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neutron-stars-collision · 2 years ago

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Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 17 - While most of me is still intact

Masterlist; Chapter 16 Summary: The aftermath of the flood. Warnings: Swearing, canon-typical violence (only a mention), angst™️. Author's Notes: I am back 🙈 Still writing, still here, only it's slow and for that I'm sorry. If that's any consolation, this chapter is long. 8k long. It's fluffy too, because it seems my idiots needed some respite before the ultimate conclusion... I'm still not sure how many more chapters till the end, since this one was supposed to be longer. But I'm definitely going to finish the series. Until then, thank you for sticking around and let me know what you think? 💕 Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo (let me know if you wanted to be removed/added).

Once upon a time, an image had been planted in your mind, the biblical allegory for a hopeful intervention. The Red Sea parted precisely when safe passage was needed. Something you never once dreamt of seeing with your own cynical eyes. Until the election night in rainy Gotham. Until the metal railing was biting into your hand, the cold seeping into your bones. The fear was so familiar you could no longer tell it apart from anything else.

Until the dark and murky waters below had been lit with a single red flare, the unmistakable shadow of Vengeance wading through the sea toward the stage. He was alright. Your hand relaxed on the railing as a collective gasp rushed through your small party. Your gaze inadvertently found Selina, taking in the worry on her face, the palpable terror you could feel coursing through your veins, too. When she turned to look at you, you quickly dropped your eyes back onto the scene underneath.

Bruce made it to the stage and began extracting those trapped underneath from within the mess of steel and debris. In the background, you could hear Gordon calling in for backup and choppers, and medical staff for the wounded. The bustle of the police forces intensified, and you knew it was just a matter of seconds till you would be addressed. Till the reality would have to catch up with what had unfolded.

It seemed like you were not the only one with the realization. A muffled shout behind made you turn to find the source, finding Gordon leaning over the railing on the other side of the bridge. You quickly crossed the space to join him, watching as Selina leapt down the ladders and constructions. Her body filled with feline grace you could barely fathom.

“You’re going to do that too?” the gruff voice cut through your consciousness, turning to see Gordon staring at you pointedly.

Despite the weariness and exhaustion, you could not help but crack a wry smile:

“Nah, I don’t fancy dying tonight,” and, then, just as an afterthought you could not hold back, you added, “I’m not that good,”

You really weren’t. It was nearly impossible to ignore the running thoughts, the questions piling in your head, begging to be answered. Like: what if you never showed up on the bridge? What if Bruce never saw you? And what did Selina have to do with all of it?

You did not dare hope it was the last you would ever hear or see of her. The universe was never quite that kind. Or generous.

“Well, I’m glad because I want to talk to you sometime. Once it all quietens a little,” not allowing your brain to go on a tangent, the cop’s conversational tone was once again the one to bring you back to the present.

“What like a witness statement?” you eyed him suspiciously, never the one to eagerly enter the police station and confess your thoughts at the white desk of shame.

But there was no cunning to be found in his face as Gordon nodded:

“You can call it that” as if reading your thoughts, he cracked a wry grin of his own “Don’t worry, you’re not a suspect,”

Perhaps Bruce was right, and he was one of the decent ones. A lone bastion of decency in the GCPD ranks, if you will.

“I should hope not,” you levelled him with one final hard look, hoping to show that you would not be easily intimidated, police forces or not.

One alliance, pulling you right into the centre of this mess was quite enough. And you could not even pretend you were willing to let go of Bruce. It simply was not happening.

Before you could contemplate the logistics of getting back home with the streets flooded, Gordon broke the silence again:

“For now, wait here. I’ll send someone with you to get your head checked out and to get you home safely” only once reminded of it, you felt the throbbing pain pulsing through your skull.

“Police escort, huh?” rolling your eyes, you allowed the uncertainty to speak, “Am I that important?”

The question was not aimed at Gordon. But he was there, and the only person you wanted to ask was… unavailable.

Judging by the expression on his face, you were very transparent on the matter. James threw one look at the stage below and turned away with a simple statement:

“It seems like to him, you are,”

He left you with the words resonating in your head, unaware of the consequences. Unaware of the fact that the statement would haunt you for hours to come. Until you could look into Bruce’s eyes and ask him too.

***

Hours passed since leaving the Garden until you could finally step through the doors leading into the Wayne Tower. Sometime between the fifteen minutes spent at the back of an ambulance (no head trauma, sweetie, but take it slow for a couple of days) and the police car, you decided not to go home. Directing the cops to a random street near the tower, you lied through your teeth, pretending this was home and they could leave you alone. Luckily, they were eager to comply. The excuse you had prepared in the quiet of your mind was that you were safer there. And conveniently more likely to find Bruce once he made it back.

The list of things that needed attending was getting longer as you crept through the familiar foyer and into the creaking lift. You had to call the hospital and inquire after Alfred, the worry gnawing at your heart relentlessly. You were hoping you would stumble upon Dory, too, wanting to let her know Bruce was relatively unharmed. Some dry clothes would have been nice, as well.

Some of those prayers had been answered, for as soon as you stepped into the study, you noticed the warm lamp glow by the bookshelves. One of the armchairs was occupied. As you crept closer, you could easily discern Dory curled up in the chair, her head propped on the backrest, eyes closed. She was dozing. A soft smile spread over your face as you closed the distance and whispered:

“Hey, it’s me” even with all the softness you could procure, Dory sat up startled.

You watched as her wide gaze slowly gave way to recognition and relief. A tentative smile inched its way across your face as she stood up from the armchair and gathered you into a tight hug:

“I’m so happy to see you, darling. I wanted to call someone, but I didn’t have your number, and master Wayne wasn’t picking up. I was so worried” Dory’s voice was smothered by the embrace, yet you heard it well enough to feel the tears gather in your eyes.

Blinking them away, you gave the older woman a final squeeze and stepped back. It was nearly impossible to ignore the uptick of fondness and the part of your brain that already forgot what it was like to be cared for. What it felt like to be important to someone.

“I know. I’m sorry it took me so long” swallowing down the emotions, you sank into the nearest armchair and allowed yourself to relax.

For the first time in hours. Only now, you could feel just how much everything hurt.

The subtle wince did not escape Dory’s worried eyes as she scanned you intently before settling on a question:

“Are you alright?” she added another as you opened your mouth to speak, “Were you there when…?”

She need not finish it.

“Yes, I had a front-row seat to the whole ordeal… I’m fine, though” shrugging halfheartedly, you chose to ignore the aching body and the tarnished confidence; instead, you aimed for another reassuring smile as you added, “Bruce is alright too, he um… helped people there. I’ll wait for him tonight” noticing the dark circles underneath her eyes, you made sure to soften your voice “You can get some rest; I’ve got it all covered,”

It took one long look between you for Dory to agree. She stood up slowly, gathering her bearings and casting one final glance around the space. And then back at you. Eyes filled with fondness you could barely process without bursting into tears.

“Thank you” as if pulled by an invisible string, you got up and allowed her to take your hand between her palms and squeeze it tightly, “He’s lucky to have you,” the sentiment was uttered with enough sincerity to make your heart ache.

A protest was ready to be launched, but you tried to push it down, unable to look away from Dory. From the look in her eyes begging you to accept it as a fact. You closed your eyes to gather your thoughts, knowing it was futile anyway.

“I’m not sure he agrees, but… I’ve always been hard to get rid of” shrugging helplessly, you opened them again only to turn away with a wry smile.

You could not stand it anymore. The housekeeper must have taken the hint, for she gathered the rest of her things and left the room without another word. For once, the loneliness did not hurt too bad.

***

After that, you moved like a ghost through the tower. Careful not to dwell on your actions, you slipped into Bruce’s bedroom to find spare, dry clothes. The set he gave you days before was still there, carefully laid on the chair as if he did not want to put it in the washing yet. That, too, was a thought best left in the dark. Hoping he would not mind, you put them on and dared yourself not to linger as everything there reminded you of his presence and of the safety you were not sure you deserved in the slightest. But it did not matter. You promised Dory to wait upon him, and so were going to do just that.

Calling the hospital was a much easier feat to achieve. It did help to discover that the last time Bruce was visiting Alfred, he had put down your name as someone trusted, and hence it took no effort on your side to get information. What mattered was that he was safe. It took the invisible weight off your chest as you collapsed into a chair in the kitchen and rested your forehead on the cold marble.

It took a great deal of self-persuasion to make a sandwich your stomach badly needed and to convince yourself you should wait downstairs in Bruce’s underground station. That way, you would know exactly when he arrived and could see him right away. And there was no telling when that would happen. Eschewing the importance of clocks and watches, you took a blanket from the sofa in the study and got in the lift to take you down.

The shiver shook your body as the chill of the underground station hit you in the face. Careful not to pay much attention to the late hour or the temptation of everything scattered around the place, you curled up in one of the chairs and burrowed in the blanket. Before long, you were sound asleep.

Waking up was no less jarring. One moment, you were dead to the world, lost in the nonsensical dreams that offered no comfort, and the next, an engine roar made you jerk awake with a start. When your senses adjusted to reality, Bruce was in front of you, the vehicle door closing behind him. He was still wearing full armour, standing motionless as if arrested by your gaze. Just as you were rendered frozen by his.

He was the first to make a move, raising his arms with a quiet groan to take off the cowl. The motion mussed his dark hair, making it fall in disarray over his forehead. Over the attentive eyes, now encircled with smudged black eyeshadow. Your heart stuttered in your chest. A traitorous blush spread over your cheeks as you fought to keep looking him in the eyes, hoping Bruce would not notice the internal crisis.

A flash of surprise followed by recognition and a faint smirk twisting his lips blew those hopes with the wind of your embarrassment. But you did not have enough time to dwell on it. Your legs finally became unstuck as you started closing the gap, exactly when Bruce came to the same conclusion. You met in the middle, bodies colliding almost chaotically, except for the needs controlling every movement. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your own hands came to rest on his shoulders. Eyes met for a split second to fulfil the soul’s desire before Bruce delved in for a kiss.

You gasped, pressing against him, instantly opening your mouth underneath his prodding tongue, giving in to the longing sizzling in your veins. It was easy to slide your tongue alongside his, to let your teeth nibble on his lower lip, revelling in the groan he let out. To press your hand to his cheek, pouring the feelings into the kiss, hoping the message would get through. That you missed him. That you loved him, against all hope and reason. That all you wanted was for this to last. Somehow.

Perhaps it did get through. Perhaps Bruce understood if the way he kept chasing after your lips was anything to go by. Kissing you with all his might, devouring your mouth like a dying man. Like there was no hope left. Nothing but this. But you.

You only broke the kiss when you could hardly breathe, taking half a step back but keeping your hand caressing his cheek lightly. Bruce whined quietly, his hold reluctantly easing to let you go. When your eyes met again, it was impossible not to exhale sharply, shocked to the core by the depth of yearning in his gaze. Mirroring your move, Bruce cupped your face with careful fingers, wincing as soon as he felt the cold skin:

“God, you’re freezing” the slight rasp in his voice was another reason for the stumble in your heartbeat.

Leaning into his palm, you cracked a wry smile and shrugged:

“Yeah, well… You forgot to turn the heating on” your grin widened upon seeing Bruce's faint smile, yet you chose not to dwell on it, “Sorry, I fell asleep” feeling the awkwardness slipping in, you took another half-a step back.

But Bruce did not let you. The arm he kept around your waist stayed right where it was, making it impossible to move further away. You could only stare back as his eyes worriedly scanned your face, looking for any signs of pain. When he found nothing apparent, Bruce gently cupped the back of your head and asked:

“Are you alright? Is-” you could barely tolerate the concern you saw in his eyes, so you stopped him before another word could get out.

Before you got used to being treated like you mattered to someone.

“I’m fine. Got checked up, no head trauma, so as good as it gets” another shrug, taking over the inability to deal with everything you were feeling; you scanned his face with a scrutinous glare before settling on a simple statement, “You, on the other hand, look terrible” proving the point, you dragged your hand through his knotted hair, unable to fight off the fond smile.

The offence you had been awaiting never came. Instead, Bruce mirrored your uncertain smile and sighed, evidently letting go of the invisible weight perched upon his shoulders. His body sagged just a fraction as he finally let go of you and replied:

“I feel like it too” as if not knowing what to do with himself, his gaze ventured over the equipment in the station with palpable restless energy, “I wanted to check up on Alfred, but-”

It felt good to be able to offer him some solutions. You cut right into his sentence, briefly summarizing the discoveries:

“No need, I already called them. He’s safe. Their ICU is on higher floors, so they managed to keep the water under control. They’ll let us know when it’s alright to visit him” running out of steam, you remembered one last crucial bit of information; all the while ignoring how it felt to have Bruce’s eyes fixed on your face with intent, “Caught up with Dory, too, and told her to go to bed,”

You could never have foreseen the reaction to your recap. Before you could do as much as blink and find a new way of filling the silence, a blanket was draped over your shoulders. You whirled around with a gasp, meeting Bruce’s soft stare with wide eyes of your own. He only nodded, answering your unasked question.

“Thank you. I really mean it” seeing the gratitude in his eyes, you could only offer him another tight-lipped smile before turning away to conceal the blush spreading over your cheeks.

You wrapped yourself tighter in the blanket and shot back the remaining two revelations you felt Bruce should know. Those were harder to say out loud without hesitation.

“Um… Gordon wants me to visit him in a few days, so… yeah,” taking his silence as all the encouragement you would get, you added; voice wavering pathetically, “And Selina got away, unfortunately… Sorry about that”

Any idiot would have been able to detect the glaring lack of compassion in the sentence. Not for her, anyway. And Bruce Wayne was many things, but definitely not an idiot.

As if seeing right through the bullshit in your head, he laid a careful hand on your shoulder and forced you to face him. The haunting blue eyes stared into the depths of your soul as his fingers inched higher, caressing your neck in tentative strokes. Unable to maintain eye contact, you squeezed your eyes shut just in time to hear the murmur:

“I don’t care” the sheer conviction in his voice was almost enough to make you believe him.

Almost. Gathering the remains of courage, you chose to face Bruce again:

“She saved your ass up there. You don’t have to pretend it’s nothing” you could tell that bitterness was seeping through each word, the resignation forcing you to stop the rouse, even if just for the moment, “Not for my sake, anyway,”

The flash of annoyance in Bruce’s eyes was almost enough to keep you there. He sighed with frustration before surprising you for the umpteenth time within the past quarter of an hour. Tipping your chin so you could not escape his gaze, Bruce closed the gap to lay a gentle kiss on your parted lips. He leaned back before you could think of chasing after him. The steel-like resolve is still there, written in his blue eyes and the clench of his sharp jaw. As if he was done with your nonsense and yet unwilling to let you go. It was another thing to get you hooked on, so you could never dream of getting over him. As if.

“I’m not pretending. The only person I wanted to see after it all was you” the sincere statement is the one to cut through your internal monologues.

The force of it was enough to rejuvenate the blush on your face and to bring back the stutter in your voice. You stepped back out of his grasp and dropped your gaze to the floor. How did he dare?

“… okay, I… We should go to sleep I think” how eloquent, goddamn it, “You must be exhausted,” it was as good an excuse as you could ever find.

You knew Bruce saw right through it. His eyes flickered over your face with something unidentifiable, but it was clear he had given up. Instead, he found something else to fret over. It became apparent the moment he looked at you helplessly, hands gesturing at the armour with something close to shyness:

“Could you… could you help me get out of this?” his blush had synced up with yours.

One glance at all the different straps and fastenings holding together the upper part of his suit was enough to make you understand. You only nodded, already dropping the blanket on the chair and approaching him with a blank expression. Wordlessly asking for pointers.

The next fifteen minutes had been spent on the painstakingly slow process of disassembling the armour. Quiet was only disrupted by Bruce’s directions, patiently narrating the process so that you knew what you were doing. It was almost pleasant to be this close to him without any pressure of time or case needed solving. Feeling the trust and knowing that this experience was not one many have lived. Perhaps only Alfred had done it before for him. Albeit selfish, the thought gave you comfort. And the courage to think about what came after. About what you wanted (and needed) to offer.

Placing the breast plating on the rack Bruce showed you, you hesitated, eyes slipping over his torso, still hidden by a black shirt. You knew you had been caught once you noticed him stare at you back, head cocked to the side in silent question. There was no point stalling anymore.

“I can stay with you… in your room, if you’d like that” as soon as the words left your mouth, you winced, internally berating yourself for every one of them, “Just to sleep, of course. I don’t… I know you wouldn’t-” the ramblings were cut off with a simple whisper carrying your name.

Making you glance back up at Bruce, at his smile and kind eyes that showed no malice. None of the feared sneer either.

“I’d like it very much” a relieved sigh was inescapable.

As was the flustered smile and maddeningly fast pulse pounding in your ears. It was part of the deal, unfortunately.

You were the first one to break the sickly-sweet exchange of giddy smiles. For the first time in a while, that hopeful spark in your chest was not unwelcome. You allowed yourself to feel it burn as you grinned at Bruce:

“Good. Me too” your lips twisted into a smirk, one Bruce was so familiar with, as you dropped your voice to a faux seductive timbre, “As far as I recall, you’re quite a comfy pillow, hun,”

The delighted laughter you got in return for the nickname was worth the faint headache. And the battered heart.

***

The awkwardness crept back in before you could get in bed and get lost in the dream world. Sometime between getting into Bruce’s bedroom, closing the door, and settling in for the night, everything became harder to ignore. Like the extent of the bruises underneath his shirt, the sheer uncertainty that lays after the flood and the closeness between you that was still terrifying. Having convinced Bruce to let you rub the ointments into the worst of bruising, you settled in between the pillows while he disappeared into the bathroom to get changed. It gave you time to manage the inexplicable spike of anxiety that began to get out of control. Because it was the first time you were going to sleep next to Bruce without any other reason. Because you both wanted to be close to each other. And it was utterly frightening.

The crisis hardly got smothered when Bruce emerged from the ensuite and joined you under the covers. The familiar shy smile graced his features, making it so easy to mirror his position and turn onto your side to face him. You did not have to look for words to fill in the silence:

“Come closer” Bruce extended a hand toward you, fingers trailing over the length of your forearm.

What had been a respectable space between you suddenly felt like nothing. And Bruce wanted you closer than that. Cursing quietly, you levelled him with as a serious look as you could manage, all things considered:

“You sure?” the act was easy to see through.

You wanted to close that gap, perhaps more than anything. But Bruce’s bravery was still something new, something you were not used to. It was best to check lest you could fuck it all up somehow.

“Very, very sure” as if reading your mind, Bruce gave you a reassuring smile, his arm winding around your waist as you gave in to the pull and closed the distance.

Without a word, you laid your head on his pillow and pressed the length of your legs against his. Placing your arm around his middle, you felt instantly enveloped in an embrace that would keep you safe. As did the look in his eyes, trusting and open. The chatter of your thoughts at once grew quiet.

“You know, for a minute there, I was scared I’d never be able to do this again… It was terrifying” laying this close to each other, you could feel each word Bruce spoke with a warm rush of air over your mouth.

Nearly distracting you from the meaning of his words. And what they revealed. Once it sunk in, you closed your eyes and allowed the honesty to speak.

“Will you tell me what… what happened there?” hoping the inflexion would do the work without you having to put it into words, the anxiety raging in your brain made you add, “You don’t have to, is just that… I’d love to get that gap filled in with something other than assumptions” Bruce squeezed your arm in reassurance, confirming he understood.

That he was willing to elaborate on what was, without a doubt, a vulnerable moment. You still were not ready to open your eyes.

“I saw one of them take you out with a blow to the head, and I… Guess I just fucking lost it” the bitter tone with which he threw out the curse felt like a punch to the gut.

It was why your eyes flew open, and the words rushed out.

“But you could barely move, I-” Bruce never let you finish.

“I used an adrenaline shot. Always got a couple in the utility belt” although his voice was rid of emotions, you could see the urgency in his eyes.

As if Bruce was begging you to understand what he meant by it all. You understood enough. Even if you could not bear to think about it without risking your sanity.

“I never heard you swear before” it was why you chose to deflect, holding onto the least important of facts.

Bruce’s eyes widened at the question, and his mouth fell agape in what would be a comical expression if the circumstances were any different.

“Really? Is that the takeaway?” there was a flash of that previous annoyance in his eyes.

Yet still, Bruce tightened the hold over your body, pulling you a fraction closer to the heat of his frame. Close enough that you could melt into him, admitting to the reasons for your foolishness. The why of all the omissions:

“Yeah, because I don’t want to deal with the rest of what you told me” you met his searching gaze, hoping your eyes could show the words that got stuck in your throat.

You pressed your palm to his shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his skin through the shirt fabric. After a beat, Bruce mirrored the gesture, his soft hum getting lost in the space between you. The silence stretched for a short while, enough so you could feel your heartbeat settle, falling for the chance of peace. Yet it did not surprise you when Bruce spoke:

“I’d do it again if I had to” his voice was still soft, treading that familiar territory between a sleepy confession and a nonchalant observation.

You knew it was not really the second one. Tightening the hold over his body, you moved a fraction closer to brush your nose against his and whispered the reply:

“Let’s hope you’ll never have to” there was nothing else to add.

Nothing else you could say without showing how much his admission meant. It was almost incomprehensible to think someone could willingly risk it all for your sake. Without reason or obligation. It made it dangerously easy to believe you were worth something.

For a while, neither of you spoke, seemingly content to drift off to sleep entangled like that. Although his eyes were half-closed, you could see Bruce glance at you every few minutes. It was impossible to say what he was thinking. Once you could feel the sleep pulling you under, you risked asking what was on your mind:

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” even to your ears, your voice sounded embarrassingly insecure.

There was no guarantee he would be there. No certainty that whatever had happened over the night would prevail the next day. You were not sure you could cope with it if the morning changed how things were. It was doubtful.

From the briefest of winces passing through Bruce’s face, you knew you had hit the jackpot. Your hand trailed down his arm to thread your fingers together. Waiting to be disappointed.

“I don’t know. The city needs me, now more than ever” the excuse was weak, and Bruce knew it.

As if trying to recompensate, he squeezed your hand but averted the furrowed look you immediately sent his way. You did not feel like giving in to what was utter bullshit.

“Yeah, but you need to rest” when Bruce still did not meet your gaze, you added, tone firmer this time, “Gotham is still going to be there tomorrow. And I hope you know you can’t help everybody. You can’t save them all” it must have struck the chord for he raised his head, the boundless blue of his eyes troubled “Some are beyond helping” it was hard to say what made you finish the speech on a vulnerable admission “Like me,”

One that made Bruce’s face twist into a look of pure dread. He disentangled his hand from yours to cup your cheek, the tenderness tearing your heart apart as you stared back.

“You’re not-” deciding you did not want to hear it, you used an empty hand to shut him up.

Your fingers traced the outline of his mouth once he fell quiet. His lips were an easier point of focus than the eyes seeing into the depths of your soul.

“Bruce, please. Not tonight,” the whisper filled the silence, pleading without saying so.

He understood. Nudging your chin upwards so that you were both forced to look at one another, Bruce searched your eyes. That same emotion settled for good in his gaze. The one you could never identify. Though you could sometimes guess…

“Okay… Can I kiss you?” the simple question acted like an instant brain freeze.

You did not have to think hard about the answer.

“Yeah… but only if you’ll stay with me” for once, it did not hurt to be exposed.

For once, it was okay to know he saw you. All the faults and weaknesses. All that you would rather reject than embrace.

“I’ll stay” Bruce sealed the promise with a kiss.

Fragile and gentle, the pressure of his lips was almost tender. It was still easy to sigh into his mouth and lose yourself in the hope that flickered in your heart. The hope that maybe it meant enough to last. This time, you made no moves to devour him, no intent to make a mark. For this one was only a vow. And when it was over, and you could press a final peck to the tip of Bruce’s nose, it was so much easier to lay your head over his chest and close your eyes.

***

It was almost surreal to wake up enveloped in an embrace you had no desire to escape. Slowly opening your eyes, you allowed them to adjust to the morning light peeking through the curtains. The rain was pattering against the window; the sound was acting like a mellow soundtrack. Realising you had moved through the night, you found your back pressed against Bruce’s chest. It felt like being spooned by a heater. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. That much was certain.

For a beat, you were content to simply lay there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest and the muffled snores escaping his throat. It was impossible not to grin, tightening the hold over Bruce’s hand around your waist. The throbbing headache at the back of your skull was almost worth it. Because although it was still terrifying, you could not deny yourself the bliss felt at that moment. Everything else be damned.

Only once you felt him stir you began to move, turning as gently as possible to face Bruce. The sight alone was breathtaking. His dark hair was tousled beyond saving, several strands falling over his eyes. His forehead was clear from the frown lines; the long eyelashes fluttered over the sculpted cheeks. Although his eyes were still closed, you could tell he was not sleeping anymore. Ignoring the warnings alarms in your head, you shifted, so you could see him better and kissed the edge of his jaw. Then laid another peck on his chin, smiling involuntarily upon hearing Bruce gasp shallowly. His arms tightened over your frame as he slightly lowered his head to catch your lips in a chaste kiss. You were more than happy to give it to him.

Only then did Bruce open his eyes, the blue irises catching the light and immediately focusing on you. His lips twisted into a small smile as you noticed:

“I think you needed that sleep” on its own accord, your hand rose to let the fingers trail over his features.

Bruce’s smile widened into a bashful grin. You could feel his hand caress your side, slowly inching closer to the shirt’s hem. You were happy to let him do that too.

“Probably,” acquiescing, Bruce was interrupted by a wide yawn.

Giggling into the pillow, you briefly contemplated what it would take to convince him to stay in bed with you forever. Or at least for the whole day. But then, the reality crashed. Even without being able to see the city outside, the memories came rushing in like the sea water breaking through the walls last night. It was the darkness at the edge of the peaceful morning that made you ask:

“What do you think will happen now?” as soon as the words were out, you could see the frown return to Bruce’s face.

Damn it. The apology was already on your tongue when he replied.

“No clue. But it’s going to be tough. People like the Penguin are going to try to use this mess to their advantage” a tired sigh acted as an interval while Bruce seemed to collect his thoughts; his eyes were trained on the world outside the window, “I should probably do patrols every night, aside from keeping in touch with Gordon” the reluctance in his voice felt like a stab in the fabric of your soul.

With a start, you realised that you would probably do anything to make it go away. To stop whatever was making him hurt. But there was nothing you could do.

“Work is cancelled with everyone urged to stay inside, so if you’ll have anything to work on, count me in” feigning nonchalance and failing miserably, you waited with bated breath for Bruce to look at you again.

To say anything to the thinly veiled plea to let you work with him again. The answer was more important than life itself. Slowly, Bruce turned his head to rest his heavy gaze on you. His mouth stretched into a smile:

“No please?” he grinned, taking the weight off your shoulders and making you giggle breathlessly.

“Nah, you didn’t earn it” an attempt at schooling your features into a mock seriousness went horribly, yet Bruce still seemed pleased with the quip.

His hand, which was still tracing patterns on your side, slipped underneath the shirt. Now the warmth of his careful touch was acting like an anchor, making it much easier to stay present. When his eyes met yours, it still felt like a jolt to the system.

“I will” Bruce’s voice dropped into a lower timbre, dragging a shiver through your body.

If he noticed, he did not let on. Ignoring the response of your betraying body, you raised an eyebrow, fixating on the conversation you were having. Or on one that lay beneath the words that filled the silence.

“Earn it?” as if following the invisible pull, you allowed your hand to reach out; your palm pressed itself to his chest over the heart.

To feel its rhythmic beat, wanting to memorise it for the future where you never got to touch Bruce like that.

“That too” as though he was reading your mind, Bruce pulled you closer, his words a murmur you wanted to trust.

You wanted to believe whatever changed last night was an indication of how things were now. And how they were going to be. But trusting was not in your blood. You buried your face in the crook of his neck to breathe in the calming scent. Only after a few minutes have passed in the near-blissful quiet, you could begin to seek the courage to voice one last desire. You could only say it when there was no chance of Bruce’s eyes finding yours. So, you took one final deep breath and tried to shoot the shot:

“Will you have some breakfast with me? Before you leave to do whatever?” with every word, you were wincing harder, trying to focus on the movement of his chest underneath your palm.

All because of how much rejection would hurt. Sure, you had already gotten so much more than you ever bargained for. But the longing never ceased anymore, growing more insistent by the hour.

“That’s a question or a request?” Bruce’s question had a cheeky edge, easily throwing you out of your head.

He had no mercy for your desire to hide. Leaning back to catch your chin in his hand, Bruce met your blushed cheeks and half-closed eyes with a confident smirk. An expression you were slowly getting used to, to your surprise. It forced a shy smile to appear, despite your wishes.

“Depends on what’s more likely to work on you” your tongue darted out to wet the suddenly dry lips.

Immediately, you noticed Bruce’s eyes trace the movement, keeping the eyes fixed on your mouth. Way too long for it to be accidental. You knew it wasn’t.

Bruce groaned as if in response to the dance between you and pressed his forehead to yours with a fake pained expression. In response, you could only raise an eyebrow and catch the bottom lip between your teeth. The giddiness in your chest began to spark to life.

“You’re just so…” it only grew brighter when you heard the yearning in his voice.

Bruce seemed speechless; his eyes were fixed on your face with something akin to devotion. As if he had so many words to describe you but none that would fit the bill. None that would express what he wanted to say. You decided to help:

“Annoying?” Bruce shook his head in silent exasperation, so you decided to use it, “Yeah, I know. So?”

His smile was the answer you had been waiting for. Soon, your face was bound to hurt from smiling so much.

“Okay,” Bruce nodded, making your grin shine even brighter.

Caught up in the feelings evoked by this moment, you never saw when he leaned in to catch your lips but felt it when Bruce kissed you. Slowly and thoroughly, responding to the playful back and forth you had been indulging in. You deepened the contact when you felt his tongue swipe over your lips, gasping when Bruce licked into your mouth. The taste of him was already familiar, and the more you had of it, the more you craved it. Following the pull of your heart, you pulled up on your forearm to lean over Bruce, feeling his hand slip to the small of your back. He caressed your skin while his mouth devoured yours, and all you could think of was how much you were willing to sacrifice to never let him go. Somewhere in between another swipe of your tongue curling around his and the playful bite as your teeth sunk into his bottom lip, you had to swallow the three words. The ones that would destroy everything. The ones that kept appearing on the tip of your tongue, following the letters of his name. The ones you traced onto the material of his shirt. I love you.

Not that long later, when you had climbed from the bed, and locked the bathroom door, you whispered them against the wooden frame, choking on the weight of the feelings you should never have had in the first place:

“I love you…”

***

The crisis had passed by the time you sat at the kitchen island and sipped on the coffee while gossiping with Dory. She had hugged you tightly when you entered the room, relieved to find you still in the building. In return, you filled her in on Bruce’s whereabouts and asked for help in preparing the breakfast spread. Once it was ready and you had convinced the older woman to join you for the meal, you settled by the countertop, waiting for Bruce to join you. Somehow, you knew he would. Breaking promises did not seem to be in his nature. At least, you had hoped so.

He proved you right ten minutes later, walking into the kitchen just as you were telling Dory about the police escort from the night before. Your story was interrupted when she laid her eyes on Bruce, let out a surprised noise and instantly dropped the milk carton to gather him into an embrace. A smile planted itself on your face upon the sight, observing with the familiar happiness as Bruce returned the hug and squeezed the housekeeper with fondness permeating every cell of his body. After a moment, you turned away to give them privacy for the hushed conversation and tried to occupy yourself with the toasts, which had just popped from the toaster. The only reprieve from the task came when you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder and turned your head to find Bruce standing right next to you. He smiled and wordlessly asked for the plate, forcing you to marvel at the domesticity of the situation. So different to the other breakfast at the Wayne Tower, only days before. Once you were all seated and picking at the spread, it was that memory which made you ask:

“So… are you going to eat, or do I have to force you again?” you levelled Bruce with a pretended serious look and sneaked a glance towards Dory.

As expected, she was unsuccessfully hiding the laugh behind the coffee mug in her hand. Turning back to Bruce, you found him matching the faux glare with one of his own. His mouth was curled into a smile as he picked up the buttered bread and used it as an accessory to accentuate the response:

“I will. I will. No need to force-feed me the toast” Bruce took a demonstrative bite with no heat in the pointed look in his eyes.

A spark in his gaze told you he remembered well the moment you alluded to.

“Good” signing off the comment with a wink, you reached for the mug again.

You did not get to swallow the sip of the warm beverage.

“Though, admittedly, I did enjoy the last time” Bruce’s response was the sole reason for you choking on the coffee and the coughing fit which followed.

He must have felt responsible, for within seconds, his hand was between your shoulder blades, firmly hitting the space to ease the coughing. The concerned frown on his face was almost enough to help you take a breath again and find the courage to place your hand on his knee underneath the kitchen island. You squeezed it once and measured him with a steady look:

“I see” the company in the room did not matter anymore as you met the blue of his eyes and remarked, “You’re a strange creature, Mr Wayne” the way Bruce reacted to the name never got old, and you could not help but smirk with satisfaction at the pink tint appearing on his cheeks.

He caught his bottom lip between his teeth as if to hold in something he did not want to say out loud. Composed himself and took a toast bite to find a breather. You could only watch him, feeling Dory’s observational gaze rest on both of you with quiet contemplation. Whatever she saw between you surely was not that far off anyway.

At last, Bruce must have found his footing again, for he returned your taxing gaze and muttered a reply:

“Yet you’re still… around” the inflexion on the last word suggested he was surprised by it.

That he never really expected you to stay around for so long. You did wonder whether telling him that it was a surprise to you, too, was a reasonable move. You ignored it, softening the smile on your face and fully aware that the look in your eyes was nothing short of affectionate.

“I never said I don’t like strange creatures” finishing the sentence, you moved your hand up from his knee to the lower thigh, hoping to convey everything your heart felt.

You signed off the sentiment with a cheeky wink, feeling your cheeks burn under Dory’s scrutiny from the other side of the worktop. At that moment, you quickly decided to discard this line of the conversation and include the older woman in your discussion. It was what you did then, sharing with her your recounting of the night before, happy to have Bruce join the story. Afterwards, you both promised her to keep in touch to avoid anxiety-filled nights and confusion.

Still, it was not a surprise that as soon as Dory finished her breakfast, she excused herself from the kitchen, wishing you both a good day. A blush on your face was a permanent fixture by now. For a beat, you and Bruce stayed quiet, sipping the remains of the coffee in companionable silence. Until he cleared his throat and placed the mug on the worktop with a hollow sound. Your eyes darted to Bruce anticipating the unknown. Although there were no reasons to suspect anything bad, you still felt anxious as you watched him intently.

“I’ve been thinking and… I think it would be best if you stayed here for now. Until it all settles a little in the city” Bruce rushed the words out almost breathlessly, staring at the marble surface as he added, “Of course, you can say no, but… I wanted to put it out there, I guess” with each word the conviction in his voice grew weaker until it disappeared completely.

The proposition surprised you, making it difficult to find an answer before Bruce managed to talk himself out of it. You could see him battle himself, so you blurted out the only question that made sense:

“Why?” it was the magical word that made Bruce look up at last.

He met your searching gaze with a simple shrug, the look in his eyes helpless but not in denial anymore. This time he had the answer ready.

“Because I’d feel better knowing you’re somewhere safe,” his voice grew softer as he silently begged you to understand and agree.

The statement broke through the reluctance in your heart and melted the hard shell, as it always did. It was tempting and oh so easy. Another excuse to stay by his side and feed your needs as long as he would allow it.

“And here I was hoping you’ll say you want me in your bed again” you dropped the tone to a private timbre, eager to make Bruce blush again.

It did the job. As soon as he registered your words, his cheeks turned a vivid shade of pink, lips falling agape to sputter words of denial that never came. You were right. Kinda. A triumphant grin planted itself on your face upon the sight, acting as a driving force behind the decision to stand up and drape your arms over Bruce’s body from behind. Your chin came to rest on his shoulder as his hands came to cover yours over his torso. Before he could begin to question himself again, you whispered an agreement into his ear and leaned back an inch to leave a playful bite on his earlobe. It was enough to make Bruce gasp sharply. And to widen your smile, silencing the voice in your head that always reminded you it would not last. For now – it would. And that was enough.

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wiedzmacienia · 2 years ago

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candle light casts shadows upon cloth. dancing, distracting as light hues drift between the surroundings of the space and the man she's been left with. be vigilant, you know as well as i what can lurk within the shadows. a strong and wise voice had once instructed her. she does not allow her gaze to linger in the shadows for long, senses outstretched into them, feeling, sensing their sole presences though it irks her that his aura radiates so loudly it nearly overrode her ability to evaluate the room. perhaps it's a testament to this man's discontent with the situation as it stands before them. for even without otherworldly power his stance proves a gateway toward his emotions at this turnabout. it is not reaction unexpected, though mildly disquieting all the same.

how long had she spent fighting to protect those like her and now she finds herself presented with humans at every turn? nevermind that while she possessed more than that of a mere human she was human all the same.

protecting them from the eldritch rather than the reverse. it was a queer set of circumstance which brought forth unease within her very atoms. yet it was the end goal which made the cause worthy was it not? a new world distanced from the old. distanced from culls and oppressions. a world where perhaps the vision of the blasted monk could come to light. she remained cynical of it thought for prejudices ran deep. after all, even as she had saved the life of the general and the man before her from the creatures which would have surely laid waste to them, he still stood before her with assumed accusation. the world was hypocritical and god, hollowed as his name was, inspired the best and more importantly the worst within fear-laiden men.

kasia doesn't move toward the officer or react to his comment past the slightest tightening of her jaw at first. observing the way he held himself and the inflection of his words. there was judgement cast before defense could be presented and it strikes her in the way the rising sun filters through the tent how similar it feels to that morning her and kasper had been drug from their beds into the morning light. into the burning flames. it had mattered not the reason they had utilized their power, only that they had possessed it like some kind of devilish abomination. they had used what their god had granted them to follow in his teachings, to ease suffering. and for it the flames had boiled their skin and turned their bones to ash.

a breath is inhaled, held for beat before she allows her hues to meet the man's and resists the urge to laugh. damning the general. was that what she was doing? such a thing certainly was news to her. "i do agree, good sir, that he is imperative to our cause, for our causes are one in the same. be it truth if you believe so or naught." she pauses briefly, takes a step into the candlelight upon the fringes of the tent instead of toward him. she's careful not to present herself as a threat. hair shines golden in the light, a brightness to her as subtle shadows seem to seep away into the morning light as if one hadn't realized they were present until they were washed away. there's tear marks upon the arm of her dress where vampiric nails had slashed at her in battle, dried blood crusted around the edges and crimson redness on the skin peaking through. she is a witch, yes. but is her body not still human? does it not still bleed when harmed?

"i hardly believe it would have been beneficial to have fought to protect him if i wished to damn him." a sigh. subtle and perhaps disappointed. "god can perhaps forsake me for a many things however damning someone, i would hope, would not be one of them. perhaps i should leave the theological speak to my pastor however-- i do believe he's indisposed with the boy that was injured in the attack." her comment is laced with something deeper she can not hide. not quite disgust but clear distaste at the notion such a young lad had been present at camp though she is doubtful he was intended for battle as having some other role to serve. "this was no place for a child and the pastor is.. of the more agreeable variety of vampire. he gave him of his blood to aid in his healing. the boy was near death though i imagine that matters naught in your views upon such an action." perhaps now she is the one to grant accusation. it can not be helped. "he prays at his side as he recovers." and to ensure the boy is unharmed further to cause him to turn. "how utterly horrific such things must sound to you." she looks away from him then, runs her hand along the wooden table that had been set up inside the tent and lets her hand tap a bible upon it. she wonders if he would have imagined it to burn her if he believes her some hellish creature rather than woman and perhaps she gets some satisfaction out of picking it up and opening it before drawing her attention back toward his introduction.

"am i not of this world?" voice questions, bewildered. bible set back down as fingers idly pick at the torn stitching of her sleeve. she was flesh. she was bone. she was bore upon the earth. she bled. kasia looks back up at him with an air of confidence. "there is so much you have yet to see. do you think we are not living in this world? that we do not live in your villages, that we are not friends and teachers and brothers and sisters? that we do not wish for the same freedom's you fight for? no, i suppose you would not for how could creatures live the same lives as you? washington seeks to build a new world, we only wish to have a place in it." she lets her hand fall to her side but does not drop her gaze. she is not a childish fool who believes pretty words will alter someone's perception yet some part of her wishes for a world where this was not as trying. she was so tired of facing the same things over and over and yet it only strengthened the need for the very order she had dedicated herself to.

"the british have unleashed forces they do not understand. they play at things they can not begin to control and are allowing themselves to be used within greater agendas. what you saw this night is child's play to what can be cast upon you. uncontrolled vampires, dark magics used in such ways threatens us as much as you and we do not wish to see this country drowned in blood. i do not wish to see little boys slaughtered for no reason." her voice has risen slightly, a small flush to her features at the conviction of her tone. she has done many things she knows she will face judgement for one day, but joining this fight would not be one of them.

Storms were always a double-edged sword. Though Ben knew they were necessary for nature, for life, it also brought on darker memories -- of how his father laid vigil by his mother's side, clasping her hand while her breath grew weaker and weaker, and a swell of thunder and rain raged on outside. Even now, Ben occasionally felt the shiver he'd endured peeking in through the doorway, his young mind still not fully comprehending how or why his mother could no longer be with them.

Gripping at the sword on his hip, Ben squinted through the assault of the elements, water dripping fiercely over his tricorn and blinding him as the wind howled and seemed to be a true testament that no one, no one should be outdoors. But this was for Washington -- the Cause. Although instructions were unclear, the general had assured him that standing vigil on this night was imperative. He didn't give any more reason than that; the man could be coy and secretive, but this went above and beyond the norm.

The storm raged on, until there was finally enough reprieve for the moon to make its presence known. Ben shivered, his teeth chattering. It was also a cold night -- unbearably cold -- and bitterly, he found himself wondering if Washington's command would ultimately lead him to a sickbed. This was not what he was meant to do. Guarding a vacant forest with no true explanation for why was already a means for frustration, given how he'd been promoted to major mere weeks prior. Was this what officers were granted? Paperwork and menial tasks better-suited for field scouts and guards?

Reaching a trembling hand into his coat for his flask -- perhaps a nip of whiskey would return some warmth to his aching bones -- Ben gave a start once a series of screams and shouts rose above the howling wind. Instinctively, he unsheathed his saber and withdrew his flintlock, knowing all too well that it would be virtually useless in the rain. Still, he raced for the tent in search of Washington, knowing that above all, he needed to protect his commander.

A group of cloaked individuals were there to stop him. Fearing that he was too late -- oh God, they had gotten him first! -- bile entered Ben's mouth, and he raised his useless flintlock in preparation for attack, only to balk once Washington, himself, exited the tent and demanded that everyone stand down.

Two hooded figures took off into the night, fast, impossible, and Ben's head spun at what he had just witnessed -- nay, surely hallucinated. "Sir?" he asked, seeking answers.

Washington ignored him. "Come," he commanded instead, and sparing a distrusting, disbelieving glance at the group -- the girl -- Ben steeled himself before following after. There was a terrible, ungodly stench of blood in the air, and although he was accustomed to death and decay, something about the pungent odor nearly had him retching. Then there was darkness -- so, so much darkness -- that he nearly staggered to a stop to recapture his bearings.

Fortunately, the group did stop, even in the thick of chaos, and the girl from earlier cast away her cloak to reveal someone far more petite and unassuming than Ben was expecting. In fact, he wasn't truly understanding why she was there at all -- perhaps she was the daughter of one of these strange warriors? -- yet his thoughts were cut short once bursts of stark, cannon-like energy rocketed from her palms.

Witchcraft! A monster!

Horrified, Ben opened and closed his mouth, moving in front of Washington and extending his sword towards her instead of the enemy.

"Don't!" Washington hissed. "She is one of ours."

Never! Ben thought. No creature was one of God's children! Surely, His Excellency had been blinded by dark magic and was under their spell!

Gritting his teeth, Ben's plea for reason was interrupted once terrible, hellish monsters swarmed upon them, but were soon thwarted by the girl and her cloaked friends. She fought...unnaturally. Despite the fear and disdain coiling within his chest, he found himself strangely mesmerized by the grace and fluidity of her movements; by how she seemed to almost bend time and space while delivering these creatures unto the hell they had surely emerged. This is it, Ben thought. This is surely why Washington has been ensnared! But he was too strong for it. Ben had his faith to protect him.

His brother's Bible, which he carried daily over his heart, grew heavy against his chest with a comforting familiarity. In that moment, Ben felt safe, and not just because the cloaked figures had triumphed over evil in their fight.

But not over him. Ben remained distrustful and mulish, his jaw gritting so hard that his teeth ached. They had moved back inside Washington's tent, and even with his commander's orders to trust and listen, Ben could do nothing but silently fume. His Excellency had the gall to actually leave him alone with this witch, and folding his arms, he remained in the far corner of the tent, watching her with sharpened suspicion.

She introduced herself -- Katarzyna of the Order of Soteria? -- and Ben snorted, finding it increasingly difficult to remain civil. Finally, he coolly offered, "You have my gratitude for saving our commander's life -- General Washington is imperative for this fight -- but I am more than aware that you have him under some sort of thrall, and I warn you of this, madam: I will save him from you. It is my job to protect him; to keep him from harm's way. And with you and your people clouding and damning him, we can never succeed...not in the way God intended."

Fidgeting, he irritably rubbed his thumb over the pommel on his sword. Even with his contempt, he couldn't find it in himself to be rude -- she had extended an introduction -- so rolling his eyes skyward, Ben grudgingly allowed, "I am Major Benjamin Tallmadge, General Washington's staff and leader of the 2nd Regiment of Continental Light Dragoons."

Rolling his lips inward, he straightened once more. "Since I already know you are not of this world, you might as well tell me your plans for His Excellency. What benefits you in stealing the mind of our commander? What does a witch need with us, the Continentals, when we are deemed by the masses to be the losing side?"

#honorhearted thread; 001 #honorhearted #v; main #time period; raise a glass to the revolution

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chiwhorei · 4 years ago

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𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬

paring: kenny ackerman x fem!reader

genre: apocalypse!au, smut, dark content, 18+ mdni [cross-posted to Ao3]

word count: 3k

overview: kenny *i-wouldn’t-fuck-you-if-it-was-the-end-of-the-world* ackerman; but it is and you do . . . and you’ll probably do it again. or, if you read beyond the cut and wind up in hell that is legally not my fault.

tags: dymph does sacrilege once again, post-apocalypse au, blood, violence, zombies (only mentions of gore nothing specific), somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, degradation, smoking, insertion, sloppy oral, big age gap aka kenny is a nasty old man and reader is a sweet little virgin.

a.notes: happy *fucking* easter. this is for the smut pile’s apocalypse collab so go give everyone’s pieces a read, everyone has worked so incredibly hard. this is dedicated to @pleasantanathema, who was both my beta reader and emotional support while stringing this together. here’s to the old man fuckery, cheers.

hymn: the seven deadly virtues - camelot

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man. -Luke 21:36

* * *

Wet.

A sticky kind of wet. Clinging on like thick clay, splattered across your neck— gore and sinew wrapped in a noose. Shades of decaying reds and browns are all you see these days.

The seeping, molding kind of wet.

The smell is suffocating, the toll of death deep in your bones. You keep moving, you have to. One foot in front of the other, fingers fretting with the cross hanging between your collarbones. Counting your Hail Mary’s distracts from the ache in your soles and the burning feeling that you’re rotting away.

It was slow at first. The end of the world, the crashing, clattering end felt like a slow decent to hell. Pieces of the modern world falling away, the promise of tomorrow, the assurance of a cure. You refused to believe the dead could walk the earth until they were stumbling straight towards you.

All of us, you think, are rotting away.

“Pick up the pace, kid. Are you trying to end up like the rest of those fuckers?” His voice rings from a few feet in front of you. The brush under your feet is dry, leaves crunching loudly with every weary step forward.

Kenny always likes to remind you of your naïveté, insults about your rose tinted glasses barked crudely from around a cigarette. Your youth, your optimism, your beliefs-- useless traits in his opinion. What good is God in a world like this.

“Friends. They were our friends.” Your words come out in a whimper, the tone further irritating the man ahead of you.

He stops, turning around to catch your eyes, gaze piercing through the night like a knife. All that’s left of your composure is used to keep from crashing right into his chest.

“Ain’t no more room for friends in this world, baby doll,” a long pointer finger lifts your chin, the slightest touch still bruising, “thinkin’ like that is what’s going to get ya killed.”

Rose tinted glasses, cracked and splattered with blood, fall off and are lost to a world that no longer exists. Kenny let’s up and turns, pulling you farther into the thick brush. You could swear you feel the lenses as they splinter under your shoe.

* * *

Kenny is a vile man. He knows his name isn’t on a reservation list at the Pearly Gates, he’s aware that a sinner lives on borrowed time.

Nowadays, everyone is living on borrowed time. Even you.

You, he thinks, looking back to where you stumble over a tree branch, far to good for a world like this.

He can’t help but laugh, the absolute absurdity of his current situation. Escaping death by the skin of his teeth, watching any familiar faces burning in the remnants of a camp he couldn’t really call home. People that fought to the bone, melting or devoured or both.

And then there was you, standing in front of the flames, tears falling down the apples of your cheeks, stiff in shock and horror. He remembers the way your lips moved, mumbling a quiet prayer instead of trying to run. Stupid little thing.

It’s not the earth the meek inherit; it’s the dirt.

Was it pity that made Kenny pull you away from an infernal gravesite all those months ago? He’s never the hero of any story. No, it must have been something else.

Maybe it was the way you looked up with teary eyes, silently begging for help. Unwittingly making a deal with the devil. His teeth grind at the memory, the vision of how beautiful you look so completely helpless.

Kenny leads and you follow, he hunts and you flitch at the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. The small squeak and proceeding thumb of meat as it hits the ground never fails to make you sick. When he’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting something else.

The sounds of death are all the same.

Some days you’re lucky, coming across abandoned hideouts or deserted cars. Snagging whatever hasn’t already been picked over; some ammo, the occasional can of peaches or pack of cigarettes. Kenny laughs dryly everytime, chucking the carton into his bag. Always the cigarettes, never the lighter. Most days, not so much.

Every night, you fall asleep to the flicker of a campfire, lulled by the steady sound of Kenny’s knife as it scrapes against a piece of wood. He’s always the last asleep. The woods are a dangerous place, the possibility of monsters circle at every moment. Under the veil of night, anything could happen. And it does.

He wipes his mouth, settling back into the harsh ground below him with a pleased hum. Your whimpers have settled back into a light snore.

Kenny is a vile man, and you’re too concerned with the lifeless villain in the shadows that you forget about the one sitting on the other side of the fire.

Three months of waking up to aching limbs and misplaced panties can’t be a coincidence, can it?

* * *

“Well ain’t this something.” Kenny pulls on the door, swinging it open with a loud creek. Your neck strains to look up at dark wood and steepled roof, the tall building hidden by dense forest, you two must be the first people to step inside in months.

“A church.” You’d find comfort within these walls if you weren’t so positive that God had abandoned this world.

Statues of the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph are empty behind their stone eyes, shadowed with an unsettling shade of red from the stained-glass windows. The moment is a time capsule, a vision of the congregation of saints bathed in blood.

A chill runs down your back, counting every vertebrae.

You push down the unsettling foreboding, focusing back on the instincts to survive instead of lingering on a religion that you can no longer make sense of.

“Hey kid, over here.” You pick up the pace, quickening footsteps away from holy symbolism and towards Kenny’s voice. You walk into the closest room off a dark hallway and find him leaning against the doorframe. The rooms are getting darker with the vanishing sun, but you make out shelves of cans and boxes, food, blankets, clothes.

“I bet they used this as a food pantry,” Your comment was probably an obvious assumption, but Kenny just hums in response, “there’s enough here to last up months.”

Good samaritans in the first life are a saving grace is this one. Your cynicism lifts from heavy shoulders for just a moment. The lines between luck and divine intervention are fuzzy at best.

“I saw a well right outside too. Water’s probably cold as ice but it’s better than anything we’ve come across yet.” Kenny’s voice is even, but you swear he cracks a smile.

He was right, the water is cold enough to shatter your bones like ice. You shiver and chatter, teeth threatening to crack, but the feeling of being clean has you dumping bucket after bucket over your head. The grime and grit of your reality running down to seep into the grass below.

There’s no home to run to after the world ends, but water and food is more than you could imagine in recent months. Shuffling through boxes of donated clothes, you find a shirt big enough to sleep in. The fabric smells like moth-balls and dust, but the feeling of clean cotton against your skin is heavenly.

You find Kenny in the clerical office, rummaging through the priests desk. The sun is replaced with a flight of candles, for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like death is standing right behind you.

“Would you look at that,” Kenny pulls a cigar from the desk, bringing it up to his nose for inspection, “Looks like father had his own little habit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his comment, rounding towards the large leather chair he’s settled into.

“Smoking kills you know.” You lean against the desk next to him. Your bare legs brush against his knee, the heat from your skin makes his mouth water.

“I think there’s more pressing concerns than tobacco, kid.”

There’s something different about tonight, even more than just the four walls and roof around you. There’s something about Kenny and the way his stare has followed you all night. You can feel a cord pulling taught, fraying in the middle before it snaps.

“Asshole.”

The plush of Kenny’s bottom lip is close enough to your cunt to be disastrous. Friendly banter becomes laughing and swatting at his chest like a teenager. Communion wine and tension pulling you into him. The loneliness of this life becomes more apparent the closer he is to touching your skin. When did the man in front of you make your heart race so fast?

Maybe you’ve always felt this way.

You feel it, the ghosts of last night, the night before. The ghosts of weeks or maybe even months. The familiarity of a touch you weren’t quite awake for.

Ass arching off from where it sticks to the cherry wood, you want to feel it again. The laving of tongue and mouth against you. The devouring of your most intimate planes of skin, places no one else has ever touched before, places you were saving for your future husband.

The kiss as hot as hell.

“Awe, c’mon now,” His nose nudges against your clit, the movement pulling another cry from your throat to bounce against the high ceiling, “that’s not my name.”

“I’ve been tracing it into this precious cunt of yours every night,” each word is more unhinged than the last, no longer worried about the doe in his sights running away, “Do I need to spell it out for you again?”

There’s nowhere to run, pressed in between his canines.

Dreams of calloused fingers and a wandering mouth are now cementing as memories. The feeling of rough facial hair. The sounds of desperate moans and how they shake against you.

The way his tongue curls like a signature.

His mouth is flush against you again, sucking at your aching clit for only a moment before moving his attention to long lashes against your clenching hole.

“You must remember. You were moaning it so sweetly,” he nips at your puffy lips before drawing back. His chin is sheened in your arousal, slick refracting off the dimly lit space between you, flickering candles outline his features with a dance of orange shadows. Kenny’s eyes hold you captive, giving you one more chance to answer.

“What’s my name, kid?”

His tongue breaches you, a set of large, familiar hands keep your legs spread wide atop the desk.

You remember— of course you do. You remember everything. The name stuck in your head like a broken record. The name you call for in a sleepy haze as your body is dragged into orgasm.

The name that’s spelled against you like a promise.

“K-Kenny please.”

That’s all that he needs, the only thing, if he’s being honest, that he’s ever needed.

“There’s my sweet little girl. Finally using your manners.” Two fingers come up to swipe against your pussy, stopping right before your clit and collecting slick to bring up to your eye line for inspection. You jump when the warm digits drag against your bottom lip, a silent prompt for your mouth to fall open.

Kenny sticks his fingers in, the intent to make you gag is clear but you take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Your tongue swirls around the intrusion, running against each joint and suckling loudly. The sound is wet and lewd, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth makes his head spin.

Your destruction, he decides, will be beautiful.

Kenny’s fingers release with a wet pop. He runs callouses down from your cheek, over the curve of your tits and down your abdomen. Two fingers stop at your pubic bone to trace lightly against the skin in random patterns.

“Your body is just as agreeable when you’re awake.” His words drip in sin, reminding you exactly how familiar he is with you. All of you.

Both thumbs come down to spread your lips, Kenny can’t help but take a moment-- just a beat-- to stare at your swollen, glossy clit and the quiver of your little hole. Your skin is soft, completely untouched by anyone else. He laid claim to almost every inch before you begged him to.

He sinks from the leather chair, kneeling in front of you. You’re the body and blood as far as a sinner like Kenny is concerned.

There’s a plea stuck in your throat. You want to beg him to slow down, it’s too much all at once, but you know if you cried out-- all you would do is beg him for more.

His tongue is long and flat against you, every swipe is punctuated with a growl. The rumbling from his chest is thrown against your clit like a current through cold water. Sharp, shocking, terrifying.

“Kenny, I- I want,” He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the hood. There’s no words in any language that make sense to you. There’s nothing but his name.

“Kenny ah, I need, I don’t know how t—”

Your dangling over a fire, trying desperately to jerk away from the lick of the flames.

“I know, kid, I know exactly what you need.” his breath is heavy and warm in fans across your skin. You're dripping down the sides of his face and onto the cleric’s desk. Kenny is covered in you, open mouthed kisses against the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The tangy taste of your pussy mixing with the wine still on his tongue.

If he spent forever between your thighs, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

“Such a sweet little thing, you’re insatiable.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glazing over with a distinct look of teary submission. It’s so new to you, but grinding upwards and catching your clit against his chin seems like second nature.

The primal need for release is much stronger than any prayer of abstinence.

“What would your little prayer circle think if they knew you spread your legs for a dirty old fucker like me?” Kenny coos against the apex of your thighs. His words knock on the hollow space behind your breastbone.

Your family and friends, the priest from St. Mary’s who baptized you, old man Jaeger from next door— all buried or burned to ash or so much worse.

Anyone you’ve ever loved is dead, maybe that’s why Kenny is still around.

There’s nothing that can hold you back anymore, the control you claw at slips from your fingers like watery silk. There’s no escaping the roughness of his stubble and an evil, serpent tongue.

“Kenny!”

You cum with a shattering cry, the sound ringing so loud in your ears you swear any enemy of the living in a 10 mile radius could hear you. In reality, what escapes is little more than a broken snivel.

It hurts, muscles aching from the exertion of trying to keep from falling apart. Your body is a hairpin trigger, the comedown feels more like withdrawal.

“There’s my girl, my good little girl.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, doting while you fall back to earth. It’s a strange feeling, you’ve never found comfort in Kenny before, he isn’t the shoulder you go to lean on.

But tonight he’s the chin you buck into.

The aftershocks run across your naked skin, already missing the feeling of his touch as he settles back into the cracked leather chair.

His cock presses into the denim confines uncomfortably, the ache can wait though. Whether this is his last night alive or has all the time in the world-- he’s going to savor the glistening prize nestled between your thighs. Kenny’s fingers find the cigar where it lies next to your knee, bringing it up to examine while you squirm at the cold night air against your wet cunt.

“No one will ever make you feel as good as I do,” both legs kick out, falling to dangle on either side of his knees in surprise as the cigar comes down to trace your outer lips. He presses the tuck inwards, pulling out slightly so you cry out. The harsh texture of the wrapper mixes with the most minimal of stimulation, causing tears to clump in your waterline.

“Why don’t you think of a way to repay me, hmm?”

You push past the heaviness in your muscles, sitting up to meet his incredulous stare. Kenny sticks the cigar between his teeth, striking a match from the desk drawer to light the cap. The cigar is stale, cheap tobacco. But every drag now tastes like you.

“I- I could try to--” Words are left unspoken on your tongue, even now, the intonation is poison in your throat.

You expect Kenny to laugh at your bashfulness, instead, two fingers come up to curl around the Rosary around your neck. He drags you forward, exhaling smoke into your parted, quivering lips. You try your best not to choke.

He pulls the cigar away, ashing it carelessly on the floor.

“Use your words, kid, tell me what you want.” His words are sleazy but his voice is soft around the edges. Prompting you to shuffle onto his lap. His free hand rests in the small of your back to keep you steady.

“I want--” Fuck, your voice feels like it’ll fail, you take a moment to breathe, “I want you to fuck me, Kenny.”

Your plea is rushed, so quick to hit his ears he almost misses it. There’s no hiding anymore, there’s nowhere else in this world but the private quarters of a long-dead clergy member. The space between you and Kenny is foggy and tense, only inches between lips.

There’s no more penance in this world, no more time to sit and atone for his sins with prayer. The soft, syrupy feeling of your cunt wrapping around his cock is a slice of heaven, cut out and stolen right from the sky.

“I thought you’d never ask, doll face.”

✞ all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#aot x reader #aot x reader smut #aot smut #kenny ackerman x reader #kenny ackerman smut #the smut pile: apocalypse #tw: somnophilia #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: blood #tw: sacrilegious #sin.somnophilia #sin.noncon #sin.dubcon #sin.blood #sin.sacrilege

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novelconcepts · 3 years ago

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Hey! I'm finally (at long last) getting back to my read-through of music AU, with the hopes of having time and headspace to finish in the next few days.

I realize this was a long time ago for you and your readers, so please don't feel like you have to post this if you've moved on--but I'm still enjoying the heck out of this story and feel compelled to tell you so in great detail. So, here's chapter 6:

-“Seeping in, the way water creeps slowly through the crack beneath a door.” Must you remind me of THAT scene in Ep. 9?

-“Dani forgets to pass on Peter’s message, if forgetting is what you call not considering it worthwhile.” This is so casually savage, and exactly what Peter Quint deserves. Delightful.

-This bit where Dani realizes that the pull she felt from the first iteration of Us was in fact a magic-constructed facade is really interesting. So is the contrast—the facade of the band vs. the magic/music showing her the truth of Jamie. Makes me wonder how the band’s effect on the audience might be different with Jamie (and Dani) on stage.

-“I could be boring, Jamie Taylor.” Could she? Could she really? If the thing inside her head is waking, if the music invading her bones is a lie, if she does not—could never—truly belong with these people who have grown to love her? Could she really be boring?” This feels like the road map to where (I think) they are going—I could see an endgame where all of these people walked away from the band but remained family to one another (except Peter. He can walk away from the band into a lake).

-I’m not going to quote all of it, because there’s just a lot, but I really enjoy watching Dani think and feel her way through being in a relationship with someone she actually wants for the first time. You capture that rush of, “Oh, THIS is what it’s supposed to feel like” really well.

-“Her voice is warm, the words tumbling easily past her lips. It’s like being told a bedtime story by an accomplished weaver, someone who has come to so many stories over so many years that they can’t help but turn any sentence into a glorious tale. That’ll be Jamie, someday, Dani thinks. The music in her has nothing to do with it; it’s simply who Jamie is. The witness. The storyteller.” Ah, there it is. Love that Dani recognizes this growing in Jamie before Jamie really comes into it herself.

-This is a really beautiful distinction between keeping something secret out of fear and shame and keeping something secret to nurture and cherish it.

-“But Jamie now is opening that space to Dani like she never wanted to be alone at all.” I’m not sure there’s a single trope I love more than “aloof cynic with giant marshmallow heart.”

“Dani’s heart is full and her head is quiet…” the follow-up joke almost made me miss what a lovely, succinct description of contentment this is.

This entire conversation with Rebecca is half “Peter Quint is a tool” (which, true) and half Jamie and Dani blindly defending one another in ways shaped by their very different personalities, and I love it.

-“Dani could leave her hanging now. Could shake her head, walk away, cherish these last two weeks as a memory she’ll never match again. She could protect Jamie from this, as Jamie tried to protect her with Peter Quint.” I love this, because I haven’t seen anybody else try to describe the warring emotions we see in Dani in canon before she takes Jamie’s extended pinky. And here you’ve done it perfectly—just, you know, in a completely different setting.

-“I finally saw magic.” Ruh-roh

My friend, detailed comments of the “I love this” variety never get old. I hope life is treating you well and that your headspace remains cheerful. (And that you enjoy the rest of the story. I forgot just how damn long it was.)

#ask #kind writing words #fic talk #especially these days when comments are few and far between ones like this? gold. pure gold in my inbox. thank you for sharing #currently working on original fiction which means no insta-hits of joy from people reading it so any i get on old works?#more helpful than you know #(also fully laughed out loud at 'ruh-roh'. the fairest response.)

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omg-someone-actually · 4 years ago

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Remus feels miserable. He's also hiding under the covers. He knows it's childish and probably useless because the one person he's trying to hide from shares the flat with him, but the uselessness of his solutions has never stopped him from executing them before so why start now.

He can hear Sirius shuffling in the kitchen, the kettle whistling and the mugs tinkling. The strong, sweet spicy aroma of bergamot is slowly wafting through the open door to their bedroom.

Remus exhales. Earl Grey then. That means Sirius is making tea for Remus as well as for himself. Remus doesn't drink any other but Sirius prefers green tea and yet he always makes Earl Grey for both of them whenever they're home together. He says he doesn't mind having the same as Remus but Remus knows he does it just because the water for Earl Grey needs to be heated just slightly under the boiling point whereas the water for green tea should be around 80°C. He told Sirius multiple times that he can make his green tea first and Remus can boil the kettle for his Earl Grey later but Sirius just looked at him while walking to the couch with their mugs and answered, "But then we would never get to drink the tea together," like it's the most obvious thing on the planet. Just like that, casually hitting Remus' feelings in all the right places. How dare he.

He secures the blanket over his face tighter and burrows deeper into the pillows.

Footsteps. Sirius is walking over and placing something on his nightstand.

"Love, I made us some sandwiches and tea. Marlene is coming to pick me up for the Order mission later. I thought we could eat together in bed before she arrives so you don't have to get up?"

Remus groans. He doesn't deserve this man.

Yesterday's full moon was terrible. He hasn't had a bad one like that in years. The deep exhaustion is still lingering in his bones, his joints ache and muscles feel strained, stretched on a body that looks way too old to be this young. He's normally somewhat functioning the evening after. Not today.

He fell asleep right after Sirius healed the worst wounds on his ribs and thighs and apparated them back to their flat. In times like this, he's beyond grateful Sirius chose being a healer as his career. It makes the post full moon mornings so much easier.

He slept like the dead through most of the day and if that wasn't any indication of how bad the night was, the dull pain in his entire body should have been enough. But none of that prepared him for the shock he found himself in when he stumbled to the bathroom to use the loo and saw his face in the mirror.

There, still red and not fully healed yet, was a new scar across his face.

Now, scars weren't anything new. He's used to having them all over his entire body and finding new ones after almost every full moon. But never before has a scar appeared on his face. It's strange really, that he has managed to avoid his entire head for so long. He probably didn't have this big area of smooth unblemished skin anywhere else on his body. Well, not anymore. Run out of luck, I suppose, he ponders.

Remus never thought of his own face as something exceptionally beautiful or desirable. But the fresh scar, raised and big and ugly, spanning from his right temple, going under his eye, across his nose and ending on the left side of his jaw, makes him look absolutely horrendous.

He's already self conscious and standing next to his gorgeous boyfriend makes him feel unsure at the best of times and inadequate and undeserving at worst. How much worse is it going to be now?

The bed dips under Sirius' weight as he climbs on the mattress next him. "Come on, Rem. Come out of the blanket cocoon and have some food. You haven't eaten all day," he says softly.

Remus doesn't move. Instead, he asks something he's meant to ask Sirius for a while now. Hidden from view, he allows some of the worry and fear to seep into his voice. "Why are you staying with me?"

"What do you mean?" Sirius confusedly inquires.

"Why are you dating me?"

Suddenly, hands are caressing his curls back softly and trying to take the blanket off his face. Remus just holds it tighter.

"Because I love you. What kind of question is that? What's going on?" Sirius is starting to sound worried.

Remus only grumbles in response.

"Love, take the blanket off your face and talk to me. I'm not having this conversation with you hidden under the covers."

"Well then get used to it because I'm not coming out from under them any time soon," he retorts.

"What? Why?"

"Because my face is disgusting and no one needs to see it, least of all my very attractive boyfriend."

Sirius doesn't answer. Then he shifts his body so he's laying behind Remus and hugs him completely within his cocoon to his chest.

"If this is about your new scar I already know about it. Not only because I saw you make it yourself in the forest but also because I healed the wound and carried you to bed, all the while with your face pretty much visible and I haven't combusted or turned to stone from the sight so I think I'm good. Now, as your official healer I would like to inspect my patient, please."

Hot burning shame runs through Remus' body. Sirius does so much for him - turns into a dog to run around all night every month, has to watch his lover turn into a bloodthirsty beast, he looks after him, heals his wounds and makes him tea and he even reads to him sometimes, when the full moon isn't that bad. Remus really doesn't deserve him.

What does he have to offer in return? Cynicism, snarky comments, empty bank account, and petulance. He could have at least told himself he's a good enough shag but will Sirius even be able to look at him like that when the most prominent feature of his face is forever going to remind him (and everyone else) what a monster he really is?

Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes and he sniffles.

Sirius, alarmed, takes the blanket Remus has hidden himself under and tugs at it again. It comes off easily, Remus is not clutching at it anymore, and finally uncovers his face.

Sirius puts his palm on Remus' left cheek and smiles at him tenderly.

"Here you are, love."

He starts studying the scar with a wrinkle on his forehead that appears every time he's focusing on something. "It's healing very well. The scar shouldn't be too prominent but it will probably stay. I'm sorry about that. I tried to spell it as soon as you transformed back but you know how it is with werewolf injuries. They rarely heal completely."

Remus frowns. "You take such good care of me already, Sirius. Don't you dare apologize for something you can't control."

Sirius grins. "Then there's no need to hide something YOU can't control either, is there?

Remus' frown deepens. "That's hardly the same thing."

Sirius kisses his nose. "It makes no difference to me, Remus. You're still you. I still love you. And I will continue to do so," he traces one of his fingers along the scar, "whether you have ten of these or none".

Remus gazes into Sirius' eyes and when he finds nothing but truth and honest devotion, he lets himself be gently kissed into the pillows.

When he wakes up later, he finds the bed empty but he can hear Sirius chatting with somebody behind the closed bedroom door. Marlene must be here then.

Remus gets up to greet her and groans when his limbs crackle in protest. He's almost at the door when he hears what they're talking about.

"....it was a rough night," Sirius explains.

"I hope Remus is okay." Marlene's voice sounds tired, like everyone's in the Order these days.

"He has some new scars but otherwise he'll be okay."

"Marlene," Sirius growls. She must have made a face.

"Oh no, I didn't mean it like that. Actually I think it fits him. He has this...roguish vibe and the scars just make him look edgy. Not that I would be into it even if I swung that way but I always wondered if you…"

"What are you on about?" Sirius demands, his voices still a little angry.

Marlene takes a deep breath. "So many pretty people chasing you, but it was only ever Remus for you. Why?"

Sirius sighs and stays quiet for a minute. Remus almost thinks he's not going to answer. Why should he, anyway? Maybe Marlene just made him see the truth, maybe he realized he would like to date someone else after all, maybe he finally sees the stark absurdity of someone as gorgeous as Sirius dating someone as hideous as Rem-

"You know, sometimes you meet someone so beautiful, and then you actually get to talk to them and five minutes later, they're as dull as a brick. Then there's other people and you meet them and you think, "Not bad, they're okay." And then you get to know them and… And their face just sort of… Becomes them, like their personality is written all over it. And they just… They turn into something so beautiful."

He pauses and then exhales, "Remus is the most beautiful man I've ever met."

Remus doesn't come into the living room to say hi to Marlene for another ten minutes. And if it's because he had to sit for a moment and dry some tears, who's to say?

A/N: The last thing Sirius says in this is inspired by this scene in Doctor Who

Big thank you to @kattlupin for her quick betaread! <3

#wolfstar #my writing #my fic #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #remus lupin #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius black #post full moon #marlene mckinnon #doctor who quotes #wolfstar with doctor who quote

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 4 years ago

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Bagginshield Bingo- Soulmate/Ones

First entry for the game! I headcannon Bilbo to be about 14-15 in this in human terms. Remember, if I don’t get any asks, I will choose the next one for tomorrow! I hope you guys enjoy.

Title: The Souls of the Feet

Summary: Hobbits have soulmates and while Bilbo always tried to avoid finding his, it seems that his soulmate found him instead.

Amongst the scholars and philosophers of Middle Earth, the oldest and, most likely, well worn debate stems from the location of a being’s soul. Depending on which race is being asked, the answer differs greatly. Take the men for example, hardy and hopeful, and they believe that the answer lies in the gut. After all, ‘gut instinct’ must arise from somewhere, and surely food must power both the body and the soul.

However, if the question is posed to an elf, immortal and elegant, they would argue that the soul must rest in the chest along with the heart and the lungs. All necessary for sustaining life in this world. Loud scoffs would come from the dwarrows, secret and proud, who know that the forging of one's craft is the most soulful experience one can have, and that would be in the large hands Mahal gifted them with.

All are logical arguments and definitely merit consideration. Still, all wrong in the eyes of a hobbit. The poor, simplistic creatures believe the soul resides in their feet. As if their claim was not peculiar enough, they state it as an absolute certainty. The Big Folk just smile and indulge the hobbits with a pat on their head, and it’s this level of cynicism that keeps them from knowing the secret truth of the Shire.

Yavanna, in all her wisdom, granted hobbits the ability of knowing their soul mates. With the feet that touch the earth blessed by the Green Lady, to be touched on the foot ties a string of fate between those two souls. Always feeling, always knowing, exactly where to find their soulmate so long as their feet still walk the earth.

Because of this, the care and attention to their feet was almost sacred. To touch another’s foot with ill intention was seen as downright criminal in the Shire.

Now, accidents happen and it is by the will of Yavanna whether those people pursue a romantic relationship or just remain touched by fate. Bilbo Baggins, a young hobbit of twenty-six, was not about to take the chance.

He kept mostly to himself and away from the other tweens. More interested in chasing imaginary elves and fairies in the woods as a child, he now took walking holidays across the whole of the Shire spending his free time reading his books and his maps from the treetops. He never saw a problem with his self-instilled isolation. His parents fretted, and his father especially questioned how he was to find his soulmate if he kept to himself? However, Bilbo figured his soulmate would find him when the time was right.

It was on one such day that Bilbo was lazing in a low branch over the river. Turned facing the trunk, his head was cradled by the leaves and berries. His right foot bent up at the knee, while his left swung freely below. Lost in the inked words of heroes and magic, Bilbo was completely oblivious to his surroundings. So when something brushed against his hanging foot, he sat up nearly dropping his book.

“Excuse me.” A voice called up as the person reached up and grabbed Bilbo’s foot to gain his attention.

Bilbo released a loud shriek as he jumped to his feet backing away. His foot! Someone touched his foot! In such distress, he seemed to have completely forgotten that he was in a tree, and there was really no place for him to go but down. His stomach flew to his throat as he was completely weightless for a small moment. Then he was plunged into the Brandywine.

If there had ever been Stoor blood in his genealogy, it had died out long ago as Bilbo sunk like a rock beneath the current. His lungs and nose burned as he wildly kicked and flailed hoping in vain to reach the surface. His head broke through for only a moment, and he gulped in air while he could.

“HOLD ON!”

Bilbo barely heard the roaring voice before he was plunged back below. His chest ached with desperation, and he was so tempted just to open his mouth and be done with it. Then he collided with something solid. His limbs instinctively wrapped tight in the hope of salvation even as his eyes refused to open.

Honestly, Bilbo wasn’t sure how he got onto the banks. One moment, he was fighting against the rushing waters, and the next he was on his hands and knees. Spluttering, coughing, hacking as water and snot ran down his face. His limbs shook as the fear wore off enough for the exhaustion of his journey to seep in.

“Are you alright?”

There was a warm hand on his back that made Bilbo look up. Blue. He was drowning once more. Numbly words tumbled from his mouth.

“My foot.”

A soft frown touched the being’s face, and Bilbo was able to break away from his eyes long enough to take in the sharp nose, short dark beard, long soft locks to match, and the large hands that were common among Aule’s children. A dwarf? The dwarf looked down at his foot, and Bilbo was now consciously aware of the deep throb resonating through his sole. The dwarf reached down taking his foot in hand, and Bilbo released a gasp.

Sweet Yavanna, he didn’t know that one could feel waves of pure bliss in this way. It was as if the sun had been gone without him even knowing, and he finally was feeling its warmth for the first time. His body went limp, and he turned his head so he could get a good look at his soulmate. His soulmate. He wanted to be annoyed by his method of contact, but he was too mesmerized by the beautiful creature to care about the accidental touching.

He was large. From his broad shoulders to his mannish hands down to his sculpted chest that his wet tunic clung desperately. Wet tunic? Bilbo grinned brightly as he realized it was the dwarf that saved him from the river. His brave, handsome, kind soulmate. If Bilbo weren’t still technically a minor, he would propose right here on the spot.

“Did that hurt?” The dwarf questioned raising an eyebrow.

“Hurt?” Bilbo laughed. “It felt incredible. Here, let me.”

He sat up and reached over for the dwarf’s feet only to stop short at the sight of the dark squared monstrosities hiding his soulmate’s feet. His confusion must have been written on his face because the dwarf spoke up once more.

“You...want me to remove my boots?”

“Yes.” Bilbo nodded, his brow still furrowed.

The dwarf hesitated, but under Bilbo’s putout expression, slowly complied with the request. Bilbo’s jaw dropped aghast to see another layer of wool underneath the dreaded leather beasts. His plight seemed to amuse the dark haired dwarf as he huffed a laugh before removing the woolen socks as well.

Bilbo laughed in incredulous delight. They were so dainty and smooth! He reached out towards one only to hesitate and look up for the dwarf’s permission. His blue eyes tore straight through him as if trying to discern his every possible intention before finally giving a small curious nod.

Bilbo’s touch was revenant, and his heart immediately ached. There was so much pain in his dwarf’s poor soul. The pain of loss brought tears to Bilbo’s eyes. However, there was also a fluttering of hope. It was beautiful and noble and built on limitless dreams of glory and a far off calling of home. Yes, Bilbo’s dwarf was a good one indeed.

He began to rub the foot exactly as his mother told him in order to soothe the pain. Thorin tensed for a moment before letting go with a sigh. Bilbo smiled, happy to do this one small thing for his sweet soulmate. He didn’t know if it was normal to be this attached, but he couldn’t help himself. He continued to rub until contentment settled into the dwarf’s bones.

“What did you do?” He asked softly when Bilbo finally, reluctantly released him.

“I merely dulled the pain and reminded your soul of better times.” Bilbo answered.

“I didn’t even know I had such aches; long has been my journey.”

“It was the least I could do. I mean...you did save my life.” Bilbo ducked his head shyly.

A large hand reached up and ruffled his curls.

“It was the least I could do, Little One. After all, it was my fault you fell in the first place.”

Bilbo was nearly vibrating with the attention until he caught the dwarf’s pet name.

“Little?! I am practically an adult.” He complained.

The dwarf snorted as he proceeded to cover his feet once more. Something else that caused Bilbo displeasure.

“My nephews would say much the same.”

“You have nephews?” Bilbo jumped eager to know more of his soulmate. “How old are they?”

“Let’s see...the younger one just turned...fifty-two, I believe. Which would make the eldest fifty-seven.”

Bilbo blinked owlishly at the dwarf wondering at the purpose behind this jest, but he did nothing to deny it as he laced his boots back up. As it settled around him, Bilbo came to the realization that the dwarf was being one hundred percent serious. Just how old was his soulmate?!

“And what about you? I would imagine on the frontside of fifty. Forty-seven? Forty-eight?”

“Twenty-six.” Bilbo murmured still reeling from the apparent longevity of dwarves.

The dark haired dwarf’s jaw dropped as his face paled.

“Twenty...by Mahal! We need to get you back to your parents right away!”

Bilbo’s face turned crimson as the implication that he was but a young faunt, but then the dwarf took his hand in his, and Bilbo stayed his tongue as he found he enjoyed the sensation. It was incredible to him that dwarves’ hands were so large when their feet were so cute and small. Exactly opposite of a hobbit. It was like Yavanna and Aule planned for them to compliment each other. Bilbo took advantage of the situation and laced their fingers together as he swung the limbs back and forth. The dwarf, Bilbo still had not learned his name, allowed him with an indulgent smile. Wait. Bilbo still did not know his name.

“What’s your name?” He asked immediately seeking the blue orbs for answers.

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain. How about you, Little One?”

Bilbo clearly was not about to lose that nickname anytime soon.

“Bilbo Baggins.” He responded.

“Bilbo.” Thorin repeated fondly.

Bilbo repressed the urge to shiver at how his name sounded in Thorin’s velvety voice. Trying to distract himself from his desire to press closer, Bilbo began to prattle on, telling Thorin all about his home and the Shire in general. He talked about his desires for adventure and his cosy smial. He talked for so long, wanting to share every detail of himself with Thorin that he wasn’t even aware they were home until he walked straight into the gate.

“I suppose this is where I leave you, Little One.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. Leave? Why would Thorin leave?

“I must return to my home now.” Thorin explained in amusement.

Bilbo ducked his head not realizing he had asked his questions aloud.

“Will you come back?” He begged already hating the distance between them.

“I may.” Thorin smirked.

Bilbo’s grin split his face as he leaned up and placed a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose. Thorin watched completely bewildered.

“Good. Because I have chosen you.”

“Chosen me for what?”

“To be mine.” Bilbo answered honestly.

The dwarf looked confused but still managed to draw a small smile to his face.

“Farewell, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I’ll be waiting! Thorin, son of Thrain!” Bilbo declared waving enthusiastically to the dwarf as he departed down the hill.

Bilbo was able to feel every step he took further and further away from him. It was like a tug on the very soul of his feet. Uncomfortable and strained. It made Bilbo want to run down after the dwarf, and never let him go. However, he could wait. He would become of age soon enough, and then he would chase off into the wilderness after that dwarf. He just didn’t know the wait would be longer than he would ever know. Long enough for him to all but forget about the insistent tug that demanded his attention away from the Shire. However, Bilbo was quickly reminded when for the first time in twenty-five years, the tug eased in its pull indicating his dwarf was finally coming back for him. Now if only he could get this pesky wizard to leave him alone so he could prepare...

#bagginshield bingo #bagginshield #thilbo #ones/soulmates #get it...'soul of the foot'#:D #the nose kiss...literally one of my favorite parts

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levisnackajack · 4 years ago

Text

The Wrath of War

Chapter Thirteen

Eden felt it deep in her bones that an expedition would be thrown at them soon. It kept her up at night, tossing and turning as she wondered how many lives would it cost for them to trudge beyond the walls once more.

She decided pushing herself during training would have been the best way to exhaust her thoughts. She sparred with every single squad member for hours on end. Then, she’d run laps until her muscles would give out and she no longer had any physical power to contemplate anything.

“Get into pairs,” Levi had snapped one of those days, flexing his arms against his chest as he impatiently waited for his subordinates to match up. Jean raised an eyebrow as Eden shuffled towards him, smoothening her hair down as she cocked her own brow.

“I’ve decided I want to keep today’s sparring session relaxing. I can’t be bothered to put in much effort, no offence.”

Jean snorted in response; whacking Eden on her arm. “None taken. I can’t exactly be afraid of a toddler dressed up in soldier attire.”

Eden tried her best to feign offence, but his comment made her burst out laughing. She kicked him in the shin when she finally calmed down and caught Levi’s glare with her peripheral vision.

The girl took a deep breath, clenching her fists as she viciously began the sparring session with Jean. He was quick to move out of the way and she was faster at calculating her next move. It pleased her immensely when she managed to topple him to the floor, albeit their difference in body mass and size.

“You’re lucky you’re just cute and I feel bad I might hurt you too badly,” Jean coughs as he grabbed Eden by the hand, using her as an anchor to pull himself up. She grinned widely at him, shaking her head as she stretched lazily.

Connie and Sasha were messing about, Mikasa was with Eren, Krista and Armin were together whilst Levi watched over the pairs with extreme distaste.

Or perhaps it was just boredom.

She listened to Levi correcting Connie’s stance and scolding Sasha for fooling around. Her amber eyes flickered away awkwardly back to Jean when the Captain’s own hard glare shifted towards her. Eden’s guts twisted uncomfortably and she wanted to heave.

The vivid dream from a few days ago had also plagued her mind. It felt incredibly real, as though it was Levi’s real fingers dragging against her flesh as she had panted under him. The coldness of his touch made Eden’s spine shiver, goosebumps peppering against her skin.

Her cheeks were always a tainted peachy shade and it was incredibly difficult for her to maintain eye contact with him for a long period of time. Thus, she decided it was best to avoid him as much as possible.

“Eden, let’s go eat; we can train again later,” Jean pulled her back into reality, his hand squeezing her waist gently as she blinked slowly.

“Alright, I guess you’re a masochist or something. I don’t know who else would want their asses kicked by a toddler,” Eden deepened her voice, mimicking Jean who in turn chuckled lightly.

“Maybe I’m just into strong women who are able to defend themselves,” he replied back cynically, the corners of his lips tucking into a wicked smirk. Eden rolled her eyes, freezing her movements when she heard Captain Levi’s cool voice from behind them.

They saluted him formally and he nodded back stiffly. The wind ruffled Levi’s hair as he marched towards them, the strands flickering before his eyes- not that it seemed to bother him.

“You’re dismissed,” he scowled at Jean, jutting his chin back towards the castle, wordlessly commanding him to leave. The younger boy hesitantly accepted his order and left sulkily, glancing back at Eden who reassured him with a smile that never reached her almond eyes.

“When you’re done, come to my office brat,” Levi instructed her in a composed manner; his eye twitching at the sight of her wordlessly staring down at her boots as she followed him back to the headquarters.

Her silence irked him deep down, but his indifferent mask stood stoically against his face. Levi brushed past her when Eden glanced at him quickly before mumbling her affirmation. She watched him stride away, the confidence in his walk practically oozing out of him; his white shirt clinging to his body exquisitely. Eden felt her heart strain painfully as she stood staring at him walk; deciding she’d take a longer path back to base.

With folded arms across her chest, Eden intently listened to Armin share his strategic plans with the rest of the group. They had all gathered in the Captain’s office, the parchment map neatly sprawled against his impeccably polished desk; Hange, said Captain and the rest of the squad circled around it.

Armin nervously spoke, stuttering every once in a while, completely captivating his audience with his scheme talk. A few chosen squads- including part of Levi’s Squad- would venture out into the openness of Titan territory within Wall Maria.

There had been countless reports along the Wall Rose claiming there had been a surplus amount of humanoid creatures seeping towards human territory from the South-East direction.

It was a risky mission Commander Erwin had bestowed Hange- who in turn decided Armin was fittest for cooking up a plan of action. Eden’s heart faltered slightly as she thought about all the poor souls destined to lose their lives the following day. She contemplated whether there was someone else who was currently thinking about how they’re probably standing beside someone who’s got less than twenty four hours left in their hourglass.

Hange took over when Armin was done with his share of opinions. Eden caught his stare and smiled warmly at him; the twitch of her lips faltering as her grim thoughts infested her mind. He grinned back at her, nervousness abstracting him from catching onto her contorted, saddened face.

“This is a highly significant mission that could ultimately lead us one step closer to find out the secrets laying in your father’s basement,” Hange broke Eden’s reverie as her eyes settled on the key resting against his chest. “We’ve supposedly sealed Wall Rose’s breach. But, if the claims are true and there is a sudden increase in titan sightings; then maybe something else is going on,” Hange stroked her chin idly as she stared down at the faded parchment.

A haughty “tch” slipped out of Levi’s lips as his grey eyes finally ripped themselves off the map.

Once the meeting was adjourned, everyone made their way towards the exit of his spacious office and Eden followed sulkily. She missed being on the battlefield, knowing her actions could someday bring humanity closer to freedom; but she was deathly afraid of being paralyzed by grief once more. She cringed at the thought, her slowly footsteps leading her closer to the threshold. Until he called out her name.

She tilted her chin to the side, staring down at the floor from the corner of her eye before listening to him irritably command for her to turn around and face him.

Eden closed the door softly, trembling fingers engulfed around the icy metal of the handle, her hand flexing behind her back as she made her way closer to his desk.

Her lungs began burning intensely as her cheeks flamed up upon meeting his levelled stare. She forced herself to hold his gaze, blinking back at him through velvet lashes. Levi’s jaw clicked, the muscles in his mouth growing tense.

“I must say, you seem to be slacking,” Levi began, watching her carefully from behind his chair, fingers brushing against the headrest. Eden’s own bones clenched, her full lips concealing the way her teeth grinded against each other.

“Instead of improving your skills; your result levels are mediocre and stay the same...dare I say they’re worsening by your lack of concentration.”

His words hurt her wounded ego. Each syllable hurt more than the previous one- like salt being continuously pouring into an open gash. Eden’s knuckles grew as pale as the parchment still spread across his desk.

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? I could have worked on everything today,” Eden inquired in a sharp tone, ignoring the glare he sent her way.

“I guess I just came to the conclusion now. I think your skills are lacking and it seems like your concentration levels are far off, brat. It’s sickening to think that a fellow comrade could potentially lose their life because you were too busy daydreaming about other things,” Levi replied in a venomous tone, his monotonous voice making everything sound even worse to Eden.

She stared at him wide-eyed and in horror. “With all due respect, Captain, but what the hell? I’ve proven myself to you countless of times; I’m ready to lay my life down if it meant saving others from that fate. I would never, ever allow myself to lose focus, especially during a life-or-death situation...”

“You should sit out of this mission. Spend the time thinking over your faults and then depending on the outcome, I’ll decide whether you’ll join us on the following expedition,” the Captain coolly cut through her words, craning his head to the side as he rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation.

His nonchalance made Eden seethe.

“Why do I have to sit out of this when I’ve demonstrated that I can handle this? I don’t want to stay here...-”

“This is an order, Eden, we’re not negotiating here,” he lashed out at her, albeit his consistent, unbrokenly-calm reverie. “I will not have anyone killed out there because of you.”

His words poisoned her heart. She was so taken aback, she physically had to force herself to stay on her feet- her mind growing murky. Her mind flashed back to Petra and Oluo, Eld and Gunther.

“Excuse me? Are you actually trying to insinuate that the death of your comrades were my doing? I was smashed against a tree by a 14-meter tall titan and you’re really going to turn around and blame their deaths on me?” Eden’s voice came out high-pitched and broken as she slowly edged closer to the desk.

“After you saw how hard it was for me to accept their deaths, you’re going to turn round and saying the one thing I never thought I’d hear you say...” Eden’s eyes burned with tears as she violently blinked them away, the familiar anger Levi so comfortably sparked inside her grew lit once more.

She shook under her clothes, the tremors sending jolts of adrenaline through her as she desperately tried to keep her cool; to no avail.

His words had caused a different type of heartbreak within her soul.

She extended her arms to keep herself from falling, her body leaning in over the desk as she stared at him through infuriated, betrayed eyes. “How dare you try to blame this on me?”

Levi finally looked back at her, his own grey eyes enlarging ever so slightly as he met a pair of hazel eyes filled with an unfamiliar fire that he could swear he had never known before.

He challenged her wordlessly and it took all within her not to flinch and break under his stare.

But Eden knew her limits and when he scoffed under his breath; that border was long forgotten and overpassed. She ripped the map off the desk, hauling it to the floor before grabbing the empty tea cup and smashing it against the wall behind Levi.

The man did not flinch as he watched Eden stalk around the desk, her expression contorted into one revealing immense anger.

“You keep telling me you want to see me fight and give my all, right? Well, let me prove to you that I’m a soldier who’s willing to sacrifice myself for the sake of the greater good.” Eden aimed to punch his face, wincing slightly when he casually seized her wrist, twisting her round until her back collided with his chest. His hot breath tickled her neck as she writhed against him.

Using her elbow, she shoved the bone into his ribs and used the one split millisecond she had whilst Levi was recoiling to spiral out of his arms and aim a kick towards his face.

But no matter how unanticipated her moves were, Levi was always one step ahead of her. She snarled in frustration as he blocked her upper-cut punch, both of his hands pressing against her collarbones as he shoved her hard against the wall; knocking the wind out of her lungs.

He snaked his fingers around her wrists as he pinned them against the wall, forearms pressing against her arm as she shuffled between him and the wall.

“Are you going to behave or do I need to tie you up, brat?” Levi muttered, tilting his head upwards, eyes holding hers as he kept Eden pinned with enough force to make her limbs go numb.

She huffed under his grasp and suddenly it dawned to her how incredibly foolish she had been acting. But his words, his indifferent tone; it caused her so much pain, she didn’t feel like she had it in her heart to ever forgive him.

Eden could practically taste the tension in the air. It settled around them like fog, clogging her lungs and her ability to think properly. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, heart voraciously beating against her ribcage.

The girl was close enough to see that Levi’s eye color was a concoction of grey and blue. She searched every inch of his face as he immobilized her against the wall, iron grip never faltering.

Hazel eyes flickered towards downturned lips causing her own lips to part slightly.

Scrunching her eyes shut, she shoved him hard and he stumbled back. Eden stared at him dumbfounded; completely not expecting his steps to falter. This was perhaps the first time she had caught him off guard.

She darted towards the door, gasping shakily when Levi grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her away from the exit.

“You don’t just start shit like this and then leave whenever you please,” he growled under his breath, brows scrunched together as he clenched his jaw tightly. Eden pulled her arm out of his grasp, glaring back at him before turning to head towards the exit at a faster pace.

Edging closer to the door; she violently spun around by the grip he inflicted upon the back of her neck, pulling her back towards him.

“Don’t walk away from me,” Levi said through gritted teeth, watching in wonder as Eden’s face reddened in fury. She shook her head forcibly and grabbed his hand. He stared at her haughtily as she yanked his hand off her skin before sprinting out of the office.

She vaguely heard Levi call her by her name and after reaching a few meters outside his office, she slammed into a tall lean figure.

“Eden, what the hell?” Jean asked in a perplexed voice as he pulled her back onto her feet; his grip tightening when his gentle eyes met the hard glare of the Captain.

Jean’s eyes shifted from Levi’s menacing stare to Eden’s troubled ones and with gritted teeth, he went to step towards their superior.

Eden leaped in front of him, gripping his sleeve tightly as she wordlessly told him he was about to make the gravest mistake of his life. Jean hesitated, but nonetheless took a step back; his insides burning with immense rage when Levi’s brow raised in a vexing way.

The girl continued pulling at Jean’s sleeve silently, leading him away from the Captain’s office. She craned her neck to peak back towards him; his stone-cold eyes meeting hers before he slammed the door of his office shut.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Eden repeated after Jean continuously urged her to reveal the outcome of her hour with Levi, but no matter how hard he pressed her, she did not back down. “Just a stupid quarrel. He told me to sit this expedition out instead of joining you guys tomorrow...”

Jean huffed under his breath as he walked her back to her bedroom. His forearm rested against the frame of the open door as he stared down at Eden with a frown.

“I can stay and hang out with you, if you’d like?” Jean muttered out as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“No, Jeanie-boy, you need to rest, you have a long few days ahead of you.” He rested his arm around her shoulders as he pulled her closer.

“Admit it, you’ll miss me.”

Eden smirked as she pulled away gently, biting on her bottom lip. “Maybe just a little bit.”

Bidding each other good night, Eden closed the door lightly before changing into her oversized shirt and shorts and throwing herself into bed.

Hours had passed and she could not stop thinking about everything. About the expedition, about Levi...and then Jean...and then Levi again. She groaned, thinking back to Jean’s words earlier that evening.

Quietly padding through the dead hallways, her heart ached as she thought back to her altercation with Levi. It took all within her not to swerve her body into his offices’ direction as she continued straight ahead.

The girl quietly waited outside his door until it slowly cracked open.

“Eden?”

She looked up at him, blinking at the sight of his bare, lean chest, the way his muscles rippled when he stretched.

“Jean, do you want to hang out?”

He groggily rubbed his eyes before letting go of a breathy laugh, moving to the side, admitting her entrance. He was dressed in just sweatpants, the v-line on his body highly defined. It made Eden’s cheeks grow pink as she silently thanked the dimness surrounding them.

Pulling her knees against her chest, Eden settled her back against the wall as Jean leaned back against his headboard. The sat in comfortable silence until his deep voice brought her back into the room.

“Listen, are you sure you’re okay? I swear, if that man tried to hurt you in any sort of way, I will...-”

“I already told you, it was nothing. You know me, I just get upset very easily and I don’t like being put into time-out,” she replied hastily, running a hand through her freed locks as Jean watched her. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk your position in his squad just for me.”

He snorted, lips curling upwards mischievously. “Maybe I’m just using you as an excuse to fight with the Captain and then once I get kicked out, I’ll form my own squad. Then, I’ll have you recruited.” Eden laughed at his words, gently shaking her head as he scowled at her.

“Yeah, you’re right. As if Levi would allow me to transfer you into my own squad.”

“Oh sure, because that was the only fault in your plan, right?”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he brushed her words away as he chuckled and she moved to swat at his arm. But, Jean was quicker and he pulled Eden closer to him by her arm.

Her eyes widened when she realized that she was straddling him. She awkwardly settled against him, causing him to grip her by the waist to stop her erratic movements. His fingers flicked the hair off her neck, settling around the curve of her throat.

“What are you doing?” She sighed out when he tilted his head to the side, pulling her closer to his face by her neck.

“I just wanna see something,” he muttered, thumb brushing against her jawline. Eden let out a low, shaky breath as she kept her eyes settled against his.

Jean swiftly captured her lips with his own. The kiss was tender and gentle. It made Eden melt away within the comforts of his bedroom; far away from the unknown deep waters that’s every other aspect of her life. He pulled her closer by the waist, his toned arm snaking around the small of her back as she shifted in his lap.

A moment later, she ripped her lips away from his, gasping for air; her forehead pressed against his as he waited for her patiently, eyes closed, taking in her sweet taste.

Eden’s arms were looped around Jean’s neck, her chest pressed against his as her face scrunched up at the forbidden thoughts beginning to plague her mind. She wanted to cry out in frustration as her mind imagined stone-grey eyes glaring at her.

She swore she could taste unsweetened black tea on her lips as her mind messed with her, bringing out images of Levi. His captivating stare, his constantly downturned lips, the dark circles under his eyes made Eden feel nauseous with emotions.

Her lips collided with Jean’s in a harsher, more vicious manner. It was as though she no longer needed to breath, she needed something more to succumb to her unquenchable, carnal thirst. Soft moans and mewls escaped in between her heated, desperate kisses as she tried to rid herself of the intensely grey, sunken eyes that could not be erased from her mind.

Jean let out a groan when she tucked on his hair, feeling his sharp undercut graze against her fingertips. Through closed eyes, Eden imagined the stark contrast of straight, charcoal-black hair against her pale fingertips; forcing her grip to grow stronger.

Her brows were scrunched together and her eyes were tightly squeezed shut. A single teardrop managed to wet her velveteen lashes as she drowned in the idea of her lethal Captain under her.

Yes, this is a Levi x Reader story. But, in this household, we take the enemies-to-lovers/ slow burn tropes v v v seriously. Stick around for more and thank you to everyone who’s taken the time to read the story! xx

Tags: @idiot-juice-enthusiast

Story in AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919136/chapters/70952145

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a-square-minus-one · 4 years ago

Text

Honey 3

Author’s Note: The ideas I have for this story are starting to become a little difficult to actualize in a series of one shots so now my story will be a series of interconnected one shots and multi-chapter arcs that lead to Garfield and Raven falling in love. This chapter will be a part of an arc.

You can read Honey 2 here.

When Raven walks into the kitchen to make herself some chai tea she is surprised to see that it is near noon. She woke up early, even earlier than usual. 4am early in fact. When she sat up in her bed, her body felt taut. She was hyper aware of how the ends of her hair were tickling her shoulders. Something had felt threatening about the pitch black darkness of her room. When she left it felt like something was trailing behind her, waiting to grab at her ankles. For the first time since she came to Titan’s Tower, she felt as if she couldn’t have gotten out of her room fast enough. It was only the feel of the morning sunlight on her skin that had soothed her paranoia but the tension in her shoulders was still there.

Raven absently places a tea bag into the hot water in her mug as she questions what could have set her body off. They hadn’t watched any scary movies lately. Sometimes her body feels heavy after healing but she hadn’t been seriously injured in any of the battles they’ve had recently. Aside from last night, she was getting her regular eight hours of sleep. You’re not tired. Raven says to herself, putting the mug to her lips.

She hears someone clear their throat. She shakes the thoughts out of her head and looks at Cyborg who is twirling a whisk enthusiastically and smiling at her in an uncharacteristically goofy manner. He has a chef’s hat on. She raises her eyebrow in question.

“Um?” she asks. When Cyborg doesn’t say anything she speaks again. “Cooking something?”

“Not me,” Cyborg says and suddenly he pulls a dark blue apron from underneath the counter. Raven’s afraid her face is going to freeze with her eyebrow in her hairline. “You’re going to learn how to make waffles.”

“Cybo-” she begins but pauses when she feels his excitement seeping into her bones. “It’s noon,” she says, in a feeble attempt to do this another day.

“Is noon too late for breakfast BB?” Cyborg asks Changeling who she realizes was sitting on the couch in pajama bottoms since she walked in. Changeling doesn’t look up from his game.

“It’s never the wrong time to eat breakfast. The real question though is if it’s ever the right time to eat waffles Raven makes,” Garfield says, facing his video game but peeking towards Raven to catch her reaction. Raven unplugs his console with her powers and snatches the apron from Cyborg.

“Hey!” Garfield grumbles half heartedly, looking as Raven ties the apron around her small waist tightly. “Well I’m clearly going to have to teach you how to make vegan waffles too.”

“Why would I need to learn that?” Raven asked, looking disinterestedly at Garfield over the edge of the recipe Cyborg had given her to skim.

“Aren’t you the one who loves learning new things?” Garfield teases, flicking some flour at her. Raven glares at him, wiping her face with a napkin.

“You’re going to need to put on a shirt,” Raven says, reaching for the flour. Cyborg shakes his head at her and takes the bowl out of her hands.

“Why? Distracting?” Garfield asks, flexing the muscles in his arm. Her eyes linger on his arm. He feels his face heat up.

“It’s either that or a hair net for your chest,” Raven says flatly. Garfield sticks his tongue out at her.

“Women love the chest hair,” Garfield says, running his fingers over his chest. Raven takes another sip from her tea.

“Just like they love the ears?” Raven teases, smirking over the rim of her mug. Garfield wiggles his eyebrows, puts his arms out in front of him and shrugs.

“What can I say? I’m delectable all over.” Raven puts a hand to her ear theatrically.

“You said something about being detestable?” Garfield rolls his eyes and for lack of any retort he dips his fingers in the flour bowl and flicks it at her again.

“Hey, get your germy paws out of my flour bowl!” Cyborg says, holding the flour bowl protectively to his chest.

…

An hour later, Raven is trying not to look too proud as she stands over her own waffles. They’re a little browner than waffles should be but they don’t look alive which is more than she can say for the pancakes she made for the team on her sixteenth birthday. Sometime after the trio started mixing the dry ingredients, Starfire and Nightwing had walked into the kitchen and started helping them cut up some fruit and chocolate for toppings. She almost forgets the nervous thrumming in her body.

Until they’re showered in the red light of the tower’s alarm system.

Nightwing’s lax smile immediately straightens out like a flat sheet of paper as his fingers dance over the large touchscreen in the middle of their common room.

“Reports are of an unidentified being downtown. Definitely not human. Large enough to knock down the abandoned building on 44th street. Three injured and one in critical condition. The attack is coming from the sky so we are dealing with an aerial being. It’s causing fires. Star, you’ll have to be in the forefront. Titans go!”

And together they dash out into the sky. The first thing Raven feels when they are near the scene is a wall of heat. Her eyes water at the thickness of the smoke. Nightwing gives out directions as they fly closer.

“Raven, Changeling, I’m going to need you two to put out the fires. Cyborg try to contain the battle to a three block perimeter. Star, you and I are going to try to take this thing down. Raven, Changeling, try to join us as soon as you can. We don’t know what we’re up against.”

Changeling transforms into an elephant before his feet even touch the ground, going straight to the nearest fire hydrant. Raven blocks out the fire’s sources of oxygen. They get ninety percent of the fire put out before Garfield changes back into human form and sways. He coughs heavily into his arm. He isn’t able to wear the protective masks that Cyborg designed for them when he switches to animal form. Raven looks as the fire department rolls in and flies down to Changeling.

“We’re getting out of here,” she says, putting her arm around him. “They can handle the rest.”

Changeling can’t stop coughing long enough to agree. Raven finds a roof at a reasonable distance from the fire but within the three block radius. The minute her energy dissolves Garfield falls to the ground in a coughing fit. She moves quickly to heal him but he raises an arm.

“I’ll be-” he coughs. “Fine.”

Raven debates whether she should leave Garfield here and join Nightwing and Starfire but she’s afraid he is not assessing his injuries accurately. He lays down on the roof and closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath.

“Alright this guy’s gotta go. He’s already working his way up to my least favorite villains list,” Garfield says, getting on his feet and swaying a little.

“Garfield, maybe you should stay here.”

“I heal fast Rae, I’ll be-” he coughs, sticking his finger up when he sees she’s about to protest. “Fine Raven. I’ll be fine.”

“You heal faster Garfield. Faster than Nightwing and Cyborg. But you don’t heal fast.”

“Fine, I’ll let you heal me halfway,” Garfield says, shrugging.

“Fine?” Raven growls when she puts her hand on his chest and realizes how much smoke he’s inhaled. She does her best to glare at him without breaking her concentration.

“But am I dead?” Changeling jokes. Raven wonders if she should stop healing him and just strangle him now. In five minutes he’s breathing a little more normally but Raven doesn’t even try to move her hand. Garfield grabs her wrist immediately interrupting her concentration.

“We agreed on half way.”

“You’ll need your energy.”

“So will you. Now let’s go, the team needs us, ” Gar says, shapeshifting into a bird before Raven can stop him.

…

In the past Raven has struggled to discern between her general cynicism and her intuition. But as she approaches the battle all the nervous energy in her consolidates into a certainty that something is not right. She is lost in the clarity of that feeling when she feels fireworks of pain explode at her side as a force rams into her. Her power shoots out blindly in defense but she can’t get a clear image of what she’s up against as they plummet to the ground. She is smacked against the floor with surprising restraint. Raven immediately attempts to gather her wits long enough so that she can phase through the floor until she hears it.

“Hello my sweet Raven,” the voice sounds saccharine as it practically sings into Raven’s face. She’s frozen.

“Malchior? That’s impossible,” she mumbles, the curse she put on him ringing over and over in her mind. It was a solid curse. He was trapped in a book. In her room. If he was out that could only mean... Raven feels heat bubble up in her stomach and shoot up her throat. She was going to be sick.

Someone had been in her room.

“Surely you can understand that there are things beyond your understanding. Just remember all of the things I taught you,” he says. His red eyes look as if they are twinkling as a huge claw runs down the side of her cheek. Raven moves her face away instantly. Malchior tightens his hold on her waist. Raven tries frantically to conjure up any of her power.

“Or do you only like to remember the things we did in this form.”

And suddenly Raven feels his heavyweight transform into something more supportable. He was back in the form he originally took when he toyed with her six years ago.

“How did you-” Raven struggles against the grip he’s placed on her wrists and legs. Surely she can bring up enough energy to displace a man who weighs 160 pounds.

“Did you tell your friends about everything we did locked in your room? In the dark of night,” Malchior leers, voice dripping with honey. He grips her wrists with one hand as the other inches up the curve of her ribs. Her eyes darken.

“Get the fuck off of me,” she says and propels him into the air just in time for Changeling to ram into his side as a rhinoceros.

“Friend Raven!” Starfire says as she zooms over to her friend and helps her to her feet.

“How did he get out of the book?” Nightwing asks when he lands next to Starfire.

“I don’t know,” Raven mumbles, looking with wide eyes as Garfield engages with the dragon in dinosaur form.

“How will we get him back in?” Starfire says, her arm protectively wrapped around Raven’s waist. Raven also doesn’t know the answer to that. She’s afraid whatever answer she gives will come out of her mouth with the mug of tea she had for breakfast.

So she doesn’t say anything.

#bbrae #bbraefanfic

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diabolik-fics-owo · 5 years ago

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Shin Tsukinami x fem!Reader (chapter one)

Word count: 1610

(Y/N)'s POV

After a long take of work, I was taking the scenic route home. It was beautiful. The trees swayed from the force of the wind, I could here frogs croak and bats sing. The only light I had was the light of the moon and stars. The old road I was on was a dirt one, but it got the job done nonetheless. My house was no more than a ten minute walk away from where I work, so I'm able to get home fairly quickly.

However, on this night in-particular, I heard the howling of voices. They were getting closer. There were multiple. Their howls and yelps chilled me to the bone. I realized that the pounding of their paws on the ground were nearing closer. Frantically, I looked around myself and came to the conclusion that they were coming from all angles, all directions. I was petrified.

One wolf leaps out of the underbrush, blocking my way home. Another wolf jumps onto the road next to me, and lands with a thud. They were both barking at me, but not attacking. I start to run in the opposite direction, back to work. The wolves come with me. My neck hurt from breathing so heavily in the cool, autumn air. I wasn't sure I could run for long. The wolves were chasing me.

I was wheezing while running, my lungs couldn't take such a fast pace in the cold. My throat was aching and it was itching, uncomfortable. My body began to ache, but I couldn't stop. I noticed that more wolves surrounded me. There weren't just two or three, there was a whole pack, maybe two, honing in on me. Up to 20 wolves surrounded me.

Stopping moving, I gave up. My legs have out. I was on my knees, eventually I collapsed on all fours, looking around at the wolves that were getting closer to me. They slowing came closer, calculating what to do. However, they all seemed like they were waiting in suspense for something, or someone, to happen.

A chuckle comes from behind me. I'm still on my knees, in the cold, attempting to catch my breathe. Adrenaline ran through my veins. I slowly turned around to see a young man, with strawberry blond hair looking towards me. His laugh pierced through me. All I could do was look up. My legs were sore, and my body was chilled to the bone.

"Looks like you got caught," he laughed. "Well, what do you think? Did my wolves do a good job at hunting? Haha~ look at you, on the ground, how embarrassing," the man teased me. He shamed me for not being able to run and keep up the pace.

I paused, didn't answer him. I didn't know how. These are his hunting wolves? I thought to myself in silence. Even thinking was hard, due to me focusing on the soreness throughout my body. He is sick, hunting a real person like this. I was even more terrified. He must be a sadist to treat a human like this.

Enraged, the man yelled at me. He wouldn't stop. "Huh?! Why won't you answer to me?!" His voice turned raspy and deep. "I asked you a question. You are a lower being. I expect respect! What do you think about the skills of these wolves? I trained them myself. Tell me how terrified you are, I want to hear it," he spoke with an enraged whisper. He came closer to me, and began to twirl my (H/C) between his fingers.

I didn't know how to respond, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "Please, sir," I whispered with a cry. "I don't know what you want, I'm scared. Please, leave me alone!" I whined, not knowing what else to do. "You're scaring me." He stopped twirling my hair in his fingers, and looked me dead in the eyes. I could see the golden shine, and my reflection in his eyes. His face moved closer to mine. He put his fingers on the bottom of my chin, forcing me to lift my head up and face him.

Some more, he chuckled at me. "Oh~ this is just the beginning," he laughed. "I wonder what's under that (S/C) skin. I wonder how you taste. Come here, come closer~," I had no time to respond. I was pulled into an embrace, and his hands were around my waist, and one was at the back of my head. I could feel his breath on my neck.

A shot of sharp pain ran down my chest and arms. I felt a liquid drip down my chest, it was hot, but left a cold trail behind. My neck was holt, and it was the center of the shooting pains. I felt a light sucking on my neck. He had bitten me. This man was drinking my blood. !!!!!!How? Why? I began to scream and move.

"Somebody- please! I need help!" I screamed. My voice was hoarse and I couldn't make a loud enough noise to get anybody's attention. The man bit down harder into my throat, making me feel like I was being choked.

I could hear him mumbling onto my neck. "The more you cry our, the worse this pain will get. I might just kill you here. It would be such a shame to waste your beauty," he said, biting down on my shoulder. "... and to think I was going to keep you as a new plaything."

My raspy voice called out, "a playthi- gah!" I cried. I could feel him switch places once again. This time he was biting me on my best. More blood poured out of me, and I felt my blood drip down my back, and onto my arms. It was cold. It felt like the heat was draining out of my body along with my blood.

My hands grasped his shoulders, and I feebly attempted to push him away, but he had too strong of a grip onto my body. His hands were cold. They grasped me firmly, but they didn't hurt me. His hands were rather gentle on my skin, while stilling holding me in my place.

The only thing I could do was look at the moon and the stars, not being covered by the thick clouds. The moon light was still shining through the clouds, it nearly blinded me in my dazed state. I saw somebody else in my line of vision. He was a tall man, with silver hair. Had he always been there? The man was surrounded by wolves. They weren't attacking him. He had similar eyes to the man at my neck, the same golden shine. I noticed that he was getting closer, take slow steps towards the two of us, entwined in each other.

The new man's voice shook me to the core, "Shin, what do you think you are doing?" He asked the younger boy. Oh~ so this boy's name is 'Shin'? I guess that's a good to know. "Kill her and be done with it. We don't have all the time in the world for your shenanigans," he was cold, distant and mysterious, showing no hint of emotion.

Shin took his long fangs away from my neck. "You lucked out this time," he whispered in my ear. "Brother, instead of killing her, I think we should keep her. Look at her, she's a beauty! She could be a good addition to our staff... actually, she'd be the only addition," he said, with a light blush on his face. He stood up, leaving me on my knees, gleaming up at the two brothers. I knew better than to speak. They are thinking about keeping me alive, I shouldn't question their motives just yet.

The man with the silver man sighed, “you can keep her. However, if she is disobedience or acts out of place I will not hold back. No mercy will be had,” his words were so cruel, cold, dead.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Shin. “Why do you always have to be so cynical? It’s not that hard to smile, brother,” Shin knelt down next to me, and grabbed my neck. I was fazed, in a daze. More blood than expected was taken out of me in such a short time. “Ehhh~ brother, let me have fun for a few more minutes than I’ll take her,” he said, grabbing my chin once more.

This time, he didn’t bite my neck or my chest, Shin stuck his fangs into my lips, grasping my bottom lip in-between his own. He nearly bit through my lip. It was almost as painful as when he bit me in the neck. The blood that Shin didn’t sip seeped down my chin, and little droplets crashed onto my chest. His hand was once again wrapped around my waist.

Shin removed his lips from mine, and began to trace his lips down my neck, back to my chest. He sank his teeth into the mark he had previously created, making the bite mark larger. He was violently drinking. It was frantic and chaotic. He lapped up every drop of blood that came out of the wound of mine.

The light began to fade from the world. My head was spinning. I was hyper aware of my breathing. It was loud and unstable. My mind felt like it stopped working. My grasp on Shin’s shoulders loosened, I fell back into his grasp. He removed his lips from my chest, looking at me with satisfaction. I heard a chuckle, then the world faded into nothingness.

If you have read this far, please follow because I post fanfics like this a lot!

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers shin tsukinami #shin tsukinami #shin tsukinami x reader #tsukinami shin #x reader #diabolik lovers x reader

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owlespresso · 5 years ago

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An Evening in the Life / Nhaza’a

Nhaza’a Jaab/m!Reader My commissions are open, and I write headcanon lists/drabbles for ko-fi donations! 2 ko-fis = one list/drabble! My ko-fi can be found HERE. There is spice below the read-more.

Thanalan is cold at night. The temperature seeps into your skin through your armor and leathers, fabric and metal splattered with the blood of your deceased target–a large monster that had been troubling the locals for the past few suns. Fatigue rattles your bones and steals the breath from you, back of your throat burned raw. It’s a soreness you haven’t experienced in awhile, and it makes you weary.

So weary that you don’t notice the coyote that had been tailing you until it crouches on its haunches and leaps–or at least tries to. The silver of a rogue blade sinks in between its shoulders, straight through its throat. Its ghastly gurgling whine splits the air and finally causes you to whip around, eyes wide as you behold Nhaza’a’s form, illuminated by pale moonlight.

His sword is slick with blood as he pulls it from the beast, his boot planted on its haunch.

“To think, the vaunted Warrior of Light failed to notice such a clumsy beast on his tail.” He tuts at you, pulling a cloth from one of his pockets to wipe down his blade, cleaning it thoroughly before sliding it back into its sheath. “...You’re a sight for sore eyes. What’s wrong? Did you help too many poor grannies across the street?”

“No. It was a hunt.” You grumble, turning around to continue on your way. You’re not in the mood to humor him. If he wants to be a cynical asshole to you, he can wait until tomorrow to do it.

“Ah. My apologies, wait–” His boots thump against the ground, kicking up sand and coarse dirt. You’re not given any other warning before his hand plants atop your shoulder, eagerly tugging you backwards. Your body, weakened from the day’s activities, lacks the strength to stand firm and topples backwards into his broad chest. “Allow me to treat you to a drink.” He beseeches, a gloved hand stroking your jaw, his good eye hooded low and sultry.

You inhale shakily, collect yourself. Your hands curl into fists at your side.

“And something to eat?” You inquire, raising an eyebrow sharply.

“Your wish is my command.” Nhaza’a acquiesces with a simple sigh, resting a jeweled hand on his hip. “If that is what I must do to make up for my transgressions, then so be it.”

And that’s how you’ve landed up here, sitting across from him whilst the tavern hustles and bustles around you, resting your cheek on the palm of your hand. The smell of freshly cooked food wafts over you and causes your stomach to growl, reminding you that you had skipped lunch. Your glazed gaze flickers over the laminated menu, caught between the steak and the garlic butter chicken.

It’s difficult to decide, not when you’re so exhausted and have so much on your mind. The image of him, outlined in the fine veneer moonlight.

“Is there something on your mind?” Nhaza’a asks, taking a quaint sip from his margarita glass. He gazes keenly at you, that near constant smirk gone from his face, replaced with something gentler, more contemplative.

“Why did you save me?” You finally pluck up the courage to ask. It’s been on your mind since you walked in, his arm wrapped near possessively around your shoulder. Only now, that you’ve been given space, can you finally voice your nagging curiosity. “I’ve done nothing but oppose you and be a thorn in your side. Killing me while I was vulnerable would have been the best move for you to make.”

“Always full of cheer and merriment, aren’t you?” He drawls, sighing as you settle him with a firm glare. “Alright, alright. Your question is valid, I will admit. Though the answer is simple. I don’t need to kill you, at least not yet. While you inconvenience me every now and then, you typically do not stop me from doing my good work. And if I did not have you, who would amuse me during my free time?” The corners of his lips curl into a mischievous little smile, eyelids dipping low, voice pitching into a delightful croon.

“You decided to let me live because you like fucking me?” You deadpan, incredulous. In all honesty, you wouldn’t put it past him. For all the grandiose arrogance he speaks with, his goals are rather simpleminded.

He wants a fight, a hunt, something to thrill and entertain. The exhilaration is all he cares about, so it makes sense that he would keep you around.

“No, no. I would not say it’s the only reason. I appreciate your company on more than just a physical level,” Nhaza’a says, and has the nerve to roll his eye. “I’m not a savage. If I was simply looking for a few holes to fuck, there are plenty of prostitutes lining the streets of Ul’dah for me to pick from. But they cannot give me what you can.” His blatant honesty and the crudeness of it nearly makes you shy all over again, but you manage to hold your ground, instead shoving your face into your hands. You rub the bridge of your nose.

You’re the Warrior of Light. Slayer of gods, savior of countries. So why are you sitting across from a mass murderer? Why did you even entertain the idea of spending time with him in the first place? “Come now,” he coaxes, attempting to bring your attention back to him. “Truly. Am I that awful to be around?”

“You’re mediocre at best,” you reply with little to no hesitation, the small frown on your face refusing to budge.

“Fair enough, but I have a feeling you’ll be singing a different tune in a mere few hours.” His voice pitches low and it causes a flicker of liquid need to blot your lower stomach. You inhale swift and cross your legs, snuffing out any of the unfortunate arousal before it could even start.

“There’s no any fucking way. Not again.” You swore fearlessly as the barista placed two drinks in front of you both. You reached for the tankard and took a massive swig, attempting to hide your face whilst attempting to get your chaotic emotions under control.

I am not affected, you say to yourself a mantra that goes obsessive, I am not affected, I am not—

---

“Fuck!” Your breath is wrung from you in a humiliating squeal, fingers curling helplessly into the silken sheets. Never again, you repeat to yourself, even as Nhaza’a drew your cock into his very talented mouth. Your hips twitch and wriggle even as he holds them down, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to pin them to the sheets.

At the very least, his mouth is occupied. If it weren’t, you don’t doubt he’d be mercilessly raking you over the coals for going back on your word.

He will, you know, but for now, all you can do is settle back and enjoy the slow draw of his tongue along the underside of your stiff cock. He spares you no quarter, refuses you the time to regain your bearings and actually think.

All you can process is the way his fingers splay across your inner thighs from their awkward position, all you can understand is the way he hollows out his cheeks and sucks. At one point or another, the back of his tongue rises to brush against your tip and the smattering of pleasure that assaults you makes you see stars.

There is no way to coordinate yourself, because you’re hurtling towards the edge, bathed from head to toe in white hot pleasure. He does this beautiful little thing where he hollows his cheeks and you get to cling on for another moment before you’re gone. The first orgasm of the night is wrung from your aching body. Your muscles still throb and ache from the strenuous hunt, but you’re tipsy and needy and all you can think about is the way he swallows each drop of cum like it’s ambrosia.

“What was that about ‘never again’?” Nhaza’a wastes not a moment after pulling off your cock. Smugness drips from his every pore. If you weren’t currently basking in the afterglow of an admittedly incredible climax, you’d have to resist the urge to sock him in the face.

Rather than be deterred by your silence, it only seems to motivate him.

“I believe you meant ‘until I find someone who fucks me better than you do’. In which case, allow me to assure you that will never happen.” Nhaza’a nips at your inner thighs, smiling at the way the muscle twitches.

“Stop wagging your tongue and fuck me already.” You grumble. Trying to argue against his nearly neverending narcissism is an unwinnable battle. No matter how many times you wipe the floor with him in combat, he’ll always have that smug smirk, always hold himself high above most, if not all of the general populace.

“So demanding,” he sighs. He climbs up the mattress regardless and presses his lips to your own in a violent, conquesting kiss. The sandpaper texture of his tongue makes your eyes shut and your thoughts begin to slip through your damn fingers.

He works your body with a finesse you have hardly ever experienced, opening you slowly with slicked fingers. Your breath leaves you in short sighs and moans, sharp intakes and exhales that mismatch with the chaotic rhythm your heartbeat has set.

By the time he begins to curl his fingers just right, you fall over the precipice, spilling over your own stomach with a pitched cry.

“Twice already?” Nhaza’s sounds, sounding both surprised and impressed all in the same. It’s an emotion you’re not used to hearing in his voice, but you’re hardly granted a moment to think about it before you feel his tip press against your aching hole. “You can give me another, can’t you?” He asks, nuzzling your collarbone with a contented sigh. He rasps his tongue over your warm collarbone, adding to the overwhelming cacophony of sensations.

“M-mhm,” you nod shakily and shut your eyes, mouth opening around a sanguine cry. His cock throbs large and hot inside of you, pressing against your walls in a way that makes you squirm and wiggle on the sheets, against his broad body. Your thoughts melt away, body and mind lost to the brutal rhythm he sets with his hips.

The mattress screams and creaks underneath your undulating bodies, the force sending you up the mattress, mere inches away from the headboard. In the back of your mind, you’re aware of his rumbling moans, broken and broad noises that sound alongside deep purrs.

You’re not fully there when you climax, oversensitive, oversaturated with divine sensation. Another gush of hot cum drips onto your sweaty stomach, the breath knocked from your lungs. He fucks you through it, his tempo growing ragged and unsteady until he pulls out, spilling over your stomach with a growling moan. The hotness washes over your toned muscles, making you wince.

Boneless, melting, you descend into a slight doze, barely beginning to catch your breath. Nhaza’a drops to your side. The mattress bounces underneath the new weight. Even though he isn’t touching you at the moment, he’s less than an ilm away, allowing you to feel the warmth he radiates like a warm hearth.

Your consciousness comes fully back to you in sluggish waves, and the first thing you realize with your newfound awareness is the terrible mess on your stomach.

“Fuck.” you sigh, internally complain, and push yourself to your feet. Soreness has already hooked its claws into your hips and thighs, and you suspect it will only grow worse in the next few hours.

Never again, you settle into the comfort of your repetitive mantra, opening the bathroom door and limping inside. Never again.

---

“Out all of the places you could have fled to, and you come to me.” Nhaza’a runs his fingers over your shoulders, the flat of his palm settling between them. Your cheek rests over his heart, your entire body like a limp blanket atop him.

“Can you stop being a taunting asshole for a few minutes?” You snap, voice unusually on edge even for him. He quiets, giving you the mercy of a comfortable silence as you wiggle around, adjusting your position to fit your liking.

There was no one else you could have gone to, you tell yourself. Everyone knew you as the infallible Warrior of Light, the realm’s protector and strongest champion. You didn’t grieve, you didn’t get sad, or scared, or anxious. You never tire of your duty and that’s what makes you so reliable. That’s why so many look up to you.

If you go to anyone who believes in you, who admires you, they’ll only be let down by your current state. The illusion of the invincible warrior will be shattered, and that will sow doubt, maybe discontent.

“I’m glad you’re making yourself comfortable,” Nhaza’a sighs forlornly. You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, so you don’t snap at him. You simply rest against his body and savor the surprisingly gentle touches he gifts you. His fingers press to your aching back, rubbing rhythmatic circles over the skin. Your shirt had been discarded at the door, leaving your torso on display for him to ogle. “Tell me, why didn’t you go to one of your innumerable worshipers?”

“None of them know how much of a mess I can be,” you grumble into his collarbone, too tired to put up a front and lie about it. You’ve lied to so many people. You’re tired of it. You need at least someone in your life to know that you’re mortal, that you’re a real person.

“You’ve opted to show your vulnerability to me bechttps://owlespresso.tumblr.com/post/626018240329646080/an-evening-in-the-life-nhazaaause I’m the only one who gets to take part in it? I must say, I’m honored.” Nhaza’a drawls. A purr begins to steadily rumble in his chest. The noise soothes you into shutting your eyes, more than happy to let yourself drift to sleep.

You don’t know how you’re able to rest so contentedly in the arms of a known enemy, but you’re too tired to think about it. If you have to contemplate the morality of what you’re doing for a moment longer, you’ll lose your damn mind.

Tonight is about you, and getting what makes you comfortable. Rest of the world be damned.

After another few moments, you’re jolted from your doze. Nhaza’s hand presses against your back as he shifts, promptly dropping you off of his body and onto your side. Any possible question you could have asked dies on your lips as he spoons you, his broad torso pressing against your back, an arm draped over your waist. His warm breath brushes over the back of your neck, sending a slight shiver up your spine…

One that vanishes after a few moments. You once again relax into the plush mattress, pressing your noise to the sheets and inhaling the sweet scent that you’ve come to associate with him. Spices, brandy, something strange and floral mixed in there. You can’t tell, so you don’t bother trying. It’s much better and much too easier to lose yourself among the sea of sheets and blankets and pillows and warmth.

This is the most relaxed you’ve been in weeks, resting in your enemy’s bed.

#nhaza'a jaab #nhaza'a #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #imagine ffxiv #imagine final fantasy xiv #final fantasy

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rayroute-clear-saeran-text-sound · 5 years ago

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Saeyoung’s Girl (707 x MC x Saeran)

I really wanted to participate in Choi Sandwich Week! So, I guess this is my contribution. This is from Saeran’s POV by the way. It’s a bit short, but I hope you still appreciate it anyway :)

@choisandwichweek

Day 2: Nostalgia/Jealousy

My lips tugged slightly upward, painting a slight smile onto my face. Giggles spilled from MC’s lips, her hand almost useless in muffling her laughter. I felt a small warmth spread evenly through my chest, sprouting from the pride I felt at being able to make her laugh like that. I did that. Sure, she was amused by Saeyoung’s jokes as well, but there was a hopeful voice in the back of my mind that told me she laughs with just a smidge of a higher intensity at mine. Some cheesy romcom was droning on in the background, which happened to be the subject of my apparently hilarious mockery. Saeyoung was out for whatever reason, which I was okay with. The truth is, I prefer being alone with MC. She helps me relax and become comfortable, because she treats me like I’m normal, not some broken doll being pieced back together, which is how everyone else seems to see me.

“God, Saeran...you’re going to kill me one of these days.” MC spoke as she clutched her sides, trying to regain her breath. Her arm shot out as she aggressively ruffled my newly ginger locks, which I pretended to hate.

“Oh, you’re asking for it now.” I made my voice as gruff as possible, coaxing pearls of laughter from her mouth again. Whatever random movie forgotten, I initiated an all out assault of pokes, tickles, and hair tussles.

“Okay, okay! Truce!” MC’s words drifted out between gasping breaths as she halfheartedly shoved me away from her. A soft smile still brightened my face as I slumped back against the couch, training my eyes back on the TV screen. “Geez, you know that Saeyoung doesn’t believe me when I tell him what you’re like when he’s not home?” Without thinking, the smile was wiped from my face at the mention of my brother. “You don’t have to answer, but why are you so different when he’s home?” I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to look uninterested.

“Past trauma, I guess.” She nodded, honey brown eyes moving back to the television as well. Deep down, I knew that wasn’t the true explanation anymore. It might have been at a time, but not now. Not that I knew the reason, because I really didn’t. It was something I just couldn’t quite put my finger on. Not that it mattered. We sat in silence for a moment, the romcom still weaving its way to our ears, albeit in vain, since the only thing we were listening to was our respective thoughts.

“I’m proud of you, you know.” My gaze found hers, and as it did, I saw that she meant every word. Just like that, that warm feeling spread again. This time, it covered more than just my chest, and it seemed to flood all the way from my ears to my toes. It was a strange feeling that was uncomfortable at first, but as it happened more often, it morphed into something pleasant that I began to cherish. The feeling was similar to the one I used to get whenever Saeyoung would sneak me outside as a kid, but that still wasn’t quite right. I was wrenched out of my thoughts by the door swinging open and Saeyoung’s loud greeting.

“I’m home! And guess what, I brought a surprise!” I rolled my eyes at his stupid over excitement, cynical about whatever was in the plastic bag he was holding. He trotted jollily over to the couch, diving in between me and MC, squishing me against the arm of the couch.

“Hey, watch it!” I spat, feeling animosity seep into me again, which made me more angry. I didn’t want to be spiteful to him, I wanted to love him again. It was why everything was so frustrating.

“Anyways, what have you got there?” MC asked, voice so sweet it almost made me sick. Grinning wildly, Saeyoung brought out a box of frozen treats. Ripping open the box, Saeyoung pulled three out, passing them around to us. I stared at it, memories seeming to dance in the dessert in my hand. The blue double popsicle would mean nothing to MC, but it meant everything to my brother and I.

“I was out getting gas, and while I was doing that, I got to thinking...I promised you that we would get to have another ice cream together, but it was something that I didn’t fulfil.”

There were a lot of promises you didn’t fulfil... I thought, knowing he was thinking the same thing. This was his way of making things right, one step at a time.

“So, naturally, I decided to pick some up on my way home!” He had a goofy grin plastered on his face, although there was something else there. Through twin telepathy, or whatever you want to call it, I could tell he was nervous about if I would accept his way of mending fences. I continued to stare at the sweet treat in my hand, ice crystals melting away from the smooth surface.

“You’re an idiot.” Despite the attitude, my grumble soon gave way to a chuckle as I bit into the dessert.

“Dear god, I got a laugh out of him! MC, it’s a miracle!” He looked as if he was genuinely about to tear up. I tuned him out as I let the taste wash over my tongue, memories bubbling up to the surface. The most prominent one was the pinky promise that we would escape our mother and be together forever. I suppose in some roundabout way, we did end up together, and we most likely will stay that way. “I’m so happy, you know that?” Saeyoung seemed to be addressing both of us, but I knew better. Now he was talking directly to MC, snaking his free arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him. My skin prickled as he did so, intensifying when he leaned in for a kiss. Getting caught up in the moment, he moved his hand to her hair, tangling it in her long brown strands while deepening the kiss. I turned away, biting deep into the frozen treat with my sensitive teeth when MC sighed in delight against him.

“Gross, guys. I’m right here...” My voice trembled, and I cursed the tightening sensation in my chest. If they heard me, they didn’t care. MC giggled as he blew raspberries onto her neck and collar bone, and instead of its usual musical quality, it sounded shrill to my ears. Suddenly, the half-eaten ice cream I was holding didn’t taste very good. I stood up as MC began to slip his jacket off, heading to my room in long, fluid strides. As I passed the kitchen, I dropped the unfinished treat unceremoniously into the trash can.

Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me? I dragged my hands down my face as I flopped back onto my bed. The door was shut tightly, but choruses of laughter drifted in regardless. My breath caught in my throat as I was finally able to put a name to this feeling.

“Jealousy...” I mumbled aloud, trying the word on for size. I was jealous of my brother. I had never been interested in women, or men for that matter, so my harbored feelings for MC caught me off guard. Of course, the one girl I had ever wanted was unavailable. This envy was only pushing me further back in my efforts to forgive my brother.

She’s happy with him...you want her to be happy, don’t you? For once, my inner voice was being rational and reasonable rather than self-deprecating.

“Tch…” It was painfully ironic how it all worked out. I brought her to the RFA, and she went and fell in love with my twin. I’m not a child, though. If she is truly happy, then fine. I’ll support them as much as my heart allows, because MC deserves it. I would give her the world if I could, and I know for a fact that Saeyoung would do the same. A bittersweet smile worked its way onto my face, and I felt myself relaxing against the mattress. She may be Saeyoung’s girl, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t dream about her. As far as I’m concerned, diving into a dreamland where she could be mine was a better alternative to painful and twisted nightmares. I would take the imaginary relationship any day.

Why do I have to love you this way? Tracing circles onto my chest to comfort myself, I felt surprisingly contented.

“God, what I wouldn’t give for you to be Saeran’s girl...” I chuckled lowly, glad no one was there to hear my sappy mumbling. My breathing fell into a slow and easy rhythm as I began to doze off into a happy slumber, a world where anything was possible, including having the girl of my dreams.

#choisandwichweek #saeyoung choi #707 #luciel choi #saeyoung x mc #luciel x mc #707 x mc #saeran choi #saeran x mc #choi twins #choi twins x mc #mystic messenger #mysmes #mystic messenger fanfiction #mysmes fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #choisandwichweek2k19 #choisandwich

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waywardwhump · 5 years ago

Text

Attic Angel- False Wings

@cynicalwhump

Challenge accepted! This piece inspired by this post here. Thank you for the prompt, Cynical.

The chill seeps into her skin. It steals away her heat and leaves her shivering where she’s bound, forced to kneel on a hard, unfeeling floor.

It’s a familiar position, one that makes her feel sick to keep. With all her physical strength she writhes against the unseen beams, and with all her angelic power, she sends out pulse after pulse in an effort to tear the restraints apart. Yet they held steady. An invisible force keeping her down, crackling against her skin like static.

She’s been like this for almost two full days. Thariel’s body protests the strain she’s putting on it, but still she fights to get free, flooded with terror and the singular need for escape. All she’s done is exhaust herself.

Limp after her most recent bout of struggling, panting for breath as her eyes stare, unfocused, at the floor in front of her. She doesn’t have to hear him to know he’s back. His presence is strong, his power like a solid thing in the air. Behind her, looming over her like a shadow, and Thariel shrinks.

Curled in on herself, against the energy bindings like a fly in a spider’s web, but no matter how small she tries to be she’s still caught in the open. Still trapped. Her breath catches in her throat.

He chuckles, a warm, light sound. Gentle, even. “Poor thing. You don’t need to be so afraid, you know. I just want to be friends.”

“No,” she says in hardly more than a breath. There’s a shuffle behind her, and she flinches hard. Fingernails dig into the ground in front of her as she leans forward. Any moment, she expects pain. To be hurt, to be punished for her defiance.

But he doesn’t, not yet.

Lucifer circles around to her front, unarmed, his white suit spotless and without so much as a wrinkle. He kneels in front of her, and now she’s scrambling back, leaning away from him as far as she can go.

Not far enough. Thariel stares up, wide eyed into a crimson gaze that stares back.

“It’s a pity you won’t see reason,” he says. “Truly. No matter how many times you get hurt by your own kin, you still want to follow their rules. Even Ranizel’s started to question the way things are run. Did you know that? Someone who hasn’t fallen thinks you’ve been treated unfairly, and he’s not nearly as worthy of a second chance as you.”

He smiles fondly, wistfully, and she can’t crawl away as his hands reach for her face. The flat of his palms against her cheeks, the curl of his fingertips around her jaw.

Power extends from him, strength from angelic blood, though long corrupted. It washes over her in a wave. Hot, like the water from a bath, creeping under her chilled skin and chasing away every trace of frost. Terror thrashed in her, but then the heat set in, melting the pain in her muscles. It drew away the tension. It left her dazed, boneless in her restraints, soothed in the worst way possible.

His voice is a low hum, a promise of safety and protection. “I can be merciful. I can be on your side. Look at you. All you want is not to be hurt anymore. It’s not a sin. You’ve fallen anyway, what point is there to following their orders? They don’t appreciate it. They want to kill you.”

And Thariel, her voice is a tiny, breathy thing, shaking despite this moment of comfort. “There is a reason those rules are in place. You’re not my friend. You’re the devil.”

He doesn’t look at all disappointed. No. He’s still smiling as he pulls away, and as his hands leave her face the warmth vanishes, abandoning her to feel hollow and cold. It like there’s a hole somewhere near her heart. A void that can’t be filled, torn out of her on purpose. “Yes, I’m the devil. And you’re an angel, aren’t you? You really should look the part if you’re going to insist on holding yourself to their standards.”

“W-what does that mean?”

“It means I’ve brought you something. I thought I’d give you back what you’ve lost.”

Lucifer moves as he talks, circling behind her again. Her bindings tighten, push her upright. They hold her in place as a hand tugs up the back of her shirt.

Her back exposed. The ugly scars where her wings once were. The knob of bone, though sanded down and smooth, near each shoulder-blade. Dead tissue, burnt beyond recognition.

It’s the worst feeling, to have that part of her be seen.

But then he touches those old burn marks, and power spiderwebs through the broken nerve-endings, bringing them back to life. Lucifer presses an open palm against the flat of her back, and Thariel cowers, keening as she feels it, too-sharp and too present.

A coil of energy around the back of her neck, bowing her head. Her shoulders are locked into place. Completely immobile, she’s helpless to stop him as he presses something else to her back.

It’s white-hot, sharp, the agony immediate and absolute. Thariel screams, trying to arch away. Thrashing, shoving every bit of power she has in a mindless struggle to be free from the pain, but it doesn’t stop. It spreads outward, coating the entirety of the scar.

And it doesn’t stop when Lucifer pulls away. It lingers, a heated paste that clings and bubbles, searing the flesh with no chance for reprieve. First one scar, then the other, drawing out a wail form her lungs until she has no air left with which to scream.

Thariel prays.

There’s no connection to heaven, and no one there can hear her, but she’s reaching out blindly. Begging for help and for strength and for rescue.

She feels a pressure at her back. He’s pushing something against the burn, and just like that night in the attic her pleas fall on uncaring ears. In desperation her cries turn to him. “Stop, stop! Please, stop! I’m sorry, please, stop, just stop, please stop-”

Though still restrained, the bonds loosen, and Thariel buckles forward, her head falling onto her arms with an unwilling sob. There’s a weight on either side of her, both strange and familiar, a word just caught on the back of the tongue but too vague to name.

And he’s right to say that she just doesn’t want to be hurt, because between her cries and gasps she’s still begging him. But it’s still a sin; No angel should ask the devil of anything.

“Shh.” His hand is under her jaw, coaxing her up. “Look. Isn’t this what you wanted? This is your reward for following their rules.”

It takes her a moment to see it. To see anything through the pain, and the tears, and the sick coil in her stomach.

Upon her back, stretching out behind her, are two feathered wings. Plastic, fake. They’ve been glued on. It’s the glue that’s burning her.

When she moves, they move. The feathers drag against the ground, and the pressure tugs at her burns, the nerves still alive and searing. Her damaged skin threatens to tear, even at that small pressure.

She doesn’t think she could take it. She can’t fathom surviving the agony of feeling these false wings torn from her while her back can still feel. As if he knew her thoughts, (and Heavens, he did, didn’t he?) he placed a hand on the curve of one wing and applied the tiniest tug of warning. “Well? Do you like them? Are you grateful for what you’ve been given?”

“Y-yes,” she responds, breath hitching with panic, “yes I, I do. Thank you. Yes, please, don’t take- don’t take them away. Please. I l-like them. Please.”

Relief floods her when he pulls his hand away. He goes back to her her chin instead, and a part of her wants him to fill her with his energy again, to make everything stop, even for a little while.

His eyes are warm, soft things. Caring, like a kind mentor’s. “You claim to follow Heaven’s law, yet here you are. You just lied to me, little angel. Isn’t that against the rules?”

He uses his power to grab at the fake wings, and Thariel’s heart almost stops as he brushes a thumb over her cheek.

“I can be merciful. I can also make your life a living hell, and I can rip you apart piece by piece until every passing second feels like hours. I can keep you screaming for years. Decades. For eternity. I can keep going until your will buckles and your every thought is dedicated to my will. But you don’t want that, do you?”

“No.”

“Are we friends?”

“...yes.”

“And what do friends say when they give each other gifts, Thariel?”

“T-thank, thank you.”

The pressure at her back eases. He lets go of her wings, and curls a hand behind her head, carding a hand through her hair. “There there. That wasn’t so hard. See? I knew you had more potential than Ranizel ever had.”

“Thank you.”

There is no soothing rush of warmth, and Lucifer doesn’t stay long after that. He has more planned. He wants to see if this threat of his sticks.

When he leaves, she still has full feeling in her back. She still has those false wings glued to her.

And alone with her thoughts, she’s forced to face that she truly is a fallen now. She has made a choice that no true angel would make, and maybe these plastic feathers are a fitting punishment for every time she’s pretended to still be good since her fall.

#Whump #Attic Angel #Wing whump #Creepy whumper #creepy comfort #Tw: Torture #Tw: burns #tw: humiliation #Tw: restrained #Tw: stress position #tw: victim blaming #tw: manipulation #Attic Angel False Wings #wayward's favorites

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