to more obvious moments. She was a snuggler, something he would never have put money on before their first date. She would wrap herself around him like a vine whenever they were alone, her arm linked through his and her head on his shoulder as they sat on the couch, or she could lay half on top of him in bed, her hand sneaking under his t-shirt as she sought his warmth from the source, falling asleep to the comfort of his heartbeat.

He loved it. He loved that his wife expressed her love that way, that she’d push his hair out of his face as she told him he needed a haircut, that she also loved their children in the same way. It’s one of the reasons he knew Jack and Violet always sought her out for comfort, her embrace was his place of safety too, something so calming about something as simple as her cheek against his shoulder that he wondered how he'd ever lived without it.

He usually loved it, but it was slowly driving him crazy.

He’d dislocated his shoulder in a takedown of an unsub two months ago. The injury had torn his rotator cuff and he’d needed surgery, a simple relocation of his shoulder joint not enough. He could still remember the fear in Emily’s eyes when he’d come round from surgery, how she was barely holding herself together, her grip on his wedding ring that he’d had to take off so tight the imprint lasted for hours. His shoulder had been immobilised with strict instructions on how to make sure he healed properly, and the only time his wife ever paid attention to medical advice to the letter was when it was for him or one of the kids, which had led to one, unfortunate, side effect.

Aaron hadn’t had sex with his wife in two months.

He missed her. She was right by his side, but he missed her. Missed the intimacy that had always been an important part of their relationship. Every tiny thing about her was getting to him the longer they went without having sex. Her beauty was bordering on obscene, as it always had, and his breath would catch in his chest whenever he looked at her, or if she walked by and he caught a sniff of her perfume, the scent he knew was simply her always following just afterwards. Even watching her with Jack and Violet, watching how good a mother she was filled his gut with want, with the desire to have more children with her as soon as possible.

The touching was, however, by far the worst. Every time she touched him he felt his skin fizz, sparks set off just by the feel of her skin against his, and he was close to losing his mind.

He hears a knock on his office door and he looks up, a smile immediately breaking out across his face when he sees Emily standing in the doorway, her arms crossed as she casually leans against the door frame.

“Hey honey,” she says, stepping into the office, “Are you ready to go? We, and by we I mean you, promised Vi we’d pick up some dessert on the way home.”

He chuckles as he thinks about his 2, almost 3, year old daughter. She was a mini Emily through and through, right down to the big dark brown eyes he couldn’t say no to. He stands up and starts to put some paperwork in his briefcase, and he raises his eyebrow at his wife as he looks up at her.

“You say that like you can say no to her,” he quips, stepping out from behind his desk and walking over to her, quickly stamping his lips against hers.

She hums and kisses him again, her hand hooking around the back of his head, making him shiver as she scratches lightly at his scalp, “We both know I’m the bad cop at home, baby,” she says, kissing him once more before she pulls back, “One of us has to be.”

He laughs, the sound dying in his throat when she reaches out and places her hand on his chest, rubbing gently at the lapel on his jacket. He can feel her touch through his clothes, her skin somehow burning him through his jacket and his shirt, and he tenses before he can control it. Emily frowns at him, her eyebrows pinching together as she pulls back.

“You had some lint on you,” she explains, pressing her lips together as she looks him up and down, her eyes slightly narrowed as she tries to figure out what's wrong, “Aaron are you okay? Is your shoulder bothering you?”

It’s not a lie, not really, because his shoulder was sore. A now familiar ache that got worse throughout the day, radiating outwards from the new scar he bore. It was easier than explaining to her how he was feeling, less embarrassing than admitting he wanted her so much he was thinking about pushing everything off his desk right here and now.

There were still two weeks until the doctor’s initial advice would run out, and he knew it was going to be the longest two weeks of his life.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling softly at her, rolling his shoulder slightly, “It just aches a bit.”

She hums and places her hand on it, her concern deepening when he tenses again, “How about when the monsters are in bed I give you a massage?”

He falters for a moment, sure that would be his undoing, but instead, he nods and decides to deflect as he places his hand on her lower back and guides her out of his office.

“Why do you get to call them monsters, but I don’t?” He asks, knowing exactly what her answer is going to be.

She scoffs playfully and looks up at him, her eyes narrowed, “Because one of them came out of me.”

___

By the time they get the kids to bed, he thinks she’s forgotten. The evening had passed them by with homework, bath time, and bedtime stories, a wonderfully normal evening they both once thought they’d never get.

He walks into their bedroom to find her kneeling on the bed, wearing one of his t-shirts and a tiny pair of shorts sticking out from underneath, with a bottle of lotion in hand.

She smiles at him, popping open the lid on the lotion as she beckons him over, “Come on, honey,” she says, “I promised you a massage.” She sees the slight hesitation before he walks over, and she hides a smirk by clearing her throat. He sits on the edge of the bed and she rolls her eyes, placing the lotion on the bed before she runs her hands over his shoulders, her fingers meeting at his neck as she starts to undo his shirt buttons, “This works better if you don’t wear your shirt.”

He nods and helps her get his shirt off, grateful that he’d slipped his tie off when he got home earlier, and he lets the shirt fall to the ground. She puts some of the lotion into her hands and rubs them together before she touches him, warming her palms and the lotion at the same time.

It’s only when she starts spreading it on his skin, her touch firm but gentle as she pushes her thumbs into his bad shoulder, that he realises she’s using her lotion. One that had a slight spice to it, a scent of cinnamon that followed her everywhere that was now permeating into his skin. He groans, his teeth clenched as he breathes her in, widening his legs as his pants get tighter.

She frowns, ready to pull away just in case she is hurting him, but then she looks over his shoulder, her lips pressed together as her cheeks flush when she sees the tenting of his pants. She makes a snap decision, wiping her palms on her shirt to get rid of the excess lotion before she climbs out from behind him.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his eyebrow raised as she kneels on the floor in front of him, her hands already on his belt, undoing it quickly.

“Come on, Aaron,” she says, unbuttoning his pants and moving them and his boxers just far enough to free him, “It hasn’t been that long,” she says, smiling in a way that seemed far too innocent for where her hand was, “I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at me,” she says, pumping him up and down, “Let me help.”

He nods, not needing any convincing, and his eyes drift shut as she leans forward and takes him in her mouth. He wraps his fists around the sheets of the bed so tightly he thinks they might rip.

“Fuck, Em. You’re so good at that,” he says, unable to stop himself from thrusting into her throat, the pressure that had been building him in for weeks threatening to blow, “So fucking good.”

She leans forward until her nose briefly presses against his pubic bone before she pulls back, sucking in a breath before she moves in again, bobbing her head up and down, his chorus of groans her reward. She has to press her thighs together for some friction, so turned on by seeing and hearing him like this that she briefly forgets why it had been so long since they’d done this in the first place. She can feel him start to lose control, his thrusts getting messier, but he stops her, his hand on her shoulder as he encourages her backwards, a desperate look in his eyes.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting rid of the spit that had connected her lip to the tip of him and she tilts her head, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, pushing his hands through her hair that he’d clearly messed up, unaware that he’d even grasped it, “I just want to be with you.”

She smiles devilishly, her tongue pressed into her cheek, chasing the taste of him from it, “You are with me.”

He rolls his eyes at her. He’d missed this too, the ease that came with being with her like this, the familiarity to it. It could be rough, passionate. Tearing each other’s clothes off. Or it could be soft. Full of love and hands pressed together as they showed each other how much they loved each other.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he says, and she smiles and nods, standing up from where she’d been kneeling. She pulls his pants off the rest of the way and then stands up, ready to straddle him, her desire making her dizzy. It’s only when she leans in to kiss him, her gaze briefly lingering on the new scar on his shoulder, and everything comes back into sharp focus.

“Wait,” she says breathlessly, pulling away from him, “We shouldn’t do this, your doctor-”

“Sweetheart,” he cuts her off, barely recognising his own voice because of how thick it is with desire, rough and gravelly as he stares at her, “You started this.”

She scoffs, “I started this? You’re the one who got an erection when I just barely touched your shoulder.”

In any other circumstance, he’s sure he’d laugh. It was so like her to try and start an argument in the middle of sex it made him fall in love with her even more, a feat that always seemed impossible until it happened. He pulls her closer, grateful not for the first time this evening that it wasn’t his dominant shoulder that had been injured, “Because you’re so fucking gorgeous I couldn’t take it anymore.”

She swallows thickly and looks him up and down, desire sparking under her skin. It had been a long two months for her too, her frustration at not being able to have him so intense she’d yelled at Derek twice in the last week alone when he hadn’t deserved it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly. He smiles softly, the pent-up, overwhelming, need for her fading for a moment as he reaches out and cups her cheek, tucking some of her unruly hair behind her ear.

“You never could.”

She thinks about it for a moment before she nods leaning forward to stamp her lips against his before she briefly gets off the bed, dropping her shorts to the ground, “Lean up against the headboard.”

He does as he’s told, and she pulls a pillow from her side of the bed and slots it between his bad shoulder and the headboard, smiling softly when he stamps a grateful kiss against her lips. She sits on his lap, groaning as she notches over him, a noise he returns when he feels just how wet she is.

“Fuck, Em,” he says, his hands on her hips as she pulls her t-shirt off, “I’ve barely even touched you.”

“Yeah, well” she breathes out, rocking her hips over him, “You’re not the only one who’s been missing this,” she says as she wraps her hand around him to guide him into her.

They both groan as she sinks onto him, the familiar stretch making them both breathless for a moment.

“Oh fuck,” she says, her eyes rolling back as her head falls backwards for a moment, her hands on his thighs as she clenches around him, the breath stolen from her lungs as she adjusts to him, “God you feel so good.”

“You do too, sweetheart,” he grunts out, encouraging her closer, tugging at her until they are chest to chest, bare skin pressed against each other as he rests his forehead against hers, “You feel so fucking good.”

She cups his cheeks, her hands on either side of his face as she keeps her forehead against his and starts to rock her hips against his, a sound she could only call a relieved chuckle escaping her as he meets her thrust for thrust.

They fall into a familiar rhythm, a sense of desperation woven through it, their eyes locked together as they both move, lost in the feel of each other. Eventually, he feels her hips start to stutter, and her thighs tremble around him. He reaches between them with his good hand and rubs circles on her clit, smiling as she mewls at him, the sound close to obscene as she buries her face in his neck, just about able to remember their children were sleeping down the hall.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, increasing the pressure on her clit, feeling his own orgasm within reach, “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

She clenches her teeth tightly as she comes, stopping herself from screaming out as her hips buck against him. A spark goes off in her belly and spreads through her entire body, every nerve ending on fire as it washes over her as she moans his name. He isn’t far behind her, the way she clenches around him as she comes the final push he needs, and he buries his face in the top of her hair, her name lost in the dark locks stuck to her with sweat.

They fall into silence, just the sound of their heavy breathing surrounding them. She’s the first to pull back, smiling lazily at him as she kisses him quickly before she pulls back to look at him, checking him over as if she’s looking for damage. She looks at the scar, placing her hand over it as she still tries to catch her breath, “I hope we didn’t make it worse.”

“It’s fine, baby,” he says, kissing her temple and then her cheek, encouraging her to turn her head so he can capture her lips in a kiss, “Besides, since when were you such a stickler for doctor’s orders?”

She playfully narrows her eyes at him but doesn’t pull back, not wanting to put any space between them yet, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Right,” he says jokingly, stamping a kiss against her lower lip, stuck out in a pout she’d always deny, “So it wasn’t you who I caught trying to drive to the store less than two weeks after she had a c-section? My mistake.”

She blows out a breath and shakes her head at him, her cheeks somehow flushing even though the blush from her orgasm had never gone away, “That was totally different.”

He chuckles and kisses her, properly this time, and he smiles as he pulls back, “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

-x-

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this-isapen · 3 months ago

Text

The Very Blood of You - Chapter 7

Word Count: 5,798

Warnings: angst I guess

read on ao3!

chapter under the cut as well :)

She wakes late, having eventually been taken by sleep at some point in the early morning hours. It takes her a few minutes to fully adjust to being awake, as she feels groggy, a leftover from the previous night’s revelations. Surely that had simply been the exhaustion talking...

At least that’s what she attempts to convince herself of as she lays on her side, debating getting out of bed. You’re being ridiculous, there’s no way you can still be in love with someone who spent the better part of your relationship lying to you. But couldn’t she? She groans into her pillow just as a soft knock raps at the door and it squeaks open.

“Celine?”

She lets out a noncommittal groan as an indication she was awake.

“Just checking, it’s late,” Andrew mumbles softly, beginning to retreat from the room, a silent acknowledgement that he would still keep his distance.

Celine couldn’t purge the longing she felt when he departed, the room somehow feeling twice as empty now that it was back to just her. She shakes her head as if trying to erase the thought from her brain, but it only sticks itself harder to the forefront of her mind.

Fearing she’d exhausted every other available option to clear her mind, she grabs her headphones. If she felt like running away from her own thoughts, she might as well try doing it literally.

Her hand is on the doorknob when his voice catches her attention. Where had he even come from? It was like he had simply appeared.

“Where are you going?” a hint of worry tints his question.

“Running,” she answers simply, suddenly desperate to not spend a single extra second in that house.

He nods in acknowledgement. “Just be careful,” he warns softly, yet another gesture reminiscent of a simpler time. Have fun, be safe, I love you – all phrases she had grown accustomed to any time she would be going out somewhere. Hearing them now made her stomach twist.

She’s outside, sneakers hitting the pavement, in record time. She had never even been much of a runner, but now seemed as good a time as any to start.

The air in her lungs is somehow both restrictive and feels like the easiest she’s breathed in a long time. Chest heaving, she pushes herself to power through despite the increased burning sensation in her legs. She figures if she runs hard enough, fast enough, far enough, her thoughts would struggle to catch up to her body.

Eventually, though, she finds herself needing a break. She comes to a little clearing on the side of the road, trying desperately to catch her breath. The inner turmoil of her mind seems to have dissipated, but it still didn’t feel enough to soothe her fully. She didn’t want to be able to even think about that possibility and wonders if she needs a stronger distraction, though feels unsure of what might even work. Maybe she could only outrun her feelings for so long, but that wouldn’t stop her from pushing that limit. The pressure in her lungs just meant that maybe her run needed to be slowed to a walk for now.

Having successfully calmed her heart rate, she slowly continues down the path in the direction she’d been moving in. It was nice, taking in her environment and focusing on the nature. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to get as far away from that house as possible. She didn’t want to turn back until she absolutely had to, not wanting to be forced into proximity with her own emotions again. Out here, it was easier to ignore them, focus on the world around her; but back there, he may have been keeping his distance from her, but his presence seemed to always loom in the background regardless. Just the knowledge that he was there, occupying the same space as her, was enough to make it feel like her chest would cave in on itself.

For half a second, she considers sneaking back to her own home the next time he’s out, but knows he’d flip to find her gone without a word. Besides, if she brought the idea up to him, she’d either be shut down immediately or he’d invite himself to stay with her, and the thought of being cooped up with him in her tiny apartment was suffocating. And she’d be lying if she said the thought of being back on her own didn’t secretly terrify her a little, though she would never admit to that. Especially not to him.

She dismisses the notion, hating that it had even crossed her mind. Clearly, walking wasn’t enough to battle her own thoughts, so she picks up her pace again.

Clouds begin to darken the sky, and the gentle mist that follows is not enough to deter her until it becomes a downpour.

Showing no signs of letting up any time soon, she reluctantly turns around and heads back the way she came. There was little, if any, illumination along her path, and the dampness of the ground certainly wasn’t helping her keep steady. As much as she wanted to deny it, fear had begun to gently take hold of her senses, slowly tightening its grip on her like fingers around her throat. Get it together, Celine.

It dawns on her that she had been so hell bent on distracting herself that she had no true concept of how far she had come. Her route had been mostly a straight line from what she remembered, but she had paid so little attention to direction, acting only on the urge to keep running. When had she ended up in the middle of the forest? She couldn’t seem to say. She couldn’t have been out for that long, could she? The sudden darkness of the world made it hard to tell, not to mention the rain falling practically in sheets.

She couldn’t place quite what it was that triggered her anxiety. It wasn’t like she’d never been caught outside in the rain or the dark before. And Andrew lives in a secluded area; there wasn’t a reason to feel unsafe – the likelihood of another person being around right now was slim, though that didn’t do much to assuage her fears. Secluded... perfect if someone wanted to make sure nobody could hear you scream, her mind torments her. She tries to force herself to keep moving, realizing she’d been standing completely still for the last several minutes. Or at least that’s her rough estimate, time didn’t seem to mean anything anymore.

A crack of thunder in the distance startles her, and she nearly loses her balance, one foot briefly slipping out from under her.

She makes out some foliage on her left side, unsure of whether it was close to Andrew’s house. Every last tree and bush seemed like a carbon copy of one another, like she was stuck in some kind of permanent hell loop of greenery. It felt as if the woods were closing in on her as she stood perfectly still in the middle of it. Logic seemed to fail in her desperate attempts not to panic. She considers swallowing her pride to call Andrew, but finds her phone battery nearly dead in addition to a lack of service. Of course her luck would have it that she hadn’t plugged it in last night so she was dealing with whatever percentage had remained from the day before.

“Fuck!” she shouts to the emptiness surrounding her, surprised to hear her voice come out as more of a distressed whine. She was utterly fucked, trying to fend off hopelessness as she slowly forces herself to continue moving. It takes everything in her not to sink to the ground and hope for the earth to just consume her.

One foot in front of the other, just keep moving. You can do this, she tries to convince herself. You just can barely see where you’re going and have no way of calling for help, no biggie!

The sound of critters making sounds nearby shakes her, every rustle of leaves presenting the fear of another person. Or worse, a monster she had yet to face. She could usually push it down, even forget about it herself, but now she couldn’t seem to escape the overwhelming fear that she would be attacked again. It had been a dark night in the middle of nowhere last time, and even though there were still a few pieces missing, she could draw the parallels.

Celine eventually gives up on trying to gauge her exact location, instead channeling the same energy from earlier to just keep moving. She wouldn’t feel so vulnerable if she wasn’t standing still. Telling herself she’s just being dramatic, she decides to just keep moving in a straight line, figuring it’s the most logical option as opposed to risking getting herself more lost.

The tiniest semblance of clear thinking seems to prove her right when she’s able to make out the faintest line where a path led back out to the road through the water droplets clouding her vision. If she can just find a street sign, she could reorient herself and get back home. Well, his home. She didn’t have the capacity to process that slip up right now.

She’s relieved to feel her feet hit solid ground again, a welcome change from the squishy mud she’d found herself in. Lightning strikes the ground a few feet ahead of her, causing her to gasp in fear. Her nerves felt absolutely destroyed, but she had a better sense of where she was now; it was just a matter of following the road back down to the house. She heaves a sigh of relief, padding back down the winding roadway.

About a hundred feet from Andrew’s driveway, Celine stops dead in her tracks. She could have sworn she heard her name being called, but the voice sounded distant, unfamiliar, though beckoning. She shakes her head, thinking the exhaustion was starting to get to her. The voice only grows closer as she approaches the front gate, convincing her she must be losing her mind. It was decidedly feminine, but she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to place it, her thoughts consumed by getting inside. Maybe I’m just delirious, the coldness is getting to me, she thinks as she closes the gate behind her.

She shrieks, swearing she felt a hand brush against her arm as she makes her way towards the front porch. Please no, she thinks, feeling almost too terrified to say it out loud. But in an instant, the sensation passes without anyone in sight to justify the feeling.

Before she can even reach for the knob, the door swings open.

“Celine? Baby, what’s wrong?” Andrew asks tenderly as he pulls her inside, locking the door behind them. “I was about to go out looking for you, I was getting worried,” he confesses, momentarily releasing her to find a spare towel.

Wrapping her frame in the oversized fluffy fabric he finds in the closet, he pulls back from her, tucking her wet hair behind her ear and gently tilting her chin up to look at him. Her lips were quivering and her hands were unsteady.

“Darlin’ what happened?” he attempts to get her to answer him again.

She looks at him anxiously, shivering and unable to find the ability to speak, shaking her head in an attempt to dismiss his concern.

“Your heart is fuckin’ pounding, I know something happened,” he murmurs, taking in the sight of her trembling in the entryway.

“Andy,” she eventually cries out, reaching for him and burying her face in his chest. “Andy,” she repeats, allowing the familiar feeling of safety in his arms to envelope her.

“I’m right here,” he hums. “You’re alright, I have you.” I’ll always have you, so long as you want me to.

He rubs her back, stricken by guilt for not going to search for her earlier. His chin rests atop her head, quietly shushing her until the sobs eventually subside.

Pulling back from her slightly, he cups her face in his hands, gently wiping away the tears under her eyes. “My love... what’s going on, hm?” he asks.

It takes her a few moments to respond, desperately trying to piece her thoughts together into coherent words. After a couple of thoughtful seconds, she settles on, “I think she’s nearby,” the realization dawning on her as she stood facing him. She hopes her vagueness was clear enough that she wouldn’t have to waste more energy elaborating. She wasn’t sure she had it in her.

“What are you talking about – what happened to you out there? I mean, you were gone for hours.” If she had hurt her again...

“I don’t know,” she begins. “I was just running, not really paying attention to where I was going... and then the rain started and I panicked, I – I thought I was lost.”

He looks at her, silently encouraging her to continue.

“Eventually found my way back, but then...” she trails off.

“Then what?” he questions softly, trying to keep the urgency and panic out of his tone.

“Heard...” she shakes her head. “Heard my name, like someone calling me over to them. A woman’s voice... then when I was getting closer to the door I thought I felt a hand on me. That’s why I screamed, I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Tracing her cheeks with his thumbs once more, he assures her it’s alright. “I’m just proud of you for telling me,” he whispers against her forehead, fighting the instinct to press his lips to that same spot. “Why don’t you go get warm and dry, and I’ll make you dinner?”

Agreeing, she slowly pulls away from him, padding to the bathroom to strip herself of her soaked clothing and take a hot shower.

******************

After scrubbing herself clean under the scalding hot water to warm her cold bones, she throws her hair into a towel and wanders to the kitchen to find Andrew, not particularly caring if her hair was frizzy later.

She finds him standing in front of the stove, absentmindedly humming a tune she didn’t recognize to himself while whatever delicious-smelling meal he was cooking simmers on the burner. He glances up at her, having heard her come in, and shoots her a gentle smile.

“Should be about ten more minutes,” he remarks, tearing his attention from the pan momentarily in search of a glass in the cabinet. He lifts it in her direction, a silent offer for a drink.

She nods, and a few moments later has a glassful of wine in her hand while she leans back against the counter, watching Andrew as he cooks.

The silence was not as unbearable as it should have been, given how little time they’d spent in the same room recently. It wasn’t quite comfortable per se, but it was nearing that achievement. She soaks in the moment, swirling the glass around mindlessly as she gazes hungrily at the meal awaiting her. Pushing herself up onto the countertop, she takes a long sip of the wine, letting it sit on her tongue for a moment before swallowing it down. It was one of her favorites, one they’d shared many bottles of in the past. Well, mostly by her.

“Can you drink this?”

The question catches Andrew off guard, taking a moment to register what she said as he turns off the burner. “Ehm... technically, yes. Why?”

“Sorry,” she chuckles, “I know that came out of nowhere. I just was thinking about when we used to share a bottle, so... just curious.”

“It doesn’t exactly do all that much for me, but it doesn’t hurt me or anything. Same with food,” he shrugs, pulling a piece of meat from the pan and popping it into his mouth as if to demonstrate his point.

“So then if you can eat, why don’t you generally keep food around?” she asks while he goes about preparing her plate. It hadn't gone unnoticed that she was the only one using the groceries he bought. “Unless that’s weird to ask, sorry. I’m new to this, I’ve never really known a vampire before. Is that offensive?”

“You’re fine,” he laughs. “I don’t know, just kinda seemed pointless after a while.”

There was a hint of sorrow behind that statement underscored by the way his eyes flick away from her, but she decides it best not to push him on it and risk ruining their oddly content domestic scene.

He sets her plate of stir fry down at the table, taking the seat next to her and contentedly watching her, resting his chin in his palm. She eats mostly silently, but he’s grateful just to be spending time with her without being at each other’s throats. Despite everything, he could tell she was trying, and it was enough to reignite the tiny spark of hope buried deep within him. He tries to keep his focus on her in the present moment, not wanting his mind to wander to the implications of what she had told him when she got back. He had spent enough time doing that while she was in the shower.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he hums, noticing the look on her face that she got when she was particularly lost in thought or trying to work through a problem.

“Did you say something about my heartbeat earlier?” she asks bluntly, confusion saturating her tone.

“Ehm...” he replies, rubbing at his collarbone while he stalls, trying to gauge what she was feeling about that possibility. “Maybe...” he winces.

She raises an eyebrow at him in a plea for elaboration. “And...?”

“And what?” he mutters. “I said something about it.” His voice has become nearly monotone, a defense mechanism kicking in against his better judgment.

“Andrew,” she groans frustratedly.

“Celine.” He could be a stubborn asshole when he wanted to be.

“Andrew!”

He closes his eyes for a moment, knowing he’d be unable to avoid the conversation he was hoping to put off for a while.

“I can kind of sort of hear your heartbeat,” he mutters in a single breath, ripping that band aid off as fast as possible, his leg anxiously bouncing under the table.

He risks sparing a glance at her, only to find a nearly unreadable expression on her face.

“You... can hear my heartbeat.” It’s not phrased as a question, merely a confused repetition of his statement.

“Correct.”

“What the fuck?”

“I really don’t know what you want me to say, darlin’.”

“I don’t know either,” she admits. “I just...” she trails off, gesturing aimlessly as if it would magically make the words she was looking for come to her, frustration written clearly across her face.

“Supernatural hearing,” he shrugs, “not really much else to it.”

She buries her face in her hands, forcing a deep breath into her lungs. Don’t freak out on him. This is exactly what you’re trying to work on, you always end up ruining things.

“I can tell you’re nervous right now, the way it’s beating,” he explains himself a bit, instantly regretting it when she sees the look of horror in her expression.

“What,” she repeats herself through gritted teeth, “the fuck?!”

Figuring he might as well dig himself even deeper into the hole he had created for himself, he continues. “You know how I always knew when you were stressed, knew when to calm you down, even when you were really good at hiding it?” he grimaces. Why did he say anything?

At that, something clicks into place for her. All the times she’d thought he was so sweet for noticing when something was wrong, all the times that he’d seemingly known her better than she knew herself... it was all because of this. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her privacy had been invaded without her knowledge. How could he do this to her?

“All this time... all this time I thought you were just a really observant boyfriend, I -”

“Baby. Breathe,” he cuts her off. The tension in her body was palpable, every beat and breath a struggle audible to him.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She sounds angry, betrayed. He couldn’t blame her.

“I’m not trying to; I just don’t want you to have a fucking panic attack.” By some miracle, he manages to keep his voice steady. The last thing he needed right now was for his emotions to seep into it and make the conversation worse, inevitably setting their progress back even further.

“Then how the fuck am I supposed to react to finding out my boyfriend was listening to my heartbeat without my knowledge for years?!” she snaps at him. “I - you invaded my privacy.”

Do NOT focus on the fact that she dropped the “ex” in front of boyfriend, Andrew, he chides himself before working up the courage to respond.

“Not on purpose – I’m not going to sit here and deny what you’re saying because I completely understand where you’re coming from, but it isn’t something I can just turn on and off.”

“Can’t you choose to ignore it or something?”

“Yes and no,” he begins to answer before cutting himself off, “Celine, honey. Please take a deep breath and let me explain.”

She finds herself gasping as though she had forgotten how to breathe normally. Wordlessly, Andrew grabs her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and instructing her to focus on him, silently thanking the universe for her not immediately pulling away and making things worse.

When her shaky breathing seems to regulate again and she’s no longer throwing accusations his way, he allows himself to continue his explanation.

“As I was saying, I have some control over it; it’s hard to explain. But basically, I can focus it in on certain things when I pick up on something, I just can’t turn off the ability itself.”

“So why focus on me, especially like that?”

“I don’t know that I have a concrete explanation for you, other than being in love with you.”

“God you are so cheesy even now, even during whatever this conversation is,” she groans, a hint of playfulness behind the statement. That was as good a sign as any that she was doing alright.

“I’m serious,” he maintains despite the smile tugging at his lips. “A legitimate part of it is that it kept me grounded, because it was you.”

“And the rest of it...?” She brushes past his statement, scared of letting herself become too endeared to him again, even though he somehow made it so easy. The bastard.

“I came to know you well enough to pick up on even the most subtle changes, and I liked knowing that I could help you.” He’s a bit sheepish, not yet readjusted to the feeling of laying his heart out for her, especially not in this context. His heart was something that she had always, would always, hold in her hands; whether she was aware of the power she held over it – over him – or not was an entirely separate question.

“Well shit, I feel like a bit of an asshole now,” she lets out a dry chuckle. “Your intentions were pure, I guess.”

“You have every right to be upset, love. I did sort of keep a huge part of my life from you for our entire relationship.”

“Yeah, you did, but that’s the understatement of the century,” she agrees, looking away from him, choosing to cast her gaze down to the empty plate in front of her. When she eventually flicks her gaze back toward him, she catches an almost amused expression on his face. “What?”

“Nothing, just that this conversation has me thinking... do you remember that time you were watching our set from the crowd at that festival, and when you found me backstage afterwards, I was saying how you had me worried since I didn’t know where you were? That was because I’d lost track of your heartbeat and my first instinct was to assume that something terrible had happened.” He smiles fondly at the memory, remembering the relief he had felt when he pulled her into a hug in his dressing room.

“Oh my god, really?” she laughs. “That makes so much sense for you, but... how did you lose track of it? Or actually, better question, how were you able to hold onto it in a crowd of thousands?”

“One, sometimes my senses get overwhelmed and kind of shut down. Two, like I said, I can hone in on a particular sound if I focus enough. Even when all logic dictates it should be drowned out.” What he doesn’t add is that when it came to her, it was so natural to just gravitate towards that sound; he so rarely had to think about it. For fuck’s sake, he had it memorized like the back of his hand. It might as well be engraved into his brain.

“God, this is all still so insane to me,” she muses.

“I know,” he sighs. “But yeah, long story short, I have incredible hearing and I like to use being able to detect your heartbeat to protect you.”

She rolls her eyes in a way that isn’t rude, but rather a reflection of how much she was trying to wrap her head around. She couldn’t quite shake the icky feeling that had settled over her at the beginning of their conversation, but felt more at ease with the knowledge that his unorthodox method of doing things came from a well-meaning place.

“Okay, since we’re on the topic anyway, what else are you capable of? I don’t want any more secrets about that, the last thing I need is to find out you can fly in several months when it’s convenient for you to mention.”

“Wait, I didn’t tell you about that one?” he cocks his head at her, eyes widening in surprise.

Her jaw opens halfway, unsure of how to respond.

“Relax, I’m fucking with you,” he giggles at his own sense of humor. “That would be cool though, wouldn’t it?”

“I hate you.”

“Mm, no you don’t.” A grin spreads across his face at their banter, a silly argument that would have been commonplace for them mere months ago. And for the first time in the months that had passed since, he could almost believe those words coming from his mouth. He can’t help the pang of sadness at wondering if this is how things could have been if he hadn’t kept this hidden and had just sat her down and told her from the beginning.

“Whatever,” she mumbles, refusing to confirm or deny that statement despite the blush creeping up her face betraying her. Their dynamic had somehow become more casual over the course of sitting at the table together, a fact that gave her a sharp pang in her chest. This is how they were meant to be.

“But to answer your question for real, I pretty much mostly just have very heightened senses, and I can move fast. And I can...” he practically gulps, fearing her reaction to the final piece of information he had to offer her. He really did not want to reveal this capability, but it was better that he be upfront with her now. “I can compel people. You know, make them do or believe whatever I want.”

Her breath hitches as his words register in her brain, brow furrowing. She had known this was a possibility, had essentially accused him of it, but hearing the words come directly from his mouth hit her like a blow to the chest.

“I don’t really use it,” he explains before her questions or accusations could come pouring in. “I don’t like having that kind of control over people, it isn’t right.”

“Mhm.”

Mhm. He’d rather personally give her a wooden stake to drive through his heart.

“I don’t know what I can do to make you believe me, so I think you just need to trust me on this one, darling.”

“How?”

“No idea, but the only way this will work is if you trust me.”

A distant “yeah.”

He could practically feel her slipping through his fingers, fumbling as he desperately tries to hold her in place. They’d been doing so well and now he was fucking everything up by being open, the very thing that could have saved them so much grief. You’ll have time to wallow in self-hatred later, you selfish prick. This isn’t about you.

“I have never, and will never, use it on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She tilts her head back up to look at him, her eyes a bit glassy. “I can’t promise I’ll be perfect about it, but I think I believe you.” The words were difficult to vocalize, but she offers her precarious trust to him anyway.

“Darlin’, I would never expect you to be perfect.” You’re perfect to me already, he adds mentally. “I know this is hard, and I know that you’re trying.”

“Thank you,” she chokes out, her throat sounding dry.

About an hour later, she’s sound asleep under her covers. Andrew takes this time to clean up, inevitably reflecting on the events of the day.

All things considered, their conversation about his powers went surprisingly well. He had certainly been expecting more screaming and crying, so the lack thereof was a pleasant surprise. And Celine was taking everything as best she could, given the situation. He knew this was a lot for her to wrap her head around, especially with the added stress that someone might be waiting for the right moment to strike. There it was; he knew his thoughts would drift back to that portion of the day eventually, he’d just foolishly hoped that he could avoid it until at least tomorrow.

If Celine was right about this... He couldn’t even bear to finish that line of thinking. She may not know everything – hell, neither did he – but he had no reason to believe she wasn’t right. Chances were, the voice she’d heard, the hand she’d felt, were absolutely real, or at least a very well fabricated hallucination, courtesy of the only person Andrew ever found himself wishing he could kill.

But he still couldn’t seem to figure out what her game was. Scare Celine, sure, but why not hurt her again? Was it just because she knew he was close by and wanted to drag this out for as long as possible? Or was scaring her just the next step in some elaborate plan? Did she have some other tactic she was trying? The worst part was that he somehow didn’t pick up on her presence. He’d heard Celine scream, but he had no idea what had happened until she tried to explain. He felt so guilty for not being able to prevent it from happening; he was grateful she hadn’t been hurt, but what if he’d been a second too slow? Or did that malicious piece of shit know better than to try something on his territory? How had she even figured out where he lived?

He doesn’t realize just how frustrated and angry his lack of answers made him until the glass he’d been scrubbing at breaks in his hands, a tiny slice on his finger healing itself just as quickly as it had appeared. Get a hold of yourself, Andrew.

He turns the tap off, picking the shards out of the sink and disposing of them before finishing up the remaining dishes.

Drying his hands on the nearby kitchen towel, he calms himself with the peaceful sounds of Celine sleeping upstairs. He knew he shouldn’t, especially after their tense conversation earlier, but he couldn’t help it. Knowing that she was safe and sound in the other room was his greatest solace. And he wouldn’t deny that the sense that he could do something to protect her made him feel good. Sue him, he was a simple man.

He only allows himself to retreat to his room once he had triple checked that every door and window in the house was locked. It was pointless, given the paranormal nature of what they were dealing with, but somehow the action made him feel a bit more at ease; there were some traits left over from his days of humanity. Plus, it wasn’t like she would be able to get inside without permission; he’d purchased his home long after he had seen her for the last time. That fact alone eases his worried mind as he shuffles under his covers.

His love was safe under his roof, and even if all else somehow failed, he was there with her.

******************

With each passing day, Andrew and Celine manage to come to a greater sense of camaraderie with one another. She’d occasionally shoot him a distrustful glance, but all things considered, things felt okay, more okay than they had ever been since they had broken up. Patching up the sliver of friendship that remained between the two of them was hard work, but they were making the effort.

Celine had even taken to initiating spending time together, which Andrew relished every moment of. It was often simple, sitting next to each other while reading their individual books, or her asking if she could listen to whatever music he was working on at the moment. It was never anything special, but he saw every second spent in the same room as her without an argument as a moment to be cherished.

And he couldn’t recall the last time that she’d berated him for using a pet name, letting him fall blissfully back into the old habit once more. He knew he shouldn’t, that it would only get his hopes up further, but he was allowing himself this one indulgence amidst the general turmoil he was experiencing otherwise. He couldn’t help it, that’s what he’d always see when he looked at her – his darling, his love, his angel; the list goes on. Even when she lost her temper with him over something trivial or fell back into a cycle of distrusting him, he only saw the woman he had fallen in love with, his partner. It wasn’t healthy to let himself continue to view her that way, but he figures that he could live in his delusions for a little bit longer. Was it so wrong of him to want to live in the fantasy of a once-attainable life when the illusion would be all he’d have left when this was inevitably all over?

#hozier fic #hozier x reader #fanfiction #vampzier #rpf #andrew hozier byrne #fanfic #hozier fanfiction #hozier

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depressed-sock · 5 months ago

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We heal as we go (2048 words) by depressed-sock Gift for: extraneous_accessories. Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Original Temple Guard/Original Mandalorian Characters: Original Jedi Character(s) (Star Wars), Original Mandalorian Characters (Star Wars), Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Order 66 (Star Wars), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, cutting yourself off from the force, force supression cuffs, Hiding, Trauma, Escaping from the Galactic Empire (Star Wars), Hopeful Ending, Strangers to Lovers, Protecting Children, Muteness

...

Viol’ia is running through the streets. Her temple guard robes shredded and burnt, a child clasped tight in her arms as another holds tight to the back of her robes in order to not get separated. The sky is lit in flames and the people who were once friends and allies are wiped clean. Their minds a haze as if they were never real in the first place.

The child in her arms muffles their sobs against her shoulder.

Viol’ia has not been to the creche since she herself was a child. She does not know these children nor their names. They were the only ones she could grab in time to save. Two of hundreds.

It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. For now it has to be.

She turns sharply, making certain the other is still holding tight and keeping up with her speed. Their starting to flag, it won’t be long before they can no longer run and she will have to attempt to carry both to safety.

Not that anywhere is safe anymore.

She stumbles to a stop just before the next alley she plans to take. Troopers march through it. She readjusts the child in her arms, leaving her other arm free as she reaches back and quickly pulls the other one with her into the shadows. It’s not enough to keep them fully out of sight but maybe they will not look to their left. Maybe they will keep going forward.

She’s tempted to push the idea towards them but there’s a fear of what if it doesn’t work?

A trooper turns his head.

She holds her breath and the children as close as she can.

The door at her back opens inward, a hand grabbing her by her shoulder and pulling her inside with the children. The only thing that stays Viol’ia’s hand from attacking is the person practically screaming peace in their mind.

“Be quiet, go duck behind the bar counter.” The voice comes through the vocoder of a Mandalorian helmet. Viol’ia doesn’t have time to ask questions, just does as the Mandalorian says. Rushing to hide herself and the younglings. She tucks them all tightly together, trying her best to fully muffle the child who cannot stop crying while letting the other hide their face in her robes holding tight as they shake in fear.

There’s a moment where she thinks maybe the trooper will not bring attention to what he saw but then there’s a pounding on the door. It opens with a sharp crack that makes her pull the children closer.

“What?” The Mandalorian demands.

Viol’ia can feel the shape of the other's anger, how they’ve moved in front of the door. How others in the bar have risen from their seats, hands on weapons. Ready for a fight.

The trooper says something she cannot hear but the Mandalorian scoffs in answer. “This is Little Keldabe, you think we’d ever help a Jedi here?”

The trooper tries to say something further but is cut off by another voice. “You try that and you’ll be shot dead where you stand clone.”

There’s a moment where she can feel the rising tension in the room. A single thread unraveling so fast that it could snap at any moment.

Then the door slams back shut. People return to their seats, the sound of chatter returning as if there is not a Jedi and younglings hidden under the bar. The Mandalorian from before steps around the counter, battle-signs to wait, and continues their job of serving their customers. Viol’ia does not dare to move.

It’s not long before the child in her arms falls asleep, tears still staining their face. The other is still shaking in fear. Hesitantly she rubs their back, trying her best to soothe them. A cup of broth is handed down to them as the Mandalorian walks past to serve another customer. She takes it, gives it to the child who raises their head at the smell. Slowly they sip it, their shaking body settling.

Viol’ia can only hope they don’t go into battle shock.

It feels like hours that they sit there before the Mandalorian motions for them to rise. “Follow me, don’t say a word.”

Not like that will be hard. Viol’ia does not remember the last time she spoke out loud, before her oath at the very least.

She grabs the child's hand, does not wince from the soreness of carrying the other, and walks forward behind the Mandalorian. Trusting. Hoping. Desperate.

They’re lead up a set of stairs to what is clearly a room that gets rented out for night stays. She almost wants to collapse in relief at that.

“You can stay here with the children until I can get someone to take you off world, I’ll get you all a change of clothes.” The Mandalorian goes to turn but Viol’ia let’s go of the child’s hand to reach out, tapping their beskar clad shoulder to regain their attention. They stiffen but turn back all the same.

She signs armour at them.

The Mandalorian tilts their head in a way that clearly signals confusion. “Armour?”

“She’s a temple guard.” The child at her side says quietly. “She’s taken oaths. Can’t talk out loud, can’t show her face.” Viol’ia sends a gentle thought of gratitude to them and they preen a bit under the attention.

The Mandalorian hesitates at that, confusion still prominent as well as some kind of dawning realization. They nod their head, “I’ll see what I can find.” Another moment of hesitation then they say, “You can call me Vander.”

“I’m Teeko,” the child says quietly before pointing up at the other, “Their Lana.” His gaze turns to Viol’ia and she carefully signs her own name for him to repeat out loud.

Vander nods her head, “You will be safe here.” Then she turns to leave, shutting the door quietly behind her.

---

The armour that’s given to her is well made. Blank of any design or paint but in a way that would be unnoticeable to anyone unfamiliar with Mandalorian tradition. She runs her hand over it, picking up each piece and testing it’s weight. Vander watches, her helmet removed to reveal a Korun with dark skin, long black hair braided to carefully fit within a helmet.

The children both lie asleep on the bed, already changed into something as far from Jedi looking as possible.

“I can have it adjusted if you need it.” Vander says, dark eyes watching each and every one of Viol’ia’s movements.

She shakes her head. Holding up what is to be her helmet. The weight is good, it’s just unfamiliar. She’ll adjust, she's always been good at that. She sets it down, before reaching up to take her own helmet off. Vander’s eyes widen in surprise holding up her hands, “Woah, wait-”

Viol’ia removes her helmet, the Cathar shaking out her hair, fur bristling at the fresh air. Scrunching her nose as the smell of her own sweat becomes prominent. She doesn’t usually have to go this long wearing her armour, let alone her helmet.

“I thought you couldn’t show your face?” Vander asks in apparent confusion.

Viol’ia gives her a so-so gesture. It’s only when she’s working and now… now there is no job to be had.

Vander frowns at the explanation. The sympathy clear to read as she says, “I’m sorry.”

Viol’ia shrugs, looking away. She still hasn’t fully processed it. Can’t if she wants to keep going. The children need her to be the calm mind, the protector, the guide.

“What about the speaking thing?” Vander asks in clear curiosity and possibly an attempt to change the subject.

Viol’ia grins at them with sharp teeth, amused by the way Vander clearly shifts in her seat from it. She pulls down the neck of her robe, the scars there are deep. Viol’ia has no talent in the healing arts, so when a slug thrower had almost ripped straight through her throat she could only do her best in an attempt to stop herself from bleeding out.

It was clumsy. But she is alive and that is what matters.

Vander winces, clearly recognizing the scars for what they are. “I see.”

Viol’ia gives her a quiet laugh, telling her the guard do take a vow of silence while on duty. Hers just happens to be a life choice.

“ ‘Life choice’ she says,” Vander shakes her head in amusement. Her attention turning to the children as one of them begins to stir from sleep. Viol’ia looks back as well, frowning in contemplation before she decides to place her new helmet over her head.

Vander makes no comment on it.

Viol’ia is back on duty.

---

The days pass into weeks but it makes nothing easier. The children are kept inside for their own safety as Viol’ia is forced to teach them how to cut themselves off from the force. It’s painful for all of them but there’s whisper’s of hunters.

Jedi turned to hunt their own kind.

They cannot risk being felt, cannot risk relying on the thing that has always been apart of them. Lana cries, lifting the objects around themself unintentionally due to their distress. Teeko draws further into himself. Eyes gaining an almost dead sheen to them.

Viol’ia does not know what to do to make it better. She can only make it worse.

The day she asks Vander to find a force suppression cuff is the first day she allows herself to break just a bit. Lana can not shut themself off, they are too young to have that kind of control. Viol’ia has to hurt them to protect them. There are tears running down her face, hidden behind her helmet.

The look Vander gives her is one of pure shock edging on terror. “Viol’ia that-”

Viol’ia cuts her off with a sharp gesture. She knows. She knows. She knows. She can not do anything else until they are free of Coruscant. Vander opens her mouth to speak again but Viol’ia gives her head a violent shake.

Instead Vander reaches forward, removes the helmet upon Viol’ia’s head with a slow and careful precision. Viol’ia gives a quiet sob. Vander pulls her close, holding her and allowing her tears to soak through the neck of Vander’s blacks. She feels the emptiness in the force. The missing pieces that were her family. Gone. Ripped away with such a violence that it leaves holes within the force itself.

Now she must do the same to herself. To Lana. To Teeko.

They cannot be what they are. They cannot risk it.

---

Vander walks ahead of her, fully geared up in her beskar. Weapon’s on display as an open threat as she carries Lana through the streets and towards their destination. Lana grows sicker each second they are forcibly cut off from the force. They have to leave, there is no other choice.

Viol’ia herself carries Teeko who has grown more and more quiet. She can no longer feel him in the force. He speaks to her with his hands though. Still communicating, though his hand speak is rough, missing pieces. She’s teaching him. He will learn. He may grow to be as silent as herself, it is not uncommon of trauma.

She will support him either way. Give him the tools he will need so that if she is ever lost he will survive.

They near the spaceport. The troopers around them checking each and every person.

They will never know that of the four Mandalorian’s they let pass, three were once Jedi.

Vander motion’s towards her newly bought ship, guiding them all up the ramp before setting Lana on one of the couches in the common room. “It’ll last us a long time.”

Viol’ia nods. Letting Teeko down so that he can join Lana on the couch.

“Once we hit the outer rim,” she nods towards the kids and Lana agrees.

The force suppression cuff will come off. They will get the time they need to heal, to hide, to learn.

Vander steps up to her, firmly gripping the back of Viol'ia's neck as she knocks their helmets gently together. “We will keep them safe.”

We will. Viol’ia agrees.

We will keep them safe.

#star wars #Original Temple Guard/Original Mandalorian #order 66 #original jedi oc #original Mandalorian oc #my writing #fanfic #sock-writes

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firewalkzwit · 2 years ago

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runt // jonathan crane x reader (31)

Chapter 31

cross-posted on AO3

masterlist.

Crane's fixation to his goals held a special allure to her, she'd watch him and listen to his careful planning and fidgeting of his fingers as he paced around the cold, humid sub-surface cave where all his supplies and secrets were kept. She'd finally figured she'd occupy her mind with visiting Arkham, it'd soothe Crane's mind and keep him out of her ear for a bit at least. In her mind, she'd made up and out of her unsteady relationship more times than she could count, but she doubted that even within the complexities of Crane's mind there had been room for that many questionings of their affairs. With his unwavering tacitly accepting attitude of her erratic behaviour, she couldn't help but feel it didn't come from a place of loyalty, but rather a tired toleration of her tantrums to maintain a peaceful formality, and on the side, good casual sex. He didn't react because he didn't care, and her emotions seemed to hold no place in his worries. He seemed so passionate and invested as he spoke with Falcone's men and his arms fluttered in gestures and pointed in every direction, that she knew the place his devotion to fear occupied in his heart could never be replaced by her.

She knew she needed no such thing anyway, it was never in her plans to get tangled in an affair with who, to her, should just be a gateway to her goal. He seemed to have that clearer than her. Though even in the slight ache in her chest as the realisation struck her, she found a strange comfort in who she could see as a mentor, and a certain fondness with no sexual hunger to prowl underneath it. It was as he rushed walking to a direction that was not her's, she placed her hand on his chest to halt him almost impulsively.

"How do you do that?" Although her head was tilted and between her eyebrows was a frown that seemed to demonstrate interest, her gaze seemed to be lost in something that was hardly his own. As if it seemed like her pupils were looking at his direction but trying to glimpse something further. Puzzled, he gave her his own wry as he thought his answer through.

"Do what?"

"You're so focused..."

"Yes; I should be, all this is important."

"No I mean, aren't you scared?" By that, the beginning of a scoff initiated his hand's motion towards her to gently slide it off his chest.

"No room for that here." Of course that was the answer, it was Dr. Crane talking for him anyway. She had no qualms in admitting to herself that she was terrified, but his answer seemed more of an attempt to reassure himself than calm her own fears. He walked with such performative security she envied him enormously. It felt as if she learnt how to perform for long enough she could somewhat convince herself, as she had done in the beginning, thinking whatever she was doing at that very moment should be the pinnacle of her priorities, or when the confusion of his role in her life had led her to ever believe she could be unconditionally in love with him.

It was as she remembered the reasons for her unease that she chased after him, the staccato of her heeled shoes reverberant in the ample height of the basement. As she reached him, hesitantly her hands gripped his shoulder as if she could feel him closer that way. There was a sense of privacy in holding tight onto the body of whom one wanted to share secrecy with, even though the sound wave would travel and smear just as fast, like gunpowder, she'd still felt words were more confined as her nails grazed the cloth of his suit and her mouth approached his ear close enough to feel her hot breath bounce back against him to return to her.

"I think Bruce might be suspecting something." His attention this time was far more poured into her than the last time, in his eyes and steady expression where not a single muscle twitched, nothing moved except his relentless trembling pupils. It was not natural or uncontrolled, it more seemed as if his gaze was trying to catch a focused glimpse of any minute detail separated from one another by a distance so minuscule the movement in his eyes hardly manifested itself in his eyelids. Yet all that came out of his mouth, despite her expecting him to scold her like a child or make quiet insinuations of immense disappointment, was nothing but a mere interjection.

"Ah?"

"I don't know, he seemed a bit distressed yesterday, he hinted something about danger."

"Well it must be the instinct." His speech, not calming nor alarming, seemed like more of a mild mockery, his reasoning completely incoherent for such a careful thinker. "Don't dwell on it too much, there's no way he got access to this cellar or any information related to it." His voice didn't coincide with his uneasy expression, and she could feel his body move under her hands as he tried to keep his accelerated breathing under control. He was like a rodent, anxious and jumpy, with his twitchy eyes and skittish way of moving, which did no favours to his gaunt and almost dainty physique, undercover within the layers of clothes he strategically wore to suppress what underneath was a frail frame.

That night, Crane drove quietly as she sat beside him, hugging her purse with her knees clasped tightly. The mild sound of the music on the radio had little room to move, too short to reach with steadiness the back of the car, as small as Crane's car was. He drove a '94 hatchback that looked tightly squashed, and it was shaped like a pencil sharpener. It was great to fit in the tight gaps that Gotham had for parking spots, and relatively consumed little gas, but it felt tight to be in, and poorly maintained. The cover of the passenger seat had a little hole she liked to poke her finger into, and the cranky gearshift made an unsettling noise every time Crane would yank it to change it. Still, she'd grown familiar to the car that had been the home to her last fear of death, and the car where she'd been put through an induced psychological torture so bizarre she was now back in it, with the man who'd nearly terrified her to death.

"Would you like to stay the night?" She finally asked once they'd been parked by her building for nearly five long minutes.

"Are you asking me if I want to stay the night or do you need me to stay the night?" Y/N thought her answer through, although reluctant to feed his arrogance she still felt prompted to be truthful.

"Both."

"Then I'll stay."

She didn't know exactly what had bewitched him, but that night, Crane had treated her as tenderly as ever. She felt taken to a nuance of his personality she hadn't been let into before, though he had a knack for revealing his different facets in sporadic outbursts of childlike or akin affection. He seemed to try his best to calm her by caressing her softly enough to make her feel like his fingers were made out of silk. His hands ran through her skin and cupped her face like she was his most prized possession, the apple of his eye. It felt so honest that for as long as that lasted, she'd felt him as genuine as ever. Her lashes fluttered with every blink, and even while she closed her eyes and let herself melt in the body heat and bitter wetness of sweaty bodies, she felt as if her lashes were the wings of a butterfly, his delicate treatment of her face almost made her feel like her body had shifted into a divine deity, feeling almost worshipped.

But as fast as it came, the feeling abandoned her like a wave that crests and dissipates down back to sea level, returning to the ordinary. The problem with serotonin highs was that their similarity to drug withdrawal was so strong the depression and loneliness she felt once he let go of her made her feel like shattered porcelain.

"I hope that helped you relieve your stress, you seemed very tense today." In her eyes, he had turned into an almost robotic satisfier, returning to his cold demeanour the second he considered it'd sufficed. In a way, he had achieved his objective, for all the stress in her body had slid off like the pest it was, leaving her laid in bed like wet clay, stiff in her position but every limb and bone in her body felt completely flexible. Though he didn't abandon her, staying in the small bed together like he'd promised, Crane turned and curled up into a ball. She could feel his arched bones against her back, and although she couldn't see his arms hugging his body tightly in search of simulating an embrace, she could swear she heard him weep, and in the occasional twitching and sharp inhaling on his side of the bed, Y/N felt too scared to bring him any comfort.

#jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane scarecrow #the batman #cillian murphy #nolanverse batman #batman x reader #batman #batman begins

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cynic-spirit · 11 months ago

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yn gets a black eye

Y/N hadn’t meant to get involved, but when she saw the two men arguing outside the coffee shop, she couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. She had stepped in, trying to calm them down, but things had escalated faster than she anticipated. In the scuffle, one of the men had accidentally swung his arm too wide, and before she knew it, Y/N felt a sharp pain in her face.

It wasn’t until she got home that she saw the damage in the mirror—a black eye already forming, darkening her skin with shades of purple and blue. Her heart sank. She knew how Tony would react. He was fiercely protective, and the sight of her like this would undoubtedly send him into a rage.

Y/N stared at her reflection, gingerly touching the tender skin around her eye. She wasn’t afraid of Tony, but she was afraid of how upset he would be. He cared so much for her, and she hated the thought of him being hurt or worried because of something she’d done.

But there was no avoiding it. Tony would notice as soon as he saw her, and hiding it would only make things worse. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation, and made her way down to the lab where Tony was working.

As she entered the lab, Tony looked up from his work, a smile already forming on his face. "Hey, there you are! I was wondering where you—" His words caught in his throat as his eyes zeroed in on her face, specifically her eye.

Tony was on his feet in an instant, crossing the distance between them with a speed that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, his voice a mix of concern and barely restrained anger as he gently cupped her face, tilting her head to get a better look.

Y/N winced slightly at the pressure, even though she knew he was trying to be careful. "Tony, I’m fine, really. It was just a stupid accident."

"An accident?!" His voice was incredulous, eyes narrowing as he scanned her face, his thumb brushing lightly over the uninjured part of her cheek. "Who did this? Tell me who did this, Y/N."

"It’s not what you think," she tried to reassure him, placing her hands over his to calm him down. "There was a fight outside the coffee shop, and I tried to break it up. One of the guys just… swung too wide, and I got caught in the middle of it."

Tony’s jaw clenched, his grip on her tightening slightly as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "You should’ve stayed out of it, Y/N. You could’ve been seriously hurt!"

She sighed, knowing he was right but also knowing she couldn’t have just walked away. "I know, but I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. It’s just a black eye, Tony. It’ll heal."

But Tony wasn’t having any of it. His mind was already racing with a thousand different thoughts, most of them involving finding the men responsible and making them pay. The very idea that someone had hurt her, even by accident, was enough to make his blood boil.

"You should’ve called me," he said, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. "I would’ve come and handled it. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger like that, Y/N."

She could see the fear and worry in his eyes, beneath the anger, and it made her heart ache. She reached up, gently stroking his cheek in an attempt to soothe him. "I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t want anyone else to get hurt."

Tony let out a heavy sigh, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly against his chest. "You’re the one I don’t want getting hurt," he murmured into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "God, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you."

Y/N melted into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him. "I’m okay, Tony. I promise."

They stood like that for a long moment, the tension in Tony’s body slowly easing as he held her close. But she knew he wouldn’t let this go easily—he was already thinking about how to protect her better, how to make sure something like this never happened again.

When they finally pulled apart, Tony brushed a tender kiss to her forehead, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "You’re getting a bodyguard," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes made her pause. He was serious, and she knew this was his way of trying to protect her. With a small sigh, she nodded. "Alright, if it makes you feel better."

"It does," he said, relief washing over his features. "And if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you call me. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. You call me, understand?"

She smiled softly, reaching up to kiss him gently. "I understand, Tony."

As they settled together on the couch in the lab, Tony kept a protective arm around her, still simmering with a quiet anger that someone had dared to harm her. But underneath that, he was just grateful that she was okay, and he vowed to do everything in his power to keep her safe from now on.

#tony stark x you #tony stark imagine #tony stark reader #tony stark #tony stark x reader #iron man x soulmate #iron man x y/n #iron man x you #iron man x reader

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annoyinglandmagazine · 2 years ago

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@finweanladiesweek | Day 3: Galadriel and Aredhel

She had steel against her thigh now, always pressed cold to the smooth and no longer bloodstained or frostbitten skin, and concealed by the fine fabrics surrounding her. Celeborn knew of it, had felt it’s edge against his leg as she’d laid herself down beside him in the sweet smelling grass with the warm sunlight embracing them and seeming to emit from the golden hair strewn over his chest, almost enough to chase the ice from her bones but not quite, as she doubted anything ever would be. The ice was in her very self now, just as the flame always had been, and buried deep under the smooth gold sheen in a much similar manner.

They did not speak of many things, the blade was the least of it. Celeborn could understand that much, at least attempt to for her sake. After all the story of what had happened to the other princess of the Noldor was a subject only spoken of in whispers but had nonetheless carried as such shocks are prone to. Who’s part in it the Sindar saw as shocking didn’t bare thinking of. Whether it had reached the ears of Thingol himself or Melian was unknown, certainly none had broached it with them, after all Eol had been of his kin.

As she’d only dared voice to her husband for fear of how it may be received, she didn’t dismiss her cousin’s race as of little importance to this matter. She’d lived in Doriath for long years and had been permitted to do so as she was not deemed by the king to be ‘tainted’ as her Noldorin blood was so diluted with a certain squint of the eyes he could see her as one of his Sindar and pretend that the part of her that belonged to the people of one he had once loved was insignificant. Many did not provide her the same courtesy, if it could be called such.

Those who didn’t, those whose minds were decided the second they’d first heard her Quenya name, viewed her one of two ways. Either as something to be feared and loathed or something that could be corrected. Some ‘thing’ in both of those remains the crucial matter. She had no trouble imagining that one such as Eol should lust after Noldor women, not for love or admiration but because he lusted after things he would not excuse if done upon a noble Sinda, because he would see no wrongdoing on his part if he did not truly see his ‘wife’ as a person.

If he saw her as being truthfully unworthy of his generosity and himself as doing right by her with his attempts to civilise her and make her worthy. For truly was it not mercy to cure her of what corruption her kin had inflicted on her, it was not in the nature of elleth to be anything but docile and fair so surely he could make her so and did she not owe him for his efforts?

If one who went by Galadriel could see such sentiments, though never more than unvoiced sentiment, it was no stretch to imagine how easily some may justify things in relation to one such as Aredhel, who bore her blades and bow at her belt and across her back rather than concealed, who’s deep black hair was perpetually bound intricately above her head, who’s skilful hands never stilled, who’s brother had slain at Aqualonde. Perhaps it was for the best Feanor had born only sons, the fate of a daughter who had slain kin of her own volition did not bare thinking of.

Yes, there was a particular hate reserved for Noldorin women, but, as she had been told on countless occasions, she was not one. Her home had been among the kin of Olwe with the fresh scented breeze rushing through her and the exhilaration as she glided as one with the crashing waves, the sea spray plastered her golden locks to her cheeks and her fingers felt the ever present friction of ropes rushing through her fingers.

The same fingers that used the talent at managing multiple strands to sit and weave in soothing silence by Caranthir’s side, only broken by exchanging the odd note on interesting gossip or asking for the basket containing spools of thread. That her cousins, one clad in a mud splattered white tunic and the other with a star of Feanor on his neck beside the mark of Oromë, had taught to string a bow and wield a sword. She had accompanied them on occasion, shared in their banter and endeavoured to best them in speed to the draw and on the saddle. She had never found success there but the practice put her a ways ahead of her brothers, something that had been worth many hours toil in such days.

She allowed her thoughts to slip into treacherous territory, shielded from the view of even the Queen for what sort of a Noldor would she be if she permitted others to censor her convictions, of Thingol and Aqualonde, with particular regard to Nolofinwean kin. It was all very well to condemn all who participated in such an event when you have only heard tale of it and never witnessed it for yourself. It was hard even to tell what he wished them to have done, he’d only condemned the Noldor after all but she found it hard to believe he’d actually accept even his beloved Teleri with how the concept seemed to disturb his sensibilities.

Would he truly have stood to the side, counselling others to do the same, as he witnessed that sheer carnage, the blood seeping through the sand and tainting the water, the glint of swords and torches the only light in the sheer animal panic that had set them all on edge for all the leagues of that fateful journey ever since they knew for certain that their home no longer held any safety for them?

He seemed to have few issues closing his eyes and pretending not to see similar destruction outside his borders at present so perhaps he may have. She had no doubts as to what, if she had arrived but an hour sooner that day, she should have done. She would have felt guilt, of course she would have but then did her kin not also? It would have been a matter of kin over kin but she knew with little waver that she would not have stood by while the Teleri fought a losing battle, just as Fingon could not watch on as those he loved were in peril, with a deep conviction that of course they must have been acting in defence. For what might one not do for their kin?

Perhaps then, he was wrong in allowing her to reside here while others were barred. For though she was a proud sea maiden of the Teleri she was every bit the Noldo her cousins were. Her spirit burned with the same flame, the same need for more that had tormented her uncle into the path he’d taken. It threatened to consume her in bitterness at its constraint within the company of others who did not feel it also and its need to conquer over those who could.

It would not be extinguished, this need for greatness, knowledge and above all power that was in all honesty matched only by that of her most detested uncle. Instead she fed it, honed it and tempered it with arts that Feanor had known not and this satisfied her, what would be called magic running through her veins in a way unique among full Eldar. And as she became more assured of her own strength and achieved what could almost be called satisfaction in her own prowess at last she found the peace he never had.

Content finally in herself as she felt the trickling stream beneath the stones her bare feet balanced upon and the starlight reflected in the water crowded about her eagerly as her beloved gazed upon her with adoration, not for or despite her ability but for the peaceful smile breaking out upon her face as her hand stretched out to guide him. The smile that widened as he took it without hesitance and allowed the elleth he knew to be a cunning and ruthless creature well versed in witchcraft take him by the hand among the dense trees with complete trust.

The water crashed upon the rocks and splashed her bare shins but she did not flinch at the coolness as she pulled him to her and steadied him with the laughter of one who has seen as little pain as one such as Luthien dancing among the flowers while they exerted all their elven grace into not slipping off the rock as their damp lips and bodies settled into a steady and familiar rhythm. They had all the time in the world after all.

#silmarillion #tolkien #galadriel x celeborn #galadriel #celeborn #aredhel #celegorm #caranthir #thingol #finweanladiesweek

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demacianbrawn · 8 months ago

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❛ you could try not getting so beat up for a change. ❜ it's given in a playful manner. muscles relay true feeling, hesitation, uncertainty. an apologetic nature belying the happiness she portrays, smile remains even slightly. content if only to see her brother for a little while. i'm sorry she wants to say & it lingers, wanting everything but to have left another chip in his armor.

a breath is caught as she fights back emotions, brows furrowing as she buries herself into a hug. even if he were to throw her away, he's always been her protector she wouldn't blame him. she doesn't think she'd be upset at all if he held her accountable for everything. ❛ or get bigger armor, i think the pauldrons aren't making your head look small enough. ❜

If Garen could squint they could still be children, how often had he come home battered up and bruised from practice swordplay? A game that got out of hand? Falling out of a tree? It was a vital skill for all soldiers to learn to clean and care for wounds and it was something he had done since he was a mere lad, sitting on a plush stool in one of the rooms of home, bandaging up a cut on his leg or soothing a warm cloth over a bruised and dirty shoulder. Lux had been present for a lot of these moments, sitting by his side or making idle chatter, her tone of voice whisking away to questions about his adventures and if the cut on his leg hurt a lot or just a little.

His armor was long gone, stripped away to better access his injuries. He felt naked without the physical protection, and even more bare from the mental sort. Garen couldn't wear that armor where Lux was concerned, and it seemed even more apparent when he could read the slightest emotion on her face, the barely noticeable hitch in her tone. His usual stoic veil could melt away in an instant every time he noticed every moment her heart ached from where it was worn on her sleeve.

There's a similar hollow hitch in his throat once she falls into his arms, her playful jabs only making him feel guiltier. A better brother would have been more open, more honest years ago. He wouldn't have hidden behind his twisted sort of justice that he clung too for perseverance. They were a proud and strong willed family and yet there were cracks beneath the smooth stone surface of their lives, not unlike the patricide that lined the halls of their country.

The terrorizing fear he felt whenever magic was unleashed near him, a spark he had to get over every time was nothing compared to the hurt and hollowness etched onto Lux's face that only grew at she got older. A monster was he that he ever allowed her to become so lonely in the parts of her that made her shine so damned brightly.

Garen wraps his arms tighter around her, a deep scoff of amusement his only initial response as he ignored the screaming of his bruised ribs. " It's supposed to be a joke. When I wear my armor my head is small, but every other time people call me a blockhead because it's big. I can't win. " His dry response and an attempt to lighten the mood doesn't last, even as he pulls back to offer her the slightest attempt at a reassuring smile, one that doesn't reach his eyes.

" Getting beat up is worth it, Lux. I know you'd do the same. It's what we do. What I will always do. " He didn't always, thoughts he didn't voice, an inner chastising. He thought he was too late, he'll always feel like he took too damn long to protect her when it counted.

" Now stop squeezing me so hard. You'll bruise me worse than the fight did. "

#AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #SORRY i just !! its the same feeling i got when garen finally came to her aid in mageseeker and apologized and fought for her and the mages #he loves her more than the beliefs he was indoctrinated in and lived and breathed for years AND I'M CRAZY ABOUT IT #SIBLING DYNAMICS MY BELOVEDDDDD #bindslight

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songstresstinyteacup · 1 year ago

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An alternative to “Is the weight of it all finally too much?”

Okay, so this deals with implied suicide attempts, and panicky Sibella. Do with that as you will!

Of all the things Sibella had expected to see when she arrived at High Hurst castle that day, Monty pulling a soaking wet and half-frozen Phoebe D’ysquith Navarro from the river beyond the gardens wasn’t one of them.

Monty passed off Phoebe to Marietta and Gorby, stalking inside and forcing Sibella to whirl around to try and keep up with him as Miss Shingle and Gorby began escorting Phoebe back inside.

Sibella hadn’t even had the time to shed her coat and gloves.

“Monty! Monty, whatever’s happened?” Sibella inquired, heels slamming into the ground as she tried to keep pace with him.

Monty turned around, and Sibella saw so many emotions in his eyes.

Anger.

Grief.

Concern.

Fear.

“Phoebe tried to end her life today, Sibella.” Monty’s voice was hoarse and thick with tears, tears Sibella could see he was desperately trying to hold back.

Sibella’s heart plummeted through the floor.

“What?” Her words were breathless.

Phoebe.

Her Phoebe.

Phoebe had tried to die.

Monty threw his arms up, sleeves soaked clear up to his elbows, running damp fingers through snow-speckled hair, frustration in every movement.

Then Monty stepped aside and motioned Sibella into the library, and when she did as bid, he shut the door.

“Wh- I don’t- Oh Monty.” Sibella felt her own tears welling up.

Monty was silent, eerily silent, and then after such a long pause he spoke.

“I think Phoebe found out. I think she knows what I did to her brother.” Monty’s voice broke as he all but collapsed at his desk in the library.

Sibella’s heart sank even further.

Sibella had suspected for quite some time that Monty’s meteoric rise from displaced heir to Earl wasn’t simply a streak of good luck, and she had thought Phoebe had suspected too.

Maybe Phoebe had suspected, but perhaps Phoebe hadn’t believed as Sibella had, and when it came to Phoebe’s grief for her brother, Sibella knew it still ran strong.

Oftentimes Sibella would look over at Phoebe in the gardens and catch her staring teary-eyed at the bee colonies she’d had moved from Salisbury to the castle, staring at them as if enough willpower would make Henry appear.

If Phoebe had learned that Henry had been killed by Monty, had no way to deny it to her own brain, Sibella knew she’d be distraught, but never dreamed that Phoebe would attempt to harm herself.

Sibella was snapped from her spiraling thoughts by the sound of Monty crying, and she moved to wrap her arms around him, bending as far as her corset would allow to try and soothe him.

“She’ll be alright, Monty. I’ll make sure of it.” Sibella kissed the top of his head and then took off from the library to their wing.

It made the most sense for Phoebe to be placed in her boudoir, close to the bath to warm her after Monty had calmed down, if she weren’t already in the bath.

So when Sibella finally reached the boudoir door she didn’t bother knocking, simply pushed in the door and closed it behind her.

The room was warm, almost stifling under Sibella’s coat and gloves, and in a chair by the fire sat Phoebe.

She was wrapped in no less than three blankets, but she trembled like a leaf in a storm anyway, and Mary was there trying to hand her a cup of tea but Phoebe just stared ahead.

Mary seemed to jump when she noticed Sibella, placing the teacup back on the saucer and bobbing a curtsy.

“Miss Hallward! I do apologize!” Mary offered a skittish smile, but it didn’t meet her eyes.

Sibella offered a genuine smile back, a small, sad one.

“Leave us, Mary.” Sibella commanded, pulling off her first glove.

Mary blanched, and looked from Phoebe back to Sibella.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I was instructed to stay with her ladyship no matter what.” She stammered and Sibella huffed.

“I shall stay with the countess. You may go.” The blonde tried once more, but Mary didn’t budge.

“Take Miss Hallward’s coat and gloves and go to lunch, Mary. I’m alright.” Phoebe’s voice was almost foreign, so resigned and far away, but Mary obeyed.

After the door had closed, Phoebe sighed so heavily her entire frame seemed to crumble, head dipping down.

“Phoebe. What on earth possessed you to try such a thing?” Sibella walked toward the fire and picked up the cup from its saucer and held it out to Phoebe.

The smaller woman didn’t take it, shivering so violently Sibella could hear her teeth chattering, so Sibella extended it again.

“I didn’t try anything. I was trying to tell Monty that.” Phoebe grit out between shivers.

“Was the weight of it all finally too heavy? Phoebe this isn’t like you!” Sibella hissed, tipping Phoebe’s chin upwards with one finger, eyes blazing with anger.

Phoebe shot up, almost knocking her head into Sibella’s as she tried to take a step and tripped over one of the many blankets Mary had wrapped her in.

Sibella caught her immediately, helping untangle the blanket from Phoebe’s feet and looking her over.

“I swear to you, Sibella, I would never do that! Especially not now!” Phoebe was adamant, glaring at Sibella even though she still trembled with cold.

Sibella blinked.

What did Phoebe mean by “not now”?

Phoebe caught her gaze.

“I was walking by the river because it’s Henry’s birthday today. Every year the only thing my brother wanted was a walk by a river with me. I tripped and fell in. Monty only saw my back.” Phoebe’s words were quick, and for a moment Sibella panicked.

Had these statements been planned?

Had Phoebe planned in case one of them caught her?

Sibella hardened her gaze, looking at Phoebe in the way she knew made Monty squirm and hoped it would do the same to Phoebe.

It didn’t.

“Have you forgotten I’m a D’ysquith, Sibella? I’ve had years of experience in posturing.” Phoebe’s voice was like steel, and Sibella noticed for the first time that she’d stopped trembling.

Sibella softened her eyes, looking at Phoebe.

Very well, she could use tears and terror in equal measure.

“Darling, I just-“, Sibella took a deliberately unsteady breath, “I can’t lose you.”

The blonde looked down, and when she looked at Phoebe again there was a light misting of tears in her eyes.

Phoebe seemed to wilt.

Good.

“It was an accident, Sibella. That’s all.” Phoebe’s voice was softer, but still firm.

Phoebe grabbed her blankets and moved to the bed, opening them up and motioning for Sibella to join her.

Sibella did, sniffling as she moved to further illustrate her distress, and when she was pressed into Phoebe’s side, freezing water soaking into her own dress, Phoebe closed the blanket around them and lay back, taking Sibella with her.

They said nothing, Phoebe looking at Sibella, and then Phoebe’s freezing hands were in Sibella’s, guiding, and Sibella all but froze in place when Phoebe pressed Sibella’s hand to her own abdomen.

“That was what I wanted to tell Henry. Now I’m telling you. I would never hurt myself, or my child.” Phoebe’s voice was husky and low, even as tears welled up in both of their eyes.

“Oh, darling.” Sibella crashed her lips into Phoebe’s, kissing her hard.

An heir.

“Does Monty know?” Sibella inquired breathlessly as they pulled apart.

Phoebe shook her head, swallowing hard.

“I tried to tell him after he pulled me out. I didn’t even know he’d followed me out there, but he’s too frightened and angry.”

Phoebe’s shivering began anew, and Sibella rose.

“What are you-“ Phoebe began as Sibella pulled her to her feet, keeping one hand firmly on Phoebe’s waist.

“Let me draw you a bath, I won’t have you catching your death, especially not now.” Sibella breathed, and Phoebe thought for a moment, then nodded.

Sibella led Phoebe into the bathing chamber and deposited her onto the chaise with such gentleness that Phoebe began to get misty-eyed again.

They would tell Monty later.

He had to understand.

#gglam #monty navarro #phoebe d'ysquith #belladonnasandroses #sibella hallward #fanfiction #my writing #light angst

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lupin-bun · 1 year ago

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Come Back to Me

William Easton/FTM OC, self ship, trauma, hurt/comfort, smut (in later chapters)

Week 1

Chapter 1 - A First Time for Everything

“You’re coming with me to a drag show tonight.”

William looked up from the file he had open on his lap as he sat on his couch, to stare in bewilderment at his sister.

“The hell’d you just say?”

“I said, you’re coming with me to a drag show tonight.” Pamela reiterated, as clearly and concisely as she could, one hand on the back of the couch, the other on her hip as she looked down at her brother.

Will snorted in disapproval and looked back down at the file.

“No way. Can you really see me at a drag show?” He turned his head long enough to raise his eyebrows at her, pointedly, before returning to the file.

“Will,” Pamela started, a warning tone to her voice, “it’s been almost a year, and all you do is work. You never go out, you never meet up with friends, I don’t think I’ve even seen you smile since then.”

Will flipped the file shut in annoyance and shot Pamela a dangerous look.

“My friends? They’re dead, Pamela. Or did you forget? Hell, you were there!”

Completely unfazed by Will’s tone, Pamela raised an eyebrow.

“That’s another thing, Will,” she began, gently, “the friends you did have in the first place worked for you. They were employees.”

“I know! Don’t you think I know that!?” Will’s tone rose as he stood up, angrily, and marched through to the kitchen, Pamela following behind him, silently. “They were both. My employees and my friends. And I…” he paused and swallowed, remembering, “I let them die.” His tone dropped, sadly. His face screwed up and he turned his back on her, busying himself with opening a cupboard to retrieve a bottle of liquor and a glass.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Pamela soothed, stepping closer, carefully. “You didn’t put them there. That psycho did. You saved as many as you could.”

Will didn’t answer. There was a clink of glass on glass as he poured a shallow amount of the alcohol into the whiskey tumbler, and threw it back in one swallow. Pouring it into the glass at all seemed mildly redundant. He put a hand on his right hip as he stood there, his back still turned, but Pamela still noticed his thumb stroking the spot where she knew a huge scar sat, under his shirt, an ugly reminder of what he’d been through.

She stepped up close behind him and lay her head on his shoulder, rubbing his arm, comfortingly.

“Come out with me tonight,” she murmured, quietly. It wasn’t a question, “please, big bro.” She added, giving his arm a squeeze. “You deserve to do something fun. Take your mind off it for once! Ok, so I know it’s more my thing than yours but, maybe?” she wheedled him, looking up at him with a hopeful smile.

Will exhaled, resigned. He side-eyed her. He never could say no to Pammy.

“Fine.” He agreed simply and Pamela smiled, pulling back from him.

Will turned to face her properly, his attempt to look stern betrayed by his eyes that held a deep, desolate sadness that had been ever present these last few months.

“Performers from England are visiting for a while, including my favourite king! He’ll be there tonight and I wanted to show you his stuff.” Pamela decided to try and get Will talking about the show to get his mind off his trauma. She had been introduced to the drag scene by a lesbian friend from the studio and become hooked. The performers were all so… elaborate. Sequins, studs, rhinestones, glitter, confetti, huge wigs, headpieces, nails, heels, it was all so artistic and joyous.

“He?” Will questioned, picking the bottle up from the counter and walking it back through to the living room. “Aren’t you supposed to call drag queens “she”?”

Pamela couldn’t help but smirk to herself. William really knew nothing about the drag world. “No, he’s a king. Not a queen.”

“What? What’s that? A woman dressed as a man?”

Pamela paused, wondering if she dared go into the details of this king she was such a fan of, for fear of just confusing him. She’d been following this king for a while and he was very open about himself and how he identified, talking about it in livestreams, regularly.

“Not exactly…” Pamela said, trailing off. “It’s hard to explain. And I really want you to meet-…”

“No.” Will cut her off, strongly. “I’ve told you before, Pamela. I’m not interested in any of your friends.” He sat back down in his chair, heavily, and picked up the file again.

Pamela nodded with an amused huff.

“Oh I know. I am very aware!” She turned to leave and get ready in the spare room she was currently occupying, “Just like you weren’t interested in Sarah, or Lucy, or Allison…”

…

Pamela walked into the dimly lit venue, excitedly, a beaming smile across her face.

Will followed behind her with decidedly less enthusiasm, his hands rammed into his pockets like a moody teen. Though he had relented to be here, he hadn’t made any kind of effort with his appearance. The suit pants were gone in favour of jeans, he was still wearing his work shirt (it was now untucked) and his tie had been banished to the bedroom floor. He hadn’t even brushed his hair. When it had been scruffed up when he removed his tie, it had stayed like that.

The venue was very small. It was really just a smallish function room above a bowling alley in the city. Glancing around, William figured it would hold around fifty people. Sixty, max. There was a small stage the opposite side of the room, with gold fringe all along the back wall that twinkled, reflecting the stage lights (and the few dim house lights that were on).

With a resigned sigh, Will went to sit on a chair at the back.

“No, Will! Let’s sit on the front row! Please!” Pamela implored him, grabbing his hand and pulling as though she’d suddenly become six years old again and was trying to get Will to join her on the swings at the park.

Will shot her a look.

“Pleeeaaase!” Pamela begged, bobbing where she stood.

“You must really like this guy, huh?” Will remarked, heaving himself up to standing again, trailing after his sister, obediently. He plopped himself down in the aisle seat at the front and pulled a patronising face at his sister, who sat next to him. “Happy?”

“Very.” Pamela responded, with a smug grin.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone inbetween! Please take your seats! The show will be starting in five minutes! That’s five minutes until the start of the show!” came a distinctly male voice over the speakers.

Will rolled his eyes, tiredly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Pamela elbowed him.

After definitely a lot longer than five minutes (and a lot closer to fifteen), the house lights went down. There were a few, scattered “Woo!”s around the room, including from Pamela. Will pulled a face at her.

She elbowed him again.

A tall drag queen in a floor length, silver, sequin dress, and sporting the biggest, brown, curly wig Will had ever seen in his life, strode, grandly onto the stage to a wave of applause from the crowd. Her dress was low cut, and it wasn’t just her wig that was brown and curly, it seemed. An impressive amount of chest hair sat, displayed proudly, above the neckline. And, when Will glanced down, the leg that poked, flirtatiously, out from a slit in the side of her dress was hairy too. But, he had to admit, the juxtaposition made her striking to behold, as she stood there, mic in hand, waiting for the cheers to die down.

“Thank you, loves. Thank you.” She began, her soft British voice amplified by the speaker that stood just feet away from where Will sat.

“Good evening!”

Another wave of applause.

“and thank you so much for having us bunch of raging queers from England in your city!”

There was a collective chuckle from the crowd.

“Honestly, getting the chance to perform in America is fucking insane when you’re from a tiny bloody city in the UK and hate RuPaul.”

Another chuckle, and a couple of raucous laughs from somewhere near the back.

“I’m Liv Presents, or Olivia Presentations if you’re nasty!” She winked, comically at the crowd, some of whom whooped or wolf whistled. “And I think I should just get the fuck on with it, don’t you!?”

A huge cheer went up.

“First on the line up tonight is a man that we had to pull out of his dumpster just to get him here-…”

“Oh my God!” Pamela whispered to Will, excitedly. “He’s on first! No way!”

“He’s a stinker, but don’t let that put you off. He’s the skunk punk of Norwich and he’s here tonight! He’s fizzy! He’s sweet! I hope you’re thirsty! It’s SODAPOP!”

Pamela flapped her hands against her knees, grinning in anticipation.

Liv Presents left the stage, and Will finally felt comfortable enough to cross his arms without judgement.

What had all that meant? “Stinker”? “Dumpster”? “Skunk”? What did all that have to do with anything?

Without warning, the start of some rock song or other started playing. Will jumped. It wasn’t the bubblegummy pop song or dramatic ballad he’d been imagining.

“You think your life is done, he took it all with him

So you drink enough to wash away the sin!

It’s such a shitty thing he did, the way he said “Goodbye”

You can take it out on me, if you like…”

The song began but no-one had reached the stage yet. William turned to ask Pamela what was going on, but noticed that she’d turned in her seat and was looking towards the back of the room.

He followed her gaze and spotted the performer, strutting up the aisle, slowly, engaging directly with audience members as he went.

The man was smallish, a couple of inches shorter than Will, but he sported a flawless, oil black mohawk with a white chunk at the front that made up for that deficit (Aaah. Now the “skunk” moniker made sense). He had a medium build with nicely toned arms and shoulders from what Will could see. He had surprisingly slim hands, with black painted nails, and he wore (not at all what he’d expected of a drag king), Black jeans, a black leather vest with copious studs and various “punky” accessories (spiked collar, fingerless leather gloves, and various piercings). An unexpected departure from the huge, over-styled outfits he’d seen a lot of queens wear. His wickedly grinning face was accentuated with strong makeup; deep contouring, dramatic eyeliner (top and bottom lids, plus wing), painted on, pointed brows, black lipstick with extended lines at the corners, pulling his smile wider than was natural. The overall effect was a small but dominant creature with a devilish streak, and a snide, sarcastic sense of humour.

“Fuck away the pain Erase him from your brain

Fake it like you love me

Come on baby, touch me!”

He carried on performing. He was not shy in the slightest! He strutted and swaggered down the aisle, getting in close within audience members’ personal space, throwing an arm over people’s shoulders, hiking a foot up on the sides of chairs and rolling his hips (or, in one instance, the front of the chair of a guy who was man-spreading up a storm. Sodapop had cupped the man’s chin and bent in dangerously close, within kissing distance, before grinning and backing away, letting the man’s face go, teasingly). Soda strutted past Will and onto the stage and, apparently, Will was staring pretty intensely, because Soda had caught his eye and, with a wicked smirk, winked at him.

Will immediately felt his face heat up.

“Show me where it hurts

This dirty little curse

Don’t have to be ashamed

If you wanna scream my name

while I fuck away the pain”

Now Soda dropped to his knees, head thrown back, as though in ecstasy, running his hands down the full length of his torso.

Will could actually feel his pulse in his cheeks.

“You hate the way he fooled around behind your back

A slave to him but now, with me, no strings attached!

But if you wanna use me up and leave me in the bed

If that’s what you need, go right ahead.”

Soda rolled his body, thrusting at the audience, head still back.

Will had chanced a glimpse and now wished he hadn’t. Soda had a noticeable bulge in his pants. Why had that caused Will to twitch? He shifted where he sat.

Stronger than a shot of whiskey or any pill you taaaaaaake…!

Liv walked back onstage, the mic in her hand replaced with a glass of (presumably) whiskey. Rather than hand it to him, she tipped it, carefully, and let a small amount pour out onto Soda’s throat. It trickled down his neck to his chest in riverlets as he brought his head back up. He locked eyes with Will again.

Will had to be blushing so hard, you could fry eggs on him! He shifted, uncomfortably, in his chair and uncrossed his arms and, trying to appear casual, pretended to rest his head on his fist (really just trying to hide his woefully red face behind it!).

“Fuck away the pain

Erase him from your brain

Fake it like you love me-…

Soda suddenly lunged at Will and crouched low, so close to him!

...Come on, baby, touch me!”

He ran his hands down the shiny black leather that covered his chest again.

With his heart pounding, squirming in his seat, head swimming and definitely not thinking straight, Will drunkenly put out a hand to place it on Soda’s chest too.

A sharp slap to the side of his leg broke Will out of his trance.

He blinked and looked, instead, at his sister who quickly shook her head, urgently.

Will swiftly returned his hand to his lap, mortified.

Soda didn’t seem to care. With a devilish smirk, he winked again, and moved on.

…

The number had ended.

The audience were going nuts, cheering, clapping and whooping as Soda gave one last little bow and jogged off down the aisle.

Liv returned to the stage.

“SODAPOP, EVERYBODY!!!” She called over the crowd, which redoubled the cheering. “How are you all feeling? Is your thirst quenched? Uuuuuuuuunnnnh!!” she moaned, comedically.

There was a roar of approval from the audience.

“Now, I’ve just got to say,” Liv started, semi-seriously, “I did actually forget to say this at the start of the show. Absolutely my fault! But you’re all going to see some very sexy people on this stage tonight,”

Another cheer.

“but please do not touch us without permission. That’s an absolute must. Please don’t molest the performers! That being said,” here, she turned and directly addressed Pamela, “if someone like Sodapop gets up in your face and tells you “come on baby touch me” and encourages you, and gropes themselves like the filthy boy they are, SODA…!!”, she called to Sodapop, who must still have been at the back of the room (Will turned in his chair to look, but couldn’t spot him in the gloom), “… in that instance, I’d say it’s ok! But, bless you, my darling,” Liv reached a painted-long-nailed and bejewelled hand out for Pamela’s, and Pamela took it, “bless your heart! Ordinarily that’s absolutely the right reaction! Thank you, my love!” She released Pamela’s hand with a warm smile. “Now then! Up next…”

#*Posts this and runs*#fanfiction #transgender #william easton #peter outerbridge #Be gentle please #I'm just a lil guy who is very gay for William Easton

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nyxnightshade1332 · 2 years ago

Text

Expectations When Expecting (Prologue)

Chapter 17

Chapter 18:

The three teens and the cat monster raced out of the abandoned dwarfs’ mine, clutching the magestone they had recovered. They rushed into the silent woods, only to realize that the giant, inky monster had managed to follow them. The monster howled and gurgled on its own ink as it approached them.

Ace looked back, incredulous and nervous at the sight of such a disgusting monster stomping toward them.

“Are you kiddin' me?!” He cried in exasperation. “It's still coming! It pushed off all that weight!”

Yuu felt her heart drop at the knowledge.

“Giiive it baaaaack...!” The giant roared, launching a tree at the group, Yuu barely managing to dodge it.

“It's too fast!” Deuce gasped, exhausted. “It's about to catch us!” He stated nervously as he began to fall behind.

“You know what? Fuck it! Then it's kill or be killed!” She cried, glaring at the monster, shaking as she guarded her abdomen. Ace seemed to notice her fear, but followed along, a crazed smirk painted on his face.

“Aw, yeah! Let's just smash the thing. Try not to wet yourself, Deucey!”

“Same to you, Ace!” Deuce smirked back, clutching his magic pen.

Yuu watched as Grim placed himself in front of her. “I'm gonna show ya why they call me Grim the Great!” She watched Grim inhale, puffing out his chest. It was a clear indication of the monster’s signature attack of blue flames. She gave Grim a grateful smile as she picked up a stone.

Yuu pulled her arm back, eyes locking onto the monster giant, glass head with only one conclusion in mind. Break the head and it will die.

When Grim released his flurry of flames, she threw the rock as hard as she could, hearing the satisfying cracking sound, and she picked up a second stone she watched, weaving between the trees, similarly to the way she would when playing hunters with her friends as a child. She pulled back her arm again when the monster was distracted. She took a breath as she aimed, her eyes fixated on the cracked part of the monster.

And as she released the stone, there was one final CLANG that echoed in the woods. Yuu felt herself be pulled away, a white light seemingly keeping her from being crushed or drowned by the monster. She shut her eyes in fear and surprise of the light that blinded her bracing herself.

She froze when she felt the cool, ghostly brush of a hand against her face. Tentatively, the young woman opened her eyes for long enough to catch a glimpse of who had touched her, only to see the familiar form of her deceased lover leading a small man away. She saw the smaller figure pause, turning toward her before nodding what appeared to be his gratitude. She nodded back, watching the two figures retreat before she realized that she had not been breathing.

Yuu took a gasp of air, registering the sounds of triumph of the boys, Grim happily prancing around her. He stopped in front of her, sharp teeth flashing a happy smile at her, and he held up one paw.

“C’mon! Gimme a victory high-five!”

Yuu felt a relieved smile form on her lips as she bent down, giving a high five to the cat. She looked to Ace and Deuce, whose celebrations were ongoing. She stood up Grim scampering onto her shoulders.

“Shared adversity sure brings people together, huh?” She gave a smirk as she noticed the boys scramble backward.

“Uh... I don't think that had anything to do with it.” Deuce muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in an attempt to soothe his embarrassment.

“Yeah! Spare us the clichés, bro.” Ace chimed, face slightly red.

“There's no "together" here! We won 'cause of me!” Grim bragged, nose held high. “This is all from me bein' a magical genius!”

“Hush you.” She half-scolded before noticing Ace’s expression toward her.

“Y'know... I hate to admit it, but... We mostly won because of your plan.”

“Yeah... if you hadn't managed to keep your cool and tell us all what to do, we never would have got this magestone.” Deuce agreed, noticing the sudden sheepish appearance of Yuu. He said something else that Yuu couldn't quite remember, apparently a thanks for preventing the expulsion.

“Aww, c’mon guys. It wasn’t really much… I'm just glad no one got hurt.” She muttered shyly.

“Yeah, yeah, lessons were learned, et cetera. Can we just go home already? I'm wiped.” Ace remarked.

“I think that may be the most logical thing you’ve said since I met you.” She teased.

“Shut up!”

“UGH, Usin' all that magic made me hungry!” Grim whined, annoyed before he paused. Yuu stopped, noting the strange-looking stone on the ground.

“Huh? What's this?” Grim made his way to the mysterious object, picking it up in his paws and bringing the stone up to his nose curiously.

“Is that a part of the monster we just beat?” Deuce questioned. “It looks like... a magestone? But it's black as coal! I've never seen one like that before.”

Yuu watched, her eyes narrow, watching Grim as he sniffed the stone, his eyes widening. “Woah! What IS this? It smells amazing!” He took a deep sniff of the stone once more, eyes wide with excitement.

Yuu recognied the look in Grim’s eyes as the same one her dog had when she’d accidentally dropped a $100 bill. She tensed, completely prepared to scramble to wrestle it out of Grim jaws. Maybe he won’t try to eat it? Hopefully?

“What are you, Insane?” Ace exclaimed.

“Must be some kinda fancy monster candy that it was hidin' from us! If this tastes half as good as it smells…”

It all happened much quicker than she’d expected. Grim opened his maw, tossing the entire stone in before the sound of crunching was heard.

“Grim, you trash panda!” Yuu screeched. “Spit it out! Out! Bad cat!”

She rushed to open is jaws when she heard the heavy swallow. A very loud meow echoed in the woods, startling the group.

“Are you okay?!” Deuce squawked in surprise.

“That's what you get for eating trash!” Ace stated, eyes trained on the monster.

“Oooooogh... Urrrgggh... That…” Grim groaned out. “ …was AMAZING!” The group stared, bewildered at the cat’s pleased smile.

“Rich in flavor and full-bodied... Like sweet, fragrant flowers burstin' into bloom on my tongue. A whole field of 'em! Right in my mouth!” He sang, praising the flavor of a random stone. Yuu’s shock quickly melted as she slightly knocked the cat on the head.

“Darn it Grim! I thought you were going to die!”

“Gross. Monsters must have real weird tastes.” Ace stated, earning himself agreements from both of the other humans.

“And… you’re sure you're okay?” Yuu asked, examining her cat.

Grim belted out a cocky laugh. “Don't worry about me. I don't got a weak stomach like you humans do.”

Ace snorted, looking at Grim. “Hmph. We'll see if you're so smug when you're sick later tonight.”

“Okay, let's pull ourselves together. We need to get this magestone to the headmage!”

Chapter 19

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst #twst fanfic #nyx nightshade #preg!mc #twst oc #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland prologue

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