#however if you look at the veins in my wrists they’re green. and i do think i have a slight yellow undertone

[fingertipsmp3]

Is it just me who cannot figure out their colour season

[psychedelic-ink]

kinktober '22 ║XXI

pairing: poe dameron x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 2.3k

summary: you and poe fin yourself on a pumpkin infested planet, however the flowers that surround them seem to be poisonous.

warnings: sex pollen, outdoors, piv, oral (receiving), creampie, tensions running high, multiple orgasm (reader), mild overstimulation, lil bit of blood from biting

a/n: welcome to my very firs poe fic! I'm not sure how this turned out since it's been a long time since I watched his movies but I wanted to write something very horny for him so this was born! ❤️‍🔥

MLISTS .  LIBRARY. TAGLIST . KINKTOBER '22

The air is crisp, fallen orange leaves crunching beneath your heavy boots as you walk further away from the ship, Poe’s string of curses falling on to deaf ears. You can feel the cold despite your orange flight suit. There’s something eerie, yet beautiful about the planet you spontaneously had to land upon. The trees are a brilliant shade of umber and completely bare, you see pumpkins bursting through the soil like fresh daisies. They come in all shades of orange, the smaller ones hidden beneath the fallen leaves. 

A gust of cold air blows and you hear the soft rustling of petals, looking down you see small flowers filling the voids between the pumpkins. They’re equally as orange; the veins of the petals are a bright shade of green. You stop at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the pumpkin patch. So pretty. Suddenly an overwhelming need to drink water consumes you, you swallow as a vain attempt to suppress the thirst. Your right foot dangles off the edge, it doesn't feel like a cliff anymore, it feels like you can step on air and reach the breathtaking flora. A wide smile slowly makes its way throughout your face, you’re about to take a step forward–

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

Poe’s grip around your wrist stings, he yanks you back, your body falling to the humid soil. You blink heavily, the daze you were in dissipating due to the impact. 

You notice Poe on the edge, the next thing you know he’s gone. 

You lunge forward, knees scrubbing the dirt into your skin. His name is etched to your lips as you scream for him. Reaching the edge, you carefully peer down, scared of what you might see. Luckily the pumpkins and flowers had broken his fall, his heavy body had squished the fruit, making a mess of his flight suit. With a hand on his head, he groans, eyes blearily looking up to you. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, voice laced with half relief and half worry. 

“I’m fine but it stinks!” he darts his tongue out, wrinkling his nose with disgust. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, just stay away from the cliff,” 

“Okay…sorry,” 

You can’t help but smile when you hear his heartfelt chuckle. He softly shakes his head, and with a wave of his hand he dissipates all of your worries. 

“It’s okay, just wait for me by the ship,” he calls out to you again just as you’re about to leave. “Oh, and get me something to drink will you? My throat is suddenly dry.” 

Poe returns with a limp in his step, his arms dangling with no aim with his every movr. A sheer coat of sweat glistens above his golden skin, his eyes glazed as if he’s been walking for hours, and you know that’s not true. It has been ten minutes at most. He’s breathing heavily when he collapses down next to you, his hands cradling his face, chest raising up and down in an exaggerated manner. Worried, you place a hand on his shoulder and he jumps away, looking at you like he would an enemy. 

“Poe?” you ask. “Are you alright?” 

He thickly swallows, adam’s apple bobbing up and down, he wets his lips. 

“I-I think there was something in the flowers,” 

You’re surprised at how disheveled he sounds, his voice all shaky and frightened. Fear ghosts across your skin, leaving unsettling goosebumps on your flesh. Just what the hell did he inhale? Is he poisoned? 

“Is anywhere hurting? Should I get the first aid kit? You need to be more clear about your symp–” 

“Shut up.” 

His words cut through the air, feeling like a bullet to the chest. You stay frozen, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Poe shudders and shakes his head, the ends of his hair curling even more with the moisture of his skin. Still worried, you sink your teeth into the inside of your cheek and speak with as much clarity you can muster. 

“Poe you need to tell me so I can help you,” 

“You can’t.” 

“How do you know that?” you challenge him, you move from where you seated and kneel before him. He looks almost pained when his gaze drops to meet yours, the whites of his eyes a sickly yellow. “Do you know what you have?” 

He replies between gritted teeth. 

“I have an idea and I think it’s best if you just move away from me,” 

“That’s a hard no flyboy, I’m not leaving you alone when you can barely stand,” 

“It makes me horny,” 

“Excuse me?” 

He lets out an exasperated sigh while you wonder what he actually said, because surely you heard him wrong. Poe’s fingers bite into his forehead and rubs his temples hard, seemingly trying to get rid of the worst headache ever. 

“It makes me want to fuck you,” he exhales through his nose, jaw clenched tightly together. “Whatever I inhaled, it makes me want to fuck you and not just that, it makes me want to fuck you hard. Whenever you touch me it makes me want to lay you out on this very ground and eat you out until you’re crying for me to stop– When I inhale your scent…” 

You’re absolutely speechless when he takes a deep inhale, mulling your scent in his lungs like a fine drink. 

“...It short circuits my brain. I’m barely controlling myself, now get on the damn ship.” 

You push aside the sinful reactions his words are pulling out of your body and try to focus on the problem at hand. It’s a hard thing to do but you have to, for his sake.

“What if it doesn’t pass?” you whisper, eyes going down his body and taking in the sight of his fully erect cock, your mouth waters. “What if…you need to… you know…” 

“We’ll just have to take out chances,” 

“We can you know,” you blurt out suddenly, heat pooling under your cheeks. “We can do it,” 

Gathering enough courage, you lift your gaze back up expecting to meet the familiarity of Poe’s dark chocolate eyes, instead you see two dark pools of lust. His breathing becomes heavier. 

“I don’t think you understand,” he hisses out between pants. “What I feel right now…It’s animalistic–” he grabs your chin, squeezing into the hollows of your cheeks. “I don’t know if I can stop, get it?” 

“I do, I just don’t care. I don’t want you to suffer, alone like this” 

He snarls at your stubbornness, blunt nails leaving crescent shaped marks on your skin. Finally he lets go, leaving you gasping for air as if he was squeezing your throat instead of your cheeks. Frantically he pats himself, handing you his blaster a moment later. When you feel the weapon in your hand, brows knitted together with confusion, 

you look up to him. 

“I’m not going to shoot you,” you say bluntly. 

“I didn’t give you that so you can shoot me–” he rasps, your eyes widen, he’s getting worse, beads of sweat sliding down the frame of his face. “Well I kinda gave you that so you can shoot me but only if I’m out of control, got it?” 

“N–” 

“This isn’t up for discussion,” he commands. A shudder crawls up your spine and you become silent, listening for what else he has to say. “Either promise me you’ll shoot me if things get out of control or get on the ship and wait for me to get this damn drug, or whatever it is, out of my system,” 

The air stills, even the planet seems to know the rising tension between the two of you because it’s buried in sudden silence. You exchange glances, a small tremor to your hand as your mind, and heart, races. You want to do this. Every nerve in your body is screaming for you to let this happen, let it play out. But you also know that if you promise Poe Dameron anything, you need to see through that promise. Your fingers tighten around the blaster, your face feels cold but your body feels warm. 

“Do you promise?” 

His voice draws you out of your thoughts, swallowing, you place the blaster on the ground, your fingers spreading across the metal surface. 

“I promise.” 

“Are you sure?” he tilts his head to the side, clicks his jaw and adds, breathing heavily. “Say the full thing. I want to hear you say it,” 

“I will shoot you if things get out of control.” 

And that’s all it takes. 

Poe’s mouth crashes into yours, lips molding with one another as he slips his tongue between your lips. He holds your wrist, pulling your hand down to his clothed cock. You gasp at how warm he is, you roughly cup him, failing a bit with your movements. He groans into your mouth, his hands ripping apart your orange jumpsuit, you continue to stroke him. Poe’s everywhere all at once. He smells of pumpkin and sweat, you inhale him deeply as his lips trail down from your mouth to your collarbone, sucking your skin greedily, he pushes his fingers into the seam of your underwear. 

He starts to rut into your hand, you can feel the front of his suit getting wetter with his precum. It makes you arch into him, your own arousal pulsing heavily between your legs. 

“Fuck you feel so good– Fuck fuck fuck–” 

Poe leaves a series of open mouthed kisses down your body, his tongue following the burn of his lips. You gasp as the curve of his nose brushes against your puffy clit, his mouth latched onto your clothed folds, he tastes the slick spread across your underwear. His breath hitches at the tangy taste, and you moan at the way he’s completely indulging in your body, a man unhinged. 

When you feel his bare tongue for the first time, you choke on air. 

It’s a feeling you never experienced before, it just feels right to have him inside. Flattening his tongue, he licks up between your folds, lips closing around your clit. You’re positively soaked for him. His fingers follow the trail of his tongue, pushing two of them inside with ease. Your fingers dig into the dirt, your lips parting with a high-pitched moan. His tongue draws tight circles around the sensitive nub, the electrifying pleasure is accompanied by him fucking his fingers deeper inside of you. Poe has you seeing stars in seconds, your vision blacking out as you cunt squeezes and gushing around his thick fingers. He drinks it all with a growl, tongue lapping up even the smallest of drops. 

“On your hands and knees, now,” 

You’re about to do exactly that but before you can his hands grab your waist and flips you over, coaxing a startled yelp from you. His cock throbs between your folds, the tip brushes against your clit and you shiver at the contact, the tremors of your orgasm still rolling across your body. Leaning forward, Poe cups both your breasts, his cock sliding into you with one smooth motion. A sharp cry rattles your throat, he fills your perfectly, the stretch making pleasure prick at your skin and blood pool underneath your fingernails.  

The pace he sets is rough, frantic, and in some ways desperate. He squeezes your tits, his teeth digging into your shoulder as he pounds his cock deeper into you. Head spinning, you scream out his name, your insides feeling raw with another orgasm building deep within. Poe let out a strangled moan as he ruts into you, he lifts you from the ground, his hand cheating its way down your body. Throwing back your hands, you claw at his nape, you feel a finger breaching where his cock slides in and out. 

“I want to feel you cumming with my fingers,” he groans, teeth nipping your skin. “You can take more of me can’t you?” 

“Yes, Poe– I–I can take more,” 

Underneath your eyes, pressure builds, he slides a finger knuckle deep, feeling himself fucking deep into you. You feel on the verge of passing out, you feel so full of him, your muscles grow taut as you feel his cock throbbing. Your second orgasm shatters through you and your nails bite into his skin when it does. It’s such an overwhelming feeling of pleasure, your body arches in the most unnatural way, head falling over his broad shoulder. You can feel the warmth of blood trickling down your skin from where he bit you, you let out a moan, your nails digging further into his skin. Poe’s hips stutter forward, fucking you full of himself as he spills into you. Your body quivers, gravity pulling you harder than ever to the ground but his grip keeps you flush against his heated body. Beads of sweat roll down his back, his breathing heavy while continuing to slam into you. 

You hiss at his seed spilling from you with his every thrust, soon you feel him softening and he pulls out. He falls back down, pulling you onto his lap, with his face buried between your breasts. You play with his soft locks, the ends curl with post-coital perspiration. 

“Are you okay?” he heaves, lips moving across your damp skin. 

“I’m more than okay Poe,” you can’t help but smile as he refuses to look up to you. Hooking a finger under his chin, you lift his gaze. Your smile quickly disappears when you see the wetness in his eyes. “Are you?” 

“I am– I feel good, amazing– I just don’t want you to hate me,” 

“Never flyboy,” you lean in and softly press your lips against his. “All I have for you is the opposite of hate, it’s love.” 

The blaster sits on top of the wet soil, completely forgotten. 

kinktober tags: @tusk89 , @amneris21 , @witchisenpai , @pedrito-friskito , @tom-whore-dleston , @lola766 , @batdarkladyvampir , @dindjarinswhore , @dnxgma , @eyelessfaces , @queenofthefaceless , @softtdaisy , @saintlike78 , @timpletance , @xdaddysprincessxx , @stardust-galaxies , @spacecowboyhotch, @queenofthecloudss , @prettyouttherethoughts , @reaperofmen , @partr1dge , @bbyanarchist , @alwaysdjarin , @thevoiceinyourheadx , @absurdthirst , @levi-llama , @damnyoupedro , @stardust-galaxies , @all-the-way-down-here , @welcometostayingawake, @bullet-prooflove , @rainbowcreepie

[malfoysstilinski]

the rose garden | DRACO MALFOY (SMUT)

MASTERLIST 

Draco Malfoy x Reader

SUMMARY: Draco fucks Y/N in his mother’s rose garden. 

REQUESTED by anonymous “Could I request were draco and his girlfriend has been together for a year or 2 and their parents are really good friends. Y\Ns parents are also death eaters. And y/n is slytherin. It would be their 5th or 6th yr? Preferably a smut?” 

WARNINGS: smut, public sex, extreme dirty talk, slut shaming, blowjobs, face fucking, fingering, riding 

Hogwarts was out of session for the summer, and due to students living all across the United Kingdom and Ireland, it meant a lot people didn’t see their significant others for a long two months or so. However, fortunately, that was not the case for you and Draco. 

You didn’t live far from each other and your parents were all friends-- they had been since before you and Draco were even born. They had been loyal followers of Lord Voldemort and passed them down to the two of you even after he was gone. 

Whilst you questioned some things, you never said it out loud, and neither did Draco, allowing your parents to think that the two of your were perfect for each other. It was probably one of the only things that they were right about. 

You and Draco had taken the Hogwarts Express together, you’d been sorted into Slytherin one after the other, you had all of the same friends-- Blaise, Pansy, Theodore, Daphne, Crabbe, Goyle-- and during your fourth year, after dancing with each other all night at the Yule Ball, you’d kissed and realised that maybe what you had had been more than a friendship this entire time. 

For nearly two years now, you and Draco had been dating. Despite being such a dick to everybody else, Draco treated you exactly how you deserved to be treated-- like a real princess. In his eyes, you were a princess. The most beautiful of them all. Especially around your parents, who adored him as much as his parents adored you. 

Currently, you sat beside each other at the Malfoy’s dining table, Lucius and Narcissa sat at the heads of the table whilst your parents sat opposite the two of you. A starter of some sort of soup was in front of you and you took small spoonfuls delicately, portraying the table etiquette that you’d learnt before you could even spell properly. 

“Y/N, how was your fifth year?” Narcissa asks softly once the conversation changes from your father’s business to the new Potions teacher Hogwarts was supposedly getting next year. 

You smile politely as you glance up at your boyfriend’s mother. You’d always liked Narcissa, she was the more loving of Draco’s parents and you could tell that she genuinely cared about Draco. You were sure Lucius did too, but the blond-haired man often refused to show emotion which you knew took a toll on Draco growing up. 

“It was great, thank you, Mrs Malfoy,” you say, “I spent a lot of it studying for my O.W.Ls, which went well.”

“That’s great, Y/N,” Narcissa smiles back. 

The rest of dinner seems to go by swimmingly, your parents mainly talking to each other but making small talk with the two of you as well. You’d all known each other all your lives, so it wasn’t really awkward at all. You’re finishing off the last of your drink when you feel a palm touch your thigh. 

You know better than to react. 

Draco’s cold hand smooths up and down your soft skin whilst he talks with your father and his father about something to do with the Ministry, your mothers both engrossed in Narcissa’s latest additions to her personal garden. Your father makes a joke that has Lucius laughing and Draco chuckling politely, your mouth absentmindedly forcing a small smile to act like you were listening, but all you can focus on is Draco’s hand. 

He’s such an asshole. 

You nearly shiver in delight as his slender fingers trace up and down your leg, growing warmer the longer they resided there. However, when you feel the pad of his index finger make contact with your sex, sliding underneath the thong that you’re wearing tonight, you purse your lips and grip the table, shocked. 

He swipes his finger through your folds, gathering up the arousal that’s already there and swiping it across your clit. He starts to rub at it agonisingly slow, making you bite down on your lips lightly. You grab your drink and lift it to your lips to distract yourself, but you choke slightly on it when Draco rubs it at the perfect pace, spikes of arousal coursing through you and dampening your panties even more. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Narcissa asks worriedly, “You’re looking rather flushed.”

“I’m fine,” you breathe out, forcing yet another smile. “I’m just feeling rather... hot, that’s all.”

“If you would like, you and Draco could step outside for some fresh air before desert is served?” Narcissa offers, her face brightening, “Oh, Draco, you can show Y/N the new roses I put in the garden.”

“They’re all the way at the back, mother,” Draco began to complain, before something mischievous flashed in his silver eyes, “Oh, well I suppose it’s only polite I do so. Come, Y/N.”

He retracts his hand from your leg and stands, offering it to you. You send a weak smile to Narcissa and take his hand, your mothers cooing happily as Draco leads you out of the dreary dining room. As soon as you’re out into the fresh air, you shove Draco with a small glare. 

“You dick!” You grumble at him, “Look, in the common room is one bloody thing, but in front of our parents? Merlin, Draco! If I got off in front of my father I would never be able to look him in the eye again. Especially if we had been caught!”

“But you liked it really, didn’t you, my little slut?” Draco growls, turning and grabbing your jaw with his slender fingers. “You love it when I get you off in front of people. Your cunt aches at the thought of nobody knowing what’s going on beneath the table.”

You whimper at his words, reaching up and placing your hand on his wrist. Draco smirks and looks back at the house. 

“Come on then, Y/N,” Draco drawls, “Since you made such a fuss, I guess I must show you the rose garden now. Such a brat...”

Draco never talks to you like this in normal day circumstances, so you know what’s coming. This is foreplay for the way he’s probably about to bend you over and fuck you outside the house your parents are currently sat inside. 

You can’t wait. 

You feel yourself grow slick at the thought, slightly dampening your thighs as he sends you a look and jerks his head, gesturing for you to go up the path first. As soon as you’re in front of him, you feel his large hand smack against your ass, making you jump a little. 

He grabs your arms from behind, forcing you against his front and pressing his lips to your ear. You can feel his erection pressing against your back.

“Be a good girl,” he hisses, his breath smelling faintly like the alcohol he’d been drinking with his dinner.

You make it towards the end of the garden and Draco whirls you around before dropping down onto his mother’s favourite bench. The seating was wooden, however, the arm wrests were dark green serpents, Draco’s hand curling around them as he parted his legs wide. 

His silver eyes glinted with mischief, daring you to come closer. 

“Draco,” you breathe. 

“Come on, princess,” Draco unbuttons the top of his trousers. “On your knees. Show me how much you want me.”

Without thinking much at all, your brain foggy with arousal, you drop down onto your knees in front of the bench, unzipping Draco’s smart trousers. He sits up a little to help you drag them down his thighs. You reach to pull at the waistband of his underwear, pulling it back an inch and then letting it go so it snapped lightly against his erection. 

Draco hisses in a mixture of pain and pleasure and grabs your wrist, glaring down at you. 

“Enough,” Draco snaps, “Put your lips where they belong, slut. Around my fucking cock.”

You nearly moan out loud at his words, this time actually peeling his underwear down so that his erection sprung out the top. It was red and angry, the vein along the shaft practically pulsing beneath your gaze as precum made itself present at his tip. 

You lean up further on your knees, one hand on his thigh and the other moving out to gently grasp his dick. Draco groans under his breath, eyes focused on you as you jerk slowly up and down his length, your thumb gliding out to swipe the precum off. Draco relaxes further against the bench, a drowsy smirk crossing his face when you lean forward and take him in your mouth.

“Good little slut...” he drawls, his lanky hand reaching out to run through his hair, tugging at it slightly when you suck your cheeks in, making your mouth feel so much tighter around him. “Fuck, Y/N. So fucking good for me. Best cock sucker there is.”

You moan around his cock, your hand moving to jerk off the part that you couldn’t quite reach with your mouth. Your tongue runs up and down him, feeling his vein and making its way up to the tip where you give it kitten licks. 

“Mm, stop teasing,” Draco grunts, his other hand moving out to grab your head. 

He keeps your head still and you know what’s coming. Slowly, he begins to thrust his hips, driving his cock in and out of your mouth so that his tip hits the back of your throat every now and then. You make slight gagging sounds, your eyes watering as spit coats his length. Draco loves the sight, he wishes he could take a picture. 

He stops thrusting his hips, finding it tiresome from his position sat down, and instead uses your head like you’re a toy, forcing you up and down his cock. You moan, hands grabbing his thighs, focusing on breathing in and out of your nose. 

Before he can cum, he pulls you off of him abruptly, a string of spit joining your lips and the tip of his cock. Draco smirks and brushes your lips with his thumb. 

“My beautiful little cock slut,” he mutters, sitting further back against the bench. “I think that you’ve deserved some fun of your own, don’t you?”

“Yes, Draco,” you pant, nodding. “Please.”

“Since you asked so politely.”

Draco reaches forwards, hands on your waist as he tugs you towards him. You fall so that you’re straddling his body on top of the bench, out in the open where anybody could see you. He tugs up your tight dress and grabs at your ass, squeezing it and leaning forward to lick a stripe up your cleavage which is on show from your dress. 

You can feel his cock brushing against your soaking heat. Your clit is throbbing so bad it nearly hurts, whines leaving your lips as Draco grabs the thin straps of your green bodycon dress and tugs them down, revealing your breasts to him. As his mouth dives forward to grab one of your nipples in his mouth, you can’t help but lower your body, grinding down against his hard cock and making him groan against you, vibrations running through your body. 

“You’re soaked,” he mutters, pulling away once he had left a hickey on your breast where it wouldn’t be seen in your dress. “Such a fucking slut. You get off letting me fuck your face, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you’re too aroused to really know what you’re agreeing to. All you know is that you need Draco to do something before you explode. “Please.”

“Please what? Use your words.”

“Please fuck me, Draco,” you beg him, “please make me cum.”

Draco smirks and reaches to grab your waist harder. You lift up on your knees more and watch as one of his hands disappears between you both. You feel the tip of his dick brush against your eager folds and you whine even louder, biting you lip and nodding at him quickly. 

“Please, please, please.”

Draco guides it through your soaked sex before he finds your hole and takes one more look at you. The nod of consent is all he needs before he plunges himself into you. You both moan, breaths hitching in your throat. As you slide down so that you’re sat on his lap, his cock buried balls deep inside your pulsating heat, you feel so full, like if you were to put your hand against your stomach then you would feel him there.

“So fucking tight,” Draco hisses between gritted teeth. “Come on, slut. Ride me.”

You obey his command, growing slicker at his choice of nickname for you. Your hands move to his shoulders and you use them to help you bounce up and down on top of him, inches slipping out before being forced all the way back inside you, hitting spots that you didn’t know existed. 

Draco was panting slightly beneath you, his silver eyes flickering from where he could see his cock coming in and out of your pussy, slick with your arousal, and up to your face where your head was thrown back in pleasure as you whined and moaned. 

“So beautiful.” He reaches up and grabs your neck. “Look at me.”

You listen to him, feeling his fingers tighten around your neck and slightly blocking your airway. You feel lightheaded in the best possible way, eyes fluttering and your walls pulsating more around his cock as it drives in and out of you. Draco realises you’re starting to feel hazy and starts using his hips so he can pound up into you harder.

The sounds of your bodies colliding and your soaked pussy that normally embarrass you but turn Draco on don’t humiliate you today. You’re too focused on the grip he has on your neck and the way he keeps his pace thrusting in and out of you-- like it’s his only purpose in life. You know you’re going to cum soon.

Draco’s face dives forwards and nuzzles back to your breasts that are bouncing right in front of him. He licks and sucks and bites anything he can, his hot breath fanning your skin and making you cry out. 

“Draco,” you cry. 

“That’s it,” Draco grunts, forcing a few extra hard thrusts. “That’s it, Y/N. Fucking slut. You’d let me do anything to you. Such a fucking whore.”

You can tell that he’s close from how his hand has moved from your neck to your clit. His fingers create hard figures of eights against your throbbing bud, coating his digits in your arousal. You moan louder, this time driving your hips up harder and faster to keep up with his thrusts.

“Come on, Y/N,” Draco hisses, “you gotta cum for me. Cum all over my cock.”

His words are enough to send you toppling over the edge, your loudest moan yet half-buried by your teeth sinking into Draco’s shirt-clad shoulders. Your walls clench and shudder around him, tightening against his cock and causing his eyes to scrunch shut. Your breathless whisper of his name once your orgasm rolls by has him cumming straight after you. His hot seed shoots up inside in spurts, coating your walls and making you whine out against him again. He thrusts a couple of more times before he pulls out. 

“Mm, Dra- Draco,” you mutter as he pulls you off of him and pulls the top of your dress back up. 

Draco chuckles as he fixes his own underwear and trousers, pulling your dress down for you as you slide your panties back up. He presses a loving kiss to your lips. 

“Not too much, was it?” Draco asks worriedly. 

“No, that was perfect,” you admit, stroking some of his hair back into place. 

“Good. I agree. Now, let’s get back to our parents. Desert must be ready soon.”

-

my mum came extremely close to catching me write this so i hope it was worth it honestly 

[maraudersftw]

Blueberry + Black + Bliss

Many thanks for this lovely prompt, anon! I'm sorry I suck at stopping under 1000 words.

Sweet Blue

Lily barreled down the stairs, massive package in hand, grin rampant over lips as excitement buzzed like a second skin around her.

The Gryffindor Common Room, bereft of occupants save for a few stragglers who’d decided to forgo some precious Sunday lie-in, flew by her periphery without garnering so much as an acknowledging scan as she skipped towards the Boys’ staircase. A foot had barely fallen onto the first step when she was halted unceremoniously by an amused call of her name.

“Oi, Evans!” his voice rang out, and she whipped her head around to spot a shock of black hair, smiling hazel eyes, lazy smirk. The sight of him, burrowed inside an armchair, instantly sent the thrum beneath her ribcage stuttering. “Off to accost some poor bloke this early in the morning? At least wait for the sun to rise fully, would you? Some of us need more time to collect our wit.”

She narrowed her eyes, thoughts clattering as she debated her next course of action. Futile as the pretence that she’d been on a path to accost someone who was not the boy in front of her was, it only took Lily another half-second to make the decision, step away from the staircase, and towards him. James’s gaze brightened infinitesimally, evidently pleased by the deviation.

“Don’t club in everyone else with yourself, Potter,” she remarked happily, rounding the couch to plop down on its unbelievable cushiness. “Not everyone’s as slow as you.”

He reached out one of those unfairly long arms to bridge the space between them and flick her nose. Lily held back the widening grin. “And there’s that cheek. Even at six in the morning.”

Rather than blush tellingly at the fondness he directed at her, she nodded at the pile of Transfiguration notes and books around him. “What’s this? James Potter studying on a Sunday? Am I dreaming?”

“Afraid of a little competition?” he threw back, fire glinting off glasses. “Don’t worry, Evans, you’ll still beat me in Charms and Potions.”

For a second, the golden glaze of the sun hitting his hair from the window behind stole the words from her tongue, the breath from her lungs. Prompted by James’s prolonged stare, a warmth blossomed on her cheeks, bringing back some sense. “I’d beat you in DADA too.”

“Ha! You can dream.”

“I don’t make it a habit to dream about you, Potter.”

“That makes one of us,” he said, completely unabashed.

Lily fairly choked on that honesty, muscles tightening near her clavicle with strange breathlessness. “You dream about yourself? Takes the narcissism to new heights.”

James cocked a brow, but let her deliberate misunderstanding of the phrase slide. “Technically, everyone dreams about themselves.”

“Ugh, it’s too early for this,” she groaned, sliding her legs into a fold on the couch, fluffy warm pyjamas keeping the December chill at bay. “I was going to your dormitory for a purpose, you know?”

James instantly leaned forward, pleased and making no effort to hide it. “You were coming to see me?”

“To see all of you,” she mumbled like a coward. Perhaps there was also some lie interlaced in there, because he’d certainly been the reason she’d felt an extra jauntiness during her excursion. Not willing to impart that particular knowledge, Lily held out the package to him. “Open it.”

Curiosity creased his brows, smile never waning. “What’s this?”

“Open it, you impatient tosser.”

James grumbled something about ‘mean harpies posing as Head Girls’ and ‘no appreciation for those of curious minds’ while carefully unwrapping the package, all of which Lily soundly ignored in favour of vibrating with anticipation. When the last of the brown wrapping paper fell away, she squealed at the pink box that was revealed, full with a glossy sheen and pretty prints and designs; exactly the way she remembered it.

James looked at her, back at the box, then at her again. Eventually, amusement had his lips pinching together. “If I don’t find at least two dragon eggs inside this, I’ll be disappointed.”

“It’s something even better, I promise!” She wiggled her palms, urging him to open the box.

When he finally popped open the lid, Lily found herself under the very real threat of toppling to the floor, so far had she leaned forward. Eager green eyes spotted the dozen or so confectionaries that sat cheerily inside, miraculously undisturbed during their journey across England. “They’re blueberry muffins!” she informed giddily. “I requested mum to send across some from this bakery in my hometown.”

James’s smile softened as he looked inside the box, so much so that when he turned his eyes to her again, the gold in them had melted into a warm honey. “You do get blueberry muffins here too, you know,” he said kindly, voice fond.

“I know, but those are just imposters. These are the real deal. Take a bite, go on. I can bet you’ll be kissing my feet in thanks.”

“Do I have to kiss your feet? Can't it be something else?”

Her heart bloated dangerously. “James.”

“Only kidding,” he chuckled, reaching inside dutifully and picking out a muffin. At her incessantly exaggerated prompting, he made a show of rolling his eyes before finally biting into the spongey cake. It was bizarre, but Lily could swear she felt flavours blue and sweet burst on her own tongue when James moaned aloud, eyes scrunched in bliss as he chewed.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“What the fuck,” he whispered in disbelief after swallowing, staring down at the remaining muffin as if it had personally offended him by not being available before. “What the actual fuck?”

“I told you!” she crowed, smirking openly without a hint of modesty. “Isn’t it just the best thing you’ve ever tasted?”

“Merlin, I might cry.” He blinked, grinning at her. “Give me those feet, Evans.”

Lily’s smirk dimmed, veins strangely suffused with molten courage instead of blood as she reached forward and plucked the box from James’s lap, setting it aside on the table. The distressed cry he let out died abruptly when she looked at him again, face serious.

“Will my lips do?”

James froze, eyes wide, muffin forgotten in hand. “Lily,” he warned, voice low. “Don’t. Not if you’re still thinking—not if you’re not sure.”

Her fingers found his free hand, ran over the warm palm breezily. “I’m sure,” she confessed, lashes fluttering as she stared at his Quidditch-given calluses. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, but—I’m sure now.”

“Look at me.”

She did.

James’s eyes were aflame, even as his breath remained tempered. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” She bit her lip. “I want you to kiss me. I want to eat that muffin, and then I want you to take me to Hogsmeade next weekend.”

A beat passed. And then she found his hand snaking around her wrist, tugging her forward until she sloppily stumbled over to his armchair and right into his recently vacated lap. Distantly, she registered that they had an audience—however meagre—but she’d truly never cared less.

“Good plan,” James whispered, tossing the rest of the muffin into the box. Lily didn’t even feel inclined to chastise him for messing up the presentation, because he was gripping her waist the next second, pulling her closer until his nose brushed hers tenderly. “Always the perfect answer, Miss Evans.”

“Shut up,” Lily laughed, cradling his head, pulling him forward.

Their lips met, mouths opened, and blue and sweet burst on her tongue.

[fishstyx]

“put the maid outfit on.”

featuring. sub!nagito komaeda x fem!reader

wc. 2.2k

genre. smut

tw. nsfw, penetration (pegging), orgasm denial/edging, praise kink, mild (mild!) toxic masculinity

synopsis. peg nagito 2021 + everyone’s favorite e-boy trend.

“You really think I look good in this..?” 

Your jaw slackens as Nagito materializes in the doorway, fingers fiddling with the hem of his skirt. His shoulders hunch over and his legs bend at the knee, but if he’s trying to make himself smaller, it does little to obscure your view. The costume fits him so well, corset detailing and silk satin bows lining his midriff, white ruffle trim splayed out against his wrists and thighs. Flouncy frills flare from his shoulders, jet puffed sleeves rounding out his sharper edges and broader sides. A pink flush creeps across his cheeks when you fail to respond, teeth locking his bottom lip in place like he’s trying to keep himself from saying anything more.

“I think you look great in it!” 

You clasp your hands together in an attempt to ward off your trance and he cracks a smile in spite of himself, relief washing over his features—but your next words have him standing stick straight. “It makes me feel like I should dress you up more often.” 

Suddenly his brows are threaded with vexation, Mary Janes clacking across the floorboards as he makes his way towards you.

“Please don’t joke about that. Even I take some pride in my manhood,” he pouts, somewhat unconvincingly. “But as long as you’re holding to your end of the deal—“

“And whatever deal could you be talking about?” you ask ever so sweetly, lashes batting away all too knowingly. He stiffens at your feigned ignorance, legs knocking together when you tilt your head pointedly. 

“...You know what deal.” 

Nagito averts his gaze, though unable to escape your own, hands clutching at the lacy material as he sucks in a sharp breath. “The deal we made… where I put this outfit on…” You wait patiently, silent stare urging him to finish the sentence.  “...and you pound my unworthy hole into oblivion.”

“Oh? And what exactly am I going to pound you with?”

However fake your play-pretend innocence, the curiosity in your eyes is very much real, blazing with the vehement desire to hear him say it aloud. The remaining shred of his so-called dignity is slashed to pieces, the hopefulness in your voice too compelling to defy.

“My favorite toy. Please, mess me up with it.” Nagito eyes you nervously, expecting rejection or derision or snide, heart fluttering when he gets only an warm smile in return. “The dildo that I can’t live without. I want it—I need it so bad it hurts,” he continues in a near whisper, but it’s good enough for you. You pull him in immediately, your chin nestling itself in the crook of his neck as your lips come to rest at the shell of his ear.

“Such a good boy, using your words so properly.” He shudders against you as you trace the fabric where it lies snug against his waist, mesmerized by the words of encouragement that spill from your lips. 

“I’m gonna make you see stars.”

Nagito practically bursts with anticipation as you snake your fingers up his skirt, unmoving from the spot where you pushed him onto the bed. With bated breath he lets you kiss up his inner thighs—lets you because normally he wants to do all the work, wants to be your little joyride fuck toy, wants you squirming under his touch. It’s all he can do just to watch, cock already twitching from how good it feels, how utterly starved he’s been of hands besides his own between his legs.

You push at his thighs, pressing them far apart for easy access, chaste kisses becoming damp squeezes as you traverse up the length. A silent smirk tugs at your lips as he throws his head back, the tent beneath his apron growing taller by the second. You palm it instinctively, rubbing circles through the fabric and inviting blood to his sensitive member.

But it’s more of a distraction than anything else, your other hand uncapping the bottle of lube with skill, lathering itself up with ease. Nagito pays it no mind, instead drinking in how you fondle him with eerie similarity to the most despicable of his favorite fantasies. So when a lone finger begins to circle at his entrance, he reels with an unexpected jolt, back arched like a cat. You waste no time in sinking a digit inside, sinful groans following one after another.

And then you’re pumping him with two fingers, swirling them in tandem and scissoring them apart a knuckle deep, then another. He’s biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting the maddening urge to move on his own, to just take the reins and ram you inside of him. He’s already coursing with the need for something more substantial, and it’s obvious that he’s ready to take additional girth.

“Used to me already?” you ask, more statement than question. Nagito hesitates before nodding, sheepishness written into the slow bob of his head. “You’ve been playing with this lonely hole behind my back, haven’t you?” But he can’t bring himself to confirm or deny it, the way he peers back at you answer enough.

You reach for the harness in turn, untangling the heaps of straps right before him, his dildo of choice following soon after. You snap the towering thing into place with a satisfying click, swaying your hips as you guide the thigh straps to their final resting place. The fit is snug, belt of the strap just about digging into your flesh—but not quite—and you turn your back to add the finishing touches.

You’re dripping with lube when you face him again, glossy slick accentuating every vein, every bulge that graces your makeshift cock. You chuckle at the way his legs are spread already, the way he’s waiting on you with a look that says take me now, hold me down and fuck me silly.

But he’s ahead of himself as usual, and it’s inevitable that he chokes back a whimper when you disappear inside of him. He gives the prospect of pain no heed, silently pleading for you to move, and you click your tongue in distaste.

“Breathe,” you command, waiting for him to loosen. Green eyes shift expectantly from the strap-on to your own, an exasperated whine starting to form at his lips, but he knows his place and does as you say.

Nagito complies with the rise and fall of his chest, evidenced by the soft sway of a centerpiece bow. His muscles begin to relax even as you’re splitting him in two, and you angle your hips up in preparation. The tip of your silicone cock has barely brushed against his sensitive gland, yet it already has him quivering, hungry for more.

It’s in the middle of a deep breath when you finally deem him ready, doubling back before bucking into that same spot that has his jaw dropping and his eyes squeezing shut. A shaky exhale stutters from his wide-open mouth and he melts into a panting mess as you find your pace.

“Good boy. Such a good boy, making all that noise for me,” you repeat, chant-like words a melody to his ears.

“Y-you really think so?” he struggles to get out, little mewls escaping him even as he speaks. “Even when I’m… being so… selfish?”

“Shh, don’t say things like that. I feel it too, baby boy,” you’re quick to say—and you’re not lying, far from it in fact. The hilt of the dildo rocks against your clit each time your hips meet, the pulsating pressure tempting you to plunge even deeper. And with the face that he’s making, all reddened cheeks and parted lips, how could you not?

You’re snapping into him now, reveling in the challenge posed by the sheer length of his choice toy. It’s hard work with the way he clamps around you, but the tingle it shoots up your spine and the squelch it sends to your ears are well worth the effort. The marvelous stretch draws a throaty “f-fuuuuck” out of him, the god-sent sensation making him throb all the more.

But with every plunge you take, you’re met with the bounce of his pretty pink cockhead, a rebounding reminder of what you’ve left unattended. His neglected shaft looms in stark contrast to his black and white garb, breath hitching when you finally decide to wrap around it. Your movements are painfully slow to begin with, building up the pressure before picking up in speed, and he keens his dissatisfaction until you’re jerking him off to the same brutal rhythm of your rolling hips.

“I think I’m gonna cum,” he cries, locks of hair cascading past his pleated headband as you press into a spot so sweet he thinks he just might come undone; but you have other plans in mind. Your movements slow before coming to a lurching halt, the absence of stimulation quick to dampen the mood.

“Good boys cum when they’re told to,” you say, but the explanation does little to appease him. A look of disappointment leaps to his face, his lips pursed in dismay—or perhaps it’s betrayal.

He looks so disheveled like this, staring at your open palm like maybe his wordless begging can coax you back into stroking him. Hazy eyes glaze over, tufts of hair spilling every which way as he sits himself up, but you aren’t done with him yet.

It’s simple to redirect his movement, his weak limbs no match for your own as you turn him over so he’s kneeling on the bed. He tries to look back but you push him down by the neck, hiking his skirt up as you position yourself behind him. His ass is raised in the air without so much as being told, and you align with his fluttering hole before breaking him in again.

You were right to make him wait; he’s shaking in excitement now, tense with amplified arousal as his knees buckle underneath you. Bottoming out is so much easier like this, your pistons devoured whole and spat back out with each and every thrust. You draw back slowly only to bury yourself once more, repeating the motion until his moaning runs incoherent, completely wracked with shivering pleasure. You can’t tell if he’s humping the mattress, grinding against you, or both, but he’s reaching his climax again and the both of you know it.

“Can I finish now? Pretty please?” Nagito asks, so strained and so breathily that you nearly miss it. “Please, it hurts so good, please please please, I’m head over heels for your cock!”

The thought of stopping again is too cruel for you to give even a moment’s consideration, so you pin his wrist against his back and collect a fistful of hair in your hand before leaning in to award him with the magic words:

“Go ahead, then. Cum for me.”

You slam into him as he rides through the peak of his bliss, squirming in wretched ecstasy as he collapses under his own weight. You can only imagine what kind of expression he’s making with his head face-first in the bedsheets, the kinds of shapes his mouth is forming when you pull his hair back like this. Violent spasms render Nagito otherwise immobile, unable to move of his own accord. He’s going completely slack, quivers shorting until you wonder if he passed out from the aftershock.

It comes as a surprise when you notice him barely holding on, eyelids threatening to shut close when you pull him into your arms. He looks like a cheap whore in that kitschy uniform of his, thick white cum smeared all over the black fabric. Beads of drool streak his chin but he’s too fucked-out to notice, let alone care.

“You did so well for me,” you whisper as Nagito nuzzles into your chest, drowsy and spent. I don’t deserve this at all, he thinks, a dull echo reverberating in the back of his mind.

“I’m so proud of you,” you coo as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. Proud of what? My greediness? My utter uselessness?

But he’s too exhausted to fight your praises, self-doubt dwindling away to nothing as you hum your approval. He snuggles against your palm without even realizing it, subconscious of his mind chasing after contact with your bare skin. In his docile state, you can’t help but to hold him close, intimate proximity sating the needs of which he’s too adamant to admit aloud.

But all good things must come to an end, and eventually, your adrenaline dies down, too. You feel as though you’re a husk of yourself, curling up beside him and letting the fatigue tide you over. As much as you’d love to watch your symbol of hope fall asleep, your eyelids feel so, so heavy now, and you expend the last of your energy on little kitten kisses that trail up his temple and dot down his nose. Your collective consciousness fades away until all that’s left is the syncing of your breath, a singular flow of air where you lay wrapped around one another.

He’ll never admit just how good it felt to be pampered this way, but you’ll never regret taking care of him.

fishstyx © 2021 ✸ all content and their rights belong to me. do not repost, reproduce, or modify anywhere.

[maddiwrites]

Secrets of the Shore (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Pogues x reader, eventually JJ x reader.

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister. 

Note: Hey guys! Thank you so much for the support of my last couple of fics. All your messages have been so kind and so sweet! I’ve made a rewrite of the show with a new character that eventually falls in love with her best friend. I’m gonna be posting a new chapter three times a week. Let me know what you guys think!

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: None

Chapter 2 

"That's what, a three-story fall to the deck?" John B tip toes across the middle of the roof as he sips out of the can of beer in his hand.

I lean to my right, pressing against JJ's shoulder as we sit on a construction slack used to hold construction workers as they work on the siding of the home. Scaffolding, I think it's called. I narrow my eyes at my brother, counting down the seconds until he falls.

"I give you about a one-in-three chance of survival," Pope jokes from the deck below us.

John B shrugs. He licks his finger and holds it up in the air as if he's feeling which way the wind is blowing. "Hm. Should I do it?"

"Yeah, jump." Pope holds up a power drill and points it at John B like it's a gun. "I'll shoot you on the way down."

"You'll shoot me?"

"Yep." Pope closes one eye and pretends to shoot it. "Pow!"

I roll my eyes and look forward again, letting the beer slip down my throat like a refreshing glass of water. The warm North Carolina air presses soothingly against my freshly tan skin and I bask in the sunlight. Its days like these that I like the most. Days where none of my best friends have work, we're drinking causally, and joking with one another. Even if it's on a construction site in the middle of Figure Eight. But the idea of getting caught just gives me an adrenaline rush.

"They're gonna have Japanese toilets with towel warmers," Kie says as she walks out of the unfinished house.

"Of course. Why wouldn't they?" JJ says next to me with a shrug like it's not the craziest thing that a Kook would own.

"This used to be a turtle habitat, but who cares about the turtles, I guess."

"I can't have cold towels."

Kie looks up at John B, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand. "Can you please not kill yourself?"

"Don't spill the beer. I'm not giving you another one," JJ says.

As if on cue, John B's foot slips. Luckily he catches himself, but his beer, however, drops to it's death on the deck below. As John B steadies himself I release the breath I didn't even know I was holding. I take another greedy gulp of my warm beer to steady the nerves in my chest.

"Whoa! Oh, shit," John B curses.

"Of course you did," JJ rolls his eyes playfully. "Smooth."

"A plus, really." I glare up at my brother, feeling his mischievous smirk right back at me.

"Dumbass," Kie mutters under her breath. She looks up at me as if waiting for me to say something, but I only giggle to myself. John B can be clumsy but he's not going to accidentally kill himself.

"Hey!" I hear another voice shout behind us towards the street and front of the house. A voice that doesn't belong to any of my friends or my brother.

"Hey, uh, security's here," Pope says.

Immediately knowing what that means, I jump to my feet with the help of JJ right after he slugs the rest of his beer. A delirious grin dances along my lips as I hop down to the main deck.

"Let's wrap it up!"

"Boys are early today."

"Humpty Dumpty, let's roll!"

My legs take off after my friends through the house. Adrenaline rushes through my veins and straight to my head like a power high. I can't even feel my legs as they jump over wooden slacks and construction tools. The high from running from the police is better than any drug JJ can get his hands on, even the good stuff.

"Gary is that you?" JJ plays along before accidentally running into him, making him slip on his feet before running the other way. I grab his wrist and pull him closer to me to catch up. "Gary, good to see you man!"

I laugh as my feet land on the freshly cut grass in the front yard. "You're asking for it."

"JJ!" The obese cop chases after us, recognizing my best friend's face instantly. I'm not surprised, not even a little bit. JJ had his fair share of run-ins with the law.

"They're going out front!" I hear another cop shout. I can barley hear through the wind rushing through my ears.

We run into a tall white painted fence that blocks us from our car, better known as the Twinkie. Hopping fences is something I've learned to become better at after doing it so many times. However, I can't say the same about Pope. He's always struggled.

I swing my legs over the fence and land with a small 'oomf.' I look over my shoulder for my slow-poke friend and see him falling over the fence, landing on his side. I laugh as I pick him up by the shoulders.

JJ is waiting for us, clapping his hands like a coach on the sidelines at a football game because his players aren't running fast enough. But there's a smile on his face. "Get up, Pope, fatso's coming!"

"Hey!" The guard shouts behind me. He's halfway up the other side of the fence, but he doesn't have the strength to pull himself over completely. "Come here you little pricks!"

I hear the familiar honk coming from the van John B and I learned to drive in. My brother and Kie are waiting for us in the front seats of the Volkswagen van that would look better in the 70s than the 2020's but I love it. It fits our friend group perfectly. Plus I'd choose this car over any fancy Mercedes Tourons usually drive. The only time I've ever been in one of them is when I snuck off with a golf player from Georgia after a boneyard party. It was luxurious of course, but nothing like the Twinkie.

"Bus is leaving!" John B says as we get closer.

"Come on!" Kie yells at us from the passenger seat, banging the flat of her palm against the door.

I dive through the back first, landing on my elbows and rolling over. Pope and JJ follow less than a second later.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Gary calls after us as John B steps on the gas.

JJ leans out of the sliding side door that's still wide open. I lay on my back watching him as I try to catch my breath. His smile is contagious. For a boy who's been through hell and back, he smiles a lot, and I love every second of it.

He holds out his beer can as if he's offering it to the cop who's still trying to catch us...if he can catch up to it. "Check out Gary, gunnin' for a raise. Come on, Gary!"

"Wait. Slow down. Hey! You little pricks! Hey!"

"You're gonna give him a heart attack!" Kie tries to scold him but she can't fight the smile on her lips either as she watches from the side rearview mirror.

"You're so close! You can do it. There you go. They don't pay you enough bro."

"JJ, stop. Stop!" Kie says through her laughter.

I love Kie. She always tries to keep the peace between her friends and the world itself. Always the girl who raises money for charities that protect this Earth and save animals and solve world hunger. She's going to change the world someday. Her and Pope. Maybe if they can tolerate each other, they'll do it side by side.

JJ slumps back into the van with a toothy grin. He sits next to me and pulls me up so I'm sitting up straight. He dangles his arm around my shoulder and I lean further into his side. If I could choose one position to be in for the rest of my life it would be this one.

But I'd never admit that.

"Oh, come on. That sort of initiative is just begging to be punished," JJ says.

I hum in response and lean back into the seat behind me and stare out the window. A view of passing vibrant green leaves takes over the window as John B drives. The scene comforts me. Summer is my favorite season. No school. Just work and friends and the Outer Banks. Paradise on Earth, some may call it.

It's the sort of place where you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island. We're currently driving through Figure Eight, the rich side of the island. Home of the Kooks. So, guess where we don't live.

As John B drives further South, the houses get smaller and smaller, feeling more like home. This is the South side. Or as we like to call it, the Cut. Home of the working class who make a living bussing tables, washing yachts, running charters. The natural habitat of...drumroll, please...the Pogues. That's us. Pogues, pogies, the throwaway fish. Lowest members of the food chain.

I know... a little harsh, don't you think?

So, the downside of the Pogue life is we're ignored and neglected. But the upside of the Pogue life? We're ignored and neglected, which means we do whatever we want, whenever we want.

The second John B parks the car, the boys are gathering all their fishing gear and we set off to our next destination. The marina.

"Nice haul, dude. Look at that!" JJ teases my brother when he reels in what I think is the smallest fish I've ever seen. If it was orange, I would have thought it was my old pet goldfish from when I was six. "Been all bait for, like, three weeks."

John B pulls the fish off his hook and tosses it in JJ's direction. JJ flinches back, knocking into me and almost throwing me into the water below. That was probably my fault, though. I shouldn't be sitting on an open ledge, dangling my legs twenty feet above the water.

"Watch it, idiot!" I smack JJ upside the head after letting go of the death grip I had on his bicep when I was about to fall to my death. Well...I'd probably survive, but it would hurt like hell.

"It's not my fault you chose the most dangerous seat!" JJ retaliates.

Yeah, that's JJ. John B's best friend since the third grade, which subsequently makes him my best friend since the third grade too. He's about as local as they come. Latest in a long line of fishing, drinking, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who made their living off the water. Second best surfer I know. First being me of course. Mild kleptomaniac and a future tax cheat.

"Yeah, Mar, you should really get down from there," Kie says, walking over to me to help me down. I decide not to put up a fight. If I'm going to break my leg, I'm gonna do it in a surfing accident or something cool, not by falling off the dock.

Kiara. Or Kie as we call her. When not saving turtles or listening to Bob Marley, or getting a dolphin tattoo, she hangs out with us. I'm not really sure why though. She's a rich kid, actually. Her family owns the Wreck, this Outer Banks institution. Total cash down with the tourists and my current job. You know, I'm not really sure how her parents feel about us. But they like me enough to bring them money towards their restaurant. I bring in a lot of regulars. Advertising is kind of my thing. I'm pretty sure all my friends, even my brother, have a thing for her.

Kie hands me a water bottle and lays her legs across my lap. She lies down on the wooden bench and bathes in the sunlight the day still has to offer. Kie is my best friend. Best secret holder known to man, for the most part.

"I think she needs a leash," Pope adds, making me pass him a glare.

"The only thing useful about a leash is how I can strangle you with it," I say.

"Kinky," JJ says and winks at me. "That's my girl."

John B slaps JJ upside the back of his head.

I'm lucky my sunburnt skin is hiding the blush that creeps along my cheeks.

Pope glares at both JJ and I which only makes my growing smirk widen.

Pope...the brains of the operation...finalist for the Lucas T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship. And the smartest person I know. Little bit of a weirdo. His father's this legendary character, Heyward. Anything you wanted on the island, Heyward could get for you. Now, I'm not sure Heyward knew what to make of his oddball son, but it didn't matter. He was a Pogue, just like the rest of us.

"Trust me, if a leash was that easy, I would have tried a long time ago," John B mutters with a hint of a smile.

John Booker Routledge. My insufferable twin brother. Pain in my ass. Number one partner in crime. I hate him but I love him. Pretty much like any sibling relationship. We live in an old fish shack on the marsh. The Chateau as my dad use to call it. My dad disappeared at sea nine months ago looking for a shipwreck. I mean seriously, who disappears at sea these days? I miss him a lot. He may have been a little neglectful, but he took care of us the best that he could. My mom, however? She split when I was three. Last I heard she was in Colorado. At least I think it was Colorado. Honestly who knows and who cares.

Since my dad vanished, my Uncle T is supposedly my legal guardian. At the moment, he's in Mississippi, building houses which means it's just me right now, on my own, hangin' out with my brother and my friends.

Three months after my dad went missing, he was officially presumed dead. John B is more of an optimist than I am. He refuses to sign the paper and until he sees a dead body, he's not giving up. I back John B's decision, but I'm more realistic about what happened to my dad. The ocean, although my favorite place to be, is also one of the scariest.

My dad is probably dead and I will never get the closure that I want. So I'm dealing with it the best way I can, although I'm pretty sure everyone is a little worried about me, especially Kie now that John B is starting to follow in my footsteps by exhibiting reckless behavior.

But I'm getting better now. Day by Day. At least I wasn't acting like I did when my dad first left us.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

I woke up with a slap to my ankle and my head buried deep into my pillow. I groan from the abrupt living alarm clock that's now pacing my room and throwing clothes from my closet at me. It only makes me squeeze my eyes tighter in hopes for at least five more minutes of sleep.

"Seriously, Mar, we need to go. We're late." John B rips my blanket off my body, leaving me exposed in just my pajama boxer shorts and a tank top. The sudden chill sends goosebumps up my arms and legs.

"Go without me." I push myself up on my elbows and grab the clothes he threw at me. I knew meeting the social worker alone wasn't an option. Even if one of us goes to this stupid meeting, it will prove to the social worker that we're not being responsible enough to keep DCS off our backs. As far as they know, Uncle T is still living with us and keeping us safe.

"You have five minutes." John B ignores me and leaves my room, slamming my door shut.

I roll my eyes and tumble out of my soft bed. I slip on my jeans shorts and a white t shirt that I tie in a knot to make it a crop top. Underneath it I have on my plain black bikini, knowing that I will be surfing the second we get home. The News has been reporting a storm for weeks that's suppose to hit tonight. Vicious waves and crazy winds sends a thrill through my body.

We arrive to the social worker's office only two minutes late. I thought that was a sign of responsibility, but the social worker only looks at us with distaste as we sit in the two chairs in front of her desk.

"John, Marleigh, it's come to our attention that you two are unemancipated minors living on your own." Her hair is pulled back into a tight low bun and her glasses are perched on the tip of her nose. Her suit looks way too tight for comfort, like it's squeezing the life out of her.

John B scoffs and leans back into his seat as if we have nothing to worry about, but I know his heart is beating just as wildly as mine. "No....no." The social worker raises one brow in suspicion and glances in my direction to either confirm or deny what John B is saying. John B sees this and answers for me. "No."

I just shrug as a response, which only makes the social worker more weary. She leans into her desk and folds her hands on top of our folders that are piled in the middle. "I need honesty to help you. That's what we want, right?"

"Yeah. I'm being honest."

"Okay, then when is the last time you spoke to your uncle?"

John B looks down at his watch and purses his lips. "Uh...thirty-four minutes ago."

"When's the last time you saw him?"

"Two hours and...forty-three minutes ago?"

I hold myself back from rolling my eyes. It's clear on the social worker's face that she's not buying into any of John B's lies.

She sighs and turns to look at me. "We're gonna come out there tomorrow to talk to your uncle. If he's not there, we're gonna move forward with foster care." Foster care. The words make me dig my nails into the wood of the arms of the chair I'm in. The last place I ever wanna be is in foster care. I want to stay here on the island with my brother and our friends. Not with some random family who couldn't care less about us in a place I'm not familiar with. "I want to assure you, we're gonna find you a safe and loving home."

She says it like she's offering us a better life, one that we would want, one that sounds like the better option but it isn't. I ignore the worried look John B sends my way and watch the seconds go by on the clock above the door. We basically have twenty-four hours to find Uncle T or someone to be pretend to be him.

                                                  ~ ~ ~

The winds begin picking up early in the afternoon, the rain hitting by 5. On my way home from working at the Wreck, I watch people board up the windows of their stores and homes. All John B and I can do is hope that our little shack won't blow away by morning.

Unfortunately for Pope, he's at our house when John B catches me leaving the house with my board. When he tells me to stop, I'm prepared to put up a fight. I've been looking forward to surfing in this storm all day - something I can use to push the DCS lady out of my head and the promise she made that sounded more like a threat.

"You think you were gonna go out without me?" John B smirks and leads the way to the beach.

Pope follows behind us like a lost puppy, basically talking to himself as he tries to convince us that this is a bad idea. We stop at the edge of the beach. It's almost impossible to see the ocean through the wind and the rain.

"Those aren't surfable waves, bro," Pope says, squinting through the rain that splatters our faces wet.

"Says who?" I say, passing him a devious smirk and make a run for it towards the ocean.

I paddle past the choppy waves, letting the water knock me around like a feather in the wind. When I see a decent looking wave to ride, I prop myself up on my feet and stand. I lean into my board. The warmth that's taken over my body outruns the cold water I fall into when the waves crash over me. My body tumbles under the water and my board bumps against me. I try to swim back up to the surface but the current is strong. I don't know where I am and I can't see under the water. My nose burns when water rushes up my nostrils. I squeeze my eyes tight and just swim upwards in hope of reaching air. Maybe this was a bad idea, but the thrill is still keeping me excited.

I finally reach the surface after what feels like years. John B and Pope's screams are dull against the whistling wind. I hop back on my board and give the two guys a thumbs up and a wicked smile. Pope looks like he's about ready to have a heart attack and John B breathes out a sigh of relief as he paddles closer to me.

"You alright?" He asks me.

"Fine," I yell against the wind.

John B nods. He looks like he's about to say something else, but something over my shoulder catches his attention. I turn myself around, intrigued at what's he's seeing other than the water, clouds, and a bunch of rain. Then I see it. A boat that barely looks afloat, so far out that it looks like a speck against the rain.

"We should probably go," I say. I don't want John B's mind to run to what might have happened to Dad out there. Maybe he was caught by a storm like this, maybe his boat went overboard and his body is out there floating with the fishes. I don't know. The last thing I need him to do right now is speculate. Even if the same thoughts are running through my head, John B thinks he's still alive. These thoughts will keep him up all night. He doesn't move, however. "John B let's go."

                                                  ~ ~ ~

JJ is already laying on the pull out bed in my living room when I get out of the shower. JJ crashes here most days of the week. He'd much rather be here than with his drunk abusive dad. Our friends don't know the extent of how shitty his relationship really is with his dad. But I do. I found out when I was thirteen. JJ snuck through my bedroom window after a tough night with his dad. His face and torso were covered in bruises. It took everything in me not to burst out in tears right then and there. But for some reason, he trusted me of all people with his biggest secret. I cleaned him up and let him sleep in my bed with me. Every once in a while we repeat the process. Sometimes he's not even hurt, he just shows up. And I let him in because I like having him there.

I fall onto the mattress next to him and prop my head up on my hand, leaning on my elbow. I run my fingers through his hair, feeling satisfied and bubbly when he moans in response.

"When did you get here?" I ask him.

"You were in the shower. Don't worry I didn't peak, but I was tempted," He says into his pillow.

I use the same hand I had woven in his hair and punch his shoulder playfully, making him fall on his back. His lips turn up in a grin.

I lay there for a second, looking up at the ceiling. My eyes feel heavy, the events of the day officially taking over my body. I peek an eye over at JJ who's watching me carefully as if I might break under his fingertips.

"What?" I grin to myself, thankful for the darkness so he couldn't see the blush on my cheeks. Again.

"You all right?" He asks, pushing my hair out of my face so he can look straight into my eyes.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

JJ hesitates, like he's trying to pick the right words to say. I watch him closely, studying every mark and crevice on his face. Beautiful and clear like always. Even when it's covered in bruises and blemishes, he's handsome. I could look at him all day.

"You hate storms," He says.

"I can sleep through anything," I tell him. "And I don't hate storms. They make for...eventful surfing days."

His face drops to a more serious one. "You know what I mean."

I do. Storms have never really frightened me. Not really. But ever since my dad disappeared nine months ago, I worried that he would get caught in a storm like this, that by morning there would be a knock on my door from an officer who would tell me that a dead body has washed up on shore and they ID'd him as my father. The image leaves me with nightmares on nights like tonight.

JJ's the only one who knows this.

I don't like talking about it. Like JJ, we have this in common. So instead of telling him I'm fine and him not believing me, I pull the blanket at the edge of the mattress over our bodies and tuck myself into his side, laying my head on his shoulder. A position so intimate for just us "friends." I hope he can't feel my heart pounding beneath my skin, against his side. I let my body soften against his, feeling sleep take over me. I fall into a dreamless sleep next to JJ, hoping that the storm will be gone by the time we wake up.

[hopingforromanoff]

Russian Roulette Chapter One {N. Romanoff}

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Warnings:I don’t really think there is any. 

Requests are open, so feel free to send in requests and I will do my best to get them posted ASAP. I’m gonna keep them open for now but please be patient with the length of time it takes to finish them.

Y/n: Guys! I’m so excited to finally be posting Russian Roulette, I really enjoyed writing it!

I hope you enjoy!

~Lucy

My Masterlist

Russian Roulette Masterlist 

_______________

On days where she wasn’t away on missions or doing other duties required of her, Natasha Romanoff was a creature of habit. She awoke between the hours of 8 and 8:30. She walked the block from her Upper East Side apartment to the local coffee shop and ordered a large black coffee. And she sat and watched the hustle and bustle of New York City streets pass by her, no one quite knew what or who she was waiting for. 

At around 10, she returned to her apartment and a short while later, a car came to take her to the new Avengers facility, Natasha chose not to live there with the others. She preferred solitude. At the compound, she trained and caught up with the happenings of the world, and what might potentially concern the team.  

Natasha ate dinner with Steve, Tony and all the other permanent residences of the facility. And at around 7:30, Natasha returned to her apartment, where she watched true crime documentaries or read cheesy romance novels until she retired to her bed around 10:30. 

See the thing with creatures of habit is they’re easy to track. Natasha knew better. 

However, today felt different to Natasha. She woke almost an hour earlier than usual, for no apparent reason. She took the long way home from the coffee shop in order to shake the invisible eyes she felt following her on her way to the cafe. She walked a little faster to her waiting car. She kept her hand firmly on her gun when she returned home that night. Natasha just couldn’t shake this uneasy feeling that followed her. 

And at exactly 2:34am the next morning, Natasha awoke to a text from a blocked number. 

9:15. Your usual place. Come alone. 

And so, despite her better judgement and training, ,  Natasha sat, steaming hot coffee in hand, watching and waiting the following morning. 

And there you were, just as she remembered. 

Natasha felt as if time slowed and stopped around her, and the last 20 years seemed to fade into nothing as if they never happened. Emotions she no longer knew she could feel, emotions she hadn’t felt in over two decades flooded her. They ran through her veins with such force that when they hit her chest, Natasha thought her heart would explode. It was beating so fast. 

                             ~23 years earlier. May 24th 1998.~ 

         ~Red Room Academy, Eastern Russia, Exact Location Unknown~

You felt the springs creek and bend through the paper thin mattress as Natasha’s weight dipped the bed. 

“Shouldn’t you be training?” You mumbled, you couldn’t look at Natasha, not after what you had done. Your hand found the rough surface of the frayed rope used to tie you the rusted metal frame of the bed each night. To prevent escaping you were told, though you doubted anyone would be brave enough to try, everyone here was too terrified, or if they weren’t anymore then they were too brainwashed to even think of leaving. 

“They just have us running drills, Madame B and the others are too preoccupied with all the Graduation Ceremony preparations to notice I’m missing anyway, and besides, I thought you might need me” Natasha picked up your red, swollen hand from your lap and placed it in hers. Natasha wiped a drop of fresh blood from your skin, and you winced and tried to pull away as her smooth fingertips ran over the numerous cuts and bruises that were rapidly appearing on your skin. 

“You’re gonna be dead if they find you here” Natasha’s movements came to a stop when your eyes met her emerald green ones. 

“They’re not gonna find me, and even if they did, I wouldn't care, I want to spend as much time as I can with you before you graduate in a few days and I barely get to see you” Natasha broke the eye contact to survey just how injured you really were, and reached into the cabinet next to your bed and pulled out some gauze that had been haphazardly spun into a ball and some disinfectant wipes that she knew you had stolen from the infirmary on one of your many trips. 

“If I graduate” Your voice stayed strong despite the sting of the disinfectant on the large cut on your palm. 

“Oh shut up, you know you’re gonna pass all their tests, you’re the best Widow here” Natasha secured the gauze tightly around your hand. 

“I’ve been here longer, and you’re already almost better than me, imagine how good you’ll be in a few years when you get to your graduation ceremony” your voice trailed off. It wasn’t something you let yourself think about often, on the off chance that you both survived, would you ever be able to have anything more fleeting touches or hushed I love yous? A normal life together? And if you were ever caught? The both of you would be killed, relationships gave you a weak spot, and any sign weakness wasn’t tolerated. You would never truly be free. 

Silence fell over the two of you, it wasn’t a comfortable silence, but one that let you think just a little too much. 

“I can’t believe you can even look at me after what I’ve done” your voice faulted from a moment as hot tears filled your eyes and threatened to fall. You turned your back to her and tried to focus on the soft, dirty pink of your ballet shoes against the grey concrete of the walls around you. 

“Whatever you did, you did because you didn’t have a choice” It didn’t matter to Natasha what you had done because she knew you, she had almost her whole life, and she knew you would never do anything malicious, not if they hadn’t made you. She shifted on the bed behind you, and you jumped a little as her hands fell to either side of your hips. A shiver ran through you as her cold fingers found your warm skin under your uniform.  

“I did have a choice, I could have chosen to die, it would have been better” you snapped in frustration, not at her, but at yourself and the Red Room for making you even have to make a decision like that. You pushed her hands off of you and scooted to the end of the bed. 

“Please don’t talk like that” You didn’t fight her this time, as her hands found your hips and pulled you back to her. You fit perfectly between her legs, like you were meant to be together. 

“ I looked her right in the eyes and I snapped her neck, I felt her take her last breath, and watched the life leave her eyes, she was my friend, I’d rather be dead than live with that”  You felt more and more tears well up in your eyes, you closed them, too tired to fight anymore, and the drops began to fall. 

The sound of a door slamming and heavy boots reverberated down the empty hallway. Loud voices followed, your name mixed in with them. You wiped the flowing tears with your sleeve, leaving your eyes red and puffy, you would be punished for this, for showing emotion. 

“I love you y/n, and I always will, no matter what happens” Your watery eyes met her tears brimmed ones, and you tried to remember every detail of her face, as you never knew which moment would be your last with her. 

“I love you too, Tasha” you kissed her, enjoying the peace it brought for the last few seconds you had before everything would change. In her kiss, you were home, she would always be your home. 

Natasha gave your hand one more tight squeeze, and she managed to jump away from you just in time for the heavy, metal door to explode open with a bang. 

Natasha watched as the older, graduated Widow pulled you from the bed by your wrist. It burned, and you fought the urge to cry out as she applied heavy pressure to your open wounds. You could see the fire in Natasha's eyes, you pleaded with her with your eyes to not act on what she was thinking, if she fought back it would be a certain death sentence for her. 

 The slam of the door shook the walls as you left and the sounds of footsteps echoed through the halls. Those sounds would echo through Natasha’s mind for two decades as the last memory she had of you. 

Taglist:   @too-gay-for-marvel  @athenapotter​

Russian Roulette Taglist: @slytherinchevy​

[supergraphicultramoderngirl]

sweet like the thunder on my tongue

pairing: willex

word count: 2786

tw for light swearing

It tumbles out of his mouth before he could even think about it: “But I don’t have any powers.”

Caleb smirks. “And who told you that?”

or, in which willie realizes his true strength.

taglist is in the reblogs, fic is under the cut!

—————

“Willie?”

The skater’s head pops up, cutting off the conversation he was having to look over at his boss.

“Can I see you for a moment? In my office?” Caleb gestures toward the stairwell.

Wordlessly, Willie follows him, only growing concerned when they walk right past the office and towards another room at the end of the hall which he’d never paid any mind to before. Was that door even there before? “Caleb, what’s going on?”

Caleb opened the door to the room and ushered him inside-- well, more shoved, but who is Willie to talk back to him right now-- while all Willie could do was look around and wait for Caleb to say something. The room was dark-- pitch black, actually, and he couldn’t see anything inside. He could now barely see his own hands, if not for the single hanging light above Caleb’s head as he stood in the hallway still, blocking the doorframe. With a wave of his fingers, Caleb pushed Willie down into some kind of, apparently, vantablack chair, metal clamps fastening around his wrists as soon as he reached the seat. Caleb leaned against the doorframe, seemingly inspecting his nails. “You’ve betrayed me, William.”

Willie steels himself, squeezing his eyelids shut, and replies, “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His efforts to cover his tracks were pitiful, to be completely honest. He wasn’t sure how much energy he had left at that point; before he’d met the band— before he’d met Alex— he thought that the best thing about the afterlife was that he could do what he wanted for as long as he wanted, day in and day out, as long as he came back to the club to do the shows. But now, his entire perspective has been shaken up, and he’s honestly gotten sick of doing the same things every single day. Why should he go see the same sights he’s seen since 1983 when he could be screaming in a museum, or stealing an entire fucking bus, or anything that can actually make a connection between him and another person?

Except, now he can’t even do that anymore. His connections are gone. They all crossed over (except for Julie, who never saw him in the first place), and he was left to his own devices, again. Willie isn’t sure what else there is for him to do, and in all transparency, if he hasn’t figured out his unfinished business yet, he doubts he ever will. Caleb putting him out of his misery now would probably just save him a lot of trouble.

“Don’t be coy,” Caleb jabs at him, standing up straight. “After all I’ve done for you? I gave you a place to stay, food to eat, things to do, and this is how you repay me? You help my recruits escape?”

Willie sighs, the helplessness beginning to overwhelm him. “What does it matter, anyway? They’ve crossed over, you don’t have competition anymore, right?”

“William, the boys are still out there. And they’ve lost their stamps.” Willie freezes. They lost their stamps? Alex is alive— or, at least, as alive as he can be? “Regardless, I have never been worried about competition. Those boys have power, power that could rival my own. I can’t just have that out there in the world, where it could fall into the wrong hands, now, can I?” Caleb sneers, a sickenly sweet smirk on his face.

Furrowing his brows, Willie rushes out in reply, “They’re playing in a pop rock band, they’re practically harmless, what could they even—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Caleb interrupts, his icy eyes boring into Willie’s own.

Willie shuts his mouth and swallows his nerves. And maybe his pride.

Caleb leans forward, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “I can’t have anyone’s power rival my own. That would steal away my precious audience, my empire that I’ve built over the last hundred years. Every ghost in my club would otherwise be a threat to me, had they not signed away their powers when they sold me their souls. With their powers under my possession, I have full reign over any paranormal capabilities that this world could possibly hold.” He stands back up. “I’ve kept my enemies close, you could say.”

It tumbles out of his mouth before he could even think about it: “But I don’t have any powers.”

Caleb smirks. “And who told you that?”

Willie was looking right at him. He feels no need to answer, and even if he wanted to, his mouth is going dry and there’s a lump in his throat preventing him from doing anything other than remaining still.

“Don’t get your hopes up about the boys still being here, William,” Caleb says after a moment. “They won’t be when you get out.” He slams the door, leaving Willie in the room, with nothing but dark, dark, dark, alone.

***

“Alright, where’s our first stop?” Luke asks as Julie shrugs her backpack over her shoulder and takes a sip from her water bottle. She and the boys were walking down Sunset Boulevard, her with Airpods in so she could talk to the boys without getting odd looks from others. Julie was planning a sleepover with Flynn for the following night, and the boys jumped at the chance to help her run errands, since hanging out in the studio was getting a little boring.

“Can we stop for pizza? I know we can’t eat it, but at least I can smell it!” Reggie pleads, using his puppy dog eyes.

“Reg, that face only works on Luke and Alex. You can smell it tomorrow night when she’s over, yeah?” Julie jokes. “I was thinking—”

A dark, purple smoke appears in front of them, causing them to stumble and still themselves, the boys’ faces all paling once they realize who’s in front of them.

Caleb smiles, sickeningly sweet. “Hello, boys. And you must be Julie.”

***

He has powers.

Willie has powers, and he hadn’t known this entire fucking time.

This guy, who was supposed to be Willie’s mentor for the past, who knows, thirty-ish years now, who he had once looked up to, who had taken him in has his own, who had given him a way to keep track of time again, who somehow knew he had powers that he couldn’t manage on his own, did all of it for his own advantage. He used him to gain more power and control, while making Willie think he cared. Thirty fucking years.

Right now, he’s trapped in this room, yeah, but Willie feels more suffocated by the hurt and confusion surrounding him more than anything else. He can’t stand that Alex and the boys are probably out there right now, about to be destroyed by Caleb, because of him, again. He hates that nearly all of his afterlife has just been a giant fucking lie. And with these stupid new-but-not-really powers, he doesn’t even know where to start. So, he does what he knows best.

Willie screams.

He cries a bit too, but mostly he screams until his voice grows hoarse.

Ever since he passed away, he’s always loved the feeling that grows in his chest when he screams, knowing that he can just take up so much space without anyone (or at least, anyone important) hearing. It hurts sometimes, obviously, but really it just feels like lightning forming in his veins, sparking against his the walls of his skin, ready to burst through.

He doesn’t notice until he takes a gasp for air that this time, it actually has.

Willie gasps again, this time in shock. It’s a bright, brilliant green, wires of light darting across his fingertips and palms. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

Willie squeezes his eyes shut and makes two fists, willing the stinging of the lightning to go away by distracting himself with the stinging of his own fingernails. He realizes then that he’s created light, that he’s given himself a way out, so he reopens his hands and holds them out, looking for the door that Caleb had previously slammed. He spots it and moves to get up, almost forgetting about his arm braces. He curses under his breath, and begins to rack his brain for a way out of them, the green still dancing around his arms.

He screams again.

***

They’d been cornered into an alleyway, which was probably best for any bystander’s sanity, anyway, but it meant that they were trapped by Caleb. Again.

“What do you want with us?” Luke had asked when Caleb first appeared, walking in front of Julie with a guarding arm.

Caleb had sighed in reply, taking a step forward, “Oh, I’ve decided I don’t need you three anymore. You’re not of any use to me, not without your lifer by your side. Without a life source, you’re about as powerful as any other regular ghost. I just need her.”

Luke stood fully in front of Julie then, Reggie and Alex flanking him to protect her. “You will never get to her,” Alex had chimed in, ice in his tone.

“Bold statement from someone who still chooses to hide behind his friends.” Alex had looked down at his shoes in shame, face turning red. “Oh, don’t worry, we all know you’re not brave enough to take me on by yourself,” Caleb chuckled to himself. “Besides, you boys seem to have forgotten how powerful I am— or can we do without the reminder?” Caleb added, lifting his hand as a wisp of purple smoke curled around it.

Now, after putting up a decent fight, they stand against the building as dark purple webs tangle over them, effectively pinning them down. Julie strains against them as they burn into her skin, pointedly not looking at Caleb who is inches away. Caleb puts a finger to her chin, causing her to look into his eyes. Julie sucks on her teeth, willing herself not to cry any more than she already has. “Quite a shame that such talent, such heart has to go to waste,” Caleb says, before his hand begins to glow in a manner that Julie knows could only lead to her demise.

He’s interrupted, however, by a slew of car alarms going off. Caleb swivels his head to look over at the main road, now realizing that it’s… empty?

Almost moving to walk over, Caleb hesitates just enough for the webs’ strength to weaken, and the boys poof out of their hold. They immediately begin trying to pull the web of magic off of Julie, succeeding in doing so once they notice that Caleb’s attention is no longer on them. He’s in the road now, staring down the horizon line.

“He’s distracted now, let’s poof to the studio to buy some time,” Reggie says, but Luke quickly counters, “Julie can’t poof. We would have to go back down the road, anyway.”

While Luke and Reggie are trying to figure out what to do, Julie’s eyes stray over to Alex, who is now peering around the corner of the building, eyebrows furrowed. He suddenly runs over to the road, and Julie calls after him. The three run to catch up to Alex and stand in terror just a few feet behind Caleb, who is still seemingly frozen in place.

They feel it before they can see it.

The hair on their arms and the backs of their necks begin to stand on end, a quiet humming in the atmosphere causing an adrenaline rush kind of energy around them. The humming thrums into a pulse, concentrating around what Caleb must’ve been looking at; a sharp, sparking green light floating in the air down the road. It grows bigger and bigger, until a silhouette suddenly appears in its place, looking at the ground. “Hey, Caleb!”

Alex’s heart stops when he realizes who it is.

Willie looks up from the ground and begins to make his way over, thunderous step by thunderous step. His eyes shine fully in bright green, almost like the lightning inside of him was leaking out. He reaches forward and a beam of crackling light shoots forward, splitting and clasping itself around Caleb’s wrists in constraint. With rumbling intensity, Willie continues, “You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me my entire afterlife, pretending to care. Every time you stamped someone, you told me it was because they would be dangerous otherwise, that you were just ‘protecting the ghost world’, and then you turn and do it to my friends. You’ve hurt me, you’ve hurt the people I care about, and it doesn’t even matter to you. I don’t even want to know the number of other ghosts you’ve screwed over like you have us.” Willie heaves in a breath, his arm beginning to shake as Caleb tries to overpower him with his own powers. “I can’t let you do this anymore.”

Caleb grits through his teeth, “You don’t get much of a say, William, I own you.”

“Not anymore.” Willie screams again, causing the beam shooting out of his palm to reinforce itself, the sparks around Caleb’s wrists slowly crawling around his skin until it looked like his veins were filled with light. “You aren’t strong enough to beat me, William, I know you more than you know yourself. You can’t do this,” Caleb tries, but Willie just screams louder, drowning him out.

The screams nearly shake the air, causing Julie to lean on Luke for support, with Reggie resting a hand on her shoulder. Alex wants to reach out, to do something, but he knows there’s nothing he really can do to help. He knew Willie was one of a kind, it was obvious from every interaction they’d had up to that point, but he never expected him to be that powerful. It was terrifying, if he was being honest. And Alex didn’t want to be scared of him, especially while he was literally putting his life on the line for them, but it was almost as if Willie was losing control.

Wait.

A small, dwindling purple smoke emits from Caleb’s palms, encircling the cuffs on his wrists, and the green light inside of him dims. Willie is panting in between his screams, running out of energy. Inhaling sharply, Alex doesn’t think twice before bolting over to him, ignoring the protests from his friends.

Alex stands behind him and grips his hands onto Willie’s shoulders, focusing all of his energy into his fingertips, just like he had on that day in the museum. And, just like that day, he screams with Willie, hoping and praying to a god he no longer believes in that it helps, that it works.

It does.

The lightning bursts out at a rapid speed, nearly enveloping Caleb, almost as if it was tearing him apart, atom by atom. It grows brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until—

He’s gone. Small ashes lie in the spot where Caleb once stood, now dissipated into thin air.

Willie collapses to the ground in exhaustion and Alex grasps onto him, as if he’ll disappear himself if he lets go. After a brief moment, Willie takes a sharp breath, wincing in a burning, stinging type of pain, and lets out a breath of relief once it goes away. He knows exactly what that was, he could feel it; his soul was finally back in his body.

Willie looks down at his wrist. The familiar stamp from the Hollywood Ghost Club is still there, however it no longer has its signature purple sheen. It’s black and faded now, like a thirty-year-old tattoo he’s come to regret.

“Are you okay?” Alex asks, pulling away, his face the picture of worry. Willie notices then that Julie, Luke, and Reggie are knelt next to him, too, their own expressions almost as bad as Alex’s.

Willie smiles a sad smile. It’s a weak thing, but it’s genuine. “You’re still here.”

Recognition washes over Alex’s face, and he softly lifts his hand to Willie’s chin. “Of course I am. I told you, I’d follow you anywhere, yeah?”

Willie chuckles and ducks his head. “Yeah, well, somehow, you did.”

Alex lightly pulls on his chin so he can look him in the eye, a burning intensity present there that Willie hasn’t seen in, well, thirty years. “We can explain that later, okay? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Willie does a small nod. “I will be.”

Alex pulls him back into a tight hug, and Willie sinks into his arms. He knows they’ll both ask questions later; all that matters right now is that they’re there, that they’ve got each other.

And now, they always will.

[inkrabbit]

Hi! So I was wondering if you could do a Sean Macguire x male!reader where they’re arguing because Sean unnecessarily risked his life and Sean tries to get out of the argument by saying ‘you’re cute when you’re angry’ and instead of reader getting all flustered and blushy, he gets even more pissed off and just says ���oh fuck off’ then goes off to his tent. And a little while later Sean finds him and apologizes then promises to be careful and it just ends in fluff and sleepy cuddles before they fall asleep together.

Sorry this took so long! It's not the best, but I did what I could for the plot. Hopefully you enjoy <3

I'll work on the next request soon

Word count: 1,957

Sean had once heard that, in life or death situations, time would slow down. He laughed at those stories, wondering how that could be possible. Time and time again, life continued to speed by him and the gang with no intentions of ever slowing down.

That was until he had jumped in front of you, green eyes blown wide and his mouth hanging open, a strangled gasp escaping his throat. In that moment, time truly did seem to stop as he fell back. The yelling and cheering of the final O'Driscoll fell away, along with the gunfire as he slowly brought his hand up to cover his side. It hurt, and his blood stuck to his hand, warm and sticky as he gripped his jacket and skin in an attempt to stop the bleeding and quell the rising pain.

The sound of your panicked voice was the only thing that came through the white noise and ringing in his ears, still reeling from the damage. He barely registers that, in his daze, you've managed to get a clean shot off on the man who had originally wounded him. Now laying in only your presence, he let out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding in, shaky and filled with discomfort. Each breath he took, no matter how small, seemed to intensify the pain in his side.

“Are you okay?” Oh, but no matter how much pain he was in, that familiar goofy smile made its way to his lips as he stares up at you.

“Aye, I am now, love,” he chuckles softly, but his hand doesn't move from its spot. With arms still shaking from the adrenaline, you crouch down to help lift him up, just into a seated position. “Ah, watch it, lad! Still not feelin' meself, as ya can see!”

“I don't wanna hear it!” It wasn't often you shot back at him like this. Sure, he was used to the snooty remarks, and maybe the comments that would act as a slap on the wrist, but the roar in your voice made him feel like a child being scolded. He expected this from Miss Grimshaw, or Hosea; maybe even Dutch on a bad day, but to hear it from his boyfriend? Well, this was certainly new.

“I had it all under control!” you continue as you hook his arm over your shoulders and lift him up, ignoring the whining that reverberated in his throat. “All you had to do was stay behind cover, and you couldn't even do that!”

“Where's the fun in hidin'?” He tries to give you a cheeky smile as you two walk over to Ennis, and he notes how you're almost reluctant to help him up and onto his saddle. “'Sides, I was just tryin' to protect ya, love.”

“Oh, shut it,” Watching you mount your own horse, the two of you trot back to camp. Silence falls and Sean notices that you won't even spare him a glance. Still, he can tell by the way your brows are furrowed that now's not the time to make small talk. One hand grips the reins as his other covers the hole in his side. Maybe he would try saying something when both of you returned to camp?

To no one's surprise, Miss Grimshaw is the first one to start hollering across camp when she sees Sean struggling to get down from Ennis and the blood that soaked his clothes. She pushes right past you, demanding the Irishman to explain himself as she leads him over to the wagon. He can barely get any words out before the older woman starts talking over him. Being practically thrown onto the small stool, Sean peers around Miss Grimshaw as he watches you hand over the loot from your expedition.

Once more, a seed of guilt is planted in the pit of his stomach, but he doesn't have long to dwell on it before Miss Grimshaw is instructing he removes his clothes so she can take a better look at his wound. He moves slow, wincing as he feels the material try to cling to his body, and the pinch and burning pain as he moves.

“Just what were you thinkin'?” she demands as she picks up a cloth and some antiseptic. To the best of his ability, Sean shrugs.

“I just wanted to protect 'im,” he responds softly, sucking air in through his teeth when he feels the sting of the cloth against his side.

“You know Y/N is more than capable of handling himself,” He nods, almost sheepishly, as he avoids her stern stare.

“I know, but...” He watches you from across the way, standing before Dutch and Hosea as you rant, no doubt about his little act. You're stomping your foot and flailing your hands, your face red and your brows furrowed. He had never seen you this mad before. “Ya don't know what it's like watchin' people shoot at someone ya love.”

“Oh, 'course I do,” He finally turns to stare at Miss Grimshaw, green eyes waiting for her to continue. “You think Dutch and I were always safe? Things escalated more times than I can count. He couldn't take his way out of everything, even if he thinks he can.”

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe ask more questions, but his mind goes blank when you finally walk over with your arms crossed over your chest. The scowl is still cemented on your face, but that doesn't stop him from putting on that old, goofy smile and sending it your way.

“Ya look cute when you're angry, Y/N!” he teases, resting his elbow on his knee so he can bend over just slightly. He had high hopes you would give him something; a smirk, playful huff, or even a roll of the eye. But the way your jaw clenched only made his heart drop. Before he knows it, your hand is lashing out and smacking his cheek, jerking his head to the side. There's a ringing in his ear, and he barely catches the mild scolding Miss Grimshaw starts to deliver to you.

“I wouldn't be so angry if you weren't such an idiot!” Your tone is clearly angry, but he can hear that slight wavering in your voice; the slightest crack that he would've missed had he not been paying attention. His mouth drops open, ready to fire back in a desperate attempt to calm you down, but you've already turned your heels and stormed away towards your tent. He's left sitting there, a deep frown on his face.

“Oh, now look at what you've done,” Miss Grimshaw sighs, her eyes trailing you. “You just can't keep your mouth shut, can you?”

“I gotta go after 'im,” He plants his hand on the stool, slowly trying to lift himself up, but the old woman is faster. She grabs his shoulder and forces him back down, a wince coming from the man.

“Oh, no you don't!” Her face is hard, brows furrowed as she glares down at him. “Now, I think you've done quite enough for one day. You just let poor Y/N simmer down before you go botherin' him.”

“But I just-”

“But nothin'! You're stayin' right here!”

Maybe he would've argued more if his side wasn't on fire, or if the woman hadn't had such a brutal grip on the base of his neck to hold him still. His eyes followed your direction, and he stared at the closed flaps of your tent. He hadn't meant to make you mad.

The rest of his medical treatment consisted of him barely listening to Miss Grimshaw's rant. Something about him being more careful the next time he's out, and how he has to be more aware of his surroundings and not make such stupid decisions. He absentmindedly just nods his head, eyes still trained on your tent. He went over the conversation you two would eventually be having repeatedly in his mind. Should he just apologize? Should he try to explain himself? Should he just try and forget it all happened and keep going on as if everything was normal? He supposed he would figure it out when he saw you.

By the time the sun slipped behind the horizon, everyone had heard about Sean's little event and nice slap he had received. Of course some of the members had poked and prodded for more information, and other teased him about what had happened. He never told them, of course. Just rolled his eyes and brushed them off. But the whiskey he was offered as a sort of “get well soon” gift was more than welcome. It helped calm his nerves for what was to come.

When the last drop of whiskey hit his tongue, he tossed the bottle to the side and bid everyone at the campfire a farewell. Some had wished him luck, expecting him to be thrown out of your tent within seconds of entering just by saying something stupid. And truth be told, that thought had entertained him for a while. He was worried he would say the wrong thing and receive another slap, only to have you throw him out seconds later.

Standing outside of your tent, he gnaws at the bottom of his lip. It was now or never, he supposed. While the alcohol still coursed through his veins and gave him that little bit of courage, he reaches out and pulls the flaps apart. You're laying down on your cot with your back towards the entrance, paying him no mind.

“Y/N? Can we talk?” he starts softly, only to be met with silence. With a soft sigh, he steps into the tent and lets the flaps close behind him. His strides over are slow, worried you'll lash out at any second. “Look, I just wanted to tell ya I'm sorry. I-”

“Like sorry makes it any better,” He finally reaches the cot, taking a seat on the edge to reach out and rest his hand on your shoulder. “You could've died, Sean!”

“Well, I'm fully aware of that...” He holds his breath, worried he'll be met with more aggression. When you don't respond, however, he decides to continue. “I just... I dunno. I guess seein' ya in trouble like that... it made me panic. I can't lose ya, Y/N.”

“So your first thought was to jump in front of a bullet?”

“My first thought was to protect you. Didn't matter what happened after.”

You slowly shift on the cot, sitting up and finally facing him. He can finally see your bloodshot eyes. Reaching out, he gently brushes his knuckles against your cheek.

“I just don't wanna lose you,” you sigh. A small creeps across his freckled face as he leans in to press his lips against yours.

“I'll try to be more careful.”

“You promise?”

“Well, best I can, love.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, this one lingering longer than the last.

“You ever do something stupid like that again, I'll kill you myself,” you murmur against his lips. He chuckles softly.

“I'd expect ya to, lad,” You help him slowly lay down on the cot next to you, letting his head rest against your chest as you ran your fingers through dirty red locks. He's softly complaining about the ache in his side, and you just remind him it's what he deserves after making such a stupid decision. Still, he gives you a smile as he promises to not pull another stunt like that again.

[wtfevenismypage]

Observer Not Profiler PT.3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: You’re similar to a profiler, but you can tell almost anything about a person just from a single glance. What they had for dinner, if they took a bath or shower, their name, favorite color, if they lie, even if they’re good in bed. You’ve been running from the government ever since you got caught hacking into their systems and since then you have been diagnosed with Extreme anxiety, anxious tics, and paranoia. But now the BAU need you’re help in Identifying killers.

Warnings: maybe a curse word or two, mentions of death, anxious/nervous ticking, tic attacks

A/N: Hey all! Here’s part 3! Remember that requests are open! So is the taglist, however I may be closing the taglist in a few weeks! thank you for reading!

You never knew you were scared of being on private jets until Dr. Spencer Reid rolled along.

“Statistically, Private jets crash more so than commercial planes do. The rate is commonly expressed as the number of accidents per 100,000 flight hours. The accident and fatal-accident rates declined again in 2015. In fact, the fatal-accident rate fell below one to 0.84, meaning there was less than one fatal crash per 100,000 flight hours.”

You think he was trying to make you feel better, but it only made you even more terrified.

“I would like to join the Bureau!”

Emily smiles happily, she knew that getting to know you would be a blast, and your people reading skills would come in major handy.

“That’s wonderful!”

Garcia yells out before wrapping her arms around you, it makes you freeze at first, but the hesitation wears off and you hug her back before shaking hands with everyone else.

When you shake Dr. Reid’s hand, you linger for a second, barely a second, before shaking hands with Hotch.

“This is going to be difficult, you’ll need training.”

You nod, shaking his calloused hand firmly.

“Of course sir, I’m willing to go through all of the training in the world for this.”

He smiles, but barely, only noticeable if you were looking (which you are) and you feel ecstatic at the small gesture. 

“Well, we have a jet to catch, so let’s hurry up. wheel’s up in thirty.”

The first few weeks of training were intense, you were physically trained by Morgan, he got you into shape and gifted you with a subtle six pack that you could see if you squinted hard enough. 

Hotch trained you to handle a gun, which you kind of sucked at. Every time you shot it, you jumped five feet in the air and had a mini panic attack, which Hotch had to help you out with.

Emily, Rossi, and JJ made you into a pretty damn good interrogator, which made you smile every time they complimented you.

You were shocked when you learned that you actually did need lessons in profiling, you needed to learn certain behaviors at crime scenes when you couldn’t see the unsub. Reid helped you in that regard. He also told you all sorts of fun facts, which you happily listened to, you loved learning new things and you would even insist upon hearing the facts sometimes.

You and Penelope had races against each other to see who could get into what faster, so far you two were tied.

Today is the day though, your first day as an official member of the team. Surprisingly, you still couldn’t say the word profiler without spiraling, and you’ve been having anxious tic attacks all night and all morning.

As you walk into the doors to the big office in the early early morning, your wrists slam together twice, making you wince and rub them, feeling the bruises from last night scream in rage.

“I’ve gotta learn to stop that...”

You realize you’re the first in the office, so you just take a quick seat to try and ground yourself, but it instead spirals into a tic attack as you take in what’s finally happening after all of these long and torturous years. 

“Y/L/N. You alright?”

You turn to the cold voice, seeing Hotch standing at the top of the stairs. You thought you were alone, you hoped you were, but if anyone was going to be at the office, you weren’t surprised it was Hotch.

“Oh, sorry sir, I’m just having first day nerves! I feel like I’m back in middle school...”

He flashes you an understanding half-smile, walking up to you and patting your shoulder.

“Don’t worry too much, everyone here is already obsessed with you, you’ll fit right in.”

You smile, trying to act like you were okay,but when your fist harshly collides with the side of your head, you sigh and clutch the now bruised spot.

“Well, the others should be here soon, your desk is right there, next to Reid’s.”

You couldn’t stop the pink heat that bum-rushed it’s way onto your cheeks, trying to avoid Hotch seeing by moving to your new desk an sitting down, subconsciously clapping your palm against the desk.

“Wowie. I’m all official and everything huh?”

You smirk before the door clicks open, people beginning to enter the once-empty office space and making your nerves go through the roof once again.

That is, until Derek and Reid walk in with Garcia chatting about something random with Emily laughing at her.

“Hey Y/L/N! How’s the day so far?”

Derek asks, sitting on your desk. You immediately swat him off with a fake pout painted across your lips.

“Hey, I just got this space, I’ll be d-damned if I let some-some sweaty man sit on it.”

They didn’t miss your nervous stuttering, but in the short time the team had known you, they knew you hated when your tics were the center of attention, so they simply gave sad smiles and moved on.

“We have a new case, Y/L/N, I’ll give you a moment to adjust, round table in ten.”

Hotch walks away, back to his office before Garcia plops down on your desk. Derek notices how you don’t shoo her off and throws a whole fit.

“So you kick me off but not Penelope?”

“Is Garcia a-a sweaty m-man? I don-don’t think so!”

You all laugh before they sit down, Reid sitting next to you and logging into his computer before setting his stuff down.

“You ready for your first case?”

Reid asks, you shrug in response, a nervous smile plastered on your face.

“I g-guess we’ll find-find out.”

Your wrists slam together again, making you hiss in pain a bit, Reid looks concerned and takes one of your wrists in his hand, gently brushing one of his long, slender fingers over your bruised nerves.

“Well a better question, are these going to heal correctly?”

He asked with a sudden seriousness that you didn’t particularly enjoy. 

“Well I don’t know Mr. Genius, why don’t you tell me?”

He looks up at your sarcastic words and smiles a bit, cheeks being brushed with a bit of red as he answers.

“Well they won’t heal properly with your tics, if anything they could get worse, the veins in your wrists will actually get really damaged and it could affect your entire nervous system, you might want to get it-”

“Spencer, as much as I love listening to your rants, and I do, I don’t love listening to the ones about my health being in danger.”

He smiles and discontinues the topic, letting you take your wrists out of his gentle grip and returning to your computer.

“Alright everyone, let’s get to the round table.”

-

-

-

-

-

Throughout the entire case, you stick close with Reid, he made you feel safer than the others somehow. He didn’t say anything about you being with him the entire time, he just accepted the helpful points you gave him. 

One night, you two were up all night trying to find a connection, laying out on top of a desk, listening to Mozart (he insisted) and trying to make a connection between the victims.

You had gotten so excited when you finally made a connection you started jumping up and down with Spencer, holding his hands happily as he joined your silly theatrics.

He seemed to be the only person that can relax your anxiety, even just standing around him helped slow your tics. You didn’t know why he relaxed you, he just did. 

On the jet back to the BAU, the two of you shared earbuds to listen to classical music, you had left your headphones back in Oregon so Spencer offered his left earbud.

Even back at the offices when you were working with Penelope, he brought you green tea, telling you it would still keep you awake but it wouldn’t make you as jittery or paranoid as coffee would.

As soon as he left, Garcia started looking at you weird, giving you googly eyes.

“What?”

“You like him don’t you!?”

Your jaw drops, eyebrows furrowing down, your cheeks get all rosy. No way! You didn’t like him like that, you just enjoyed his company.

“No I don’t! You’re finally going crazy huh?”

“You totally do! You’re getting all blushy and everything!”

“I don’t like him like that! I’ve never liked anyone like that, why would it start now huh? It wouldn’t. I don’t like him.”

She gives you a doubtful look, but drops it, letting you spin around to another computer while sipping on your freshly hot green tea.

The next day, you take the elevator up with Spencer, Derek, and JJ, JJ and Derek were talking about some show, while you listened to Spencer ramble about how unrealistic the show was.

“But Spencer, Dr. Who isn’t very realistic, but you still love it don’t you?”

“Well yeah, but I’m immediately biased to Dr. Who for my love of it, with any other movie or show, I don’t hesitate to point out faults.”

You chuckle at that, Spencer’s passion for Dr. Who was unmatched for anyone else’s love for any show. It’s insane. 

“Okay before pretty boy goes on about Dr. Who for hours, let’s escape.”

The doors open, allowing you and the other team members to walk in. Your desk was still fairly empty, not even a plant there to accompany your computer, you were still holding onto your runaway life, whether you admit it or not.

“Y/L/N, I need to talk to you. My office now.”

“What was that about?”

Panic bubbles to your chest, Hotch’s tone was too assertive, too aggresive. It was scary.

“I don’t know...”

Taglist: 

@imsuperawkward @ithinkilovetruecrimetoomuch @l0ve-0f-my-life @hopebaker @thatonezesty13 @nightlygiggless @aberrant-annie @holybatflapexpert @spencerreidisbootiful @april-14-blog @jackryan-plz @ajwantsapancake @lightswriting @emilouu @yourmisosoup @lizziebritish @101donuts @rainsong01 @pretty-boy-genius @squirrellover1967 @gublerstyles @delievia @boxofsparklingmuses @annestine 

[asphyxiateher]

Only Monsters Come Out At Night

Chapter 2: Say My Name. A/N: Rough draft I’ll be posting to AO3 later after I go through the edits. Enjoy now, I’ll be polishing it later. I personally would let Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters step on me but that’s just me

Warnings: Character death, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, horror. Elements of non-con. 

              Time had no meaning for Desdemona anymore as her entire being floated comfortably into a quiet void. She was only accompanied by the sweet sound of silence that filled her ears and that in itself was comforting. She was in such a deep state of sleep that it felt like she would be trapped in the peaceful state of purgatory for eternity, but alas that would no longer be the case. Desdemona thought she was dead; in fact, she wanted nothing more than for that to be the case. Unluckily for her, she was about to wake to unfortunate events that would lead her to believe she was trapped in Hell. At first, she sees nothing in her field of vision but then she hears the shrill sound of familiar laughter that sends a shiver down her spine. The black abyss she grew accustomed to deteriorated all around her, a blinding flash of white light surrounds her for the briefest of moments before Desdemona’s eyes finally opened to reveal the disturbing scene before her. “Mother, my pet is finally awake! Oh, I was growing ever so impatient, my darling little one. I was so desperate to peer into those gorgeous eyes of yours again, I was tempted to pluck them out of your skull as you slept.” A voice whispered dangerously into her ears behind her, wet lips gently wrapping around her right ear before it was released with a pop. “Cassandra, you foul thing, learn your place! How many times do I have to say that it was I who found our prize? Do not touch what does NOT belong to you!” Screeched the woman with the green pendant as she materialized by her side in an instant. It didn’t take long for the fact to register that this was the first time that Desdemona could finally get a better look at the women who attacked the group in the village. Now that their hoods were down, she could better identify them by not only their hair color but by the manner of which they spoke and the pendants they wore. The way they continued to fight over her made her stomach turn as she struggled to comprehend why they wanted her alive and what they were going to do with her.

Another black mass of insects appeared and disintegrated into nothing just as quickly as the third woman decided to chime in, her yellow pendant gleaming brightly against the dimly lit room. Her dirtied, dark brown hair tickled Desdemona’s face as she leaned dangerously over her, the smirk on her face growing wider when Desdemona’s breath grew heavy again. She raised her hand and playfully walked two fingers up Desdemona’s arm and over her collarbone before she roughly grasped her prey’s chin and forced her to look directly into her eyes. “Hello, pretty little plaything, you’ll find that my sisters lack manners when they’re lusting over irresistible blood. You should feel honored you made quite the impression as you did. The others you brought with you are undeserving of your company and you’ll find that they deserve punishment simply by existing. Mother will see to that soon enough.” The brunette told her quietly as she straightened back up.

‘Wait, what did she mean by punishing the others for simply existing? Where were Desmond and Veronica?’ Desdemona worriedly thought to herself. The younger Hawthorne sibling attempted to move but she didn’t realize her wrists were restrained by old fashioned shackles until it was too late. She suddenly felt herself being lifted to her feet by the two crazed sisters standing on either side of her. Each woman occasionally nuzzled into her neck and sniffed at her, nipping at her and licking exposed skin whenever the impulse struck.

Desdemona glanced around her environment and realized that they must be inside the castle if the polished flooring, centuries old artwork and beautiful grand staircase were of any indication. Where else would they be after getting lost out on the trail?

The frightened young woman made the mistake of looking over to her left and found that the red-haired woman known as Daniela was staring at her with a glazed look in her eyes. The sight of her lips parting and blowing her a small kiss made Desdemona’s heart nearly jump out of her throat. She couldn’t avert her gaze out of fear and Daniela took that as an invitation to flirt the only way she knew how. She brought two fingers to her face, spaced them out to a “V” shape and made an obscene gesture with her unusually long tongue, moaning loudly when Desdemona blushed and looked away. “Don’t be shy, my love. Once we take care of Mother’s unwanted pests, we can finally be alone together and I’ll taste you once and for all. You’ll find that I do want to eat you but only in the best way possible. You wouldn’t deny me the pleasure, would you?” Daniela growls out, her eyes fluttering shut as the sound of Desdemona’s blood rushing through her veins and her rapidly beating heart thudding against her chest awakened a whole new need in Daniela. Desdemona wanted to cry out but refrained from doing so when she realized somebody else was coming.

Heels could be heard clicking from afar, a door slamming open and voices shouting in protest behind what seemed to be an impossibly tall, statuesque women. Desdemona’s jaw dropped for two reasons: The woman who entered the room dramatically exuded such class and confidence that it didn’t look awkward in the manner in which she had to bend so far low to pass through the doorway. When she uncurled herself from the uncomfortable position, her golden eyes met gray uncertain ones and they immediately pierced through Desdemona’s soul. The woman brought out a whole new level of terror within her. The second reason Desdemona’s mouth remained agape was due to the fact that the mysterious woman dragged along the wounded bodies of both Desmond and Veronica.

‘They’re still alive!’ Desdemona thought, hope rising in her chest the moment she saw both her best friend and twin reacting to her presence. “Des, you’re okay! Christ, the way these fucking things were talking about you, I thought the worst happened.” Desmond called out to her, desperation in his voice as he attempted to crawl his way towards his sister. Veronica tried to break free from the intimidating woman’s grasp but the woman merely raised a perfectly manicured brow in response and tugged on the chains wrapped around both Desmond and Veronica. They had collars clasped tightly around their necks and they choked as a result of the chains being pulled back.

When Veronica glanced back at Desdemona, the furious expression on her face softened when she noticed the bedraggled state her friend was in. Desmond noticed it too and it only served to fuel his anger. “What the fuck did they do to you? I’ll kill them, I’ll slit their fucking throats and make them pay if they so much as tried to ra-,” Veronica began but was immediately cut off with a harsh slap to the face. “Goddamn, bitch!” “Silence, vermin! Speak when you’re spoken to or you’ll learn your place soon enough should you continue to use foul language in my house. Now, pray tell my daughters, what is it that has you all so eager about entertaining this particular foreigner?” The elegant woman asks as she gives Desdemona a once over. The manner in how she reacts to inhaling Desdemona’s scent alarms the younger Hawthorne sibling. She decides to inspect her more closel with flared nostrils and enlarged pupils. She seemed…pleased, for whatever reason. ‘Do they plan on sacrificing you to appease whatever wicked deity they believe in?’ Desdemona nervously asked herself.

One of the daughters, the one known as Bela and the one with the red pendant, spoke first. “We were out on the hunt in the village when I suddenly picked up on her delicious scent, mother. She’s a carrier of our favorite blood type. We haven’t had anyone like her in so long, we were hoping we could make a feast of her with your permission.”

Desdemona tensed up at the suggestion and vigorously shook her head. “M-may I ask what w-we did to offend you and your daughters? I apologize for any wrongdoing, ma’am but we’re just Americans on vacation and we ran out of gas on the way to Bran! We weren’t expecting to get lost but please let us go, we didn’t come out here to hurt anyone!” She pleaded with tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes flicking from Daniela to Cassandra and finally, the incredibly powerful woman standing before.

“Des, don’t go begging them. They’re not going to listen to reason, believe me; we tried!” Desmond warned.

The quiet dark-haired woman, Cassandra, sneered at Desdemona’s twin and slashed at his face with her sickle in hand. Desmond cries out and attempts to cover his face with his cuffed hands only to have them ripped away. She kicks his chest and flattens him on the ground. Cassandra smiles wickedly as she brings her heel to the open cut and presses hard against his face for a moment, stomping on him a few times for good measure. Both Veronica and Desdemona scream, begging the sadistic sister to stop tormenting him but their pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Good, girl, Cassandra. The hideous man-thing won’t shut his hole. I’m this close to gutting him on my newly polished floor and letting you girls get your fill for the evening. Ugh!” The woman in charge said before looking over to you once again. “It seems your exotic little treat has good manners considering what she is, however, and wishes to bargain with us. I can be a most gracious host and I’m all ears but I have two conditions if you wish to prolong your life, little one. Allow me to introduce myself first. I am Countess Alcina Dimitrescu and these beautiful girls of mine are my daughters Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela.”  

Veronica scoffed and spat at the floor, earning a glare from the titan of a woman who was apparently on the edge of snapping. Desdemona was ready to leave in one piece so of course she stepped in and spoke on behalf of her brother and her furious friend. “P-pleasure to meet you all, I’m Desdemona Hawthorne and that’s my twin brother, Desmond and my childhood friend Veronica. Ma’am, or My Lady, this all has to be a colossal misunderstanding and we are willing to pay any price if you allow us to leave and return home.”

The trembling girl gasped the moment she felt a pair of cold hands wrap themselves around her breasts from behind. Another set of hands reached for her belt buckle and began undoing her jeans rather enthusiastically. The next thing she knew, her v-neck shirt had been torn in half and her pants torn and ripped off her body.

“Desdemona, such a lovely name and what a lovely body. Mother, please let me keep her? I promise I won’t break her.” Daniela whined as she rubbed her hands up and down the length of her victim’s bare torso. It didn’t help the situation at hand when Daniela’s touch left Desdemona arching back into her, which must have sent the wrong signal because the delusional woman squealed with delight.

“If you or Cassandra had it your way, you’d bleed her dry on the first night and waste her blood when I would savor every inch of her until her very last moment!” Bela complained, her fingers inching dreadfully closer to the band of her undergarments.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off my sister, you twisted bitches. Stop fucking touching her! I’ll kill you, I swear it!” Desmond bellowed, managing to pull away from Lady Dimitrescu’s clutches and lunged at the women that were touching his twin inappropriately. He swung his arms at Daniela and used the length of the chain to whip against the side of her body. Daniela, caught off guard by his sudden attack, screeched in surprise and this immediately angered Alcina.

“ENOUGH!” Lady Dimitrescu signaled for her daughters to apprehend Desmond and the girls obliged, their concern for Daniela overwhelming even to them. Bela and Cassandra ambushed him on either side and using their transformative powers, they pulled him away from their youngest sibling and slammed his body against the nearest wall. Cassandra pinned his shackled hands above his head while Bela held onto his thrashing legs tightly.

Veronica was breathing heavily but made no move to run to him, not while Alcina held her leash tightly. Her brows were furrowed, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she tried to refrain from saying anything that would cause them to harm Desmond.

Desdemona could only cry out for mercy as it physically pained her to watch her own twin suffer at the hands of these monsters.

Meanwhile, Alcina had been hunched over Daniela and whispered disturbingly soothing things into her daughter’s ears, words expressed by a loving mother to her daughter, and it looked almost normal. When Alcina stepped away from Daniela, she composed herself after displaying what she deemed a moment of vulnerability and shot Desmond a withering glare. “How dare you touch my daughter with your filthy man-hands, you wretched creature. I can see there is no taming a wild animal like you and like all wild animals, they must be put down! I was ready to lay down my conditions if I were to let you leave alive but you really screwed yourself. Desdemona Hawthorne, seeing as you were polite and tried to communicate in a manner I found pleasing, you shall be gifted to my daughters as their personal form of entertainment. You will be their plaything, and your trashy friend, Veronica, who is now under my employ as a house maiden, will be forced to clean you up after every time they choose to play with you. She will be beaten and broken until she learns what it is to be obedient.” Alcina growls out menacingly, enjoying the way Veronica begins to hyperventilate at the terrifying concept of being broken in by someone like Lady Dimitrescu. Alcina drags Veronica across the room as she approaches Desmond and Veronica is now desperately trying to claw her away from the elegant countess. Raising her free hand in the air, sharp elongated claws form almost immediately at the tips of her fingers. It was in this moment that panic begins to set within Desdemona as she realizes what she’s about to do and so she attempts to rush Lady Dimitrescu. Daniela is quick to catch her prey and uses force to subdue Desdemona. She slams her knee against Desdemona’s back and brings her down to her knees, hooking both of her arms from around and underneath the smaller girl and forcefully raises her arms up. “Let this be a hard lesson, my darling. Don’t you ever disrespect my mother in her own home or disobey her when she gives you an order. There are worst things than death, love, and they wander the mansion unsupervised at night.” Daniela whispers into Desdemona’s ears before bringing her attention back to her mother. Heart hammering against her chest, Desdemona’s blood runs cold when she sees Desmond shed a tear at the realization that he was going to pay the ultimate price. In a quivering voice, Desmond beckons his sister to look at him one final time.

‘Oh no, no no no. They can’t do this, they won’t do this! I have to help him. I’m not sure I can live without my other half, it would be too cruel for me to go on without him!’ Desdemona thinks, weeping at the sight of her twin brother sacrificing his own life for hers. “P-please, my l-lady, let him go I beg you! Don’t hurt him please, I’ll do anything if you let him go. Don’t take him away from me, please.” Desdemona begs. Steely gray eyes meet hers and she recognizes that he is resigned to his fate. She sucks in a deep breath, unwilling to break eye contact as he says his final goodbye. “See you on the other side, Dezzy. Promise me you’ll make it out of here. Mom deserves to know. I love you and V…so very much.” He tells her with a wavering voice. In the background, Veronica is verbalizing her objections and pleads for Desmond’s freedom but in the end, it was all for naught.

With an evil smirk and a deep chuckle, Alcina brings down her claw at Desmond’s abdomen, slashing him so deeply that his innards begin to seep out of him.

Desdemona feels like she’s suffocating, her lungs unable to function as she struggles to make a sound no matter how much she wants to cry out her brother’s name one more time. She throws her head back and opens her mouth to wail but nothing comes out but a few choked coughs. The surviving twin couldn’t explain it but it felt like Alcina personally reached into her chest and destroyed the most important part of her being. Desmond was her other half and upon death, a most profound connection between siblings is severed and there lies nothing left but an echo of what was once there. Desdemona felt…empty, as if she would never be whole again now that her brother was gone.

She shuts her eyes and the horrifying image of Desmond’s intestines piling up on the floor and blood sloshing everywhere replays again in her mind. The hurt is renewed and this time, she summons every ounce of emotion she could as she screams out his name, Veronica’s loud, panicked screaming fueling her grief.

“DESMOND!”

She screams it over and over again until her body slumps in Daniela’s arms. She’s too weak to do anything else. She can hear voices and the sound of heels clicking but she can’t hear what is being said. Desdemona tries her very best to drown out the background noise as her sorrow was too great but Cassandra’s voice breaks her out of her reverie and it is what she murmurs in Desdemona’s ears as she passes by that makes her whimper for an entirely different reason.

“Just you wait until I make you say my name like a prayer, love. This is only the beginning.”

[hopingforromanoff]

Russian Roulette {N. Romanoff} - Chapter One

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Warnings:I don’t really think there is any.

Requests are open, so feel free to send in requests and I will do my best to get them posted ASAP. I’m gonna keep them open for now but please be patient with the length of time it takes to finish them.

Y/n: This is a repost because the last time it complete disappeared and you could only see it if you went on my page

I hope you enjoy!

~Lucy

My Masterlist

Russian Roulette Masterlist

_______________

On days where she wasn’t away on missions or doing other duties required of her, Natasha Romanoff was a creature of habit. She awoke between the hours of 8 and 8:30. She walked the block from her Upper East Side apartment to the local coffee shop and ordered a large black coffee. And she sat and watched the hustle and bustle of New York City streets pass by her, no one quite knew what or who she was waiting for.

At around 10, she returned to her apartment and a short while later, a car came to take her to the new Avengers facility, Natasha chose not to live there with the others. She preferred solitude. At the compound, she trained and caught up with the happenings of the world, and what might potentially concern the team.  

Natasha ate dinner with Steve, Tony and all the other permanent residences of the facility. And at around 7:30, Natasha returned to her apartment, where she watched true crime documentaries or read cheesy romance novels until she retired to her bed around 10:30.

See the thing with creatures of habit is they’re easy to track. Natasha knew better.

However, today felt different to Natasha. She woke almost an hour earlier than usual, for no apparent reason. She took the long way home from the coffee shop in order to shake the invisible eyes she felt following her on her way to the cafe. She walked a little faster to her waiting car. She kept her hand firmly on her gun when she returned home that night. Natasha just couldn’t shake this uneasy feeling that followed her.

And at exactly 2:34am the next morning, Natasha awoke to a text from a blocked number.

9:15. Your usual place. Come alone.

And so, despite her better judgement and training, ,  Natasha sat, steaming hot coffee in hand, watching and waiting the following morning.

And there you were, just as she remembered.

Natasha felt as if time slowed and stopped around her, and the last 20 years seemed to fade into nothing as if they never happened. Emotions she no longer knew she could feel, emotions she hadn’t felt in over two decades flooded her. They ran through her veins with such force that when they hit her chest, Natasha thought her heart would explode. It was beating so fast.

                            ~23 years earlier. May 24th 1998.~

        ~Red Room Academy, Eastern Russia, Exact Location Unknown~

You felt the springs creek and bend through the paper thin mattress as Natasha’s weight dipped the bed.

“Shouldn’t you be training?” You mumbled, you couldn’t look at Natasha, not after what you had done. Your hand found the rough surface of the frayed rope used to tie you the rusted metal frame of the bed each night. To prevent escaping you were told, though you doubted anyone would be brave enough to try, everyone here was too terrified, or if they weren’t anymore then they were too brainwashed to even think of leaving.

“They just have us running drills, Madame B and the others are too preoccupied with all the Graduation Ceremony preparations to notice I’m missing anyway, and besides, I thought you might need me” Natasha picked up your red, swollen hand from your lap and placed it in hers. Natasha wiped a drop of fresh blood from your skin, and you winced and tried to pull away as her smooth fingertips ran over the numerous cuts and bruises that were rapidly appearing on your skin.

“You’re gonna be dead if they find you here” Natasha’s movements came to a stop when your eyes met her emerald green ones.

“They’re not gonna find me, and even if they did, I wouldn't care, I want to spend as much time as I can with you before you graduate in a few days and I barely get to see you” Natasha broke the eye contact to survey just how injured you really were, and reached into the cabinet next to your bed and pulled out some gauze that had been haphazardly spun into a ball and some disinfectant wipes that she knew you had stolen from the infirmary on one of your many trips.

“If I graduate” Your voice stayed strong despite the sting of the disinfectant on the large cut on your palm.

“Oh shut up, you know you’re gonna pass all their tests, you’re the best Widow here” Natasha secured the gauze tightly around your hand.

“I’ve been here longer, and you’re already almost better than me, imagine how good you’ll be in a few years when you get to your graduation ceremony” your voice trailed off. It wasn’t something you let yourself think about often, on the off chance that you both survived, would you ever be able to have anything more fleeting touches or hushed I love yous? A normal life together? And if you were ever caught? The both of you would be killed, relationships gave you a weak spot, and any sign weakness wasn’t tolerated. You would never truly be free.

Silence fell over the two of you, it wasn’t a comfortable silence, but one that let you think just a little too much.

“I can’t believe you can even look at me after what I’ve done” your voice faulted from a moment as hot tears filled your eyes and threatened to fall. You turned your back to her and tried to focus on the soft, dirty pink of your ballet shoes against the grey concrete of the walls around you.

“Whatever you did, you did because you didn’t have a choice” It didn’t matter to Natasha what you had done because she knew you, she had almost her whole life, and she knew you would never do anything malicious, not if they hadn’t made you. She shifted on the bed behind you, and you jumped a little as her hands fell to either side of your hips. A shiver ran through you as her cold fingers found your warm skin under your uniform.  

“I did have a choice, I could have chosen to die, it would have been better” you snapped in frustration, not at her, but at yourself and the Red Room for making you even have to make a decision like that. You pushed her hands off of you and scooted to the end of the bed.

“Please don’t talk like that” You didn’t fight her this time, as her hands found your hips and pulled you back to her. You fit perfectly between her legs, like you were meant to be together.

“ I looked her right in the eyes and I snapped her neck, I felt her take her last breath, and watched the life leave her eyes, she was my friend, I’d rather be dead than live with that”  You felt more and more tears well up in your eyes, you closed them, too tired to fight anymore, and the drops began to fall.

The sound of a door slamming and heavy boots reverberated down the empty hallway. Loud voices followed, your name mixed in with them. You wiped the flowing tears with your sleeve, leaving your eyes red and puffy, you would be punished for this, for showing emotion.

“I love you y/n, and I always will, no matter what happens” Your watery eyes met her tears brimmed ones, and you tried to remember every detail of her face, as you never knew which moment would be your last with her.

“I love you too, Tasha” you kissed her, enjoying the peace it brought for the last few seconds you had before everything would change. In her kiss, you were home, she would always be your home.

Natasha gave your hand one more tight squeeze, and she managed to jump away from you just in time for the heavy, metal door to explode open with a bang.

Natasha watched as the older, graduated Widow pulled you from the bed by your wrist. It burned, and you fought the urge to cry out as she applied heavy pressure to your open wounds. You could see the fire in Natasha's eyes, you pleaded with her with your eyes to not act on what she was thinking, if she fought back it would be a certain death sentence for her.

The slam of the door shook the walls as you left and the sounds of footsteps echoed through the halls. Those sounds would echo through Natasha’s mind for two decades as the last memory she had of you.

[primasveraas-writing]

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 3

Kallus’ leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4  5

3. The Ghost

The day of reckoning arrives.

Thrawn appears in the doorway, and Kallus knows that it is over. The Admiral taunts Kallus with the jamming device, the Fulcrum symbol flashing across the small screen. He has failed, and at best, he will die quickly for this discovery.

But Kallus is not one to resign himself to whatever miserable fate lies ahead. He will go down fighting, and there remains a chance to warn the rebels of the danger, as cryptic and brief as the fragment of his message is.

Kallus surges forward, attacking Thrawn with all his might. The blows are rapid and unforgiving. Thrawn targets his bad leg, yet the adrenaline overpowers the pain. Still, it is not enough to overcome Thrawn.

“Your technique is good. But… limited by your training in the Imperial Academy. Predictable.”

Thrawn is quick, strong, precise. More so than Kallus, but he does not need to win and he does not need to escape.

He throws the helmet first, which Thrawn catches easily. But the blow to his legs knocks the jammer out of his hands, and Kallus crushes it beneath his boot.

It is like clockwork, what happens next. He stands his ground, he is overpowered.

Thrawn is observant, a tactical master. He knows the weaknesses of everyone around him, and how to use them to ensure that he is the most powerful in the room.

It’s no surprise, really, that a series of swift kicks are delivered to Kallus’ right leg, which is healed but not correctly, functional, but not without pain.

Kallus lands on his back and is about to rise again when Thrawn looms over him, and brings his heel down on the barely-fixed bone. 

His vision goes white instantly; he’s pretty sure he screams, but that fact matters less than the poison in every cell in his body, than the agony worse than death as the bone shatters.

It is worse than ever before. It is worse than the first break and the flare-ups, and the burning sensation after field missions. It is worse than the night he couldn’t sleep, overcome by the need for more bacta, convinced that he would be better off without the leg, when he desperately wished he had just sucked it up and gone to the medbay after Bahryn.

But here he is. He cannot even think to get to his feet, then Thrawn lifts Kallus by the front of his shirt and delivers a punch to his chest, sending him flying into the night air, where he collides with the durasteel railing.

That might have hurt, he registers dully, but it is insignificant compared to the agony in his leg.

He loses.

But the message got through. He has not failed in totality, and the rebels have a chance.

-

That he lives is cruel. Thrawn tortures Kallus, hangs him up by his wrists like a slab of meat, and beats him. He asks no questions, and Kallus knows he would not break, but the lack of interrogation is still a relief.

This, he deserves. Under Imperial law, it is only fair that a traitor is punished. Kallus would take this over an interrogation, which is sure to follow after the assault on the rebels, and he can only hope that Thrawn doesn’t deign to do so personally.

He does not want to break. He hopes he dies before he reveals any secrets of the rebellion- not that they trusted their spy with much, in the first place.

At the end of the day, the rebels prevail, as is so ingrained in their nature to succeed against impossible odds. What’s more is that he apparently does have the heart of a rebel- some of their lucky nature passes to him, and he finds himself safely aboard the Ghost, thanked by Kanan Jarrus and Hera Syndulla alike. It is surreal, and strange, but for the first time in months, he is safe. At peace, even, at least for now.

But he is left alone. The rebels are making do with what little they have. They are busy, and Kallus, who once wished for the end of the entire movement and every being involved, remains in a corner of the ship that rescued him, his mind racing.

That is one benefit to it all. He’s particularly sharp now, going over what Imperial Intelligence he has memorized and can share with the rebellion. He feels little pain and can even stand, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins fuels him until the Ghost rendezvous with a rebel command ship.

He’s the last to embark, hanging back until Hera claps him on the shoulder, nearly pushing him out the door.

“Come on,” she says, nodding towards the bustling hallway. If she’s tired, she doesn’t show it, and a small smile pulls at her lips. “I’ll take you to medical.”

“I’m fine,” Kallus insists, because he feels so. “It looks worse than it is, Captain.”

“Hera,” she corrects him instantly. “And I chose to believe that if you come with me to Command then go to the medbay straight after.”

Kallus nods, because he has confronted Hera’s will a great many times and seldom triumphed. They trudge through the unfamiliar halls together, Kallus bowing his head to avoid the stares of those passing or congratulating Hera, who promises a quick debriefing then rest before reorganizing in the morning. He doesn’t imagine it will be as easily delivered to him as it will be for her, but he thinks of sleeping in a room surrounded by people he isn’t actively betraying, and perhaps talking to Garazeb soon, and the thought calms him.

A spike of pain shoots through him with his next step forward. Kallus falters, then grits his teeth and presses forward.

“Agent- Kallus,” Hera says, frowning at him. She touches his arm, gently, and Kallus is surprised at the care. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he promises. Every step hurts progressively more.

She regards him, wary, and Kallus pretends he does not see the concern painted across her face. However, she continues to lead him towards the command center once he takes another step without wincing.

The pain is too familiar, and logically, Kallus knows that it will overcome him soon. But if he can suppress it for now, if he can confront the Rebellion's leadership first, then he can deal with the injury, once placated by an understanding of his future with the Alliance.

Hera indicates that they're close, her montrals swishing as she peers around the next corner. Kallus inhales sharply once her attention diverts from him, suddenly aware that he'd forgotten to breathe.

She waves him on. Kallus' leg feels like lead. He tries to go through the door, and stumbles, lightheaded.

"Kallus, are you sure-"

"Yes," he wheezes, bracing himself in the doorway. Officials in the command center look up at him- he recognizes faces but can recall no names.

"Kallus-"

He stands straight up, preparing to look Hera in the eye, but his leg buckles under the weight, and he cries out in pain. She's supporting him now, her hands under his arms, and she's saying something, her green eyes filled with alarm.

Kallus tries to look up at her, assure her that he’s fine, but the hurt widens and spreads until it is burning at him yet again and Kallus cannot remember a single word he was going to say. He’s doubled over, and he can’t speak, nor see, and the agony consumes him, and he’s falling, falling- then all goes black.

-

Kallus opens his eyes slowly. His eyelids are heavy, and his exhausted body begs him to go back to sleep, But he’s here, in the Chimera’s medbay, and he’s not sure if he’s yet safe-

He blinks again. Someone is next to his cot- someone- Zeb.

The Lasat is slumped over, clasping Kallus’ hand. Kallus stirs, reaching for Zeb, and croaks out his name.

Instantly, Zeb wakes, sitting up straight. “Kal,” he gasps, leaning forward. “You’re up.”

Kallus nods, too tired to speak. His brow furrows, but two questions come to mind, and he can’t decide which to ask first.

He doesn’t know where he is, but Zeb is here, so he must be safe. That issue is resolved then, so:

“‘s my leg still there?”

Zeb looks confused, glancing from Kallus to his legs beneath the sheets. Then, he huffs out a laugh and takes Kallus’ hand again.

“Yeah, Kal, it’s alright. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

Kallus nods again, satisfied. That is enough for now, and he lets his eyes slide shut.

-

He is alone when he wakes again, save for the meddroid fiddling with the tubes in his arm. Kallus groans- his head hurts, and he still feels tired, but other than that, the pain is not bad.

“Kallus,” the droid says, its overly-large eyes peering at him. “You are awake.”

“Yes,” he agrees, then groans as he stretches, running a hand over his face. There’s stubble on his chin and his beard. He’s been out for most of a day, then, possibly longer. And he’s here, on some Rebel ship, and not the Chimera. This explains the droid, which looks ancient, scratched and dented. It appears to have been taped together in more than one place, and Kallus smiles to himself.

“We know nothing of your medical history.” The droid tells him. “Although I have conducted many tests, there are still questions.”

“Okay.” Kallus is pretty sure that his questions (where is he, what day is it, where is Zeb) should have higher priority, but he is too out of it to protest, so he nods. “You may ask them.”

“Excellent.” A beat. “What is your first name?”

He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound emitting from deep in his throat. It’s been a long time since he’s laughed like that, and his voice was already scratchy from underuse. “Alexsandr,” he says, then spells it. Perhaps he is a good spy, after all. He doubts that anyone in Imperial Command knows his first name, either, though this is attributed to a lack of care rather than insufficient information.

There are a few more basic questions about his background and history. Kallus realizes that he’s in the Rebellion’s system now, and he wonders what his file says. Alexsandr Kallus. Coruscanti. Previously Agent Kallus, ISB, Fulcrum. Wanted by the Empire for ten counts of treason; wanted by the Rebel Alliance for one hundred crimes against humanity.

He snorts. The meddroid, which was turning away from him, pauses. “Can I help you, Alexsandr?”

“No,” Kallus says quickly. “I mean- yes. Do you know where Garazeb Orrelios is?”

“The Lasat? He has been here for the last twenty-four standard hours. I do not know where he went.”

Oh. Kallus feels heat flame his cheeks, and a monitor next to him beeps. His blush deepens when he realizes that his heart monitor made the sound; his heartbeat has just spiked.

“I will get a medic to speak with you about your leg.” The droid looks at the monitor, then back at him. “Do not excite yourself further.”

Kallus coughs, unable to look at the droid. “Yes,” he mutters, ashamed. “I will do that.”

The medic is a Rodian, who speaks in a soft tone and seems to barely remember where she is. This fact isn’t particularly comforting, but she is kind enough and patient with all his questions.

His right leg had a severe initial break that never healed correctly, causing weakness in his tibia and impeding the muscles and tendons in his entire leg. The strain that later followed only made this worse, and almost two days ago, the leg was shattered again- he broke both his tibia and his fibula. Bone fragments have punctured both his muscle and his flesh, but in short- it will never heal right, and Kallus will be affected for the rest of his life.

She explains that they operated on him, once Hera and two other rebels dragged him into the infirmary. It was easier to keep him under after he had passed out, and they did the best they could trying to prevent infection and further blood loss. He’s also covered in extensive bruises, including on his ribs.

“How do you feel?” The Rodian concludes, fiddling with one of the machines next to him.

“Like I could run forty klicks,” he mutters, staring down at his leg. Right now, it’s wrapped in bandages and some sort of brace.

She brustles, looking shocked. “I thought I made it clear that wasn’t possible-”

“It’s-” he sighs. “I understand.”

“Well, I-”

“Kal!” The budding argument is halted in its tracks; Zeb stands in the doorway, disheveled but grinning. “You’re awake!”

“I am.” He’s not, technically- he’s hasn’t yet attempted to sit up, but Kallus cares very little about the nuance, and Zeb makes his way over to Kallus’ bedside. 

“Good.” Zeb scans him with barely-suppressed joy. “You scared us,” he admits. “Hera says you just collapsed.”

“Yes, well, the adrenaline wore off.” Kallus doesn’t look at Zeb. “I’m recovered now.”

“I know.” A smile creeps back into Zeb’s tone. “I don’t believe you can be kept down for long.”

“I can’t,” Kallus agrees, echoing Zeb’s humor.

“Do you remember anything?” Zeb stops fiddling with his pants and instead smooths out Kallus’ blanket.

“A little.” His brow furrows. “I remember that you were there for me.”

“I was.”

“The meddroid says you were with me for a full rotation.”

Zeb is suddenly very interested in a spare thread on his pants. “I was,” he mumbles, and Alexsandr suppresses another smile, glancing away so that Zeb doesn’t see.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” Zeb continues, his shoulders slouching. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

“It’s okay.” Alexsandr didn’t know his voice could go this soft, but Zeb’s next words distract him from this point, his tone just as gentle.

“I’m sorry about your leg.”

“Don’t be.” It comes out flat, and Kallus looks away from Zeb.

It will heal. He’ll walk again, but he’ll be limping and limited. He’s going to have a cane adjusted to him tomorrow. He may never do fieldwork again.

“I am.” And Zeb sounds like it too, though his expression is devoid of pity. “Still, I thought you’d like to know that everyone in command is excited to have you here. It’s all anyone can talk about.”

“Really?” A jolt of surprise travels through him. “They don’t hate me?”

He sounds sarcastic, but Zeb looks back at him, completely serious. “You saved our necks more times than we can count. And you’re a goldmine for Imperial information.”

Right. His expression falls before he can help it. “You’re a badass ‘n a hero, Kal. That’s what they care about.”

“I’m not sure if I am. Or that I will be.” Kallus gestures to his leg, bound and immobile before them both.

Zeb’s expression softens, and he rests his hand on Kallus’ arm. “Right. I’m sure that will stop you.”

“It’s different. How can I help that?”

“So are you gonna retire? Hide in the medbay or go to the Outer Rim until the war is over?”

Frustration builds in Kallus, and he sits completely upright, clenching the sheets in his hands. “It’s not that simple! Of course I’m not going to- to kriff off and die- but I can’t walk!”

“Not forever.” Zeb amends. “And you’re one of the greatest minds we have.” Zeb glances around the empty room. “Don’t tell anybody I said that.”

“I’m a former Imperial, a spy and I have months of recovery ahead. I’m not entirely convinced people want me here.”

“I do,” Zeb says immediately, then glances away, scratching the back of his head. “I, er- well, I do. And so do a lot of other people.”

Kallus looks up at him, and Zeb meets his eyes again after a long moment. “Do you want to be here?” He asks softly.

“Yes, I do.”

“Good.” Zeb grins, but there is tenderness in his gaze. “Then you’ll put your mind to it and everything will work out.”

“You sound very confident in this fact.”

“I’m confident in you.”

---

I am distinctly aware of the lack of research that I’ve done. I’m doing my best to be canon-compliant here but sometimes I don’t have the energy to remember that a shower is a sonic and not a shower… so here we are.

Additionally, please take any medical jargon with a grain of salt. I am not a doctor, and I’m mostly going with “yeah that seems like it could happen” as far as realism goes. Nevertheless, thank you for the warmth with which this story has been received, and thank you all for your support!

[lonelysoul029]

Thunder

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Summary: Y/N has always been scared of thunder, so when a storm suddenly hits Hogwarts, she starts to panic. Luckily, her boyfriend knows how to calm her down.

W/C: 1.3k 

Warnings: Draco being a caring boyfriend, smut, some swearing. I think that’s about it.

A/N: My first Draco one shot! This honestly came to me this morning at 4:46 a.m. and I started writing it as soon as I got the idea. My eyes got too heavy to finish it so here we are, 18 hours later. It’s not beta’d so all mistakes are mine. Please feel free to point out any of the mistakes so that I can edit and fix them. Hope you enjoy!

Lightning almost strikes a player on the quidditch field. Everyone outside immediately run towards the castle. Some students scream when they feel the rain fall on their heads.

The storm came out of nowhere. All the students rush back inside the school, desperate to escape the rain. It’s a good thing they taught students a drying spell. As quickly the rain soaked their robes did the spell dry them up.

“Stupid fucking weather,” Y/N grumbles as she dries herself with the spell when she goes through the giant doors. 

Everyone sits in the Great Hall. Each student being served their favourite dessert as a pick-me-up because of the unexpected weather.

Y/N, however, feels anything but ‘picked up’. She had always hated storms since she was a child. The thunder always roaring too loud, the lightning flashing too quickly and too bright.

The sound of thunder crashes through the walls of Hogwarts, making Y/N jump. She’d barely touched her dessert before she quickly left the Great Hall and went to the safest place she knew; Draco’s dorm.

Draco knows about his girlfriend’s feelings towards storms. After eating dinner, he went to his room to fix it up a bit, knowing Y/N would go straight there. He knows she’ll be a bit shaken up, so he does everything he can to make his room more relaxing for her. He lit the scented candles she likes so much, took her favourite green blanket from his closet and laid it out on his bed, and removed his quidditch sweater from it’s hanger, because it’s ‘the most comfortable fucking sweater in the world’, as Y/N so delicately put it. Soon enough, Y/N bursts through Draco’s door. He immediately runs over to her then picks her up, carrying her bridal-style to lay on the bed. Draco lies down with her, placing her head on his chest.

The sound of his heart beating and the scent of french vanilla calms her almost instantly. She begins to drift off to sleep when another round of thunder and lightning strikes. Y/N jolts up and looks at Draco, completely terrified.

He cups her face, “You’re alright, darling. You’re safe,” Draco’s thumb moving in small circles on her cheek. His grey eyes barely visible in the candlelight stares deep into hers. Their foreheads touch and he says, “What can I do, baby?”

“Distract me,” Y/N whispers. Her tongue peeks out ever so slightly to wet her bottom lip. Draco nods then moves his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. He gently presses his lips against hers, moving slowly.

Draco guides her to lie down, her back flat on the mattress, not breaking away from the kiss. One hand moves up her thigh and under her dress. His fingers playing at the waistband of her underwear. He pulls away slightly, looking into her eyes once again, “Are you sure?” He asks, always letting Y/N know that he will never force anything on her.

Y/N smiles and nods slowly, “I’m sure.” With that, Draco kisses her again, swiftly pulling her lace panties down as he did. He lifts up the hem of her dress, exposing her to him as he trails kisses on her neck and down her still-clothed torso. His lips reach her core, his breath fans over it and Y/N shudders in anticipation. He licks a stripe up her folds, kissing her sensitive nub when he reaches it. “Draco, please,” she says, needing more. Thunder sounds once again, making her jump, but Draco’s arms have her pinned down. He takes this opportunity to push his tongue inside her and she moans out. 

He hums, “You taste so good, baby,” the vibrations of his voice spreading across Y/N’s body. She moves one hand down to grip at his hair while the other grips at the sheets next to her head. The slight pull at his hair makes Draco groan. He slips a finger into her, sliding in with ease because of how wet she is. He curls his finger, hitting the spot he knew so well. She arches her back at the sensation. His tongue circles her clit before he sucks at it lightly. 

“Draco I-I’m close,” she whimpers. He quickens his pace, moving his finger in and out of her in time with each flick of his tongue on her clit. Y/N can feel the coil inside her tighten with each movement. 

“Come for me, darling,” Draco adds another finger and makes the coil snap. Just then, a clash of thunder and lightning erupts in time with Y/N’s loud moans as she comes. Draco slowly thrusts his fingers in and out of her, gently easing her down from her high. When her breathing finally evens out, he removes his fingers from inside her and moves back up the bed so she’s looking up at him. “Are you still scared, love?” he asks her. 

Y/N shakes her head, “No, I feel better. Safer, even,” she smiles up at her boyfriend before leaning up to kiss him. Y/N can taste herself on his tongue but she doesn’t mind. She holds the back of his neck with one hand, while pushing his shoulder gently to flip them over, their lips are still locked. She’s straddling him as she fumbles with his belt. Draco pulls away.

“Baby, what are you doing?” he watches her as she positions herself between his legs.

“Saying thank you,” Y/N grins up at him when she undoes his belt and unbuttons his slacks. She pulls them down a little bit.

Draco chuckles and leans up on his elbows, “You know you don’t have to, sweetheart.” Y/N moves off of the bed to kneel on the floor it, telling Draco to sit on the edge. He does and kicks off his pants while doing so.

“I know,” she slips his boxers down and flings them somewhere behind her, “But I want to.” Draco sighs when her fingers wrap around his girth and she starts to kitten lick at the slit. 

“Shit,” he hisses. Y/N proceeds to wrap her lips around the tip and sucks. Draco closes his eyes in pleasure when she starts moving her head up and down his shaft. Her hand covering what she can’t fit in her mouth. She flattens her tongue and runs it along the sensitive vein on the underside of his cock. “Fuck,” Draco moans, “You’re doing so good, baby.”

Y/N hums at the praise which only sends vibrations around his cock, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. If the storm is still going on outside, Y/N doesn’t notice, too focused on making her boyfriend cum. She moves her mouth off his length and goes down to lick and suck at his balls. Her hand continues to move up and down his cock, twisting her wrist when she reaches the head; a trick she learned from watching Draco get himself off at the sight of her in the shower one time. 

“Sweetheart, fuck,” Draco looks down at her. His cock now back inside her warm mouth and her big Y/E/C eyes looking up at him through her lashes. He thinks it’s his favourite angle of her. “Baby I’m gonna cum,” he warns. Y/N forces herself to take his cock all the way down. Draco groans as ropes of his cum coats the back of her throat. He’s panting when he finishes, watching his girl swallow his release. “God, what did I do to deserve you?”

“Me?” Y/N stands up and reaches for his sweater on top of the blanket, pulling it over her head, “I’m the one with the most caring boyfriend ever.” She lies down on the bed, patting the space beside her, urging Draco to do the same. “I mean, you lit my favourite candles and distracted me from the storm. I should be the one asking how I deserve you.”

“No matter, darling,” he lays on his side so that they’re facing each other. One hand on her waist, the other gently caressing her cheek. “I’m just glad I’m with you.”

Y/N smiles then kisses the tip of his nose, “I’m glad I’m with you, too, baby.”

[commanderserwin]

lucky

↦ characters: erwin smith, reader [soulmate au]

↦ request: 

↦ a/n: ah yes, childhood romances! also i realized that you were looking for some fluff, and i was like: “oh, but let’s make it into soulmate!au-ish, and angsty!” i’m sorry in advance, i hope you like this still! i will make it up to you and write a cuter one, i swear! 

a. a timer for when they shall first meet.

b. a timer for when the other dies. 

The timer started ticking when you locked eyes with Erwin.

For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you against everyone. His eyes felt so familiar even from afar, and you knew it was him. It was the boy whose name you would always whisper yourself to sleep because that's how silly childhood crushes were. They made your heart flutter every time they're near you, they make your hands clammy, as the words tumbled out your mouth whenever you would talk to him.

He felt the same way as you did, even as children. He would thank how destiny worked that day as you picked the last spot beside him for class. Then it continued, and he knew instantly it was you. The soulmate— it was how adults talked.

It was how the timer talked and how destiny worked its magic.

He didn't mean to look down on your wrist during that day, but when you looked down to meet his, both of you smiled widely that the muscles hurt around your mouth as you checked their time.

His timer went off when you sat beside him; and your timer went off when you sat beside him.

"Are we...?" You asked, leaning on his shoulder as the teacher discussed loudly, scribbling on the board.

"Soulmates." The boy answered, grinning as he leaned down to answer you. His blue eyes blinked as he heard himself say it, and his heart rambled as you said it faintly with him.

But what do children know? Soulmates were soulmates. It could be platonic or romantic— however people want to define it. It doesn't always have to end romantically, but it was what you wanted because what do children know?

They know the concept of love-- for parents and friends, but not for anybody at their young age. They could easily profess their love for each other but as children grew older, the concept of love becomes heavier, becomes deeper, becomes dangerous.

And love lurked everywhere that you looked, but it wasn't him.

They weren't your soulmate. No matter how hard you pushed it, and it seems silly because you already know who your soulmate is. The only problem is where your soulmate is. But the distance between you two grew wider as school comes to end, and your mother migrated you two further inside the Walls.

The distance grew wider, and it became harder to overcome it.

So when you found yourself walking through the gates as you tried to will destiny once more by going back to the school to teach, you couldn't believe your eyes that he was there on the plaza. 

Looking back, he was a little child— but he is all the man that he is.

His green coat fluttered towards the wind as he met you halfway, gently pushing people away as you cleared a path to meet him. His mouth opened and closed and you tried to read his lips but it was all for naught because he said it once more when he finally was inches away from you.

"Are we...?" He asked, fiddling with his bolo that he also wore when he was younger.

"Soulmates." You finished, smiling widely as you pulled him to a hug, relishing the fact that you found him again after all these years.

His arm wrapped around yours, and you looked down to where his other arm was but he only leaned on your cheek to hug you tighter, "A titan bit my arm off."

"Oh!" You chuckled, nodding on his chest as you pulled away. His blue eyes scanned yours while you exhaled loudly, blood rushing into your veins as you looked him right at the eyes. "That's... a story. Should we... talk about it?"

"I'm afraid I'm running out of time," Erwin said, cupping your cheek as he pulled away. He tapped on his coat, and there shows the Wings of Freedom— that you finally realized what he was. "But we could talk as I go."

"Mission for the Wall?" You asked, tucking your hair away as Erwin placed a hand on the small of your back to lead the way.

He silently nodded, smiling briefly.

It was a shame that he was going away right after you have met him. But it was better than nothing, it was better than lingering on the childhood crush you have on him— and now it blossomed to one more serious. It was just a meeting, and it all felt natural as if the strings binding you two together tightened as your steps synch with each other as Erwin held you with his hand.

His silly childhood crush— his soulmate, and he's finding it hard to meet your eyes.

It was good that you haven't looked at your timer, because he knows what it'll show. It will show his time and he wasn't sure if wants to learn how much he has left. He couldn't stomach it or he knows that you couldn't too. Erwin knows your time by heart, years and years that you have and he's afraid that if you look at the one on your wrist, it'll only show a fraction of an hour.

"Don't look at my timer," Erwin stopped you in your tracks, holding you by the shoulder. His hand traveled down to your wrist and in question, you only raised a brow. "Promise me."

"Erwin?" You asked, shaking your head at him. His timer was ticking for years already so it wasn't an issue. At some point, it stopped. Then it ticked again, and after it has happened so many times, it was better to leave it alone because you know his time will come back. Always. "Okay. But you should know, you've got years left last time I checked."

"When did you check?" Erwin asked, rubbing his ticking timer on your wrist as you wrapped a hand around your own timer.

"Last night," you replied, feeling your timer tick on his skin. Erwin shakily breathed, letting his guard down before you. "Are you... okay?"

"Yes," Erwin nodded, "Have it stopped before?"

"Yes, so many times," you smiled proudly as he patted his heart, " But you always come back."

"Always?"

"Always."

You didn't realize that you have walked towards the gate already, and the whole Survey Corps has mounted their horses. Erwin looked back at them, raising a hand as you shyly whipped your head to the waiting soldiers.

"I have to..."

"Of course!" You exclaimed, sending him off as Erwin froze in his steps. You caught his hesitation but you only squeezed his shoulder as he looked down at you with a small smile. For a split second, your Erwin was scared. So far from what he showed just minutes ago. And it made you scared, but you have to push it all away or else you would think of the inevitable. "Just remember you always come back, Erwin."

"I will come back," Erwin repeated to himself, breathing deeply as he clasped his hand with yours, squeezing it tight while you offered a sincere smile at him.

It has been years since he's seen you and he wished he had the courage to walk towards you for all the years that he's missed it. He looked back at his troops, as they all watched intently as their Commander stayed frozen.

"What do you do?" Erwin hurriedly asked, turning his body towards you. His eyes scanned your face rapidly, chest panting because that's something he missed to ask. Just one more detail, he just wanted to know.

"I'm a teacher," you answered slowly. He didn't speak as he listened, his eyes asking for more as if to keep you longer with him. "I teach at the school near here. I'm about to go in, actually."

"Are they good kids?" He asked, placing his hand back on your back as he pulled you to him sideways.

"Very good kids," you nodded against his shoulder as you both watched the audience— the troops, and they didn't shy away their eyes.

"Did somebody find their soulmate during your class?"

It made you laugh.

"Unfortunately, they aren't lucky like us."

It made him laugh.

"I'll find you at the school and we could talk over dinner?"

"I'd like that, yes."

Erwin rubbed your back, as he looked ahead. He looks like he wanted to ask more, but one man finally called for him, and his time was over. Behind your back, he looked through his wrist where your time ticked on his skin. Years.

Maybe he could share those years with you.

Erwin pulled away, cupping your cheek in a farewell as he looked back once more, watching you wave widely as the other onlookers cheered for their mission. You did the same, waving your hands crazily as he mounted his horse, the rest following as they tightened their hold on their horse's reins. His voice boomed above the noise, and he looked back momentarily at you— then he was gone.

That one stare, and you carried it inside your classroom.

The children greeted widely, as they took their books out as well, flipping through the pages while you rummaged to get your coat off. The sun graced the classroom beautifully— just like how your day started off beautifully.

He always comes back.

You folded your sleeves back up, showing your wrist as you caught a glimpse of his timer. It was a promise, and it was nothing to worry about. His timer ticked years, and you finally found the reason why his always stopped and would resume. You pushed it away, reassuring yourself that his timer would still be years.

You turned your back to the class, scribbling on the board as the children read together, their small voices fleeting through the room. You read along with them, carrying your book as you wrote on the board, holding the chalk perfectly.

Then it ticked.

His timer ticked on your wrist and you broke his promise.

It felt like a punch to your gut as you watched the numbers go down.

2 minutes: the timer when the other one dies and the chalk from your fingers fell to the ground as the children read.

1 minute: and your mouth dried because it has never been this bad before. It felt too suffocating and you moved your mouth still to read along with the children.

30 seconds: you breathed heavily, nervously flipping through the pages as the timer went down.

20 seconds: No, Erwin was supposed to look for you when he comes back. It was supposed to be dinner to talk about the times you've missed— starting from the day you moved away and years that are left. Erwin was your friend, the person at the end of your destiny.

10 seconds: somebody squealed— two girls squealed as they showed the timers on their wrists go off. The timer when they shall first meet. The girls held hands as they cheered right in the middle of class.

"Soulmates!" The girls cheered.

5 seconds: "Erwin," you whispered to yourself as the children erupted into laugher.

0:00: shock came— and it glued you to the floor. The taste of blood on your tongue made you turned your back to them, as you wiped it away on your lips. You breathed shakily, feeling the tears fall down your cheeks as Erwin's timer on your wrist stopped.  

The girls held hands in the middle of the class as you faced them with puffy eyes while you forced yourself to smile. You even clapped your hands together as they sang, the lesson long forgotten as they cheered all together.

"Lucky."

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 3: The Wish

Previous Chapter   |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 3,726

Chapter Summary:  Dinner with the royal family is... about what Teki expected.

Thanks for reading! :)

TW: mentions of child abuse, cursing

Tags: @lucywrites02​ @gaitwae

Read it on Ao3!

Her first night as part of the royal family found Teki with trembling palms and a gurgling stomach, fighting to maintain the appearance of composure. Her family didn’t seem to notice her anxiety—in fact, her mother seemed to be having the time of her life before they even left for dinner.

“See?” she beamed at Osvald as she spun Teki around in her new red dress. “It’s finally happening! She’s finally getting the recognition she deserves!”

Osvald studied her with a glittering gaze. Teki was careful to keep her own eyes glued to the floorboards. At some point in the last week, although he hadn’t said when, her stepfather had finally caved to the pain and visited the healers. Her mother had sighed in relief at this news, but Teki had to clasp her hands behind her back to stop them from shaking.

“How wonderful,” he said, smiling. He reached out to stroke a bit of loose hair that her mother hadn’t braided into her bun. His hands were cold on her cheek. “Then I’m certain everyone will be on their best behavior tonight, won’t we?”

Teki nodded. “Yes, sir.”

She was still trembling as she made her way to the royal tables in the feast hall. Stepping on to the raised platform didn’t help. Sure, the feast hall wasn’t nearly as large as the Great Hall, which was used only for festivals and celebrations, but everything seems bigger when you’re standing above it. Hundreds of pairs of eyes held her in their scrutiny. Teki thought she would be sick.

Her seat was at Thor’s right. Unsurprising—he was her fiancé after all, and he always sat at King Odin’s right. But this arrangement also put her at the end of the table, so that her only possible partner for conversation was the Crown Prince. Was that intentional as well?

If it was a ploy to get Thor and her to talk more, it didn’t work. The prince spent most of the dinner in raucous discussion with his father, as if completely ignorant of Teki’s presence at his elbow. They were very loud. Thor’s shouts rumbled the table and pierced Teki’s skull in a way that made the nausea even worse. She spent dinner trying to choke down a slice of bread.

It was weird, thinking about how she was going to marry Thor someday. She knew he was her elder only by a few years but… he seemed so much older. He was so tall, so muscular, with a voice that carried across the hall even when he wasn’t yelling. Just sitting next to him made Teki feel unbearably small. Only a few years between them, but he was already a man, and she still felt like a little girl.

At first, when people started getting up to dance, she feared that Thor would ask her as his partner. There was no way Teki would be able to turn down an offer from the prince, but she was barely holding herself together as it was. However, it seemed her worries were unwarranted. Thor got up without so much as a word to her and nearly flew to Lady Sif’s table amongst the nobles. Had she been feeling a bit better, Teki would have been concerned that Osvald had seen it, but all she felt in the moment was relief.

I’m going to be such a horrible Queen.

It seemed that the night had gone on forever. Everyone was shouting, laughing, dancing, having the absolute time of their life, while Teki only sank lower into her chair. When she sat with her mother, they could leave any time they wanted to. Nobody paid her any mind—she could slip out easily and no one noticed the difference. But here, she was on display for everyone. Here, everyone saw everything she did. It wasn’t fair. Her eyes burned. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of this.

Teki jumped when someone plopped themselves down in Thor’s seat, but it wasn’t her fiancé. Loki grinned at her with his sparkling emerald eyes.

“So, Lady Teki, how do you like looking down upon the masses,” he smirked.

Teki forced a smile. “I-I think it’s something I’ll have to get used to, my prince.” Her voice was pathetically small, and she cursed herself.

But Loki was kind enough not comment on her pitifulness. “Oh, I understand,” he agreed. “I imagine this setup is quite jarring.” Leaning in, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I still get dizzy up here sometimes.”

Teki exhaled a quiet giggle. She was fairly certain he was only trying to cheer her up, but the thought that the prince got as sick to his stomach as she felt somehow made her feel like less of a failure. “Your secret is safe with me, my prince.”

“I knew I could trust you.” He laughed softly, motioning towards the tables below them. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your brother has been trying to get your attention all night long.”

She frowned. “What?” Following his finger, her gaze landed on Brant, who was sitting the wrong way in his chair, frantically waving. When he saw her looking, he jumped and waved even harder. Teki laughed as she returned the wave.

“Has he really been doing that all night?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine that Osvald and her mother would be pleased with him making such a scene, but it seemed her mother was busy conversing with the ladies around her and Osvald was nowhere to be seen.

“I noticed him shortly after the meal began,” Loki chuckled. “He hasn’t stopped since then.”

“Oh Brant.” Teki wondered who cut his meat for him. She couldn’t imagine Osvald doing it. She couldn’t really imagine her mother doing it, either.

The two of them sat on the platform for a while, talking about nothing in particular. Loki carried most of the conversation, telling her the most hilarious stories about his classes—spells that ricocheted off the golden doorframe, potions that overflowed and contaminated the whole room, pranks that he played on the teachers to show off his talent. Some of them were so ridiculous that Teki found herself wondering if he was making them up to make her laugh, but she didn’t question him.

“There’s one woman, Lady Alda,” he was saying, gesturing animatedly as he told the story. “Horrible old hag—she’s the type who gets upset if you read ahead. She believes if she hasn’t taught it yet, then you’re not allowed to know it. I didn’t like that very much, so I read ahead to the transformation section. She had acted as if transformation is the most difficult skill you’ll ever learn, but it’s actually quite easy. So, I taught myself how to do it, and in the middle of class I turned her desk into a dead rat.”

“Loki!” Teki laughed incredulously.

“That’s not the best part! She turns to me and starts demanding that I undo it, shouting so loudly the walls shook The vein was popping out of her forehead, her hair was wild—I swear, she looked like a troll. And I looked her right in the eye and said ‘But Lady Alda, you haven’t taught us transformation yet!’”

Teki was somewhere between enthralled and horrified. “What did she do?”

Loki shrugged. “She told my father. That’s all they ever do. They’re afraid to try anything else.”

She pictured Odin, with his untamed beard and deafening shout. “What did your father do?”

“Oh, he got mad,” Loki said nonchalantly, flicking a crumb off his sleeve. “Yelled at me for my ‘unprincely conduct.’ Nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious,” Teki echoed softly. She wondered what Osvald would do if one of her teachers told him she had been acting out in class. The thought terrified her.

Loki had gone very quiet. Gently, he reached out to touch her wrist. “I—I meant to ask,” he cleared his throat. “Everything’s all right, right? I mean, with your family. Everything’s all right?”

Teki burned. “Yes, yes, of course,” she said quickly, her voice jumping an octave higher. “Everything’s fine. Nothing wrong at all.”

“That’s good.” His gaze had grown far more concerned, but there was relief mixed in with the green of his eyes. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. I just—I wanted to make sure—”

She nodded furiously. “I understand.”

Loki looked as if he was going to say something else, but Thor was rushing up the steps of the platform, shouting his name.

“Loki!” He grabbed at his brother’s shoulders, still seemingly oblivious to Teki’s presence. “Come! Volstagg and I are trying an experiment, we need your help—”

The younger prince squirmed out of Thor’s grasp. “Now?”

“Yes, now!” He tried pulling Loki to his feet. “We need an illusionist!”

“I—” he was able to shoot one apologetic glance to Teki before Thor had completely pulled him out of his seat. “Let go of me already! I’m coming.”

Teki studied her fingernails in her lap as the two princes clattered back down the steps. She suddenly felt very lonely.

…

“Can you read that one to me now?”

Brant cocked his head, brow furrowed at the line of writing. He and Teki were on her bedroom floor, pages spread around them covered in Teki’s careful lettering. They had been there all morning—Teki patiently helping him through longer words and sentences. Maybe it was just her, but she thought her little brother was making some definite improvement.

“Tah—Tah—”

Teki shook her head. “Remember what we said about the t and the h?” she asked, pointing at the paper. “What sound do they make when they’re together?”

Brant’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Thhh!” he hissed excitedly, spittle flying all over the page. Teki snickered.

“So what does it say?”

“Thhh—the. The!” he grinned. “The wi—the wis—”

The slamming of the door cut him off abruptly. Voices echoed from downstairs, ricocheting off the walls. They both tensed.

“You sit there and give me nothing and then you expect me to listen to you when you’re going on about your—”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to listen to me, Áslaug. You never fucking listen to me—”

“Stop yelling! You’re always fucking yelling!”

“You think this is yelling? I’ll show you yelling—”

Brant whimpered as the sound of something shattering against the wall rattled the air. Teki inhaled.

“Come, get your shoes on,” she whispered, slowly pulling him to his feet. If they were quiet enough, Osvald and her mother might not even realize they were home. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Teki had learned long ago to appreciate the ivy outside her bedroom window. Her mother would beat her herself if she knew how often her daughter climbed down the side of the apartment, dress fluttering above her ankles, but it was a risk worth taking. The vines were strong, and they led directly into the royal gardens—the perfect escape.

She went first, guiding Brant down behind her. He wasn’t nearly as agile as she was, but he knew where the right footholds were, and he knew better than to cry out if he slipped. They reached the ground in silence, the cacophony of battle still reverberating behind them.

It was a warm day. Teki pulled Brant through the grass and on to the garden paths. There were only a few hours until dinner—hopefully things would have calmed down by then. Her parents’ arguments usually flamed out fairly quickly. Osvald’s temper had a tendency to linger, however, and Teki knew better than to risk crossing his path while he was angry.

Maybe sitting with the royal family isn’t so bad after all.

Ahead of them, the courtyard was alive with shouts. There was a crowd gathered, chanting and cheering and jumping up and down.

“What’s going on over there?” Brant whispered.

Teki would have preferred to avoid the commotion, but she let her brother pull her towards the pack. They were watching a fight, it seemed—two figures were going at it in the middle of a hastily drawn ring, rushing at each other with giant sticks.

Oh. Teki winced. They must have been practicing for the Games. It was the only time she ever saw those kinds of weighted staffs in use. The Games were an end-of-summer tradition, where all the worthy men of the court would show off their prowess as a warrior and might as a man by jumping into an arena and defeating their opponent in a series of different duels. It wasn’t as much an exercise in strength as it was a display of brutality—usually, the loser was carried out of the arena a bloody mess. Teki spent those days with her head buried in her hands, only occasionally peeking through her fingers when it seemed safe to look.

It was a moment before she recognized Thor, shirtless as he wielded his staff, sparring with another blond she didn’t know. His partner was panting like a dog, but Thor looked as if he hadn’t broken a sweat. Blow by blow, he beat his opponent back in the ring, pushing, pummeling, dominating… until the boy fell backwards, holding his hands up in surrender.

Thor laughed, slamming his staff on the ground. “Is that truly your best effort, Fandral?” he asked as he extended a hand. “I’ve seen some of my mother’s ladies put up a better fight than that!” The crowd snickered with him.

Thor and Osvald would get along well.

She wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but it sunk in like a stone in her stomach. Teki swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Come on, Brant,” she mumbled, pulling at his arm. “Let’s—”

“Hah!”

Teki shrieked at the sudden presence behind her. She flipped around just in time to smack into Prince Loki’s leather chest. He laughed as he reached out to steady her.

For a moment, all she could hear was her pulse pounding in her eardrums. “My prince,” she said shakily, forgetting to curtsey. “You scared me!”

“Many apologies my lady,” Loki grinned, looking anything but apologetic. “I suppose you were too engrossed in your betrothed’s performance to notice me approaching.”

“No, I—” she stuttered. Why did that statement make her feel guilty? “I was just taking my brother out for a stroll, my prince.” She pulled at Brant’s shoulder, who upon Loki’s appearance had taken shelter behind her legs. For some reason, it was critically important that Loki know she hadn’t come here just to watch Thor.

“Ahh.” The prince kneeled to smile at her brother. “And how do you do today, Lord Brant?”

Brant shrank further back behind her legs. “Good,” he mumbled.

Teki flushed with embarrassment, but Loki only laughed. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. Behind them, Thor was challenging someone else to another sparring session.

“Don’t be a coward! What kind of warrior runs from a fight?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Would you like to walk down to the lake?” he asked. “It’s much more peaceful there. Unless you’d prefer to stay for this madness.”

A crash shook the ground beneath their feet as Thor body slammed his next victim into the dirt. Teki cringed. “The lake sounds lovely, my prince.”

It was funny how easy it was to fall into conversation with Loki. They drifted from topic to topic almost lazily as they made their way across the grounds—how nice the weather had been, how strange it was that Teki was sitting with the royal family now, how overdramatic Thor could be about his training. When they reached their destination, Loki was telling her about his family’s upcoming trip to Alfheim.

“I’m really excited,” he said animatedly. “I’ve only gone once, and I was too young to properly remember much. Father usually takes only Thor when he travels.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Teki smiled. She smoothed out her skirt as they reclined on the grassy banks. There was the slightest breeze rippling through the water, sending tiny ripples to lap against the dirt. The effect was almost hypnotic. “Alfheim’s a beautiful planet.”

“Oh,” Loki looked up eagerly. “Have you been?”

“Oh, no—I—” Teki faltered. Not supposed to talk about this. “My father lived there for a while,” she finally said. “He used to tell me about it.”

She could almost hear him reminiscing in her head. Alfheim is where music lives, he used to say. It sleeps in the trees and dances through the air like a bird. Someday I’ll show you, Teki. Her eyes prickled with tears, but she blinked them away.

“That’s fascinating.” Loki leaned in closer, continuing hesitantly. “Was he—was your father Elvish?”

“Oh no, he was Asgardian. He just traveled around a lot.” She frowned, trying to retrieve the memory. “I think he lived in Vanaheim for a little bit too.”

Loki sighed. He dug his fingers into the grass, tearing at the delicate stalks. “I wish I lived in Vanaheim. That’s where all the most talented magicians study. My mother studied there, for a time.”

“Then why can’t you go?” she asked. She didn’t understand why he looked so forlorn—she couldn’t imagine any magic teacher would turn him down, considering how effortlessly he healed her rib during the Summer Festival.

“Father won’t let me!” he groaned, chucking his handful of grass into lake. “It’s beyond frustrating—I’m more than qualified, but he won’t have it. He says my place is on Asgard and that I shouldn’t be running across the Nine Realms just to chase a hobby.” With a huff, he leaned back against the embankment.

Teki didn’t know how to respond to that. “Well, maybe he’s just waiting until you’re older,” she supplied unhelpfully.

“Maybe.” But she could tell that he wasn’t convinced.

Brant, who had been silent up to this point, tugged on her sleeve.

“He can do magic?” he whispered in her ear. She giggled, squirming from his hot breath. Under any other circumstances, she’d be embarrassed by her brother’s lack of propriety, but for some reason, it didn’t feel out of line in this instance.

“Why don’t you ask him?” she whispered back.

Brant looked up at her with wide eyes, shrinking back behind her again. Teki nudged him gently towards Loki. He glanced back at her again before gulping in a deep breath.

“Can—can you do magic?” he asked, stumbling as he avoided eye contact with the prince.

Loki smiled. “I can, as a matter of fact. Would you like to see?”

Brant nodded shyly. Loki motioned him over, cupping her brother’s tiny hands together. “I want you to hold your hands like this very carefully,” he said, very seriously. “I’m going to give you the magic, but you can’t let go. Alright?” Brant nodded again, brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at his palms. Teki scooted over so she could have a better view of what was happening.

“Now, close your eyes and count to three,” he continued. Brant closed his eyes. “One, two, three!”

Teki gasped. Suddenly, her brother was holding what could only be described as liquid light. It gleamed in his palms, illuminating his face in a yellow glow and glistening in the reflection of his cornflower eyes. His face broke into a wide grin.

“Magic!” he breathed in awe.

Loki chuckled at their astonishment. “Blow on it,” he told Brant. “Go ahead.” Brant blew softly into his hands. The light rippled like water, lapping against his fingertips. He giggled.

“It tickles, Teki!” he whispered.

Teki was mesmerized. “What is that?”

“It’s just a light source. They use it a lot with younger students, because it’s not as difficult to control as fire.” Loki circled his hand once around Brant’s, a quick flick of the wrist. Slowly, the light drained into nothingness. “It was one of the first tricks my mother taught me.”

Brant was turning his hands over and over, as if he was surprised to find them unchanged. “Can you grant wishes?” he asked excitedly.

Both Loki and Teki snorted. “You mean like a Midgardian genie?” he laughed. “I suppose it depends. What wish would you like granted?”

“I wish I had wings!” he cried, leaning forward with a wide grin. “Can you give me wings?” Loki glanced at Teki quizzically. She frowned. Where was this coming from?

“What do you need wings for?” the prince asked.

“Because then I could fly, and sit really high up in the trees, and when I want to go somewhere I could just fly, and then when everything’s bad I can take Teki and fly away so we can live in the clouds until everything gets better again.” He inhaled. “So can you give me wings?”

Teki swallowed. She could feel Loki’s eyes on her, feel the pity in his gaze, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet it. “That wouldn’t work, Brant,” she said thickly. “Clouds are just mist. You can’t live on a cloud. You’d fall right through.”

“Oh.” Brant deflated, sitting back on his knees.

“I’ll look for a spell to give you wings, Brant,” Loki promised, voice soft. “And maybe I’ll find a cloud you can live on, too. There’s all sorts of strange things in the universe.”

Teki stood up. She couldn’t bear this anymore. “We should be getting back,” she said. “We need—we need to get ready for dinner.” Hopefully they’re not still throwing things. Brant stood up obediently, taking her hand.

Loki scrambled to his feet as well. “I can walk you back, if you like?”

“Oh, no—that’s—” Her heart ached at the way his face fell, but her blood ran cold at the idea of Osvald catching her running around with the wrong prince. “Thank you, my prince, but I don’t think that would be necessary.”

“Of course, of course.” Loki bowed slightly, his hands awkwardly fumbling with his sleeves. “Then… I’ll see you at dinner, I suppose?”

Teki forced a smile. “See you at dinner, my prince.”

They walked away, Brant still clutching her palm. Her brother had the right idea, she realized. She too wished they would grow wings and fly away to the clouds.