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dairyminki · 1 year ago

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Acquiescence || j.wy

PAIRING — jung wooyoung x fem!reader ... GENRE — fluff, angst, strangers to lovers ... WARNING/S — major character death, mentions and descriptions of hospital, pet names, reader has achromatopsia, mild profanities ... WC — 7.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE — i had this fic idea hiding in my drafts with only the title finished bcos i felt like it wasn't the right time for me to write it just yet, so i let it sit. and just when i thought this story will never see the light, stormy august happened, i got all angsty, and i was able to pour all my emotions on this fic. and now, i'm posting it for sad september, yay! anyway, special thanks to @hotteoki and @jaehunnyy for beta-reading this one ^^

SYNOPSIS — a life painted in shades of black, white, and gray, sparks a certain yearning for something brand new deep inside of you. but what if that 'something brand new' comes in the form of a boy and his camera? will his presence be able to alter the monotonous world you live in into a world where the colors of the rainbow are freely dancing?

*reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! ♡

— ☁️

ac·qui·es·cence

: the reluctant acceptance of something without protest.

achro��ma·top·sia

: a visual defect that is marked by total color blindness in which the colors of the spectrum are seen as tones of white, gray, and black, by poor visual acuity, and by extreme sensitivity to bright light

☁️.... playlist!

To you, it was peaceful.

How the scratchy sound of the pencil's nib against your sketchbook was the only thing you could hear, how the hues of black, gray, and white were the only ones that filled your vision, and how it was only the smell of fresh grass that lingered in the cool morning air.

But at the same time, it was depressing.

How those were the only things that constantly stimulated your senses. Always the same every morning, unless it were to rain.

You don't think any word was fitting enough to describe what you currently feel. Deep inside you, there's a yearning for something brand new. To alter the monotonous life you have in exchange for a life filled with an endless spark of delirium or one where the world before your eyes appears bright-colored.

Sitting on one of the wooden benches found in the hospital's garden inevitably makes your thoughts and emotions fly around. Sometimes, it's the feeling of hope budding inside your chest, but most times it was the heavy weight of despair forming over your head like a gloomy gray cloud.

Gray.

Now that is a shade you know by heart. A shade you've grown to appreciate that if anyone asks you what your favorite color is, gray would be your automatic answer.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, pink, and many others, are colors you could only wish and dream to see. When people around you talk about how blue the sky is, or how an evergreen tree looks, it makes you wonder deeply how on earth they look like. Are they as pretty as your favorite color? Or are they something more? Something that'd get you marveling hard and for long.

"Y/N? Y/N~?" You hear the familiar voice calling your name in a sing-song. When you turn your head around, you catch sight of shoe-clad feet before you see the face of your lovely nurse from day one—Nurse Aliah.

"There you are!" She exclaims, walking towards you with a huge smile on her face which you mimic as you close your sketchbook.

"Time's up for me already?" You ask, a bit dejected.

As much as you've grown to treat your hospital room as your home, that doesn't mean you've grown to love staring at the mundane four walls and smelling the overpowering scent of antiseptic and cleaning agents clouding your senses.

"Why? Don't feel like going back yet?" Nurse Aliah asks, making you scoot over so she can sit beside you.

Replying with a mere nod of your head, she sighs, patting you gently on the back. Then, she takes a glance at her wristwatch, saying, "I suppose I could give you half an hour more. I mean no one has to know, right?" She sends you a playful wink.

"That's more than enough, thank you."

"No problem at all, darling. But before I go, can I have a little peek at your sketches?" Nurse Aliah asks, gesturing at the sketchbook on your lap which you immediately hide behind you.

"No!" You laugh. "No peeking until I finish it."

Your answer got her frowning, but she stood nonetheless, muttering a sulky 'fine.'

"The sun's about to reach its peak in a little while, so put your cap on, alright?" She reminds, prompting you to nod your head before she finally leaves the garden.

With Nurse Aliah gone, you grab your cap beside you, wearing it, before you find yourself admiring your surroundings once more, taking in deep breaths as if the earth's air supply was about to run out, and then you're opening your sketchbook and diving back inside the world of art.

Sketching different things brings you peace—if some feel anxious leaving their houses without their phones or watches on, for you it's the same when you leave your mechanical pencil or any of your sketchbooks and drawing pads behind.

Art enables you to cope with all the imperfections you were forced to carry with you ever since you were born to walk the earth with your tiny feet.

You might not be able to see and appreciate colors as much as everyone does, but you do love being able to weave lines, shapes, and patterns from the tip of your pencil.

Click!

Your grip on the pencil loosens when you hear the sound of a camera shutter and someone cursing. Looking to your left, you see a male who looks the same age as you, holding a camera in his hand—his hair is quite long, he has styled fringes framing the sides of his face, and he is smiling sheepishly at you.

"Did you…just take a picture of me?" You asked, squinting your eyes at him and tilting your head to the side. You see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing, all the while he lowers his camera.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" He exclaims—his voice, pitchy. Then he proceeds to ramble aloud, "I didn't mean to startle you, I was just taking a look around, trying to find anything pretty to capture, and then I saw you, and I…I'm sorry."

"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to take someone's photo without asking their permission?" By now you were standing, approaching the male and his camera. When you stick out a hand, he instantly gives his camera to you and you find yourself staring at a picture of yourself on the screen.

What he did was rude, yes, but you can't help but be in awe at the way he was able to capture you looking so immersed in your drawing—your furrowed brows and your tongue darting out of your slightly opened mouth because you're concentrating hard.

"I should be mad but, it's actually a pretty photo," You say, slightly abashed.

The male in front of you chuckles. Then he asks, "So, does that mean I get to keep this pretty picture of you?"

At the mention of the word 'pretty,' you feel your cheeks heat up. Coughing out loud and not meeting him in the eyes, you reply, "Only if you're not some creepy stalker, then I suppose you can."

"I'm not! I actually did it for a school project."

Hearing him say that made your ears perk.

"Oh, really? What's it about?" You can't help but ask, not being able to hold back with your natural curiosity for things.

"Nothing much, really," He starts. "We were just told to visit someplace we hadn't been to before and then capture something that catches our eye. Once we can do that, we will be asked to share about it in class."

After he explains, you find yourself asking him more.

"What else did you take a picture of?"

"You…were the first really." He answers with his free hand rubbing at his nape. As for you, his answer got your cheeks even hotter.

"Oh." You end up saying, not really knowing how to respond further. Luckily, he opens up another topic, and later on you're back sitting on the bench you previously sat on, but with him beside you.

"So you're telling me you've never been to a hospital before?"

"Nu-uh. Never," He answers, fiddling with the buttons of his camera. "Uhm, how about you? Did you…"

You knew what he meant despite him not fully voicing it out. Thank goodness you didn't see that one thing you really hate, in his eyes, though—pity.

"Been here since I was five," You say as you stare up at the sky. The gray-looking sky that always accompanied you whenever you were out here in the garden.

"What are you here for?" You could gather a hint of hesitance in his voice, most probably not wanting to pry considering you've only just met. But he's just like you, curious.

"I'm color-blind," You begin. And just when you were about to tell him more, you heard someone calling you.

"Y/N!"

You turn your head and see Nurse Aliah approaching you. From a distance, you could already see the questioning in her gaze.

"I—ah, unfortunately, have to go now," You say, picking up your sketchbook and standing up.

"Oh."

"Yeah, um, I'm grateful I was able to cross paths with you today," You tell him with all honesty. And you think you see him bite back a smile.

"The way you say it, makes it sound like, us, meeting was something big."

"Well, maybe it is," You grinned at him. "I'm Y/N, by the way." You say, extending a hand for a handshake which he immediately accepts.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Wooyoung," He responds before you wave at him goodbye and run towards Nurse Aliah with a smile still lingering on your face and her look of questioning not fading away in the slightest.

"Who was that?" She asks as the both of you start to walk back inside the hospital.

"Hmm, just someone who thinks I'm pretty."

—

The following day, you asked Nurse Aliah if you could go out again. When she asked you why, you simply told her that the fresh air and the calming surroundings got you more motivated to finish sketching, and not because you were kind of hoping for a certain long-haired male to find his way back to the garden, no, not at all.

Well, not that you were going to admit and let her know anyway.

You fell into the same routine as yesterday without any difficulty. By now, the subject you were trying to draw was getting more defined. Just a little more shadings here and-

"Smile!"

Instead of smiling as the chirpy voice told you to do so, you think your caught-off-guard face was what the camera was able to capture.

"You could've warned me!" You exclaim after a few moments of just blinking and nothing but your mind trying to register the sound of the shutter that went off earlier and the laughter of the newcomer.

The very reason why you wanted to escape the stuffy walls of the hospital again.

"I take pride in my candid shots, though." Wooyoung pouts.

"You only started taking pictures yesterday!" You point out.

"Okay, and?"

"Ugh, just let me see the picture," You say, though it sounds more like a demand. A demand that Wooyoung refuses to follow through.

"No, this one is for my eyes only." Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at you and then,, later on has this shit-eating grin on his face.

In the end, you give up trying to get the camera from him. The moment you decide to set your focus back on your drawing, silence envelops you two—not the awkward kind though. It was more like those silence that'll have you sighing in relief, and everything else around you sounding like calming waves.

And amidst the silence was Wooyoung near a flower bush with his camera out. You don't know what colors the flowers are in but you do remember Nurse Aliah telling you they are called Chrysanthemums and that they smell sweet.

"Wooyoung," You say after a minute of just staring at him snapping a couple of photos of the said flower. "What color are those flowers?" You ask.

Without taking his peering eyes off the viewfinder, he answers, "They're purple!"

Purple—you know they're the color of grapes, your favorite fruit. You've wondered since then if purple was anything like how the fruit tasted.

"How about your hair, Woo?"

Woo—that's new, and the way the nickname rolled off your tongue actually felt nice.

"It's black, probably just the way you see it!" He answers, and then you see him finally lowering his camera and smiling to himself while he walks back toward you on the bench.

"Were you able to capture something pretty?" You ask him as soon as he drops his weight on the bench, his shoulder touching yours.

"I did. It's quite a lot. But…" Wooyoung trails off, and then he's looking at you with a cheeky grin. "...they're not as pretty as you though."

At that remark, you feel heat rush towards your face, however, you don't look away from his gaze, just yet. Your thoughts begin to wander again, as you think of what the color of his eyes are and if they're the same as yours, or the color of the shirt he's wearing, and his camera too. You could've asked those questions aloud but you didn't.

Instead, you ask, "If I were a color, what color would I be, Woo?"

Wooyoung briefly seemed to appear as if he was in deep thought, with his head tilting to the side, his eyes roaming all over you, and his lips pursing.

"That's a question I can't answer after just a day of knowing you, Y/N." He answers truthfully. "How about I'll get back to you after a month?" He proposes.

A month could be awfully long for some, and short for others who are patient enough. You're not sure which one of the two are you, although you still nod your head at Wooyoung.

And a month? Sure, you could wait. Time flies fast these days, after all.

—

Days turned to weeks, and by now, you've grown accustomed and comfortable with Wooyoung's presence.

He was just the right amount of loud, funny, and kind, that even your Nurse Aliah has opened up to him already.

"You smile a lot nowadays," Nurse Aliah comments one time while you're resting inside your room and she's replacing your newly emptied bowl of grapes with a fresh set.

"Is it bad?" You ask as you stare at the ceiling, not really thinking of anything—just the little joke Wooyoung told you a day ago repeatedly tickling your head.

You hear the clinking of the fruit bowl for the last time before you hear the rustling of your bed sheet.

"It's not bad per se, but…"

Her unsaid words send the all too familiar sinking feeling creeping its way back into your chest. A feeling you've tried so hard to push to the back of your mind, only for it to resurface once again.

"Don't," You plead in a small voice, eyes closed. When you open them again, you're looking straight at her, hot tears lingering in the corner of your eyes. You tried hard to blink them back.

But when was the last time you let them fall? When was the last time you allowed yourself to feel sadness? When was the last time you willingly set hope free and embraced despair?

"Alright, I…I just want to let you know today will be the last time you'll be able to go out Y/N. Tomorrow, Dr. Lee will be here to check on you."

Not being able to stop the dam from breaking, you just nod your head to whatever Nurse Aliah is saying. You feel her caress your hair before the door to your room closes with a thud.

Tears spilled—rolling down the apples of your cheeks until they're gliding past your lips, enabling you to taste their saltiness. And then you're sitting up, pulling your leg close to your chest with your head resting on the wall as you stare at the window.

You sigh. Feeling all the energy you possess going down the drain.

You suddenly remember all the things the younger you had to suffer through just because you weren't normal just like how everyone was. You remember how you'd run into things and tripped over them because everything seemed dark and dull. You remember how other kids would play outside at the playground while their parents would sit there on the benches and talk about how the sun looked so bright.

You've never directly looked at the sunlight. It hurt your eyes, even until now. Hence, every time you go out, you always wear a cap on your head just to shield your eyes from the light radiated by the sun. Anyone else would've worn sunglasses to deal with that, and you've tried—once. After that, you came to Nurse Aliah, crying, because you felt suffocated while wearing them. And that continued until you were older—any type of glasses having the same effect on you.

Childhood for you was tough. Luckily, Nurse Aliah was there to somehow make it less hard for you to deal with the world and reality. Making you smile, laugh, and enjoy the little things—Nurse Aliah was your only family. She contributed to igniting the spark of hope inside you.

And now, there's Wooyoung—his smile, his raucous laughter, and the way he sweeps his fringes to the side out of habit. Just Wooyoung and the click of his camera, his camera roll that's probably full of your stolen shots now. Just Wooyoung trying to peek at whatever you're drawing while you're so adamant not to show him. Just Wooyoung discreetly picking out a random flower from the bush and putting it behind your ear.

It sends a rush of warmth all over you—something warmer than what you get when you're spending time with Nurse Aliah. No, Wooyoung's was something else.

You place your right hand on your chest, and there it is. The faint sound of your heart beating, increasing, as your mind gets filled more by the said male.

It feels foreign, but it's nice. Really nice.

And with that, you know you're ready to face another day with the open sky and Wooyoung's presence keeping you intact and aground.

—

After all the crying you've done, you felt light and at ease. As you walk out into the hallways and down to the ground floor, you find yourself greeting more people you encounter along the way. You can't help but notice the smile sticking to your lips, and surprisingly, it didn't hurt you with how wide it was.

Your smile only seems to get brighter when you spot Wooyoung's familiar figure outside. He's by the same bench you two sit on with his back facing you.

Giggling, you were eager to reach where he stood.

But then it happens.

Just when you were about to run and shout his name, it happened.

Instead of shouting his name, you find yourself gasping for air, feeling as if your throat was closing in on you. With your heart irregularly beating painfully against your chest you drop to the ground, feeling faint and cold with sweat.

You don't register much about what happened next but swore you heard screams around you and the last-minute turning and running Wooyoung made toward you.

Blurry grayness was the last thing you saw before everything turned black.

—

There were voices around you and the sound of a machine.

Fluttering your eyes open, you recognize you are in your room—lying on a bed with a few tubes connected to your body, and then gently shifting your eyes to the door where the sound came from, you see a familiar back and your Nurse Aliah, talking in low voices. Though, not low enough, seeing as they awoke you.

Nurse Aliah notices your awoken state first, you see her whisper something to Wooyoung before she attends to your side.

"Hey, darling," She began in a soft voice, almost lulling. When her fingers brushed through your hair, you swore sleep was tempting you to go back into its arms once again. But you stopped yourself.

"How are we feeling?" Nurse Aliah asks. You find yourself clearing your dry throat, unable to answer. You give her an okay sign, instead.

Immediately, she gets a glass of water from your bedside table. She gently guides you to a sitting position, before she hands the drink to you.

"I'm glad you're awake, Y/N. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go call Dr. Lee. Meanwhile, you can go ahead and talk with your lover boy over there. Sounds good?"

You could only roll your eyes at her, shooing her away.

Wooyoung instantly came to your side after the door closed. He pulls out a chair for him to sit on and then just stares at you. You find yourself looking down at the empty glass in your hand, with the silence the male was giving you.

You can't figure out if he's angry, sad, or disappointed. If he only sees you as a weak and undesirable thing he no longer wants anything to do with.

"What's my pretty girl thinking, hmm?" Wooyoung asks, gently taking the glass out of your hold, and replacing it with his hands.

Wooyoung's hands felt warm against your slightly cold ones and you liked it.

"I'm thinking that I'm sorry, I'm sorry for not telling you," You answer truthfully, now finding the courage to reciprocate his gaze on you. But then, a gasp leaves you when you see how puffy his eyes are.

"Have you been crying?" You ask, pulling your hands from him and cupping his face. Your thumbs trace the bags of his eyes while Wooyoung leans into your touch.

"If I did, what's my pretty girl going to do about it?" Wooyoung asks with a small chuckle, in an attempt to lighten up the mood inside the four walls.

"Am I really still pretty to you, Woo?" You asked in a weak voice, tone laced with disbelief.

"Y/N, y'know that's a stupid question, right? Love, you'll forever be pretty in my eyes, and I—y'know yourself I'm good at finding pretty things, right? That's how I found you."

"Woo…"

"If you think that me, seeing you like this will change anything, then you're so wrong for that."

"Woo-"

"Is it shitty of me if I say that I'm in love with you, right now?"

You're caught off guard when Wooyoung starts crying, his tears wetting your fingers. With him breaking down in front of you, you can't help but cry as well, pulling his head to your chest in hopes that your heartbeat was loud enough for him to hear that it was actually screaming his name.

"I don't want you wasting your tears on me, please…" Your voice was croaky after a while, tears having dried on your cheeks, while Wooyoung's sobs still hadn't subsided.

"I don't know about you but I'm not feeling funny enough to laugh right now," He answers with a chuckle and you laugh as well, still cradling his head against you.

If you could, and if you only knew how, you'd lessen the pain he's feeling.

Absorbing all the pain coursing through him until you become numb, you'll do so. And if you could control time you would love to rewind it to the time he took a photo of you without permission.

If you acted coldly towards him and sent him away, would you still find yourselves in this position?

Will Wooyoung still weave his way into your fragile heart and your colorless life?

Will you still find yourself falling in love at the last minute with him?

You don't know.

But you do know you feel the same way as him.

Who knew that that delicate heart of yours was still capable of welcoming a powerful force called love inside?

—

Most of your days were filled with your doctor and nurse checking up on you at every possible chance. The wheelchair has become your friend, and instead of getting out into the garden and finding Wooyoung, the tables turned. Wooyoung, being the one who found his way to your hospital room, started constantly visiting you with a different set of flowers every day to adorn the lonely vase sitting atop your bedside table.

Unlike the other days though, this time, he was kind of late. Even Nurse Aliah didn't get to peek inside after the early morning check-up she did on you today. It was strange, you think.

Starting to feel bored, you decided to take a quick look at your finished drawings and the letters you wrote slipped into one of the pages of your sketchbook

Then, you hear the door to your room opening. Instead of Nurse Aliah, though, Wooyoung's adorable peeking head was the one you saw.

"Woo!" You exclaim, putting a sweet smile on his face as he welcomes himself in.

Immediately, you open your arms for him, and he fits in perfectly when he engulfs you in a soft hug. You feel his lips against your temple, and if you could, you'd choose to stay in this position, just basking in all the warmth he could offer and all the kisses he'd get to spoil you with.

"I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?" You whisper back at him. Then, he's pulling away, a hesitant look on his face.

You looked at him, confused, asking, "Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong! It's just that, Nurse Aliah told me you're not really fond of these, but, I was hoping if…" Wooyoung trails off, and then he takes something out of the small bag that he brought with him. "...can you please, wear them for me, just this time?"

In his hand was a case, and when he opened it, you saw a pair of glasses.

Your breath hitches.

"Is this—h-how were you able to—Woo, I-"

Unbeknownst to you, you were panicking, and Wooyoung was doing all his best to calm you off the overwhelming feeling encapsulating you.

When you've calmed down, he proceeds to ask again, "Will you wear them for me, love?" in a much softer voice.

You nod your head, tears brushing your cheeks, while smiling hard and mumbling a few yeses.

"Thank you, my pretty girl," Wooyoung says, showering you with butterfly kisses, prompting giggles out of you.

"Are you ready?" Wooyoung asks before you take the glasses out of its case. Nodding eagerly as a reply, you put them on, unable to control the blinking of your eyes as they adjust.

An immense feeling grows in your chest, your words stuck in your throat when you finally get to look at Wooyoung and see what his gorgeous eyes are colored in. When you asked him what color they were, he told you they were brown, the same as yours.

Minutes later, as soon as Wooyoung sees you're all set, he pulls you up from your bed, helps you wear your shoes, and then guides you every step until you're sitting in your wheelchair.

Turns out it was blue—your wheelchair. And blue is such a pretty color, you think. Though, after seeing the color of Wooyoung's eyes, you think nothing could ever compare with it.

—

It was your first time being able to see the garden with the stars present, twinkling up above.

Wearing the special glasses that Wooyoung has gifted you, you can't help but cry at the overwhelming colors filling your vision.

Wooyoung and Nurse Aliah told you that it won't make you see all the colors the world is painted in, but at least it was no longer just black, white, and gray—the three same colors your world was revolving in.

Another surprise welcomes you hard when you notice the transformation the garden had to go through with all the fairy lights hanging from each tree.

Green—a color you know that dominates the earth. You are so delighted to be able to see such a refreshing and tranquil color. A color you wouldn't mind looking at forever.

"Did you do all of this for me?" You ask Wooyoung in between shivers, that the latter had to stop wheeling you from behind for a minute. He crouches down in front of you, tightening the jacket around you, and sensing that it isn't enough to shield you from the cold nightly breeze, he takes off his own and puts it on you.

"Hmm, though I did ask Nurse Aliah and a few others for help. Do I look like I could pull off this surprise by myself?"

"Of course not." You playfully scoff.

"I know I asked, but I can't help but feel offended."

Laughter filled the rest of the path you took toward the very bright evergreen tree in the far distance. The sound of the crickets and the luminous moonlight accompanied you two as well.

"Is that—are we having a picnic?" You gasped, spotting a blanket lying over the green grass, a basket, and a set of empty plates over it. You think you even see a bottle of your favorite drink peeking out of the basket.

"Yes, we are, pretty." Wooyoung responds, but then something else catches your attention that you almost want to abandon your wheelchair and just say, 'fuck it,' and run.

You realize that not only fairy lights hang from the evergreen tree, but also pictures.

When you get nearer, you feel your heartbeat becoming louder. And when the wheelchair halts—Wooyoung carrying you afterward towards the area he set for you two—you were able to see the pictures much closer.

At first, all you see were the different flowers Wooyoung captured in his camera—they were a myriad of colors; pink, blue, red, and purple.

You found purple to be the loveliest.

"Is that—?" You turn your head to Woooyoung as your finger points to a certain picture of two people.

Wooyoung only nods.

It was a picture of you and your Nurse Aliah. Bright smiles graced your lips. Your arms were around each other and you were wearing your cap which surprisingly is colored purple as well.

Maybe, Nurse Aliah knew that purple was bound to replace gray as your favorite color in the long run, and the color didn't disappoint you at the very least.

"Thank you," You tell Wooyoung as he puts you down on the blanket. Everything looks magical. Like a scene pulled out from a movie, a scene you didn't expect to live out.

And just when you thought Wooyoung's surprise had reached its end, you thought wrong when he handed you a photo album. Well, it looked more identical to a scrapbook, with your name on the cover formed using cutout magazine letters.

When you open it, you see a short letter written on the first page with what seems to be Wooyoung's penmanship. From his penmanship alone, you could identify what his personality is like. And you thought it was endearing.

However, when you flipped to the next page, your eyes widened, breath hitching as your gaze stayed fixed on the very first picture pasted on.

It was that picture Wooyoung took that got you so caught off guard. The one he so adamantly tried to hide from you.

One of the candid photos he took pride in—you with your eyes staring wide at the camera, your mouth ajar, the pencil you were holding slipping out of your grip mid-air.

You were quite shy to admit it but you now understand why Wooyoung said it was for his eyes only.

It was a pretty picture.

—

Deeper into the night, Wooyoung finds himself running his fingers through your hair while you're laying your head on his lap, watching the stars dance in the endless obsidian sky.

Having you close like this, he gets to realize how frail you appear to be, one touch and he fears you'll break. A second of looking away from you and he's afraid you'll slip away from the clutch he has on you.

But then, there was your smile, ever blinding, and it made him think there was nothing wrong. That this was simply a storm passing by and that tomorrow a rainbow shall greet him from the bluish sky.

"Ask me again, Y/N," He asks after a while of comfortable silence, you merely humming back, eyes questioning him with what he means by that.

"Ask me the same question you asked me a month ago."

And just like that, bliss danced in your irises, but then you sat up a little bit too fast that it worried Wooyoung for a bit. However, the joy in your face never seemed to fade, and that was enough to reassure him that you didn't experience any pain of some sort.

"What color am I to you, Woo?" You paraphrased the question you dropped on him a month ago, one he couldn't answer yet. But now, he thinks he got it all memorized.

"My dear Y/N, if you were a color," He starts, leaning in towards you, his hands cupping your face and then he's resting his forehead against yours. "You'd be every color in the rainbow."

To Wooyoung, you were purple—a color that's meant for uniqueness and the artistic side of life, which you surely have running in your blood. Purple was a color that could relax the overall senses, which is why it's no surprise to him that it was now your favorite color.

Although, he believes you're also blue—not the feeling, though. Blue was a perfect color to describe your calm demeanor to others. Just like the feeling one gets from looking at the sky—breathtaking, pure, serene, and easy to look at. Wooyoung thinks he gets all of that just from a single glance at you.

But then you're also green. Softness and growth. In the short amount of time, he got the privilege to spend with you, he knows you've become more open to everything. You've once told him about what your past looked like and to be honest? He thinks you've started to learn to let go of the painful parts that once scarred you—like a leaf falling from the tree and letting the air carry it to anywhere it'd take it.

Yellow and orange are colors that represent joy and energy—you exude both. Wooyoung sees a certain glow in you, and he thinks Nurse Aliah will agree with him if he claims that the energy you possess is one of a kind, something that needs to be shared with everyone else.

A glow that gravitates people towards you.

And maybe that was one of the reasons that made Wooyoung stumble his way to you that very day you two first met.

Will you end up believing him if he said that that project was something he was forced to do? Wooyoung had never even touched a single camera until that day. And looking at how bright his world looks right now in front of him, he's glad he decided to do it.

"And lastly, you're red. You radiate passion and warmth, Y/N," Wooyoung tells you, never breaking away his gaze from you, and not caring if he ends up cross-eyed.

"You are love itself, and every day I wake up beyond grateful that I'm one of those people whom you've decided to share a piece of yourself with."

"Woo…" You say, already sniffling, while he's now finding it hard to see through his tears.

"Can I…Can I kiss you?" He asks, his hands shaking.

"You'll probably be my first and last-"

Wooyoung cuts you off with the tender feeling of his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was messy and frantic at first, like time was chasing you away, and was salty with all the tears. But then, every brush of your lips against his' turns into something sweet, making his insides flutter and his heart beat like he just ran a mile. Wooyoung feels warm all over as one of his hands found your waist, the other delicately holding your chin, and if he could wish for one thing, he would love to wish for this moment right here to stop as it is.

But the thing is, he can't.

He knows any moment now, an endless slumber shall find you. And if he can, he would like not to waste any remaining second he's got with you left.

"Woo, I'm tired," Wooyoung hears you say in a small voice after a while, a yawn escaping your lips and your eyes getting droopy.

He gently lifts you, placing you on his lap while letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. And then he's wrapping his arms around your body layered with jackets, cradling you like a baby.

"Woo?" He hears you speak once again. He hums back in response.

"Look at me, please?" You plead in a soft voice which almost breaks his heart there and then. But he looks at you, and when he does, he thinks he saw your eyes shine with the littlest spark it could still muster to show.

"Your eyes are really pretty," You say. Wooyoung looks away, fearing you'll see him cry. And he doesn't want you to go after seeing him in that state. Instead, he hugs you a little tighter.

"The sky is a witness to how grateful I am to have crossed paths with you, I hope you know…just how lucky I am and how happy I feel right now," You say with a contented sigh, and based on the way your cheek moved against his skin, he knows you're smiling right now.

But it turns out you weren't finished.

"My life was dull and repetitively the same until you came along with all your colors. Thank you for letting me feel how love feels like, I love you…and I'd like to believe I'll still do until we meet again."

That was the last time he heard your voice drifting in the wind before the chirping of the crickets increased tenfold.

"I love you, too, always, my pretty girl." Wooyoung gets to say before his entire body stills, your last intake of breath reaching his ears and your last exhale fanning his neck.

And then he's shaking, another batch of tears washing over him as he cries silently, slowly rocking your body with his, back and forth, and dropping soft kisses on the top of your head.

I don't want you wasting your tears on me, please.

He hears at the back of his head, bringing him back to the moment he saw you so fragile-looking for the first time.

Wooyoung actually got to talk with your doctor, Dr. Lee, that day. Dr. Lee had told him that it was considered a miracle, how you lasted for a month when he thought you'd only have a week left after the both of you saw the latest condition of your heart—only seeming to get weaker as each day passed.

Now, Wooyoung wasn't one to assume things, but he would like to think that you held out for him, all because you wanted to ask what color you were to him.

"If I were a color, what color would I be, Woo?"

"That's a question I can't answer after just a day of knowing you, Y/N." He answers truthfully. "How about I'll get back to you after a month?"

And you did wait for a month. Wooyoung would like to say it was a stupid reason but, he's glad you asked him that. And he's even glad that you were able to hear his answer to your question before you closed your eyes.

Somehow, it brought him peace.

—

Entering your room, Wooyoung feels nothing but emptiness, the joyful energy you once radiated, is now nowhere to be found—but the memories he got to share with you linger on.

Earlier, he volunteered to tidy your room and your things when Nurse Aliah asked, and now as he's walking near your bedside table, he spots something peeking out of the sketchbook you always used to carry with you to the garden. The sketchbook you didn't let him take a peek even once.

Wooyoung grabs it, and he lets out a sound of surprise when something falls out of the pages, dropping onto the floor. Crouching down, he picks up the bunch of paper and sees there are two drawings and two handwritten letters.

He takes the drawing you made for him—a sketch of him while he's holding the camera to his face—and the letter addressed to him. Then, he puts the ones that are for Nurse Aliah back on the table.

Wooyoung takes his time admiring every stroke and shade you've made while sitting on your bed.

Now he understands why you wouldn't let him peek even just a tiny bit.

Wooyoung feels his heart soaring because you drew him.

And it was a pretty drawing.

Wooyoung sniffs, putting the drawing on the bed and picking up the letter you wrote for him this time.

Frankly, he isn't sure if he's ready to read it, especially since your passing is still fresh in his mind and his heart is still hurting.

But then again, when will he ever be brave enough to read it alone? Wooyoung thinks reading it inside the room you once resided in will ease him even just a little bit, although he can't promise that he won't cry again.

And so, after a deep exhale, he opens your letter.

One look at the first line and Wooyoung finds himself breaking down for the nth time.

My dearest Woo,

Hi! I'll be honest with you, I wasn't really sure how to start this letter, but then I thought, what if I told you a story first? You like stories right? I hope you do. Anyway, here it goes.

Once upon a time, there was a little fairy. Now, this fairy was unlike any other fairy—she didn't have wings. (I know what you're probably thinking; why is she a fairy if she doesn't have wings? But cut me some slack, will you? This is probably why I should stick to drawing, which I hope you saw first, by the way.) Since she didn't have wings, she couldn't fly. And because she couldn't fly, she felt like she was always left behind, always feeling like an outcast that she almost resented herself for being born. Why wasn't she like normal fairies? She always finds herself asking.

Right when she thought all hope was lost for her, she met this boy. A boy who had no wings but was still able to fly. Of course, the fairy was in awe and disbelief, and so, she asked the boy, "How are you able to fly without wings?"

The boy grins at her and says, "Wings? Who says they're the only thing that could make you fly when pixie dust exists?"

"Pixie dust? What is that?" The fairy asks, and then the boy shows him a bag filled with golden-colored dust, which he pours into her hands.

"Sprinkle it all over you and think happy thoughts, then you'll be able to fly just like me," The boy says, and without hesitation, the fairy follows his words.

And when she did, she found her tiny feet slowly lifting off the ground. "I'm flying!" She exclaimed with great joy. After that, she became friends with the boy and together they soared to greater heights. But nothing ever lasts, don't they? Soon, the boy had to leave her, but before he left, he gave her another bag of pixie dust and promised to come back looking for her as long as she continued to think happy thoughts.

However, the time came when the pixie dust ran out, and the fairy had lost her glow and was unable to think of happy thoughts. In the end, her life ended before she could even know if the boy didn't really plan on coming back, or if he simply wasn't able to find her. The end.

Whew, what a story!

I don't know if it made sense to you, Woo. But I think, what I'm trying to say is, I want to make things lighter by saying that, in that story, the fairy was me, and you were the boy who gave me hope. Although, I'd also like to believe that our ending will be slightly different from theirs. We both know that I don't have much time left, we do. And which is why, I'm hoping that before I rest, I'll still be with you long enough to let you feel how much I adore and appreciate you.

The thing is, being born with achromatopsia was already sufferable enough for my younger self. And then, imagine, my doctor comes in one day and tells me I also have problems with my heart and that my days are numbered.

Of course, I became miserable, who wouldn't? I felt like the world caved in on me. During that time, I only had Nurse Aliah and I even shut her out. I thought life was so unfair, because why did I have to go through something I didn't even wish to have while other people my age were living the life I could've lived?

But of course with Nurse Aliah not giving up on me and encouraging me to do the same, I outgrew that phase, or so I thought.

I was a work in progress when lo and behold, you jumpscared me with your camera and affinity for the word pretty. Have I told you how giddy it makes me feel and how blushy I get when you call me that? No? Well, now you know.

Wooyoung, despite all the loudness and wonderful chaos you entailed, you became my peace. Just like how the scratchy sound of the pencil's nib against my sketchbook brought me comfort, so did the sound of your camera shutter.

Did you know that right before the moment you decided to enter my life, I was deeply yearning for something brand new? Well, that yearning was fulfilled, because that something brand new, became you, Wooyoung. In case you haven't realized yet. (But of course, I know you do!)

By the time you read this, I'm probably, well, gone…but I'd like to think I'll be among the stars twinkling in the night sky, trying to get your attention by shining the brightest while you're staring out of your window. (Please, say hi back to me!)

Just like what I said, don't waste your tears again on me, okay? My dear Wooyoung, promise me you'll only smile when you think of me, please. I don't want to cause my favorite people any form of sadness or any kind of pain.

Truth is, I…I don't really wanna go. After meeting you, I suddenly wasn't sure if I was ready to leave everything, especially you, behind, just yet.

But then again, we can never always have what we want right? It's bittersweet, but that's life for you. I'm just so, so glad that this weak heart of mine was still able to beat for you.

I love you, more than you'll ever know.

Forever and always your pretty girl,

Y/N

P.S. When will you ever show me those pictures you've taken of me, huh?

— ☁️

#wooyoung x reader #cromernet #k-labels #pirateeznet #Hiraya-M #ateez x reader #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #ateez angst #ateez fluff #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung x you #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez fics #ateez #jung wooyoung #dairyminkiwrites #dairyminki_atzwy

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gauloiseblue · 8 months ago

Text

You carved your love on mine / And left a wound / That refused to heal

(Younger!Simon Riley × Older!Reader)

[+18 | Adult Content MDNI]

TW: manipulative behavior (reader), toxic relationship

He met you when he's still young and reckless. You were enticing, dark, with your moral compass pointing to the south. With your words, you lured him into your world, where all the rules didn't matter except for yours.

He couldn't remember exactly when, or why you took interest in him, but you weren't afraid of showing it. Just like a fool, he took a bite of your poisoned apple.

The first time you marked him as yours was when you pricked his earlobes with earrings. It was a black and round pair, and the wounds slowly healed under your care. You smiled every time you saw your handiwork, and he got a sense that your love was gonna mold him into a puppet on strings.

The second time happened on impulse, because you tempted him with your work of art. You weren't a tattoo artist, but you drew intricate designs in your note. You told him you always wanted a tattoo, but upon an unfortunate circumstance, you were denied every chance of having one. So he offered himself to be your canvas instead. The next day, his forearm was wrapped with cling film, and you kissed him on his cheek as you both exited the tattoo parlor.

The third time you did it was when he wanted you, but you didn't reciprocate. Instead, you asked him to lay down, as you put his wrists on handcuffs. You tortured him for hours with your hands and toys, and never gave him what he needed. You pushed him to the point of frustration, and it made him cut himself from pulling too hard on the metal cuff. You kissed his tears away when you're finished, carefully tended his wound as he laid there, completely spent.

The fourth and the fifth time occurred at the height of your obsession, and he liked you enough to let you use him. You decorated his arm with blank ink, before you paid a tattooist to embed your work into his skin. It took a month to heal, but it was worth it, since you'd trace your finger on his arm when you both laid on the bed. Your touches lingered with him for a long time, and he'd caress the lines of his tattoo—absent-mindedly—as he thought of you sometimes. And he still does it, even to this day.

The sixth time you left a mark on him was the result of his confession. He told you about his plan to enter the military, and you sneered as you taunted him about his pain tolerance. He ended up on your bed, pinned down, as you worked on his nipples. He hissed in pain as you pierced his nib, before you slid the little rod into his skin and screwed it shut. Your eyes darkened as you watched him laid under you, panting, and helpless. Then again, you always liked him when he's powerless.

The seventh time was different, since he was the one who put the mark on himself. He told you that he loved you, that he wanted them to be something more. Yet you were silent, you didn't look at him in the eye. He took your hands into his, trying to get the words through you, but you pulled them away. "I'm sorry." You muttered to him, "I can't love you the way you want." He asked you, begged you for a chance, but once again he's met with your silence. So he swallowed his words, and lied that he's content with what they had.

The eighth time you ruined him, was the time when you took him on a holiday. It was a three-day trip, and you were the one who's driving. The two of you went to the countryside, slept on cheap motels, ate at old diners, and lazed around wherever you liked. You both stopped at a quiet lake, where he took a photo of you for the first time. You were smiling, with your eyes crinkled with amusement. That was the day when he realized he loved you more than he let on. At a Chinese shop near the hotel you both stayed in, he brought you a jade ring in lavender color. You kissed him senselessly once you received it, turning him drunk with the only kind of affection that he knew—on the bed, two bodies tangled, with heavy breaths filling into every corner of the room.

Perhaps the only time you've ever been honest to him, was the ninth time you marred him with false hope. He was lying on the bed with you in his arms, when you suddenly asked him of what they'd become. He furrowed his brows, as he lifted his head to look at you.

"We can be anything you want." He answered.

"What do you want us to become?" You asked him again.

"I want us to be married."

Your eyes widened, before a laughter erupted from your lips. "It's not possible, I'm the daughter of a politician."

"Run away with me, then." He replied, with a certainty in his tone, "We can live together, just you and I."

"My father would catch us in no time."

"We can leave the country, change our names, and live somewhere quiet."

You looked at him with an amused smile, and a strange sense of pity that he could only decipher once he lost his naivety.

"Do you think we'll be happy living like that?"

He shrugged, "Maybe. But I know I'll be happy with you."

You chuckled at him, before you gave him a kiss. "I hope you never change, Simon."

You didn't mean it, but he didn't know better. You made him believe that you were capable of love, and he gladly took it as a promise.

And he was happy, he was happy that you're happy with him, at least that's what it seemed. He thought they'd stay that way, until you maimed his heart for the last time.

He was in the kitchen when you told him that it's over, that you could no longer keep this going. He could only listen as you confessed to him about your engagement with a man of your father's choice. He felt his heart twist as you said that it's inevitable, and there's nothing he could change. You shouted at him when he grabbed you by your wrist and demanded you to think it over. We can run away together, we can leave the country, just stay with me. But you shoved him away, telling him things that you knew would hurt him. You forced him out of your apartment and slammed the door in his face. He convinced himself that everything would be fine by tomorrow morning, and you'd change your mind once you realized that you loved him. But when he came in the next day, he found your place had been emptied. He searched for you—even just a trace of you—in every room, only to find a single ring on the table.

And just like that, you disappeared from his life. Leaving him with a self he no longer recognized.

You left such an imprint on him, that you ruined him for another love. But you, no part of him stayed with you. You slipped his ring off your finger just as easy as you slipped away from him.

He never saw you again, and never once did he not think of you in a day.

Years would pass, and he'd keep on searching for your face in the crowd. It became a habit of him, as he'd look around, wishing to catch even just a glimpse of you. Until he found you everywhere, in the train station.

You were on the front page of every newspaper, with a man beside you. A promising man, with a promising career in politics. You were smiling, but it wasn't the grin you used to show. When he unfolded the newspaper, he noticed the little accessory on your fourth finger. It's no longer made of the lavender jade—rather, it's a silver one, with a diamond adorning the top.

A mark of someone else's possession.

And a proof that you're never his.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #guess who just finished watching The Reader?#can't believe im writing ghost fic again #he has so much potential ughhhhh #anyway sorry for ghost girlies who love the daddy version of him #i want him to SUFFER

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besotted-eros · 3 years ago

Text

Nooner

Eren x Reader

18+

Content: unprotected sex, dry humping, degradation, horny Eren in a suit

He's been hard for you.

All fucking day.

The way your body looked so soft in the morning light, how your hands had lingered on him as he tried to pull away. The neck of your shirt had dropped, revealing your alluring breasts. And you had turned away from him, letting him see how your shorts rode up, highlighting the perfect curve of your ass.

He went to work with those images of you. Uncomfortably having to shift his shaft against his leg, hiding behind a desk or chair. He disappeared into the bathroom a couple of times, to do nothing more than squeeze his bulge while he leaned against the sink, taking deep breaths and thinking about you. He had loosened his tie already, and now he shrugged off his blazer. But nothing helped soothe the wildfire blazing under his skin. He knew the only balm would be you.

And then he checked his phone. You had sent him a picture. Sitting in one of his sweaters on the bed you shared, legs tucked neatly under you as you smiled up at the camera.

Eren bit back a low groan that snaked its way from the pit of his stomach. No matter how many times he had you, just seeing your face reignited his need. What about you got him this addicted? Whatever it was, he needed another hit.

So he left work, mumbling something about an early lunch to stressed colleagues. He sped home, long fingers tapping against the steering wheel. The raging heat in his pants was growing with every inch he got closer to you, and by the time he pulled into the driveway he was grinding against his hand, stifling moans with a bite of his lip.

He stumbled into the house, face a bright red. You weren't on the couch, not in the kitchen. He finds you in the bedroom, still sitting so sweetly as though you're waiting for him. Before you have a chance to express your surprise he was upon you, his mouth attaching to yours as his hands brazenly groped you over your sweater.

"E-eren?" You gasped as he pulled away, planting kisses along your jaw and down your neck. He was sloppy, bruising you with his want. Nipping you with his sharp teeth. It made you flush with pleasure, pulled moans from your mouth as he yanked up the sweater, exposing your breasts to the air. Eren groaned in appreciation when he saw them, taking a moment to admire how they moved when he pressed into you, how your nipples hardened quickly into pert nibs. His head dipped down to take one into his mouth, emerald eyes staring up at you as he flicked his tongue over it. When you whimpered he was encouraged, sucking lewdly until he was satisfied, and moving to the next one. Your fingers buried in his dark hair, tugging at the satin locks as his strong hands pushed your legs apart, pressing his palm against your silk clad pussy.

You even wore his favourite underwear today. Fuck.

Eren pushed you back into the bed, crawling on-top of you as he pressed his need against your mound.

"See what I gotta deal with?" He growled as he kissed you, taking your lip between his teeth. His eyes were glazed over as he ground himself into you, bucking his hips. His clothed dick was rubbing you in ways that made you breathless, bumping against your clit and teasing your lips through your panties. You scrabbled at the bed, feeling his cock strain against the fabric. "All fucking day. Because of you. Whose gonna take care of that, huh?" He undid his belt with one hand while he busied himself with your breasts once more, softly biting the flesh until you were shivering. "Tell me baby, whose gonna take care of that?"

"M-me." You gasped as he violently pulled down your panties, eyes locked onto your wet slit.

"Fuck yeah. You're gonna take care of me so good aren't you baby?" He purred, fisting his cock while he admired your pussy. His thumb rubbed over your clit contemplativly, making your back arch. "So ready, so soon." He fucked into his hand while he played with you, running his finger over your desperate hole, back up to stroke around your clit. He was throbbing, cock leaking pre-cum as he watched you twitch and whine. But he couldn't tease you forever.

With nothing but a quiet "fuck" he slid into you, spreading your wet walls to fit his shaft like a glove. Your hands came up to grip at his shoulders as you gasped, eyes springing open to stare at him. You could barely recognize the usually stoic and well put together man above you. His hair was falling loose, his jaw slack. The only thing on his mind was how he was pounding into you.

"fuck yeah, so fucking wet. All that for me?" He growled, burying his face in your neck as his hips snapped into yours over and over. There was no softness, no grace to how he fucked you. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushed further in, making you cry out with pleasure. The sounds drove him even more mad, making him grasps at your breast and pinch your nipple while his rhythm increased.

"Gonna fuck you so good, fuck you like a little whore." He groaned, feeling the way you tightened around him at the name. It made him grab your legs, straightening as he bent you in half. You could do nothing but grab at the sheets while he leered down at you, grinning at the sloppy wet sounds that come from your connection.

"Like that? You like that huh?" He asked, slapping your ass and making your eyes roll back. He hissed at the sight, feeling the familiar throb in his balls grow. "That's it. Gonna fucking cum for me whore? Making me think about you all day, making me so fucking desperate for you..." He pushed your knees further as he spoke, words punctuated with deep strokes. "Wanted you so bad, wanted you so fucking bad. Your pussy is s-so fucking good y/n." Eren threw his headback, growls of pleasure making his chest heave. His abs rolled as he reached his climax, and the sight of him, the feel of him throbbing deep in you, pushed you off a cliff of your own.

He pumped you full, and delighted in the feeling of it dripping over his shaft. Eren let go of your legs, falling onto the bed beside you and pulling you against him. He hummed with pleasure, kissing the top of your head as you found your place in his arms.

"Early lunch?" You asked, trying to catch your breath. He chuckled as his hand slid from your waist, moving downwards to slide across your warmth.

"Gonna call in sick."

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dear-mrs-otome · 4 years ago

Text

Gute Besserung - IkeVamp (Faust)

'Tis a silly ficlet that's being rattling around in my head ever since that PV came out...and I'm a sucker for 'taking care of the sick'. 1500 words of Faust self-indulgence. Thank you to @mikotomizuki and @ambrosiallkiss for letting me scream about this!

She woke slowly. Swimming up through thick sleep that clung to her limbs and consciousness enviously, as if loathe to surrender her. Eyes too heavy to open still as she took stock - of the odd weight of her body, of what she could only imagine was the warmth of sunlight basking one half of her face, of the dry rhythmic scratch of nib on paper somewhere nearby.

Faust.

She knew without even needing to see for herself, recognized that omnipresent sound. Only he ever wrote thus, in a frantic scathing scribble, as if his thoughts were always tumbling faster than his hand. As if he were always racing time, trying to outpace something.

Ironic, given how much of it he had, she supposed.

Her own thoughts were sluggish, too-warm and chasing themselves in nonsensical circles, like withered leaves in the last heated gasps of an autumn wind. Her mouth dry with that patina so particular to a long convalescence.

She managed to crack her eyes open just as the writing stopped. Greeted by arched ceilings, stonework and heavy wooden paneling, walls lined with shelves that groaned beneath the weight of countless books. The faint astringent waft of chemicals framing a sharp counterpoint to the softness of the featherbed she reclined on. She needed no more than a passing glance to realize she was in Faust’s room...but why?

The ensuing silence was only broken by the slight tick of Faust’s glasses on the desk as she watched him set them aside, one hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose and over his eyes before raking through his hair, mussing the midnight strands with a sigh. His usual jacket had been cast off somewhere, leaving him in naught but rolled up shirtsleeves, looking altogether far more rumpled than she had ever seen. His broad shoulders bent as if beneath some burden, and in her daze she wondered what sort of weight could ever possibly bow his Atlas frame.

Her lips were parched as she sought her voice, finding only the barest ghost of it. “Faust?”

He jerked, snapping to attention, blinking owlishly in her direction for a moment before snatching up his glasses. They settled back on his face at the same moment his customary smile settled on his lips. Sardonically charming, effortlessly wicked.

She’d often thought the Serpent must have smiled at Eve much like that, from amongst the verdant fig leaves. More the fool she was then she knew, for recognizing it as such and still letting herself be seduced.

"Still among the living, then?" It was delivered in his usual droll style, the hint of a laugh always threatening to break through it seemed, as if ever ready to have a joke at her expense...but there was something taut about the inscrutable gaze he leveled at her. A wariness, almost. That of a breath long held, not yet released.

She sighed her indignance as best she could, offering him a kitten-weak glare even as an answering smile tried to tug at her lips. "Feel too terrible to be dead."

He hummed his assent, the sound rippling into a chuckle as he scooted his chair closer beside the bed, reaching for a pitcher and glass upon the nearby table and pouring a small measure out. Swift deft movements helped her to sit up against the pile of pillows and held the cup to her lips, letting her have her fill of water.

“What happened?” she managed, when her tongue no longer felt bone-dry and cleaved to the roof of her mouth.

“You fainted dead away in the midst of the soup course, four days ago. I was unaware that you found broccoli so repugnant.”

“Hah,” she huffed, and he seemed to relent.

“It would appear you came down with an illness of some sort. You’ve had a fever, some delirium, these past three nights. Influenza, or scarlet fever perhaps, though I see no sign of you presenting with a rash…” He trailed off, speculation creasing his brows as he lay a hand on her forehead, gauging her temperature. "The fever only broke this morning."

She sifted through the shards of memories his words unearthed, trying to puzzle them back into something whole. Snatches of long hot spells, of strange dreams and visions and feeling utterly wrung-out. A voice speaking often, low and sonorous, syllables broad with the brunt of German. And amidst all that, blissfully cool touches much like the fingers still settled on her brow.

She didn’t even realize she had been nuzzling into the reprieve of them until she felt them lingering on her cheek, their slight chill a welcome comfort - pausing just a heartbeat past propriety before withdrawing, pulled back so that his fingers could twitch into a tight knot on his lap.

“You've been here the entire time?” She framed it as a question, but they both knew it wasn't.

It was an attempt to avoid, perhaps, that had him turn towards the notes on his desk and shuffle them. “Was I to pass up an opportunity to observe the course of an illness up close? To see how a modern constitution fares against diseases of the past? A vampire’s physiology requires little in the way of rest.”

A wry smile did manage to find its way onto her lips them. “You could have just said yes.”

Faust sniffed. “It was either that or leave you to that jackleg Charles, and that was not going to happen. You needed proper medicating. I administered antipyretics first, though they seem only to have taken the edge off your fever. Phenazone, then phenacetin -"

He had taken on an all too-familiar tone, and she attempted to head him off before he got lost in his suppositions. "Faust."

"Although again with little effect. I thought perhaps simply an analgesic would at least allow you rest but opioids are for hacks. Not to mention that a soporific was the last thing you needed, given our attempts at getting you to -"

"Faust."

He rolled on over the top of her interruptions, almost rambling...but this was no mere animated lecture. It was the first time she'd ever seen him anything other than poised, and her attention came to rest once more on the dark circles carved beneath his eyes, those self-imposed bruises poorly masked by the disheveled tangle of his hair. "-regain sense enough to drink. Dehydration was certainly a concern, and your -"

She reached a hand out from beneath the covers and set it carefully on his knee. "Johann."

The muscles of his leg beneath her fingertips flinched, then seized, his words dying in a slight intake of breath. She saw him swallow thickly before he continued.

“You called for your mother. Crying like a lost child.”

His abrupt bald statement startled her, both the unexpectedness of it and the morose implication. Wondering just how closely she had flirted with death after all.

“You called out for me as well. In the throes of your fever.” He spoke to the grip she still had on his knee at first, before his stare shifted to pin her. A hoarseness running through his words, faint but unmistakable. One lone snagged thread in the dark-silk weft of his voice. “And there was nothing I -”

His jaw clenched down on the rest of that sentence and the silence drew taut, like a bowstring poised to devastate.

She didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know what to do with the green gaze that searched hers, questions sparking through it like sunlight off jade. And so she sidestepped it, let the elephant in the room settle into safe, uneasy repose.

“Thank you,” she told him at last, earnest in her gratitude. “I know I couldn’t have been in better hands.”

The ghost of his usual confidence haunted the lopsided smile he offered her. “You’re welcome.” He adjusted the blankets around her once more, hesitating the barest of moments before taking her hand in his and cradling it in his lap, fingertips pressed to her wrist. “Your pulse seems to be stable.”

But he didn’t relinquish it, long after she knew he must have counted out the heartbeats necessary...and she let the languid sweep of his thumb along her skin lull her back towards the exhaustion that welcomed her with open arms. “You’ll put me to sleep doing that,” she mumbled on a smile, eyes already closed.

“Rest then. You need it still.” His own words were no more than a low murmur now, almost more felt than heard. A soothing rumble that traipsed up her arm and seemed to make itself at home inside her chest. “Schlaf gut.”

And she wondered if she was asleep already, perhaps dreaming, when she felt the careful press of lips against the fingers curled around his - as if to seal that sentiment in place.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp faust #my writing #ahhdkslfj what is writing even anymore #sobbing

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 4

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia, blood, gore, and other warnings to be added

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Not everything is what it seems.

Note: I’m getting this chapter out before I’m clogged up with work. Y’all take care of yourselves and I hope you have a Happy Halloween.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Despite your agitation, your isolation slowly reinstilled a sense of stability in you. Even if you were trapped, even if you had little choice in being there, the cabin with the bullet proof windows and advanced security system calmed your wearing nerves. And without a phone, you could not be reminded of, or harassed by the faceless villain who had turned your life on its head.

The first day dragged by as you spent hours pacing in your room and tossing and turning on the mattress. Sure, you were annoyed with Bucky and his demands, his often mercurial moods, but you recalled Steve’s words and they abated your irritation. You could still be in your apartment, still be entirely clueless to your shadowy stalker, still be a sitting duck swimming through dark waters. But you were safe with two super soldiers, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.

Steve brought you a pre-packaged meal and you ate alone at the desk after trading him for your grocery list.

You stared out the window at the shedding trees and the frozen ground, the critters gathering what they could for their nests and burrows. The preserved potatoes were powdery and stuck to your tongue; the gravy lumpy and bland. You tossed the tray in the bin under the desk and rolled yourself in your covers.

That nail in your skull hadn’t quite relented yet and the knot in your stomach only wound tighter. You were still tender between your legs but the levee had yet to break. You laid awake through the night but for the few hours before sunrise. You awoke with stiff muscles and a heavy head. No longer a sharp pain at the top but a dull pulsing just above your neck.

You went back to the desk, wrapped in the quilt formerly folded over the end of the bed and slid open the drawer. You stirred through the hotel quality contents; cheap pens, a notepad, and a handful of mints. Odd but you supposed you weren’t the first occupants of the safe house.

You took out a blue pen and the pad of paper. You looked out the window and etched in ink the scene on the other side of the glass. You weren’t particularly skilled but the points of the tall pines and the sprawling arms of the walnut tree were simple enough. Little scribbles to show the twigs and pinecones at their feet. You blindly scratched the nib against the thin paper until you heard a knock at your door.

“You awake?” Bucky’s voice came clear through the door.

You put the pen down and cloaked yourself once more in the quilt as you stood. “Yeah,” you called back as you leaned against the edge of the desk. “What is it?”

Bucky carefully turned the handle and opened the door. He wore his high collared jacket with its chest pockets and two more lower down. His leather-sheathed knife hung from his belt, its tip poking out from beneath his coat, and he twisted a pair of gloves in his hands. He let the door fall completely open and lingered in the frame.

“I’m going into town. Steve will be here.” He said as his blue eyes bore into you. “You okay?”

You shrugged and pulled the blanket tighter around you.

“You want me to turn the heat up?” He asked. You didn’t answer. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. About being so blunt but you have to understand, you panicking isn’t helping anyone.”

“Why wouldn’t you at least tell me about something like that? About the drawings?” You snapped. “I have a right to know.”

He sniffed and let out a long breath. “You really don’t want to know everything. Alright. I was just coming to make sure your list was final. Anything I need to add?”

“Just sweeping it aside? Just like that?”

“Honey, you don’t need to worry about this creep. Me and Steve will. You just need to be patient,” He neared you with decisive steps, “And listen to us. We’re your lifeline, it’s about time you start using it.”

“Don’t.” You huffed. “Don’t call me ‘honey’.”

He tilted his head and his eyes sparked. His lips curved slightly as he considered you.

“Sorry,” he said rigidly. “I guess… I didn’t realise I was doing that.”

You watched him as he pulled on his gloves and bent his fingers, flexing his hands as he pushed his shoulders back.

“So, I don’t need to grab anything else while I’m out?” He prodded. “You got enough clothes--”

“Yeah,” you said sharply, “I should be fine. I’d say that list is the least of my worries.”

He smiled and scoffed. “Alright, h-- You need anything, you let Steve know. He’s downstairs trying to figure out breakfast.”

You nodded as he stared at you. He rubbed his hands together and backed away. He turned and stopped at the door.

“If you really want the truth,” he looked over his shoulder, “He killed again. Two girls in as many nights…” He shook his head and tutted. “He seems pretty desperate. It’s a good thing you’re here. With us.” He stepped out into the hall and you barely heard his last word. “Safe.”

👁️

You found Steve in the kitchen grimacing at a bag of oats. His hair was slightly askew and he wore a sweatshirt which would be loose on any other man but clung to his broad chest and thick arms. His blue eyes bore a semblance of fatigue and he looked up as you neared the other side of the long walnut island.

“There’s coffee,” he smiled. “Do you like oatmeal?”

“It will do,” you climbed up on a stool and bent your arms over the counter. “Bucky gone?”

“Yeah,” Steve set down the bag and turned to the cupboard. He pulled out a metal mug in the military style and filled it with coffee from the pot. He slid it over to you. “You like sugar? Cream? Because we have neither.”

“I’m fine,” you chuckled. “So… is this something you do a lot?”

“What? Make coffee?” He asked as he bent and searched the cupboards.

“No, whatever it is we’re doing here. Hiding?”

“I’ve been sent on protective missions before,” he stood and clunked a pot on the counter. “Can’t say it’s ever been this… intense. Usually political,” he opened the bag of oats and poured them into the pot, “Escort from point A to B. Nothing overly complicated.”

“So why exactly has S.H.I.E.L.D. taken the lead and not the FBI?”

He looked at you and raised his brows. He turned to add water to the pot and placed it on the stove. He turned the dial and spun back to you.

“If I tell you, you can’t let on to Bucky that you know.” He warned as he neared the island. “I mean it. I really shouldn’t. He’s right, you know? The less you know, the better.”

“Tell me. I’ll keep my mouth shut.” You urged. “Please.”

He sighed and pushed back his blonde hair. His short stubble caught the light as he dropped his arms.

“We have reason, strong reason, to believe that this… guy has ties to an association known as HYDRA. An organization which has been working to undermine democratic peace for decades.” Steve lowered his voice as he leaned across the countertop. “The hotel room that was… an unexpected and uncharacteristic slip-up. Before, he was stealthy, smart, we were barely able to string it all together. He was all over the city. But… I’m starting to think that it’s all deliberate on his part. He wants to distract us with the overwhelming evidence so that we make a real mistake.”

“But why-- Why would an operative want anything to do with me?”

“Oh, well, we don’t think he’s with HYDRA anymore and that makes him even more dangerous. He’s taken everything they taught him, all the evil they instilled in him, and now he’s working for his own agenda.”

Steve searched your face, “Why he chose you; who knows? Maybe you said ‘hi’ to him and he liked the way it sounded or maybe it’s entirely at random. The FBI handed this case over because they can’t figure him out and I gotta be honest, we’re not any closer than they were. The only upper hand we have is that Bucky saw him. That’s it. We don’t have a name or anything else. Just a face and there are an awful lot of those in New York.”

You trembled and ran your fingertips down your cheeks. You gulped as you sat up and your eyes threatened to well.

“Thanks for telling me.” You whispered.

“Right, but I need a favour in return.” He said.

“What?”

“Stop snooping around. We’re all stuck in here for a while. It doesn’t help anyone, especially not Bucky. He’s just trying to do his job and he’s already had to call in back-up. He’s feeling beat up right now.” Steve explained. “Besides, you really can’t give him a hard time after he got all bloodied up for you.”

“I… I’m sorry. I’m just scared.” You muttered, “I’ll cool it. Okay?”

He smiled and turned back to the stove. He grabbed a wooden spoon and stirred the oats. He swore under his breath.

“I really hope you’re a good cook because we’re all gonna be miserable if I’m in charge.” He tutted at the steaming pot. “Or at least, half-starved.”

👁️

“So we ended up getting lost on the beach,” Steve hit his empty bowl with his elbow as he talked. “And the bozo says he’s gonna get seasick. On land!”

You laughed as Steve’s eyes twinkled but quickly stopped as you heard the beep from the front door. It opened and closed, followed by the tap of fingertips on the panel. You looked over your shoulder as Bucky entered. You hadn’t realised how long you and Steve had been talking. A couple hours even after finishing the chewy porridge.

“There’s more in the car,” Bucky crossed to the island and plunked two bags on it.

“Oh, I’ll help,” you slid off the stool and Bucky caught your shoulder.

“You should stay inside,” Bucky said, “Steve.”

“Alright.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’ll clean up in here,” you offered.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve warned as he rounded the counter. “But since you promised to cook tonight I’ll be more than happy to let you do so then.”

“Deal,” you said and watched him pass into the hallway.

Bucky’s hand slipped from your shoulder and he gripped the lip of the counter. “You two get along.”

“Figure I should try, considering,” you moved so that the stool was between you.

“It’s gonna start snowing soon.” He said awkwardly. “Calling for a storm next week. Could be snowed in here.”

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing,” you said.

“Maybe,” he reached into one of the bags as he spoke, “I got you this.” He pulled out a bottle of red, “Figured I might as well.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to but… thanks,” you tried to smile. You heard Steve behind you and Bucky’s jaw squared as he looked over your shoulder. “At least let me help unpack.” You insisted as Steve placed the bags beside the others. “I mean, it’ll be something to keep me busy.”

“Twist my arm,” Steve said, “Alright, I’ll get the dishes and you started putting all this away. Bucky, do you mind helping?”

Bucky nodded and blinked slowly. “Any coffee left?” He asked.

“I’ll make a fresh pot,” Steve said as he gathered up the bowls, “But I wouldn’t recommend my oatmeal. There’s probably something better hidden in those bags.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Bucky muttered, “It was a long ride.”

👁️

You decided that while you weren’t in control, it didn’t mean you were helpless. It only meant that you needed to let those who knew what they were doing take care of it. Bucky and Steve had years of experience in security and combat. You were just a secretary scared for her life. You had no idea what to do or what you were doing.

After the first couple days, it grew easier. You grew comfortable but not complacent. The few times of day you could cook kept you busy enough to distract you. Steve and Bucky were easier to be around as you grew used to them, even just used to having others in your living space. Mostly, you kept to yourself but managed some decent conversation when you ate or stumbled upon each other in the cabin.

It was quiet and you were bored. Again. There were a few books you'd found to read and your doodles had grown frustrating. You decided to take a shower and try to relax. Your isolation made you restless and your restlessness made you think of why you were hidden away in the middle of nowhere.

You locked the door behind you and hung your towel. To your surprise, Bucky had managed to pick out the exact soap you used. You couldn't recall if you'd been finicky enough to have written it on the list. You stretched and undressed. You still didn't sleep very well but it wasn't as if you did very much either.

You stepped under the showerhead as the pipes whined. In the evening, if your keepers were busy, you'd read by the woodstove. The smell was calming and the crackle filled the dead air. Maybe after you would sneak down and try to warm up in front of the fire.

The shower fogged up and you closed your eyes as you scrubbed your body. The smell was reassuring. It reminded you of when your life was normal. It made you think that maybe you could go back to before. That this might end and you might be free to live again.

You let out a breath and cranked the shower off. You pulled back the curtain as the steam cleared and you patted your skin dry before wrapping yourself in the towel. As you picked up your clothes, you froze. You stood and neared the door. Had you not locked it?

It was half-open and let in a draft from the hallway. You poked your head out and peered up and down the hall. Nothing, no one. Well, you were careless, you could've left it unlocked, not pushed it enough for it to catch.

You tiptoed across the hall to your room and pulled the door shut. This time you made sure it was closed though there was no lock on it. You tossed your clothes on the bed and pulled out a new set. Loose sweatpants and a cotton shirt. You needed to do laundry already. Well, another task to keep you occupied.

You pulled on some socks and crept out into the hall. You descended the stairs and listened for any sign of disturbance. Usually the men worked in the dining room or in the small office on the other side of the stairs.

You got to the bottom of the stairs and neared the front door. You looked out at the grey forest. It was supposed to snow that night, that's what Bucky declared at breakfast. You grasped the handle but it would not turn. You reached to the panel just beside you but it rejected your fingerprint with a loud beep.

"Going somewhere?" Bucky asked and you spun to face him, startled.

"No, I just… haven't been outside and I just wanted to… smell the air. I guess that's, uh, weird." You rubbed your hands together.

"It's freezing. You can't go out like that."

You stared at him. "But can I… go out?"

His blue eyes clung to you and his long lashes flicked. He lifted his brow and stepped closer. He stopped and slid your boots over to you with his foot.

"Stay close," he grabbed his coat, "And wear a hat."

He handed you a wool beanie from his coat pocket before he pulled the ends of his hair from beneath his collar. You took your coat, in slight disbelief, and smiled.

"You sure it's okay?"

"Well, you shouldn't be pent up in here for so long and once it snows, you won't wanna go out much at all."

He opened the door as you tucked your hands into your gloves. You stepped out and he followed you closely as the door clicked shut behind him. You tramped down the steps and bounced on your heels at the bottom. It smelled like pine and cold.

Bucky walked evenly across the clearing and you trailed behind him as he neared the trees. He stopped and waited for you to catch up. He waved you ahead of him. "Just follow the path."

He wasn't far behind as you did as he said, the path winding between trees and petering out before a frosty brook that would freeze over with the first snowfall. Your teeth chattered as the looming winter nipped through your layers. You were quiet as you bent to pick up a pinecone and admire its scales.

You felt Bucky watching you as you turned back and walked around the small clearing amidst the trees.

"Hey," you faced him and tossed the pinecone away, "I'm sorry I was so… contrary. I was afraid."

"It's fine," he shooed away your apology with his hand, "I've dealt with worse."

"Sure but… I owe you a thank you, too. You saved me. More than once. And I know I wouldn't be alive without you. So thanks. Really. And… I am trying. I trust you. I know you're going to get this guy."

He gave a small smile and kicked a stone as he came closer. "Well, let me just say, this is one of the only jobs I've been assigned that hasn't been a complete pain in the ass."

You scoffed and resisted your urge to back away from him. "Flattering, really."

"Twenty minutes," he said, "Then we gotta go back… before Steve notices and gets worried. Or worse, he'll think we left him out of some fun."

"Ah," you snorted, "Yeah, wouldn't want him to think that."

👁️

Another day and then another. Time fell as lackadaisical as the snow. At first, it had been a storm but it had slowed to a powdery lull. Neither Steve nor Bucky spoke of the killer and you didn’t dare to ask. What good would it do you to know he had killed another? Or that some other grisly piece of art had been found? Ignorance was bliss or at least solace.

You found yourself moving from room to room. First, your bedroom, then the kitchen for a cup of tea, the living room to feed the stove and watch it burn, and then back upstairs. You ran into Steve on your way up. He seemed distracted if not a bit perturbed. You noticed that in the last day he and Bucky had been quiet. More so than usual.

You continued up to your room and opened your current read; a classic you refused to read in high school and opted for the Sparknotes instead. You laid on your bed, one leg bent under the other as you swayed back and forth. The words didn’t stick in your mind and you found yourself rereading the same page until you clapped the book shut and snarled.

You sat up and tapped your foot on the floor. You heard voices, muffled by your door. You eked it open and slowly approached the top of the stairs. You listened as the argument came clearer.

“Goddamn it, Bucky, after everything I’ve done for you. What the fuck are we here for? Well, what am I here for?” Steve growled.

“Stop yelling, alright.” Bucky snipped. “Have a little fucking patience. You know this hasn’t been easy.” You heard something slam but couldn’t guess at what. “Don’t fucking blow it. Shut up and have a little faith in me.”

There was grumbling but nothing more as a door closed and blocked out the voices entirely. You felt that heat along the back of your neck. The sudden burst of instinctual fear that nestled along your shoulders. The goosebumps that told you that not all was as it seemed. The creeping, inescapable sensation which had lingered for weeks now.

You pushed yourself up to your feet and headed back to your room. It was a stressful mission, you couldn’t blame the two for getting frustrated. That must have been what it was. They were anxious to get this guy and be onto their next mission. You doubted it was their ideal job to be locked away in the snow.

You stopped as your hand fell to your door handle and you peered down the hall into Bucky’s room. The door was mostly open, only a slight angle blocking out part of the room. Slowly, you dragged your hand away from the knob and felt along the wall as you continued down the hall.

His bed was unmade, the pillows strewn about, and a familiar patch of fabric stuck out from beneath one of them. You glanced behind you and took a breath. You took a step inside and waited as if testing it. Would he know? He seemed to know everything.

You placed one foot in front of the other as softly as you could. You leaned a knee against the mattress and reached beneath the pillow. You lifted up your panties and blanched at the little daisies speckles along the cotton. You’d gone all week without a pair, the mystery of their disappearance forgotten as your own carelessness. You mouthed ‘what the fuck’ as you dropped them back to the bed.

You turned around and went to the tall dresser near the closet. You inched the top drawer open; the rest of your panties bunched up with his briefs. The pink pair with the hearts you didn’t dare to touch as dried white strings stained the lacy edge. You slid the drawer shut and gasped as you were suffocated by your shock.

You spun around and peeked out the open door. You heard nothing but the winter gales outside. You rounded the bed and went to the table in the corner; a monitor, a mouse, a keyboard, stacks of folders and papers.

Your fingers shook as you took your wallet from the mess and opened it up. Your cards, your IDs, and even the cash remained within. You put it back and took the envelope that was hidden beneath it. You opened it and flipped through its contents; your college ID from years ago, the one you got replaced after presumably dropping it in the library, your graduation photo, pictures of your family and you… all things you’d thought you lost.

You replaced the envelope and lifted the top of a file. The same drawing as before and several more, each one bloodier, more gruesome than the last until the final one. A metal arm around your neck…

Your hand hit the mouse as you retracted it in disgust and the monitor lit up. The sudden glare stung your eyes. A dozen different frames across the screen; each one a room in the house, including yours and even one in the shower. Bucky and Steve were in the office, deep in conversation.

You let out a shuddered breath as tears pricked.

You moved the mouse slowly and clicked on the file explorer. Folders sorted by date and then another simply labelled with your street name. You hesitated before you selected it. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of video files sorted by date. You bent closer as you clicked on the last day.

You hit double speed as your empty apartment greeted you. Then you came home, poured your wine, then Bucky arrived, you ordered food… You slowed down the footage as you slumped against the arm of the couch. The wine and the terror of that video call had left you senseless.

Bucky stood and pulled you down to lay across the couch. He backed up and watched you for a while then neared you again. You watched in horror as he bent over you and rolled your pants down. He climbed between your legs and buried his head between them. He shoved his metal hand beneath his mouth and your entire body jolted as he fingered.

You gasped as he finished and pulled your pants back up. Then he stood near you and used your hand to pleasure himself. You exited out of the window before your stomach turned entirely. You stood as you looked to the live feed. The office was empty.

You were suddenly pulled back as a rope wrapped around your neck. You kicked out as you were strangled, a figure flush against your back. You flailed and grabbed at the robe as you were shoved towards the bed. The body fell down onto you and the rope tightened.

“Baby girl,” Bucky’s voice slithered in your ear, “It didn’t have to be like this.”

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happyselves · 3 years ago

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Drugs ( part 3 & final ) { Daniel Ricciardo x reader } WARNING EXPLICIT

WARNING EXPLICIT

Tears were flooding down your cheeks now, all the pressure you had these past months was resolving into this torrent of emotion. You felt two hands on your arms lifting you and bringing you closer into a warm hug. He was hugging you, he never hugs you, never. Yes was showing affection with some skin to skin contacts but never did he hug you, this was new. You must look this miserable that he had pity for you and give you a hug, but you weren't complaining, after all it might be the last time you even feel him this close to you.

You were still hugging and at this point you were crying so bad, that his tee shirt ended up being wet on the spot your head was. He was caressing your hair and his scent, his touch and his proximity was in a way calming you. The perfect height difference between the two of you made his chin rest on the top of your head and your face was hiding now in his neck. You stayed silent, listening to each other's breath and heartbeat, they were at the same pace and it was so calming that the tears stopped falling eventually. When he senses that you aren't crying anymore he pulls away from you but still holding you firmly and it reminds you of last night, his eyes on you and his thumbs wiping what was left of your breakdown on your cheeks. You remembered everything from last night, his hands on you like this and how your eyes shut automatically responding to his touch, your face lingering on his palm. The moment of déjà-vu you were living made your body react on its own. He had this power over you, controlling you like this. Your eyes were closed and you wanted to cry again but there were no tears left in your body for now.

You didn't know how he was reacting to this intimate moment, one thing for sure is that his breath was becoming sighs, but you didn't care. Otherwise what you didn't see coming is how suddenly you felt lifted a bit from the ground for his face to find a place in your neck . It was his turn to breathe your scent, feeling your skin against his cheeks, his nose and his lips. He was searching for comfort in your touch. Was he realising something ? Those lips that were brushing slowly against the veins of your neck sending you shivers pressing a kiss kiss, you couldn't stop the moan you had in your throat for so long,to escape your lips. His lips bent into what you thought was a smile and you didn't know if it was a good thing or not. You felt that it was the right moment to admit something to him, maybe not everything but giving him some clues because you both still needed to clear this out and this moment despite being so nice, needed to be ended. You didn't want your confession to sound like you were about to pick a fight again, so you gently whispered in his ear. '

You : Daniel I want more than what you can offer me ... I want so much more ...

He didn't move, but you felt his body react at your words, it was betraying him, reducing his grip like he was losing control over you. The drug of what your relationship was, faded away. There was no sign of him detaching himself from you; on the contrary, the grip on you became soft, delicate, making it look like he was holding something precious.

Dan : I know ...

He knew ... of course he knew, he felt it too last night. You remembered very clearly the way you kissed him back, like there was no tomorrow. It was the case actually, there might be a tomorrow, just not of you being together. You didn't know how it was possible to crush your heart again but the pain was hard for you right now, you were getting very annoyed with yourself, you wanted to forget every feeling you had for him to go back the way things were before you contracted this addiction for him.

You : Then why are you doing this to me Daniel...

The words were difficult to get out of you, hurting your throat, a knot forming in it. You weren't expecting anything from him anymore, completely desperate, accepting the fate that was heading in front of you.

Dan : Because I can't let you go and I don't know why ...

He was as confused as you, he didn't know what was happening to him. It falls on him like it fell on you, this attraction, this power ... this connection. Where did it all change and why ? All these questions you might never have answers for were hanging in both of your mind.

You were now looking at each other, like you were last night, his eyes were so expressive, but you were still confused about what you were reading then. He pushes away a lock of your hair and you find yourself incapable of moving away again. You wanted to at least turn your back on him for a minute, a second to breathe properly, to think properly. You end up doing it, with difficulty, detaching yourself from his embrace and moving away as much as you could. You walk in the room until you are facing the windows showing the beautiful park of the hotel, sunrise giving a pretty scenery, perfect for a painting. You close your eyes and let your forehead rest on the cold surface.

You didn't hear him coming behind you and stopping, not knowing if he should cross that last meter and do what his heart was telling him to do. If you could sense the aura right now, he was probably full of frustration and hesitation. What was he waiting for ? What did he want to do ? Always question hanging inside your brain as you slightly open your eyes to see his reflection in the windows. You were tired of questions and you just wanted to rest for once, not think of anything and act with your heart, do what he wanted despite your head telling you otherwise.

He beat you to it though, you were about to turn around and do something when you felt his hand pushing the hair of your neck, crossing that last step. His hand on your shoulder, his lips slowly pressing on the back of your neck. Your eyes closed themselves again and your forehead found the window once more. He mumbled something on your skin.

Dan : I want to try something ...

It wasn't the time for experience you thought, but you understand what he meant when his hand slid down your throat, holding it sensually giving him access to a different area of your neck he had earlier. Of course you were lost for words and couldn't even let a sound out of you except a couple of complaining sighs, quickly shut when his tongue played with your skin, and his teeth were nibbing you. Before you were completely lost in his touch you managed to turn around and face him.

You : What are you doing, please don't do that, you can't do that to me ... please.

You were begging and you were right to do so. He couldn't let you hope like that, not now and not ever. He couldn't play with you, he couldn't hold you like that, he couldn't make you believe stuff that will not happen between you two.

Dan : I need to know ... I need confirmation { YN }

The way your name was pronounced in the softness way, made you lose balance of your feet. It felt like it was the first time he was saying it. You were starting to over think again because he said he needed to confirm something and you bet that in this moment if you could see yourself in the mirror you will have sparkles in your eyes despite how miserable you must look right now. You desperately wanted him to admit something to you, you felt the tension, you were starting to believe that he was feeling something too. He was kissing your neck, a friend doesn't do that even a best one. He was seeing open doors now, ones that he never knew could be open and you were sure he was afraid because of all his rules that you didn't know why he had to follow, after all he was the one that created them and rules are also made to be broken. Broken rules, you liked it, it was exciting, bringing spice into your life and that's what you wanted to do in his, but he was so rigid and he built this wall around him making you hurt every time you tried to climb. You never gave up before last time, but you were ready to give it one more shot, one try if he hurt you again you will be done forever, your brain knew it as well as your heart.

So you decide to be brave one last time, get all the courage in you left and give him whatever confirmation he needed.

You : What do you need to confirm Daniel ?

Your voice pronounces his name the same way yours escapes his lips. His eyes shifted to your eyes, to your lips and back to your eyes, his breath was irregular and his hands were sweaty and shaking. You couldn't do it anymore.

You : For fuck sake Ricciardo, do it ....

You pause yourself half-sentence, your words came out like a blast, it was impossible for you to hide your exasperation at him. You take a breath and calm yourself down letting the tension leave your body a little bit. The word you wanted deeply to say since you had this moment last night finally came out more shyly.

You : kiss me ... kiss me Daniel.

You were begging him with your eyes and then it rang like bells in Daniel's ears, he closed the damn gap between you two, bringing your neck towards him, crashing his lips against you. How much you've missed this feeling, you know you were addicted to him like a drug, but you didn't know that only after one kiss you were driven by the sensation of his touch, his lips, his tongue finding yours was procuring you.

He was licking your lips, making you gasp and take advantage of your reaction to connect both of you in a deeper way. Teeth clenching, the kiss was slow then harsh, messy, passionate and wild almost full of rage and hatred that have been accumulated these past hours and you could feel the frustration you two had built from the past few months in it. The kiss was representing you so well, your relationship perfectly described in this action of love.

Love could be a big word if you weren't sure about what you felt for each other, but it was the only word that was big enough judging the two of you. When you love someone this much it makes you sick, it makes you go crazy and makes you feel all those confusing feelings. You were in love with him as he was in love with you and this kiss was only confirmating it to Daniel. He needed this electroshock for him to open his eyes on his feeling for you, they could only be as clear as water now as he push you again closest surface he could find that was the windows, giving view to his balcony and anyone that was in the hotel park a spectacle of the firework that was about to lunch between you. You whined as your head bumped in the cold surface and moaned at his fierce touch on you sending him shivers down his spin. His hand grabbed your legs to wrap them up around his wide hips, having the cold now turn warm glasses helping him support your two bodies because he wasn't really sure of stability of his legs right now, the shivers traveling his whole body and making him lose all kind of control of his muscles.

He find himself nibbing your neck, trying to have access as the much skin you could possibly give him, your hoo.. his hoodie stopping him from going down with his lips and frustrating him as he leave your thighs, trusting the windows to hold you when his hands find the aim of the hoodie, not hesitating to go under and find the warm skin of your waist. If a touch could burn you must have the perfect exemple right here because you were aren't to breath properly as his hands were slowly moving up to lift the hoodie. Soon he found out that you weren't wearing anything under, this hoodie was the only things you were attending to steal from him as a memory, making his scent, a mix of his own and his perfume impregnated in the fabric, last as much as it could.

Daniel wanted to take that hoodie off until he change his mind, you were wearing his and his dick suddently twiched in his pants at the thougth of you only wearing this with nothing under as he fuck you right here, right now. His imagination was surprising him as well because yes he find himself daydreaming about you time to time, just maybe how you would look like under him as he eats you alive or his penetrates you, the face you would make as you take him in his mouth, but never he thought it meant anything to him until today. Every best friend was thinking like that about each other at some point, no ? Especially when your best friend was a beautiful and sexy woman, that's how he was describing you.

Your body was incapable of moving, blown away by what was finally happening, until something clicked in your brain, you wanted to feel him too and as you tried to remove his top off you detach yourself from the windows that was the only thing holding you and lost balance. As Daniel tries to catch you back, his eyes widen, feeling that he was as well yet to lose balance, tripping on his own feet, backing off from the glasses and bringing you with him in his fall to protect you. Thank the lord the carpet floor was soft and his hard training to be a formula one driver left reflexes in his muscles memories. The fall wasn't bad and his neck held his head straight like it does in his car during a fault corner.

You were clearly in shock, both of you, but as soon as you saw there was no arm you let out the biggest laugh that brought a genuine and attentionate smile on his face before he joined you.

Dan : Well that's moving quickly, you on top of me.

You didn't respond, busy looking at every detail the smile brought to his face, his cheeks moving up forming a dimple on each side. You hands caressing it slowly as you check if he was really okay. The silence isn't erasing the desire between you on the contrary it was hitting things ever more and you didn't know it was this possible as your lifted hoodie let the air enter in contact with your flaming skin, cooling it a little bit before Daniel's hand retake possession of it. Like earlier he didn't hesitate to explore what was now his and only his. His palms grabbed your ass, a sign for you to straddle him so he can have a better view of your face, and feel you on his thighs.

Your hands find his torso, playing with the fabric of his shirt before pulling it toward you, silently asking him to sit down so you can lift it up. He obeyed without any resistance to busy stroking your thighs, prompting you into creating a friction of come and goes, his face clearly showing some irritation because your pants were blocking half the feeling you should be feeling. Daniel Ricciardo, impatient, you liked the sound of that and at least you could get rid of his shirt without him noticing and focus on your neck target. That was the amount of skin now on display just in front of you, ready to be savored, enjoying every centimeter. This view of him wasn't something new to you but it was the first you could finally put a taste on it after countless nights imagining how your lips would feel on it. You were sounding like a predator to an innocent prey that didn't you were targeted and he was like a hunter blinded by his focus on his one and only mission that he didn't see the danger that was coming just in front of him. It's your teeth on his neck that wakes him up and makes him come back from his trance of trying to feed the lack of friction. His moans filled the rooms, his arching voice coming erection, the pleasure surprise taking over his face before he locked eyes with you.

Dan : I'm not going to be patient with you if you keep doing stuff like that.

You : Oh but sweetheart, the thing you don't understand is that I've waited so long for you, that now it's your turn to wait and to let me take the lead.

You smirk, and his mouth dropped, if you could film this right now. You have just switched the advantage he had over you. He was left speechless and you didn't know if it was a good thing, but you assumed it was as soon as he took his hands off you and put them above his head, closing his eyes and licking his lips. You were enjoying it so much, being a little bit dominante with him after everything he had made you go through, it was a sort of pay back and he was gladly taking the sweet punishment, but before doing anything a question lit up in your brain and you couldn't shut it before asking him.

You : Daniel, before I ... we got further, I cannot not ask you this, and I would be damb for asking you, but what about your rules ?

He opened his eyes again and fixed you, clearly having forgotten about this detail.

Dan : What rules ?

You : You know what rules, don't play dumb now.

Dan : The rules, I'm the one that created them and right now I don't give two shits about them, they are made to be broken so fuck them.

You : But ...

He sits back up, holding your face.

Dan : I said fuck them, what I want right now is to forget the idiot I was for not giving on my pulsion and having you for me earlier, I'm not about to waste another second because of the choice I've made years ago when I was a dumb prick. So please don't worry about any regret I could have later, because I won't, never, not after being dominated by you.

He finishes his sentence by a smirk and a giggle, before falling back on the ground, putting himself in his recent position. Rules were made to be broken, that's why you thought earlier, he said exactly what you had in your mind. You were connecting on a mind level. It was that all fuck it spirit, that you've been wanted to do since you developped feelings for him. Why was I thinking about now except him and you making beautiful moments that you will cherish for eternity. You knew it was the little angels that were making you insecurities come out and you shouldn't have listened to him. This morning, the demon on your right shoulder will be the stronger one, beating the reason away from the angel, taking over all the reasoning that could make you think it was a bad idea. The demon was now possessing you as you hands found the lace of his grey sweatpant, ready to pull it down as you moved up and him lifting his ass off so you can pull it down. The devil was out and hungry, the predator in you came back and didn't waste any minute of being nice and delicate with the length that was in front of him.

Soon the boxer joined the sweatpant aside, and you thought of doing the same about your pants, which you did as you stood up, stripping yourself to a Daniel who was lost for words once more, not daring stopping you. You decide that your black thong will stay on for a little longer, after all you did said to Daniel that you wanted to take your time with him. He observed him so vulnerable in front of you, enjoying the power you finally had over him. You weren't the same woman as 30 minutes ago, you were the crying girl that was about to lose the love of your life, instead you were becoming this fallen angel. Daniel didn't seem to be complaining about this, his twitching dick was proving it, excited for what was coming for him.

You finally take him in your hand, stroking him a bit before lubricating it with a little bit of your saliva, he heard him whine, he was already pretty hard and ready, this little show of you might have excited him more than you thought. You got so carried away that you didn't think of him and he didn't complain for a bit, patiently waiting for you to come and take care of him. Made you think that perhaps he had already faced a similar experience in his dreams, and that maybe it was you,the woman of his tormented dreams. He wasn't losing eye contact with you, as your mouth came teasing his tips, your wet tongue licking his precum, your thumb caressing the popped vein making the blood go toward his edge. You could bet at this moment that a glance of a tongue could be enough for him to release himself in your mouth.

He was being a nice boy, the torture that you were giving me must feel horrible for him and you didn't wanted to make him suffer, you wanted him to enjoy as much as you were. So as he watches you come over him, his hoodie on you brushing his nipples, sending him shivers, you took both of his hands to drag him so he could sit up as you straddle him again. You kiss his neck, nibbing quite hard on his warm skin, his jaw clenching, sign of his teeth tightening, his lips almost bleeding because of it. You moved to his ear, teasing his earlob of your tongue and breath before whispering that the torture was enough for now and that he could do whatever he wanted of you.

He didn't wait for the last word coming from your mouth before he switched your position, and took possession of your thighs, bending you in front of him, his arms blocking you from moving. Where you would go anyway, you already got everything you needed just right there. His face between your legs as he kissed his way up to your pussy, making sure to mark his territory, the sweet pain made you smile as much as he made you moan. If the view you had just in front of you wasn't the sexiest thing you have seen then what was coming was about rethinking every fantasy you had with him. His teeth find their way somehow on your dark thong. At first you thought he was gonna kiss you over it, but you weren't so sure as you saw his tongue playing with the lace before his mouth tore it down to have full access to lips down there. He gives you one last look before half his face buried itself, licking you, tasting you. No romantic roman, show or film could make justice to how the woman's body was reacting to be eaten alive like this. You weren't sure if what you were feeling wasn't something only Daniel was able to experience, you didn't even care about knowing the truth anyway because the way your body was reacting to his wet tongue teasing your entrance and your clitoris had nothing to be compared about. Your fingers find the messy curls of his hair, pushing him deeper in you. He didn't care if he couldn't breathe, it was the happiest place for the sweetest death. The sound that was coming out of you was a sweet melody to him, better than any music he had listened to before and the only one he would truly enjoy listening to from now on. His name came in a rush of your build up orgasm you felt coming,before it came again more erratically mixed with moan and whimper and cry as you came hard under him. He licked you a couple times, licking your wetness before he stopped him and made him kiss his way until the hoodie you were still wearing blocked his trip to your face. That didn't stop him as there were enough places for him to hide under it and continue to kiss your skin until your breast that he tasted like he was carefully choosing which ice cream he was preferring. He was tickling you with your tongue and his kiss that a snore escaped your mouth that you tried to cover as quickly as possible with the back of your hand, but it was too late, Daniel was laughing, still between your boobs, resting his head on you. His laugh was making his throat vibrate on your skin and this reminds you of earlier times when he did the same thing on your neck when you were hugging. How things change so quickly. You were looking at a big bump in front of you, before softly booping Daniel's head though the fabric, scared he had fallen asleep. He finally came out of there and you laugh at the sight of his hair everywhere, almost electric before the hoodie.

Dan : I was listening to your heart, quite a champ it is, racing as quick as me in my car.

You : It's racing for you

Dan : As I've always raced for you.

You didn't know what was the meaning behind this phrase, but he didn't let you figure it out or questioned it before he caught your lips again so you could taste the remains of yourself, distracting you as he was positioning himself at your entrance. You felt his tips slowly stroking your pussy, pushing your entrance a bit to feel the vibe. You were so wet that no pain will break off this. His demand was short as his eyes were asking you what was the next move for you, your kiss was the response he was waiting for before slowly pushing into you, releasing a painful growl in the process. You join him , grabbing his back, digging your nail in his skin, waiting for the discomfort to let place for the pleasure. He was scared to move at first but hearing your pleasurable sigh was enough for him to start moving in you, savoring the delicious sensation your walls were giving him, kissing your collarbone. His hand found your throat, gently squeezing it, you were losing control, that's all you ever wished for in your biggest dream. Your bodies are finally one, moving in sync with each other. It was soft and rough and real, you were burning for one another, the sexual tension accumulated for years now becoming concrete.

His move accelerated, you didn't know how long he could last, but you wanted to make the most of it and you wanted him to take it easy so you made him pause a bit by bringing him for a sweet kiss, indicating to him that you wanted to change position. He agreed and pulled away, you've missed him already and couldn't wait to find him back. You were back on his lap and you were quiet getting used to the feeling, him under you, you liked it. His hand finds your throat again before you take his dick in your own hand to positionnated him back at your entrance. He guides you and you sit down on him,slowly, swallowing all at once before pulling up again and taking him back a little more aggressively. His reaction wasn't long to come, he grabbed your waist and gave you the pace for both of you to have the best sensation. You felt an orgasm coming to you again and were close and Daniel felt it. Otherwise he didn't change his pace, he did the opposite, he stayed steady, taking his time in every stroke, listening to the sound you were making, indicating to him how to make the most of your orgasm, go deeper if you needed to. He was being perfect and made you cum like you never did before, leaving you shaking and out of breath, tears forming in your eyes and creating a knot in your throat he was still holding, caressing it side with his thumb. The way you cried out his name surprised you and you weren't even sure if it was real. Daniel rides away your orgasm a bit before he waits for you to calm down. He was ready to pull out and finish himself off but you stopped him by holding his hand that was leaving your throat.

You : No ... I want to feel you cum inside me...

It was hard for you to say this because you were still breathless but even if you were inaudible, he quickly understood what you were implying and placed his hand back on your throat, tightening his grip a little harder than before. You know he was close and that his pace will be quicker because it was becoming painful for him and you encourage him, taking his other hands to put two of his fingers in your mouth. You on the other hand find its way down your thigh,ready to stimulate your clitoris. You were such a mess for him, completely wrecked. You could sit on him anymore or he won't be able to finish. He needed you to be under him again and carefully lay you down on your back, moving his legs so they wouldn't get in the way of his incoming explosion. He was responding to his conscience anymore, his muscles moving on their own to liberating from his burning pain. He was hitting you hard now and you followed his movement with your hand touching yourself. His all body tense itself and he finally set free his semence in you, almost crashing on top of you in a loud moan that felt more like a cry. He stops himself from putting all his weight on you with the last of the strength he has in him, releasing your throat to grab the floor and hold him.

You : Oh my Lord, that was ...

Dan : undescriptable ... I didn't think you had it in you.

You were full of sweat, both of you and you had your pussy dripping off him, but you were far from feeling gross, weirdly you felt pure. You never felt so free of your mind in this moment, like something finally clicked, every planet coming in line with each other and you knew he was feeling the same by the way he fondly looked at you.

Dan : I think I love you ...

If you had enough energy right now you would be crying, instead of that you would smile like an idiot.

You : Glad I could help you confirm it.

You laugh like you always do, you laugh like two best friends, like two lovers, like two soulmates.

You : Oh and you already know but I love you.

Dan : No wayyyy shit Sherlock.

He kissed you, but his tongue found your cheeks and licked you, making you giggle so hard and releasing a snore again which made him laugh exactly like he had under that hoodie. You will surely keep his hoodie as a souvenir. After a minute or maybe five he stands up and you watch him go and come back from the bathroom. He took care of you, cleaning you before taking the hoodie off. Then he grabbed the cover and the pillow from the bed and enveloped both of you in it and like two idiots in love who fell asleep like that.

Not for long as you wait an hour later to Daniel's phone ringing. He ignored it and looked at you.

Me : What did we just do Daniel ?

Dan : What did we do ? We cured each other of that drug addiction.

MASTERLIST

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pascalispretty · 4 years ago

Text

As Yet Unsaid

Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Mention of nudity, that’s about it.

Summary: Frederick spends a Saturday morning in bed, attempting his crossword puzzle while you sleep next to him. Unfortunately, he gets a little distracted.

Happy Valentine’s Day to @lannister-slings-and-arrows. You have her to thank for this tooth-rotting fluff. (ao3).

The first time that Frederick had gone to view the property, tucked away at the end of Montgomery Avenue, he had known that it was the one for him.

Not just because of the location- close enough to Baltimore that he didn’t have far to travel for work, or social events in the city, but far enough away that a lush, verdant wall of foliage cut the property off from any hustle and bustle.

Nor had the lure been in the wine cellar tucked discreetly on the lower level, or the elegant sweep of the spiral staircase, though he greatly appreciated both features. The thing that had drawn Fred the most to the house he now occupied had been the windows.

There truly was an abundance of windows, allowing sunlight to pour in. After spending so much of his day at the hospital, with its dim hallways, and thrumming fluorescent lights that gave him headaches and made his eyes hurt, coming home to so much natural light made it easier to separate his home from his work.

Fred was particularly thankful for the windows that morning. He had woken slowly, still half asleep as he reluctantly slid out of bed in search of coffee. It was only when he had returned, cup in one hand and New York Times tucked under his arm, and pulled the curtains back that he realised how pretty you looked in the late morning light.

You were still fast asleep, still lying on your side from where Fred had been curled around you as you slept. You were bathed in the sunlight that poured through the windows, looking so peaceful and relaxed that Fred was half-tempted to abandon the paper for now and wrap himself around you to try and go back to sleep again.

Instead, he slides into bed beside you, taking a sip of his coffee before setting it on his bedside table. Your back is to him, your bare shoulder just peeking out from beneath the covers. His eyes lingered, all too aware that you were naked under the sheets, claiming that he ran too hot for you to want to put pyjamas on.

Fred sets the paper in his lap, and leans forward carefully until his lips just barely brush your shoulder. He still hasn’t quite gotten used to waking up to you, to spending whole weekends with you, to your presence adding much needed warmth to his house. His home.

When he straightens up again, he plucks the Montblanc pen off his bedside table and flips straight to the crossword. His weekends almost always start with coffee and the crossword, except on the rare occasions that you wake up before him and are in the mood for something less staid and more sportive to start your Saturday with.

While you sleep steadily on, Fred fills in the blank squares, occasionally tapping the pen thoughtfully against his lips while he considers his next move. Some of the answers come easily- really, who doesn’t know the name of the estate in Gone With the Wind?- while some require a little more thought.

It’s not until he gets to seven down that he gets stuck.

The coffee is almost all gone, and were he not so comfortable, he’d consider getting up to fetch another cup. He has one letter, an ‘A’ in the penultimate square, but none of the words he can think of have an ‘A’ in that place.

Even after he’s put it aside, and swept through a dozen other clues, his eyes keep returning to the empty squares of seven down. It frustrates his perfectionism to leave it blank, and he’s far too proud to look up the answer on his phone.

You shift in your sleep beside him, and Fred finds himself staring at the curve of your bare shoulder as though the clue he’s seeking might be hidden on there somewhere. Without thinking, he rests the very tips of his fingers against your shoulder blade, almost as if to convince himself that you’re really here, tucked into bed with him.

He had more or less resigned himself to bachelorhood, yet you had been a very welcome interruption. If having you here spending the weekend with him and sleeping beside him, means he can’t mutter to himself or listen to Handel while he does the crossword, he’ll consider it a very small price to pay.

When Fred pulls his fingers away, he realises he had still been holding his pen. A little black line, barely a half inch long, has been left against the smooth skin of your shoulder by the accidental slip of his pen.

He glances back at the crossword, at the clue he’s wrestling with, before looking back at you. Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, he leans forward and gently turns the inked line on your back into a love heart.

The psychiatrist in Frederick wants to examine the gesture, to pull it apart and dissect it; is he drawing on you as a desire to mark you? Has he chosen a heart because he knows he loves you, but he’s reluctant to admit it to you just yet? The frustrated crossword enthusiast in him puts it down to idle doodling while he tries to figure out the elusive seven down.

Beside the first, he finds himself adding another heart, slightly smaller this time. He freezes when you shift, the nib of the pen still pressed at the point of the heart. To his relief, you’re not waking up yet; just getting comfortable, your legs bumping against his under the sheets as you rearrange yourself a little.

He waits a few minutes, just to confirm that you’re still asleep, and then goes back to his doodling. Part of him is tempted to attempt an anatomically correct heart, a stark reminder of his undergrad days at Harvard, copying the diagram out of a page of Grey’s. He resists the urge- you might not be best pleased by the little heart-shaped doodles when you wake, much less by an anatomically correct one.

Seven down still eludes him, the word he’s looking for right on the tip of his tongue. If you were awake, he’d ask you. He knows he’s seen it recently, and that only frustrates him more.

By the time it comes to him, you have a little constellation across your shoulder blade, a whorl of carefully inked love hearts outlined on your skin. Frederick can’t help himself; he bows his head again to press his lips against your shoulder.

He nuzzles a little closer, drawn in irrepressibly by how good you smell. Something unmistakably you, it lingers on his sheets long after you’ve left and finds him pressing his face against the pillow you’d used when you’re unable to spend the night. It’s only accented by your perfume, and the sweet smelling shampoo you use-

Frederick sits bolt upright in bed, scrambling for the paper that he had let go of to kiss you. You stir sleepily beside him, but he’s too busy scribbling in the answer to notice.

“Fred?” You ask, your voice still thick with sleep as you turn slightly to face him.

“Argan! I knew I’d seen it somewhere. ‘An evergreen tree known for its oil’.” He crows, more to himself than to explain anything to you. With seven down filled in at last, he can finally put down a definite answer for five across, and more solutions slot into place.

You roll your eyes affectionately at him once you realise his excitement was due to a crossword clue.

“I’m going downstairs to grab a drink, and then shall we watch TV in bed for a bit?” You ask, trying to stifle a yawn. One of Fred’s luxurious robes is hanging off the back of the bedroom door, and you go to slip it off the hook.

“Whatever you like.” Fred beams at you, though you’re sure it’s more to do with his glee at finishing the puzzle- in ink, no less- than anything you’ve done. As you tug on the robe, you happen to catch a glance of yourself in the mirror, and you freeze when you spot what looks like a dark smudge by your shoulder.

Frowning, you step closer to the mirror for a better look, only to realise that it’s not a smudge at all. While you slept, Frederick has drawn love hearts across your shoulder. You peek up at him, but he’s still engrossed in the paper; he hasn’t noticed that you’ve spotted them.

Your stomach swoops at the sweetness of the gesture. Frederick had undoubtedly come across as an asshole when you had first met him; you were glad you had decided to press past that awkward first impression. Deciding not to draw his attention to it, you smile to yourself as you slip out of the room, still covered in the love hearts Fred had left behind.

#frederick chilton #frederick chilton x reader #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #raul esparza

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gisachi · 4 years ago

Note

Okay I LOVE YOU TO DEATH ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡ but I think you already know that. I'm hereby requesting for #2 or #15 for the ShinRan kisses bc omfgahd you the b e s t ❤❤❤

This is for the dearest Tru because guurl your dcmk fandom misses you but I know you’re enjoying yourself over in HQ fandom and that’s great too ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) if you feel like coming back, let this be your ShinRan welcoming gift ok~ 💝😘

2. A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss. 15. A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick. (1,659 words)

Shinichi is a biter. It’s a fact not even he was aware of until Ran pointed it out. She discovered this weird trait of his back in middle school when in the dead silence of their study session, Shinichi unlookingly reached for Ran’s dormant hand and gave a light bite on the side of her palm.

Utterly aghast, Ran gave his head a good whack, questioning where the hell that came from, only for him to respond with a clueless (and pained) ‘Huh, what did I do?’

Ran believed that Shinichi did know but merely played pretend to avoid her flying fist of death. Yet, it happened more than once, all done randomly and without any hint of hesitancy nor perversity in his end. That was when she started to consider that maybe, Shinichi was indeed blissfully unaware of his habit— of his fondness?— of biting her.

She isn’t going to lie, it’s very weird at first. It isn’t simply some information she can share so casually because even Agasa-hakase would find it hard to believe. Shinichi? Bites? Dogs bite. Not people. Moreso not him. He who cowers like a kitten when he senses the Ran Rage. Not that his bites hurt, but still. Weird.

Though after noting the pattern, Ran concludes that Shinichi mechanically does it only when three conditions are met: when he isn’t stressed, when they are beside each other, and when they are alone. If absorbed in a case, he doesn’t so much as flinch from his chair, sitting upright in a foetal position, and Ran beside him is reduced to an invisible post. But when his mind is free of cases, leisurely reading his mystery novels next to her, the hand grabbing and hand biting occur.

One instance, they were walking home, and although they were beside each other, fingers grazing fingers, Ran sensed his hesitancy to snatch her hand for a usual bite. Side glancing at him, she teased, “So you’re finally becoming conscious of your weird habit?”

“Conscious enough to understand that I must stop myself from doing that in public… give me credit, Ran,” he scoffed.

They weren’t even dating then, but the blush on her face was akin to the blush of a woman receiving a declaration of love from her man. He realized he was weird. And he wanted to be weird, comfortably weird, only around her.

The affectionate bites have continued without issue until high school, even beyond. She’s allowed to call it affectionate, right? Yes, it grew on her, and though it’s questionably odd, the act of imprinting innocent, visible teeth marks somewhere on another’s body is something that does not just happen if both parties aren’t comfortable with it. Letting him bite her is a sign that she returns his affection too.

And then they started dating.

The only thing that’s changed apart from their relationship status is that the biting doesn’t only happen on the hand. Sometimes, he treats her forearm like a roasted chicken leg and Ran tickles him on the rib as punishment. Her arm and shoulder are his favorite body parts to nibble on. Fortunately, teeth marks don’t take long to disappear, unless they blotch which is a different story. That hasn’t happened. Yet.

“You’re doing it again,” Ran complained during another private study session when the nibble on her unsleeved shoulder felt deeper than usual.

“Crap, sorry.” And he soothed with a kiss. Ran blushed.

That was a first.

She moved a tiny inch away from him, formidable pink growing in her cheeks. “Sorry for the bite, or for biting too hard?” she snipped. Shinichi simply laughed.

Pensively, he observed the embedded mark on her skin as she moved, eyebrows scrunching in contemplation. Suddenly his mood shifted.

“Do you think I ought to stop this?” he spoke up.

Ran blinked, a little surprised. “And you’re asking that question now?”

“Better than not asking and making you feel uncomfortable for the rest of your life, yeah.”

“What makes you say I’m uncomfortable?”

“ ‘Cause I never hear you say you’re okay with it?”

Ran blinked a few more times.

“Shinichi, I don’t have to say I’m okay with it for you to know I’m okay with it. You of all people should know that.”

“That’s not it,” Shinichi argued, “it’s precisely because I know you that I need to hear you say it. Your silence can mean a lot of things... I still can’t read you one hundred percent, you know...”

Stopping a growing smile, Ran rolled her eyes and sighed thickly through her mouth. She was so tempted to humor him but he looked so sincere with that sad apologetic face.

“It’s just odd. But I don’t...I don’t hate it,” she answered.

“So you like it?” His face brightened, voice upping mirthfully as he leaned closer. “C’mon! Say it.”

“M-Mah,” flustered, she lifted her nose in the air and looked the other way, “You’re just making fun of me now!”

He laughed, then kissed her shoulder again. “Fine. I’ll take that answer.”

And so he never stops.

In the most random moments alone together, he'll grab the opportunity to steal a bite. When she’s brushing her hair, when she’s zoning out during a movie, while she takes a call from her mom, or even while she’s cooking. Especially while she’s cooking. He’ll stand behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, making everything more intimate than it already is.

One fine night, he drops by Ran’s after solving yet another case that has earned him another column in the next morning paper. In a very good mood, he bites her shoulder, after he has taken his bath, and Ran is cooking his favorite food for dinner. His lips - not his teeth - linger longer on her skin, longer than how he often soothes her, and Ran notices that the warmth is zipping north, onto the slope of her neck and shoulder, and then on her neck.

Suddenly, the heat that emanates isn’t just from the steam from the pot; it’s in her body, everywhere.

“You smell so nice…” She can hear his relaxed smile as his hands caress her waist, and Ran releases a quivering exhale. She knows he’s saying that more out of admiration than anything else, but his voice is raspy and it makes her knees weak. It doesn’t help that he just finished his bath and his bare chest touches her back, and he smells like her lavender shampoo and soap, and he is very far from stressed, and they’re alone in the apartment.

That fine night, the intimacy in the air feels tantalizingly different from usual.

“Did… Did you already heat the teapot as I told you?” Her question is not at all suggestive, but her tone seems to indicate otherwise.

“Mm,” lazily, he parts her long hair to the other side and nibs on the silky skin of her neck, “seven minutes ‘til it boils.”

And then the following seconds are quiet, body language speaking for itself. Her head craning, breathing short; his relaxing nibbles softer and deeper, hands on her waist playful. His alternating kisses and bites electrify her, and she wants to fuel this spark into something greater, something that will make both of them combust.

So she sets the stove to low heat, and turns around.

On that fine night, she seizes the opportunity to kiss him where she prefers.

Chaste and gentle, but eager all the same. Instances like these are when Shinichi need not ask if she likes what he’s doing because the answer is crystal clear in her eyes.

Still, with a shell-shocked expression, he stares back, unmoving. Heart beating fast and head spinning crazy. That is a first.

The next second, he’s kissing her back.

“Doing it...again,” Ran breathes, breaking their connection every two seconds to let him punctuate each kiss with a tender bite on her lip.

“ ‘M sorry,” he airs, smiling, kissing deep, drinking the moan that trembles out her throat. “Force of habit... Didn’t notice.”

She feels the swirling heat change the color of her cheeks; she’s probably burning red now. “You always don’t,” she chuckles over his lips as her back hits the edge of the kitchen island.

They are no expert at this, but it feels like they’ve been doing this for so long with the way their lips move and glide and dance with each other, already done testing the waters, encouraging for more. As if his skin kisses are but the foreplay leading to this special moment. Soon, she feels herself being lifted from the floor, thighs laid to rest flat on the countertop, his body slotted between her legs. Ran feels her soul leave her body. This intimacy has easily transcended into another level.

In the middle of concentration, Shinichi’s eyes blow wide like dinner plates and he separates, touching the corner of his lower lip.

He tastes iron on his tongue. He looks at his girlfriend, realizing what she’s done. “...Whoa.”

Smiling coyly, Ran leans close, pausing a breath away, before soothing his swollen lip with a soft bite and gentle lick, and Shinichi groans a little. “I think...I see the appeal now.”

Shinichi’s smirk is smug and thrilled, loving his girl’s newest discovery. “And I see why you aren’t stopping me before…” he kisses her again, “Do it more.”

And on that night, more she does. Her first kisses, her first nibbles, her first tongue action she offers while taking all of his in turn. Perhaps she might have taken more, if not for the kettle whistling and dinner boiling out of the pot.

As for his weird biting habit, safe to say it’s best she gets even for the hundred times he’s done before. And apart from his lips, she’s willing to discover where he likes to receive it most and how he likes it given.

That won’t take long. He’s a willing teacher anyway.

#shinran #kiss prompts #fanfic #one serving of fluff #Tru aint back this is an ask from half a year ago lmao #my love letter to Tru #bc i reread her works and i cried from the hurt again #and i remembered she made a request way back #so imma slap her with fluff to offset the angst #ILY MY DEAR #I miss talking to you about otp stuff #heizuha and simping for todoroki shouto and naruto #once i watch haikyuu imma read all ur fics ᕦ( ᐛ )ᕡ

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neuvillette · 3 years ago

Text

Paperwork - FrUK Fic (18+ish)

During the industrial boom in England, someone in particular has been working himself to the bone.

Fuck... There it was again, that near-painful pang in his ribs from thinking about that bastard. That arrogant prick had whispered to him so closely that day so long ago that the memory of the hot breath from his lips still seemed to be lingering on his ears-- or was that just his own fiery blush? Either way, it wasn't going anywhere. Whenever he was alone his thoughts would instantly crack back to that insufferable shit. How his lips were so plush and too naturally red to be decent... How those blue eyes drifted lazily along wherever they pleased, often up and down his body. How he hoped that they one day would look back at him so pleadingly, begging for something almost too shameful to fulfill. He knew approximately how the man looked under his clothes, since he was prone to low cut shirts, high hems, translucent fabric. He had a tight waist and broad shoulders, he had hips that almost could be considered too wide, ones that would probably be good to hold onto tightly and grip red marks into. His chest, like much of his body, was soft, not flabby exactly, but plush enough to squeeze and nibble at. Fuck, FUCK, that pang came again, searing through his chest as he battled to think of something else. He had work to get done, and a lot of it. These kinds of thoughts were not only immoral but incredibly inconvenient, and the toll they took on his body meant he had to go through an arduous process to relieve himself, if only for a little while. His teeth all pressed down together as his jaw clenched, he could feel the pressure all throughout his face as he tried to just get on with it. There wasn't that much paperwork left, right? Just a bit more. A small distraction would do him some good. He only realised he was tapping his mostly-dry dip pen against his desk when he noticed how the rhythm was starting to seep elsewhere into his mind; tap tap tap, thrusts against a document, against something soft, warm, moans echoing in arches over the staccato beat, and--- He dropped the pen unceremoniously onto his desk, caked-on ink splattering down as he pressed his forehead into his hand. He had been slipping too hard recently. His bosses hadn’t been pleased with his work as of late; though he had been toiling during similar hours and put in the same effort he always had, they said he needed to rise up to meet changing standards. He used to do work with his hands, but that wasn’t needed anymore. He used to be their guard dog, or at least their work horse. For everything it was, at least the action of his youth was invigorating. At least he wasn’t monitored, and had time to do things for himself, instead of being their tool all hours of the day. He had time to work with his hands, his hands. To create things that were valuable, that were helpful to the, to his, people around him. Now he was… well. He was expendable. But not so expendable that they would waste his capacity to do paperwork. Industry was booming, one couldn’t just expect to stand by with what had been accepted in the past. Labour was becoming more standardised, more efficient, more impersonal… Not that he had ever been the most personable chap. While he enjoyed working with his hands, making things one by one, the gritty way, the difficult way, he made efforts to internalise what they had said to him. They needed his mind, his edge, to work on this stuff. That’s what he was for, after all; not forging swords, not stringing bows, not tilling soil or growing things; but intellectual, gentlemanly, removed work. Detached, necessary, proper. It suited him, he tried to tell himself. He wasn’t one easily inclined to the personable, nor to saccharine slop… Not when communicating with others, anyhow. Buried and smeared while being hidden amongst mounds of paperwork were brief scribbles of poetry, of sketches of mistily reimagined silhouettes, flowing romantic prose incapable of coming out through his own halting speech, of faintly grasped memories of torrid expressions he needed to recall through flowing strokes of a figure, but those all were secrets even he wasn’t meant to have access to. Shameful, that’s what it was. Inefficient, ineffective, and shameful. An outlet for his needs to make something, perhaps, but… Certainly they sated other desires as well.

The distance between them should have helped; should have given him time to correct and corral his feelings, mold them back into form briskly, scaldingly, sharply--as one does when shaping copper. Instead he had gone too soft, too half-hearted, and his self-inflicted blows to his psyche had been too gentle. The metal of his desire had set and crisped up before he could steer himself back on track, and now he had to re-anneal, to subject himself back to fiery disavowal and guilt before the exacting measures of self-restraint would be effective. Yes, he quite liked that idea. He couldn’t have his metallurgy back but he could certainly think of his rehabilitation as such. He had forged many a sword, an arrow tip, an axe, before. His personality would be the same. Scalded and quenched and hammered into shape. And with his skill he could tap incessantly, exactingly, forcefully thrusting against the teasingly giving metal and-- blast it, again! It was achingly difficult to ignore. The distance only seemed to make his delinquent misgivings have more courage to rise up again out of turn. When he was face to face with those capricious blue eyes long enough to remember the wretched personality that tagged along with them it was easier to keep his goal in mind, but the longer he went without a glimpse of the sour man himself, the more alluring the rest of it seemed. Had they even written letters? Well, he hadn’t sent any. He had received a fair handful until they had run dry. He had almost convinced himself that he was glad of it. A few lines in the others flowery script were too laden with implications to be safe; he had already resigned himself to the idea of his correspondence being read at his supervisor’s discretion, so it was best if the letters wasted away entirely rather than risk the uncovery by his betters of whatever hintingly depraved thing would find itself penned inside a perfumed envelope. Near the end of their dispatchment, the notes had gotten quite irritated it seemed, demanding reply. His excuse for his silence was that he simply didn’t have time to dally on such things, but in truth he wanted to show himself that he could deny the temptation. It was easy to tell himself that he had enough to worry about with dozens of signatures to scrawl, appeals and drafts to write, documents and proposals to uncritically approve. With considerable effort, he plucked the intricately carved ivory dip pen off of the desk before blotting it back into his blue-glass inkwell. Just a few more of these documents and he’d be able to wallow in his own home instead of his suffocating office. The half-hearted, half-present signatures left a streaky trail of black as his newly inkstained hand trailed across the page, though the final few letters were jaggedly interrupted with a rapping at the office door.

“Yes, sir, I’ve already said I would finish them by today,” his calling tone was harsh but clearly deferent; he was a lively one, but part of being a man was knowing his duty and thusly his place. Even so, he didn’t bother glancing up from his efforts to correct the broken signing at the tail end of the page as the door slowly opened, creaking unceremoniously.

“If it’s really necessary I can work past my contractual hour, though I must note that your well-intentioned checkings-in aren’t conducive to getting any actual work done.” This comment was much more pointed, though not so much so as to be crossing a line. Still, the silent presence above his desk, looming, made him rethink his words for a slight moment before he got the better of himself. No need to look up as if they can dole out some sort of punishment! To you, of all people! No, you’re working together under the same sense of duty… Right? Keep your head down and show them your dedication and vigour. If they’ve got a problem they can bloody well deal with it, that’s not something that’s important enough to interrupt this work.

« Ah. Scribbling pen names has stopped you from writing back ? You are a much more petulant boy than before, their puppy-dog training is not working on you. » The two sentences were connected not in theme but in the rolling, keen tone they were carried by. The former was a lazy observation and the latter was crafted solely to rile him up. The door quietly shut behind, and there was a graceful and soundless moment afterwards. In a second of skillful self-control, he did not drop the pen but instead cooly placed its nib back into its proper receptacle, as much as he was inclined to throw it at his guest. For a flitting pause, a scorching rage surged through him. What about no reply hadn’t gotten through that dense skull, and what made him think, after it all, that he could flicker back in, no doubt impermanently, just to ruin all his progress, and--

God he needed to see him.

He would not ever, never, let him know that.

“As spineless and will-less as ever, then, Bonnefoy. Resolute enough to travel across the channel to be a nuisance but not enough to do any work or get any admirable aims in life.” Fuck, that hadn’t enough venom, it was transparent and flimsy. Traceable. He made sure his glower was deep enough to offset what he was certain was too-soft a rebuttal. It hadn’t done enough, though.

« So you have missed me ! Yes, you know, I do enjoy to come here and to anger you. » A quick beat passed.

« You know I had to come and-- mmm… scorn you for ungentlemanly not replying to my letters. » Well, it seemed he was being equally as transparent. He almost shivered. It was one thing to have his feelings discovered, but if they both were in agreement over what was happening, it was much more difficult to steer away from what was coming.

“Scold. You mean scold.” He added curtly, taking his pen back up as he glanced back down at his paperwork. He had been staring at his face up until then, he just realised. Blue eyes as infuriating as ever, that new obnoxious french hairstyle, the unneeded tightness in the waist and legs of the waistcoat and trousers, the volatile expression of something genuine.

“Your english still hasn’t improved.” He continued with a comment he knew would be ignored, but he needed to get it out there. Keep up the guise of nagging conversation.

« Your office is so away from the rest in here. Isolated like always. And no windows, a prison ! Poor little sad Englishman, and of course no time to write letters, not one bit. » They were talking by, not to, each other, though they were saying the same things. He had decided to sit upon the edge of the bureau, clearly an excuse to stir up some fabricated bile for their equally as convincing argument.

“I’m working upon this desk, thank you! And I’ve been working for months now. You were not invited and are not wanted; you’ve found your way in and can find your way out. Good day, Bonnefoy.” His pulse was hammering now, if only he could direct it at that copper-- beat his will into place, keep it straight and unmarred, stay determined. The Frenchman was simply smiling away with that look of acute, cutting, though well-intended observation. He was not going to leave on his own. With a return of the pen to its place, he stood, making an attempt to usher his unwelcome guest out. Francis rose as well, and as he did so the Englishman made no further attempt to get to his office door. Instead they stood together, steadfast.

« Say hello to me. It’s been so long, and I want to hear it and you want to say it. Just hello. » It was a tender plea as much as it was a command. The fool really thought he was entitled to it, but only in the way two who have known each other a long time are entitled to hear the news of someone’s workday or what dreams filled their last night’s sleep. They weren’t touching, but they could. His own face was beet red as he decided whether or not he should deny the request, angry and upset at more than the situation and himself. It was boiling over, the tapping beats in his chest and throat weren’t subsiding. He had to do something. He wished he had a bloody window so he could toss the intruder out of it, grasp him by his ruffled collar and throw him out the door, or against a wall, or over his desk, or--

“You-- I can’t believe you--” He was cut off by a look, and maybe Francis had moved forward slightly with his deep gaze, bridged the gap a little to make it easier, but maybe he hadn’t, and maybe he had grabbed at the nicely pressed wool jacket of his own accord, pulled at the stupidly styled french coif to reach for a kiss, to stumble into the wall behind them all on his own. He certainly was the one pressing them together, at least preliminarily. Bonnefoy, having planned something along these lines, was quick to fill in the needed friction after a blink.

« That’s-- hmm… one way to say hello. » The teasing tone was almost enough to make him stop entirely and snap him out of it, possibly stear himself back onto a more proper path, but Francis was smiling again and it was just too earnest as he craned his neck back in anticipation to be kissed there. They both knew this was the only hello he’d be able to manage. Any further acknowledgement of a budding warmth between them beyond the physical was more than he could honestly bear. For now, the more openly flagrant refusal of the two to meet gentlemanly expectations would have to be their letters that were few and far between, punctuated by occasional tysts like this, though the sentiment always lingered, and he was afraid it was growing. He had a period in his youth, with no supervision on open seas, when he didn’t hold himself to such a high standard in these matters. It had taken a fair amount of diligence to push himself back on track, but now--... Well, he could feel himself slipping again, but this time he knew better. Somehow the refutation of his desires of it all made it all the more difficult to deny. But Francis wasn’t giving him much pause to think more deeply about these things, and the wretched glint in his eye made it seem like he knew just what was on his mind. Why did he always know!? It hurt, to be so well understood in a shame the other refused to acknowledge. When had Francis ever been shameful of anything? He pretended to be, but only to be irritating. Every so often when they’d do this, he’d resort to saying such horrible things about how he relished his sanctity being soiled when they both knew perfectly well that no such thing was ever there in the first place. Francis made no signs to do so tonight, not as impatient hands were fiddling with buttons and edging him over to sit back on top of the desk. That pansy French fashion was great for enticing the eye but by god, the buttons! Warm, manicured hands met his and Bonneyfoy grinned.

« You do not need to open my shirt. » What a stupid assumption.

“Just because I don’t-- stop that! I can do it on my own, you’re not making it any easier. I could just rip the damn thing if you prefer-- I don’t have to but. Well, I get to,” His huff was met with an expression that looked sickeningly soft. Was this not injustice enough? To acquiesce to desire, but now his carnal lusts were being interpreted as tenderness! Maybe it was a bit of that, but blast it, Francis could at least pretend he didn’t know. It wasn’t like this was something special for him, anyway. That fop was getting it on with anything that moved and looked his way, and now Francis was lording it over him that he liked him! He was probably smug, pleased that he had ordained to come down and give him the pleasure of a single, solitary fuck while he was off cavorting with--

« Please, let me. You’re tense, I can help. » There he went with that tenderness again, too visceral to be faked. The beat in time of the two sharing a glance was raw and it shut him up quite well. Francis kept chatting as he placed the Englishman’s hands under his shirt as he nimbly undid his own buttons. The other was content to grab about underneath as he waited.

« You need to learn to say no to them. Get more time away. They make you feel worse inside, and that is not very handsome at all. » And there he went with the sap. It was easy to slide his hands around to the small of Francis’s back and hold him steady as he kissed him to shut the man up. Surprisingly, Francis pushed him away to finish opening his buttons. The Englishman did not appreciate that.

« Despair is becoming on you, but even you need to be patient. I’m not going anywhere. » They both knew that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t complaining when Francis plucked his own cold hands out of the back of the Frenchman’s trousers and placed them on the man's freshly revealed chest. He could feel Francis shiver under him, his own hands were much colder than the other’s hot skin. A moment of impulse made him squeeze possibly a bit more roughly than he should have, and Francis did that little gasping moan of his he always did. It had been so long that he hardly remembered it anymore, but it was quite the experience to hear it again. The more he groped the chest, the tighter the legs around his waist would get. Oh, his poor paperwork, it was only slightly out of the way of being crushed and pushed about… Maybe he could move it before they got on with it all, it would only take a--

That familiar warm hand grabbed his jaw tightly and pulled his gaze back away from the documents on his desk, the both of them pausing only for a moment before they kissed again and all thought of paperwork was forgotten in favour of instant gratification. He could feel Francis smile triumphantly as he kept up his slightly desperate grabbing and squeezing, his hips starting to move up against the open legs resting on his desk. It was rather ungraceful, Francis’s legs snaked tight around him as he pressed their bodies together. In the one moment before he would no longer be able to resist himself, a clutching shock of guilt crackled through his chest. Unbeknownst to him, his face contorted slightly, a grimace of pain and reconsideration. Francis didn’t see, or, at least, didn’t pause. Instead, the hot, slender fingers that still held his jaw were keeping the pair kissing as a rhythm not dissimilar to one that the Englishman was familiar with was hammered out against the solid office desk. If only he could say he forgot the expectations of his bosses and the world at large for those moments, but he couldn’t. His will was stronger, however. At least, his will when combined with his desires. Besides, it was difficult to pause when his pervasive nuisance was sitting its fat arse on his desk, when they were clutched and and hugging together as tightly as his wax seals pressed to his paperwork that was currently watching the display. His hands were suddenly disordered-- after months, years even, of writing when told to, shaking hands properly, adjusting ties, now they had free reign to fly wherever they fancied. Tangled in bouncing blond locks one moment, then back squeezing his partner’s chest, then slipped down the back of the loosened trousers upon his bureau. There wasn’t much time until the nonsensical French interjections fizzled into dripping moans, and even less of a beat until a quicker, tense breath of air joined in. Chests still together, their hearts raced. He was the first to pull away and face the wall with a few curses as Francis was left sitting. Realising the fruitlessness of any attempt to clean himself there, he circled around to tend to the ever-patient papers awaiting his return as he dutifully stacked them in his carrying case.

“I should be going, then. These need finishing. Ta.” Miraculously, he found the coldness he had been attempting to muster up upon his companion’s arrival, though it was a tad too late. Francis wasn’t altogether pleased with the change in tone, although he understood the haste required after their torrid encounter.

« But I need a-- Angleterre, you-- ! » His shirt unbuttoned and tousled, and his trousers hanging off of his hips, Francis slipped to place himself in front of the door.

« You are bringing me to your flat, or your kennel, or wherever it is they keep you when you aren’t here. »

“Not if you’re going to speak French, I won’t.” A raised eyebrow came with the easy, chilled reply.

« Do not get smart with me. » Francis shot back, deft fingers working to button his shirt and press down his clothing as swiftly and naturally as bird preening itself. The other’s stern expression and eyes looking elsewhere told him as much as he needed to know. He softened, if only slightly.

« Look, I’m just as presentable as you. It’s a business trip, would that make you feel better ? I won’t bother you as you do your paperwork. I’ll even make you tea and something real to eat as you finish up. Hein ? »

Another few beats between them, and, ever the gentleman, he opened the door for Francis after giving them both a once-over.

“We’ll need to be quick, alright? These pants are already uncomf--... Go.” He gestured briskly out the door, and followed after the other man who seemed far more pleased with himself and the situation. What was he doing? Why was he-- well, that didn’t matter. All he had to worry about was getting back to his own room and not being seen by anyone in so disheveled a state… Besides, Francis seemed to be making no effort to be inconspicuous-- loudly asking for directions to his living arrangements because it had just been so long since he had seen them, and in French, no less. Though determined not to look at him, what made it worse was that he could just sense that sickening grin creeping up Francis’s face, spreading more and more by the minute. If only he had just remembered how irritating and inconvenient, unprofessional and repulsive the Frenchman was… Being apart for so long made him more alluring when he really knew what the bastard was like. If he had been prepared, why, he wouldn’t be bounding after him, through dirty, smoggy streets; his heart racing, his stern glare only slightly beating out the flutter in his chest and the small twitch at the corner of his lips. Incorrigible.

#fruk #ukfr #england/france #france/england #hetalia fic #hetalia fanfiction

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saphirered · 3 years ago

Note

Hi, I love your writing, and was wondering if I could get a Essek x aasimar reader ( in which they are in an established romantic relationship) , where the reader gifts Essek quills made from their own feathers as an anniversary gift?

Thanks for requesting. I hope it turned out to your liking. Warning for all the fluff. 😘

You open the front door stepping inside the familiar interior of the towers. The entry hall is dark. With a snap of your fingers the vase on the side table glows with a radiant light. You take off your shoes and set them neatly underneath the side table next to Essek’s; the dark leather boots giving away the wizard had returned before you did.

It had been a long exhausting day of work but you’d finally made it home. With the time, you half expected Essek to already have headed to bed so made sure to be quiet setting down your usual things and heading up the stairs, fine carved box wrapped under your arm.

You had to find a spot to hide the box. The anniversary’s coming up tomorrow and you wanted to keep this a surprise. You’ve worked long and hard to assure your gift would be perfect and were able to find someone able to make you the things you couldn’t yourself. A jeweller made you carefully crafted nibs engraved in geometric designs. You found some silver twist thread to secure the nib in the beautiful feathers taken from your own wings.

You would have asked a skilled maker to do it for you but too many questions would arise from you walking into a shop providing feathers with a bit of a radiant angelic glow to them so instead you had to assemble them yourself. A good many tries, and many ruined feathers later you had a working quill and made a few more to complete the set. You ended up with one for notes, one for letters, one for official documents and one for transcribing spells. Each quill slightly different and unique in its own right.

Finding a place to hide your gift proved a bit more difficult than you thought. A place where Essek wouldn’t look or accidentally stumble across it… Underneath the bed? No that’s stupid. Bottom of the wardrobe? Too easily found. Kitchen? Push one thing aside and the box will stand out like a sore thumb. The study…. The study! Hide it in plane sight. You’d just have to make sure you’d be up before he was and get to the study first. Easily done!

Off to the study you went but your brilliant plan fell apart when you saw an ember glow come through the slightly ajar door. You look around the hallway. Think fast. Bookcase. You lift a display box from the shelf and put the carved box down, putting the display box on top of it. Hidden in plane sight. Terrible but it will have to do.

You push the door to the study open a bit more to reveal the interior. The candlelight basks the room in a warm flickering glow. Back facing you Essek sits in a chair bend over his desk softly grumbling to himself. Leaning his head on his fist he scribbles on a sheet of paper before adding it to a small stack next to it with a sigh. He grabs a new sheet and continues writing.

As quiet as you can you tiptoe up behind Essek. You wrap an arm around him, leaning your head on his shoulder and press a soft kiss to his temple as you look over his work. Essek relaxes leaning into your embrace dropping the decrepit quill and stretching and curling his fingers to get rid of the stiffness. Looks like he’s been writing a lot more than this single stack by hand.

“Hey.” Essek breathes placing his hand over yours and squeezing softly. His lips press against your cheek lazily as if he’s finally found the mind space to relax and let the stress dissipate.

“Hey.” The two of you stay like that for a little while.

“What are you working on this late?” You ask getting a glimpse of the documents, some stamped with the Bright Queen’s sigil. Did he take home his work? Must really have been a busy day for the both of you then.

“Nothing worth talking about. Just some orders to the Lens to be signed off on. What time is it?”

“It’s almost midnight, Essek. I thought I finished up late. Take a break. The work will still be here in the morning.” Essek looks at you to make sure you’re not messing with him. Realising you are being truthful he rubs his brow pushing the quill and paper back further. You let him get up and he stretches his back trying to get rid of the ache from sitting in the same position for however long he had been.

“You know what day it is tomorrow. I want to spend it with you. Not caught up in this.” Essek gestures to the neatly stacked papers. You step up close to him placing your hands on either side of his face offering him a loving smile.

“If it’s important you have my permission to finish up. Besides, maybe I can help. Unless you think I’d be too much of a distraction rather than a motivator.” You tease pecking his lips.

“Come on. By the looks of it neither of us have had dinner yet. I’m sure there’s still some broth left. We can improvise some stew.” Seeing no reason to complain or decline the offer of some proper food Essek allows you to drag him along to the kitchen. Aren’t you glad you decided not to hide your gift in the kitchen?

The two of you work together to provide dinner, you doing most of the work; preventing Essek from ruining your meal by adding the wrong spices or turning down the heat too much. It’s known that out of the two of you you are the better cook so Essek resorts to just following your instructions to the dot to not end up with a bland, wrongly spiced, or undercooked meal.

In half an hour or so the table is set with a steaming pot of deliciously smelling stew, a loaf of bread cut in slices, some cheese, a bottle of wine and the two of you sitting opposite of each other, your legs stretched out to balance on the wizard’s lap as he pours two glasses of wine handing one to you. You fill a plate with food exchanging it for the glass of wine and fill a second plate for yourself.

Together you enjoy your meal discussing your activities of the day or part of it hiding the details of working on your anniversary gift. Table cleared and dishes washed you return to the living room relaxing on the couch in each other’s embrace determined to finish the remainder of the bottle of wine tonight.

You’re about to doze off but sit up catching a glimpse of outside through the window. Essek looks at you confused giving you a ‘what’s wrong’ expression as you rush over to the window. You beckon Essek over who reluctantly gets up to watch the skies you seem so hyper focussed on all o the sudden.

“Look!” You exclaim pointing at the moons and stars. Essek searches the skies for any inconsistencies but finds none. It’s a beautiful clear night, that’s for sure. What he didn’t expect is you turning around and pulling him into a deep and passionate kiss. Not one to deny such gesture from you he’s quick to return the kiss albeit still somewhat confused about the link between the night sky, excitement and kiss.

Pulling apart after a long kiss you wrap your arms around Essek’s middle. You catch on to the lingering sense of confusions from Essek and decide to spell it out for him.

“It’s past midnight. Happy anniversary, dear.” The drow’s eyes light up and quickly gives you another kiss to cover up the embarrassment of not catching on.

“Since we’re still up anyway. I have a gift for you. Wait here.” You untangle yourself from the comforts of Essek’s embrace, rush upstairs to retrieve your gift. You nearly drop the display case you had hid it under but avoid a messy disaster and broken antique. Box behind your back and goofy smile on your face you approach him once again but leave enough space between the two of you so you can actually hand him your gift.

“Humor me. Close your eyes.” Essek closes his eyes. You open the box displaying it properly, tapping Essek with your foot to signal he could open his eyes again. At first when he does he’s playing along with your game but that drops the moment his eyes fall upon the pristine quills. Shock, bewilderment, gratitude, love, that’s what you get from Essek. A warm and content sense washes over you.

“These-. What-. I-I have no words.” Essek breathes as he reaches for one of the quills but stops for your permission.

“They are yours. You need not ask for permission.” Not having to be told twice Essek picks up one of the quills and inspects it closely, feeling the weight in his hand, the silver thread twisted grip and nib. In awe he breathes one word; ‘perfect’. Before you know it kisses are peppered all over as he takes the box from your hands and carefully sets it aside. Once he does you’re pulled into a deep embrace.

“Thank you. They are… beautiful, perfect. They are perfect. You, are perfect.”

“I hope these will last you longer than your old ones. You’ve gone through those in a matter of weeks now.” You laugh. Essek pulls away from you holding by the shoulders. Your own turn to be confused, you give him a look.

“Any time is as good as now.” Essek hurries off up the stairs and you can hear the door of the study opening. He quickly returns, telling you to close your eyes before he reaches the bottom step. You obey and cover your eyes with your hands. You hear footsteps draw near until they stop in front of you.

A hand pulls away yours from your face and you’re met with Essek’s joking disapproval. No peaking so you close your eyes and allow your hands to be pulled down resting in front of you palms up. A heavy rectangular object is dropped in your hands. You wrap your fingers around to make sure you don’t accidentally drop it.

“Open your eyes.” You’re met with suspense from Essek nudging for you to look at the gift in your hands. It’s a proper leather-bound book. On the cover is your name pressed in gold lettering surrounded by streamlined geometric line designs in beautiful patterns.

You open the book the title page is blank but backing the cover there’s a message dedicated to you.

‘A story not nearly completed and yet to be named. May we continue this story for many more pages to come.’

You now know exactly how Essek felt upon receiving your heartfelt gift; speechless. You flip the pages. It’s the story of how you met, how your lives developed, how you’d grown close together and eventually grown to love each other paired with sketches of places where some of these events took place, of you and him together, and of you alone. Essek awaits your response but your words seem to have left you.

“Come here.” You breathe the words barely audible and you wrap your arms around the wizard pulling him tightly against you as you whisper thank yous on the verge of tears. Relief washes over him as he melts into your embrace.

“I take it my gift is to your liking?”

“I love it. Almost as much as I love you.” You pull back enough to give him a kiss a bright smile on your face.

“I love you too.” The two of you stay in each other’s arms watching the skies satisfied. No words can describe the love you share but your respective gifts give some insight in that. To many more stories to be told. To many more stories to be told.

#critical role #critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein #mighty nein x reader #essek thelyss x reader #essek x reader

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verfound · 4 years ago

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WIP Wednesday: Labby AU (MLB/Lukane...er...well it will be?)

I want to blame Bloods & Fen on this so hard, but Quick pointed out...well, really this should surprise no one & has been a long time coming. Really, how did this not happen after Peachy?

Anyway, remember that post Monday where @zebrabaker was like “HEY WHAT IF LILA WISHED MARINETTE AWAY TO THE GOBLINS?” I don’t even have an excuse. I have 3k and growing and Sir Glitter Nibs hasn’t even made his appearance yet...

“Why are you even here, Lila?” Marinette asked quietly. Lila’s eyes widened, a hand fluttering over her chest like Marinette had just insulted her mother.

“Because you invited us, of course!” Lila gasped. Marinette’s eyes narrowed.

“I invited Alya,” she said pointedly.

“And Lila was with me, so I invited her, too,” Alya said. “Girl, come on. What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem, Alya,” Marinette said stiffly. She placed the book back on her desk, her hand lingering over the embossed cover.

Deep Underground, there was a kingdom. A goblin kingdom. And over that kingdom ruled a King, dark and mysterious and in love with a poor girl who had been abandoned by all of her friends…a Keeper of Unwanted Things, ready to whisk the girl away if only she used her Right Words…if only she’d call on him for help…

– V –

Far away, but not as far as one would think, and deep Underground…something stirred…

– V –

“Yeah, you really do,” Alya snapped. She squeezed Manon’s shoulder. “I’ve tried to be patient with this, Marinette, but Lila’s my friend, too, and she’s actually kind of awesome? You just need to give her a chance, girl.”

“Yeah, sure,” Marinette mumbled, turning in her chair away from them.

“That’s it!” Alya groaned. She scooped Manon up and set her on her hip. The little girl cuddled into Alya’s side, her expression troubled as she glanced between the other two girls. “Manon and I are going downstairs for some lunch. You two are going to stay right here and work out whatever problem you have. I’m tired of my friends not being friends. Grow up, Marinette! Lila did a lot showing up today when she knows how much you dislike her – the least you can do is meet her halfway!”

Marinette’s hands fisted so tight she felt her nails bite into her palms. That was rich, she couldn’t help but think, considering she had never asked Lila to show up in the first place. Lila didn’t want Marinette to be her friend: she wanted her to be a crony. Marinette refused to do that.

“Really, Alya, it’s –” Lila tried, but Alya shook her head.

“It really isn’t, though,” she said. “Marinette, I expect you to be in a better mood when we get back up here!”

Marinette sucked in a harsh breath as Alya turned and carried Manon downstairs. When the door slammed behind them, Marinette could feel Lila’s smirk on her.

“What now, Marinette?” Lila simpered, her voice sugary-sweet. “Looks like the ball’s in your corner…”

– V –

“Shhh…listen…” a voice hissed in the darkness, quieting the snickering giggles echoing beneath it…

– V –

“There is no ball, Lila,” Marinette sighed. She pushed her chair out and stood, turning to face Lila with her arms crossed over her chest. “I asked Alya to come over because Manon likes her. I didn’t ask you to come with her. We both know you don’t like me and why, so can’t you just…leave well enough alone and go?”

“Marinette, that’s so heartless!” Lila cried, her hand once again fluttering over that stupid foxtail pendant she wore around her neck. The ‘proof’ she was a Kitsune Princess, she had told Manon. “I’m just trying to help you out!”

“By doing what?” Marinette asked, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t need help babysitting – I’ve been babysitting since I was twelve! I only asked Alya over because Manon likes her. Not because I need help!”

“Are you sure?” Lila asked, her lips curling in a smirk that sent a chill down Marinette’s spine. “Manon seemed way more interested in my story than…this!”

Marinette’s eyes widened as Lila lunged, diving around her to grab at the book. Marinette shouted and tried to snatch it first, but Lila was too fast. She spun out of the way with a laugh, once again flipping through the pages to find…

“‘Just say your Right Words, precious thing’…for the Goblin King had gifted the girl the power of Wishes, and would come whenever called to save her from the Witch, if she only wished it so…oh, Marinette, it’s so precious!” Lila cackled, turning to smirk at her over her shoulder. Marinette felt her stomach roil, her fist clenching by her side. “Let me guess: I’m the evil witch, right? You are so predictable!”

– V –

“Someone is reading the book…” a voice called, a skittering laugh bubbling beneath the words.

“Someone new…” a deeper, gravellier voice chimed.

“Someone tasty!” a smaller voice squeaked. Laughter echoed in the dark…

– V –

“Give it back, Lila,” Marinette said firmly, her eyes narrowed in a hard stare. Lila’s smirk turned more malicious.

“Or what, Marinette?” she taunted. “You’ll wish me away to the goblins?”

– V –

“Well, if yer askin’!”

“Say the Words!”

– V –

“Please,” Marinette scoffed. Her nails were biting into her skin again. Lila just smirked, her eyes still scanning the book.

“And what are the Right Words, hmm?” she purred, dragging a manicured nail against the page. Marinette sucked in a breath, waiting for the old paper to rip under her touch. It didn’t. “Ah, here we go!”

She held the book out with a dramatic flair, her free hand once again pressed to her chest.

– V –

“Yessssss!” a hiss echoed in the Dark.

“Say it, say it!”

“…say what?”

“SAY IT!!!!!”

– V –

“Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be!” Lila cried, her voice loud and commanding. Marinette grit her teeth in a scowl. “Take this trouble of mine far away from me!”

She lowered the book, her smirk still curling her lips.

“…did I say it right?” she asked innocently, blinking doe eyes at Marinette. “Oh, but you’re still here…”

– V –

“…what?” a disgusted voice snarled.

“Them’s not the Right Words!” a craggy voice cried. “Where’d she learn that rubbish?”

“It doesn’t even start with ‘I wish’!” a smaller voice piped up.

“She has to say ‘I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now’ – that’s not hard, is it?!” the craggy voice snapped, the others chittering in agreement…

– V –

“That’s enough, Lila!” Marinette snapped. She rushed forward, grabbing for her book. “Ugh, why do you have to be so…just…just go, ok?! You don’t actually want to be here, and I certainly don’t want you here, so just go, ok?!”

“Calm down, Marinette, it was just a joke!” Lila said. She spun on her heel before Marinette could grab the book, but Marinette was done. She wanted her book back, and she wanted Lila to leave, and she wanted…she wanted just a normal afternoon with Manon, telling stories to someone who actually cared about her and enjoyed spending time with her. Someone who didn’t think she was jealous or unreasonable or…she grabbed for the book again, and Lila shrieked as she latched onto a corner. “Marinette!”

“It’s not yours, Lila! Give it back!” she cried, yanking. Lila fought her a moment, and then there was a tearing sound, and then…

“…oops,” Lila snickered. Marinette stared, wide-eyed, as the leather cover dropped with a dull thud against her rug. Torn pages fluttered after it. “It sounded like a stupid book, anyway.”

Marinette couldn’t speak for a moment. She blinked, staring at the book like…she could feel the sting of tears in her eyes, but she refused to cry. Not in front of Lila. Not over a book. Not…

“…I wish the goblins would come and take you away,” she whispered, her quiet voice so loud in the sudden stillness of the room. “…right now.”

#wip wednesday #marinette dupain-cheng #lila rossi #miraculous ladybug #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #look it's not there but IT'S COMING #labyrinth au #wip fic #goblin king luka #I need to go to bed #this is 100% unedited #but Luka's about to burst on the scene in an explosion of glitter #it's gonna be great #totally blowing our fic budget on glitter

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ahh-fxck · 4 years ago

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Here is my gift for @demisexualgeralt for @thewitchersecretsanta 2020 gift exchange! This was such a true pleasure to write, I hope you enjoy it!

Title: Soul Music

Rating: M (some whump, some mild adult content)

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Cross-posted to Ao3

Everyone is born with a song. It is the one gift that Creation leaves each of its children. A small magic to comfort them in the lonely silences of life, a healing love when their hearts ache or shatter. Every child knows their song as well as the pattern of their breath.

Legend has it that Creation left each child with one more gift, a hidden secret that few ever discover. For the songs are more than simple wordless melodies, though they are that. They are also harmonies, one-half of a duet meant to be sung with one’s soulmate. On the day that duet is sung, voices twining in the air, lyrics will appear for the first time on the skin of each lover. No magic can wipe them away. Sharing soul music with one's true love is the only way to find out what the words are meant to be.

Or so the story goes.

Few people on the Continent believed that old tale anymore. The soul words, if they had ever existed at all, were a rare occurrence. Now, only children and fools sang their songs to the people they loved. Sensible people kept their private music for lonely moments when the only solace was the gift of song.

Witchers didn’t even have that.

When a young boy was given to the Witchers, the first thing that was taken from him was his song. A Witcher with an instinct to sing when he was hurt or frightened was a dead Witcher.

There could be no songs on the Path.

When Geralt met the bard for the first time, he had no idea what to make of him. After a life of silence, the young human was a breath of irrepressible melody. Quiet seemed to gall the little bardling, so he filled Geralt's days with chatter and his evenings with endless compositions.

"You smell like death and destiny!" The young human, barely more than a child, had cried on the day of their first meeting. "Heroics and heartbreak!"

Despite himself, Geralt had taken a discreet sniff. The only things he'd smelled of were Roach, onion, and the dirt of the road. Curling his lip, he'd grumbled, "It's onion." How could anyone smell like Destiny, anyhow?

Then the bard had called him the Butcher of Blaviken like it was something to be proud of. A surge of frustration had overtaken Geralt, and he’d turned toward Jaskier.

“Come here,” he’d said. The boy had trotted eagerly up to him. Geralt had given him a taste of what the Path had in store for such innocence, slamming a fist into his stomach just hard enough to drop him.

To Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier had bounced back up as if nothing untoward had happened, like he got punched in the stomach all the time. Perhaps he did, at that. Bemused, Geralt had given a mental shrug and let him be. If the young idiot was willing to take a beating in the pursuit of inspiration, who was Geralt to stop him?

The intervening years hadn’t changed the bard much. He was a man now, yes. Stronger. Wiser to the ways of the Path. He was just as full of enthusiasm as he’d been that first year though, when he was a skinny boy prancing up the road after Roach. Little could dampen the bard’s spirits, and his good humor was matched only by his gift for tall tales.

Geralt discovered that Jaskier was a constant fount of sound. Crooning melodies to his notebook next to a banked fire, shivering and wrapped in a stinking woolen blanket. Voice bouncing back from the walls of canyons or hushed by moss in deep forests. Always moving, always talking, like a brook babbling over stones. When he wasn’t chattering, he was grizzling, and when he wasn’t grizzling, he was singing. Even his sweetest melody he gave freely of, to himself and others.

The first time Geralt heard the bardling’s soul song, they’d only been traveling together for a few days. Jaskier had injured himself sharpening a pen nib. There was a spat curse, a sudden bright scent of blood, and by the time Geralt looked up from the herbs he was preparing the bard’s knife had clattered to the ground. He’d hunched around his hand, squeezing it and gasping with shock and pain.

Geralt had tensed to rise, but quick as a breath, the young human had begun to hum. The sound was frantic at first, quickened and muddled by the pain. But then his eyelashes had fluttered against his cheeks and a true note thrummed in the air, bright and golden. Yellow as new leaves in sunshine, fresh and ancient as the damp breath of forest stones, the song had woven its way through the clearing.

The notes had thrummed in Geralt’s breastbone, tingled in his fingertips and the tip of his sensitive nose. He’d felt like the whole clearing had rung for one brief, shining moment, the sunlight sweetening through the shivering branches above him until it felt like his heart might break with the beauty of it. Then, like a soap bubble breaking, the moment had passed. Jaskier had straightened and smiled apologetically at him, still squeezing his hand.

Wordlessly Geralt had turned away and pulled a cloth and styptic tincture from his bag. Kneeling before him, he had pried the silly boy’s hands apart and pressed the cloth to the gash in his thumb. His gentle hands provided firm pressure to staunch the bleeding. As he sat there with his body ringing like a bell he privately marveled at the beauty of the bard’s soul song. Geralt had never heard a one before, not up close. People feared him, shunned him. It wasn’t an intimacy meant for Witchers.

Perhaps, then, it explained why he didn’t realize why Jaskier’s song pulled at his heart so. After a lifetime of being told Witchers weren’t meant for music, of course the first soul song he’d heard up close would set a yearning under his skin. It gave him a longing to hear more, hear it again, hear it forever.

Wasn’t everyone’s melody like that? He had no way of telling.

As they traveled together, Geralt learned that the bard’s soul music spilled from him at the least provocation, like an over-full cup being jostled. Jaskier sang to his abraded heels at night after a long day of walking, and to Roach in the early morning when he thought Geralt was too far away gathering herbs to hear. He sang to lovers behind closed doors, and sometimes their voices raised in gasping harmony with his own, music melding as bodies twined between the sheets.

Geralt was silent.

Witchers do not sing.

Perhaps they enjoyed melodies, though. The bard's notes eased into campfire nights and embellished dew-covered mornings like jewels. They embellished the sounds of whetstone and steel, leather, thread, and awl. As Geralt groomed Roach, Jaskier's music twined with the whisper of the brush. It became so much a part of his world that Geralt began to miss it when he and the bard parted ways.

They parted ways frequently.

Jaskier lingered with wealthy patrons, drawn to luxuries found rarely on the Path. Geralt pursued contracts in unpleasant places, too dangerous for even his foolhardy bard to follow. Their lives twined across the Continent, poorer for each parting, richer for each reunion.

The first time Jaskier left the silence came as a relief to Geralt. He’d rested easier knowing that there was only him and Roach to guard, no prattling human to protect from monsters and bandits. Before long, though, he’d found himself missing the soft sounds of finger and quill on parchment, the scrape of the bard’s razor on his chin in the morning, and, though he would never admit it, the neverending music. It pulled at something in his soul, woke a soft secret that he hardly dared ponder.

The first time Jaskier returned to Geralt, he'd shown up at the promised crossroad. He’d had his lute on his back and a smile on his face. When Geralt had ridden into town as agreed, Jaskier had greeted him with joy, throwing his arms wide. Then the colorful bard had fallen into step beside Roach, filling the air with his prattling and singing as if he’d never been gone.

Just like that, the music was back. It was as incomprehensible as the seasons and tides to Geralt, and just as impossible to control.

Sometimes Geralt wondered what it was like to sing, to be the instrument and the player all at once. He watched the bard do it with such ease that it made him ache. Music poured from Jaskier fearlessly. When Geralt told him that he made it sound easy, the bard had laughed.

It was the first time Jaskier had talked about his childhood. He’d told Geralt about the long hours of practice, honing his skill as surely and rigorously as the boys of Kaer Morhen had honed their bodies and minds. Golden songbirds don’t eat if they don’t sing sweetly.

Geralt had paused in his work, leather awl in hand. He’d eyed Jaskier in the flickering firelight for a moment. Then he’d quietly told him that wolf pups who don’t fight, starve.

It was the beginning of an understanding between them. Perhaps, the Witcher mused, they weren’t so different after all.

After that, Geralt began to see the discipline and skill behind the bard’s frivolous facade. Jaskier worked as just hard as Geralt, ever laboring to keep his voice, his mind, his fingers limber. The quills in his pack were always sharp, his lute well-tuned, his clothing impeccable. They were just as precious to Jaskier as Geralt’s blades were, and as well-cared-for.

Jaskier, in his turn, saw the soulful man hidden behind Geralt's layers of training, the years of discipline that wrapped him in silence. What others mistook for soullessness was a work of artifice, carefully concealing the thrumming music that still lived inside of him. Geralt himself was a melody, though few but the bard saw it. He moved through the world with grace, ferocity, and intelligence. It made Jaskier want to sing his heart out, and he did.

He did.

The bard sang to taverns and courts, to traveling families huddled in the forest for a night of rest, to kings and stableboys and Melitele’s women. He sang in high places and low, for pay, for free, to anyone who would listen. He sang of a man, a Witcher, a beautiful Wolf who stalked in the dark places and protected good people from monsters. Won’t you be good to him? Jaskier sang. Won’t you love him as much as I do?

Over the years of their travel, Geralt’s reputation changed. In more and more places he was greeted as the White Wolf, hero and friend of humanity. The songs the bard sang might be mostly puffery, but there was a grain of truth in each of them, and a hint of the bard's soul music rang as he performed them. Though he didn’t discuss it, Geralt could hear the sweetness of the bard’s longing hanging between the notes. Sometimes he wondered… why? But he never asked. No good could come of the answer. Just as Witchers were not made for song, they were not made for love.

Jaskier either didn’t know this or didn’t care. He doted on his Witcher. He followed him from one place to another, as loyal as the day is long. When Geralt hungered because people were stingy and cruel, Jaskier shared food with him. When he ached, the bard’s clever hands soothed the pain from his body. And when melancholy struck him, he was always there with a kind word. Jaskier insisted on indulgences that the Witcher felt he didn’t need and didn’t deserve.

Through it all, the bard showered him with unaccustomed praise. He held his sweetest song in reserve, though. If Jaskier started singing to his beautiful Witcher, would he ever be able to stop?

For once, he was silent.

Silent, that is, until death’s wings brushed too close.

Jaskier knelt over the Witcher as he lay injured in a hidden forest hollow. He watched with terrible fear as Geralt slipped from true sleep into something shallow and pale. His body cooled and his breath became a thin whisper, barely stirring his massive chest. Jaskier murmured unhappily, stroking his face, his chest, his hands. When he didn’t stir, the bard gathered Geralt’s big head into his lap and held him close. He sang every song he knew trying to bring comfort, although to who, he wasn’t sure.

Then he ran out of songs. Geralt was heavy in his arms, heartbeat fading as his body labored. A moan of dread escaped Jaskier, a terrible sorrow rising. The Witcher always said his death would be small and stupid, some lonely place far from help. Jaskier clenched his jaw, swallowing around a rising lump in his throat. He felt silly and helpless. Just a bard with no healer’s skill, watching as the man he loved slipped away. There was only one thing left, one small solace that he could share with his dearest love.

Softly, he began to sing.

Sweet notes dripped from his lips, golden as sunlight, a tune as familiar and intimate as the whorls on his fingertips. They rained down on the Witcher, twisting through the dank air and filling it with sweetness. Jaskier poured all of his love into every note. With each breath, he prayed that the small magic of his soul would reach his beloved. That Geralt would know there was one person who would sing even into the deepest night on his behalf.

The music sank into Geralt, enfolding him in the sweet melody of the bard’s soul. Somewhere deep in the darkness of his mind, he turned towards the sound and his heart knew solace. He had traveled this terrible road many times, skirting the black borders of death for patient hours as his mutated body healed, always in silence. Lonely silence. This time though, a piercingly familiar sound accompanied him. It weaved in between his labored breaths and the faltering boom of his heart, carrying with it a powerful love. You are known, it seemed to say without words. You are cherished. Most exquisite of beings, I am with you.

Time passed, and he realized the sound was a voice.

Yellow and green and gold, sweet and new and ancient.

Jaskier.

The light swept buttery fingers of warmth through the enfolding darkness. Along with the light came scent. Musk and clove, ink and dye, honey and wax. Smoldering coals and salve, stinking wound- for the first time that day, Geralt opened his eyes fully. He took in Jaskier, singing above him. Jaskier stopped when he saw Geralt and he lit up, tear-streaked face suffusing with joy.

Geralt smiled.

Heart leaping into his throat, Jaskier tenderly stroked milk-white hair away from the Witcher’s face. Geralt turned into his hand, sighing softly as his eyes drifted half-shut again.

“Sing?” he rumbled.

“Always,” the bard replied, his voice catching. He cleared his throat, then began his truest melody again. The golden notes drifted down around Geralt in the half-light, and Geralt followed them down into true sleep at last. Cradled in a gentle bath of sound, he rested. He healed.

When he woke again, a soft feeling stirred inside of him as he looked to the bard curled sleeping nearby. No one had ever sung their song for him before. He had never been cradled through the long night and bathed in the solace of another person’s melody. No one had ever loved him enough to entrust him with such a delicate and precious thing.

A stirring, needling feeling in his throat made him cough. Perturbed, Geralt turned away. He rose to clean and bandage his wounds, then attended to the small duties of camp. When he returned to Jaskier’s side, he wordlessly dragged his bedroll close and arranged himself alongside Jaskier’s sleeping back. With a sigh, Geralt curled so that he could nose into the softness of the bard’s brown hair.

The morning sun found them still furled together like petals in a flower bud. Dawn brought with it warmth, sore hearts thawing as the light revealed entwined fingers and tangled legs, still held close after the long night. They laid together until the sun was high and hot, watching the leaves shivering on the branches above. Even after their tangled bodies unfurled, the silence between them was as sweet as honey.

After that, the bard began to bring the Witcher gifts. Jaskier plied him with treats from patisseries, sweet-smelling salves, and rare ales. Even the simplest things that sparked the bard’s joy were pressed into Geralt’s hands: a stone, a leaf, a particularly lovely feather. Each was another note in a love song that Geralt could finally hear the melody of. Now that he could hear it, he realized that the bard had been singing it from the day they’d met. It warmed him in ways he couldn’t put words to.

Their nights were different, as well. Where they used to lay their bedrolls on opposite sides of the fire, now they were side by side. When the inn had only one bed, there was no longer an awkward gap between them. They furled together sweetly, basking in the tender new warmth between them.

Soon, the Witcher began to bring the bard began gifts as well. Beautiful flowers to brighten his days and savory herbs to flavor his meals at night. Soft pelts the bard took to the tailor. Rare dyes and their mordants went to the cloth-maker. Soon Jaskier was clothed very finely indeed, and Geralt smiled secretly to see him preen and strut. The bard was beautiful in his joy, and the Witcher finally had eyes to see it.

Geralt didn’t understand why the bard loved him so. He was a mutant with no song, ugly and scarred by his work. But night by night, song by song, he came to know that Jaskier loved him in all of his seasons. Fine moods or foul, injured or hale, he was always at Geralt’s side. And night by night, breath by breath, Geralt came to trust that he loved Jaskier, too.

With the love came longing, a rare heat kindled under his skin. Jaskier’s pheromones took on a new meaning, becoming sweet and potent to Geralt in a way he rarely experienced. He began to wake in the mornings hungry to scent his beloved, his body warm and heavy with a curious delight.

The bard, long accustomed to quiet wakings with his reserved Witcher, enjoyed the change. Gentle teeth grazed the back of his neck and a warm nose pressed into the soft place behind his ear, tickling as it stirred his hair. Rumbling hums of sleepy pleasure became part of their dawn song as the Witcher explored his scent, nibbling at his neck like a delicacy, hungry for Jaskier but not yet ready for more.

Jaskier’s hums of enjoyment joined with Geralt’s, patient, lazy, and sweet. He knew that the big Wolf took lovers only rarely, preferring a quiet moment alone in the forest or a quick sojourn to a brothel to satisfy his momentary hungers. He had accepted long ago that his desire for Geralt might never be returned and cherished these moments for what they were: trust, intimacy, love. The bard purred and sighed in the grey hours before true light, savoring the gift of his Witcher just as he was. Perfect.

The patience was a balm to Geralt, soothing his sorely damaged trust. His body remembered hungry hands and angry words, frustration, spite. Jaskier was calm where others had been hasty, holding space for Geralt to sort out exactly what he wanted. His blue eyes were soft when Geralt struggled, and when he needed to stop, Jaskier never became angry or bitter. Curled in his arms in those moments, Geralt scented him. The bard smelled safe, happy, full of love.

Over time, the trust and gentleness worked their way into Geralt’s body. They eased something in his soul, leaving him alive to delight in a way he’d rarely experienced. The dawn song blossomed, over time, into exquisite harmonies of skin against skin. Teeth would sink into the bard’s neck just below his hairline, a soft growl stirring the fine hairs, and the bard would shiver with delight. Big hands would pull at his shirt, his braies, and soon their voices would crescendo into bright cries of pleasure.

Curled around each other in the aftermath, they knew a kind of peace. It was good to share a secret. There was something soft and sweet in the world, and it was theirs and theirs alone. Mingled breaths and tangled bodies became part of the rhythm of their travels, another beautiful thread winding through the song of their lives on the Path.

For a time, things were peaceful. Contracts were paid for more often than not, and patrons turned a favorable ear to Jaskier’s especially vivacious performances. The music of Geralt’s life became kinder than he was used to, softer and sweeter than a Witcher could ever have hoped for.

Of course, it would all end in silence.

The Path was a harsh mistress and she always took her price.

Geralt spat out blood, shivering and snarling as he inched his way across the rocks to where his bag had gotten tossed in the fight. The giant scorpion whose sting had grazed him laid dying behind him, spindly legs kicking the air as nerves fired their final impulses. Geralt’s whole body trembled and seized, muscles going rigid as the potent toxin began to eat into them. He tried to cry out in rage and fear, but to his horror, all that escaped was a rattling wheeze.

As the spasm eased he scrambled the rest of the way to his kit, hands numb and clumsy when he pawed it open. His stomach turned as he heard the sound of broken glass grinding within. The antivenom had been his last insurance should the creatures turn out to be too fast, or too numerous. They had turned out to be both. Now, as his shaking hand withdrew from the bag, he could see that one bottle was mostly intact, its foul liquid leaking from a hairline crack. With the last of his strength, he unstoppered the bottle and downed its contents. Would it be enough to save him? There was no way to tell.

There was barely enough strength in his throat left to swallow. The antivenom burned in his stomach and leaked hot-and-cold tendrils into his big body as his muscles spasmed and froze. Even if he survived long enough to metabolize the venom paralyzing him, something was bound to scent blood and ichor long before he was able to defend himself. For the first time in as long as Geralt could remember, terror set in.

Light leached from the stones around him, becoming cool and blue as late afternoon heat turned to early evening chill. Paralysis ate its way inwards, freezing first his limbs, then his core. As the light fell away from the mountainside even his diaphragm and lungs became sluggish and numb. His world narrowed. It had been rich with sound, scent, and vibration, but now that all faded to cold emptiness. Eyes useless, ears useless, everything useless. All he could hear beyond the occasional beat of his heart was the thin wheeze of air in his sluggish lungs. The only thing he could feel was the slow crushing sensation as each breath became harder to draw.

Air. Sound. The wind of life, breathing through all things. Dwindling, dwindling, to silence.

Silence.

It had been so many years since he’d walked the outskirts of death alone. Geralt had come to rely on the frantic scramble of Jaskier’s feet, on his kind hands and his knowledge of his potions. He relied on the green and gold light of his music to lead him home, back to the safety of his mortal form, back to his beloved. Geralt’s heart ached as he realized that he might not be able to feel it if Jaskier came, that he might die well and truly alone.

The cold emptiness pressed around him, closer and closer with each passing minute. It reminded him of being a boy on his first day of the Trials. He remembered shivering inside of a barrel, cramped, the only sound his breath as he pressed his face against the hole in the wood that allowed him air. Water lapped at his ears. To become a Witcher, the first thing he must sacrifice was his song. Like the other boys, he had been dosed with powerful alchemical potions before climbing in. He remembered watching the lid coming down over his head. Then, the sound of footsteps walking away. They wouldn’t return until the singing had well and truly stopped… one way or another.

The potions caused terrible fears to arise, even as they made his muscles ache and his insides churn. He supposed that the boys who thrashed drowned. The boys who despaired, drowned. The boys who couldn’t stop singing… in the end, they drowned too, too exhausted to hold their heads above the water.

Even Geralt had cried his sweetest song for long shivering hours, unable to stop himself. But at last, he’d fallen silent.

All that was left was the breath, curling in his ears, puffing in his face, a tiny wind.

If he started singing again, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He’d known he would die.

So he’d held his breath.

Sliding under the water, he’d felt it pressing down on him, crushing him as he’d fought the urge to sing with every ounce of his being. Fear had risen all around him until he’d nearly vanished within it. His chest and throat had fluttered against the water, spasming and gulping as he’d gripped the song between his teeth. He’d held onto it until spots began to dance in front of his eyes, his whole body trembling with agony and fear.

At last, the song had died. He had not.

The memory of that airless silence reminded him of the awful nothing he heard now, stuttering breath halting for too long, too long-!

Terror seized his lungs, trying to force him to breathe, and for a moment he couldn’t remember if he was the child in the barrel or the warrior on the mountain. Within his mind he thrashed for air, the song gripped so tightly between his teeth he was sure he could hear them cracking. If he let it go, he’d die. If he kept it, he’d die. Which one was it?

The lines began to blur until all he could remember was the burning urge to live, to live, stronger now than ever before as his soul melody curled between his gritted teeth. He was the warrior on the mountain and he was no longer alone. Jaskier’s song rose in his mind to greet him, conjuring memories of soft fingers and honey and cloves, sweet music transmuting loneliness to love. If there was one last thing he could do, even here alone on the mountain, it was this:

He could let his soul song rise into the night air with the last of his breath, a blessing and a celebration of a life shared in love.

Geralt could not feel the fumbling hands on his face as he began to sing, couldn’t feel the bottle being pressed to his lips as the last of his air left him. His song ebbed for a moment as he choked, then rose up as his massive chest heaved a life-giving breath. Freed at last, his soul melody twined up into the cold air with the rising mist leaving his lips.

Unheeded tears dappled Geralt’s shirt and face as he heaved and sputtered unintelligibly. Clever fingers massaged his numbed throat, helping him swallow. Jaskier cursed and prayed and muttered at the gods, easing the antivenom down Geralt’s throat drop by drop. As the bottle emptied the slow movement of Geralt’s chest quickened. The choking, rumbling noise that Geralt had been making unfolded, at last, into whispered music.

Grey and gold, silver and white, the song rang amongst the mountain rocks like it was a part of them. At first, Jaskier couldn’t be sure what he was hearing. Then Geralt gasped in another blessed breath and sang out again, louder and surer this time. The bard could hardly believe his ears. He felt the vibrations in his breastbone, in his lips, felt an upwelling from deep in his soul that he couldn’t have denied even if he’d wanted to.

Jaskier began to sing. His soul music spilled forth from him with delicate force, rising to meet Geralt’s. There was a shivering quality to the songs as they danced their first steps in the cold night air, rippling the world around them. Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s stiff hands, cradling them and watching with wonder as the notes began to spark and shine with visible light. They danced around him like little stars, drifting from their lips and kissing everything they touched with blazing beauty. He tried to stop and gasp with wonder and discovered that he couldn’t. The song was moving through him like a living thing, like it was singing him and not the other way around.

The song pouring out of Geralt was strong and quiet, as gentle and full of hidden depths as the man who sang it. Jaskier’s melody wove and danced until it settled, suddenly, into bright harmony with the low rumble of his Witcher’s voice. The air around them was wreathed in coruscating shimmers as the breath of Creation spiraled through them, filling them with an indescribable warmth and peace.

Geralt opened his eyes to see the brilliance above him, forming a nimbus around Jaskier’s tear-streaked face. The bard’s eyes were wide with wonder, and he gripped at Geralt’s hands as if he were afraid he was going to be swept away in the shining tide. Geralt felt his heart stutter in his chest as he took in the sight, utterly overcome by the beauty. .

Delicious sensation began to spread from his fingertips and toes inward, a glow that was far gentler than the wracking pins and needles he’d been bracing for. His hands thawed, his arms, his legs, until he was finally able to heave himself upright with the help of his stunned bard. Facing one another with awe in their eyes they sang light into the world, into each other, into themselves. Their fingers entwined as unconsciously and perfectly as their melodies had as they looked into one another’s eyes, tiny drifting stars marking every breath. And for the first time, they knew the words to their song as surely as they knew the sound of their own heartbeats.

Home is a word I’d never known

Paths of stone,

Hard stone, cold stone

Time unrolling,

All alone, so alone

Travel weary

To the bone, the bone

Where are you, my love?

At my side all along

The longest road is the road home

To you, to you, to you

As the last of the words left their lips, the light faded. The warm wind curling around them vanished softly as a lover’s kiss, leaving a hush in its wake. They fell silent, their lips tingling with the primal magic of their soul melodies. Geralt ran his eyes over his beloved, taking in every detail of him as if for the first time.

That was how he noticed the words. Jaskier was kneeling over him, shirt unbuttoned even in the cold of the night. Geralt reached out and brushed it open, his eyes widening as the words he’d just sung appeared, one by one, on the skin of Jaskier’s chest. He frantically pulled his shirt the rest of the way open, ripping at it in his haste. Both of them watched in awe as they wound along the wing of Jaskier’s collarbone and down around his arm like a snake around a branch.

Jaskier goggled for a moment before he realized what had happened… and what it meant. Then he exploded into joyous motion. He began pulling at Geralt’s armor in a flurry of excitement, tugging and prying until he could finally see his lover’s pale chest.

There, twined in a spiral around Geralt’s heart, was the same song.

Jaskier started smiling first, but Geralt was the one who beamed like the sun breaking through the clouds. He reached out to his beloved bard, drawing him in for a kiss. It was one of the finest kisses that the Continent had ever paid witness to, the purest, the most passionate. The mountain rocks hummed with the memory of it long after they had picked their way down to the valley, ringing with the sound of their music.

A Witcher and his bard, together in harmony at last.

Then, they met a sorceress.

Sorceresses don’t sing.

But one Witcher does…

And so does his bard.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #thewitchersecretsanta

44 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

Text

blurred lines | dave hodgman

word count; 9237

summary; a few miscommunications almost ruin something that could be phenomenal.

notes; I had this idea, and I really liked it, so i just rolled with it. this is the dave insert for my birthday week celebration/7k follower milestone.

warnings; smut, public sex, car sex.

There weren’t many people that were more popular than Jane and her group of friends. They were like high school elites, and yet there was always that even more exclusive tier, those who were for all intents and purposes, teen royalty.

As he was saying, there weren’t many people more popular than the likes of Jane, Stanwyck and Brianna. However, Dave could without a doubt say that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was.

She had more likes on just one of her Instagram posts than that of all of Dave’s posts combined. If he added the combined sum of Big C’s and Simon’s, they’d probably still fall short, even collectively. There wasn’t a student or teacher that disliked her. She was well known not only in his own school, but in others too. Even Aubrey knew of her and liked her, and that was saying something, because Aubrey had a twisted sense of importance and political standing in every view of it.

That was why Dave couldn’t quite understand exactly how he’d gotten himself into this position.

Well, that’s a lie. He knew exactly how he got himself into this dreadfully embarrassing position, that would likely ruin not only the remaining months of his senior social life, but was so colossal that it may well actually follow him to college, too.

See, it had all started three days ago, a Monday lunch-time just like any other, as he sat pouting into his basket of curly fries as Simon once again scrolled through Aubrey’s latest uploaded pictures on Instagram with her new boyfriend and shaming him in an attempt to feel better. Dave was fine, he’d moved on, truly, but Simon clearly hadn’t, and needed his own closure on the situation.

It soon followed with “so David, which of all the lovely ladies in this school are you going to take to the dance, because you have two tickets, a dashing suit, and I refuse to let you waste them,” which had prompted Dave to snort a laugh, and make a joke about asking the heartbreaker (Y/N) (Y/L/N) dance, since he had nothing else to lose.

Apparently, he’d still had a shred of dignity, which was curling up and dying with every second that passes him by, but back to how this all came to be;

Unfortunately for him, his ‘good friend’ Jane had passed by at exactly that moment, and had been just thrilled at the prospect of him finally asking out the girl he’d “been pining over so long I thought you were going to turn into Ryan Gosling and rebuild he a house out in the country after hanging from a Ferris wheel”, which still left a bitter taste in his mouth, because how had the girl picked up in his pining for you, but never once picked up on the feelings he’d once held for her?

Despite that, a collection of kids Dave wasn’t confident in the names of but often followed Jane around had seated themselves at their table, and Jane - in all her innocence and confusion - was excitedly telling them about how Dave was finally going to ask out his crush.

That was exactly how he found himself here, almost two days later, feeling all pairs the eyes in the more-crowded-than-usual corridors as he leaned against your locker and tried to look as casual as possible as he waited for you, as though it wasn’t scaring him shitless and making him sweat like a sinner in church. He pulled at the collar of his shirt with one finger, trying to distract himself from all the people watching and whispering, waiting to see if Dave Hodgman could, in fact, score (Y/N) (Y/L/N), or if more likely, he was going to be rejected in a pile of flaming shame and the crumbling of what shredded remains he had left of his dignity.

“Hey, Dave.”

He felt like a moron. A moron that had been looking the wrong way down the corridor and now you were standing behind him, leaning back with a small laugh to avoid being hit when he spun around to face you with such speeds that his own head was spinning. “Hey! Hi! Hello!”

He cringed visibly at his ridiculous greeting, the confidence he’d held was slipping from him with every passing second, and you did a better job of avoiding the lingering gazes in the halls than he was, you barely seemed to notice them as you allowed him to step out of the way of your locker so that you could swap out your books, but he supposed you were used to it. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you, there are some rumours flying around.”

He wished he could hate the way you were teasing him, but he couldn't. It was playful, not mocking, and you were offering him such a friendly smile and making him feel comfortable once again, and he just couldn't find it within himself to dislike any part of you. “Yeah, I had a question for you..”

“You had a question for me?”

“I suspect you already know what it is” His shoulders sagged, he felt himself giving up, the stress and pressure were just too much, but he at least wanted to be able to walk away with dignity after his inevitable rejection, he didn’t want to be seen running through the halls in order to escape your soft voice trying to let him down gently.

“Will you say it anyway?”

He fixed you with a studious gaze, unsure as to what your angle was, but gave you a stiff nod anyway, and hooked his thumbs through the straps of his backpack as he stood tall. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the ‘Night In Vegas’ dance with me? As my date. Y’know.. um.. yeah.”

“I’d love to.”

He gaped at you - blinking once, twice, three times - before his face was splitting in a grin, and he cleared his throat. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Woah.” You seemed to find amusement in his reaction, and you pulled his hand up to you and plucked a pen out of your bag, uncapping the lid with your teeth and moving the nib towards his skin, beginning to write down your number. “God, I was so nervous, and now I feel stupid. Nobody thought I would get you, not even me, and all these people are here an-”

“Get me?” Your pen had stilled on his skin, and he looked back at you, shrugging his shoulders as your face seemed to take on a neutral expression, unreadable as you watched him.

“Yeah. You’re like.. really popular, and pretty, and just way out of my league. Nobody really thought you’d go for me because it’s normally the other guys you want. Guess I’m proving everyone wrong.” Your expression flickered with something he couldn’t quite understand, but you were soon offering him a polite smile and finishing your number, dropping his hand again and tucking your pen back into your bag.

You stepped back from him, letting out a small sigh and glancing around everybody that was gathered around you, not-so-subtly listening in on the conversation. “Okay, well, text me. We can sort out details. I have to go, but we’ll chat soon?”

He nodded his head moving before he could control it, and he watched you walk away with a small grin on your lips. “For sure! I’ll text, soon! See you later!”

“See’ya, Dave.”

The weeks between the day he’d asked you and going to the dance had been filled with texts at night and flirty smiles in the corridors, and Dave couldn't be more excited as he pulled on his suit. It was odd, he thought he’d clicked with Aubrey more than he’d ever click with anyone, and yet even from the simple things he’d managed to learn about you during your conversations, he felt more of a bond with you than he ever had with anyone else.

You were like an enigma, you were a little bit confusing and you often ran him in circles, but he liked trying to work you out, as if knowing you was the prize at the end of a challenging puzzle. He told you as much as he could about himself, wanting to share everything he could with you. He had felt awkward and slightly robotic in the way he went about his conversations with you, to begin with, simple texts to ask you how your day was and what you were up to, but soon enough it had resorted to one of you starting a conversation with you about anything. The jokes on the back of biscuit wrappers, something that had happened in his day, movies on the TV or even just to complain.

The two of you would sometimes even be found talking in the corridors, sharing laughs and jokes, and he found himself falling for you a little more with each passing day. He was all but buzzing with both nerves and excitement, brushing his open palms down and over his tux jacket, Stella tugging on his pants as she whined for attention, but he was too nervous and too busy to play barbies with her right now, and she just wanted him to do the deeper voices of the only male one she owned when he made his rare appearance at ‘the dreamhouse’.

A flower in a box sat on the shelf under his mirror, his fingertips still a little sticky with the gel he’d used to style his hair, and so he didn’t want to touch the corsage yet and smear it with the substance. He’d planned or get ready early, his plan to pick you up at eight was not going to be ruined because he lost track of time in the shower and ended up being late. He had one chance, and he didn’t want to fuck it up. Now, though, it seemed he was ready a little too early, because he was stuck with a good thirty-minute wait before the earliest acceptable time to come and get you would roll around, and he had nothing else to fill his time with.

He was dressed, and ready. Clean and freshly styled and just enough of his special occasion aftershave spritzed on his skin to be alluring but no overwhelming.

Okay, maybe he had a little bit of time to play barbie dolls with Stella.

With fingers tapping on the steering wheel, he peered up at the driveway to your house, watching as the clock ticked over onto 7 PM, and he let out the breath he was holding, letting the smile that had been pulling on his features finally come free, as he slipped his phone out of his pocket, a finger under his collar to tug it loose for a second as he pulled up the string of messages the two of you had been exchanging.

hey cutie. i’m outside.

The little speech bubble at the bottom of the screen danced for a few minutes, the nail of his thumb caught between his teeth as he waited for you to respond, but soon it just disappeared. He waited, and waited, and soon five minutes had passed and he was beginning to worry for what was happening, the thoughts that this all may just be an elaborate joke was slipping into his mind when your front door opened, closing only a second later as you came walking down the driveway with a smile on your face.

He hurried from his seat, rushing up to meet you with the corsage in his hands, and you paused upon seeing it, before your eyes were finding his, wide and wondering as you closed the gap between you until you were standing right in front of him.

“Is that for me?”

“Yeah! Yeah.. you said you were wearing a gold dress, and I couldn't find a gold flower, so I got a white one, but it does have a cute little tassel on it that matches the fringe-tassel thing you have going on and-” He cut himself off with a series of stutters and breath sighs when you kissed his cheek, your thumb coming up a second later to clear away the red lipstick print you’d left on his skin from the freshly applied coat that was still a little wet. “I could have come up and met you, at the door. Do you want me to meet your parents, o-”

“It’s good, Dave, really. Let’s just go have fun, okay?”

He swallowed, glancing between your gaze and the front door, before giving it up and nodding, cracking the box open to present you with the flower to put on your wrist. “Sure, I can’t wait.”

He held the door for you, held your hand as you stepped into the car, and made sure you were settled before he got in on his own side. He was determined to be the perfect gentleman. This was his one shot to prove to you how good the two of you could be together, and he wasn’t willing to mess it up. When he got into his own seat and clipped his safety belt in, you were fiddling with the dials on the dashboard and tinkering with the radio channels, switching over to the CD he had in, and his cheeks flared a little as you looked over the back of the CD case at the songs. “You mind if I pick the music?”

“Knock yourself out, babe, whatever you want.”

You nodded offering him a wide grin as he set the car off into motion, and he peeled away from the sidewalk outside your house to head toward the school. It was a short drive, but he couldn’t help but notice every little thing you did that only made you seem more like a regular person to him, and not like someone who was miles and miles out of his league, it made him feel calmer, like this wasn’t all just some big and elaborate prank that was the punchline of, but instead like he was here with a pretty date to have a great evening.

Your fingers tapped along on your leg in time with the tune, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you, and before he knew it, he was pulling up in the back of the somewhat crowded parking lot, trying to find a space that wasn’t too close to the crowds gathering around the doors, and you were brushing your dress down and stepping out the car, grinning as you looked between him and doors.

Shooting a quick text to Simon and Big-C to let them know that he was here, he tucked the device into his pocket, offering his arm to you and grinning when you accepted it. His friends met the pair of you at the door, and this was the nervous moment he’d been waiting for.

Simon was quiet for all of two seconds, before he was smirking widely and holding his hand out to introduce himself, the slew of comments neither of you would be able to avoid all night beginning to pour from him without hesitation; “Simon Daldry. You look absolutely ravishing tonight, far better than Aubrey ever did, you really traded up, Davie-boy.”

“Don’t call me that, and don’t talk about Aubrey.”

“No, Davie-boy, do spill. Who’s Aubrey?” You turned to him, a teasing look on your face and he sighed, raising his eyebrows at him, his eyes flicking down to your hands when he felt your fingers slide down his arm and lace with his, squeezing encouragingly. You were telling him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to share if he didn’t want to, but you were staring at him intently and still giving him that look that was giving him the confidence to be by your side all night, and so he caved.

Instead of voicing his history himself, though, he turned to give Simon a pointed look, and Big-C clapped him on the shoulder as the shortest boy all but vibrated with glee at the chance to tell you the story.

“Aubrey is our dear boy’s ex-girlfriend. She wasn’t very nice, we didn’t like her very much.” Dave dropped his head back with a groan as his friend took the chance to throw some insults into the conversation and he squeezed his hand around ours to draw back your attention, cutting Simon off as the boy took a breath to start off on yet another rant;

‘How about we go and get our picture taken, yeah? I’ve seen some of the photos on Snapchat already, and they're pretty good. They really went all out; neon signs, props like the strip attractions, there’s even a red carpet.”

“A red carpet? Well, how could we resist?”

He guided you along, your heels carrying you at closer to his height and your strides wider as you expertly balanced in the shoes, thanking him when he held the door open, your jaw dropping form the second you stepped inside with the small group. The bass was beating through the floors and the music was loud, even from the main entrance, the hall holding the dance still a small walk away, and anticipation filled his body.

He may or may not be a sucker for school dances.

The room was decorated with dice, cards, flashing banners and shiny decorations with bright lights. Black, red and white hung from all of the walls, and everything screamed Sin City extravagance, but had been toned down to high school appropriate. The usual red solo cups that were always brought in for the punch and drinks had been swapped out for plastic champagne and martini glasses, which definitely looked funny being filled with the non-alcoholic and red fruit-punch, but it was a fun thought nonetheless, and he was impressed by how quickly it had all come together, being that none of it had been up when they’d been ins school earlier that day.

The flashes of the camera set up in the corner snapped him out from his wonder, and he looked over to find you in much the same way, and he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as you looked around. “Wanna’ take pictures?”

You nodded vehemently, the two of you making your way over to the setup, and bursting out with laughter at what you saw. Big-C was accompanying Simon, who had clearly manoeuvred him into a slightly less than formal dance photo pose. The pair of them were recreating the famous Titanic pose, the one of Jack and Rose at the front of the ship as she insisted that she was flying, and neither of you could contain your laughter as you watched on.

“Simon looks like he’s having the time of your life, but your other friend looks like he’d rather actually be on the ship as it sank.”

“Simon is insane, and I’m really not sure how Big-C put’s up with him.” He shrugged, allowing you to drag him into the queue for photos taken, the words you were running a mile a minute about different poses you could do were going in one ear and out of the other, because he didn’t care what pose you dragged him into, however formal or informal, because he was shocked by how seamlessly you were fitting into his friendship group, and how his friends had known you for less than ten minutes but already seemed to like you ten times more than they ever did his ex.

By the time your turn to take photos had come around, he hadn't heard a single one of your ideas for pictures to take, and simply let himself be guided by the photographer. He found himself standing behind you, hands sitting on your stomach as his arms wrapped around your waist, your own fingers lacing through his own. The first one was a formal shot, the sort of one his mother would have taken of the two of you had she met you, and he knew she’d love it when he presented it to her. In fact, she might actually frame it. He did look good tonight.

The second was a little more playful, his head was tipped up and chin balanced on the top of your head as he beamed at the camera, holding you a little tighter and pinching at your side, prompting your face to screw up and a laugh to bubble up from you as he did, and the final one featured him leaning around you, the tip of his nose brushing your skin as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. It was more you than him, his face was mostly obscured by his position and all that could be seen was his arms, legs and the top of his head, but he knew it would be his favourite simply based on the was your cheeks had been tinted red and your eyes glistening when he looked at you after hearing the ‘click’ of the camera taking the photo.

“They’re going to be cute photos.”

The pair of you were hurried off of the platform, and took your hand in his once again, the four of you walking along the halls, following the music as it got louder and louder, and he twisted his head to face you, a smirk on his lips and his eyes dragging along you, head to toe. “That’s because there’s a cute girl in them.”

“Dave, that was shocking. Appalling, actually. How the fuck did you get someone as out of you league as her to go out with you when you have lines like that?”

He felt his face blank into boredom as he looked over at Simon, but you simply laughed, pulling him through the open doors and telling him not to mind it, because you thought it was sweet, and your reassurance was enough to give him confidence on his statement one again. Bodies filled the room, some on the dance floor, some milling around the food tables, others sitting at tables and filling the seats.

Lifting your joined hands up, he spun you in a twirl, a surprised sound leaving you before you were giggling, his brows wiggling suggestively as he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “Let’s start with a dance, yeah?”

You had danced, the two of you swirling around on the dance floor until your legs were aching and you were gasping for a drink. Some songs were upbeat, and these were the songs that the two of you busted out your best moves for, limbs flying in all directions as you cracked up with laughter upon watching the other move, and your hair flew around, pink coating both of your cheeks as the blood rushed underneath, heat flashing around you until you were slumped against one another and holding yourselves up, using your intertwined body for support as you gasped for breath and tried to calm your hearts as tears pushed at your eyes from laughing so much.

Then there were the slower songs, your cheek pressed to his shoulder, or your temple resting just below his as you leaned into him. His arms were around your waist, or his hands in yours, and your own fingers were looped around his shoulders, fingers in the shorter hair at the base of his neck and your nails scratching at the skin softly, lulling him into a feeling of peace so serene that his eyes were fluttering shut, his breathing levelling out, and he realised he could definitely get used to it. He liked being able to hold you so close, and being able to feel you pressed up to his chest, your lips almost brushing on the times you'd look up to talk to him and let your forehead press to his own as you mumbled quiet words of calm chatter between you both.

There were also the more sensual songs, the ones that had too much bass and sliding notes to be a slow song, and it was with those songs that Dave found himself suffering the most, his eyes closing and jaw dropping open, hands gripping your body tightly. Your body would roll into his, your ass pressed to him when you turned in his arms and your body swaying with his own, never stopping him when he dragged his hands over your body, never too much for the public eye but more than enough to get the two of you worked up, and you never flinched away when he began to pepper the bare skin of your shoulder with light kisses and the occasional flick of his tongue against your skin.

By the time the two of you had collapsed in your seats, you had thanked him with a kiss on his cheek when he brought you punch, and you’d pulled your chair up so close to his that your thighs were pressed together, your body facing his and elbow sitting on the back of his chair, fingers once again in his hair and playing with that sweet pattern that made his whole body sag with relaxation.

He’d leaned into you, barely getting a chance to enjoy the feeling of the quiet and intimate moment, the two of you feeling more like a couple than he had ever felt when he was with Aubrey. You simply enjoyed his presence, and you made him feel calm. He wasn’t nervous and sweaty and on edge when he was with you, the way she had made him feel was so entirely different that he couldn't even compare the two of you, because you were unique, nothing like anyone he’d ever met before.

Simon had soon interrupted you both, a deck of cards in his hands as he insisted that you played him in poker, and he pressed a kiss to the palm of your hand as you turned away to face him as he dealt up. The two of you were teamed up, and you had ended up in his lap, balanced across one of his legs as his chin popped on your shoulder, arms tightly around your waist to hold your back to his chest as you held the cards.

Not only had you won the game, but you’d done the whole thing while never once caving to Simon’s trash talk, meeting him with it and raising the stakes until him and Big-C were simply watching on as the two of you playfully slated one another, goading the other to break their poker face as you played, and Simon had even offered you a shake of his hand upon winning, and it was the most sportsmanly thing he’d ever seen his friend do. He was normally such a sore loser, but maybe that’s just because it was you that he’d lost to.

The feeling that he was waiting for the ball to drop, that there was something coming around the corner or a big joke waiting to be unveiled was gone, because you were so clearly enjoying yourself that it wasn’t possible to be able to fake that kind of joy. He was having one of the nights of his life, the flickering of the lights, the beat of the music in the floor, the taste of the fruit-punch hanging on his lips and the feel of you in his arms. You had managed to convince him into taking pictures, the two of you wandering around the room to take selfies with all the fun props and displays, wanting to truly capture the Vegas theme in all its flashy entirety.

His favourite one had to be the picture of you posing under a replication of the famous sign. ‘Welcome to the Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada’ was sparkling above your head as you looked up at it, your hands held out on either side in a way that made it look like you were holding up the sign, in the same way that tourists took pictures that made it look like they were leaning on the Eiffel Tower or holding up the tower of Pisa. It was cheesy, and he loved it, because you were so carefree and happy in the shot.

Being with you made his social anxiety melt away, your own carefree attitude washed over him and it sunk into him, taking it on himself. The lingering gazes and whispers never bothered him, or made him wonder. He managed to let it all go, because his only focus was you.

As the night went on, the pair of you were getting warmer and warmer, fanning yourselves with your hands as the sweaty bodies in the room rose the heat up, and you had only hesitated for a moment when he offered you a walk outside, sighing with what he assumed to be relief, before nodding and lacing your fingers with his as he guided you back out into the cool night, the sky dark now and the stars twinkling overhead.

There were far fewer people now, a few boys lingering on the other side of the field, clouds of smoke rising up around them with no surprise as to what they were doing, but the car park was empty, and your hands swung between you both as you walked along in comfortable silence around the outskirts of the cars. It was halfway around when he finally pulled you to a stop, pushing down the butterflies that were going wild in his stomach, and raising a hand up to cup your cheek, thumb smoothing over your skin delicately.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You’re absolutely stunning.” his words were breathed out on a sigh, and your lips flicked up at the corners.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Hodgman.” He tilted your chin up a little more, watching the way your eyes darkened, and his jaw dropped when he felt your fingers hook into his belt loops, and tug his body towards your own, hips pressing together. Swallowing thickly, he dragged his eyes back up to yours, taking a quick inhale of breath as his eyes got stuck on the way your plump lower lip was caught between your teeth, seductive in ways he couldn't even fathom. “Are you going to do what you’ve been wanting to do all night, or not?”

“Fuck, yeah, I am.” With that, his mouth was descending onto your own, heavy and wet as his wet lips meshed with your own. He could taste the lipstick you wore, and the slightly sticky fruit punch residue in your mouth, the flavour of which only increased when your lips parted for him and your tongue dipped out to find his own.

It was needy and hot, and raw in a way that made his head spin, and one of his hands came up to lace in your hair as he backed you up into the streetlamp only a few feet away, your back arching into him as your skin met the cold metal, and the sound you made in your shock went straight to his groin. It was sweet and low, a little groan that was crossed with a whimper, and your hips were rolling up into his.

His other hand slipped down and around your waist, past your lower back until he was taking a handful of your ass in his palm, squeezing roughly at the flesh and this time, you both let out moans at the feeling. Your bodies were flush now, the heat from inside was back, like a raging fire between your bodies as you rutted against one another, pulling back for gasping breaths before diving back into one another’s mouths once again. Your lipstick was smeared around your mouth and his own, your hair was messy from the pretty style it had been in at the beginning of the night, and you were a picture-perfect mess, the sort of sight he wanted or wake up to, or fall asleep by after a long night of holding you close to him and showing you how much you meant to him.

It wasn’t love, far from it, but the spark that he thought could turn into so much more had never been brighter, it had never felt this good, and he found himself sinking into your bliss with every rock of your bodies and every drag of your lips over his, every sweet noise to meet his ears or every moan he made that you muffled with your own mouth. It was getting heavy, and you showed no signs of stopping and he didn’t want to, but he also didn’t want to get caught with your legs around his waist as he fucked you against a metal pole, because the way you were now grinding down onto his thigh was very clear, and he was only seconds away from pulling down the spaghetti straps of your dress to see whether or not you actually had a bra on underneath your clothing.

“We should.. um.. move. Car? I think we should go to the car.” He barely managed to get his words out, but you were pushing him away from the post, hands tight in the collar of his suit jacket as you tore your lips from his, looking around for the vehicle, and his mouth descended to your neck, licking and kissing along your skin. You seemed to find it, because only a moment later you were pushing him in that direction, his feet moving underneath him and your hand rifling through his pockets for the keys, before his back was meeting cold metal this time, and he hissed out at the feeling.

He forced himself to remove his hand from your ass, fumbling for the handle when he heard the car sound it’s unlocking, and when he finally managed to wrench it open, he was quickly being pushed into the driver's seat, the keys tossed carelessly onto the dashboard and his hands reaching to push the chair back as far as it could go as your own reached for the lever to flatten the seat back.

Suddenly, he was laying down, the door slamming as you straddled him in the vehicle, hair framing his face as your lips met yours once again, and now he was able to get both hands on your ass, and had his mouth not been so deliciously otherwise occupied, he would have been smirking as he groped at the fleshy mounds in bliss. The windows were fogging up, the tent in his pants pressing to your clit each time he thrust his hips up to meet your movements, and his cock twitching in his pants with every squeaky moan you let out, and every breathy moan of his name that sounded out.

Pulling away for only a second, his lips were still pouted, but his jaw soon dropped open when you pushed away the straps of your dress, the flimsy material falling away to pool at your waist, you breasts on full display to him, bouncing as you rocked down into him, and nipples perky and pointed out for him, skin showing a thin layer of goosebumps with your arousal showing clearly.

His question had been answered; you were not wearing a bra. He fucking knew it.

Dragging his palms up and over your smooth skin, he cupped your tits in his hands, the rough pads of his thumbs teasing over your nipples, and an entirely new sound left you, one that had his gut twisting with desire, and a primal urge raring up within him. You pushed your chest up into his hands, your head falling back and your own hands finding his wrists, holding his touch on your body as you rode yourself down onto him, the two of you nearing you peaks, even with the layers of clothing between you, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to still your hips atop him.

“Baby, as much as I love what you’re doing, if you keep it up then I’ll cum and the fun will be over.” His voice was hoarse, even to himself, and you took a steady breath of your own, leaning down to place a softer and gentler kiss to his lips, pulling his bottom lip with your teeth when you shifted away from him.

“Better put the condom on and put that cock to use then, huh?”

His eyes widened, spluttering falling from him, before he shut himself up by snapping his jaw shut and nodding quickly, sitting up with you in his lap and searching for his wallet in his jacket pocket. While he was up, he took the opportunity to shove the material down his shoulders, discarding the blazer to the back seat and popping the button on the front of the leather pouch, rifling through and praying against all known gods that he had replaced the condom in his wallet, only barely managing to contain the cheer of joy he wanted to let out when he found it.

The cards and that note were of no concern to him, instead, he was dropping that to focus on the silver packet he was holding in his hands, a low groan slipping from him as he watched your own fingers dip under the black panties he was only now catching sight of, the digits disappearing from his vision. Your head fell forward a split second later, your foreheads pressing together as you whined his name under your breath, fucking yourself down onto your fingers to the thought of him, and he’d never gotten his belt and pants undone faster.

The car was steamy and hot, windows fogged over to block any sights from outside, and now it was just the two of you, in a bubble of your own making as you barrelled quickly towards the very activities that Dave had been dreaming about since he’d first caught sight of you in Freshman year.

Finally dragging his cock free from its confines, he grinned happily to himself, pumping his already hard cock a few times, before using his teeth to help him tear open the wrapper and roll the rubber down over his shaft.

“Holy fuck, you’re amazing. So fucking hot.”

You flashed your teeth at him in a wicked grin, your hand coming over to take control of his, your fingers slick with your own juices, and he hadn't realised just how wet you were, but now as you were pulling your panties to the side and lining him up with your core, he could feel the heat of your entrance as the tip of his covered cock dragged through your folds. He felt as though he was panting like a dog, drooling and clenching his fingers beside his body, before he was lifting them up to sit on your hips, taking control as you erased him by pulling you down in one swift movement.

You sunk all the way along him, both of your eyes rolling in your head and your body shaking above him as he became fully sheathed in your warmth, and he worried that he was gripping you so tightly it may bruise you. His thighs were clenched and his head was pressing back into the cushions of the reclined seat, letting out a shuddering breath as he tried not to explode just from the feeling of being buried in your dripping cunt.

“Oh my God, Dave!”

“I know.” His words were wheezed out, a playful look on your face as the two of you took your second to adjust, but that seemed to shatter as the look you shared darkened, and only a moment later you were rolling your hips down into him. It started out slow, a series of simple and steady movements that were almost mechanic, the rise and fall of your hips as you moved up and down along his cock, slowly as you grew used to the position and the movements you could make within the car.

Once you had grown comfortable, you were spicing up your actions, slamming yourself down onto him with quick and rapid movements, and then slowing it down to tease him, rolling the muscles in your stomach and clenching yourself so tightly around him that he almost choked on his own tongue, his eyes crossing and hips bucking up into you desperately. He couldn't take it, the way you would drag him to the edge only to let him come back down, but he loved it, because you were with him, riding him in his car after having an amazing night, and he couldn't get enough of the way it felt to be completely and utterly surrounded by you.

You were taking over his every sense, everything he has was given over in surrender, because he was barely holding on at all.

Your lips brushed his, and your movements became weaker, less coordinated and more frantic as you chased your own high as well as his. Taking one of his hands in your own shakily, you folded his fingers away until only two remained, and he watched through hooded eyes and you sucked his long fingers into your mouth with swollen lips, warm and wet just like your pussy, your cheeks tightening around his digits as you soaked them with your spit. Your tongue lapped around his fingers, dipping and weaving between the digits and dips with precision that would be haunting his mind and filling his wet dreams for weeks, as well as the permanently burned-in feeling of your warmth around his cock.

Dragging the slick digits down your body, you lifted up the edge of your skirt and pushed the pads of his fingers up to your swollen and neglected clit, and he took the hint, taking control of his limb again and picking up the pace. Pushing down roughly on the button, he traced his name in jerky and needy movements, a possessive act that he took pride in, rubbing his name on the nub and only making it as far as the ‘O’ on his last name before you were exploding around him.

Your eyes were rolling back in your head, nails digging into his chest through the dress shirt covering his chest, and he arched up into the touch, your orgasm spurring on his own. Your mouth pressed to his, lips working slowly and tongue seven slower, simply dragging over the top of one another’s and tangled together in sloppy patterns as you muffled the cried of each other’s names and moaned out curses, prolonging one another’s orgasms until it was all too much to handle.

When you finally peeled yourself off of his cock and collapsed down into the seat beside him, you had a lazy smile on your face, your body slumping into the passenger seat, and he forced his seat back up into a sitting position Peeling the condom off of his cock and tying it off, hiding it in a handful of tissues that were left on his dash, he placed it in the cupholder to dispose of later, and tucked himself back into his pants, his mind still spinning from the events and his thoughts still swimming with only you, in his post-orgasmic bliss.

He undid the tie around his neck, popping a few buttons on his shirt to allow himself to breathe, and once he knew you’d adjusted your dress and cover yourself back up again, he rolled down the windows to air out the heat in the car.

“So, you can just drop me off at home now, then.”

His head whipped around to look at you, only you weren’t looking at him, you were looking at yourself in the mirror and wiping at the lipstick around your mouth, cleaning your skin up and removing any trace of the kisses he’d left on you, and the sight of you doing so made him rub at his own mouth the back of his hand, wiping away the red smudges on his skin. “What are you talking about?”

“Now that we’re done, y’know? You got me, you got your notch on your belt or whatever, and this night really has been an absolute blast, but I would love nothing more than a nice hot bath and some pasta, now.” He was speechless, he really didn’t know what to say, because right now there was a bitter taste taking over his mouth as he thought about the night, storm clouds coming in as your words settled over him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He knew he had all but spat the words at you, and he was angered by the audacity on your face to look shocked by the anger in his tone when you finally let your eyes meet his, a light shrug on your shoulders, before you picked up the keys and handed them to him, and he didn’t even look down at his palm as the cold metal met his skin. “Hey, don’t worry. I wanted to be here, I said yes to the dance and I initiated this. A lot of guys try it, want to sleep with me for the popularity boost or cool guy badge or whatever, and I think it’s dumb but you seemed so sad and nervous in the halls, and I figured, why not? You’re really cute, I like you.”

Rage swelled within him and he felt tears sting at his eyes as he let out a breathless laugh, before starting up the car and shaking his head, peeling out of the parking lot in silence. It wasn’t until the two of you had hit the main roads that he spoke over the dull playing of the radio once again. “What, so I was just a pity-fuck for you? Some kind of project, the whole night was a lie?”

“What? No!” Your hand landed on his bicep, but he shrugged you off, never even looking over at you as he flicked his way through the roads, nearing your house as he drove as quickly as the speed limits would possibly allow him to, not wanting to draw out the journey any longer than it needed to be. “I had fun tonight, I told you that!”

“You had fun on a date that I thought was real, and you thought was just something to fill the time with while you were bored?”

“I never said that!”

“Sure.” He sighed, flicking on his indicators as the two of you entered at the top end of your neighbourhood, and he heard you make a distressed little sound beside him, and even though it made his own body fill with sadness and regret, he was still angry, too angry to even consider letting those secondary emotions take over.

“Why don’t we just talk about this, I think mayb-”

“No. Why don’t we just finish this journey in silence, yeah?” He let his gaze flicker over to you for only a second, before he was looking back at the road, swallowing thickly to push down the way seeing you upset expression had made him feel. You did as he requested, and the rest of the ride was filled with tense and awkward silence, and neither of you spoke again until the car was coming to a halt outside of your house.

This time, he didn’t try to be a gentleman. He didn’t get out of his seat and open the door for you, and the evening routine he’d planned of walking you up to the door and hoping against all odds that maybe you’d kiss him was completely dashed, his newly fog-cleared mind full of regret for how fast things had advanced between the two of you, disappointment filling every nook and pore in his body.

You opened your own door, climbing from the car and walking away, the quiet click of your heels on the tiles was all that was heard, and he watched you go, eyes scanning up over you as you stopped in your place, turning and taking a breath as you prepared yourself to speak, but he cut you off before you got a chance; “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about tonight. Despite the impression you seem to have of me, I just wanted to go to a dance.”

Your face seemed to crumple in on yourself, your arms wrapping around your body, and he squeezed his hands on the steering wheel tighter, resisting the urge to rush from the car and pull you in close to him. “I-I..” Your voice cracked, like you were going to cry, and he felt his resolve crumbling, his fingers reaching for the handle of his door as you continued on, cleaning your throat. “I was just going to say thank you, I had a really great time with you, at the dance.”

He didn’t get a chance to speak, to ask you what had happened or why you’d ever thought of him like that, before you were turning on your heel, a near-run as you carried yourself up the driveway, slipping into your house and slamming the door shut. He didn’t have time to think about it or dwell on the thought because soon he was on the road, completely confused and a little bit heartbroken, and just wanting to curl up in his own bed.

Dave was walking at his locker, swapping out the books for his next class and keeping his head low, ignoring all the congratulatory pats on the back and hoots or hollers he had been receiving. It seemed that being with you had been a real boost for his popularity, because guys that have always believed themselves to be too good to talk to him were now stopping him in the corridors to start up conversations, and girls who had never looked in his direction were now batting their eyelashes and waving their fingers flirtily.

He didn’t care for any of it, but Simon was eating it all up as you went along.

He had barely gotten his fingers out of the way of the door when it slammed shut, his body jumping backwards and eyes widening, before he was turning to look at you, his shoulders slumping even further and he removed his bag from his shoulders, distracting himself with packing his bag, waiting for you to shot, or yell, or publicly tear him down. Whatever it was that you needed.

“You said it wrong. You are terrible with words.”

“Excuse me?” A flicker of anger shot through him, and he zipped up his bag with more force than was needed, swinging it up onto one arm and letting it hang there, wiping a hand over his face to calm his feelings before he turned back to you. “I was never anything but polite to you.”

“I know. But when you first asked me out, you said nobody thought you could ‘get me’. You made me sound like a prize to be won, like a notch on your belt. Do you have any idea how many guys try to ‘get me’ just to prove that they can?”

He shuffled from foot to foot, glancing around at the few pairs of eyes that had landed on you all, before a sigh on his lips helped him from his next words. “I didn’t want that, I never did. I just wanted to go to the dance with you.”

“Do you like me?”

“What?”

“Do you like me? In a real way, not a popularity-boost, make it a game, prove to people who looked down on your way.” You were vulnerable as you looked up at him, eyes wide and expression flickering every so often as you tried to appear strong, and his head tipped to the side before he could stop it, a small smile on his lips as he let his eyes scan over you, before he was looping a couple of his fingers loosely with your own.

“I really do, for a while now, actually.” Heat crawled up his cheeks at the confession, but you were giving him a grin wider than the sun, holding onto his hand a little more tightly, weaving your fingers through his until your palms were pressed tightly to one another.

“Do you want to go on a date, then? A real date. Like, to a restaurant or mini-golf, or something.”

He used his other hands to tuck some loose hair behind your ear, risking taking a step closer to you, until you were forced or look up at him as he stepped into your space, only having to whisper as he spoke to you now, the conversation only for the two of you to hear. “I would love that.”

“Okay. Cool.”

“Cool.” His own smile finally matched your own, feeling his heartbeat steadily in his chest as you seemed to relax before him, your defensive stance slipping away, and for a second, you weren’t the popular girl that had always seemed out of his league and too scary to talk to, but right now you were just the pretty girl that he had a connection with like no other. “Can I kiss you in front of other people?”

“I’d really like it if you did.”

His other hand settled itself over your cheek, pulling your lips up to meet his so that he could press his mouth to yours in a sweet connection. It was nothing like the previous night had been. Last night was rushed and sloppy and just a preemptive action towards what the night had become. There was no ulterior motive or further action to be taken now, though. Instead, it was simply a brush of lips, it was the only thing either of you needed, it was an act of reassurance in order to make sure the spark between you wasn’t being ignored.

Your other hand threaded into his hair, your body pressing to his as you pushed up on your tiptoes, being sure he wasn’t pulling away or moving from you, and he let his arm drop to wrap around your waist to support you, to keep your body pressed flush to his your thumbs played together and smoothed over one another’s knuckles with the hands that were still connected. Your lips teased his, the occasional flick of a tongue through the smiles but never enough to go any further, and you were refusing to pull away, until the burn for oxygen was just too much to ignore.

Your forehead pressed or his, a satisfied and happy noise sounding in the back of your throat as you bumped your nose against his, and he let out a breathless laugh, bumping his nose against yours in return, a grin forming on your lips at the gesture. When you finally sunk back down to your height and were no longer balancing on your tiptoes, he was able to press a kiss to your forehead, before your hand was pulling from his to loop around his waist, letting you snuggle into his chest and rest your cheek on his shoulder.

“I really like you, Dave Hodgman.’

“I really like you, too.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

The Prince and the Pauper

Warnings: noncon/dubcon elements (rough sex, public-ish, cuck-ish behaviour), some violence

This is dark!Thor and ft. Loki Reader and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: During Loki’s stay in Asgard’s prison, he finds companionship in a fellow prisoner. Thor, still bitter about his betrayal and ever stoking their brotherly rivalry, takes unkindly to this unexpected friendship.

Note: Alrighty, so first off, mind the warnings! Secondly, this is rough, like really rough. I don’t know but when I write dark!Thor, he’s so mean. I can’t even explain it and I’m sorry to Loki. Omg but anyway, it takes place when Loki’s imprisoned at the beginning of Dark World and before all the mess with Dark Elves and fake stabbings. Also I didn’t wriite his cell as having a force field because I’m a dumb fuck. Thank you. But anyway, bon appetit.

Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

He woke you up early. Not on purpose, it was never on purpose, but he always had a way of disturbing you. Ever since his arrival; and before, in his own way. From a distance, though you’d never met. No citizen of Asgard could escape the golden rays of their royal family and you were of many who had been burned by them.

Six years. You could be thankful that the cell wasn’t entirely grim, the front wall a window, though it looked out on nothing more than stone. An artificial light above you, a hard bench as your bed, facilities in a small booth in the corner; the bare minimum of living. Not much different than before.

And you heard it again. The clicking, the metallic whir that had woken you and kept you thus. You sighed and banged your elbow against your shared wall. “Whatever it is you're playing with, stop! You’re going to drive me mad.”

“You’re awake?” He replied.

“Have been for a while now,” You snarled. “Thank you.”

Loki chuckled. You rolled your eyes and went back to braiding the laces of your boots. They were fraying and ready to break. You didn’t have much to keep yourself occupied; not like him apparently. Though he did offer you respite with his little word games now and then. More often, he irritated you.

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat and you heard a metallic object being set down.

“You’re down in these cells with me, we’re past the whole ‘your highness’ charade.” You grumbled. “Aren’t we?”

“I suppose, peasant,” He japed. You closed your eyes and huffed.

You heard a light tap on whatever metal he had been toying with before. “Please… Could you allow me a few moments without all the fidgeting?”

He laughed again but stopped. You heard his soft footsteps and saw his shadow as it was skewed by the glass before him. Side by side, it was all you ever saw of him. “How about a game, then?”

“I’m too tired for your riddles.”

“We’ll make it easy. How well do you know the city?”

“I know the south well.” You shrugged. “Haven’t really the coin to go beyond the Market Line.”

“Good enough,” He replied. “So this is how the game works. I shall start with a short explanation of a certain location. You can guess at what I have in mind or ask a question; yes or no only. Up to five and then you lose.”

“And if I lose?”

“You can sing me song.” You could hear his smirk.

“I’m tone deaf.”

“So I suspect it will be even more a loss for you.” He chimed.

“And if I win?” You asked.

“Well, as you can imagine, even with shackles, I have certain privileges,” He preened. “Perhaps a special dinner could be left in your cell? Do you like wine?”

“Common folk don’t drink wine and if they do, it isn’t very good.” You countered. “I’ll take the dinner.”

“Ale then, palace ale too. It might just keep you from waking at the smallest twitch.” He mused.

“Go on then,” You moved to lay down with your feet stretched towards the glass. The stone cool beneath you. “Let’s play your game.”

“There’s a tree outside with a broken branch and the door is painted. It has a round window on the upper floor and an alleyway on the east side.” He stated and you heard his fingertips tapping on the glass.

“That’s it?” You asked and he stayed silent. “Well, if I guess do I forfeit a question?”

“Yes. Five tries. Though if you ask a question, you can guess without detriment.”

“Is it a tavern?” You asked.

“No.” He said plainly.

“The Copper’s Book Shop.” You guessed.

“No.” He replied quickly.

“Is it a shop?” You ventured.

“That’s two, and yes.”

“Hmm,” You wiggled your foot as you thought. “Broken tree… wait.” You sat up. “Holleran’s.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Yes, that’s it.”

“That’s north of the Line,” You sniffed. “You broke your own rules.”

“It was never stated as a rule,” He said coyly. “And besides, you won. Fish or venison?”

“Fresh-baked bread and spiced chicken.” You answered with a smile. “Simple but better than the gruel they serve here.”

“Sounds oddly delectable,” You heard him sit as a chair scraped. “I’ll inform the gaoler when he next app--”

He went silent as he was interrupted by the sound of the gears just around the corner from his cell. The large door which sealed the prison informed you of all visitors and new arrivals. You pushed yourself to your feet and went to the window to peer down the hall.

Two guards in armor appeared and then another man; tall, blonde, broad. It wasn’t his first visit. You’d met him outside this place though you doubted he remembered you. You quickly retreated to your bench along the back wall. The metallic click started again.

“Brother,” Loki greeted staunchly and was echoed cheerfully by his brother. “What brings you here? Surely this place cannot be preferable to Asgard, even when it rains.”

“We are still family,” Thor insisted. “And mother does bid me to see to you as much as she does.”

“And what of Father?” Loki bristled. “Does he not bid you forget me?”

“I didn’t come to provoke you,” Thor insisted. There was a slight pause.

“What did you come for?” Loki intoned. “What are you looking at?”

“Hmm?” Thor grumbled. “Oh, nothing. I come to see if there is anything you desire.”

“A key?” Loki japed. “Beyond that, I want for nothing you can give me.”

“We did hunt a wild boar. If you would like a plate…” Thor offered.

“Chicken.” He interjected. “And fresh bread. For me and the cell to the left of me. I owe them.”

“Owe them?” Thor wondered and there was another lull. You kept your head down but sensed the shadow at the edge of your window. “For what, exactly?”

“A bet. Children’s games.” Loki brushed off. “Really, it is boring down here for all. We do while our time away in rather unspectacular ways.”

“Chicken and bread.” Thor repeated and his shadow disappeared beyond the wall. “Certainly. Anything else? More books?”

“My quill’s are dull,” Loki replied. “I need nibs. Parchment too. Perhaps a candle or two.”

“Mhmm,” Thor hummed in response. “Sure, I can do that. Why Loki, this prison is almost preferable to the palace.”

“Always seeing the golden shine, brother,” Loki mulled. “So shallow, so naive. If only father could see that, he would know who was better fit to the throne.”

“Ah, but his knowing cannot change who was born first.” Thor replied smugly.

“No, it cannot,” Loki agreed. “Are you done?”

“Are you?” Thor countered. Silence. The shadow again. “I’ll leave you to your… games, brother. Perhaps next time, we can play one.”

You listened to the departure of the older prince and his guards. The door closed and the gears ground loudly. Not a second after, a metallic shatter bounced against the wall. Then a chair toppled and Loki’s footsteps grew heavier as he paced his cell.

“It smells of the docks and there’s wines along the back wall,” You began. “The front step is crooked and there’s a line of bushes outside, just along the west.” Silence. “Five guesses.”

He sighed; long and loud. “Is it a merchant?” He asked.

⚡

It was a week before the prince received another visit. It was Thor again and like the last time, Loki was less than keen on his presence. You sat in your cell, on the hard bench, and dragged your nail along the mortar lazily. Their voices were easy enough to ignore; their arguments one and the same.

And then you sensed it. The movement behind you. You kept yourself distracted with the wall. Then the shadow came closer until it stood at the centre of the window. You found it hard not to peek over your shoulder but you focused on the bricks.

“I know you from somewhere.” Thor said.

“Do you?” You asked.

“I must. I’ve seen you before.” He insisted.

“That doesn’t mean you know me.” You replied without looking.

“Leave her alone,” Loki hissed.

“I am just talking with her, brother,” Thor said. “No harm in that. Besides, you aren’t her keeper, merely a fellow prisoner.”

“She doesn’t want to talk with you.” Loki sneered.

“My lady, what got you down here?” Thor turned back to you as he ignored his brother.

“I’m not a lady, for one thing,” You turned on the bench and looked at him. “I suppose it’s why I robbed that royal ship and unmoored it so that it was lost to the depths.”

“Oh, you were one of them,” He stepped closer to the glass. “That must be it.”

“And so the mystery is solved,” Loki growled. “Let her be. It’s grim enough down here without your interrogation.”

“Grim, indeed,” Thor remained at your cell. “Do you read? Draw? I could have you provided with some instruments to ease your tedium?”

“Me?” You scoffed. “No. Thank you. I have no want for your generosity.”

“Pity, more like,” Thor corrected. “But, as you will.”

He lingered a moment as you stared back at him. He grinned and turned away as his cloak swirled around him. He tapped on the glass of his brother’s cell as he passed. “Take care, brother.”

⚡

It was several days before anything further of note occurred. It was easy to track in a place like this. Something was stark in contrast to nothing. You walked the perimeter of the cell as you thought through Loki’s latest riddle. Every now and then, he’d offer a hint through it was more gloating than actual concern. You would say no and go back to your thoughts.

‘My beak is bent downward, I burrow below; I grub in the ground and go as he guides, My gray, old master, foe of the forest. Stoop-shouldered my warder walks at my back, Fares through the field, urges and drives me, Sows in my track as I sniff along. Fetched from the wood, cunningly fitted, Brought in a wagon, I have wondrous skill. As I go my way on one side is green; On the other side plain is my dark path. Set through my back hangs a cunning spike; Another fixed forward is fast to my head. What I tear with my teeth falls to one side, If he handles me right who is my ruler.’

You ran it over and over in your head. He was growing impatient, you could hear him tapping on his table. You bit your lip and stopped in place. You tried to concentrate.

“Um…” You mumbled. “A… A plow?”

“Pardon?” He said from the other side. The tapping stopped.

“A plow. It’s a plow isn’t it?”

“It is,” He confirmed. “Your turn?”

“Oh, let me think.”

“Did you not just think for a long time?” He taunted.

“Well, do you want a good one or is an imbalanced victory still victory for you?” You retorted.

“Go on. Think.” He said sharply.

You leaned against the wall but were quickly jolted by the gears turning. Loki’s shadow neared yours as they skewed over the stone floor outside the glass wall. A gaoler appeared alongside a man in plain clothing. He held a bundle in his hands that bore a golden seal. The guard followed closely as he passed the prince’s cell and stopped before yours. You eyed the hammer pressed into the wax seal attached to the thick cord around his armful.

“Back. Against the wall.” The guard held up his baton. “Now.”

You frowned and slowly back up until you were against the brick. The glass slowly slid up and the gaoler nodded to the messenger. He stepped forward and placed the bundle on your cell floor. You watched him in confusion. He retreated and the glass descended back into place.

“What is this?” You asked as the messenger turned to leave.

“From the prince,” He supplied and continued on. The guard followed without a word.

The door closed behind them as you listened. It was still for a minute and then you stepped forward.

“Well, what is it?” Loki asked.

“Don’t know.” You answered.

“So… aren’t you going to look?” He urged.

“From the prince? Surely you know.”

“Not this prince,” He scoffed. “Ah, my brother thinks he coy.”

“I don’t understand.” You kept far from the present.

“Do you think the guards live more exciting live than us? No, they gossip and they sell any sliver worthy of gold.” He laughed darkly. “He knows we are acquainted. That we speak. He takes our games as more than they are and he thinks to win. Again. My brother has ever wanted for all he saw others have.”

“Riddles? Children’s games?” You shook your head. “Besides, he said it himself; you’re not my keeper.”

“No, but by law, he is,” Loki sounded perturbed. “I suppose he seeks to remind you of that.”

“I don’t want his gifts.” You insisted.

“I don’t blame you. They never come free.” He replied.

You neared and stared down. An envelope poked out from the cord around the canvas wrapped lump. “There’s a letter.”

“Oh… what does it say?” He paused. “Can you--”

“I can read,” You assured him and took the envelope. You slipped the leaf from within and sighed. “‘My lady’, ha, he’s a charmer isn’t he?” You scoffed. “‘I did think upon what tedium should accompany such imprisonment. And to think that of your limited company, you should also suffer my own brother. So I have provided to you some things to ease your boredom. His royal highness, Prince Thor of Asgard.’”

You enunciated his title emphatically and tucked away the letter. You dropped it atop the bundle and turned away.

“So… what did he give you?” Loki asked again.

“I don’t care,” You sat on the bench and held your chin in your hands. “I’m not accepting it.”

“Oh?” He wondered.

“Well, knowing you, I suspect tricks might run in the family.” You said.

“Ah,” He added another syllable. “You might not be wrong.”

⚡

Two days later. The bundle stayed where it was, even as your meals were delivered. But your breakfast didn’t come that day. Not on time.

The door whirred to announce more than the guard. Two in golden armour and the usual in his silver mail. They walked behind the prince, Thor, who acknowledged his brother with only a smirk. You backed up against the wall of your cell and watched him approach.

There was a train of servants too; one with a tray, one with a stack of dishes and cutlery, another with an ewer, another with a table, and a third with a pair of chairs. The guard barked at you to stay and the glass slowly opened.

“Brother…” Loki’s voice was a low warning.

“Shortly, Loki, I do have other business to attend before I get to you.” Thor’s eyes didn’t leave you as the servants set up their wares in you cell. You frowned and crossed your arms. The glass remained open and the guards stood at either corner. “My lady.”

“I am a peasant.” You insisted. “And a criminal besides that.”

He sat as the tray was uncovered. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“The gruel is good enough.” You insisted.

“Sit.” He waved to the other chair. “Tell me you wouldn’t like something a little more solid?” He picked up a rasher and waved it in the air. “A little more flavourful?”

You glared at him. Even as a prisoner, you could not disobey the prince. You neared slowly and sat reluctantly but made no move to help yourself to the food. He didn’t seem to care as he loaded a plate for you. He placed it before you and sat back.

“You haven’t touched my gifts?” He asked.

“There is no reason for them.” You said evenly.

“Does there need to be?” He took a bite of bacon. “A kind gesture. Rare, but I wouldn’t think unwelcome for you.”

“Not much I welcome about this place.” You said.

“Well, aren’t you going to eat?” He asked. You raised your brows and slowly reached to your plate. “There are books. One to sketch in and some charcoal.” He nodded to the bundle still on your floor. “I can get you paints.”

“What am I ever going to sketch in this place? The wall?” You swallowed.

“Then you can read.” He offered.

“Too restless to read,” You said.

“Restless?” He repeated. “Yes, I can see how.”

You ate quietly as he rubbed his chin. He leaned back as he grabbed his cup and drank.

“So, what if I gave you something to do? You’d still be serving your sentence, of course, but you wouldn’t have to stay here.”

His eyes strayed to the wall against Loki’s cell. You blinked and wiped your hands with the napkin.

“You could be my chambermaid. My own recently went to work for my mother instead.” He grinned. “A couple hours a day away from here…”

“I don’t think I would be very adept at that role.” You said.

“I do. You seem a bright woman. Quick with your tongue and surely on your feet.” He mused. “Tell me you’d not rather remain here in these cells… with him?”

“My decision is hardly affected by your brother,” You assured him. “I haven’t any desire to serve you or your family. That is how I ended up here so it would be a disservice to myself and the common folk of this kingdom to bow to you now.”

His smirk fell. He took another bite of bacon and shoveled some hash into his mouth. He sighed. “I’ll let you think about it,” He uttered at last. “I really do think you should consider this more deeply.”

You nodded and looked away from him. Loki’s shadow stood in the corridor just beside your cell. He was listening. You pushed away the plate and stood. “You know, I’m not all that hungry after all.”

⚡

Thor left and Loki was silent. You heard him move now and then but he didn't speak. There was tension in the air but you couldn't tell if it was for you or his brother. You kept quiet.

When you laid down across the hard bench, he had yet to speak. He wasn't always talkative but your riddles, your games, had grown routine. You were restless and when you finally slept, you dreamt of the prince.

Not the one on the other side of the wall but the one which had come within. He stood outside your window and watched. That's all. Just watched. And smiled. That smile was terrifying.

You awoke with a start. A figure stood outside your wall but it was only the guard with your breakfast. The usual bowl of grey slop. He slid it through the small slot meant for the purpose and marched away. You took it and stirred it with a grimace.

"You should've accepted his offer." Loki intoned. "It might have saved you that vile fare."

"I'd rather this." You took a mouthful and choked it down.

"Why? It's horrid down here."

"Are you so eager to see me work for your family? Would it give you some peripheral sense of superiority?" You wondered.

"Not at all. I only know, it wasn't a careless offer." He said.

"Which means?"

"My brother is not used to being told no." He said. "He'll surely ask again."

"Why?"

"I've asked myself the same." His shadow loomed in the hallway. "Suppose it's as much about me as you. If not more so… He always has to have it all."

"So I should say yes and achieve what exactly?"

"Some luxury in such a dull life." He offered. "Or perhaps he would see that his little ploy is meaningless and he will leave you be."

"Meaningless?" You echoed. "Ah yes, because it wouldn't bother you at all, would it? I am still, after all, just a peasant."

"That is not what I said." He insisted.

"So… you would care?" You asked.

"I didn't say that either."

"Well, you wouldn't care about me but you would care that he would take away your toy."

"Toy… no, that's not--"

"Don't worry. I never thought any differently but the trade was even. I distracted you, you distracted me, and it was all a little more bearable." You shrugged and took another scoop of porridge. "I can't quite see you over there but let me tell you what I can guess at; you've got a nice bed, yes? A sofa even. A table. Some baubles and some real toys. A bookcase too and--"

"But I am still down here." He interrupted. "As you are."

"So you are but your privilege follows you," You held the brim of the bowl before your lips. "Doesn't it?"

⚡

The days grew longer. Quieter. Loki was less talkative than those first days in the prison. You waited for a riddle, for a game, but it never came. It didn't matter. You were there years before him and he'd no doubt be out before you. There was something about his demeanour which always suggested he saw it as little more than a brief sojourn in a life unspent.

And then he wasn't quiet. You heard a light thump against the glass of his cell. His shadow moved quickly across the floor and back to the corner nearest you. He said your name. You pushed yourself from the bench and neared him.

"He's… I can sense it." His voice was full of a concern you'd never heard from him. Much more than his usual apathy. "He is coming and he is up to no good."

"Who? Thor?" You scoffed. "When has he ever--"

"I'm serious." He hissed as the gears of the door began to tick outside your cells. "Appease him if you can but by gods, do not provoke him."

"What? You're--"

"I know him well despite our bad blood." He spoke hurriedly as the door opened slowly. "My brother can be cruel, not that any ever believed me."

"I…" You took a step back. His tone, his sudden change, it did not bode well. This wasn't a game. "Is he here for you?" You whispered as royal guards appeared at the end of the hall.

"No, I'm sure he is not." He uttered and whisked away as he raised his voice. "Brother, back so soon? I did hope to request some more books. I've exhausted my collection already and--"

Thor sneered and waved his brother off as he continued towards your cell. You backed up so fast you almost stumbled and pressed yourself to the wall. He stared at you, a tic in his jaw as he motioned for the glass to be lifted. As it did, your eyes rounded.

"I've been thinking on you," He stepped inside. "I have heard you like games." You watched him wordlessly as he reached into his tunic. "So, I thought we could play one."

"Don't," Loki warned from the other cell though you could not tell if he spoke to you or his brother.

"Chance." He revealed a half dozen golden dice. "Simple."

"Why are you doing this?" Loki called.

"Why, brother, I am merely seeking to entertain her," Thor neared you and loomed over you. "As you have. Hopefully more."

"She is a prisoner. An enemy of our family." Loki argued.

"And yet you collude with her as if she were a friend," Thor smirked and grabbed your arm. "Come, sit and we will go over the rules."

"I don't want to play," You tried to resist as he dragged you from the wall. "Please."

"You will play with a trickster but not me?" He turned you so sharply you were dizzy. "Though as you are a prisoner, I see not how your desires should matter. So sit." He shoved you so that you stumbled. "And let's have some fun."

He didn’t flinch and you lowered yourself to the floor to sit on your heels. He sat too and placed the dice between you. You looked to the guards as they watched silently from the hall. You turned back to him and frowned.

“Take one. Roll it and we’ll see who’s up first, eh.” He said.

“Thor--” Loki’s voice rose from the next cell.

“Go back to your books, brother,” Thor called back and kept his eyes on you. “Take one.”

You reached out cautiously as he scooped up a die in kind. He tossed his and you did the same, they bounced across the stone noisily. Loki’s long sigh filled the void. Your block showed six dots as the prince’s read five. He slapped the stone and pushed the pile of dice towards you.

“Your turn first,” He announced. “For each die you match, you get a point; if they should count in order, ten points, and if they all match, twenty. You get three rolls and you may recast whatever die you wish. Simple enough?”

“Simple.” You affirmed. You paused as you stared back at him. He merely smirked and waited.

“Oh,” He began as you gathered up the dice. “We forgot to set the prize.”

“Prize?” You cradled the dice in your hands.

“We’ll start small. You win, you get the meal of your choice. I win… you get the meal of my choice. With me.”

“And if I should forfeit here and now?” You asked.

“Too late for that,” He leaned back on his hands. “Roll.”

You inhaled and let the dice fall. They rolled and bumped on the stone and stilled at last. Three fours and a single two. You glanced up and swiped the two off the floor and tossed it again. A five. One more try. You had to keep from a grin as the four turned its face up at you. Thor chuckled.

“Twenty points.” He declared. “Though if it is a draw, we will restart.”

His large hand covered the dice as he picked them up and let them go. You listened to the golden cubes against the stone. Three ones, a six, and a two. He shook his head and scooped up the six and the two. He shook the die for a time in his hand before he let them go again. Another one and a five. He took the five and met your eye as he rolled his final turn. He looked down and you did too. A three.

“Damn,” He swore. “A winner, my lady.”

You nodded and looked past him. The guards stared at the ceiling or their feet, unbothered by this little show. Loki’s shadow lurked in the corner. Listening against the glass.

“Anything but gruel is fine by me,” You said as you made to stand.

“We are not done yet. Two more rounds.” He insisted. “This one, we will have a better prize, hmmm?”

You sat back on your heel and shrugged. You waited for him to continue.

“If you win, you may as of me anything; a book, a pen, a visitor of your choice, perhaps a new bed.” He looked over at the bench and cringed. “Though I might be swayed to provide that out of decency.”

“And if I requested peace? For you to leave me as I was?” You ventured. “What then?”

“If that is what you should ask of me, I will see you to your solitary,” He said sharply. “And peace you shall have.”

You winced at the edge in his voice. You rubbed your neck and shifted on your knees. “A chair…” You said softly. “A chair would appease me.”

“Very well.” He allowed. “And my prize; a single day.” You raised a brow, confused. “With you, my lady. Perhaps I might show you how Asgard has improved since your imprisonment. Perhaps… you might not begrudge me so vehemently then.”

“Perhaps.” You said. “So… do I roll first again?”

He nodded and waited. You took up the die. This time none of the blocks matched but you only need a three to give you straight. You took the six and tossed it. Easy. Ten points and likely a win unless he could draw or match every die. He didn’t. Four points for as many twos.

“You shall have your chair,” He swept up the dice. “And now our final round.”

“No…” Loki was so quiet you weren’t certain he had spoken but it made the hair on your neck stand.

“This should be interesting.” He offered you the dice and you reached to take them. His rough fingers brushed your palm as you did. “If you win, you’re free. I leave this door open and you walk out, absolved.”

You nearly dropped the dice as you blinked at him. “What?”

“Oh yes, a third win and you shall be rid of both of us.” He nodded to the wall. “A fine prize, indeed.”

“And if you win?” You asked quietly, almost breathless.

His lips curved beneath his golden beard and pushed his golden hair back with his hands. “Well, should I win, then my prize would be… You.”

You pushed yourself back from him. Startled. You stood, the dice still in your fist. You looked around frantically. Something was amiss. He was too certain. But there was no escape. You were trapped and you expected, this was no game of chance. Not truly.

“This game is over.” You held out your hand. “I don’t want your prizes. Keep them.”

“This game ends when I say,” He got up on his knees and walked toward you. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back down. “So, sit.” He snarled. “And roll.”

His grip was enough to crush your bones and you fell back to your knees. He let go and you looked down at the blocks in your hand. You shook your head and closed your eyes. You curled your fingers around them slowly and sighed.

“Oh,” He added. “And this round will be one roll only.”

Your eyes snapped open and you swallowed. You felt brittle as your nerves threatened to shatter. You lowered your head and tossed the dice; resigned to their fate. Three threes, a six, and a five. You kept your eyes on the floor as he collected the blocks and shook them loudly in his hand.

You held your breath and he threw them to clatter on the floor. Three sixes and a four as the last rolled across the stone towards you. It still just beside your knee and you looked down in dread. Six dots; each etched into the gold and painted white. Your throat tightened and your shoulders slumped. Fuck.

“Thor!” Loki cried as he pounded on the glass. “Don’t! She didn’t--”

“Oh, I remember,” Thor boomed. “I remember her well. This little wench I found in the backstreets. Hands covered in gunpowder; soul coated in dirt. Oh, yes,” He shoved the dice out of the way as he leaned in and grabbed your chin. “I remember those words you painted on that ship; the coin you shared with your fellow rodents.”

You looked at him and gritted your teeth. His hand fell to your throat and he squeezed.

“Of course, you’d be partial to her, brother.” He stood and you were forced to your feet as he gripped you tightly. “She’s just like you, isn’t she?”

“Stop!” Loki hammered on the glass. “She has done nothing to you.”

“She stole from our family; from our kingdom.” Thor dragged you to the door. “And you sit down here and humour her. Do you truly think your little coup aligns you with this bitch? Brother, do not lower yourself so.”

You grabbed onto his arm as he choked you and kicked your feet against the stone as he nearly lifted you entirely.

“Open his door; restrain him.” Thor barked.

“What are you--” Loki cried out and you heard his body crumple to the floor.

The guards approached his cell as his door slid open. He grunted as he was seized and Thor drew you with him along the hall. The dark-haired prince was sat in a chair, hands cuffed behind his back as a metal collar was secured around his neck and attached to the restraints. The guard jabbed him again in the rib with his baton and Loki yelped and pulled against his bounds. Another chain, golden and glowing, secured him to the chair.

“She didn’t--” Loki hissed as the guard threatened another jolt. “Thor, please.”

“I remember what you said then, brother,” Thor pulled you into the cell. He turned you and shoved you across the room. You collided with the long table and several books toppled over its edge. “Hmm? You said they were filthy peasants; greedy and immoral. Entirely inhuman, eh?”

You tried to push yourself up but Thor was upon you in a moment. He grabbed the back of your neck and forced you to bend over the table. You turned your head beneath his weight and your cheek pressed to the smooth wood. Loki stared at you; as helpless as you were. Shocked, even. It was the first time he’d seen you; the first time you were more than a voice through the wall.

“And now… you’re one of them.” Thor brought his other hand up and ran it along your back as he pressed himself behind you. “You would betray our father, our family.” He snarled as he shoved your shirt up. “And you have not learned. You sit down here and act as you always have. As if it was all just a game.”

You squirmed and reached out as you tried to pulled yourself away from him. He reached to your head and pulled it back by your hair.

“Look at her. I can see the appeal but… Brother, you are still a prince.” He slammed your head back down and silver spots swam in your eyes. “Is this what you want? Hmm?”

His fingers pushed beneath the waist of your pants and he tugged until the button popped off. You clawed at his hand as he crushed your head to the wood. You kicked as he forced a leg between yours. He pulled your pants lower and you whimpered. Your eyes met Loki’s green ones. He wrestled with the cuffs and the guards stunned him again with the club.

You closed your eyes as he cried out. Your ass was bared and your pants gathered around your ankles. Thor wiggled against you so that you could feel his arousal. You grunted and tried to wriggle away. He chuckled and carefully unlaced his trousers, his rough fingers brushed against you.

“Don’t you close your eyes,” Thor growled and you opened yours as Loki’s widened in horror. “You are many things but you are no coward, brother.”

You felt a prod against your thigh. Your toes scuffed on the stone as Thor dragged his tip along your ass. You squeaked and squirmed helplessly. He guided himself lower as his hand trailed from your head to your hip. He pushed so that you were forced to arch your back.

He was at your entrance in a moment. You whined and he rubbed himself along your folds with a hum. You lifted your head and let it fall back to the table heavily. He pushed inside slowly and reached behind you to try to fend him off. He sank into you entirely as he caught your arms and twisted them up against your back.

You exclaimed and he held himself inside of you. Your walls ached as he rolled his hips. You hissed and tears pricked at your eyes. He pulled back only to slam into you again and you yiped. He did it again, again, again. Each cry only seemed to encourage him.

You clamped your lips shut. Your eyes blurred as the tears gathered and Loki’s jaw tensed as he watched. He sagged in his chair as his chest rose and fell. Your entire body jolted as Thor thrust into you and the table scraped on the stone floor. He released your arms and gripped your hips instead. He pulled you back into him as he fucked you without mercy.

You couldn’t help the pathetic mewls that rose from you. Your hips hit the wood each time he moved you and your head pounded terribly. Your walls felt as if they would tear as he plunged into you. His pelvis crashed against your ass over and over. You scratched at the wood of the table as you tried to gain any foothold.

He drew you to your feet. He hooked his arms through yours and rocked into you with loud moans, each one mirrored by your weak groans. He turned you to face Loki as he sped up. The sickly noises filled the cell as you hung your head. You couldn’t look at the other prince. You could barely keep from collapsing entirely.

Thor wrapped his arms around your middle and drew you against him. His hot breath crawled along your neck and his grunts rang in your ears. Your eyes rolled back as you panted, your body a puppet in his hands. He rutted into you until you could no longer withhold your sobs. Until your cheeks were wet with your surrender.

And he roared. You felt the sudden warmth within as he slowed. He shuddered as he pulled himself from you and his cum spilled down your thighs. He laughed and dropped you. Your legs wobbled as you tried to catch yourself. Your feet tangle in your pants and you fell to the stone in a heap. You bent your legs and tried to cover yourself as he tucked his cock away.

“Well, brother,” Thor said as he nudged you with his toe. “You always did enjoy my leftovers.”

“Why?” Loki croaked and you hid your face in shame.

“Because,” Thor stepped around you to lord over his brother. “You will never have what is mine. Not the throne, not my people. Nothing.”

Thor snickered and Loki snarled. The older prince turned and stepped over you. He strode to the door and stopped. The air was still; suffocating.

“Take the wench to my chambers,” Thor ordered his guards. “And you may untie my brother when he has calmed.”

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