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dearanakin · 6 months ago

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trust you | anakin skywalker: episode IV

Warning: mentions of grieving, injury, cursing

Word count: 3k

Previous chapter | Read on Wattpad

Anakin:

4 years earlier

I was standing right in front of his lifeless body. His head right next to it. My trembling hands were both holding crossed lightsabers; his and mine. I've been wanting to kill him since the day that he almost left me to die after Padmé gave birth to Luke.

Holding back the warm tears that were threatening to fall, I felt my breathing become shallow and the air felt condensed. Now I was facing Palpatine dead, but the feeling of relief didn't hit me. That feeling I was longing for, for almost three years, wasn't there.

All I sensed was a heaviness in my chest. For all I know, this is what I wanted. I didn't have a plan to escape his ship, so I had to be quick before the imperial army came after me. I was on a mission all by myself, it was something I wanted to do alone.

No one else would be there for me anyway, not even Obi-Wan. But I haven’t been in contact with him ever since Padmé died. That was when he decided he didn't want to go along with my idea, the one that was supposed to make me feel better.

It was two losses at once. Obviously, losing her was the most traumatic event in my life. But then right after that, what happened between me and Obi-Wan after spending years on his side left a hole in my heart.

And it was never healed. For a while, after that, I would sense his grief even from a long distance. But then he shut that down for me. I haven't felt his presence or sensed his emotions in a long time, and it was probably for the best.

I let go of Palpatine's lightsaber and kept a tight grip on mine. I took a few steps back, calculating what route I should take to exit the ship. By now, the army is most likely aware of what happened. The loud sirens went on and I could hear a lot of shuffling from afar.

My boots walked heavily across the room, and for the first time I noticed how my knees were wobbling. "Damn it", I mutter under my breath.

The adrenaline kept my mind balanced, but for some reason my body didn't want to collaborate. I forced myself out of the door, facing the fresh air that roamed through the corridor. There were soldiers in formation already, waiting for something to happen.

I was quick to deviate the blasts from the pistols with my lightsaber, using my metal hand for leverage as well. There were many doors around me, but I didn't risk my chances getting in.

They trapped me when I was getting closer to the hangar. I guess my anger was at its highest level, because I felt myself shoving all of them back with my Force and knocking them down.

I hurried to the first ship I laid my eyes on and hopped on it, turning on the gears. I flew out of there in a matter of seconds.

When all the adrenaline wore out, I started to feel numb and it felt like I was going to pass out. I took deep breaths and tried to stretch my body in order to keep myself awake.

Bringing my hands to my eyes, I noticed how hard they were shaking. Usually I don't feel the sensitivity on the robotic limb, but my flesh fingertips were tingling and then it hit me.

"Shit", I breathed in dread. I pulled the engine on autopilot and hoped for the best.

I was having a panic attack.

I also didn't have R2-D2 to help me fly back to Coruscant. Much to my dislike, I was inside a small ship with the smallest airflow.

I woke up disoriented, my mouth was dry and my head throbbing in pain. I had no idea how I was still roaming around outer space. I looked at my hands, noticing they were steady, as well as my fingertips that weren't numb anymore.

I took a deep breath and managed the engine to finally go back home. I lost track of time there.

I landed on the hangar and rushed to finally see Luke. He was starting to walk and could speak a few words completely already. I couldn't handle the thought of leaving him for more than I intended to.

Arriving at the Jedi Temple, I walked in my dormitory expectantly looking for him. He was sitting on the floor with one of the nursery Droids playing with him, while C-3PO watched out the window.

The three of them noticed my presence and glanced at me. I walked toward the child and pulled him in a tight hug.

"No need to worry anymore, son. Dad is here".

It's been a long way since then. Now I have to be more careful around Luke, and I need to reassure him a lot of things. When I go on missions, he gets worried a lot even though he doesn't feel the anxiety of what could happen.

I stand my ground each time, promising myself I always get back safe and alive. One of these days, I swear I'm going to go into cardiac arrest because of that feeling.

When I got back to my loft after training, I found him nuzzled into my pillow on my bed. R2-D2 scanning the room for further threats. Having a kid these days isn't easy anymore. After what happened four years ago, they kept running after me, looking everywhere.

It took them a while to give up on it, but I always had this feeling in the back of my head that they were always one step ahead, ready to attack. And I never feared for my life, I feared for Luke's. Cal insisted I should recruit him to become a Jedi.

It didn't cross my mind, because I didn't want him to become something I didn't expect him to. I didn't want him to become someone like me. I know how it is inside my head. I want to kill people all the time, the vengeful feeling that doesn't ease. My body is always on alert, I can't trust people anymore.

My conscience never let me step into the dark side, thinking of Luke. If it wasn't for him, I might as well have done that right after I lost Padmé. Wouldn't even have second guessed it for the matter.

In the shower, I pondered about that; like I used to do every night before sleep. Was it really worth it? Was it going to make me feel at peace? It was a hard decision. I leaned my forehead against the tile and inhaled sharply. If only I could see the future, I would've made a decision by now.

The next day I was feeling better, even though the painkillers were masking most of the pain. I dropped my boy off to his classes and headed to the tech room, still in need of having a conversation with (Y/N).

3PO asked me to forget it and let that go, telling me I should be more patient. See, I had an issue with letting things go, and I know it's my biggest flaw. But I just couldn't. I had a few conversations with Cal before and he told me doing therapy would help me a lot. Or even, meet Yoda a few times to help me get through those issues.

But I never did, never thought I should anyway. My stubborn ass wins over my conscience all the time.

I entered the room looking for her and saw her standing in front of an opened drawer. She looked distracted while holding what seemed like a lightsaber grip. My eyes scanned the piece slowly, and then I realized something.

It was Obi-Wan's. My stomach dropped and my throat tightened immediately. It was triggering to think about it, to think about him. To remember him even from the slightest piece of an object. I didn't notice when she turned to face me, her face becoming pale. She still had the piece between her small fingers.

I looked between the grip and her hesitant eyes for a few seconds and cleared my throat. "That's- It is Obi-Wan's?", I heard myself asking in a whisper.

She glanced at it and stared back at me. It was hard to describe her emotions, but it felt like she was probably just as confused. "Y-yes. They found it lying around after he left Coruscant".

I nodded. It couldn't have been long after our last encounter. He left Coruscant right after that, but I wonder whatever happened to the entire lightsaber. I couldn't breathe but didn't want to make it seem evident, so I took a long inhale and murmured "ok".

It took me a few seconds to snap back to reality, watching as she put the grip back in the drawer and closed it. I almost forgot why I was there in the first place.

When I noticed Luke's skyhopper on her table, I rolled my eyes and grimaced. Now there were two things I wanted to talk about with her. I huffed behind her, making her snap her eyes at me.

"What is my son's toy doing on your table? How many times do I have to make myself clear?", I try to be civil and not scare her right off.

(Y/N) glanced between the toy and me, her mouth agape while trying to find words. "They had to leave and asked me to fix it. But I know how you strictly made sure you didn't want me to".

She let her guard up the entire time, making sure she was standing a few feet away from me. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and raised my chin in superiority.

"Good thing, because I don't want you to get a finger near anything related to me or my boy anymore". My voice came out as a snarl, her body language shifted.

I took a step forward and she took a step back. "And while we're at it. Let me tell you something about another thing. This shit that happened to me was your fault".

(Y/N) shook her head and hit her back on the counter behind her. "I'm sorry, I- We did everything we could. The wires were almost molten".

I look down and chuckle in disbelief. You could tell she was beginning to feel scared of me. "No, you see - that's plain bullshit. Because I know how you are all very skilled and when we ask for a deadline, we expect it on time".

I closed the small gap between us, towering over her while my eyes intimidated her. She was reluctant to look back at me, so I made sure she did. I gripped her jawline forcefully and pulled her head up. "Look at me when I talk to you", I rasped.

"You know what happened because of your fucking incompetence. I could've died there, and then what? My son doesn't have a mother, you want him to become an orphan?".

My robotic fingers dug into her cheekbones, she was flinching really hard under my touch.

(Y/N) started to cry and I thought it was pathetic. She has been working around for ages, she should've known I don't have an easy temper at all.

She shut her eyes tightly and whimpered, my fingertips leaving marks on her skin. "I'm really sorry, Master Skywalker. I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to".

I was still towering over her, my forehead barely touching hers when I felt both of her hands grip around my metal wrist. "But you did anyway!".

My breathing was uneven, I felt a sudden headrush.

It was the trigger. Just the thought of Obi-Wan made me feel uneasy.

"Look at me!", It took her by surprise how loud my voice came out and it startled her. She immediately looked me in the eye and I pointed a flesh finger at her. "This is the last time I warn you. Stay the fuck away from me and my son".

Suddenly I heard the door burst and felt Cal's presence. "Hey, Skywalker! What the hell, man?", He sprinted to where we were standing and gripped my arms, pulling me away from her.

I was still staring at her dead. My bloodshot eyes were burning her skin from the eye contact as I watched her move her feet away from me. (Y/N) left the room within seconds.

I looked over Cal and closed my hands into fists. This always feels like someone is testing me. I could just lift my hand and punch him in the face, but I held back the urging.

"What was that?", His scowling tone echoed through the room. He pointed his finger at me, his nose was flaring in anger as well. "Don't ever touch her again or I'll take it to the Council".

Fuck the Council, for God's sake. I'm a fucking Master, not an apprentice anymore. If anything, I could own them if I wanted to.

I watched as he turned on his back and marched out the door, leaving me in a raging state. Next thing I knew, I was flipping a table across the place watching it break into several pieces.

Dude comes in thinking he was a knight in shining armor, what a lame character. I'm pretty sure this close friendship of theirs means something else for him but that didn't interest me anyway.

I let myself out and took my time to simmer down until the meeting happens. This time we were going to see General Grievous and I wasn't very pleased with the idea, but I carried on with it anyway.

When we all sat down on the desk, I shared the news with the others. They still had no idea what the new mission was about.

"General Grievous? That scumbag?", The man from across the table asks in surprise.

Did I stutter?

"Yes. We need to do some agreements that became pending", I nod. This wasn't exactly fun, I have a very strong desire to kill him as well.

Cal was always one giving ideas and usually plans escaping routes. This time he was just sitting in his chair with his arms crossed. His forehead was wrinkly and he had a pissed look.

He wouldn't dare to look at me and I hated him at this moment as well. So I cleared my throat and spoke up again.

"We're gonna need a few people back outside his trade federation cruiser and watch out. I was thinking of bringing Artoo as well" They all seemed to agree with the idea. The red head shuffled in his seat, not saying a word.

I try to disguise the disappointment but I expected this reaction after what happened earlier. I had to push him to the limit, because one way or another I needed him.

"Anything in mind, General Kestis?" I ask loud enough for him to shoot his head up and look at me. Still waiting for a response, I raise an eyebrow.

"No, you're leading the assignment, General Skywalker" He says in a snide tone. "I'm sure you're going to nail it".

Maybe the other men noticed his different demeanor, because I could sense they were looking at each other in complete confusion.

He would never not speak up. He liked to give advice and think through the whole situation, usually we would always have a plan B if needed.

I still wasn't satisfied, so I went through with it anyway. "Are you sure? You always have advice for us".

The others stared at him, watching as Cal stood still in the same position. He shook his head and twitched his lips in denial. I'm gonna fucking choke him.

"Not this time. I guess you boys have brilliant ideas though" He looked back at them and gave them the most fake smile I've ever seen.

Cal is all smiles and hugs, but I know when he's being sarcastic.

I didn't have anything else in mind. I didn't want to push it harder, I know I was losing my temper and it was a waste of time in all honesty.

I decided to ask someone else about strategies and we ended up spending the entire afternoon discussing them. My blood boiling every time I looked at the knight in shining armor watching as he stared blankly at all of us.

My wish this moment was to dismiss him and ask him to take his ass out of his face.

This is going to be a difficult mission and I was dreading the worst already.

I call out to Cal while looking through the papers, the pen still wrapped around my fingers. I feel him interrupting his tracks and freezing on his spot turning on his heels. He doesn’t say a word, waiting for me to speak again.

"Do you have anything to say now they're all gone?" I ask, eyes still focused on the desk.

I hear him sigh and hold his hips with both hands. "No, Skywalker. I already made that sure".

For the first time after a few minutes, I raise my head and give him a sarcastic smile without showing my teeth. He didn't seem fazed at all. I get up from my chair and walk toward him, still holding my pen, my hands behind my back.

"Look, we both know you're a very dedicated man and we also both know you don't wanna fuck this job up" I tilt my head to the side and lower my eyebrows.

He still didn't feel intimidated. That was a good thing, after all. I showed how he could stand up for himself, even though I'm the most insufferable person hanging around.

He gives me a smirk and closes his arms against his chest, raising his chin up. "Ah, when have I ever fucked something up, Master?".

Cal almost never fires back like this, but we weren't on good terms.

He reaches his hand upon my shoulder and gives it a tight squeeze, gripping my shoulder blade. "I can't tell you how much I'm willing to help on this mission. But not because of you. Right now, I wish I could just punch your annoying face".

He doesn't give me time to respond, as he shoves me back in a light push and leaves the room.

I heard the pen between my fingers crack.

@jackie-on-the-loose @adorbzliz @himesuedi @kingdomhate @himesuedi @cl0esblogg

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iamthecomet · 7 months ago

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hi, do you still take requests? I would love to see some broken limbs related comfort (does that count as a sick fic?). like mountain helping rain walk cus he lost his crutch or cirrus helping cumulus wash her hair since it's hard to do with a cast on her arm. (implying there's a reason they can't insta heal)

I do still take requests! It just sometimes takes me a really long time to get to them. But this one got my brain whirling. I haven't written much (any?) of it in the Ghost fandom but I am a big fan of whump (the injury version of a sick fic). So thank you for giving me an opportunity to inflict some pain (and comfort) on our favorites. Almost 1.2k of Aeon & Swiss hurt/comfort under the cut (no broken bones, because this is what came to me instead).

Aeon loves quintessence. He loves the electric shock of it. The tingling warmth. The way he can ease pain, and loosen muscles with a little press of his fingers. How he chases away Dew's headaches, and Cumulus' lower back pain. How he can loosen up Rain's hips, and Mountain's shoulders with barely a flex of his muscles. The only thing he hates about it, is the limitations. The fact that he can't do it to himself. Can't turn his power around and soothe his own aches. Most of the time, it isn't a problem. He's flexible, loose, spry. His vessel isn't prone to tense muscles or joint pain--maybe a product of his quintessence nature. He doesn't know. What he does know, is he's in agony. Something happened during Square Hammer. He got a little to overzealous with his movements and slipped on errant confetti. Hand coming up to grip the closest thing to him--the edge of Mountain's drum platform. His grip kept him upright, but wrenched on his shoulder as he regained his balence. Forcing an uncomfortable pop in his shoulder that he felt radiate through his entire body. A sickening thud, followed closely by immediate alarm bells in his head. That's not right. Something is wrong. It didn't hurt--not right away. Too caught up in the sudden wrongness of it. Adrenaline, already pumping through him from the show, dumping into his blood at an alarming rate. He thought he was fine. The pain started just before the end of the song. A dull ache radiating across his shoulder. Slowly gaining heat and intensity. Now, he's standing next to Swiss, about to bow, feeling like if he doesn't get off of this stage right now he's going to collapse in front of twenty thousand people. His stomach twists. The pain is bright and not now. Molten. Deep in his shoulder. Moving it, even just a little, raises a strange sense of dread through his body. Like something at the base of his brainstem knows he shouldn't do that. That catastrophe will happen if he does. Fight or flight directed toward his own body--his own pain. He wishes he could run from it. That he could just take off--run fast enough to leave this pain on the stage. Spread out and abandoned. Instead it's all he can do to bow without bursting into tears. When Swiss claps his hand over Aeon's shoulder, he winces. Pain drags up his neck, into his skull. Swiss notices, of course he does. Gaze lingering on Aeon for a second too long. Aeon flushes under his mask--embarassed even though he doesn't know why. He can't see Swiss' eyes but he can picture the way they're narrowing behind those dark lenses. Aeon looks away first, he shrugs it off. He makes it off stage, into the dressing room, and halfway out of his uniform before the trouble really starts. Everything is fine until he goes to pull his compression shirt off. The vest went fine, and the button up shirt beneath. He'd shrugged them off, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. But now--this--fuck. He should have just worn the sleeves tonight. He curses himself, looks at the compression sleeves sitting neglected in his trunk. He thought about it--but after a few shows of constantly having to adjust them back up on his arms he'd opted for the full shirt to save him some aggravation. He swears, under his breath. Glamor rapidly failing him as he feels fangs prick against his lip, and the bite of claws into his palms. He tries to get it under control, grasping at straws for any hint of control, of magic, of relief. "You ok, Bug?" Swiss is gentle this time when he touches Aeon. Avoiding the shoulder all together and opting for a heavy warm palm on his waist. Aeon feels panic crawl up his throat, hot and insistent. Filling him with the need to go. To run. To scream. Instead, he whines. Pain breaking out through his clenched teeth. Swiss stiffens, the usually casual air of his evaporating, replaced with worry. "Aeon." "I did something--my shoulder," Aeon's cheeks get hot, eyes watering. "It's not getting better. And I can't get my fucking shirt off."

"Let me help." Swiss is gentle when he slips his fingers beneath the compression fabric. Aeon allows himself to be undressed--not much else he can do. He can barely lift his arm, but Swiss manages, gentling the fabric of hot swollen flesh and dropping it onto the ground with everything else. "Hurts," Aeon says as Swiss looks at his shoulder--investigating without being asked. Aeon wishes Aether were here, he'd at least talk to him while he did this. He'd make Aeon feel better. Swiss just looks, shifts Aeon's arm this way and that like he knows what he's looking for. "I'm sure it does," Swiss mumbles. Then Aeon feels it--a tiny spark. Quintessence. Just a little. Tenative. Like Swiss isn't used to using it like this. "I'm not Aether, obviously. But I think it's a sprain. You'll be alright." Aeon feels those words somewhere at his core. Solid. True. Maybe it's Swiss' quintessence. The power of suggestion. But he believes him. Even as the pain rages, barely touched by what little quintessence Swiss has given him. He wants to beg for more, he almost does--but Swiss is still talking. "....get you dressed and back to the hotel. I'll take care of you." "You?" Aeon looks up at him. Swiss laughs, lopsided grin finally slotting back into place. "Yeah, me. Why you hoping for someone else to play nurse?" "No! No, I just mean--you're not--I figured you had better things to do. Weren't you and Dew going to go to that bar or something? I'll be ok--" "I know you'll be ok. But I want to help. So let me." Aeon wants to protest. He knows he's a part of this pack as much as anyone else--has never been lead to believe he isn't. But he's still new, still worries that he's one misstep away from being rejected. But Swiss has never given him a reason to think that, and he looks so earnest when he asks. Wearing his glamor. Looking so startlingly human with warm brown eyes and that crooked smile that always makes Aeon's stomach flip. Swiss grabs Aeon's t-shirt and holds it out to him--ready to help, and Aeon sags in resignation. He can do it alone--he can take care of himself and battle through this pain without any help. But why would he want to. "Will you even wash my hair for me?" Aeon asks, half a joke, grinning just for the opportunity to see Swiss grin back. "Maybe," Swiss laughs, helping Aeon into his t-shirt. "But, I might just dose you with enough quintessence to knock you out so I can go party with Dew." "You won't," Aeon says, sure. Feeling lighter despite the pain radiating down his arm and into his fingers. Swiss pulls him close, guides him out of the dressing room with a steady hand on the small of his back. "No," he concedes. "I won't."

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underdark-dreams · 7 months ago

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Thank you everyone who has read this fic along its life! I finally got up the courage to tie it up with a bow. Here's the final chapter of my Rolan x Tav series Sage and Soldier, with links to the other pieces:

Blades and Spells [Fluff - First Meeting]

Good Night for Company - [Pining - Feelings Realization | NSFW] [ch1] [ch2]

[ch1] - [ch2] - [ch3] - [ch4] - [ch5]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.6

After the end of the world, there's a wizard's tower in the Upper City.

Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, NSFW | Word Count: 4.8k [Read on AO3]

There was no time to celebrate the death of the Absolute—not when Tav and her companions stood trapped on its back like one of the doomed cities of Netheril. Not when her ears had already begun swimming and popping from the breakneck speed of their fall.

Tav yelled something back to the rest, some stupid bit of encouragement meant to keep them all on their feet. What else could they do but hold on, after all? They were all helpless, exhausted from battle, keeping their footing however they could as the brain’s pulsating flesh descended from the sky.

When they punched through the misty cloud layer below, Tav’s stomach leapt straight up into her throat. They were sailing across the Upper City, and the high spire of Ramazith’s Tower was rushing forward to meet them.

Too soon, her ears rang with the sickening, rib-shaking crash as the dying Netherbrain collided with the column of the Tower. Her shout of horror was lost to the explosive crumble of masonry and the whip of wind. She had only a second to fear the worst.

The impact spun the creature on its descent; Tav was knocked hard to her side, forced to scrabble for purchase on the monster’s slimy flesh as it careened sideways. Her limbs skated ineffectually over the brain’s folds—she was sliding toward the edge—

Not like this, her mind screamed in protest.

Tav yanked the sheathed dagger at her thigh and plunged it into the dying Absolute. Two hands gripped the hilt with all her might, even as her legs swung over the side of the Netherbrain like those of a limp ragdoll.

“Hells, we’re headed for harbor—!”

Behind her, Wyll’s yell of warning cut through. Tav understood at once—if they hit the Chionthar still standing on the back of the Netherbrain, its mass would pull them deep underwater with the strength of a vortex. She craned her neck blindly.

“Gale!” Tav shrieked for him, mad with panic. What if he’d fallen in the Upper City? What if he was gone, and she was beseeching a void?

Then she heard Gale’s voice call out for the Weave, and his spell hit hard along her spine. Her boots lifted unnaturally, the feet within them tingling with the power of flight—

The Netherbrain banked hard over the central City Wall. They were low enough now that Tav could make out figures with upturned faces—people watching the monster’s fall from the sky and fleeing away on foot, as if all pushed back by the same bank of wind. With one more lilt, the fleshy ground under her veered straight for the ancient wooden river docks.

A sharp glint of hope. If they timed their jump just right—if Gale’s spell lasted—

“Fuck this—” Beside her, Karlach was of the same mind. She was crouched low for balance, inching forward to the edge of the Crown for a better position.

Tav used her dagger for leverage to push herself crouched. “Aim for the roof of the Counting House!”

She heard the others fighting to their feet behind her. Gravity was accelerating their fall; sharp rain and river mist buffeted against her face as they swung rapidly for the water. But first, they passed beside a wide expanse of flat stone ramparts.

And then—they jumped.

—

Tav’s limbs cried out in exhaustion; her rain-soaked leg plates jangled heavily with each boot tread. She dragged herself through the streets of the Gate on adrenaline alone.

Those streets were in chaos. Though the battle was newly won, each corner she rounded brought a fresh skirmish.

Newborn mind flayers stumbled about in swarms, hungry and rudderless without direction from their Elder Brain. Many still dripped with blood from the death of their human forms. Those Baldurians who weren't running from them with crying children in their arms had snatched up tools and blades alike to run the creatures through with the ruthlessness of survival.

The chaos helped. Grit and blood and thudding bodies distracted Tav from the one sight she wanted to turn her head to, yet couldn't bear to see.

As her boots climbed the cobbles north toward the Upper City gate, Rolan’s tower crumbled over and over in her mind’s eye. She felt like retching. Her lungs were on fire.

Please let him be alive, please let him be alive, please let him be alive—she prayed to any god who might still be listening.

A child’s scream brought her up short on reflex.

Silfy—the timid one from the Grove, the little girl who cried when Tav caught her stealing a worthless trinket. A young mind flayer was reaching for her, one long-fingered hand directing its neural heat where she stood frozen in terror.

Tav’s teeth ground in her skull. She was so thoroughly fucking done—her longsword scraped out of its scabbard and arced straight toward the creature’s throat.

Just as the blow connected, an arrow shaft pushed out between the mind flayer’s dark eyes. It crumpled lifeless to the pavement in a heavy heap. Silfy turned tail without a backward glance; Tav squinted through mist and smoke, trying to identify the Flaming Fist who still held her shortbow poised.

“Lia!” Tav could have sobbed in relief. “Thank gods—is Rolan—?”

“I don’t know—” Lia’s voice was desperate as she ran closer. “Cal and I took the Sundries portal to fight with Cerys. Last we heard, Rolan was up manning the turrets.”

Tav could have swayed and collapsed where she stood. Only adrenaline kept her upright.

“I’ll find him,” she shouted above the surrounding chaos, half to herself, half to wipe that terrible fear from Lia’s face. She pushed away into a sprint without another word to her.

He’s not dead—he wouldn’t die like that—

Would she even be able to find Rolan’s body in the wreckage if he was? Tav’s knees wanted to give way at the thought. She gasped air into her lungs, wresting that image of him out of her mind with everything she had.

When she rounded the road from Flymm’s Cargo, a powerful wall of heat nearly knocked her back on her rump.

The ancient prow of the Blushing Mermaid was ablaze. Flames the height of ten men towered into the gray skies above, unaffected by the steady drizzle of rain. Her steel chestplate grew painfully hot as she forced herself up the crest of the hill.

Shouts and acrid air clouded her senses as she dashed beside the scene. Tav caught sight of Zorru and Danis, leading a bucket line all the way from Gray Harbor; their voices cracked from heat and smoke as they yelled directions.

All at once, like the emptying of a giant basin over their heads, a crash of water fell over the blaze and its surroundings. The cobbles under her feet were abruptly drenched; Tav slipped and careened forward, catching herself hard on both hands in a clang of plate armor.

There was a deep, ominous creak from somewhere above her. Knocked breathless, Tav nevertheless craned her head back.

The heavy wooden spindle on the ship’s prow that jutted over the street was already weakened from fire; now it was soaked through from the magical downpour. As she watched dumbstruck, it splintered with a slow twang. Then the wood snapped clean down the middle, and the length of it swung downward, straight for her legs.

Tav scrambled forward on hands and knees. Her boots and gauntlets scraped over the wet stones toward safety—

Footsteps were sprinting closer. There was a shouted incantation and a flash; Tav smelled roses as the Weave enveloped her completely for the space of a blink. Then she landed flat on her stomach in the middle of the street.

Thoroughly winded now, she coughed and wheezed for breath. The blaze and heat of the fire was strangely distant from where she lay.

As her lungs finally filled again, Tav realized she wasn’t just lying on pavement—something soft under her torso had cushioned the fall. She lifted up with a groan to look down at what she’d fallen on top of.

Rolan was entirely covered in soot and masonry dust from horn to foot. The effect was that he blended almost completely into the gray cobbles at first glance. Only when he opened his eyes did she recognize the two golden flames staring back at her.

“Tav!”

Rolan sat up so suddenly his horns nearly collided with her forehead. His hands gripped around her forearms with bruising force. “The Brain—I thought you’d—”

Her body had begun to violently shake as she took him in, each inch of his face strained with anxiety and streaked with dust and thoroughly alive—

Unable to go another second without him, Tav threw both arms around his neck. Rolan gripped her ribcage in turn, so tight and so long that her vision went spotty from lack of air. She couldn’t care less; in this moment, she would have dissolved right into him if she could have.

“I thought you were dead, Rolan,” she gasped into his shoulder. “Your Tower—the Netherbrain crashed right into it.”

“Only the observatory.” Rolan’s voice was muffled against her hair. “Never planned to use it anyway—not much of an astronomer—”

Tav could have laughed hysterically if she wasn’t so out of breath. Rolan continued against her neck.

“I was following it to the harbor, Tav, I had no idea what became of you—but then the fire, there were people inside—”

“You had to help,” she finished. She felt tears streaming fast and hot down her cheeks. The strength of her relief could’ve bowled her right over again. “I know, I know, just—”

They released each other at the same time. The kiss was stained with sweat and grime, yet it was the most satisfying one Tav had ever felt. She gripped Rolan’s face between two gauntleted hands, crushing his mouth against her.

“Lia’s okay,” she gasped out when Rolan’s lips finally left hers. “I met her south of here. She and Cal went with Cerys. Cal must be fine too, she would’ve said,” Tav added in a rush.

Rolan jerked his head in acknowledgement, his expression punch-drunk as he took her in. He was smoothing her hair back with both hands as if the motion was the only thing keeping him grounded at the moment.

“Are you all right?” Her voice was very small.

Rolan nodded at her again. Clearly spell-spent and dusted in plaster, he looked like his own ghost. “Are you?” Despite all that, his baritone reverberated warm and familiar in her chest.

“It’s so quiet,” she whispered hoarsely. Her words fell in almost comical contrast to the distant sounds of shouting, fire, and steel meeting illithid flesh.

But she could tell from the way Rolan’s eyes moved over her expression that he understood. The tadpole was finally gone—her mind was entirely her own again.

Rolan’s spark was beginning to return. “Can you stand?”

As he rose, Tav wobbled experimentally to her feet along with him. Her knees were bruised from the tumble, and her calves threatened to cramp from exertion—but she put on a brave face.

Unconvinced, Rolan kept an arm looped behind her back just in case; one hand fastened along her waist. Walking with him close at her side, the adrenaline began to ebb in her veins. Bone-weariness was instead closing in like a shroud.

“We should find Cal and Lia,” she said, trying to sound purposeful. Her boots dragged with each step.

“Yes,” Rolan agreed. He was holding her very firmly—practically supporting half her weight. “And we should be sure your friends made it safely from the docks.”

Tav gave a mumbled assent. It was difficult to care about any of that now, though she knew she should. She found herself staring up at his profile beside her.

“Rolan?”

He looked down in concern. “What is it?”

“After that…will you take me home?”

“My darling—” His lips pressed firmly to her brow. “Yes.”

—

Tav shifted on top of him with a mumble.

Rolan froze with arms still looped around her; perhaps the crinkle of scroll parchment had awakened her.

But then her face snuffled back into the bare crook of his shoulder. The dead weight of her across his chest assured Rolan that she was still fast asleep.

It was a lucky thing that he’d settled with reading material at arm’s length—the small pack of rare scrolls Tav herself had gifted him. She’d been out cold since dawn, when they all made it back to the Tower. It was nearly twilight now, and the sun’s last orange rays were fading fast through the high windows of Rolan’s bedroom. The distant streets had grown quiet as the city retired to nurse its wounds for the night.

Rolan hadn't seen much of her battle with the Netherbrain. Tav hadn't been in a state to tell many details once it was finally over, either. She could barely keep her eyelids open. The only thing clear was that she was completely exhausted from it.

Before anything else, Rolan coaxed several very potent healing elixirs down her throat. Then he drew them a bath and helped her out of her bloodied armor. She leaned heavily against him under the water. By the time he wrapped her in a towel to dry, he practically had to carry her back to his room.

The only hint of her fire came out when he’d tried to guide her toward the bed for sleep. Tav refused to go anywhere near the large four-poster frame that had belonged to the Tower’s previous archwizard. In fact, she declared that the whole thing was to be burned, mattress and all.

Rolan couldn’t decide whether he was more amused or touched by her vehemence.

Instead, she’d grabbed a fistful of the blankets and dragged them away in order to fall against the massive direwolf pelt rug in front of the fireplace. It was no feather bed, but still leagues more comfortable than how either of them had slept on the road to Baldur’s Gate.

Especially so with Tav draped over him, Rolan had since decided. She’d promptly held him to her and drifted off. Her bare torso was a comforting weight on his chest. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she slept, little steady breaths tickling against his neck.

Home. That’s what Tav had called this, hadn’t she? Silently, Rolan leaned his cheek against her hair as he read.

Lia and Cal had moved all their things into the Tower the same day its ownership changed hands. The few of Rolan’s possessions remaining in their Heapside flat had been left in a little pile just inside his bedroom door. Among them was the small leather scroll pouch Tav had gifted him on her arrival to Baldur’s Gate.

By this point, Rolan was certain he could find a much larger wealth of arcane knowledge in his new library. Still…it felt important to study from these first.

For one, they were certainly beyond anything he’d managed to teach himself from hand-me-down textbooks back in Elturel. Whoever she’d stolen them from must have been an advanced practitioner of the Weave. Or perhaps just a man with the wealth and fancy to build a collection, much like Lorroakan had been.

They were also a gift from Tav. That simple fact made them more valuable to Rolan than most of the wealth he’d inherited along with Ramazith’s Tower.

Had she collected them one by one in her travels here, thinking of him while she did? A warm affection bloomed in his chest at the thought. He’d have to ask her when she finally woke.

It was as if she sensed the thought.

With a deep inhale, Tav arched and stretched full-body against the length of him under the covers. Her hands both landed to tangle in his hair against their makeshift fur bed.

“Morning,” she purred sleepily against his neck.

Rolan decided then and there—he could very much get used to waking up like this. However, it seemed the right thing to correct her.

He kissed her brow. “Evening, actually.”

Tav raised her groggy face from his chest then, wiping one corner of her mouth. His eyes left the page to watch her blink around his bedroom in a daze. The blood-orange light of sunset was stretching long and dim across the floorboards now.

“Oh,” she said softly, a single word holding great recognition. Her wide eyes flicked to his face.

“Have—have I been laid on top of you like a dead fish this whole time?”

“I’d never call you that,” Rolan assured her calmly. “But yes.”

Tav looked at him in appraisal for a long moment.

“I think you like it,” she decided, and laid her head back down over his heart. He chuckled to himself and raised his free hand to smooth the hair back from her face.

Tav sighed happily at the gesture. “What are you reading, Rolan?”

“One of the scrolls you gave me.”

“Oh? Tell me about it, then. I’m curious.” One hand had gravitated suspiciously close to his ear. Sure enough, her thumb and forefinger began tracing along its edges to the pointed tip.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Rolan sighed. He’d always been unable to ignore the shivers that flowed down his spine when she touched him there. “I’d tell you regardless.”

“I'm sorry—” Her touch fell from him immediately. “I don’t do it on purpose, really. They’re just so pretty.”

Rolan cleared his throat. “It’s fine. You can—go on. If you like. Just know it’s a bit distracting.”

After a moment, her fingers cautiously returned. She was careful to keep the motion smooth and predictable this time. Rolan focused back on the page he’d pressed to fall flat before she woke.

“This one teaches a technique for arcane portal conjurement. The linking of two locations with a path carved through the Weave.”

Tav swiveled on her chin to look up at him. “Like the one from the Sundries to your library here?”

Rolan hummed in assent. “I've read about wizards who linked much more distant places together. The distance from here to Waterdeep, for instance. It requires a tremendous bit of spellwork.”

“How on earth?” She frowned at him in curiosity. “Where do you put a portal if you can't see where it's going?”

“Not sure yet,” Rolan mused, already being drawn back in by his reading despite her affectionate intrusions. “Most likely it requires two casters to sculpt the spell properly. I’ll need to understand the basic mechanics first.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Tav replied. She snuggled back into to the warmth at his neck.

“Of course I will.” Rolan shook the parchment out with his hand to punctuate the statement.

Tav let out a quiet exhale of laughter—but she said nothing to question him. It made Rolan swell with pride a bit.

He held her for another quiet moment as the fire snapped and danced in the hearth beside them. Its light seemed to burn brighter and even warmer now, with the sun finally gone behind the horizon.

When Tav shifted further over his lap, he didn’t think anything at first. Perhaps she was still trying to get comfortable on their makeshift sleeping arrangements.

Then she ground the heat between her legs over his half-hard cock, and a reflexive sound was pushed from Rolan’s throat.

“Tav,” he groaned.

“I’ve always loved that confidence of yours.” She had propped herself up with hands on his chest to gaze down at him. The covers fell back to bathe her lovely bare shoulders and breasts and stomach with firelight. “You don’t understand, it’s like catnip to me.”

“Where's this coming from?”

“What? Is it not enough that I just woke up naked with the most handsome, brilliant young archwizard on the whole Sword Coast—”

As she showered him with teasing flattery, Tav canted her hips harder against his own. Rolan leaned back against the tips of his horns with another involuntary groan; the scroll fell away dangerously close to the fire, forgotten.

“Tav,” he repeated more forcefully, pushing himself up on one elbow. Her face above him was full of mischief. “You’ve just been through hells—are you sure you’re well enough to—?”

“Yes.” She threw her head back in a moan with the word. Rolan’s hands flew instinctively to her hips. She was already rocking and grinding in rhythm against him, leaving a wet patch of heat where their hips slotted together.

“You’re unbelievable—” Rolan held her arms back insistently, forcing her to look at him.

Tav panted and bit her lip as they watched each other. He was of half a mind to return the favor. Look at the pretty hero of Baldur’s Gate, fresh from battle and already writhing on my cock—but the clear desire between her legs had rather scrambled his own thoughts.

Instead, Rolan did what he could manage to tease her. “Tell me how you feel right now.”

“Hot.” Her voice was low and tempting; her eyes were dark with desire. “Wanting you. Needing you inside me—”

Even without leverage from her palms, Tav managed to shift over his ridges in a way that made Rolan twitch and shudder under her.

“Good gods—I want you too,” he heard himself gasp out.

It was all the encouragement she needed. His grip had gone slack in distraction; with one hand guiding him, Tav angled herself up and sank down over the hard ridges of his length.

Her tight, wet heat all around him nearly knocked him breathless. Rolan lay back and ran his hands up her thighs. The firm muscle there led him straight to the lovely swell of her hips, and he gripped each hand with nails dimpling into her flesh.

Strong and soft—Tav was somehow both of those things at once. As she sat adjusting to him, her eyes certainly had never been softer than they were now, moving over his face.

“I missed this,” she breathed.

Rolan nodded in silent agreement. From tonight on, he swore to himself, neither of them would ever have a chance to miss this.

When she began moving, it was slow and deliberate. Her hips glided up and down to take him—so warm, so perfect. Rolan glanced where their bodies met, watching his length disappearing into her again and again. The sight was almost too much; he felt compelled to close his eyes.

Instead, Rolan pushed himself seated. He couldn't be close enough to her.

Tav folded her arms around his shoulders at once, adjusting to the new angle without breaking rhythm. Her face was bathed in firelight.

As he took in every inch of her, Rolan caught sight of an old blade scar under her jaw. He’d never noticed it before now. He leaned to press his lips against it.

She tilted her head with a soft sound, opening up the rest of her throat to his mouth should he want it. And he did—Rolan kissed and nipped at the flesh there while Tav rode him, her voice softly gasping and whispering his name over and over like a prayer.

The rhythm of their hips together increased to something desperate. Rolan felt heat licking under his skin, burning like flame everywhere their bodies touched. She clutched desperate fingers over the deep ridges along his shoulder blades.

“Come in me,” she gasped. “Please.”

That one little word was his undoing. Who was he to deny the woman who had just saved everything he loved in the whole Realms, herself included?

Rolan forced his mouth away from Tav’s throat to watch her come apart. She was already close—he could tell from the way her mouth fell open, the way her walls twitched and gripped him tighter each time she bounced down onto his lap.

“I love you—”

He wasn’t sure she heard with the way she arched and tensed into him—but then she already knew, didn’t she? Tav’s arms were trembling around his shoulders when she came, as if he was the only thing keeping her anchored down to earth.

When he felt the coil inside him unraveling, Rolan buried his face into her shoulder again. She was whispering praises against the tapered shell of his ear—things too sweet to even commit to his own memory. Rolan clutched at her back with both hands as he finally shuddered and spilled inside her.

He kept his arms locked tight around her middle as the twitching waves at his core echoed and subsided. Then they tipped backward together, their bodies still connected, to land in a soft pile of fur.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the way they both panted against each other. Lying on top of him again, Tav’s lips brushed against the trail of ridges below his collar bone.

Soon enough, one of his long fingers began tracing over her back. He practiced the shapes of his somatic spell components along the empty expanse of her skin. She was so soft and smooth there—so unlike the way Tieflings were formed.

He felt goosebumps raise where his fingers touched. Tav shivered against him.

“That tickles,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Apologies, darling,” Rolan told her. Some other time it would be very interesting to investigate how ticklish she was. For now, he stilled to press his palm against her lower back instead.

Tav heaved a deep sigh against his chest. “What are we supposed to do now?”

Rolan crooked his head down at her. “What do you mean?”

“Now that it’s over.” Tav propped her chin on both hands to meet his eye. “I can barely remember what it feels like to just…live my own life. You know?”

Rolan carded one hand back through her hair. He understood the feeling well.

“There’s still plenty to occupy both of us,” he assured her. “I need to complete the Tower repairs before the next storm, which could be any day knowing Sword Coast weather. And the Lower City is in a state of absolute ruin. I’m sure you’ll have a hundred people knocking on my door come morning, asking for their hero’s help with a hundred different things—”

To his surprise, Tav sat up on his lap in a huff. The motion reminded him he was still softening inside of her.

“There you go spoiling my fun,” she complained good-naturedly. “Here I expected you to be thrilled at the prospect of finally having me in your bed day and night, with no mortal peril hanging over either of our heads, no less. And you only want to discuss Baldurian civics—”

Rolan felt himself beginning to laugh at her, a relaxed and throaty sound. “Is that what’s troubling you? Tav, I thoroughly intend to fuck you often and well.”

“You’d better,” she warned, but the corners of her mouth had begun to twitch. He wanted to devour her.

“And since you’ve declared my own bed permanently off-limits—”

In one motion he rolled their bodies to pin Tav under him. It earned him a little ‘oh’ of surprise; he was conveniently still buried between her legs. “You’ve put me in the position of having to be resourceful.”

“Big change for you, that?” Tav teased. But her legs crossed behind his flanks to keep him close. As they did, one of her heels inadvertently rubbed against the sensitive base of his tail.

Rolan hissed in air between his teeth. He saw her eyes spark with recognition, and leaned down to kiss her senseless before she could do anything wicked with this new information.

By the time they surfaced from lips and tongues and teeth, he was already achingly stiff inside her again. Her hands ran down his front, flowing over each concentric pattern on his chest with open want. It sent a shiver all the way down his spine, from neck to tail.

The way Tav looked at him—the way she touched him as if he was perhaps the loveliest thing she’d ever seen. He decided it would take him years to get used to. Maybe he never would.

Rolan kept still regardless, waiting for her to finish her explorations. All traces of teasing were long gone from her now.

Tav’s eyes reflected the warmth of the dying fire as reached up for him. She passed one more deliberate hand over the planes of his face, as if she’d like to memorize the feel of them. Her fingers landed to gently clutch around his jaw.

“My wizard,” she said softly.

Rolan had never been one for pet names; even from the people he cared about most. Those words should have sounded diminutive and sentimental to him, even spoken by Tav.

Instead��

They fell sweetly against his ear, flowed like honeyed wine down his throat, and nestled into a space that glowed with warmth somewhere behind his ribs.

And why shouldn’t they? He was her wizard, after all.

#sage and soldier #rolan x tav #bg3 rolan #bg3 fanfic #rebgrrl writes #underdark-dreams #spicy #nsft #crying (me)#holy rolan empire

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lying-hyperion-jackass · 11 months ago

Text

dreadful need in the devotee

the dark urge x enver gortash

rating: explicit | word count: 1517

notes: canon typical violence, female reader, fingering, oral (f receiving), piv

summary: durge wants to celebrate a job well done

You stalk down the hallways towards him. His simpering minions practically dive out of your way, desperate to avoid your eye.

Bloody footprints mark your path. Your body thrums with adrenaline, making your limbs tingle and the blackness in your chest pulse with pride. Today you made your father proud, and he blesses you for it.

The door to the audience hall is unlocked, but when you enter you find a meeting in progress. Gortash sits at the head of the table as always, patriars and nobles surrounding him, discussing some business you couldn’t give less of a shit about.

“Leave us,” you say as you stalk across the wide hall. All heads snap in your direction, eyes going wide at your appearance. Perhaps you could have taken the time to clean yourself up before you came to see him.

But where was the fun in that?

His mask remains in place. “Excuse the intrusion gentlemen,” he says to the table. “Perhaps you could wait in my office - there is business still to be done,” he says evenly, dark eyes meeting yours.

You’ve reached the table now. “Ma’am if you please, we are in the middle of-” one of the windbags at the table begins to speak to you.

As if he deserves to even look at you. Punish his insolence.

He screams as you drive your knife into his hand. Blood pools around the wound nicely, spilling onto the ornate wooden table. You pull the knife from him as he whimpers, running your tongue along the blade as you move towards Gortash.

He looks incensed, so you smile at him. “Clear the room,” he says. The rest of the noblemen scatter as you finally reach him, sliding into the chair and settling yourself heavily onto his lap.

“No one could say you don’t know how to make an entrance,” he growls. “You have just made my life much more difficult.”

You toss your knife to the floor and grind your hips against his. “On the contrary actually,” you say. You lean in close, bracing your arms on the back of his chair. Your lips brush his ear as you whisper, “Stelmane is dead.”

His hands come up to your hips, holding you firmly against him. “That is excellent news,” he purrs, irritation dropping from his tone.

“Wouldn’t beg for her life. So stoic, so serious,” you say, nipping at his ear and pressing yourself against him to feel his racing heart. “But she screamed so prettily once I had my blades in her.”

Gortash slides one hand up your back to your shoulder. You pull back far enough to see his face. Eyes alight, flush creeping into his cheeks.

His eyes should show fear. He underestimates you.

The whispering behind your eyes is drowned out by the arousal pooling at your center. You’re sticky with blood and still he slides his hands into your hair and pulls your mouth to his, licking into you, swallowing your moans.

“Tell me more love,” he says against your lips, golden nails scratching against your scalp. You let your own hands wander to his chest, reaching for any exposed skin.

“I drove my blades through her guards one by one, right into their necks so no one could hear them scream,” you whisper between heated kisses. “She was alone when I found her. I could practically smell her fear.” You shiver, grinding your hips against his and you can feel him now, hot and hard beneath his robes.

“I questioned her first, cut off little pieces when she gave the wrong answers,” you smile, leaning in to sink your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder. He keens and rocks up against you. “Her blood was so sweet,” you continue, kissing your way up the line of his throat. “But not nearly as lovely as yours.”

Gortash stands, lifting you with him. As your feet hit the floor he’s already pushing your trousers down. You throw your head back and moan as his fingers slip between your folds, wet and waiting for him.

You seat yourself on the table behind you, grinning at him as you use one foot to knock him to his knees between your spread legs.

“Cheeky little pup,” he says, cold metal fingers spreading over your bare thighs. “You think you’ve earned such a reward?”

You thread your fingers through his hair and yank him towards you. “Always.”

His eyes stay locked with yours and leans forward and licks a stripe up your center. His tongue works against your clit and you pull harder on his hair, grinding against his mouth. You can feel his muffled moans vibrating through you.

He digs his claws into your thighs hard enough to draw blood, and it sends a chill up your spine. So few have ever been permitted to make you bleed.

He does not deserve to have you this way.

Any hesitation is once again washed away by his tongue finding its way to your entrance, lapping up the wetness accumulated there. He slides his mouth back up to suck hard on your clit and you groan. “Gods yes. Make me cum,” you growl, catching his eyes again.

There’s a gleam in them as he redoubles his efforts, snaking one finger inside and curling it just right. It’s one of the three without the claws, but part of you wishes it wasn’t, wondering what the sharpness would feel like inside you.

There isn’t long to consider it as he stretches you around a second finger, and it’s enough to send you careening over the edge, clenching around him and rocking against his face. Your thighs are so tight around his head you wonder if he can even breathe. You find you don’t really care.

Your body tingles as you fall back against the table. Gortash stands, looking smug, mouth shiny with your release. His eyes rake over you, devouring every detail. You decide to reward him, unbuttoning your shirt and wrenching it open until you’re on full display.

His mouth quirks into a smile and he leans over to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you arch up into him. He pulls back just enough to show you his gauntlet, your blood still pooled on the tips of the claws.

You lean forward to lick it off, sucking on each fingertip. He watches with rapt attention. The muscle in his jaw twitches. You know him well enough to know how hard he is working to look composed.

“Stop holding back,” you growl, before crashing your mouth against his, more teeth than lips. But it seems to get your point across.

You find yourself flipped, face pressed into the wooden table. Cold metal presses into the back of your neck to hold you down. You laugh wildly, grinding back against him.

You get little warning as you feel his cock pressing against your slit, before he slams into you. You scream, but it's an exquisite kind of agony. Too fast, too deep, too much, but perfect all the same.

His free hand digs into your hip, pulling your back against him with every thrust. Your laugh dissolves into a loud series of moans. “This is what you interrupted me for? To get fucked on my table like some common whore?” He groans.

Glancing back over your shoulder at him, you smile. He’s still in his ridiculous robes, his hair mussed and out of place, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. “Gorgeous,” you purr at him.

His hand twists on your neck and presses your face back against the table. You keen as he somehow fucks you faster, harder. His hand tangles in your hair and pulls you up, forcing your back to arch for him.

It allows him to hit some new angle inside and you’re coming again, pulsing around him as he swears. He pulls you up entirely then, back pressed to his chest, hand coming around to hold your throat.

You fall back against him, letting him hold you up as he chases his own release. “Gods you’re insufferable,” he whines against your ear and you clench around him just to hear him moan.

He pulls out then, pushing you back down against the table. You hear him working himself with his own fist until you feel his spend, warm and wet across your lower back.

The sound of your heavy breathing echoes through the large hall. You roll over, smearing cum and blood across his table. He narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything, instead extending a hand to you.

You take it and sit up, aching in all the right places. He puts a finger under your chin and leans in to kiss you, more gentle this time, but still hungry.

“Everything is almost in place,” he says as he pulls away. “We’ll rule this city yet.”

There is no we. You will take his life. The only question is when.

You silence the voice by kissing him again, content for now in sharing your victory.

#enver gortash #the dark urge #durgetash #gortash x durge #baldur's gate 3

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foxintheferns · 6 months ago

Text

Wild Heart - Chapter Six

A Twilight- Paul Lahote Fanfiction

Be sure to read the Previous Chapter!

“You got it, Sully! Just push off!”

“Don’t even think about it, just jump!”

“C’mon, this is the baby cliff!”

I clenched my eyes shut, trying to ignore the shouts of the five men behind me who were already soaked. Their dark hair was now jet black with ocean water, each of them having jumped off the cliff and returned back to the top before I’d even had a chance to set my bag down.

I breathed slowly, in through my nose and out through my mouth, my shoulders falling as I relaxed into the sensation of the warm sun on my skin and the breeze against my face. My body felt full, full of fear and excitement, warmth and freedom. My fingers and toes tingled, and I wiggled them together, bringing myself into my body more deeply. The voices of the boys behind me became muffled as I listened in more acutely to the voice in my head now. I felt a feeling in my chest and stomach that I couldn’t quite place, but it was exhilarating. Adrenaline? Was that what this was? It felt good, like fire and ice in my veins all at the same time.

My heart swelled as I opened my eyes, ready to welcome the feeling of the ocean on my skin. The smell of the beach and the spray of the moisture from below fell across my face in interval as the waves crashed against the rock faces. I looked down at my feet. My toes, painted in now-chipped polish, poised along the edge of the rock, the rich blue water a vast backdrop below them. I looked up then, out at the jarring beauty of the peninsula, and suddenly ached for the silence that the ocean’s embrace would provide.

With a deep inhale, I bent my knees, forcing all of my energy into the propelling of my body upward and out, then down, towards the blue. My body fell through the air. It was abruptly cold as it whipped past me, but for the duration of my fall, it felt as though I was floating. The air held me, safe in its arms, for only moments. I felt myself surrender, a shriek of glee escaping from my lips, before the air released me to the waves. My body plunged through the warm surface of the water, the iciness below enveloping me with a sharp sting shortly after. I let my body relax into that cold, my eyes closed and my limbs limp, feeling the sheer power of the sea around me as it moved in sways against the rocky cliffs. It wasn’t so powerful that it held me under, but the strength of the water still rocked me. I had always felt deeply humbled by the ocean, ever since I was little. No man was stronger than the sea.

My legs kicked as I pulled myself up to the surface, my body in autopilot as it recognized my need for air. The desire to laugh was bubbling up in my chest, the release of adrenaline and the excitement of the moment too much to keep inside. As my face broke through the surface, a giggle exploded from me, and a squeal of contentment came from my mouth. It was cold. I heard the deep laughs and howls of the boys from up above, their figures visible but blurry through the salt water in my eyes. Their voices erupted in chants of approval.

“Hell yeah, girl!”

“Yes Sully!”

“Move over, I’m comin in!” I watched as Embry disappeared behind the others, and I splashed over the to rocks that bordered the inlet. His lanky body came flying from over the cliff edge, twisting in the air with an impressive somersault and the chorus of the mens’ jeering from behind him.

After almost ten jumps from the rocky cliff, I was beat. My body was more tired than it had been in quite a while. It was used to the frigid September ocean at this point, my muscles and fingers stiff with numbness, but I wanted to enjoy the sun while it lasted. With a slight grunt, I achingly pulled myself up out of the water onto the outcropping of rock that shot out at the base of the cliff, providing a steep natural stairway onto the trail.

My feet were wet and slippery against the stone, and I gasped as my right foot slid underneath me. I caught myself with my arms outstretched in front of me, my hand slamming into the rock and my breath hitching in my throat.

“Woah there!” Jared called out.

“Careful,” Seth’s gentle voice came from behind me as he and Jared swam with ease to the rocks, pulling themselves up after me. I huffed as I heaved my body up again, my bare feet relishing in the sudden change to soft padded forest floor as the short, steep trail along the cliff welcomed me back up to the top. After climbing the remaining 20 feet to the face of the cliff, I bent at the waist, pulling my towel out from my bag, and laid it down across the flattest part of the cliff face that I could find, ensuring the sun was falling across the spot. As if knowing what I needed, the sun came out slowly from behind thick clouds, beaming down onto me and my towel as I squeezed my dripping hair out onto the rock and settled down to rest. I laid flat on my back, feeling the tenseness of my body begin to melt away as the sun glimmered down onto me. I closed my eyes and embraced the warmth eagerly. Drops of icy ocean water glided down and across my skin, which was now richly tanned. The boys seemed to be willing to take a break, all of them besides Jared, who propelled himself again, with a loud hoot, off of the cliff edge. My towel and I were about twenty five feet away, but I still somehow felt the spray of water that flung off of Jared’s body as he threw himself out over the ocean.

Jacob shook out his hair a few feet away, chuckling when I squinted and put my hand in front of my face to avoid being sprayed by him as well. He was making his way towards me, gesturing at my towel, words seemingly just about to leave his lips, when a yell even louder than Jared’s came flowing through the forest behind us. It sounded almost like a war cry, a strong howl that pierced the air.

I sat up on my elbows, peering through the trees as Jacob’s and the other four boys’ heads snapped toward the sound as well. Loud rustling and the sounds of branches snapping underfoot broke through the treeline, and two shirtless men abruptly followed shortly after. They had tall, lean, tanned muscled bodies just like those of my new friends. The slightly larger of the two men, the one whose voice was still calling out a long and exaggerated howl, ran with insurmountable speed, weaving straight through our group and to the edge of the cliff face, not pausing before he threw his body off with arms outstretched, his muscles taut and firm. My mouth gaped open at the scene, my eyes still lingering on the spot where the man had just leapt from the rock. Behind him, the other man slowed to a jog before coming to a stop right beside Jacob. He ruffled Jake’s wet hair and greeted him much like a brother would, throwing his frame against Jacob with force as they both cackled and growled vulgarities at eachother as they each pretended to fight the other off. It ended with an arm strewn around eachother’s shoulders, the three other boys surrounding them to share their greetings as well.

This new stranger’s eyes quickly found me, and he nodded at me curtly, seeming only slightly suprised by my presence.

“Sam, meet Harley Sullivan. She’s the new tenant at the old lookout cabin,” Jacob said casually, his eyes meeting mine before scanning Sam’s face for his reaction. I grinned up squintingly at the kind looking Sam. He began returning my smile with a soft one of his own, but as Jacob reached the part about the cabin, his interest seemed to peak, and his smile fell oddly. I decided to take mental note of that.

“Hey Harley…I’m Sam. The old cabin, huh? Damn, nobody’s been there for years. So, uh, you’re a scientist?” His voice was thick with curiosity, but it held a perplexing edge of wariness.

Just as I opened my mouth to respond, Jacob’s humorously taunting tone rang out in his response, “Yeah, she studies the birds. Sully the Bird Girl.” Chuckles rang out amongst the group, and I looked up at Jacob as I shook my head and let my own laugh bubble up through my chest.

He was still grinning down at me when the men around him all flicked their heads towards the wet sound of bare feet on rock coming from behind us. The laughter seemed to stop short stiffly, and when Jacob’s head also turned quickly to his left, I followed his gaze. Jared had returned to the cliff top, and was in the process of shaking his own sopping hair out in front of him, oblivious to the sudden silence.

Standing five feet behind him was the tall man who had jumped. The man who had come barreling through the trees with a war cry and a boyish grin on his face. I was shocked by my own abrupt awareness of the man’s presence. It was impossible not to be; he was staring right at me.

A feeling I could only decipher as electricity jolted through my chest, my limbs, my face. His gaze was not one I’d ever felt the likes of before.

The bone structure of his face was impossibly sharp and strong. Thick, dark brows framed piercing eyes that were brooding with depth: a darker, richer brown than the other boys. They held more than I could understand, and an imperceptible expression fell upon the man’s features when my eyes met his that left me feeling suddenly wildly unaware of my own presence amongst the group. For a brief moment, I could only try to comprehend him.

His lips parted slightly, and a soft gust of air left his mouth, his chest and muscled stomach visibly tightening with the expulsion. Water dripped down his face from soaked, crow-black hair, the wet beads falling across his cheeks and mouth, gliding down to his jawline and trailing across his neck. My eyes quickly flicked to a bead of water that grazed down his collarbone, before they swiftly returned to his impossibly intense stare.

It was mere moments, if that, and yet it felt as though time lagged. He studied me with careful determination, a look of utter shock on his face that I could only meet with suprise of my own. His eyes were wide and perplexed, an almost childlike wonder within them. It looked as though he were about to approach me, one of his feet shuffling forward ever so slightly in my direction.

Then, in an instant, his jaw tensed and his nostrils flared. His brows came together in a look of confused, almost pained anger. The man’s eyes ripped away from mine to Sam’s face before he spun on his feet, turning toward the forest and bolting with more force and speed than I would’ve thought possible into the green canopy.

My eyes remained fixed on the ferns surrounding the edge of the trees long after he trampled through them, even as the men around me began to speak. After the odd sensation fell away from my body, I was suddenly aware again of my surroundings.

Almost all of the men stared down at me, a similarly concerned look on each of their faces, although masked heavily by forced, intentionally friendly expressions. It was impossible for me to ignore the confusion and shock in their faces. I was looking for it. Wasn’t this their friend? Why were they just as surprised as me?

“Well,” Jake clapped his hands together in casual emphasis, “I guess now you’ve met Paul.”

I shook my head in confusion, unsure what I’d just experienced, but decided to contemplate it later, and met Jacob’s eyes.

“Erm, yeah, that’s Paul?” I said timidly. A look of confusion was on Seth’s face, and I peered briefly at Sam, who I quickly realized to be just as much of a leader figure than Jacob to the boys. He seemed older than the rest of them, more wise. His brow was set in a firm contemplative line, but the rest of his features were soft as he gazed at me.

“Paul is a loose canon…,” Sam hesitated, then pulled his features into a more pleasantly relaxed configuration, “not much of a social guy, especially with strangers.”

I nodded slowly, my eyes falling again on that spot along the trees, the ferns still bent and misshapen from Paul’s long strides. I could sense the weight of the look that Jacob and Sam then shared, and it made me suddenly worried I’d done something wrong.

“I’m sorry if I upset him, if this is like a private spot he doesn’t like new people coming to? I know you guys said that cliff jumping is kinda your thing and I wouldn’t want to-,” Jake’s voice cut through my nervous rambling sharply, in a tone I’d only ever heard from him that first night he had taunted me in the woods.

“Oh please, Paul is just an inconsiderate ass. Too angry for his own good. Loose cannon is a damn understatement,” his jaw clenched and his eyes glared icily at the same spot my eyes kept returning to before he added, “You don’t need to be sorry, Sully.”

He looked back towards me, and I felt reassured by the gentle smile that melted onto his face once our eyes met.

“Yeah don’t take that too personally, Paul can be a…. Erm,” Seth pondered the right word for his own description of his friend.

“A bit hot tempered,” Sam finished for Seth with a chuckle, then shrugged and glanced at me, “No sense in blaming yourself. Who knows what his problem is. I’m really sorry about that.” Sam then glanced again towards Jacob, “Jake, I need your help down at the shop. Meet me there in a bit?”

Jake stared at Sam’s face for a moment, before he nodded. Sam turned and started towards the trees, then looked back at my face again, smiling warmly, but not warmly enough to erase the obvious uncertainty amidst his features. He walked backwards as he spoke, seemingly in a bit of a hurry, and waved politely at me.

“It was nice meeting you, Harley, I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he said softly before he turned again and jogged through that opening in the ferns.

Jacob drove the five of us back down to the trailhead, the truck rumbling down the winding road much more quickly than it had on its way up. He told Seth to guide me back to my cabin, and pulled the old truck up onto the grass along the trees. He pushed the truck’s gearshift into park, then turned to meet my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Harley. I’d walk you back, I just really need to help Sam out with something,” he said softly. I was suprised at his use of my first name after the long day of nicknames. Seth opened the passenger door and went to wait for me along the roadside. I nodded, smiling reassuringly and gazing back at Jacob’s kind brown eyes.

“It’s all good! I had a lot of fun, Jake. Thanks for taking me there,” I replied, before adding, “I’ll see you guys soon?,” promptly causing a grin to pull up on the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” he murmured, his eyes crinkling slightly. I couldn’t help but notice the odd anxiety that rooted itself across his face, behind his warm smile. I glanced over my shoulder at Jared, Quil, and Embry in the backseat. Quil was knocked out, his head leaning back against the rear window of the truck cab and his mouth wide open in a snore.

I laughed quietly, smiling at the two other boys who grinned back and waved.

“See you guys,” I said lowly, before pulling my tired body across the bench seat and hauling myself and my backpack out of the truck. I turned to slam the heavy door and walked gingerly over to Seth, whose face was the most normal and at ease out of all the men. I was suddenly thankful that he’d be the one to walk me back.

“I’ll take that,” he mumbled as he pulled my backpack off of my shoulder, slinging it onto his own back with ease.

The hike back to the cabin felt painfully long. Seth chatted with me eagerly for the first half, asking questions about the puffins, about my favorite animals, if I get scared at night in the lookout shelter. He laughed just like his mom, Sue, when I told him of Frank, the desperate bachelor puffin. Then, the last ten minutes of the hike was a comfortable silence, one that I felt Seth needed just as much as I did.

Once we arrived at the cabin, Seth returned my pack to me and hugged me gently, letting me know he’d be helping his mom wait tables at the Riverside Restaurant this Sunday. He suggested that I stop in for breakfast, which I much obliged. I thanked him for his help and his kindness, and eagerly made my way in to the cabin once he started his trek down to the La Push beach, towards the reservation.

That evening was the longest and most quiet I’d had in a long time. The interaction at the cliff had left a sick feeling in my stomach. Why was a stranger so distraught by my presence? Was I missing something? Was he, just as Jacob had been when I first met him, angry about my presence in their forest? Jacob was never that obviously bothered. Anyway, did Paul even know about that?

I had never seen that look on a man’s face before. I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t understand why, or how, I’d had an impact on him.

I stayed up far later than I’d ever stayed up in the cabin that night, my head swirling with questions and thoughts of the men that had now become main characters in my life. But worst of all, Paul’s anger stricken face flashed through my mind countless times, causing an anxious ache to burn through me with each passing. The look he had given Sam before he’d turned away, the contrast in the expressions he wore: first shock and awe, and then a bitter, awful anger.

My body was exhausted and sore, and yet my mind was wired, still reeling with the electric sensation the moment had brought upon me. I managed to reload the wood stove five times with logs before my body finally gave out, and sleep overtook me in a heavy, numbing wave.

➡️NEXT CHAPTER

A/N: omg. Welcome, Paul, to the stage. We’ve been waiting for you😜

Taglist: @carrrieeexu @living-that-best-life @hotheadwolf @avis15 @gugi7171773 @neo-grey @bbywonu @wilmasvensson @lostwandererkat @littlep2014 @cyuuttee @itsthesamegen @a-moonchilds-life @Elleirbag50 @Foxmp

#twilight #fanfic #imagines #paul lahote #paullahote #twilight imagines #fanfiction #paullahoteimagine #twilight fandom #twilightfanfic #twilight fanfiction

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wormofcans · 1 year ago

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Pop Rocks

Word Count: 2,777 words

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski

Tags: Fluff and Crack, POV Stiles Stilinski, Hospitals, Confusion, Monster of the Week (kind of), Stiles Stilinski has Diabetes, Diabetes, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Disabled Character, Chronic Illness

Summary: Another week, another monster tango, and Stiles was seriously contemplating starting a Yelp account, solely to leave a scathing review of this godforsaken town.

Or: Stiles may be lacking in the insulin department, but he more than makes up for it with his penchant for getting himself into embarrassing situations.

Read on AO3

For the ‘Healing Machine Malfunction’ space on my @badthingshappenbingo. Card under the cut.

Another week, another monster tango, and Stiles was seriously contemplating starting a Yelp account, solely to leave a scathing review of this godforsaken town. He’d title it something like 'Not suitable for sane human beings' or 'Reserved for those who enjoy flirting with danger... and death'.

He was single-handedly going to destroy Beacon Hills' already minuscule tourism sector. Petty? Maybe. Hilarious? Absolutely. But, hey—survival first, Yelp reviews later.

This evening’s uninvited party-crasher was a feral Alpha with a mug almost as ugly as Peter’s, and that… Well, that was a feat in and of itself.

Seriously, what about Beacon Hills was so freaking interesting to everything that goes bump in the night? Why the hell did they all wind up here? Did the town possess a supernatural magnet or something? Because it sure fucking felt that way.

Anyway, Stiles didn't have the time to unravel the mysteries of the supernatural migration patterns right then. He had more immediate concerns, like staying alive and preferably keeping himself in one piece in the process.

The odds, as they stood, seemed somewhat in their favor. Derek and Erica were a force to be reckoned with, fighting like a well-oiled machine, using the rough forest terrain of the preserve to their advantage, and Scott… Scott was trying his best. So far he seemed the most injured, his shirt now more red than white, and more hole than fabric, displaying the unmarred skin underneath. Oh, the perks of lycanthropy.

As for Derek and Erica, they were a bit better off, though not entirely unscathed; He was able to make out a few flesh wounds on them from his less-than-comfortable perch against a tree. Stiles himself had been a bit roughed up when he involuntarily shoulder-slammed a boulder, and the spot already felt like it was going to turn into one hell of a bruise. But, at least no one had lost their head yet (literally or figuratively), and Stiles definitely counted that as a success.

Stiles kept observing the fight, feeling like his limbs had turned to jelly, adrenaline-fueled panic crawling up his spine. His trusty metal bat felt heavy in his hand, his grip on it wavering as his fingers tingled, betraying his exhaustion.

Not that he’d actually done much in the last half hour except for running for his life and being tossed around like a ragdoll. Super productive, Stiles. Hard work, indeed.

Of course, he had attempted to throw himself into the fray, get in a good-whacking and all that, but let's just say that tripping over a tree root had earned him a stern growl from Derek, demanding he evacuate the "claw zone" immediately. Yep, that’s right, Stiles was put into time-out because he couldn’t watch his step. Talk about embarrassing. Maybe he should consider switching out his bat for a gun. At least then he wouldn’t feel so utterly useless.

Now normally, he’d put up a fight, or any fight to be precise, especially if Derek was concerned. But right then, he felt more like a microwaved marshmallow than the obnoxious, bat-wielding boy who ran with wolves. So he’d rolled his eyes and caved, banishing himself to the safe zone.

Leaving the frenzy was at least good for one thing—checking if his medical equipment was still a go or if it had been roughened up along with Stiles. Not that a broken insulin pump would be an immediate threat to his life—just his to dad’s wallet since the stuff wasn’t cheap, even with their fancy medical plan. But, it would be a major pain in the ass.

Because if something got dislodged or broke, he'd have to manually manage his blood sugar until he could get it replaced. It had happened before, and it wasn't a pleasant experience, not only because he loathed needles but also because ADHD and type 1 diabetes were an unholy union that turned him into a forgetful, hyperglycemic mess. And keeping track of his blood sugar levels was somewhat crucial to his continued survival.

Plus, having to explain to his dad that he'd somehow destroyed his medical equipment (again) while fighting monsters that didn't exist would be a conversation he'd rather avoid. He could already imagine how that would go: 'Hey, Dad, you know that expensive insulin pump I need to stay alive? Yeah, I kinda broke it while whacking a werewolf with my baseball bat. No biggie.' Yep, he’d really rather not.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to since all of it was in order. His CGM was still sticking firmly to his arm, and the cannula to his stomach. The pump was up and running and the tube connecting it and the cannula was free of any kinks. Crisis averted, at least on the diabetes front.

Now, if only his knees had received the memo about avoiding catastrophic collapses.

Just as he contemplated inventing a crush-resistant, werewolf-proof case for the pump, they sent a distress signal, urging him to slide down the tree before he ended up flat on his face, again. His mouth was still tingling from that epic faceplant, reminding him of that one time he’d crammed it choke-full with three packs of pop rocks. Alas, it wasn't caused by popping candy but rather… Ant pee. On his mouth. Ew.

But now that he was thinking about it, his mouth and lips weren’t the only parts of his body prickling, no, his whole body tingled and shook, almost in sync with his erratic heartbeat. Stupid adrenaline, couldn’t it just stick to the good stuff? The stuff that actually helped him survive? Nope, it just had to throw in the “impending heart attack” feeling because who didn’t love a good panic session? Well, certainly not Stiles.

Speaking of panic sessions, Scott chose that very moment to fly past him, or at least that’s what it looked like when his best friend’s body crashed nearby with a resounding thud. Stiles couldn't help but freak out for a moment before Scott popped back up, perfectly fine, like he hadn’t just momentarily turned into a werewolf missile. Seriously, could he not do that?

“You okay, man?” Scott asked before Stiles could even open his mouth. Stiles gave him a weak grin and a shaky thumbs-up, and Scott was off to throw himself back into the frenzy before he could even think about returning the question. Not that he could ask, considering that adrenaline had turned his brain into mush.

Stiles decided to shift his focus on stifling the panic gripping his chest, trusting that the three werewolves had the situation handled and that he wouldn’t immediately die if he didn’t actively pay attention to the happenings around him.

So, for a while, he sat there, leaning against the tree, one hand on his carotid artery, feeling the thump-thump of his blood. But then, he sensed somewhat of a shift in the air, and his attention snapped back to the spectacle before him. His senses were right, the fight was reaching its peak, and he watched in awe as Erica, agile and fierce, leaped onto the back of the massive beast. Her claws dug into its skull, giving Derek the perfect opening for the final, decisive blow. The sight of Derek's muscles rippling as he extended his arm back, then finally swiping a clawed hand across the Alpha's throat was both terrifying and impressive. And kinda sexy. And that was totally beside the point.

The beast collapsed like a sack of potatoes, and Erica howled in triumph. Stiles had half a mind to join in as well. Victory at last!

But his happiness was short-lived. As the adrenaline began draining away, Stiles felt a strange sensation washing over him—weakness, dizziness, and disorientation—all rolled into one neat 'Oh God, please, no' package.

Scott's concerned voice penetrated the fog in Stiles' mind. “You don’t look so good,” he said, flaunting his keen observation skills.

Stiles grunted, trying to dismiss the notion, but truthfully? He felt like he’d been run over. Twice.

Forcing his eyes open (apparently, he had closed them at some point?), he squinted in confusion as he was confronted by not one but two Scotts. Wait, when did that happen? Had he inadvertently stumbled into some bizarre parallel universe? He blinked, trying to focus on the real Scott, but they both stubbornly remained in his line of sight.

His mind swam, struggling to process what was happening. “Why’s there two of you?” Stiles slurred, his words slow and muddled as if he were in a dream. Wait, maybe he was dreaming; he certainly felt like he was floating.

And just when he thought things couldn't get any weirder, two Dereks materialized in front of him. “Two what?” they grunted.

Stiles’ poor heart skipped a beat at the sight—two sourwolves, both brooding and mysterious. A dream come true, perhaps?

A thought wormed its way into Stiles' bewildered mind—maybe this second Derek was the nicer version, the one who'd spare him from wall collisions and excessive growling. Not that he minded the growling, really, it was sort of a turn-on (not that he'd ever admit that out loud), but growly Derek seemed to take pleasure in pretending Stiles didn't exist. Derek two, though? A glimmer of hope.

“Oh hey, Derek two,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching, "D’you wanna go on a date? Derek number one doesn’t like me much." He chuckled, though it sounded more like a feeble wheeze.

“Did he hit his head?” Derek number something grunted.

Stiles couldn't help but pout. There went his hopes and dreams.

“He smells weird,” Erica chimed in with her usual bluntness.

Scott took a whiff and cursed under his breath. “He smells like insulin. Like way too much of it.”

"Uh-oh, Houston, we have a problem," Stiles joked weakly around his numb and tingly mouth, his vision now an abstract watercolor painting, shapes swimming together. One Derek, two Dereks, a blob of color. "Someone... someone pass me the pop rocks, please." He tried to laugh, but it came out more like a slurred mumble.

"I got him," the Dereks spoke in unison, their voices eerily synchronized. Two Dereks, one voice. How confusing.

The Dereks acted quickly, hoisting him up with strong arms (just two, Stiles verified), and placing him on his feet.

“Can you stand?”

“Uh-huh.”

Stiles’ eyes rolled back, his legs gave out, and the world fell away.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles groaned as he slowly came to, realizing with exasperation that he was in god-forsaken Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. Again. Seriously, this was becoming too much of a normal Wednesday afternoon for his liking.

He glanced around the sterile room, trying to gather his wits as he attempted to recall the events that led him here. But nope, the memories eluded him. It was like trying to reassemble a jigsaw puzzle. With all the pieces upside down.

His head hurt like someone split it with an ax—wait, was that what had happened? Nope, definitely no ax-wielding murderer. That would be very unusual, even for his life, and he’d remember it for sure. Did a truck run him over? Possible, but way too simple. Maybe it was an amnesia-inducing, soul-sucking monster? A dementor? Did those exist?

Thankfully, someone entered his room then, however, not so thankfully, it was his dad. Not that Stiles didn't want him here; he just hated seeing his old man so worried.

"Hey, Daddy-o," Stiles said with a weary smile, "did I make it into the record books for most hospital visits in a year yet?"

The sheriff approached, his concern mingling with amusement. "Not yet, but you're gunning for it, son. Though I'd really prefer you to break some other kind of record. How are you feeling?”

Stiles shrugged nonchalantly, instantly regretting it as pain shot through his skull like a lightning bolt. "Oh, you know, just like I tried to headbutt a moving train."

His dad nodded in mock seriousness. "And how'd that go for you?"

"Let's just say the train won,” he said. "But seriously, what happened?"

His dad grimaced, clearly worried about Stiles' memory lapse. “Your insulin pump malfunctioned, somehow. It just… kept pumping insulin into you.”

“Oh, wow.” Stiles grimaced. “Hypoglycemia? That’s a new one.”

Giving him a tense smile, his dad leaned against the wall, gaze never leaving Stiles. "You scare the hell out of me sometimes, you know that?"

Stiles sighed, guilt washing over him. If his dad knew only half the things he got up to every week, he’d probably have a heart attack. “I know, Dad. Sorry," he finally said, though he knew those words wouldn't ease his dad's anxiety in the slightest.

The older man's expression softened, and he moved closer to the bed, reaching out to ruffle Stiles' unruly, growing-out hair. The gesture hurt his head, but Stiles leaned into it, craving that bit of comfort. Sadly, it was over too soon, and he almost pouted. Almost.

"Scott's waiting outside.” The sheriff patted his shoulder and made his exit, muttering something about coffee and visiting Melissa.

Not two seconds later, a full head of curls appeared in the doorway, and Scott, wide-eyed and grinning, came inside.

“Hey, dude!” His best friend beamed, coming to a halt next to the bed, probably trying to keep himself from jumping onto Stiles like the overly excitable puppy he was. “You’re awake!”

Stiles grinned, the sight of Scott's perpetual excitement immediately lifting his spirits. "Hey, buddy," he greeted warmly. "Yep, I'm back from my unplanned, insulin-powered nap."

“Sugar crash, huh? That’s a new one.”

“Tell me about it.”

Curiosity flickered in Scott's eyes as he leaned in. "So, what's the last thing you remember?"

Stiles furrowed his brows, ransacking his memory for clues. "Uhm, Erica jumping on the Alpha's back, I think?"

“Uh-huh.”

Suddenly, Stiles was hit with a bolt of suspicion, sensing there was more to the story than he remembered. "Wait a minute," he said, eyeing the werewolf suspiciously. "What happened after that?"

"Nothing," Scott replied innocently, but his eyes showed a mischievous glint.

"Oh, God. What did I do now?"

A devilish grin spread across Scott's face. "Well, you might have done something... bold."

"Define bold in the context of my actions."

“You may have asked Derek on a date," he said, trying to stifle his laughter.

Stiles felt his heart stop, then accelerate at an unhealthy pace. "I what?!" He choked. No way. There was no freaking way he’d done that. What in the ever-loving hell had possessed him to say something like that?

“Well, Derek two. You saw double.”

Stiles slumped back into the pillows, contemplating whether he could ever convince his dad to pack up and leave this cursed town. "Fuck my life," he mumbled under his breath.

And as if the universe delighted in tormenting him, Derek Hale, the perpetually annoyed, brooding, and sexy Derek Hale that he’d asked on a date before freaking collapsing, stepped into the room, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but there.

"Speak of the devil," Stiles muttered, smirking up at Derek, hoping his crimson blush wasn't glaringly evident. Not that it mattered, though, because there was no way to top the stunt his hypoglycemic self had pulled. He had officially reached the maximum level of embarrassment with Derek.

“So,” Scott said, cutting through the awkward silence that had settled in the small room. “My mom told me to check in with her—”

“Don’t you dare, Scott.”

"Just for a sec."

"Scott!" Stiles shouted after his friend, but it was too late. The traitor had vanished, leaving Stiles alone with his humiliation and an Alpha werewolf who looked like he wanted to claw his way out of the room.

"Let's just pretend it never happened," Stiles blurted out, attempting to salvage what was left of his dignity. "I mean, seriously, we don't have to talk about—"

Derek cleared his throat, putting an end to Stiles' desperate rambling. "Actually, I... I wanted to ask if the offer still stands," he said, his usual aloof demeanor wavering ever so slightly.

Stiles' brain experienced a sudden Arctic freeze, leaving him momentarily speechless. There was no way he heard that right. "What offer?" he finally managed to ask, his voice an octave higher than normal.

Derek looked a tad awkward, scratching the back of his neck. "Of a, uh, date," he replied, sounding surprisingly human and, dare he say, vulnerable.

And there they were again, the pop rocks, making him erupt in tingly sparks all over. But this time, it wasn’t because of the hypoglycemia.

Stiles couldn't help the massive grin that spread across his face. “Hell yeah.”

#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #scott mccall #ao3 fanfic #healing machine malfunction #bad things bingo #bad things happen bingo #monster of the week

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schrodingers-romy · 1 year ago

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As You Sleep [Choso x Reader]

Pairing: Choso x AFAB!Reader Word Count: ~2,300 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: The creature under your bed has been watching you for a long time...waiting...you may not remember him, but he remembers you.

Warnings: Reader has AFAB anatomy referred to with fem terms, but no other gendered terms are used. Graphic smut (MDNI). Referenced past voyeurism. Dub-con at first, becomes fully consensual quickly. Tentacles (can't believe myself). Vaginal penetration.

Notes: posting a little later than I would've liked, but still on-time. Part of my little event, Strange Lovers, which is a collection of monster!character x reader oneshots for October! This, like the giyuu one, is surprisingly sweet for how nasty the concept is lol. I feel like this could've been better, but I had fun writing it so eh whatever.

The room is silent.

You’re not quite sure why you woke up so abruptly. It’s still dark outside, and you’re not awake enough to check your phone for the time. You should just close your eyes and fall back asleep. But you can’t shake the feeling that something woke you up.

And then you feel it. Something is lightly caressing your bare ankle.

You jerk your foot away, suddenly very awake. Your first thought is that it must be some kind of insect, and the thought makes your skin crawl. You stare intently at the place your foot used to be, but of course you can’t see anything in the dark.

You reach over and grab your phone, fumbling to switch on the flashlight. Turning it onto the rumpled bedsheets at the foot of your bed reveals nothing. You pick up the edge of the blanket and jerk it to the side, expecting something to skitter out. Nothing.

You almost decide to turn your phone light off and lay back down, brushing the feeling off as your half-asleep imagination. But then you see it.

It is some sort of…shadowy tentacle. It’s ridiculously fast too, as it’s wrapped around your ankle before you can shuffle yourself back again. It’s soft and cool to the touch, but deceptively strong. You try to flail and break its grip, but all you manage to do is drop your phone flashlight-side down on the ground.

The room is once more in darkness. Your heart is pounding. You don’t know what the fuck is going on, but you hope it’s just a bad dream. It must be, right?

Whatever it is, it has multiple tentacles. Because soon your other leg, still kicking wildly to try to free its twin, is restrained by another tendril.

You curl forward and try to use your hands to claw the thing off you. You barely graze the velvet surface of the tendril before more appear to grab both your arms.

At this point, your limbs are all pinned to your mattress, starfished out in the shape of an x. You can’t move them at all. You’re trapped.

There is no longer any trace of sleepiness left in you, washed out in record time by the tsunami wave of adrenaline sent through your body. The worst thing is the adrenaline has nowhere to go; you can’t move no matter how much you struggle, so your limbs tingle restlessly. Your eyes flicker around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever is doing this to you, a futile task.

The room, for a moment, is filled only with the sounds of your panting. And then you see it.

‘It’ being two bright, purple points of light, glowing in the perfect darkness. The points are looming over the base of your bed, trained on you…almost like eyes.

You’re frozen as those points of light creep closer. You can feel more tendrils caress your legs as the thing crawls up on top of you, pressing you down even further into the mattress with its solid weight. The lights are now hovering right above your face now. They slowly flicker out of existence for a second, before reappearing. The lights must be eyes; the thing above you is blinking.

You feel like it’s examining you; slow-blinking gaze trained on your face as you feel the tentacles slither across every inch of your body. Some have already crept up to tangle in your hair; even more concerning are the ones teasingly rubbing at the skin under the very edges of your clothing, as if waiting to slip under it.

You try once more to move. It’s impossible. You are at the mercy of this creature.

The only thing you can feasibly do is scream; yet you cannot muster the volume. All that comes out is a garbled whine, almost animalistic from the pure anxiety imbued in it.

The thing above you makes some sort of rumbling sound in response. The noise is low, and hard to decipher, but it gets clearer the closer you listen to it.

It’s trying to talk to you.

There are only a few scattered words, the rest just pure sound. It seems to be trying to sooth you.

“…safe…..don’t be scared…..won’t hurt you…..just wanna touch…” the thing intones. It brings what you assume is its forehead (it’s above its eyes at least) down to nuzzle against yours. It feels like someone’s skin, if you ignore how perfectly smooth and cool it is, similar to the tentacles writhing over your body.

“What are you?” you say. You mean to shout it, to question it aggressively…but your voice comes out small and hoarse.

The thing pulls back to blink at you again. “Choso,” it rasps.

“Choso?” you whisper back. The name sounds familiar to you somehow, but you can’t recall what from.

“…don’t remember?” it asks, its strange, inhuman voice tilting up at the end in a question.

Then it hits you.

The memories of it are scattered and hazy; you were so young when it happened. But you used to have an imaginary friend named Choso. You thought he lived under your bed, and you would talk to him in whispers at night. One time he even talked back. He even told you his name.

Of course, as soon as you told anyone you knew about Choso, you were immediately ridiculed. Eventually, you stopped speaking to him, and left him behind with all the other fanciful imaginations of your childhood.

He never spoke to you again.

Until now.

You didn’t recognize him at all until he said his name. Your memories were patchy, but you thought his voice was higher, more childish when you first met. Perhaps he was a child then too, or whatever the monster-under-the-bed equivalent of child was.

You did not even notice when you relaxed, but you did. Your heartbeat went down, and you were no longer tensing against your restraints. It was absurd that you calmed down. Just because this thing claimed to be your childhood imaginary friend. Ridiculous. Imaginary friends weren’t real.

But neither were creatures like the one lying atop you; yet he undeniably existed.

The thing—Choso—shudders above you. “Forgot,” it—he—says mournfully. “…forgot me…”

You feel a pang of sadness. You did forget about him, but to your credit, it’s not like he ever gave any other sign he was real until now. It was understandable you forgot. But you still felt bad.

“I remember,” you stutter out. “I remember you Choso. It’s okay. Were you with me this whole time?”

“…yes…” he says. He doesn’t sound as upset now, but it’s hard to tell with his voice. “Was waiting. Couldn’t.”

“You were waiting for me to remember?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna talk…didn’t wanna talk to me,” he warbles. A creature like him shouldn’t be able to sound as dejected as he does.

“Aw, no…” you are slightly panicking now. This is not at all how you thought your night would go; it has been plot twist after plot twist. Your sleep-deprived mind wonders if this is what telenovela characters feel like. “It’s okay, Choso. I remembered you. I just wasn’t sure you were real. Thought I imagined you.”

“Okay…” he says. You think he is slightly mollified. “Don’t forget again.”

This is not something you will ever forget. You tell him as such.

“Good,” he huffs. He seems to settle on you fully now, flopping heavily like a disgruntled cat. He tucks his face into your neck, and you can feel his chilly breath tickling your ear.

He’s very clingy, you realize. Now that your fear has mostly dissipated, you can focus back on what is happening to your body, on what he is doing to you. The tendrils haven’t released you or stopped moving; in fact, they have only become bolder. Some have fully slipped their way under your clothes now, the tips of them stroking against your sensitive skin. You become hyper aware of them.

“Choso,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady even as one of the tentacles flicks at one of your nipples. “What are you doing?”

“Touching you.”

“I noticed that—AH” your voice goes up an entire octave as you feel a thick tendril poke at the entrance to your pussy. You hadn’t even noticed it creep under all your layers, but now all you could think about was the way it rubbed curiously between your folds. “CHOSO.”

“…wanted to touch you so bad….all the time,” he replies. You find out he has a tongue because he starts gently lapping at your neck.

“Okay, but you can’t touch there,” you say, voice wavering. You are almost reluctant to stop him, because, shamefully, you feel yourself starting to get wet from his clumsy touches. It’s been too long…and it’s hard not to slip into the full-body sensation that the tendrils are granting you; they stroke over every part of you, caressing every sensitive spot of skin you didn’t know you had.

“…you do,” he says stubbornly. “Watched you. You felt good….when you touched here. Could smell it…” He buries his face further into your neck, breathing your scent in big, wet huffs, making you shiver at his breath on your skin. “…wanna make you feel good….”

Your face is hot. The thought of Choso watching you masturbate in your bed should have been mortifying, violating, but it only made you get wetter. It was undeniably wrong, but you couldn’t help but imagine him hidden, watching you lazily rub your clit, curl your fingers inside yourself until you gushed. You wondered if things like him even felt arousal…you wondered if he felt it when he looked at you. If he felt the same heat you felt between your legs now. If he wanted to be the one making you feel good, instead of your own hand.

You find you actually don’t want him to stop. “Okay,” you murmur. “You can touch more.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but you can feel the tentacles pull you tighter to him, almost in a facsimile of a hug.

And then he sets to work.

There are tendrils tugging at your nipples, pulling them to stiff peaks. Others caress all over your body, focusing on the areas that make you shudder. Choso continues to kitten-lick your neck and around your collarbones, but every once in a while you can feel the graze of razor-sharp teeth.

More tendrils make their way past your underwear. The thickest of them continues to prod at the entrance to your cunt, which is slowly getting wetter as your arousal grows. You jolt as a smaller tentacle slithers up to your clit, rubbing at it curiously. The touches get firmer once he hears your broken gasps, until he’s drawing small rapid circles on your bundle of nerves.

You can feel the heat building up in your abdomen, a slow, liquid build. Unlike your own hand, he doesn’t change pace or falter as you get close to coming, keeping a steady pace until the heat slowly overflows into an orgasm.

You shudder and whine your way through climax, whispering nonsensical praises to the creature draped over your body.

Just as you edge your way into oversensitivity, you feel him penetrate you.

You don’t get any time to adjust before the tentacle is filling your pussy.

It’s a strange feeling, not like a cock at all. The tendril pulses oddly, not thrusting so much as squirming against your walls. It wiggles around inside of you, making strange wet sounds with how aroused you are. Your overstimulation is turning back into pleasure as the tentacle finally finds your g-spot and starts rubbing against it, copying the other’s rhythm on your clit.

You can feel another orgasm creeping up on you, faster than your previous one. Choso continues to abuse every sensitive spot on the outside and the inside of your body. You’re so, so close…and then you feel another tentacle at the entrance to your cunt.

All it takes is the stretch of another, smaller tendril pressing deep inside you for you to come.

It’s much stronger than your first orgasm, pleasure burning through your body as opposed to the gentle waves of the first. You swear you can feel yourself squirt as you clench down around the dual appendages in your pussy.

Even if Choso wasn’t still holding you down, you know you wouldn’t be able to move. You almost dissolve into the mattress after the last shudders of your orgasm wash over you, feeling sleepy and sated.

Choso seems to agree with you, his strangely liquid body melts over yours. The tendril abusing your clit slips away, as do the ones around your nipples, but the ones in your pussy stay, twined around each other to make a single thicker tentacle. They’re still now, but they still stretch you out almost to the edge of discomfort, but not quite. You find you don’t mind them remaining inside you.

He continues to take in deep, heavy breaths, almost like he’s trying to huff in your scent. You think he must be smelling your pleasure, like he did when he watched you masturbate.

“…good?” he asks. It sounds less like an actual question and more like he’s prodding you for praise. You’re sure that he can already tell how good he made you feel, can taste it in the air. You let out a huff of laughter.

“Yes, you were very good, baby,” you tell him, voice raspy.

He shivers in happiness at the pet name, nuzzling his face deeper into your neck.

He doesn’t move from where he is covering you, but you feel yourself start to drift off to sleep anyway.

He continues to vibrate lightly, like a purring cat; the sensation helps lull you to sleep.

You hope this wasn’t all a dream; you would like to see him again when you wake.

#choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso smut #jjk choso x reader #jjk smut #choso #jjk choso #choso kamo #jjk x reader #romy can write #strange lovers event #cw monsterfucking #afab reader

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bunsofhoney · 2 years ago

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There'll Be No More

@febuwhump day 24

(Peter)

. . .

There’s a sickening second where I’m just waiting for what comes next. My head is throbbing, my limbs don’t work at all, my body is trying to purge the drugs. I can barely move him - this man that used to ride on my back while I webslinged across Manhattan. He’s a mass of solid muscle, literal dead weight on my chest, so crushing I can’t even breathe right.

I’m expecting them to pour in any minute and pull him off and tranq me again. And at this point, honestly, I’m ready to stop fighting and let them. It would be easier than trying to get up and carry on, with Wade's current death on my hands and on my mind. I can feel his hot blood seeping through my clothes and the tears burning my eyes, which I haven’t built up the courage to open yet.

Then suddenly, Miles’s voice buzzes through the intercom above me.

“Execute plan 37. Attention all staff. Execute plan 37. This is not a drill. Destroy all evidence. 60 second evacuation. Plan 37. Move!”

There’s a clamor of shouts, a shuffle of feet, the doors swing open, and then silence again. Then, the whole building starts to…beep? There’s a high, regular tone that seems to be coming both over the intercom and from the other side of the wall.

The tingling sensation of danger flicks at the back of my neck and zings through my nerves like lightning. Panic grips my heart and every muscle tenses in preparation to fight or flee.

60 second evacuation.

Does that mean…a bomb?

I use the adrenaline flooding my muscles to shove Wade’s body off mine. The scrubs I'm wearing are sopping wet and stained red with his blood but I can’t even think about that right now.

Ch 24 of The Bell Jar, or the one where Wade kidnaps Peter - an ongoing story that uses a prompt-a-day from @febuwhump

prompt: Bloody Clothes

#tw blood #febuwhump2023 #febuwhump #febuwhumpday24 #spideypool #peter parker #wade wilson #the bell jar boh #my work

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sunflowerharrington · 2 years ago

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Come on, Angel, Let’s Exchange Our Experience.

pairing - Steve Harrington X GN!Reader

author’s note - Happy belated birthday to my wife, @eddiemunsonssslut, I love you babes! I hope you enjoy this, I put my whole heart into it 💕💕💕 This is my first time I’m posting something I have written for Steve Harrington, I hope he’s in character! And so here’s a lighthearted oneshot for you! (Ignore the tags, I swear it’s fluffy)

summary - Something goes wrong in your plan to take down Vecna while in Henry Creek’s house in the Upside Down and the unfortunate price to pay is somebody’s life. Grab your tissues, it’s a doozy!

warnings - Angst, hurt/no comfort, death, a lot of crying, sobbing, yeah a lot of tears, Vecna, death by asphyxiation and toxic fumes, I think that’s it. I tried to use (Y/N) as little as possible 💕

word count - 1462

taglist - @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @quickiesgirl @taecube @sunnymunson @eddies-bat @sympathyforher @wzrlds @will-byers-is-my-boyfriend dm, comment on this post or slide into my inbox if you would like to be added or taken off from future updates 💕

The underpinning feeling of a foundation to your wacky plan became finalized as you, Robin, Steve and Nancy set foot inside Victor Creel’s house in the Upside Down.

You could still feel your lips tingling from when Steve gave you an impulsive, chaste kiss before you landed in Eddie Munson’s living room, in his trailer, in the Upside down. Your body was still warm from the hug Steve had given you afterwards. Your eyes lock on the faint mark from your cherry colored lipstick stain on his right cheek, the sound of silence ringing in your ears.

Your heart was beating to a smooth yet close to frantic rhythm; too calm for the events to come. The adrenaline pumped through you as you stepped over the tendrils on the floorboards, careful to not touch any as you were in Vecna’s lair and he was barely fifteen feet away from you. The adrenaline of sitting in the passenger seat of a speeding car was an unmatched high… Until now.

Steve’s arm looped its way around your waist to steady himself, and you began tracing the veins of his forearm as a coping mechanism, waking every sense of his being in the process. He pressed his chest against your back and rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling his face into your hair, breathing in your scent as if it would be the last time.

You giggled as you felt his fingers wrapping around your neck, hastily pressing you against the wall. Only it wasn’t him. You gasped in shock as the tendrils tightened around your throat and limbs, and they did the same to Steve, Nancy and Robin, forcing you all up against the walls.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, and braced himself as he felt the tendrils tightening around his wrists, ankles and neck. The spores in the air danced around him and his best friends as you so desperately tried to free yourselves.

You felt breath hitch in your throat in anticipation as Robin started wriggling in the grip, managing to free her right foot from its restraints. Taking a look at Nancy next, you noticed the look of determination on her face and it kept you going. And then you looked at Steve, wide eyed, your eyes glazing over.

Which was probably the stupidest idea of your life.

As the tendrils tightened around his neck, Steve began to feel his airways closing up, and he let the switchblade he was holding drop to the ground. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the vines and attempted to pull them away from his neck, nightmares of the bat’s tail also cutting off his circulation entering his mind as his brain clouded.

Did you ever notice that when you’re exhausted, your fingers don’t grip as tightly as they could? That some things slip right through them when you don’t want them to. Right now, Steve was those fingers, and the thing slipping through his fingers was his life. Inch by inch, falling to the ground as he desperately attempted to pull the vines away from his neck.

But it was too late.

“Shit, Steve?”

“I’m fine, Robin. I’m fine, I just gotta—” he choked out, Robin picking up the switchblade as she was released from the makeshift shackles around her throat and limbs, slitting the tendrils away from Steve’s bruised neck.

You watched wide-eyed as Steve’s body fell to the ground, on his hands and knees, gasping for air, and you felt her world shattering into crystalline pieces beneath you.

“I’m-“ he choked. “I’m gonna make it, Nance. Don’t worry about me. Y/N, I’m gonna—“

“Steve, we’re going to get you out of here. Please hold on a little longer,” Nancy pleaded, holding him in her arms.

“Nancy, can you do something for me?” He stuttered out, his laboured breathing raspy, reaching up to caress her cheek the best he could. “Please.”

“Anything. I’ll do anything you want, Steve.”

“Tell Y/N…”

“I’m right here, Stevie. I’m right here,” you said quietly, taking his hand in yours, salty tears trickling down your face, landing on Steve’s, your tears mixing together like the saddest, most heartbreaking cocktail on earth. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I love you, Y/N. I have always, always loved you, and- and I know you don’t feel the same way about me but that’s fine. I… I’m used to that. But I just had to tell you before I—”

“Is that why you can’t get any girls? Because you don’t want to? Because you wanted Y/N this whole time?” Robin chimed in, fishing the liquor out of her backpack. “Damn, Harrington. How long? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! I’m a great wing-woman! You two could have been together, like, two years ago!”

“I’ve been in love with you since the first moment our eyes locked, on your first day of highschool when you sat next to me in chemistry. You made me feel so happy, more happy than anyone else can,” he sniffled, bringing your face down closer to his. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I remember that day so well, Stevie. And you made a joke about us having chemistry. I love you too, Steve Harrington,” you said back to him, smiling through your tears. “Steve? You still there, honey?”

“Still here,” he choked out. “Can you do something for me, Y/N?”

“Anything for you, Stevie.”

“Could ya take care of the kids for me? Take on the mom role in case I don’t make it? And have some fun, yeah? Don’t want you to be wasting your life away waiting for me...”

You slumped down to sit next to him, pulling him into your arms. “No-no-no-no-no, you are not doing this right now, Harrington. You’re gonna take care of ‘em yourself, with me. Who’s gonna cheer our kids up? Who’s gonna keep Henderson in check, huh? Who’s gonna tell Mike that he’s wearing too many clashing patterns, and who’s gonna give him fashion advice? Who’s gonna be the big brother Max never had?”

“Y/N, I—“ Steve began but you cut him off.

“Steve. I’m not letting Vecna take away the one thing that I love. It’s not happening.”

Your feelings and emotions began to dance around you like an ignited flame, mocking you, and you were left there, listening to the sound of the love of your life’s hoarse breathing. Alone.

Nancy and Robin had run upstairs to tackle the mission of killing Vecna, with their lighters and bottles of flammable liquor, and two pairs of sunglasses Robin robbed out of Dustin’s halloween costume box so the fire wouldn’t blind them both.

And you were left there, the person you loved dearly looking up at you with an almost lifeless look in his eyes, fading away in your arms as you kept talking to him, kept trying to keep him away. But that would be soon gone as his soul began to drag away by an angel to a place where he could feel like he belonged. Hopefully.

Steve was a lover, a fighter, a mother to seven wonderful children (and Robin and Eddie), and a hero for the town of Hawkins that put everything he had into everything he did. And now he was slowly withering away, laying to rest in peace in your arms as you sobbed uncontrollably.

“Steve? Steve, my love, can you hear me?” You asked softly, combing your fingers through his soft hair, and you wondered how the Upside Down hadn’t even matted it a tiny bit. “Stevie? Steve, wake up, handsome. Please. Steve!”

You sobbed into his cold neck, your salty tears stinging your eyes as your lover looked up lifelessly at the old wooden ceiling, and so you shifted your body to sit up next to him, delicately pushing his eyelids down to close with your shaking hands, the pads of your fingertips pressing lightly against his cold skin.

“Please, wake up.”

But even though Steve had died in your arms that night, everything felt right. Like it had all fallen into place perfectly, like this was written into the story of his life, and that this was his destiny. To die a hero. Even if he didn’t know it.

And that night, after pulling yourself back into Eddie’s empty trailer, you kept Steve in your arms, Eddie in Dustin’s, not wanting to leave their bodies behind. And maybe, just maybe, that night when you were down on your knees praying to your God/Gods, which you normally didn’t do: when you wished to swap places with him so he could continue his path in life, because you would give up anything for Steve Harrington… Your wish may just have come true.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things angst #angst #fanfic #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #st4 #stranger things 4 #Spotify #my phone’s on 2% so i’m posting this now #i’m in sad girl hours can you tell?

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littl3-val3ntine · 3 years ago

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every breath you take (pt. 2) ❥ edward nashton

PART ONE

《♡》

summary // riddler always has everything planned, from the moment his plot begins up until the day after it has happened. he expects himself to be able to expect everything, until his mind is taken elsewhere during a routine stakeout on the police response to his latest hit... now he finds himself, as well as the item of his affection, caught up in his issues and lust for vengeance.

warnings // depiction of gore kinda???, hospital environment, eddie's a wee bit creepy, not much 2 see here tbh :)

author's note // here it is my little friends. the comfort after that really angsty part one :,)) hope u enjoy and lmk what you'd like to see in the future!! asks + feedbacks are open :3

《♡》

It couldn't have been a dream, because you're certain that you never fell asleep. One moment you were upright, body pumping with adrenaline, and the immediate next you were completely stagnant. Everything just, stopped. Like a light switch was flicked off.

You aren't even sure yet if you've woken up. Coming back around feels more like rising shamefully out of bed, dizzy with the worst hangover of your entire life, than actually waking up. Whatever happened to you was more equivalent to a nightmare than a sleep, judging by how your body aches.

It takes you a moment, but you can see it now. Playing in your mind's eye like a cheap horror flick, except these special effects are so good and so real that you can still feel them brutally warm on your face and raw at the base of your palms where you crashed against the asphalt.

You're sure it wasn't a dream. The beeping of the heart monitor beside your bed draws you closer to the conscious world with each sound, and soon your extremities tingle to life after god-knows how long of lying still. The evening starts to roll back to you in waves, each gruesome detail presenting itself against the empty canvas of your closed eyes. The sterile fluorescent light from above punctures some of the memories through your eyelids as you rise further into consciousness, but the gist is still there.

The van exploded. You saw it happening, the vehicle rolling to a stop in the center of the intersection. The black Corvette that smashed right into its front end. You thought it could be your big break— you weren't unaware of the antics of Gotham's latest vigilante, and the symbol was what caught your eye in the first place. The headline was already beaming in your mind: Riddler Takes to the Streets With New Tactics For Terror.

It should have killed you. Is this death? You're hesitant to open your eyes as the thought situates in your mind.

The heart monitor picks up in speed, simultaneously reminding you of your anxiety as well as your own beating heart. Now hyper-aware of your body, some of those worries slide out of your chest. Indeed, you're certainly, and very painfully, still alive.

So, tentatively, you try to open your eyes. You have to squint while they adjust, wincing as the harsh light pierces your corneas and sends spikes of pain through to the already tender backside of your skull. You realize you must have hit your head. Was that how you went out?

Your entire cranium throbs as you move to sit upright, your eyes still glossy and limbs heavy with slumber. You try to lift your palm to your forehead— anything to ease that horrible pulsing— but find yourself unable to even move your arm.

Panicked, you blink your eyes open wide and stare down at your hand. You're unsure of what you expected; amputation, or maybe a cast? But you know it definitely isn't what you found. Wrapped up in your fingers, which are now scratched from the glass and the pavement, is someone else's hand, a man's hand, clutching onto yours as firmly as he could afford to without aggravating the scrapes on your palm.

His skin is warm, and his hold gentle. You could feel the calluses at the base of his fingers— he had the hands of a writer. He makes little circles on your knuckles with his thumb, stroking you so softly it's as if he were convinced you'd shatter beneath his touch.

Your gaze travels up his arm. His dress shirt is wrinkled and damp, but he has it folded just at the elbow to expose a slim forearm. His raincoat is draped over the back of the chair he's slumped into, and that, too, is not quite dry yet. Neither is his hair.

His face is delicate, especially as he sleeps. His glasses, with their lenses covered in raindrops, are folded neatly and left in his lap while he dozes off. The hand that is not absentmindedly stroking yours holds up his heavy head, perched on the armrest in a manner that can't possibly be comfortable. He's pretty. That's the only right way to put it.

You know you recognize him, but from where? The dream you didn't have? The feeling of your hand in his is still too foreign for a boyfriend, and you can't bring yourself to even remember his name.

You stare at him a moment longer. Cogs turn in your foggy mind, flipping through the metaphorical files until something clicks. And it does.

Edward Nashton. From your job at the press office. The senior editor for your department.

What the fuck is he doing here?

Admittedly, his presence isn't unwelcome— just unexpected. He'd only ever been polite to you, sure, keeping his distance in the office as best as a maze of cubicles with a conference table at the center would allow. But you didn't ever speak much, not unless you absolutely had to. Every "Good morning, Mr. Nashton," was met with a tight lipped smile and a dip of his head. The occasional "Should I leave the coffee pot on?" found its quiet "No, I can fix my own." Eventually you just stopped trying.

You came close to assuming he just flat-out hated you. As opposed to his hesitance to even look to you, it wasn't long before you noticed he had no problem giving your articles... special attention when he edited. Whenever you'd submit something for publishing, you could expect it back on your desk the very next morning, absolutely defaced by his handwriting in bright red pen. A detail you'd forgotten, a comma you didn't think you needed; little, nitpicky things that served only to get under your skin. It got to the point where you cornered him on your lunch break, demanding an answer, an apology, anything. In reality, that was the only real conversation you two have had...

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your work is always amazing, this doesn't flow as usual. Fix your sentence structure. Could be better.

You just stared at it. Coffee in hand, bag still slung over your shoulder, not even sat down at your desk yet. The longer you stood and stared at those words, the harder they glared right back at you.

The urge to slam your leather bookbag right down into the desk was nearly unbearable. It was too early for this. Especially considering how you'd stayed up well past midnight working on that campaign analysis per the request of one Edward Nashton, senior editor of the Politics section for Gotham Chronicle, only for him to senior edit the entire goddamn thing to a sad, red-inked pulp.

Fix your sentence structure? That was just low. As you read his annotations, it became clear to you that none of them actually pertained to the content of your piece. Just the sentence structure. Or the indent you forgot. Or the fucking flow.

Bookbag clattering to the floor, you sat into your creaky desk chair and started up your computer to open your e-mail. The cursor hovered over the icon, some invisible force keeping your finger from clicking.

No. No e-mail this time. He didn't deserve such mercy anymore, you decided.

This shit ends today.

x x x

You offered him the decency of at least making sure most people had cleared the bullpen before you tore him a new one. You sat there, five minutes burned out of your lunch, reading through that damn article again. Not fixing a single thing.

You knew where he'd be. He didn't exactly speak to anyone else at the office, so you highly doubted he had any elaborate lunch plans. When you crept up that staircase that led to the top offices, he was right where you expected him. Sitting at his desk, hunched over some papers, red pen in hand.

You knocked at the heavy wooden door, and through the frosted glass you could see him startle. He was quick to scramble up from his chair, making a detour to turn down the CD player atop his filing cabinet (which was, as usual, playing something classical at an unreasonable volume), and finally peeking through the blinds to see who so decided to interrupt his routine.

The look on his face when he saw you. In the moment, it was priceless— satisfying in all the right ways. That split second of panic that had his typically unreadable green eyes widening.

You thought it was because he knew what was to come. But he didn't. That's what terrified him.

He wasn't hasty to open the door for you. If you were quiet enough, you might have been able to hear his thoughts racing. Is this a setup? Did I forget something? The place is a mess. Gonna hate me for it.

You watched, impatiently, as the doorknob twisted and the door swung open. Ready to let it all out, mangled article in hand, you thrust it at him but couldn't force yourself to speak once you saw his face.

He looked so... upset. His eyes couldn't even meet yours, training themselves on your hands and the papers between them. He reached tentatively for it but didn't make contact. Scared to touch you. Scared to even look at you.

A brief moment of sympathy enveloped you as you watched him there. So tall, but slumped over so much he seemed almost smaller than you.

And there you were. A standoff the in the doorway. He didn't seem inclined to speak first, so you broke the silence.

"What am I doing wrong here?" You slipped the papers into his hands, inevitably brushing his palms with your fingers in the transfer. "Every time I feel like I finally write something good, it's just... this. Every time." You motioned weakly to his annotations. Anger bubbled up inside you again, but you swallowed it back down.

"You always write something good," he mumbled. As he thumbed through your work, you realized his face had changed entirely. Appreciative. Proud.

"Then why do you constantly feel the need to give me bullshit about my grammar?" you snapped.

His gaze shot up to you, and the guilt was back in an instant. But it was different than right before. It was deeper.

He reached for you, fingers almost brushing your arm, but redirects himself and leans for the door instead. "Please come in," he all but whispered, "Let's not do this out... here."

You sighed, stepping past him and into his office. You noticed an antique clock beside the filing cabinet, just out of view of the window into the bullpen. 12:43. Lunch was nearly halfway over.

You continued into the room, taking just a couple more steps to assert yourself. It smelled of him, the little whiffs of his cologne that you got when he brushed past you every now and again: like coffee and linen and old wood. Really, most of his office was wooden. Wooden desk, wooden clock, wooden trim. All the while he stood stiffly at the doorframe as if it were him you were staring at, and not just his workspace.

"I just want a straight-forward answer, Edward." It felt informal to use his first name— especially since he was technically your superior. But in the same vein, it felt necessary. You wanted respect. You earned his respect. "Do you hate me or something? Because if you do, I just want to know, and I can submit my work to be edited elsewhere if it really bothers you that much—"

"Do you think I hate you?"

You stopped dead in your tracks. Turning over your shoulder to see him, you locked eyes. And he held your gaze. The ferocity in his tone shook you, like he was offended that you even considered the possibility. When you turned to him, he was simmering. Not quite boiling over, but something within him burned. You couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was before you were crumbling beneath his intensity, and then he was pushing off the doorframe to take a slow step toward you.

"I-I didn't... I wasn't trying to imply that you did, I just figured since you were so harsh with the paper—"

For a moment you regretted turning to face him. He was tracking you like prey, scrutinizing every movement you made. Analyzing you. Picking you apart to your core. Accusing you, and yet begging you to prove him wrong.

Another step. "But you asked. Do you really think I could hate you?"

For as small as he was earlier, a tiny presence in the doorway as you stared him down, he was now abnormally, intimidatingly tall. He was lean, long, and calculated in each of his movements, slinking toward you in a way that couldn't be solely human. He looked animal then, his hair tousled, top buttons undone, head cocked to the side in backhanded curiosity.

Your mouth dried up immediately, eyes going doe-wide. You took a step back, trying to restore the space that he was rapidly closing, but you were stopped short by his desk. You damn near fell into it, stumbling but catching yourself on the edge of it. When you swiveled back to face him, he was barely inches from your body, papers held out beside you two as if he were offering to look at them together. His other arm came down on your other side, and his hand planted itself firmly on the desk. You couldn't look up at him. You didn't figure you'd be able to handle it, even though his eyes boring a hole into the top of your head couldn't have felt much better.

"Answer the question, please." He phrased it like a request, but it came out as a demand. There was a quiet rage that lurked at the base of his tongue. Briefly, you toyed with the idea of drawing it out further. Where are we going with this?

"Answer mine first." Despite your will, you still sounded meek compared to him. You pressed your tongue to your teeth indignantly as you finally looked up at him. And just as you expected, any bravado you could have dreamed of in that moment melted away.

His gaze wasn't cold, or mean. His eyes were a beautiful kind of green that wasn't quite emerald, but softer and more inviting. But the way he looked at you then... it's as if he wanted to throw you out of his office and bend you over his desk at the same time. You learned in that instance why he didn't make eye contact much. There isn't a soul on this earth that could stand under that sort of glare.

But you held him there. Nails digging into the wooden underside of his desk, head tilted upward, you kept him right there. And even as you felt his entire body tense at whatever urge he was resisting in the moment, you and him kept each other locked in that moment, waiting until the other caved.

He shut his eyes slowly, taking in a deep, long breath. His head drooped forward, and out of the corner of your eye you could see a smile forming on his face. An amused chuckle silently leaving his nose. When he lifted his face again, he didn't look back at you. Instead, he toyed with the paper he held out before you both.

"No, I don't hate you. And I apologize if I went overboard with the suggestions, I just..." he trailed off, taking the inside of his lip between his teeth as he wrestled with his next words. There was that bashfulness again, as if he wasn't just stalking you like a carnivorous beast. "I see a lot of potential in you. Raw talent. Raw talent needs to be refined in a way, and sculpted.”

"There are better ways to do it," you quipped, and suddenly the hem of your shirt became the most interesting thing you'd seen in a while. Taking it between your fingers, you rolled it over, and over, and over... waiting for him to speak. Testing him again.

What he wanted to do was apologize, again and again until you accepted. Drop to his knees and kiss your knuckles until you leaned down, hand under his chin, and brought him back to his feet. Maybe he'd stay down there anyway. Apologize for nearly snapping on you, apologize for any way he made you feel about your work with his comments, apologize for not speaking with you about it earlier and forcing you to waste your lunch on him, but you didn't know that. You didn't need to. It was in your best interest to be wary of him. To fear him, even.

I can submit my work to be edited elsewhere. Why was that what almost sent him? Initially he figured it was the thought of someone else mentoring you, but that wasn't it. It was the idea of someone coming between the only thing he shared with you. The work you two, as a pair, created. Despite the distance between you, Edward knew you and him were a well-oiled machine. Minds, great and powerful, thinking alike. You researched the corruption, he annihilated it. You were a team. That hadn't been threatened before.

He wasn't prepared to let it go so easily.

"You won't need to take this to be edited elsewhere. I can work on being less critical. No one else here is worth a damn for editing anyway."

He tried to lay it out stoic and flat, but the jealousy was difficult to water down. You were quick to pick up on it, but you doubled down. Why would he be jealous over something like that?

You didn't fully comprehend yet the way he looked at you. His treasure, his prodigy, his perfect little thing. Never before had he encountered such a beautiful creature with an impressive mind to match, and the idea of you taking your genius to anyone but him for review? No one else reserved that privilege. Even worse, someone else validating your work? Praising you? It made his blood boil. And God forbid anyone else dare to criticize you.

In that moment, mere inches from you for the first time, that's when he became certain. You were made for him. The only one capable of understanding the vast expanses of your brilliance was him. You would be wasted on anyone else.

He’d claimed you before you could even realize it happened.

"Thank you, Mr. Nashton. I appreciate that. I'm sorry for hijacking your lunch," you murmured, pulling the papers from his hands and standing from your place at his desk. He nodded and shoved off from it abruptly, returning from the incessant mumbling of his inner monologue. Clearing his throat, he smoothed down his shirt to avoid meeting your eyes.

As if this entire encounter hadn't happened, back to not even looking at you.

You sighed and stepped over to the door, tucking your article under your arm as you reached for the knob. Just as you were about to make your escape, you heard him call your name, like an afterthought. You glanced back at him to find him leaning against the desk where you previously stood.

"Yes?"

"Just 'Edward' is fine."

You smiled, nodding and disappearing down the stairs on shaky legs. The heavy door swung shut behind you, and the music returned soon after.

And he was never so harsh again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The rubbing at your knuckles makes your entire hand tingly. It feels electrified, like it’s limp and warm and shaky all at once, but you assume it’s probably just the morphine. The same feeling is in your throat as you stare at the man beside you. His name rests heavily on your tongue, but it takes a moment to muster up enough courage— and energy— to put it out there.

“Mr. N—“ You catch yourself. “Edward?”

He swallows thickly, blinking his eyes open. They’re still droopy and glossed over when he turns to you, and he looks at you for a second before the situation registers in his mind. And when it does, the panic that wakes him fully is evident both on his face and in the way he yanks his hand from your hold. Suddenly he’s alert, wide awake. His ears are tinged pink.

Surprising yourself, you miss his touch immediately. The electricity is gone from your fingertips, and left in its place is the heavy, groggy feeling deposited in your muscles by the morphine.

He just stares at you, blinking, wide-eyed, like he was waiting on you to yell at him. To chew him out for being a creep, a disgusting pervert, waiting at your bedside for an hour after the doctors drugged you up to pop your finger back into place. The pulling away of his hand revealed the bright blue bandage taping your middle and ring fingers together. Is that what he was doing? Soothing your wound?

“I heard what… happened,” he murmurs. It wasn’t often that he spoke first, but you’re grateful he did. He’s still watching you, not quite making eye contact but instead waiting for your face to twist in disgust. When it doesn’t happen, he continues. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You just nod, unsure of what to say. You glance around the room for a clock, trying to get your bearings and take a guess at how long you both had been there, but there wasn’t one to be found. “What time is it?”

“Oh, it’s…” he trails off, squinting at his watch. Without his glasses, he has to hold it barely an inch from his face to read it, and the sight of it pulls a small laugh from you.

He turns red immediately. “Two twenty-three.” He’s hurrying to rub the lenses clean of the rain and put them back on his nose.

Now he sees you. Hello there, you tell him silently with a smile. Then it processes.

“Two? Like, in the morning?” you gasp, turning around in your bed to take a peek through the window. Pain radiates upward from your tailbone, clicking each excruciating disc on your spine as you twist yourself. You yelp, clutching your side as you try to lay back down. Another hand, large and warm, appears at the back of your head and guides you back into the pillows.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” Edward coos. His touch lingers a moment, a comforting presence at the nape of your neck, as he notices the tears pooling on your waterline.

And while you look up at him, you see it again. That same complex guilt that you recalled from your confrontation, splayed across his face. Like there was context you were missing, a depth to the situation you didn’t fully comprehend. Like all of this ran so much deeper than you could even begin to know.

He reaches across your bed and plucks a tissue from the side table. As he looms over you, you smell him again. The scent of him makes you want to bury your face in his neck, especially with how he’s exposing it to you as he fumbles with the items on the nightstand.

“Here you are, be careful,” he whispers down to you, and he places the tissues gently in your hand.

“Thank you…” Christ, it hurts. “What even happened? Everything just… aches,” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone else.

“The doctor told me that you got knocked backward and smacked your head on a curb. You must have tried to brace yourself judging by how your finger popped out. They said once you came around, you should be able to go home tonight.”

“You spoke to the doctors?” You’re thinking aloud. The words leave your mouth before you can think, and suddenly he’s caving in on himself again and his eyes are blowing wide and his ears are turning red again.

He detaches from you, sitting back in the chair beside your bed. “I-I did, yeah. When I came in, he was in here, and I just… wanted to know how things were going.”

His thoughts are relentless. Now you’re certain he’s a creep. You’ve got to be. It wasn’t his place to stick his nose into your business like that, but here he is, lurking in your fucking hospital room at your bedside. What was his problem?

To be fair, it wasn’t like he was lying to you. The doc was in to make sure you were stable when Edward arrived. But he wasn’t itching to let you in on how he just had to tell the doctor he was your fiancée to be let into the room with you, and to get the details in the first place.

And really, that wasn’t much of a lie to him either. He knows he’s going to marry you at some point anyway. In a way, that did make him your fiancée, even if you weren’t quite aware of it yet.

You could see him running through it all in his mind, eyes dancing on the bedspread as opposed to looking you in the face. You’re tempted to ask what’s on his mind, but not wanting to intrude, you just nod in acceptance. Much to your relief, whatever chaos was happening in his head visibly dissipates at that.

“Glad to see someone’s awake! How are you feeling, honey?” The new voice slices through your thoughts. You hear him before you see him, all impersonal amiability and stiff charisma, but still he’s everything you expected him to look like. White, middle aged, with flashy veneers and a shitty box-dye job on thinning hair. He’s exactly the type of man that makes your stomach churn with dread. You know he’s done his research on how to stay humble but consistently remind people I live on a doctor’s salary.

“I’m fine, thanks,” you reply, trying to keep it curt. You don’t want to stay here any longer than you have to, even though you genuinely have no idea how you’re meant to get home.

“How’s the finger? Any pain?” You shake your head while Edward stares, eyes cold, right at the doctor. You try not to read too much into it when he moves the chair ever so slightly closer to your bedside.

“Okay, great. I’m just going to take a quick look at the swelling and see where we’re at, and then we should be all clear to let you two head out for the night.” You two? He keeps addressing Edward, and not you. And Edward doesn’t seem to mind, not with the way he’s got his sight locked on to every last one of the doctor’s slightest movements.

He doesn’t like the way the other man’s touching you, the way his fingers slide up your palm. He should be more gentle. Nevermind that, he shouldn’t even be touching you at all. Is this really necessary? He already had his hands all over you when he was getting the glass out of your forearm. And the way he put the bandages on… they should have just let Edward do it. It’s not right for others to be able to feel you like that. He’s not a fan of other people touching his things.

You glanced between the gloves moving against your fingers, gently prodding at the now protruding flesh, and your coworker sitting rigidly beside you like he’s ready to pounce. His leg is bouncing undeterrably and his knuckles are white as he holds his opposite knee. The silence that settles over the room is heavy and thick. Eventually even the beeping of the heart monitor disappears as you’re unhooked from everything.

“You’re gonna be tender for a few days or so, but everything is stable and back in order,” the doctor tells you firmly. He removes his gloves and discards them, reaching out not to shake your hand, but Edward’s. Hesitantly, Edward takes it and offers a firm shake. What is going on here?

Turning back to you, he continues through an uncomfortably fake smile, “I wouldn’t recommend driving yourself back home considering there’s still some sedatives kicking around in your bloodstream, but I assume you can drive, sir?”

Edward opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. “Oh, no no, you don’t have to drive me home. It’s okay, I can call–” You pause. Scanning the room for your belongings, the realization hits you.

Your phone is in your bag. Your bag is in your car. Your car is still parked two blocks up from Grange Street, in front of that goddamn sushi place you were meant to be at… about eight hours ago.

The doc cocks a brow at you. “I’ll let you two figure that out then. Have a nice night, you guys.” His tone is different. Tense, like he’s intruding on something. With that, he turns and strides out, sliding the privacy curtain shut behind him.

“Shit,” you mutter, holding your head in your hands.

“What’s wrong?” Edward leans forward, shrugging into his green overcoat. He reaches out to help you as you sit up from the bed and swing your legs over the side, but you don’t take his hand. Something’s up with him.

“All of my stuff is still in my car.” You brace your hands on your knees as you sit all the way upright for the first time in hours. Your back still aches and your head is dizzy, but it’s better than being stuck on that lumpy hospital mattress. Your clothes were beginning to stick to you. “I– I’ll be okay. You can go home, I know it’s really late. I’m sure I can find a ride home,” you begin to ramble at him, not wanting to inconvenience him any further than you already had. You’re still unsure of why he’s here, why he stayed here, but either way you were grateful for his presence. It wouldn’t have been fun to wake up after that evening alone, and it didn’t seem as though anyone else had stopped by.

He waves his hand at you, trying his best to maintain his composure, to swallow down his excitement as he tells you, “No, I can drive you home. It wouldn’t feel right to leave you stranded in the middle of the night.”

You’re hesitant to agree. Part of you is suspicious of him, picking up on little things about him that send your mind screaming like a fire alarm. Things that aren’t just right. There’s a good deal of his behavior that you couldn’t interpret, and while that intrigues you in a way, it was also one of the most threatening aspects of his character.

But then you remember his hand at the back of your neck. His thumb stroking featherlight circles on your swollen joints. The way he smells, and how quickly it comforts you. The feeling of being tucked between his chest and the sturdy wood of his writing desk at the press office.

And against your better judgment, you nod. The inside of your head is screaming at you. No! No! No! Don’t go with him! Somehow, though, you find yourself standing from the bed and when your legs almost give out, and there he is beside you, forearm braced against your back and fingers holding firm on your waist. And he’s looking down at you with care forefronted in his eyes, and that falls quiet again. How quickly he could silence your thoughts is terrifying.

In a way, the fear is what thrills you.

《♡》

PART 3

#edward nashton x reader #the riddler x reader #paul dano riddler #riddler fluff #edward nashton fluff #im gay 4 dano tbh #cliffyfics

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bratkook · 4 years ago

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another taste. (m) jjk.

pairing. rockstar!jk x reader genre. smut, pwp word count. 1.2k warnings. oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, needy bed humping, spit, jk cums in his pants <3 note. ily pasc, muah ! (will tumblr tag this who knows!!)

The soft skin of your thighs rubs against Jungkook’s cheeks as he peppers kisses onto them, warm to the touch, slightly trembling from the earlier orgasm he had drawn out of you. He isn’t satisfied though, he never was until you were left in tears, writhing on the bed.

“Kook,” you whine, breathy and thick with lust, but he loves when his name sounds like that coming from you. And when your fingers tangle into his long black hair and give it a good yank he looks up at you, brow raised in question, teasing smirk on his shiny lips.

“What baby?” he mumbles, large hands gripping the meat of your thighs tightly, slowly spreading them out further and blowing a gust of air onto your sodden folds. A teasing laugh escapes him when you shudder, hips rutting up in search of more, desperate to feel his mouth on you again.

“You’re teasing me.” How you have the guts to say that when you’ve cum twice already from his mouth and hands alone is beyond him. He appeases you though, dark eyes staring at you with so much hunger swirling in them as he leans closer and places a soft kiss onto your clit, the sensation making you tremble.

“Sorry baby, just want another taste.” he whispers, sending you a wink before he's diving back in. The sensitivity instantly makes you gasp, back arching off the bed as the dull throb rekindles the fire inside of you, spreading to your limbs until you were turning into the sinful vixen he loved to see.

Jungkook always got like this after shows, high off the adrenaline the crowd gave him, needing a final ego boost in the form of you crying out his name. The minute he was off the stage he was dragging you out of the venue, sometimes he didn’t even make it that far, but he preferred the comfort and privacy of a hotel room, not a fan of you having to muffle your cries.

This show of his had been one to remember, being called for two encores, the crowd matching the band’s energy like no other; safe to say Jungkook didn’t even bother stripping out of his clothes before he was slipping his hand between your thighs, letting his mouth follow. He was always insatiable when it came to you, wanting nothing more than to live between your thighs, feel the sting of you pulling his hair while you lost yourself in the pleasure. Seeing you fall apart beneath him time and time again got him off, left him aching in his jeans, had him moaning into your pussy while he slowly rutted his hips into the edge of the mattress.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he rasps, leaning back a bit before suddenly, he’s spitting onto your messy folds, watching in awe as it drips down your slit and over your entrance, mixing in with your arousal before meeting the bedsheets.

When his middle fingers slowly slip inside you, you melt into the sheets, head thrown back as you moan out. Jungkook revels in it, latches his lips around your swollen clit as he thrusts his fingers inside you, warm walls wrapped tightly around them. He already knows how you’d feel around his cock, sucking him in each time he pulled out, always so greedy.

His own hips speed up, humping the bed like a horny, desperate mess. It makes the bed rock and it grabs your attention. As you slowly lift your head, licking over your dry lips, you smirk when you see his hips moving. The dark strands between your fingers get twirled around, a small gasp spilling out of you when he gets the rhythm just right, the way he always does.

“This gets you off huh?” you giggle, letting one foot press into his back, urging him closer to your dripping pussy, letting you feel his movement better. Jungkook just groans, curling his fingers inside of you until they met the rough patch a few inches in, satisfied when you choke and stutter on your teasing words. “It’s—fuck—it’s hot, seeing you like that. God, Kook,” you cry, keeping your strong hold on his hair when you feel the coil inside of you tightening up, the earlier orgasms bringing you closer to release faster than before.

Jungkook feels the way you tighten around his fingers, and when he glances up at you with a mouthful of your pussy, he sees the way your stomach tenses, how your tits bounce as you gasp in a breath, your face scrunching up in the most adorable way, it almost made him forget the filthy things he was doing. He wanted to feel you cum on his tongue one more time, the remnants of the last two still lingering but he needed more.

He whines louder now, the friction against his cock sending tingles up his spine, increasing as he quickened his pace. He’s been hard for what seems like hours, heavy and aching in his jeans while he took his time with you, pushing away your hands when you attempted to touch him, wanting to focus solely on you.

You could tell he was close, his left hand gripping onto your thighs tighter, dimpling the skin, the flicks of his tongue getting faster. Jungkook was about to blow his load from eating you out, and you had never seen a sexier sight. Your breathing stutters, throat tight as you gasp lewdly when he sucks with force, knowing just the right way to push you over.

“F-fuck fuck fuck,” you chant, attempting to shut your legs around his head, running from the feeling but he has none of that, keeping his hold on you until finally, you’re pushed over the edge. “Shit—“ you scream, cutting off the rest of your sentence as you writhe around, hips rutting up into his mouth while he coaxed you through it.

The way you gush around his fingers, drenching his digits and the bottom half of his face, the thick smell of sex filling the air and the soft mewls you let out push him over. Jungkook groans loudly as his hips stutter on the bed, pulling away from your cunt and letting you see his jaw drop as he finally cums. Warm spurts of cum soak into his underwear, smearing around as he milks his own orgasm with shallow ruts, whimpering in sensitivity as he comes to a halt.

“Wow,” you pant, resting your arm over your forehead as you try to catch your breath, skin tacky with sweat, inner thighs messy with his spit and your arousal. Jungkook hums in response, resting his cheek on your thigh before placing another soft kiss to the skin.

“Jeon Jungkook, notorious rockstar, cums in his pants. Who would’ve thought.” Your foot playfully nudges his back, snickering when he shoots you a teasing glare. You know you’ve done it when he starts to crawl over your body, not caring about the obvious wet spot on his jeans. “Should I give TMZ the inside scoop?”

“Yeah, go ahead and let them know how I made you scream my name so loud the hotel filed a noise complaint.”

“That didn’t happen,” you tut, smirking up at him as you playfully tap his nose. The smirk gets wiped off your face when he grabs your hips and flips you over, delivering a swift slap to your ass and laughing when it jiggles.

“The nights still young baby.”

#ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #bangtansorciere #heartsforbts #bangtaninn #jeongguk smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #jeon jungkook #btscreatorscorner #new

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some-messed-up-writing-for-you · 3 years ago

Text

Short Prompt #52

Warning: descriptions of confined/claustrophobic spaces, near-death experience.

The villain's chest rumbled with a groan as he slowly came to, awaking. Tiredly, he brought his hand up to his throbbing head but stopped midway as his arm banged against something hard above him. He opened his eyes, blinking, trying to adjust his vision as he felt around his surroundings.

...

Why could he not see anything?

...

And why... Why were there walls all around him?

...

Where was he? There was so little space. It was so tight he could barely move around, and-

...

He was in a coffin.

He was buried alive.

But- But who-

Villain inhaled sharply. Other Supervillain... His boss...

He remembered now. The other supervillain had called him in for a meeting. They were talking for a while, and- and everything was normal until- until...

...

'You played your part well Villain, but that's the thing... You did your part.'

...

'I don't need you anymore.'

...

The villain banged on the coffin door, punching, kicking with all his strength. He wasn't thinking straight, panic taking over his mind as his breathing turned chaotic. His limbs started to hurt, his body protesting for him to stop, but he refused to. As more and more of his energy became wasted, he clawed at the wood, desperate to get through, and hissed as something cut his hand.

Shaking and pausing his thrashing for a moment, he carefully felt around and found something sharp sticking out from the top of the coffin. It was long and slim in shape, as well as cold and metallic to the touch.

...

A nail.

The coffin had been nailed shut.

...

Villain screamed, adrenaline fueling him as he yelled, begging for help. He called out futilely, pleading, apologizing, making promises, claiming that he would do better, that he would be better. His throat began growing hoarse as he screamed out the names of the few allies he had...

But nobody answered.

Nobody came to save him.

...

It was so hot. The air had turned stuffy with the villain's frantic shrieks and struggles, but the tears that streamed from his eyes were worse, making his skin tingle as if it was on fire.

He pawed at the door, fingernails pathetically scraping against the wood as he became too tired to continue his attempts at breaking out. Despair filling his thoughts, soft whimpers and cries gradually slipped past his lips, bouncing off the coffin walls and echoing loudly inside his head.

...

SHH-HLINK

...

What... what was that just now? Did- Did he imagine it, or... or was that-

SHH-HLINK

...

SHH-HLINK

...

SHH-HLINK

...

Someone was above him, digging.

...

Villain screamed for help again, ignoring the pain that rose inside his throat. He hit the coffin walls once more, moving like a rabid animal, a shred of leftover adrenaline making him forget his exhaustion. The sound above him seemed to speed up in response, and his breath hitched as hope twinkled in his hectically beating heart.

A THUD sounded right on top of the door, shaking it under the villain's trembling fingers. The shovel scratched at the wood, getting rid of the last bits of dirt, and Villain followed it with his hands, helplessly feeling the small vibrations. He cried relieved tears as the wood creaked loudly, his savior peeling the coffin open. With a snap, moonlight suddenly assaulted his eyes, and he had to squint and blink rapidly to keep them open.

Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him up, and Villain grabbed on with a bruising grip as the stranger got him out of the hole they had dug up to free him. He buried his face in the other's chest, shivering and frantically mumbling, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," over and over again.

"Shh, it's alright, sweetness." - a smooth, male voice comforted, holding him tightly. It sounded so pleasant to the villain's ears. It made him want to just... go limp in the other's hold... and... let him take him away... into the night...

...

He tensed up. Who... Who had saved him?

Slowly, he lifted his head, and as his gaze met with that of his savior, his blood ran cold.

Bright crimson eyes stared back at him, amused by his sudden terror. A small smirk adorned the other's pale lips, showing off one of his fangs.

A vampire.

And not just any vampire either. This... This was...

"Supervillain...?" - Villain's voice was so meek, he barely heard himself speak. His grip tightened in his fright.

A dark chuckle left the master criminal as the villain's heart began to race once more with newfound fear. Without warning, he rose to his feet, taking Villain with him.

Yelping in surprise, the smaller criminal wrapped his arms around the vampire's neck as he was lifted into the air. "W-Wait! What- What a-are you-"

"Relax, sweet thing. I didn't come all the way out here just to kill you." - the supervillain reassured, his features turning softer than the villain had expected.

The smaller criminal whimpered, untrusting. "T-Then why?"

"Other Supervillain betrayed you."

...

Villain averted his gaze, going silent. It wasn't a question or even a suspicion. It was a fact, plain and simple.

...

"I can help you get revenge on him, sweetness~." - Supervillain enticed in a gentle sing-song voice.

...

"W-What do you want in r-return?" - the villain asked quietly, side-eyeing the other nervously.

The vampire smiled. "Join me, and help me with my plans."

Villain tensed up, a shiver crawling down his spine. "Y-You- You don't have any h-humans working for you. Y-You always t-turn them..."

The supervillain's grin widened as he tilted his head playfully. "And~?"

"I- I-" - the smaller criminal stuttered, shaking fearfully in the other's hold. He- He just barely escaped a slow, painful death. He- He didn't want to-

"Aww, don't worry." - Supervillain cooed, furrowing his brows in pretend concern as he held the villain closely, leaning his face towards his. His voice turned low and gravelly, sending a different kind of shudder through the human in his arms. "I'll be sure to make it feel good, my sweet little Villain~."

Villain gulped, his face burning at the other's implication. His gaze jumped from one spot to the next, unsure of how to reply. Eventually, he closed his eyes, and taking an uneven breath, he buried his face in the master criminal's shoulder, silently choosing to agree. He knew struggling would be futile as the supervillain was much stronger than him and would turn him no matter what he said, so he might as well cooperate and make it, at least, somewhat pleasant for himself.

And besides, the vampire did save him from certain death... he owed him now, didn't he?

Pressing a soft kiss to the top of the villain's head and lightly chuckling when he cringed, Supervillain turned on his heel and began to walk off into the shadows.

Exhausted both physically and emotionally, Villain let the bigger criminal's powers wash over him, lulling him to a calm dreamless sleep.

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zeewritez · 3 years ago

Text

Lilith’s Revenge - Part I

Fandom: Walking dead (Season 6 and onward)

Pairing: Daryl x Gender-neutral! Reader

Warnings: Usual TWD violence

Word Count: 915

Chapter Summary: While taking out Negan’s men, Daryl, Rick and Michonne stumble upon a girl that had been taken in as prisoner not too long ago. Though they seem abrasive at first, it soon becomes apparent that y/n would make a helpful addition to the team.

Part I - These Four Walls:

Leaning my head against the wall, I closed my eyes. I had become bored of staring at the same room over and over again. Every scratch, scuff, and mark, every chip, seem and splatter had been memorized. These four walls of the cold cell were all I’d known for the past week or so. I felt nothing except a slight tingling in my limbs. My hands, tied tightly in front of me, were almost completely numb. Behind my shut eyes I found little rest, however. Though my body was in a trance, I couldn’t find sleep. My mind raced even when my body was still.

I thought I must’ve been dreaming when the door opened with a loud squeak, but sure enough, a man stood in the doorway just two feet away from me.

In my final attempt to seek freedom, I lunged at him. Though my hands were bound, I had the element of surprise and enough adrenaline to take out a dozen men. Once I had him pinned to the ground, he looked at me with a plain expression.

“I ain’t tryna hurt ya,” he said. “My group and I are taking out Negan’s men.”

“You are?” I looked at his face, searching for any giveaway that he was lying.

Sets of footsteps echoed through the hall. Looking in the direction they came from I saw a woman and a man making their way towards us. They were clearly acquainted with this man.

“Let him go,” the second man said, his gun aimed at me.

I hadn’t cared if I lived or died for a long time, but I didn’t get that close to my liberty to be taken out by some random man. I stood up and held my tied hands above my hands.

“Are you with Negan?” the man who had just threatened me asked.

“Does it look like I’m with Negan?” I asked dumbfounded while gesturing to my restraints.

“Why did they restrain you?” he asked.

The dark-haired woman rolled her eyes at the man before swiftly pulling out a sword and cutting my restraints.

“Leave them be, we have bigger things to worry about,” she spoke. “They’re clearly a captive.”

The man looked at the woman with furrowed brows but gave her a nod.

“Daryl, you take this person down the left corridor, we’ll go down the other like planned,” the woman commanded before running off.

“This way,” he who I now knew as Daryl instructed. I reluctantly did as said.

I wasn’t quite sure what these intruders were doing here, but I soon found out. After entering one of the sleeping chambers, Daryl stabbed one of the men in the head. I watched as he went over to the other man and stood above him.

“Let me do it,” I whispered.

He gave me a questioning look but took a step back anyways. He pulled out a switchblade from his pocket handed it towards me. Raising my hands, I took one last look at the man before he would die. I knew his face, knew it well.

His name was Clyde, and he had introduced himself when I was locked up at this facility, but I had known him longer. He was one of the men who’d ambushed my sanctuary. I remembered his face well because it was covered in my sister’s blood the last time I’d seen him. I brought the knife down and watched his own blood cover him.

Just as swiftly as I had gone into that room, I left and followed my new companion into the next. We took out the men two at a time, and I almost regret to say I enjoyed it. Only almost, because these men had killed my family, destroyed the only home I’d ever known, and taken me captive.

Right before we entered the last room, a shrill alarm began to ring through the halls. If I had time, I would’ve run, but two men exited this final room. Daryl took the first one out easily, but the second one was quicker. He lunged at me, slashing a cut along my lower abdomen. Out of habit, I kneed him in the stomach, which caught him off guard long enough to gain the upper hand. With a swift movement, I stabbed him right under his sternum and twisted the knife.

His eyes shot open as he fell to the ground. They were dark green and I knew them well, for he was the man who’d taken me, prisoner. Unable to look at him anymore, alive or dead, I turned him over and stabbed him in the back of his head.

“Here you go,” I told Daryl while offering back his knife.

His eyes looked at me, the knife, and back at me.

“My bad,” I said. How could I have forgotten to clean it off? I wiped the flat sides off on my thigh, the blood slipping off like melted butter. “Good as new.” The man took the knife back reluctantly before following me out of the exit.

Outside, my feet touched the grass for the first time in what felt like forever. I stood half-naked and covered in blood, yet I had lost all sense of shame long ago. The bright sun shone on me and a dozen pairs of eyes gazed at me. I could see what they were thinking on their faces: Who the hell is that?

Soon enough, they would know exactly who I am.

A/n: Hey guys! I wanted to post a new story in between Count Your Blessings uploads. Hope y’all like it! Much love, Zee :)

#twd #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd imagine #twd x reader #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead reader insert #daryl dixon #daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n

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the-iceni-bitch · 4 years ago

Text

No Scrubs

Well a scrub checkin' me, but his game is kinda weak

And I know that he cannot approach me

'Cause I'm looking like class and he's looking like trash

Can't get wit' a deadbeat ass

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Words: 3.1k

Summary: You try to keep Steve from dying of boredom at an Avengers charity gala.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, squirting, public sex), little bit of a fight, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!!

A/N: My official entry for @cockslut-padalecki’s “Not My Ninth” challenge!! My prompt was No Scrubs by TLC and Charity Gala. I picked our boy Steve for this one, but like post Avengers pre Winter Soldier Steve. Also, is Thor the best wingman? I feel like I’ve been using him in this role a lot. Happy 9K babe!

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!

Steve had never felt so uncomfortable in his life.

He hated talking about himself normally, and having to parade around in front of a bunch of rich people was a special kind of torture. But Tony was insistent that the whole team had to be there, and it was for a good cause so he couldn’t say no without being a complete asshole.

He downed the rest of his champagne as some other billionaire asked him the same damn question about how different things were for him now, how much he must miss the 40s, like the war was some golden age of Americana. He just smiled and gave the same polite answers he’d been giving all night, wishing he was able to get drunk. Maybe Thor had snuck in some mead, that could usually do the trick.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Captain Rogers, but Mr. Stark sent me to come find you. Something about the silent auction.”

Steve felt his face relax as he turned to look at you, his breath coming out in a deep sigh. You looked amazing in your silver gown, all shimmery and gauzy.

“Sorry folks, duty calls.” He said with a shrug as he followed you away from the stuffed suits. “What does Tony want? I don’t have anything to do with the auction.”

“Yeah, I know, but your jaw was clenched so hard I was worried you were gonna snap something, so I figured I’d come rescue you.” You said, grinning over your shoulder at him.

“God, you’re the best.” He sighed, following you to the bar and leaning against it as you ordered yourself a cocktail.

“I know, right? You want anything?”

“Not unless Thor snuck anything in. It’s only been an hour and I’m this close to ramming my head through a wall.”

“Sorry Cap, I hate these things too but it comes with the territory.” You said with a shrug, sipping on your Manhattan as you turned to face him. “Now, lets go find our Asgardian friend. As your handler, I can’t have you destroying property out of boredom, and I’m pretty sure I saw that giant sipping from a contraband flask a little earlier.”

He grinned as he moved to follow you, weaving through the crowd as you expertly turned away the whales that kept trying to approach him. You were his fifth handler since the battle of New York, and the only one that had lasted longer than a week. Mostly because you didn’t actually try to handle him, just let him be Steve and deal with any PR fallout that came with that. It helped that you had an easygoing nature that he found endearing, and you could always make him laugh. The fight you’d gotten into with Tony about changing his suit had really done it for him though, he hadn’t seen anyone make Stark back down so fast.

“Odinson!” You shouted, beaming once you found the massive blonde. He’d been cornered by a group of old blue hairs who were tittering and trying to touch his biceps. “Sorry ladies, the god of thunder is needed elsewhere, auction business.”

They all made sounds of disappointment as you extracted the relieved looking god from the group of old biddies, pulling him away towards one of the empty corners of the ballroom.

“What is this auction you speak of?” Thor asked once the three of you were separated from the crowd.

“A clever ruse, my good friend.” You said with a smirk. “You’re welcome by the way. The Captain here is on the verge of committing violent acts out of boredom, and expressed a desire to get drunk.”

“Yes, thank you Y/N.” He said with a grin. “I don’t think I can help the Captain with his problem though, maybe he should head to the bar.”

“Oh, you can’t help?” You said cocking your eyebrow at him before shoving your hand inside his tux jacket and pulling out a silver flask. “What’s this then?”

Steve chuckled as Thor tried to stammer out a reply as you just shook your head and tutted at him, handing Steve the flask.

“Listen, just be a good boy and share. Now, I need to go to the ladies room but if any of these rich assholes tries to come bother you again, just start talking about the horrors of war, and get graphic. They hate that shit.”

Steve handed Thor back the flask after taking a sip, already staring to feel a bit of a tingle in his fingers.

“That woman is not to be trifled with.” Thor said appreciatively as he took a swig, handing it back to Steve. “Have you slept with her yet?”

Steve choked on the mead, his eyes bugging out of his head as he tried to cough up a lung and Thor clapped him on the back, scolding him for wasting good liquor.

“Jesus, Thor! What are you talking about? I don’t want to sleep with Y/N!”

“Oh my god, you midgardians and your hang ups. Your hormones spike every time your around her, it’s very distracting.”

“What?!?! How do you know that?” Steve loosened his tie a bit as he felt himself starting to warm up, telling himself it was just from the booze.

“I’m not just the god of thunder, I’m a fertility god.” He said with a grin. “And every time you two are near each other, it’s like being around a couple of rabbits in the spring.”

“Oh god, please stop.” Steve said as he ran his hand over his face in embarrassment.

“No you stop. We’re in a hotel, just get a room and , what’s the phrase I’m looking for ‘fuck her brains out’.”

“Jesus Christ, who taught you that? Never mind, I know it was Tony.” He said, waving a dismissive hand at Thor as he gave him a wicked grin.

“Oh no.” Thor said suddenly, looking over Steve’s shoulder towards the ballroom.

“What now?” Steve said with a heavy sigh, turning to follow his line of sight to where you were standing, talking to an unsteady looking man in a sloppy tux. “Rumlow.”

“Yes, apparently your STRIKE team leader has been sniffing after your handler for months.” Thor narrated, leaning against one of the columns and taking another pull from the flask. “She’s always rebuffed him, though. I don’t think he’s ever tried when he’s drunk before. Wait, Rogers!”

Steve ignored him as he strode towards you, growling under his breath and loosening his tie even more as he watched Rumlow wrap his hand around your bicep and yank you towards him. Steve was close enough to see you roll your eyes, but couldn’t hear what you said to the man as he wrapped his other arm around your waist and smashed his mouth against yours.

“Hey!” Steve shouted, his brow furrowed as Brock pulled his face away from yours to see what the interruption was about.

You took your chance and head butted him, a curse leaving his mouth in a hiss as he released you. You gripped his left wrist around his thumb and drew it back hard, smirking when you felt a snap at the same time you drove you fist into his ribs.

Steve had to pull you off him as you started beating him with your clutch, opening it up at the same time to search for your brass knuckles.

“You don’t fucking touch me, you goddamn sloppy deadbeat motherfucker!” You screamed as Steve carried you away from the main floor, your limbs flailing as you tried to charge back at Rumlow. “Learn to tie a fucking tie you cocksucking son of a bitch.”

Steve did his best not to crack up at the shocked looks the blue bloods were giving you, a chorus of offended gasps following the two of you as you released a steady stream of profanity. He pushed open the doors to the balcony with one hand as he kept his other hand wrapped tightly around your waist as you were still trying to squirm free.

“Damn it, put me down Rogers! I’ll kick your ass too!” You hissed, turning to swat at his chest.

“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ!” He said as you started to kick him, catching him in the shins a couple of times. “Ow.”

“You’re fine.” You said with a shrug, taking a couple deep breaths to calm down.

“Yeah, well Rumlow definitely isn’t. Who gave you brass knuckles?” He said, pulling the weapon out of your clutch.

“Nat did. And it’s not like I even got to use them on that asshole.”

“Yeah but you would’ve.” He said, shaking his head as he handed them back to you. “He didn’t hurt you did he?”

You just snorted as you shoved the knuckles back into your clutch, leaning your back against the railing.

“Good.” He mumbled, suddenly not knowing what to say to you.

You somehow looked even better after your altercation. Your hair was a wild tangle now, loose strands blowing in the breeze. Your lips were swollen from the unwanted kiss, and Steve could feel the heat coming off you as your chest heaved with deep breaths. He hissed through his teeth when he noticed the torn skin on your knuckles.

“Shit, Y/N, you’re bleeding.” He growled, grabbing your hand to inspect the damage.

“Huh, guess so.” You said, watching him through your lashes as he brought your hand closer to his face.

You felt your breath hitch as he ran his thumb over the back of your hand softly, his brow still furrowed with worry. Maybe it was just the adrenaline from the fight, but all you could think about just then was sucking on his thick fingers.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You must have zoned out for a second.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“I’m great.” You said, your voice a little squeakier than you would’ve liked.

He took a step closer to you and you gasped, suddenly feeling very light headed as you felt a rush of slick flood your panties. His hand left yours and moved to cup your cheek, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip where you had it pressed between your teeth.

“I think I’m gonna kiss you now.” He muttered, his eyes boring into yours, pupils blown wide with lust.

“Good.” You whispered.

His mouth devoured yours, his teeth pulling your lips open so he could slip his tongue inside, curling it against yours as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed you against him. You moaned as you felt his cock hardening against your abdomen, your pussy throbbing with need as he ground himself into you.

He started to sink to his knees and you followed him, your mouth still pressed to his desperately. His hand moved from your waist to dig under your skirt and he let out a growl when he brushed his fingers against your core, pressing them against the soaked silk of your panties.

“Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.” He grumbled, his lips still pressed to yours. “Wanna see if you taste as good as you smell.”

“Oh god, Steve.” You moaned as he hooked his fingers through the side of your panties and ripped them off you, the elastic snapping against your skin and a shove going up your spine as the night air cooled the wetness between your thighs. “Do it.”

He grinned and gave you a quick peck on the lips before he started to move his mouth down your throat. His hand between your legs started rubbing you in big slow circles as he laid you down, putting just enough pressure on you that you were quickly turning into a wriggling mess.

“Hold still, honey.” He ordered, pulling the sleeves of your dress down just enough that your breasts could pop out, your nipples pebbling in the chilly air. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

“Fuck.” You moaned as he dragged his tongue over your nipple in a heavy stripe before flicking it softly. Your hands dug in his hair as he sucked and licked at it, just barely brushing it with his teeth until it was raised to an overly sensitive peak before he moved to the other nipple and repeated the process, making you whine.

Once he was satisfied with his work, he pressed a soft kiss to each breast before moving his face between your legs. His hand was making soft wet sounds now as he kept rubbing your sex, and he groaned when he removed it to take a good look at you.

“Fuck if that ain’t the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmured as his lips brushed over your inner thigh.

Your cunt was pulsing with need under his gaze, your plump folds swollen and flushed with heat as he watched you clench around nothing. Everything between your legs was coated in a thick layer of your arousal, and he bit his lip as he watched even more leak out of you.

“I bet I could make you cum with almost nothing, sweetheart.” He teased as he nipped at the soft skin of your inner thighs, inching closer to your pussy before moving away again.

“Steve, please!” You whined, trying to arch your back into his face as you tugged on his hair.

He just grinned before pressing his tongue over your pussy and swirling it through your folds. He had to press his palms down on your hips to keep your body from curling back on itself as he ran his tongue over your sex, lapping at your pussy like his was the first meal he’d had in weeks.

“God you taste so good.” He murmured as he gazed at you through his lashes. “Like fucking peaches.”

You sobbed as he thrust his tongue inside you at the same time his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, making you come immediately. He curled his tongue inside you as your release flowed into his mouth, moaning into your pussy as you spasmed against his face.

Your breath was coming in ragged gasps as you came down, your muscles still twitching randomly as aftershocks shook through your abdomen. He grinned as he sat up over you, undoing his tie before moving to take off his belt as you writhed underneath his gaze. Your brain finally reset and you sat up between Steve’s legs, nuzzling yourself into his neck as you worked to unbutton his shirt.

“You back, honey?” He chuckled as you ran your teeth over his collarbone, dipping your hands under his shirt to press against his chest. “I was a little worried.”

“You’ll find I’m extremely resilient, Steve.” You murmured before sinking your teeth into his pec as you started to undo his fly.

“Shit, good to know.” He groaned as you drew his cock out of his pants and gave it a squeeze.

He gripped your chin and drew your face up to his, raising you up to your knees as he gave you a soft kiss. You moved his cock in your hand to line him up with your entrance, teasing his tip against your folds. Steve wrapped his hands around your waist and lifted you a bit higher before slowly drawing you down onto his length.

You let out a thin keen as he stretched you open, relishing the sting as your cunt fluttered around him, adjusting to his girth. He rested his forehead against yours as he started moving his hips at a languorous pace.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He muttered against your lips before moving to bury his face in your shoulder. “So tight and warm and soft.”

You gripped the hair at the base of his neck tightly as his hips started moving faster, slapping against yours. You felt yourself clench around him as he ground against your clit, making you gasp.

“Shit, Steve! Right there!”

“Jesus, already?” He murmured, running his lips over your throat.

“Just... fuck, you’re so big, Steve. Oh my god, I’m cumming.”

He hooked a hand under your ass to keep you from collapsing as your entire body arched violently, almost bending backwards on itself as you swallowed a scream. Your cunt fluttered and spasmed around him as he lifted you to wrap around him, his breath hot against your neck.

“Holy shit honey.” He muttered as he pulled you down against him, making you whimper. “You ok?”

“I’m great. Don’t you fucking stop.” You said, tilting his head back so you could press your mouth to his.

He grinned against your lips as he fucked his hips up into you, keeping his eyes locked on yours as his cock dragged over every inch of you, nudging against your cervix and making your breath hitch.

“Right there?” He asked as you dug your nails into his scalp and bit at his lips.

“Fuck, oh goddamn it, Steve.”

You shrieked into his mouth as you came apart, your muscles seizing as your pussy strangled his cock. His hips stuttered and you were suddenly flooded with warmth, his spend sitting into you and coating your canal in thick white ropes. He sat back on his heels and pulled out of you, and you shuddered as your release squirted all over the front of his pants.

“Shit, did you just squirt honey?” He asked, giving you an appreciative glance as he started to tuck himself back in and button his shirt up.

“I think so. Fuck, that’s never happened before.” You said with a shrug.

“Well, damn baby.” He said as he stood up, offering you a hand to help you to your feet.

“Shit, we’ve gotta go back in there.” You said, running your hand over your face. “Oh my god, Stark is going to kill us. Hold on and give me a second to think.”

Steve just leaned back on the railing and gave a satisfied smile as he watched you pace back and forth, wringing your hands.

“Ok I think I’ve got it, just one second.”

You went to the door and opened it a crack, popping your head through, jumping when you found Thor leaning against the wall right there.

“Hey, Thor. What’s up buddy?”

“Just keeping the other guests from wandering out and seeing you and the Captain humping like rabbits.”

“Appreciate it. We need a distraction though, cuz we’re both a little messy, and I don’t really feel like explaining that to everyone.”

“Got it, what if I blow out the lights in that chandelier?”

“I think that’ll probably work.” You said, giving him a nod before turning back to Steve. “Alright Rogers, we’re making a run for the elevator. Thor, blow it.”

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