#it has been such a trek through mud to get this out. please enjoy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alrightieaphroditie · 7 months ago

Text

wipe my tears away | j.m.

*:·ﾟ✧ series masterlist | previous part!

pairing *:·ﾟ afab!reader x joel miller wc *:·ﾟ6.6k warnings *:·ﾟ18+! minors please do not interact!! talk of period pain, hormonal emotions, crying, kissing, some manhandling (if you squint), sad attempt at dirty talk, period play (lightly), fingering, maybe some degradation (not really sure), clit stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f receiving), squirting/messy cum, p in v penetration (not protected, do better!), one mention of blood… please let me know if i’m missing any major ones! an *:·ﾟthis is for the girlies who get over emotional during their periods (they are me, i am them). this is a bit longer than intended, but once i got in the zone i literally couldn’t stop, so i hope y’all will enjoy it! kind of unedited, so if anything major jumps out feel free to comment lol. i also wrote this with correct capitalization, where all my previous fics were lowercase bc i couldn’t be bothered to turn on auto caps, so let me know if y’all prefer this format! check the series masterlist for the series tags!

synopsis *:·ﾟ joel comes home to find you laying in bed, crying because of period pain. he may not be a full gentleman, but he wouldn’t let you suffer when he has a trick up his sleeve to help sooth the cramps.

The pain that begins in your lower abdomen, the feeling that radiates throughout the rest of your lower body with enough force to make you wince, isn’t entirely new. It’s a monthly occurrence, actually. One that you feel like you should be used to by now, considering it’s plagued you for more than half your life.

But the outbreak had already happened when you first got your period as a teen, and for a while, your body wasn’t receiving the nutrients it needed to sustain that kind of function. It was a double-edged sword, the way you were appreciative that you haven’t had it this bad your entire life, while ruminating on the losses that occurred due to the infection.

Because it was a different story, now.

Now, you were eating more than you could ever remember before. Jackson was a thriving community, after all. And you were beyond blessed that you were one of the lucky ones who got to reside within its gates. Now, your body was properly fed and being taken care of for the first time in years, and that double-edged sword reared in your mind again; thankful for the safe space you’ve landed upon, but God, at what cost? Your period pain took you out for days each month, making you feel like a burden even though you physically couldn’t help it.

Your toe stubbed against a chair in your living room as another cramp worked its way through your body, causing you to cry out for more than one reason. Tears filled your waterline, and a heavy sigh escaped past your lips. The rough material of your jeans was digging into your waistline, your hair felt heavy against your neck and each strand that brushed against your cheek made you want to cut it off, and you just felt so useless. Some logical part of your brain realized this wasn’t really you feeling this way, it was just the hormonal shift, but that didn’t provide any sense of comfort as the tears continued to glide down your face.

In some ways, you were lucky, as today had been your day off from helping around Jackson. Otherwise, that sense of being a burden to everyone would’ve increased tenfold. You couldn't stop feeling like a burden to yourself, though. You had made a perfectly organized to-do list that was hanging on your fridge of things you wanted to tackle today.

Your sheets needed to be washed. The floors needed to be swept and mopped, especially after the rain, as Joel and Ellie continued to trek mud through your house by accident. Maria had given you some of the spices that grew in abundance, and you wanted to make one of those simmer pots on the stove that she kept mentioning.

But doing those chores was the last thing on your mind right now, as another cramp racked its way through your body. Now, you just wanted to go lay in bed wearing nothing but Joel's shirt that you had thrown on earlier and cry while hugging a pillow.

And so, that’s what you did.

Your vision was watery as your fingers swiftly worked to unbutton your pants, your feet carrying you out of the living room and into your bedroom before you really even realized what you were doing. Once you hit your bedside, you tugged the jeans down your legs, letting them pool at your feet and leaving them on the ground as you crawl into bed, feeling about as pathetic as you probably looked. Curling up on your side, you reach out blindly and grab onto Joel's pillow, tucking it against your body and letting it provide you a false sense of comfort. After that, the tears start flowing freely.

You didn’t know how long you laid there, didn’t know how long the sound of your sniffles had filled the room or how long you pressed the pillow against your abdomen. The cramps were still relentless, and it wasn’t like you even had any medicine you could take; expired Tylenol did absolutely nothing anymore. You wish you were more used to this feeling, this pain. But it seemed like the longer you were at Jackson, the worse the symptoms became each month. You had yet to figure out the remedies that were foolproof for this feeling.

Continuous tears turned into lonely, stray droplets as you held onto the pillow. The room was silent except for the occasional sniff. You had zeroed in on an undone thread on the pillowcase, not paying attention to your surroundings, so you didn’t hear the sound of the front door being pushed open, or the sound of Joel's work boots stomping across the wooden floors. In the corners of your mind, you recognized the voice that was muttering to himself outside your room, but your eyes stayed focused on that singular thread.

The thought of it being lonely, being apart from the other threads holding the fabric together, made your eyes water again. You could put yourself in its position, the ever present fear of being alone daunting you even now, and that was enough to send the tears over your waterline, racing down your cheeks and onto the pillow once again. The hiccup that came from your inhale was the noise that had the footfalls move towards your room, and through your blurry vision you saw the outline of Joel standing in the doorway.

“What's wrong?” Through your sniffles, you could sense his urgency, his rough voice filled with nothing but concern, and maybe a little worry. His gaze swept over your body, checking for any possible injury. This was the first time he’d seen you break down to this level, and the sight of you curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down your face with his pillow in your grasp… he prayed to God that another person wasn’t involved with making you feel this way.

It would be a shame to lose his good reputation amongst Jackson because he had to beat some fucker up.

Your gaze swung up to his face, and you made yourself blink harshly to expel the lingering tears. His face came into focus, the worry lines on his forehead becoming more clear to compliment the frown on his full lips. He had a spot of dirt streaking across his forehead, and his clothes were dirty from spending the day working outside. For whatever reason, the fact that Joel had been out working in the heat for most of the day while you couldn’t even manage to get up and wash your bedsheets made your emotions spiral even more. What is wrong with me? you wondered, hugging the pillow tighter to your body.

The sound of his work bag hitting the floor echoed through the room, soon followed by the shuffle of his boots being kicked off his feet. His hands were gently pulling the pillow away before you could even register that he was in front of you now, but you felt the bed dip under his weight as he perched himself at the edge. His broad hand rested on your elbow before sliding up your arm, gently caressing your skin until he reached the side of your face. The calluses on his thumb scratched against your skin as he swiped the digit under your eye, wiping away the tears that had pooled.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice was softer this time, comforting you in a way that had you feeling alright for the first time today. You leaned up on your elbows, and Joel helped guide you into a sitting position across from him, your hands holding on to one of his while his other cupped your face, thumb swiping against skin. The action of sitting up had your cramps rearing their ugly heads again, and your wince was subtle but extremely obvious to Joel, evident by the furrowing of his eyebrows.

“My uterus is what’s wrong,” the scratchiness of your throat had you coughing slightly, and you worked to clear it before trying again, voice nearly as weak as you felt. “I'm on my period.” Joel's eyes widened in surprise at your admission, but he quickly schooled his features.

This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d been with you for awhile now, but noticed that each month your symptoms were different. Sometimes, your sudden anger at everything gave away the fact that it was that time of the month. Other times, it was your sweet tooth and your cravings that gave it away. Rarely was it your tears, though, and his heart lurched at this new response.

When your hands went to wrap around your stomach, applying pressure lightly to help ease the throbbing, his free hand came up to the other side of your face. “‘m sorry, darlin. Know that ain’t the best feeling in the world,” his thumbs were doing a stand up job at wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and soon the only sign that you had been crying was the red glaze surrounding your pupils.

And the occasional sniffle.

You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the surprising amount of comfort that you felt from a pair of hands. You always felt at peace with Joel, though, so you weren’t surprised that his hands had this effect on you. You focused on the rough pads of his skin against the smooth texture of your own, taking in big breaths of air through your nose as your crying spell passed through you. Now you were thinking a little more clearly and felt a little embarrassed by the fact that Joel had walked in on you crying over a thread on a pillow case. Not that he’d ever know that’s what you were crying about.

“It's okay. I'm sorry if i scared you or anything,” you started, opening your eyes to meet Joel's dark gaze. You offered him a small smile. “I really just need to learn how to deal with these cramps without them taking over my day. They seem to be getting worse and worse each month.” Your hands trailed up to grip his forearms, squeezing them affectionately as a wave of exhaustion flitted through your body.

Joel's eyes squinted slightly. “Cramps, huh?” he mused, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. In the far corner of his mind, he recalled a younger Tommy swearing by a foolproof activity that helped one of his girlfriends with her cramps when medicine didn’t cut it. He wasn’t sure he believed Tommy then, or even now, for that matter. But he knew how much you struggled with the pain, and he’d feel like a real jerk if he didn’t at least give this a go.

“Think I know somethin’ that could help with that.” He pulled your head forward, pressing a chaste kiss on top of your forehead before dropping his hands and pushing off of the bed. You were slightly dazed, partly at the display of affection but also at the quickness in which Joel was walking to the bathroom. When he came back into the room with an old towel, you couldn’t help but look at him suspiciously.

“Joel…”

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tossing the towel on the bed and leaning down to look at you, eye to eye. His demeanor was calm, but his eyes shined with a hint of mischievousness, and the smirk on his mouth was nothing but trouble. It made him look younger, almost. Like the gray in his beard and around the temples of his hair was there prematurely. You wondered if he was like that more before the outbreak, and you reveled in this glimpse of his past self that he was allowing you to see.

“Of course I do.” Your answer was absolute, eyes showing no signs of distrust or wariness as you maintained contact with Joel’s. He reveled in the sureness of your answer, in the fact that it didn’t even take you more than a second to respond to his question. The smirk became a full blown grin, and you couldn’t help but mirror it on your own face as you wondered what the heck this man was thinking.

“Good. In that case, I'm gonna go clean myself up,” his lips pressed against yours in a swift kiss before he backed away, fingers stretching to the hem of his t-shirt. “You’re gonna strip out of those panties, spread that towel out underneath you, and wait for me to come back. Okay?” One of his eyebrows notched up, awaiting your response.

“Sir, yes, sir,” you teased, sending him off with a mocking salute. It earned you an eye roll, something he had been picking up more and more from Ellie's influence, no doubt. The sound of your giggle followed him into the bathroom, where he quickly worked to discard his dirty clothes and rinse off. The thought of you laying in bed with just his t-shirt on had him adjusting himself underneath the water stream.

Meanwhile, you were working at a slower pace.

You gingerly took the threadbare towel between your hands, kneeling up on your knees to place it where you thought would work best. You were starting to get an idea of what Joel was planning, and while you’ve never done anything like this before, you weren’t absolutely hating it. After you had smoothed the fabric out, you climbed back against the pillows, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and sliding them down. The pad on the inside showed slight signs of blood, so at least you weren’t bleeding too heavily right now. Usually that came after a day or two of the cramps.

You were combing your fingers through your hair when Joel walked back into the room, pausing at the threshold while you both took each other in. His hair was damp, droplets of water occasionally dripping on his forehead, brushed back at the edges and the tops to keep it out of his face. He had been growing it out a little longer, though you knew when summer fully came around, it’d be time to clip it.

He’d changed out of a plain, gray t-shirt into another plain, gray t-shirt - clearly a staple in his wardrobe - and you had to admire the way he was filling it out. The sleeves hugged the middle of his biceps, straining against the pure muscle that had been building up. The shirt fit loose around his chest, but you could see the way it was snug around his tummy area, the small pouch of his stomach highlighted by the thin material.

You weren’t the only one who had been eating better since arriving at Jackson; Joel was starting to bulk up and you were loving it.

Having ended his workday earlier, and foreseeing spending the rest of the day in bed with you, he had pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants that clung to his thighs and offered very little to the imagination when it came to the thick imprint between his legs. The sight of him had your thighs clenching together automatically, heat racing through your body like a fever.

And he knew it, too. You could tell by the smirk on his lips, the way his gaze strayed from your eyes to your legs. He loved having that affect on you, loved seeing how needy you became by just the thought of being with him.

He walked to the other side of the bed, his eyes focused solely on you in his red shirt, the way your legs were crossed at the bottom, giving him just the smallest peak of bare skin underneath. You listen to him so well, he couldn’t help but admire. You gave him your trust so easily, and that was one of the few things that Joel considered to be precious in this world. He'd never make you regret that choice.

Leaning up on your elbows, your body naturally turned towards him when he finally settled himself on his side next to you. One of his arms slipped behind your head, tucking you into his body as the other came up to guide your face to his. His lips were soft against your own, and all the tension you had felt from crying earlier completely disappeared.

Your hands clung to his arm as he kissed you, a soft sigh escaping through your lips. Joel took the opening to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip before dipping it into your mouth. Your mind was growing fuzzy, and you simply let Joel manipulate you how he wanted, eagerly offering yourself to him.

His mouth stayed on yours, your noses brushing against each other with every tilt of the head, but his hand strayed from your cheek. It paved a path to the collar of the t-shirt, where he fisted the material and tugged it towards himself, halfway pulling you on top of him with the movement. Your hands flung out to his chest to stop yourself from completely crashing into him, and a groan sounded against your mouth as Joel felt the tips of your fingers dig into the skin.

He soon abandoned the collar, letting his palm slide down the expanse of your torso and bunching the shirt up a little before settling it right over your lower abdomen, fingers splayed out wide against your bare skin. The heat radiating from his palm on your skin was like your own personal heating pad; the soreness that ebbed from your cramps seemed to dissipate the longer his hand rested against your skin, the action making your head spin as you focused on breathing through your nose as Joel’s tongue traced along yours.

Joel’s mouth trailed from your lips down to your jaw, down to your neck. The stubble growing on his face scratched at your skin when he nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck, causing a combination of a laugh and a moan to flutter past your lips. You could feel him smile against your skin before nipping at it gently, using his lips and tongue to ebb the slight pain away. You could feel him sucking at your skin, and you knew in the morning you’d regret the red and purple marks that would litter your skin, but right now, the feeling was absolute heaven.

“Spread those legs for me, baby.” The words were whispered against your skin, accompanied by a quick tap to your thighs. You didn’t hesitate to obey; your left leg fell to the side while you rested your right leg on top of Joel's. His hand slipped from your stomach to your upper thigh, gripping the fleshy inside as he helped adjust it higher on his body.

The cool air from the fan had you shivering as it made contact with your bare skin, emphasizing the wet slick that had formed between your legs. Joel's mouth found itself back on yours, his kiss turning punishing, almost, as his hand slowly moved down your inner thigh; his teeth were biting and pulling at your lower lip, his fingers were digging into your skin as he kneaded and gripped your thigh.

“Joel,” you mewled, stretching up slightly to angle your hips closer to his hand. You were settled in the crook of his elbow, and his arm came up to bare against your throat ever so slightly. He essentially had you in a headlock, and you were helpless to anything he administered. Goosebumps prickled along your skin, and you whined once more when his fingers brushed against the crease of your leg.

“Shh, s’okay, baby. Let me take care of you,” his words were soothing, soft. A complete contrast to the way he was handling your body, and it was all you could do but nod in response, eyes wide and trusting as they held contact with him. His pupils were so dilated that you could barely see the rim of brown, even this close.

Another sharp tap to your inner thigh had you gasping, and Joel's mouth formed into a smirk as his calloused fingers eased the spot. You’d like to blame the hormones fluttering around your body for the desperation you were feeling for Joel, but part of you knew that he simply just had this affect on you. You always grew so needy for his attention, for his touch. Being with him was the only time your brain truly shut off and allowed you to feel safe, relaxed.

His fingertips were stroking the inside of your thigh like it was the strings on one of his guitars, a slow but firm sensation that had you humming; he was playing a different kind of instrument with you. You could feel yourself growing slicker, the bubble in your chest expanding as he teased you, touched you.

“Joel, please…” you trailed off, turning your head to the side and bumping the edge of his jaw with your nose. His gaze had slipped to where his fingers were caressing your skin, basking in the suppleness of your skin that so vastly compared to the roughness of his. You felt like a dream.

“Such pretty manners,.” he mocked, grinning to himself before meeting your eyes once more. “Since you asked nicely, though…” The kiss he pressed on your nose was soft, but your focus was on how his fingers were finally crossing over the crease in your thigh, finally trailing down to your core.

The first swipe of his fingers through your folds had a small moan emit from your mouth, and a curse came from Joel’s as he felt how wet you were already. “Shit, baby,” he muttered to himself more than anything, watching his fingers as he lifted them up into the light to see the shine. Chest heaving, you watched as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, watched as he placed them on his tongue before closing his lips around the digits and sucking on them while he pulled them out.

His fingers were now wet with his spit, evident by the thin strand of saliva still connecting his mouth to his fingers. The sight alone had your toes curling against the mattress, your mouth open slightly as you watched him bring his hand back down to your pussy. Your breath left you as his second swipe was firmer, the tips of his fingers passing along your clit for a brief moment before moving back down.

His forearm flexed slightly against your neck, his free hand moving down to brush against the top of your chest. One of your hands moved to grip his arm, nails digging into skin ever so slightly as Joel’s fingers brushed your entrance, swirling around slightly to gather the wetness that had formed. A soft sigh left his mouth as he felt you, and the next moment, two of his fingers were swiftly pushing inside of you.

“Joel!” You gasped out, back arching into his touch as he pumped his fingers into you once, twice, three times before pulling them out. Joel huffed out a laugh at your whine from the loss of contact, glancing down at you to see your reaction to him circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. He was rewarded with the softest of sighs, and the sight of your eyes rolling shut while your mouth parted open.

He didn’t hesitate to capture your lips with his, his mouth against yours as firm as his thumb on your clit. The kiss was quick, and Joel’s nose brushed against yours as he pulled back ever so slightly. “Such a pretty girl, achin’ for me to fill you up. My fingers feel real nice against your pussy now, don't they, baby?”

A short and snappy nod was your form of a response, as you were solely focused on the way Joel’s middle finger was circling your clit now. Your hips bucked up as waves of pleasure wracked your body, Joel’s expert fingers bringing you relief you so desperately needed. The action had Joel smirking above you, had his hips grinding slightly against your thigh in a sad attempt at getting some friction for his now hard cock.

Joel pulled back from his admissions on your clit, sliding his middle finger through the center of you before slowly inserting it back inside you. The gasp that left your mouth was music to his ears, and he began moving it in and out, curling it up once it was fully inside your wet pussy. Head falling back against Joel’s arm, your legs widening even further as Joel picked up a steady rhythm with his one finger.

“So good, Joel,” you rasped, voice breathless as Joel’s finger curled against the spongy part inside of you that had your body jerking in response. Licking your lips, you pulled the bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking in as the pleasure continued to build up in your body. Your right hand moved to rest on his wrist, while the other stayed gripping his left forearm.

Basking in your praise, Joel withdrew his middle finger and, when he pumped it back inside, added his ring finger. The addition had you groaning, feeling his two fingers stretch you out slowly as he pushed them inside and pulled them out. You felt Joel’s lips press against your forehead as he worked to pick up the pace, and soon all that could be heard in the room was the wet sound of your pussy being fucked by his fingers.

“God, I could listen to you all night,” he mumbled, curling his fingers in a “come here” motion inside you and marveling at how drenched you sounded. “So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart. Haven’t even taken my cock yet, either, you needy thing.”

His words only sparked the fire inside your chest even more, and soon you were moaning his name over and over again in some kind of sick prayer as he filled you with his fingers. Your mouth dropped open as his thumb moved to glide against your clit, pleasure radiating throughout your body.

Your fingers dug half-moon indentions in Joel’s tanned skin as the waves of pleasure finally crested.

Your body went rigid in his hold as your orgasm peaked, his fingers never ceasing in motion as your hips began to shake against his hand. He muttered soft praises as you came, moving his arm from across your chest and intertwining your fingers with his. You gasped for air as you came down, thighs twitching ever so slightly as you soon became putty against Joel’s body.

Only then did he pull his fingers out from inside of you. He kissed your forehead once more, cupping your drenched pussy with the palm of his hand. Your chest was heaving still from the orgasm, body feeling tired once more but for a completely different reason. Resting your head back on Joel’s arm, you glance up at him, expecting him to move his hand away and maybe help you clean up.

Instead, Joel’s dark gaze was solely focused on your pussy again. Instead of moving his hand away, he slowly moved it up your center, stopping only when his middle finger brushed against your clit. He moved his hand to the side slightly, letting the tips of his other fingers brush against the sensitive nub, before sliding it the other way. His action was slow, methodical even.

“Joel,” you ventured, squeezing his hand that rested in yours. His jaw twitched, but that was the only response you got. He leaned up on his elbow, your hand moving up along the mattress as he did so. Now, your interlaced hands rested above you, on the pillow, as Joel’s upper body hovered on top of yours.

Ever so slowly, Joel resumed the movement of his hand, sliding to one side before moving it to the other. His fingers all brushed against your clit, and the overstimulation you felt had your thighs closing together.

“Keep ‘em open, baby.” Joel admonished, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. His free hand pushed away your left leg before returning back to your clit, and you swore you could feel the wetness lingering on your skin from him doing so. The roughness of the towel underneath you prickled at your skin as your hips twitched from the continued pleasure.

“Joel,” you ventured again, this time more of a plea than anything. Tears formed on your waterline when he picked up the pace, his hand firmly rubbing against your clit each time he moved it. That bubble of pleasure formed more quickly in your chest, the feeling fiery and almost suffocating as Joel’s movements were relentless.

“Give me one more,” his voice was rough, distant. “Just one more.” His hand dipped to cup your pussy once more, gliding up through your folds and moving the wetness from there up to your clit. The added lubrication and friction as Joel increased his pace had you crying out, body arching forward at the onslaught of pleasure.

Your orgasm approached much faster this time, and you could feel your slick dripping down your skin onto the towel. “Oh my God,” you whimpered, your hand painfully holding onto Joel’s while the other, which had moved to rest on his hip, gripped his t-shirt. “Oh, God.”

This time, when you came, the bubble dropped from your chest and to your stomach and your body went limp as soon as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind was a haze of euphoria, and if you were more cognizant you would have been embarrassed at the feeling of your wetness squirting out from you, would have felt heated at the way Joel praised your body. Instead, you were blissfully gone, basking in the sensation that only Joel’s fingers knew how to bring you.

Joel’s hand slipped from yours as he pulled his arm up from underneath you, and before you were even aware of the shift, he was up on his knees, moving in between your legs and tugging his flannel pants down. “Gotta fuck you, baby. Jesus Christ, you came so good for me.” His hands bracketed your head as he leaned up against your body, the head of his leaking cock pressed against your wet slit.

You hummed at his praise, wrapping your weak arms around his neck as you shifted your thighs a little wider to accommodate for his hips. You weren’t entirely sure you could handle another orgasm, but you knew you were desperate to have him inside of you. His head ducked down to yours, and you enthusiastically pressed your lips against his, enveloping his hips with your legs in consent.

With a nip at your bottom lip, he slowly pressed the tip of his cock in between your folds, gathering the wetness that had accumulated near your entrance before moving his hips even further. The head of his cock pushed into your pussy, stretching you out even more than his fingers did previously. Joel groaned into your mouth as he pumped his hips slightly, pulling out of you before sinking just the tip inside you again.

“Fuck, sweetheart. My fingers didn’t stretch out your pussy enough, huh? S’fuckin’ tight as hell around my cock.” One of his hands came to brush aside your hair, cupping the side of your face gently while his hips snapped into yours. You cried out against his mouth, the feeling of being filled so suddenly causing you to wince slightly. You welcomed this pain, however, as it quickly gave way to pleasure the more Joel rocked his hips against yours.

Joel rested his hips against yours for a moment, his head falling down to your chest as he reveled in the tightness surrounding his cock. His breaths came out in short pants, the hand laying next to your head turning into a fist against the mattress. Your hips move up slightly, seeking out the pleasure even after coming twice before, and it brings Joel in further, causing you both to curse.

“So desperate for me to fuck you,” Joel’s words are accented by short, quick thrusts up inside of you. He pushed up off of you, your arms falling to the bed beside you while your legs fall open as they untangle from his waist. His hands grip the inside of your thighs, and he leans his weight forward a little, pinning your legs to the bed.

“I am, Joel. P-please fuck me,” you beg, gripping the sheets between your fingers as your hips meet his thrusts. Joel starts off slowly, implanting you fully on his cock before slowly pulling back until just the tip presses against your pussy. His bruising grip on your thighs holds your legs open while he works himself in and out of you, eyes cast on how your slick coats his cock, the occasional red streak coloring his flesh.

A stray curl of hair falls from his previously brushed back hair, and you itch to swipe it back into place, but his pace quickens and your hold on the bed keeps you from banging against the bed frame. The sound of his cock entering your wet pussy fills the room, the indecency of it causing your skin to flush with heat. Joel’s groans start to find time with your whimpers, and soon the noises of sex are emitting throughout the bedroom, throughout the house.

Joel’s hands move away from your thighs, traveling up your stomach and pushing up his red t-shirt to see your boobs bouncing with each thrust. He admires the peaks of your nipples, the way goosebumps arise on your flesh as it’s exposed to the cool air, before bringing both hands to grip onto them. His thumbs and forefingers pinch at your nipples, the pain mixing in with the pleasure seamlessly.

Your eyes fall shut on a moan, body arching into his touch as you clench around Joel, causing him to curse. The familiar sensation of heat fills your body, that third orgasm floating slightly out of reach. You move one of your hands down to your pussy, resting it on your mound. Your fingertips brush against Joel’s cock every time he withdraws, and you moan at how slick he feels before bringing your fingers to your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself come on my cock,” Joel encourages, gaze focused on the way your fingers nimbly play with your throbbing clit. His hands squeeze your breasts roughly one last time before he leans up, gripping your ankles and bringing your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Your thighs press against his cock as he fucks you, adding in another level of pleasure for him as he fights back his orgasm.

“Just like that, Joel. Just like that…oh!” Your cries fill the room as he pounds into you, your fingers increasing the pace against your clit. Your movements are shaky, not precise in the slightest, but you’re still sensitive and wound up from your previous orgasms that it doesn’t take much to get your third one going. With a few clumsy swipes of your middle finger against your clit, and Joel’s cock ruthlessly hammering in and out of you, your final orgasm floods through your body.

Joel curses as he feels your pussy clench around him, making his movements stagger with how tight you become. He gives a few more deep thrusts, his own movements becoming shaky and less precise, and he soon slips out of you, rubbing the length of his cock along your pussy lips as you gush with your orgasm. With a grunt, he follows soon, his own cum spurting out of his red cockhead and on to your lower stomach.

Your legs fall meekly to the bed again, and Joel’s body sags forward a little before he props himself back up with his hands. The sound of you both panting is all that can be heard as you both come down from your orgasms; you, eyes closed and mouth open. Joel, eyes open and mouth closed, nostrils flaring slightly as he regulates himself.

It takes a moment before you both get back to yourselves, but when you do, you become increasingly aware of the wet feeling underneath your lower body, which causes you to giggle. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get around to cleaning my sheets today, huh?”

A snort comes out of Joel, his head shaking slightly as he moves to brush back his hair. He takes in the sight of you, freshly fucked and thouroughly spent, and can’t help but grin. He might be older, but he relishes the fact that he can still please you like this. That you actually want him to do so. Makes him feel like a god among men.

He sees the tears around your lash line from your last two orgasms, and he leans forward slightly to wipe them away with his thumb, triggering in his mind the conversation you both had before this all started. “Feelin’ alright?” His gaze moves around your body, checking to see if he hurt you in any way. He notes the red marks against the side of your neck, the cum on your lower stomach and the beginnings of many small bruises along the inside of your thigh from where he gripped them to keep them open.

He’d be more worried about those if he didn’t know how much you loved having him mark you up.

“Just peachy,” you grinned at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to take in the mess below you. Joel leaned in to meet you, his kiss soft and soothing as his lips slid against yours. After a moment, he pulls away again, awkwardly shuffling to the edge of the bed before standing up. Hiking up his pants, he moves to the bathroom to get a washcloth to start cleaning you up.

After wiping away his cum and your wetness, he gently helps you off the bed, holding your arm as your legs fumble when your feet hit the ground. His pride grows then, and you smack his arm playfully when you catch sight of his grin. “Sorry,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against the side of your head before moving to gather up the dirty towel from the bed. He tosses it into the hamper before leading you to the bathroom.

There, he draws you a hot bath, guiding you in the tub and before pulling his clothes off and joining you. It’s a cramped space, the bathtub not technically suitable for two, but you make it work. You lean your head against Joel’s shoulders, sinking into his body as his arms wrap around your middle. You know you should do something with your bedding soon, should make sure you have the guest room set up so the two of you can sleep somewhere remotely comfortable tonight, but for now, you bask in his presence.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Joel.” You say softly, closing your eyes and letting the hot water ease away any lingering soreness your body has. His arms tighten around you as you trace mindless shapes against his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, kissing your forehead before resting his on top of yours.

“Anytime, baby.” His breathing evens out with yours, stubble rubbing against your forehead as he speaks. “I’ll always be here to wipe your tears away.”

taglist *:·ﾟ @hiroikegawa

761 notes · View notes

thelastspeecher · 1 year ago

Text

I was minding my own business at work today, just doing something, idly thinking about my nonsense. And then out of nowhere, like a burst of divine inspiration, an exchange that would take place in my Accidental Abduction AU appeared in my brain. And then I wrote a whole scene so that I could put that interaction in something.

So here's a random, out of the blue Accidental Abduction AU write. It takes place immediately following this one. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

Stan followed the girl alien through the spaceship halls. At first, the ship had reminded him of the things on Star Trek. The general shape and construction of the hall and rooms still did, but it wasn’t quite as fancy and clean. The ship looked a bit worn, like it had been used for a long time. There were also intermittent decorations, most of them looking like they were either purchased at a craft fair or made by children at school. Stan slowed to look at a vase that had been tucked away in a corner. He would have expected the vase to house some weird alien plant, but the flowers inside were regular Earth roses.

“My mother loves that kind of flower,” the girl alien said, noticing Stan’s distraction. Stan’s attention quickly snapped back to her. “We do not often go planetside when we are near Earth, but whenever we do, my father insists on procuring some for her. He even found seeds a few trips ago, which has allowed my mother to grow her own. They are not the same, though. Something about our atmosphere or climate makes them grow…different.”

“You guys go to Earth?” Stan asked, walking again. The girl alien began to walk as well. “Like, beam down on the planet?”

“We do go down to Earth, but we land rather than teleport down. My parents are, hmm, hopefully this translates properly. They are…old school. They do not like the teleportation function.”

“Yeah, parents can be sticks in the mud sometimes,” Stan mumbled. He frowned at the very inhuman alien girl. “How the hell do you guys visit Earth without the government capturing you to dissect or whatever?” The alien girl smiled, but this time, to Stan’s relief, hid her needlelike teeth.

“We have our ways of visiting without drawing suspicions.” The hallway suddenly opened into a wide room. A white table, laden with exotic-looking food, was set in the middle of the room, ringed by white stools. Underneath the table was a slick dark red rug and decorations like those in the hallway hung on the walls. An alien with magenta hair like the girl alien and light pink skin was cleaning the kitchen area in the corner. Next to the kitchen area was an entry to another hallway. One of the walls was actually a large window, looking out into the void of space. Stan was tempted to walk over to the window, but before he could, the very first alien that Stan had met on the ship spoke.

“Ah!” said the alien, the father of the family. He was sitting at the table, as was the alien girl’s brother. The alien dad smiled at Stan. “You have finally brought us our guest.”

“He was distracted by the roses.”

“I would imagine he was surprised to see something from Earth on our ship,” said the pink alien cleaning the kitchen. Judging by her voice and general appearance, she was the mom of the family. The alien mom turned around and scowled at her son and daughter. “I am so disappointed in you two for not letting us know early enough to return this poor boy home.” The alien girl and alien boy bowed their heads sheepishly. Stan stood in the entryway awkwardly, uncertain of what to do.

“Please, come sit,” the alien dad said. Stan hesitantly walked over to the table and sat on one of the stools. At first, the seat of the stool was far too low for him, but it automatically adjusted for his height, getting taller until he could reach the table properly.

Makes sense they’ve got their chairs set short. They’re all way taller than me. Stan glanced around, mentally taking stock of the aliens’ heights. The girl and boy were both at least six feet, while the dad was at least seven and the mom was nearing eight. Are women taller than men for this species? The alien dad coughed politely, drawing Stan’s attention.

“When we first met, I was too flustered to ask for your name. Would you mind sharing it with us?”

“Uh, Stan.” When Stan didn’t elaborate, the alien mom prompted him.

“Earth names from your culture tend to consist of a given name and surname. Could you provide us with your full name?” the alien mom asked.

“How do you know about- y’know what, never mind. My full name is Stanley Pines. But call me Stan.”

“Stan,” the alien mom said experimentally. She smiled. “How quaint.”

Dunno if I agree with that assessment, but I’m not gonna argue with the people I have to rely on for the next year. Ugh, I’ve got to depend on these guys for a full fucking year!

“Well, Stan,” the alien dad said, “you will likely be unable to pronounce our names, so we shall have to come up with a workaround for that. Now, however, it is time to eat. We have done our research and made some food that should nourish you well.”

“None of this stuff is gonna poison me?” Stan asked. He suspiciously eyed the item directly in front of him, which looked like a small loaf of bright red bread with blue flecks.

“Correct,” the alien mom said with a nod. “I am familiar with what foods humans can and cannot eat and have removed all items harmful to you from the table.”

“Um. Okay.”

“We will serve you,” the alien boy said quickly. “That way you do not have to worry you are doing something wrong.”

“…Okay,” Stan repeated. He sat silently as the aliens filled a metal plate with the items on the table. When the plate was placed in front of him, he stared at it. Almost everything was a color that made alarm bells go off in his head.

If I saw food on Earth that looked like this, it would either kill me or cost about a thousand bucks. He grimaced.�� But I don’t really have a choice. Stan picked up the utensil he had been given, which was just a spork, and scooped up the bright orange mashed potatoes with dark red gravy. He hesitantly took a bite. His eyes widened. The “potatoes” tasted like caramelized onions, while the “gravy” had a strong beefy yet cheesy flavor. It combined to form something Stan recognized. This tastes just like French onion soup! What the hell?

The first bite was enough to awaken Stan’s stomach. His hunger now roaring and curiosity about the food piqued, Stan quickly scarfed down everything on his plate. To his delight and confusion, all the food was delicious and most of it tasted like something he’d had on Earth.

“I knew the mashed rom would be a winner,” the alien mom remarked as she watched Stan inhale his food. “It is my mother’s favorite.” Other than that, the alien family left Stan alone during the meal, talking amongst themselves instead of trying to pull Stan into the conversation.

Under most circumstances, I’d be offended. But I’m honestly just relieved. I don’t want to talk to these guys. Stan looked at the alien boy and girl, the closest things he had to peers on the ship. The alien boy noticed and nodded silently at Stan before turning back to his sister. Not right now, at least. I need some space to deal with all this.

Stan finished his first serving, as well as his second and third, before he was satiated. Now that the growling in his stomach had been resolved, a new and urgent need made itself known. Stan crossed his legs and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the alien family.

“Do you need something, Stan?” the alien dad asked.

“Uh, yeah. Where’s your bathroom?” Stan asked. The aliens all cocked their heads curiously.

“Do you need to bathe?” the alien mom asked.

“I mean, eventually, but not right now.”

“Try a different word,” the alien dad suggested. “Often, the translators work literally, and turns of phrase or odd terminology are translated incorrectly.”

“Um. The restroom?” Stan tried. The alien boy frowned.

“You mean your bedroom?” he asked.

“No! I- ugh.” Stan sighed.

I was trying to be polite. I don’t want to put my foot in my mouth like I usually do. But polite clearly isn’t working.

“I need to take a piss,” Stan blurted out. The aliens all blinked.

“Oh!” the alien boy said. “You are asking for the toilet.”

“Yes.”

“I will show you the way.” The boy alien got up from the table. His sister scowled at him. “What?”

“You offered just to get out of cleaning the dishes,” the alien girl said, crossing her arms.

“No, I did not! I-”

“Neither of you are going to get out of any chores,” the alien mom said. “Your father can help Stan.” The alien kids groaned but began to clear the table. The alien dad and Stan both stood.

“Follow me,” the alien dad instructed. Stan followed the alien dad out of the dining area/kitchen and back into the same hall that he had been through before. “Luckily, your room is next to one of the- what did you call it?”

“Um, a bathroom?”

“An interesting name, given the baths are elsewhere,” the alien dad murmured.

“On Earth they’re in the same room.”

“Odd. Regardless, your room is next to one of the…bathrooms on the ship. The room that actually has the baths, however, is past the eating area. Will you need to bathe before going to sleep?”

It’s been a while since I had a bath that wasn’t just baby wipes…

“Uh, yeah.”

“I will send my son to fetch you from your room after he and his sister have completed their chores.” They arrived in front of yet another circular door. Like the previous doors Stan had seen on the ship, the alien dad placed his hand on the door, causing it to light up purple, then blue, then finally descend into the floor. Before Stan could step into the bathroom, the alien dad spoke again. “I must apologize again for the circumstances under which you came into our lives. Rest assured, we will do our best to make you feel comfortable, perhaps even like one of the family.”

“…Sure.”

“If not family, then at least friends,” the alien dad said. Stan nodded.

“That feels more likely.”

“Then that shall be our goal!” the alien dad said jovially. He smiled as warmly as he could with his nightmarish teeth. “I will be leaving an item you can use to entertain yourself in your room. Please let me know if you would prefer something else.”

“…Sounds good,” Stan mumbled. The alien dad walked away. Stan entered the bathroom, the door closing behind him.

After using the toilet – which was thankfully very Earthlike in design – and struggling with the door a bit, Stan left the bathroom. Now that he had figured out the trick to opening the doors, he entered his bedroom without any issue. There was something placed on the desk in front of the massive window. Stan walked over to it and picked it up. His eyes widened. It was a sketchbook. A small box of writing utensils that looked similar to crayons had been set beside the sketchbook.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Stan walked up to the window. He stared out silently for a few moments. Off in the distance, he could make out some asteroids. Stan walked back to the desk. He sat down, picked up one of the weird space crayons, and set the tip to the paper. The lines were jagged at first, as he got used to the alien writing implement. But eventually, a rough sketch of the asteroids formed. Stan sat back with a small smile on his face.

This, though, I can work with.

#I love this AU so much it's one of my faves and imo one of my most original ones #if people are curious I will share what particular exchange appeared in my head like a heavenly gift #Accidental Abduction AU #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Pa McGucket #Ma McGucket #Lute McGucket #McGucket Family #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

17 notes · View notes

snowdice · 2 years ago

Text

Big Bang Editing Story [Day 109]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story years ago, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag ‘proofread stories.’ I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51

Not going to do this for much today, but I want to finish the chapter.

Chapter 52 (Mr. Deknis)

It was Jeffers Deknis’s second busiest time of year right after the fall harvest. However, unlike the fall harvest, not all of his workers were yet at the castle. The winter had been harsh and while the last snowfall had been a month ago, many of his workers whose families lived far from the castle had sent word they would be late arriving for various reasons. A few were dealing with sick relatives and others had to help fix things broken by storms for their families before making the trek. One who lived in the mountains up north was still snowed in.

So, he was dealing with only about 70% of his usual staff, meaning he was even busier than he usually was in the spring.

However, despite how busy he was, he didn’t mind taking a bit of time out of his schedule to help plant a little plot of land he’d reserved for a special selection of plants.

Virgil has spent a lot of time deciding on what plant he wanted to grow in the plot Jerffers had given him. He’d combed through multiple books even though it quickly became clear he couldn’t read well and talked to Jeffers about his options extensively before finally coming to a decision.

He’d decided on a flower called Zygopetalum maculatum which was a type of orchid. It wouldn’t be an easy flower to grow considering they didn’t naturally have the right climate for it, but with a bit of magical fertilizer and ruins in the ground near them, it was feasible.

Since Virgil had chosen his flower, Jeffers had dedicated a bit of his time each day to explaining what they needed to do for it to grow and had set him up with the correct materials. Virgil had spent a good chunk of the last two weeks outside on his marked off plot of land doing as instructed to get the soil in the right condition.

Sometimes Logan and Patton joined him and sometimes he was alone, but he was clearly dedicated to his task. Jeffers had stopped by and tested the soil the day before and found it was adequately prepared for planting Virgil’s flowers and had told the boy as much.

Despite being already very busy, Jeffers had allowed for an hour out of his schedule to help Virgil plant his flowers this afternoon.

Even though Jeffers had told him exactly where in his schedule he’d made time for it, Virgil had come early.

Very early.

He’d stalked Jeffers’ footsteps all day. If the boy were a cat, Jeffers would have assumed he’d accidentally left a slice of meat in his back pocket after breakfast.

Jeffers ended up letting him help with a few other things in the morning which he seemed to enjoy. He seemed to appreciate planting things even if they weren’t his flowers. He was also good at it if a bit slower than necessary in his caution to make sure he didn’t mess anything up.

Jeffers ended up sending Patton to get an extra packed lunch from Helen for Virgil (as people didn’t like when the gardeners tracked mud into the dinning hall) and they ended up eating while sitting on the base of the fountain by the plot of land Virgil had been tending to.

The water in the fountain was now flowing, having recently been cleaned and turned on and birds were chirping in the distance. It was a nice, calming environment. This was why Jeffers liked to spend so much time outside. Or at least, it was one of the reasons.

There was a soft meow from beside them that drew Jeffers’ attention. Jeffers looked down to see one of the castle’s many cats standing on its hind legs with one of its paws on the fountain’s base. It was staring at them expectantly. Jeffers recognized the yellow stripped cat as one of the friendlier ones that Patton had tamed as a kitten. It meowed again when it saw him looking.

“What?” Jeffers asked it, raising one eyebrow. “I know you’re not starving.”

It meowed again in complaint. Then it turned to Virgil. Virgil was instantly tearing off a bit of his chicken sandwich to feed to the cat.

“You don’t need to feed him,” Jeffers said. “Patton takes care of that plenty well.”

Despite what Jeffers had said, the cat gobbled up the piece of chicken Virgil had fed him like he was starving.

“It’s Buttercup,” Virgil informed Jeffers. The name vaguely rang a bell.

“You remember all of Patton’s names for them?” Jeffers asked, honestly impressed. There were so many cats.

Virgil nodded and ripped off another piece of chicken. The cat went flying at it with gusto.

“Keep some for yourself too,” Jeffers said. “You look less fed than the cats.” Thankfully he was looking more fed than he had at the beginning of winter.

“But he’s hungry,” Virgil replied with a frown.

“He’s a glutton is what he is,” Jeffers said. “He’s already had his lunch by now I’d imagine and is more than free to hunt down rodents in the barn if he needs a snack.”

Virgil frowned and gave the cat another piece of chicken.

“You’re too good of a kid,” Jeffers said with an eyeroll.

Virgil just frowned at him and took a bite of his sandwich for himself this time.

“Make sure to eat extra dinner if you’re going to feed the cats your lunch,” Jeffers said. “Though I’m sure Helen will be feeding you extra by default when she hears you’ve been helping me in the garden all day.”

“I’m fine,” Virgil said, stubbornly. He took another bite of his sandwich and fed another to the cat.

Jeffers considered him. ‘Fine,’ was a very vague word and his powers didn’t ping on it as a lie because it could mean a variety of things. He had a feeling Virgil knew that.

Jeffers wasn’t a fool. The kids had been talking around his powers about something all summer, though he couldn’t figure out what exactly it was about. Virgil was almost as good at it as Logan. Maybe he was even better.

“Not hungry enough to eat the entire sandwich by yourself then?” Jeffers asked.

Instead of replying verbally, Virgil just shrugged. Clever little bastard.

Jeffers sighed. Helen had packed some of the canned peaches in their lunches, so Jeffers pulled his out and set the container next to the boy. Virgil looked at the offering in surprise.

“Cats don’t eat peaches,” he cautioned. “It’s bad for their digestion.”

“I don’t need to take your food,” Virgil said with a frown.

“Yeah, you do,” said Jeffers. “I’m and old man, not a growing boy. You should eat them.”

Virgil frowned and looked like he was about to argue.

“Eat your lunch so we can plant your flowers kid,” Jeffers huffed.

Virgil hesitated, but the idea of getting to plant his flowers seemed to trump his desire to argue with Jeffers about lunch and he picked up the dish of peaches.

Jeffers went about finishing what was left of his lunch as Virgil continued to eat his own. The cat ran off when it noticed there was no more meat available.

Jeffers rolled his eyes. The thing was probably running off to go scam more people out of their lunch. Patton had spoiled them far too much and they were too good at making cute starving expressions.

“Alright,” Jeffers said once they were done. “Are you ready to plant your orchids.”

Virgil nodded eagerly and Jeffers packed away their trash before getting up.

“Good,” Jeffers said. “You have all of the supplies I told you we needed gathered?”

Virgil nodded and started to list off everything that Jeffers had said.

“Then, we can get started planting,” Jeffers said with a smile.

Chapter 53 (Virgil)

Virgil and Mr. Deknis took their time planting the orchids. Virgil had done everything Mr. Deknis had instructed him to do with the plot of land prior to planting. He’d had Mr. Deknis write it all down, so Logan could read him the instructions each morning, and had dutifully followed each step. The sheet of paper was in Virgil’s pocket even now. He knew the words so well at this point that he could have recited each list item even if it had words he still couldn’t read.

It had been hard work getting the soil just right for the flowers he wanted to plant, but it was fun hard work. Working hard was different when he didn’t have to do something but wanted to do something. He’d also noticed it was easier to do physical labor when he wasn’t hungry, something he hadn’t been all winter in the castle.

He’d thought since he hadn’t been training as much as usual over the winter months that he’d be weaker when Spring came, but he actually felt stronger and had much more energy.

He’d also grown taller without realizing it thanks to Logan’s nutrition potion. He’d noticed when he’d been in the shed earlier. When he’d first hid in the shed upon arriving at the castle the previous fall, he’d been able to walk under all of the hanging tools in the back. Today, he’d hit his head on some of the them.

His body had changed a lot in the past few months. It made planting with Mr. Deknis much easier.

Virgil had already helped Mr. Deknis with planting some vegetables this Spring, but he still was careful to pay attention as the gardener showed him how to plant the first few orchid bulbs.

Then, Virgil was handed the container of bulbs for himself to try planting. Mr. Deknis watched him plant the first few orchids and Virgil glanced up for approval before moving on each time. He always got a nod and small smile.

Eventually, Mr. Deknis took a few bulbs himself to the opposite end of the patch of soil and started planting some himself, trusting Virgil to plant his portion of the flowers right without supervision. Virgil couldn’t help but be happy about the show of trust given to him.

“Good job,” Mr. Deknis said after the two of them had planted two rows of orchids. “You’ve got an eye for planting things.”

“Thanks,” Virgil said bashfully.

“How old are you again?”

“I’m 14,” Virgil said, unsure why he was asking.

Mr. Deknis nodded. “Maybe in a few years you’ll want to get a job as one of the gardeners here,” he said. “I could always use one who knows how to respect plants like you and with how much you’ve been volunteering to help already, you’ll know a good amount by then.”

“Really?” Virgil asked.

Mr. Deknis nodded.

“Why not now?”

“You’re only 14,” Mr. Deknis said. “You don’t need to worry about working. I’m happy to let you tag along and watch or even help a bit with planting when you want, but you should just be a kid.”

That confused Virgil. He’d been considered out of training to be an assassin as soon as he’d turned 14-years-old last fall. Now he was being told he needed to wait a few years to help plant seeds?

“I could do it,” Virgil said.

“I know you could,” Mr. Deknis said, “but you don’t need to. Have a little fun this summer.”

“But I want to,” Virgil said.

Mr. Deknis huffed out a laugh. “I know,” he said, “and you can feel free to care for your orchids and help me out all you want, but no jobs until you’re at least 16.”

“It’s better than any other jobs I’ve had,” Virgil muttered, honestly annoyed he couldn’t become a gardener right now because of his age.

Mr. Deknis raised an eyebrow. “And what other jobs have you had?”

Virgil froze. That was not a good line of questioning. “Uh…” Virgil said and Mr. Deknis’s expression was changing in an alarming way. “Different things. I’ve carried things for people and, uh, cleaned.”

“Carried things and cleaned, huh?” Mr. Desknis said. It felt like he wasn’t only testing Virgil’s words for lies but observing his face and posture too.

Virgil should be good at lying. He should. That was a major part of being an assassin, but Virgil had started to slip after spending so long around people who were not a danger to him.

At least not a danger to him as long as he didn’t get caught in a lie.

He’d been sloppy with the way he’d frozen when asked a question and with the stuttering. He should have been prepared; he was prepared for the next question.

“You only had to carry things and clean some things up?” Mr. Deknis asked, his eyebrows still raised.

Virgil carefully smoothed out his face, forcing his shoulder to relax as he shrugged. “And some other things,” he said easily. Not a lie. He could feel his heart race anyway.

Mr. Deknis’s eyes bored into him for a long moment and then he titled his head to the side and squinted at him.

Virgil just shot him a small smile. “Can we finish planting the flowers, please?” he asked politely. “I was very excited about it and would like to finish it today.”

Mr. Deknis did not reply for a long moment, and Virgil was careful to keep his expression blank.

Finally, the gardener relented, breaking his stare. If this was because he believed Virgil or not was unclear.

“Yeah, kid,” he said slowly. “Let’s finish planting your flowers.”

Virgil nodded, and he didn’t have to lie as much now as cautious eagerness returned to him. He really did want to finish planting his flowers in addition to stopping Mr. Deknis from asking uncomfortable questions about where Virgil had come from.

Mr. Deknis nodded to the bag of bulbs. They went back to work planting the flowers, but Virgil could feel Mr. Deknis’s eyes on him almost constantly. He had a feeling that this time, he wasn’t watching for how well Virgil was planting the bulbs, but something else.

Virgil was careful to not let his mask slip at all the entire time.

When they were finished planting Virgil’s entire plot of land, they cleaned up the equipment and stored it back away in the garden shed.

Another day Virgil might have stayed and helped Mr. Deknis with other things. Today he was still trying to cover for his bad lying earlier, however, so, Virgil decided to just go back to the castle and shower.

To his surprise Mr. Deknis also started walking off in the direction of the castle.

“Don’t you have more planting to do?” Virgil asked when they got to the door. He knew the man was very busy and his workday was only a bit more than half over.

“I do,” Mr. Deknis confirmed, “but I needed to talk to the king about something first.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Okay. I’m going to go shower.”

Mr. Deknis nodded. “I’ll see you sometime later then,” he said.

“Thank you for helping me plant the orchids.”

Mr. Deknis smiled slightly at that. “Anytime, kid.”

Chapter 54 (Patton)

“I still can’t believe he’s allowing this,” King Thomas said from next to Patton. The two of them were standing at the edge of the arena outside the horse stable, watching from a safe distance.

“If he hadn’t tried to bite me earlier, I’d think he was a different horse,” Patton agreed.

“He doesn’t even let Logan ride him,” the king said. “At least not ride him and give him directions.”

Patton was very aware of that. Logan did on occasion choose to get up onto Mr. Apple’s saddle. However, Mr. Apples was always the once who got to decide where they went after that. Logan had no say.

With that in mind, Patton, Logan, and every stable hand who’d heard about the prospective riding lessons had tried to convince Virgil to learn to ride on a different horse. Virgil was just as stubborn as Mr. Apples however and had insisted. Logan, being the only one who could be around Mr. Apples without risk had become his defacto tutor.

Not even Logan could have expected that within a week, Virgil would be able to control Mr. Apples. Though perhaps ‘control’ was the wrong word. Nothing could control Mr. Apples, but for some reason, Mr. Apples seemed willing to do as Virgil asked.

Even right now Mr. Apples was trotting around the training arena like he was a well-trained trick horse warming up with its rider.

“Logan told him we could go on an actual ride today if the lesson went well,” Patton told the king. The lesson seemed to be just getting over because Logan said something to Virgil and Virgil started to climb off. Mr. Apples was patient and still as he dismounted.

“Do you think he’d mind if I went with you?” King Thomas asked.

Patton shrugged. “Mr. Apples might.”

“Mr. Apples definitely will,” the king replied. “I’ll come anyway.”

Logan had walked over to where Patton and the king were standing while Virgil fed Mr. Apples some apple pieces as a reward.

“I hear you are going to go riding today,” king Thomas said.

Logan nodded. “Mr. Apples seems to listen to him well enough,” he said.

“I might join you if that’s alright. Where are you kids going?” the king asked.

“I was thinking the main forest path,” Logan replied. “It’s not a particularly difficult route, but it’s also a part of the castle grounds Virgil hasn’t been able to see yet. Loraine told me it has been recently cleared after the winter.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” the king said. “Are you going now?”

“Once Patton and I saddle up our horses,” Logan said. “You can come.”

“Great,” the king said with a smile. “I’ll ask for Bella’s saddle to be brought out. I haven’t gone on a ride yet this week.”

He turned then to walk towards the stables leaving Patton and Logan alone.

“Do you think he’s been acting weird?” Logan asked, turning towards Patton.

Patton frowned. “No,” he said. “Not really.”

“I’m just wondering why he wants to go horseback riding with us.”

“He likes spending time with you?” Patton guessed.

“Yes,” Logan said, “but typically in a setting that doesn’t involve Mr. Apples.”

Well, that was fair.

“I mean, it’s not too weird,” Patton said, thinking back through the last couple of days. King Thomas had been a bit… clingy.

“He’s been hanging around a lot,” Logan said, echoing Patton’s thoughts with narrowed eyes. He glanced back at Virgil. “You don’t think Virgil let something slip, do you?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Patton said. “I think your dad would say something if he let slip he was an assassin somehow.”

“Unless he let slip something that didn’t quite implicate himself but invited suspicion.”

“Your dad doesn’t seem suspicious,” Patton said. At least, Patton didn’t think he did. He hadn’t been acting mean in any way. In fact, he might have even been acting nicer.

Logan frowned. “We should keep an eye on him, especially around Virgil.”

Patton bit his lip.

“What?” Logan asked.

“Are we ever going to tell your dad about Virgil?” he asked.

Logan hesitated. “I don’t…” he trailed. “I’m not sure.”

“It just feels weird lying for so long,” Patton said. Patton didn’t lie a lot. Sure, maybe he’d pretend to not know what Mama was talking about when sweets went missing from the kitchens or he’d pretend to not know what Logan’s birthday gift was, but he’d never lied about anything serious before now.

“I know, but,” Logan glanced back at Virgil once again, “even if we did decide to tell, we’d have to convince Virgil everything would be alright beforehand. I don’t think we’re at that point yet. He was terrified of Father until a few months ago, and he’s still cautious around him sometimes.”

Logan was right, of course. Virgil was getting more and more comfortable around the king, but he figured any of the progress made would go down the drain as soon as they brought up telling King Thomas about where exactly Virgil had come from. Patton didn’t know if Virgil would ever be comfortable enough.

“We should go get our own horses,” Logan suggested, and Patton nodded.

Patton and Logan’s horses had already been saddled by the stable hands in anticipation of their ride and it didn’t take long for the king to saddle his own horse, Bella.

The forest path at this time of year was very pretty, Patton thought. The tree branches now had small green leaves on them after having been barren for the entire winter and flowers were starting to grow. In a few weeks’ time it would be even prettier, but it would also be harder for the groundskeeper to maintain as well as it was right now.

Virgil really did seem less anxious around King Thomas now. The path was only wide enough for two horses to go at once, and he didn’t seem to mind that he and the king ended up next to each other while Patton and Logan lagged behind. In fact, he and the king seemed to be having a nice conversation about the local wildlife.

However, if Patton looked close enough, he did sort of see what Logan meant. Virgil may not be anxious talking to the king now, but the king himself seemed just a little bit nervous at least at the beginning of the ride.

He seemed to relax a bit as they rode (even laughing when Mr. Apples tried to bite him when he got too close).

Logan had been teaching Virgil the basics about things like animals, but there was still a pretty big gap in his education when it came to anything that wasn’t about training to fight and kill. King Thomas seemed more than willing to answer any of his questions when it came to the animals and plants around them even if they were sometimes a bit silly.

He’d seen a bird that looked like a dove. (It may have even been a dove, but Patton hadn’t seen it.) This had been a source of endless confusion for him.

“But shouldn’t it live in the dovecote?” Virgil asked.

“Not all birds live in a dovecote,” the king explained again.

“But it’s a dove,” Virgil said with a frown.

“Not all doves live in a dovecote,” the king replied.

“But it’s a dovecote,” Virgil argued. “It’s for the doves.”

“Yes, but there are also wild doves,” the king said.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Virgil replied.

“What about it doesn’t make sense?” the king asked with a laugh in his tone.

“Doves go in the dovecote,” Virgil said.

Patton was starting to have trouble following this argument.

“Dovecotes are made for doves,” the king said, “but not all doves go in dovecotes.”

“Why?”

#proofread stories #not writing

18 notes · View notes

c-e-d-dreamer · 3 years ago

Text

Who’s Counting: Part Eight

A/N: I hope everyone enjoys this next angsty part! And just remember, I promise you’ll be happy by the end. Also, yes, this is another chapter with a random POV change, but please, again, roll with it. It’s the last time that will happen.

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

The first thing Cassian notices when he wakes up is his throbbing head. It's somehow a dull ache everywhere, but there's a particular pounding at his temples. His dry mouth is the second thing. He tries to get his tongue to cooperate and peel off the roof of his mouth, but it feels like he's inexplicably swallowed cotton. The third thing Cassian notices is the pins and needles of his left arm and the weight settled there, followed very shortly by the scent of vanilla and jasmine filling his nose. His eyes snap open and he instantly regrets it, the sunlight sinking its claws into his brain, and now, the pounding is really everywhere. He tries to slowly open one eye at a time, and after a few blinks, he can somewhat handle the harsh morning light.

Once Cassian’s eyes have adjusted, he takes in the person laying in front him, the culprit for his left arm being asleep since he currently has both arms curled around their waist. In an instant, Cassian feels a whiplash of confusion and panic. Luckily, they’re both fully clothed, it seems, so nothing too crazy must have happened last night. What even did happen last night? Cassian tries to wrack his brain, dredge the bottom of his sea of memories, but all he can remember is tequila. Too much tequila. Who let him drink that much tequila?

Cassian takes in the golden brown hair, pulled back into an intricate braid but various strands falling out from having been slept on. He takes in the slow deep breaths as she continues to sleep soundly, the white jersey with his name adorned across the back. That’s when it hits him, a bucket of ice cold water over the head and freezing him down to his very core. Nesta had been wearing his jersey last night. Azriel, the little shit, had thought it funny to steal it from his room and give it to Nesta apparently, but all it did was give Cassian an aneurysm. His entire brain had simply short circuited, refused to function or form a single, coherent word. Nesta was always beautiful, but in his clothes? Gods, it did something to him. His mind had instantly gone south, imagining Nesta in his jersey and nothing else. It especially didn't help when she had blushed at his compliment, that rosy color dusting her cheeks. He wondered if he could bring that color out elsewhere.

And now she’s in his bed.

Cassian can’t help but consider that maybe he’s dreaming. After all, this is definitely his dream. But what kind of person dreams of having a hangover? There had to be a logical explanation. Had Cassian simply offered she could crash here rather than walk all the way back to her place? His place was closer. Was that prick Tomas at the party again? Both sound plausible, but trying to get his brain to recall any solid details from the previous night is useless. It’s like trekking through thick mud while shrouded in fog.

Nesta shifting suddenly grabs Cassian’s attention, his whole body freezing up in anticipation. He looses the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding when she simply settles and continues to sleep. Ever so slowly and carefully, Cassian starts to pull his arms back and free. He hears a quiet snuffle from Nesta, a tell-tale sign that she’s woken up, so he decides best to treat it like a bandaid, snapping his arms away from her and tucking them back against himself. Nesta stiffens at the movement, and Cassian’s glad her back is to him so she can’t see the grimace marring his face. Nesta rolls over to face him then, and Cassian tries to school his features into something less awkward, but he’s pretty sure all he achieves is sheepish.

Nesta’s face is held perfectly neutral, but Cassian doesn’t miss the hesitancy swimming amongst the blues of her eyes. There’s another emotion hidden there, but despite Cassian’s brain working overtime to try and recognize it, he can’t quite put his finger on it in his hungover state. Not to mention, he needs his brain to focus on other things, like forming words.

“Morning,” Nesta mumbles, her voice quiet like she knows Cassian’s headache can’t handle normal volume just yet.

“You’re in my bed,” Cassian blurts out, internally cursing himself as soon as the words fall past his lips. That is definitely not what he had meant to say, but then Nesta is giving him one of her teasing eye rolls, so maybe it’s not all bad.

“Astute observation,” Nesta remarks dryly.

“Why are you in my bed?”

In the blink of an eye that emotion from before is vanishing, Nesta burying it somewhere deep within herself. Cassian hates it. Hates it even more when a frown tugs across her lips, eyebrows pinching together in a way that has him itching to reach out and smooth the lines with a reassuring hand.

“You asked me to stay last night,” Nesta explains slowly.

"Why would I do that?"

Cassian realizes in that moment that he's somehow said something wrong. He can practically see every icy brick being stacked up higher and higher behind Nesta's eyes. She keeps her spine straight as a steel rod and chin held high as she slides to the end of the bed, past Cassian’s feet, and clambers down to the floor.

"I don't know," Nesta says in a cool tone, not even bothering to look at Cassian as she slides her boots on, zipping them up. "Guess you'll just have to ask past-you."

"I don't know if I want to do that. He was an idiot who made a bunch of mistakes," Cassian teases, hoping the lighthearted jab at himself will break the tension suddenly in the room. He's still not even sure where it came from, but it prickles his skin as it pushes with it's suffocating grasp. But Nesta doesn't laugh, doesn't even smile or take the open opportunity to add a quip of her own. She just stands at his door, an unreadable expression marring her beautiful face.

"I left a water bottle and some ibuprofen on your desk," Nesta says. "I'll see you in class."

Without another word, Nesta turns and leaves, the soft click of his door closing somehow too loud in Cassian's ears. He continues to stare at where she had just been standing, hoping the space can offer some answers. All he gets is silence, though, so with a sigh, Cassian flops back against his mattress. The bed suddenly feels cold without Nesta there, and Cassian wishes he'd had more time or been less drunk and then hungover to memorize when she had been there, the way it had felt to have his arms wrapped around her and holding her close.

"Where'd Nesta go?"

Cassian looks over to find Azriel leaning against his door frame, a bowl of cereal balanced in his palm. He secretly hates the fact that his brother looks decidedly not hungover. Although, his hair is distinctly tousled, and Cassian swears that’s a smudge of lipstick under his jaw.

“Back to her place,” Cassian answers Azriel’s question. “I think she’s mad at me.”

“Well, five was always going to be too many, so you brought that upon yourself. Compromise and I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

“Five? Five what?”

“You don’t remember? Exactly how drunk were you last night?”

Cassian groans, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Too drunk.”

A silence settles between them, and when Cassian peels his hands away from his face and looks back over toward the door, Azriel is looking much too amused for Cassian’s liking. The slight pinch upward of his lips on the left side, the faintest glint in his eyes, that expression has always spelt trouble for Cassian, always been followed by some sort of embarrassment. When they were kids and definitely still now.

“So, you don’t remember basically announcing to the whole party last night that you want Nesta to be the mother of your children? Five children to be exact.”

Cassian can feel his blood freeze cold in his veins as Azriel’s words rattle through him, his heart stuttering to a painful stop in shock. The words are almost familiar to him, pulling on a loose thread inside his mind. He can remember Nesta’s face, those stormy blue eyes wide even as her hands held tight to his arms.

“Please tell me you’re just fucking with me right now,” Cassian pleads, but Azriel’s grimace is answer enough.

“It was right after you professed you loved her and that she makes your heart explode,” Azriel explains.

“What.”

“I mean it was kind of romantic in an embarrassing and cringey way. Honestly, I’m still holding out that someone got the whole thing on video, so you’ll never be able to live it down.”

“You’re a terrible brother and friend.”

“And you’re an idiot, but what else is new?”

Cassian grabs one of his pillows to throw at Azriel’s head, but luckily his brother seems to take pity on him, turning to leave with a low chuckle. Cassian lays back down, once again trying to pry the memories from last night free from the crevices of his mind, the alcohol-addled lake they seemed to have drowned in. With a soft sigh, he rolls over, hand stretching toward the spot Nesta was laying in just ten minutes ago. He’ll just talk to her. He’s not exactly sure what he’ll say, since saying he didn’t mean it would just be an outright lie, but he’ll figure something out. Preferably when his head isn’t still pounding.

It’s decided then. Cassian will sleep a few more hours to shake the rest of this hangover, and then he’ll call Nesta, and they’ll talk, and then… well, Cassian isn’t sure what will happen then, but it’s a start.

~ * * * ~

Nesta stands in the hallway, staring down the classroom doorway like it’s personally wronged her. She knows what’s waiting for her on the other side of that doorway, and honestly, she’s still not sure she’s ready to face it. Cassian had called and texted her all day Sunday and yesterday until Nesta had switched her phone to do not disturb, but there was nowhere to hide from him now.

His words had echoed in her mind the entire walk back from his dorm to her place. Why would I do that. Mistake. And the way he had jolted away from her like he'd been burned when they woke up? She should’ve known everything Cassian had said Saturday was just drunken words, no real meaning behind them, but the whole thing still felt like a slap to the face.

Even worse is she had known, or that stupid voice in the back of her mind did. When had she stopped listening to it? She had gotten too complacent around Cassian, let him chip away at her walls, let her guard start to melt away, and look where it got her. Looking like a complete and utter fool in some man’s bed. Now, it’s like that voice is gloating, is mocking her, is chastising her in that same tone her mother always used.

Sit up straight. Proper ladies don't slouch.

Hold your tongue. Proper ladies don’t speak like that.

Proper ladies never let them see her cry.

That last particular piece of advice had kept Nesta waiting until she was safely back in her room, safely alone behind a closed door, before letting the cracks show. And then she had cursed herself for even having cracks. Hated that empty feeling that creeped between her ribs, dark claws digging in until she had to choke in breaths around their iron grip. Hated the resounding pang from her heart that echoed in that hollowness. Hated that sinking feeling that had burrowed into her bones until she spent the rest of the morning curled up in bed.

But she would not let it break her.

So Nesta had spent the rest of the weekend repairing the tears in armor, rebuilding the walls around herself until they were even taller, even thicker. She patched up every little hole until there would be no way for anyone, especially Cassian, to wiggle their way in past her defenses. And there her heart would be safe. Sure, it would be locked away, but it would never break. Just how Nesta liked it.

Nesta spots her Chemistry professor walking down the hallway, so she knows that’s her cue, dipping through the door before the professor follows behind her and closes the door. Nesta can feel Cassian’s eyes on her as soon as she steps inside the classroom, but she avoids his gaze as she walks to their lab table and slides into her seat. Wordlessly, she grabs his jersey out of his bag and sets it down on the table for him before grabbing the things she’ll need for class.

When Nesta chances a glance toward Cassian, his eyes are glued to the jersey, hands gripping the white fabric. He must be able to feel Nesta’s attention on him because his gaze snaps to hers. Nesta refuses to be affected by the hurt she can see in those hazel eyes, refuses to ask about the dark circles bruised under them.

“Nesta—”

“Alright, class, today we’ll be discussing carboxylic acids.”

Nesta keeps her focus on her notes through the whole lecture, probably more so than usual. It almost feels like a feat with the way Cassian keeps looking over at her, the weight of his gaze prickling along her skin until she’s sure her ears are burning from the attention. His nervous ticks are back in full force, pen bouncing against his blank notebook page and hand pushing through his hair enough times the strands have to have become a mess of tangles. When it’s not buried in his hair, that free hand sits on the lab table between them, fingers twitching like Cassian is holding back reaching out.

When the lecture ends, Nesta is quick to close her notes and grab her bag, but Cassian’s hand is quicker, wrapping around Nesta’s wrist to stop her. She allows herself two breaths before turning a cool expression Cassian’s way, quirking an eyebrow in silent question.

“Can we talk?” Cassian asks.

“About what?”

“About Saturday.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Nesta questions, pulling her arm free from Cassian’s loose grip and packing her things. “You got drunk off your face. I helped you home. The end.”

Cassian frowns at that, eyebrows dipping together. “Nesta, you stayed the night.”

“You’re a clingy drunk,” Nesta deflects easily, shouldering her bag and standing up.

“And what about—”

“Look, Cassian,” Nesta cuts in, whirling on him. “There’s nothing to talk about. You said so yourself that night was a mistake, so we can just pretend it never happened and move on.”

Cassian just blinks in confusion at Nesta. She watches the way the cogs turn behind his eyes, his face dancing through different emotions as he tries to comprehend the implication of her words. When his expression finally reaches realization, Nesta can’t take it anymore. She uses the silence to her advantage, turning on her heel and walking out of the classroom, pointedly ignoring Cassian calling her name after her.

~ * * * ~

Unfortunately, Wednesday’s class means a lab and no lecture for Nesta to keep as a barrier between her and Cassian. But Nesta is determined to just get her work done. She reads over the experiment steps and starts pouring the solutions into the beaker, even with Cassian's gaze locked on her once again.

“Can we talk about Saturday now?” Cassian breaks the quiet.

“I thought we agreed there was nothing to talk about?”

“You decided that, but I don’t remember agreeing.”

Nesta is about to reply when she notices the students at the lab table in front of them, their heads turned slightly back, clearly eavesdropping. After the stupid spectacle that was Saturday, it seems her and Cassian’s business is now of every student’s interest. It has her hackles rising instantly.

“What?” Nesta barks at them, her clipped tone causing them both to spin back around and go back to their own experiment.

“How about we talk after class?” Cassian asks, keeping his voice low this time.

“I have another class right after this.”

“After class tomorrow?”

“You have another class right after on Thursday’s,” Nesta reminds him.

Cassian sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face in exasperation. “Another time then?”

“Fine,” Nesta replies coolly.

“Really?” Cassian drawls sarcastically. “Or are you just saying that, and you actually plan to keep ignoring all my calls and texts like you’ve been doing?”

“I’ve been busy,” Nesta deflects.

Cassian scoffs at that, and the sound grates deep within Nesta’s chest. “Don’t do this, Nesta.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Nesta shoots back, turning a glare in Cassian’s direction.

“Don’t shut me out.”

The words take Nesta by surprise, but she pushes them down along with everything else, buries them deep and refuses to let that mask slip even for a second. She keeps her face neutral and spine straight as she sets the beaker down in front of Cassian with finality.

“Heat until we start to see evaporation. That’s the next step of the experiment.”

~ * * * ~

On Thursday, Nesta decides to skip out on Chemistry class. She emails the professor so she can make up the work and spends the day in bed trying to focus on her latest book. But of course, the love interest in the book is a man with long, dark hair and hazel eyes. Nesta ends up throwing the paperback across her room in a huff and curling up under her blankets instead.

This time, there’s no one poking their head in her room with the notes she missed, no one settling in beside her and offering to watch a movie until she feels better. Nesta can’t decide if that makes her feel relief or if it stings like salt in a gaping wound. She at least hopes this means Cassian finally got the message, and they can finally move on, can go back to being just acquaintances and lab partners until the semester ends. Then, they can go their separate ways, and Nesta can go back to having no clue who Cassian, captain of the school’s soccer team, is.

As Thursday becomes Friday, and Friday becomes Saturday, Nesta supposes the only way she’ll find out is in Chemistry on Tuesday.

“Alright, that’s it,” Emerie says, bursting into Nesta’s room. “You are officially coming to this bonfire night.”

“What?” Nesta asks, sitting up in her bed and watching as Emerie goes over to her closet, sorting through the different clothes there.

“It’s a Saturday night,” Emerie points out. “You can’t just spend it moping around.”

“I am not moping,” Nesta defends, crossing her arms defensively.

“Sure, you aren’t,” Gwyn cuts in sarcastically, leaning against the doorframe to Nesta’s room.

“Look, you’re going to put on a cute outfit, look hot as shit at this party, and maybe find someone nice enough to help you move on from Cassian with,” Emerie declares, her tone leaving no room for protests.

“There’s nothing to move on from,” Nesta reminds them. Again.

“So you keep saying,” Emerie dismisses with a wave of her hand before tossing clothes onto Nesta’s bed.

Nesta eyes the short skirt and sheer top before settling Emerie with an unimpressed look. “You know that bonfire means outside, right? I’m going to freeze my ass off in that.”

“You know that bonfire means fire, right?” Emerie shoots back. “You’ll be fine.”

“We leave in thirty,” Gwyn adds, linking her arm with Emerie as they leave Nesta’s room.

Nesta huffs quietly in annoyance, but she clambers off her bed, taking the clothes Emerie picked out and getting changed. She takes the time to do her makeup and hair, keeping it simple but using extra concealer under her eyes to hide the purpling skin there. She picks at the skin around her nails while she listens to her roommates laughing in the living room, trying to shake the dark clouds that decided to roll in without her permission, that refuse to leave as they rain down icy water that sinks in until she’s numb all the way down to the bones. Nesta gives herself a few moments to breathe then smooths the lines in her skirt, standing up and heading to join them.

The party is at the same house as before, but this time the house is almost empty when they step through, most of the students already out back. They walk into the backyard where a large circle of stones has been set up, a roaring bonfire flickering inside it, embers rising up into an inky sky of stars. Students are milling about all around the fire, their forms silhouetted in the dancing flame. Nesta hates the way her eyes instantly sweep around, automatically searching for a familiar broad frame, a familiar pair of hazel eyes.

Instead, Nesta finds a different pair of hazel ones, ones that widen when they connect with hers. Nesta watches in confusion as Azriel digs his phone out of his pocket, furiously tapping away at the screen. Gwyn goes bounding over to her boyfriend, but then the two begin having what looks like some sort of heated discussion. When Azriel gestures back toward Nesta, she decides she doesn’t want to know and that she definitely needs a drink now, so she heads over to where coolers of drinks have been set up along the back of the house.

“Nesta.”

Nesta looks up from where she was digging a can of beer out of the mountains of ice to find Baz standing on the other side of the cooler, his face the picture perfect of shock, eyes just that little bit wide and eyebrows practically to his hairline. The slightly confused pinch to his mouth has Nesta shifting uncomfortably in her spot, and she opens her can of beer to give her something to do with her hands.

“Baz,” Nesta offers in way of greeting.

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

That causes Nesta to frown. She never thought Baz had an issue with her before. In fact, he always seemed friendly toward her, almost flirty at times. She can’t recall doing anything to earn any sort of party ban from the soccer team. Not that she particularly wanted to be here in the first place, but something about getting kicked out feels like it would be an even worse ending to an already terrible week.

“Why do you say that?” Nesta asks.

“Sorry if I’m overstepping, but with how mopey Cass was at practice all week, I sort of assumed you two broke up,” Baz explains, grimacing in apology.

“We were never together,” Nesta points out.

Baz laughs at that, the sound loud and gruff, before he seems to think better and awkwardly clears his throat. “Damn. If you two are what never together looks like, I’d love to be never together with a nice girl.”

Baz knocks his drink against Nesta's in a cheers before turning away to join a group of students. The whole conversation leaves Nesta feeling unsettled, so she takes a big swig of her drink before turning her attention back to the party, spotting Emerie chatting with Mor over by the fire and deciding to join them.

Even surrounded by students, even in the midst of a party, Nesta feels alone. She feels like it’s last year again, like she’s taken five steps back into the darkness. Into the heavy weight of it, into the suffocating smoke that chokes out every breath. It swallows her whole, and she hates it, hates the way it makes her skin prickle and itch. She’s already thinking about how to make her escape, the best way she can slip away and back to the safety of her room, her bed.

It doesn’t help that she’s absolutely freezing despite standing as close to the bonfire as she feels comfortable. She tried to step closer earlier, but the fire had crackled and embers had gone flying up in a burst that Nesta had quickly skittered back to safety. She wraps her arms tightly around herself and rubs at her biceps to try and create some type of warmth, but when Emerie and Mor start laughing about whatever it is they’re talking about, it tears at the last of Nesta’s very frayed nerves.

“The next time you try to convince me that my outfit will be fine because a fire will keep me warm,” Nesta seethes. “Remind me to punch you in the face.”

“Now, Nesta, let’s not make threats that—”

When Emerie doesn’t finish her thought, Nesta turns toward her confused, but her roommate’s eyes are wide as she stares at something behind Nesta. Before Nesta can even ask, a steady weight settles on her shoulders. She looks down to find a leather jacket draped there, the fabric soft worn and familiar, smelling of pine scented body wash and cologne.

She turns to find Cassian standing behind her. He looks worse for wear, hands stuffed into his pockets and shoulders hunched. Nesta takes in the joggers Cassian’s wearing, the simple long sleeved tee, the beanie hat pulled down atop his tangle of hair.

“You’re not really dressed for a party,” Nesta comments.

“I was at the library. It’s a Saturday,” Cassian tells her quietly. “Nesta, please. Can we talk? This is killing me.”

Nesta blinks a few times, taking in the hurt lining those hazel eyes, the way that usual brightness is lacking in them even as they flicker in the firelight, before nodding. She follows behind Cassian as he leads the way back inside the house, away from the prying eyes and too curious ears. He clearly knows the house from the way he moves inside with ease, and while Nesta doesn’t know whose room they end up in, the posters adorning the walls make it clear the owner is on the soccer team.

After Nesta steps inside, Cassian closes the door quietly behind her, and then it’s just the two of them. The music and chatter from the party drifts through the walls like whispers, but it does little to disperse the tense silence between them. It’s a tangible weight, heavy and suffocating, pulled in by the gaping, roaring expanse separating them as they stare at one another. Cassian breaks first, dropping his eyes to the floor before clearing his throat.

“Look, Nesta,” Cassian starts. “I really think we should talk about Saturday. About what I said.”

“So talk.”

“I just… I want to explain.”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it,” Nesta dismisses, pointedly ignoring the way Cassian frowns, the way his eyebrows pinch. “You were drunk and you didn’t mean it. It’s fine. We can just pretend it never happened.”

Cassian lets out a humorless laugh, shakes his head. “So you keep saying. Is that what you want?”

“What?”

“Is that what you want, Nesta?”

The slight derisive tone of his voice instantly has Nesta on the defensive. Those walls fly up even higher around her, her own personal guard and shield. Her fists clench at her sides, nails biting into the skin of her palm in a way that fuels the angry fire flooding her veins. She raises her chin high and settles Cassian with a withering stare. She hates the small part of her that leaps at the fact he doesn’t balk from it.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nesta seethes.

“Do you want to pretend it never happened? Because we both know how I feel. I’ve been clear about my feelings since the day we met.”

“What? That you want to get in my pants, you mean?”

“Seriously? What do you want me to do? Deny that I find you attractive? You’re right, Nesta. I thought you were hot then, and I still think you’re hot now. Happy?”

Nesta scoffs, crossing her arms with a roll of her eyes.

“Gods, you really are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” Cassian groans, and Nesta wraps her arms tighter against herself like it will somehow ward off the jab. “You’re also the smartest person I know. And you’re funny and witty and amazing, but fine. Fine. You want to pretend it didn’t happen, we can. But dammit, Nesta, I don’t know how much longer I can play this stupid game with you. I’m dying over here.”

Cassian’s chest heaves and he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. When he pulls his hands away, the dark circles clinging to the skin there are more prominent, those hazel eyes more dull than Nesta’s ever seen them. The sight has Nesta feeling like her ribcage has been cleaved in two, and the desire to reach out screams at every nerve ending in her body.

“I don’t know if I can go back to just being your friend,” Cassian says quietly.

Nesta doesn't know what it is. Maybe it's the way the last few days have left her feeling hollowed out, like a whole piece of her chest has been forcibly removed. Maybe it's the alcohol thrumming through her veins. But suddenly, Nesta wants to jump. She never wants to jump. Never wants to take that risk, not unless she knows exactly what's waiting at the bottom. But maybe that's it. She does know what's at the bottom this time, and she knows who's waiting there will catch her.

“Well, I don’t want to be your friend either,” Nesta says simply. “So, it’s agreed. Neither of us wants to be friends.”

“Nesta…” Cassian chokes out, his voice pained.

“So, are you going to stand there all night like an idiot or are you going to kiss me?”

—

Taglist: @moodymelanist @hellogoodbye14 @nestaspegasus @confusedfandomslut @sv0430 @angelic-voice-1997 @azreilsblade @talkfantasytome @secretlovelybeauty @dontgetsalmonella

#my fic #Who's Counting #acotar #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic

115 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

Push

Warnings: noncon sex, oral, mentions of violence, abuse, and death.

This is Lee Bodecker (who is already dark!af) and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your daddy’s in business with the Sheriff but a dirty cop has not limits.

Note: This is my first Lee Bodecker fic. Obviously it’s a dark on so mind the warnings. Lee is just awful. Like what a bastard, the worst!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

‘She said "I don't know if I've ever been good enough I'm a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in”’

-Push, Matchbox Twenty

🚔

You traced the small crack along the lip of the plate. The dinner set your mother had been so proud of was wearing away. Everything had started to since her death. The farmhouse seemed darker, more desolate amid the sentinel pines, your father's shed more sinister though the childhood tales of what was within had long since been dispelled. The walls shuddered with each gust of late autumn air.

The house was empty but for you. Your brothers were at about their usual business, Arn and Cal at work at yard and Will in his classes, though more likely bumming cigarettes behind the church. Your father had rumbled off in his old Ford pick-up not an hour ago but hadn't given you a reason. He never did and it was better that way. Better you didn't ask questions or speak out of turn. Focus on yourself, in the work that needed to be done as the men bustled in and out of your purview.

You set the plate on the mat to dry, a soapy bubble dripped down the back as you plunged your hand back into the water. You piled the dishes one after the other, scrubbing and scouring. The clink of the thick glass painted with faded petals and the old silverware was thunderous in the chilly kitchen.

You heard an engine, quieter than your father's cantankerous truck. The gravel mulched under the tires and you grabbed a rag to dry your hands as you walked through the front door. You peeked out the window as the cruiser pulled up; the old black and white with its blue and red crown.

Sheriff Bodecker came around maybe once every two weeks. You didn't keep track, you never spoke to him. Your daddy always took him to the shed for a beer and a chat. The uniform took a cut of the profits from your father's sill. The moonshine sold better than the beer sold at the store in town but wasn't allowed on the shelves. the lawman turned his eye for a percentage and the occasional jug of the brew.

You watched the sheriff brace himself against his door and lift himself out of the car. His jacket was zipped up against the impending winter but could barely contain his stomach. He reached into his car and plopped his hat on his head before he slammed the door. His boots were just as loud as his tires as he rounded the vehicle and paced towards your daddy's shed.

He turned back, hands on his hips, and peered across the empty lot. The big blue truck always greeted visitors, not that there were many. You watched the sheriff retreat and as he neared the porch, you let go of the curtain and pressed yourself to the door.

Your brothers and your father were the only people in your life. You minded the house and spent your spare time with one of your mama's old books or a needle and thread.

The door shook as he knocked. You blinked and slowly turned. You grabbed the handle but didn't pull. He must have known your daddy wasn't there. A fool could guess that.

He banged again and you twisted the knob. Slowly, you pulled the door open just a crack. You looked through with one eye as the sheriff felt around impatiently in his pockets.

"Daddy ain't here," you said quietly.

He tilted his head and grinned. He scoffed and ripped his hand out of his jacket.

"I guessed that. Be a shit officer if I couldn't," he snickered. "Pardon the language, miss."

"I don't know when he'll be back," you said.

"I got time," he checked his watch.

There was a moment of silence as he looked at you. You gulped, uncertain.

"Sorry, we don't get many visitors. Guess I should invite you in… I got coffee? Tea?"

He considered you through the inch between the frame and the door. "You gonna have to open up for that," he said, "you got anything sweet?"

"Some leftover cake from Arn's birthday. It's probably stale." You answered as he placed his hand flat on the door. "It's strawberry cream."

"Mm, you make it yourself?" He asked as his other hand rested on his belt.

"Mama's recipe," you explained.

"Well,” he pushed on the door, "Can I come in then or am I eatin' on the porch?"

You stared at him and slowly stepped back as he put more weight against the door. He dropped his arm as you were flush to the wall and he stepped inside. You looked at his boots as he pulled the door from your grasp and threw it shut behind him. He chuckled as he turned to you again and looked at his feet.

“Not meaning to mess up your floors, miss,” he wiped the treads on the mat.

“It’s fine. My brothers never did care much either,” you waved away his words and retreated, “I’ll get you that cake.”

You went to the kitchen and took the glass lid of the cake dish. That was your mother’s too. The long crack up the side made you want to cry. If she could see how the life she’d left behind had become so distorted. You took a plate from the mat and dried it before you laid it out. You cut a slice from the cake and carefully angled it onto the saucer.

“Should I put the kettle on?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder.

He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over a chair before he sat. The wood groaned under him. He put his hat on the table decisively.

“You got milk? I had a coffee on the way.” He sat back in the chair and spread his legs wide.

“Milk,” you repeated as you neared and set the plate on the table then grabbed a fork from the drawer. You handed him the silver then went to the fridge, “Should be enough.”

You poured him a glass and put it down beside the plate as he greedily cut a bite out of the sponge with his fork. You went back to the sink and stuck your hands in the tepid water as you fished out the last few bowls and scrubbed them one at a time. You could hear him chewing behind you as the metal hit the porcelain with each bite.

“You really don’t entertain much, do you?” He asked.

“Sheriff?” you pulled the stopped and grabbed the dish towel to dry your hands.

“You know, I go ‘round folks’ houses and the wives, they smile, flip their hair, even excuse themselves to powder up,” he remarked, “And here you are doing your washing. Your back to me and everything.”

“I told my daddy I’d have ‘em done,” you shrugged. “Besides, I wasn’t expecting ya.”

“I rarely announce myself to shiners,” he rolled his eyes, “Must be quite the life, hmm? You cleaning up behind four boys. You look old enough to have a man of your own to worry about.”

“Maybe,” you wrung the dish towel.

“Most girls your age are outta their daddy’s house and settled down with a babe on their hip. Even two.” He said.

You frowned. “Well, Sheriff Bodecker, are you married?”

He squinted and tilted his head. He smirked and said ‘no’.

“You’re older than me. Maybe you’re the one who’s overdue.”

“Not too old,” he stabbed the last morsel of cake.

You turned away and grabbed a cup and wiped it dry. You went about drying each piece as he sat quietly. You sensed his gaze as you put away the dishes. The tension mounted as you snapped shut the cupboard and he tapped the plate with the fork.

You were relieved when you heard the gravel crunching outside. Your daddy was back. The putter of his old truck was a welcoming sound.

“That should be him,” you said as you went to the table and picked up his plate.

He set the fork atop it and grabbed your wrist before you could back away. “You take good care of a man.”

You swallowed and resisted the urge to pull away. “Not too many men can take care of themselves,” you uttered.

He laughed and let you go. He stood and you quickly scurried away to dump the plate in the sink. “Probably right,” he said as he took his jacket and pulled it on, “Definitely not in the ways a woman can take care of a man.”

You turned the faucet as the front door clattered. “Sherriff?” You father called down the hall, “You in here?”

“Here, Rhett,” He flipped his hat on and winked at you, “Son of a bitch, I’ve been waiting long enough.”

🚔

There was a cluster of brambles deep in the woods. A carpet of red, orange, and yellow leaves slowly wilted to brown beneath your feet as you climbed through the brush. You clutched your basket in one hand, your fingers cold even inside your gloves as the winter crept nearer with each day.

You were the old scarf with the uneven edges. The first one you knitted yourself after your mama had shown you how. Your fleece jacket was hand-me-down from Cal, the sleeves were too long and it puffed out from your body when you zipped it, an old oil stain along the left side. Your skirt, your own creation from two of your mama’s, hung to your knees, your stocking barely thick enough to keep out the chill. The heel of your right boot flopped as it threatened to fall off entirely and made the trek all the more treacherous.

You tossed walnuts into your basket every now and then if they weren’t crushed or caked in mud. The trees muffled all noise the deeper you got and the trees loomed darker above. You stopped at the overgrowth of leaves and vines. Blackberries and raspberries hung plump in the last harvest of the season. You preferred the wild berries to the grocers; they were larger and juicier.

You set down your basket as you pushed through the sharp, thin branches and began to pick. You knelt to grab those hidden at the bottom, dumping handfuls atop your collection of walnuts.

You heard a rustle behind you. Subtle, soft. More likely a deer than a bear. You peeked over your shoulder but didn’t give much heed to the disturbance. There was always some creature flitting around in the forest. You tuned back to your work, your gloves dappled with the dark juices of the berries as some were so soft the burst on touch.

The bushes behind you shook and a twig snapped.

“What you doing out here all alone? I thought you were a bear.”

You stood as you recognized the voice. You dropped the berries in your hand into the basket before you turned and clapped off your gloves. “I thought the same of you.” You blanched as you saw his gun in hand. “You hunting out here with that?”

Sheriff Bodecker looked down at his pistol and scoffed. “Maybe,” he looked up as he kept his gun in hand, “How you know about these berries?”

“They’re wild. There for the taking,” you turned back and pushed through the brambles as you plucked berries from the bunch, “Mama used to take us here when we we’re kids.”

“You lookin’ to make another cake?” His boots crushed the leaves and sticks as he neared.

“Conserves; jams,” you answered bluntly as your basket filled with each handful. “Too bad strawberries are all gone for the season.”

You sensed him watching you as you stooped again. He reached down to your basket and took a raspberry. He popped it in his mouth as he straightened. You glanced over, his gun was pointed at the ground but still in hand. He knocked it gently against his leg as if thinking.

“Tart,” he said, “I prefer strawberry. Sweeter.”

“Mmm,” you grumbled as you dug through the bush, “Well, they charge too much down at the grocer for ‘em.”

It was quiet but for you pushing past the bramble and filling your basket. You could hear him breathing above you as he watched, transfixed by your simple ritual.

“Never told me why you’re all the way out here,” you said as you contented yourself with your haul. “Should I be worried? Some criminal out here hiding in the branches?”

“Sitting by the river on my break, as I do,” he shrugged as you lifted your basket. “It’s a far way back to your daddies. My cruiser’s closer. I can take you home.”

“I prefer the walk. Gives me an excuse to be away.” You smiled and made to step past him.

“We can take our time,” he caught your arm.

“Thank you, Sheriff, but I can find my own way back.”

He turned you to him and raised his gun. His eyes searched your face as he pressed the muzzle to your cheek.

“Ain’t much on the first look but after a while, you’re not so bad,” he said as you stiffened, “If you didn’t dress like a matron, you might even be pretty.” His gun fell to the collar of the jacket. “Usually men don’t offer favours to girls who ain’t pretty.”

“Let go of me,” you pleaded softly, “Sheriff…”

He pointed his gun skyward and released you. He holstered the pistol and laughed to himself.

“You go on lift up that skirt and give me a good look. Then I’ll drive you back to your daddy’s. You have my word as an officer of the law.”

“Pardon--”

“Shhh,” his hand lingered on the pistol, playing with the little strap that would snap it into place, “No one needs to know. Just a peek.”

“Sheriff--”

“Girl,” he cleared his throat, “Ya gonna do what I tell you or I’m gonna make you do worse. Now go on.”

He snatched the basket out of your hand and you let out your breath, relieved at least that he no longer had his fingers on his pistol.

“It’s cold out--”

“You argue with your daddy this much? He don’t seem the type to bide it and let me tell you, he seems a lot more tolerant than me.” He took another berry and chewed it, “So lift your skirt and we’ll be on our way.”

You stared at him. He smirked and licked the dark juice away from his lip. You hands shook as you bent and clumsily felt your skirt. You gathered the hem and stood. You bunched up the fabric around the bottom of the coat and he tutted in satisfaction.

“Turn around for me, girl,” he softly swung the basket, “Bend over so I can get a nice look at you.”

“Sher--”

“I really don’t wanna knock ya around and you don’t want that either,” he warned. “Two seconds. That’s all it will take.”

You gulped as bile burned your throat. You turned, careful not to catch the loose heel of your boot, and held your breath. You bent forward slowly.

“Further,” he ordered. The thin cotton of your underwear stretched across your ass. “Well, you got a much nicer backside than I expected.”

You let out a sharp breath as he pinched your ass and you stood suddenly. You stumbled forward and dropped your skirts. He laughed as you spun to face him. He shoved the basket against your chest.

“See how easy that was,” he leered at you as you took the basket. “Who you hidin’ that body from? Maybe your daddy’s a selfish man, hmmm? Keeping you from all the men.”

“Can we go?” You muttered as you tried to hide behind the basket.

His blue eyes bore into yours and he shifted on his feet. His hand rubbed the front of his pants as he side stepped you.

“Sure, cruisers ‘round the bend.” He waved you past him and waited. “Come on, you said you wanted to go.”

You walked past him along the trail and he followed, close as his loud breaths filled the air. He pointed you down the path with curt orders and you came into sight of the broad river. His car was parked just off the sideroad that led back to the town.

His keys jingled as he brushed by you, dragging his hand across your rear as he did. He opened the passenger door and looked at you. You neared and quickly got in, sitting on the long seat within. He closed the door harshly and rounded to the other side. The car dipped with his weight and he shoved the keys in the slot.

“Come here,” he gestured with two fingers, “Closer.”

“What?”

“Put the berries down,” he pointed to the other side of you and you placed the basket on the seat.

“I should be home sooner than later. I gotta start cooking--”

“I’ll get you there,” he grabbed your arm and slid you over the seat. He flipped his hat off and dropped it over the basket. He slung his arm over your shoulders. “Go on, put me in first.”

He gripped the wheel with his other hand and you blinked dumbly. You realised what he meant and pushed the shifted into gear.

“You cold? You’re shivering,” He said as he carefully turned the car, “Just tryna warm you up, girl.”

“I’m fine,” you crossed your arms as he drove at a snail's pace up the dirt road.

“I’m cold,” he gave an exaggerated ‘brrr’, “Do me a favour. Unzip me.”

“What?” You tried to pull away and he bent his arm around your neck, his hand along your chest as your head was nearly on his.

“I’m hard as fuck. You did that. Now take care of it.” He growled. “Get these damn pant unzipped and finish it.”

“Let go--”

“You don’t start listening and I’ll tell you’re daddy what a whore you are. Up in the woods flaunting your ass to the wind.”

You stared down at your stitched skirt. Your mama’s. You only wore her clothes. They were modest. You’d once worn a dress your friend Laverne had given you, more modern, with a shorter skirt. Your daddy belted you until it was ruined.

Your hands trembled as you felt along the Sheriff’s stomach and fumbled beneath. You unbuckled his belt clumsily and found his fly ready to burst. You pushed his zipper down as he groaned and he lifted his arm over the seat. His underwear was tight to his bulging cock.

“Now don’t keep wastin’ my time and take me out,” he snarled.

You pulled the elastic down and he popped out above it. You hesitated as you stared at his throbbing tip.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” You confessed.

“Christ, girl,” he snickered, “Grab it and just… move your hand.”

You shuddered and wrapped your fingers around his cock. It was as thick as the rest of him. You gripped it but still had no idea what to do next.

“Up and down. Like your polishing a shotgun,” he urged, “A nice long barrel.” You bit down and slid your hand along his length. “Tighter,” he gritted through his teeth, “Faster…”

He purred as you played with him. He drove a little faster and steered with one hand as his other hand clawed the back of the seat.

“Fuckin’ don’t know, girl, feels like you know exactly what to you,” he uttered, “Got me close already.”

You stared at the middle of the steering wheel, the silver emblem, and tried not to think about what you were doing. His hand fell to your back and he caressed the back of your coat. He grasped the cloth in his fist as his grunts grew louder and longer.

“Grab that coffee cup,” he demanded, “Go on, you don’t wanna make a mess.”

You took the cup with one hand and popped the top off with your thumb. It flew onto the floor and he hummed.

“Hold it at the tip, before--” He choked on his words and you quickly moved the cup.

He hit the brake and white ribbons streamed from his cock and laced the rim of the cup and your fingers. White globs slid down the paper and you slowed as a chill went through you. You pulled away your slimy hand and the cup. He took the latter and tossed it out the window and sighed.

“Shit, girl, that was good,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped his glistening cock before covering himself up and zipping up his pants. “Get cleaned up.” He tossed the cloth on your lap, “Not far from home, now.”

🚔

Your days passed like molasses. Ever since your venture into the forest, your life slowed to an interminable pace. Your thoughts were darkened by the sheriff’s shadow. You scrubbed, scoured, and swept but could not rid yourself of the memory. The scene played over and over in your head. You swore you could feel him still spread across the palm of your hand.

A week after, when he drove up behind the boys on their return from town, you watched through the window in dread. Cal, Arn, and Will hopped out of the truck and greeted the sheriff. The four of them went to the shed where your daddy was, the latter peeked over at the house as he passed.

You were reassured that your brothers were there. The sheriff wouldn’t, really couldn’t, try anything more. You went back to basting the thick chops. As you made to cap your homemade sauce, the back door opened and your daddy looked in from the mud room.

“You bring out some glasses for the lot of us. And put an extra chop on for the sheriff,” your father slurred. He’d already started drinking. “He be joining us tonight.”

He left before you could respond. He usually drank his swill out of old jars and saved your mother’s dishes. You coated another chop in spice and set it with the rest before slipping them in the oven. You washed your hands and counted out five glasses. You hugged them in your arms and stepped into your boots.

You pushed the screen door open with your elbow and tramped down the steps. You crossed to the shed and kicked the door with your boot. “Daddy,” you called through the wood.

Will slid open the shed door and you stepped inside. You went to the table and placed the glasses down on the old chipped surface. You stood and looked around. Your father filled each with the clear shine from a large jar.

“Isn’t he a bit young?” You said as Will sat back down.

“Not your business, woman,” your daddy spat, “Go back in the house. To your business.”

“Yes, daddy.” You sniffed and looked at Will. He gave an apologetic smile but none of your brothers ever stood up against your daddy.

“Lady not joining us?” Bodecker asked.

“Ha, that girl gets a whiff of this stuff and she’d be on her back. This ain’t no drink for ladies,” your daddy chortled. “About time you tried it. What you been doin’ will all that swill I give ya.”

“Boys at the station like it. I think they’re some of your best customers, ain’t they?” Bodecker countered. “Besides, I been tryna stay clear of the drink.”

“One night won’t hurt,” your daddy coaxed.

You went back to the door and slid it shut behind you as the men continued to chatter. Well, they would at least drink themselves too senseless to bother you much.

🚔

You cleared the table of the empty plates and scraps left by the drunken men. They had been loud and raucous, so much so you’d eaten your dinner at the counter to avoid them. When they finished, they left in a stumble, though the sheriff seemed as steady as ever as he trailed behind. He stopped at the door as he held it and peered back from the mud room at you.

You washed the dishes and put them away. You wiped down the table and fixed the chairs around it. The night was moonless and eerie. The wind wailed and shook each window and door in the house as it seemed to blow right through the walls.

The mud room door clattered again. It had been over an hour since the men returned to the shed. Their voices no longer carried in the air but the shed remained alight from within. You turned as Bodecker closed the door. He carried a tall glass of swill as he stopped in the door frame.

“Lightweights,” he said, “All your men passed out. Think one of ‘em pissed in their pants.”

“You’re drunk,” you said as you kept behind the table.

“Not really. I couldn’t finish mine,” he crossed to the other side of the table and set down the glass, “Why don’t you finish it for me?”

“I don’t drink that stuff,” you said, “Dump it out on the grass.”

“You work so hard. You should have a little fun,” he rounded the table and slid the glass across it as he neared, “Come on. Have a drink.”

“I don’t--” He grabbed you suddenly, wrestled you down into a chair and held you there by your shoulders.

He lifted one hand and felt around his belt. He flicked his holster open and rubbed the pistol with his thumb.

“Drink it.” You watched his hand on his gun. He slid it out just a little. “Ugly things men do when they drinking. “Playing with guns… sometimes don’t always end up so fun. Don’t think the young one would make it in the hold.”

“No, you--”

“Drink,” he sneered. “It’ll loosen you up.”

You reached for the glass and he nodded. He snapped his holster closed and pulled a chair over to sit in front of you. You put your lips to the edge of the glass and the alcohol stung your nostrils. You tipped it, slowly, and tasted it with a gag. It was vile, stringent, and fiery. He pushed it up with two fingers until you were choking on it. He didn’t let up until the glass was empty and the shine dripped down your chin.

You slammed the glass down and coughed. You touched your throat as your head spun and a warmth nestled in your cheeks. You tried to shake away the haze that washed over you.

“That’s it, girl,” he purred as he leaned forward, “You feel better, don’t you?”

“N-no,” you stammered as you gripped the chair.

“’Daddy’,” he said, “Girl, you had me hard in there… you too old to be callin’ that man, daddy.” He stood and shrugged off his leather jacket, “But you be right to call me daddy.”

“I don’t feel…” Your stomach burned and you tried to stand. You stumbled and he caught you.

“Don’t you get all jumpy on me, girl,” he sat you back down. “You gonna hurt yourself.”

You slumped in the chair and braced your head. You felt terribly dizzy and your inside were alight. You heard a jingle and looked up as Bodecker unzipped his pants. You recalled the day in the car and filled with panic. You stood again and this time staggered, falling onto your knees with a cry.

“Mmm, it’s okay, girl, you can stay down there,” You looked up as he pulled his cock out through the vee of his pants, “Come here.” He grabbed your chin and yanked you forward, “Open up.”

You snapped your mouth shut and tried to wriggle free of his grasp. His other hand came up behind your head and he pulled you close. His fingers spread across your head and he used his other hand to poke his cock against your lips.

“I’ll break that pretty little jaw of yours and tell your pa he did it,” he growled, “Now come on.” You shook your head and he slapped you, hard. He seized you again. “Open!”

Your mouth fell open and your vision blurred as he shoved his cock inside. He forced himself down your throat and you kicked your feet as you grabbed at the front of his pants. He groaned and held his cock at its limit.

“And I thought you were good with your hands,” he pulled back and thrust back in. Your eyes rolled back as they teared up and you choked. “Mmm, much better.”

He started slow at first, though each tilt of his hips was relentless, deep and painful. You struggled to breathe around him and it only seemed to feed his lust. He gripped your head between his hand as he fucked your mouth, the sloppy sounds made your head swim as the slobber leaked down your chin and his shaft.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pulled out of you suddenly and shoved you away. You fell back onto your ass and wiped your mouth. “You tryna end this night early or something.”

He let out a breath and watched his cock bob before him as he grunted.

“Get up and get your drawers off.” He ordered, “Then I want you like you was in the woods, huh? Skirt up.”

You wavered as you tried to climb to your feet. He caught your errant arm and pulled you up. He spun you and you swayed. He bent and his hands crawled up your skirt as he felt around. He ripped your underwear down and let them rest at your ankles. He turned you to the chair and pushed you forward. You fell and caught yourself against the seat. He threw your skirt up and bared your ass.

Your legs quaked as he pressed his hand between your legs and felt around. He rubbed your cunt as you squeezed him with your thighs. He pinched you and drew away.

“You don’t wanna make this harder than it needs to be girl,” he sneered, “You’re in no state for that.”

He stepped closer and bent over you. His arm wrapped around your middle as he felt around below you with his other hand. He caught the tip of his cock and guided it to your cunt. He pushed it along your folds, sliding it up and down until he found your entrance. You whimpered and pushed back against him, too weak to break free.

“You fight and it’ll hurt more,” he grunted as he pushed his tip into you and you yelped. “Fuck, you’re tight.” Another inch and he stopped as he took a breath, “Holy hell, girl, you really weren’t lying. You ain’t been touched.”

He growled and inhaled the scent of your hair as his hand gripped the chair next to yours. He thrust into you in a single tilt and you exclaimed as he stretched your walls. You reached to the back of the chair and latched onto the crossbar as you tried not to sob.

He stood, slowly and pushed deeper into you as he grabbed your hip. His other hand kneaded your ass as he began to rock. His groans were as steady as his motion as he dipped in and out of you. He curled his fingers and dug his nails into your flesh as he panted, his stomach bouncing against your ass.

“Be as loud as you want, girl,” he barked, “No one gonna hear you.”

He rutted into as the chair shifted below you. He kept a hand on your hip as his other trailed up to your shoulder and he arched your back. His zipper bit into your flesh as he sped up, slapping against you harder and harder as you whined louder and louder. It hurt terribly and your entire being thrummed with an unknown sensation.

You closed your eyes as your vision swirled and your arms shook. He pulled you back so you stood against him, your back curved as he hammered into you. You were on tiptoes as he didn’t let up and turned you against the table. Your fingertips brushed the top as you reached out blindly and his hand stretched across your neck as he forced your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m gonna cum, girl,” he hissed, “You fucking whore. You’re going to make me cu--”

He grunted and his hips spasmed as a warmth seeped into you. He gave several, final snaps of his hip and slowed. He fell forward with you bent beneath him against the table. Your legs were limp as he crushed you with his weight. His heart pounded through his chest and he gasped for breath.

You sniffed and pushed back against him. You were suffocating. You needed him off of you. You needed him out of you.

“We ain’t done yet,” he hooked his arm around you and pulled you back to sit on his lap as he fell into the chair. “You got two minutes to get me hard again or you can clean me up with your mouth.”

#lee bodecker #dark!fic #lee bodecker x reader #dark!lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #dark fic #fic #one shot #the devil all the time

1K notes · View notes

serenity-lattes · 3 years ago

Text

Smoke

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Kate Bishop

Warnings: lots of dialogue, some language

Word Count: 1331

A/N: Yelena and Kate go camping! Crazy, right? Their relationship can either be read as platonic or romantic, YOU can decide. This can be a sequel to Lady in Red or read as a standalone. Personal request from @gloomystarry

“Kate Bishop, pack a bag. We are going on a trip.”

Famous last words, really. That was how Kate found herself trudging through the mud on a forest trail with Yelena and the dogs. For what? Camping of all things. She should have said no because she has never been camping in her life.

“Please tell me how I let you talk me into this again?” she grumbled, grimacing at the sight of her boots caked in mud, crushed leaves, and probably dead bugs.

“Because I bat my pretty eyelashes and promised to cook.” Yelena smirked, navigating Fanny down the trail to the spot she decided would be perfect for their little excursion. She had never been camping, either, but decided now that she was roommates with Kate, she would start making up for all the things she missed out on when she was a child.

“What?” Kate chuckled, lightly smacking Yelena on the arm with a stick she found on the walk, “Macaroni again?”

Yelena snatched the stick and threw it toward the trees, mildly regretting the decision when both dogs were pulling to go fetch it, “I don’t only feast on macaroni, you žópa.”

It didn’t take much longer for the little group to make their way to the small valley that Yelena picked. The weather wasn’t too hot, nor too cold, and more importantly, not muddy, pleasantly surprising Kate. She wasn’t going to give Yelena the joy of being right, not just yet. Maybe tomorrow. Instead, the two collectively dropped their bags and began their attempts in assembling the tent.

“Why are all the sticks linked together by a string?” Kate marveled, holding up the support pole while Yelena unfolded the tent.

“I forget you’re a big city girl, you don’t do things in nature,” Yelena teased, pointing at the loops for Kate to thread the pole through, “They hold the tent up, then fold up nice and small to save space.”

“Excuse me for choosing my bed over the grass,” Kate grumbled, following Yelena’s directions, silently thankful because she truly had no idea what she was doing.

After a significant amount of swearing and bickering, the two managed to get the tent set up. Now they had the rest of the day to do whatever they wanted. So many possibilities. Kate crossed hiking off that list, having her fill on the trek down to their spot, which Yelena wasn’t going to argue. It wasn’t entirely pleasant.

The two decided on swimming. There was a small lake and not another person in sight. Neither had thought to back a swimsuit, so they stripped down to their under garments. It wasn’t the first time the two had seen each other scantily clad, but Kate blushed profusely nonetheless before running into the water, shrieking as the cold water enveloped her skin. Yelena laughed and called the dogs over, joining Kate in the water. Lucky and Fanny were absolutely rambunctious, making big splashes, drenching their fur. Kate relaxed and floated on top of the water, closing her eyes, enjoying the quiet.

Unfortunately the quiet didn’t last long, as something swam along Kate’s leg, causing her to rush out of the water screaming about a snake. It was enough to rile the dogs up and Yelena huffed, managing to splash Kate with enough water to shut her up.

“Are you actually scared of tiny fish?” Yelena raised a brow, trudging out of the lake, squeezing the water out of her hair.

“I don’t know what it was!” Kate whined, pulling her clothes on as fast as possible, not wanting any more to do with slimy, scaley things living in the lake.

Upon returning to their camp site, Yelena started a fire (thanks to the bottle of lighter fluid she brought) so they could start to dry off, and she could heat up the food she had prepared before they left. She made piroshki, Russian meat buns; they’re hearty and would keep them warm and full.

After situating the little buns on the metal grate, Yelena plopped down, laying her head in Kate’s lap. Kate carded her fingers through her damp hair, smiling softly. It wasn’t often that Yelena had quiet moments like this. Since childhood, her life has been nothing but chaos.

“I’m going to braid your hair,” Kate said, untangling her blonde hair the best she could without an actual comb. She pulled a blade of grass out of her hair, chuckling quietly as she began separating her hair into a few sections, “Though it won’t look as pretty as the ones you do.”

Yelena merely hummed sleepily against Kate’s thigh, relaxing into the gentle touches, relishing in the attention. Kate has been a welcoming force in her life, no expectations, all fun, and absolutely comforting. She was able to enjoy life, not be a mindless servant.

She nearly fell asleep until one particular tug to her hair made her eyes snap open. Pain was a normal thing, but somehow Kate was making it feel like her hair was being ripped out by singular stands. Yelena squirmed slightly, thinking maybe it was just her position making it difficult for Kate and that was why she was pulling her hair so much.

“Stop moving,” Kate mumbled, focused on threading the blonde strands of Yelena’s hair into a braid.

“You’re pulling so hard, I think my hysterectomy hurt less than this,” Yelena grimaced, wishing Kate would hurry up.

The brunette rolled her eyes, not appreciating the dramatics. She weaved the pieces into each other, managing a five-strand braid for the first time in her life. Kate usually threw her own hair up into a ponytail or left it down, but Yelena had such pretty hair styles all the time, she wanted to try one out. Finishing up the hair style, she twisted the hair tie around the end, securing the braid.

“Done, now you can quit crying,” Kate hummed as she took a photo of the hair style before leaning over to show it to Yelena.

“I like he little braids you added into it,” Yelena noted with a small grin, handing Kate’s phone back to her, “thank you.”

They sat in silence for a bit, admiring the clear air, the peace and quiet, and a perfect view of the sunset. Everything that their little NYC apartment didn’t have. Kate laid back, head resting on her backpack, marveling at the colors in the sky. The bright blue from earlier was melting into a sea of swirling reds and yellows. It was something that would never be able to be properly captured in a photo.

“Thank you for planning this little getaway,” Kate murmured, lazily drawing shapes on Yelena’s arm.

“Ah, I knew you were having fun. Another one in the books for me,” she chuckled, turning enough to glance up at Kate with a smirk.

“Uh, Lena? Are those supposed to be smoking that much?” Kate nodded her head toward the food over the fire, stifling a laugh when Yelena yelped and ran over to quickly scoop it all into a bowl, “I think you burnt your dumplings.”

“No, no! Oh, not the piroshki,” Yelena pouted, knowing there was far too much charcoal on them for human consumption. She held the plate bowl out for the curious dogs, “Fanny? Lucky?” The dogs each took turns sniffing at the burnt food before walking away to lay down.

“Damn, you know it’s bad when not even they want it,” Kate laughed, ducking when Yelena had thrown one in her direction, “Lucky for you, I brought some prepackaged snacks because I didn’t think either of us could cook something.”

“The joke’s on you, I could have caught an animal and roasted it for us,” Yelena cringed and tossed the piroshkis somewhere in the tree line, walking over to snatch up one of the snacks Kate had brought, “Rabbit is quite good and squirrel is okay if there are no other options.”

“Too much, Lena. Too much.”

#Yelena Belova #kate bishop #yelena belova x kate bishop #Hawkeye #marvel #fanficion #fanfic #bishova #black widow #katelena #mcu #serenity posts marvel

30 notes · View notes

the-iceni-bitch · 4 years ago

Text

A Surprise to be Sure

Pairing: Geralt/Fem!Reader

Words: 5761

Summary: You meet Geralt and Jaskier on the road and have a lovely little adventure in the kingdom of Temeria.

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, explicit descriptions of violence, TW mentions of rape, SMUT, 18+

A/N: It’s here y’all, my b-day Geralt fic! I’m really happy with how this turned out and could honestly have published it without the smut, that’s how much I love this fic. It is definitely going to be part of a series so I hope you all enjoy! (PS I love writing Jaskier way too much and could honestly just do a full series of him having random misadventures all over the continent!) I’m tagging @navybrat817 because I know she loves some Henry Cavill

Jaskier had been belting the Fishmonger’s Daughter for the past 30 minutes, and Geralt was ready to murder him.

“Must you insist on shouting our position to every living creature in a 5 mile radius?” He hissed at the bard.

“List, my grumpy, hoar-headed friend. I need to be sure my voice is in top form if I’m performing at a royal ball. Now, you’ll feel better if you sing with me, Oooh Fishmonger, Oh Fishmonger, Come Quell your Daughter’s Hunger!”

“I’m going to feed you that damn lute before we reach the castle if you don’t shut up. I can’t listen to this for three days.” The Witcher growled under his breath. He couldn’t figure out why he had agreed to accompany the irritating man on his journey, but the man always managed to convince him to go along with his stupid plans.

“Now, Geralt. You know you secretly love my singing. After all, how many jobs has that little song of mine rustled up for you, eh? Stop being so grouchy.”

He gave him a grunt. “Fine, can you at least sing something else?”

“Ah, but of course, my large, angry friend. Eh hem, You think you’re safe, without a care…”

“Gods, not that one.”

“Well, there’s no pleasing you is there. Ahh, what’s that noise?”

A feminine shriek split the air, causing a flock of birds to take flight only a few feet from the pair of riders. Roach of course didn’t mind, but Jaskier’s mount almost threw him, causing Geralt to smile.

“Gods, see, this is why I hate travelling on these creatures. Give me a nice coach ride any time. Come Geralt, let us see what fair maiden is in need of our assistance.”

“Our assistance?”

“Well, your assistance. C’mon Geralt, a damsel in distress, this is the perfect material for a new song.”

Geralt followed the idiot as he rode towards the sounds of distress, determined to keep him from getting himself killed. He didn’t really like getting involved in petty issues of the realms but knew that Jaskier lived for these tiny adventures.

They came upon you, surrounded by five men in soiled armor. Your cart had a broken wheel and was sinking into the snow and mud. One of the men had you pinned in the back of the cart by your neck as he buried his other hand in your skirts. The other men jeered at you as they kept their watch.

“Look Geralt, a fair maid waiting to be rescued, what could make for a better song? Ho there fellows, stop your raping or you’ll have to deal with my cantankerous companion here.”

“Move along, bard this doesn’t concern you.” One of the soldiers growled at Jaskier before spitting to the side. “Or, wait your turn and we’ll let you and your pal have her when we’re done.”

“Ah, Geralt, I’ll let you take care of them. Make sure to draw it out, a long fight always makes for a better song.”

“Oh, fuck this.” You hissed, pulling out the stiletto you had hidden in your skirts and gutting the man who was restraining you.

Jaskier turned his head and vomited as the man’s intestines seeped out of him and he crumbled to the forest floor. You flung your cloak off your shoulders as you drew the obscenely large longsword you had concealed beneath its folds and chopped off the hand of the next soldier who came charging at you before plunging it into his chest.

“I don’t know, bard. Seems like the maid has things under control.” Geralt grinned at his companion once he had finished emptying his stomach.

You wrenched the blade free as the two unhorsed soldiers rushed you. One of them tossed his own dagger at you and you used your sword to whip it back at him, catching him in the throat. You brought up your dagger and crossed the blades you were holding to catch the sword of your fourth opponent. You managed to loop the dagger under his hilt and wrenched the sword from his grasp as you let the momentum from his attack carry you the two of you backwards, flipping him over your head until you were straddling his chest. You gave him a small smirk as your drove your dagger through his eye.

“Shouldn’t we be doing something?” Jaskier asked as he watched the bloody show with abject horror painted on his face.

“What would you suggest bard? The woman seems to be able to handle herself, and I can’t say these soldiers seem particularly deserving of assistance.”

The final soldier had dismounted and was now striding towards you, twirling his sword around like an idiot peacock. You scowled at him before pulling a massive crossbow from beneath the packages in your cart and shooting him in the shoulder.

He went down with a soft grunt and you strutted over to him, crossbow slung over your shoulder and dagger twirling through your fingers. You tutted at him like you were chiding a naughty schoolboy.

“Oh, Abbett, what did you do with the money? I certainly hope you have it on you. I don’t feel like trekking through this frozen forest digging for it.”

“You cunt.” The man spat at you. “We fought those bloody Nilfgaardians to keep these farmers safe and warm. The least they can do to thank us is give up a few bloody coins and their daughters.”

You shot him again in the leg and he let out a scream.

“One more time, Abbett, the money? I can’t give those poor girls their maidenhoods again but maybe their families can offer a dowry to make them good matches.”

“Argh, bitch! It’s in the saddlebags.”

“Excellent! See, not so fucking difficult, and you saved me the nasty task of gelding you!” You took a few steps forward and shot him through the eye as you went to examine the horse and find the stolen coins.

“Ahem, hello, madam! I am Jaskier the Bard and this is my companion, Geralt of Rivia! Would you join us on our journey to the capital of Temeria? You seem like a lass with stories to tell and I’m just the fellow to put them to song.”

“Jaskier, shut the fuck up.” Geralt hissed at him.

You whipped around to the two of them and pointed your crossbow at the Witcher. “Fuck, I almost forgot about you two. Well, you’ve given me a bit of a conundrum boys. I was counting on there not being any witnesses here. These vagabonds are still wearing the king’s colors after all, and we’re close enough to the capital that that could prove to be a problem for me.” You had started to unfasten the bodice of the gown you were wearing, desperate to get out of the confining layers of cloth that had comprised your disguise. You revealed an outfit of bleached leather and furs that clung to your body.

“Oops.” Jaskier murmured, giving Geralt a sheepish grin as he raised his hands in supplication. “Geralt, friend, maybe you can talk to our new companion.”

“Right, listen, we don’t care that you just slaughtered five of the king’s soldiers, though I’m sure upon closer inspection they’ll be shown to be deserters. And as we have no desire to bring any trouble down on you, we’ll just be on our way.”

“Wait,” You called after them, tossing the rags of your gown onto the abandoned cart as you saddled your horse. “If you’re heading towards the capital, I’ll join you. I have some deliveries to make before I get out of this god-forsaken country, and that way I can keep an eye on you.” You gave them a grin as you rode up the hill to join them. “I can think of worse company than a bard and a Witcher.”

Jaskier shot a grin back at you as you joined them. “Ah, finally someone who will appreciate my talents. Tell me… um..”

“Y/N”

“Y/N, lovely, do you have any requests?”

Geralt groaned internally at the thought of being stuck with two singing idiots for the journey but was cut short by the sound of multiple bows being drawn.

“Fuck.”

“That’s far enough you three.” A captain in shining armor commanded as you came into view of a mounted regiment of king’s soldiers, accompanied by about 100 footmen who all had arrows trained on you. “What do you know about several groups of dead king’s men that have been found in these woods.”

Geralt shot you a look of reproach over his shoulder as you pointedly avoided making eye contact, examining your fingernails like they were the most interesting thing on the continent.

“There’s another group of dead soldiers in the clearing back there, captain. Looks like we’ve found our culprits.”

“Oh, just wait a minute. My grouchy friend and I were just passing through when we came upon this lovely woman being set upon by these supposed kingsmen. Granted, we considered dispatching them ourselves but our fair companion had things well in hand. Seems like she was doing your jobs for you.”

You and Geralt shared a groan. “Shut up, Jaskier.”

The captain gave a snort of derision. “You want us to believe this pretty thing has been besting the king’s chosen troops on her own for months? Take their weapons and restrain the Witcher and the woman. The bard can sing us some songs to pass the time as we travel. We’ll save this for the king to sort out.”

You gave a heavy sigh and started handing over your blades. Jaskier’s eyes started to bulge as you continued pulling smaller and smaller knives out of an increasingly absurd number of hiding places, until there was an impressive pile in front of the soldier who had been tasked with collecting your weapons.

Geralt was less forthcoming in turning over his weapons and didn’t really start until a spear prodded him in the back. He was gazing at Renfri’s blade when the captain lost his patience, and the butt of the spear whipped across the back of his head, knocking him cold.

“Put his blades with the rest of it.”

Geralt woke up with his face buried in your hair and let out a groan at the throbbing in his skull.

“What the fuck?” He lifted his head, squinting against the sun reflecting off the new fallen snow.

“Good morning, Witcher. Apparently this type of restraint has been proven to limit the ability of the restrained to extricate themselves from their bindings. You missed a fascinating lecture on it as they were tying us up.”

The two of you were bound face to face on the saddle of your massive black courser. Your arms and legs tangled around each other and wrapped in an intricate series of knots. He started trying to wrench himself free, but only succeeded in bringing you even closer to him as he let out a grunt of frustration.

“Look at the two of you, so cozy.” Jaskier rode up with a grin on his face, strumming his lute. “Do not worry yourselves, my violent friends. I am currently working on a plan to extricate the two of you from this predicament. I have the ear of the captain.”

“Are you going to annoy him to death Jaskier? Maybe if you sing that damn abortion song enough times, he’ll release us just to be rid of you.”

“You wound me, Geralt. The name of that tune is “You Think You’re Safe” and you’ll be happy to know that the captain is enamored of my talents and has asked me to regale him and his officers at their meal tonight.”

“Ah, good for you Jaskier. Make sure to sing the ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ I hear that’s a favorite of the troops.” You smiled at him, throwing him a wink.

“Oh, I knew I liked you, Y/N! See Geralt, it isn’t so hard to appreciate what I bring to the table. Thank you for your advice, sweet lady, I will be sure to take heed!” He rode off, humming to himself as he tuned his lute.

“Why would you encourage him?” Geralt growled in your ear, still fighting against his bonds.

“Ah, Witcher, you need to relax. I’m sure Jaskier’s plan will work out just fine.”

“The bard is an imbecile, the day I trust myself to any plan of his is the day I resign myself to a slow and painful death.”

“Well, be that as it may, if you don’t stop struggling, we’re going to end up in a very uncomfortable situation.” You said, giving a gasp as another jerk of your bonds brought you indecently close.

“Fuck.” He let out in a hiss, resigning himself to waiting for a better opportunity as a lock of your hair blew into his face, smelling of pine and turned earth “I don’t suppose you have any sort of plan of escape, since it’s your fault we’re in this situation.”

“Geralt, I do apologize that you have ended up in my mess. I’m so sorry that the war with Nilfgaard has caused unprecedented levels of desertion, and that the cowards that have runoff have been terrorizing and robbing the smallfolk. And I’m sorry that the king failed to listen to the pleas of his people, who had to pool together the last of their coin to contract me to come in and relieve them of their problems. But yes, this mess is entirely of my own making, and nothing to do with the colossal mismanagement of the realm of Temeria.”

“Hmmph.” He grunted into your hair. “So how are you getting us out of this mess?”

You gave him a snort. “Don’t worry that pretty head of yours Witcher, something will work out.”

“Alright, dismount.” One of the lieutenants ordered, leering at the two of you. “Hope you two have enjoyed today’s ride. I hear they’re already constructing a gibbet for you in Vizima.”

“I see the royal council has decided to do away with even the minimal farce of a trial then.”

Two soldiers had started to undo the maze of knots binding you and the Witcher together and you gave a hiss as blood started to flow back into your legs.

“An attack on the king’s army is an attack on the king. No trials for traitors to the crown.”

“You do know that neither of us are citizens of this kingdom?” Geralt asked him. “You can’t betray a monarch you don’t serve.”

“Pssh, a minor inconsistency. The king can’t be seen as soft during wartime.”

“Oh, of course not.” You murmured as the soldiers dragged you off your mount and led you to the prisoners’ tent that had been erected next to the officers’. The same intricate raveling of ropes and knots started again as they bound your upper bodies to the poles in the center of the tent. You could hear the beginnings of revelry in the officers’ pavilion when they left you.

“Well, now what?” Geralt asked you, pulling against the bonds at his wrists.

“Just, have a little patience.” You chided him, leaning against your pole in as relaxed of a pose as you could achieve.

“You did hear that they plan on executing us once they get us back to the capital?”

“No, Geralt, I missed that.” You spat at him as you heard Jaskier start to sing and gave a small smile. “Excellent, let’s hope he leaves the good stuff until they’re well and drunk.”

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” He asked you, still trying to wrench himself free.

“For fucks’ sake, give it a rest. Apparently the royal knot tyers are the only members of this army who haven’t fallen lax in their duties.” You rolled your eyes at him. “Just give it a half hour and we’ll give you a chance to get out all the pent up aggression.”

“So you do have a plan? Any chance you want to let me in on it?”

“I think I’ll leave it for a surprise.”

The two of you sat there listening as the sounds of drunken celebration filled the camp. It only took 20 minutes for the revelry to reach a dull roar, and a smile crept over your face when you heard the first refrains of ‘The Fishmonger’s Daughter’.

“Ah, Jaskier, perfect timing.” You muttered.

The song started speeding up and spread through the regiment. You heard the soldiers start clapping along and seized your moment, bending your legs and driving your back into the post you were bound to at each clap, starting to shift it out of the ground with each drive of your shoulders.

Geralt finally seized on your idea and joined you in wrenching his post out of the ground. Within a few rounds of the song, they were loosened enough for you to drag them out of their anchors, causing the tent to collapse around you. You slipped your bonds over the ends of the posts and unraveled yourselves. Geralt gave you a look of appreciation as you hefted your post, flung the folds of the fallen tent off yourself and whipped the post around to take out the two guards that had been posted at the entrance.

“Well, let’s find our weapons, shall we?” You said, giving him a grin.

Apparently, your appraisal of the army had been accurate; you ran into minimal resistance as you made your way to the weapons tent and managed to knock out the only sentries you encountered before Geralt had a chance to react.

“Ah, my babies.” You said to yourself as you started resheathing the ridiculous number of knives you had accumulated for yourself, kissing each blade before you returned it to its rightful place.

“How can you possibly be comfortable wearing all of that steel?” Geralt asked you around a grin, watching you tuck a dirk between your breasts and wondering how you managed to not cut yourself.

“I’m a woman traveling the continent alone, Witcher. I’ve found that the element of surprise is my friend, and there’s nothing quite as surprising as an unexpected knife between the ribs.”

He actually laughed at that, strapping one sword to his back and one to his hip as you hefted your crossbow and loaded it with a bolt before heading back out into the snow.

You were met by the surprised faces of a drunken group of soldiers who were wending their way through the tents, arms around each other as the slurred the lyrics to their favorite song. You shot the first through the chest as you drew your longsword over your shoulder and you dropped your crossbow to the ground, slashing the second across the face before they finally regained their composure and sounded the alarm.

Geralt drew his blades and clashed with three of the remaining soldiers as you grappled with the other two. He managed to drive his long sword through one of their chests before the other two had a chance to converge on him and he struggled to drive them apart with his fists to allow himself room to maneuver. One of his opponents went down suddenly with a dagger through his throat and Geralt threw a look your way to see your first opponent down and missing an eye as you drove your knee into the chest of your second opponent, driving him into a post as you brought your sword around and ran it across his throat.

Geralt threw his assailant over his shoulder and rammed his blade through his chest as you let out a shrill whistle and hefted your crossbow as the sound of hoofbeats rose through the camp. Roach and your courser came charging around the bend suddenly and you latched onto your steed’s mane and swung yourself onto his back as Geralt vaulted onto Roach’s. You turned suddenly and led him back towards the officers’ pavilion as drunken soldiers did their best to pursue you.

“We almost forgot the fucking bard!” You grinned at him as you hopped off your horse and slashed through the back of the officers’ tent. You emerged seconds later with a terrified looking Jaskier, who you tossed over the back of your mount like a sack of potatoes before leaping up behind him and kicking your steed to a gallop.

“Either of you want to fill me in on what the fuck is happening?!” Jaskier shrieked as he bounced around.

The two of you ignored him as you rode on. You set a punishing pace through the whole night, not looking back until you crossed the river into the kingdom of Redania as the sun rose and you finally allowed your horses to slow their pace to a walk, dismounting to give them a rest.

“If my lute is damaged, I’ll never forgive you.” Jaskier whined as he inspected his instrument, hobbling along as he tried to adjust after the unceremonious thrashing he had taken during the ride.

“Jaskier, a little thanks should be in order. Y/N and I did save you from a rather nasty execution after all.” Geralt grinned at him as he walked beside you, Roach nuzzling him in the shoulder as he patted her snout.

“I told the two of you, I had the captain’s ear, I would have been able to talk us out of any trouble.”

You gave him a snort as your courser butted his head into yours, begging for his own pats. “Jaskier, you would have been strung up right beside us. Just think though, this little adventure has the makings of a great song, eh? I’ll buy you a nice hot meal and a bath at the inn we’re coming up on.”

“Well, I’d never say no to a bath. How close is this inn?”

“Just over the next hill.”

You arrived within an hour and made arrangements for the horses as Jaskier headed in to arrange rooms and meals for the three of you.

Geralt and you headed into the inn and you grabbed the two of you the largest mugs of beer you could arrange before joining Jaskier at a table and tearing into the trencher of bread.

“So, good news first.” The bard said. “I arranged for nice, hot baths for all three of us, in addition to our meals. The only thing is, they only had two rooms.”

Geralt let out a groan at that. “Fine, bard, I guess the two of us are sharing accommodations for the next few days then.”

“Aah, well. I figured, with you two having grown so close during our little journey, that you wouldn’t mind sharing the much, much larger room whilst I make due with the tiny, lonely room myself that I’ve already had them unload my things into.”

The two of you shot him equally reproachful looks over your mugs of beer as a barmaid arrived to let him know his bath was ready.

“Ah, splendid. Well, you two enjoy your breakfasts. I’m going to take a very long nap after my bath and I’ll see you this afternoon, or maybe even tomorrow.”

A whole roasted chicken arrived and the two of you tore into it without a word, polishing it off quickly as you hadn’t realized how famished you were.

“I’ll arrange for them to bring up the hot water for baths for us.” You told Geralt as you stood up and stretched, downing the last of your beer.

“I’m fine without.” The Witcher grumbled at you.

You gave him a derisive chuckle. “If we’re bedding together for the two days it’ll take for the horses to rest up, you’re bathing yourself at least once, I don’t need to smell everywhere you’ve been in the past month.”

He gave an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders as he followed you upstairs. It had been a while since he’d spent the night with a woman he wasn’t paying, and there was something about you he found disarming. Endearing, but disarming nonetheless.

“Ah, at least there’s two tubs.” You said gleefully as you entered the room. A group of attendants arrived a moment later, carrying four large buckets of steaming water between them that they emptied into the copper tubs before taking their leave.

You started by pulling off your supple boots and Geralt turned his back as he began to unlace his jerkin. He heard you give a soft laugh behind him. “Are we really going to pretend like neither of us have seen a naked body before, Witcher?”

He whipped around at the amusement in your voice. You had removed your corset and sleeves and were down to nothing but a thin linen tunic on top. He tried not to stare at the shape of your breasts moving beneath the fabric as you worked at unlacing your breeches. You shot him a wicked look through your lashes as you moved your fingers back to unstrap the multiple sheathes that had been hidden beneath your bodice.

He did his best to ignore you as he ripped his jerkin off over his head. He made easy work of his tunic and breeches and sank into the tub while you were still working on undoing the intricate trappings of your hidden arsenal.

“I really don’t see how you can be comfortable in all of that Y/N.” He chided you as you removed the final straps and drew your tunic over your head before shimmying out of your breeches. He did his best to keep his eyes occupied elsewhere as you stepped into your own bath, hissing at the heat.

“Comfort is a matter of individual preference, dear. Oh, that’s wonderful.” You sank into the water with a sigh and dunked your head under before coming back up with a gasp.

“So, you going to tell me how you ended up with a warhorse, enough steel to equip a small band of thieves, and the strength to wield a tentpole like a damn quarterstaff, or is that something I’ll have to guess at?” He asked as he dumped a bucket over his head and ran the water through his hair before shaking it back out and splashing you, making you yelp.

“I think I’ll keep that my little secret for now, Geralt. Maybe if you buy me a few strongales over the next few days I’ll regale you with my tale of woe.” You let out a sigh as you felt your muscles relax. “Maybe I’ll get you to tell me your history as well. I hear the Redanians have a liquor that will light your chest on fire and make you forget the seasons.”

He gave a laugh and settled his head back against the tub. “You think you can outdrink me girl, you’re in for a nasty surprise… fuck.” He hadn’t heard you leave your tub and sat up startled when you crawled into his, sloshing water over the sides.

“Oh, Geralt, you’ll find that I’m full of surprises.” You said before pressing your mouth to his softly and giving a gentle sigh.

He got over his surprise quickly and wrapped his arms around you, pressing you to him fiercely as he growled against your lips.

You gave him a small laugh as you moved your lips down the line of his jaw to his neck, running your teeth along his collarbone before nipping at him softly as your hands moved down the plains of his chest, dipping below the water to take his cock in your grasp. He gave you a satisfying moan as you did so and you began sliding your hand up and down his length slowly as you raised a small bruise on his shoulder with your mouth.

He bucked his hips up into your hand as you increased your pace and you moved your other hand below the water to play with his balls. You leaned against his chest and gazed up at him with heavy lids as you watched him come apart under your ministrations.

He arched his back and gave a heavy moan as he came in your hand and you grinned against his chest as he softened, planting soft kisses along his throat as he came down and his breathing slowed.

He swallowed thickly and grinned at you before scooping his arms underneath you and lifting you out of the tub easily, making you shriek with glee before he dropped you unceremoniously on the large bed and pounced on top of you, nuzzling himself into the skin below your ear as his large hands skimmed down the sides of your torso before coming to rest on your hips and kneading them, raising bruises on your soft skin.

He brought one hand between the two of you and ran his fingers through the soft hair of your mound before rubbing them between your folds, making you arch into him as you let out a thin whine, fluttering your lashes as you gazed at him. He grinned down at you as he inserted two fingers at an agonizingly slow pace and you moaned as he started fucking them into you, curling them against that sweet, spongy spot each time.

He added another finger as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling your clean scent as you mewled and whimpered, begging him for more. He started strumming your clit with his thumb and you writhed underneath him, doing your best to grind your cunt into him as his fingers stretched you.

It was almost too much when he added the fourth finger and you wrapped your hands in his silver hair, pressing his face to your neck as you cried silently. He moved his mouth back to yours as he increased his speed and pressure on your tiny bud, moving his tongue softly past your lips and tangling it with yours. You came around him, clenching down on his fingers in your release as all the breath rushed out of you. He felt you go rigid beneath him before you collapsed back against the bed with a sigh.

“You think you’re ready for me sweetheart?” He asked as he kissed your neck, moving his hands up to palm your breasts.

You pulled his head back by his hair and gave him a grin before squeezing his sides with your thighs and rolling until you were on top of him, straddling his hips.

You sat up over him and he groaned at the sight of you, soft skin moving over lean muscle, a patchwork of faint scars covering your torso. He ran his thumb over an especially noticeable one that ran over your ribs below your left breast as you guided him to your entrance and sheathed his length inside you suddenly, making him hiss.

You started grinding against him, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone before you started fucking yourself on his cock. He tossed his head back with a moan and a murmured “Fuck” as his hands moved to your hips and guided your thrusts, meeting your hips with his own as he rutted up into you.

He sat up suddenly and pressed you to him as he knelt beneath you, staring into your eyes with lust blown pupils, a thin golden ring around a pool of deep black. You wrapped your legs around his back as he fucked up into you at a faster pace, making it hard for you to breathe.

He wrenched your head down to his and crashed his mouth against yours, his tongue invading you hungrily as you felt your pleasure starting to coil in your abdomen and you whimpered into his mouth.

He felt you starting to clench around him and moved a hand between you to strum at your clit. It only took a moment and you were flying apart around him, every muscle below your waist spasming as your orgasm wracked you and you cried into his mouth. His release was right behind yours as his hips stilled and you felt his spend spurting into you, coating your velvety walls in his release with a feral growl.

He collapsed back on the bed, still holding you to him as you both came down from you pleasure, breathing heavily as your hearts pounded together. You propped your chin on his chest and gave him a sinful grin that he returned, planting a kiss on the top of your head as you started to untangle yourselves.

“Well, if all your surprises are that pleasant, Y/N, I can’t wait to find out more.” He said to you over his shoulder as he stood up from the bed, grabbing a towel to finish drying himself off. He tossed you one and you ran it softly between your thighs, cleaning the mixture of your releases from your slit as you grinned back at him.

“My dear Witcher, I aim to please.” You threw a wink at him before you stood up and stretched. “I arranged for some clean clothes to be brought up, could you check the door for them?”

He peeked his head out and brought in two sets of soft woolens, tossing one to you. You yanked a tunic over your head before stepping into the clean pair of breeches. You decided to forgo most of your blades for the moment, opting for a simple belt that contained two daggers once you had finished lacing up your bodice.

“Shall we head down for more ale?”

“Gods yes, what else do you know about this storied Redanian liquor?”

You gave him a throaty laugh as you headed down to the main room and lute music floated up to meet you.

“Ah, Y/N! Geralt! My friends! Join us for a song won’t you? Y/N, I still want to hear you sing ‘The Fishmonger’s Daughter’ for us, eh? Oh Fishmonger, Oh Fishmonger, Come Quell your Daughter’s Hunger”

“Gods, Jaskier, aren’t you sick of that song yet?” Geralt growled half heartedly

“Pull the stick out of your ass, Witcher. C’mon, Jaskier. To pull on my horn, as it rises in the morn!”

“What a lovely voice you have my lady! For tis naught but bad luck, to fuck with a puck!”

The Witcher rolled his eyes at the two of you as he headed to the bar and the rest of the patrons joined in. What he wouldn’t give to never hear this abominable tune ever again.

“Lest your grandkid be born, a hairy young faun! Bleating and baying all day, hey ho!”

Permanent Tags:

@drabblewithfrannybarnes

#geralt of rivia #geralt x ofc #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #geralt x reader #witcher netflix #witcher fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #fanfic #fanfiction #writing

505 notes · View notes

notmrskennedy · 4 years ago

Text

Likeability

(GN!Reader x Spencer Reid)

A/N - I’ve rewritten this thing like six freaking times but oh well - I hope it at least goes over better than the last - please be gentle

Summary - The team meets a very dislikable scientist that Spencer seems to fancy

W/C - 2.8k

Warnings - brief anatomy/bones/etc mentions (our scientist is a forensic anthropologist-ish) & a dash of swearing

Important! - this is the FIRST ending and the alternative ending that you’ll like a lot more will come along in the next day or so

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy.

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies.

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case.

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him.

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls.

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets.

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured.

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.”

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter.

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.”

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns.

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen.

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!”

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt?

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this.

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“

“Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what?

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude.

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled.

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated.

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere.

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed.

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with.

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for?

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands.

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages.

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude.

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her.

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler.

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second. She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now.

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening.

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them.

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be.

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond.

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin.

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life.

“I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care.

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about her ass.

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face.

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks.

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough.

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling.

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

Emily is pulling on her coat when the commotion starts. Penelope, JJ, and Luke are clamouring all over you and Reid, all asking a million too many questions for you to answer. She smiles as you hold your ground next to Reid, arms crossed and relatively relaxed. Emily hasn’t been asked to weigh in on the debate, but she likes you.

And she hopes the reason will come out in the next five seconds.

Penelope ensures that it does. She cuts through everyone’s chatter with a flourish of her hands. “Y/N, Spencer,” she demands, “you have to tell me: are you dating or what?”

It takes all of half a second for the pair of you to break out into laughter, fumbling over each other, bent up in hysterics. Emily hopes her own chuckles are well hidden. You elbow Reid hard, barely breathing enough to get the sentence out, “Tell ‘em, Spence.”

Reid shakes his head, elbows you back. “Siblings, guys, we’re siblings.”

“But—!”

“That can’t be—!”

“Biological?”

Penelope shakes her head, throws herself physically into the conversation. “Wait! No! I looked you up! You aren’t the other Dr. Reid, you’re Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Did you change your name?” JJ coughs. Her eyebrows can’t possibly get further up into her hairline as you nod. “Why? Why would you do that?”

You snort. “You don’t want to know.”

Readjusting her scarf, Emily doesn’t bother to hide her shit-eating grin. “Do something illegal, Y/N?”

“Of course not, Special Agent Emily Prentiss. I, a very upstanding citizen and Spencer’s lovely younger sibling, would never do anything that caused me to change my name lest I be arrested in six different countries. No, of course not.”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #reid #reid x reader #reid x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #i'm serious please be gentle

247 notes · View notes

tctteredwings · 3 years ago

Text

alberto rosende & he/him/ cis man ‷ watch out , sebastian “seb” ortiz has crash-landed into roswell !! they look 28 years old and celebrate their birthday on june 8th . they are from roswell, new mexico, reside in aurora apartments and are currently working as the manager at nebula eatery. one thing you should know about them is that he’s not too good at staying in one place for long ‷

Guess who’s back, back again? Heather’s back, tell your friends. Please forgive me for that.

ABOUT.

Name: Sebastian Ortiz Nicknames: Seb Age: Twenty-eight Date of Birth: 8th June 1994 Birthplace: Roswell, NM, USA Occupation: Manager at Nebula Eatery Romantic/Sexual Orientation: Heteroromantic/pansexual

tw: death mention

Sebastian or Seb, please call him Seb, is a Roswell native and grew up causing chaos around Moonbeam Gardens. He was always getting into scrapes. Climbing trees, jumping off rocks into the river (never checking to see if it was safe first), constantly covered in mud, practically a head to toe bruise.

He spent most of his younger years in the local ER and getting picked up by paramedics after he’d done something stupid. His mom was pretty much convinced he’d end up killing himself.

He had a sense of adventure that he would never grow out of.

In addition to that, he was also extremely clever, making money in high school by agreeing to tutor younger students for cash. He didn’t really need to, his parents are loaded, but it was something to do right?

In senior year he was accepted into Princeton University to study various sciences and moved out to New Jersey shortly after his high school graduation to explore the area.

It took only six months for him to realise that perhaps academics weren’t for him.

At the end of freshman year he dropped out, packed a bag and up and left for Australia with a plan to take a gap year, enjoy twelve months or so of travelling.

Twelve months turned into two years.

Two years quickly turned into five, he had no intention of going back home now.

After his year in Australia, he travelled to South Asia, spent over a year trekking through the Himalayas in Nepal and Tibet. That was when he found himself some company, getting as close as love as he could while on the road. They would talk a lot about the possibility of climbing Mt. Everest together one day, but it wasn’t something that was ever to happen.

They went their separate ways again when he travelled on to Thailand.

After that it was Singapore and following a fleeting stop in Fiji, he finally made his way to New Zealand, the final major destination in his time on the road. A year was spent with Hobbits and Elves before he headed home to the US.

He took six months to road trip from the East coast to the West before eventually arriving back in Roswell in September 2020.

Since then he’s been living out of his backpack, a habit he’s unable to break, sleeping on a mattress on the floor of his apartment.

Seb is probably the most chill guy going, he loves on everyone and refuses to argue because he doesn’t have time for it, but he will make his opinions known and can be quite blunt sometimes.

TIMELINE.

1994: Roswell, New Mexico 2012: Princeton University, New Jersey 2013: Australia (various places) 2014: South Asia (Nepal, Thailand, Singapore, etc.) 2019: New Zealand (various places) March 2020: Road trip from the East coast to West coast of the USA September 2020: Roswell, New Mexico

Note: He’s also definitely been to Japan and the UAE, sometime during the South Asia period. He’s a bit of a rollercoaster junkie so he went on a theme park tour around that part of the world.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

- family; have a cuban or colombian fc, or have one in mind? come talk to me, let’s work something out! family connections are always my favourite. - childhood friends; he grew up in roswell so people he spent a lot of time with, maybe trouble makers like he was. - friends who lost touch; for various reasons their friendship fell apart over the years. but they’re definitely working on making it better. - high school ex-girlfriend; one of the few people he’s really cared about in his life. they were together a couple of years before graduation. -fwb’s/hook-ups/long term hook-ups; seb’s pansexual so anything goes. - travel companions; people he’s met on the road and spent a couple of days/weeks/months with. - finding love on the road; the girl he spent a couple of months with in the himalayas around 2015. wylie fyfe - pen pals; people he’s written to and emailed while out travelling, they could have close relationship or not through their correspondence. - roommate; they live together in aurora apartments. - neighbours; people he bothers on the regular who also live in aurora. - yoga buddies; he’s at classes practically every day so imagine he’s picked up friends along the way. - customers; regulars at nebula eatery.

#roswellintro #( about. )

10 notes · View notes

kittifersgarden · 4 years ago

Text

Healing

Pairing: Todoroki Enji x F Reader

Word Count: 4082

Warnings: PURE FLUFF, talk of redemption and Endeavor’s mistakes, there’s a slight panic attack from him too.

A/N: Some comfort for divorced!Enji. I wanted some smoot but it just stayed on an awkward courting which I’m okay with. Maybe a part 2? For now it’s just hurt/comfort pretty much. Fanart in banner was made for me but tried to make it as non-specific as I could.

Focusing on the warmth radiating from the pot in your hands helped calm your nervously racing thoughts as you made the trek from your car to the door of the large traditional style Japanese house before you. Even though you had a pretty solid scapegoat if things went south, you couldn’t help the thundering pulse in your ears deafening you from the birds chirping around you.

It was actually a much larger bird that had “pushed” you to be there in the first place…

“Ready for some morning tea? Endeavor-San got kicked out of his own building after his sidekicks threatened to all walk out!”

The coffee mug headed to your lips stopped abruptly in shock from Hawks’ oddly playfully made statement. “W-what?!”

“Yeah, he has a hell of a cold but kept trying to deny it and they weren’t having that.”

Rolling your eyes, thinking something far more sinister had happened instead of… wait. “Enji’s sick?”

“Yeah. It’s a shame too. Fuyumi-San lives so far away now and has her work and all so he’s at home... all alone.” He dragged out the last part rather dramatically with a heavy sigh. “Probably unable to even cook for himself…”

“Hawks.” You groaned softly, placing the mug down next to the phone on the counter where the overgrown bird’s voice came from.

“Whaaaaat? I’m just keeping you up on the news.” You could basically hear the grin on his lips as his voice turned to pure saccharine to play up the false innocence.

Mumbling out a curse, you looked down at the phone with a heated glare. “If he’s mad, I’m blaming you!”

And while Hawks had laughed and said he’d take the blame, you couldn’t deny what really urged you on was the thought of Japan’s Number One Hero sick and alone.

Todoroki Enji frequently visited your family’s restaurant for quite some time, telling your father that he enjoyed the traditional food and the quiet atmosphere that the other customers respected. After your parents retired and you had taken over, Enji’s visits didn’t decrease and often complimented you on how well you handled the reigns.

Over the past six months things started to change between the two of you and you definitely noticed. It started when he came in right before closing and bought the most expensive sake there. After a few drinks he admitted to you that he just purchased his family a new home and they would all be moving into it except for him. He had told you he hoped it was for their own good and the sad smile that accompanied that statement made your chest hurt.

More nights like that came where he stayed drinking and talking as you quietly listened. He told you about the divorce he gave Rei, how obtaining his lifelong dream was nothing like he expected it, and how he felt like his whole life was spent in a haze that he was jerked violently out of. It was all heartbreaking really for all parties involved, though it really sounded that they were all on a road to healing. A long and no doubt hard road but it was still a good start nonetheless.

It was around that time that Hawks started visiting your restaurant when Enji’s office told the winged hero where he could find their boss. The two of you struck up a quick and easy friendship after that and once again you noticed a change in Enji. For some reason though, no matter how very attractive the blonde was, you found yourself mentally cursing him when he interrupted the peaceful moments you and Enji shared on a now daily basis. Maybe it was because you didn’t like how observant the birdman or how he was quick to mention how good you seemed to be for Enji during this difficult time in his life.

Which all lead to Hawks calling to give you the news on Enji’s condition right away. He knew you’d take the bait and take it you sure did.

Exhaling slowly, you reached the door and shuffled the bag hanging from your wrist to hit the doorbell with your elbow. While it wasn’t public knowledge where the Number One Hero lived, there were a few times you had to call a cab for him after he drank just a bit too much and he easily gave up his home address. You hoped he wouldn’t be angry that you used the knowledge to show up now.

“Coming!”

The deep growl from behind the door caused your heart to crash into your ribs like a bowling ball would strike pins. You shouldn’t have been so nervous; you knew him! He insisted you called him just “Enji” instead of “Todoroki-San” or “Endeavor”! Even though you knew this was an entirely different setting with him than what you were used to, you didn’t realize it would be this much.

All thoughts were gone when the door opened before you and your breath caught in your throat.

Oh hell.

There stood Todoroki Enji wearing a thin dark blue robe, his usually spiked hair was half down and pieces stuck to his lightly sweat sheened forehead. His usually bright turquoise eyes lacked that fierce light though they opened in surprise as he looked down at you.

Muttering your name in a bemused and dreamy tone which sent a shiver right down your spine, he cleared his throat with a brief cough smothered into his arm. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um… okayu.” So lost taking in the sight before you, your own breathless words escaped without meaning to before you were able to snap yourself or of it. “I mean, I heard you were sick and brought okayu.” Holding up the pot with a smile, you still felt your nerves on edge as he continued to stare at you in shock. “E… Enji?”

Endeavor, meanwhile, was trying to wake up from this too real fever dream. He had been dozing on the couch while watching the afternoon news when he heard the doorbell, but he never would have expected to see you standing there! Your words slowly sank in and he placed a hand on the side of his face. This was really happening?

“‘m sorry. I, uh… but you shouldn’t be here.” The hurt look that crossed your features had him quick to continue. “N-no, I mean that I’m sick and you really shouldn’t be around.”

Visible relief has your shoulders relaxing as you scoffed gently. “Oh please, I’m not worried about that.”

A quiet laugh easily fell from his lips. “No, you wouldn’t. Well if you’re sure, come on in.”

Moving from the doorway to let you pass, Enji still couldn’t fully fathom what was happening. This beautiful woman he saw on a pretty regular basis was at his home with a pot of rice porridge. He only saw you in the restaurant wearing a kimono and your hair done up to keep up with the traditional setting the restaurant had. Seeing you in a pair of shorts and light shirt fitting for the hot summer day with your hair in what he assumed was your more comfortable style was shocking to him as well.

Leading you to the kitchen, he kept glancing over at you as he still tried to process everything. “How did you find out?”

“A large bird told me.” Your lightly laughed reply was met with a deep groan from him. Of course Hawks found out. “I think Burnin’ told him.” You thoughtfully added while placing the pot on top of the kitchen counter. “Those two do seem pretty close.”

“Oh god.” Enji sighed deeply. “I wouldn’t even want to know.” The rustling of the bag that had hung from your wrist and ended on the counter caught his attention. “What’s that?”

“Oh um… I wasn’t sure what you had so…” you smiled down at the bag before pulling items out. “Tissues, some medicine… I wasn’t sure what exactly was wrong so I just picked up a general one. Some of those cooling head strips and throat spray. Oh! And some kuzumochi.”

Your gaze stayed on the items in the bag as you spoke, though his never left you. How long had it been since anyone besides Fuyumi had taken care of him? Not even his own mother…

“You didn’t-.” He started but stopped as his hand went to run through his lifeless hair. “This is…” What could he even say?

You decided to take pity on him and pushed down the lingering nervousness you felt. “Have you eaten today?” The very uncharacteristic look of guilt he made when his head bowed and eyes shifted was far more suited for a puppy dog. “Well you shouldn’t take medicine on an empty stomach so why don’t you get comfortable and I’ll set everything up for you?”

“Y-yeah….” This time his reply came out weak because he was stunned at your change. Not just that but what you brought… it was all so thoughtful. “I set up in the living room to watch the news. I’ll be in there.”

The smile and nod you gave him set him in motion though it started to feel like he was trudging through mud. His idea of “set up” was just bringing out a pillow and light sheet to the oversized couch. The half empty box of tissues he found had been dangerously dwindling already and the medicine he found had expired a month ago; all of it adding up to put him into a depressed state rather quickly. Having you show up was definitely a breath of fresh air. Still something in him wickedly teased that this all might still be a fever dream...

“I brought some movies too. You told me you didn’t have any streaming services but remember you mentioning a BluRay player.” Your voice trailed in from the kitchen as he settled back into the little nest he made. “Damn, actually I left those in the car.” The clanking of dishes and the closing of cabinets as you acquainted yourself with the kitchen was indelibly soothing to him as he nestled into the couch.

Please don’t wake up from this fever dream…

“Enji?” A cold hand fell into his head and jolted him from the sleep he started to slip into. Seeing the very worried look on your face made him frown. “You’re burning up!”

“I always am, angel.” His deep voice tumbled out with a chuckle and he wasn’t quite sure why your face turned about as red as he was sure his was. “Don’t worry. That’s just what happens to us fire users.” He groaned when he sat up, seeing the tray you made him sitting on the table.

“O-oh…”

Your voice was shaken like it had been when you first arrived and he was about to ask what was wrong before he felt a burning pressure build up behind his eyes. Cursing softly, he quickly grabbed up the remaining tissues to catch two violently monstrous sneezes.

“Damn.” The playful laugh that left you made him chuckle before saving his breath to blow his nose.

“Ugh. Exactly.” Sniffing hard, he threw the tissues into the small garbage can he moved by the couch for such use. “Sorry about your ears.”

He felt the couch shift next to him as you sat with the tray in hand. “Nah. After fifteen years of knowing you, I’m pretty used to them. Here.”

Handing him a bowl of the okayu, he smiled when he noticed the ginger honey topping. He ordered this dish from your restaurant a few times but since the last time was so long so the fact you remembered... “Thank you.” Sitting up better, he took a hold of the spoon in a large hand as the smile stayed on his lips. “Fifteen years, huh? I remember the first time I found the place was by complete accident.” He paused to take a bite of the porridge, humming approval in his throat. “Really good.”

While you were still quite shocked at what he had called you, you thanked him quietly before listening as he began to reminisce.

“The billboard charts were announced that day so I was mad at the world. Heh. Like always. Shoutou was just a newborn and things were getting really tense here so I didn’t want to come home just yet.” He paused to take another bite, chewing thoughtfully a moment before swallowing. “That’s when a girl no more than a teenager came running down the street and nearly right into me. She stopped to apologize before rushing off to an older couple behind me telling them the man left his wallet in the restaurant.”

Your eyes widened as you listened, gripping harder onto the cup of cold water you grabbed off the tray for him.

“It was just such a nice little scene that brought me out of the dark thoughts that were plaguing me so I asked the girl when she headed back where she worked.” He stopped to let out a rumbling laugh. “It was strange that she didn’t even seem to recognize me though I was already pretty popular by then. Normally I’d be irritated by such a dumb thing, as I was at everything back then, but at that moment I actually liked not being Endeavor and followed her to this incredible building. It was so peaceful and I just felt calm for the first time in… I can’t even remember how long.”

When he paused to take another bite, you placed a hand on his hot arm to grab his attention, silently offering him the water. He thanked you and took a long sip before placing it on the table.

“This seemingly hidden little oasis which brought a stillness to me was owned by a quirkless couple and employed their quirkless daughter. I still think that’s the reason I felt so calm, it was just all so… pure.”

When he passed for another bite, you tried to gulp down air as the surge of emotions rushed through you. With a thundering pulse, you started down at your hands resting in your lap and let his deep voice rumble through you.

“Fifteen years. If I knew then what I know now…” sadness pulled down his features which were oddly cheerful when recalling the memory, making your hand move back to rest back on his thick arm.

“Isn’t fifteen years better than never?” You asked gently, giving him a smile when his eyes finally landed back on you.

He returned your smile with his own. “You were always too wise beyond your years.” That made you laugh softly, and still he nodded. “You’re right, of course. But all that damage I caused during that time…”

“Uh, Enji.” Clearing your throat, you thought he was being a little too open now. “You can take the medicine now.” Grateful to have a distraction and hopefully something to knock him out, you started to reach for the tray but a large heated hand grabbed your arm to stop you. It wasn’t a rough action, actually he handled you like a piece of fine china, it was only enough to bring your attention back to him.

His fever flushed face searched yours a moment before taking a slow breath. “I’ve done terrible things, angel. Bringing Rei into a quirk marriage and having children only to create a legacy stronger than All Might. I never thought about their feelings or even my own besides the fact that I just had to pass the Number One.”

“Enji-“

“When I did pass him, I felt so empty and I wondered why. Why did I push my kids away and force Shouto so hard with intense training at such a young age? Why did I let such a thing consume my entire life?”

“Enji!”

“I’m a monster, angel! I’ve hurt so many people and I have no idea how to fix it, not for myself but for them. Removing myself from their lives was a good start but I don’t know what to do now. And I like you. Oh god, I really do. I don’t think I actually enjoy talking to anyone other than you. And I think maybe I can be happy because that idiot bird tells me he thinks we’d be good together but I don’t deserve that happiness. I’ve caused so much pain that I’d need lifetimes to fix it before I deserve to be happy! But what if that just hurts you?! I can’t-!”

“Enji. Stop.”

As he went on the more he got worked up, his breath becoming chopped and panicked, his flushed face gleaming more as sweat slid down his cheeks.

No. That was tears.

“Look at me. You’re not a monster. A monster never realizes what they do is wrong. A monster will blame everyone for their mistakes and you’ve never done either.” You moved a hand to the side of his strong jaw, keeping your breathing level as he started to match it. “Of course you deserve to be happy. I’m sure you don’t feel like it now but think about it; what good will it do for you or your family to move on while you just torture yourself?”

When Enji started to shake his head, you weren’t expecting the painful sob that suddenly escaped him, his hands resting on your arms pulling you in as he buried his head into your collar. Beyond shocked at his actions, you could only pet a hand through his red strands while he cried it out. You were sure he never let himself mourn for the loss of his family or even for the monster that he once was. You thought that might have been the reason he drank so heavily some nights, trying to use the alcohol to break the wall his pride had put up.

After a few minutes of holding him and petting down his hair, his breath started to even out and his grip that moved to your back began to loosen.

“Thank you.”

His normally deep voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel when it came out, rattling your whole body with each symbol. Instead of diving into any of the new information that he let out, you helped move him so he could sit back up.

“Of course.”

Enji was quietly docile after the little meltdown, finishing his food as you tried to put one of the cool gel strips on his head. His fever was worrying even with his second attempt to reassure you that it was part of having his quirk. It was only when the gel strips started to literally melt to his skin did he chuckle softly and give in.

“Maybe it is worse than I thought.”

“Hmm… you should get into a cold bath.” you suggested softly while trying to get melted gel out of his hair.

“Shame. I would prefer a sponge bath instead.”

“Wh-?!” Shifting back slightly with wide eyes and a fresh blush, he chuckled deeply which only made you grow more concerned. “Okay, you need to get better since you’re really freaking me out now.”

The flame hero let out a soft laugh. “Well, even though I actually said it, I can assure you I would be thinking it when I’m well.” His blazing turquoise eyes meet yours and you felt your breath catch. He was serious.

“Well, since I owe you the truth back… I definitely wouldn’t mind giving you one.” Your eyes shifted to his insanely built body as your lips pulled up into a smirk. When you looked back at his face, it was rather satisfying to see his own blush spread across his face as his Adam’s apple bobbed slowly. “However… you really need a proper cool down, not to heat up more.” Your finger ran down his strong nose which twitched in response.

“H-hey…” sniffling and rubbing the reddened tip, he started to stand but stopped. “Uh, maybe you could start it? I need a minute here.” He cleared his throat loudly as you got the hint, a giggle bubbling in your throat.

Biting your lip, you only patted his shoulder with a nod before heading to the bathroom. Being away from his stifling heat would also help clear up your own increasingly foggy mind and you certainly could use a breather.

Watching the water fill the tub, thoughts swirling through your mind like the water you watched both intensely and not at all. Everything he told you about his family, about how he saw himself… You still had no idea what happened exactly but you were sure that when he was better he would finally explain everything.

Still, you stood by your convictions; he owned up to his mistakes and were starting to try and fix them. Who was to say he didn’t deserve finding his own happiness as well? Not that you’d be the one to tell him that Hawks learned from Natsuo that Rei had already been seeing someone rather seriously for the past few months. They all deserve happiness and to put the dark past behind them where it belonged.

A fierce sneeze that echoed down the hallway jolted you from your thoughts abruptly. First things first! Heading back to the living room, you laughed when a second sounded and you caught Enji folded in half with his face pressed into a bouquet of tissues.

“You alright?” Your hand carded through his hair to pull his attention back to you.

“I think the medicine is starting to work.” At the incredulous look on your face, he chuckled deeply and shook his head. “Sure it doesn’t sound like it…”

“You pronounced medicine ‘bedicid’.”

“Alright, I concede.” With a deep groan he stood up from the couch and started down to the bathroom. Pausing to rest a large hand on the wall and turn back to you, a gentle smile graced his flushed face. “Thank you, angel. I mean it, I was in a pretty dark place before you came and… I truly appreciate everything.”

“It’s my pleasure, Enji.”

He seemed to laugh quietly, the mild disbelief mixing with the lit of happiness clearly before he resumed his trek to the bath.

The rest of the day was rather domestic as you cleaned his dishes and put away the leftovers. Straightening up the living room, you retrieved the movies and put them out for him to pick. Enji had emerged from the bath looking much better and feeling… well not as hot as before and he was rewarded by agreeing to use your lap as a pillow. It had only taken five minutes of hair petting that loud snores started to fill the house. Oddly, they didn’t bother you as you only continued playing with the scarlet strands with one hand while browsing your phone with the other.

The text from Hawks that came in made you pause the “match three” game you messed around with.

“Well you didn’t call to yell at me so I can only assume you’re still there. Don’t worry about your place, I told your employees that you were doing work for me so you got the next three days off to take care of the big guy. And hey, I know it’s just moving out of that really weird time for him and even though you’re closer to my age than his, I still think you’d be really good for each other. Damn! Have you ever seen a text this long?! I’ll let you get back to it~ let me know if you want me to drop off anything!”

“Damn bird.” You quietly laughed as you looked down at the sleeping face of Enji. He looked so peaceful when his powerful features were softened by the deep sleep he was in. “Thanks Hawks.”

“Mmmm.” Enji seemed to agree as his head rubbed on your thighs, his large arm that wrapped around your knees pulling in to nestle closer to you.

You had no idea where the future would lead, but you couldn’t help the hopeful thought that the two of you officially started a trek down what would surely be a very rocky road. A road that, while rocky, would smooth out and yield to a beautiful and scenic scene. It was all part of life, after all. And you really wouldn’t mind sharing both the ups and downs with Enji at your side.

#THIS SIDE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FOR SMUT ME! D:<#I think I like torturing him more than his stupid antis D:#deep physiological questions going on here too #Endeavor #Endeavor x Reader #Todoroki Enji #Todoroki Enji x Reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #fluff #female!reader #Endeavor x you #Endeavor x y/n

680 notes · View notes

moonflowerlesbians · 4 years ago

Text

“choose your battles wisely”

Un-beta’d and written after surgery, so please take with a grain of salt. I’ll reblog with the AO3 link in the morning!

Rated T, ~4.1k. Fluffy, Hurt/Comfort

~~~

Jamie is an idiot.

Or, to be more specific, she is an absolute goddamn buffoon of the utmost clownery.

This is, more or less, Dani’s internal monologue as she follows the sound of pained grunts to a somewhat obscured section of the sprawling statue garden, where she comes across a rather disgruntled gardener lying flat on her back in the mud. Her oilskin hat has fallen to one side, and Jamie stares, bleary-eyed, at the grey England sky overhead. There is a decently sized marble sculpture on the ground beside her.

“You alright, there?” Dani calls, after only a brief moment of amused silence.

“Jesus!” Jamie swears, her entire body twitching, which causes her outburst to dissolve into a groan. “Christ, Poppins, wear a bloody bell,” she grumbles.

Dani rolls her eyes. “You alright?” she repeats, quieter this time.

“Oh, who, me? Yeah, ‘course. Just, you know, enjoying some ‘me time.’” She moves to raise her arm in a weak attempt at waving Dani off, but the limb makes it mere inches off the ground before flopping unceremoniously into the dirt. “Taking in the views...”

“Some view,” Dani notes, with a playful, sardonic lilt to her voice. A pause. “Owen made sandwiches if you’d like to come in for lunch.”

“Be right there,” Jamie replies halfheartedly. She does not stir, her gaze still fixed on the dreary cloud cover, a firm set to her jaw. “Don’t wait up.”

“We might as well walk back together.” Dani crosses her arms. “That is, assuming you’re almost done with your ‘me time.’”

“Almost done. Right. Yeah.”

Dani watches the deep inhale as Jamie steels herself, the muscles of Jamie’s stomach flexing with effort. With a sharp gasp, Jamie pushes herself onto her elbows, but she only lasts a quick second before she’s once again lying prone, muttered curses falling from her lips.

Dani winces sympathetically. “Oh, baby, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Bit late for that.”

“What did you do?” She kneels at Jamie’s side, moist soil dampening her jeans, and brushes wispy brown hairs from her face.

“Picked a fight with the wrong woman.” Jamie nods at the overturned statue. “Credit where credit’s due, she’s stronger than she looks. Heavier, too.”

“So, you decided you were going to move a marble statue, on your own, after a rainstorm, which resulted in you, what, throwing out your back?” Dani translates. “And you thought this was a good idea because…?”

“Never said it was a good idea.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Right, well,” Jamie sighs, “we’ve established I’m not the sharpest knife in the block.” Her eyes meet Dani’s, defeated. “If you would be so kind as to lend me a hand, I’d rather not like to die like this.”

“All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” She thinks she catches a fleeting smile before it is replaced with a grimace.

Gingerly, Dani wedges her arm between Jamie’s shoulders and the earth below, murmuring gentle apologies at each indication of discomfort. She offers her other hand for Jamie to grab. Together, they work her into a sitting position. Jamie’s chest heaves, and her face is a ghostly shade of white.

They stay like that for a minute. While Jamie catches her breath, Dani’s fingers rub what she hopes are soothing circles into her back. How long has she been out here?

“Are you okay to walk?” Dani asks.

“Suppose we’ll find out,” Jamie says in a tone not at all reassuring.

Dani braces herself and takes both of Jamie’s hands in her own, digging her heels into the dirt. “One...two…”

On three, she pulls, and Jamie staggers to her feet, with Dani catching the majority of her weight as she topples forward and the air goes out of her.

“JesusshitfuckingChristfuckshittinghellgoddamnit-”

“Okay, you’re okay,” Dani says, trying to angle herself to best support the woman about to get herself excommunicated for blasphemy. She can feel the tension radiating off of Jamie in waves.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” Jamie promises, very much not fine and very much not good. “Nothing’s broken, I don’t think. Just, ah, a little crooked, s’all.” Her breathing is labored as they take a few tentative steps.

“Look, you just rest here, and I’ll run back and get Owen--”

“No, absolutely not,” Jamie cuts her off. “If that man finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it. Little shit still brings up the Rosebush Incident of Eighty-five whenever I break out the pruning shears.” Her arm drapes heavy around Dani’s neck as they round a corner.

“What--”

“Don’t,” Jamie wheezes, “ask.”

“You realize how dumb that is, right? And I’m definitely going to ask,” Dani says, guiding them toward the front door. Jamie stops short.

“Side door,” she explains, “servants’ hall. Won’t go past the kitchen. Can use one of the empty rooms until I sort myself out.”

“You might want to get your head checked if you think I’m leaving you alone like this.”

Dani readjusts her grip, while Jamie nimbly flips through a massive ring of keys Dani swears she’s never seen before, yet Jamie handles with the expertise of someone who does this daily. Which, Dani realizes, feeling rather stupid, she probably does.

“Fuck,” Jamie says under her breath as the door opens, revealing a hallway Dani has yet to explore. Dani sees the problem. She looks at Jamie. She looks at the narrow staircase. She evaluates her upper body strength.

Then, Jamie is making a rather undignified noise as Dani lifts her without warning, and Dani would be lying if she said the look on Jamie’s face isn’t extraordinarily satisfying. Something about seeing her stoic, mulish girlfriend, gone limp in her arms, looking at her, a little awestruck, well… it’s a sight Dani intends to cherish. And definitely not for the potential blackmail purposes.

Only after Dani gingerly deposits her on the blue quilt in Dani’s room does Jamie say, deadly serious, “We never speak of this again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dani says, “take these.” She plops two pills and a cup of water in Jamie’s hand and disappears into the adjacent bathroom.

“That’s the spirit, Poppins,” she calls after her.

“Come on,” Dani says, reappearing in the doorway. “We need to get you out of these wet clothes before you catch a cold.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie scoffs, visibly shivering.

“The mud stain on my duvet says otherwise. Come on. Up you get. The bath is filling.”

“I can’t ask you to let me use your bath.”

“Good thing you’re not asking, then.”

The half-formed rebuke dies on Jamie’s lips, and she nods as if to say, touché, but Dani is certain she will not be hearing the end of this. She beckons Jamie up and pulls her into the other room, leaning her against the countertop. Without thinking, she begins undoing the buttons on Jamie’s top.

“Blimey,” Jamie remarks, not pushing Dani away, but stilling her movements.

Dani can feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She backpedals. “I, um, I didn’t-- I’m so sorry.”

Jamie just laughs, “Only teasing, love. But, ah, I can probably take it from here, yeah?”

“Um, yeah. I’ll just… be in the bedroom. If you need me.”

Dani slumps against the door as it closes behind her. The sound of the water running mimics the rush of blood in her ears. They’ve only been doing... whatever this is between them for a month. Not long at all. Certainly not long enough to be undressing her in the middle of the day with people in the house while she’s in pain. Dani hadn’t meant it in an erotic way but, Jesus, Dani, show some restraint.

She exhales. Right. Organize. Jamie will need a towel. She’ll need dry clothes. Maybe tea? A warm compress. Or ice? What do people put on sore muscles? A massage? Dani swallows thickly and shakes off the thought of Jamie’s smooth skin beneath her fingertips, tightness dissipating as Dani works the knots away. She absolutely does not imagine Jamie melting into the mattress or the moans that might escape through her lips, and she decidedly does not dwell upon the rare sight of Jamie, pliant and entirely relaxed.

Absolutely not. Shove that into a box and come back to it later. It’s worked well enough in the past.

Right then.

Dani sets about making the necessary rearrangements, shuffling her boots into the closet, digging out appropriately loose clothes for laying about, and swiping a plate of sandwiches from the kitchen, making some excuse about Jamie being too busy to come in, but she sends her thanks. Owen raises an eyebrow at this, but apparently does not feel the need to comment. Hannah, however, takes one look at Dani’s muddy knees and frowns.

“Miss Clayton, you had better not be tracking mud through my house.”

“Yes, Miss Clayton, or else you will have to mop up the mess just like Miles!” Flora states, intently focused on the cucumber and cream cheese sandwich on her plate.

“I told you it wasn’t me!” Miles objects loudly, his drinking glass making contact with the table with a bit more force than necessary.

“It’s in the past,” Dani dismisses, before the situation can get out of hand. She turns to Hannah, and, in her best I’m-setting-an-example-please-go-with-it voice, says, “Of course, Mrs. Grose, I made sure to wipe my feet at the door, but I will clean up any messes I made because it is very important that we all clean up our own messes.”

“Right you are, dear.”

“Could I get a cup of tea to take to Jamie as well? I’d make it but…”

“Say no more,” Owen rises from his seat at the table. “Wouldn’t want to poison poor Jamie, now would we?” Then, with a chuckle, “She’s got you properly whipped, hasn’t she? Trekking lunch out to whatever corner of the grounds she’s wound up in.”

“Why’s Jamie whipping Miss Clayton?” Flora pipes up.

Dani feels her face flush. “Oh, sweetie, she’s, um, that’s not--”

“What Owen means to say, is it’s very nice of Miss Clayton to deliver a meal to Jamie while she’s working,” Hannah says pointedly.

Owen coughs. “Ah, yeah, to-tea-lly leaf-ly of her to help out.”

“Hannah, I was thinking of taking my lunch with Jamie. Would you mind keeping an eye on these two for a little while?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Hannah chaffs, “They’re an awful lot of trouble, these two.”

“You think,” Owen chimes in, “they’d behave if I told them I could use a hand baking biscuits this afternoon?”

“I suppose that might do it,” Hannah says, an expression of faux pensivity creasing her forehead. “What do you think, children?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Grose, that would be perfectly splendid!”

“Can we make snickerdoodles?”

“Don’t see why not,” Owen says. He hands a teacup to Dani. “Off with you. Go find your knight in mud and dungarees.”

Dani shoots them a grateful smile and heads back upstairs, delicately balancing the cup with the plate of food. She knocks thrice.

“Yeah.” Jamie’s voice comes muffled through the heavy wooden door as Dani cautiously turns the knob.

Dani lets out a moderately embarrassing squeak and immediately averts her eyes, intent on looking anywhere except at a very wet, towel-clad Jamie. “Oh, um, good. Y-you found the towel.”

“That I did. I, ah, wasn’t sure if these were for me,” she gestures to the neatly folded stack of clothes on the bed, “didn’t want to assume.”

“They’re, um, they’re for you.” There’s a fascinating crack in the floor Dani has never noticed before. It’s about four inches long and almost invisible.

“Hey, Dani, you can look.” Jamie sounds almost concerned. ‘S’okay. It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.” She grins wryly.

“No, no, yeah, I know. It just, I don’t know, feels different when it’s not for that reason.”

“Dani Clayton, not a fan of casual nudity. Noted,” Jamie teases.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t a fan.” Dani places the tea and sandwiches on the bedside table, stepping into Jamie’s space.

“That so?”

“Mhm,” Dani hums, “and I’m going to stop this runaway train right here. You’re injured.”

Jamie huffs. “Bloody rude.”

“How’s your back?”

“Feels fine. Right as rain. I’ll just get dressed and go back out--”

“You most certainly will not. You are going to get dressed and get in this bed and you are going to rest.”

“But I’ve still got to finish in the statuary, and Hannah’s brought up a crack she wants me to fix, and--”

“--and all of those things can wait. I’ve taken care of enough idiotic teenage sports injuries to know that straining it will only make it worse. So, put these on, and get into bed.” She leaves no room for disagreement.

“I can’t believe you just used your teacher voice on me.”

“I can’t believe you’re being this obstinate.”

“I’m fine!”

“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” It is not aggressive. It comes out softly, a hint of confusion combined with an ounce of desperation.

Jamie freezes. “I don’t…”

“You only took a bath after I practically forced you--”

“I wouldn’t--”

“You could’ve really hurt yourself.”

“I know, but--”

“How long would you have laid out there in the mud before calling for help?”

“Dani,” Jamie interrupts, an appeasing thumb running along the inside of Dani’s wrist, “look, I just…” she sighs. “It’s not that easy.”

“It is, though,” Dani insists.

“No, love, it’s not. Not when you’ve been… well, not when you’re me.” She pauses, sits on the bed, and nudges Dani down next to her. “I don’t like feeling useless, s’all. People look at you, see you laying about, they see weakness. Someone to be pitied or someone to be taken advantage of. Just once is all it takes for them to get the idea you can’t stand on your own two feet.”

She seems a million miles away, a decade, even, and Dani waits. Jamie will continue if she wants to.

“I don’t like being pitied. And I know that’s not...that’s not what you’re trying to do.” She chooses her words carefully, as if walking through a minefield. Dani stands on the other side. “No need to give me the talk about everybody needing help. ‘Cause, in theory, yeah, that’s true, but when you’ve always been the one doing the helping... it… it’s not all that easy to be on the receiving end.” The last sentence is rushed, and Jamie finishes with a humorless snort of laughter. Her thumb has halted its caress of Dani’s skin.

Dani is silent for a moment. Coddling would be met with rejection. Not outright, no, but Dani knows better. Jamie has lain bare this piece of her soul, held out a fragment of her identity in tender hands, and trusts Dani to take it under her care, treasure it. Jamie had woven the tale of her life under the moonlight, and Dani has spent the past month trying to unravel the threads, to understand. Now, Jamie has given her a new string to follow, but she cannot pull too hard, lest it fall apart.

Dani speaks, quiet, but firm. “We’ll just have to practice then, won’t we.”

A flicker of confusion passes over Jamie’s face as she processes. Then, she softens. Her thumb resumes its rhythmic movement.

There will be other times, Dani has said, and I will stay and I will be here for you because you aren’t alone anymore.

And that seems to be enough.

Jamie exhales through her nose.

“Bit nippy in here. Might, ah, might want to put on some clothes.”

Right. Yes. Of course. Jamie is still in a towel. Gooseflesh has risen along her legs, and she shivers.

“Oh, oh, yeah,” Dani stammers, “I’ll just--” She mimes turning around and is met with a chuckle.

“You weren’t this shy the other night, if memory serves.”

“That,” Dani reiterates, “that was different.” She makes a show of fussing with the corner of the duvet, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles.

Jamie makes a noncommittal noise low in her throat. “I’m decent.”

Dani had picked the clothes, sure, but for a woman who prides herself on preparedness, actually seeing Jamie in Dani’s old elementary school t-shirt and loose-fitting, flannel trousers causes the circuits in her brain to fry.

“Your tea’s getting cold,” she says dumbly. “I didn’t make it,” she adds, noting Jamie’s look of skepticism. Apparently satisfied with that answer, Jamie sips at her beverage and slides under the covers, gesturing for Dani to join her. She shakes her head. “I still need to clean myself up. Hannah’s watching the kids for now, but I really should get back to them.”

“A tragedy of Shakespearen proportions.”

“You need anything else before I shower?”

“No, thank you, love.” Modest affection shines on Jamie’s face, and she speaks so genuinely Dani’s heart aches. She smiles.

“Get some rest, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jamie gives a mock salute, at which Dani can only roll her eyes before exiting into the bathroom with an extra towel and a change of clothes.

When she returns, wringing her hair out, she finds Jamie soundly asleep. The teacup has been placed on the table, next to the plate now missing a sandwich, and Jamie is curled on her side, puffing slow, measured breaths.

Chamomile tea. Who knew?

Dani makes sure to close the door quietly, and she does her best to herd the children away from that side of the house.

It’s about time for supper when Dani makes her way back to her room. When Jamie does not answer her knocks, Dani opens the door, praying the hinges will not squeak for once. Jamie is still nestled in Dani’s bed. She’s rolled over, though, facing the door, and Dani can see her bangs billowing slightly with every breath. Jamie’s nose twitches where the hair tickles it.

This isn’t the first time Dani has seen Jamie in her bed, and she certainly hopes it won’t be the last, but this, this casual intimacy, is something so precious to her. She wants it to last.

Dani perches on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to remove the offending strand of hair from Jamie’s face, and Jamie stirs.

“Hey,” Dani whispers, and Jamie cracks an eye. She presses a hand to her forehead. One of her shirtsleeves has fallen to the side, revealing pale collarbones.

“Hey.” Her voice is gravelly, sleep-laden, in a way that makes Dani’s stomach turn over itself. “Time s’it?”

“Around six, I think?” That grabs Jamie’s attention. Before Dani can stop her, she’s scrambling to sit up, completely forgetting that’s a terrible idea and acting surprised when she topples back onto the pillows with a grunt.

“Easy, easy…” Dani scolds sweetly, as Jamie gasps. “You’re okay. Just lay back. That’s it.”

“Christ.”

“Forgot why you ended up here in the first place, huh?”

“I can’t believe you let me sleep all day,” Jamie says, when the stab of pain fades. “Thought you’d at least wake me up after an hour or so. Had things to do.”

“We said they could wait.”

“You said they could wait.”

“You can’t seriously be mad at me for making you take care of yourself.”

“Feel like I wasted a day, s’all.”

“Well, you didn’t. Taking care of yourself is never a waste,” Dani says, effectively ending the argument. “Do you want to come down for dinner, or do you want me to bring it up to you?” Jamie opens her mouth, but Dani continues, “Before you answer, I want you to think about whether you’re making this decision based on what’s easiest for me, or what you actually feel capable of doing.”

Jamie’s brows raise. “Someone’s feeling bold this evening.”

Dani resists the urge to shirk away, to cave. She knows Jamie would drop it instantly, reassuring Dani that she hasn’t actually overstepped. Instead, Dani says, quietly, sincerely, “You don’t have to put your needs aside to make my life easier.” She considers, leans down so that she’s laying next to Jamie on the bed. “Besides, I like taking care of you.”

Jamie studies her. Whether she’s looking for the lie or for Dani to pull back and say, “just kidding!” Dani doesn’t know. Jamie presses a gentle kiss to her lips, a kiss that speaks the words she cannot. A kiss that says, I’m working on it.

Dani stays close when they break apart, their foreheads touching. “So, dinner?”

“Should probably make an appearance.”

Dani gives her a pointed look. “‘Should’ or ‘want to.’”

“Want to,” Jamie assures, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“You know,” Dani says, helping Jamie sit up slowly, “we should probably tell them how you hurt yourself, or they’ll assume it was from less, hm, virtuous activities.”

“Dirty bird.” Jamie swats her arm. “Owen, maybe, but not our good, Christian Hannah.”

“But do you really want to deal with the comments at the table?”

“Fine. We tell them I fell, and that’s it.”

“Right, so I shouldn’t mention your incredibly stupid idea to move a heavy marble statue without help?”

“Not ideally, no.”

Dani pouts. “Do I at least get to ask about the Rosebush Incident of Eighty-five?”

“You’re not gonna let that one go, are you?” Jamie sighs. “Fine. Ask Owen, then. Suppose you’ll find out about it eventually.” Dani places a gleeful kiss on her cheek.

“Come on, let’s get some food into you.”

The few hours of bedrest appear to have paid off, Dani thinks smugly, as Jamie is perfectly capable of walking herself down the hall. Jamie, however, seems to be rather content to use this as an excuse to lean into Dani, and Dani can’t say she minds all that much. She stands on her own as they near the kitchen and moves with only a slight limp and a wince Dani only catches because she’s looking for it.

At another time, she’ll wonder how often Jamie has hidden her pain.

“There she is!” Owen exclaims when they take their unassigned, assigned seats at the table.

“What happened, dear?” Hannah says simultaneously, as Owen does a double take, clearly trying to figure out what he’s missing. It dawns on him a moment later.

“Fell. ‘M fine,” Jamie shrugs.

“Must’ve been some fall,” Owen remarks, with a smirk that has Dani wary.

“Hm?” Jamie does not look up from the roll she’s buttering.

“You’re wearing Miss Clayton’s clothes,” Flora observes helpfully. Dani chokes on her water. Shit. How could she have missed that?

To her credit, Jamie continues without faltering. “Tripped, landed in a mud puddle, and I didn’t have a change of clothes in the truck. Miss Clayton was nice enough to loan me hers.”

Well, the first part, at least, is true. Dani pinches herself for not asking if Jamie had her own clothes to change into. Even if she does look divine in the free t-shirt they gave Dani when she started teaching.

Owen seems skeptical, but, blessedly, he drops the subject in favor of animatedly recounting the story of their baking adventures that afternoon.

Hannah catches them after dinner, just as Dani is preparing to send the children to bed. “Will you be staying the night, Jamie? In the unfortunate event your injury acts up, of course,” she says with a mirthful wink.

Jamie looks to Dani for an answer, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

“Yes,” Dani decides for them.

“I’m assuming I won’t need to make up the guest bedroom for you?”

“Oh, um, no, thanks. That won’t be necessary.” Dani isn’t sure why she’s blushing. It’s not as if the whole manor doesn’t know about them. They’d tried hiding at first, sneaking about and slipping into dark corners like teenagers. They were not very good at it.

Later, with Miles and Flora safely asleep and Owen and Hannah having taken their leave for the evening, Jamie returns to Dani’s bed, this time with Dani sliding in behind her. Dani nuzzles into her back, careful not to touch any sore areas.

“I know I was an idiot,” Jamie’s voice cuts nervously through the darkness, “but, ah, just wanted to say thanks. For caring about me. Not really...not really used to that.”

Dani can feel her entire body tense. She presses tender kisses along Jamie’s back. “Of course,” she murmurs, and she hopes her conviction comes across. “Always.” She hesitates. “You’re not wrong about being an idiot, though,” Dani giggles.

“You like it.” It’s not meant to be a question, though Jamie’s voice wavers.

“I do,” Dani confirms affectionately, “I do.”

Jamie relaxes against her.

72 notes · View notes

f0rever15elf · 4 years ago

Text

Gold Rush

Pairing: Modern!Ezra x f!reader Word count: 6,391 Rating: T+ Warnings: Slight swearing, short description of a brutal injury, mention of medical opiate administration via injection

Find the continuation of the story with Colorado Rocky Mountain High

Summary: It’s been a long time since the precious mineral rush hit the Rockies of Colorado. So when national news breaks of a potential gold vein left untouched in your quiet little town, no one is prepared for the rush that follows. And you certainly weren’t prepared for the man you meet.

A/N: So, I adore Ezra’s vocabulary and accent. I felt like a modern twist on it could be interesting. Someone really needs to control me when I start writing these oneshots xD

Masterlist | Ao3

You would never forget the day you first laid eyes on him. He looked a mess, dirt and soot clinging to his sweaty face. Mud clung to his coveralls, and his hair stood up in all directions having just taken his safety helmet off, a little blonde patch catching your eye. He looked positively exhausted as he lounged on a boulder set off a little bit from the rest of the commotion. The grueling heat from the mid-day summer sun did little to help the heat you felt rush to your cheeks when his warm brown eyes locked on yours. You averted your gaze quickly, scurrying off to finish your work in preparing the food for the new prospectors.

Your little mountain town tucked up in a secluded region of the Colorado Rockies had always been exceptionally quiet. That is, until a kid happened to stumble upon the start of what looked to be a gold deposit. It wasn’t unheard of, the mountains were rich with all kinds of valuable minerals. Hell, some of the towns got their names from the gold and silver deposits that brought them to life. Finding something here though, in your quiet and reclusive neck of the woods, was something your town was drastically unprepared for.

News broke nationally and within a week the town was flooded with prospectors and independent contractors all vying for their piece of the pie. The economic boost for the town was good, but the available resources were minimal, and the town felt the burden. There wasn’t enough room in the one bed and breakfast the town had to house them all, making little tent camps near the edge of town a very common sight.

Naturally, the close knit community rose to the occasion, coming together to make community meals for the visitors. Communal lunches were the most anticipated time for the workers, and they would flock to the picnic tables to fill their bellies as soon as the lunch bell rang. Most were nice and talkative, thanking the town for doing this for them, and promising to go visit the shops when they finished for the day. Some kept to themselves, staying quiet. Others would talk your ear off, but you had to approach them first. It was a strange new normal, but one that was easy to fall into routine with.

It’s been a little over a month now, and prospecting is in full swing. The little bit of gold the boy had found was just the beginning of one of the richest gold deposits this region of the Rockies had ever seen. More and more miners made their way to your town every day, and your new full time job became helping with the meals; making food runs down into the nearest large supermarket or tending to the vats of food that seemed to always be simmering away. But even when you were distracted with all of this hubbub, it seemed impossible to forget the man with the small blonde patch.

Today is a grey day. The clouds thick in the sky promise heavy rains. Yet still the lunch bell rings, calling the prospectors from their mine shafts and tents to come and join the community for food. The man with the blonde patch sits closer today, his usual boulder taken over by two of the newer prospectors whose names you had yet to learn. As you work, you feel his eyes following you, watching you like a hawk as you do your best to ignore it. Quite a few of the prospectors spent time ogling you, but this man’s gaze consistently feels different. Arms full of things to take back to your house to clean, you begin making the trek up the incline that leads to your house when lightning cracks the sky. The resounding rumble of thunder through the canyon scares you out of your wits, and the dishes go crashing to the ground as you lose your footing, stumbling backwards. You close your eyes, preparing yourself to hit the ground, knowing you’d be tumbling for a bit before you could regain yourself, but the ground never meets you.

“Careful there, sunshine.” The voice is honey thick, a deep Tennessee drawl that borders on music as it drips from the lips of the man who catches you. Opening one eye, you look up to see the man with the blonde patch holding on to you, having been the one to keep your from falling down the hill. You open your other eye as well, looking up at him for far longer than you are sure was proper before your cheeks grow hot and you scramble to get your footing again.

“I’m so sorry! The thunder frightened me, I didn’t mean to..I just...I – Thank you.” You blabber as you crouch down to start gathering the dropped and scattered dishes, cramming everything back in the chili pot.

“Not a worry, sunshine. Would have been a mighty rough fall there.” He crouches down to help you gather the dishes, only pausing to look to the sky when the first few drops land on his face. You look up with him and sigh.

“It’s going to be a hell of a storm.” His beautiful eyes turn back to you at your comment, an eyebrow raised. “The season is changing,” you grunt, getting to your feet. “Best to make sure your tent is secure, sir. Else this rain and the wind that will come with it will blow it half way down the canyon.”

“I appreciate the advice, but I do not believe that to be something I need concern myself with presently.” The way he spoke, words pouring from his mouth with such sweetness, was unlike anything you had ever heard. “I haven’t a tent to my name, you see. Just the clothes on my back and tools on my hip.”

“You didn’t bring a…?” Your voice tapers off in concern and confusion as the drops fall more rapidly, the rest of the prospectors dispersing to tend to their own things. “Come inside with me. You stay out in a storm like this you’ll get sick. Come on.” Turning, you begin your trudge uphill again, eyes on the sky as you wait for it to bottom out. The strange prospector follows you in silence, his tools clanking on his belt with every step.

And then it happens.

The sky opens up, the deluge drenching you both and you let out a small scream, sprinting down the street to the safety of your porch, the man hot on your heels. “C-Colorado rain is always so damn cold,” you chatter through clenched teeth, opening your front door and kicking off your soaked shoes. You’re half way to the kitchen when you realize the man hadn’t come in after you. Looking back over your shoulder, you see him standing just outside the doorway, the spitting image of a drenched kitten, conflict clear on his face. “Don’t just stand there, come inside where it’s warm.”

“It would be rather impudent of me to make a mess of your home in such a way.” You wave your hand at his comment, setting the dishes on the counter before returning to him.

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t alright with it. Come on, you’re letting the cold in.” When he still doesn’t move, you roll your eyes and grab his hand, tugging him inside before shutting the door behind you. “You can use my shower to get cleaned up. Go on.” You all but push him down the hall, him protesting in far more words than necessary as you do. “There’s towels in the wicker basket. Use whatever you need.” You turn to leave, stopped only by his hand catching your wrist in his gentle grip.

“Thank you, sunshine.” You look up at him, struck by the sincerity on his face, in his eyes. “I am beholden to your unbridled grace and kindness.” You flash him a shy smile and nod as he drops his hand from your wrist.

“I’ll get you something dry to change in to once you’re done getting cleaned up.” Your voice is soft as you turn, letting him to his business as you go to find him some clothes. It is at this time that you’re beyond grateful that your brothers were so damn forgetful, having left several articles of clothing at your place every time they visit. Humming a low tune, you rummage through their chest of forgotten clothes, pulling out a v-neck you’re pretty sure will fit him along with a pair of gray sweatpants that might be just a touch too short. They were better than nothing, at least. You quickly fold the clothes, setting them in the hallway outside the bathroom door before knocking.

“Sir, there are warm and dry clothes for you in the hall way. I’ll wash your wet ones when you’re out.” Over the sound of the running water, you catch a muffled, loquacious reply. You have only been speaking to him for a few minutes, but he’s already proven to have a more robust vocabulary than most anyone you’d met. Chuckling, you make your way back to the kitchen to get the dishes cleaned up, resuming your humming.

A bit later, you’re interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing. You look over your shoulder to see the prospector there, leaning against the doorway into the kitchen. Relief washes over you when you see the clothes did fit, making a mental note to not tell your brothers that you were giving away their clothes. “Enjoy your shower?”

“The breadth of generosity you’ve show this old man of ill repute is without measure,” sugar sweet words drip from his lips again, bringing a heat to your cheeks.

“Oh please, it’s nothing, really.” You gesture outside to the torrential downpour. “If you have no shelter in this type of weather, it has the potential to bring a rapid end to your prospecting career. The nights are too cold up this high to go to sleep drenched to the bone.” Your eyes rake over his figure, settling on his hair again, sticking out in all sorts of directions after having towel dried it. A smile pulls at your lips before you look back at his face.

“Well, all the same sunshine, I seem to find myself indebted to your good graces.” The corner of his mouth tugs up in a lopsided smirk that makes your heart stutter.

“Well if that’s the case, help me dry the dishes and I’ll call us square.” You grin and toss a towel to him as he joins you at your side. “By the way, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“How discourteous of me! I go by Ezra. Just Ezra. Pray tell what name such an absolute vision of beauty such as yourself goes by?” You can’t help the giggle that bubbles from your lips as a heat rushes to your cheeks. You give him your name, a nervous air in your voice. He nods, repeating your name back to you and you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine as your name sounds like liquid gold on his lips. You wouldn’t mind hearing him say it again and again, you think.

“I like that name. Ezra. I think it suits you.” You flash a smile as you hand him a pot to dry. “Tell me though. How have you been here since the rush began, yet still you don’t have so much as a tent to cover your head?” His laugh is deep and rich as he takes the next dish, drying it thoroughly.

“I find it more prudent to be frugal with one’s earnings in such a tumultuous line of business as freelance prospecting. Nature tends to provide what my mortal body needs as far as shelter, so the earnings I amass in mining go towards improving my station.” You nod, turning off the water as you hand him the last plate.

“And you’ve been living this way for how long?”

“By my approximation, I’d say I’m just about at the ten year mark.”

“I can’t imagine the lifestyle is easy…”

“There is an ache that lingers in my bones, no doubt, but the drive to press ever on towards greatness...well, that is what distinguishes those who simply chase a dream of getting rich quick from those of us who yearn for something beyond that which words can describe.” He turns, leaning against the counter to cross his arms, eyes staring off into space. You’re quiet for a moment as you watch him, taking note of the creases on his weathered face. Laugh lines linger along the corners of his lips, and smile lines accent the corners of his eyes. He is beautiful in every sense of the word.

“And when you reach the end of the vein here? Where will you go to next?” His eyes refocus on you and he smiles, pondering the question for a moment.

“I suppose that entirely depends up the riches chanced upon during my toils in your hospitable hamlet.” The way he says riches as his eyes watch you strikes a chord within you, and you have a feeling that it isn’t just the gold he is speaking of. Something about this man bewitched you, and you find yourself struggling to break eye contact with him. His smile is warm and welcoming, but there is something there just below the surface that hints of danger. And it thrills you. Another crack of lightning and rumble of thunder startles you from your trance and you push away from the counter with a nervous chuckle.

“Well, I do hope you’re able to find what you’re looking for here, Mr. Ezra. Please make yourself at home, I’m going to go set your clothes into the wash for you.” You turn and all but sprint down the hallway to the bathroom, Ezra chuckling in the kitchen behind you.

As you start his laundry, you take a moment to compose yourself. Your heart is racing and your hands trembled in a nervous excitement as they braced against the washer. The air around Ezra is different, you think. Something about the man sets him apart from those you had had the chance to speak to so far, and you are determined to figure it out. After calming yourself to a reasonable level once again, you make your way out to join Ezra in the living room. He’s found your meager book collection, helping himself to one of your novels, and the sight of him perched on your sofa with it balanced on his knee looks like the most natural thing in the world.

“Avid reader?” you question, sitting down on the other side of the couch, tucking your feet up underneath you.

“I have been known to indulge when such an opportunity affords itself to me.” He flashes you that lopsided smile that you just can’t help but return before re-affixing his eyes to the text in front of him. You watch him for a time, trying to learn as much about him as you can from his posture, his looks, until your eyes drift to the window behind your couch. The rain blurs the windowpanes, turning the landscape into some abstract watercolor painting and all that can be heard is the sound of the rain accented with the occasional turn of the page as Ezra reads. Relaxing into the couch, your eyes slowly slip shut as you drift off into a peaceful sleep.

When you finally come around, the sun has set and the rains have stopped. The house is quiet save for a gentle fire in the fireplace, one you hadn’t set before falling asleep. A blanket has been delicately draped over you and you smile to yourself. You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, searching for the friendly prospector. “Ezra?” Your voice is heavy, still thick with sleep as you stand to look for him. You find him outside on your porch, leaning against the siding as he looks out over the canyon visible from your home. “Ezra? Is everything alright?” He simply nods, not looking over to you. The full moon illuminates his skin in the most radiant of ways, accentuating every curve and plane of his face, brightening that little blonde patch in his hair. It left you near breathless. A shiver runs through you at the crisp mountain air, left cooler after the rains, and you wrap your arms around yourself to cope. Ezra shifts his attention to you.

“You should be inside, sunshine. The cold will do you no favors.” He pushes off of the wall, turning to usher you back inside. You hear it though, the slight sadness in his voice that wasn’t present earlier today. You allow him to lead you back inside, shutting and locking the door behind him before you turn to face him.

“What’s wrong, Ezra?” A flash of emotion crosses his face so quickly you aren’t even sure you actually saw it. But if you did...for a moment he looked almost...pained…

“Nothing, sunshine. The chill of the night just leaves an ache in my bones, is all.”

“You’re lying,” you whisper, stepping closer. Perhaps it was the bleariness of sleep that still lingered with you that emboldened you. Or perhaps it was the tantalizing aura that surrounded him that drew you in. Either way, you find yourself staring up at him, concern shining in your eyes bright as the full moon outside. His smile is forced, you can tell, as he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“Little gem, I promise you, the weight I carry is not something I need burden you with. Your hospitality has been unparalleled, and I will not permit myself to impose on you more than I already have.” His warm, tender eyes search yours, begging for you to listen to him. But stubbornness has always run hot in your veins.

“Didn’t I tell you before?” You reach up and take his hand gently in yours. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure. Ezra, what’s wrong?” His hand twitches in yours before he gently pulls away, his smile significantly sadder.

“The life of a reprobate like myself should never tarnish the luster of someone like you, sunshine. I will not give you my sins to carry.” He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before smiling and moving past you to lay down on the couch. A glance to the clock shows you’ve well missed dinner time, sitting at 8:30 now. With a sigh, you meander back into the living room, taking a seat on the floor in front of the fire, letting the heat warm your soul from the chilly night air.

“We all have our own sins to deal with, you know.” Your voice is low as you watch the sparks wick up the flue. You can feel his eyes on your back, waiting for you to continue. “Everyone has a story. But the mountains don’t care about that. They don’t care about who you were before you arrive here. They don’t care about blood on your hands or the loss you’ve endured. They were here long before us and will remain here long after you or I return to the stardust we are made of.” You turn your head to look over your shoulder to see Ezra still staring at you, the fire flickering in his chocolate eyes. “The mountains offer you a chance, Ezra. That’s why I’m here...and as fate would have it, it’s why you’re here as well.” You turn your face back to the fire, Ezra staying quiet for some time behind you.

“The life I have taken to isn’t an easy one, gemstone.” His voice is low and gruff, his drawl more prominent. “I’ve done things in this life that I am ashamed to admit. Lost as much as I’ve gained, taken as much as I’ve given. And every single soul I’ve urged on to whatever follows this painful existence torments me every time I attempt a moment of respite.” The sigh from his lips is heavier than any weight you’ve ever carried, and it pains you to know he carries it alone. “I tell myself it’ll all be worth it in the end. That I’m toiling away day in and day out for a greater purpose. But it’s been near a decade, gemstone, and the end never nears.”

“You’re tired,” you whisper, turning around to look at him, taken aback by the shine in his eyes. “You’re tired and lonely. I can’t even imagine how heavy your soul feels carrying everything you do all alone, and still managing to put a smile on your face. Lord knows I couldn’t...not ‘till I came here, that is, and the town helped me bare my burden. Ezra, I don’t think it’s a coincidence you ended up here in our town. I really don’t.” You flash him a gentle smile, standing up to grab another spare blanket from the linen box, handing it to him. “Think about it, okay? Stay here for tonight. This cold is no place for anyone right now.” He takes the blanket from your hand, perplexity painting his face as you smile down at him. “Goodnight, Ezra. I hope the fire keeps the specters at bay for you tonight.” He nods as you turn, heading back to your room after turning over the laundry. He was odd, but you liked him.

Bright and early you hear a rummaging in the kitchen, the smell of bacon permeating the air. Stretching, you stumble from bed, following your nose and growling stomach. Ezra is there in your kitchen in just the sweats he was borrowing, humming to himself as he cooks. The broad expanse of his back is littered with faded white scars, some that looked to be from blades, and some from burns. His humming voice is lovely, you think, smiling as you lean against the doorway to watch him. He seems so at home, you feel it inappropriate to disturb him. It’s when he turns to put a bowl in the sink that he catches you from the corner of his eye.

“Well good morning, sunshine. I beg your pardon but I permitted myself the liberty of preparing a warm breakfast for the two of us.” His smile that pulls at his lips is brighter than last night, and you felt certain the dread that plagued him had passed for now.

“Did you sleep well?” You inquire, moving into the kitchen to pull down two glasses to fill them with orange juice.

“A specterless dream for the first time in what seems like forever, gemstone.” He places his hand on the small of your back as he moves past you to keep you from bumping back into him, setting the plate of eggs and bacon on the table. The touch feels electric, and you find yourself shocked in how much you enjoy the feeling.

“The mountains have that effect on a weary soul,” you smile, bringing the glasses over. “Coffee?”

“That would be magnificent. But I don’t presume that the mountains have much to do with the reprieve I was so graciously afforded last night.” Your smile doesn’t fade as you put the coffee pot on to percolate, taking down two mugs after the fact.

“Pray tell what you think might be the source of such a thing?”

“I do believe it might have a thing or two to do with the enchantress that graces my vision in the radiance of the morning light.” Heat floods your cheeks as the coffee pot buzzes, the smell of fresh brew mingling beautifully with that of the bacon. You pour two cups, handing Ezra his before joining him at the table.

“I’m a simple mountain girl, I doubt it has anything to do with me.”

“You humble yourself far too much, gemstone. A heart of purer gold than the ore I mine, and the shining soul to match.” He holds his mug up in a toast before bringing it to his lips. “Ones like you are few and far between.”

“And ones like you even more so, I would say.” You return his toast before serving yourself a bit of breakfast. “Thank you for cooking, Ezra. It was very kind of you to do.”

“But the smallest thanks I could give in return for such philanthropy as what you have shown me these past twelve hours.” He chuckles, eating rather quickly, a habit that you feel was one developed over the long time spent in his lifestyle. He finishes well before you, standing to clear his plate. “I’ve imposed for far too long, I fear. I’ll change and be on my way. Gold doesn’t mine itself, I’m afraid.” You chuckle and nod, standing to stop him as he moves towards the hallway.

“Ezra, you are welcome here always. Tent or no tent, you’re welcome to kick your feet up on my hearth whenever you wish. And I do mean that.” Your voice is soft as you look up at him, eyes to match. He returns your gaze, a gentle smile working his way across his lips as he smooths your bed-messed hair.

“There is that heart of gold, my little gemstone.” The tenderness in his voice warms you through, and your heart aches when he steps away. “But I won’t impose a moment longer.” His smile stays as he goes to collect his clothes, quickly changing in the bathroom before making his exit, heading back down to the mine.

And so the days continue. The miners would come for lunch and you would help to serve it, each day Ezra staying close to you to keep you company. His honey dipped accent brought you more joy than you thought a simple sound could, and it made the days pass more quickly. In the evenings when he was done at the mine, he would come to your doorstep, leaning against the support as he talked with you, reveling in the laugh he was able to earn from you with his tales. Each night, you would offer him a warm place to lay his weary head, but every night was the same. A polite decline and an insistence that he could not allow himself to burden you more than he already had before he would excuse himself, heading back to the ridge where the trees would keep him company.

The night he doesn’t come to talk to you, you find yourself watching out the window for him, worry seizing your heart. The sky had been boiling as you had finished working in your yard for the evening, waiting on the loquacious prospector to come and keep you company as he had for weeks now. Rain was coming, you could feel it in your bones, a chill gripping you as the night grows colder. As far as you knew, Ezra still hadn’t purchased himself a proper shelter to ward off the rain, and that thought terrified you. No one should be out in such conditions, no matter how much they felt they deserved to be.

Lightning cracks the sky, your worried reflection flashing back at you for the briefest of moments as the bottom opens out of the sky. A Colorado thunderstorm, true to form. A shiver runs through you at the thought of Ezra out in this, and you decide it best to start a fire in the event that he happened to stumble to your doorstep. And no sooner have you worked the fire up to a low roar in the hearth, do you hear a knock at the door. You wrap your knit blanket around your shoulders, moving to open the door, and there he stands looking more akin to a drowned rat than you have ever seen. Lightning illuminates his face and all you can see is pain, sending your heart into a sprint as you reach for him, pulling him inside.

“Ezra, oh my God, what happened? Why were you out in this?” You lead him into the living room, sitting him down in front of the fire to dry him out and warm him through. “Are you hurt, what happened?” He only groans, leaning forward until his face rests against your shoulder, his breathing ragged. Your arms gingerly wrap around him, holding him to you. “Ezra, you’re scaring me, what happened?”

“A-Accident. In the mine. Rock slide. Hurt m-my arm…” He groans and your throat all but closes as your blood runs cold. You pull back gently, cradling his chin in your palm. The way his forehead creases in pain terrifies you before you even so much as see his arm. You pull back just enough to see the blood soaking through his drenched jacket, his arm cradled at an unnatural angle.

“Oh fuck…” You pull back, easing him down as gently as possible as you pull out your phone, cradling his head in your lap. After the third ring, a gentle voice answers. “Dr. Renslier, I need you to come to my house right away. I have an injured miner here. His arm is badly hurt and he’s bleeding through his clothes. I’m scared to move him…” Ezra’s breath hitches as he bites back another groan, guilt settling in his stomach at causing you so much worry.

“G-Gemstone, stop those tears…” He reaches up with his good hand, wincing as it jostles his right arm, to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “An incorrigible man such as myself is undeserving of such acts of affection. Save those diamonds, little gem.” You tilt your head into his touch, fear still paralyzing your heart.

Dr. Renslier was the only doctor in town, a retired surgeon from Denver Medical Center. He was the best of the best during his time there, and decided to take his skills to this little community, settling in with his wife and their three dogs. The town loved him, and he was one of the few people you would trust with your life in a fraction of a heart beat. So when your door opens and you hear his voice calling from the doorway, a wash of relief floods over you. He kneels next to Ezra, already pulling out scissors to cut away the bloodied jacket. The sight this reveals has your stomach turning and you fight to keep dinner down.

“W-Well? How bad is it doc?” Ezra’s usually rich voice is weak and strangled as he battles with the pain. “Give it to me st-straight.”

“It’s...not good. I don’t think...I don’t think we can save it.” Bone protruded through what was left of the skin in multiple places, the breaks jagged and splintered. “Even if we were in Denver I don’t think I could...save this.” He rummages in his bag for a syringe, tapping out the air before squeezing the flesh of Ezra’s shoulder, administering the injection. “That will help with the pain.” He grumbles about the storm as he pulls out a tourniquet, tying it off just below the shoulder. “We need to get him to the office. He’s going to need a transfusion and I need to operate, now.” You nod as you shift out from under Ezra, him already feeling the effects of what you could only assume was morphine, before helping the doctor to carry him to the car. You elect to ride along, knowing he would need help getting Ezra inside before the nurse on duty would take over.

As soon as you are ushered from the operating bay, you stagger to a chair, sitting down heavily as the adrenaline finally wears off. Tears brim and spill over once again before you drop your face to your blood covered hands, sobbing. Eventually, your sobs turn to whimpers turn to pained sniffles before exhaustion overtakes you, succumbing to a fitful sleep. You are awoken by the nurse, a gentle, pity-filled smile on her face. “He’s out of surgery and resting in a bed now. We need to get you cleaned up before you can see him, ok? We have a set of scrubs you can wear for now.” You simply nod, getting up to follow her as she leads you to the bathroom. The scrubs are folded neatly on the bench by the sink and you smile despite yourself.

Once clean and dressed, you make your way back out to the hall, the nurse waiting to lead you to the recovery beds. You feel as if you could collapse in sobs once more seeing Ezra laid up as he is, face pale and IV drip in his arm. Small bandages littered his face and what you could see of his left arm. As for his right...all that was left was a nub just below his shoulder, tied off in a neat bandage. You draw up a seat next to him, taking his hand in yours, drawing circles along the skin with your thumb. You would wait here for him to wake, you decide.

And so you do, falling asleep with his hand in yours. The feeling of his hand twitching in yours is what wakes you, your eyes snapping open to check on him. The groan that slips from his lips sounds so pained. Slowly, his eyes flutter open, squinting at the bright lights of the med bay before they land on you. A smile tugs at those lips of his when he realizes you were still there, beside him, and he squeezes your hand weakly.

“My little gemstone…” His voice is hoarse, but sweet, traces of that honey slowly returning. “Did you stay here the whole time?”

“As long as they would let me, Ezra.”

“You really didn’t nee-” You cut him off before he could finish the sentence.

“I wanted to. Please don’t ask me to leave, Ezra, because I won’t. I’m not leaving your side.” Rich chocolate eyes grow glassy at your proclamation, hips lips pressing into a tight line, but he nods all the same, secretly relieved that you wanted to stay with him.

“You must believe me a damn fool for finding myself in such a predicament.” His voice is tinged with humor, and you flash him a tired smile, shaking your head.

“It was an accident, Ezra. You said so yourself. I’m just relieved you’re alive to joke about it.” You return the squeeze to your hand and his eyes travel down to where you have interlocked your fingers with his. “Ezra,” you say quietly, drawing his eyes back to yours. “I want you to stay with me.”

“Well, I imagine that will certainly be preferable to the minute comforts an institution such as this could afford me whilst I recover as best I can…” His voice trails off, tight at the end of his statement as he looks to what remains of his arm.

“That’s not what I mean,” you whisper, your voice trembling with trepidation. Concerned eyes find yours again, an eyebrow arched. “I want you to stay with me. No more roaming, no more running...stay here. After the rush leaves, I want you to stay. With me.” His lips part slightly as you vocalize a desire he has had since the day he first followed you home.

“Sunshine, I couldn’t possibly be such a burden on you.”

“Dammit you bullheaded man! Listen to me! You aren’t a burden, you aren’t a hassle. Arm or no arm, I want you here, with me. Sharing my home, my life. I want that, Ezra.” You pick up his hand, bringing it to your lips to brush them over his knuckles. “I want you. I want an us…” You clench your eyes closed and you feel him pull his hand away before he lays it against your cheek.

“Gemstone...look at me.” You do as asked, looking up at him with glassy eyes that match his own. “Do you mean it? Do you really want me here? Is that what your heart is singing to you?” You nod, laying your hand over his against your cheek.

“Yes, Ezra, and I think it has been since the day you followed me home. Please, Ezra…” Confliction flashes in his eyes as he watches your face, your tears spilling over once more and he quickly wipes them away with the calloused pad of his thumb.

“No tears for me, little gemstone. I...I’ll stay…” You blink, almost not believing the words that came from his mouth.

“You...you mean it?”

“I do. My bones are tired, gem. My soul is tired. And since you extended such kindness to me that night, my dreams have left me in peace. All I dream about are your eyes which hold galaxies and your musical laugh. And being next to you…” You turn your head to nuzzle his hand, warmth flowing through you as you take in his words before you look back to him.

“We’re not so different then. You haven’t left my dreams, or my thoughts, since that night.” Ezra chuckles lowly before letting out a yawn, sinking back into the pillows. “Rest now, alright? I’ll be here when you wake.” He nods, pulling your hand away from where it holds his to your face, bringing it to his lips to place a feather-light kiss to your knuckles before laying it to rest by his side, his eyes slowly slipping shut.

The gold rush brought many people to your quaint little mountain town; miners and prospectors, dreamers and fighters, men and women with delusions of grandeur and those just trying to scrape by. But out of all of them, all of those you had befriended in your time helping to ensure they were fed, the one most important to you was Ezra. You don’t think it was a coincidence he ended up running to the same town you did so many years ago. The universe worked in ways no mere mortal would every truly understand. But that didn’t matter. So long as you had him by your side, the universe could act however it saw fit. Because with Ezra here beside you, your two weary souls could finally find solace in the cradle of the mountains.

~~~~~

Tag lists: Permanent: @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @tangledlove27, @paintballkid711, @lose-eels, @adamdrivercouldchokeme

Tag lists are open! Requests are open!

#Ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra x f!reader #ezra prospect x f!reader #prospect #pedro pascal #my fic

173 notes · View notes

natthebattygeologist · 4 years ago

Text

A Brush with a Cursed Lily

Royal Court AU

King’s Advisor!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

A/N: So here it is, a second part to A Kiss From a Rose. I’m sorry for the wait however I got very busy with work and my university projects. I do so hope you enjoy this. It’s written slightly differently to part 1 as this is all from the Reader’s POV.

I just want to thank @cockslut-padalecki for allowing me to write part 1 as part of the #notmyninth writing challenge and I hope that this angsty follow up does A Kiss From a Rose proud.

Word Count: 2208

Warnings: Angst, angst, more angst, some light fluff, swearing, implied smut, grief, mentions of loss.

Reader’s POV

I ran around chasing after the little squirt who was currently avoiding his bath-time before tripping up and landing square on my backside in a patch of tall Calla Lilies. They were a stunning shade of deep violet and brought back the memories of 6 summers ago. The day I was married off to my best-friend, Steve Rogers, Lord of Rosebury-upon-Sale. I chuckled to myself as my husband rounded the corner of the orangery with our son, covered in mud head to toe, a huge smile plastered on his face. The last few years had been trying at times, and unbearable in others but somehow, we managed to make it through.

“Frolicking in the flowers are we, my petal?” A deep laugh resonated from Steve’s chest as he took in the sight of me, dishevelled and dirtied from my tumble.

“Yes, it’s a rather delightful hobby I have found. Quite the thrilling end to chasing our little gremlin child. Now if you would be so inclined as to help your pregnant wife out of the flower bed, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Come now love, you know I love to see you in a fluster, but I suppose it would do the baby no good leaving you there.”

I took the hand he so graciously offered me and took our muddied little boy from his father’s hold.

“Now honestly Charlie, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Prince as muddy and dirty as you are right now, you little rascal. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed, then maybe we can go and visit Uncle James before bedtime.”

----------------- 4 Years Earlier----------------

The King summoned us back to court, and what was meant to be a joyous visit quickly became a permanent stay. Upon our arrival we were greeted by a bleary-eyed Prince and an equally as troubled Princess. The King was dying and had called upon his advisor to help prepare for Bucky’s transition into power. To anyone else nothing would’ve seemed amiss, except it was.

When James’ back was turned, I had witnessed Princess Maia acting rather strangely, gathering bouquets of foxglove and trimmings of deadly nightshade. I was almost certain of her intentions but feared my own safety and so kept it to myself, until one night where I couldn’t bear the burden this knowledge held over me any longer.

“Steve, my love, I have something troubling my mind.” My voice came out a hushed and broken whisper.

“What worries you so my petal? I know it hasn’t been easy for you being back, and having to pretend to like Maia, I assure you that I am always here to listen to you and love you.”

“Well, you see, I think I know why the King is sick. On several occasions I have witnessed the Princess with my own eyes gathering bouquets of foxglove and cuttings from the nightshade bush down by the lily patch. I worry that she is poisoning the King, taking advantage of both his and James’ compromised states to hold a sway over decisions that will likely see our kingdom lost to that of her own father.”

I spoke confidently now, having been an integral part of the court for all my childhood. Steve knew better than to question my knowledge of how things ran. He also knew that I would be one of the first to notice if anything was awry, be that with the account books or even the numbers of armed men stationed at each watchtower. After the death of his wife the King only had James as an heir, and so, he vowed that in case any ill befall him I would also be trained, so that if required, I could become a successful Queen someday.

“Steve, I do believe wholeheartedly that this is all a set-up and that we have been blindly infiltrated by our enemy. Things aren’t adding up. The number of guards stationed at The Keep has been halved in sized since the King has fallen ill. It leaves the West of the kingdom in a precarious position. One where an attack could easily happen and be kept quiet. I don’t like the look of it, any of it, and something needs to be done before we are conquered, you are killed, and me resigned to a life of slavery and servitude at the hands of the despicable Wyvern family.” My voice broke and a sob tore through me at the thought of losing everything I have left to the family that has already taken so much from me, starting with my mother shortly after I was born.

“Hush my petal. Tears will do nothing to fix this. The King is aware of the situation, however in our absence the Prince has changed, and he has become blinded by his love for ‘his lily’, though I daresay snake would be the better term for that venomous bitch.” A scoff escaped Steve’s lips before he continued. “The reason the King summoned us is because he has seen what fate has befallen James. He has made his bed, albeit a rather uncomfortable bed, and now he will have to lie in it. The King wishes for you to become Queen after his passing. He wants to stop the plans of Maia’s family before their tendrils of poison can run further into our kingdom than they already have. You my love can bring all this to an end, and I believe you would be able to unite the Kingdoms in a peaceful treaty that could last.”

I curled up into Steve’s side placing a chaste kiss to his lips. He returned it with a hunger and passion before carding his fingers through my hair and tracing them along my jaw.

“Please my petal, let me chase away your worries, after all, if you are to be Queen, we shall need to work on producing some heirs.”

A smirk befell his lips before he ducked his head, nipping at my neck, knowing full well that I would cave to his carnal desires.

--------------- Present Day -------------

After having cleaned up the mucky Prince, Steve and I walked with him through the gardens as evening began to draw in. Fireflies filled the air as we made the trek to the rose garden. As a child it had been mine and Bucky’s favourite place to hide, and on more than one occasion hugs and kisses had been exchanged.

Today this garden holds a whole new meaning as at its centre, beneath a beautiful weeping willow, lay James’ grave.

------------- 3 Years Earlier ------------

Before the King’s passing, he ordered his kings-guard to imprison and execute the Princess for treason against the throne. She was hung at The Keep as a warning to her family that they were next. Their years of planning and scheming had come to an abrupt and distasteful end.

What the Wyverns deemed as an unlawful murder incited a full war between our Kingdoms, it saw both Steve and Bucky fighting on the front lines with me at the helm, as Queen. Soon I had treaties signed with other Kingdoms aligning us for generations to come, until the only one stood against the alliance was the Kingdom of the Serpents. The battle of Roseknappe in the Western borders was the bloodiest battle of all. By this time, I was no longer part of frontline action as I was holed up in the castle under the watchful protection of my elite Queens-guard. When news got out that I was with child the Wyverns stopped at nothing to try and kill me or at the least cause me harm enough for my body to rid itself of the heir I now lovingly grew inside of me. But they needn’t have worried.

When I was around 5 months along tragedy struck our kingdom. The arrival of my husband looking grey in pallor, with sunken eyes and covered in injuries was the first sign that something was very wrong. When the two had left to fight they rode off, side by side, settling any grievances they had over the arranged marriages and uniting to fight to save the Kingdom and keep me on the throne. Steve’s return signalled the end of an era and feelings in my gut that had been dormant for years surfaced in cry of grief so great that it silenced the birdsong for days. Although James was not King, he was still a beloved Prince. My first love and the person who would forever hold a piece of my heart.

In my grief-stricken state I had fallen and managed to land with the sharp riser of the marble stairs squarely in my abdomen. The shock I was in meant that I hadn’t noticed the blood that began pooling nor do I remember what happened over the next few weeks as the doctors and healers frantically worked to keep me alive.

“Steve? Steve? Where’s James? I…. I want to see him. I…” I was interrupted by Steve coming over and pulling me tight to his chest.

“Praise to the Old Gods, my petal, are you okay? Are you in any pain?” worry had seeped into his tone and what looked to be a pang of guilt crossed his normally stoic face. “My love, how much do you remember of the last three weeks?”

A confused expression befell my features before Steve decided to continue.

“Oh, my sweet love, James... James isn’t coming back. The fight at Roseknappe, he saved my life by taking the arrow that was meant to pierce my heart, he sacrificed himself because he wanted me to be able to return to you, so I could love you the way he was never allowed to. So that I could raise a family and keep our Kingdom strong. He died in my arms after begging me to pass you on this letter that he wrote, almost as if he knew he wouldn’t make it back from this war.”

Fresh tears began to fall as Steve handed me the bloodied paper.

My dearest Rose,

How I wish things had been different, and that it was I that got to hold you in my arms at the end of the aisle. I begged my father to change his mind, but he wouldn’t budge. I will never forgive myself for the horrid things I said to you when father made you queen. I was poisoned by the words of a traitor and knowing now I hurt the one true love of my life is the reason why I will fight so hard to save you.

If you are reading this it means I am gone my sweet girl. I know that you will grieve me but please, for my sake as much as your own, I want you to love Steve as wholly as you once loved me. I beg of you to take care of yourself and to keep me close as you grow through the years. I am sorry I will not be there to see my little nieces and nephews, but I know that you and Steve will be the most wonderful parents.

That day in the rose garden, after your first dance in front of the court, when I kissed you. I wanted to tell you then just how much I loved you, but I couldn’t do it. It’s almost as if in my heart I knew you would never truly be mine.

I love you my Rose and I will see you in the next life,

Your Prince,

Bucky

4 months later after grieving the loss of the Prince, the Kingdom was celebrating, not just a victory of war and a long lasting treaty of peace, but the birth of their future King.

Prince Charlie James Buchanan Rogers, heir to the throne of Rosehall and Duke of Snowblossom Grove.

----------- Present Day ----------

“…… and that is the story of how your brave Uncle James battled the terrifying Wyverns to protect your mummy.”

I could hear Steve talking with Charlie as I sat on the bench staring blankly at the grave, wishing with every ounce of strength that I could, hoping to gain just one more moment with my soulmate.

“Come Charlie, let’s get you into bed, then tomorrow we can go riding and Papa can show you the waterfall where him and Uncle James decided to scare me into thinking that your Papa had drowned. Really, they just wanted mummy to go swimming with them, but they knew I wouldn’t go unless there was an emergency.”

After settling Charlie into bed, I took a stroll around the halls before heading to my shared chambers. Laying on the bed next to Steve he protectively wrapped his arms around me, as if he could shield me from the pain the world would throw at me.

“I love you Steven Grant Rogers. It may have taken me a while but, I have always cared for you, and I vow to you now that I will love you until my dying breath.”

“I know my petal, as I will love you, and Charlie, and this little one that we have yet to meet, until mine.”

Taglist: (My Humble Peeps)

@missyredbean

#steve x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #royal court #notmyninth

30 notes · View notes

snowdice · 2 years ago

Text

Big Bang Editing Story [Day 108]

I am going to so get interrupted immediately, but I’ll get to work on this for a bit.