#man I wish I could explode my restlessness away too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

officialscaramouche · 3 years ago

Note

ayo feel like doing a gorou confession fic for me? pretty please with sprinkles on top (you know that fucking tiktok)

Ofc Pizzato anything for u my dear 🥰

Pairing: Gorou x gn!reader

Warnings: slight angst

Word count: 1,969

You heard a couple friendly knocks on your office door, eyes glancing to the clock to see it was a little past noon and you knew exactly who it was. “Come in,” you chime, putting down your pen and stretching upwards with a smile.

“Helloooooo!” You hear as the door swung open, Kazuha flaunting an envelope between his fingers. “Letter time!”

You sweep to your feet and give him grabby hands. “Give it to me!” He chuckles and places the thin paper into your hands. “Tell me who it is already,” you giggle as you rip it open and slide the letter out.

“No,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “I keep my promises.”

You quirk and eyebrow before you fold open the letter. “Even if I bribe you with dango?”

Kazuha smiles. “Even if you bribe me with dango.”

You grunt and groan but it quickly stops when you unfold the letter, reading the contents.

Good afternoon, cupcake, it starts. You blush at the pet name. I hope your day is going as well as mine. I’ve just won the office lottery! I’m going to ask for more snacks in the break room. That way, everyone benefits too! Specifically though, I want more sakura mochi! The ones you made for us were delicious. Share your recipe? :3

I adore you, your secret admirer.

You squeeze the letter to your chest and squeal, your face warm from blushing and your heart pounding against your chest. “Oh, Kazuha, whoever this person is, I really wish they’d come up and confess!”

Kazuha tuts and wiggles his finger. “But then the mystery wouldn’t be there anymore.”

“Screw mystery!” You squealed, gazing down at the illegible and scratchy handwriting, the mysterious stains and fur all over the page. “I’m ready to hear these words in person.”

Just then there was a knock on your door and a quick turn of the knob, one of the top brass leaning against your door frame. “Good morning, Chatty Cathy’s,” sang a familiar voice and ear twitches.

You wave while Kazuha bows, hiding the letter behind your back. “Good morning, General Gorou.”

The tail behind his back wagged discreetly as the two men share a knowing glance. “Kazuha,” the general clears his throat. “May I speak with you?”

The samurai nods his head and gives you a little wave as he walks out the door. “Bye boys!” You sing, tucking the letter back into the envelope and putting it away.

The next day, as routine, a little past noon you heard three friendly knocks on your door. You excitedly put your pen down, closing your ledger and standing out of your chair and onto your feet. “Kazuha,” you grinned. “Come in!”

He pushed the door open with his back, lugging a big box with some plastic sticking out from the top. “I’m just a mule to you guys aren’t I?” He groaned, lifting the box up and onto your desk. “This is ridiculous.”

You stood on your tippy toes to try and peek inside the box without being obnoxious. “What is it?” You hum, getting more and more restless.

“Your letter, what else?” He kind of snapped, letting out a deep sigh and rolling his eyes. “I wish he’d confess too. That way I don’t have to carry these things.”

You pulled back the top of the box that was just out of your reach. “Here,” pushing your hands away, Kazuha tore the box apart to expose a giant basket full of goodies and flowers. “The letter.”

Kazuha snapped the taped-on letter from the plastic and handed it to you. Wasting no time at all, you rip the envelope open and unfold the letter.

Dearest [Y/N], you’ve pierced my heart like an arrow through a target and I simply cannot get you off my mind. I heard from the grapevine that you wish for my confession. …Maybe I shall do so in the near future? It’s not that I do not want to be yours, but rather that you make me quite nervous. Still, we see each other for terribly brief moments but these moments are the most precious to me. Hopefully I can muster up the courage to finally tell you how I feel. In the meantime, please accept these treats and toys imported from across the globe. My favorite are the dog-shaped biscuits.

Your shy admirer.

Looking up from the letter you find Kazuha stuffing his face with some chocolatey cookies from within a tin box labeled ‘Fontaine.’ “Are those good?” You ask, reaching in and stealing one.

“Mhm,” Kazuha hums, taking a bite out of the one in his hand. “I’ve never had Fontaine chocolate. I guess the rumors about being the best were true.”

You melt under the sweet taste and crunchy texture, thinking that if your crush’s letters had a taste, it would be like this. “This is so nice,” you sigh, eyes sparkling as they gaze upon the basket. “Do you think he’s going to confess to me?”

Kazuha stares out the windows of your office that peer into the rest of the building, watching a certain general spill water on himself and the resistance leader. He takes another bite of a cookie. “Maybe.”

You squeal in delight and spin around in joy. “My heart’s beating so fast! I hope he does it soon or I’ll explode!”

Kazuha chuckles and playfully shoves you aside. “If you explode, I’m eating all of your snacks.”

“No! They’re mine!”

Weeks— almost a month— go by with no further letters. Kazuha stopped coming by, whether at noon or otherwise. The only knocks you got were visits from Kokomi about the budget or from other soldiers carrying reports and receipts from spending. Your heart ached at the sudden lack of contact, wondering if you had done or said something wrong.

Maybe your eagerness was intimidating and this mystery man just wanted someone to flirt with without commitment. Maybe he got bored of you. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you anymore.

Regardless, you wanted to try and spark it back up in case you’ve stepped on some toes without realizing. That night when you got home, you tossed the ingredients for sakura mochi into a bowl and got to mixing.

The office ate everything you brought before lunchtime rolled around. With such great success, you had confidence that he’d reach out to you tomorrow, if not today.

But alas you were left in silence once more, leaving your heart to crumble and ache. You were quick to recover, considering you never met the guy— let alone knew his name. But you had no time to be worrying anyway, because in a couple of days one of the squads were returning from the front lines and you needed to factor in medical costs. Apparently they took a hard hit when Sara Kujou showed up with her samurai. Kokomi was depending on you, and you didn’t want to let her down.

You spend these few days really crunching the numbers, making sure that every wounded soldier would get the basic medical necessities with some left over for any miscalculations. With every i dotted and every t crossed, you stuffed your report into a fancy envelope and handed it to Kokomi. “Thank you [Y/N] for your hard work under such a sudden timetable.” She thanked, tucking the envelope under her arm. “The team should be arriving tomorrow, so I will be submitting this for review immediately.”

You bow respectfully and offer your thanks for praise. “It’s no problem at all, Her Excellency. I was given ample time to prepare the balance sheet.” You begin to turn when you’re stopped once again by her.

“Before you go,” she smiles softly. “Would you mind helping out at the infirmary? We’re short handed right now with the sudden intake of Delusions.”

“Of course, Her Excellency. I will be there whenever you need me.”

You weren’t specialized in medics but you had helped around often enough to know the basics. And anyone could become a master at immediate medical attention after doing it so many times.

The flood of gurneys was a little disheartening to see, but you were still thankful for all that they do for the greater of the country. It must be scary being at the front lines, but everyone knew what they were signing up for.

You catch sight of Genera Gorou and Lord Kazuha chatting with Lady Kokomi before you were assigned to a batch of wounded soldiers, feeling a little bad for harboring ill feelings toward the young lord for disappearing. ‘You could’ve at least told me that you were leaving,’ you thought as you rinsed the injured area.

“I can take over from here,” the head medic stepped in, slipping on a new pair of gloves before getting a closer look at the soldier before you. With most of everyone patched up and recovering, the medic team was able to take control of the infirmary once again.

You wash your hands and check the clock. A little past noon. It’s funny how at this time you would’ve waited with bated breath for a couple of knocks. But not anymore.

You step out of the infirmary and find Kazuha and General Gorou sitting outside on the benches there. “Oh, hi boys,” you say surprised.

Kazuha grabs and shakes your hand. “Thank you for helping out our soldiers,” he says seriously.

“Oh, it’s not that big of a deal,” you mutter. “I do this all the time.”

A calloused hand pushes Kazuha’s away and shakes your hand firmer, harder. “No, [Y/N],” Gorou says with a sort of oomph behind his words. “These are my men…my family. They would be suffering if not for your help.”

You look to the side uncomfortably, a little put-off by the tension in the air. “And that’s why—!” Gorou continues, suddenly eight decibels louder. You hold eye contact with the general, his face darkening into a deep red flush, his eyes glassy and ears twitching. He squeezed your hand harder and shut his eyes. “M-My C-C-Cupcake!!! P-Please let m-me take you on a date!!!!”

Kazuha winced at the loudness of his friend, covering one of his ears but still smiling nonetheless. The people walking by stared and mumbled, but it didn’t matter as you felt your heart pound against your chest. You felt your eyes well with tears as now your face flushed red, the general cautiously opening his eyes to see your trembling lips and pathetic pout. “A-Ah! [Y/N], don’t cry!!”

You tug on his hand hard, pulling the man into your arms and squeezing him tight. You sobbed into his chest, hearing and feeling how frantic his heart was beating as well. “You idiot!” You shout into his battle-worn chest. “Don’t disappear without telling me…”

Gorou caressed the back of your head and chewed on his lip, his tail drooping with guilt but twitching with excitement for being in your arms. “Did I…scare you?” He whispered tentatively, choosing his words carefully.

You pull away and wipe your eyes, Gorou watching you closely and holding tightly onto your waist. “I thought you got tired of me…because I stopped hearing from you.” Gorou frowned and cupped your face, thumbing your cheeks gently. “I even made sakura mochi and I didn’t—”

“You made sakura mochi??!??!!! Is there any left?!?” Gorou’s jaw dropped. He let you go to turn and run to the break room, halting before running back to embrace you once more. “Heh, uh…” he chuckled nervously. “I’d actually…rather hold you like this…”

You couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your cheeks, flushing your body against his chest. “That’s okay,” you giggle. “There aren’t any left.”

You had no idea that his ears could flatten sadly like that.

#writing #Gorou #Gorou x reader #angst #fluff #oneshot #a stupid capricorn

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ofmythsandmadness · 3 years ago

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to be called beautiful | d.h.

❛ do you ever miss, having someone around to love you?❜

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

SUMMARY: vigilantes!au. you push the boundaries of your relationship, and ask for a wish you know won't be given back. (or — it's late, and after another night of patrol, loneliness sets in deep.) WARNINGS: slightly nsfw??? mentions to sex, no descriptions. it's not a sexual story, just a part of an inner monologue. WORD COUNT: 2.6k+ NOTES: reposting this in hopes it shows up this time (pls pls pls i'm gonna cry). i've been writing a whole other series that is a totally different writing style, but i've been trying to work out my emotions in small, focused pieces like this one when i can't focus. i might develop this into a small ficlit series of it's own, bc i think it's kinda fun — but we'll see how this goes.

THE BEAST THAT IS YOUR LONELINESS has been your burden for too long to say.

It's hold on you is a familiar ache, one you've felt for years, like a chronic tight tugging on your heart that refuses to give in no matter what you try. But you still refuse to name it for fear of coming to terms with the implications of it all. That you're really alone in this life and you're terrified of what that means and the fact that you can't have what your childhood stories promised would be yours.

Like the fool you are, you cling to the idea that it's just passing notions. You'll get over it one day. The flitting daydreams of a fairytale romance better fit for a vanilla Hallmark flick suck, but one day they won't hurt so bad. You'll numb and find a way to fill the void. And you try, you really do, pushing it down for the quick release of meaningless acts and walks of shames and cold bedsheets.

Sex is a toxic friend. You choose it's pull when your heart aches most and the loneliness begs for your breath to the point where every gasp of air is a privilege, not the bare minimum. It's not what you crave. There's no romance, no love. It's a trade and one that always leaves you feeling robbed of something you're not sure you ever even had.

You rarely remember their names. You know they probably won't remember yours. And why would they? The shudders, the whimpers, the cold moans that amount to nothing but crumbs of a supposedly passionate act only pass an hour, then they're gone. Or you're gone, if you're lonely enough to risk it. A bit of fun, a breath of pink and white and the feeling of someone pulling you closer, begging for your skin against theirs.

And then, it's all grey again. And you're alone at your apartment, washing your body free of the marks some stranger dared to press into your wilting skin, wondering what it would feel like for a lover to kiss you that same way. Running your fingers over every inch that has been caressed by so many faceless guests, trying to hold yourself in the way your foolish heart pounds for. But it's never enough. Your hands don't cup your flesh, don't mould and kiss and promise the carefully knitted lies any lover had dealt you in the past. And you're as cold as ever when they fall back to your sides. Nothing enflames your skin like you wishes it could — like those you wish would.

It's a discontent you live with. Just as you're sure millions of others do. That's what life is; you push yourself through the day, through your mundane day job and your taxing nighttime hobbies (because you sure as hell can't claim what you do as real work if your only pay is in blood and tears). You cling to the good times that happened too long ago to remember clearly, and make the moments that you're alone with your thoughts as small as possible.

But there's no time to consider all that now.

You scrunch your face up as tight as you can, squeezing your eyes shut to the point where you see stars, exploding like confetti in some absurd black void that hides behind your lids. For a moment you hold the pose, watching the stars erupt, until the position hurts too much and you have to release.

Surroundings blur and then clear as your eyes readjust from their disassociation. You stare blearily at the random coffee shop you and your 'associate' chose for the night. It's just as generic as the last five visited, a thousand shades of brown and red and weary smiles the bored baristas wear just for a cheap check that'll barely cover their asses. It's worn and empty; no one's hear except the two of you and the workers who probably hate you for being here so late.

Normally, you would feel like an asshole staying so late. But you can't bring yourself to move, or even suggest to. It's all too heavy. And even if it's in brooding silence, you don't want to leave your partner. Not yet, you beg the universe, just a few more minutes.

And, speaking of—

"What's got you so blue today?"

You blink. Look over to him, only to see him already watching you.

There's really no point lying. He always unravels you too quickly, too easily — it's the detective in him, unravelling anyone and scooping their truths from shivering flesh. Some sort of childhood trauma response he developed into another super power.

You used to hate it. Now...if you concentrate hard enough, his sharp gaze feels like one of a lover's.

"Don't know what you mean," you tell him, foolish and flustered. "I'm just fine."

"Bullshit. You've sighed a dozen times in the last five minutes."

"Tch. No I haven't."

"Did too!"

His teeth glint, white and clashing against the full pink of his lips. You wish you could denounce all the times you wondered what it would feel like to have them graze against your keening skin — but not even all the gods could cleanse of you of those thoughts. Those desperate, pleading, melancholic memories stain; he can't see them, but you do when you look close enough. And you can't escape it, much as you try.

"Seriously, though. What's up with you?"

Your gaze falls down to your hands, eager to escape his allure, though it's not a great distraction. It only makes you more bitter, really, taking in all the flaws that litter your weaponised limbs. They're calloused from a million fights. Your knuckles are scarred, aching from wounds you reopen every other night. A thousand scars from a thousand scrapes, cuts, slashes and grazes linger on once perfect skin. You don't know how many there are, anymore, only that you wish you could wipe them off. Start over, have a clean slate. Erase all your mistakes and be beautiful again.

"I'm just tired," you lie. It's tense and pitiful; you know you've screwed it up the second the words leave your lips. "S'all."

"Ri-i-ight, and I'm the goddamn queen of England."

The absurdity of his retort makes your lips twitch. It's not enough for a smile, your self-inflicted misery makes sure of that, but it's a seed of something. "Wow. Didn't know I was in the presence of royalty."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut it."

"My apologies, your highness."

"Shut up, you little shit," he grumbles, but it's as soft as you get from him. It's practically a cry of love — or your foolish mind paints it as such. You take his teasing insults as promises of adorations and his arguments are poems of lust and infatuation that tug on your heartstrings in ways you know they shouldn't.

You're partners, for crying out loud. Professional coworkers (if you call the bloody mess you two create work). You don't get to miss him, or crave him, or love him like you do.

"Something happen to you?"

You watch his own hands fold and unfold on the table. The long, delicate fingers stand out on a man like him; someone who paints himself in only sharp angles and cutting lines. But you think they match him well. They promise life. Bleed hope, even in the raised scars that lace his skin like your own. You've watched those fingers grip a blade, launch it into flesh, pull and push and dig and rip and take and committed acts of atrocity most people would run from. You know he probably thinks of his hands the same way you do. But you think they're beautiful.

"Nah. It's...it's nothing. Really."

You can't see his face, but you imagine his narrowed eyes and furrowed brows asking for an answer you're just not willing to give. "C'mon, just tell me. Can't be that bad."

Your body laughs. You hear it from some place far away. It's cold and hoarse; you wonder how long it's been since you've heard a genuine laugh from yourself. You wonder if he notices (and wishes he did, foolishly, frivolously...).

It's probably stupid, but you go for it.

"You ever miss having someone?"

Something creaks; his chair, groaning as he shifts his weight. One of his fingers taps against his empty coffee cup; idle music for a restless soul.

"Like, in what way?"

"I..." Your nails dig into your palms. This was a mistake, but one you have to follow through with. He won't accept silence after something like that. "In the cheesy, domestic sorta way? That whole, havin' someone to come home to, someone who you can talk to, someone who..." the words stick like molasses in the back of your throat. Try as you do, they refuse to give themselves to him, so you have to substitute. "Just, someone who likes you, past your body or, or whatever."

"Oh."

"Sorry." It's your turn to shift in your seat, awkwardly searching for something to occupy yourself with as this uncomfortable energy you've created carries on. But your cup's empty, and you don't have the cash to ask for another overpriced latte. "Forget about it. Let's talk about somethin' else, yeah?"

He doesn't answer that. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all for a moment, long enough to make you wonder if you've just crossed the line of no return. You can't bring yourself to look at him, hell your cowardice is painful enough to make you wonder if you should just make a run for it, say au revoir! to the bond you've built with this knife-obsessed robin hood and crush your heart forever.

It's tempting, and you consider it, but then he fills the silence.

"I miss Eudora sometimes."

Finally, your gaze tilts up. Your eyes meet his lips. He's not smiling anymore.

You guys don't talk about exes together. It's a forbidden topic, same as family or childhoods or the number of people that have cut you open and bled you dry for fun. It's too personal, and in this line of work, personal doesn't fly. But you know Eudora Patch, because this line of work requires a couple run ins with people like her, and because your partner in crime has never learned how to stop his emotions from bleeding into his expression.

"Not because I still love her, but y'know..." his fingers wave aimlessly. "It was nice, when it worked. I liked having someone to sleep with. In a non-sexual manner." His lip curls a little. "Guess the sex part was nice too, though."

You nod. "Yeah, I get that. It's...it was nice, having someone who knew you. Who wanted to make you feel good, not just for themselves but 'cause that sort of things matters."

"Mm."

"Y'ever consider pursuing that sort of thing?"

He shakes his head. His adamancy is a truck smashing into your heart — though you know you should have expected no less, it still hurts. "I can't. It never works, with people like us. Y'know?"

"Yeah. Makes sense." You want to say more. You probably should say more — but you doubt he wants to hear your woes about intimacy, and the pathetic ways you crave affection you probably don't deserve. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Hm?"

His brows knot. "Why're you asking? Someone do somethin'?"

"What? No."

"Cause, like, if someone's hurt you, I'll—"

"I'm fine," you promise, and without thinking, you reach across the table to pat his hand. To reassure him like one would a lover. But just before your fingers meet his, the bitter reminder that he's not yours sets in and you draw back. Your hand falls a couple inches from his own. "And I can take care of myself, if I wasn't. Don't worry."

He chuckles mirthlessly. "Y'sure about that? You're still the dumbass that tripped over her own feet twice walking down an empty sidewalk, and—"

"—oh, you are such an asshole, why can't you just—"

"—so if you need someone to cut a bitch, I'm available."

You soften slightly. Try to smile, even if it's a false promise and probably hangs like a broken door on mismatched hinges. "I appreciate that. But I'm okay. Think I'm just tired, and a little lonely."

"What, I'm not good enough for you anymore?"

Bitterness seeps onto your tongue; it speaks before you can shut your lips around it. "You're fine as a partner against crime. But you're not anything otherwise, are you?" It feels like a taunt. You hadn't meant it to be — though, maybe you had.

If he takes your jeer poorly, though, it doesn't show on his face. He's still smiling and watching you, eyes simmering with a joke you wish you were in on.

"It doesn't matter though. Having someone's too complicated, 'specially for fools like us. Sometimes it's just..." you don't have a good answer. Not one he'd want to hear, anyways. "I just miss it sometimes. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to, or eat breakfast with in the mornings."

He nods slowly. "Yeah. Was nice, having another body around."

"Yeah. Ha. I," you stutter out a chuckle. Tug at your lip, nibbling at the cracked skin that comes with your long nights. "No one prepares you for how lonely adulthood is. Like, I'm half tempted to make friends with the takeout guys, just so I have a friend at all."

"We're friends."

"You know what I mean," you mumble, swallowing the bitter 'are we?' that almost makes its way off your tongue. "It was just nice when I had the time, to have a person around. Someone to like, hold hands with, or-or call me beautiful, sometimes. I-I can't remember the last time called me that, any..."

Fuck.

You hadn't meant for that last confession.

He wasn't supposed to hear that. It's too personal, too personal, too fucking personal for someone you don't even know.

Everything trembles; you're shaking like an avalanche, ready to sweep it all away under some snow drift. Never to be seen again. But you can't do that, there's no taking back the way your voice cracked as it reaches it's last word, and how your hand slips into a fist, ready to charge even though there's no punching your way out of this fumble.

You crack. Stumble out of your seat. Before he can talk you're moving, throwing a couple bills (too many for your poor wallet, you'll pay for that later) down and mumbling something about heading home. Your head's spinning and you just want to sit down again, pretend like this never happened and ask about some meaningless moment in a meaningless day that you wish could be yours and his, not just—

"—text me when you're goin' out again," you say, high and nervous. "I'll be around."

You turn.

"You don't have to leave."

"I got work tomorrow. Early."

"Thought you had the day off?"

Fuck, la deuxième acte. "Taking a shift for someone."

"Oh." He doesn't believe you. He would be a fool to. But he agrees anyways. "Okay."

"See ya, Kraken."

He doesn't answer you back. It's probably better that way.

BONUS

Many hours later, you're in bed, finally dozing off. You've rinsed off the filth of the night and resigned yourself to a barely adequate rest alone, too tired to consider what usually makes your mind race. It's been a long day; let future you contemplate all the ways you've screwed up.

Just as you're about to fall asleep, however, there's a small ping! that immediately wakes you up A notification sound reserved for only one person.

You groan but still roll over. Your heart may be a humiliated, burning mess, but it still beats for him, much as you've tried to stifle it.

kraken // 2:36 am. you available at 11p tomorrow?

kraken // 2:37 am. got word somethin going down at east docks, wanna check it out before it gets bad.

Relief is a sweet blessing. You exhale and smile into the darkness. He's still a professional, even if you seem unable to understand what that means.

you // 2:40 am. for sure. meet me at my place whenever and we can prep.

You leave it at that. Whatever he has to say after that, cannot be too important to waste your precious hours of sleep. So you roll over and shut your eyes and let yourself forget about the empty space that fills your place.

It's a decision you regret the next morning, when you wake up and realise what you missed.

kraken // 3:31 am. you ever get lonely for someone, feel free to let me know.

kraken // 3:32 am. might not make a great boyfriend, but i'll eat breakfast with you. so long as you're cooking.

A/N - I had a whole idea for two tired vigilantes (like what Diego does in season one, but partnered up) who both are really lonely and tired of life and all it's shit, and rely on each other more than they'll ever admit, and...I'll probably never write it, but this was a fun bit of that. two lonely emotionally deprived assholes who can't accept that maybe they can be loved and the person who wants to is right in front of them. :)

#my writing #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #tua x reader #tua imagine #diego hargreeves imagine #hargreeves imagine #hargreeves x reader #gender neutral reader

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marvelsdc22 · 4 years ago

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Nightmares

Intro: Hello, lovelies!! I hope you guys are having a good day/night!! This one just kinda came up while I was sitting here, I hope you guys enjoy!! :)

Note: Y/N was put on ice like Steve and Bucky, only difference is, they made it through the war before they were put under, now they suffer from the nightmares of war, what happens when they keep it all bottled up?

Word Count: 3034

Screaming… That’s all you heard as you bolted awake, sweating as you looked around and realized that it was you that was screaming, quickly covering your mouth with your hand as you bit your lip, hoping and praying that you hadn’t woken anyone up, only to look at the door when a certain red-head rushed in Damn those thin walls you thought to yourself, knowing that even though Tony was rich, he had went cheap on the walls between the rooms in the compound, having figured no one would actually live there full time.

“Nightmares?” Natasha asked softly, her hair a mess and her oversized shirt slipping down one shoulder, her black shorts barely peeking out from under it, her frowning when you nodded before she went over to you and rested a hand on your shoulder, sending a spark through you but you ignored it, you had too much on your mind to worry about your stupid crush on the Russian Assassin “Do you want to talk about it?” She asked, knowing your answer would always be the same, a shake of the head before she sat on the bed beside you “Okay, that’s okay” she assured, moving her arm to rest on your back, giving you all the time you needed until you calmed down and finally looked at her.

Natasha was your best friend here, you had gotten here about a year ago with Bucky, you having gone through almost what Steve did, just for the villain and minus the super strength Steve had, you were given the power to control time, you could reverse time by a few minutes, freeze it, or fast forward by a few minutes, but the more you trained, the longer you could do… The nightmares you got came from the war, you having not been caught until afterwards, you saw your team being killed in front of you, you saw the man that used you, you saw all the pain and death, everything you wished you could just forget, but you couldn’t and it seemed to be getting worse the more you held it in.

Looking at Natasha, you bit your lip, you wanted to tell her about your dreams, about what happened all that time ago, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it “I’m fine now” you lied, looking at her and watching as she seemed to read you “Are you sure?” She asked, able to sense that there was more you wanted to say “I’m sure” you assured, resting your hand on hers and watching as her brow furrowed before she sighed and nodded, knowing she couldn’t force you to tell her anything “Okay, you know where I am” she said, standing up and leaning over to kiss your head before she told you goodnight and headed out of your room, leaving you to lay there and stare up at the ceiling, knowing this was going to be another restless night.

The next morning, you made your way downstairs, already having a major headache from everything the night before “What’s going on?” You asked, seeing everyone with serious looks on their faces and discussing in hushed tones, them all looking at you when you spoke up “We found one of Hydra’s big bases… We need everyone onboard” Tony said, looking uncharacteristically serious as he explained it to you, giving you all the information you needed “We leave in ten” he said, looking at you and watching you nod before you turned around and headed back up to your room to get ready.

As you were zipping up your jacket, you turned when you heard a knock on you door and saw Natasha standing there, feeling your heart skip a beat as she looked at you appreciatively “You sure you’re up for this?” She asked, knowing you didn’t go back to sleep after the nightmare “I’m fine, Nat… You don’t need to worry” you assured, holstering your weapon, the one she had given you for your birthday a few months back “I always worry about you” she said, going over to you and reaching over, fixing your collar since it was sticking up like Elvis “You don’t have to” you said softly, feeling your face burn at her proximity and hearing her just make a small noise before she met your eyes “Y/N” she said, her leaning forward slowly, you unable to breathe as she leaned closer and closer until- “Time to go” Clint said, poking his head in the doorway and causing you and Natasha to pull apart, Clint looking oblivious as to what he had just done “You heard the man” you said, looking at Natasha and fighting back the disappointment you felt before the three of you headed to the elevator.

Getting to the base was the easy part, getting into the base… That was a different story “How do we get in?” You asked, looking at Bruce and Tony who were looking over the schematics, you guys having landed a little ways away to plan your attack “The only way in is through a series of vents… Clint, looks like it’s up to you to get us in” Tony said, looking at Clint who was grinning, fixing his hearing aid some before he grabbed his bow “You got it, where do I go?” He asked, looking over their shoulders as Tony and Bruce explained where he would go and where the rest of them would go.

“This would be easier with Thor” you commented, knowing he could just hammer smash his way in “He’s got his own thing to worry about” Natasha said, staying in step with you while the other three walked ahead, Bruce holding off on his Hulk form until you guys got inside “I know, but he always makes these things more fun” you said, running your fingers over the hilt of your sword, hiding the wince when your head flared up “You okay?” Natasha asked, having seeing the quick flash of pain that appeared “Fine” you said, unintentionally snapping slightly at her as you walked a little faster, leaving Natasha confused, you hadn’t acted this way since you first came in, why were you acting like it now?

After a bit, Clint let you guys in before you guys all split off, everyone going their own way but keeping contact with comms “There’s cells down here” you heard Bruce say, him having gone downstairs “Anyone in them?” You asked, slowing your steps in case you had to go help him free people “No… Just lots of blood” he said, causing you to sigh since you figured what had happened to all those people, continuing down the hallway as quickly and silently as possible “Ah!” You cried out, clutching your head as the pain increased tenfold “Y/N!” You heard Natasha call in the comms, but it sounded distant with how much the pain was affecting your senses, reaching your arm out and trying to hold yourself up with the wall, not hearing the footsteps coming towards you and looking up, seeing a blurry figure walking towards you “There you are” you heard a voice you didn’t recognize say, them holding something in their hand that seemed to be affecting your headache since the closer the figure got, the more your head hurt.

“Stop!” You cried, it feeling like your brain was about to explode and tears leaking out of your eyes as you fought to stay upright “Y/N! Where are you?” Natasha asked, sounding panicked and you knowing she would find you whether you told her or not “We’ve been looking for you” the man said, still coming towards you and you forced yourself to start moving, trying to get away from the man but he just sped up until the pain overwhelmed you and you collapsed, feeling nothing but pain before you passed out.

When you woke up, you found yourself in a room you didn’t recognize and your head aching “Hey!” You shouted, ignoring the protest from your head as you stood up and pounded on the door, trying to use your powers but unable to “Dammit, of course they took it” you grumbled, feeling for the earpiece that was no longer there and kicking the door, both out of rage and in hopes that it would budge… It didn’t “My friends will find me! You’ll be dead!” You shouted, not even sure if they could even hear you, but you didn’t care, you were cornered and you wanted to yell and no one was going to stop you, you continuing to protest until you heard banging and gunshots.

You waited with your arms crossed and smirked when your door opened and there stood Natasha, her breathing a sigh of relief when she saw you and going to take a step closer to you when your head flared up again “Ah!” You cried out, clutching your head and collapsing to your knees, her eyes widening and starting to rush towards you “Stop stop!” You cried, holding a hand up to stop her from moving since the closer she got, the more it hurt and looking up to see the crystal in her hand “It-it’s that thing” you said, pointing at the crystal in her hand and seeing her eyes widen before she took several steps back, watching as you visibly relaxed the further back she got until she handed it off to Steve, who stored it in the small compartment in his shield.

Once that was taken care of, she rushed towards you and carefully helped you stand before she pulled you into a tight hug “I told them you guys would come” you said softly, burying your face in her shoulder as you returned the hug “I know, he was complaining about ‘your annoying companion’” she said, chuckling some as she pulled back to look at you, you unable to hold back your small chuckle “Ladies, as much as this little reunion is adorable, we have to get out of here, the alarms were tripped” Tony said, poking his head in as the two of you pulled full apart “Come on” Natasha said, nodding towards the door before the two of you ran out behind the others.

“There!” You shouted, seeing the exit until you saw a swarm of backup run in through it “Shit!” You shouted, getting in cover as Tony flew up and Bruce charged in Hulk form, Clint going up into the rafters and Steve shielding himself while he thought of what to do, you and Natasha providing backup cover, her having tossed you one of your pistols since there was no way you could get in with your sword with how many there were, you guys making good progress… Until you weren’t and in came a dude in a mech, forcing Tony down and Clint to drop back, until you guys were cornered, you looking around and feeling the panic in you begin to build, this is what happened way back when, when you watched your team get slaughtered in front of you while you hid, which is exactly what you were doing now, having run out of ammo a while back.

You looked around and caught sight of Natasha, who was wounded from taking a bullet to the shoulder, but she was still shooting, you looked at Steve who still hid behind his shield, unable to fight back from the bullet fire he was getting, Tony was working with a faulty laser in one of the palms of his suit, Bruce was knocked out on a stack of broken crates, while Clint could barely shoot one arrow without immediately getting shot at, you guys were losing and all you could do was sit there in your cover, frozen in place “Y/N!” Natasha shouted, having noticed the sheer panic on your face as your eyes seemed to glaze over, the nightmare flashing before your eyes and you unable to hear anything around you.

Natasha waited until there was an opening, shooting a few shots before making her way over to you, firmly grabbing your shoulders and shaking you lightly “Hey, Y/N? Y/N, look at me” she said, watching as you blinked a few times before focusing on her, her reaching over and gently wiping tears from your eyes “You’re okay, I got you” she promised, peeking over the cover and seeing that there was no progress “We have to-“ she said, you watching as a bullet went right through her head and feeling her grip loosen on you before she fell over, dead.

You couldn’t breathe as you looked at the woman you loved, dead on the ground in front of you “No” you whispered, looking at the others and watching as one by one they were taken down “No” you said, watching as all the people you had considered family died “No” you said, feeling anger build up as you looked down at Nat’s lifeless body “No!” You shouted, standing up and watching as everything froze, you unable to stop yourself as time went back, you watching as everything reversed until Natasha was where she had been moments previously, freezing time once more as you pulled your sword out, you weren’t going to let it happen again, you couldn’t lose another family, not when you could do something about it.

You let anger and rage take over you, your body moving on its own accord as you sliced through the enemies, not even realizing the pain in your head as you moved through the enemies ranks, until there was no one left, time unfreezing and the others looking around confused until they noticed you standing by the exit, covered in blood and breathing heavy, turning to look at them “I couldn’t let it happen again” you breathed before collapsing, Natasha rushing towards you in an attempt to catch you before your whole world went dark.

When you came to, you weren’t sure how much time had passed, all you knew was that you were now in your room and in your bed, running a hand through your very tangled hair, you winced as your head flared, complaining about your overuse of power “Ow” you whispered, your head turning quickly to your desk when you saw a small movement out of the corner of your eye, earning another protest from your head but you ignored it when you saw Natasha sitting in your desk chair, sleeping with chin on the palm of her head and her elbow on the armrest, causing you to look at the time and see that it was almost three in the morning.

“Nat?” You whispered, not wanting her to sleep in that chair all night, you’d done that before and you did not feel great the next morning, reaching over and lightly shaking her leg, causing her to jolt before she looked at you “You’re awake” she breathed, taking your hand that was on her leg as she moved over and sat on the edge of the bed “How long have I been out?” You asked, looking at her as she looked you over, looking for any signs of pain “A week” she said, locking eyes with you once she seemed to confirm that you were fine “What happened back there?” She asked, that being one thing with your powers, no one else but you knew what went down when you messed with time, they would only see the aftermath.

You looked at her and bit your lip, fighting over whether or not you should tell her and deciding that you should, it’s what almost got them all killed “You guys died… It was my fault; I froze up and-“ you choked out “And it reminded me of what happened before going on ice… I couldn’t let it happen again” you said, feeling tears start to fall before you roughly wiped them away “Do you want to talk about it?” Natasha asked gently, gently pushing your hand away and cupping your face, wiping your tears with her thumb, you leaning into the touch “Yes” you breathed, closing your eyes and staying silent for a moment before you told her everything, what had happened to your team, what you’d seen in the war, everything and you felt like a weight was lifted off of your chest.

Natasha listened intently, not interrupting you as you told her what had all happened, neither of you sure when it happened, but by the end of it, you were sitting on Natasha’s lap while she held you, wanting to comfort you in any way she possibly could “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me… I’m sorry you went through all that” she whispered once you stopped talking, your head resting on her shoulder as she gently rocked you “It was all part of the job… But, I should’ve done more… Then my team would’ve lived, but I froze when it mattered most, just like I did last week” you said softly, a fresh wave of tears spilling out as Natasha tightened her hold on you and shook her head.

“That is not true, you acted like anyone would in that moment, don’t blame yourself, it wasn’t your fault… If you would’ve fought back, you would’ve been dead too” she said, pulling back slightly and cupping your face once more “Then you wouldn’t be here… With me” she said, knowing that sounded selfish, but she couldn’t help it, she loved you more than she loved anyone “Nat” you said softly, glancing at her lips before locking eyes with her, you not sure who leaned in first, but the next thing you knew, the two of you were kissing, you melting into it as she pulled you tighter against you “Stay with me tonight?” You asked when you pulled back, watching as she smiled and nodded, having you hop off her lap before she stood up and pulled her jeans off before crawling into bed next to you, pulling you close to her once the two of you were comfortable under the covers and for the first time in months, you slept peacefully through the night in her arms.

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peculiarpatches · 4 years ago

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𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 - 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐱 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

this is part 1 of 4 or 5 (??) parts. if you like this, please give it a like and or reblog (or both). feedback is appreciated, always!! this first chapter contains smut. so if that makes you uncomfortable, this isn’t for you. and again, this is part one of others so there will be more :)

WARNING: public sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, angst slightly??? but not really??? it’s going to get angsty more later down the road, lmao. so, buckle up. it’s one hell of a ride. enjoy :)

*~*

A flush of regret wipes over my body. The moment our lips touch, it washes over me like a waterfall. One drop then thousands of drops came pouring down, soaking me until I was drowning in it. Regret & anxiety; Both washes over me and yet, I know what I am doing is wrong but I can't bring myself to stop. A tiny part of me didn't want it to stop, either. He knew that, I knew that. Yet, nobody said anything. We didn't have to. We were too busy, too caught up, in each other that we didn't need to talk. No words needed to be spoken, to be said. We knew it was wrong but... if it was so wrong, why did it feel so right? A moan escapes past my lips and drips onto his tongue. His hands found their way to my hips, fingers sneakily trailing up my shirt and he curls his fingernails deep into my skin, making another whimper slip out from me; no matter how hard I tried not to speak or let any noise out, he got me to do the complete opposite. "Now, now, remember what I said... We've got to keep quiet, okay, baby girl?" He had said this earlier and yet, it seemed as if he wanted nothing more than to get me to scream and shake. To be putty in his hands, to melt under his touch.. The little shit was trying anything - everything - to get me to make noise. And unfortunately, it was working. I shouldn't love him and he shouldn't love me. Yet, here we were; Tangled together with our lips locked and our hands caressing every body piece we could manage to find. We were in the most uncomfortable place to do this at, though. We were in one of the closets of Hawkin's community pool. It was after hours now, the pool had been closed for some time, they always closed when the sun went down and when the children's fathers got off of work and the mothers had to be quick on their feet and head home to cook them a meal. A few people were still in the parking lot, a few life guards were also gathering their supplies and getting ready to set, sail, and go home. Yet, Billy told me he had a surprise for me if I stayed past my curfew and past my work schedule. Of course, I knew what he wanted. I knew what he had up his sleeve. (The so called surprise, as you may have guess is... *drum roll* his cock!! What an amazing present to gift someone, right?) I, being the dumbass that I am, agreed, though. It wasn't bad, per say. It never was bad. Hell, it only got better within each sacred and secret moment we shared together. That's where the problem was at; I was tired of being a secret. Tired of hiding from everyone. Tired of feeling used. I wasn't Billy's rag doll he could use and carry with him wherever. I also wasn't his personal sex toy that he could slip his dick into whenever, wherever. I was tired. So, fucking, tired. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. Having to keep the secrets buried away, hiding them in a place they can't be broken or seen, it was truly going to be the death of me. Especially from Steve. I was tired of lying to him. Steve Harrington was my best friend. Best friends since kindergarten, he and I. I hated that I was hiding my relationship - was it even that? - with Billy to him. Steve and I went to each other for everything. Always have, always will. When he and Nancy broke up, he came to me, crying his heart out and drowning my shirts (and pillows and blankets) with tears and snot. (Thankfully, he cleaned them up so I didn't have to. I would've done it in a heartbeat, though. I loved Steve. Steve is my best friend, I'd do anything for him, as I know he'd do anything for me. So, lying to him made me feel like the shittiest person alive.) That night, along with many other restless ones, we talked and talked until the sun came up. I did everything I could to make him happy, to cheer him up. I baked him his favorite cookies and favorite meal once as well to try and make him feel better. Almost burnt the kitchen down while doing so, too. And, okay, maybe, the meal and the cookies didn't work out and I failed. In the end, it put a smile on Steve's face which is all I had been dying to see. Soda dripped from Steve's nose and burnt his nostrils, he was laughing so hard when the fire alarm went off, letting us know the cookies in the oven were bursting in flames. Luckily, we saved the kitchen from exploding with fire and clouding with smoke. Can't say the same for the cookies, sadly. From that day and onward, he and I still made jokes about burnt crisp cookies and nearly dying because of trying to bake them together. It was one of our favorite inside jokes, actually. ("I went to the store yesterday and I walked up and down the aisles and guess what? Not a single one had burnt crisp cookie dough.") ("You see this bullshit, Harrington? All the cookies in the world are at this fundraiser expect for burnt crisp cookie dough!" "Oh, man, I'm going to have to talk to the principal about that one... I cannot believe they'd do something like this.") When I got dumped by one of the basketball players on the Hawkin's high school team, Steve was the first (and only) one who reached out to me and cheered me up. He rented out a few of our favorite movies together and before they could close, Steve and I were quick to rush to the grocery store and we picked up as much junk food as our arms could carry. That night - along with others - was full of nothing but contagious laughter, sweet and salty foods, and horrible but too good to put down and look away movies. All the thoughts of Steve wash away once I feel Billy's hand dip into the opening of my underwear, his calloused fingers pushing the thin layer of fabric aside as his index finger slips between my folds, a gasp leaving me as I feel his touch. His touch felt like fire among my skin, and I was an ice cube, melting in the palm of his hands. I could feel myself sinking and sinking, slipping away into the pleasure he was about to bring onto me. "I love when you make that face," He whispers against my neck, lips drifting across my skin, not quite in contact but not so far away either where I couldn't feel him. His breath was hot and I could smell the peppermint gum as he talked. "Love hearing those pretty but pornographic moans of yours.... gets my cock so hard, you get me so worked up, baby girl...." Billy's scent was intoxicating. Even right now with the left over smell of coconut lotion smeared across his skin from lathering himself up early in the morning, he smelled perfect. As perfect as can get. He smelled of coconut mixed with peppermint and a cologne I couldn't pinpoint on exactly what or which brand. All the scents together may sound odd and unsatisfying but I was nearly drooling as the different fragrances overwhelmed my senses. That and the fact he pushes his index and middle finger inside me, so easily, without any trouble whatsoever. Him, doing that earned another gasp to fall off of my lips as it was so sudden, so unexpected. I knew I was wet, could feel the puddle of wetness coating the bottom half of my underwear but I hadn't known I was so hot and bothered he could easily slip two fingers into me. I shouldn't act so surprised, this was Billy Hargrove, after all. Billy was one, if not, the most attractive guy in Hawkin's, Indiana. Well...in our age group, anyways. A lot of other students and fellow classmates were far from attractive. (Minus Steve, but of course, he doesn't count. He knows he's attractive, just as much as Billy does. Me, telling him he's cute and everything wouldn't change the fact. He already knows it.) Moments like this, I wish I had a jar I could bottle these memories up and store them away, have a look back upon them some day with a smile on my face. I've never felt so alive, so wanted, needed and loved... not until I met Billy. He made me feel as if I was on cloud nine and he made me feel as if I could do anything - everything - and I wasn't just some girl, some hookup, to him. I was special. Sure, hiding and keeping secrets wasn't the greatest feeling in the world, I'll have to have a talk with him about it, about the way I felt, but as of right now, I wanted to touch him the way he was touching me. I wanted to make him feel the butterflies in the pit of his stomach, the ones I was feeling right now. The ones I always feel when he presses his lips against mine or when he just touches me, in general. Hell, even when he smiles in my direction, holds my hand with his much larger one and or laughs at a not so funny joke I tell. I wanted to make his heart skip a beat, as he did with me. I wanted to make him feel as special as he makes me. Before I could register what I am about to say, those three little words leave my lips before I could put a stop to them. "I love you." I couldn't stop the sentence, even if I tried. Billy said nothing. He hums in reply, but no words leave his mouth. He continues to move his fingers back and forth, curling and scissoring his digits deep inside me. I groan quietly, leaning my head back against the shower tile wall, holding myself up the best I could from the position I was in. "There's a good girl," is all he says. He either doesn't acknowledge what I said or he chose to ignore it. My heart aches at the second option but the feeling goes away rather fast as he's sinking to his knees and spreading my legs far apart, his head guiding up to face my cunt and before I know it, his tongue - his mouth - everything is inside and I feel as if I'm on fire. "Oh... Oh, Billy..." I mewl, slowly my eyelids drift close on their own as I press my lower half into his welcoming mouth, my breathing began to grow heavy as his tongue swirls against my cunt which hardens underneath him. He grips his fingers into my thighs, more than likely putting imprints of his nails into my skin by how hard he pressed them down. I didn't mind a few bruises. The bruises were a reminder this was all happening and not some form of my imagination. Even from the position he was in, I could feel the outline of his lips curving upward and I didn't need to look down to see the famous Hargrove smirk sitting there across his face; I could feel him smiling in between my thighs. He, to my disappointment, pulls away, but he doesn't stay far back for too long. The cheeky little shit only wanted to lock eyes with me, shoot me a wink before diving back down in between my legs, eating me out as if he was starving. Saliva dripped down his chin and I could feel it sliding off of my thighs, too. His tongue was everywhere, going from my pussy to the inside of my thighs to my clit back and all over again. He was devouring me, eating me out as if we were running out of time which was far from the truth. I didn't mind it one bit. Wasn't complaining in the slightest. My only issue was how close I was getting to an orgasm. The signs were all there, slowly building up. My heart was pounding faster than before, my legs were shaking and my knees began to buckle. It was getting harder to keep upward. My eyelids could barely keep open, the familiar fluttery feeling grew bigger and stronger in my stomach. Billy, probably knowing I was close to my peak, pulled away and before he stands up, he pushes his shorts down, letting them hang by his feet. "Next time, princess, I want to see that mouth of yours stuffed with my cock; see you gagging for it, all around me. As of right now, I just want to fuck you and leave you breathless, now bend over and let me see that pretty pussy of yours, baby. 'm gonna wreck it, have you feeling me for days, have you feeling this cock in your stomach. That's what you want, isn't it? To be fucked like I hate you?" Before I could reply, he's taking me by the wrist and bending me forward, laying my body against one of the shelves in the closet as he rubs my opening with the head of his cock, sending a shiver to run through my body, goosebumps prickling my skin as I breathe through my nose, closing my eyes. I wait for him, wait for the stretch and the opening of his cock but it doesn't come as quickly as I would have liked. "I don't, by the way. Hate you." He said, leaning forward whereas his back touches my own, "I'll fuck you like I do but I don't. The feeling is mutual." He said and before I could reply - before I could ask what he meant - he's pushing forward, pressing his cock deep inside me, sinking into me with a growl. "You're so fucking tight, always so fucking tight." He grunts, hissing through his teeth as he rocks his hips back and forth, his cock going deeper inside me, inch by inch, I feel him. He's all I could feel. He's all I want to feel. "Please..... please, Billy." My words are crumbling together, my body was breaking apart. "Tell me," He purred, his breath lightly fanning against my ear as he spoke, his voice was low and irresistible, it made every part of me shake as he spoke. "Tell me what you want. You have to speak up in order to get what you want, love.... So, tell me." "Just you, you, you, you." I'm begging now. I can feel myself getting closer and closer. I'm holding onto the shelf so tightly because I'm afraid I'm going to fall over. The feeling is growing, the bubbling sensation is getting larger and I can feel myself getting ready to burst. "Please, Billy, fuck me like you hate me. Fuck me like I'm some whore on the street. Fuck me-" My words are cut off by the way he pulls out only to slam back into me. Him, doing this - the sudden force and movement - is what makes me come undone. I knew I wasn't going to last long. Luckily, neither does he. "Oh, fuck. Already came, did you? Such a good girl. Fuck~ you're such a good girl for me. 'm gonna cum too, fuck, I'm so close, (Y/N)." His words, much like mine were, slur together, his thrusts become sloppy and messy. And before I know it, he's cumming with a cry of my name, filling me up as he does so. "Shit...." He groans, pulling back slowly as he then pulls me up with him, pulling me around to face him as he kisses me suddenly, the taste of myself still strong on his tongue. It shouldn't be a turn on but it was. However, I was too exhausted for a round two any time soon. I kiss him back, smiling against his lips. We stay in this position for a few seconds, saying nothing because the kiss says what all that I needed to hear. He loved me too. Pulling back, Billy smiles and moves a few pieces of hair out from my face, leaning forward, he captures my forehead with his lips, kissing it with so much softness and affection, I feel all warm and tingly on the inside. This is the Billy nobody but me got to see. This is the Billy I was in love with. Not the one he portrayed for everyone in town to see. He didn't have to play pretend, to put on a show, I loved him for who he was. Even the fake persona he wore. I knew it wasn't him, not at all. "I love you." Something flashes across his face the moment I say those three words, there's a certain look in his eyes I can't make out but he grins nonetheless and pulls me closer to him, hand finding their way to my cheeks as he moves to kiss me the way he had done before. "And I love you." Of course, I should have known he was lying. It was Billy Hargrove, after all. He didn't date. Didn't fall in love. All he cared about was the person that looked back at him in the reflection of his mirror and getting into girl's pants, no matter who it was. More importantly, he didn't fall in love with me. It was all a lie, all a trick, and I was nothing more than a puppet on strings for him to toy around with. I didn't know this until the next day. If I had known, I wouldn't have given myself up to him so easily.

I was - I still am - a fool for falling for his little white lies. I should have known. All the red flags were there but..... I guess I was just color blind. I just wanted to be loved. And I thought he loved me..... I really did. I guess I was just another girl to put on the top of his list.

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mckennamayfairgoode · 4 years ago

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Delia Fluff For Sam

Hello, please give all the love and credit to the wonderful author who said she didn’t care if I posted it or not and was clearly wrong. I definitely should: @lucyintheskywithxanax

Here is your fluff. I apologise it’s so short, as you know I cannot write fluff. x

It had started slow. But it had been inevitable, like watching dark clouds roll in and knowing a storm is coming. It had started with soft touches, a hand brushing your shoulder or your lower back, words of concern when one of you looked tired or sad – and then, a kiss, shy and chaste, shared in the dim, green light of the greenhouse; and Cordelia’s eyes, when she had pulled away.

Being in love with Cordelia was easy. She was everywhere: in the green of the leaves, the glare of the sun in your eyes, the graceful billowing of lace curtains in the breeze. It constantly baffled you, that of all the people in the world she had chosen you. That she had looked at you and seen something more. There were moments when she would give you that warm smile of hers and you’d gawp as your mind went into overdrive. You would gawp and gawp like a fish until a chuckle, or a kiss, or a brush of her fingers on your cheek would bring you back to reality.

What baffled you even more was, how on Earth could it be possible that not every. single. soul. in the world was not madly in love with her. It seemed to you even the birds in the sky should have dropped drunk with love at her feet.

“But do birds know love?” Misty had asked you once, when you had been rambling to her as she tended to the flowers in the garden.

You shot her a look. “Of course they do.”

Life with Cordelia was… early laughter on rainy mornings and the taste of fresh pancakes. Cordelia’s warm smiles and touches, her calm, powerful presence had soothed the thing in your brain that worried and feared. You were quieter now, more peaceful. The future still looked as dark and scary, but you weren’t as afraid. You felt braver. Life with her was beauty and comfort.

The only dark smudge to this otherwise beautiful painting were Cordelia’s long periods of time away. She wasn’t too happy about having to leave her girls, but it wasn’t rare that some kind of emergency – a witch who didn’t know what she was freaking out, a witch accidentally setting a house on fire while on a holiday, some congress somewhere about witchcraft or women’s rights – called her away from Robichaux’s for a couple of days, a week, sometimes two.

And with her absence came back the gnawing loneliness and anxiety that were only too happy to take her place. You were more nervous, sad, fidgety, and too restless. You made sure to keep yourself busy every minute of every day, dreading the moment you would have to go to bed and listen to the silence of the night. In this silence, your thoughts made a racket.

You had kept that away from Cordelia until one of the other girls had mentioned it to her, because she was tired and worried of seeing you roam the corridors like a sad ghost at 4 am. Since then, Cordelia had insisted you called her every night when you went to bed. You would tell her about your day and she would tell you about hers. Sometimes you would fall asleep to the soft lull of her voice. Sometimes she would. Just having her at the other end of the line brought you comfort. You would hold your phone to your face as if it were her hand.

This time, she had flown across the country to attend some important convention she went to every year. She had left with a grumble and left Zoe in charge. You had driven her to the airport, clinging to her hand like a child until you reached the security checkpoint and kissed her goodbye. “Call me,” she breathed against your mouth, brown eyes searching yours. And then she had walked away and you had felt yourself dissolve into the crowd, nameless, small and exposed.

You wished you could say it was getting easier each time. You were getting used to it, definitely – the ache was duller now, with random bursts of intensity like a star exploding.

You spent every day of that week eagerly waiting for your evening call. When it was time for it you locked your door, lay on your bed and stared at the diamond stars in the night sky as you listened to Cordelia’s voice and rambled to her about your day and how you missed her and how pathetic you were, for being so dependent on her. She scolded you, gentle but firm.

“This week will never end,” she said one night, making you chuckle at the childlike pout in her voice. “I am so tired of listening to white men speak. They remind me of Hank: all warm smiles, but evil inside. Thank God the Supreme will never be a man. Can you imagine my girls entrusted to one of them?”

“Delia,” you scolded with another chuckle, smiling at the ceiling.

She sighed. “I miss your laugh. I know I can hear it now, but it’s not the same. ”

“What else do you miss?” you asked, biting your lower lip.

“How red in the face you get when I kiss you,” Cordelia teased – and the smug smile in her voice was enough to make you blush.

On the morning Cordelia was to come back, you rose with the sun. You were too excited to stay still, so you busied yourself with chores – did the laundry, did the dishes, swept the floors, made lunch for the girls, did the dishes again. Cordelia’s plane was to land at 2:30pm. You had to teach a class at 2pm, and she had insisted you didn’t miss it – so someone else was to pick her up while you tried to remember what you were supposed to teach to the girls.

At 3:30pm, happy, excited voices rose in the hall.

You stopped talking mid-sentence. Your heart sped up like a teenager’s seeing the most beautiful girl for the first time.

You opened your mouth to resume your lesson. “Uh,” was what came out of it.

The voices in the hall grew louder. Your eyes darted to the door. One of the girls in the class giggled – you turned to shoot her a look, realized half the class was looking at you very, very suggestively, biting their lower lips to try and hold back grins and smirks.

Heat flooded your cheeks and ears. You cleared your throat, tried to think of something to say – one of the voices in the hall definitely was Cordelia’s. You knew it, for your heart jumped at the sound of it.

“Uh,” you said again. Another girl let out a giggle. “Excuse-me,” you blurted out, as you turned and dashed off.

Your feet carried you down the corridor before you had time to realize what was happening, for only your heart mattered right now, and your heart was… soaring? Flying? You didn’t know how to describe what was happening to your heart.

In the doorway to the hall you came to a halt. Only a second. That’s how long it took you to scan the small crowd and find the blond head of hair that stood surrounded by happy, rejoicing faces.

Cordelia turned – and she must have sensed you there, as she always did, she was always so attuned to your presence. You used to call it magic; now, you weren’t quite so sure. Maybe it was just her, and you, and the way things worked between two lovers who had agreed to surrender to each other. In any case – Cordelia turned, met your gaze. Her lips parted on white teeth and her eyes glittered as if reflecting your light.

You took one step forward and then suddenly you were in her arms, pressing your face against her shoulder as one of her hands came up to cradle your head and the other pushed on the small of your back, guiding your hips against hers.

You let out a breath of relief you had been holding since the day she had left, and breathed her in when you inhaled again. You couldn’t have described her scent had a gun been held to your head. All the different fragrances had blended together by now. She smelt like Cordelia. She smelt like the perfume your soul sprayed on its neck every morning upon awaking.

You nudged her shoulder and pulled away to meet her eyes. “Hi,” you said in an awed whisper, touching her cheek with the pad of one finger.

Her smile grew bigger. She sank her teeth into her lower lip, eyes glittering brighter still.

“Oh darling one,” she breathed, ”how I missed you.”

You giggled, leaned in to capture her lips between yours. The kiss was soft, and slow, and velvety, like dipping your mouth into the most exquisite of teas. She nipped your lower lip playfully and sighed.

And you smiled into the kiss, because she felt perfect. Your hands came up to tug on her collar, pressing her closer against you.

In the slightly embarrassed hush that had fallen upon the room, Cordelia pulled away. She bit her lower lip against a childlike grin she failed to fight off. You gazed at her, entranced and enchanted, trying to understand why she looked so amused.

She raised one hand and ran the pad of her thumb over your cheek.

“Oh”, she laughed, eyes sparkling, “I adore how red in the face you get when I kiss you.”

#NOT MINE #fic rec #watch out guys #xanax is out here being amazing again #will be adding my thoughts in a reblog because there are many #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia goode #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson #american horror story #american horror story coven #american horror story apocalypse #fics #submission

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cuttingthe-painter · 4 years ago

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I just really need my fae bae to comfort me saying he won't leave me for any other creature because he loves me even though I'm a plain boring human... ;-;

I have been in quite the slump recently, my friend, and this prompt (that I know you sent forever ago) finally helped me break out of the creative hole I had found myself in!! I really hope you enjoy the fae bae I have created for you!

***feel free to reblog***

Nyn - Fae Boyfriend (sfw)

male fae x human reader

word count: 1718

warnings: insecurity, slight jealousy, sadness, slight mention of past stalking/attempted assault (very brief, 2 paragraphs), PLEASE let me know if I missed any warnings/incorrectly labeled them.

Silence blankets the apartment with the setting of the sun, the only interruptions the soft turning of pages and your persistent nagging thoughts. The television flashes bright colors in the dimly lit room and a dull ache begins to form behind your unfocused eyes. You blink away the dryness, hoping to bring your mind to the present and away from the memory of Nyn and the woman in the park.

It shouldn’t bother you so much; you should be happy that Nyn finally met another fae like him, another fae made from the silky shadows of night, but it’s been three days and you can’t shake the way the stars in his eyes danced when he met her stare. You’ve looked into his eyes countless times, memorized the universes living in them, and they’ve never come to life like that.

They looked like they had been made for each other, Nyn and the woman in the park. The crawling smoke under their ashen skin turning into raging black flames that radiated off them, rising into the night air and burning together. You’ve only seen Nyn’s shadows engulf him one other time, on the night when you’d first met.

Work ran later than usual that night and you found yourself walking home down seemingly empty streets. A few blocks into your commute, a set of footsteps echoed on the sidewalk behind you, matching your pace for a few moments before quickening. Panic seeped into your body, a restless anxiety taking hold of your limbs and sending you running down the nearest alley. The man behind you mirrored your sprint, his hand reaching out to grab your jacket. He yanked it and you twisted to free yourself, only to find your balance thrown off.

You expected to feel the sharp crack of concrete against your head, but it never came. Inky shadows snaked around you, softening your fall, and exploded into the alley between the man and you. You stared into the impervious smoke, wondering if you had hit your head and if this is what death was like, a dark and empty nothingness. But then it receded into a solemn silhouette and you could see the streetlights again.

Your mind is a broken drum, comparing the scenes over and over and over until you feel like you’re about to break. Something silky wraps around your ankle, skates up your outer calf with a feather-light touch, and pulls you from your mental prison.

“Where were you?” Nyn has his hands resting atop his now closed book, brows furrowed and dark eyes locked on you. You try to choke down your insecurity and force out a small laugh.

“I was right here watching the show. What are you talking about?” He purses his lips and you know that he knows you’re avoiding the question. His shadow around your leg retreats back to him and he rises from his chair. Fear twists in your gut, fear that maybe he’s angry or that he’ll leave, but instead he grabs the blanket from the back of the couch, lets it fall open behind him, and crawls up the couch, squeezing himself behind you and wrapping you both up.

“I’m here if you want to talk,” he says, pressing soft kisses into your hair. You both lay there, the soft murmurs of a mindless sitcom lulling you to sleep in the comfort of Nyn’s embrace.

Even in sleep you can’t escape her. She’s standing beside him where you should be, ethereal and fae and made for him. You lay crumpled at their feet, feeble and weak and human. When he grabs her hand and pulls her to him, your body jolts awake and Nyn’s arm tightens around you.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, his sleepy voice riddled with panic. Your body curls into itself, tears stain your face and Nyn brushes away your hair sticking to the wet tracks. He cradles you to him, whispering soft I love you’s and It’s going to be okay’s in your ear. You try to believe him, try to believe that it’ll be okay because he loves you, but then you see her and the way his eyes danced when he looked at her and you wonder if it really will be okay.

“Please tell me what I can do to help.” He sounds desperate and scared and you want to be okay just to make him sound normal again but you don’t know how. He lifts himself off the couch, letting you roll onto your back, and hovers over you. His eyes soften when he sees your pained face and shadows snake out from him, coiling through the air towards you, reaching out until they’re soothing away your tears.

It’s getting easier to breathe, each inhale feels less and less like swallowing glass. You raise your hand to stop the shadows, to wipe away your own tears, but they stop you. The dark wisps entangle your fingers and squeeze three times in a silent I love you and you know you have to tell him.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see you and that woman standing there,” you whisper, hoping Nyn can hear you over the breaking of your heart. “And then I open them, hoping she’ll be gone, but she’s still there and I can’t stop myself from wondering why you’re still here with me.”

“I-“ Nyn starts slowly, mulling over his words carefully. “I’m afraid I don’t understand… Why wouldn’t I be here with you? This is our home.” Tears fill your eyes again and you roll your head to the side, avoiding his gaze.

“Because when you looked at her, your shadows came to life and the stars in your eyes danced and that’s never happened when you’ve looked at me. She’s like you and I’m…I’m just..me.” A gentle hand caresses your cheek, slowly turning you back to face Nyn. A look of understanding settles across his face and he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“Those things, they don’t happen because when I look at you, I feel safe,” he whispers against your skin. His warm breath fans down across your face, and your eyes blink away the dryness. Safe. He feels safe. You let the words sink in, hoping that safe isn’t just a proxy for bored.

“I thought maybe it’s because I’m, y’know, human,” you whisper back, willing away the tremor in your voice. Nyn pulls away, staring down at you with a look so soft and so foreign, and you swallow helplessly at the lump straining your throat.

“You say human like it’s an insult.” Seriousness laces his words and you wish you could rewind time and stop yourself from ever mentioning it.

"Isn’t it, though? I mean, compared to you and her?”

“Absolutely not. You being human keeps me sane, makes me want to do better and be better. That’s why when I look at you my stars are still and my shadows contained. Our shadows, they can be dangerous, can turn us dangerous. If we live in them for too long, we become them and lose our sense of humanity.”

Nyn positions himself back around you on the couch as he speaks, wrapping one arm around your waist and tucking the other under your head. His words sooth the lump in your throat, coaxing it to relent enough to let you breathe normally.

“That’s what happened to her,” he continues, soothing circles into your hip with his thumb. “And when she saw us together, she thought that’s what had happened to me. She was dangerous; the things shadow fae will do when consumed by their shadows are… not pleasant. When I heard what she wanted to do, what she thought I wanted to, I did what I had to do to protect you.”

To protect you. Your heart feels like it's going to beat right out of your chest. It clicks then why the only other time you’ve seen him erupt like that was back in the alley, when you were being followed. But how did he know she had ill-intentions? You try to remember when the woman was talking, if she had said anything other than ‘hey there’ and ‘nice to meet you’.

“How did you know she was dangerous? I never heard her say anything weird,” you say, still trying to recall the night more clearly.

“Her eyes,” he says. He’s back there at the park, you can see it in the way his eyes go glassy and his shadows swell out from him. He blinks away the memory and keeps going. “We talk through the lights in them, that’s why they ‘dance'." You don’t really understand it, but you can at least understand enough to get it. You let out a quiet ‘oh’ and wait for him to continue but he doesn’t.

The room quiets again and you focus on Nyn’s slowing breaths, attempting to match yours to his, hoping to leech some of his calm. He nuzzles his face into your hair and hums in content and you feel the pent-up anxiety in your body dissipate. Tears flood your eyes at the sudden rush of love coursing through you and you can’t help the sudden urge to turn and crowd into Nyn’s space, smothering him with kiss after kiss.

He laughs into the kisses, threading his hands into your hair, holding you still and deepening the kisses. You feel his shadows dancing around you, tickling across your skin, and you feel ridiculous for ever doubting how much he loves you. You pull away for a breath and he chases the movement, gently nipping at your lip with his pointed teeth.

“Nyn,” you half-mumble half-moan. He makes a muffled sound in response but pulls back to listen. You smile up to him and say “thanks for protecting me” and he smiles back at you like you’re his entire world, then kisses you again, slow and purposefully and with no intention to stop.

Later, after the kisses have finished and you’re pressed against Nyn under the sheets of your bed, on the verge of sleep, you hear Nyn whisper “thank you for letting me love you” and then you’re gone, dreaming of dances with the shadows in the stars.

#fae boyfriend #fae x reader #fae boyfriend x reader #exophilia #monster lover #monster x reader #prompt request #my writing #fae x human #male fae x human reader

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

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The 5 Times Steve Felt Betrayed - Pt.1

and the 1 Time He Felt Like He Was Betraying You

Type: mini-series to a series (part 1 & part 2 & Part 3), Avenger!reader AU.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, Matt Murdock & reader

Word count (ch1): 2400

Summary: After the fiasco in Nigeria, the world is fed up with dealing with the Avengers’ mess. The Sokovia Accords are invented. It’s understandable that the team is divided.

But Steve would never expect that The Accords would wedge a split between the two of you as well. And he sure as hell wouldn’t expect your disagreement not to end there.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, talk about what happened in Lagos during CA:CW, langauge, angst? (I mean, check out the title)

A/N: So, this mini-series is a part of the Melting Hearts ‘verse and follows the events of CA: Civil War, sometimes only referencing and kinda expecting the readers to knwo what’s up ;) obviously some things will be slightly altered.

Will be posted in double chapters (1st &2nd time, 3th & 4th, 5th+1)

────── ·❆· ──────

1. (Cause & Consequence)

“Our people's blood is spilled on foreign soil. Not only because of the actions of criminals, but by the indifference of those pledged to stop them. Victory at the expense of the innocent… is no victory at all.”

Steve shut the TV down, placing the remote control on the table. His fingers went to massage the bridge of his nose.

It was everywhere – a month after the fiasco in Lagos, they were still talking about it in the news. This time it was the king of Wakanda speaking, questioning the activities of the Avengers team.

And during the past weeks, he had barely been the only one.

Steve was well-aware of their mistakes – of his mistake. The way he had lost it with Rumlow was unforgivable, especially with so many lives lost. Wanda might have been the one to send the exploding man into the building full of civilians, but Steve was watching the source of the tragedy every goddamn day in the mirror.

He had failed to deal with the HYDRA mercenary. Wanda had saved Steve’s life when she removed the burning man out of his reach, accidently blowing up a building. You had tried your best to put out the fire in the building with your powers, but the damage had already been done.

It had been a collective error. But Steve knew that if they hadn’t been in Nigeria in the first place, many more people would die. And it was what he was trying to hold onto, some days handling it better than others.

If the public thought they didn’t feel remorse at what had happened, they were very, oh so very wrong.

He winced when the voice of the reporter he had just shut down evaded his ears again, and frowned.

He knew it couldn’t be you – you weren’t home, which was just another thing to make him feel like crap. You were spending a lot of time away lately – Steve couldn’t help but wondering if it was his fault too, if he had driven you away with his dark thoughts.

And then there were moments when he wasn’t sure if it wasn’t simply you not being able to look at him, not seeing him in the same light as you had used to when you had said yes to his proposal.

Were you gone because you were judging him for freezing at Bucky’s name? For not handling the situation? He couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed. Loving someone… it shouldn’t be about expecting something back, but… after all the support he gave you whenever you were struggling? He thought you would be there for him.

But maybe it was just too much for you, dealing with yourself and comforting him at the same time – it would only confirm his theory about you feeling guilty for some of the victims.

However… why wouldn’t you try to deal with your own feelings with Steve? He was hundred percent sure you thought you could have done more, be there sooner, hell, stop the explosion yourself. He knew you felt like it was your failure as much as his and Wanda’s – or at least he believed so.

But why were you seeking shelter somewhere else? He was your fiancé – a person you had agreed to spend the rest of your life with – so why weren’t you with him in a time like this? Your relationship had been very intimate from the very beginning after all, only blossoming into more with time.

So why had you gone to see another man again? He couldn’t help the nagging pang of betrayal and jealousy. You always said you needed to see Matt Murdock. How could it not get into his very core and wound him there? Especially when after those meetings with Matt, you always seemed restless, jumping at the slightest of sounds, often escaping to the gym, claiming you needed few more moments alone.

“I’m sorry,” you would always say, a regretful smile on your lips, your gaze avoiding his. “I just… I guess I just need to hit something and I don’t want you to see me like that.”

And then you would hug him, kiss his cheek gently, sometimes pressing your lips to his for a split second and you’d be gone. Truth to your words, you would always come back exhausted, but somewhat calmer and offering affection with more urgency than usual to make up for the lost time.

Steve had no idea what to think about that or how to approach the matter.

What he knew he could do, however, was to walk into Wanda’s room and turn off her goddamn TV, because he was sure the voice was coming from there – no one had watched the news with more intensity than her, always coming after any new bits about the incident in Lagos so she could torture herself.

That girl was way too much like you.

“It’s my fault,” she stated when she acknowledged his presence. It was hard not to, since he had turned off the broadcast.

“That’s not true.”

“Turn the TV back on. They’re being very specific.”

“Well, what they say on TV is a load of— stupid things. We both know that I should have handled the situation way before you had to intervene. People died. And unlike what they say on the news – that’s on me,” he said, heavily seating himself next to her on her bed.

She gave him a sorrowful smile. “Well. I guess it’s on both of us.”

And not on the three of us, Steve’s mind supplied helpfully in an instant and he sighed at the intrusive voice in the back of his head.

“She’s out again. I’m sorry. She’s taking it pretty hard, especially considering it wasn’t her fault at all,” Wanda offered gently and Steve mentally cursed at the mind-reader slash empath slash million other things. “She’s afraid too. She worries for you, because of the way the mission affected you. But she’s not blaming you.”

Steve eyed her, meeting her honest gaze full of compassion.

“Well, she could say that by herself, but she won’t. Instead…”

“You know… she was very fast at learning how to build a wall in her head to shield her thoughts from me. I can’t read her mind… but I can always tell there’s a lot on it when she comes back,” the Sokovian informed him and Steve stiffened.

Yeah, that was exactly the thing he did not want to hear.

“The thing is… she’s terrible at hiding her emotions. I… I’m not gonna pretend I don’t know what crosses your mind from time to time, I don’t need to read thoughts for that, or emotions. But I can tell you that she only has feelings for you, Steve. Her heart – it’s always with you. She’s carrying it on her sleeve, but it’s yours. You got yourself a good woman, Captain. A troubled one, sure,” she chuckled softly, apparently pleased she felt Steve’s relief. And relieved he was; you weren’t cheating on him. You weren’t thinking about cheating on him. You still loved him. You didn’t blame him. It was as if he could breathe again, indescribable weight falling off him. “But a loyal one and good one.”

Steve covered her hand with his, determined to sooth her as well. “Well. I knew from the beginning that you two were too much alike.”

“Thank you, Steve,” she smiled at him softly and Steve wished he wasn’t imagining the slightest relief in her eyes as well.

“No, Wanda. Thank you.”

────── ·❆· ──────

2. (Empty Promises)

The Sokovia Accords. A miraculous solution to the problem of the uncontrollable bunch of (mostly) superhumans that hold no responsibility for their action.

Go. To. Hell.

Steve wanted to burn the hundreds-pages document to ashes. It was nonsense. The document just shifted the blame to someone else and wanted to put all of them in check; in a way Steve didn’t like at all.

As long as he remembered, all he wanted was to do good – to serve his country, sure, but mainly to serve the people in it, serve a good purpose. And this regulation went straight against it. Hell, it went against the promise he had once made to the man who gave him the power to fight for a good cause, because he had thought Steve could value it. And he did. He heard Doctor Erskine’s voice as clearly as if he was sitting on the opposite bed at the Camp Lehigh, the night before the procedure.

‘Promise me, that you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier – but a good man.’

Being a perfect soldier meant obeying orders and not thinking twice it they meant doing the right thing or not. Being a good man meant standing for what he believed was good with his whole heart.

Signing this peace of— paper would go against everything he believed in.

“We’re not perfect, but the safest hands are still our own,” Steve finished the argumentation and that said it all.

He looked up at Tony with intense glare, his blue eyes gleaming with severity. The air felt too heavy to breathe, the silence itself weighting a ton.

It was your timid voice that cut it in the end and what you said made Steve’s heart ache.

“That’s not something all of us can say about themselves, Steve.”

His attention shifted to you, his lips parting at the well-known expression on your face. His shoulders slumped with a sigh.

Apparently, he had been right about Nigeria – you did feel guilty. And the beginning of your new life with powers had branded you forever as well; this was just another prove of that. A scar for life – the way you saw yourself after killing the scientists on accident, it was affecting you every goddamn minute of your existence and some were just more difficult than others.

“No matter the mistakes we have made, the lives lost on our watch – it doesn’t outweigh the good we’re doing,” he opposed you gently before turning back to Tony to make a point. “The good we might not be able to do if we sign.”

The billionaire huffed. “If we don’t do this now, it will be done to us later. That’s a fact. And it won’t be pretty.”

“You say they’ll come for me,” Wanda stated with scary steadiness to her voice and all eyes snapped to her.

“We would protect you.”

For some reason, Steve’s gut twisted at Vision’s measured voice. A discussion started all over again and Steve was slowly losing the grasp on who was on which side. He glanced your direction as you were observing the fighting team quietly, a troubled expression on your face – the very same he had seen all too often, every time you had come back to the compound.

With sudden urge to comfort you, he rose to his feet and made his way to you. It was when his phone vibrated in his pocket, announcing the worst possible news.

Peggy Carter had just died.

“I gotta go.”

────── ·❆· ──────

You had gone to London with him, together with Sam. It was… difficult. Soul-crashing. Steve knew that this day would come, possibly very soon, but it hit him like a train, the blow knocking him to the ground.

The blows just kept coming and Steve would love to make a cheeky comment about him being able to do that all day, but this beating was hitting him on places that really, really hurt and he couldn’t bear it. He cried when he carried the casket. He didn’t have the capacity to feel ashamed for it.

God knew you had been there for him as a silent support the whole time; even when he was shamelessly staring at the woman he knew as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and she introduced herself as Sharon Carter. Peggy’s niece.

To be fair, it wasn’t just the revelation of her relation to Peggy or her appearance – it was her, quoting an amazingly strong and inspirational woman, who had, just like Steve, always only wanted to do the right thing. It moved him in a way he wouldn’t be able to put into words if anyone asked him to do so.

You had given him a moment alone only when he had asked for it – you had left the church with everyone else.

It surprised him when he heard the door opening again after what could be a minute; but it wasn’t you. It was Natasha. Bringing up the issue of The Sokovia Accords that Steve had backburned without even realizing it.

His opinion hadn’t changed and he refused to leave to Vienna with Natasha. It was when you replaced her in the otherwise empty church, approaching him slowly and timidly, when he realized that you were about to that though.

“You’re coming with her,” he stated, unable to keep the bitterness off his tone.

Just another punch into his solar plexus. Sure. He could do this all day.

Your smaller hand caught his, for once warmer than his own despite the cold air of the church. Your eyes were on his too, searching in his face. He didn’t have the strength to hide anything from you now.

“Unless you want me to… no, not now. I don’t need to sign publicly – I’m a long way from Black Widow’s popularity and fame.”

“You know that’s not true,” he opposed wryly, too weak to snatch your hand away.

It felt too heavy against his, almost foreign; he hadn’t known if you had made up your mind and decided to sign, not until that moment, not for sure. Now he did. Yet, there was a comfort he was seeking in your touch, because it was something that always helped to calm him down, ground him. He was vainly chasing after the feeling now.

Sensing his struggle, you hesitantly brought your hand up to cup his cheek; on instinct more than anything else, he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. Your thumb skimmed over his skin, affectionate, giving.

“And you know I don’t need an audience,” you whispered. “I… I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Steve. I want to be here for you, if you want as well. Work can wait.”

Your words, your touch, your affection – it should all bring him peace, but it just wasn’t coming. His first true love had left this world, left him, and now it felt like you were leaving him too – leaving him behind and betraying an oath you had premised when you let him slip an engagement ring on your finger.

────── ·❆· ──────

Part 2 (the third and the fourth time)

────── ·❆· ──────

Thank you for reading!

I decided to post it here on tumblr in double-chapters, because they would be reatively short otherwise... but posting it as one monster chapter would be a bit much... I think.

Have a good start of your week!

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elizabeethan · 4 years ago

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Time and Time Again

The jungle makes her uneasy. Everything makes her assume the worst. She hasn't felt this anxious in years. There’s one person who doesn’t make her feel that way, though.

One day I’ll cool it with the Neverland AUs... today is not that day.

So, while bored as hell, I was scrolling through my docs and I saw “untitled” and said hmmmm what are you? And I found something interesting! A short piece of this was written back when I was very newly working on It’s About Bloody Time for a scrapped plot that features a more anxious Emma and a more monstrous Neal. Some of this may be familiar in that case, if you read that one. I added some pieces to it and we now have some Neverland hurt(fear)/comfort posted for @neverlandnewyear. It’s a one shot and I don’t intend to add any more to this but that doesn’t mean it wont happen

Thank you to @the-darkdragonfly for being the best beta ever and hashing out this plot with me (but not for trying to get me to make this a MC 😡)❤️

Part 1/1 (complete)

Rated T for language

~3000 words

Read on Ao3

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook

~~~~

He says he wants what’s best for her, but he doesn’t even know what that is. She told him her feelings wouldn’t change, hell, she literally told him that she wished he had died, and he still said that he wouldn’t stop fighting for her. What makes him think she wants him to fight for her? What makes him think he had ever started fighting in the first place?

So, when Neal says he wants to stop for water and to relieve himself on their way back to Tink’s, Emma doesn’t object to a short break. She feels as though she had worked off her frustrations with the arduous walk through the trees, leading the way and setting a fairly fast pace. She sits on a rock as Neal steps away from the group of three, leaving just Emma and Hook alone with the noisy, humid jungle.

“I apologize, Emma,” he starts softly. “I realize that my foolish actions could have placed your son at risk, and for that I am truly sorry.”

Emma isn’t surprised to hear Hook’s voice through the sounds of the birds and insects surrounding them. “You put yourself at risk, too. That was stupid, Hook. How the hell are we supposed to get off this island without you to sail the ship back to Storybrooke?”

He smirks slightly, breathing out a soft sigh and taking out his leather covered flask. “I’m sure you would have found a way. Bae was rather skilled at captaining, back in the day.”

Emma rolls her eyes, grabbing the flask when he offers it to her as he sits down on the same rock. “Well, that plan would have been foiled too if the both of you had your shadows ripped from your bodies. Then the only option would be to have the Dark One sail us home.” He narrows his eyes at her and takes the flask back. She can tell that he knows she’s joking but hopes that he can see her point.

“The Dark One is lucky to have a place on my ship at all. There is not a chance in all the realms that he steps foot behind the wheel.”

She scoffs lightly. “Remember that next time you want to try and impress me by doing something dumb.”

“Your wish is my command, love.” She expects to see a smirk on his face, but instead is met with his eyes making contact with hers, looking serious under his dark brows.

She stands up again, unable to sit still. She’s still keyed up from earlier in the Dark Hollow, and she feels herself getting jittery and restless after not moving for a few moments.

Hook can apparently read her quite well, because he stands as well and offers her another swig from the flask. “You’ve got to calm down a bit, Swan. Perhaps I should go and fill your canteen as well?”

“No,” she answers immediately, surprising herself. “I mean, I’m okay. I have enough water, just… stay here.” She’s not sure what the hell has gotten into her, but suddenly the thought of being left alone in the jungle makes her skin crawl.

He smirks again, raising a brow before saying, “as you wish, Swan.” She half expected him to respond with some sort of brazen flirty comment, but instead he’s silent for a few moments.

She nods, noting the anxiety still coursing through her, and he’s right. She does need to relax, but she can’t. She can’t get her mind off of Neal eventually making his way back through the jungle; keeps hearing him break through the trees and trying to talk to her again. The thought of Hook leaving for water and Neal coming back before Hook does sends her into a tailspin and suddenly, she’s nearly panicking. If Hook left now and Neal came back, he would absolutely try and have a conversation with her again, and she doesn’t want to even consider the fact that he’ll probably say something else about trying to win her back.

“Swan? Emma, what is it, love? You’re turning white. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

She’s nodding again, “I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… don’t go anywhere, okay? I don’t need water.” She feels like she can hardly breathe, her chest rising and falling painfully. Hook is in front of her quickly, placing his hand on her left arm and looking into her eyes so intensely she thinks her head might explode.

“Emma, what’s wrong?”

With her chest heaving, she responds, “I’m okay, it’s fine.” She feels his hand running up and down her arm, his hook making similar motions on the other, and the cold metal contrasts her hot skin nicely.

“Just talk to me, darling. What’s the matter?” Images of Neal coming back through the brush rush through her mind again, this time of him catching them in this compromising position and his possessive nature exploding out of him, and her breathing quickens. “Whatever it is, it’s alright. I’m here, I won’t go anywhere, love.”

She feels herself relaxing slightly at his statements, knowing that she won’t be alone and in danger of facing her own thoughts in the next few moments. But then Hook says, “you’re safe now and we’re going to get Henry just as soon as Baelfire returns,” and she feels a tightness in her chest again.

“I don’t want- I mean-” she feels as though she can’t make a coherent thought as her breathing quickens some more.

“Don’t want what, Swan? What’s on your mind?” His voice is so soft and soothing to her that she practically melts, almost able to let go of the steel grip her thoughts have on her.

It’s the tenderness in his voice that sways her to speak and distracts her from the ache in her ribs as her heart slams against them. “Neal, I don’t… I can’t face him. I don’t want to face him alone.” Hook’s face twists up, his brows pinching together and his lips pursing as if he’s deep in thought.

“What do you mean, love?” She finally looks him back in the eyes and sees them swimming with worry.

“I just… I just don’t want to talk to him now. I told him everything and he barely listened, and I don’t want to go through that right now. If you leave, nothing will stop him from...” she knows she’s rambling and hardly making sense, but she gets a feeling like Hook understands what she’s saying.

“Is this about your secret?” She nods. “Because you told him how you feel?” Another nod. “But then he and I were idiotic, and you nearly lost him again, is that it?” His perceptiveness impresses her, but she can’t shake the feeling that something he said isn’t quite on the money. “He’s your first love, Swan. It’s perfectly normal for you to fear losing him.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not scared of losing him, I’ve already lost him and come to terms with it. I think I’m just scared of him hurting me again.” Emma is astonished at how much she’s opening up to Hook, but at the same time, feels as though he’s the best person to have this conversation with. If one person understands getting over the loss of a loved one, it’s Hook.

“You don’t want to talk to him because you’re worried that he’ll hurt you?”

“I know he will, eventually.”

“It must be difficult to have so little trust in the person you love,” he remarks thoughtfully, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t know just how wrong he is.

“I don’t love him,” she proclaims seriously.

“Oh,” he responds. He nods, folding his lips into his mouth and looking about as awkward as she thinks she’ll ever see him.

“I don’t…” she starts, but isn’t sure if she should continue. She isn’t sure when she let her guard down in front of him. Just moments ago she was shouting at him for acting stupid and now all of a sudden she’s spilling her heart for him? “I don’t know if I ever did.”

He nods again and looks to the ground, his feet shuffling uncomfortably as he says, “I see. So your confession, then…?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess I must have loved him in my own way, back before everything happened between us, but… if not for Henry…”

“So what’s brought this on then, love?”

His question shouldn’t feel so profound. She should know why she feels the way she does; why anxiety is ripping through her at the thought of being with the man she once trusted. But somehow, she has an answer. “He scares me. I know what he’s capable of, and I know… I know what he’s done in the past. He could do it again.”

“What did he do?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

“He left us.” Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the only person here who doesn’t assume she’s going to get back with Neal. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the only person here who has known Neal before. There has to be a logical explanation to the fact that she’s opening up to him more now than she has with anyone else. “Me and Henry,” she continues. “He set me up for his crimes and I had his baby in prison because he abandoned me. What’s to say he won't abandon us again, here?”

He’s looking up at her instantly, the intensity in his gaze nearly suffocating. His brows are pinched together in great concern, and his mouth hangs open just slightly, as if he’s shocked speechless. Before she knows what he’s doing, he’s stepping towards her and taking her hand in his.

“You will not be left on this island,” he says with ferocity. “I will never let that happen. You will have Henry safe in your arms if I have to lose my other hand to make it so.”

She chokes over his words, her throat drying and her forehead hurting with how hard she’s pinching her brows together. She can’t help but to squeeze his hand back, suddenly taking great comfort in his warm presence. Appreciating the way his fingers squeeze hers, grounding her. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I mean it. We’re getting Henry off this island the moment we’re able.”

The island is so hot and humid, but the warmth he’s bringing her with just her hand in his is intoxicating, and she can’t help but to lean closer to him for more. The closer she gets, the easier it is to let out the breath she’s been holding. When she lets her head drop to his bare chest, her forehead tickled by the coarse hair, he releases her hand from between their bodies and wraps his arm around her shoulder.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, relaxing into her as she does the same, his face pressing to her hair. “We’re going to get off this island. I‘ll keep you and Henry safe, I promise you.” She nods into his chest again, pulling herself into his hold. Their breathing steadies, matching in pace, and his hand slinks up and down her spine soothingly.

“I know,” she whispers against him, hugging around his waist tighter, although she isn’t sure why.

No, she does know. What’s shifted in the short time since they’ve been here she isn’t sure— perhaps it’s his stifling honesty or the intense set of his jaw when he tells her how he feels. She knows that she trusts him. She can’t let him go.

“Emma, what the hell?!” she hears from behind him, and she startles but doesn’t release her iron grip around Hook’s waist. Her breathing quickens once more, and she’s panting now as he squeezes her tight before releasing his own grip on her.

“I—” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“We’re in the middle of the damn jungle and I step away for five minutes, and here you are with him? What the fuck is wrong with you? The whole reason for us being here is to get our son back and you’re fucking shacking up with the pirate? Are you deranged?”

She sees something flick in Hooks eyes and he turns suddenly. “Don’t speak to her that way,” he hisses, his voice low and menacing in his chest.

“I don’t need your input on this, pirate! You certainly don’t need to speak for Emma, I’m sure she’s capable of defending herself.”

“Defending herself?” he booms, taking a step away from her and towards Neal. “She needs not to defend herself for anything she’s done. Can you say the same, Baelfire?”

She raises her brows in surprise at his words but says nothing, choosing to let Neal respond on his own.

He lets out an awkward chuckle and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, as if there was nothing else he could think to utter.

“Right,” Hook scoffs. “Let’s carry on, then. We’re but moments from Tink’s and I’d like to get off this bloody island.”

~~~~

She’s crying.

No one else is awake, no one else can hear, but she’s crying. She’s sitting all alone on her mat and she’s crying.

Whatever it was that Neal did to her all those years ago— the abandonment, the betrayal— the impact that it’s having on her now is clear. She spoke of her fear of being abandoned again. Of being left on this island by someone she once trusted. She’s been failed by every person here, and the dread of being failed again is valid.

He just wishes she wasn’t crying. It pains him to hear her struggling so hard to hide her soft whimpers and involuntary sniffles. She agreed to keep first watch so the others could rest, but Killian finds sleep impossible to come by because of the poignant sounds coming from his right.

He’s certain she can’t be watching for much, her soft sobbing likely distracting from any potential threats, so he finally moves to stand, startling her and causing her to sit up straight and wipe at her cheeks. “It’s alright, love. Only me, I’ll take over watch,” he murmurs softly, making his way towards her and noting easily the way her shoulders drop again as she lets her guard down, somehow.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, as if thinking she woke him.

“There’s no need to be.”

They sit in silence for a bit, appreciating the roaring fire before them, and he pokes open another coconut for her to drink down quietly. He notes that she’s stopped crying, but that doesn’t rid her of the wrought emotion displayed on her face and the occasional deep gulps of breath she seems to take involuntarily.

“We’ve a good plan,” he tries to assure her after a beat of silence. “It’s going to be alright. We’re going to beat him.”

“I know,” she nods, biting her lip. “There’s just something about this island that makes me feel so…”

She sighs, unable to go on, so he supplies, “uneasy? Unwanted? Unloved?”

“Exactly,” she breathes out.

“I know the feeling, darling, but I assure you, it’s far from the truth in your case.”

“Just,” she continues brazenly, ignoring his sentiment. “Like earlier, for example. Mary Margaret talked to me about Neal, I guess she overheard us before.” He bristles at the thought of her mother overhearing their conversation, but lets her continue on. “And the whole time she was trying to make sense of what happened, but I couldn’t shake the feeling like she was, I don’t know, judging me. For not wanting to be with him. Like she couldn’t believe I wouldn’t want to be with my first love even though he ruined my life.”

Truthfully, he almost doesn’t doubt that that’s exactly what the young royal thought. If there’s one thing he’s learned about this crowd, it’s that true love is very important to them. The idea of her wanting Emma to be with Bae simply because they have a history together doesn’t seem too far from logical.

“So are you saying she doesn’t feel that way?”

With a shrug, she answers, “I don’t know. But I feel like I took the worst possible message of what she was trying to say, you know?”

“Aye,” he agrees, though he thinks he may not actually know.

“But I never… I never have that feeling with you.” His breath hitches. Rather than responding, he turns to his right to face her and hopes that she elaborates. “I just feel like I can always take you at face value, I guess.”

He can’t help the smile that breaks across his face. He doesn’t try to stop it. Lifting his arm slightly in invitation, he rests it along the log they lean against and she tips towards him instantly. “I’m glad,” he murmurs once she settles.

“We’re lucky to have you.”

“And you.”

After a beat not quite long enough, she presses away from him and takes the heat with her and he tries to hide his pout. But he doesn’t need to pout for long before she leans towards him and captures his lips between her own in a soft, slow kiss. It’s less heated than the last, but no less passionate. It stirs no less in him than the last had. With her hand meeting his cheek and his sliding up her back and into her hair, he can say with certainty that this is the only part of Neverland he’ll ever enjoy.

She doesn’t pull away from him for some time, continuing to massage his lips with hers and eventually slipping her tongue to glide across his bottom lip until he grants her invitation. They tangle together but it’s no less gentle or tender as they sit beside one another and kiss away each other’s fears.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his mouth once she breaks away just slightly.

He isn’t sure if she thanks him for taking over the watch, or for the kiss, or for being here in general, but he knows it doesn’t matter. She need not thank him for any of it. Because when Emma Swan gives him a gentle smile and curls into a tight ball beside him, her head on his lap and her soft snores soothing him above the sounds of the eerie jungle, he knows he would do any of it and more for her, time and time again.

~~~~

#csnlny #neverland #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff

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bittcrblue · 3 years ago

Text

killing virgins, draft 1

I’ve been in a slump for a week or so where I don’t like any of my writing, lol, and I decided to revisit my first two drafts of what would become killing virgins and realised that I like them a lot more than what I put out, lol.

I decided to post them here in case anyone is interested, along with why I ended up abandoning those ideas in favour of what I did write, and maybe that will help me settle more comfortably into the plot that I wrote :)

Incoming are about 5k words of M rated content, with warnings for dub-con, dissociating, and some kind of fetishizing of disability from a character.

Caleb wakes in his cramped little cell with a pounding headache, the taste of vomit on his tongue, and the smell of semen on his fingers.

He realises that last as he goes to scrub at his face, trying to chase the last wisps of his restless sleep away, and it turns his stomach. That had truly happened, then. He calls back on memories of last night, and try as he might, what comes up first is Ikithon’s cloying manipulations, his fatherly concern. Asa and Wulf’s calculating eyes and compliments. Bren’s own fear. It’s only later that the images form, of him in Essek’s bed, in Essek’s lap, his tongue down Essek’s throat. Those arrested hip movements hindered by two legs nailed to the bed by medical braces. The tears in his eyes and on his face as Caleb systematically tore down every defense, and then everything left behind them, picking his wants apart with a magpie’s voraciousness, striking fast and hard while Essek stumbled to catch up, tongue heavy from wine and Caleb’s own spend.

I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, he hears his old master say.

Other people complicating desires and wishes, indeed.

Caleb rolls out of bed and goes to bathe. He can smell Essek’s expensive detergents on his skin, where he doesn’t reek of sweat from sleeping in his fine clothes.

In the time it takes him to bathe and put an expression on his face that approximates rested, if not pleasant, the Nein have found the breakfast table, and are exclaiming over the cats as they bring out steaming mugs of tea and coffee, platters heaped with bacon and potatoes and bear claws.

“Hallo,” Caleb says. He takes a cup of coffee and drinks it one long go, gulp after gulp. His mind flashes to Essek swallowing around him, and he chases the thought away irritatedly.

He had gone to the Shadowhand for a distraction - to indulge in the rot that lingered under his skin, the venom that boiled both of their veins, to lose any thoughts of trying to claim humanity and become a base animal for some time. He doesn’t need the memories to keep clawing into the forefront of his thoughts.

Caleb despises feeling guilty. God knows he has spent most of his life carrying that weight.

Caduceus is looking at him carefully, like he is a puzzle, and Caleb decides to nip that in the bud.

“How did you all sleep, here?” he asks, and the others all explode into compliments. It’s good - strokes his ego. He kept them safe. They were protected, here, in this disgusting meat closet, while Caleb was miles away getting his rocks off with a traitor.

“So, what do we want to do now?” Jester asks. “We’ve got a little bit under a week before we have to go pick up our clothes, and then we’re going to go work with Vess.”

“Some of us have to pick up our clothes,” Fjord amends, half-muttering into his coffee. “Some of us didn’t spend seven hours shopping.”

“Didn’t we want to go to Zadash?” Yasha asks. “To talk to your dad,” she nods to Jester, “And get some leads on Cree?” There is a fire burning in her, simmering under the surface, ever since they realised that all their threads seem to lead back to Mollymauk.

Caleb needs to get his head back on track. Stay on task.

“Yeah, we could do that,” he says flatly, unable to muster any kind of emotion.

Veth gives him a concerned look. She’s not the only one. Damn his vulnerability, yesterday. They know him too well, these friends of his; he wants to peel his skin off and flee, start anew, wants to fall back into old patterns of Bren. He looks at Veth’s face instead, her chubby brown cheeks, her furrowed brow untidy and soft. She is lovely. He is happy for her. At that moment, he misses Nott.

“Do we maybe want to check on Essek?” Veth asks tentatively, eyes on Caleb, like she is doing him a favour. “See what ol’ Hot Boi is up to? If there’s any new treasons?”

“Is Essek very high on our agenda right now?” Fjord asks. “Pardon me for saying, but it feels like we’ve… moved on from that phase, haven’t we?”

“Fjord!” Jester scolds. “He’s our friend! We promised we would help him be a better person!”

“Yeah, but we’re about to disappear into the arctic fucking circle for God knows how long, chasing after mysteries with Vess deRogna, so like.” Beau leans back on two legs of her chair, arms spread wide. Duh, her posture reads. “Fat load we can do.”

Caduceus’ shrewd gaze is still zeroed in on Caleb. He doesn’t meet it, because knowing Caduceus, it will be kind.

Jester is seeking his eyeline, too. Caleb ignores it, lips pressed together. He will not reveal last night’s scry if she doesn’t.

“I can do a quick scry,” she says finally. “I bet we will see that he is so changed, you guys. I bet he will be, like, volunteering at a children’s hospital.” She runs to her room to fetch the scrying orb.

Great. So the rest of them will see him too. Caleb thinks of seeing Essek’s plush lips after he saw them spread wide and panting last night. Thinks of the way he had whined when Caleb pinched his earlobe. Who would have thought that the Shadowhand to the Bright Queen was so easy? He’d mentioned several times that he had no interest in nudity, in carnal pleasures, had lamented their tryst as a bad idea before they even got their dicks out. Caleb wonders if he was a virgin.

Jester is setting up her scry, the crystal ball settled between a platter of cupcakes and a sodden grease cloth that once held bacon that is probably in Beau’s pockets. Veth scoots her chair closer and Caleb needs to distract her, right now.

“How was your time with Luc and Yeza?” he asks, and she can see through him - of course she can, she knew him at his worst, she has always known he was terrible - but she responds anyways. Caleb tunes her out. In truth, he doesn’t want to hear about her happiness when he is churning with misery and resentment. Perhaps that makes him cruel. Nothing new to him, although Veth has rarely been the recipient.

The scry forms strangely, this time around. As if it were nearly resisted, Caleb thinks, seeing Jester bite her lip in frustration before the image clears. He would bet money on it being in the Lucid Bastion, firstly because of the architecture, not least because the oracle sharpens on Essek standing before the Bright Queen.

“I thank you for the report, Shadowhand,” says Leylas Kryn, her horned headdress luminous in the bright light of the room - her study, perhaps. “Have you anything else to bring to my attention?”

Essek looks… rough. Nothing obvious, of course - his mantle is in place, impeccable, and he floats a few inches above the floor as per usual. His hair is curled and styled. But he has dressed down; no jewelry hangs between his earlobes and his nose ring, there are no elaborate cuffs protecting the edge of his ear that Caleb now knows is so sensitive. He wears a single silver loop on each side, a dodecahedron brooch on his mantle. Under his eyes, dark circles speak of exhaustion.

“There has been word from the Mighty Nein, Your Radiance,” he says.

(“What the fuck is he talking about?” Beau asks. “Jess, did you message him?”

“I didn’t!”)

“And what say our intrepid Heroes?”

Essek tilts his head to the side, as if thinking over his words. There is a shadow under his chin, the slightest intimation that something might linger under his collar. Leylas Kryn notices it; most of the Nein do, as well. Jester is staring straight at Caleb.

“They have been contacted by Vess deRogna, of the Cerberus Assembly,” he says.

(“Yo, how does he know this shit! Is he spying on us?”)

“Do they seek to undermine us?” Leylas asks, immediately harsh, eyes cutting.

“I do not believe so, My Queen.” Essek brings a hand to his chest, bows his hand in reverence. “In fact, I doubt that they will accept her contract - they have previously voiced distaste towards the Assembly, as you recall.”

The Bright Queen settles, slightly, but she is still on edge. “And what would this Archmage have of our Nein?” she asks.

Caleb seethes at her casual assumption, that the Nein are hers. Government is the same - manipulative people, regardless of where the border falls.

“The reports from Vurmas have mentioned strange activity near Eiselcross.”

There is a collective intake of breath - the Queen, the Nein.

“The Assembly would plunder the depths of Aeor for magical weapons, now that our Beacon has been returned,” Leylas murmurs, hands folded in prayer and pressed to her mouth. There is a fanaticism in her eyes that Caleb recognises. “The ink on the treaty is not even dry, and still they seek to undermine our rule. We are ever dirty cricks to them, unworthy of standing under a shared sun.”

“We must lay the foundations of a future where peace is ensured,” Essek says after a pause. “If that means protecting our interests in the North, Your Radiance, I will assemble a team and send them to Eiselcross at your command.”

Leylas Kryn lowers her hands, and regards Essek for a long moment.

“Kneel,” she says, and Essek drops down into an elegant bow, long and sweeping, one hand pressed to his forehead as if to block out the sun.

“Kneel,” she repeats, more insistent. “Properly. Do not make me command you thrice.”

There is an audible sound of impact, as Essek drops his floating cantrip, and his knees hit the marble floors. His face twitches once, but it settles back into courtly placidity before it can show pain. Caleb thinks of his legs in their braces, last night. He knows Jester is thinking the same, her hands over her mouth, tail thrashing in distress.

“Umavi,” Essek says, head bowed, low in front of her.

“You may look upon me,” she says imperiously, and he lifts his head, staring up. Her hand raises, imperceptibly, and Essek takes it, pressing a kiss to the fingers there.

“Holy Day approaches,” the Queen says quietly, softly, so very softly. “We will stand under the light of the sun and be purified of our faults by the cleansing beams of the Luxon. True devotion, true love, is known only through pain. Submission is an agony that delights.”

(“She’s crazy, right? So we’re clear?”)

“Of all my courtiers,” Leylas Kryn continues. “Your reverence is the one I trust the most. Are you in pain, Shadowhand?”

“Always,” Essek says with a laugh. “Particularly so now. The floors are chilly, Your Radiance.”

“I can trust that your devotion is honest, and that you offer it with understanding of all that entails.” She tilts his chin up, the better to meet his eyes with her own distant, ancient turquoise gaze. “Remember your place, Essek Thelyss. You are my Shadowhand - a card in my deck. Not your mother’s, and not your den’s. Nor are you one in the Mighty Nein’s.”

Essek smiles once more, and this one speaks volumes - it is less convincing than he likely hopes. “Trust me, Majesty. They do not picture me as such at all. My relationship with the Mighty Nein is… not a concern for the Dynasty. I am the Shadow cast by your Hand. Your wish is my only obligation.”

Leylas Kryn searches him for a long, long moment. “Very well. Rise, Shadowhand. I want you to go to the Skysibil and learn all you can about Aeor, and what the Empire might seek there. Dismissed.”

She has already turned back to her desk and taken a seat when Essek gets to his feet, a series of cracks echoing throughout the chamber as he does so, and with an ugly grimace on his face he starts to float and leaves, offering one last bow as he goes.

They follow him through the scry to a different part of the Lucid Bastion, where people bow to him as he passes, and he eventually enters a sumptuously decorated office, gestures to lock the door behind him.

Essek makes a somatic gesture with his hand, and says “Skysibil, if you are available soon to discuss our histories of Aeor and our interests there, I await your earliest convenience. Light shine on you.”

And then he drops into an extremely comfortable looking chair with a long groan, unclasping his mantle carelessly. Under his cloak of office, he is dressed finely, but comfortably, as is his norm. There are metal braces clasped around his legs, this time - perhaps the soft ones are for bed? - made of wrought silver. Essek stretches his legs out one at a time, brings a hand to his right knee, lets out a pained sound.

“Not the fucking day for this,” he laughs, and it sounds like he is close to tears. “Not enough to have spies on my tail, to have work heaped on my plate - no, we have to prove devotion on a bad leg day, when I haven’t tranced, after the worst sex of my life. Fantastic. Doing great, Thelyss.”

A wave of his hand, and a desk drawer opens; a bottle of something fine and potent flies out and lands in an expectant hand. He pulls directly from the bottle. With his free hand, he tentatively traces over his own neck, pressing into the skin through his soft tunic. Caleb pictures last night, and can transpose the shape of his own teeth where Essek pushes, a forlorn and bitter expression on his face.

“Fool,” Essek says to his empty office, under his breath, tone defeated. “You never learn.”

If Essek says more, the Mighty Nein don’t see it - their ten minutes are up, and they all emerge from the vision, still at the breakfast table.

The air is heavy with the smell of food. Caleb is still a little nauseous, both from being faced with bubblegum frosting first thing in the morning, and from what they were shown by the scry. He dislikes the idea of Essek on his knees, kneeling in piety, hips and knees cracking with every shift he makes. What has Leylas Kryn done to gain such submission?

He pictures himself in her place, his hand on the side of Essek’s face, guiding that dark mouth onto his cock. Essek letting out moans and gasps, from his throat being fucked or because his folded legs are twinging beneath him, with no way for Caleb to tell.

“Okay, what the fuck was that?” Veth asks.

“Yeah, who told him we were going to Eiselcross?” Beau accuses.

“I didn’t send him a message you guys, I swear!” Jester cries. “Maybe he was scrying on us, but…” she tries to meet Caleb’s eyes. He ignores her.

They are all looking at him now.

“Was it just me,” Beau asks, eyes boring into Caleb. “Or did Essek have a little hickey, right here?” She presses her fingers to the hinge of her jaw.

“Why are you looking at Caleb,” Veth says shrilly. “Essek clearly said that he’d had some bad sex, and Caleb wouldn’t do that - he’d have amazing sex. Essek is clearly spying on us, because he’s untrustworthy.”

“Okay, what’s important for us to take away from that interlude,” Fjord says, trying to cut through the arguing-

“His legs are hurt,” Yasha says quietly. “Did we know that about him?”

“No, we didn’t,” Beau answers.

“What's important,” Fjord presses. “Is that he’s covering for our reputation in Rosohna. Did you see that he didn’t tell the Queen that we’re working with the Assembly? He’s keeping us in good standing there.”

“No ulterior motive for that, I’m sure,” Beau says.

Caleb stands. His chair scrapes against the floor. It cuts through the noise easier than Fjord’s captain voice did.

“I cannot hear myself think,” he says flatly. “I need a moment.” And he strides from the room.

“Caleb, get your ass back in here,” Beau yells, and starts to move after him, but Caleb can hear Caduceus intercepting her, telling her “Let him go do this, he’s reflecting on his behaviour and that’s a good thing-”

Caleb doesn’t bother heading to his room when the library will do fine. He breathes in, long and harsh, exhales only after he’s held it so long that his head spins. Frumpkin is batting at his arms, and he lets him, too lost in his own head.

There is a part of him that burns with upset at being called Essek’s worst lay. Essek had hardly been a good one himself - sloppy and unpracticed, he’d spent at the weakest dirty talk Caleb ever attempted. It wasn’t even dirty talk, really - he’d spat Essek’s fantasies back in his face, and even just the thought had been enough to do the job.

He wishes Essek were less vulnerable. The proud Shadowhand he first met would know how to play these games with him, a mutual manipulation that would leave them both content. This? Is emotional, and messy, and Caleb can feel something from far away, as if it were locked behind a pane of glass, that wants to clasp Essek’s hands tenderly. Press a kiss to those knuckles. Cross eyes over an experiment in his towers, and feel something burgeon between them. What had Essek wanted? To kiss him properly, and then walk him back to the Xhorhaus, like teen sweethearts with a curfew.

Instead, Caleb had teleported straight into his bed for a mediocre handy, called him an idiot, and left him with come still cooling on his stomach.

Well, you can’t always get what you want.

He considers seeking out Astrid and Eadwulf - they, at least, know how to play this game, might remember their old moveset even if they’ve long since moved onto another dance. Caleb could let Wulf fill him from behind, let Asa sit on his face, let his brain bleed out his ears for however long they took.

Because that worked so well last time.

Approach things logically, Widogast. Is Essek a card that is worth being kept in their sleeve? He is a powerful mage, but Caleb is as powerful now, or nearly as much. His contacts in the Dynasty are of no use to them where they are going. But perhaps, if they face a formidable enemy…

Essek, with his metal-encased legs, camping in the biting north? Tears burning in the corner of his eyes, facing down some frosty demon? Caleb almost laughs.

From another angle, Caleb is invested in Essek’s redemption - Caleb knows that he himself is damned, knows that all he can do is toil at his friends’ side and hope that it adds up at the end of his life. He wants to see Essek do the same. He wants to know if it carries the same catharsis as seeing Essek cry against his chest.

Caleb is turning in circles. He ought to go out to the others, and confess this sin. He could dance around it, he knows, say as little as he needs to and let the others fill in the rest. Just one other of the many skills his Master demonstrated last night.

Instead, Caleb snaps Frumpkin out of his arms, and teleports.

This time, he is courteous enough to teleport into the antechamber before Essek’s office itself. He knocks on the door, thinking idly to himself that it is a massive security risk, to allow teleportation into the heart of the Bastion.

There is movement, and a long moment, before Essek opens the door, eyebrows raised, a haughty expression on his face as he prepares to scold whatever secretary or aide would dare knock without announcing himself.

The look freezes on his face, instead. He flushes violet and avoids Caleb’s eyes.

“Caleb,” he says. His voice is…

“Yeah. Can I come in?”

Essek looks between Caleb - eyes landing on his chin, and not moving higher - and the doorframe. As if he might slam the door. Caleb puts his hand in the frame, just in case, and Essek takes an instinctive step back.

“I’m working,” he says, after a too-long pause. Chin raised, as if he might fall back on pride and noble upbringing, when Caleb has seen him whining, hips struggling to kick. “I certainly hope you are not here expecting a repeat performance of last - that is to say.” He clears his throat. “I’m busy, Caleb.”

“I don’t want to fuck,” Caleb says flatly.

Essek flinches, and looks around them wildly, before grabbing Caleb by the lapel and dragging him into the office. “Have you no shame?” Essek asks, voice sour. “I’d ask if you had any decency, but. Well.”

Caleb leans against the shut door, and watches him. He can see Essek struggling to maintain composure, to not be discomfited.

“The childhood accident,” he asks. “What was it?”

Essek looks like he might explode, anger painting his expression. “I believe you have lost the right to ask me personal questions,” he says, and wraps his mantle around him closer. The movement is achingly insecure. “Given that you have shown a proclivity for throwing my confessions in my face. I won’t be mocked in my own office, Caleb Widogast.”

“Ah, but your bed is fine, yeah?”

Caleb doesn’t know why he’s even here. He doesn’t know what he wants - wants Essek to hurt him, maybe, or to cry again. His earlier fantasy of fucking Essek’s mouth flits through his mind again, but more than that, he feels that presence somewhere in his breast pounding its fists against the glass.

Essek is just staring at him, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Sorry,” Caleb says after a beat. “I came to - apologise.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Essek says. He does look haggard, doesn’t he?

Caleb takes a step forward, and then another - Essek clings to the edge of his desk.

“I told you that I liked your daydreams,” he murmurs. “Was this one of them?”

Essek’s eyes are screwed shut. “I won’t be - won’t be tempted, I am not a mere plaything of yours simply because you learned a new spell. This is - I did not take you for cruel, when we met. More the fool I.”

Caleb reaches out and puts a hand on Essek’s breastbone. Flattens it out and smooths the heavy fabric of his mantle. He can feel a heartbeat, pounding, beneath it.

“What did you want?” he asks, lips barely moving. “Last night was for me. Let me do something for you.”

Essek buckles against the desk. Caleb drops a hand to his waist to steady him.

“Steady,” he says.

Essek slams a hand against Caleb’s chest, and it does embarrassingly little. “I am not a filly for you to calm,” he hisses. “I am the Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, and I am your Steward - if appealing to you as a friend means nothing anymore, perhaps you will respond to authority.”

Caleb smiles. It feels honest. “Yeah, not really,” he says, a regretful twist to his mouth.

“You’re despicable,” Essek says. Caleb squeezes his waist. “I so wished that last night had been a dream,” he laughs, the sound upsetting and raw. “And now this.”

“How drunk were you?” Caleb asks.

Essek doesn’t meet his eye. “Very.”

“Shall we forget it happened?” He strokes the flesh where his hand sits above Essek’s hips, leans in closer. “Would that bring you peace, friend?”

“You have a lot of nerve,” Essek scoffs. “To think I would forget…” he looks aside.

The Shadowhand takes a deep breath then, and he peels a hand away from the edge of the desk to place his still-white knuckles against the edge of Caleb’s jaw, gently touching the beard there.

“It is evident,” he says, courtier voice in place. “That I like you more than you like me. Last night was - I won’t do this with you, Caleb, won’t let you come at your whim and let you take what you want. I’m not the type. I don’t do trysts.”

Caleb shudders. You did last night, he does not say. Bold of Essek to cling to modesty, when Caleb didn’t even ask for head - Essek had flipped him over, gagged for it by his own volition.

“I do like you,” he says instead. “But I don’t trust you.” He leans into Essek’s hand, watches a series of emotions flicker across his expression. “I see myself in you, and it enrages me. And then, other times, I don’t see myself in you at all, and it makes me doubt everything I know.”

“You were the one who told me that… that we could leave things better than they were before,” Essek says after a long moment.

“Yeah.” He wishes that Essek would put his thumb on Caleb’s lip, so that he could suck it into his mouth. He is better at seduction than he is talking things out.

“You did not leave me better than you found me, last night, Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb smiles, exercises his jaw. “I was not myself.”

“You are still not yourself.”

Calculating eyes meet concerned violet-blue. “Am I not?” He turns his head, now, to press a kiss to that dusky purple palm. Those curled fingers that can destroy a scourger with a single gesture, that can cling without strength to Caleb’s hair and shoulders.

“You are so alive, normally,” Essek says, quiet and earnest. “There is a spark of brilliance in you, that struck me from the first I laid eyes on you. You hurt to look at, sometimes, for fear of burning myself.”

It is romantic drivel. Caleb’s heart speeds up all the same.

He sees us, screams the him behind the glass. Bren hushes it. He saw them last night, saw the truth of them, the truth of who and what Caleb is.

“Your eyes are cold, now. You mock me still, playing at tenderness, trying to fall in line with what you think I want. I’ve seen more lively eyes on a corpse.”

Caleb reaches up to grasp Essek’s hand and moves it in front of his mouth. Presses a reverent kiss to his fingertips, a mirror of the move Essek made to his queen not a half hour ago.

“I’m sorry for last night,” he says, infusing some emotion into the words. He isn’t sure which one. “I should have stopped as soon as you implied you were unwilling. I wasn’t thinking - seeing my old master put me… out of sorts.”

“I would have listened, had you wanted to talk about it.” Essek is flushing quite dark.

“I know that now.” Caleb squeezes the hand in his. “I fell into old patterns of self-destructive behaviour. My comrades and I… whenever he was too much, we would find respite in one another.”

“Did you mercilessly taunt them, too?” Essek doesn’t relent.

By all the fucking gods, he’s really taking that necking comment badly, huh?

“Sometimes. It can be a release, to let others speak to you without filter, depending on your mindset. But you are not me, and that does not excuse it.”

Essek searches his eyes before his glance skitters away again. Painfully shy, the Shadowhand. Caleb wonders just how young he is, to his people.

“Was last night your first time?” he asks gently, stroking Essek’s waist again. For all that Essek resented it earlier, the intent to soothe appears to be working. They are all just animals pretending at higher intelligence, calmed by simple touch.

“Give me some credit,” Essek says, voice flat. “I was an adolescent at one point.”

The answer says more than Essek likely realises. Teen flings only, then, nothing of substance. And now, this flame he carries for Caleb, that he showcases proudly and clutches close to his chest in turn.

“You were very eager,” Caleb continues, still speaking quietly. “Do you still want me?”

Essek makes a pained noise.

“I’m at work,” he says, and then moans when Caleb leans in to exhale, wet and heavy over his ear. This is how it’s done, he doesn’t say. It’s easier to be erotic when sober.

“Take a break,” Caleb coaxes. “We will be gone some time, and I owe you a good time. I care for you, Essek. I want you to remember me fondly.”

A sharp inhale. Bingo; tears welling in those eyes. Caleb is a terrible, terrible man.

“I’m not sleeping with you in the Bastion,” Essek says, and it is utterly unconvincing.

“How presumptuous of you,” Caleb teases, and gives a nip to his earlobe. “Perhaps I simply wanted to kiss you.”

“Oh, I’m the presumptuous one?” Essek laughs. “You who so boldly appeared in my bedroom, demanding company…” He trails off, because Caleb is staring at him, trying his best to convey some kind of emotion, some fondness that he felt once before he saw Essek in the hold of a ship and realised that they were the same despicable type of selfish. It might not work, but want will do the trick just as well. Essek moistens his lips, a brief flicker of tongue.

“Caleb,” Essek whispers, and leans in - finally, finally - for a kiss.

It is close-mouthed, dry. Gentle. Barely a caress. He can feel Essek shuddering under his hands, and he almost wishes he could muster some semblance of reverence back.

Caleb draws back first, and then presses in again, this kiss briefer. Pecks pressed to the corner of his mouth, left and right, to his upper lip, then his bottom, each one big enough that he can plant a kiss there without effort.

“Good?” he asks, as if they had done anything.

“Mhm,” Essek mumbles, and reaches for him again. His hands curl in the front of Caleb’s jacket. It feels terribly romantic. Caleb sweeps his tongue out, licks his way into Essek’s mouth, drinks the sweet noises he makes. Feels Essek’s legs tremble again, and he reacts on instinct, sweeping him up to settle him on top of the desk, and then the moment ends - Essek clutches at his left leg, letting out a pained hiss.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb says dumbly, hands still on Essek’s hips.

“It’s fine,” he groans, and physically picks up his leg to better position it on the table, ensuring the bend of his knee with a grunt. Are the tears in his eyes for pain now? Frustration? Still that misty-eyed tenderness that Caleb somehow evokes, even with his half-assed pretensions?

“You are in pain,” Caleb says, and lets his hand rest on Essek’s upper thigh, where a gap in the brace lets him touch the fine silk of his trousers. He traces a little circle into the flesh there. “Should you not go home to rest?”

“My work never ends,” Essek offers, a grim smile on his face.

“Let me take you home,” Caleb insists, and knows immediately that he pushed too indelicately. Essek flushes, and looks aside, mouth moving as he struggles to form words.

“What is this?” he finally asks.

“This is me, and you.” Caleb kisses Essek on the cheek. “I want to leave you better than I found you, but I seem to have a bad track record.”

#caro writes #caro lore #my fic #burned house horizon #published fic

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jossambird · 4 years ago

Text

Pumpkin Patch Pt.2

Nervous Axel x Female Reader, 18+!

Oscar knew it, he could feel it in the air, the desperate and greedy lust his eldest brother held for you, watching as Axel’s eyes followed your form throughout the rest of the week.

He had made sure to be around you at all times, laughing at the way Axel grew restless with each passing day, frustrated, growling under his breath every time Oscar disturbed the both of you, finding Axel in various stages of rage each time.

So close was he from finally having you, so close, yet so far, the delightful taste of your core still lingering on his mind, torturing Axel endlessly each night, hands relieving himself with thoughts of you.

Otto watched Oscar wreck havoc on their brother, wondering when Axel would explode.

He decided to help his helpless elder brother, writing a quick note before handing it to him, Axel’s eyes wide in realization and pride.

A knock at your bedroom door woke you, making you look over at the clock, squinting at it through the darkness. 2am? Who would-

You rose, grabbing your oversized sweater and pulling it on hurriedly, opening the door to see a disheveled Axel, his cheeks blazing red and dressed in low hanging sweatpants and a coat, as if ready to-

“Get ready älskling and meet me out front.” He whispered, voice rough, eyes begging you, pleading to do as he asked. You nodded and turned, forgetting to close the door and granting Axel a view of your ass and panties as you bent over to grab your pants, yelping out in surprise as he smacked your behind playfully, grinning down at you.

“Hurry, before Oscar notices we are leaving.” Axel answered your gaze, color crossing over your cheeks at his words.

A noise in the quiet house surprised the both of you, making you cast aside the idea of putting either a bra or shirt and took Axel’s offered hand, grinning as he pulled you out of the house and into the van, driving away hurriedly as if you were bandits.

“Axel, handsome, where exactly are we going at 2 in the morning?” You asked as you sat beside him, eyes racking over his form, his coat opened just enough to give you a view of his toned stomach, not missing the way his hands flexed against the steering wheel as he registered your words.

He huffed before grinning abit, looking over at you quickly, cheeks turning a shade darker as he took in the sight of you watching him, visibly debating stopping now and having you ride him in the backseat or continuing to where he intended on bringing you in the first place.

“I-I wanted to...” Axel tried, eyes shifting down your face and to your covered chest, forcing them back up to your knowing smirk.

Tongue-tied just as he had been the week before, he internally cursed, wondering when you would tell him you were tired of his stuttering.

“It's okay Axel, it's just me. I'm excited to see where you’re taking me.” You replied, patting his thigh, reigniting the delicious ache of desire within him.

The walk into the forest was difficult in the dark, but Axel held your hand, guiding you gently until a lighted tent came into view, feet turning in the moonlight to look at the man who held your heart, wonder sparkling in your eyes as you realized this was what he had been doing all day.

“Did you- Axel, did you set this up so you could finally fuck me without any disturbances?” You asked, voice turning sultry. He looked nervous, a rare feat for the stoic and serious man, but it was cute, seeing him so anxious and eager, hands seeking out your hips just as they had earlier that week.

“Only if that's what you want as well.” He muttered against your cheek, pulling you close enough to feel his aching member against your body.

Always a gentleman, always seeking your consent, hands never lingering too far unless you asked him to. Axel, a stone cold assassin, waited, watching you, thumbs running against what little skin they could reach of your hips.

It didn’t take long for you to turn and open the tent, pulling your boots off and crawling into it and onto the soft air mattress. You hurried, body practically pulsing warmly at the memory of his handsome face between your thighs, your core already dripping.

Pulling your sweater over your head, a groan left his lips as your perky breasts and hard nipples greeted his heated gaze.

Too long had he wondered what your body would look like, and too long had he wished to run his hands up and down your body, wanting to bring you over and over again to ecstasy until his name was seared into your mind.

“Y/N, so eager for me already?” Axel growled as he closed the tent door behind him and removed his own footwear, loving the way your hands helped him out of his coat, flinging it over onto your sweater. Cold fingers ghosted across your nipples, sending a desperate noise out of you, your own frozen digits holding onto him.

“Ive been waiting for you to barge into my room every night and finally come fuck me Axel, of course I'm ready for you.” You moaned, hand lowering to palm him through his sweatpants while the other curled around his neck, Axel’s heavenly lips descending onto your jaw and neck, grinding against your hand.

Words in Swedish escaped him as he untied your pants along with his own, pulling back slightly to watch as he slid his hand into your panties, fingers seeking out your wet core.

Unabashed sinful noises escaped you as he got straight to work, fingers prodding and working you, holding onto you tightly as he readied you.

“Y/N, Älskling, such naughty sounds, tell me, what do you want?” Axel asked with a groan as he curled his fingers inside you, loving the way you kept pulling him closer, your own hands fumbling to push down his sweatpants to his knees and stroke him.

“Axel, ughh I want you, only you.” You bit out as he withdrew his hand, watching with rapt attention as he licked his fingers, a shiver climbing both of your spines.

“I missed that.” He smirked, fingers crawling up your soft skin to finally pull off your panties and pants before removing his own, kneeling between your open thighs.

“Missed what, my love?” You inquired, watching as his pupils dilated further and palmed your legs, greedy eyes taking you in as you wrapped them around his hips, loving the way he bent down to kiss your breasts before pushing into you.

“The taste of you of course.”

The way he fucked you was neither hard or rough, glacial eyes watching your every movement, savoring each sound from your lips, each touch you grace him with, each roll of your hips against him. So attentionate, so careful; the assassin fucked you, taking in everything about you in this moment, commiting it to memory.

Axel faintly wondered in the back of his mind if the hammering of his heart would ever calm, feeling the sweat bead against his skin.

Your hands pulled him out of his thoughts-

“Axel, darling, I swear, if you dont go faster!” You reminded him with a moan and a grin, his palms growing clammy. He was beyond grateful for your soft words and immense patience with him, smiling fully as he nodded, kissing you deeply and fucking you harder until you chanted his name, bringing you over the edge, again and again, determined to show just how much he adored you.

Oscar woke, groggy, looking up at Otto’s shit eating grin-

“They left in the night.” Otto said nonchalantly, smirking as Oscar cursed, knowing that his eldest Brother’s revenge would be disastrous

#the swedes #ikea mafia #Ikea fam #axel x reader #tua axel #tua otto #tua oscar #tua swedes #smut #the swedes x reader #umbrella academy Swedes #jossambird fic

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inclementweather · 3 years ago

Text

Live by the Sword

“He who lives by the sword, shall die by the sword.” Tavish murmured the verse under his breath, one good eye firmly on his sword. “That’s what they say, right?” The sword did not deign to answer. Tavish grimaced. “The only time the damned thing talks is when it’s wailing for blood, like some banshee from an old wives tale.” His voice was a low murmur, accent thick and rolling. He stroked a finger down the glittering edge, leaving a trail of red where his thumb was laid open by the cursed thing. “There ya go, today I’ve fed ya.” He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, waiting for the dreams that always seemed to lurk when he ran out of alcohol. And sure enough, like old friends, the dreams soon came.

Violence, gore, he had a birds eye view of himself charging the enemy, great crimson gouts of blood flying, bodies falling in his wake like grain before a scythe. His hands trembled in his sleep, fingers clenching and unclenching around a hilt that he did not hold. He grumbled faintly and turned over, dark skin gleaming with sweat as sun shone through his window, laying stark lines of light and shadow across his face. As always, the dream shifted, the enemy team becoming his own, he grew more restless as faces morphed into faces he knew and loved, his teammates, then his childhood friends, a girl he’d once loved, and finally his parents, all falling before his sword.

Tavish sat upright, gasping in air through his nose, mouth opened in a silent scream. He dropped his head into his hands, fingers massaging his temples. After a silent moment, he looked over at the sword and grimaced. “I cannae kill my own mates, ya bloody thing. They are as close to a family as I have.” He stood, pacing nervously. “Ye may have tricked me into killing the others, but this, this I will not do!”

He screamed in frustration, then continued, voice awash with regret. “I wish I’d never picked you up, you cursed thing! I wish you were in the hell I took ye from!” His hand clasped around a bottle’s neck and, reflexively, he tilted it back, rewarded by a single drop of liquid fire on his tongue. Snarling an unintelligible curse, he threw the bottle into the wall, glass shattering in a scintillating explosion across the room. Turning abruptly on his heel, he stomped out the door and down the hall.

Tavish leaned against a wall, put his head back against the cool cinder block, took a deep breath, tried to calm down. He was away from the damned sword but he could hear it now, whispering into his ear. “Blood, Tavish, blood and souls.” Balling up his fist, he punched himself in the ear, hard as he could, trying to make the incessant whine go away. “Blood, Tavish, give us blood.” The voice was still there, under the high pitched ringing. He groaned and staggered further down the hall, then outside.

Tavish tilted his head up and looked at the sky, cerulean blue with white wisps of cloud scudding along on a gentle breeze. It should have been a lovely day. It would have been a lovely day if he only had alcohol. Or battle. But to have neither was too much. He groaned and started walking, determined to put some distance between himself and the sword. Maybe if he wore himself out he would be okay, he thought, as he headed for the large building that housed gym equipment and a boxing ring. Nodding to himself, he opened the doors and walked into the large, air conditioned space. He was alone. With a sigh of relief, he walked over to the heavy bag hanging from a beam and began to take out his frustrations.

An hour passed before he knew it and, dripping sweat and winded, bare knuckles a bloody, raw mess, he left the gym, ready for a shower, some food, and sleep. He felt calmer than he had in days. He was looking forward to lying in his bed until dinner time, then grabbing something to eat, then lying in his bed again.

After his shower, Tavish headed to his room and lay down across his bed, ignoring the sword gleaming in the corner. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift.

Thump. Thump.

Tavish cracked open one eye and looked around the room. What the hell was that? He listened intently for a moment, then let his eyes drift closed again.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

With a curse, he sat up and glared accusingly at the sword. It didn’t make a sound.

Thump. Thump.

Tavish turned his head, staring at the wall beside his window. He cursed and stood up, going to the window and peering out. Scout. Cursing louder, he threw up the window sill just as Scout’s baseball hit the wall again, inches from his window. “Damn ye, ye bloody hooligan, can ye no see I’m sleeping here? Go away.” He yelled out the window, starting to close it as Scout yelled back.

“Hey old man, you can’t tell me where to play! Go get drunk!”

Tavish slammed the window and turned away, unprepared for the crash as the ball flew through it, nor for the glass that exploded inward, flying all around him, several shards embedding deeply into his back with bright flares of pain. He could feel his rage building, boiling to a fever pitch with every stinging movement.

Tavish’s world went red. Overwhelming hunger flashed through his stomach, bending him in two. Agony ripped through his gut, bending him double with the force of the hunger pangs attacking him. Grabbing his sword, Tavish placed one hand on the windowsill, hand shredding as slivers of glass tore at him. He jumped through, bare feet landing in the dust with a thump. Scout, eyes wide, started to back away. Suddenly, nerve breaking, he turned and ran.

Tavish drew back the arm holding the sword and flung it with all his might. He grunted with the effort, the fires of rage sweeping along his nerve endings as the sword flew through the air, glittering silver in the sunlight, howling like a banshee as it went. With a wet, meaty thunk, the tip pierced Scout’s back, right between his shoulder blades, it’s momentum carrying through until it was brought up short by the crossguard. Scout went down like a felled tree, dead before he hit the ground as Tavish’s sword sliced his heart in two.

Barefoot and dripping blood from his mutilated hand, Tavish, clad only in his kilt, walked over to the boy’s corpse, staring down for a moment before planting his foot on the boy’s back and drawing the sword back out. He looked at it, eyes blank for a moment, then leaned forward and ran his tongue down it’s length. The bright copper tang of his teammate’s blood exploded across his tastebuds, better than any whiskey he’d ever had. He groaned as the taste filled his mouth, rich copper trickling down his throat, leaving his hunger screaming for more, always more. With a roar that was barely human, Tavish went in search of the rest of his team.

Three days later…

Ms. Pauling was standing in RED base, her prim black kitten heels stained with blood as she held a small portable phone to her ear. “Yes, ma’am, all dead.” She listened for a moment as the Administrator spoke. “It would appear that Demoman’s delusions finally became too much and he had a psychotic break, ma’am.” She listened for a moment longer. “It’s a shame that it happened while respawn was down, yes.” She shook her head. “No ma’am, he’s dead also. He impaled himself on his sword.” She shook her head, tapping the toe of one shoe against the blood stained concrete floor. “Yes ma’am. I’ll clean this up and start looking for replacements immediately.” Ending the call, she slipped the phone into the small messenger bag she carried over one shoulder and sighed, the sound echoing oddly in the empty building. She started looking for a janitorial closet. This was gonna take a lot of mopping.

“I told her this would happen. But would she listen? No, of course not.” Ms. Pauling muttered under her breath, the words heard only by the blood spattered walls.

#whumptober2021 #no.6 #hunger #Team Fortress 2 #fic #violence #mental illness #blood #implied cannibalism #major character death #permanent death #anger

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only-here-for-jatp · 4 years ago

Text

The Secret Chord pt 1

A season 2 speculative fic

Alright @random-nerd-3 here it is.

This chapter features: Juke. Lots of Juke. Also brother-sister Carlos and Julie time.

Read it on Ao3 here

And below ~1800 words

It’d been a really long day.

Like a really long day.

Like the kind of day that somehow managed to seem like the Fortunately, Unfortunately book from school.

Fortunately, they were determined to play the Orpheum! Unfortunately, they had no idea how to do that.

Fortunately, they created a plan with the help of Willie, and it worked! Unfortunately, they’d then been kidnapped by Caleb and forced to play in his house band.

Fortunately, Julie managed to take a step and be brave for them and play on stage solo! Unfortunately, this meant she thought the boys had vanished from existence.

Fortunately, the boys appeared, and she could be relieved that they were safe and sound! Unfortunately, they weren’t, the jolts were still going to destroy them as they hid in her studio.

Fortunately, she’d found them, collapsed in the dark. She saved them

She saved them.

Now here she was able to touch them. Touch them. She was laughing and sobbing and warm as she huddled with them in this group hug. She never wanted to let go of these boys who meant so much to her, who pulled her through her grief and offered her light. She held on as tight as she could to these boys, scared that any minute the magic would be broken. Scared that any minute this would be a cruel trick of fate and she would lose the ability to touch them.

That they’d cross over and would be gone in the blink of an eye.

She didn’t want them to go, didn’t want them to leave. Yet she couldn’t fathom what might be left in their unfinished business. Here they were happy and safe and okay, so what could be left?

The warmth was slowly seeping out of her, replaced by cold and panic. She could feel her breathing become uneven and ragged. She couldn’t leave them. She couldn’t let go. If she let go, if she took her eyes off them for even a second, they might vanish. She couldn’t. Just couldn’t. She was gulping for air and her boys were looking at her with the beginnings of concern, the smiles sliding off their faces.

This was their moment of joy and celebration; she couldn’t ruin it. Ignoring her racing hearts and burning lungs and plastered a smile on her face. Hoping the boys would let her get away with the obviously fake performance.

She spoke, hoping her voice was stronger and more sure than she felt. “I need to go talk with Carlos and grab some stuff, but could I stay down here with you guys tonight?”

The boys offered her a soft smile, sensing a little her cause for concern. Truth be told they were grateful, their own gnawing anxieties demanding to be recognized. None of them wanted to let go of the other for fear of losing this precious magical moment. They would be more than happy to bundle Julie up in their arms and never let go.

It wouldn’t be the first time they’d all slept in the loft together. There’d been movie nights a plenty in order to catch the boys up on popular culture. Not to mention the late-night whispered song writing sessions where Luke and Julie sat together on the couch. They would be so close that every now and again they would sink into each other on accident. Sheepish smiles would grow across their faces as they reluctantly put the distance back. This time though would be a very special kind of first and the boys felt warmth spread through them as it was proven once again how important they all were to her.

Julie noted the boy’s eager nods and smiles as she retreated from the hug. Her anxiety and panicked still crawled over her skin as a sense of restlessness tugged at her from the inside, begging her to run.

Reggie and Alex stepped away slowly, their eyes never leaving her face. Luke on the other hand trailed his hand across her back, down her arm, and lightly toyed with her fingers before intertwining his hand with hers. He would follow her anywhere, but right now, he was simply desperate to never let go.

Julie shivered as she felt Luke’s not quite warm hand tracing down to her fingers. Even though he may not radiate heat, a trail of heat still followed. She watched as hid hand slipped into hers and gripped it tight. Her eyes darted to his as the rest of the world fell away. They were still tinged with red and dark circles hanging beneath. His actual physical state may scream exhaustion, but his eyes felt so alive. There was light and love pouring out surrounding her and filling her up. She let the feel of his hand in hers ground her as his smile and his joy and his relief traveled through her soothing her restless anxiety, and at least temporarily ridding her of the fear and panic.

Every now and again the thought flashed across her mind that these boys and Luke especially, may be dead, but they brought her to life. A genuine smile spread across her face and she watched Luke perceptible relax as she did. Julie lightly swung the hand that was holding him and with a laughing tone remarked “I guess you’re coming with me”

His smile shifted into one he knew caused pretty much everyone around him to melt as he leaned down to whisper three words softly into her ear.

“As you wish”

Julie and Luke meandered their way to the house, enjoying comfortable silence and frequent meaningful glances. She couldn’t help the flashes of joy every time they made eye contact and the sudden overwhelming shyness when she looked away. Something was changing and shifting with each small smile and hand squeeze. It was making her feel a little breathless with anticipation, like she wanted to push and rush. Everything in her wanted to pull him close and wait for everything to break and explode and move.

Instead she kept walking, one foot in front of the other, each step growing heavier as she made her way to Carlos’ room. She didn’t quite know how to explain the rollercoaster which had been the past month and thought maybe it’d be better to leave out Caleb. When she arrived outside Carlos’ door, she hesitated.

Luke squeezed her hand and whispered, “You’ve got this handled no doubt in my mind, but if you want some support I’m here.”

Julie could feel herself soften as she squeezed his hand back, “I’ve got this. I’ll meet you in my room in a few minutes?”

He nodded and reluctantly let go of her hand. Sliding out as softly as he had begun, making sure to trail his fingertips along her palm and up her fingers to her fingertips before moving quietly to her room.

Carlos took the news surprisingly well and with all the excitement of a ten-year-old boy. In fact, the most accurate world was thrilled, especially after he did the man-of-the-house threatening bit should these ghosts hurt her. She’d wrapped him in the biggest hug, knowing that her brother would stand by her, even if it meant facing something, he could neither see nor hear.

The moment though that she knew telling him was the right choice came as she stood by the door. He’d tucked himself in, but he sat up slowly and looked at her for a second. She watched his mouth move as if he struggled to form the words before very softly asking.

“Have they seen mom?”

She moved back to his bed and scooched him over so she could climb in. Within seconds, he was curled up next to her, his head buried in her side. Gently, she rubbed his back and hummed a little tune.

“No Carlos they haven’t. However, I can’t help but believe that mom sent them to me. To us. Not to mention, they’re under strict instructions that if they ever run into her in that afterlife of theirs to tell her how much I love her. If you want, I can make sure they tell her you do too.”

Carlos nodded, already drifting off to sleep. Julie made sure to stay until he was completely out, never pausing in the soft circles her hand was moving in up and down his back. Carefully she tiptoed her way out of the room, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

Julie couldn’t stop the smile slipping over her face at the sight of Luke laying in her bed, hands in the air and mumbling something that sounded like a pep talk under his breath.

Luke was in fact muttering a pep talk under his breath because here he was lying on Julie Molina’s bed in Julie Molina’s room doing his very level best not to touch anything. In fact he very deliberately put his hands in the air so he could keep an eye on them the whole time.

More than that from his very first moment with Julie Molina wrapped his arms, he knew she belonged there. Not that he doubted that before, but after nearly losing her in more than one way tonight he couldn’t bear to wait anymore. So here he was in the most incredible girl’s room hyping himself up that he could find the right words to tell her how much he needed her.

When his eyes caught hers though, a little damp and shimmery, but looking at him like he belonged there some of his fear fled replaced with hope. He stood and slowly made his way over to her, “Julie, I-“

Julie knew Luke. She knew the way he found words in the air and could make them into a masterpiece. She knew he would do anything for his friends and his family. She knew he’d done everything possible to never let her down again, to always support her. She could read him as if they were in each other’s heads. So when he cautiously stepped forward, she could see all the feelings swimming in his eyes. How could she not, when they were in her own?

She took her own small step forward, cutting him off, too excited to wait “Me too.” She thought she might burst at the half sigh, half laugh. She continued, reaching out to wrap her arms around him- “You’re a part of me”

His hand cradled her face so gently, while the other pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Now till eternity.” Slowly he moved his forehead to rest against hers. While he didn’t breathe, he could feel hers against his face. Noses touching, he asked “Can I?”

She pulled him closer in response. She could feel the momentum pulsing through her as she tilted her head, reaching for him.

And then….

#jatp #jatp fanfic #Julie and the phantoms #Nickaleb #juke #the secret chord

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assassins-and-hidden-blades · 5 years ago

Text

Don’t Let Go

So this is a sequel (not requested) to Hold On that I really loved writing… I hope you all enjoy it, because I’m really nervous on posting it. I decided on the sequel after very careful thought, not wanting to ruin ‘Hold On’; but after scrutinising every detail, I hope people can have fun reading this. Also, over 2.5K words -- that’s a first lmao.

Also, this was beta read by none other than @marshmallow--3! So, thank you, Sam! Go check them out -- they’re awesome!

Obviously, this is going to diverge from canon A LOT here -- so bear that in mind.

I could write this plot forever omfg I was finding it hard to stop -- I’m really sad to be putting this away now, but I could always write drabbles relating to it *wink wink*

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! I’d love to know what you all think; every comment/reblog is precious to me haha.

Tagging: @yourlocalfrenchie (if anyone wants to be tagged, let me know!)

The link to Hold On is HERE

Warnings: Violence, Angst with a fluffy ending. No swearing, (miraculously)

Days went by. Your body lay in the train; Jacob couldn’t figure out what to do with it.

He couldn’t eat, sleep or even hold a conversation. Evie couldn’t communicate with him, as he would never reply. His mind was always occupied, for if it wasn’t, it would always end up in the most terrifying places.

The deprivation of necessities had taken its toll on his body. He was becoming fatigued after only a few hours, and he would frequently pass out from lack of sleep on top of his work, only to be woken up by re-enactments of the one moment he wished he could forget. He would be left gasping, sweating; clutching his chest as his anxiety and fear left an agony that squeezed his heart. In fact, the only time he managed to get any sleep was when it was dreamless.

In order to keep his mind busy, he studied.

Clad in only a shirt and breeches, he spent all his time pouring over the books in the train, for it was only a matter of time before you couldn’t be saved, and he had to let you go. There was a reason you mentioned the shroud, after all. Henry had talked about it once, when him and Evie went to visit the Kenway Estate. So he focused all his time on it, delving deep into lore.

One particular book was being heavily scrutinised by his hazel eyes. It was not a particularly interesting book, and in a half second of laziness, his Eagle Vision crackled through. The colours on the page, however, was not what he expected.

The words on the page turned from different types of fabrics to something much more relevant. It wrote about one certain thread; a material so powerful, it could hold the Elixir of Life.

It could resurrect people -- it was the fabric of the Shroud.

And Starrick had it.

Dressing, Jacob shrugged his overcoat over his shoulders and sifted his hand through his hair to allow his hat to sit on it. In the past, you would have done that.

Hopefully you would do so again.

He looked out over the sunset of the city as the train moved, adjusting his hat. His coat whipped at his knees; it was time to find that shroud.

----------

The night was freezing. The temporary Stronghold was heavily guarded, and was also very sophisticated; it could easily be mistaken for a house belonging to a wealthy family. He sat on a roof overlooking the property. The easiest entrance seemed to be through the balcony, but it seemed extremely easy.

He took the risk; he was already on a time limit.

However, as he leapt towards the balcony, he didn’t take into account his weakened state from lack of sleep and food. Instead of landing inside the balcony, his fingers had just about brushed against the railings. He had a lot of trouble pulling himself up and over, his muscles already beginning to ache. In the cold, his fingers fumbled around his lockpicks. It didn’t take long for him to open the window, but the lack of urgency of his body was beginning to frustrate his mind.

Jacob stalked the halls, peering into every room, and working downwards. There were a few close calls where he was almost caught, but he blended into the shadows quick enough to hide.

He reached the ground floor, and made a beeline to the one door that stood out over all of the others. It had locks spanning from the top to the bottom of the door. Inwardly, he huffed.

He almost made it without being detected.

That was, until a force pushed him face first into the wall. A hand grappled to reach his throat. Jacob elbowed the enemy on instinct, and managed to turn enough to kick a brute away. He grinned maliciously. “Don’t look too good, Frye.”

Already in a foul mood, Jacob snarled. “Wait until you see the other bloke.” He unsheathed his hidden blade and struck like a viper towards his neck.

His wrist got caught.

The brute bent his hand and manipulated his arm to persuade Jacob to collapse on one knee. He tried to mask his pain, sharp breaths exhaled instead of pained grunts, which sat in the back of his throat. His nostrils flared as he tried to jab the brute’s leg, and what was between them. However, instead of letting go, the brute pulled against his arm harder, releasing a pained noise. Jacob’s other hand came to ease the pressure his perpetrator was putting on his bone. He could hear and feel it began to crack. “One too many beers, Frye,” the brute tutted. “Disappointing, really.” In one smooth motion his arm snapped.

He yelled, the brute throwing him to his side. Before he could get up, a shoe was pressed firmly against his limb, evoking another pained noise. Jacob’s other hand tried to pry it off. “D’you recognise me, Frye?” He pushed an inch harder to keep the gang leader’s attention. Squinting, Jacob did agree that there was some familiarity to his face.

“I can’t remember angering such a handsome fellow; we can always reschedule those beers,” he panted, trying to ignore the throbbing through a pained smile.

The man smiled angrily, pressing down harder as he placed his other foot against his throat. “You murdered my twin brother.” Jacob squinted again, and realised who he reminded him of.

He growled. “Your twin brother murdered my lover.”

Against the wall hung a spear on display, it was unknown whether it was old or fake. “And now…” He pushed the point against the centre of his chest, where Jacob’s hand struck out to grab the shaft above the blade, attempting to prevent the piercing of his skin. “I can finish the job. First you; slowly, painfully, and then--”

All the pressure against Jacob disappeared. As air flooded through his lungs, his good hand dropped the spear and took out a small, agile throwing knife. He looked and threw it within one adrenaline-filled second.

The brute went limp, bleeding out of his exploded eye socket.

He drew in a few breaths, to take in oxygen and to calm the anxiety. A figure came into view, offering a hand out. The shadow looked familiar, and for a moment, he wondered…

“Good throw.” Evie smiled softly with a gleam of concern.

“I was aiming between the eyes.” He took the help, groaning softly at the pain in the arm he held against his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help my little brother -- and I want to get my best friend back.”

Jacob smiled, grateful for the backup.

“Why don’t you leave the combat to me?”

For once, that was something he could agree with.

Evie picked the locks efficiently; it took no longer than a minute or two to get through all of them.

The dark, damp room was completely bare, void of windows and furniture, except for a single chest. It was big, it was grand, and it was definitely First Civilisation. It had various cracks, through which a mysterious light glowed. Evie knelt by the chest, and by methods unknown to Jacob, managed to open it. Inside was the most intimately woven shawl he had ever seen, showered in silver and gold. Picking it up, she partly unfolded it, moving to wrap it around Jacob’s arm. He recoiled. “What--”

“Jacob, trust me.” He relented, not being in much of a state to complain.

“Let’s get out of here.”

As they escaped out of the back door of the mansion, Jacob began to feel his neck begin to tingle. There was no doubt that there were bruises there, but he’s never felt them actually prick before. By the time they were clear of the territory, the throbbing began to worsen in his arm. “Evie, I don’t think it’s--” his vision blacked out suddenly, and his knees buckled beneath him. Evie managed to catch half of him, his weight still taking him to the floor. She leaned him against the wall. “Jacob? Are you alright?”

He furrowed his brows. “Aye; I just couldn’t see for a moment.” He was about to get up before he felt a peculiar feeling in his arm, before he felt his bone snap again. He winced with a yell, before the pain all but disappeared. He exchanged glances with a very worried Evie before he tentatively pulled the shroud off of his arm. There was no pain, and he could move it just fine.

“It works.” Jacob got up, hiding the shroud under his coat. “Back to the train.” He tripped over his words excitedly -- the hope in his eyes had returned.

“Race you there?” Evie smirked.

In a sudden heart palpitation, he agreed.

----------

Jacob never waited for the train to stop, and instead leapt into the open door before Evie would even consider it safe. He unbuckled his gauntlet and threw his coat off without caring whether they would hit his sofa or his floor, heading to your carriage with the folded shroud in hand. Henry was inside, watching over you. With no time for words he unfolded the fabric and pulled it over your shoulders so it would cover your torso.

Henry was left starstruck. “How--”

Evie entered the carriage. “So?”

Jacob watched, eyes scrutinising every inch of the shroud. He lightly shook his head, expression not changing.

He became restless very quickly, from rolling up his sleeves to keep his fingers occupied to pacing the length of the carriage, never once taking his eyes off of you. As soon as he let go of the shroud, he could feel all of his energy dissipating with it -- he was extremely tired and hungry again, but his anxiety wouldn’t let him look after his own body -- he could only think about you.

As seconds turned to minutes, he became more sleep deprived, and therefore a lot more frustrated. He could feel it bubbling in his chest, and he resorted to the one thing he knew would calm it.

“I’m getting a drink.”

As he walked into the bar carriage, all conversations and laughter disappeared. He knew it wasn’t because of how he was dressed, but rather the look on his face. “Keep talking,” he ordered, praying for his Rooks to just ignore him for once as he sat at the bar. Gesturing for a whisky, he hunched over his glass, savouring the burn as he knocked the liquid down his throat. He was worried that it wasn’t going to work; that it would all be for nought. As quick as his hope had returned, it was quickly seeping away. He felt the tears prick his eyes, and properly downed his glass to keep them at bay, ordering another one to nurse slowly… just in case sobriety was needed.

----------

He took care in making his second drink last as long as possible. Once he had pushed the glass back to the bartender, he didn’t ask for another one, and instead put his head in his hands, threading his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. When the door opened, he didn’t look up at first, thinking it was another rook. So he just ignored it, clasping a hand over the other to work as a chin rest. What confused him was the look the bartender gave the ‘rook’ who came in. He turned over his shoulder once he realised that the crowd had once again gone quiet. They were all staring too. Furrowing his brows, he turned to look at the door.

His heart skipped a beat and he froze. It was silent as he drank in the scene before him. He swallowed thickly, pushed himself off of his stool and walked with loud purpose. One hand wrapped tightly around your waist, and the other cradled your head. He rested his cheek on the top of your head and just stood there. You brought your arms around his back, and felt his shoulders begin to shake.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed under his breath.

“Jacob, Jacob.” You pulled him off of you and grasped his face in your hands. One of his own came over your hand while the other caressed your cheek. “Breathe.” You saw him inhale a shuddering breath, composing himself. “I’m here now; it’s okay.” Smiling, he pulled you to his lips, dipping down to close the height gap. You laughed against his lips once you heard the whooping of the Rooks around you. Although you both broke apart, your noses stayed touching. Jacob sniffed noisily, but you didn’t move. “Yuck,” you joked.

For the first time in forever, Jacob laughed. It felt foreign, but he welcomed it. He pecked your lips again, a smile fixed on his face. You trailed your fingers across his left forearm. “How’s your arm?”

Jacob squinted. “How do you--” Looking up, he saw Evie and Henry in the doorway. They both looked like they’d been crying. Jacob shared a twin look at his sister. Thank you, it said.

Evie smiled, another tear running down her face as she gave him one back. No -- thank you, it replied.

Jacob brought you into another hug, holding you less tightly this time around, but just as securely.

“I love you, Y/N. So much.”

“I love you more, Jacob.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Anything’s possible.”

----------

BONUS:

Evening

Jacob had finally succumbed to sleep. You watched him try and stay awake, but you negotiated until he finally lost interest and dozed off, his bottom half fully dressed, but top half shirtless; sleeping in a bloodied shirt was not going to be nice at all. Stuff like that always got him yawning. Evie came into the room quietly, fully aware of the lack of sleep Jacob had had recently. She greeted you with a sisterly hug. “Are you not going to join him?” she asked, watching over her brother’s sleeping form. “I’ve been sleeping for days, Evie. I’m anything but tired.”

She chuckled, patting your shoulder. “Henry and I are in my carriage if you need us.”

You pulled a suggestive face. “Ah, I see how it is.”

Blushing, she tried to hide a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her tone showed that she knew exactly what you were talking about. You raised both of your eyebrows. “Don’t tell Jacob,” she whispered with a bashful smile, leaving you and Jacob alone.

Looking at Jacob, you mulled over your thoughts. Coming to a quick conclusion, you did decide to join him. You stripped yourself of your heavy clothing and joined him in his bed in a blouse and breeches. As you settled next to him, you felt his arm enclose protectively around you.

“So, Evie and Greenie, huh?”

Your eyes widened. “Uh…”

His chest rumbled in a sleepy chuckle as he responded in an equally sleepy voice. “Don’t worry, she’ll never know that I know.”

It didn’t take long for his breathing to deepen again, and slowly you began to drift off as well, relieved that you’ll be able to wake up again.

#assassins creed #assassin's creed x reader #x reader #Jacob Frye #jacob frye x reader #assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed oneshot #jacob frye onshot #jacob frye imagine #jacob frye x gn!reader #assassin’s creed x gn!reader

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geraskier-hell · 5 years ago

Note

Hi, could you please write "Don't kink shame me." from the smut prompt list. Your writing is wonderful and thank you so much. ❤️

Thank you so much for the prompt and for enjoying my writing ❤️

Read here or on AO3

Impatient hands glide over Jaskier's sides, and hungry kisses take his breath away. He lets himself be taken over, leaves behind the stress from the day and just unwinds under that strong but caring touch. He sighs, opening his mouth to welcome his boyfriend's tongue and wraps his hands around his shoulders, hands playing with the long white strands. He can feel Geralt’s arousal pressing on his own, and he hooks a leg behind his knee, pushing him forwards.

Geralt grunts and his fingers brush over Jaskier’s nipples, playing with them. The touch goes straight to Jaskier’s cock, and he can’t help but buck his hips as he gets more and more restless. He is finally able to breathe again when Geralt moves his mouth down his neck, licking and biting his skin.

“Geralt,” Jaskier moans, throwing his head backwards.

Geralt moves even further down to close his lips around Jaskier’s nipple, flicking his tongue over it and taking it between his teeth. Jaskier hisses, hands tugging at Geralt’s hair so hard the man struggles to keep his head down. A low growl resounds from him and this time it’s Geralt that jerks his hips forward to get that much-needed friction both of them are craving for.

“Please, Geralt, leave my nipples alone, my cock is going to explode if you don’t do something about it.”

“Let me enjoy myself,” Geralt replies, switching to Jaskier’s other nipple.

“If you want to enjoy yourself, I made a stop on the way home.”

The proposition catches Geralt’s attention as he looks up at Jaskier. The brunet smiles to himself and sits up, leaning over the edge of the bed to take the bag underneath it. He has bought a bunch of fun things to try with Geralt, but he takes out the ones he’s the most excited about, a rope and a blindfold.

“You want to try bondage stuff?” Geralt asks, partially surprised, partially sceptical

“Don’t kink shame me,” Jaskier protests. “I’ve always wanted to try this and I trust you, so I thought, why not?”

Geralt takes the rope in his hands and closely examines it. “Okay.”

“Oh, I thought I would have to use all my charm to convince you. Is there something you’re not telling me? Something kinky?” Jaskier smirks.

“There isn’t,” Geralt deadpans. “As long as you’re comfortable, I’m in.”

“Who’s being a good boy today?” Jaskier coos, winding his arms around Geralt’s neck.

“Why haven’t you bought a gag as well? It would have been useful.”

“I told you there was something you weren't admitting.”

“On second thought, I just need a handkerchief to shut you up,” Geralt says, annoyed.

“Or a kiss,” Jaskier suggests.

“Next time I’m buying a gag,” Geralt replies but still gives in and shuts Jaskier up with a kiss.

Nervous excitement runs through Jaskier as his boyfriend takes off his shirt and pins his hands above his head. Geralt kisses him again, more slowly this time and then ties Jaskier to the headboard of the bed.

“How’s this?”

“I think it can work,” Jaskier replies, pulling on the rope. It’s tight enough that he can’t move but not too tight that it hurts his wrists.

“I’m blindfolding you now.”

Jaskier nods and the last thing he sees before having the blindfold on are Geralt’s reassuring eyes.

“Oh, wow, it’s really dark,” he comments.

“That’s the whole point of the blindfold.”

It’s weird but not uncomfortable, a little exciting too as he can’t tell what Geralt is going to do next. He tries to focus on his other senses but is still surprised when Geralt kisses his chest. He immediately tries to wrap his arms around the man, but the rope reminds him he is tied to the bed, so he can only squirm under Geralt’s touch.

Geralt licks one of his nipples while his hand plays with the other one, pinching it between his fingers. Jaskier gasps and writhes on the bed as pleasure and discomfort mix together. He is sure his nipples are as red as cherries now, Geralt always likes to play with them way too much without paying attention to his aching cock. With his hands tied, Jaskier can’t push him away, he can only move around while he whimpers.

“Next time I’m going to tie your entire body,” Geralt comments, biting Jaskier’s nipple again.

“Stop licking my nipples,” Jaskier protests. “I have other body parts that demand your attention.”

“But I like this one.”

Jaskier pulls on the rope again. “Geralt.”

“Fine,” the man huffs, hot breath leaving goosebumps on Jaskier’s wet nipple.

He moves down Jaskier’s body, hair tickling his stomach. He kisses Jaskier’s belly button and then lower and lower, sliding Jaskier’s trousers down to kiss his coarse hair. The anticipation is even more exciting now that Jaskier can’t see what Geralt is doing. He can only feel him on his body and hear his tempting kisses. He bucks his hips, but Geralt is soon moving away from his cock, travelling up his torso once more.

“Geralt,” he complains again.

“We should have done this before,” his boyfriend replies, going back to Jaskier’s nipples.

“Geralt, please.” Jaskier can feel the smirk on Geralt’s lips, can perfectly picture it in his mind despite the blindfold. “Asshole.”

There is a soft chuckle and then Geralt’s lips are leaving his body completely. Jaskier briefly wonders what other torturing methods he has come up with, but he is pleasantly surprised when his trousers and underwear slide down his legs. He helps as best as he can, but in a few seconds he’s completely naked and Geralt is back on him.

He glides his hands up his thighs, bending him in half. Jaskier huffs, he certainly wasn’t expecting this, but he is more than happy about the turn of events. He grips the headboard and just waits, full of desire and impatience. Geralt doesn’t seem to be in rush as he kisses his thighs and leaves bite marks anywhere he can reach, really testing Jaskier’s patience.

When he finally decides to pay attention to Jaskier’s hole, it’s just to press a feather-light kiss, not enough to satiate Jaskier’s desire. The brunet whines and urges him on, but Geralt is set on taking things way too slow tonight, so without his hands, all Jaskier can do is pray that Geralt will pick up the pace soon.

For as much as he hates being teased, there is something exciting in not knowing how things will turn out, in not having full control over the situation. He and Geralt have been dating for years now and he entirely trusts him, so there is no reason for him to be scared, but being unable to predict what is going to happen, for how pleasurable that might be, still makes Jaskier’s heart race.

Geralt kisses his hole again, but this time his tongue darts out too and Jaskier gasps for the long-awaited touch. He moans his boyfriend’s name while the man laps at his entrance and plunges inside. He shivers and holds the headboard tighter as his body welcomes Geralt’s tongue. A bead of precum oozes down his cock and lands on his stomach, but there’s nothing Jaskier can do about it, only Geralt can take care of that now, but he’s too focused on fucking him with his tongue to notice it.

“Geralt,” Jaskier cries out, but the man doesn’t reply, only bends him further to reach deeper inside him.

Jaskier moans again, cock aching for attention, but Geralt’s touch on his hole feels too good to ask him to stop. He squirms on the bed and he gets louder when Geralt puts a finger inside him too. He curls it as he fucks him with it, making Jaskier lose his mind even more. He pulls on the rope, once again forgetting he’s tied up, and this time Geralt lets him go, guiding him back on the mattress.

“You’re going to hurt yourself like this,” he whispers in his ear.

His hot breath makes Jaskier shiver, and his kiss muffles his reply.

When their lips part Jaskier has already forgotten what he wanted to tell Geralt, and the sound of the drawer opening distracts him even more. He hears the cap of the lube opening and then Geralt’s finger is once again inside his hole, working him open with quick movements. By the time his boyfriend deems him ready, Jaskier is a panting mess, cock hard and aching, and hole twitching for more.

The sound of Geralt opening the condom wrapper soon reaches his ears and Jaskier whines in anticipation. Geralt lines himself up with his hole, but doesn’t push further than the tip. He remains still, caressing Jaskier’s thighs, sliding his fingers up his waist and on his cock. Jaskier loudly moans, hips bucking upwards to meet Geralt’s hand, but the man keeps his touch light, making it feel more like a torture than a reward.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whimpers, pushing him forward with his foot.

“What’s the magic word?” Geralt replies, moving a millimetre deeper.

“Please, Geralt, please.”

Geralt hums, but Jaskier can’t tell whether he’s satisfied or not. He murmurs another “please” and this time Geralt holds his waist and pushes all the way inside. Jaskier’s voice breaks when he feels his hole being stretched so wide and tightens his grip on the headboard. He wishes he could see Geralt’s face in that moment, but for as much as he searches the darkness, he can’t pierce through it.

So distracted by his pleasure, he is surprised when Geralt kisses him, but he relaxes immediately after and opens his mouth for him. Their tongues glide on each other and Jaskier wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist to take him closer to himself. He wants to taste as much of him as he can, kiss him while he’s so full, but Geralt seems to be enjoying himself way too much today and after giving Jaskier a bite of what he wants, he pulls back, sitting straight again.

He starts with slow movements, giving Jaskier the chance to get used to him and to roughly understand what’s going to happen. Jaskier follows his hips, and it doesn’t take long before he’s asking for more, body blindly searching for pleasure. Geralt snaps his hips faster and deeper, soft grunts leaving his lips so quietly Jaskier is hardly able to hear them, but when he does, his chest swells with satisfaction.

He clenches around him and feels Geralt’s thrusts stutter for a second before coming back in full force. He grins but he soon has to grit his teeth as Geralt begins to fuck him harder. The sudden change catches him off guard, but the element of surprise only makes things better, more exciting and unexpected as he can’t know what Geralt is going to do next. The unknown fills him with arousal and every thrust brings him closer to his orgasm; the fact that he’s tied up and blindfolded only helping with that.

“Geralt,” he cries out when the man hits his sweet spot.

Geralt doesn’t reply, only rams into him harder. His cock throbs inside him and Jaskier clamps around it, finally eliciting a moan from him. He is about to smirk, proud of himself, but Geralt covers his mouth with his own and messily kisses him, leaving him with a trail of saliva drooling down his chin and gasping for air. He is so far gone that all he can do is to hold onto the headboard as tightly as he can as Geralt abuses his prostate. Shocks of electricity shake his body, and his cock is so hard it’s painful.

“Geralt,” he whines. “Touch me.”

Geralt thrusts into him harder before replying, “No.”

“Geralt, please,” Jaskier whimpers again.

“I know you can come like this too.”

“I can’t.”

Jaskier pulls on the rope, desperate to touch himself, but Geralt grabs his hands and stops him. Jaskier cries out again, but Geralt muffles his noises with a kiss as he continues to thrust inside him. Jaskier is so close it would take him only a few quick strokes to come, and yet his hands are tied and Geralt has no intention of doing anything about it. Precum is profusely oozing from his tip, he can feel it run down his length, and his hole is spastically clenching around Geralt.

When their mouths parts, Jaskier begs Geralt to touch him again, but none of his prayers are answered and his cock is still excruciatingly hard. Geralt rams into him, hitting his prostate every time and Jaskier’s body quivers, taken over by his need. He whines and cries out Geralt’s name again, and when he thinks he’s about to pass out, Geralt fucks him deep and he finally comes.

He feels his hot cum landing on his stomach and his body shivers in relief as a peaceful afterglow settles on him. Geralt thrusts into him a few more times before coming as well, a low growl leaving his mouth that puts a content grin on Jaskier’s lips.

The world is still dark for some minutes, but Geralt eventually pulls the blindfold down, and Jaskier blinks as he gets used to the light again. His boyfriend unties his hands as well without saying a word and as his eyes finally adapt to the light, Jaskier notices he’s still trying to catch his breath too.

“Well, that was a success,” he says, rubbing his wrists. The signs of the rope are visible on his skin, and he briefly wonders for how long they’ll stay there.

“Did you enjoy it?” Geralt asks, resting on his side next to him.

“I sure did. Did you?”

“It wasn’t so bad.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Jaskier grins, kissing him. “See? I told you there were some dark fantasies you weren’t telling me about.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and sits up on the edge of the bed. “You should go wash yourself,” he says as he stands up.

“You can fool yourself, but you can’t fool me,” Jaskier retorts.

“Are you sure you don’t have a gag in that bag?”

“I am, but I have other fun things for us to try,” Jaskier grins.

Geralt hums and rounds the bed to get to the door. “Take a shower first.”

“I knew you’d be interested.”

Geralt stops next to Jaskier and takes the bag away from his hands. “You’re dirty. Shower.”

“You have a dirty mind too. It takes two to tango, you know?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to reply, but Geralt holds him by his chin and kisses him. Now that he has his hands free, Jaskier can finally wrap his arms around his boyfriend and take him down on the bed again. He keeps him in place as they kiss, softly running his hands in his white hair. Geralt gives in and lets Jaskier kiss him as he wishes, caressing his sides as well until Jaskier licks his lips.

“Later,” he says, easily escaping from Jaskier’s embrace.

Jaskier pouts as he lets him go away, but after seeing traces of his come on Geralt’s stomach he realises how dirty he is and follows him into the shower, already thinking about what he wants to try next.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my writing #prompts #answered #i'm slowly making my way through all your prompts dw!

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