#it's the way she kind of loses her balance and steps back to catch herself because of her overwhelming joy that has me on the floor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cupcakeeees · 4 months ago

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(1) “The Line Between Us” -

When The Clock Strikes Three

pairing: au!lando norris x reader

summary: While he navigates champagne-soaked conversations and late-night rides with his equally privileged friends, she’s left cleaning up the glittering remnants of a world she can only observe from the sidelines.

The chandelier’s light reflected across the room, bathing the auction hall in a golden hue.

It was the kind of event Lando had grown up attending - lavish, full of tailored suits and glittering gowns, where champagne flowed freely, and the clink of crystal glasses formed a rhythm beneath the hum of meaningless conversations.

He sat at a table near the center, surrounded by his parents, their friends, and a group of his own. It was always the same faces, the same voices.

Tonight’s cause? Something about restoring historical sites in Italy. Worthy, sure, but not something anyone here would think about once they left.

“Lando,” one of his friends, Max, leaned over, swirling his wine lazily. “How much do you think the Hogarth will go for?”

Lando shrugged, his eyes scanning the room. “Does it matter? Whoever buys it probably won’t even hang it themselves.”

Max snorted. “Right. It’s all about the flex.”

Lando forced a laugh, though his attention wavered. He was tired of this. The predictable excess, the hollow competition of who could outbid who - this definitely wasn’t his idea of fun.

Across the room, Lennon weaved between tables, balancing a tray laden with glasses of champagne.

She’d lost count of how many times she’d done this tonight. Her feet screamed in protest, and the ache in her lower back made her want to scream herself. But she didn’t have the luxury.

She hated nights like these. It wasn’t even the work - it was the people.

The way they looked through her, as if she wasn’t worth the space she occupied. As if her presence were an inconvenience. But the pay was good, and she couldn’t afford to lose this job.

Taking a deep breath, she approached the next table - his table.

“Champagne?” she asked, her voice steady, her expression neutral.

Lando glanced up from his glass, his gaze landing on her.

No glittering gown, no practiced smile. Just quiet exhaustion etched into her features, like she was holding the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Yeah, sure,” Max interrupted before Lando could respond, reaching for a glass with a smirk.

Lennon moved to set it down when the tray tipped, just slightly, and a single glass toppled.

It wasn’t much - a splash of champagne across the pristine white tablecloth. Barely anything at all.

But to Max, it was everything.

“Seriously?” he said, his voice loud enough to draw attention from nearby tables. He recoiled as if she’d spilled it on him. “You can’t even hold a tray properly?”

Lennon’s face flushed, her heart hammering. She scrambled to set the tray down, grabbing a napkin to dab at the spill. “I’m so sorry-“

“Sorry doesn’t fix this, does it?,” Max shot back, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated huff. “What, did they hire you off the street?”

Lennon froze. She wanted to say something - wanted to defend herself -but the words caught in her throat.

Lando shifted in his chair, his jaw tightening. “Max, that’s enough. It didn’t even touch you!”

Max blinked, before raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just saying.”

Lando turned his attention to Lennon. Her eyes met his for a fraction of a second, wide with embarrassment, before she dropped them back to the table.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered again, grabbing the empty glass and the tray.

“It’s fine,” Lando said, his voice softer now. “Really.”

She hesitated, unsure whether to believe him, before nodding and stepping away.

Later, as Lennon stood near the entrance, catching her breath, she heard a voice behind her.

“Hey.”

She turned, startled. It was him.

Lando stood there, hands in his pockets, looking every bit the polished son of wealth and privilege. But his expression wasn’t condescending. If anything, he seemed.. apologetic.

“I just wanted to say sorry about my friend,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “He can be a bit of an ass.”

“A bit?” Lennon quipped before she could stop herself.

Lando blinked, then chuckled - a real laugh, not the rehearsed kind she’d heard all night. “Okay, more than a bit.”

She didn’t smile. Not really. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

His brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she didn’t. Instead, she adjusted the tray in her hand. “I should get back.”

“Right,” he said, stepping aside. But as she passed him, he added, “Good luck for the rest of the night, Lennon.”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder. “How did you-?”

He raised his hands in surrender, pointing to the tag attached to her uniform. “I’m Lando.”

“I know,” she said simply, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

The last guests had left the auction, their laughter and chatter lingering like a ghost in the now-empty venue.

Lennon was on her knees, scrubbing a stubborn wine stain from the pristine marble floor. Her uniform clung to her skin, damp from the long hours, and her fingers ached from the repetitive motions.

The event manager barked out a few more instructions, and Lennon bit her tongue to keep from snapping. One more hour, she told herself. Just one more hour, and then she could leave.

Meanwhile, Lando was still out, lounging on a leather sofa in the corner of a private lounge with Max and the rest of their group.

Drinks flowed freely, and laughter echoed off the high ceilings. The auction had been tedious, but the afterparty was always where the fun began.

A model leaned against the armrest beside him, her laughter too sweet, her perfume too strong. Lando’s mind wandered, her words blurring into the background noise.

He glanced at Max, who was in the middle of some elaborate story, his hands moving animatedly.

“Earth to Lando,” Max said, throwing a peanut at him.

“What?” Lando asked, blinking back into the moment.

“You’re zoning out. Thinking about someone?” Max teased, earning a ripple of laughter from the group.

“No,” Lando said smoothly, leaning back with a smirk.

Lennon stepped out into the biting cold, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she hurried to the bus stop. The streets were mostly empty, the occasional car passing by as the city began to wind down.

She slumped onto the cold bench, her entire body aching from the long shift. The bus arrived, and she climbed aboard, grateful for the warmth even if the seat springs dug into her side.

The silence was soothing, and she let herself close her eyes, though she couldn’t stop her thoughts from racing. The humiliation at the auction replayed in her mind, over and over.

At the same time, Lando slid into the driver’s seat of his car - a sleek, black McLaren. He revved the engine and pulled out of the lounge’s private car park, the city lights reflecting off the polished hood.

The roads were quiet, the occasional red light slowing him down.

His phone buzzed on the passenger seat, another message from Max - “Getting lucky tonight, you shouldn’t have left..”

Lando smirked but didn’t reply. Instead, he turned on the radio, letting the low hum of music fill the car as he drove home.

Lennon finally made it back to her flat, shuffling through the door with half-lidded eyes. The warmth of the small space hit her, and she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She set her bag on the counter and kicked off her shoes, her body too tired to do much else. The money from tonight’s shift would help her make rent, but just barely.

Meanwhile, Lando pulled into the driveway of his family’s estate, the gates opening smoothly as the car approached. He parked, stepping out into the crisp air and heading inside.

The house was dark and quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock in the hallway.

In his room, Lando peeled off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair by the window. He loosened his tie, glancing out at the city skyline, the lights twinkling like stars.

Lennon collapsed onto her worn-out sofa, pulling a blanket over herself. The soft hum of the radiator was the only sound in her tiny flat. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

In their separate worlds, both of them lay awake, staring at ceilings they couldn’t escape from, each lost in their own thoughts.

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oliolioxenfreewrites · 4 months ago

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osi’s midnight masquerade; a theatre troupe of queer vampires who play by their own rules. Would you be able to tell us a bit more about the vampires who make up this theatre troupe? 👀

I couldn't begin to understand the lives of these salacious vamps, so, I'll let Osi provide clarity ;)

a mini wip intro for chirstmas?? i think yes

WIP INTRO - Osi's Midnight Masquerade (narrated by Osirys himself)

Being a vampire isn’t a blessing. Let’s start there. It’s not the romanticized eternal youth nonsense you read about in books or see on glossy screens. It’s not the allure of satin sheets or the thrill of moonlit hunts. It’s a tightrope walk, every step one miscalculation away from falling into something dark, sharp, and impossible to climb out of. I would know—I’ve been walking that line for centuries.

To most, we’re the fantasies they want to believe in: seductive silhouettes cutting through smoke and shadows, predators with a touch of tragedy. People want us to be beautiful and dangerous, the ultimate contradiction. They want the dream of immortality wrapped in silk and sharpened by fangs. And we let them believe it. We have to. The truth? The truth is too messy, too raw for their imaginations to handle. Without connection—without others to keep us tethered—we lose ourselves. The hunger takes over. The walls of who we are collapse. That’s why I built the Masquerade in the late 70s. Not just for the performances or the power, but for the people. For the family.

And what a family it is. Deeply flawed, creative, brilliant, infuriating—but mine. Each of them brings their chaos, their hunger, their fight. Every single one of them keeps me grounded in ways I can’t always explain.

Milo is the heartbeat of the Masquerade, the one who keeps us moving even when everything else threatens to fall apart. Her music isn’t just accompaniment—it’s a command, shaping the energy of every performance, holding the audience in her grip. She doesn’t simply compose; she controls, her hands always in motion, her mind consistently several tempos ahead. Small-framed, but impossible to miss, Milo has a presence that feels like gravity, the kind that steadies the room while reminding everyone who’s really in charge.

Her sharp, hazel eyes don’t miss a thing, and her voice—measured but biting when necessary—can cut through the noise like a conductor silencing an unruly orchestra. She thrives on precision, on keeping chaos at bay, but she’s just as willing to unleash it if she thinks we’ve earned it. Milo doesn’t deal in softness, but when you’re spinning out, she’s the one who holds you steady, unyielding and certain, even if she’ll never admit that’s what she’s doing.

Still, Milo isn’t easy to know. For all her command, she keeps most of herself locked away behind a wall of sharp wit and sharper boundaries. You’ll catch glimpses sometimes—in the way her fingers drift over the piano keys during a rare moment alone, or in the weight of her gaze when she thinks no one’s looking. But the second she realizes you’ve noticed, she shuts it down, turning back into the unflinching architect of the Masquerade’s rhythm.

Vinscint is her constant, the foundation beneath her intensity. Tall, broad, and deliberate, he moves as if he's never rushed a day in his life. His calmness steadies the surrounding storm, and his strength quietly holds the Masquerade together when everything else feels like it’s falling apart. They create a balance—Milo’s sharp drive is softened by Vinscint’s patience, while the weight of his silence is anchored by her commanding presence.

Together, they’re the reason we’ve even lasted this long, the ones we all look to even when we won’t admit it. Milo keeps the rhythm, Vinscint keeps the ground beneath our feet, and between the two of them, we manage to survive.

René? René is my star, the one who steps into the spotlight and makes you forget the world existed before he arrived. He doesn’t just perform—he commands. When René moves, it’s with a grace that doesn’t feel learned, as though the stage itself bends to accommodate him. His voice has a richness that fills every corner with the theater, every word an invitation laced with danger, every glance a challenge you know you’ll lose but can’t help but accept.

His presence is magnetic and intoxicating in a way that feels unfair, like the universe cheated by putting that much beauty, talent, and raw hunger into one person. He burns so brightly it’s a miracle he hasn’t engulfed himself entirely, and yet there’s always the sense that he might. He leans into it though, weaponizing the tension, the risk, and the inevitability of his self-destruction. He thrives on it, and the audience does too. They adore him, worship him even, and René takes that adoration like it’s owed. Because to him, it is.

Tof is something else entirely. He doesn’t just stir up chaos; he is chaos, wearing it like a tailored suit, all sharp smiles and sharper edges. He steps onto the stage with a kind of careless confidence, like he owns it—and, in a way, he does. Rules mean nothing to Tof. He doesn’t just break them; he obliterates them, scattering the pieces for everyone else to trip over while he watches from the sidelines with a grin that could cut glass. He likes to see how far someone is pushed before they snap, and when they do, he’s there, ready to offer a smirk or a sharp quip that makes you wonder if he planned the whole thing.

But here’s the thing about Tof: he’s not as reckless as he wants you to think. Beneath all that chaos, there’s a mind that’s always working, always calculating. Every sharp word, every sly grin, every rule he shatters—it’s all deliberate. He’s not just ahead of the game; he’s the one running it, even when it looks like he’s spiraling out of control. That’s his brilliance. He’ll make you think he’s falling apart, but the truth is, he’s the one pulling the strings.

Now, of course, Tof does have one glaring flaw—or maybe it’s just part of his charm. He can’t keep his dick in his pants. It’s not just the sex, though that’s certainly part of it. For Tof, it’s about the game, the thrill of pursuit, the power of knowing he can have anyone he wants—mortal or immortal. It’s the tension, the chase, the way seduction gives him the upper hand before the other person even realizes they’re playing.

Moving on to Xaviyr, my baby. My soft spot. My reminder of what it was like to feel alive before the hunger sank its teeth into me. Xaviyr is young by our standards, still carrying a kind of softness the rest of us can’t afford anymore. His face, round and open, hasn’t yet been hardened by centuries of survival, and his wide, dark eyes still hold questions instead of answers. There’s a quietness to him, a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to the sharp edges of the rest of us.

But don’t mistake that softness for weakness. Xaviyr may not burn like René or cut like Tof, but there’s a strength in his stillness that’s impossible to ignore. He draws people in without demanding their attention, makes them feel safe without ever promising safety. It’s a skill none of us could replicate even if we tried.

Still, I worry about him. Xaviyr’s softness is part of what makes him so vital to the Masquerade, but it’s also what makes him vulnerable. This world isn’t kind to people like him, and I can see the toll it’s already taking, even if he doesn’t admit it. He’s learning, though. Learning how to navigate the hunger, the power, the constant push and pull of what it means to be one of us.

Pandora, the silent watchdog of our darkest secrets, her gaze defined by the weighty burden of her knowledge. She is known for her clairvoyance, an ability that survived her transition into vampirism. Her eyes, like deep pools of wisdom, perceive the fragile fissures in our lives long before they expand, a subtle warning etched in her expression. She is the guardian who steps in when we teeter on the edge of self-destruction, gently guiding us back from the precipice when our blindness threatens to consume us.

And last, but certainly not least, there’s me. Osirys. Osi to those who’ve earned it. I’m the one who built all this, the one who keeps it standing when everything else threatens to fall apart. I’m not the star—that’s René. I’m not the heart—that’s Milo. I’m the centerpiece, the one who holds the pieces together even when they don’t want to fit.

I’m not proud of everything I’ve done to keep the Masquerade alive, but I don’t regret it either. Regret is a privilege unbeknownst to turn off the century’s vampires like myself. The stage is what matters. Our family is what matters. And as long as I’m here, as long as the lights still burn and the audience still comes, I’ll make sure the Masquerade survives.

When we come together, we create something special that’s bigger than just each of us alone. On stage, we become unstoppable. The crowd feeds us their amazement, their curiosity, and their willingness to be swept away, and we soak it all in. That’s the real desire—not just our good looks or charm, but the presence we bring. It’s about being able to look someone in the eye and make them feel truly seen, wanted, and alive. That’s what makes us what they call, 'seductive.' Once they experience that connection, they won't want to let it go.

Neither do we.

That’s what the Masquerade is. A lifeline. A purpose. It’s what keeps not just me, but all of us from falling apart; no matter how sharp the line my children and I walk. If holding on to the spotlight makes me a monster, so be it. I’ve learned to live with that. Because at the end of the night, when the audience is gone and the lights fade, I’m still here. And that has to count for something.

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azrielsshadowbaby · 5 days ago

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If You Don't Know- Chapter Three

(This one is a bit of a slow burn, I'm trying hard not to get too excited and dive into things!)

The cottage had been freezing when Dahlia finally locked the door behind her and slid under the old quilt. She lay there in the dark, curled onto her side, the only sound the settling of the house and lack of activity outside the window that was cracked open. It should have felt like a fresh start. Instead, it just felt hollow.

The interaction with Aemond in the barn replayed endlessly in her mind- that moment he had said her name, the way his voice had cracked ever so slightly around it. The way he’d looked at her- for too long and not long enough. But it hadn’t been the same. There had been no tease smirks, no secret touches, no tugging smiles he used to only ever show to her.

Only distance. Only cold, polite words and a compliment that sounded like it had been dragged out of him against his will. That was it now. That was how it had to be. He had moved on. And she was standing in the ruins of something that had once been.

Dahlia squeezed her eyes shut against the burn building there, buried herself deeper under the quilt, and told herself she’d be fine. Just survive it. One day at a time.

By morning, she was out of bed before the sun was fully up, desperate to lose herself in the kind of exhaustion only farm work could provide. The animals didn’t care much about broken hearts. They cared about feed buckets and clean water and warm straw. She mucked stalls, chased rogue lambs, filled troughs until her muscles burned. Until her head felt blissfully empty.

The kitchen of the farmhouse smelled like fresh coffee and warm bread when Dahlia slipped inside that morning, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. The sun angled through the windows in soft, gold shafts, catching the dust motes drifting lazily through the air. The big old oak table was littered with notebooks, Aegon’s half-finished breakfast, and a stack of feed catalogues.

Aegon lounged at the end, bare feet kicked up on the chair opposite him, a mug of coffee balanced precariously on his stomach. Alicent sat near the stove, crips and neat despite the early hour, elbows rested delicately on the table as she flipped through a thick planner. Dahlia slid into a chair, clutching her worn notebook loosely in her hand, dropping it softly onto the table.

‘I was thinking’ she began, voice a little too bright, a little too forced. ‘I should run into town today. Grab some supplies. Set myself up properly with meds, equipment, stuff for the lambs’

Alicent glanced up, smiling warmly ‘That’s a good idea. It’ll be a godsend having you fully equipped on site’

‘You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to go flirt with the guy at the feed store?’ Aegon piped up, grinning wickedly.

Dahlia snorted ‘If the options are him or the sheep, I know where my standards are at’

Aegon laughed, loud and unabashed, while Alicnt rolled her eyes fondly. The kitchen was easy this morning, warm and almost, almost, normal. Until the door creaked open behind him. Dahlia stiffened automatically, heart jerking into her throat. She knew who it was, she felt him, the way the air shifted, the way her skin prickled with the awareness of him.

Aemond’s boots thudded softly against the worn wood floor as he stepped inside, his presence a silent weight that dragged the room’s easy atmosphere into something taut and humming. He moved to the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup with careful, deliberate movements, before turning slightly to Alicent.

‘Polytunnel’s heat lamps should be here by Thursday’ he said, his voice low and even, not looking at anyone but his mother. ‘I’ll sign for them if I’m around’

‘Thank you’ Alicent said, a touch too brightly, sensing the sudden, crackling awkwardness but choosing to ignore it.

Dahlia dropped her gaze back to her notebook, pretending to scribble something about lambing supplement dosages, pretending not to notice how Aemond’s glance flickered to her and then just as quickly away. The silence stretched thin, painful. Until, inevitably, Aegon filled it. He shifted dramatically in his seat, setting his mug down with a loud thunk.

‘Gods’ drawled, smirking. ‘You two are unbearable’

Dahlia stiffened; Aemond’s hand tightened on the coffee pot. Aegon grinned wider, like a cat who had spotted two mice and couldn’t decide which one to torture first.

‘Seriously’ he went on, in that maddening, singsong tone he used when he was about to say something truly inappropriate. ‘You can’t even look at each other without looking like you’re about to either burst into tears or flames’

Dahlia felt her face burn hot, heart thundering behind her ribs. Across the room, she heard the scrape of Aemond setting his coffee cup down a little too hard on the counter.

‘Aegon’ Aemond warned, low and sharp.

Aegon, being Aegon, only laughed, tipping his chair back dangerously far on two legs.

‘What?’ he said innocently, eyes dancing with mischief. ‘I’m just saying, the sexual tension is doing irreparable damage to my appetite’

The silence was a crackling dangerous thing. Dahlia kept her head down, willing herself invisible, but she could feel the shift in the room. Could feel the low rumble of tension rolling off Aemond like a gathering storm. Across the table, Aegon sat back lazily, tossing a smug grin toward his brother, utterly unbothered.

And then Aemond moved.

Not just a shift of weight. Not just a glare from across the room. He launched forward- fast, silent, lethal- a blur of fury and sharp intent. Dahlia reacted before she even thought about it. She shoved back from her chair, heart hammering, and planted herself between them, both hands reaching out. One hand caught Aegon’s shoulder, pushing him back. And the other…

Her palm smacked flat against Aemond’s chest, the hard, hot muscle of him jolting under her touch.

‘Aemond stop!’ She gasped, looking up at him.

It was instinct, pure, terrified instinct. But the second her hand touched him, the world narrowed to just them. And Aemond froze, completely. The fury in his eye flickered, stuttered, replaced by something much, much worse.

Want. Pain. Need.

Her stared down at her, unmoving, the rapid thud of his heart pounding under her palm like a trapped animal. Her fingers curled slightly, not meaning to- just feeling the heat of him, the tremble restrained violence under his skin. They were so close. Too close. Her breath caught and she knew, she knew, he could feel it.

Aegon, half amused, half cautious, held his hands up like he was surrendering to a cop.

‘Alright, alright’ he drawled ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, little brother’

Alicent’s voice cracked across the kitchen, sharp and exasperated. ‘Aegon! Enough!’

Still, Aemond didn’t move. His eyes flicked to Dahlia’s mouth, down to where her hand rested against his chest, then back up to her eyes. Something in him crumbled slightly, the anger bleeding into something rawer, something infinitely more dangerous. Dahlia swallowed thickly, pulse pounding so loud she was sure Aegon and Alicent could hear it.

She should move. She needed to move. But her body wouldn’t listen. Not until the kitchen door slammed open again, the heavy wood thudding against the wall. Alys strode in, oblivious, cheeks pink from the cold.

‘What’s going on?’ she chirped, setting her tote back down with a thump.

Aemond tore himself back like he’d been burned, taking a sharp step away from Dahlia so fast she nearly stumbled. Her hand dropped to her side, fingers tinging, empty.

Alicent straightened at the stove, smoothing her skirt like nothing had happened. Dahlia ducked her head, retreating a step toward the counter, her heart still trying to punch a hole through her ribs. Aegon- bless him and damn him- didn’t miss a beat.

He plastered on a wide, ridiculous grin and said. ‘Aemond’s just mad because I made fun of his hair’

Alys blinked, confused. ‘What’s wrong with his hair?’

‘Yeah’ Aegon said smoothly, grabbing a piece of toast and stuffing into his mouth. ‘Sensitive topic. Devastating split ends. Major emotional trauma for him’

Alys laughed, shaking her head as she moved to unpack her bags, rambling about something she’d seen on sale. No one said a single word.

Across the kitchen, Aemond stood rigid, breathing hard, still feeling the ghost of Dahlia’s hand burning through his chest like a brand. And he was terrified he was about to lose it again.

The truck rattled along the narrow lane, the trees arching overhead like a broken cathedral, sunlight slanting through the gaps in long, dappled stripes. Dahlia gripped the wheel a little too tightly, her jaw set hard. Aegon lounged beside her, boot up against the dashboard, humming tunelessly along with the radio. The silence was almost easy. Until it wasn’t.

‘You can’t’ Dahlia said finally, snapping the quiet like a rubber band. ‘Say stuff like that. In the kitchen. About me and Aemond’

Aegon looked over, eyebrows raised, the perfect picture of innocent confusion. ‘Say what?’

‘You know what’ she snapped, heat flushing her face. ‘I’m trying to just… move on. Without everyone-‘ she flailed a hand at the road ahead, ‘- reminding me every five seconds what a goddamn joke I made of myself’

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she hated it, hated how raw she sounded. Aegon didn’t laugh. Didn’t crack another joke. He just shifted, pulling his boot down and sitting properly, elbow on the windowsill, tapping his fingers against the glass.

‘Yeah’ he said quietly. ‘I know’

The apology was there, unsaid but real. Dahlia exhaled roughly, blinking hard at the road.

‘I’m sorry’ she muttered, felling miserable now.

Aegon snorted, waving it off.

‘Please, I’ve been verbally assaulted by professionals. That was amateur hour’

She smiled reluctantly, the tension in her chest loosening just a little. They drove on in silence for a few more minutes, the radio cracking soft country music that neither of them really listened to.

The Aegon said, voice low and strange ‘For what it’s worth…’

Dahlia glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at her, just watching the trees whip past outside.

‘Aemond was better with you’ he said ‘Not just happier. Better’

She swallowed hard, hands tightening on the wheel. Aegon shrugged, almost like he was brushing it off, but there was something sharp and certain underneath the lazy slouch of his body.

‘With her-‘ he jerked his chin vaguely back toward the farm, where the memory of Alys lingered like a bad smell. ‘He’s… just himself. The same broody, angry asshole he was before, all that shit he’s never known how to turn off.’

He glanced at Dahlia then, quick and sideways.

‘He wasn’t trying to fight the whole world with you’ he said, almost carelessly, but the words felt weighted with iron.

Dahlia stared straight ahead, blinking fast. The road blurred a little. She let out a breathless laugh, broken and small.

‘Yeah, well’ she said, voice wobbling around the edges ‘Looks like he prefers fighting’

Aegon didn’t argue, didn’t try to offer false comfort. He just bumped her shoulder lightly with his own, a brief, brotherly nudge and rolled his eyes at her stubborn obliviousness.

‘Still’ he said, grinning again, easier now, letting the weight slip off his shoulder. ‘You’ve got to admit… I do a cracking job pissing him off’

Dahlia giggled, real and soft, wiping at her face with eh sleeve of her jacket. They dissolved into laughter together, the truck weaving slightly on the empty road as Dahlia wiped her eyes. It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t stop the ache clawing at her ribs. But for a few stolen minutes, it made it hurt a little less.

The town centre was small, sleepy and exactly how Dahlia remembered it- a handful of brick buildings huddled around a cracked fountain, flower boxes hanging crookedly from shopfront windows. The air smelled of fresh bread and old dust, the streets half-empty except for a few locals shuffling between errands. Aegon trailed behind her as they wandered into the little supply store, jingling the bell above the door with exaggerated flair.

‘You know’ he said, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. ‘This is definitely where I pictured spending my Friday morning. Shopping for cow dewormer’

Dahlia snorted, grabbing a battered metal basket from the stack by the door. ‘Dream big’ she said dryly. ‘Maybe next week I’ll let you help me pick out artificial insemination kits’

Aegon wrinkled his nose dramatically ‘Be still my beating heart’

She smiled, a real one, and pushed the basket into his hands, steering toward the back shelves. It felt good to laugh. Normal. Or something similar. They bickered and joked through the aisles, piling supplies into the basket-syringes, gloves, lambing ropes, supplement powders. Aegon made a running commentary on everything they picked up.

‘These gloves look like something out of a serial killer starter pack’

‘Are we sure this powder isn’t just cocaine for cows?’

‘How much lube is too much lube for a sheep?’

Dahlia wheezed with laughter more than once, trying to shush him, waving him off as he hammed it up for the bored teenage cashier. For a little while, the weight in her chest loosened, and she let herself enjoy it.

The town was barely a memory in the rearview mirror when the first misty threads of rain started to fall, soft, almost lazy against the windshield. By the time the truck pulled into the farmyard, the drizzle had thickened into a steady clinging wet that blurred the world into shades of grey and green.

Dahlia parked near the main stable block, shifting the truck into gear just as a battered delivery van pulled out onto the drive, its tires spitting gravel behind it. And there, struggling under the weight of a huge sack of feed, arms wrapped around it awkwardly, was Haelena. Her jacket was slipping off one shoulder, her hair plastered to her cheeks, and she looked about two seconds away from dropping everything into the mud.

‘Shit’ Aegon muttered, throwing open his door.

Dahlia didn’t hesitate. She jumped out after him, boots slapping against the wet gravel, sprinting through the drizzle toward Haelena.

‘Hold on, hold on’ Aegon called, skidding slightly as he reached her. ‘You’re gonna herniate something’

Haelena huffed, stubbornly shifting the sack higher. ‘I had it’ she insisted.

Dahlia laughed breathlessly, grabbing one end to help lift it into the shed doorway.

‘You absolutely did not’ she teased, grinning at Haelena’s scowl.

Together, the three of them wrangled the heavy feed stacks inside, the little stone building barely big enough to house all of them and the grain. Dahlia pushed her damp sleeves up, ignoring the way her jacket stuck to her arms. The rain hung low like a ceiling of breathless grey, soft but soaking. Every surface gleamed damp, mud streaking the yard in rivulets where tractor tires had cut grooves. The air smelled of wet hay, rain heavy earth, and something sharp beneath it, tension so thick it clung to your skin.

Dahlia shoved another bale into the mouth of the feed shed her gloves slick with rain. Aegon was bent inside the doorway, balancing bags of grain on each other with all the focus of a drunk playing Jenga. Haelena was muttering to herself, hauling salt blocks with quiet determination. There was comfort in the rhythm of it, in the scrape, lift, pass of work. It kept Dahlia from thinking. From feeling too much.

Until the farmhouse door slammed open behind them. The echo cracked like thunder across the courtyard. Aemond stalked out first, strides clipped and fast. His coat wasn’t even fully on, sleeves bunched at his wrists like he hadn’t bothered to dress properly before rage propelled him outside.

‘Aemond!’ Alys’ voice sliced the air a beat later, sharp and shrill and chasing him down. ‘Would you slow down and talk to me!’

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even look back.

Dahlia froze, halfway through grabbing another bale. Haelena straightened mid-lift. Aegon stood still in the shed, brow raised, one boot braced on a feed bag like he’d been expecting a show.

‘Gods, will you stop being such an asshole and talk to me!’ Alys shouted, her boots splashing through the puddles as she caught up to him. ‘You’ve been weird for days! You barely look at me, you’ve been snapping at everyone and now you’re pulling this whole tortured silence thing!’

Aemond snapped, spinning so fast she almost walked into him. Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat. His voice was low and bitter, rough around the edges like it had been dragged over gravel.

‘Because you won’t give me space! You follow me everywhere! You’re always there and when I ask for space you act like I’ve betrayed you!’

‘I’m trying to understand you!’ Alys hissed. ‘You’re acting like a stranger! Like you’ve switched off! What in hells am I supposed to do with that?!’

Aemond took one step back, fingers flexing at his sides.

‘Maybe back off for five minutes and let me fucking breathe’

The silence after the words fell was a gut punch. Dahlia felt it hit her like a cold wind. Not because of what he said, but because she knew why she said it. She was the reason he needed space. The reason he was breaking apart in front of everyone. And he couldn’t even say it out loud. Alys’ face twisted- hurt, confused, and suspicious all at once.

‘You weren’t like this before’ she said, her voice lower now. Tighter. ‘Something has clearly happened and I want to know what!’

Aemond said nothing. He stared past her. Over her. Through her. And then he turned and walked. Deliberate and unapologetic. Boots splashing through the mud, shoulders rigid with everything he wasn’t saying.

‘Are you serious?!’ Alys called after him, disbelief cracking in her voice. ‘Aemond!’

He didn’t slow down. Didn’t turn back. Didn’t even flinch. He disappeared through the gap in the fence at the bottom of the garden, like the storm he’s just unleashed. Alys stood there for a beat, breathing too fast, hands shaking at her sides. The she turned. Her eyes locked onto the three of them like they were the jury to a crime she hadn’t realised had been committed. Dahlia stood frozen; the bale of hay still half slung between her hands. Her fingers had gone numb around the twine. Alys’ voice was sharp and frayed.

‘Does anyone know what in the seven hells has gotten into him?’ she demanded, looking between the two siblings. ‘He’s been off for days now!’

Aegon leaned lazily against the feed door, rain misting over his jacket. He chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, like he was deciding how cruel he wanted to be.

‘I mean…’ he said slowly, ‘If I had to guess? He’s been a little-‘ He wiggled his fingers in the air like he was trying to conjure the word. ‘-tight’

Alys frowned ‘Tight?’

‘Yeah’ Aegon continued casually. ‘Restless. Tense. Little twitchy. You know, like something’s constantly on his mind but he’s trying really hard not to think about it. Or touch it’

Dahlia’s breath hitched. Her stomach flipped violently. Haelena went still beside her, eyes darting to her brother, then to Dahlia, knowing, but saying nothing.

Alys blinked, obviously confused. ‘That’s not an answer!’

‘Sure it is’ Aegon said, throwing her a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘It’s just the kind of answer you’re not listening for’

Alys opened her mouth, clearly about to press again, but then she scoffed, tossing her hands up. ‘You’re all insane’ she muttered, turning back toward the house in a huff. She stomped away, muttering under her breath about mud and drama and not being anyone’s babysitter. Then the second she disappeared around the corner.

The quiet that followed Alys’ exit was loaded. Not the peaceful kind, but the taut, crackling kind that stretched between people wo were all thinking very loudly and trying not to say a word. Dahlia didn’t say anything. She just turned back to the bale of hay and shoved it into place, harder than necessary, the motion jerky and ungraceful.

Aegon leaned lazily on the doorframe of the feed shed, arms folded like he way supervising some particularly amusing group project.

‘So’ he drawled after a beat ‘I’d say that went well’

Dahlia grabbed another sack of grain from the stack behind her, hefted it with more force than necessary, and dropped it beside the others without a word.

Aegon tried again. ‘What do you think? Ten out of ten on the dramatic exit scale? Aemond had solid storm off energy. Real ‘I’m not mad I’m just disappointed’ vibes’

Still nothing. She just adjusted the stack like she hadn’t heard him, brushing hay off her gloves with calm, focused menace.

Aegon clicked his tongue. ‘Wow. Giving me absolutely nothing. That’s cold Dahl’

Still nothing. He squinted at her.

‘Are we… mad?’

Dahlia didn’t look at him. Didn’t blink. Just muttered ‘You should be asking that question way more often.’

Aegon huffed a laugh ‘Okay. That’s fair’

She finally turned to him, tossing the empty feed sack toward the pile near the wall. ‘Do you ever think before you speak?’ she asked, voice deceptively mild. ‘Or it is just a stream of consciousness performance art piece now?’

Aegon smirked, hands still tucked into the pockets of his coat. ‘Performance art implies intention. I’m more of a chaotic muse. I inspire’

‘You inspire migraines’

Haelena, halfway between the delivery pile and the shed, snorted loudly.

Aegon grinned ‘Now we’re talking’

‘No’ Dahlia snapped, tossing another sack down with a heavy thud. ‘No, we’re not talking. You’re just talking. Which is the problem’

He blinked, mock injured. ‘Wow. I’m getting a lot of aggression right now for someone who just made a vague, non-specific observation’

‘You made a loaded, non-specific observation’ she shot back.

Aegon held up a hand, very casually. ‘Objection. Vague and non-specific is literally the backbone of passive aggressive family life. I’m just honouring tradition.’

‘You’re honouring bullshit’ Dahlia said, wiping her hands on her jacket. ‘And you need to cut it out’

Aegon tilted his head, studying her. ‘You’ve been giving that sack of grain a real beating. Want to talk about it, or are we going to keep pretending you don’t want to murder me with a pitchfork?’

She glared. ‘Right now, I don’t want to talk about anything. I want to finish stacking this fed, go back to my bed and forget I live on a farm full of emotionally stunted men with unmedicated issues and a god complex’

Aegon smiled like she’d complimented her. ‘I prefer emotionally layered’

‘You’re about as layered as a puddle’

‘Okay, ouch’

Haelena wandered back into the shed, setting down a tub of mineral blocks and arching an eyebrow at them both. ‘Is he still being annoying?’ she asked Dahlia.

‘He’s refining it into an art form’ Dahlia muttered

Aegon beamed. ‘Honestly? You’re all so lucky to have me’

Haleena smacked him on the back of the head with her glove.

‘Ow!’

Dahlia turned back to the grain, pretending she wasn’t still simmering. But the set of her shoulders, the tight way she stacked the bags, it was all there. And Aegon, rubbing the back of his head with a dramatic sigh, didn’t press it further.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #prince aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #house targaryen #hotd fandom #hotd #house of the dragon aemond #aemond one eye

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mjonthetrack · 4 months ago

Text

Grown Up 2

“The bigger one is actually fine af,” Misha, a

costume artist spoke loudly as her and Camille

were wrapping up their work for the day. Camille

furrowed her brows looking at the screen that

showed what at home audiences saw being

taped live,”Pooh?” Misha laughed at that,” girl

my bad I didn’t know he was spoken for.”

Camille didn’t get the chance to respond as

the woman had since left, but her attention

went to the man on the screen, who had

definitely long since replaced the chubby guy

with way less tattoos as the one being recorded. Camille shook her head after catching herself

checking out his tattoos, one of the key features

that made people attractive to her. But that

was Pooh Bear he wasn’t for her, he was -

well he was damn attractive she’d admit now

but the thought made her quickly shudder

leaving her studio space. The woman

wandered down the hall stopping to knock on

the locker room door but hearing nothing she

stepped in to place a hair care regimen to take

home as Sami requested. Finishing up, she

turned to leave when she collided into a damp

chest the force causing her to lose her balance.

A pair of strong arms grasped her small waist

tugging her close to prevent her from falling,”

be careful big mamas.” Her cheeks heated

slightly embarrassed seeing a towel wrapped

around a muscular build, her eyes traveled up a

tattooed chest then to a pair of familiar eyes,” oh

it’s you Sefa, I was just dropping off some things

Sami requested.” The man froze at his

coworker's name,” didnt think you fucked with

white boys,” his words came bluntly catching

her off guard. Waving her hands defensively,”

although Sami is incredibly kind I just had a hair

care I made for his sore scalp, he’s not my type.”

Sefa hadn’t let go of her,” then what is your

type?” Camille swallowed at the proximity,

thanking her lucky stars when her phone went

off. Picking it up she wiggled out of his

embrace,”Yes girl I’m on my way sorry I got

caught up.” Her eyes trailed to his but she

whispered a hurried bye and left him to his

thoughts. “ You are a damn life saver,” Trin said hugging

the woman as she appeared at their home.

Jimmy hugged the woman,” thank you Mimi,

our sitter got sick and this was our only time

off to celebrate our anniversary.” Trinity smiles

leaving a list of reminders and numbers,”

seriously thank you bae, the boys are upstairs

playing their switches, they are in bed by nine.”

Finally being able to chime in Camille opened

the door for the couple,” no worries love birds

go have fun and let Aunty handle this.” She

waved as their personal driver sped off, closing

and locking the door she missed the black SUV

parked in the developing house across the

street down a ways. Her focus went about

helping out with feeding the three boys a

before bed snack before overseeing their

nighttime routine then ultimately tucking them

in and heading downstairs. The woman went

about cleaning up the dishes when she noted

the back door open, her first thought was the

family’s dogs must’ve let themselves in but

her heart sunk to her ass when she recalled the

dogs were upstairs with the boys. The woman

rushed to grab a butcher knife and ran upstairs

to the boys room locking them in and guarding

the door with her body. Her heartbeat was in her

ears as she tried to reach emergency services

and the couple without success she cursed

silently glad the boys were heavy sleepers. Remembering an old number she prayed up

until a sleepy laced voice answered,” who’s

this-?,” the woman cried out quietly as her

hands shook she whisper yelled,” it’s Camille I’m

babysitting for Trin and Jimmy someone’s in the

house and I’m by myself with the kids I can’t

reach anyone.” The other line fell silent then

loud thumps and cussing followed by the sound

of a car door closing filled her ears,”I’m coming,

just stay where you are I will find you.” The line

went dead and her fears rose hearing distant

thumping coming from somewhere else in the

house. She rushed over to the boys covering

them with her own body shaking in anxiety

thanking God the dogs hadn’t alerted whoever

where they were. Her breathing quickened when

the boys began to stir and she started to pray

over them as she gripped the cleaver in her

hand she stood up protectively standing over

their beds, if this was it she wasn’t going to let

them babies go without a fight. The sound of a

door being kicked in made the dogs stand up

and begin barking it was enough to make her

eyes water and spill over from tears, she

steadied herself, hearing rushed footsteps

coming up the stairs to their direction. She

began to beg God to spare them, as it all went

silent she swallowed the lump in her throat.

When the door swung open she lifted her hand

ready to strike when a strong grasp caught her

wrist. The woman began sobbing as she

begged,”please don’t touch them I’ll do

whatever you want but don’t hurt them kids.”

“Camille, what the fuck?!” Sefa barked out at

the knife she had as defense and then relief hit

seeing the boys and dogs behind her, then it

hit him, she was going to lay her life down

for his family. Sefa tugged the woman and his

nephews into his arms locking them in,” I’ve

checked nobody’s here, you’re safe, I’m here

now mamas.” The two boys groggily looked

confused at the sight of their uncle smothering

them in a hug along with their aunty who was

crying. “What’s the matter Uncle Sefa?,” the

oldest asked but the man shook his head hiding

the knife from view, he held a crying

Camille while she shook against his

chest. Moments passed before police came as

well as the rushed presences of Jey with his

wife, Joe was there along with Sami. Finally

thirty minutes passed and the happy couple

arrived to police cars all in their driveway and

they rushed in to find everyone there and

Camille sniffling answering questions with

a detective. Trinity rushed to her boys and

inspected them breathing out in relief to find

them okay as well as Jimmy who’d followed her.

The others were amazed at what Sefa had filled

them all in with their friends bravery and loyalty

to protect their family. Camille saw Trinity with

Jey she began to cry again,”I’m so sorry, I don’t

know what happened, I only came down stairs

to put away the dishes and I saw the back door

opened but I ran to the boys as fast as I could.” Camille let out a surprised gasp at the pair

enveloping her in their arms thanking her with

urgency and their own tears. “You are our hero,

you protected our sons and for that I owe you

everything,” Jimmy said rarely serious as he

was. Trinity clung to her,” I don’t know what I

did to deserve such an amazing friend but thank

you, you protected my boys with your life, I

couldn’t repay you.” Camille looked bewildered

thinking she’d failed their simple request for

her to be a fill in sitter,” so you all don’t hate

me?” “Hate you, you could’ve died protecting

our nephews,” came Joe’s deep voice making

Jey nod pulling her into a hug,” thank you

for what you did for my brother, you’re family

now.” Her wet eyes found Sami who looked

at her face that rarely wasn’t smiling,”are you

hurt?” Sefa stepped up protectively tugging her

into his arms,” she’s going to be okay.” Though

she heard his conviction Camille deflated in the

muscular arms of Sefa,” Pooh I was so scared,”

she whispered grabbing on to his shirt. Solo

froze at how weak she sounded it didn’t suit

his normal sunshine,” it’s over now, I’m here

and as long as I am here nobody will hurt you, I

promise.” The group paused at the man’s

reassurance,”I see that hadn’t changed,” Joe

whispered to Jey who chuckled looking at his

younger brother,” he’s always had it bad for her.”

Jimmy handed some drinks out, catching their

exchange he sighed,” he would be good for her,

if only she saw his heart.” Trinity took a swig of

her drink not letting her sons out of reach,” he

wears it on his sleeve so obviously, maybe this

will open her eyes a bit, she’d be just as good

for him.” Sami cheered to that as the woman

was ignorant to their words, Solo however heard

it all, he felt a pang of hurt. It wasn’t as if he

tried to hide his interest from others, it was

not a secret amongst the family he had eyes

for Camille since they met, it was just a heavy

burden to be invisible to her in that way. Solo

pressed his lips to her head, rubbing her back

enough to make her slouch against his frame.

Lifting his head back to regard her he saw she

was out for the count tired from emotional

exhaustion. Trinity walked over nodding her

head to the direction of one of the spare rooms,”

be with her.” That was all he needed to easily

swoop her into his arms like a princess that

had been saved from the ferocious dragon.

A week had come and gone from the night

at the Fatu residence, Trinity had private

security now around their property not to

mention high tech security technology thanks

to an overprotective Jonathan. The pair still

thanked the stylist every chance they had even

offering to reward her but she declined any

type of restitution for her deed. Camille

had checked into therapy more regularly the

break in reminded her of dark times in her life. Paul even had a meeting with the woman to

check on his newer employees wellbeing.

It was a smack down event with the usos

scheduled to be on but the match was

paused abruptly. Camille stood confused just

being able to make it to the family sitting area

after putting her things away for the evening

when Joe or Roman Reigns at the moment

made her eyes widen. “As many of you know

my family’s home was broken into while they

were away celebrating their anniversary,”

Camille frowned a bit, this seemed to be off

script. Joe exchanged knowing looks as now

Jimmy and Jey entered the ring alongside

Trinity with Sefa,”it wasn’t pure luck our kids

were unharmed,” Trinity announced in her

own microphone. Jimmy chimed in,” my kids

mean everything to me, had it not been for

this woman we may have lost them.” Camille

gaped at the stage her eyes were wide at

what was happening. Now Jey added,” Recently

our company hired an amazing hair and makeup

artist who’s been responsible for all of our

teams looks, shes also a dear friend to our

bloodline family.” Sefa lifted his own mic

connecting his eyes with hers as the twins held

down the ropes,” Miss Camille Martin was by

herself that night looking after my nephews so

my brother and his wife could spend time

together on their anniversary,” the crowd awed

at the mention of Jimmy and Trinity. Sefa

continued,” family means everything to us,

inside this ring and outside for everyone in

this company,” Camille was still gaping like

a fish at what was happening feeling her

cheeks flame at her name being announced.

What made her eyes wide more if even possible

was Triple H himself coming into the ring

holding a huge wrestling belt that was pink

with many gems. “Miss Martin showed

true bravery that night, defending those

children with her life ready to lay down her

own to save those kids if necessary, we

here at the WWE will pursue full legal action

against anyone who tries to harm our talent

on stage or behind it, with that being said

Camille, your actions were not unnoticed by

us all, we would like to present you with

this honorary hero belt, please join us in this

ring.” Camille tried to swallow but a lump was

in her throat, fresh tears in her eyes not

expecting this at all, it was beyond what

she could imagine. Camille stood from

her chair and made her way up to the ring, the

twins aided her into the ropes. Her legs wobbled

a bit as her very large boss handed her the belt

posing for cameras a professional arm behind

her back. The deafening sound of cheers mixed

with applause made her jump, this sent Sefa

into action stepping up to hold her loose hand. Camille offered a weak smile to the man, her

grip tightening to steady herself when a mic

was passed to her. “Uhm-,” she shyly tried to

compose herself around a full stadium,” I’m

Camille, most of you probably don’t know me

but I’m backstage during fights.” The claps

seemed to encourage her while Trinity wiped

some spare tears of her own,” That night I

just did what I felt was necessary to protect

those children.” She stuttered a bit in anxiety,

Sefa rubbed her back comforting the shaking

woman, her small thank you made him smile,”

I have been friends with the Bloodline for years

and they’re the kindest group you’d ever meet,

I don’t think I should be rewarded by this level

but Triple H, sir, I thank you and the entire

WWE community for recognizing me in this way,

to my friends Jimmy and Trin- Naomi, I would

do it again ten times over if I had to, thank you,”

she bowed a bit accepting the belt which she

laughed when Joe wrapped it around her, Sefa

swooped her onto his shoulders making her

laugh swatting at his muscular bicep.

#fanfic #wwe fanfiction #the usos #romance #angst #fanfiction #fantasy #solo sikoa fic #solo sikoa fanfiction #sefa fatu #wwe fic

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danicareadssmut · 3 months ago

Text

Infinity's Cold Embrace

Mikki paces in front of the hospital entrance, chewing her fingernails down to nubs. It's almost time for her appointment with Dr. Zayne but after what he overheard the night before, she's worried about how he's going to react when she goes in there. He's always been kind to her, so she has no reason to believe he'll be anything less than professional, but he sounded so angry on the phone when he heard her moaning under Rafayel. She is so lost in her conflicting feelings, she doesn't even sense when a large body steps up behind her.

"Considering running," Zayne's cool, deep voice asks behind her.

She yelps as she spins around and loses her balance. Zayne catches her easily, keeping her at arm's length as he waits for her to steady herself. She looks up into his impossibly deep green eyes, the flecks of brown looking almost golden in the afternoon light.

"N-no, not at all! I was just waiting for the right time to go in. I didn't want to be too early."

Zayne's piercing stare is unwavering as he makes a non committal humming sound. He walks up to the door and opens it, holding it for her. Mikki's heart pounds as she passes under his arm and she's gifted with a whiff of his expensive cypress and sandalwood cologne.

He says nothing as he follows behind her into the elevator. Says nothing as he steps in front of her to push the button for his floor. Says nothing as they step off and make their way down the long hallway.

She can't tell if he's angry, or if this is just another normal day because he's as unreadable as always, but there's a hint of tension that has the air crackling around them.

He once again holds his door for her before he walks into the office and sits down behind his perfectly organized desk. She takes a seat in the chair in front like she has a thousand times before. But this time feels different. There's a current of something, an electricity that has her skin prickling with goosebumps and her breathing a little heavier than normal.

She's just starting to sweat when Zayne finally speaks, his voice quiet and cold.

"Are you here today for your regularly scheduled appointment? Or did you come to talk about last night's phone call?"

"I, uh... I'm not sure..." she mumbles, wringing her hands together in her lap.

He looks at her with an intensity that makes her squirm in her seat. His hawk-like stare is penetrating through her very soul and peeling her layers away, piece by piece. She's never felt more bare, not even when she was actually naked the night before.

"What happened last night between you and the artist has nothing to do with your sessions, nor is it any of my business. It is my job, however, to determine if a patient's activity is detrimental to their health." He stares at Mikki a moment longer before releasing a slow breath and grabbing the files he already had prepared.

He pushes his glasses up on his nose with his middle finger before beginning. "I've noticed a few anomalies with your heart's function over the past couple days. While you are perfectly capable of taking part in...cardiovascular activities...those, alone, cannot account for the readings I've been seeing in your monitor's logs."

"Is that bad?"

Zayne takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as if concealing an emotion Mikki couldn't possibly begin to interpret. "Quite the contrary. Your readings are better than they have been in years."

"So that's good, right?"

Zayne tents his fingers and leans back in his chair as he turns his face to look out over the courtyard beyond his massive office. As the Chief Cardiovascular Surgeon, his office is one of the nicer ones at a quieter end of the hospital. Something about maintaining peace and tranquility for his patients when they come for checkups.

"Yes, it's good," Zayne finally answers, his deep, melodic voice softer than before. When he looks in her direction again, the harshness of his eyes has smoothed out and he's more like the boy she met so many years ago. Back before their world broke apart and their paths diverged from each other.

"I understand your job puts you under a lot of stress which drastically increases your cortisol levels. This can have a detrimental effect on your overall health, but especially your cardiovascular health. If you've found a way to minimize that stress, it would be unprofessional of me to ask you to change your methods of doing so."

Mikki bit her lip as she looked at the man who had held onto a corner of her heart since they were children. She couldn't remember much of that past...before the catastrophe, but her heart held onto the feelings.

Like muscle memory.

"Zayne," she started, her voice weaker than she would have liked it to be, "I'm sorry for what Rafayel did last night. It was rude and uncalled for."

Zayne once again turned his attention to the window, though Mikki was sure he was looking at something far beyond the people walking through the peaceful courtyard. When he spoke, the coldness in his voice was back.

"I understand what the artist was trying to accomplish. Though I would rather not have heard you...engaging in such a manner, I can appreciate his intention to establish his position in your life." He sighs heavily, his eyes closing for a moment. "Though it would be best for all parties involved if it did not happen again."

"Of course! You're right. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, Mikki. We all have to live and survive the best we can. It would be hypocritical of me to judge the methods you use. I am, however, concerned for your health. As I said, the changes in your EKG are not detrimental, but they are concerning. I'd like your permission to look into some experimental research to see if there are ways to improve your heart's function long-term rather than...short-term fixes."

"Of course," Mikki said with a quick nod. "Do whatever you feel necessary. I trust you, Dr. Zayne."

A ghost of a gentle smile played across his lips, though Mikki could swear she saw something more in his eyes. "Then, let's continue our examination, shall we?"

***

The examination passes quickly without too much more awkwardness. Zayne is grateful that Mikki doesn't seem to be aware of the way his own heart pounds in his chest or the way he can't stop staring at the bites and bruises along her throat that she'd clearly tried to hide with makeup. She has no way of knowing how much he wishes he was the one to put them there.

He doesn't want to admit it, but the night before, while it had annoyed him to hear Mikki being intimate with Rafayel, he couldn't deny the fact that hearing her moan had also caused an involuntary reaction in his body.

But he won't let himself go down that path. Mikki is the single most important person in his life and if she has found happiness, even if it's in the arms of another, he will have to force himself to be happy with her.

He does, however, find it interesting that the artist isn't the only one who has been intimate with her recently. Even more intriguing is that he seems to be the only one to know about the two men who have shared a bed with her. It was purely by accident that he found out as he had been at a charity event the night of her first anomaly and he noticed the artist was present as well. Zayne wasn't sure who the other man was, but he is pretty sure it was her Hunter partner.

The one with his own secret life and an age that was potentially even greater than Zayne's.

Zayne hasn't wanted to intrude into Mikki's personal life, but knowing that the two princes have intentionally manipulated their way into her sphere while working their own machinations behind her back makes them potential threats. The Lightseeker is the lesser of the two evils as the Lemurian still seems to be unsure of his ultimate intentions with Mikki's heart.

Will he sacrifice his people to save her, or will his love be enough for him to let go of the mistakes of their past? Whichever choice he makes will determine whether he survives this timeline or not.

As Zayne says goodbye to Mikki, he can see the longing in her eyes and the lingering warmth of her hand but he pushes the thought of both from his mind. She won't choose him. Not this time.

His jasmine will remain unbloomed.

Before he can close the door behind Mikki and sink into the quiet solitude of his work, she turns around, hitting him with the full force of her chocolate gaze.

"Dr. Zayne...would you like to come to my place for dinner? I really want to thank you for everything. And to make up for...well, you know."

Zayne can't help but smile down at her. He places his hand on her shoulder before he thinks better of it. "It's okay, Mikki. You don't have to apologize for anything. And living a long, happy life is all the thanks I need."

She turns fully towards him as she fidgets with the hem of her Hunter's jacket. The uniform looks good on her but knowing she risks her life every day to save others, especially considering why she does it, ties a knot deep in his stomach. If he loses her before he finds a cure...

"I want to do this," she says, breaking him from his thoughts. "I miss hanging out with you. As more than just doctor-patient."

As Zayne looks down at her, he realizes he doesn't have a good excuse to continue to decline her offer. He's actually ahead in his work for once and he has a couple days scheduled off so he can take care of things around his house. He has the time. And if he's being honest with himself, he's missed spending time with her as well.

Maybe, just once, he can let himself pretend there's a chance for him to find a place in her life as well.

He smiles down at her and nods. "Very well. What time would you like me to come?"

***

Nervous energy swells throughout Mikki's body as she works to put together the finishing touches of dinner with Zayne.

She isn't sure what possessed her to invite him over to her apartment, but he just looked so dejected when they spoke earlier that she wanted to do something to cheer him up.

And she would be lying if she didn't admit, at least to herself, that she wants to spend more time with him. Which makes her feel uncomfortable as well because of what happened between her and Xavier and then her and Rafayel. Maybe she's being selfish, but she can't decide who she likes more.

Things had just happened between the other two without her intentionally trying. Xavier had been with her when she was feeling particularly vulnerable after being reminded of Grandma and Caleb's losses. They had been sharing flirty looks and loaded touches for weeks and then after a particularly draining hunt, she had just wanted to release all the pent-up stress, anger, and heartbreak that had been building up in her for months. And when they'd finally shared the moment together, it had just felt so right*.

She felt so safe and warm with him. And while she loved the physicality of the connection they'd had, she loved the emotional one more. He'd shown her how deeply a person could care and love for someone, even when he'd been so busy trying to fight off his own heartache.

Then there was Rafayel. From the first moment she'd seen him, she had felt drawn to him. Something about him screamed home to her, but not in the same way Xavier did. She felt like he was the one who would be able to heal her heart and help her put the broken pieces of her past back together. She knows he's hiding things from her, about his past and his present, but she doesn't feel threatened by his secrets. If anything, his duplicity is enthralling. He can be so playful one minute and so damn masculine the next. The duality is enough to leave her weak in the knees.

But Zayne.

Zayne is on a completely different level. He is practically the same size as the other two men, but when he walks in a room, his imposing presence takes up the entire space. It's as if he's the reason that life exists on the planet. He's the very breath in her lungs, the sunlight shining down on her. The first snow of winter that gives life meaning and fullness.

And he doesn't even have to speak to make her body react.

Just being near him, the very air around him electrifies her and sends sparks skittering across her skin. His mere touch is enough to make her want to lose control. He is her polar opposite, calm and collected. Everything he does is with purpose. Planned and intentional. And yet, when she's around him, she feels her world tilt on its axis.

She has always tried to avoid being alone with him. Her body's reactions scare her in their intensity and she sometimes worries what might happen if she spends too much time around him. She'd known him practically her entire life. He and Caleb had been her whole world when she was younger. The reason she survived that horrible day when they were children and made it to where she was today.

And yet, there's something more there.

Something primal and instinctual that her body craves.

Something that goes just as deep as her feelings for Xavier or Rafayel. Maybe even more, though she'd never be able to choose between the three if she was ever so lucky to be given the opportunity to share their lives more than she already has.

And yet, she doesn't have any clue what it is.

So, when she had asked him over to her house, she felt the same electricity spark in the air around her, but there was a different energy that accompanied it.

Something almost predatory.

A storm ready to strike.

And while it made her nervous, it also left her a little giddy.

She jumps when she hears a soft knock at the door. She smooths the silky slip dress she wears and fluffs her hair before running to the door, pulling it open with a smile that falters when she sees the man waiting for her on the other side.

Someone has come ready to wage war.

Zayne stands on the other side wearing a soft, black cashmere sweater and dress pants that look like they feel like butter if she could be bold enough to touch them. His black hair is styled to perfectly accentuate his sharp, predatory eyes that seem to sparkle when he sees (maybe even feels) the visceral way her body reacts to him. He holds a bottle out in front of him wrapped in gold foil and tied with a pretty, and most likely expensive, bow.

"Thank you for inviting me," he says, his deep voice so velvety, so seductive that it causes a shiver to run through her.

"I'm glad you came," she replies, taking the wine from him and motioning him inside.

As soon as she's closed the door, his warm fingers brush her arm and a tingling warmth shoots down her spine. "I hope I'm not being presumptive. I thought this wine used to be your favorite but since I wasn't sure what you had prepared, I didn't know if it would be appropriate for the meal."

Mikki's face grows warm and her lips part as she tries to breathe in more oxygen, but it feels like the air around her is charged. "I don't remember ever having this particular wine before, but I'm sure it will pair nicely with what I made."

She walks into the kitchen, leaving Zayne to follow her. She places the bottle on the counter before grabbing the wine opener from the drawer next to the fridge. Zayne's warm fingers brush hers as he grabs the corkscrew from her hand and begins to open the bottle himself.

"Oh, I can do that," she says, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment. "You're my guest."

"Please, allow me," he murmurs, his voice wrapping around her. "It's the least I can do for all you've done."

Mikki's heart pounds in her chest as she watches him expertly open the bottle. He has the same confidence in his movements that Rafayel and Xavier did, but there was an elegance in his long fingers that she'd never noticed before.

When the cork is freed from the bottle, he sets it on the counter and reaches into the cabinet to grab a pair of glasses like he lives there. The comfortable confidence in which he does everything is just so damn sexy. Mikki's thighs flex involuntarily at the realization and she mentally slaps herself back to reality. She can't have three stupidly hot men. That would just be greedy.

"I'll let you pour so you can decide how much you want."

Mikki's body moves automatically as her hand reaches out to his. It's such a Zayne thing to do. Always so considerate. "Why don't you have a seat in the living room while I pull the roast out of the oven? It'll need to rest a few minutes but everything should be ready soon."

Zayne nods and picks up the bottle and his glass before moving into the living room. Mikki quickly finishes what she needs to do before following him. Her nerves are in her throat as she realizes that one of the most stunning men she's ever laid eyes on is currently sitting on her couch. In her house.

She has the urge to pinch herself to make sure it isn't a dream.

"Everything smells wonderful," he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Thank you again for inviting me. I'm afraid I've not been the best company lately."

Mikki pours herself a glass of wine before sitting in the chair next to the couch. She doesn't want to invade his space any more than she has already but she notices the look on Zayne's face. Is that disappointment?

"I understand," she replies softly. "I can't imagine how stressful it must be to keep a whole department under control. Not to mention all your research and the outside projects you have going on."

"It is," he agrees with a nod. "But that's nothing compared to watching people die every day. To know that, at any second, a Wanderer can appear and change the entire trajectory of someone's life. Your job is infinitely harder than mine."

"Yeah," she says numbly. She focuses on the way the shadows accentuate his features to keep her mind from drifting into painful subjects. "But it's easier knowing you're fighting on the right side. And knowing I have someone like you ready to patch me up if anything ever goes wrong."

"Of course. I'll always be there when you need me."

They fall into companionable conversation as the food finishes and that they eventually continue in the dining room. Zayne seems pleasantly surprised in her ability to cook steak, which she tries not to take offense to. Once their dinner is finished, she carries their plates to the kitchen and starts to rinse them off. To her surprise, Zayne steps up behind her, wrapping his arms around her to take the dishes from her hands. Her breath catches in her chest before he slips them from her grasp and then gracefully pushes her to the side.

"Hey, you're the guest. You're not supposed to do that!"

"Consider it payment for such a nice meal. I haven't been able to relax like this in quite some time."

Seeing the genuine smile on Zayne's face, Mikki can't bring herself to argue with him. Instead, she refills her wine glass and slips up onto the kitchen counter beside him. Like everything in his life, Zayne is quick and efficient with all of his movements. Mikki watches him as she lets the wine burn down her throat, imagining how that efficiency might translate to the bedroom. Would he be generous and giving, or carefully dominating? She realizes that she would be happy either way just to have his naked weight on top of her. Inside her...

"Mikki," Zayne asks. She realizes she had spaced out and was staring into nothing with her wine glass tugging at her lower lip. Zayne is standing in front of her, nearly between her legs, as he knees down to look into her eyes.

"Yeah," she answers, a little too quickly, smiling at him to try and dispel the awkwardness of what she was just imagining.

"You were lost in thought. What were you thinking about?"

She feels the heat rush to her face as she averts her eyes, looking down into her wine glass. "I'm sorry. I guess the wine is making me a little more tired than usual. Or maybe I just relaxed too much and got too comfortable."

"Do you want me to go," he asks, his voice sounding deeper than it did before. She can't read the emotion behind his eyes, but there's something different about him. Something perilous. Something that might consume her completely if she isn't careful.

"No," she says, meeting his eyes and reaching out to touch his hand.

He smiles as his fingers lace with hers.

"I don't want you to go."

"Good. Because I don't want to leave."

Without another word, he steps closer, the heat of his body burning through the thin fabric of her dress. She can smell the heady, masculine scent of his cologne and the spicy wine on his breath. Her thighs involuntarily squeeze together as a shock of want slams through her before they part slightly to make room for him as he steps forward. She can't think straight, can't form any words as she waits, her body tense and taut, for his next move.

He carefully takes the wine glass from her hands and sets it down on the other side of the sink where it won't spill on either of them. With careful fingers, he reaches out to slip her hair behind her ear. She leans into the touch, turning her lips to lightly press her lips into Zayne's palm. He sucks in a slow, intentional breath through his nose before exhaling with equal measure. So controlled.

What I wouldn't give to break that control.

"Thank you for dinner," he whispers.

"Thank you for coming," she answers.

"I'm curious," he starts, his green eyes sharpening, "the past couple days when your heart function was compromised...I've found myself consumed with the question of what caused that to happen. The doctor in me wonders if I could study the phenomenon. Replicate the conditions."

Mikki's breath is a staccato beat, her pulse racing beneath the smooth skin of her neck. Zayne's hand rests on her shoulder, his thumb tracing circles on her throat in a way that feels almost possessive. She feels like she's burning but she welcomes the flames if it means being his.

"I want to try and recreate the moment," he says, his voice so low it rumbles through his body into hers where her legs press against his sides. "Would that be okay?"

Mikki swallows thickly, her voice failing her. She's suddenly very aware of how wet she is, and that the cool air from the A/C vent above the sink is brushing her heated core.

Zayne's hand slides down her shoulder, his palm warm against her breastbone, as he leans closer, his face inches from hers.

"May I," he whispers.

Mikki can only nod, her eyes locked on his, as his mouth captures hers. His kiss is tender, careful, and yet so filled with passion that her eyes close, a sigh escaping her parted lips.

He pulls away, looking at her hungrily before diving in to kiss her again, harder this time, and his teeth tug on her lower lip. Her breath hitches as she opens her eyes, looking up at him. His gaze is filled with the same primal hunger that she's felt since she opened the door. His large, talented fingers wrap around her jaw, holding her face to his.

Her hands move to the hem of his sweater and she tugs it over his head, revealing his perfectly chiseled chest. He's sculpted by the gods, every inch of him pure muscle. Scars crisscross his chest and abdomen in the faint light of the kitchen and Mikki wonders where they came from, though she's too afraid to ask. Too afraid to mess up this moment with dark thoughts and painful memories.

She's about to speak, to break the agonizing moment with a compliment for his beauty, when his mouth captures hers again, his tongue demanding entry. She complies eagerly, opening for him and tangling her own tongue with his. His fingers grip her waist as his other hand slides up her side, his fingers just brushing her breast through her silky dress. She wraps her arms around his head, tangling her own fingers in his thick, soft hair, pulling his head closer to hers as their kiss deepens, taking on a personality of its own.

After several long moments, Zayne pulls away, his chest heaving and his eyes dark with desire. "I don't want to push you into doing something you don't want to do."

Mikki catches her breath and bites her lip before pushing him back gently so she can slide off the kitchen counter. He watches her with quiet intensity as she twines her fingers through his and pulls him back to the living room. His eyes never leave her body as she leads him to the couch and pushes him down gently. He watches as she hikes her skirt up on her thighs so she can sit down on his lap, placing her hands on his shoulders. His hands slide up her thighs, deliberate and unhurried as if he's committing every one of her curves to memory. His fingers slip underneath her dress, across her ass, and pull her forward so that her core grinds against his hard length. She lets out a soft moan at the sensation.

"I never thought I would be in this position with you," she whispers.

Zayne tilts his head and licks his lips as he glances down to where their clothed bodies meet. "And why is that?"

Maybe it was the wine talking, but she couldn't edit her words fast enough. "You were always so unattainable."

Zayne smiles, the first real smile she's seen in ages. "I assure you, I'm not. Quite the opposite, in fact. At least when it comes to you." He flexes his hips, pushing himself up into her again, earning a mewling sound from the back of her throat. Zayne releases a strangled groan at the sound and leans forward to kiss her throat when she drops her head backwards.

"I've wanted you like this for so long,” he says against her skin. “Wanted you wrapped around me. Wanted to hear you say my name in ecstasy."

"Zayne," she moans as her body begins to rock against his. His fingers dig into her hips, pushing and pulling.

"Yes," he hisses. "Just like that."

His free hand slides up to her throat, gently squeezing against her collarbone in an overwhelmingly assertive gesture. Her hands fly up to his, fingertips digging into his hand to make sure he doesn't try to pull away. He draws in a sharp breath at her eager compliance with his overtly dominant action.

"I need to be inside you."

"My bed is that way," Mikki says, pointing behind her with her eyes still closed.

Zayne stands up smoothly with Mikki still wrapped around his waist. He has no problem carrying her through the apartment and to her bed where he allows her to slide down his body to the soft mattress below. They keep eye contact as she slides backwards and he stalks forward, a beast ready to devour her whole. Their lips meet, aching and demanding, before Zayne grabs her wrists and pulls them up. His eyes burn with a threatening savagery when they glance back up at hers.

"He tied you up?"

Mikki bites her lower lip and nods. "I let him."

Zayne tilts his head and narrows his eyes at her. "I would have liked to have had that opportunity first, but there are plenty of other ways to take you."

Mikki shivers at his words and her panties are suddenly flooded with her desire. Her mouth salivates as she watches him reach over to her nightstand and grab her phone. He holds it out to her and she unlocks it, unsure of what he's doing. He taps and scrolls a couple times before holding the phone up for her. Her eyes widen before a nervous smile flits across her lips. She nods quickly. Zayne smirks as he taps the phone again before setting it up against the bedside lamp so that the screen takes in the full scene.

"Why, hello there Miss Bodygu...oh," Rafayel's voice says across the speakers. Mikki's face burns with embarrassment and something else as Zayne buries his face between her breasts.

"Well, this is an unexpected turn of events," he says, his voice suddenly huskier.

"I thought I would return the favor," Zayne says gruffly against Mikki's skin as he slowly pulls the straps of her dress down to reveal her breasts. Slowly, he takes one nipple in his mouth, swirling the tip of it with his tongue before moving to the other.

"I thought I would show you how to properly fuck her. The way she deserves."

"Yeah?" Rafayel breathes the question. Mikki half expected him to hang up immediately. Not do...whatever it is that he's doing now. But then she hears the jingle of a belt - of two belts - and she wonders if she actually died at some point and she's in heaven.

Or maybe hell, considering the debauchery.

Zayne has moved onto the lower hem of Mikki's dress and is pushing it up to her navel. His fingers slip under the straps of her panties and slowly pull them down. Rafayel groans through the phone and Mikki hears his ragged breaths and a soft curse.

"Hang up or watch, I don't give a fuck," Zayne says roughly. "But from here out, if she invites you to her bed, you'd better learn how to tie a proper fucking knot so you don't leave marks on her wrists."

#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #lnds zayne #lnds smut #lnds #crossover #the guys are aware of each other #angst #lnds au #deepspace echoes

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twinchester27 · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 7 - Bloodlight

---

Liora’s head was spinning.

Nothing in her resistance training had prepared her for this. Not the battles, not the interrogations. How could she now be a tool in some kind of psychological game between two manchildren? And worse still, she was now left with an empty cell- completely bare aside from a mattress on the floor and a toilet. Nice She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. Why did Kylo lose his mind just because Hux visited? I need a way out… She forced herself to think. Planning, gathering weapons…no, it won’t work. I need an opportunity. And when it comes, I’ll take it.

She lay back on the hard mattress, staring at the blank white ceiling, her thoughts shifting. Hux. Maybe she could use him? If she could get to his quarters again, take him by surprise, steal his weapon? Too Risky. He’s stronger. She’d need to catch him off guard. Trick him. If I can even get back there.

But at least, for now, she was alone. No mind games. No cruel power plays. Just her and the silence of the cell. Her body eased slightly as she closed her eyes, the dull hum of the ship’s engines lulling her into a fragile sense of calm.

Kylo’s voice impaled her mind like a saber.

“You’re not entitled to the luxury of sleep.”

Her eyes flew open just as his heavy footsteps thundered down the corridor. Her breath caught. Her pulse hammered. The air in the cell thickened, suffocating. Fear crashed into her with the force of a tidal wave, it was much stronger than before. It used to be different. She used to have some semblance of control. Some hope that she could resist him. Now, that was gone.

The cell’s lights flickered.

Then she was rising. Her feet leaving the ground, invisible fingers clamping around her throat. Kylo didn’t even step inside. He simply stood beyond the bars, one hand extended, lifting her with the force like she weighed nothing. His dark eyes burned through her as she clawed at her throat, her body convulsing.

"How did you escape?” His voice was a lethal growl. “How did you get back here?”

Liora fought against the crushing pressure, barely managing to rasp out a single word.

“H-Hux.”

Kylo’s eye twitched, but he didn’t loosen his grip. A growl curled from his throat. “I expected as much.” His tone dripped with malice. “Very well. If he continues to insist on interfering…then I must move you somewhere unreachable.”

Her vision blurred. Black spots crowded her sight, her head light from the lack of air. Then, suddenly, he released her. She collapsed. Hard. The impact sent pain splintering through her knees, her palms scraping against the cold floor as she gasped violently for breath.

It was barely a moment before he moved. He stepped into the cell with terrifying ease, and before she could react, he scooped her up into his arms.

Liora stiffened. Her hands flew up, instinctively grabbing at his shoulders for balance before she caught herself. No. No, no, no. She let go, body rigid, her mind warring with itself. Because, for all the fear pounding through her, something else was there, too….The heat of him. The solid weight of his arms, strong and, she hated herself for even thinking it, protective. His scent, deep and electric, surrounding her like an inescapable force. She clenched her jaw. No, Liora. He’s a monster. A manipulator. This is nothing but another tactic to break you.

Kylo carried her through the ship’s corridors, his grip unrelenting, his pace unwavering. At first, she tried to track their path, but soon, the halls grew unfamiliar. Dimmer. The cold, sterile lighting of the Finalizer gave way to something else. A faint, eerie orange glow.

And silence.

They had passed no one. No officers. No droids.

Liora’s breathing quickened.

Unreachable. That word echoed in her head. What did he mean? What part of the ship could be beyond the reach of even a general?

They reached the end of a corridor. The air here was much heavier. If she hadn’t been here herself, she would never have believed this place existed on the ship.

Kylo lifted a hand, and the door before them wrenched open with the Force. A gust of cold air swept over them. The room beyond was unlike anything she had seen aboard the Finalizer. Its walls looked like stone, jagged and cold, as if carved from something ancient. A single, long metal table stood in the center. A sink in the corner.

No windows. No doors but the one they had entered. No escape.

A pit of dread yawned open in Liora’s stomach. But before she could do anything, Kylo released her. She found herself stumbling as her feet hit the hard stone floor, her legs still weak from the choking. She tried to stand, but the moment she looked up at him, her breath hitched.

He hadn’t moved. He simply watched her.

Kylo tilted his head, speaking after a few moments. "How did you block me out?"

She blinked, crawling away from him slightly. "What?"

"You resisted me." His voice was low, slow…each word measured, as if he were restraining something far more violent beneath. "Time and time again, you were able to resist. How?"

Liora stiffened. Sure, yeah, she had been able to build mental barriers against him, and it had worked for a time. But she had barely understood it herself. And now, standing here, trapped in this nightmare, she couldn’t imagine finding that strength again. "I don’t—" Her voice broke, and she swallowed. "I don’t know."

Kylo stepped forward, and she pushed herself back further in response. Oh man, I don’t like this one bit. This time, I may actually be fucked. She looked around quickly, trying to assess her surroundings as best she could. The shift in distance did nothing to help. The room was too small, the walls too close. And he was too big, too powerful. His presence filled the space, suffocating.

"No. You do know."

The air around her thickened. She felt it like a phantom pressure curling around her throat, not quite touching, but reminding her it could. For the first time since she got here, she really felt a wave of terror creep over her. She shook her head, panic spilling into her voice. "I don’t know—"

"Enough."

The single word lashed through the space like a whip. She flinched, retreating until her back hit the cold stone wall. Kylo exhaled sharply, but it wasn’t relief. It was frustration. The kind that seethed just under the surface, ready to crack open at any second.

"You do know, Liora. You may well have forgotten, but now that your defences are shattered I can hear you loud and clear.” Her eyes widened and he took another step, “but I cannot find it…the source of whatever it is that allowed you to force me out. You are still resisting.” He moved forward even more, eyes boring into hers.

Without a moments thought, she bolted.

It wasn’t a plan. It wasn’t even rational. There was nowhere to go. But instinct roared to life, screaming at her to MOVE MOVE MOVE! Her bare feet slapped against the stone as she darted toward the only other exit, the metal door. But the moment she reached for it, pain exploded in her skull.

A scream tore from her throat as she was yanked backward, her entire body wrenched through the air like a ragdoll. She slammed into the opposite wall, gasping as the impact knocked the wind from her lungs. The pain was nothing compared to the fear. She sucked in a breath, her chest heaving, but before she could recover, Kylo was there. Standing over her. FUCK.

She scrambled back, and pressed herself against the wall, trembling. But he just watched her, staring. And that terrified her more. She had seen him lash out before, raging, destructive, violent. But she didn’t know what this was. Shit, what- She couldn’t think.

"Where did you learn it?" he asked again, softer this time, but no less threatening.

Liora shook her head frantically. "I didn’t learn—"

"Who taught you?"

"No one!"

"Liar."

Her stomach twisted. She could feel his presence pressing in, brushing against the edges of her mind. She clenched her jaw, squeezing her eyes shut. But, she was too weak. She couldn’t block him out now, not after everything.

He could take what he wanted. But he didn’t.

Instead, he crouched in front of her, leveling their height. Liora’s entire body went rigid. She could feel the heat of him. Could see the way his gloved fingers flexed at his sides, like he was holding himself back. And then, in a voice too quiet, too calm. "You’re afraid, truly afraid."

Her breath hitched. His head tilted, studying her. "Not like before, have I succeeded in breaking you, little rebel?"

She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. But it was useless. She was shaking. She could feel it in her hands, in her chest, in every muscle that refused to obey her. Kylo’s voice dipped even lower. "Mhm yes, this time…you truly are afraid."

The way he said it, like he was pleased, made something in her stomach lurch. Her fingers curled into fists. She forced herself to glare at him, to muster even a shred of defiance. But her body betrayed her, trembling beneath his gaze. Kylo leaned in just slightly, close enough that she could see the flicker of red in his dark irises.

He was toying with her. Watching her break, savoring it.

No. No, don’t give him that.

Liora forced her gaze away from him, her mind racing for something, anything, that could get her out of this. But what was left? Running had failed. Fighting was impossible. She had lost whatever strength she once had. He leaned in and she braced herself, looking away. His breath was warm against her face, and she could feel the heat of his body, standing close enough that if she moved even slightly, she’d brush against him.

His gloved hand held her chin and moved her head, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her throat went dry. The way he was looking at her…it wasn’t the detached, cold calculation of an interrogator. It wasn’t even the cruel amusement she’d seen in him before. It was hunger. His grip on her jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened just slightly.

Liora swallowed hard, trying to force herself to look away. "I—I don’t know how I did it," she managed. "The mind stuff…I swear, Kylo—"

His hand dropped from her face, only to slam against the wall beside her head. She flinched.

"Don’t call me that," he growled.

Her heart was a wild thing in her chest. Uh right, Ren, then. She’d heard officers call him that before, but she never had. Never cared to. Now, though…she wondered if she could use it against him. But before she could speak, his fingers ghosted over her temple, and a sudden, crushing pressure seized her mind.

She gasped, arching slightly against the wall as raw power ripped through her thoughts. Her nails dug into the stone beneath her. "Stop—"

"You stopped me once," Kylo murmured, his voice eerily calm, but his breathing had deepened, ragged with impatience. "Do it again."

"I-Can’t," she gasped, her whole body trembling now.

"We’ll see."

His grip slid to her throat. Not squeezing. Just holding.

Liora stilled, barely daring to breathe. His gloved fingers pressed just slightly against her pulse, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath them.

"You're afraid," he murmured, almost in fascination. A cold smile tugged at his lips. "But not just of me."

Her blood ran ice-cold. He knew. Her fear wasn’t just terror. It wasn’t just the knowledge that she was completely at his mercy. It was him. It was this. The heat of his body, the way he had her trapped, the way his voice curled around her like dark silk, pressing in, consuming. He let out a slow breath, and she felt it against her lips. "You hate yourself for it, don’t you?" he whispered.

She hated the way her skin burned under his touch. The way her pulse betrayed her, hammering not just from fear but something else, something she refused to name.

His grip on her throat tightened just slightly, just enough to make her gasp.

But then, a violent snap tore through the air.

The pressure in her mind broke and he staggered back a step, his breath sharp, his grip falling away as if something had physically shoved him. Liora collapsed against the wall, sucking in air, her hands flying to her head.

What the fuck—

Kylo didn’t speak. When she forced herself to look at him, she expected fury. But what she saw instead sent a deeper chill through her bones.

Shock. Not anger. Not frustration. Shock.

He was staring at her, his chest rising and falling as if he had just been struck. His fingers flexed at his sides, as if reaching for something unseen. His lips parted. "You…" His voice was quiet, but no less dangerous. "You pushed me out, again."

Liora’s pulse roared in her ears. The fear clawing at her gut coiled tighter. I-Had I really just thrown him out? But she hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t even tried. Something inside her had done it. Something instinctual. And now he knew.

His hand twitched, like he was considering reaching for her again. But then, he stilled. His head tilted slightly, like he was… listening. A slow, unreadable smirk curled at the edges of his mouth. Without warning, he stepped back.

Kylo exhaled sharply and stood, looking down at her, calculating. "This... ability you have," he mused, almost to himself. "It isn’t trained. It’s raw. Unrefined. Yet somehow, you’ve done what others could not."

A muscle twitched in his jaw, and Liora could feel the way his control was fraying at the edges. He’s unraveling. But why? Then, something shifted in his expression. His gaze flickered downward, sweeping over her as if seeing her for the first time…not just as a captive, not just as an obstacle, but something else.

"You shouldn’t be able to do this," Kylo murmured. His hand twitched again, as if resisting the urge to reach for her. His breathing deepened, his fingers curling into fists. "So how can you?" For the first time, Liora saw it. Doubt. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there, a crack in his otherwise unshakable certainty.

And that terrified him. The realization emboldened her, if only slightly. "So what now?" she managed, forcing herself to sit up, her back pressing against the cold wall for support. "Keep poking around in my head until you figure it out?"

Kylo’s eyes darkened. "I don’t need to poke around." His voice was low, but tight. "I’ll tear through your mind if I have to."

Any courage Liora managed to muster up fell away. The air between them grew unbearably heavy. His presence pressed in again, less like an attack and more like an inevitability.

And with a sudden snap, his lightsaber ignited. The crimson blade roared to life, unstable and jagged, casting violent red shadows against the cold stone walls. The hum filled the space, a wild, hungry sound that sent a visceral chill down Liora’s spine.

She couldn’t breathe.

"Show me the extent of your powers."

Liora’s blood ran ice-cold. Her lips parted, her voice barely a whisper. "W-What?!"

Kylo took a step forward, the heat of his saber radiating between them. His dark eyes burned through her, unwavering. "You heard me." His voice was slow, deliberate, laced with something dangerous. "I know there’s something inside you. And you’re going to show it to me."

He took another step.

Liora backed up, but she couldn’t retreat any further, her body reacting before her mind could even process. "Kylo—"

"Ren," he corrected sharply, eyes flashing.

Liora’s hands were scrambling against the floor, desperately trying to push herself away. "Ren-yes I-I can’t-please-" Her eyes on the blade. Images of her village flashed through her mind, just at the sight of it. Emotions flooded over her and her panic felt overwhelming. She knew for certain now. He was there when it happened…

"I felt it. When you pushed me out. When you broke my hold on you without even knowing how." He continued. The saber’s glow flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp angles, the raw intensity in his expression.

Liora’s breath came too fast, and she pressed her eyes shut. "No no no no no. You’re insane."

"Maybe." He smiled. "But I’m not wrong."

She could hear it in his voice, the near-manic edge, the hunger for understanding, for control. But what scared her more was the certainty. He knew she had something buried deep inside her. And he wasn’t going to stop until he dragged it out. Liora’s hands curled into fists, her entire body wound tight with fear. "I-please I’ll speak with you. I’ll try and figure this out. But-I…I can’t-I don’t know what to do. What you want me to do!"

Kylo’s gaze flickered, down her body, up to her hands, then back to her eyes. Calculating. Assessing. Waiting. Then, without warning, he swung.

The blade sliced through the air, too fast, too close. Liora barely had time to move, instinct screaming as she threw herself sideways just as the saber’s heat seared past her. Her pulse thundered, her breath ragged. "FUCK. FUCK OFF! STOP!”

Kylo didn’t stop.

He turned, gaze dark with something unreadable, and swung again. Liora rolled, panic clawing at her chest. "SHIT—!"

"Fight me." His voice was low, vibrating with barely-contained energy.

Liora scrambled back, her palms scraping against the cold floor. "REN, I CAN’T!"

Kylo’s saber crackled, the red glow bathing them both in bloodlight. "You can."

He lifted his free hand and the air tightened. Liora’s breath caught, her body seizing as invisible pressure wrapped around her limbs, locking her in place. Her chest constricted, her vision tunneling as she fought against the overwhelming force pressing in.

"No no, Ren—"

"Stop saying my name like that." His voice was sharper now, strained, as if the mere sound of it unnerved him. He stepped closer, his saber humming beside him. "You want me to stop? Make me."

Liora couldn’t move. The heat of the saber was unbearable, humming inches from her skin. The air between them burned, but her body refused to obey her. She had faced death before. Had been tortured, had been captured, had endured everything the First Order threw at her.

But this...it was all different.

Because now she remembered. The blade. The screams. The fire swallowing everything in its path. The faceless soldiers. The way the air had smelled like burning flesh, like metal cooling over bodies that would never rise again. The way the red had seared through the darkness, carving through the people she had known. Her neighbors, friends, family.

Liora’s breath hitched, her chest heaving.

Kylo Ren had been there. Not just as a distant force of destruction. Not just as a figurehead of the First Order. He had been there, in her village. He had stood among the flames, had cut them down himself.

And now, here he was again, his crimson blade humming, waiting.

Her entire body locked up. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t move. The fear burned into her, as hot as the saber.

Kylo took a step forward. "I won't stop until you show me."

Liora choked on a breath, eyes wide, fingers twitching at her sides. She wanted to speak, wanted to force words past her lips, anything...but nothing came.

She could hear the echo of it. The roar of fire. The crackle of a saber splitting flesh. The memory was so strong, she swore she could smell the blood.

Kylo sensed it. Something in his posture shifted, like he understood exactly what was happening in her head.

But still, he didn’t stop. His saber swung.

Like lightening striking, pain ripped through her side. Liora’s scream tore through the air.

The world tilted as she collapsed onto the cold floor. A jagged, searing pain ripped through her side, white-hot and blinding. The smell of scorched fabric filled her nose, followed by the sickening scent of her own burned flesh.

Her vision blurred.

Kylo stood over her. His saber burned bright, casting his shadow long against the walls. Liora clutched her side, fingers pressing against the wound, her pulse roaring in her ears. She still couldn’t move. She could barely breathe.

Kylo exhaled slowly, his breath deep, measured. The anger, the hunger, the need to understand her...it was still there. But now, something else had settled into his expression. Satisfaction.

"You remember." Kylo murmured, his voice low, smooth.

Liora shuddered, her body curling in on itself as she fell into unconsciousness.

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mymiles27 · 1 year ago

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A STORY OF HOW WE MET

Part 2

I continued work as a cardiac technologist everyday for a couple more years in the same hospital as hers. I would be assigned to the Emergency Room for a week every 3 weeks or so, but mostly I stayed on the 3rd floor of the hospital where life dragged on.

From time to time I would be called to take tests on the floor. At which point, I would be roaming around and taking my time.

Illegally, I would park my machine over to the laboratory or somewhere I know someone who can look after it. I would secretly drop by the emergency room, which by the way is situated on the ground floor. I had to travel 2 floors down illegally, just to catch a glimpse of her.

And man, it's always worth it. Seeing her in her blue scrubs just always looking down and working tirelessly. It's like she never stops. The few moments I see her stop would be when she hangs out with her friends.

One time, I dropped by the ER station to see my friends (and of course her). I stayed there for an hour after my shift ended. I talked to whoever was there just to catch a glimpse. I didn't see her anywhere. I thought, it's been an hour. Maybe she didn't go to work. I usually get in trouble at home if I don't go straight home.

I was getting ready to leave, bid goodbye to my friends. I quickly turned around and bumped straight into her.

Again the slowmo. Me, turning too fast and bumping almost into her face. Her steth gone askew but she quickly put it back in place. She looked at me apologetically, both hands raised. As if to protect herself or in my head I might have imagined her reaching out for me so I don't fall. I don't really know. I stepped back twice to regain my footing.

I could relive it over and over in my head. And it wouldn't be as sweet as the first time I heard her voice.

"ay sorry ga"

Her voice is played nonstop, amplified and on repeat after that day. It was the voice I'd know anywhere. Too soft and kind to even be upset about waiting for an hour. Too sweet and lovable to even worry about losing my balance or hurting my back. Not even anything could compare.

"ok lang"

Was my quick retort. Breathing was too hard to add another. She raised her hand again to wave goodbye and stomped on quickly ahead. My day was complete.

I got home about two hours later. There was no one to scold me, they were all out, probably playing Bingo. So I slept in great ease, recounting how my day was sooo great. I've decided do it again tomorrow.

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titanicfreija · 2 years ago

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Formal dancing together took some work. The first waltz felt good, but Sunny just relaxed, she didn't dance.

Which was why she wanted to now.

But Freija's lack of creativity often stifled her informal dancing. Rise taught her several but it gave the Titan a series of motions to recite, it didn't teach her how to dance. For all her animation, Freija locked up without guidance. Thus, she held love for waltzes, tangos, and certain maps and games in the crucible.

Unfortunately for Sunny, waltzes and tangos all but necessitated a humanoid shape. So she needed to adapt.

"You've been quiet."

If Freija would give her the time.... "I'm trying to figure out a puzzle," she sort-of-didn't-lie.

Silence hung heavy in the cockpit for several long moments, until Freija slowly tried, "Yeah?"

"I'll tell you when I think I can explain it."

"Ah. Okay. On a scale of one to ten, how imperative is it that I leave you alone?"

Sunny almost got to ask before Freija interrupted. "One being I can point out a pretty flower, and ten being injured in the middle of combat and you already said 'hang on' once."

"Was there a particular thing?" Sunny giggled nervously upon having that trait pointed out. The ghost got irrationally annoyed when Freija called her unnecessarily. (The annoyance had rational roots, being that she wanted to help and knew what was wrong and couldn't get at it, and therefore Freija's call could only be dispair and fear, and it hurt Sunny to hear. The irrationality stood in her being snippy and angry and stormy after the instances.)

"Kinda. Wanted to talk to you about the music and dancing thing again. I know I said I'd drop it..."

Apparently, Freija had expected to be interrupted, because she didn't pick it back up. She was prepared to have an argument just by bringing it up.

Blasted Titan.

"Were you waiting for me to explode at you so I could give you something to argue with?"

"Kinda? I'm still kinda hoping the ranting will help me figure out how to help."

Sunny dropped out of the air and she planned to catch herself over the instrument panel but Freija gasped and cried out, lunging to catch with both hands. "You okay?!"

"I'm exasperated, but I'm fine," Sunny groaned, floating to Freija's ear height. "Didn't mean to scare you, I was just trying to be dramatic."

"It's fine," she muttered, turning back to the controls and checking the autopilot and the gauges artificially.

"I'm... It's sweet, the way you want to help me, it really is, but you do need to face the fact that, occasionally, we do lose."

Freija hardly glanced at Sunny and shrugged lightly. "I know. We lost every step of the way in Neomuna. And the crucible still eats me alive."

Sunny nudged her shoulder. "Sometimes there's nothing left for a thing but to let it lie."

The perpetually hardened brow softened and Freija pouted like a puppy at her ghost, then looked back to her visual. "Sorry."

"It's okay. This time, that's not the case."

The puppy face came back, but happier. "Yeah?"

"The puzzle is finding balance for your structured dances and my non -limbed shape. I can't stretch my petals to reach hands or sub in for legs in ways that'll translate to the dances. So I'm trying to think of what to do."

"There's all kinds of parallel parts dancing," Freija cheered. "Groups in the Tower do it all the time. It takes a second to learn how to do them right, but we can totally dance together!"

Sunny giggled. "I have too many pieces in the wrong places to imitate you guys. My bottom panels are front and back, and I can spread them out and go back and forth, but I can't do it enough to copy footwork."

"Oh? I'll need to see. So you've got... Eight? On your discs?"

"The ones I could use to dance, yes. Top, bottom, left, right. I used the angular ones for a long time, but the pieces move similarly. There's only a few exceptions, most of which are fewer."

"Yay! I can imitate your bouncing motions, spins, kinda things. We'll have to work together for hands and feet for you, or reinterpret, maybe keep feet together?"

"Well... I'll have to remember how, first, I don't want you to think I've got a routine planned or anything."

"Don't let me get excited and scare you," Freija laughed. "But really, when you get your petals worked out, remember how you like to use them, show me so I can see if I can copy with my arms somehow? And if you do anything with the other two sets. I don't know what I can do with my head, but we can work it out!"

Sunny nudged Freija's head gently. "I will," she promised. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being my guardian. What's a five on that scale?"

"Ummm.... Something odd and not readily identifiable from a hundred meters somewhere like the gulch in the EDZ?"

"That'll suffice."

"Okay. I promise not to whine about any music."

#destiny 2 #d2 #ocs #writing #freija #scribble #sunny

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milaxkorshunova · 6 months ago

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Once the drinks kept coming it was difficult to stop them. And with every glass turned upside down their laughs became louder, conversations lighter until the world around them disappeared, along with the sewers, the waste, the stench, and dirt of their everyday life. It felt like stepping back into a time when everything was effortless. The world faded away, leaving just the two of them, cocooned in this small, golden bubble where nothing could intrude.

It wasn't them anymore. It wasn't Gideon Rutherford and Lyudmila Korshunova on a charitable camp-out event. They were as far away from those people as they were from the shining moon in the sky. They were as pure as the morning dew and the soft mist that rises with the first rays of the sun, that little gap between time and space when the night ends but the day hasn't started yet when everything is just a moment before waking up. At that time, they were just Gid and Mila, closer to those young and naive kids they had been in college, sneaking to and away from the parties, running away for the weekends just to return to sleepless study nights with nothing but their names and dreams of life they didn't know they already had.

Lyudmila couldn't be more grateful to have Gideon there, who, after everything, still saw the old part of her that no one else knew – the part that felt young, weightless, free.

When she thought she couldn't keep her laughter in (even during lesser entertaining parts), Lyudmila was definitely not ready to see Gideon struggle to stand. She ended up in a state of mute laughter, the kind where her stomach was hurting and her face was twisted yet no sound was coming out of her – until it did, and it came bursting out.

Clutching her sides, she gasped, “Stop, I’m going to pee myself!” She attempted to stand up herself, gladly taking the hand offered and pushing herself up. With her own wobbly legs, Lyudmila made both of them lose balance for a second or two – truly like two drunk idiots – before she steadied them.

“Honestly, darling,” she teased, catching her breath, "you're talking as if I have any idea where my shelter is located in this god-forsaken land. So, – " She swayed a bit, "even if you wanted to try something, luck is definitely not on your side." The mumbling of her words – oh, God was she drunk!

"But I think it's that way." With her arm still linked with Gid's, she set off toward a direction that, in her current state, seemed entirely reasonable. She moved at a surprisingly bold pace, considering their inebriated state. “I’m always up for a little adventure. Maybe we’ll run into a bear. And maybe that bear will take care of the French for you—save you the trouble of any ‘drowning’ attempts.”

"You would make an exquisite statue," the Rutherford agrees "Wouldn't put ya on these grounds, though... Can't trust who might've taken a piss on them." With the number of enemies his father's made, there's really no telling. Good thing it's the first time they're hosting this many questionable parties, given he used to roll around this land as a kid.

But when she playfully insists he'd been a gentleman, Gideon indulges a private smile.

Sometimes, looking back, he's not so sure. It had taken his next relationship — the toxicity of it — for him to realize he'd taken Mila for granted. Her unselfish love, the effortlessness of their connection, the understanding he didn't always deserve. He's relieved she doesn't hold it against him. That she remembers him more as the man he'd wanted to be, rather than the naïve, cocksure boy he'd sometimes been.

"Your company is always welcome, but it's rude to leave a man drinking alone." Gideon smiles, motioning for shots. He pushes two over to her when they arrive, with thanks to the bartender. "C'mon, unsung hero... Bottom's up. Show 'em how we used to do this."

// (a few hours later)

"Alright, I got this... Hey- hey! Don't laugh! Have some faith, Lyu- Ly-... Mila." With more care than it should've taken, Gideon slides off the stool, world tipping over briefly until he catches himself on legs that feel like jelly. "See??... Now let me escort you back to your tent." He offers her an arm to get off her own stool. "I won't try anything, promise."

And then, in case she's more worried about her roommate, he adds, "I won't-... Won't drown the French rat, either. Even if the lot of them could use a little baptizing."

And that, from the mouth of a real skeptic.

#pls i am so sorry for this fucking essay lmao i couldnt stop #dont match #c: gideon rutherford #[ event: camping ]

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apiratewhopines · 3 years ago

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Weak

A Captain Swan one shot

Rating - G / 15k

Summary - A whole lot of pining, then a happy ending. Egregious amounts of chocolate chip cookies. You have been warned.

—

Monday - 2001

Logically, Emma Swan knew she hadn’t loved Killian Jones her entire life. After all, he didn’t walk into her corner of the world until she was a teenager.

The small-minded town with pretensions of grandeur that she found herself in that fateful day was the latest in a long line of never-ending stops in her short life. Same shit, different day. Sure, David and Mary Margaret Nolan seemed decent enough, but everyone did in the beginning. She had learned early on that smiles were the worst kind of lies, and a welcome usually only lasted as long as the money from the state checks did.

It was a Monday, and had felt like it. Wet, miserable, and cold. The bright pink umbrella forced on her by her new foster mother as she left for school was useless against the gusting wind and torrential rain. She was soaked through. Her worn red Converse were a half-size too big—the only pair of shoes she had ever picked out for herself—and they rubbed her feet raw. The weight of the waterlogged canvas made every step feel like she was moving through quicksand.

Her new foster family had wanted to drive her on her first day, citing the incoming stormy weather. It was a nice gesture and certainly more than most would have done. Still, Emma had felt it was essential to establish boundaries from the beginning. Polite and distant. Better for them all to treat each other as temporary roommates. She was less than a year away from aging out of the system, even though she would be granted a few extra months to graduate from high school. There was no need to pretend a permanence that was as unlikely as it was unnecessary.

Emma had walked the short distance to her new high school to start the second semester of her Junior year, only getting turned around a couple of times. She had the same trouble now as navigated back to the building the Nolans owned. She hadn’t missed the big city exactly, but the sameness of the streets in the town unnerved her. Everything looked similar, haphazardly laid out and boring. Despite always being alone, she had never felt lonelier as she made her way to her new place.

She never thought of them as homes.

Until he showed up.

For years afterward, her mind amplified the moment. It echoed through her head, taking on new meaning and exaggerated importance with every subsequent interaction. In the dead of night, she would probe the memory like a sore tooth. In the bright light of morning, she held tightly to her dreams, innocent scenes that made her heart race nonetheless. Everyone she met was sized up in comparison and immediately found lacking.

He was perfect.

Their meeting wasn’t the stuff of fairytales and legends. For one thing, she was fairly certain romantic heroines didn’t wear cast-off clothes and look like drowned rats. Still, if ever there was a man made for myths, it was Killian Jones.

The sheets of rain had made it difficult to see your hand in front of your face, so she could be forgiven for nearly colliding with the stranger. His quiet oof was barely audible over the pounding of rain, but his hands came out of nowhere to catch her before the impact caused her to lose her balance. Faster than she could even react, he had thrown his jacket over both their heads and ushered her through the door, out of the elements.

The difference between the humidity outside and the chilly air inside the minimalist hallway made her glasses fog up. It was as if the voice of God was reverberating through the space when her companion complimented in a lilting voice, “Nice shoes.”

She swiped at her lenses and was treated to a flash of blue eyes, lashes spiked with moisture and as dark and thick as the scruff covering the sharp lines of his jaw. A jaunty wink and gentle pat on the shoulder to assure himself she was steady had her scrambling for coherent words.

He waited another second before her tongue-tied silence seemed to act as a dismissal, and with a friendly nod of the head, he turned away.

She watched his form take the stairs two at a time, energy vibrating around him as if all the light in the universe was drawn to him. She wanted to shout for him to stop, demand his name and favorite color, and ask if he ever ached for things he never knew. Instead, she continued to stand frozen in the doorway, eyes following him like he was her lifeline, a buoy in the rough seas. When his red Converse were no longer visible, moving to the second-floor landing and out of sight, she heard the jingle of keys and the sound of a door opening and closing before her breath returned in a rush.

Rubbing her arm where his touch had lingered, she walked up the two flights of steps to the Nolan place on the third floor in a daze. Suddenly, her clothes felt too tight and the room too warm. Mary Margaret was in the kitchen baking cookies; completely obvious that the world had shifted and nothing would ever be the same again.

So no, technically, she hadn’t loved him her entire life. But since her life didn’t feel like it started until she met him, it was a moot point, really.

Read the rest on AO3

@teamhook @jrob64 @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @kmomof4 @klynn-stormz @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @snowbellewells @qualitycoffeethings

#cs ff #emma swan #killian jones #captain swan

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drspencerweed · 4 years ago

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Dreams Do Come True

Summary/Request: from anon: CONGRATS ON HITTING 500 ILYSM!!! random request,, having a wet dream about spencer while sharing a room on a case (i know, super original) and him getting all hot and bothered hearing you moan 🙈😁

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

W/C: 3484

Content: smut, fluff, friends to lovers, oral sex (both receiving), premature ejaculation, wet dream, sub!spencer

A/N: Hi! So this probably isn’t exactly what you asked for, but I started writing it and it kind of took on a mind of it’s own. I banged this out in two days, it practically wrote itself. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

read on ao3

Sharing a hotel room with her was normal. It was. Sure, they had never done it before, but that was just because Hotch had never randomly assigned the two of them before. So okay, it wasn’t normal by definition. But he wasn’t going to make it weird. Just because he had a small crush on her did not mean that he would let it be weird. They were colleagues, and they even spent time together outside of work too! She would come to his apartment to watch old movies, and he would go to hers so she could cook for him. So he knew he could spend time with her alone, that wasn’t the problem.

It was the sleeping that was potentially the issue.

His little crush had been invading his subconscious almost constantly nowadays, and he was known to talk in his sleep. He was so scared he would say something wrong in his sleep. If she overheard something like that, he knew their friendship would never recover. How can you act normal around someone who said your name in their sleep?

He had been avoiding going to sleep before her, so he had taken Derek up on his offer for a drink in his room to talk about anything but the case they were working.

“So when are you going to tell [Y/N] that you’re into her?” Derek asked out of nowhere.

Spencer stuttered around the sip of his drink. “W-Who says I’m interested in her?”

Derek just laughed and clapped Spencer on the shoulder. His cheeks were burning, a sure sign of his embarrassment at being called out. “Pretty boy, you give her heart eyes every time she walks in a room.”

His blush deepened. “Even if I was interested, there’s a very low probability that she is also interested. So the answer to your question would be never, obviously.” Derek stopped his giggling and gave Spencer an incredulous look.

“All that genius and you don’t see how she looks at you?” Derek asked.

“How she looks at me?”

“She looks at you like you hung the stars, man.”

Spencer scoffed, brushing off the comment. “No she doesn’t.”

Derek started laughing again, “Yes she does! Oh my god, the genius can’t read basic body language?”

“Even if, occasionally, her body language reflected an attraction to me, it was probably because she was thinking of someone she actually was attracted to. Statistically, most women find me awkward and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, none of this negative self talk. You’re a catch!”

Spencer just waved his hand at the comment, taking a long sip of his whiskey and coughing a bit as he swallowed. Derek eyed him curiously.

“I’m telling you, you’re never gonna get anywhere if you never shoot your shot. The worst thing that could happen is she says no.” Derek advised. He shook his head and finished his drink .

“The worst that could happen is she thinks I’m an absolute weirdo and never wants to talk to me again.” Spencer explained.

“That’s not going to happen.” Spencer rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“I can’t risk losing her.” He insisted. Derek sighed and accepted that he was a lost cause, leaning back in his seat and changing the subject.

~~~~

Spencer made his way back to the room a few hours later, saying a silent prayer to a God he didn’t believe in that she was already asleep. The light was off, so he clicked on the bathroom light so he could see but hopefully not wake her.

“[Y/N]?” He called quietly into the dark. All he got in response was a small whimper. He thanked his lucky stars and made his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Once he was all cleaned up and in a pair of sweatpants and a tshirt, he made his way to climb into bed. Just as he swung the sheets off, he heard a low moan from the bed next to him. It stopped him in his tracks. He turned towards her bed, looking at her face for any signs of distress. Nightmares could be debilitating; he knew from experience. But her face was peaceful, beautifully restful. He stopped again for a different reason, taking in the way her face looked as she slept.

Then it scrunched up as she let out another moan. His eyebrows furrowed, wanting to wake her in case she was having a bad dream, but not wanting to disturb her. He swallowed thickly.

Another moan. This one was followed quickly by a quick, “Spencer!” He reeled, unsure where his name had come up. Was she dreaming about him? Was she having a nightmare about him? Or was she calling out for his help?

She let a long, drawn out, “Oh,” and rolled from her side onto her back. He took a step forward, planning to shake her awake from what was clearly a nightmare at this point. But suddenly, “Go on, lick me.”

Spencer stopped with his hands out above her shoulders, inches from waking her. Lick me? He mouthed to himself. What could she possibly be dreaming about?

“Fuck, Spencer, I’m gonna cum!” She exclaimed, rolling back on her side. And-oh my gosh. Spencer took three quick steps back, realizing far too late exactly what was happening. He was entirely unsure how to react. [Y/N]? Having a sex dream about him? It was unbelievable. On his third step back, he ran right into his bed, and lost his balance.

He fell to the floor with a crash.

Her eyes blinked open, and he didn’t have any time to get up or move at all, so her eyes met his immediately upon waking. “Spencer? What happened?” Her voice was tired from sleep.

Spencer blinked, and immediately panicked. He was never good at lying under pressure. “I-uh. You were having a, uhm, dream. And I thought, thought it was a nightmare so-” As he spoke, [Y/N]’s face got redder and redder, and she sat up in bed and placed her face in her hands.

“Oh no, you didn’t hear anything, did you?” She asked cautiously, barely chancing a glance up at him. He swallowed tightly and nodded. “Fuck me!” She said, throwing her head back on the pillow. Her voice sent something through him, and all he wanted was to say Okay and kiss her. But Spencer knew one didn’t control their own subconscious. Just because she had a dream about him didn’t means she actually wanted it to happen. He scrambled to his feet and cleared his throat.

Before he could say something, anything really, she was sitting up again with a groan, rubbing her hand over her face. “Well I guess now you know about my stupid crush.”

“Your crush?” He asked. She looked at him incredulously.

“You heard me moan your name in my sleep. Yes, obviously, my crush. On you.” She explained matter of factly. He stuttered, trying to allow his brain to process the amount of information he had just been given. It didn’t make sense to him. [Y/N] was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, not to mention one of the most confident. She carried herself with such authority he never thought she’d look twice in his direction. Clearly, she’d want some confident alpha male who could match her energy, not his insecure nervous self. But here she was, telling him point blank that she had a crush on him.

He didn’t know what to do. While he was standing there, stuttering, trying to gather his thoughts, [Y/N] made her way out of her bed to stand in front of him. She was only wearing a tank top and a pair of small shorts, and he could barely keep himself from staring at her body. “I had no idea.” He finally settled on saying, and she let out a loud laugh.

“Really? Profiler extraordinaire? No idea? Why do you think I cooked for you so many times?” She smiled at him while she said it, like she couldn’t quite believe he didn’t see it.

“I thought you just wanted to be friends!” He exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. She seemed to deflate at this, her face falling and wringing her hands together.

“I did! I do! But I was always open to...more. I just wanted to spend time with you.” She explained, sitting back on the edge of her bed and staring down at her hands. “But you clearly have no interest in that-”

“No! No.” He corrected quickly, and then realized with a sudden clarity that since her confession he’d done nothing to imply he felt the same. She stared up at him at his exclamation, unsure what he meant.

“No?”

“No, you’re wrong, I do have interest in that. In more.” He explained, sitting next to her. He awkwardly reached for her hand, which she offered with a small smile. Lacing their fingers together, he looked her in the eye with purpose. “I also have a crush on you. I stayed out of the room tonight because I was trying to avoid, uhm. What happened to you. I thought that might happen to me.”

She stared at their entwined hands, and then looked back at him. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” He smiled at her, and her face brightened immediately. She turned completely towards him and pulled him in by the neck, pressing their foreheads together. Spencer let their noses rub together, both of them still beaming.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” She whispered, her breath fanning over his lips as she said it. Before he could even nod, her lips pressed to his. It was magic. Her lips were soft and urgent, catching his bottom lip between them. Her hands pulled him closer to her by the neck, and he let his hands find her waist, urging her closer. She climbed into his lap with his guidance, and he let his tongue slip into her mouth as she did it. Her hands roamed into his hair, pushing it off his head and carding her fingers through it, causing him to moan. She giggled into his mouth.

“You like having your hair played with, baby?” She asked, pulling away to watch his reaction as she tugged on his roots. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he let his hands drop to her ass. He squeezed and pulled her down onto him, letting his lips find her neck. She let out a loud groan as he sucked a mark into her pulse point, but she pushed him away with both hands on his cheeks.

“Not above the collar,” She reminded. He smirked at the idea of everyone on the team knowing what they were doing. At everyone on the team knowing that she wanted to do this with him.

“But what if I want people to know you’re mine.” He asked, pressing a quick kiss to her lips as he said it. She smiled at him.

“I think you’ve got this whole thing wrong then.”

He furrowed his brow at her, unsure what he could have possibly misunderstood.

“You, Dr. Reid, are mine.” She said, and then pushed him down onto the bed. He stared up at her perched on his lap, and let his hands roam her body. Now that he had free reign to touch, he never wanted to stop. She sighed and ran her hands down his chest, going to the bottom of his shirt and pulling it off of him. Her hands lit fires under his skin, as he gripped her by the hips and rolled his hardness into her. She chuckled at him.

“Hard already, baby?” She teased. He moaned and threw his head back as she rotated her hips on him. “Use your words.” She ordered, gripping his face to make him look at her.

“Yes, miss.” He answered on instinct. He immediately froze up, trying to take back the honorific when they had never discussed anything like that. It just slipped out, his little experience with being a submissive taking over because of [Y/N]’s naturally dominant role. But her eyes lit up, and she simply smirked at him.

“Good boy.” She whispered, and pressed down hard with her hips.

He came in his pants.

With a loud groan and a thrust upward, he shot into his sweatpants. She chuckled as he shuddered through his orgasm, and leaned down to kiss him. As soon as he came down from the high, embarrassment overtook him. He had a chance with his dream girl, and he literally blew it not five minutes in. Because she called him a Good boy. He brought his hands up to cover his face, but she caught his wrists before he could reach. He closed his eyes and turned his face away, not ready for the ridicule that was sure to follow.

“Awh, did I make you cum?” She rolled her hips a few times, and he hissed at the oversensitivity. “That’s so hot.”

“W-What?” He asked, turning back towards her slowly. She was beaming at him.

“You were so overwhelmed with me that you came so quick, what’s not hot about that?” She said, stroking his cheek. “The cutest boy, all worked up, just for me.”

He blushed again, and swallowed as he smiled back at her. “But what about you?”

“What about me?” She asked. His hands danced along her sides, cupping her breasts and teasing her nipples through her shirt.

“Wanna make you feel good.” He said while she gasped.

“What’s stopping you?” She asked with a smirk. He surged upwards and began kissing her again, only stopping to finally rip her shirt off of her and get his hands on her bare breasts. Her hands found his hair again and tugged on the strands, causing their mouths to break apart as he panted.

“Wanna taste you.” He requested. She moaned and pulled him into another kiss, guiding his hands to touch her under her shorts. His fingers trailed through her wetness, and she moaned against his lips. Then he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, while her eyes watched through hooded lids. He moaned around his fingers, the taste of her so intoxicating he wanted more of it.

“You’re so fucking hot. Such a good, good boy.” She whispered, stroking his hair. Then she crawled off his lap and laid out on the bed next to him. He turned to watch her as she shimmied off her shorts. Her eyes fell to where he was still sucking on his fingers. She gestured him over to her, and he quickly crawled between her legs. She nodded towards him. “Go on then, taste me.”

He dove in tongue first, with broad licks up and down her pussy. Her hands immediately laced through his hair, pulling him closer to her. His tongue traced from her hole to her clit. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her in, letting his lips latch onto her clit and sucking. Flicking the tip of it with his tongue, she moaned and threw her head back on the pillows.

“Oh!” She cried, and it sounded just like when she was having the dream earlier. Spencer had a quick thought about making her dreams come true, but brushed it to the side as idealized thinking. Then she lifted his head off of her and looked straight into his eyes. “Go on, lick me.”

Whether she remembered her dream or not, she was clearly living out her fantasy. He lolled his tongue out of his mouth and leisurely licked over her pussy, his tongue flat and wide. She canted her hips up towards him, and he let his tongue form rapid circles around her clit. Her moans fueled his motions, and he moved one of his hands down to pressed two fingers into her.

She whined as he entered her, and let out a quick “Spencer!” He curled his fingers while sucking on her clit again, and her thighs began to clench around his head. He found the right spot inside her by listening to her moans, and then focused all his attention there while flicking his tongue against her clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” She cried, tugging on his hair. He kept doing everything exactly the same, pushing her over the edge with a loud shout. He kept up his ministrations until she pushed him off from the oversensitivity. She let out a loud sigh as he pulled off, and her hands went up to clutch at her own hair for a change. Staring up at the ceiling, she let a grin cross her face as a few aftershocks rolled through her. He admired her as she came down from her high, and then moved to the bathroom to wash his hands and get a rag to clean her up.

When he came back he went to wipe her down, but she took the rag from him. “Sit. I get to take care of you, now.” She wiped herself down and then kneeled in front of him. She pulled down his sweatpants, which stuck a little to his cock which was hard again. Smirking up at him, she began wiping him down while he hissed, the gentle touches not enough for him. Suddenly her hot mouth wrapped around his head, and he groaned out. She made quick work of him, throwing her all into the blowjob from the start, taking him as deep as possible over and over. His hands clenched in the sheets as he came for a second time, this time down her throat.

She swallowed as he watched in awe, and then wiped down his softening cock and stood up. Silently, she made her way to the bathroom and got rid of the dirty towel.

When she came back Spencer was still sitting on the edge of the bed. He smiled up at her and reached out a hand, which she took gladly letting him pull her in for a hug, with her standing between his knees.

“I really like you, you know.” He said, his chin resting between her breasts as he stared up at her.

“I know. I really like you too.”

“Would you like to get dinner with me, when the case is over?”

“As long as we can keep doing what we just did before then, absolutely.” She said with raised eyebrows. He let out a laugh which made her smile, and he pressed a kiss to her chest.

“Of course.”

“You can make my other dreams come true.” She smirked.

“I’d love to.”

~~~~

When they walked into the precinct the next morning, [Y/N] was wearing a scarf, despite the hot Texas heat. She hadn’t quite caught Spencer in time, and he had in fact left a mark. Of course the whole team noticed.

“Oi, Pretty Boy, was [Y/N] in your room last night?” Derek asked at the coffee station. Luckily Spencer was facing away from him, so Derek didn’t see how his immediate reaction was to blanche at the memories from the night before. He gathered himself quickly.

“Yes, of course, why?” He asked as he turned around, stirring his coffee. Derek’s attention was on [Y/N], who was talking to an officer on the other side of the precinct.

“That scarf is only there to hide something, I think our lovely lady might’ve got some last night.” Derek said with a smirk. “Don’t let it break your heart, you still have a chance!” He turned to Spencer and clapped him on the shoulder, who was blushing intensely at the tease. [Y/N] had, in fact, ‘got some’, and he was the some she got with. Derek noticed he was off.

“C’mon, I’m just teasing. She probably didn’t get a chance to-” While he was talking, Spencer caught [Y/N]’s eye from across the room. She smirked at him and waved, and he smiled and waved back. Derek cut himself off when he saw Spencer’s wave, turning to see just as [Y/N]’s face turned back to the officer she was talking to. “Oh my god. You crazy man, you actually did it!” Derek exclaimed, shaking Spencer.

Spencer spluttered, shaking his head. “N-No, it’s not like that, I-”

“I don’t need all the details, I just need to know it happened. Because it did happen, didn’t it?” He asked, trying to look Spencer in the eye, but the latter was aggressively avoiding eye contact. Spencer pursed his lips to try and contain his smile as he nodded. “My man!” Derek exclaimed, pulling him into a hug.

Spencer caught [Y/N]’s eye again over Derek’s shoulder, and the smile she gave him made him smile right back.

They had dreams to realize tonight.

Final A/N: thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #sub spencer reid #criminal minds fan fic #spencer reid fan fic #my fic #mine

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immovablewill · 2 months ago

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“Yes I… My apologies. For having…” Failed you, she would have said, but Sara has since learned that most do not like it when she says that, so she hesitates, mind swirling for another word to use, another thing to say. “…For having left things unresolved.” She manages, breath visible in the cold air as she exhales in quiet relief. One of her hands, which had been stiffly hanging at her sides, moves to hide behind her back—fingers curled into a small fist to help steady herself. “I… I regret that our last meeting ended so abruptly. I had hoped to see you again, to properly ensure that you were well and to thank you for your kindness. But I only knew your name, and though I tried to search for you and the others I could not—”

Her lips immediately clamp shut as soon as she realizes she’s babbling on, eyes widening at realization. Had it not been for the fact that her cheeks and the tip of her ears have already turned red from the cold, her embarrassment would have been far more apparent.

Quietly, she thanks the snow for its help.

“… That is to say,” a clear of her throat, fist brought up to cover her mouth as she does so, “I am… better now, yes. And I hope you have been well, too, Miss Robin. Seeing you here feels like a second chance I did not expect to have.” And finally, Sara’s smile returns. Barely there, perhaps, and sheepish, but it’s true nonetheless—a small, fragile thing that speaks true of her relief and gratitude.

By luck, a knight’s voice cuts through the chatter around them, calling for all contestants to step forward so that the snow-sculpting competition may begin. The announcement pulls Sara from her thoughts, and she straightens, her usual composure slipping back into place like a well-worn cloak. Right. Even if it’s only a mere competition—something as trivial as sculpting figures and objects from the snow—Sara hopes she can make up for her previous failure with it.

“Shall we?” she asks, gesturing toward the designated area with a small, formal nod, and turns to lead the way—but her boot catches on a patch of hidden ice upon her first step. Her balance wavers, and before she can react, her feet slide out from under her.

The general's eyes widen as she finds herself falling backward into the snow with an unceremonious thud! and for a moment, she simply lies there, eyes wide and stunned, snow clinging to her hair and cloak. She stares up at the gray sky, watches as the snowflakes drift onto her face, and lets out a quiet, exasperated sigh.

Of course... Of all the times to lose her footing, it had to be now, right in front of Miss Robin.

Quietly, she curses at the snow.

Wonderland Reverie

⁀➴ monthly commission ; robin & sara

#hopetune #commission board: harmony #thread: wonderland reverie #(( Sara and her love-hate relationship with the snow (it's mostly love) ))

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just-horrible-things · 3 years ago

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‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 5, Ariadne has been rescued from interrogation

Home Again, pt1 [ First | Prev | Next ]

Reyan is invisible until the door closes behind him. As soon as she lays eyes on him Ari tries to get up. Relief and fear blur into each other, coming together as a hot, unnameable spike of emotion behind her sternum.

She wants to go to him. Reyan will protect her – from the feds, from Dev, from the world.

But her ankle blazes with pain on pain and she cannot make it take her weight, not for all the will in the world.

"Hey," Reyan says to her. "Let's go home." His smile is worried and gentle.

Shame closes over Ariadne like thick, filthy swamp water, and she can't breathe.

It takes all the will she can muster not to hide her face in bandaged hands. She hugs her elbows tight against her body, ignoring all the places that hurt to move.

“‘kay,” she manages, in a very thin, strained voice.

Reyan moves a hand as he approaches. Ari can’t look at him but she glimpses the faint glow that trails behind his fingers. She expects a spike of irrational panic – and when it doesn’t happen the feeling is like missing a step.

She sits frozen, paralysed between the need to pull away and hide, and the shame of being seen to react so childishly. When Reyan reaches down to her, she very stiffly gives him her less-bad arm.

She’s been picked up with magic enough times to recognise the buoyant feeling as it takes most of her weight. She feels too dirty to touch, but her ankle doesn't give her much option but to fall against Reyan as he pulls her upright.

His body is warm against hers. The steady support makes Ari's heart ache. She wants it. She can't stand it. She doesn’t deserve it. She needs it.

Reyan knows better than to put an arm across her back, and she’s pathetically grateful for that.

“Take care of yourself out there,” Dev tells her at the door, “I’d hate to see all my hard work go to waste.” “Thank you,” Ari answers softly. “For… all the help.” She means it. She hasn't forgotten screaming and begging for them, but it feels… distant. This time, they have been good to her, and she needed it so badly.

Reyan makes it easier for her to walk than it ever was leaning on Dev. She's lighter, and the splints don't dig in the same way, the breaks – all the breaks, ankle and feet and arms and ribs – don't shift as painfully with every step. She can only guess that Reyan's magic is wrapped invisibly round her broken limbs, keeping them steady. She’s grateful for that, she’s intensely grateful.

(Would he still expend that energy on her if he knew the whole truth?)

A thought tries to form, while the elevator goes down and Ari has a chance to catch her breath, about what kinds of faults Reyan would or wouldn't judge her for. But then they’re moving again and she loses the idea, loses everything but the narrow focus on keeping her balance and forcing her limbs to move.

When they get to the car – not a vehicle she recognises, doesn’t matter – she all but falls into it. She would fall, and probably hurt herself worse, if not for Reyan’s magic. Instead she’s lowered carefully onto the back seat. “What’s easiest for you?” Reyan asks. “Want to lie down? Sit sideways?” The car isn't wide enough to lie full length. She doesn't want to fold her bad leg up, but if she sits sideways how will she brace herself against the movement of the car…?

She almost starts crying again just trying to figure it out. Sharp humiliation cuts inside her chest and behind her eyes.

“Just… just the normal way?” she wavers. Her back is all tightly wrapped in Dev’s neat bandages. Maybe resting it against the car seat won't be so intolerable. It's a less terrifying prospect than being thrown around on every turn.

She doubts her decision as soon as she leans back.

Reyan watches her with concern in his eyes as she tries to settle. His hand rests briefly on the front of her shoulder. The simple gesture sends a fresh lance of guilt through Ari’s heart. “I’m sorry,” she blurts out, only barely remembering not to sir him. “They – got everything I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Reyan leans a hand on the roof of the car. He's trying to make eye contact but Ari can't lift her gaze from her lap. “Most of what you knew is no longer true,” he says. Ari clings to the assurance like a lifeline. She told herself the same, in the long hours between tortures. Tried to hope that they’d treat everything she knew as compromised. “They have mindfuckers,” Reyan says. Yes, Ari tries to confirm, but she’s choked up and it comes out as a tiny croak of an “‘s.” “We knew it.”

Tears are spilling uncontrolled down her cheeks again. Reyan shifts stiffly as if to get into the back seat with her, so Ari – a little bewildered – shuffles over to make room. Anders sits carefully on the edge of the seat beside her, takes her arm, and pulls her in close.

Baffled, Ari is pliable in his hands. He guides her – not forcefully, almost hesitantly – to put her better arm across his chest, and lets his hand linger on her upper arm. His other hand goes to the back of her head, fingers sliding carefully through her hair.

A sob wells up in Ari’s chest, then another. She buries her face in the crook of Anders’ neck and clings as the tears overtake her.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, over and over. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” “It’s okay,” Anders repeats in answer, over and over to match her apologies. “It’s okay.” Slowly, almost cautiously, his hand moves across her scalp, stroking through her hair as Ariadne weeps wretchedly into his shoulder.

She’s seen him throw lightning from those hands. She’s been pinned beneath them while his magic cut into her mind. Some part of her thinks that she should be scared – but she isn’t. She has nothing to hide, not from him. If he hurts her, it will only be because she deserves it. She trusts, absolutely, that whatever he chooses will be right.

And he’s choosing to hold her.

He knows what they took from her and he still wants to hold her. She’s still worth something to him. She still deserves comfort.

Slowly, she’s able to stop putting voice to the apologies.

The tears take longer to stop. She sobs long enough and hard enough that she can scarcely breathe through the stabbing pain of her broken ribs. Anders doesn’t let go. His hand rubs gently up and down the back of her head, not pausing, not changing pace, until the sobs tail off gradually into sniffles, until the shaking stops and at last even the tears run dry and Ari starts to almost fall asleep on his shoulder.

She startles a little when he moves. “You’re okay,” he tells her gently. His hand on her arm guides her to sit up, and reluctantly she does. “Let’s get out of here, shall we? Alex will have my head if I don’t bring you back soon.” Ari nods, perhaps a little too sharply. She wants to ask how Alex is. If he’s been hurt, if he’s been overusing his magic, if he’s okay. She wants to ask about Taryn, and Peyroux, and everyone else.

But she can’t find the words. There are none in her head. All of the energy has drained out of her with the tears, leaving her exhausted and empty, thin and grey and dried up inside.

Reyan closes the door on her and lets himself into the driver’s seat, and Ari sits silent and passive in the back where he left her.

His driving isn’t kind on her back where her weight presses it against the seat. But even the pain feels somehow irrelevant, faded and far away like everything else. The world slips past outside the window. Ari’s gaze slides aimlessly over the buildings but she doesn’t see any of it, and she doesn’t think anything at all.

[Next]

#my writing #verse: resistance #unlikely salvation #ariadne milonas #dev #anders reyan #comf?#comf???#once in a blue moon I am nice to my characters

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aneenasevla · 3 years ago

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Spookengan 5 - Sherlock Mousie

Previous / MasterPost

Made in Collab with @useless-bi-otch

"Seven days."

That's what the whispering female voice said on the call she'd received, the exact day she was watching Ring, the famous horror movie, last week. It was an unknown number, of course.

A part of her brain was skeptical, saying it was just a prank call that coincided. Another part, the superstitious one who loved to mistake coats for people in the dark, said it was too coincidental to be anything mundane. Either way, it was extremely difficult to ignore.

Ayami decided not to let that interfere with her work, though. She tried to focus on the office paperwork, the calls she needed to make, the contracts she needed to sign. It was a useful way to occupy her mind. And with her busy schedule as it was, she wouldn't jump in fright every time the phone rang. She was a big girl, enough to not fall for that stuff anyway…

But things didn't stop there, of course. The phone rang, and when she answered it, the meeting she had scheduled for the weekend had been canceled due to the disappearance of one of the employees. The other day, the printer started printing a bunch of weird little notes.

“Don't run away”, one of them said.

“I know who you are”, the other said.

And the next day, the living room’s carpet was wet. Akito, her brother, swore he hadn't done that. This was very strange.

The feeling of strangeness only increased when, the next day, when she turned on the faucet at the bathroom sink to do her morning hygiene, the water was dirty and accompanied by a handful of dark and viscous hairs, and there's so much of it so that she wondered how it didn't clog all the plumbing. She had to ask to use the neighbor's bathroom while calling the plumbers, trying not to let her head paint bizarre, terrifying scenarios.

As tempting as it was to get someone else to see the movie too, she didn't want such a cheap and petty solution. She decided to wait and see. She had a Katana at home, anyway.

The night of the last day arrived, and she, trying to silence the anxious voice that whispered scary nonsense in her ear, decided to take a shower. She rinses off and washes her hair under the shower, all the while glancing nervously over her shoulder. When it's time to get in the tub, she makes a point of inspecting the water, making sure there aren't any submerged creatures, emerging from the depths of Hell. And then she ties her hair back and steps into the tub, sighing, feeling kind of ridiculous.

"Don't be an idiot, Ayami…” She says to herself “It was just a prank call… and you didn’t even watch any tape before that call, that’s not how the curse works…"

And the silence kinda helped her to calm down, the water felt really good�� she reached for the soap, and was surprised when it landed right in her hand. She opens her eyes and, right in front of her, she saw a pair of black eyes peeking at her through locks of lank, black hair, hiding a devilish smile.

"SQUEEEAK!" Ayami loses balance in the bathtub, slipping, sinking to her nose and swallowing a mouthful of water. Coughing, eyes watering, she faces the macabre figure and yells: “Raian! You almost made me drown, you…!" And throws the soap at him, which he dodged with a reflexive swipe of his hand. He burst out laughing right in front of her.

"AHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh fuck, I'm gonna throw up- ahahahahaha!" He holds his belly as he leans against the wall and slides down it as he loses strength, still laughing "Holy shit, it was so damn worth it!" He turns around when his lungs start begging for air, clapping his hands like a seal "I can’t get enough of this mouse-like, high-pitched scream…"

"Catching me off guard during the bath was unfair! You big…" She growls, staring at him indignantly while he laughs his ass off "Yeah, go on, keep laughing! You must be very proud of yourself, huh? Spending the whole week building up the tension for the ultimate scare…"

His laugh goes from devilish to mischievous. He looks at her, tugging the wig off his head, getting to his feet "And you fell right into it. The invincible Sherlock Mousie, a rational strategist, being deceived by absurd coincidences right outta a ghost movie."

"It's your fault! You and your effort to make everything as believable as possible!" She kicks some water at him "How did you manage to do those things, huh? When one of the employees I was going to have a meeting with disappeared…"

"Uh? Oh, that idiot", he shrugs "Making people disappear is our specialty, you know…" he smiles devilishly at her, and when her eyes widen. He laughs and waves his hand "Just kidding, he drank too much and took a soothing injection. He's in the hospital, he'll be back on his feet soon."

"Ooh… okay then…" She sighs, relieved "I don't need to ask about the printer, it was definitely you… but what about the carpet? I mean, you really got it soaking wet just to make a prank? That's dedication..."

"It wasn't intentional. I stopped by the house to organize the 'black hair coming outta the sink' thing in the bathroom when I saw your brother walking down the hall. I made a run for it and dropped some stupid vase on the carpet by accident. Luckily he's as inattentive as you are, so I didn't get caught."

"The hair!" She gestures agitatedly, her brow furrowing even more "That was by far the most absurd part of it all! Where did all that hair come from? I had to call the plumbers, the pipes were so clogged!"

He shrugs as he chuckles “Well, you know my family, we're never short of black hair” He crosses his arms, now full of himself, his smile still not fading in the slightest.

“You're going to reimburse me for the damage, do you hear me?" She throws more water on him, but the truth is that the relief was so much that she couldn't even get very angry. She was actually impressed with his dedication "But seriously, you did some good mix with the sources there. I noticed as much detail from Sadako's version as Samara's version’s."

"You're not the only one who likes this crap", he gets up, approaching her "I've seen both versions, and honestly, we do better. But the best part was your face when I finally showed up, like..." he kisses the tips of his index and thumb fingers "Chef’s kiss. Tha shit deserves an Oscar. Shall I call you Marilyn Monrat from now on?"

She lets out a fart-like sound through her mouth, quickly covering it up "Pffft…! If- If I were acting, maybe… you're the one who should get an Oscar for playing the most muscular Sadako I've ever seen in my life, hahaha! It deserves one for originality alone."

"Hahahaha, I met an idiot who looked just like that, not original at all" he comes even closer "heh, but today... ooh, today was the day I finally caught the so elusive Sherlock Mousie off guard" he sits down and uses his knuckles to squeeze the tip of her nose "Now she's right here, helpless and naked in front of me" He crosses his arms and, without any shame, looks her up and down as if there's no water covering her up.

Her first reaction was to try to cover herself with her arms, blushing at his intensely interested gaze. But she holds the urge back, mustering up the courage to put her hands on her hips and let him get a good look, arching an eyebrow.

"Naked? Maybe. But never defenseless…" And she grabs the back scrubber beside the tub, attacking him as if wielding a sword. He obviously defends himself like it's nothing, but she uses that half-second of distraction to jump out of the tub, rushing out of the bathroom while grabbing a towel on the way. He could’ve sworn he heard her giggling. He lets out a low laugh in response.

"Seriously? Still gonna run away?" he smiles devilishly "Hehe, that's how I like it", and he runs after her.

Neither of them was going to sleep that night, that was for sure.

Next Chapter Here

#kengan ashura #kengan omega #kenganverse #heavybakery #devilsfood #kengan oc #fanfiction #raian kure #kure raian #funny pranks #halloween #ringu #sadako #samara

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marauderundercover · 4 years ago

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 21: Apologies (Father’s Day)

AO3

Marinette purses her lips as she looks at the neatly wrapped package in her hand. She knew she should still give it to her dad, shouldn’t let her hurt over the Gala stop her from celebrating Father’s Day with him for the first time. She’d already gotten confirmation from her Maman that her present for her Papa had arrived. So that was taken care of. A small part of her, the petty part, wanted to use Kaalki and go back to Paris for Father’s Day. But she also didn’t want to hurt her dad, no matter how much he’d hurt her. She had to be better than that, she is Ladybug after all. Sighing, she drops the present onto her bed. Grabbing the rest of what she needed for a movie night at one of Jason’s safe houses, she rushes out of her room. She knew that her dad’s conversation with Superman in the Batcave wouldn’t last too long, and then he’d be looking for her and Damian to lecture the hell out of them. Unfortunately for him, neither of them planned to be around to listen to it.

“Got everything Pixie Pop?” Jason asks as she rushes down the last of the steps, barely stopping herself from falling. She quickly balances herself and shoots her brother a small grin.

“Yup. Let’s go before I can get grounded.” She says, rushing past him and out the door, grinning as she hears his loud cackles behind her. It will get better. She’d talk to her dad eventually, and shove the bad feelings away. But she was going to let herself mope for another day. After all, letting herself feel negative emotions was part of the reason her parents agreed to let her stay in Gotham for the summer.

---

“What do you mean there’s an entire movie about you and Cat boy?” Jason asks, shoving another cookie in his mouth. Marinette shrugs.

“I mean we have a movie. It’s not my favorite, it’s kind of ridiculous. None of it is accurate. Except, Adrien did voice Chat Noir for the movie...still not sure why he thought that was a good idea.” She says, thinking back to the original premiere of the movie and all of the drama that came with it.

“Well shit. He’s not the brightest kid, is he?” Jason asks with a snort. Marinette opens her mouth to argue, then remembers some of Adrien’s….less brilliant moments. Okay, so maybe he’s not perfect.

“Ya know, we were once cast as Ladybug and Chat Noir in a music video.” She says, snorting at the look on Jason’s face.

“You’ve gotta be kidding. Really? Kid, please tell me you didn’t go through with it.” He says, looking mildly distressed. Marinette just rolls her eyes.

“No, we didn’t. The concept for the video changed and so no more hero costumes. I was terrified though. Kept losing the mask on purpose ‘cause I was convinced the mask would be what gave it away.” She admits with a small laugh.

“Ya know, that’s almost as bad as the time that someone at WE thought it’d be a good idea to enter B in a Batman look alike contest. Sent in his photo and everything.” Jason says with a snort. Marinette’s jaw drops.

“Wait, really?” She asks. He nods.

“Yup. But that’s not the best part.” He says. Her eyebrows furrowed together. What could possibly be better- Oh. No, oh my-

“He lost, didn’t he!” She cheers, laughing at Jason’s huge smile.

“Of course he did! You didn’t really think Brucie Wayne could ever be THE Batman, did you?” He asks with a smirk.

“Who entered him?” Marinette asks, kind of assuming that Jason did it with Tim’s computer.

“No one could ever prove anything, but Lucius Fox couldn’t stop smiling for weeks after it happened.” Jason says.

“No way, Lucius Fox? Oh my god!” She starts laughing again, the negative feelings from earlier almost completely gone. Disappeared. Times like these, she was beyond relieved that she wasn’t an only child anymore. She doesn’t know how she’d ever function again without her brothers and Cass.

---

Bruce takes a deep breath before knocking on Marinette’s door. He’d spent some time talking to Clark in an attempt to calm down. He still couldn’t believe his two youngest children had gone to the Watchtower without permission...well, he could believe that Damian went. But not Marinette. And then there was her attitude towards him at the Tower. Her posture was very Damian, but her words and tone were very much Jason. He couldn’t decide if he was glad that they were bonding, or frustrated with the way his sons were corrupting his daughter. Not hearing an answer on the other side of the door, he knocks again.

“If?” He says. Alfred nods.

“Marinette, I know you’re angry, but shutting yourself away in your room is not the answer. I’ll give you ten more minutes, but then we need to talk about your behavior today.” He says, nodding to himself. That sounded good. That was right, right?

“I’m certain that wouldn’t work on Miss Marinette even if she was in her room, Master Bruce.” Alfred says, giving him an unimpressed look. Bruce’s eye twitches.

“Indeed, sir. It seems that Miss Marinette will not be sleeping at the manor tonight.” He says, turning to walk away.

“And I’m assuming you know where she is?” Bruce says, doubting that Alfred will actually give up her location. He’d definitely been picking the kids’ side the last two weeks or so. It was different, and he wasn’t fond of the change.

“Of course I do, sir.” Alfred says, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“Will you tell me where she is?” He asks, trying hard not to huff when Alfred shakes his head.

“Of course not, sir.” He says before walking away. Right. So she wasn’t sleeping at the manor, but she was safe. If she wasn’t, Alfred would have told him where she was. He mentally runs through a list of possible places she could be. Dick’s apartment, one of Jason’s safe houses, the Siren’s apartment, Paris- He pales as he realizes that she could definitely be in Paris. Was she really so upset that she would go back to Paris? Would she ever come back if she left? He lets out an uneven breath. He messed up. He messed up and now she was going to go back to Paris and she’d never talk to him again. Unless- maybe she didn’t. Swallowing the guilt that appears at the thought, he pushes her door open. If she had left for Paris, she would’ve taken everything with her. The sight of her clothes and sewing supplies still scattered around the room makes him breathe a sigh of relief. She hadn’t left Not yet. He’s about to walk out when an envelope on her bed catches his eye. Frowning, he walks over and picks it up, ‘Dad’ written on it in neat cursive. Now standing by her bed, he realizes there’s also a neatly wrapped package (Batman wrapping paper) on it. He smiles, then glances back at the envelope. He opens it, smiling at the art on the cardstock. It was clearly Marinette’s art, but he was confused why it was addressed to him.

‘Dad, I just wanted to let you know that I’m so happy you’re my Dad, and I’m so glad that I got to meet you. Finding out that I was adopted was a little scary, but you’ve made sure I’ve been okay through it all. Happy Father’s Day! Love, Marinette’

Bruce blinks. She was scared. If he had to guess, she was most likely scared that the family wouldn’t accept her. They’d been getting along so well, until the Gala mistake. Until he’d decided for her. Assumed she wouldn’t want to go to the Gala. And now she didn’t even want to stay at the manor tonight, and she was angry enough earlier to throw a chair at him. He pushes a hand through his hair, cursing lowly under his breath. He had to fix this.

---

A sharp pounding at the door makes Jason leap off the couch. He holds up a finger and gestures for Marinette to hide. No one should be here. No one else knows which of his safe houses he was at today. Grabbing a gun, he walks over, glancing through the peephole. He scoffs.

“Get the fuck outta here Bruce.” He calls through the door, watching Marinette as she immediately tenses as if she’s gonna run. He shakes his head at her. She didn’t have to run, he sure as hell wouldn’t open the door if she didn’t want him to.

“Jason, open the door. I need to talk to Marinette.” Bruce calls, Jason snorts.

“Yeah, not gonna happen B.” He says.

“I would like to apologize to her.” Bruce says. Jason blinks. That’s new. Did the old man finally figure out that fuck ups warrant apologies? He glances over at Marinette, raising an eyebrow. It was her call. The unsure look on her face almost makes him decide for her. Almost. The kid’d had enough of people deciding shit for her.

“Let him in.” She says. He opens the door, glaring at the man.

“Is it okay if he comes in?” She whispers, and Jason nods.

“Up to you kiddo.” He whispers back. She stands taller, pushing her shoulders back before nodding.

“She’s the one who let you in. Don’t fuck this up.” He warns before stepping aside and letting Bruce walk in.

“Marinette.” He says, nodding at her. Jason groans. Yeah, B was totally gonna fuck this up.

“Father.” She says, shifting so that her arms are crossed, a neutral expression on her face. God, he really hopes her mimicking Demon Spawn is just a phase.

“I would like to preface this conversation by letting you know I went into your room.” Bruce says. Marinette just raises an eyebrow. Yeah, Jason wasn’t seeing the connection either. “I apologize for invading your privacy like that, Damian has definitely reminded me several times that your personal rooms are not to be messed with. However, when Alfred let me know you weren’t sleeping at the manor tonight, I was worried that perhaps you had gone back to Paris.”

“I wouldn’t have gone back without telling you. Well, other than akuma attacks. Do you really think I’d do something like that?” She asks, frowning.

“I know that I’ve done things I’m not proud of when hurt. Things that I came to regret. And I saw earlier today how hurt you actually are. I didn’t realize-” He pauses. “I also read the card that was on your bed.”

“What! No, that was- that was for Father’s Day.” She says with a sigh.

“I didn’t open the gift. I originally thought the envelope would have a note from you on where you had gone. Or that you never wanted to see me again. I thought the chances were pretty even.” He says and Jason snorts.

“Oh, okay. Wait, why would you ever think that? Yes, I was hurt. I still am hurt, if I’m being honest. But I don’t want to cut you out of my life.” She says, shaking her head.

“Nor do I want you out of ours.” Bruce says. Marinette blinks. “I realize now what it must have looked like, to you. Not informing you about the Gala, taking the rest of the family. It was, admittedly, not my best moment. I made a decision for you when I should’ve asked you what you wanted. You could have even come with us as MDC, but I took that option away from you. I am very sorry, Marinette. I am glad that you’re my daughter, sweetheart.” He says and Jason blinks. Well shit. The old man did have feelings. Too bad no one would ever believe him if he tried to say something about it. He watches as the tension in Marinette’s body drops almost instantly before she runs over and launches herself at Bruce. She wraps her arms around him and Jason can see the way her body shakes. Bruce just stands there, staring down at the top of her head in shock.

“You wrap your arms around her.” Jason snarks. Bruce blinks before listening, returning Marinette’s hug. Well, they were still dysfunctional as hell, but at least now he’d be able to take Pixie Pop to the manor without feeling like an asshole brother.

---

Marinette bounces nervously in her seat as she watches her brothers hand her dad presents. She’s shocked when Jason hands over a small gift, knowing that the two’s relationship wasn’t….great. She leans forward in anticipation, watching and waiting to see what he’d picked out.

“Thank you, Jason. Clark will never let me live this down.” Her dad says, the fondness in his tone not matching the frown on his face. He turns the box around and the room erupts in laughter. Somehow, Jason had found a company that made customizable bobbleheads. The body was probably just a stock body, dressed in civilian clothes with a superman suit peaking through the shirt. And the head, the head was hilarious. It was very obviously crafted to look like their dad, specifically with his ‘Brucie Wayne’ smile. It was awful and amazing at the same time.

“I think Jaybird wins best gift.” Dick says with a grin.

“Tt. Unlikely. The new katana that Cass and I gave him is obviously superior.” Damian says, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know Damian, I still haven’t given him my present.” She points out, grinning at the slight frown on Damian’s face.

“While I doubt your present could be better than mine, there is no doubt it will be better received than Todd’s.” Damian says. Marinette snorts at the look on Jason’s face.

“Listen Demon Spawn, there’s this thing called humor. That’s what my gift had. I know you wouldn’t know anything about humor, so let me explain it to you.” He starts, and Marinette jumps in to cut him off before they can start arguing. It was Father’s Day, the least they could do is avoid fighting with each other for a couple more hours.

“And this one’s from me.” She says, passing him the present wrapped in Batman wrapping paper. She grins as Tim and Dick both laugh, not having seen it before now.

“I think Mari might win just ‘cause of the paper.” Tim admits, taking a large drink of his iced coffee that Marinette had picked up for him. She’d had to fight an akuma right before they started presents, so she’d stopped and got Tim coffee from the shop that he’d tried when they’d all been in Paris. She watches in anticipation as her dad carefully unwraps the box, opening it and pulling out the black suit jacket. He smiles at her.

“Did you make this? It’s amazing.” He says, and her brothers nod in agreement (though Damian does so reluctantly).

“Look at the inside of it.” She says, gesturing for him to unfold it. His eyebrow twitches, but he does as she says. She watches his face for the moment he spots it, and grins when his face drops into a wide smile. On the inside of the left side of the jacket, she’d added a breast pocket. It wasn’t really for anything though. Instead, it was so that she could embroider all of his children’s names in a way so that it would rest above his heart. The jacket also had tiny bat logos embroidered at the cuffs of the jacket. The thread was shiny and very dark so that it would barely show up against the black of the jacket. It had to be lit just right to see it, but as he tilted the jacket again, she knew he saw it. It had taken longer than suit jackets normally do for her, but it was because she knew that it had to be perfect. It was, after all, the first piece of clothing she’d made for her dad.

“It’s perfect, Marinette.” He says softly, running a hand over the names. She lets out a sigh of relief before smiling at him. Things were still a little rough, but they were so much better than they’d been the night of the Gala. She was glad that she had stayed, that she hadn’t ran like she had so badly wanted to.

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @trippingovermyfeet @mizzy-pop @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @lady-bee-fechin

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