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theereina · 2 months ago

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Bad News Pt. 1

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC "Bella"

Wordcount: +3K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut, heavily dialogue-centered, mental health mentioned (anxiety), vomit, *emotional distress*, angst, heartbreak, chronic illnesses mentioned

A/N¹: Remember, I just got back into writing. I'm open to critiques, but I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Since coming home, I had been sitting on the bedroom floor for what seemed like hours. I had done nothing since I had returned home. I had disassociated as soon as I hit the door. Today was only adding to the mess that my life had become. I received the dreaded phone call from my doctor's office early this morning. He said I would need to return immediately for surgery, a surgery that would possibly change my life forever.

My mind was all over the place, and all I wanted was Terry. My Terry. He would know how to help me get through this. I just had to explain everything to him and lay it all on the table. He deserved upfront honesty since this news would affect him, too. It would affect the life we wanted and planned to have.

I had come to the South to spend time with him because I needed to rest. Too much has happened over the last month. I had lost my job because my health was deteriorating rapidly. I was still fighting in court with my mother over the money my aunt left me. After the last storm, my apartment had a severe water leak, so I had to move in with my godmother and godsister on the West Coast. Luckily, we stayed in the same city.

When the doctor called today, I had tried my best to prepare for the news I already knew. The doctor said he found something during the original exam, leading to a biopsy, ultrasound, and MRI. The results from those were even worse.

As I was anxiously waiting, my heart was beating out of my chest again, and I could feel the growing lump in my throat. My body was getting hot, and I wasn't even remembering to breathe. I loathed this feeling. The feeling of anxiety overtaking my body without my permission. Not again. Not now. Not at the one moment where I needed to talk without panicking and rushing through my words. Of course, anxiety had to make an appearance.

I lay on my back in the middle of our bedroom floor and crossed my arms around my body as if I were hugging myself. “Breathe, Bella. Breathe,” I said inhaling and exhaling sharply. Every inhale felt like there were razor blades in my lungs. Oh, no.

I leaned on my elbows and quickly scanned the room for my purse. I needed my phone so that I could at least text Terry. I couldn't breathe right now so talking wasn't an option. The tears in my eyes were begging to be released. I held them in as best as I could. “Don't cry, Bella. Don't. Please, don't,” I said to myself holding my head back forcing the tears to retreat slightly.

My purse was behind me thrown against the master bathroom door. I turned over and crawled towards my handbag. I grabbed the strap of my crossbody and pulled it towards me. Sitting on my knees with the purse in my hands, I flipped it upside down and dumped out all of its contents. My wallet, lip gloss, compact mirror, lip liner, coins, crumpled cash, receipts from today, and phone all thudded onto the floor ahead of me.

I grabbed my phone but instantly dropped it as a sharp pain shot through my chest like lightning. The pain lasted mere seconds but was enough to break me. The tears that I was holding in were now streaming down my face. I was bawling my eyes out through ragged breaths. Fuck. I grabbed the phone from the floor and searched for Terry's number through blurred vision. I used the back of my hand to wipe my eyes. My eyes took painfully long to come back into focus enough for me to make out the letter T at the beginning of a contact. Luckily, I recently messaged him, so I clicked on the thread. I could see the heart I sent Terry earlier as the last message. I quickly tried to calm my breathing a little more and sent Terry a text. It only told him to come home ASAP.

My eyes were beginning to sting, and my sight was blurring again. I waited for at least a few minutes before looking down at the phone again. No response. I was panicking, so I sent a copy of the same text multiple times hoping to alert him to my current state of distress.

“Please, Terry. Save me. I need you,” I thought to myself. I looked up at the ceiling. I needed him to at least call me. Just a call. He would hear my voice and know. That's all I need right now. I waited and still nothing. I decided to call Terry myself. Two rings, then I was sent to voicemail. No way. He didn't just decline and ignore my call. He never does that.

I clutch my hand to my chest and breathe out through my mouth. I call him once again. Same result — voicemail. I sent another text. This one told him I was having an anxiety attack. I put the phone beside me. I repositioned myself in a hunched-over position with my forehead touching the carpet. I was praying that Terry would call.

*3 hours later

I had managed to get on the bed. I didn't even remember moving or falling asleep. I was just so out of touch with reality currently, disassociated and detached. I awoke to my entire body aching. I leaned up on the bed and slid to the bottom edge. My head was pounding, and the feeling was making me nauseous. The room seemed to be spinning. Trying to calm myself again, I sat there for a moment.

I knew I looked like shit. My phone was still on the floor. “Shit!” I yelled. I went into an instant panic. What if Terry called, and I missed it? What if he texted while I was in such a deep sleep? I slid down the edge of the bed letting my butt thud to the floor. I reached for the phone bringing it to my chest. I hoped that I hadn't missed him.

I unlocked my phone to see no missed calls and no new messages. What the fuck? That couldn't be right. I checked that I had service and hadn't accidentally turned on DND or airplane mode. Nope, I hadn't done either. This wasn't right. Terry would have at least texted me back.

I rushed to get up from the floor with the phone still in my hand. I headed out into the hall to see if Terry was inside. “Baby? Terry? Are you here?” I yelled walking into the living room. It was empty and so was the kitchen. I walked towards the large bay window in the living room and peered out. His truck wasn't there either. Where was he?

I tried to call Terry again. Now, it was going straight to voicemail. I left a brief message asking for him to come home and let him know about the panic attack. I hung up, and I sent a message again.

Now, I was starting to worry. This wasn't like him. Was he hurt? Was he in jail? Admittedly, Terry does sometimes have a bit of a temper.

Immediately, I tried calling his father. It rang and rang. He picked up and answered in his usual manner. “Jed speaking,” he said. “Hi, have you seen Terry? I've been trying to reach him for hours,” I said rushing out every word. “Whoa, slow down. I haven't talked to him since this morning, baby girl. Let me ask Linda. Linda! Linda!” he yelled away from the phone. I could hear her answer from the other room. “Ya’ talked to Terry since mornin’?!” he yelled back. I could overhear her respond “No”. “I'm sorry, baby. Neither of us have heard from him. I do know that he went downtown to see if he could get some more help for Mike,” he said. “Mike?” I asked confused. “Yeah,” he started, “Them folks decided to keep him, and Terry is supposed to be going to get him out.”

“I knew about Mike gettin’ locked up, but that's ‘bout it. Terry hasn't said much,” I said putting the pieces together. “Well, that's ‘bout all I know. If we hear from him we'll tell him to call you. M’kay?” he said. “Yes, sir,” I said before ending the call.

I was too afraid to leave the house because I wanted to be there if Terry returned. I sat down on the couch and waited in silence. I was checking my phone every minute for any new calls or messages. Nothing.

I had been waiting for at least an hour in complete silence on the couch when my phone rang. I saw Terry's name on the screen and immediately answered it. “Baby—!” I started to speak. “Bella, can you chill?” Terry barked through the other end. I paused for a second. “Terry, I was worr—,” I tried to speak again. “The hell did you call my parents for? I'm trying to figure out all this shit with Mike. Give me a fucking break. Will you?” he yelled. “I understand that now, but Terry—,” I said before hearing him hang up.

I couldn't believe it. He had yelled at me and hung up on me. What the hell? I wasn't aware of the severity or urgency of Mike's situation. It wasn't like Terry was telling me anything. This was one of the biggest issues in our relationship. Communication between us wasn't always the best or healthiest. In stressful moments, I found it hard to express myself in any capacity, and Terry barely talked at all. I just really needed to talk to him about the call I received from the doctor.

Then again, maybe I was being too overbearing. He needed to focus on Mike, right? You know what? I just needed to relax. Breathe and fucking relax. Terry just needed space. He would come home, we would talk, and everything would be fine. There was no need to make this situation worse than it was.

I waited for another hour. I was lying on the couch and cuddled under my blanket. I had started dozing off when I heard the door open. I jumped up to see Terry walking through the door. His face was filled with anger, and his nostrils were flared. He was pissed.

I sat back down. The worst thing to do was bother Terry when he was this angry. He rushed through the house and stormed to the bedroom. He didn't even acknowledge my presence or notice me sitting there. As much as I wanted to console him, I knew better. If I bothered him right now, he would retreat and leave. That was the worst possible outcome for me.

I went into the kitchen to at least try to find something to cook. I searched the fridge and found thawed steaks. I placed them on the counter beside the stove along with a bell pepper and onion. I searched the cabinets for an appropriate side and settled for boxed mac-and-cheese. I wanted to cook something soon, so we would have a reason to sit and talk.

*1 hour later

The food was done, but Terry was nowhere to be found. I sulked towards the bedroom. I knew this was going to go one of two ways. Either Terry was calmed down, or he was still a raging bull. I stood at the bedroom door. I reluctantly opened it and peered inside. “Terry,” I called out from the doorway. My voice was barely more than a whisper. “Terry,” I said a little louder. “What?!” he barked from the closet.

I jumped at the sound of his voice. He was still pissed. I lightly closed the door trying my hardest not to aggravate him any further. “Food’s ready. I made steak and—,” I said before he rushed out from the closet. “I'm not eating. I got shit to do, Bell!” he yelled walking towards his side of the bed. He leaned over and picked up his backpack and duffel bag from the floor. Panic took over my face.

“Terry, are you leaving to go somewhere?” I asked moving closer to him. “The hell does it look like? I'm leaving tonight,” he said placing clothes into the duffel. “Wait! I need to talk to you,” I said reaching for his arm. “Not now. I got to be there by Thursday afternoon to get Mike,” he said snatching his arm away from me. “Can you leave tomorrow afternoon? Anytime aft—,” I whimpered. Terry's eyes shot upward at me. “Don't fucking start. I already told you Mike was in some shit!” he snapped coming towards me. “But you never said—,” I said backing away.

This wasn't Terry. This wasn't my Terry. This wasn't the Terry who had never yelled at me, who never cursed at me, who even in my fits of anger calmed me down. Who was this?

“I get that you're upset, but I got a call from the doctor's office today. Remember, the tests they ran?” I asked trying my hardest not to cry. Tears were forming, but I refused to let them fall. I needed to stay strong. “Just stop for a second,” I said walking up to Terry and placing my hand on his chest. “What now, huh? What is it that can't possibly wait?” he asked. His face had turned into a scowl and his eyes had narrowed in annoyance. If I didn't think this man still loved me, I would label this a look of pure disgust and hate.

I was trying my hardest to just say it, but I knew it was too delicate of a matter. Terry was too far gone. This wasn't something you blurt out in a fit of rage or frustration. A panicked and rushed speech wouldn't suffice here. This was something so delicate that even the smallest detail needed to be discussed carefully. So, I decided to hold my tongue.

“Nevermind. I'm sorry. I'll talk to you la—” I said removing my hand from his chest. I could feel his heart racing. Maybe, at this moment, he needed me more than I needed him. “So, what's your plan? Are you just going to bail him out and bring him back with you?” I asked earnestly trying to find some sense of familiarity in his eyes, but I couldn't. With that, I buried every emotion I was carrying so that I could give Terry my full attention. “No, I plan on staying for a while. I got other shit to sort out besides just the shit with Mike,” he said turning away from me. “Wait, what? When will you be back?” I asked. “I don't fucking know!” he snapped again. “Terry, I'm only asking,” I said lowering my head. This conversation was quickly going downhill. “How am I supposed to tell you what I don't know, Bell? It may be a few weeks. Hell, it may be a month,” he said continuing to pack his duffel.

“Terry, I need you before then. I need you here tomorrow. The doctor's going to be calling me back. And I—,” I said twiddling my fingers. I hadn't even noticed that I was pacing on my side of the room. I stopped to look at Terry and tried to just say it. “There's something wrong, and he wants me back by—,” I said sniffling. Terry ceased his movements and looked up at me. The look on his face shook me to my core. Hate was inscribed as the only visible emotion. His eyes had darkened, his nostrils were flared, and his jaw was clenched tight enough to accentuate the veins from his temples.

“There's always something wrong with you. All the fuckin' time! It's always about you!” he yelled. His voice thundered through the room. Every word pierced my heart like a bullet. I stood frozen in shock. The man who promised to never hold my health against me had done exactly that.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through my body. There was now a sour taste in my mouth as my saliva grew thick. My hands were now shaking, and my legs felt like they would give out at any moment. I rushed to the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. I instantly felt the vomit rising from my belly. I hovered over the toilet. I spewed up nothing but bile due to having an empty stomach. The acid scorched my throat and flooded out of my nostrils. Every breath I took burned my nose and throat. This felt minuscule compared to the words Terry just said to me.

I dropped to my knees and kneeled before the toilet. The vomit wouldn't stop coming. I held myself up by placing my hands on the edge of the toilet. I was bawling silently. My chest was heaving up and down rapidly. The tears began to pour freely and landed on the toilet seat. I snatched a wad of tissue paper from the roll and wiped my face.

I tossed the tissue into the toilet and closed the lid. I flushed it and slumped back onto the side of the tub. The cold porcelain was hard and uncomfortable against my bare skin. My adrenaline was all over the place, so I pulled my knees up to my chest and dropped my head. Hanging low and uneasy, my head felt heavy against my legs.

Calm down, Bella. Calm down.

I was lost. I was hurt. I was angry. I was overwhelmed. I was exhausted. Worst of all, I felt alone. He was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Now, I felt like my life was ending here. He had crushed me without even knowing it. His face and actions showed no sliver of empathy or remorse. How would we ever come back from this? Better yet, could we?

Taglist: @avoidthings @brattyfics @slutsareteacherstoo @pocketsizedpanther @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @blowmymbackout @5headsupremacist @creartivefairy @insidefeelingofanadult @revealingco @keyaho @jimmybutlrr @gg-trini @nayaxwrites @miyuhpapayuh

A/N²: You will learn what the illness is in part 2. Stay tuned!

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arpicityandneed · 1 month ago

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Give it Up Pt. 1

18+ Dark Content. f!reader. step brother!Bucky. college student reader.

Dear Diary, Is it bad that I had that dream again? Fuck its been going on for years but it still makes me wake up wet and aching to be ruined. Its always the same. He sneaks into my room to find me touching myself (I'm always touching myself before bed every night lets be real) and just locks the door before coming over to move my hand away. "No touching my pussy without permission, sis. Do I make myself fucking clear?" "Yes." Every time he teases me, circling my clit light enough that I can't cum. "Yes, what?" No matter how guilty it makes me it also makes me want to cum so hard. "I won't touch your pussy big brother."

"Bucky!! Mom said she found more gift wrap, you can leave it." Bucky nearly jumps out of his skin, tearing his gaze away from the raunchy words in your neat handwriting. You'd filled page after page and the diary was nearly full. You liked free use, roleplay where he blackmailed you into being his slut, humiliation play, anal.. the more he flipped through the pages the harder he got.

"Bucky!! Did you hear me?" You called again, sounding so sweet and innocent like you usually do. Except now he knew the truth.

Innocent my ass.

"Yeah sis, I heard ya!" He called back tucking the book back into its hiding place behind the towels in the hallway closet.

When he came back into the living room you were on your knees, arranging the presents under the tree and looking every inch like the casual college student. But now that he knew what was really going on in that head of yours? He couldn't stop looking for outward signs of your perversion.

"Something on my face?" You asked when you noticed your brother staring at you with a weird intensity.

All Bucky could think about was painting your face with his cum in response. He had to shake himself before he could smile somewhat normally.

"Nothing. So about the tree.."

He never caught you writing in the diary, but new pages kept showing up every few days when he checked the closet. So he started to plan. Because there was no way he was going to be able to rest, your words had invaded his dreams.

Every spare moment was spent jacking his cock until he blew his load all over his fist, thinking of you and your filthy fucking fantasies. You'd written that you were technically still a virgin since you didn't think all your toys counted. The thought of you fucking your own ass with a fake cock usually is what got Bucky off more often than not. It agonized him wondering which hole to fuck first. Because he knew your pussy would be heaven too. Had to be attached to such a wicked girl.

If he was going to be tormented by this then you were too.

It started small, little touches that you wouldn't bat an eye over. Hands on your hips to help you reach the top of the tree, tucking a curl behind your ear, a kiss to the top of the head.

But then he ramped it up, a hand a little too high on your thigh until you were squirming and making excuses to move. A slap to your ass with a joking grin and a distracting question to leave you flustered and flushed. Lingering a second too long after kissing your cheek before pulling away and acting like nothing happened.

It was slight, but he could see it now. The faraway look in your eye and the way your thighs clenched together every time. You were lost in your own head thinking something depraved and god he needed his hands on you for real.

Christmas Eve was the last straw. You had a party to go to, something with some asshole called Walker who Bucky didn't know but didn't like on principle. But when he saw how you were dressed? A deep green excuse of a dress wrapped around your body like it was molded to your curves, and stopped mid thigh. Your tits were nearly spilling out before you quickly covered up with a jacket when your mom came closer.

"I'll drive you." Bucky said close enough in earshot of your parents that your mom agreed instantly, just like he'd wanted.

"But mom, its a date, why would you do that to me?" You whined. But your mother just smiled brightly at you.

"Keep complaining I'll have him pick you up too." You groaned and glared at Bucky playfully, mumbling as you walked outside. "Lets go then."

Bucky's car smelt like him, and the leather seats seemed to hug you back. It was always too intimate for you and you hated that he was clearly enjoying himself.

"You didn't have to say it so damned loud. You know how she gets." You complained as he blasted the heat before starting to drive, just snorting at you.

"Who knows if this guy is even worthy of you sis? It's my job to protect that pretty little pussy of yours." He spoke casually, but the way his eyes cut to yours was boldly intentional before he turned his attention back to the road was hard to misunderstand. This was him making a move.

"Bucky! What- you can't just-" You spluttered completely caught off guard.

"Can't just what? Talk about your pussy? You talk about my dick enough in that black book you keep in the closet." And just like that you were throbbing between your legs from being caught, the embarrassment making your clit throb along to your heartbeat. All the previous teasing touches flooded your brain, and you groaned as you hung your head in embarrassment. Had you really not noticed the way he'd been hunting you?

"We're gonna make a quick stop before your party sis. Gotta give your gift." His words were a purr, and you would later deny you ever whimpered from his voice alone.

"You better not give it up to any guy but me unless I say its alright, you got that? Can't just have you spreading your legs for anyone I don't approve of. You're my little sister and its my job to protect you" He continued to give you the big brother lecture, twisted as it was. And as much as you hated it, since you knew the bastard was doing it on purpose just to highlight how taboo it was for you to want him, your mind was running wild and you were drenching your panties.

You should've been ashamed of yourself, but all you wanted was for him to pull over and fuck you over the hood of his car.

Steve's studio apartment was practically Bucky's as well and you knew this, but still the fact that your brother had a key turning the lock without even having to stop kissing you made you realize how often he was over here.

"So this is how you dress when you're not doing the innocent college sweetheart routine." He groaned as he palmed your ass cheek through your dress, his erection pressing into your hip with no remorse. "Might have to fight Walker if he sees you in it though."

"Don't care about him," you gasped as he kissed down your throat and sucked a hickey into your skin. Every touch of his made your desire burn brighter, driving you insane like his fingers had on the drive over tracing the slit of your pussy over and over without touching your clit.

"No, you're saving yourself f'me right?" He unzipped your dress slowly, like he was unwrapping a present. Your matching black bra and panties looked sinful on you.

"Bucky," you mumbled shyly as you tried to cover yourself.

"Don't hide from me. If we're gonna do this sis, you play by my rules." His voice was rough and husky but completely serious as he watched you. And your clit throbbed from his words, your hands falling to your sides as you let him look.

"Good girl." The praise made you wanna preen under his attention. "Now take it off. All of it."

You unhooked your bra easily, watching how Bucky's eyes were locked on your tits as soon as they were free. He twirled his finger when you reached for the band of your panties so you turned and let him see exactly how much he affected you as you bent over.

The weight of his gaze threatened to break you before he even laid on a hand on you. You heard his foot steps circling you as you straightened up, trembling with anticipation. Wondering where he would touch you first.

His arm snaked around your waist before pulling you closer, his mouth sucking hot kisses up your neck.

"B-Bucky," You moaned brokenly in his arms, clinging to him like you'd always wanted to.

"You have no idea what your little book did to my brain baby. Can't stop thinking about all the ways I can ruin you, especially now that I know how much you'll like it." Bucky started walking you to the bed, never letting you out of his arms as he bite and licked and marked your throat.

Then you were airborn with a squeak bouncing on Steve's bed as a tiny box bounced with you. It was wrapped with a bow and had your name on it. "Is this?"

"Open it." Bucky started to tug off his clothes, and you were torn between finally getting to see his cock and the present in your hands. But curiousity got the best of you and you opened it, the mistletoe with a tiny bell attached jingling as you lifted it out of the box.

"You hold onto that. Drop it or shake it if you need me to stop, or something happens that you don't like." Understanding dawned on you, even as it made you clench your thighs together. "Unless you drop it, I'm not stopping. Even if you beg for a break, or make me work for it. I'll fuck what's mine."

"Bucky.." Your voice was barely above a whisper, taking in everything he'd said as finally, he unbuckled the belt of his jeans.

You closed your fist around the mistletoe tightly.

"Knew you'd like that, perv."

a/n: This is getting way too long so I'm going to save the smut for pt 2. please comment and reblog!

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featherandferns · 2 months ago

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teaser for my upcoming fic: sugar

feel free to ask me questions about it!!! we're all in mourning so here's some fluff non-canon season 4 jj x reader

content warnings: dr*g use; mentions of s*xual themes

“JJ, I mean it,” you say, your tone losing its humour now. You shoot him a look that you hope will put a pin in it. “We should talk about something else.”

“Alright, alright,” JJ surrenders, holding his hands up and all. He relaxes back against the plastic seat of the boat and you do the same. Your legs outstretch so you can rest your feet on the spot beside him. The two of you catch each other’s gaze and look away, chuckling bashfully like preteens. You take another hit of the joint and watch the smoke fizzle away into the night. “How’d you meet Mark, then?”

You glance at JJ. “A few months back. He’d just moved to Kildare and came by to The Stirring Spoon to help out, and we sort of hit it off.”

“He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you smile. But it fades. The weed tickles at your emotions, pulling the wires as if to wreak havoc. JJ seems to take advantage.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie. You take another hit and shake your head, plastering on a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Sighing, JJ folds his arms comfortably over his chest. “Y’know, just cause I know what you look like naked don’t mean we can’t be friends now.”

Barking out a laugh, you shake your head. “There was definitely a better way you could have put that.”

“Probably,” he shrugs, grinning, “but it’s true, ain’t it? We can be friends.”

“Of course we can. We are,” you emphasise.

“So…That means that if you wanna vent about Mr Loverboy to me, you can,” JJ offers.

Laughing, you rock your head back and gaze up at the sky. The stars are out. They shimmer white and crystal in the abyss of the night. “That’d be too weird, I think, but I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.”

“I just got one question. Just one.”

“Go on,” you reluctantly reply.

“Does he say ‘thank you’ after the two of you fuck?”

You burst into fits of laughter. It’s so sudden that it has you doubling over. Tears slip from your eyes and you wipe them away, looking at a grinning JJ. God, you missed him and his twisted sense of humour.

“He just looks like the kinda guy who would!”

“Oh my God, no!” you laugh, shaking your head. Catching your breath, you manage out, “no, he doesn’t say ‘thank you’.”

“Is he the sub then? Cause there is no way that guy is laying his hands on you without written permission.”

“JJ stop! I’m gonna pee myself!” you cackle, kicking your feet. JJ starts laughing too. You open your eyes and make out his face in the lowlight of the pier’s lamp. Wheezing, you catch your breath and calm yourself. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

“I can give the guy pointers if he needs them,” JJ jokes. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets just at the idea though and you point at him in another warning.

“Don’t you dare!” you say, trying not to crack up again. “‘Sides, he doesn’t need pointers.”

“Everybody needs pointers,” JJ says with a roll of his eyes. “John B gave me one of the best pointers.”

“I find that impossible to believe,” you snort.

“He did! It was a tip for kissing. Works like a fucking charm too, I’m telling ya.”

“Mhm, I’ll bet,” you sarcastically return. You glance at the joint to check if it needs tapping off, take another drag, and then look up to find JJ watching you. He hasn’t changed enough for you to forget what that expression means.

“You want me to show you?”

“Show me? How?” you say with furrowed brows. Something in the air shifts with your question. An unspoken thing, an unseeable thing, but something nonetheless. A nervous tickle comes to your throat.

JJ doesn’t reply but he slowly leans over the seat towards you. Your breath catches in your lungs the moment he enters your bubble, breaking some unspoken barrier, and your smile fades away like day into night. You feel as though you’re stuck in place, plastered to the seat, and you’re ashamed to admit that you don’t hate that you are. You’re ashamed that you’re not pushing him away, telling him to buzz off, laughing at his idiocy. You’re ashamed that you’re curious as to what he’s going to do next.

JJ’s close enough now that you can smell him. His cologne mixed with something sweet but tangy, like seasalt and citrus. Something masculine underneath, that has a primal instinct inside of you wanting to claw its way out. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat instead. Your eyes stare into his. You study the laps of green and grey in the sea of blue, mesmerised in the way the night sky reflects in the iris. His gaze darts down to your lips and you have no idea how this happened and how you got here, and everything is blurry but so, so clear from the cannabis as he leans forward, and you can’t move but you should move and you want to move but you don’t, you never want to move again, as his lips brush against yours just so, just enough for you to know that they have, that he has, that he’s real, but that he hasn’t, and that you can take it all back, and that it doesn’t count and it shouldn’t and you shouldn’t but–

#coming soon #obx 4 #outerbanks 4 #outer banks 4 #outerbanks #outer banks #obx #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj #jj drabble #jj maybank drabble #jj one shot #jj fic #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fic #teaser #obx fic

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

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OH GOD YOUR REQS R OPEN, i would rlly like to request something, could you write an one shot of price with a little daugther reader? just like, him coming home and spending some time with his little girl, she tells him about her school, he tells her some funny stories that happened while he was at work, he cooks her favorite meal, just a big fluff, i love this man more than anything and i just need some paternal love LMAO, feel totally free to deny! do everything in your time and remember to take good care of urself!

Memories of Youth

Pairing: Father!John Price x F!Daughter!Reader

Synopsis: It was hard being away from his little girl, but warm mornings spent in each other's company were blessings - even if they were far and few in between. It didn't matter the form.

Word Count: 4.5k (short and sweet)

Warnings: Angst (just a little cuz I can't help myself), a lotta fluff, banter, just good platonic/paternal relationship in general, etc.

A/N: Didn't specify if the reader was adopted or blood-related, so that's really up to you! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

He got the call at the halfway point of crossing the English Channel, Northern France behind him and Southern England just on the horizon line as the sun began to spread its orange glow over the waves. Sitting high above the water in a slick black Heli, John Price’s hand snaps to his side pocket, fingers deftly peeling back the layers as the overwhelming sound of helicopter blades shakes the hull.

The rest of Task Force 141 watch with varying interest, only Gaz taking notice of the sudden frown that mars his Captain’s face; the furrowed brow, and the spark of concern in his eyes. A call was unusual. The Sargeant tries not to intrude, but can’t help the way his body lightly shifts so he can have a better view.

John doesn't bother to look at the contact when he takes the device out, rapidly pressing the answer button and slotting the phone at his ear, tilting his head so his opposite rests at the junction of his shoulder. It only stops a fraction of the noise, even so, it would have to do for now. But with how his ears were already straining to find a sound over the line, he may not need to force out the jarring racket after all.

Inside his chest, John’s heart is racing – confusion laces his mind. This was abnormal.

I told her only to call if it was an emergency. What could she have gotten herself into now? I said to stay out of trouble…

“Where are you?!” The Brit has to shout down the line, his familiar deep accent loud and guttural.

His mind flies through every possibility. An intruder had broken into the house, you had broken your arm falling down the stairs again, or a fire had broken out in the kitchen. Fuck…he was too far away to help if anything bad had happened. John’s jaw clenches, eyes looking out over the water as the bucket hat on his head flops in the wind. It was only a product of his job that made him think like that; years of intuition and thinking on the fly leading to his mind making up the worst scenarios.

Especially when you called on a secure line when he told you it was only appropriate for life-and-death situations. Especially when it was his little girl.

I told ‘er about the Pistol in my office, yeah? The Captain asks himself with a steel-like resolve. And gave her Laswell’s number?

John’s fingers tighten over the phone when he hears your breath over the line, a shuffling of clothes, and a deep exhale.

“Sunshine!” He tries again, sitting up straighter as his pulse gets faster. Why isn’t she answering me? “Where are you right–”

“We don’t have anything for breakfast.” Your voice is heavy with sleep; fatigue drowning the syllables and holding them under the very waves that rage under John only separated by thin sheets of metal.

The Brit stops. His body freezes, and as the tense minutes go by his panic falls away and leaves a thick stain of annoyance resting behind his eyelids. Of course. John brings two fingers to his nose bridge, digging into the skin until tiny crescent moons are left behind; he has to take a deep breath before answering, but his tone leaves nothing to the imagination.

“...Breakfast…?”

“Yeah, Old Man, you need me to spell it for you? B-R-E-A-K-F-A–”

“Enough!” John barks stiffly and has to hold back his anger as you laugh from the other side. Ever the jokester – did you not realize how serious this was? How fast your father’s heart was racing with adrenaline?

Fuck, he had just about been ready to radio the cockpit and force the pilots to fly faster.

Across the way, Ghost locks eyes with the man, and with a tilt of his head and a loud call he asks, “That the Mutt?”

The Captain’s eyes slip back into a firm blank slate.

“Affirm.” John tilts the phone away from his mouth, ignoring your sarcastic comments to catch his sanity for a moment and respond to his Lieutenant.

Simon blinks as Johnny perks up at his side, looking in from the view in favor of the Captain with newfound interest. A bright smile forms over his scruffy cheeks

“She all good?” The skeletal man asks, and Gaz smirks lazily tapping his fingers over his knee, immediately noticing your shenanigans and the way the Cap was so worked up.

But anyone would be when they had a daughter thousands of miles away.

John simply nods once with an exasperated expression to Ghost. MacTavish snorts out a laugh, knowing the context of the situation without having to think hard.

“Is that Uncle Simon?” You ask, and with a scratch at his beard, your father hums in confirmation, letting the sound of your voice put him more at ease. She’s just fine. “Tell him I want him to come over and play Mario Cart with Gaz, Johnny, and me again! He wiped the floor with ‘em last time!”

There’s a clinking of pots and pans as you move throughout the house.

“Sweetheart,” Your father grumbles, sighing through the call. His voice takes on the authoritative tone that works for both soldiers and teenagers – but it rarely works on you, despite that fact. Took after your dad too much, is what John would say. Never listened until it was absolutely necessary. “What did I tell you about callin’ this phone when I’m away from the house?”

He hears your scoff and raises a warning eyebrow, though you can’t see it. You know your dad enough to know he’s doing it despite being separated. It was pretty common.

“Not to, unless it’s an emergency…But I’d say food is a big enough reason, y’know? Unless you want me to eat the leftover cake for breakfast – which I haven’t thrown out as a possibility yet, honestly.”

“You’re not eatin’ bloody cake for breakfast. You’ll get sick.” Gaz snickers, turning his face away to hide the amusement at the comment.

It hadn’t been a surprise that the Captain’s daughter was such a familiar creature – they saw traits reflected every time the two were together. Everyone had expected her to take after her old man in nearly everything, and when she had they had bumped fists and prayed for the brown-bearded man. But it was funny nonetheless, considering they got along better than most fathers and daughters; practically reading each other's minds when everyone was playing poker. Johnny was still pretty ticked off about that – he’s a good deal deep into the sweets debt he owes you because Price helps you win. But where they really shined was with the shared deadpan attitudes, bottom-of-the-barrel sarcasm, and knowing how to command a room without even trying. Safe to assume that the rest of the team would do anything for you.

“Will not.” You grumble in retaliation, and John’s lips threaten to tilt into a grumpy smile when he hears you put the cake plate back into the counter.

Letting the tension fall from his shoulders, the brown-haired man takes a glance outside, watching the waves go bright orange as they lap and writhe like great sea serpents.

“How long have you been up, eh? The sun’s barely risen. Thought Sunday was when you always slept in?”

There’s a pause in what John believed were fingers digging through a cupboard, and he narrows his eyes in confusion as the silence grows long. He frowns when you speak again, words so quiet he has to place a hand over his other ear to hear properly. Having half a mind to go and tell the pilots to hurry up and go faster so he can just talk to his little girl in person, he refrains, knowing that’s not how this works. But something was wrong – it had been laced in your previous words, as tiny and unnoticeable as it may have been. Only a father would notice it.

“You said you were gonna be home last night. I stayed up.” It takes a moment of halted breathing before John’s eyes widen, blues full of realization.

Oh.

…Damn it. He lets out the tense breath of air from his lips, shifting in his seat as the gear around his body weighs him down. His gun digs into his chest.

He hadn't seen you for over a week – leaving you in the care of a close and trusted neighbor, Mrs. Lilly, just as he always had when he needed to leave for work on short notice. But seeing as you were older now, it became apparent that, with your learned independence, staying at the house by yourself was alright as long as you checked in with the neighbor every morning and night. You had been waiting for him to come home. All alone. In the dark.

Fucken’ hell, John thinks in a deep layer of guilt as wrinkles overtake his forehead, I did tell her I’d be back yesterday. I forgot to call and tell ‘er. Shit! He didn’t want to imagine the stress that had been put on your shoulders. God, what’ve I done?

Not checking in was something he had never missed before – he always told you when he was about to come back. What had gone wrong this time? How had something that important just slipped his mind? Sure the Op had been tedious, but he was trained to handle it. It was no excuse.

“Sweetheart,” John starts and then pauses the soft and gentle endearment, knowing that an apology didn’t fit into what you were looking for. You didn’t want an ‘I’m sorry’ right now, you wanted your father. Flattening his lips into a line, he continues, wishing he was with you more than ever so he can press a kiss to your forehead. “...I should be back before 1200. How about when I get back I’ll cook you up somethin’ myself, yeah? Or we can go to that Cafe you like down on Newman Street and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“...When do you have to go back?” You don’t answer his question, and yours makes his heart hurt.

John clears his throat.

“None of that, now. We’ll talk more when I get back, Darling, alright?” You don’t respond, but he hears you sigh and quietly scoff under your breath. “Alright?” He tries again, head tilting forward and eyebrows rising as if you could see him. Maybe you could.

“Fine. But you better make me pancakes. I don’t care if it’ll be noon.”

“Pancakes it is.” The Captain looks up in time to see Johnny mouthing words to him, and with a blank face and stiff lip, your father mutters with a grunt, “Johnny says ‘hello.’”

Your shocked snort makes him feel better, but a layer of guilt still stays. You were awake all night waiting for him, and he never showed up. Did you sleep on the couch? Damnit, he hoped you didn’t…but in his rattling chest knew you had. He found you like that every time he came back from a long stay away. Huddled under blankets, no pillow under your head. Sometimes you steal one of his shirts and hold it like a stuffed bear to your chest, shoving your face into it.

How could I forget to fucken’ call her?

Your voice takes him out of his growing self-resentment.

“Tell him to watch his back – I’m getting better at Rainbow Road. Soon enough I’ll be able to beat him in a 1V1!” John can’t help the slow chuckle that bounces in his throat, mind, for the moment, at ease as long as you continue to speak to him.

“I’ll be sure to pass it along. But, eh,” The Brit makes sure he speaks slowly, letting you hear every syllable of his next words. “Promise me you’ll stay at the house until I get there. No goin’ out with friends, yeah? You know how I worry.” John ignores the teasing look from Gaz and peeks out again to see how close they were to the mainland with narrowed lids. “‘Specially when I’m not there.”

Getting back to the Base wasn’t the problem, it was the damn reports coming in that would wring his neck before he could get out the door. But he’d push it off for however long he could; call in favors from Laswell to get him more time with his little girl so he can fix his mistake. As a dad, the only thing that counted was seeing his daughter after a seemingly unending Op that he didn’t want to relive. The hardest part wasn’t the blood or the guts – it was being away from you. Nothing would ever change that, even if he was the one on the ground gritting his teeth at the bite of a bullet.

“Scout’s honor, Old Man.” The happiness in your voice makes him smile to himself.

“Stop calling me that, Muppet.” John grumbles affectionately, rolling his eyes, “I’ll give you a call when back I’m in town, Sunshine. Make sure the door’s locked–”

“--Locked, the windows too, plus, if someone knocks on the door I need to look through the peephole and if I don’t recognize them don’t open it…Am I missing anything?”

“Mind yourself, now you’re just being cheeky, you are.” John teases, scoffing, but proud that you remembered his rules. It made all of this just a bit more manageable.

“Who do you think I got it from?” You laugh, but it tapers off sullenly, “Just…get home safe, okay, Dad?”

John’s beard pulls back into a soft close-lipped grin, eyes crinkling as his heart warms. He so desperately wanted to ruffle your hair.

“Of course, Hun. But, eh, take a nap. It’s still early, and I know you’ve got schoolwork to do later. You sound like you’re about to keel over where you stand.” You scoff before agreeing with a muttered grumble, most likely already stumbling to the living room couch, and then the line goes silent and is replaced once more by the whirring of the helicopter blades.

The man peels back the phone and pockets it, hand unconsciously brushing his breast pouch where a picture of the two of you always sits. It was a baby picture, with your little form held in his grip delicately; looking down at you with soft eyes and an easy smile on his lips that always formed when he was with you. From under a soft blanket, your tiny hand reaches out to try and brush his stubbily cheek.

It never failed to bring him ease when he realized the photo was there. A reminder that if everything else in his life went horribly wrong, you would still be looking up at him with those eyes of yours. At the very least, he had managed to do one thing right.

“She’ll be fine. She’s a good kid.” Gaz calls at him, and John spares him a glance out of the side of his eye with a raised brow.

“I know she is. I’m the one who raised her.”

—

You remember eating a piece of toast before you made your way over to the couch, throwing your phone to the coffee table haphazardly before tossing yourself onto the cushions. Still in your pajamas, you can’t find it in you to go and grab the homework in your backpack this early. The sun had only just risen, and the bags under your eyes reminded you how late you stayed up last night.

But your father had never shown up.

Frantic was too light a word to describe the feeling you had when your eyelids had peeled back to the empty living room and the TV still playing. It had been second nature to snatch your phone and call the secure line – half of you had said it was better to call Laswell, just in case, but your adolescent brain had wanted nothing more than to hear your father’s voice.

He would make it better. But you needed to hear his voice.

Dad, you remembered pleading to yourself as the sound of the dial tone echoed in your ear, please answer the phone. Please. Answer the fucking phone.

Your heart was pounding; hands shaking. He never just didn’t show up when he said he was going to. Never. Your dad was punctual – always on time no matter what – and he had ingrained the same sentiment in you as well.

When his deep voice finally bounced in your eardrums you nearly started to cry, missing the first hurried and concern-filled inquiry of where you were. Hearing his voice put you at ease, and after a week of missing your father’s strong presence and his warm hugs, it was hard not to take a shaky inhale when he seemed so close.

You just wanted him home; you wanted him to make you pancakes and help you with your schoolwork. You wanted him to read a book to you on this couch like you were a toddler again while his old record player was on in the background.

It was childish, getting so worked up about it, but your dad meant the world to you. Not having him here felt wrong.

Sighing, you rub at your eyes and revel in the darkness before letting out a strained yawn, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and pulling it over your body. It didn’t take long before your eyes were flickering shut, a calm quiet settling over the house as cars passed by outside in the street. You pull the blanket closer and breathe, inhaling pine needles and ash.

You don’t know how long you were there, twitching in your sleep before the scent woke you up – it makes your nose scrunch, eyelids blinking away fuzz. There was a pillow under your head, the blanket wrapped tight around your neck to keep out the London chill, and a clanking of pans in the kitchen. Scraping spatula over cast iron, you knew, the sizzling of batter.

The haze of that in-between state, sleep and consciousness fighting in the back of your skull and under your hairline, stays even as you try to force it away. It was like a wave – it constantly pulled you under when you thought you were getting to the surface. Your eyes would blink open and closed; comforted back into sleep by the deep humming, the waver of an old record player. Feet over hardwood and the smell of fresh pancakes.

Dad’s home.

A delirious smile slides over your sleep-hot face. That was why you were so content. This was what home sounded and smelled like.

Dad’s home. You repeat it once more, nuzzling farther into your father's travel pillow he brings to and from Base. Pine needles. Ash. Cigar smoke.

Dad’s home! Your eyes snap open wildly, your body shooting up from the cushions as the blanket falls to the floor. Angling your head to the separated kitchen, you swipe the drool from your mouth with a heavy hand and listen.

Your dreams had tricked you before, but no. Not this time.

He was humming along to some old tune under his breath that mirrored the record player behind the couch; the antique turned low so it wouldn’t wake you. Blinking in shock, your mouth morphs into a rich smile instantaneously.

Throwing yourself off the couch, your feet slam to the floor, rushing and almost tripping over the blanket on the floor as your body slants forward. Giggling, you push on, righting yourself with no second thought other than welcoming your dad home the same as you always did. Zipping around the corner, a shadow is already turning your way, a plate of pancakes ready to be put on the table and devoured.

“Dad!” You yell loudly and launch yourself at him, hearing his chest let out a grunt and his hands splay around you so he won’t drop breakfast food all over the floor.

A velvety chuckle is wrung from his body, and his free digits go to rest heavily on your head as you shove yourself into his hold. Gripping his shirt tight between your fingers, you try not to cry when that scent that had been fading from the house comes back tenfold. Your eyes burn, but you only let one tear out when your dad’s finger begins stroking your hair just like he did when you were little.

You had been so worried.

“There’s my girl,” His voice whispers out, “I’m here, Sunshine. Easy now.”

“I thought you died,” You can’t help the helpless gasp that rips from you. Your father’s hand freezes; body going rigid around your smaller, desperately grasping frame. The atmosphere of the room flips. Digging into the fabric of his shirt the full flood of tears finally comes forward. “W-when I woke up and you weren’t here I… I thought you were never coming back home, and that I would have to go and live with the neighbors and I’d have to bury you in the cemetery. I don’t-don’t wanna have to put you in the ground.” You’re rambling, but you can’t stop the words. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, Dad. Please don’t leave me alone.”

At some point, the plate of pancakes had been tossed to the counter without care for if the porcelain cracked from the force, and both of your father's arms hand scooped you into his hold effortlessly. Your breath was hiccuping violently, tears making his shirt wet and sticking to his skin.

But John didn’t care.

He wrapped his arms around you and curled his body in, taking you into a hold so warm and tight you couldn’t leave it even if you tried.

What’ve I done? The man feels his lips tense, blinking down at your shaking body with guilt as you sob. Oh, my Little Girl, I’m so sorry. What’ve I done to you?

Had he never noticed the toll that this job was taking on you? John asked himself this in disgust as he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, whispering words into your hair under his shaky breath. He hated when you cried because of him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Love, alright? Look at me.” You don’t move your bruising grip, face still held away from sight as you gasp down frantic breaths. John’s voice gets firmer, “Sweetheart, I need you to look at me, yeah?”

Your tight fingers stutter, and your head barely shifts to the side, one red eye peeking up as he looks down at you with all the love he can muster without looking incredibly broken. He never wanted to see you cry again but knew that would be an impossible feat to accomplish – but he’d do his damndest to try.

“There she is.” John’s hand goes to your cheek, brushing away the saltwater with a calloused thumb as you sniffle. “Just keep those eyes on me, Little One.”

“...M’ not little anymore.” You grumble out, your cheeks heating even as your pulse slows as you focus on your dad's eyes. So soft the edges were nearly liquid; water that held your attention as they lapped across your form.

“To me, you’ll always be little. Can’t change that I’m afraid.” The man grunts out, tilting his head down at you and letting his eyes travel from concern to comfort. But that doesn’t change the present.

“I’m so sorry, Love,” Your father mutters, eyes flickering away from yours in guilt so rarely shown to others. He always prided himself on being strong, you knew, bearing the brunt of the weight. Apologies weren’t often verbally said until it truly mattered. “I should have called you. That’s all on me, that is. Bloody stupid to forget about, knowin’ how you wait up for me.”

Your lips thin to mimic your dad's, brows pulling close. But in your chest, your heart couldn’t be larger. You didn’t hold it against him, but you wished he could be here more often; not put himself in dangerous situations. Knowing as little as you did about your dad's actual job, you still knew it wasn’t entirely safe.

Maybe the two of you protected each other from the things unseen.

Your chest aches.

“...You’re funny lookin’ when you have to apologize. Like a kicked bear.” Pulling back your lips, a tiny smile lighting your face, and you look up at your dad with a sniffle in your nose.

His visage snaps to yours, eyebrows going high on his head in surprise, and hooded blue eyes widening. It takes a moment, but a smirk pushes back his beard when he sees the tears have stopped falling.

“Yeah?” John asks you, a grumble reverberating in his chest, “Now, y’know, that is just bloody rude, Sunshine. Thought I raised you better…And after I made you pancakes.”

Laughing, you pull back, stomach rumbling and nose twitching at the prospect of the nearly forgotten food. Slithering past your father, you snatch the plate and fork before rushing into the living room. Jumping on the couch you begin to cut into the carbs, piling pieces into your mouth and smiling at the taste. No one else could make them as your dad could.

The Brit comes not seconds later, a cup of tea held in his hand before he sits down next to you with a groan, stretching out and laying his socked feet on the coffee table next to your tossed phone from hours earlier. You giggle, suddenly leaning to his large frame and hearing him grunt in retaliation.

“Tell me a funny story,” You demand, listening to him sip his drink in the mid-morning glow that spreads outside the house and leaks in through the opened curtains. Birds sing outside, heard from the street.

Your dad hums, his beard tickling your scalp as he leans into you in turn, making you chuckle before he nuzzles against you kissing your head; leading to a larger exclamation of glee before you elbow his gut.

He laughs and answers with a smile in his voice.

“Hm, did I tell you ‘bout the time Gaz fell out of the Heli?”

You laugh, eating the rest of the pancake remnants; feeling incredibly happy and warm. There were many memories you loved of your dad and his recounting of stories fit many of them. He always kept out the gory bits – promising himself that he would never lead you down that path no matter what – and always opted for the many downright hilarious situations the rest of the 141 always seemed to get into.

“Yes, but tell me again. It’s funny, especially when you describe his face afterward! Like he–”

“Like he had shit his pants and didn’t want to tell me,” John chuckles, eyes squinted, looking down at you as you snuggle into his side. He wraps an arm over your shoulders, taking your empty plate with one hand and putting it on the side table before pulling you close and making sure his tea won’t spill. He feels your tiny, bird-like, heartbeat on his ribcage and knows that nothing could ever take you away from him. You would always be his little girl. “Yeah, Love, I remember that one. Now, let me start from the beginning…”

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angel4him · 26 days ago

Text

Brainless and still

He sees my stress fueling my body and my mind being ravished by its dark thoughts.. he feels that it’s his responsibility to melt it away. I ask him for sleepy meds to help me sleep for the night so my thoughts stop racing. He gives me two warning me they’re strong. I take them without hesitation and sit back trying to slow my mind. He looks at me and I can feel his look simmer on me. He tells me to lay on my stomach so he can massage my back. I lay on my stomach and let my body melt into the bed, he’s kneeling above my thighs to massage my back and ass. Feeling the tension slowly disappear underneath his hands and the warmth of his hands gives me the comfort I’m aching for. He slides my pants down and kisses each cheek softly, I smile against the bed and let my body grow limp. He kisses up my back and my face gets warm. He leans to my ear and whispers how soft my skin is, of course I smile bigger and whisper thank you. He turns me over and lifts my shirt so my tits are exposed and my pants around my thighs, my whole body is covered yet exposed and my thoughts are now escaping me, leaving me as just a still body on the bed. He softly kisses each nipple and trails down my body with sweet soft kisses then coming back up with his tongue. Licking from my navel to my throat and kissing my lips softly. He grabs my body like I’m weightless and lays me across his lap with my tummy resting on his legs and my ass in the air. He pulls my pants and panties off and rubs my ass. I feel so cared for and adored in the most vulnerable way possible. He kisses my ass and rubs over his kissed spots before spreading me and looking at me. Feeling him expose me even more makes my face warm.. I don’t know if it’s from my shyness coming to the surface or the meds starting to kick in but I feel fuzzy and warm deep inside and I don’t want it to stop. He slowly rubs two fingers over me between my legs like he’s petting me as if I were soft blanket. So gentle. So calming. So intoxicating I can’t help my excitement. We both notice my excitement building as his fingers are starting to glide easier from the juices he’s creating deep inside me. He licks his fingers and rubs me more before slowly putting them inside me and feeling my body become heavy. As if I was craving it and now my body can finally relax. I let out a soft sigh and he rubs my back with his other hand to silently remind me that this is to center me not rile me up. But my instincts are telling me to wet his fingers and beg for more. He turns me over so he can make eye contact while he rubs me. Looking deep into eyes my face is warm again, now I know it’s both the shyness and the meds. My mind is still but my body is full of warm pumping energy. He creates a mesmerizing rhythm of rubbing, sliding in, and tapping my clit. He’s stirring a desire inside me that’s growing bigger and bigger. I’m still not speaking, it’s like my brain forgot how to. He removes his fingers and smears my juices across my nipples, then puts his lips around them to suck them clean. Sticks his fingers in my mouth and makes me suck them clean. Whispers to me “see you’re very delicious!” I blush and nod with his fingers in my mouth unconsciously sucking them faster once he whispered to me. He smiles and rubs me again making me feel my spit cover my lips. My craving for him is building too much now it’s turned into a need, I look at him desperately and he knows the look. He sits me up and I kneel over his lap. He pulls his shorts and boxers down and nods to me, giving me my overly anticipated permission. I wrap my fingers around him and softly lick his tip. I lick my lips still tasting myself and now it’s rubbing off on him. I see him put his head back he’s ready for me. I slowly and softly slide him in my mouth till my lips touch his base. I feel my drool building up and I lift off of him seeing my drool pool over him and he sighs deeply. I suck him slowly feeling him grow inside and our arousal for each other fill the air. Now creating my own rhythm of his pleasure. He had me under his spell, brainless, and weighted

#storytime #filthy smut #overstim nsft #me #daddy's good girl #sleepy girl

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gojoshooter · 2 years ago

Text

Helping you in a panic attack — Gojo Satoru

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Genre : heavy angst, hurt and comfort, sfw, a small millisecond of fluff at last?

A/N : Sorry if someone did this already, but i wanted to write something sad so bad lol.

WARNING : panic attack, self harm, mentions of blood, crying, tears, past abuse & bullying

“This is kinda big for you, huh,” Satoru says, kneeling on the bathroom tiles in front of you and rolling up the sleeves for a better fit.

You're not in the best state, sickness taking a toll on you in the middle of literature class. Satoru blames it all on how poorly you've dressed yourself so he asks for permission to bring you to the bathroom and put some of his.

Your wrists feel cold where he touches and his blue eyes freeze when his fingertips brush over something over your skirt pocket.

It's that bloody pen, the one that—

“Shit,” Satoru mutters.

It has been two years since you last saw them. The reason of your current panic attacks. Two years since your boyfriend reported them to the police for severe bullying case. Although they're gone, they did leave their evil habit to corrode you by yourself, untill you collapse of self deterioration. That is, if your boyfriend wasn't there by your side.

The bathroom's lights are dim but he can faintly make out where your skin is darker under his jacket that he made you wear, like it's bruised. He takes a long breathe. Satoru's fingers tremble as he goes to pull it out of your skirt.

“Stop! ” you shout suddenly, standing bolt upright from the closed toilet seat he made you sit on, eyes wet and unfocused.

He looks at you, and the only word Satoru can think of is broken. He feels protective over you all of a sudden. He's the only one in this world who knows what you've gone through, and there's no way he's not going to do something about it.

“y/n, please,” Satoru says, taking a step towards you. “Let me take that out. It's not good for you-”

“It is,” you're still shouting, voice cracking, taking multiple steps back, as if you're a cornered prey and Satoru is hunting you. “It is, you can't take it, you can't-”

“Give me the pen,” Satoru's chest aches. “Please, pup, you're hurting yourself.”

“I'm not hurting myself, it helps,” comes your croaked voice. You walk back, away from him, and then trip on something, probably the wet floor. You don't even try to get up. Just there, staring up at Satoru with those terrible, glassy eyes. It's coming, your panic attack — you can feel it. You don't want it again.

“You wouldn't understand,” you say like a stubborn kid accusingly. “So- j-just stop trying to act. You don't get, it helps, it's all I have--”

“No, you don't get it,” Satoru voice reaches an octave. There's something telling him he shouldn't be angry, that you're only lashing out because you're desperate, but Satoru is still Satoru. “Its crazy, the way you hurt yourself with that damn pen all day! ” His chest heaves but he needs to say more, finish this once and for all. He sees it, that godforsaken pen clutched like a candy in a kid's hand.

“It's not helping and for god's sake will you take it out and give it to me? ” Satoru's voice echoes in the dimly lit space and that's when he realizes he'd been shouting. Just like your father had been. It's deathly quiet then, just the soft buzz of a few fireflies dancing around the visible light.

He is breathing hard, gulping because he feels like he's choking. You're still on the floor and crying. Satoru did not want this.

You look so lost and pathetic, sitting on the cold bathroom tiles, trembling with suppressed sobs and fingers hooked under the pointed pen you stabbed your wrist with. He looks at you and you look heartbreakingly small. Satoru's anger leaves him in a moment.

“I'm sorry,” the white head says immediately, collapsing to his knees and gathering you into his arms. You don't move, just let your forehead rest on his shoulder like a limp mass and try to breathe.

“Fuck, I'm so sorry, babe,” he swallows, wrapping his arms tighter and feeling like the worst person in the world right now.

You stay there for a long time, minutes or hours or more, pressed against your boyfriend in the biting cold. You wonder how he's still keeping up with you. When you stop shaking, Satoru pulls back slightly to see your face.

You've definitely stopped crying but your eyes are no less of a void than before.

“Hey,” Satoru murmurs, and you lift your head a bit. He removes one arm from around you and places his hand on your cheek, still damp. Only then do you look at him, eyes confused, dazed. Your skin is soft with tears. Satoru feels like he has something incredibly precious in his arms, that's equally fragile.

He uses a thumb to wipe them up, leaning in so that your foreheads touch along with your nose. You blink.

“Let me? ” Satoru asks quietly, his warm palm around the silver metal pen forgotten in your hold. You swallow and nod, eyes still on Satoru's.

He pulls out the pen from your hand and places it behind him on the floor. “You don't need to hurt yourself,” Satoru says. “There are other ways.”

He has no idea whether you hear or even understand him.

“Stay over at mine,” Satoru says. He doesn't ask because he knows you won't answer him.

You both stand up and walk to his house. Your boyfriend holds your hand, which was unresponsive but warm.

When they get inside, Satoru's mom is at the island in the kitchen, leaning against the marble counter, reading something — presumably a philosophy book. She looks up as Satoru enters.

She stops when she notices you behind him, face scrunching into that of worry.

Satoru gives his mom the best 'don't ask' look which she being his mom, understands easily and nods.

“Let's go upstairs,” he tugs on your hand, and you trail behind the boy silently.

When you get into his room, Satoru offers you some of his clothes which you know will literally drown in just by looking at how big they look. He goes to the bathroom while you change, brushing his teeth and preparing for the bed. When he finishes, he comes out to see you standing in the middle of the room, scratching at your wrist. You look really small in his grey t-shirt and he finds the fact so adorable.

“Aren't you going to get into bed? ” Satoru says, and your head snaps up incredulously. Satoru, irrationally, blushes.

Yes, your little relationship hasn't gone much far yet.

“I'll sleep on the couch, don't worry,” he says quickly, nudging his chin at the fold-out he keeps in his room for when Geto & Shoko stay over after playing video games. “it's a pretty comfy couch. Don't have to think about me. And uh.. not that my bed's not comfy, 'cause it is. Everything's comfy.”

He regrets talking too much. Oh how he wishes to learn a technique that can close his big mouth.

He chuckles nervous and awkward and you get into his bed. You pull the covers over yourself, your line of shoulders still tense but he decides he can do nothing about that. He doesn't want to make you feel even more uncomfortable.

“G'night,” Satoru says, and turns off the light. He grabs a pillow and and lies down on the couch, tucking his blanket tightly around himself.

Now he can't really sleep, and judging by your odd breathing, neither can you.

“Satoru? ” You call out of nowhere, and it's so unexpected for him Satoru nearly falls off the side.

“Y-yeah? ” he replies.

Satoru's s heart is close to ripping out of his chest as his throat goes dry simultaneously.

“Do you still care? ” you ask after a pause. He doesn't say anything, so you elaborate for him in a more straight-forward way.

“Do you still like me? ”

“Yes ” he manages. It sounded more like a question, as if he expected you to go somewhere with that. Of course he still likes you, what were you thinking?

Satoru cranes his neck to look at you, whose posture under the covers seems to be more relaxed. He bites his lip on a smile.

A/N : they're still working on it :) feeling down? text me if a talk can help ♡ aaannddd! reblog if you enjoyed this hc! even likes are appreciated ^-^

P.S. : sorry if i did not make it clear what's up with the pen here, she used to stab herself with the pen on her wrist as a coping mechanism for her panic attacks (to ground herself!)

Tags : @luckimoon @ventiisoverparty

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dangerkittenclaws · 11 months ago

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plight of pandora pt2

johnny x simon x reader

word count: 2k!

warnings: hospital setting, barely there violence, brain injury, memory loss, swearing, fluffy ending, eventual poly smut - MDNI +18

a/n: woohoo, chapter 2! sorry for the long wait - i have little time that i get to myself these days, but i promise they'll keep coming!

In the helicopter, the medic was inserting an IV into your arm.

“-az? Where’s Gaz?” you slur a bit.

“He’s right behind you.” Price reassures you.

“I’m here. You’re doing so good, Panda.” You feel Gaz put a hand on your hip. You try to look over to him.

“I…’m sorry ‘bou the mission.”

Price answers for him, “It’s done and over with, don’t worry about that now Sergeant.”

“You heard the Captain.” Gaz smiles at you softly, ending all arguments from you.

Kyle is your buddy. You had met and gotten close to him first when you joined the 141. He had introduced you to everyone on base, accompanied you to trainings and sat next you in the mess hall until you were comfortable and had found your place. You learned quickly how to banter back and forth with him and the rest of the guys. Now you were ruthless and smart with your retorts, the worst of all of them.

You squeeze your eyes closed as the helicopter hits a bit of turbulence. It's the one thing you weren’t exactly fond of, flying. Your head pounds again. You can feel the blood in your brain pulsating from the beat of your heart. If the guys hadn’t reassured you, you would have thought your skull was exposed. Gaz’ hand squeezes over your hip again. You’re sure he was frowning without having to look.

“I’m going to give you some morphine, okay?” the medic says to you. “It might make her a bit sleepy but nothing too strong for now until we touch down.”

You weakly nod in appreciation.

You can feel a small flash of cold run through your arm from the saline flushes he uses. Its almost enough to make you shiver.

You realize there should be two more bodies in the helicopter. Your eyes shoot open to look down at your feet. There they are. Johnny and… that other man.

Johnny is watching you like a hawk, eyes full of shadowed panic.

He reaches out to you, “20 more minutes, lass, it’ll be over.” He knows you hate flying, more so probably in a prone position.

You try to focus on the other man as if he was going to disappear. He’s looking down at his clasped hands that are resting in between his knees. He looks like someone important. He looks sad. Because of me?

Your eyes start to feel heavy again but it feels different. It's not on your brains accord this time.

You glance at Price, asking silent permission to close them. You still don’t remember the man sitting at your feet. You don’t remember the mission. You barely remember your expertise. You’re scared that if you let yourself close your eyes you won’t remember anything.

You wake up to a barely lit room. It's easy on your head. Two black shadows are sitting next to you.

You instantly panic. They were surely the enemy waiting for you to wake up, waiting to interrogate you.

Your heart can’t help but speed up and it's heard clearly on the monitor next to you. You’re giving yourself away!

Your brain doesn't respond to your berating, only panicking more.

Oh fuck, one of them is moving slowly.

You hold your breath, maybe they’ll think you're still asleep and spare you.

They come closer to touch your wrist.

Your fist reacts before your brain can comprehend it.

“The fuck?” It says. The other figure jerks.

“Huh? Panda, it’s okay. It’s okay. Simmer down lass. It’s just us.” This one gets up fast.

The light blinds you. This is where they torture you, you’re sure.

You feel a warm hand on your face as well as tears. Again?

You open your eyes, scared to know the truth.

Oh.

It’s Johnny…and the man. He’s holding his chin over his balaclava. Shit, did you really hit the guy?

You wonder if they ever separate. Are they.. together?

Wait. Aren't you together with Johnny? You think hard about it. Maybe?

“Bonnie, you alright?”

“She checked me and you’re asking how she feels?” The man says laughing. At least he isn't angry.

“I.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Tears wet your face. The man walks back over to you. You feel guilty when he doesn’t touch you.

“I know, baby. It’s okay. I thought you were having a nightmare.”

“No.. I mean, yes, kind of?” You weren’t dreaming but it wasn’t real.

“Looks like someone is awake. Nice to meet you, Pandora. I’m Doctor Halverson, sounds like you’re a little confused,” A tall gentleman walks in taking careful control of the room.

You nod, surveying him as best as you can.

“Your brain CT scan shows that your head caught your fall pretty good, here, you’ve concussed and ended with a brain injury.” He points to the black and gray image on the computer screen he’s pulled up.

“Brain injury?” Johnny starts up.

“These things can be tricky with what you remember and what you don’t - but usually you will regain everything within the next few months. I’m going to send in a neurologist to have him go over some things to do and look out for. In the meantime, your wounds seem to be on the right track, your team did an excellent job.”

Simon's face falters, but quickly resumes his usual schooled expression. He glances at Johnny for reassurance.

“Will I… remember everything? I’ll be better?”

“Normally yes, we’ll put you on some medication to help cognitive function first, see how you do with that before we start anything else.”

You incline in agreement, trying to wrap the neurons in your brain around a situation that’s floating away.

Soon, you’re being taken carefully back to the condo the three of you share near the base. Johnny, Simon, and you.

It makes you nervous even though you know that the old you was comfortable here, living with two men. You had learned when you were in the hospital that indeed, you all were in a relationship. You weren’t opposed to the idea, they were after all, very attractive men. Simon, you learned, told you that they would take everything slow and make you comfortable as possible, to take it a day at a time.

“How about ordering in for a movie night, lass?” Johnny suggests, setting his and your bag down by the door as he toes his shoes off.

“Sure.” you say. It’s not really a wholehearted response. You’re tired of thinking and you want the decisions made for you.

Like he knows, Simon comes over and gently puts his hands atop your shoulders and starts to move them in a magical way that makes you slump into him slightly. You can hear the smile in his voice, “Sit down, love, you just try to relax for now.”

You nod again and sit down on the couch, sitting in the middle, not knowing that it was your favorite spot and had been molded to your frame over time.

“How about that little Indian place down the road? They have your favorite - butter chicken.” You glance back at him, brows drawn.

The confusion comes first, you don’t remember that. You don’t remember your first time having that delicious dish with the two of them on your third date.

Anger now heats up in your belly. Your glance turns into a cold glare, and again before you can properly breathe, you’re standing up, going into what you hope is the bathroom and slamming the door. Was he not in the room when the doctor uttered the words brain and injury?

Your anger simmers as you look up to yourself in the mirror. The moment your eyes reflect back, they fill with tears. Defeat replaces anger quickly within you. Your mind swirls with flashes of moments you assume were once important and meaningful.

“Panda, I’m sorry, please, I didn’t realize,” Johnny pleads behind the door. You can hear Simon whispering to him, telling him to give you space. You send a silent thank you to him and shut your eyes.

Breathing out, you turn the shower handle over and start to strip. You at least remember how to do basic tasks. Just don’t ask me to name parts of a gun or how the three of us met.

Your shower is as nearly as hot as it would go, turning you pink as you scrub your skin as if underneath the layers would be some sort of recollection. Your tears had long washed away, but the bitterness you felt lingered on your tongue. You realized you still had a bandage covering your abdomen. It wasn’t big, but the bruising around it was a hideous shade of purple.

The water finally turned frigid and goosebumps appeared on your skin. You took a deep breath and let it out, trying to breathe out the last few days of stress along with it. Opening the shower curtain, you see clean sweatpants, a tanktop and panties folded neatly on the counter. You grab a towel from the hook and dry off well before peeling off the wet bandage and replacing it with a new one from the box that was set behind your clothes. Eagerly, you put on the comfortable items. The sweatpants were a size too big, you noticed, just like you liked them.

You open the door to smell the warm, spicy aroma coming from past the living room. You inhale, trying to savor it, hoping it gets locked away in an active brain cell for later.

“There she is. Make yourself a plate, baby.” Simon looks to you from the couch, the two of them already half-way through with their own. Johnny looks down to his plate and back up to you, giving you a sweet, shy smile. You return it with a small upturn of your lips, granting him forgiveness even though you know it was really your own doing and hope he understands.

You’re grateful for the chance that Simon gives you to do things yourself. You nonchalantly pile your plate high with rice, rich and saucy chicken, and warm naan and make your way to the middle of the couch.

You arrange yourself to sit cross-legged as Johnny turns on House, MD. You do remember that. It’s your favorite TV show. It’s just engaging enough to watch intently but you’d seen it plenty of times to let it play as background noise if need be. You give him a big genuine smile this time, “I do remember this, though, Johnny… thank you.”

You feel less like a stranger tonight as you get settled in between the two of them and start to eat. Hours pass into the night with light conversation; some added blankets and a few episodes later, the three of you cuddle into each other like any other night. You lay on Johnny’s chest with your feet over Simon’s lap. The darkness behind your eyes gets heavier by the minute as does the fear in your heart. You start to anxiously rub your feet together until Simon puts his hand over them.

A few minutes pass by as you fidget until you give up your words.

“What if.. What if I don’t remember it all? What if I don’t remember you or my job or-” you whisper, breaths coming quickly now. Johnny instantly sits up a bit bringing you along with him. “Bonnie, it’s not going to come in an instant. I know you want it to. I know you’re scared but you heard the doctor. It’s going to be a minute and we’re going to be here with you every step of the way.” Your breath hitches at his first words, anxiety running through you. His hand rubs your back up and down in an effort to get your breathing calmer.

“Johnny’s right love. It’s not going to hit you like a mack truck one day. It’ll be bits and pieces until the puzzle is back together. I promise, my Panda.” Simon lifts your chin up to look you in the eye, and wipes away tears that had escaped. You fall in love with his lips again as he speaks to you, you remember them from the night he stitched you up.

You acquiesce and Johnny lays you back down on top of him. Your eyes start to close again and you reach out to grab his forearm and bring it to your chest. You are far too tired to remember, but you had always slept with your hands around his arm, snug against your chest.

Taglist: @glossysoap, @bookobsessedram, @ohworm-writes

#dangerkittenclaws #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader #call of duty x reader

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phoenixs-fandoms-and-writings · 1 year ago

Text

Being Around You Makes Me Feel Better

Fandom: Harry Potter - Marauders Era

Pairing: James Potter/Reader

Character: James Potter

Summary: You have a bad day, where you hate yourself and the way you look. You sneak into James’ bed in his dorm and thats where he finds you and spends time trying to make you feel a bit better or at the very least forget for now.

Reader is autistic and so am I.

Notes: I don’t own Harry Potter or its characters. I also don’t believe JKR’s beliefs. This account is safe place for all.

I do not give permission to anyone to repost or translate any of my stories. I also do not give anyone permission to feed my stories through AI or to be posted to any third party website or app. If anyone sees any of my work posted anywhere but here or my AO3 (simplyreflected), then it has been posted without permission.

Posted on AO3 here.

You couldn’t help it. When everyone left for classes, you crept into the Marauders dorm and climbed into James’ bed. You stayed there all day. You felt safe surrounded by his scent and his things. You knew that he could always make you feel better, but you pulled the blankets up to your neck. That's where you stayed as you cried yourself to sleep.

You woke to the sound of the door opening and someone gasping. You didn’t care who it was, if they spoke to you, you’d just ask for James. You only wanted your best friend.

You didn’t hear the sounds of anyone approaching, but when you see them crouch down and see James himself in front of you, you whisper, “Jamie, you’re here.”

“Hey love,” he whispers back in response. He waves his wand and a glass of water appears in his hand. He hands it to you, and you drink it, before he waves it away as he looks at you sadly, “What’s wrong?”

“Jamie, I hate myself. I need you. Being around you makes me feel better.”

He smiled at you softly before he asked, “can I climb in with you?”

You hum in response as you open the blankets for him. You let go of them as he takes off his shoes and then climbs in next to you. He wraps the blanket around both of you, before he wraps his arms around you.

“Why do you hate yourself, love?”

“I feel fat. I look ugly. I can’t stand looking in the mirror. I don’t think anyone but you really likes me.”

“I need you to look at me, lovey,” James told you kindly, which made it hard to resist, you looked up at his beautiful and kind blue eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you didn’t lie about that. He was the only person you knew you could trust to tell you the truth, even on days like today, when you didn’t even trust yourself.

“Then trust me when I say this,” he tells you honestly as you look at different parts of his face; seeing his beauty, since looking in people’s eyes for too long would become uncomfortable. He didn’t mind and you knew that, as long as you listened. “You are the most beautiful person I know; inside and out. You may not believe it, but I’ll prove it and show you everyday, because I wish I could date someone like you.” He paused as you stopped looking at him and cuddled into him. “No, not someone like you. I wish I could have the courage when you’re not having a day like this, but I want to date you.”

“What about Lily?”, you whispered back.

“What about he-,” he cut himself off, before slowly saying, “I haven’t been flirting with her.” He kissed the top of your head. “I was flirting with you, but when they first asked me, I was embarrassed to say I was flirting with you. You were right there. I was worried you’d reject me and we’d go from being best friends to being awkward around each other to being people the other used to know.

“Jamie,” you knew he could hear the catch in your throat and that he’d probably realise you’d been crying, but they were no longer sad tears. “I’ve loved you since second year.”

He paused. “Really?”

You smiled and nodded, “yeah.” You paused cuddling into his warmth and yawned, lifting one of your hands to cover your mouth.

You listened as he told you, “I’ll spend the rest of my life showing and telling you how much I love you.”

You yawned again and he kissed the top of your head again, and rubbed your back as you whispered, “I love you, James.”

As you fell asleep, you could’ve sworn he whispered, “I love you too, angel.”

———————————

LATER THAT DAY

———————————

You woke up later that day still in James’ arms, with him holding you really close to him. One of his arms was rubbing your back gently and the other holding you as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

You hummed contentedly and James whispered, “Love, are you awake?”

You hummed again before yawning and then answered, “yeah, Jamie. Just woke up.”

“I have something I want to officially ask you,” he asked as you moved up slightly so the two of you were face to face.

You lifted your hand up to his cheek, he sighed and closed his eyes, “what is it?”

He opened his eyes, kissed your palm before asking, “I love you and from what you said before, you love me.” He paused and you nodded before he finally asked, “will you go out with me?”

Slowly you started smiling as you moved your hand down to his waist, hugging him, before you answered, “yes, I’d love to.”

You moved closer to him and pecked his lips.

“Do you feel any better now, my love?”

You looked at him as he cupped your cheek, closing your eyes and enjoying his touch. “Whenever you're around, I always feel better. I’m not back to 100% but you make me feel safe and you’ve always found a way to silence the voices. However, unlike today, it's usually your antics or the pranks that help to silence them enough that I stop paying attention to them as much.”

He smiled, before he moved closer, kissing you, with so much love and affection that you melted against him, before he pulled back.

“Are you hungry?”

You think for a moment before your stomach rumbles, answering for you.

He smiled before he kissed you. When he pulled back, he looked in your eyes, “I’ll go get us some food, my love. Is there anything specific that you’d like?”

You told him what you felt like eating and he smiled, before he said, “I’ll be back soon. Wait here?”

“Where else would I want to be?”

He gave you a peck on the cheek before he left, which made you blush. When he came back, he sat next to you before calling one of the house elves, who appeared with trays of food which slowly levitated over to the bed.

Both of you thanked the house elf before they disappeared.

He smiled at you before he leaned over to give you a quick kiss. The two of you ate and just spent the rest of the evening together.

Even when the rest of the guys came in, he just held you close as he talked to them. You joined in the conversation at times, and they were just as happy as always to see you.

That was one thing you loved about his friends; even before you became friends with them, they always included you when you were with James. All of them made you feel welcomed. With that thought, you turned and kissed James’ cheek and snuggled more into his side.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders era #marauders era fanfiction #james potter #james potter fanfiction #hurt/comfort #james potter x you #james potter x reader #friends to lovers #insecure reader #autistic reader #autistic author

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danikamariewrites · 1 year ago

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Trapped

Lucien x reader

A/n: part 2 to Fox Hunter! I was so happy so many people liked this fic and I hope you like part 2. I love Elain so breaking her heart killed me but it had to happen sadly.

Warnings: dark!reader, manipulation, angst

Three months. It took three months for my brother to mess things up. It’s my own fault, really. I did not take into account the amount of time he had spent with Gwyn. When the bond snapped for them Azriel left Elain. It’s been weeks now. Azriel and Gwyn have been in the cabin in the mountains since. Elain wont even come out of her room.

Today Feyre had had enough. A loud knock sounded on the front door, I open it to find a disheveled Feyre. She has bags under her eyes, her hair pulled up in a ponytail to hide the knots forming in her sandy locks. Her shoulders are slumped in defeat as she shuffles inside. I felt bad for her. She shouldn’t have to be dealing with Elain’s mess of a life, she had already done so much for her sisters.

I hold my arms out to pull her into a comforting hug. Feyre slumps against me as a sob shakes her body. “I can’t take it y/n. I know she’s hurting but this is irrational.” I rub her back slowly, my eyes fluttering shut as I prepare myself for what Feyre is about to ask me. “Elain won’t speak to me or Nesta anymore. Nesta tried today but she asked for you. Will you please talk to her?”

Resting my hands on her shoulders I pull away from Feyre. “Yes, anything to help Elain. She’s my friend and I hate seeing her in pain like this.”

When I arrive at the River House later that day I spot Lucien and Cassian speaking in hushed tones by the staircase. As I pass them I send Lucien a wink and a small smile that he returns. Making my way up the stairs I can smell the salt of Elain’s tears. Taking a deep breath I mentally prepare myself to step into the role of friend.

I knock on the door and enter without her permission. “Elain,” my voice comes out sweet and caring. I just want the girl to stop crying. She sniffled and stood from her bed. Elain pulled herself up to her full height, holding her chin up high. A scowl graces her lips as she stares daggers at me. “Elain?” I ask tentatively.

“I asked for Lucien. I wanted to take it all back but then Nesta told me he was with you. Your scents were mixed.” Elain was trembling at this point. “You did this. You wanted Lucien and you made me break the bond with him!” She was screaming at this point. I knew my look of shock was genuine by Elain’s dark laugh. “Oh. My. Gods. I knew it! You did this to me on purpose!”

“I told you to follow your heart! Never once did I tell you to break the bond.” Elain started screaming bloody murder. She started pacing like a mad woman, gripping at the roots of her hair. Thundering footsteps rush up the stairs. Before I could say anything to claim my innocence Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, and Nesta burst through the door. “What’s going on?” Rhys yells.

Elain stops her pacing pointing a threatening finger at me. “Y/n did this to me! She took Lucien from me! Made me break the bond!” I turn to my family with a worried gaze. “I didn’t…I told her to do what was right I never meant for this.” Nesta rushed past me into Elain’s bathroom. Elain continues rambling until Nesta comes back with a small vile. Uncorking it, she forces the liquid down Elain’s throat.

The girl went limp in her sister’s arms. Slurring her words until her eyes flutter shut and she’s completely unconscious. Cassian takes Elain from Nesta to lay her on the bed. Rhys takes my hands, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I didn’t know this would happen,” I whisper out. Again, forcing tears to line my eyes. “Elain is my friend I’d never do this.”

“I know sister. Mating bonds are fragile things. The breaking of it with Lucien and Azriel leaving with Gwyn must be taking its toll on her emotionally.” Rhys said somberly. “I think it’s best we stay away for a while.” Rhys agreed and granted Lucien and I a leave of absence.

I rush back downstairs, a new spring in my step at the thought of spending time alone with Lucien away from the Night Court. As I stepped into the sitting room Lucien stood from the couch. “How is she?” Concern etched on his beautiful face. I hold his face in my hands slowly rubbing circles with my thumbs on his cheeks. I give my love a sympathetic frown. “Not well. I think everything is finally taking its toll on her, poor thing. It hurts to see her like this.” Lucien pulls me into a warm embrace. I rest my head against his strong chest, his steady heartbeat soothing my anxiety about this whole situation.

At least none of them believe Elain. Why would my brothers question me after five hundred years of love and loyalty. And they truly believe the poor girl is psychotic. Helping me evade doubt.

“Rhysand is letting us take a leave of absence. We could use a break for a while.” I lean away from Luc to gage his reaction. He flashes me that dazzling smile that makes my knees go weak. “I’d love that.” I pull him down to meet my lips in a sweet kiss. Breaking apart he rests his forehead against mine. “How about we go to Day for a while? My father asked me to visit, now is the perfect time.”

I smile at the thought of us in Day Court fashion. Walking around the palace, visiting the many libraries, and relaxing by the beaches. Peace. We’d have peace in Day, a chance to get lost in each other. “That sounds perfect.”

Lucien gives me one last kiss before heading to his office to write to Helion. I returned to the Town House to pack our bags as I daydream about a life for us in Day.

tagging: @thelov3lybookworm

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #lucien vandaddy #lucien x you #lucien x reader #lucien acotar #lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra x you #Lucien vanserra acotar #lucien fic #Lucien fanfic

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aroacesafeplaceforall · 8 months ago

Note

i wanted to talk about my relationship with my sexual/romantic orientation (aspec), so i guess im sharing my expierence (cw i talk a lot about sex)

so im asexual, i dont think i feel sexual attraction at all. however i was looking into microlabels (i prefer only using the label asexual but i wanted to know if there was a microlabel that fitted my expierence better, even if i didnt planned on using them), i did not find one that fit me. i dont want to have sex. however i masturbate (when i ovulate/have a lot of pain, i have chronic pain and masturbation is a natural pain reliever, i actually found about that in tumblr from another asexual with chronic pain and it help me a lot when meds werent working), so i was thinking maybe i fit the aegosexual label, but from what i hear, in the "fantasies" you dont think about yourself doing it. i do picture myself doing it but not bc i want to? like, i picture myself having sex but in the """fantasy""" i dont enjoy said sex but i do it anyway. is that weird? i think its because i know i will never enjoy sex if i have it and i cant think of other people having sex bc it feels weird? intrusive? sexualizing them? (even if they are fictional character)

and like, i like to do this, but i cannot read smut or watch people naked in movies, or not even naked, but you know when they make you think ina movie/show two people are having sex but they never show it show it, only the socially acceptable and the rest is cover by a blanket/camara tricks. i cannot watch that. which i find rather weird cause i have no problem with sexual fantasies about me but i cannot handle actually seeing sexual content

i always see the labels, sex repulsed, sex neutral and sex positive and i have no idea which of them i am bc i fit in none of them

also, i have no idea how to differentiate aesthetic attraction from gender envy (im in a gender crisis)

also, i dont know if i want a relationship bc im romance positive or if i want a relationship bc of amanormativity

bc i have romantic fantasies, but most of them are other people reaction to the relationship, which makes me think im not actually fantasing about a romantic relationship, im fantasing about fitting society rules. however, i do enjoy a lot those scenarios.

also, i think dating would be fun? like, going on dates, cuddling, holding hands, sharing talks at 3am, but i can do those same things with my best friend, but it doesnt feel like the same cause I know one he will find a girlfriend or a boyfriend or a partner and it will be over (plus, i wont cuddle with him, it would be weird, but like a different person). maybe a queerplatonic relationship is what i want?

i want to cuddle. i love that.cuddling with femenine-built bodies is different than masculine-built bodies. i dont know if that was the right way to say it. i want to cuddle with both depending on the mood.

and thats kinda my view of romance. i want a partner to cuddle. thats it.

sorry for all the vent, i wanted to see if i was the only one or share or something like that, i dont know, thanks for bothering to read

hey anon, that sounds rough. if you need advice do ask, i dont want to give some without permission as i prefer to let people vent.

#asks #ask #vent #aroace #asexual #aromantic #ace #aro

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the-jesus-pill · 5 months ago

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i was never religious, but i find myself struggling with obsessive feelings of guilt anyway. this is an issue i know is common among people raised christian, especially catholics, so i was wondering if you might have any resources to help unlearn that kind of thing!

It's really sad how guilt is such a common thing. I think everyone has it, religious or not and it's a problem that lies deep in society. You're right, a lot of it is due to religion and in many, many cultures, religion shape society as well.

Obsessive guilt, especially when it's without cause, can often stem from anxiety. We're taught that feeling guilty is supposed to teach us something, to show us where we fucked up and that can make the anxiety worse because if we're feeling guilty then we must've done something, right?

But a good practice when you're feeling overwhelmed is asking yourself, who is this helping?

Is it motivating you to fix anything? Or is it crippling you? Does anyone benefit from you feeling guilty right now? Usually the answer is no. You are not making the world a better place by feeling like shit.

And you can tell yourself its okay to let go of these feelings or ignore them. They're not helpful, they're not protecting you and you have permission to distract yourself until they go away. Nothing bad will happen when you do.

Even if you're feeling guilty over things you DID do, something that happened a long time ago or something you already apologized/made up for. It's in the past and it's likely the other person has already moved on and/or forgiven you. Again, not useful guilt, it's only hurting you and you can move on with your life.

Anxious thoughts are often like intrusive thoughts, they get stuck and the more attention you give them the stronger they can get.

Here's what has helped me

Saying out loud "stop" or "I'm not going to be thinking about that" when I start to spiral. It takes the situation out of your head. Same with a clap or a snap or just a loud exhale. Bring yourself back into your body, aka ground yourself when you feel like you're spiraling into an anxiety or guilt fueled episode.

Talking it out with myself. Why do I feel guilty? Is this reasonable? Can I fix anything? What do I expect myself to do? Am I trying to punish myself? Who is this helping?

Distracting myself. I recommend media that will actively engage you instead of media that you put on for background noise.

Standing up for yourself. Tell yourself you're trying your best and you need to get off your case about it. Tell your guilt to stop being an asshole, like what does it want you to do? You're human and you can't do everything right.

Journaling - a clich�� but hear me out. When you have obsessive thoughts, it helps to get them out of your head and put them somewhere else. This is why people recommend talking to friends or a therapist, for example. But that's not always possible so you can take a pen and you dont have to do anything fancy. You dont have to make it pretty, you can just write, "I'm feeling guilty/I can't stop thinking about x/I have these thoughts and they make me feel x" and then close the journal and do something else.

You are not morally obligated to feel guilty for the rest of your life and it will not make the world a better place or you a better person. You can just let it go.

It's easier said than done but with practice it really works.

I hope some of this advice helped you! Good luck! You deserve to have a happy and carefree life and it IS possible! You're strong enough to unlearn what hurts you.

#anonymous #asks #guilt #recovery #felix speaks #self help #religious guilt

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esta-elavaris · 1 year ago

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Part Twelve [2,590 words] ~ James Norrington/OC

An AU of my completed, 400k+ word fanfic Catch the Wind [AO3], in which Elizabeth, not James, is the one to discover Theodora Byrne after she crash-lands into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Page breaks by cafekitsune.

Also now on AO3 and FF.net.

Masterpost - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - *Part Twelve* [you're here!]

Tag list [let me know if you want to be added!]: @missfronkensteen @teawithshakespeare @dancerinthestorm

"I have a surprise for you."

Norrington looked aghast at her words, and Theo grinned, laughing and quickly continuing before he could get up and sprint back to the Interceptor. Or maybe just directly into the ocean. Whatever he continued to be the swiftest form of escape.

"You can relax, it's not for you. But you had a pretty big hand in it, so I wanted you to be the first to see it."

"The necklace?"

It could never be said that he wasn't shrewd. Or that she didn't have a way or making things painfully obvious, she supposed.

"The necklace," she confirmed, sifting through her skirts until she found the pockets sewn within.

"Wouldn't I be the third to see it, then? Behind Turner and yourself?"

"If I knew that you were going to be like this about it, you'd have been the twentieth."

"The twenty-first would've been too insulting?"

"Had to save a spot for Amelia."

"I shall keep the rest of my comments to myself, so I'm not catapulted further still down the list."

"Mm – any more snark and I'd have to put you square behind taking it to the cells in Fort Charles to show the folk there before I let you see it."

"In which case I would have to give permission – which I would only bestow if you allowed me to see the necklace, as recompense."

"I bow down to a skilled tactician," she said drily.

Of course, her deadpan humoured was dulled a bit by the smile on her face, but she couldn't help it. Who could have ever thought that the inscrutable James Norrington would ever be willing to sit and chat nonsense with her – unbegrudgingly, and with a smile on his face? It beggared belief. And she enjoyed it more than she should.

"It's not an exact replica. They're not so much twins as sisters, but I kind of like that," she explained, drawing the little cloth pouch from her skirts. "It'd be a bit to twee if we were cutting about in matching jewellery."

"Cutting about?"

"Yes, yes, she speaks like a weird little commoner, we know this."

"I was not mocking you," he said simply.

He looked tempted to add something else and she waited patiently for him to do so, but when he finally did, she had the feeling it wasn't what he originally intended to say.

"Must I beg, if I wish to see this necklace?"

"Is that an offer?"

"No," came his emphatic response.

Theo laughed, unwrapping it and then dangling it by the chain before him. The pendant was around the same size as her own, and shone just as brightly, but with small curling designs running along the edges of the shape. Will had explained the reasoning for this – something to do with imperfections in the only silver he'd been able to squirrel away for use, and how this disguised them. But they were very pretty, so she'd hardly been inclined to complain in the first place.

He looked at the necklace – truly looked at it, rather than just fixing his eyes in its general direction for a polite amount of time before he went on to rattle off some sort of canned, polite compliment. The action made Theo more nervous than she let on. Sure, she'd borrowed some of Elizabeth's jewellery here and there for social gatherings, but he'd spent his whole life surrounded by the fashions and the ways of this time. If something was up with the necklace, he'd see it immediately.

Once upon a time, she would have expected him to therefore voice it immediately, too. But now she honestly couldn't say whether she'd expect that from him or not – for he was kinder than she'd first realised. Even if he probably wouldn't thank her for pointing it out.

"It's a fine piece," he said, holding it up to the light and nodding with approval that appeared perfectly sincere. "I'm sure Miss Swann will be ecstatic."

"I hope she will be. It's just such a relief to finally be able to do something nice for her," she admitted, accepting the necklace back.

He cleared his throat, perhaps uncomfortable with the sincere tone their conversation was taking, then he hesitated for a moment before he spoke.

"You must know that neither of the Swanns would hold any expectation in that regard."

"Of course I do. That just makes it worse. If they begrudged what they gave me, I'd feel less bad about it."

"Ireland must be a strange land indeed," he snorted.

Although there was something in his tone that suggested he knew exactly what she meant.

"No," she sighed, only half-joking. "Just me."

Thankfully, he chose that moment to steer them into less choppy, awkward waters.

"I'm curious. You're well-read, and you mentioned missing your books from home. What do you ordinarily read?"

Had she not been trying to rein in a very mortifying bout of emotions, she might've realised how that had the potential to be a dangerous question – given the time discrepancy.

"Whatever I can get my hands on. It depends on my mood. History…"

By that, she meant salacious autobiographies of her favourite musicians.

"…Philosophy…"

That one, at least, he could take at face value.

"…Horror," she added.

"Horror?" he frowned.

Well. It looked like that hadn't been invented yet. Great. Although she shouldn't have really been surprised, she supposed – what book invented it? He'd been pretty generous in describing her as well-read, but she wasn't an expert on literature, nor educated on it enough to know when certain genres began or how. She could guess that horror began as gothic literature and morphed a bit, and it did seem a bit early even for that. Although she wasn't sure what signs she could look for. Amelia stomping about the town in Demonia platforms and black lipstick? Annoyingly, she'd probably be able to pull it off.

Alas, she'd dug herself into this hole now – so she might as well start making it hospitable.

"Horror – stories of…of ghosts, and the supernatural, and of people who do terrible things."

"It hardly sounds like the stuff of recreational reading."

"It makes sense, once you dig into it."

"By all means, explain it to me."

From anybody else, it might've felt condescending. Hell, from him it would have been condescending only a few weeks ago. But instead, as he spoke, he watched her with open curiosity – with expectation. Not because he was waiting for her to make an absolute tit out of herself, but because he genuinely expected that what she was about to say might be interesting. From James Norrington, that was damn high praise.

"It…it provides a safe avenue to explore those feelings," she cringed at how new-age faux-intellectual that sounded, especially to someone who had actually fought in battles out at sea, and quickly continued. "For someone who's never experienced real fear, or real danger, if they get really engrossed in a story full of those things, they experience that fear. Obviously to a far, far lesser extent, but it's something. It's better than nothing. I'm not saying a book'll turn them into some grizzled war veteran-"

"Like myself?" he asked drily.

"You're not grizzled," she snorted. "Reading horror is just…microdosing danger."

"Microdosing danger?"

Was she hallucinating, or was that an amused smile on his face? One that wasn't even grudging? God, she was at risk of swooning.

"Yeah, like-"

"I can guess your meaning well enough, even if I've never heard the phrasing before."

"Look at us, bridging the language barrier. You've a promising career in diplomacy ahead of you."

"By God, I hope not. If you'd been paying attention, you would have seen that my skill lies in conflict."

"So does diplomacy, really."

"Diplomats cannot utilise cannons in their work."

"Maybe you could be the first."

He rolled his eyes and she couldn't help but laugh fondly, wrenching them back to the topic at hand. There was only so much of her nonsense that he'd willingly tolerate before he excused himself, and she enjoyed his company.

"There's something thrilling about it, too. Scaring yourself when there isn't anything real to be scared of. Monsters, evil, the like. It can be exciting."

"Spoken like one who has never encountered monsters, nor evil," he said flatly.

"You don't know what I've seen."

She meant the words to be teasing – referring to what she knew lay ahead, perhaps, or maybe just the sight of her dad's brothers-in-arms hungover on a Sunday morning. James didn't laugh, which wasn't that surprising, but nor did he roll his eyes. Instead, he looked…well, not quite stricken, but suddenly very solemn indeed, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly for a moment before he forced his lips together. Bowing his head, he cleared his throat and then looked back at her again, very much the solemn Captain Norrington.

"You are right – I do not. My apologies."

Theo blinked in surprise. She'd gotten fairly decent, although far from infallible, when it came to gauging her daft little jokes here, but Norrington's sincere and solemn response caught her off guard. Not least because he watched her keenly now. Was there something she should be saying?

"Er…don't worry about it. I was only being silly."

He continued looking at her for a few long moments, and she couldn't help but feel like whatever he'd wished for her to say, that hadn't been it.

Governor Swann was holding a dinner party that evening – for the seniormost men in Port Royal who were about to make sail. It was a tradition that the Governor himself had founded shortly after arriving in Port Royal, ensuring that the men about to leave at least got one good meal in, as well as a bit of entertaining company, before they went off to see to their duty. Ordinarily, it was something James merely endured. Yes, he often found he enjoyed the evenings more than he expected to, but that lack of expectation seldom had anything to do with the company he would find there.

He'd more than earned his reputation of being a man of duty. Whatever minor gripes he had with how they extended to whispers that he had no sense of humour, or that he could find no joy in anything but duty, he could roll his eyes and brush off such comments. Not least because of the small amount of truth in them – for on the nights before he was due to leave Port Royal, he simply had no desire to spend the last of his time making small-talk in drawing rooms. No, he would much prefer to instead spend it making sure that everything was in order, including his thoughts, before he left.

This voyage would require no extensive preparations. It was more of a patrol than a real mission. A short journey through the surrounding waters, aimed at both ensuring those waters were safe, maintaining a tangible presence for any foul eyes who may be watching with malintent, and to stop their wits from dulling during extensive time inland.

Still, James found himself disgruntled at what lay ahead…and all because of a conversation he'd had with Governor Swann himself, that morning as they walked the battlements of Fort Charles.

"Elizabeth is ecstatic at the prospect of tonight – it's her first chance to show off her gift from Miss Byrne. I don't suppose you've seen it?"

"No," he lied. "I have not. What is it?"

If he told the truth of the matter, there ran a real risk of credit being attributed to him, and not Miss Byrne. He had no risk to detract from her victory. Not when he'd seen how jubilant it made her.

"A necklace – a pretty little trinket, to be sure. It won't be featured next to the Crown Jewels any time soon, but the sentimental value behind the piece far outshines those in the eyes of my daughter."

James chuckled. "I'm sure it does."

"Truth be told, I was worried about the influence our guest may have on her, but I've discovered those worries were all for naught. Miss Byrne has certainly brightened up her days considerably. Thick as thieves, those two."

"Good. I'm glad."

Worryingly, he found he even meant that. Mostly.

"You never know, perhaps Miss Byrne will find herself a suitor during one such evening as tonight."

Stilling, James blinked and looked up at the Governor. "A suitor?"

"Come, Captain," the Governor chuckled, misunderstanding his shock. "She has her eccentricities, but she's fair. Some may even profess to find her charming, in her way. If we cannot find her father, and if he does not find us, or if he cannot find us, God help him, we must…look to the future. She could do far worse for herself than a strapping young lieutenant. Although, I grant you, it would have to be one with good humour."

There were only two lieutenants who came to mind at all, and the latter part of Governor Swann's statement firmly ruled out Gillette from the running. Although he had to admit, it would make a good show to see Gillette trying to woo a woman such as Theodora Byrne. But Groves? The notion of Groves doing so filled him with less humour. And how could it not, he reasoned? They knew nothing of her background, nor how that background may impact whether she was eligible at all. That was the source of his discomfort. Nothing more.

The memory of the conversation had James' lips thinning. Hopefully Governor Swann had less of a stomach for matchmaking than his daughter did.

Ordinarily, this turn of events would have been a great help. Elizabeth could no longer fill her mind with misguided notions regarding himself and Theodora if Miss Byrne was occupied with the attentions of Groves, that much was true. It would have been an exceedingly neat little solution. One, he was sure, he would have personally encouraged – were it not for the extraneous factors.

And as for those extraneous factors, he was certain – truly certain – that he was getting somewhere. You don't know what I've seen. When they'd first met, she never would have admitted such a thing aloud to him. This camaraderie that had grown between them, that very same camaraderie that surprised him in how little he had to feign or resort to pretence in order to achieve it, and worried him in how natural and easy it felt, was working.

Was it wrong for him to find happiness in that? More than the mere satisfaction in achieving an important aim, but the true pleasure in having gained the confidence of a woman – a person – who had shown themselves to be truly decent, whatever her secrets? For he was good at sniffing out artifice and foul intentions, and while Theodora had some of the former about her, she had none of the latter. Today, he'd almost even slipped up and admitted that he liked her strange little idioms and turn of phrase, but he held himseld back. Thankfully. For that could very well be misread, and spook her. And when she did finally confide in him, as he was growing more and more hopeful that she would, he would in turn finally be able to help her.

The notion of Groves swooping in and courting her was just that. A mere notion. A passing possibility planted in his mind by an errant comment of Governor Swann's – a fleeting comment he probably now had no recollection of making, for it meant so little. It was not set in stone, and it only bothered James personally because he might undo the progress he was making here. That was all.

Yes. That was all.

#catch the wind #ctw #james/theodora #fallen through time esta-elavaris #ftt #james norrington/oc #james norrington x oc #pirates of the caribbean fanfiction #pirates of the caribbean fanfic #potcfic #james norrington fanfiction #james norrington fanfic

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cccc-aus · 8 months ago

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Welcome!

To whom it may concern, welcome to the Chonny Jash AU Blog, as created by @markeronacomputer!

Now, the Chonny Jash fandom, from what I’ve seen, is a place where AUs run rampant. This fandom can never have enough of them: so I decided, why not have a place where you can share information about these to all those willing to listen? Well, a place more specific than Tumblr itself, that is.

Hence, the creation of this blog: a place where you’re free to rant on and on about them for as long as you like… well, not TOO long.

Here’s the basic gist of it:

You can submit your AUs to me, and in enough time I will post your submission for the rest of the fans to obsess over

However, you can ALSO ask me to expand on an AU idea you have. I will never (and by ‘never’ I mean ‘try to restrain myself from’) expand on an AU without permission, but if you give me a prompt for what the AU is about, I’ll try to respond with how I would handle it.

And that’s about it! However, a few things to note:

Please keep in mind that I refrain from shipping stuff due to its controversial nature in this fandom (don’t have anything against it, just don’t want to cause drama).

Also, if the AU in question is a crossover with a piece of media I’m unfamiliar with, I can’t help you either. (Obviously I can’t list all the media I’m familiar with though, so this complicates things, but… anyways.)

The asks will only be open at certain intervals. My hyperfixations tend to come and go at random, so even if the blog is open, there is no guarantee that I will respond immediately. However, I will try my best to answer as soon as possible.

— Signed, Yours Truly, Marker

#Chonny jash #cccc #cj #chonny jash au #cj au #chonny’s charming chaos compendium #chonnys charming chaos compendium #cccc au #ask blog

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only-lonely-stars · 6 months ago

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Sir Cole's Pledge

Oneshot – (FFN) (AO3)

Part of the @ninjago-fairy-tale-au!

Summary:

Once upon a time, there was a knight and a queen. The knight had gone away, promising to return, and the queen had waited. Now he was home, with a pledge to make: it was time to stay with her. Set after Hair as Gold as Straw and Once Upon A Dream.

His father would be either ashamed or proud of his behavior if he saw him now. Sir Cole Brookstone, the Knight of Shintaro, did not care either way. He did not mind what others might think of this moment, for even if they were to know, this was not their business. No, as it stood, this was only for two to know; himself, and the woman he loved.

After his return to Shintaro, and to his duty as its knight, Cole had not strayed from Queen Vania's side. He had told her all his tales, of how he had striven to return. As it stood, he had helped to awake Princess Harumi, and he had also awakened his father, despite how long it took. He had made amends, and asked for his father's blessing, which he had received. As he returned to Shintaro, he did other deeds as well, caring for whomever needed help on his journey home– for she was home to him. Now, emboldened by such promise and the gift of his mother's ring, he knelt before Vania on the lovely slopes of Shintaro's silver mountains.

As he knelt, Vania looked down at him, her gaze resting nowhere save for his form. "You did everything you swore to do," she murmured.

"I did." He looked back at her, with her golden hair silhouetted against the sky.

"You came back, despite pain and struggle." She smiled. "What noble deeds you have done since you left me..."

"I did them only so that I might come back in good faith, as I have." He took her hand in his two, almost reverent in his touch. "I sought my father's blessing, that I might honor you by it, and my family would be no disgrace."

"Your family could not be a disgrace," she murmured, cupping his face in her free hand, enjoying how his stubble scratched it. "Even if it were, I would not care."

"Yet it is not." He struck up his courage as she smiled at him, emboldened too by her touch and her smile. "Vania, I have a question, if you'll permit me to ask it. A request."

She did not hesitate. "Ask me for anything, and I will give it to you. Even Shintaro itself."

He smiled at her immediate permission and steeled himself again, finding it less difficult this time. "...Vania, I have never known myself to have a place where I wished to stay, but at your side I find it. To be at your right hand would be all I wish to have, and to hold your heart." He kissed her hand, as gentle as he could be. "You are the one I wish to love until all else fails, whether time or sorrow or destruction should come, and to defend with my life if need be. Now I ask… will you let me?"

Her smile broadened, as if to hide the unshed tears that made her eyes sparkle like sapphire. "You wish to stay with me forever?"

"I do, until some higher power deems my life ended." He smiled back, admiring her angelic beauty. "My queen, my life, my love… I wish to be yours as you would be mine."

At that, she laughed, the joyful sound like bells as hope stirred in her heart at his smile. "Cole, please. Say what you want clearly, lest I think you wish to marry me."

He chuckled, and stood. Now he was closer to her, even as the closeness made both their minds race and hearts stir in anticipation. "My dearest Vania… that is exactly what I wish for, if you would have me."

She drew in a deep breath, looking into his dark eyes with unhampered hope, and upon the features which she saw so often in her dreams. "That is truly what you want?"

"With all my heart and soul." He put his hand into his pocket, and slowly withdrew a golden ring, set with simple onyx that made her pause to marvel. "I know it is nothing compared to the riches of Shintaro, but when I visited him, my father entrusted me with my mother's band. It is yours, if you wish it."

She smiled at it, and then at him, absolute joy overtaking her. She struggled to find words, but there were none, and there was nothing to do but to kiss him deeply. She held him in her two hands, just enough to hold him there, and to impress the very surface of the chaotic emotions that overtook her. He did not protest, embracing her in return, accepting the affection until she broke away with a beaming grin.

When it ended, he smiled at her with unshielded hope, already knowing the answer. "Queen Vania. Will you marry me, and be my wife?"

She laughed, as if it could express her better, and finally found her words. "Yes! Yes, Cole, I will. I wish to be yours as you would be mine, and I want to have you for all time; I want you as mine!"

As she said it, he beamed and captured her lips again, as if that could express his joy. "You do?"

"I do!" Her arms came around his back, and she pulled him to her fully, so they were chest to chest. Then she looked into his dark eyes, admiring them with their deep color, and kissed him again. "My knight, my protector… I want you to be at my side no matter what comes. I want you to still be my savior, though I am safe from harm for now."

"I would be your savior no matter if you loved me or not," he murmured with a smile. "You are the leader I trust the most, and the one I love– we are alike in so many ways. I would fight for you in everything."

"I am thankful of that," she murmured in return, almost against his lips- so close she could kiss him again. "I would happily spend this life with you. It would make me happier than any passing fancy, and more joyful than even the greatest of gifts; you are the gift I treasure."

"As you are to me." He ran his fingers through her straw-gold hair, his touch reverent and soft. "The weight of time means nothing to stop what I have felt for you, and my oath as knight; I would make another without a thought otherwise."

"Then that is what we will do. We'll make a vow to each other, that all the world might know. I should be thankful, and I am."

"As am I." He smiled at her. "There is one thing I might be thankful for which you are not; that your father, in all his wickedness, sought to have me find you."

She laughed. "Yes. I am too; he brought you here to me." She kissed him softly. "He brought me love. How could I not be thankful?"

"I think we will never know." It was all he could say.

There were no words to use when it came to how he felt for Vania. Cole knew that he would never be able to put it into words, just as he would never be able to leave again. What he knew was that she was his love, his life, his world.

Once upon a time, Cole had thought his future was here in Shintaro, by Vania's side as her knight. Now he knew that he had almost been right. His future was here, as her husband, and as king one day. After all, she was home, in the mountains and depths of the mountains. Home was sharing his heart with her, and helping to bear her duty. No matter what he was to do, his home was in her arms.

#ninjago #ninjago cole #ninjago vania #cole brookstone #princess vania #colania #conia #vanillacake #ninjago fanfiction #OLST fanfic #OLST writing #ninjago fairy tale au

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