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love-and-monsters · 4 years ago

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Polyam Alien Merfolk

GN reader X M mer-alien X F mer-alien, 6,743 words

Crashed on an alien planet and taken in by a couple, this story was uh, pretty self-indulgent for me. Not sure if anyone else is going to like it but I liked writing it.

CW: mentions of being in a cult and descriptions of family death and cult behavior.

“Is it like, alive?”

The voice was soft, coming from just over your head. Something sharp prodded your side. You groaned.

A second voice came from closer to your feet. “Sounds like it’s alive.” This voice was rougher, raspier, though also higher pitched than the first voice.

“Is it hurt, then? We can’t move it if its hurt.” The sharp thing poked your side again. “What if it’s really badly injured?”

Dimly, you were aware of sunlight against your face. Most of your body was covered with your skintight flight suit, but your face was exposed, and, from the feel of it, entirely covered in sand. Actually, given the grittiness in your mouth, most of your insides were coated in sand as well. The hard rock of nausea in your gut told you that you had probably swallowed a decent amount of sand too. Your lungs felt like they’d been aggressively sandblasted. Every breath stung like needles.

“Then there’s nothing we can do and it’ll die,” the second voice said. “It doesn’t look injured. I think. I mean, I don’t know alien anatomy, but everything looks right, doesn’t it? No blood. Nothing’s sticking out weirdly.”

“Internal injuries!” the first voice insisted. “What do we do? A doctor’s not going to know what to do about this.”

The nausea that had been churning in the bottom of your stomach abruptly kicked up a notch. Apparently, your body had decided you were awake enough to retch. Automatically, you twisted onto your side, abdominal muscles heaving, and a gush of fluid poured out of your mouth.

For the next minute or so, you were thoroughly occupied by vomiting. The nasty tang of saltwater mixed with bile filled your mouth and your injured lungs screamed for air every time you heaved. Finally, you were only dry-heaving and coughing into the sand. Somewhere nearby, you could hear the soft rush of waves against shore.

Groaning, you slumped onto your back once more. Sand shifted and crunched as you moved. Your head was clear enough to start putting the pieces together, though. You remembered… a space battle. Your little fighter had been hit. It had fallen.

“Hey.” The first voice was speaking again. You turned your head toward it. “Are you feeling better now?”

The speaker was covered in mottled scales, a dark green-blue near its back and a pale whitish color on its belly. From the waist up, it was humanoid, with a fairly human-looking face, large, fan-like fins along the back of its head and trailing down its back, and finned hands. From the waist down, it had the long, slender and finned body of some kind of sea snake. All of its fins had ruffled, fancy-looking edges and they were flushed a striking shade of red. Next to him was a slightly larger creature of the same species. This one had smaller, much duller fins and a slightly chunkier, rounded frame.

You tried to respond, but all that came out of your throat was a groaning hiss. The first speaker cocked their head at you. “Can you not speak? Could you not do that before or were you hurt?”

“Maybe that’s how it speaks,” the second speaker said.

“No! I’ve seen videos of them before, they speak like we do.” The second speaker rolled their eyes. The first speaker ignored them. “Hey. Hey! You okay? Blink twice for yes!”

You stared at the first speaker. They tilted their head back at you. “No? Not okay?” How were you even supposed to answer that question? You didn’t feel particularly hurt so much as pretty uncomfortable, but you didn’t feel totally put together either. After another moment of consideration, you made eye contact with the first speaker and carefully blinked twice.

“It’s okay!” they cried in utter delight. “Look, see?”

“Then we can move it somewhere. Get the interstellars involved. Go for the head, I’ll get the legs.”

“Why do you get the legs?” the first speaker whined. The second speaker ignored them and seized you by your ankles, hefting your legs up onto their shoulder. The first speaker, grumbling quietly, heaved your top half up.

Despite looking like sea creatures, they navigated the sandy dunes with a surprising level of ease. Within a few minutes, you were being set down on the wooden floor of a tiny, one-room building. The floor was flat underneath you, but you could see a slope leading into the ocean. The home was partially open, allowing for a smooth integration between water and land.

“Can you sit up?” The first speaker carefully lay you against the wall so you were in a seated position. “Naerie, can we get some water?”

The second speaker, Naerie, appeared holding a small, wooden cup. She passed it over to the first speaker, who held it to your mouth. “Here. Drink,” they said.

You sipped slowly. It wasn’t as pure as the water you were used to on your ship- it had a strange, slightly plant-like taste to it. Still, it was water and relatively clean, and it helped focus your mind and soothe your throat.

You leaned away from the water glass and cleared your throat. It was still sore, but it was functional. “Where am I?”

“It speaks,” Naerie said. Their voice was mildly surprised.

“Yeah. It does,” you said. “I… remember crashing here.”

“We saw that,” the first speaker said. “Well, we saw you fall into the ocean and dragged you to shore. I think your suit absorbed most of the impact?”

“They’re designed for kinetic redistribution.” The first speaker nodded, though their expression was entirely devoid of understanding. “Um. That means they’re designed to spread impact shock away from my body. I’m probably bruised, but I shouldn’t have broken anything.”

“I’ve never seen a human before,” the first speaker said. They lifted one of your hands, toying with your fingers curiously. They seemed fascinated by your lack of fins. “Not in person, anyway.”

“Yes. You’re quite a… reclusive species.” Naerie’s lip curled. A sliver of ice-cold worry dropped into the pit of your stomach. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“It-” An abrupt rush of memories cut your voice off. You remembered running, barely able to feel your limbs through the numbness of fear. You remembered navigating a tiny fighter ship with numb fingers. You remembered flying and flying, not toward anything, but just away, away, away. And then watching the slow failure of your ship’s systems, feeling the ice cold of space leech into your cabin, the thinness of the air. The certainty that you were going to die, cold and alone in space and that somehow, that was entirely better than being where you had been.

“Oh, hey. Shh, shh.” Scaled arms wrapped around you, tugging you against a warm chest. The first speaker was hugging you, nuzzling their face against your head. “It’s okay! You’re safe now.”

“I’m alone,” you said, voice choked. Tears spilled down your cheeks. “I swear. I’m alone. No one’s with me. I didn’t mean to come here. I’ll leave.”

“You don’t have to leave! It’s okay!” The first speaker tugged you into their chest and glared at the other. “Naerie! Be nice! It’s okay, shh, shh.” They rocked back and forth, pressing your head to their chest. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

“If you’re alone, then I suppose it’s fine,” Naerie said. They seemed unsettled by your sudden tears. “All right. Terraso, let them lie back. We should get a good look at them, make sure they’re not hurt.”

You ended up wearing only the thin undersuit of your flight suit while Naerie probed at you delicately. In the end, it was determined that you were likely badly bruised, but not seriously injured. As Naerie prodded at your body, Terraso prodded at your mind by conversing cheerily. Names and pronouns were formally exchanged, and you learned that your rescuers were a couple, and lived on their own on the outskirts of a large city.

“I don’t suppose you have anywhere to go,” Naerie said, glancing you over. “You lost everything with your ship, didn’t you?”

You nodded. Technically, the only thing you had lost was a second set of clothes, but they didn’t need to know that. “I know how to live on my own.” Not really true, but you were pretty sure you could figure something out. “I can-”

“Absolutely not!” Terraso reared up on his long, serpentine lower half. “If you don’t have anywhere to stay, you should stay with us.” He turned, looking pleadingly at Naerie. “We can’t just kick her out.”

Naerie, despite her cool nature, didn’t seem keen on kicking you out either. Her brow puckered as she looked you up and down. “No, I suppose not,” she said. “You look as though you’re one missed meal away from starvation.”

You laughed. “It’s fine. I’ve missed plenty of meals before.”

Terraso and Naerie stared at you. Apparently that statement wasn’t as reassuring as you’d expected it to be. “You’re staying,” Naerie said. “Tomorrow, we can go into the city and see if we can get you set up with a life preserver pass. It’ll at least let you stay for a couple of months.”

“Life preserver pass?” you repeated.

“It’s like an emergency citizenship card. For people who end up planetside on accident, and are having trouble getting back home. If you get a citizen to stick up for you, you can get a life preserver pass until you figure out how to go home again,” Terraso said.

“That’s the simplified version. There’s a little more to it than that. Terms and conditions and all that. But you don’t need to know that to fill out the paperwork,” Naerie said.

Terraso rolled his eyes and leaned close to speak in a stage whisper. “Don’t mind her. She works for interplanetary governmental communications. Lots of paperwork.”

You nodded. “What do you do?”

“Oh. Mind the house, mostly.” Terraso rolled onto his back, swishing his tail idly.

You stared. “Mind the house?”

“You know. Cook, clean, make sure everything’s all nice for Naerie when she comes home,” Terraso said.

You mulled that over. “You don’t have a job?”

Terraso shrugged. “I mean, I keep everything in the household running. That’s kind of a job. When we have kids someday, I’ll take care of them.” He gave Naerie an eager look. She smiled back at him. “Didn’t they have house spouses where you came from?”

“Everyone worked,” you said. “Both my parents. All my siblings. If you had time to relax, you had too much time on your hands.”

Naerie and Terraso exchanged a look. “Where did you say you were from again?” Naerie asked. Her voice was soft, like she was talking to something easily spooked. You bristled at the implication.

“I’m from the Unity Formation,” you said. Naerie looked at Tarraso. He shrugged.

“Okay. Well. You’ve been through a lot. Why don’t you let Terraso take care of you for a while? I’ll start getting things set up for going into the city and getting you a life preserver pass.” They exchanged a couple more significant looks as Naerie slipped into the water at the other side of the house. It seemed strange, but you were too exhausted to care. You slumped back against the wall.

“You want anything to eat?” Terraso asked. There was a forced, cheery note in his voice. “You really are skinny. It’d probably be good for you to eat.”

It was clear he was trying to distract you, but you were hungry enough to allow it. “Sure.” Terraso grinned and started rummaging through cabinets, chattering cheerily all the while. His voice rose and fell like a wave. After a little bit, you didn’t even hear the individual words anymore. Just the soothing sound of his voice.

The next morning, Nearie provided you with some clothes. They were toga-like, made more for her legless species than yours, but you accepted them regardless. They covered everything important, anyway. Terraso fussed over you until you had eaten nearly two large helpings of breakfast. Feeling uncomfortably full, you left with your companions for the city.

The city was built much in the same way as their house- partially submerged, with other members of the alien species slipping in and out of water with ease. However, you noticed a few other land-walkers, like you, walking easily through the part of the city that was on land.

Naerie noticed you looking. “This city’s one of the more progressive ones. It’s the only interstellar spaceport, so we get a lot of other species here. Not many humans, though.”

You shook your head. “That’s okay.” A hulking, bladed creature strode by. You tried not to stare. There were more species here than you’d ever seen in your entire life. Gawking at them would probably not make a good first impression. Naerie saved you by slithering up to the front door of a tall, stately building and gesturing you inside.

It was several hours of bureaucratic wrangling before you could leave the building again, this time with a subdermal implant marking your status as a temporary citizen. You toyed at the small bump on your skin. It was designed for easy removal, but you couldn’t stop prodding at it, barely holding in the urge to rip it back out. The feeling of something like that under your skin again was unsettling.

The next stop was the shopping district. There were a few small, out-of-the-way shops that catered to bipeds, and you left laden with new clothes. The variety was amazing- you had never seen so many different kinds of fabric in your life, or so many rich, vibrant colors. It was almost overwhelming.

“Is this all right?” you asked as the three of you left the shop. “It must have been expensive. I can try to pay you back-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Naerie said, waving her hand in your direction. “Temporary citizens get a small stipend to fund their lives here until they can get stabilized or off planet.”

“Oh.” You looked down at the clothes. “And you’re okay with me staying with you? I don’t want to be a bother. I-”

“I think it’s exciting!” Terraso cut in. “I’ve never really interacted with a human before.”

Naerie smiled warmly at him. “Terraso’s always been fascinated with aliens. And, regardless, we’re not the sort of people who throw those in need out on the street.” She gave a disdainful sniff, displaying her opinion of those sort of people.

The city glittered with glass spires as you headed out of the shopping district and into an area that smelled mouthwatering. “Want to get some lunch?” Terraso asked. His body bumped lightly against yours as he spoke. He had a habit of doing that, freely letting a hand rest on your side to pressing his shoulder against yours. You nearly jumped every time he touched you. The casual nature of it was surprising.

“I’m not hungry,” you said. “I had a lot for breakfast.” Not to mention that lunch was more of a holiday treat than something you ate every day.

“That was quite a few hours ago,” Naerie said. “You don’t eat much, do you?”

“I’m used to having only two meals a day,” you said, an edge of defensiveness creeping into your voice. Terraso and Naerie exchanged looks again.

In the end, Terraso convinced you to try some sort of fried plant that was apparently the city’s specialty. It was far richer and oilier than anything you’d ever eaten before, and you had to nibble it slowly. Terraso chattered amiably about the city- apparently he was something of an architect nerd and could list off a few interesting facts about most buildings, even the ones that didn’t look particularly impressive.

By the time you had returned home, you were exhausted, and your stomach was in revolt over the fried food. You spent most of the night hunched over their toilet while Naerie and Terraso alternately checked on you.

“I’m really sorry! I didn’t think it would make you sick,” Terraso said, tucking a blanket over your shoulders. You retched once more, bringing up thin bile. “I’ve seen humans eat that stuff before, so I just thought…”

“Maybe I’m allergic to it,” you suggested. Terraso made a chirruping noise of surprise.

“You weren’t gene treated for allergies as a kid?” he asked.

“Was I what?”

“Gene treated? You know, they do the histamine test and then they correct mast cells and…” He stared at your confused expression. “It’s standard medical procedure. Nobody gets sick or dies from allergies anymore.”

You shook your head. “We didn’t have it, I guess. I might not be allergic, anyway. I’ve never had anything like that before. Mostly, we had nutri-slurry.”

Terraso fussed with the edges of the blanket, twisting it between his hands as he tucked it around you again. “Did you grow up on a station in deep space?”

“Er.” You paused. “I grew up on a station.”

“You’re supposed to have one year planetside for every four years on the station. And more to eat than nutri-slurries.” Terraso’s tone was less scolding and more concerned. He gave you a look with his big, soft eyes. “Are you feeling any better? Less sick?”

“I’m okay,” you said. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

“Mm. I don’t believe you,” Terraso said. “You seem like one of those people who won’t admit to being sick even when you’re a fin’s thickness from death.”

“Being sick isn’t an excuse for missed work,” you mumbled. The memorized phrase jumped to your lips before you had time to even think about it. Terraso’s expression flickered for a moment before smoothing back to kindness.

“You don’t have any work to do right now, so why don’t you just rest?” Terraso curled his tail beneath him and smoothed the blanket between your shoulders. “Get some sleep. I’ll stay here.”

You were too weary to protest. Instead, you snuggled further under the blanket and closed your eyes. Even the twisting of your stomach wasn’t enough to keep you from the warm embrace of sleep.

Gradually, you settled into a sort of routine with your rescuers. You woke in the morning, ate breakfast, and Naerie would go to work. Then Terraso and you would take care of any household chores that needed doing. Given that there were two of you, it took much less time than usual, and Terraso would usually spend the rest of the day teaching you about the local culture. It was overwhelming at times, the level of variety that was present. So different from your home, it made your head spin.

As you got bolder with your questions, you noticed Naerie and Terraso exchanging looks more often. You just started calling it the Look in your head- you would say something about your home and they would give each other the Look. The Look usually meant the next few minutes would be full of awkward tension, while Naerie and Terraso circumnavigated the topic.

The first few times the Look occurred, it was strange. After that it quickly made its way to annoying, then straight up frustrating.

When they exchanged the Look after you spoke about the oddness of the local week-long festival, you put your foot down.

“If you think I haven’t noticed the two of you sneaking glances at each other every time I mention something from my home, you’re wrong,” you said. Terraso froze like a kid sneaking extra slurry. Naerie, on the other hand, seemed entirely unaffected. She put her utensils down and steepled her fingers, as best she could with webbed digits.

“We weren’t intending to keep anything from you,” she said. “But… ugh, I’m not going to dance around the reef anymore. Where exactly did you come from? You crashed here looking half starved, you usually refuse to discuss your old life, except cryptic, concerning details, and everything seems to suggest you crashed here on accident while running away from something. So. What were you running from?”

“I’m not a criminal,” you said. It came out far more defensive than you intended. Terraso sucked in a breath through his teeth and tried to play intermediary.

“We don’t think you’re a criminal! We don’t! That wasn’t what we were suggesting. We’re concerned, though,” he said, his voice softening. “We want to know that you’re safe. You don’t talk about your life before you came here. We’re just worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” Your voice was sharp, automatic. Defensiveness bristled all over you, like quills. “There is no reason to be concerned. I am still able to complete my duties.” Terraso blinked and he and Naerie exchanged the Look. “And stop doing that!”

“We didn’t mean to upset you. We’re only trying to look out for you.”

“I have been doing fine,” you said. “Please. Leave it.” Your voice shivered at the end. You swallowed. A shiver of fear rippled down your spine and dug into the pit of your stomach.

Terraso lifted his hands and spread his fins. “Hey,” he said, his voice lowering. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re all right.” He moved slowly toward you until he was within touching distance. Despite being close enough to hold you, he just extended his hands, like he was waiting for you to make the first move. “Breathe. Just breathe. You’re safe. I swear you’re safe here. Just wait for a moment until you come back to us. Okay?”

The soothing rise and fall of his tone relaxed something in the back of your brain. Your chest loosened and the trembling fear in your gut eased. Tentatively, you reached out and touched his hand. His fingers closed around yours, loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Naerie said. She was speaking in the same soothing register as Terraso, though she was somewhat less practiced at it. “I’m just worried. I want to know that you’re okay.”

Her voice was unbearably tender on the last word. Terraso’s thumb traced along the back of your knuckles. The combination of two, tiny, kind actions made something in you, something that had barely been holding steady all this time, crack.

Sobs shuddered through your chest. Terraso made a quiet cooing noise and you slumped blindly, fumblingly, into him. Naerie slipped around him to rest a gentle hand on your back. For several moments, they held you up as you cried.

Somehow, you weren’t entirely sure how, you ended up on the floor, cradled between Naerie and Terraso. One of Terraso’s cheeks rested on your head. Naerie was rubbing your back up and down in slow, loose circles. “Feeling better?” Terraso asked quietly.

“I think so,” you said. Despite the tension releasing in your chest, you couldn’t get your fingers to relax on Terraso’s arm. He didn’t mention it. “I- I know you’re worried.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Naerie said. “I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

“No. I know I should talk about it. It’s… not happy, though.” You took in a deep breath. Terraso nuzzled you comfortingly. “It’s… I spent most of my life on the Unification Centralized space station. My parents joined when I was two. It was supposed to be this… utopia, I guess. A self-sustaining space station. But it wasn’t that. Once you were on the station, you couldn’t leave, and you had to work for the greater good. They said that all the time. You needed to work for the greater good. If you weren’t working, if you got sick, it meant you weren’t strong enough, that there was something wrong with you. And that was life. You worked and you tried to keep on the good side of the leadership, and if you didn’t you were in trouble.”

Naerie was looking at you with a combination of worry and horror. You glanced toward her face, but you couldn’t maintain eye contact. “I… left. My little sister- she was born after my parents joined. She got sick. Really sick. They said that she was being… I don’t know, punished for something.” Tears stung at your eyes, but your emotions had become manageable enough to repress them. “She died. Because we weren’t allowed to get help for her. And I didn’t know where to go after that but I knew I couldn’t stay there.”

“So, you left,” Terraso said. “That must have been terrifying.”

“It wasn’t, really,” you said. “I mean, it was. But it all seemed really far away. I didn’t want to die, but I guess I figured that staying there was a death sentence anyway, so it didn’t matter. I just… I had to leave. I had to.”

There was silence for a few minutes. Terraso rested his head on your shoulder. Naerie’s arm lay across your shoulders. Their touch felt stabilizing, grounding, like it was what was pulling you to the planet, not the gravity.

“I’m sorry,” Naerie said. “I’m sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Thank you.” Your voice grated in your throat. You cleared it a few times.

“How did you come here?” Terraso asked. “Did you just pick a planet to go to at random?”

You snorted. “I didn’t even get that far. I just tried to go in a different direction from the space station as fast as I could. I used one of the little space hoppers, the ones that are only supposed to be used for short travels. They don’t have onboard navigation systems.”

“That was reckless,” Naerie said. “You could have died. You almost did die.”

You shrugged. “I know. Like I said, I wasn’t really all that focused on surviving. I just wanted to get away.”

Terraso hugged you. His tail swung up, loosely wrapping around your waist. Naerie petted your head absently, though her gaze was distant.

“Please focus on surviving now,” Terraso said. His voice came out soft enough that it was almost a murmur. “It’s… scary to hear you talk like that. Like you don’t care if you live or die.”

You brushed your hand along his head, prompting his fins to stand to attention. “It’s okay. I’m feeling better now. It’s easier, with you two here. Like I have something to live for.”

Naerie smiled at you. Her eyes softened, glittering with emotion in a way you’d only seen when she looked at Terraso. Something in your chest tightened and loosened in the same moment.

“I have a suggestion,” Naerie said. “You have never experienced anything like the festival before, have you?” You shook your head. Naerie smiled. “Well. Why don’t we go out? It will be a good experience for you to have fun.”

Terraso perked up, lifting his head off your shoulders. “Yes! We haven’t been to one of the festivals in so long and it’s so much better with someone who hasn’t been before! You’ll love it.” He straightened up, tail coiling and uncurling with enthusiasm. “Only if you want to go, of course,” he added, looking at you with uncertainty.

“I’ve never been to one before,” you said, “so I won’t know what it is you’re supposed to do…”

Terraso grabbed your hands, squeezing them in his. “You’re not supposed to do anything except have fun! It’ll be good, I promise! And if you’re not having a good time, we can just go home.”

“It’s true. There’s no reason we can’t come back if you aren’t enjoying yourself,” Naerie said. “I think you’d enjoy it. And I think I’d enjoy seeing you have fun.”

“Okay, okay. If you both are so excited, then we’ll go. I just need a minute to get ready-”

“Meet us outside in ten,” Naerie said. She slipped underwater with Terraso, presumably so they could both get ready themselves.

Ten minutes later, Naerie met you outside. She flicked her fins casually in the faint sunlight that filtered through the clouds. “Terraso will be along in a moment. He likes to dress up.”

“Dress up?” The concept of getting into fancy dress to go places was still a bit of a foreign concept to you. Everyone had worn the same uniform in your old home.

“He likes the festivals,” Naerie said. “You’ll see.”

Almost as soon as she’d finished speaking, Terraso emerged from the sea, squirming in excitement. His fins seemed a brighter shade of red than usual, though you weren’t sure if he was slightly flushed or if it was an effect of the bright gold piercings he’d applied. A few of them even had red, fluttering cloths attached to them, giving the impression that he had more fins than he did.

“Are we ready to go?” he asked. Naerie smiled, linking one of her arms through his. The way her eyes roved over his body almost made you blush.

“We were waiting on you.” She reached out and, to your surprise, linked her other arm through yours. You tried not to look too surprised. As strange as it was, you didn’t want to do anything that might make her let go.

The city was enveloped in brilliant lights when you arrived. Aliens and natives alike were out in the streets, laughing and talking and shouting amongst themselves. The air smelled of a hundred different things, all delicious. Stalls were set up all over the streets, most of them with various pieces of art or food or souvenirs for sale. A few of them seemed to be offering some sort of lessons in art or dance or other such things. It was almost immediately overwhelming. Not negatively overwhelming, but it took you a moment to process everything.

“You should decide what we do first,” Terraso said. He looked at you with bright, eager eyes. “See anything you like?”

“Er,” you said. There were a lot of things that looked interesting, but you couldn’t sort out what a lot of them were, much less what you would enjoy.

“Terraso,” Naerie said. “Why don’t you pick first? We’ve been here before, after all, so we should be guides.”

In the end, Terraso dragged you over to some sort of simple game that consisted of tossing small balls into several different containers. You tried a couple of times, but the game was a lot more difficult than it looked. After quite a few tries, Terraso managed to score enough points to receive a stuffed toy resembling one of the many eel-like creatures that lived in their oceans.

“Here!” He thrust it into your arms, smiling triumphantly. You blinked down at it, a little confused.

“I don’t need this?” you said. “You don’t even have stuffed animals in your house. Why were you so intent on winning it? I don’t even think it’s particularly well made.”

“That’s not the point!” Terraso said, still grinning broadly. “The point is winning! Especially winning something for someone else!”

“He loves those games,” Naerie said, leaning over to speak quietly in your ear. “He’ll spend all our money on those things if we let him.”

You looked down at the stuffed toy in your arms. It looked pretty wonky, honestly. “Why? You could probably buy one of these for pretty cheap. Why spend so much money to win it? There’s no point.”

Naerie smiled slightly, eyes glittering. “Of course there’s a point. It’s to have fun.”

Naerie ended up drawing you over to some art booths. There were some live demonstrations, even things like glass blowing. You were fascinated by the careful motions, the way the demonstrator was able to twist blazingly hot glass into delicate shapes. Apparently taking into account how fascinated you were, Naerie practically shoved you into the arena the instant the demonstrator asked for a volunteer.

The demonstrator was kind and gentle as he helped you through the moves. In the end, you had a small replica of an undersea plant. Apparently you had a knack for shaping glass and the demonstrator insisted that you have another lesson when you came to pick up the piece from him.

“Perhaps there’s an apprenticeship there for you,” Naerie said as you rejoined her and Terraso.

“An apprenticeship?” you repeated. It hadn’t been something you were considering.

“Just a suggestion,” Naerie said. “You seemed to enjoy it and he seemed like a good teacher. I was only thinking- you’ve been here for a while. Perhaps it’s time to start… setting down roots?”

Her voice was delicate, gentle, but you could feel the intensity behind both her and Terraso’s gazes. It was true- you’d been living with them for a while, but you hadn’t really made any preparations to fend for yourself. You’d just been sort of floating.

“It’s something to think about,” Naerie said, putting a soft hand on your arm. “You don’t need to think about it right now.”

Your stomach picked that moment to interrupt. Terraso burst into high-pitched giggles. You glared. “Maybe we should get something to eat,” he said. “Something that’s not too hard on your stomach.” You pulled a face. They’d never forgotten your incident after the fried food and, in all fairness, you couldn’t either. Your stomach had adjusted to some of the heavier fare, but you were still prodded to nausea by anything with too much grease.

Naerie ended up picking some kind of grilled plant matter skewered on a thin wooden stick. Terraso practically crawled over her back as she took the sticks from the vendor. “Here, here, take it,” she said, passing him the stick. He bit into it delightedly, tail wriggling. She offered you one as well and you bit into it tentatively.

The fruit was sweet and salty in equal measure, with just a bit of bitterness from the char. You practically ripped into it, eating it with a ravenous fervor. Within a minute, it was gone.

Naerie laughed. “We’ll have to get you some more of those,” she said. She held out her own stick. “Here. You can have a bit of mine, too.”

You paused. Naerie had already taken a few bites out of it, and she was holding it out to you like she was just expecting you to take a bite while she was holding it. Somehow, that idea came across as almost unbearably intimate. A flush started to creep up your face. Still, Naerie was looking at you with expectance. Maybe you were overreacting? And even if you weren’t… you wanted to. Slowly, you leaned forward and took a delicate bite of the sweet fruit.

Naerie smiled. “Good?” Her voice had taken on a melodic tone, one that made your blushing even worse. You nodded slowly.

“Good,” you said. Terraso smiled and winked at you over Naerie’s shoulder. You looked down at the ground, flustered. “Er. We should, er. Keep going, right?”

The rest of the night was spent wandering the festival, attending the booths and activities. There was more to experience than you’d ever seen before- rides and shows and games all in a riot of colors. At some point, Naerie had pressed alcohol into your hands and you’d started drinking. Terraso was in a similar drunken state, giggling and flopping around, his slithering unsteady.

When the three of you made it back home, all of you were tipsy, bordering on drunk. Naerie was the most sober, but that wasn’t necessarily saying much. She managed to get both you and Terraso in the door before she slumped against a wall, giggling faintly.

Terraso was wrapped around you like a scaly rope, tightening his grip every time you tried to wriggle free. His head was pressed into the side of your neck, fins tickling lightly against your skin.

“Tired,” he mumbled. “Go to bed.”

“You can go to bed, if you want, but you gotta let go!” you said.

“No!” Terraso nuzzled further into your neck. “I want to sleep with yooouuu.”

“I can’t sleep underwater. I’ll drown,” you reminded him.

“Then I’ll sleep up here,” he declared. He lifted his head from your neck and, with some effort, focused his attention on Naerie. “Come on! Come sleep with us!” He made grabby hands at her, then started giggling. “Ooh. Sleep together. Ha ha. We shooouuuld.”

The double entendre made your cheeks grow warm. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” you said, trying to gently pry him off of you. That only made him cling tighter.

“But Naerie said she wouldn’t miiind,” Terraso said. He tilted his head, hanging off of you so he was looking at Naerie upside down. “Right? You said you wouldn’t miiiiiiind, Naerie.” He looped his arms tighter around your neck. “You’re so nice and pretty.” He hiccupped. “And- and- I love yooouuu.” His face was almost completely buried in your neck, muffling his voice. “I love you and Naerie and I wanna be with both of you! Naerie agrees!”

You looked up at Naerie. She was staring at you with wide eyes. It was hard to tell with her species, but you were pretty sure she was blushing. “He’s very drunk,” she said apologetically. “He tends to be, er. Very open when he has too much.” She held her hands out. “Here, I can take him and make sure he gets to bed okay.”

“Noooo!” Terraso wailed. He wrapped around you as tightly as he could. “Not goin’ anywhere!”

Perhaps you also had gotten a little tipsy, because you were feeling unusually bold. “I don’t mind,” you said. “If he wants to stay with me, that’s fine. He can sleep in my bed tonight.”

“Yay!” Terraso mumbled from his position against your shoulder. Naerie seemed conflicted, but she helped you and Terraso into bed. Despite how awkward it made things, Terraso was very insistent on not letting go of you at all.

“What he was talking about before,” you said as Naerie helped you into bed. “That stuff he said, about…”

“About the sleeping with you?” Naerie asked. She sounded unusually unsteady. “Yes. It was. I’m sure he wouldn’t have said anything if the drink hadn’t rendered him completely senseless.” Despite her words, her tone was affectionate. “We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t,” you said hurriedly. Terraso moaned and somehow managed to snuggle closer to you. “I like you. Both of you. You’re the first people who’ve ever been really nice to me. And you’re both so sweet and Terraso’s funny and you’re so caring- I don’t think I could ever find anyone better.”

“I was hesitant to approach you about it,” Naerie said in a slow, uncertain voice. “I didn’t want to make you feel pressured to be in a relationship with us because we’re the ones helping you. But we… have discussed it. Polyamorous relationships are fairly common among our species. We’ve been interested.”

“I’ve never had any kind of relationship before,” you said. “Not a romantic one, anyway. So I’ll be a little new to this. If you’re still okay with going through with this?”

Naerie smiled and leaned closer to you. One of her hands lingers on your face. “I think I would be interested in teaching you. And I’m certain you couldn’t drag Terraso away with wild therians.”

“It’s true,” Terraso mumbled into your shoulder.

Something in your stomach fluttered. “If- if you’re sure, then.”

Naerie smiled. “I could not be more sure,” she said. She leaned in, then paused, your faces less than an inch apart. You realized she was waiting for you to make the next move. It took you a moment to steel your confidence, then you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers.

The kiss was clumsy and uncertain, but it managed to be good nonetheless. When you broke apart again, you were giggling giddily.

“Perhaps you need practice,” Naerie said, a faint smile playing with her mouth.

“I’ll help,” Terraso declared. He pressed a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth. Naerie laughed, easing him off of you and into bed. His tail wrapped around your leg insistently, though, and there was no way you would be able to pry it off.

“I suppose we’re staying up here tonight,” Naerie said. Terraso nuzzled into your side with a happy sigh. Naerie smiled. “He’s happy, at least.”

“I’m happy too,” you said. Naerie looked up at you, eyes soft with affection.

“Yes. I am too.”

#exophilia #monster lover #mermay #mermaid #alien #merman #mermay2021 #alien lover #polyamory

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 5 years ago

Text

“You make me call your name

Now I gotta have one more taste

One shot of your whiskey kisses all on my lips

I keep coming right back.”

- Whiskey Kisses, Mic Lowry

A/N: hello :D this one shot was intended to just be a blurb of bartender!harry teaching the mc how do body shots (thank you to the lovely anons that suggested the prompt) but then it spiraled and now here we are with a full-on piece! I hadn’t written true, start-to-finish smut in a while and figured it was time for some filth 😌 hope you enjoy!

masterlist : ask : bartender!harry tag

word count: 10.5k

content: friends with benefits, flirty pest!harry, teasing, fingering, and oral baybeeee

preview:

“So,” Harry clears his throat with a light cough, his other hand coming out from behind the hidden scenes with a large lime cradled at its center, “there’s two ways of doing body shots.”

He places down the lime, expertly halving it down the center and then quartering it in another swift cut, leaving the fruit in four even wedges. He wipes the knife off with a dish rag, twisting around to chuck it in the dirty dish tub behind him. He picks up one of the slices between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up proudly for emphasis. “There’s the disgusting college frat party version of body shots, and then there’s the proper adult version.”

Harry’s nose crinkles in distaste as an afterthought, his next sentence clarifying. “We’re doing the latter because personally, I think it’s gross to drink anything out of someone’s belly button.”

A small, feathery laugh escapes Y/N, her teeth then digging into her bottom lip to keep her jitters in check. “Whatever you say, you’re the professional.”

Harry gifts her a satisfied smirk at the minute stroke at his ego. “Good girl— that’s what I like to hear.”

The phrase was said with nonchalant humourous intentions, but it makes the pit of her stomach tighten nonetheless. She can’t keep it at bay, not when she’s heard those same two words come from him under very different contexts— not when he’s panted them into her mouth in such a desperate, needy way, eager tongue lulling across the inside of her top lip as his long fingers had marked bruises along her jaw, hips roughly meeting her sore inner thighs.

It’s ingrained in her head and she can never disconnect it and she has a feeling Harry recognizes that, which gives him all the more reason to bring up such matters as often as possible just to fuck with her.

And he truly is well aware of the effect it has. He damn well knows the way it disorients her when he offhandedly uses pet names and remarks that have made appearances during their sexual encounters; he knows the way it revs her and it amuses him more than anything to see her fidget and fumble to keep composure. He adores having that influence over her and he thrives on wielding it to his advantage.

Y/N swallows down her nerves, feeling them lodge in her throat and refuse to go down. The way he slowly bats his lashes at her suggestively doesn’t help at all.

Harry reaches across the bar, hovering the lime wedge over her face. He taps it gently against the center of her lips, the acidic juice rubbing off and making her skin tingle. “Open up for me, yeah?”

Y/N’s lips part on command and Harry can’t stop the pompous hum that runs along the back of his throat. “Always so willing, aren’t you?”

or Harry teaches Y/N how to do body shots but lime juice isn’t the only thing that ends up dripping down his chin.

///

“I can’t believe you’ve never done body shots before.”

“It’s just never come up!”

Harry snorts in mild, disbelieving amusement, the still atmosphere of the room staining with the sound of his multiple rings clacking softly against tempered glass.

He takes a firm grip around the neck of a Casamigos tequila bottle, dismounting it from its signature spot on the center shelf of the liquor wall, turning back around to face Y/N. He sets the alcohol container down on the waxed wooden surface of his work station, absentmindedly rummaging through one of the clean equipment tubs stored beneath it.

She can’t help the way her lips twitch fondly at the obvious cinch between his thick brows, his mouth slightly down-turned in a pensive pout as he fishes for something out of sight.

Harry comes up fruitful, a black metal pour spout glitzing dully under the muted lights of the closed bar. He unscrews the cap from the tequila jug, carefully fitting the accessory into the neck and turning it tight for good measure. He taps his fingers triumphantly against the crystal clear glass, rings once again filling the empty space with chimes.

Harry’s gaze locks with Y/N’s, brows shrugging in a playfully expectant manner, one corner of his soft lips flicking upwards with sly mischief. “Get up on the counter.”

She rests her chin in the palm of her hand, elbow propped casually on the tabletop to support the weight. She snorts dismissively, shaking her head a tad. “I don’t think so.”

He points at Y/N scoldingly with the tip of the spout, both brows jerking upwards in a deadpan expression. “You’re absolutely fucked in the head if you thought you were gonna confess to a bartender that you’ve never done body shots and leave without doing some. Now hop off it and get up on the counter.”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, slumping her shoulders with begrudged annoyance. “No.”

Harry stares at her for a second, reading her body language carefully— the pads of her fingers tapping jestingly against her cheekbone, the tiny crooked grin curling her delicate lips, the way her eyes are half-lidded in amusement, and the taunting rebellious sheen glinting across the glossy surface of her irises. She’s not refusing due to comfortability reasons; she’s refusing in order to purposefully get on his nerves.

He’s not surprised— pushing his buttons is one of her favorite hobbies, usually because the flirtatious teasing and joking defiance spurs into another one of her favorite pastimes: Harry thrusting between her legs.

It’s obvious now that she’s being a pest to get a rise out of him and he’s more than willing to give it to her. Too willing, if he knows what’s good for him, but he can’t ever seem to resist her— can’t resist how much he loves the way she tugs at his strings so effortlessly.

Harry releases his grasp around the long neck of the liquor bottle, setting his palms flat against the smooth red oak of the pub table. He teeters forward on his hands, ducking down until his line of vision is level with Y/N’s, so close to her face their noses unintentionally brush. The distance separating them is nearly nonexistent, so slim that she’s enveloped in a sphere of his intoxicatingly delicious scent as it wafts up from his flexing neck, tingling her nostrils with notes of ocean salt, cedar wood, and vague whiffs of the fresh linen candle that is continuously alight in his flat.

He shackles her into place with unwavering eye contact, the darkened emerald hue around his pupils gleaming challengingly as his fluffy, shiny curls frame his strong jaw so beautifully it’s likely considered sinful. The white tee he’s sporting strains against his broad chest, the blocky, baby blue Enjoy health! Eat Your Honey! text stretching across his pectoral muscles, the doodle of a smiling bumble bee tempting her with the message’s double-meaning. She hates that she can see his nipples printing through the sheer cotton fabric.

The warm breath of Harry’s words scorches her barely trembling lips, his lashes dusting the tops of his high cheekbones with a sultry, domineering air. His accented voice is thick and dark as the syrup he mixes into his cocktails, low in sound but heavy in impact.

“Get on your fucking back or I’ll stretch you out over the counter myself.”

Y/N decides it's in her best interest to oblige.

She currently lays flat across the sleek counter, her hands folded across her tummy, digits tapping nervously at her abdomen.

Harry is off to the side, retrieving a few other ingredients that seem to be necessary for what they’re about to engage in. She sees him shuffling about through her peripheral vision, glancing up at her sparsely and she can just make out the way his lips are cracked into a shit-eating grin at how easily he’d managed to set her in place.

She turns her head to face him fully, cheek pressing along the cold surface below her and causing her spine to involuntarily shiver. Her toes curl in her checkered sneakers as she anxiously waits for him to speak up, watching as he pulls out a black paring knife from below the edge of his bartending station.

“So,” Harry clears his throat with a light cough, his other hand coming out from behind the hidden scenes with a large lime cradled at its center, “there’s two ways of doing body shots.”

A small, feathery laugh escapes Y/N, her teeth then digging into her bottom lip to keep her jitters in check. “Whatever you say, you’re the professional.”

Harry gifts her a satisfied smirk at the minute stroke at his ego. “Good girl— that’s what I like to hear.”

Y/N swallows down her nerves, feeling them lodge in her throat and refuse to go down. The way he slowly bats his lashes at her suggestively doesn’t help at all.

Y/N’s lips part on command and Harry can’t stop the pompous hum that runs along the back of his throat. “Always so willing, aren’t you?”

She glowers at him from the side, her grumble strained and therefore lacking any real mass. “Shut up.”

He coos with exaggerated fondness, attempting to stifle an arrogant smirk. “I’m just happy to be your first time, s’all.”

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“And yet you always end up in my bed. Funny how that works, innit?”

The tendon along Y/N’s jaw visibly tenses and Harry snickers to himself as he fits the fruit slice between her teeth, the peel facing inwards so that the part he actually needs is accessible. He then slides a bit further down the counter until he’s standing right beside her resting hips.

He goes to lift her olive green knitted sweater, pausing for a second right at the hem. His fingers twitch excitedly as he glances up at her for permission, craving the rush that comes with absorbing her body heat. “Can I?”

Y/N jerks her chin once in a nod, teeth biting down harder onto the lime wedge when she feels his cold digits brush along her sensitive belly.

Harry pushes her jumper upwards, bunching it up just under her bust. He can see how anxious she is from the way her lower stomach jolts.

His hand grabs something off to the edge of her scope and when it comes into focus, she sees its a metal salt shaker. He suspends it a few centimeters over her body, tapping out a line of salt that starts just above her navel and ends halfway up her stomach. She does her best not to move; the last thing she wants to do is make a mess over Harry’s freshly swept floorboards.

He sets down the container, snatching a tiny transparent red glass from one of the decorative drying racks, flipping it rightside up onto the table and laxly pouring out a tequila shot.

“This is the right way to do it. Pay attention ‘cause I’m only teaching you once.” His light-hearted tone eases some of the gnawing in her bones.

Harry bends down, the warm air that puffs from his mouth hitting the bare skin above her belly button and Y/N suddenly anticipates the feeling of his hot lips running across her tummy.

Her entire body begins to quake, overwhelmed by the flurry of sensations. The trembling is hard enough that Harry notices, eyes flicking up to meet her’s, brows furrowed in a teasing chastising fashion. “I can’t do this unless you stay still, Road Runner.”

Y/N has a difficult time talking over the citrus slice in her mouth, her words muffled but understandable enough. “Sorry— don’t know why I’m shaking but...but I can't stop.”

One of Harry’s hands squeezes her outer thigh reassuringly. “I’ve had my lips on you in way more intimate places than this. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

Y/N sputters into a round of nervous giggles. “Fuck off.”

Harry gives her a disciplinary look full of faux sternness, trying to defuse the tension with some comedic relief. “Stop shaking or I’ll have to hold you down.”

“Guess you’re gonna have to hold me down, then.” She quips back, kinking her eyebrows with attitude.

What Harry does next she really wasn’t expecting at all.

She’d figured he would pin her hips down against the counter to keep her still, but instead Harry coasts a palm up the center of her barely-clothed chest, fingers wrapping securely around her throat.

She nearly inhales the lime wedge.

The pads of his digits squeeze her jugular with just enough strength to jar her system into reboot, her whole body going deadly still in his dominant grasp. He presses the back of her neck down against the cold wood, coaxing her back to straighten out properly so she doesn’t start quivering again. The whole situation is utterly erotic and Harry knows it. The feeling of her pretty throat straining against his palm is all too familiar— they’d been in the same position not even three nights ago, though it had been on the floor of his bedroom and they'd both been wearing way less clothes.

Harry was confident this would get her in line easily. The shock factor of such a bold, brazen move all out of the blue was bound to distract her enough to rid anything else from her mind, including the anxiety. The image it sketched was just a plus: Y/N staring at him all doe-eyed over the tops of her dewy cheeks, lashes fluttering with that needy innocent aura that makes the underside of his balls ache. It’s the same look she gets when she’s spread out across his sheets, clawing at the sides of his torso and pulling him deeper inside, begging for him to go harder.

She had instinctively choked out a teeny whimper the second she felt his hand enclosing around her throat and he’s ashamed to admit his knees had buckled. It had been such a sweet, melodic sound and the fact that he had drawn it out of her so easily was threatening to pop a stiffy into his flared corduroy pants. Not to mention how good the contrast of his lilac polished nails looks against her supple skin, which seems to be glowing in the dim, bourbon-tinted lighting.

Harry licks over his mouth slowly, bottom teeth tugging at his upper lip. When he speaks, it’s soft and deep, stirring the gravel in his chest. “Better?”

Y/N boggles her head in a jerky nod, eyes flickering down to where her stomach is permanently clenched due to the heavy atmosphere of the room.

“Alright, then.”

He leans down once again, glimpsing at her one last time before he makes contact with the plush mound of her stomach.

Harry’s tongue feels warm and textured as it slides upwards over the salt trail, the wet sensation sending her nerves into a numbed frenzy, a certain prickling washing across her scalp and pinching at the shells of her ears.

Y/N drinks up the picture before her like a tall glass of fine wine, her mind absorbing every detail with crisp awareness.

Harry’s messy auburn ringlets fall across his face due to his angle, the silky locks kissing across his prominent jaw and structured cheekbones. His lashes drop over his eyes in a euphoric stupor, faint pulses of white hot energy traveling across Y/N’s flesh and fizzing every cell of his. The salt burns the damp skin of his mouth, grating against his tongue as he works his way up as slowly as possible, refusing to surrender the sweet taste of the delicate skin that undercuts the bitterness of the ingredient.

Y/N’s hand acts of its own accord, fingers prying away from clutching onto the edge of the counter and trading it for Harry’s roots. Her grip cards into the hair along the nape of his neck, following the curve of his skull right behind his small ear.

The area is one of many sensitive spots she’s become accustomed to toying with since they had developed their unlabeled relationship; the vaguely sensual manner of this entire exchange has her unintentionally falling back on muscle memory.

Harry’s actions pause for an elongated second, the broad expanse of his back visibly contracting under the fabric hugging his torso. His tongue leaves her body— much to her pining disapproval— as a small needy hiss escapes his swollen lips, accompanied by a breathy weak sigh through his nose. “Fuck…”

It’s a sound she’d had the pleasure of hearing before, usually when he was getting close and would try to hold off for the sake of dragging everything out. It’s desperate, it tremors, and it packs a punch like nothing else; it means he’s getting into his head about how she’s making him feel and there’s nothing hotter than watching him space out from how much bliss he’s drawing from her— from this. From something as simple as touching his mouth to her skin.

Her thighs tighten together, the area between them growing uncomfortably warm. She wills her hold to ease up and nearly blacks out when he cradles his head into her palm, silently pleading with her to not completely pull away.

Y/N croaks out an apology for her sudden harsh behavior, bottom lip wobbling as his eyes list upwards to meet her own and she notices his pupils are blown way out of proportion. “S-Sorry. Force of habit.”

His head gives a choppy shake within her frail grip, teeth worrying the inside of his cheek. His voice comes out as an airy, intense whisper, almost as if what he’s about to utter next is something so private not even their shadows should be allowed to hear it.

“Don’t be sorry, minx. Was praying you would. You know how much I love it when you’re rough with me.”

With that last comment leaving her embarrassingly breathless, Harry sticks his tongue back out and laps up at the last couple of granules of salt left on her stomach, planting a sloppy, delicate kiss along the crest of her belly button for good measure.

The way she gasps lightly strokes at his ego, a coy simper bracing against her tense tummy. Y/N holds in her next exhale to avoid giving him the satisfaction of gloating, trying her best to diffuse the bristling at the ends of her fingers and across her slightly damp cheeks.

Harry proceeds to sponge his warm, cushiony lips to the different pressure points he, too, has grown extremely familiar with, talking in between each stop on his trek.

He travels up the extent of her belly and across the center of her chest over her jumper, his words heavy and sticky. “Y’know I can tell when you’re holding out on me, right?”

He pools wet, tender pecks into the groove of her throat and onto the curve of her strained neck, finally reaching her face and gently bumping his nose against her chin, a stipple of his mouth chasing the gesture. He murmurs his thoughts in a low tone, brushing the pads of his fingers across her jaw and trailing underneath in such a sweet, admiring manner. He wanders upwards and halts right where her bottom lip curves the deepest, gluing one more light, lingering kiss to her cupid’s bow as the grip around her throat tightens just a hair. “And you know I’m more than capable of coaxing it out of you.”

The hand that is wound into his velvet curls falls limply down the side of his tanned neck, coasting across the strong build of his shoulder and down to rest flat against his slightly heaving chest, nestled between both of his pecs, the joints of her digits vibrating with his gradually swelling heartbeat.

Harry’s nose grazes over hers as he takes the lime slice from between her teeth, juice spurting and streaming out the edges of her mouth as a result. She instinctively licks across her itching skin, just barely skimming Harry’s lips as he pulls away with the fruit wedge in his mouth. She can feel the way his pulse jumps against his ribs just before her hand slips away due to the distance; it leaves her wondering if he had felt her own thundering against the palm he’d had around her jugular.

Harry grasps the halve between his index finger and thumb, fervently draining it as quickly as possible to get the tough part out of the way, tossing it into an unseen bin. His nose scrunches up at the sour, pungent taste, the buttoned tip twitching as one of his canopy green eyes squeezes shut, head ruffling in a sharp shake as if to regain his bearings. She can feel her stinging lips jerk with the beginnings of a fond smile at the way his loosely structured ringlets bounce to his motions.

Harry talks through a full mouth, hand fumbling for the sleekness of the shot glass. “Fucking hell, that’s the worst of it.”

He finds it when his knuckles accidentally knock across the rim, digits wrapping around the small cup securely and jetting it up towards his face while blindly aiming for the general vicinity of his mouth, hoping to get rid of the bitterness coating the underside of his tongue. He pounds it back without a hitch, Adam’s Apple bobbing grandly as the liquor sears its way down the back of his throat, accompanied by its accessory ingredients. Harry slams the stout glass down onto the counter, mouth pursing and both eyes screwing shut as the curdling aftertaste fades into a dull throb that froths the pit of his stomach with a recognizable warmth.

“You would think you’d be able to handle your alcohol better, being a bartender and all.”

Harry’s eyes fly open at the coy remark that tinges the chilled air of the bar, vision zeroing in on its source as she lays across the wooden table with her sweater smoothed back into place, her intertwined hands resting calmly along the dip of her navel, and her enticing lips curled into a mildly condescending smirk.

His brows jump up daringly at Y/N’s dig as he sets down the crystalline cup, quietly clearing his throat to make sure his voice doesn’t crack. He lewdly circles the tip of his forefinger around the hem of the glass once, twice, and then a third time before finally speaking up. “Someone’s being a fucking brat tonight, hm?”

Y/N’s eyebrows mimic Harry’s, her expression slathered in fake cluelessness, though the corners of her mouth betray her with smug glee. “Who, me? I would never, I’m an absolute dream!”

He pushes the glass as far away as possible— he wants to avoid it falling victim to what their conversation is insinuating. “A filthy wet one, at that.”

Y/N’s knuckles whiten as her grip intensifies, her lashes blinking sluggishly. “Is that so?”

Harry leans down, the hairs along his skin standing up as his forearms make contact with the cold surface of the table. He slinks his head to the side, continuing to dance around the subject they both know this talk is unmistakably leading towards. “Very much so.”

“So was that your plan all along, then? To get your mouth on me just to be a pest about it afterwards?”

He bites into the pad of his thumb to muffle a chuckle, irises twinkling like sea glass, framed by his perfectly sculpted, jokingly furrowed brows. His words are unapologetically blunt, biceps rippling against the flimsy sleeves of his tee as he shifts his weight, pastel yellow Vans squeaking against the polished oak ground. “It truly wasn’t my intention, love. But then you let out that pretty little moan and yanked at my hair so hard I saw stars and, well...quite frankly, I can’t let you get away with that, now can I?”

Y/N swallows heavily, drinking up a deep inhale to replace the oxygen Harry has robbed from her— the way he’s knowingly twisting the rusty golden H ring around his middle finger is doing her in.

Her voice lodges in her lungs, the result being a docile, needy tone and the aching between her legs is too much for her to even attempt to mask it. “What do you want from me, then?”

Harry stops turning his ring, instead walking his first two digits over her hip, picking at the button on her jeans mockingly and scoffing in dark amusement when she squirms. “Beg me for it.”

The word slips past her lips all wispy and eager with no remorse or shame whatsoever. “Please.”

Harry pops the metal clasp of her jeans open, smiling deviously around the thumb between his teeth. “Again.”

Y/N puts more emotion into it, trying to convey how much she wants him so he’ll quit this annoying charade. “Please, Harry.”

He folds the flaps of her pants outwards, slowly tugging down the zipper and purring in pleasant surprise when he sees she’s sporting the pair of maroon lace panties he adores so much. “Please what?”

“Please—” She chokes up as she watches him flirt ominously with the tiny bow on the waistband of her painties. “Please touch me.”

Harry hooks his finger into the dainty material of the undies and pulls it back from her abdomen; the potential of the band snapping down onto her skin has her eyes watering. The pastel purple lacquer on his nail glints teasingly while a demand drips from his lips, thick and leisurely as his sight flickers sideways for a barely existent moment, interested in what lays below her undergarment. “Touch you how?”

Y/N’s self-control is wearing critically thin and it’s taking every fiber of her being not to pounce on him this instant. Instead, both of her hands snap around his wrist, the beaded bracelet he’s sporting stamping into her palm. She clings to him like a vine, guiding his fingers below her panties, lungs stuttering as his icey, chunky rings catch on the hood of her clit. Her voice is dry and uneven as she arches her hips just a tad against his cupped fingers. “Like this�� touch me like this.”

Harry stays completely still for a few suspenseful heartbeats, staring at her with the colors around his pupils kaleidoscoping with different hues of muted sage and bright rosemary, the amber specks shimmering with silent power. Then, his hand begins to move, the pads of his digits lulling lazily against her core, bolts of bliss shooting up her spine.

Y/N breaks their cemented gazes, watching in a starved haze at the way his knuckles and jewelry tent the flimsy lace of her underwear as his large hand bobs between her parted thighs. She can feel how wet she is— can feel how it coats his skin and makes his touch glide over her with ease. She can see the way his forearm flexes with effort, bent on infusing pleasure into every crevice of her body until she’s left breathless and quaking. Veins carve their way under his smooth, inked skin, shifting and bulging beneath the intricate rose tattoo and creasing the portrait of the nude mermaid she so strangely fancies.

Harry removes the thumb of his free hand from between his teeth, bite marks indented into the soft tissue from how hard he was working on keeping himself together. He caringly tucks a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear, his chaste demeanor heavily contrasting the vulgar scene unfolding a foot away.

This juxtaposition of tenderness and eroticism is so typical of him when it comes to sex and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t live off it. The polarity between his gentle, soothing personality and the absolute filth of his sex habits constantly keeps her on her toes, excited to see what comes next and restless to take whatever he has to offer. There was never a boring moment with Harry and she never felt like her desires went unattended; he always gives her exactly what she craves— both the sweet and the sour.

It’s similar to the incredible drinks he’s so well-known for: an even ratio of top shelf ingredients kept at a perfect balance, mixed thoughtfully to provide a signature cocktail that keeps her coming back for more.

The tang was evident in the way Harry would bend her over the back of his couch, tainting dark bruises onto her hips as he would work himself inside her, gasping broken curses into the shell of her hot ear and grunting at her to continue pushing back against him. It’s in how he would decorate handprints across her ass whenever she’d slow down even the slightest, giving a relentless yank at her roots and scratching down the center of her spine until her back would arch obediently. The honey was in how he would then contradict his dominance by planting a gentle kiss to the back of her tense shoulder and to the nape of her sweaty neck, following the gesture with a tight, bashful mumble of, “God, please don’t fucking stop. You feel too fucking good for this to stop.”

The bite of the liquor was in how Harry was willing to drag her up the metal and glass staircase to his loft during the busy hours of a Saturday evening, shoving her flat across the expanse of his kitchen island and ripping his tee over his head. It’s in how he would stuff the shirt in her mouth to stifle the screams he was hell-bent on weaning out of her, all because he had a full pub just one floor below but he didn’t give a single fuck; he just had to feel her stretching, writhing, and pleading under him. The toothache of the syrup was present in how just before he’d stuff her to the brim, he’d dapple his lips to the tip of her heated nose in a quiet instance of reassurance, accompanied by a teeny boyish smile that would hold more warmth than all the rays of the sun.

The acidity of the lime was prominent in how Harry would tug her into his lap and slam her down against his thighs, hooded eyes electric with greedy satisfaction at watching her mewl and quiver with every deep stroke she’d take of his cock, the bottom of her tummy bulging from its girth and length. It’s in the manner in which he’d snake one arm taut around her love-bite tattooed waist, the hand of the other weighing its first two digits heavy on her tongue until she’d gag and whine. The agave nectar undercurrent in tequila was distinguishable in how after they had both dismounted their highs and she had collapsed into his chest, dripping down her thighs and onto the sheets, he would nurse her jaw with the palm of his hand, thumbing over her swollen bottom lip with dreamy affection clouding his dim green irises. He would kiss at the top of her matted hair, tracing her water-beaded hairline with the bridge of his nose and cooing out a compassionate, “Did so good for me, pet. You always do so good.”

Their relationship was sweet and it was sour and it was beyond anything she could’ve ever hoped for or expected. It was definitely beyond what Y/N had expected when she’d set foot in the bar all those weeks ago, tagging along with a friend simply to appease their insistent request, hiding herself in the booth farthest from the thick of the ruckus to make herself as invisible as possible. Bars weren’t necessarily her scene; she’d rather people-watch than throw herself into the middle of a throng of half-conscious, sweaty bodies. She hadn’t expected that the lanky, built, incredibly attractive bartender with an eclectic fashion sense would even notice her, let alone clamber up onto the bar and yell across the room, singling her out as the chosen candidate for the nightly round of complimentary shots.

She hadn’t expected they’d hit it off so well either, mostly because she had harbored a few traces of resentment towards him for forcing her out of the safety provided by her sequestered nook, and also because he had the most stupidly infuriating gorgeous smile she had ever seen— it was authentic, inviting, and it gave her an odd sense of soothing familiarity, which was unsettling considering he was a complete and total stranger. She hadn’t expected he would stir up jitters in her stomach, but after getting a spoonful of his personality, it seemed to be inevitable. He was sarcastic and giddy, full of inappropriate jokes and endless bundles of heart-fluttering giggles; when he engaged with her, he made her the epicenter of his world, which was so rare to find in people these days considering there was always somewhere to be or something else to do other than entertain some random person that was nothing more than a customer.

But no, he gave her his full and undivided attention, listening to every word that rambled out of her mouth as he propped himself onto the counter on his elbows, chin resting on his knuckles with a delicate, encouraging aura highlighting the edges of his rosy mouth. Harry kept up with the conversation without a catch and returned her energy and enthusiasm tenfold. He remembered small details of the stories she was sharing and actually laughed at all her jokes, despite the fact that half of them came out as a jumbled mess; the way his emerald eyes were sparkling under the starburst design lights hanging above-head was fucking with her ability to form coherent sentences.

Talking with him felt like stepping out into the sun on a canvas-worthy spring afternoon, the warmth of the heat waves running its fingertips along her bare arms and absorbing into her skin, making her bones ache in the best way imaginable. Making him smile felt like the shy caress of a faint draft, the wind smelling of honeysuckle as it wove its way between the ruffles of her clothing and skidded over the apples of her cheeks. Hearing his laughter was the equivalent of sitting in a field of grass, the ground warm under her touch, the blades silky between the creases of her fingers. It was buoyant, loud, and admiringly bold— it lacked the insecurity that tended to hold others back from fully enjoying themselves, scared of looking weird or making an unpleasant noise that might garner them disapproving looks. Harry laughed with his entire gut, a hand resting on his stomach as if to keep himself from bursting open, the ends of his eyes wrinkling and his two blocky front teeth showing. The tip of his nose would even twitch some, which was probably the most peculiar aspect of it all, yet it easily became her favorite mannerism of his.

She was taken by him from the get-go and it’s almost pathetic how fast he’d had her wrapped around his pinky.

Y/N hadn’t expected to feel like that around Harry and she had used the vodka shots as an excuse for her overdramatic thoughts, but there was a frayed wire in her mind that had continued to spark for the remainder of that night, wondering how it was possible to connect with someone so effortlessly and provoke such chemistry so soon.

However, what Y/N hadn’t expected in even the slightest was ending up perched on top of the sticky wooden counter after the bar had closed, her arms wrapped around Harry’s strong shoulders as his hips had rocked between her naked thighs. She’d caught his tiny gold hoop earring between her teeth while she poured cracked moans into the dip of his ear, his tongue stifling the burn of the bite marks he was scattering along the underside of her clenched jaw, the low rumble of his accented voice— dense from the liquor— urging the heels of her shoes harder into the backs of his thick thighs.

“Been wanting to taste your lips all fucking night.”

One night stands were few and rare for her before that blurry, alcohol-induced detour. They were risky, unpredictable, and a right plague to leave behind the following morning— an hour or so of fun just didn’t seem to be worth the probable cost. But with Harry, it was like she was sold on the idea before it had even been an offer. He’d had a mesmerizing pull about him that left her wanting to get to know him better in every context humanly available, whether it be physical or emotional. He had puppeted his pretty face and boyish charm without issue and she had been in over her head long before she’d even realized she was sinking.

What made it that much more appealing was that he wasn’t even trying— he was just being himself. The flirty yet non-overbearing, cheeky yet respectful persona he displayed wasn’t a display at all, it was just who he was and that innocent legitimacy is what propelled her to button their lips together the second he had made a move.

A hesitant bundle of pecks had turned into a deeper, hungrier round of kissing that had been speckled with half-suppressed whimpers. It had then morphed into Y/N clumsily crawling over the counter and toppling into his awaiting arms, her whole body buzzing as he had giggled into her mouth between heavy breaths and feverish whines.

The sloppy make out session had led to her fumbling with the leather belt around his slender hips as he had peeled her jeans down to her knees, his forehead falling against hers while he chewed his lower lip raw with impatience. It hadn’t been too long before he had moved her panties to the side with a tug of his index finger, her palm groping him shyly through his trousers and earning a soft, throaty, “Proper tease, aren’t you?” and then Harry was dipping inside her with a hiss streaming past the cracks of his gritted teeth. The drinks in their systems had acted as kerosine, setting every nerve alight as their bodies molded to one another’s quirks and customs, finding much-needed comfort in learning what made the other tick. She can’t recall how long it had lasted— she had been too lost in his company to care about the hands of the aged bar clock on the wall. When he had finally spilled inside her, it felt like forever and too soon all at once. Y/N had fallen apart right in his arms as the flat of his tongue tended to her racing pulse, blurbs of incoherent praise scraping across the roof of her mouth.

And now here they are, after what feels like decades later, on the very same tabletop that had christened their “no strings attached” relationship in the first place. And here Harry is, lovingly petting at her hair while his fingers work her towards utterly ruining her underwear, his intensely colored eyes reading every jolt of her features like the pages of an immersive novel. And here Y/N is, working her hips to match his rhythm, teeth cutting along the inside of her bottom lip as tight exhales falter past her nostrils.

She tilts her chin up, the back of her skull skidding against the counter, every dent and notch in the wood catching on her scalp and helping anchor her back down to reality. Her head halts when the blots of bronze in Harry’s irises come into view.

His defined features have softened into an expression of doting awe, sculpted brows relaxed with endeared curiosity as his usually prominent cheekbones take on a softer appearance, crimson lips slightly agape. He’s studying her closely, basking in how she responds to his actions and using her body language as a cue. He continues to nuzzle at the baby hairs along her damp forehead, eyes flitting across different points of her face, waiting for her to give him any sign as to what he should do next.

Y/N wills one of her hands to untie from around Harry’s lazily flicking wrist, trembling fingers climbing up to tether around the pearl necklace laying daintily within the dip of his collarbones. The beads are ice cold to the touch as she knots them around her knuckles, her sight sewn to his lips.

The infatuation she carries for them is sad, really. Y/N thinks he has the most beautiful pair she’s ever seen, the softest she’s ever tasted, and definitely the most skilled she’s ever felt. She could gawk at them forever if time allowed, following every ridge, curve, and peak, idolizing all the different shades of pink that are never quite the same.

But lips weren’t created for the purpose of just being seen— not when there’s so many better uses.

Y/N gives the necklace a signifying tug as a quiet, vulnerable mutter betrays her, her interest still plastered to his swollen mouth. “Kiss me.”

Harry swallows thickly, struggling to catch a breath under her hungry stare, ears flaring at how frantic her sentence had come out. The emotion seems to have worn off on his own voice.

“Say it again.”

The pearls pinch at the loose ringlets that tickle the back of his neck, straining against his skin as she beckons him forward more insistently. He poises himself a mere inch from her mouth, her shaky exhales fanning over his cupid’s bow and fuck, he loves the suspense of it all. Loves the dynamic they share of toying with each other until the tension is practically palpable.

The hollow of Y/N’s throat flexes as she grapples with her words. “Kiss me. Please.”

And when he does, coincidentally enough, sweet and sour is all her muddled brain registers.

Harry always tastes sweet. His lips have an inherently sugary quality to them, almost as if he’s dipped them in honey; it’s as addicting as any other part of him. His tongue is sour. It carries the remnants of the lime and tequila he’d just doused down, the flavor trickling through her taste buds and causing an aching throb along the back of her jaw.

Harry’s fingers shift down from her hairline, his thumb settling on her cheekbone as the other four splay across the side of her face. The kiss is gentle at first, yet teeming with need, and it gradually starts to swell into a more passionate tempo. He slots their mouths roughly, turning his head to delve deeper, noses bumping and eyelashes brushing.

Y/N’s so far gone that when Harry suddenly buries his middle finger inside her, she literally screams into his mouth.

“Fuck, Harry— oh my God!” Her hips thrash upwards into his palm as he sinks up to his amethyst lion head ring.

His wet, moany whisper streams directly into her chest. “Christ, you’re fucking soaked.”

Harry pumps the digit into her groggily, savoring the sensation of her squeezing around it as his thumb continues to stroke at the sensitive nub higher up. The soft sounds that drip from her bitten lips, the lusty fog over her glimmering eyes, and the way she’s guiding his hand nearly make him soil his pants.

In any other circumstance, he’d be too ashamed to admit it— to admit that some casual fingering has him squirming— but with Y/N, he won’t even attempt to defend himself. She has him whipped and it’s more than obvious; fighting it is useless. Whether that extends into emotional territory or not…That’s something he’s not prepared to untangle.

Instead, he just focuses on the moment— on what they have right now; on what she has him feeling presently, which is plenty. The confession airs itself without much effort.

“You look so good like that— gonna make me cum without even touching me.”

The remark makes a lightning rod zip down her spine. “Y-Yeah?”

Harry draws back from her mesmerizing mouth, worrying her bottom lip between his teeth and letting it snap back. “You have me making a fucking mess of myself, pet.”

Y/N yanks him closer than before, planting a peck to his chin and then suckling lightly at the crescent along his upper lip. Her voice struggles to keep steady. “Want another finger.”

“Another one?” He slowly pulls out from between her thighs, aligning his second middle finger accordingly, rings clacking together. His typical snark is ever-present in his scoff. “So demanding.”

He can feel Y/N grin smugly against him, her tone mimicking his from earlier. “Always so willing, aren’t you?”

Harry rams her request inside, cooing with faux sympathy when she cracks a yelp.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

He curls the two fingers upwards, hitting a familiar spongy spot that he knows will drive her mad.

“Thought this was what you wanted, yeah? For me to fuck you like this?”

His prediction materializes in the way she claws at the collar of his t-shirt, grabbing at anything she can get as her body starts rocking, riding his fingers. Harry grips her face in a flare of dominance, nudging at her lips with his own.

“Baby just wants me to make her feel good, right? Y’want me to make you cum so hard you can barely walk up the stairs to my flat?”

He’s plucking at a chord at the pit of her stomach, her thighs trembling in response and he furrows his brows into a cautionary expression that warns her not to clamp them shut. It takes every fiber of her being to keep her legs from clenching together.

Harry persists with his teasing, picking up the speed of his thrusts, his thumb relentlessly playing with her clit.

“That is where you’re gonna end up, isn’t it? Same as always— spread across my bed in one of my shirts with your panties hanging off my dresser and my fingerprints bruised across your hips.”

“Harry, I—” Y/N can’t even finish the thought, the words dissolving on her tongue as he bites at the flesh along the slope of her jaw, his own syllables charring her nerves.

“S’not like the underwear matters much, anyways. You won’t need it until around noon the next day, considering you usually spend the entire morning bouncing on my cock. I’m not complaining, though. It’s the highlight of my day, if I’m being honest. You just look so cute pulling at my boxers, half asleep with that needy little pout on your lips, not to mention how adorable it is to watch you crawl across the bed into my lap with your nipples peeking through the fabric of my tee.”

Her hand leaves his wrist and spreads over the back of his, fingers carding between the cracks. She shoves him further inside and his jaw goes slack in aroused shock. She’s so shameless about it all and it makes him twitch in his trousers.

“God, you’re so fucking tight. And, shit, I can’t stop thinking about the way my shirt just bunches around your thighs while you’re fucking yourself on me, thrusts deep and lazy as you beg me to play with your cunt while you use me to get yourself off. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, love? Using me to make yourself cum? Meanwhile I just sit back with my arms behind my head until you get close. Then you’re scratching across my shoulders and panting into my neck, telling me how bad you want me to fill you up because you like how warm I make you feel.”

Y/N’s balancing on the edge as Harry spins a miracle between her drenched thighs and she feels embarrassed for the puddle that’s likely spreading over the bar counter.

“Such a dirty fucking girl. Especially when you grab my hand and place it right here.” He ducks his head and kisses at the center of her throat for emphasis, a conceited hum thrumming deep in his chest when she whimpers. “That’s when you decide to get into the proper filth. Stuff like, ‘You’re so fucking big, H. Already have me sore.’ and ‘Want you dripping down my thighs.’ But there’s so much more than that, though. What’s that one word you fancy so much? Need you to jog my memory.”

He’s switched to using his whole palm to rub at her clit, pounding deeper until his icy, chunky rings continuously thunk wetly.

Y/N abides to Harry’s condescending question, gritting out the answer shyly. “Daddy.”

“Oh, that’s right. Daddy. How could I possibly forget when you always whine it into my mouth? ‘Harder, daddy, please.’ and ‘Want you to cum, daddy.’ and ‘I’m your good girl, daddy.’ And how about what you have me call you? Fuck, you just can’t seem to get enough of it. Your eyes always roll back when I tell you what a slut you can be. There’s that one phrase that you seemed to really enjoy the other day. When I said, ‘You’re such a darling little slut for me, aren’t you, baby?’ and you just melted.”

Y/N feels a familiar spark igniting at the pit of her abdomen, uncontrollably building. “Harry, I’m gonna—”

All his actions immediately stop, fingers going limp between her legs.

The sob she releases is anguished and irritated. “No, no, no— please don’t stop. M’close, H, please.”

Harry looks down at her over the crests of his brightly pigmented cheeks and she hadn’t noticed until now just how much this was impacting him, as well. She’d been so in her head she had failed so catch the way his whole body is trembling.

He speaks so low and delicately it’s hardly audible, but the meaning of it punctures right through her ribs and into her gut.

“Wanna feel you cum in my mouth.”

A few extended heartbeats tick by before his suggestion sinks into her brain and then she’s struggling to sit up onto her elbows, already in the process of swinging her legs off the edge of the pub table.

Harry’s drops to his knees with a hollow thump to the elegant wooden floor, large clumsy hands fiddling with the waist of her jeans, riding them down her clammy thighs. Y/N maneuvers herself into a somewhat upright position, sitting back on her palms, fingers wrapping around the edge of the bar counter for support. He finishes easing her out of the high-waisted denim bottoms, discarding them on the ground beside his calf.

Harry runs his warm touch up her goosebump-ridden legs, groping at her outer thighs and yanking her closer until she’s balancing on the cliff of the waxed surface. Y/N can’t stifle herself from swinging one arm out from behind her, blindly fisting at the curls along the crown of his head, shivering when he mewls weakly. He stipples his hot lips up her knee caps and along her inner thighs, spreading her open wider and wider as he trails upwards. His grip firms around her hips, holding her in place in preparation for the wriggling and twisting he knows she won’t be able to reign. Harry eyes her center with drunken desire, toying with the waistband of her racy lace undies, taking some time to just get a good look at how dark the fabric has become.

Y/N takes this opportunity to ogle at him herself, gnawing the inside of her left cheek raw at how incredible he looks on his knees. His lavender flared pants compliment the polish on his nails, the pastel yellow of his Vans peeking through as he lounges back against his heels. Amidst all the commotion, his white shirt has become half untucked from beneath his belt and the desperate messiness his image paints is nearly enough to finish her off. Especially as her sight wanders upwards, catching on the small silver hoop shining on his right ear and then leveling with his view, his eyes owlish and puppy-like as he leans forward all the way and presses a lingering kiss right over the wet patch of her panties.

His voice is spaced out and distant. “Been thinking about eating you out all day.”

Harry flutters pecks up to the elastic of her undergarment, taking it carefully between his teeth and tugging downwards. Y/N remains as still as possible as he coaxes the article off, one hand massaging at the back of her calf while the other stays secured to her hip.

Once the last bit of material is out of the way and she’s finally bare, Harry straightens himself into perfect posture, hoisting both of her legs over his solid shoulders in one swift motion. Her heels knock against his taut back muscles, digging in with anticipation as he bites bruises into the junction where her inner thigh meets her crotch.

Y/N tilts his head up a bit to get his attention, her tone bleeding. “Need your tongue. Please.”

He nods numbly in her grasp, wetting his lips slowly before answering in a hushed murmur. “Gonna give it to you, dove. Gonna make my girl feel so fucking good for me. Always do.”

And he truly does; Y/N never doubted that. From the first kitten lick he gives, she knows she isn’t going to last long.

His light strokes meld into deep, needy lapping, the flat of his tongue dragging against her clit in long trails, warm and silky. Every time he gets to the hood at the top, he gives a few quick flicks with the very tip, causing her to wring at his curls almost cruelly. He then proceeds to duck down until he’s at her entrance, flirting his tongue around the rim and dipping it inside as far as he can before the back of his throat begins to ache.

He keeps this rhythm going firmly, every now and then allowing himself to wander some, suckling at the outer lips of her heat and gifting the area sticky kisses that make her shudder.

Y/N’s head falls back between her shoulder blades, the weight straining the back of her neck but she’s too high off him to force her joints to comply. She can only muster enough energy to comb her fingers through his satin locks, scratching at his scalp in agreement as broken sounds of encouragement sting the back of her throat and drive his every move.

“You taste like heaven, baby. So fucking sweet, can never get enough of it. Could spend hours on my knees for you.”

Harry prods the bud of her clit with the tip of his button nose, puckering his lips around it and sucking feverishly, grinning into her cunt when her legs clasp harder around his neck. He talks over a full mouth, the vibrations pinballing up the knobs of her spine. “Liked that, didn’t you?”

She adamantly shakes her head yes.

He coats his palms along her outer thighs, squeezing teasingly and prying them open enough to get a better range. He then shakes his face, tongue expertly caressing every nook and cranny.

Y/N’s nails crunch against the wood that runs along the underside of the counter. “Yes, yes, yes— shit, thank you.”

Harry presses his lips together tightly, tugging at her folds for the heightened stimulation, preening at how the digits in his roots spasm. “More than happy to help, minx.”

She manages to crane her neck forward, chin pressing into her heaving upper chest as she stares down at him with so much lust her eyes water. He returns her starved gaze, the lower half of his face utterly drenched, cheeks glistening with her excitement as the corners of his darkened mouth prick his dimples into place. Every ragged breath and every watery moan is inflating his ego beyond reasonable.

“I’m so fucking close, Har.”

He pushes his tongue deeper, head bobbing with newfound purpose as his lashes flutter up at her temptingly. He looks borderline ethereal with the amber lights reflecting off his glossy, cocksure irises, arms flexing with the strength it takes to keep her tethered down, the inking on his tan skin jumping to life.

“Be a good girl and cum for me, hm? Want you dripping down my chin.”

This orgasm is definitely one of the best Harry has ever given her.

It boils over from the bottom of her tummy, a relieving glow surging through every vein and warming her from the inside out. It splinters her bones with unimaginable pleasure, her whole body caving forward as he eggs the climax to its full potential. He continues licking into her tirelessly, brows raised in amused glee as he watches her come undone at the seams, crying out his name as the waves of satisfaction roll out from the bottom of her feet to the very tips of her ears.

When Y/N finally regains her composure from the unrealistic surge, she nearly collapses right off the side of the bar table.

Harry intercepts what otherwise would have been a very unpleasant finish to the experience, mounting onto his feet and wrapping a strong arm around the dip of her back, keeping her upright and safe.

Her forehead plops against his, a dreamy giggle escaping past her marked-up lips as the last currents of gratification fade away. Harry’s own boyish chuckle tinges the electrified air around them, his free arm coming up to use his wrist as an impromptu cloth, wiping away the leftover wetness. It’s a simple gesture but it makes her belly throb.

He then cradles her face with both of his obscenely warm hands, spongeing his lips to the tip of her unfeeling nose in an endeared, affectionate manner, all the lust in his mood replaced by loving concern. “You alright? Wasn’t too much?”

She wobbles her head half-heartedly, mind still submerged in the aftershock. Her throat is so battered she can barely get out her words. “It was perfect— you’re always perfect.”

To her unexpecting entertainment, Harry’s cheeks and neck dye a dull shade of raspberry red. He follows the outline of her plump bottom lip with his thumbs, attitude bashful and sheepish. “You flatter me too much. My head’s not gonna fit through the front door.”

Y/N snorts playfully, kissing softly at the pad of his left thumb. “As if your head isn’t big enough already.”

“Heyyyyy!” He pouts childishly, bumping his brows to hers as a minute show of revenge. “S’not the way to treat the bloke that just tongue-fucked you into nearly passing out.”

His friend rolls her eyes at him grandly, pinching at his stomach jestingly. “Ever so humble.”

“Keep myself grounded, don’t I?” Harry pulls away from their embrace, ducking down to retrieve something from the floor. He comes up with her crumpled panties hanging off his index finger, pressing his lips together to keep from bursting into a round of immature giggles. “I believe these are yours.”

Y/N snags them, giving him a pointed, deadpan glare as she tentatively slips them up her naked legs, shimmying them over her hips.

A comical memory suddenly surfaces into the forefront of her thoughts.

“Y’know what’s funny? If I recall correctly, you said we weren’t gonna have sex on the bar anymore. Something about it being ‘unsanitary and unprofessional.’”

Harry freely splutters into the cheeky laugh he’d been trying to muffle, casually crossing his arms over his broad chest, tongue sweeping over the front of his top teeth coyly. One edge of his mouth flickers upwards into a shit-eating simper. “Well, this technically wasn’t sex.”

“Oh, really?” Y/N flattens her palms against the wooden counter, hopping off smoothly and sweeping her jeans up off the ground. She’s not sure what magic Harry used to get her pants off without removing her sneakers, but she knows she doesn’t possess it. She toes off her checkered trainers and begins easing her foot through one leg. “What was it, then? Meditating?”

Harry scowls humorously at her quip— it’s an inside joke that pertains to the code word he now uses for “masturbating.” It was courtesy of a drunken customer once asking him for advice on what to do when they couldn’t sleep and Harry had said meditating was a good way to unwind. Y/N had been visiting that night—as she did every weekend— and was sitting two seats down from the exchange when she had overheard the conversation, giving him a knowing smirk over the rim of her highball glass and shrugging her eyebrows slyly, her quiet mumble pouring a blush into his ears. “Yeah, sure. I’ve helped you meditate plenty through the phone.”

Harry leans his lower back against the edge of the pub counter, crossing his ankles and giving his wide shoulders a nonchalant shrug. “It was a little bit of touching and some innocent cunnilingus.”

Y/N scoffs sarcastically, shoving her other foot into the opposite pant leg and yanking it up over her bum, buttoning the article with finality and smoothing her sweater down. “‘Innocent cunnilingus.’ The irony of it all.”

Harry kicks Y/N’s Vans towards her with the flat side of his own. “What’s ironic is you mocking me as if you weren’t begging for it a few minutes ago.”

She wiggles her toes into the shoes wordlessly.

“S’what I thought.” Harry taunts.

Now that she’s fully dressed, Y/N slowly drifts closer to him, finding amusement in how his stance straightens in sudden interest. His forearms tighten a smidgen over his pecs, fingers tucking underneath his pits so she doesn’t see them tapping anxiously.

Y/N stops once her chest bumps against the shield he’s built before him, his neck visibly tensing. When she speaks, it’s suggestive and her undertone resembles velvet. “You know what’s the most ironic thing of all?”

Harry jumps when he feels Y/N’s hands wrinkling the fabric of his graphic t-shirt, a harsh tug untucking it fully from below his waistband. Her hands slip below the material, cold, pliant fingers tracing over the toned muscles of his stomach and massaging at the love handles along his torso. “That you went through all that trouble of showing me how to appropriately do body shots, but you don’t really know if I learned it.”

He starts picking up on her hints, his biceps contracting at the feathery sensation of her fingertips spelling out random letters across the wings of his butterfly tattoo. He cocks his head down to get a better look at her, chin pressing into the alcove between his defined collarbones. Her lips are so close he has to force himself to keep from chasing them.

Harry entertains the little game she’s dishing, voice low and heavy. “I guess that is pretty ironic.”

Y/N reaches over his hip for something behind him, her hand coming back with one of the leftover lime wedges nestled at its center. She glances up at him from beneath her thick lashes, luring him in with that hypnotic aura she always works to her advantage. The lime slice ends up between her inviting lips, the rine facing outwards in the same manner Harry had placed his.

Y/N then balances herself forward onto the tips of her toes, the pads of her digits digging into his chest ever so slightly for reinforcement. She stretches her neck until her face is level with his and goes in as if to kiss him, transferring the lime into his mouth, juice squirting out and fizzing over his itching skin.

“Get up on the counter.”

#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry x you #harry styles fic #harry smut #harry styles drabble #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty fanfic #harry styles dirty imagine #bartender!harry #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #smut #harry styles #1d fan fiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

Painted Windows 2

Warnings: violence, trauma, allusions to abuse and noncon, isolation, torture, further tags to be added.

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find yourself confined once more.

Note: As I said before, we have a slow start but I hope you guys stick around. The darkness will creep up on ya in this one but for now, we’ll keep it in neutral. I always appreciate you and thanks for all your patience. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The man gave you a plain grey tee and a pair of shorts with a drawstring. You must’ve looked ridiculous but you didn’t care much after he offered you the bed. As you neared the wide frame, you kept expecting him to approach the other side. To climb under the blankets with you and rip apart the clothing he’d given you. But he didn’t.

He pulled the chair in front of the door and sat. When you were nestled under the covers, he reached up and flipped the lights. The room went black, a small stream of moonlight peeked in between the curtains. You could see his shadow through the dark as he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and leaned back.

You felt guilty. You couldn’t close your eyes as you clung to the thought that you would take his bed from him. You sat up but hesitated to climb out from under the comforter. It was strange, almost a new sensation, to be clean and warm. He splayed his legs out and yawned.

“What?” He asked gruffly.

You gulped and rubbed your throat as you mustered your strength. “Your bed… I--”

“You need to sleep. Don’t worry about me.” He insisted.

Your lips parted but you had no argument. You reluctantly laid back, stiff as a board as you stared up at the ceiling. You huffed.

“If you can’t sleep, I have pills.” He offered dully. “They’ll see you through a good eight hours. Likely more.”

“No.” You rasped and it scratched at your throat. “No pills.”

He said nothing further and you rolled onto your side, facing him. You wouldn’t be able to relax with him behind you. You closed your eyes. They’d given you pills. It wasn’t hard to guess what they were for. Those men wanted a toy, not a baby. You shuddered and pulled the blankets up to your chin.

You listened to the stranger’s breaths. They evened out after a while and soft snores surrounded you. The rhythm lulled you to sleep. You didn’t dream. It was just a blackness so deep it swallowed every thought; every fear.

You awoke to a slat of sunshine. The chair was empty and pushed away from the door. You sat up and shivered as the blanket fell from your shoulders. You got up slowly. Your muscles were sore and cramped from sleeping in a ball. You stretched and peeked between the curtains. Daylight shone bright on the pale snow.

You turned back and crossed the room. You passed the chair and tiptoed to the door. You tried to twist the knob but it wouldn’t budge. Your chest clutched and you shook it. You were trapped again.

You backed away as the panic surged through you and tripped over your own feet. You crashed onto the floor. You rolled over and hid your face as you struggled to breathe. The attacks hadn’t come since your first days in the cell but that was your second since the night before. This one worse; overwhelming.

You heard the door and footsteps. Then felt a soft touch on your shoulder. You looked up at the stranger, his other hand held a plate. He frowned as you grasped at your throat and gulped like a fish on the shore. He stood and swiftly set the plate on the nightstand. He returned to you and knelt beside you.

“Count with me,” He put two fingers on your chest and tapped gently as he began, “One; in, two; out, three, four, five…”

“Six,” You gasped. “Seven,” You started to catch your breath as he kept the beat. He got to twenty before you were calm.

“You were trying to get out,” He said. He helped you sit up and directed you to the chair. “You don’t want to do that.”

You looked away from him. You ran your fingers over your lips and swallowed.

“Eat,” He grabbed the plate and crossed to you; toast, eggs, sausages.

Your stomach growled in hunger and repulsion alike. You hadn’t seen anything so delicious in… a long time. You took it and rested it on your lap. You caught the fork and broke the yoke. You watched it ooze but couldn’t bring yourself to take a bite.

He closed the door before he sat on the edge of the bed. “Eat.” He ordered. “I won’t say it a third time.”

You used the side of your fork to cut the egg and slowly raised it to your lips. He watched you quietly and you finished half before you tried the sausage. It was so rich and juicy. Your stomach flipped suddenly and you snapped your lips shut. You stood and set the plate in your seat.

You tried to run to the bathroom but keeled over and puked across the hardwood. You covered your mouth and sat back on your heels. “I’m so… sorry.” You croaked. It was growing easier to talk. “I…”

“They didn’t feed you. Easy enough to guess. When they did, I doubt it was very much or very good,” He stood and went to the bathroom. He returned with a hand towel and knelt across from you. “Stick to the toast… I should’ve known better.”

“I’ll clean--”

“You’ll eat the toast and then I’ll get you some water,” He declared. “You better learn to listen otherwise you’d be better off as you were.”

You sniffed and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. You pushed yourself to your feet and returned to the chair. You took the plate and nibbled on the buttered toast as he wiped up your vomit. When he was finished, he washed his hands and left the room. The door locked behind him and clicked again when he returned with a glass of water.

“I can’t offer you much but I can tell it’s better than what you had,” He set the glass on the dresser just a few feet from you. “And the alternative isn’t ideal.”

You stood and reached for the glass. You sat back down and drank.

“My orders were to clear that place. Everyone. No matter what. You understand? I was ordered to kill you.” He said.

“And? You should have.” You replied evenly.

“Maybe but… I couldn’t,” He paced slowly. You realised he was anxious. “But I couldn’t leave you there either.”

“So you’ll lock me up here?” You questioned.

“Keep you alive,” He said.

“For what?” You challenged. “Nothing left for me.”

“There is. There can be. I can keep you safe.” He offered.

“Why?”

He was quiet and shrugged. He stopped by the window and adjusted the curtains so no light slipped past them.

“If you want to be my saviour, why don’t you just let me go?”

“Because the men who kept you there are still out there and the men who helped me kill the rest are too.” He stated as he turned back. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What?”

“You should be grateful. You’re alive.”

You watched him but said nothing. You shook your head and drank the rest of the water.

“Thank you for the food,” You muttered.

He crossed to you and took the plate and glass. “More water?”

You declined with a gesture and he backed away.

“There are books you can read,” He nodded at the shelf. “A radio.”

You glanced over and then back to him.

“I’ll be a while but I’ll be back with lunch.” He neared the door. “Anything in particular you want?”

“No,” You mumbled and turned away from him. You crossed your arms. This was as much a prison as your cell and he was only your new keeper.

The man returned as promised. The door was slow to unlock and was pushed open before he entered with a folding table in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. He set down the bag and unfolded the tray before the armchair as you watched from the other side of the room.

He pointed to the chair and you hesitantly crossed and sat. He removed a large styrofoam cup from the bag and plopped it before you along with a plastic spoon and packet of crackers.

“Chicken broth,” He explained curtly as he took the lid off. “Should be easier for you.”

He shut the door and locked it. He went to the window and pulled closed the curtains. You had spent much of your day watching the snowfall. You hadn’t be able to look away. You’d missed it so much. How long had it been since you’d seen the sun? Even the pale winter sun.

“Stay away from the windows,” He warned as he turned to watch you stir the broth.

“From what I can tell we’re in the middle of nowhere.” You grumbled.

“Not that far from the city,” He countered. “Don’t make me board it up.”

You looked down at the broth and frowned. He paced around the room quietly. You ate some of the soup and watched him as he neared and retreated again. He was thinking; of what, you couldn’t say. This man was as confounding as the situation itself.

“Why do you wear the gloves?” You asked. Your thoughts escaped without heed.

He stopped and turned to you. His brow wrinkled and he glanced down at his hands. He seemed surprised. He approached you and peeled the leather off his right hand, he paused before he unveiled the left. You couldn’t hide your surprise as he bared metal fingers and shining plates. He dropped the gloves on the tv tray.

“What happened?” You lowered your spoon.

“Nothing worth recounting,” He stretched his fingers and inched away. “Finish your lunch.”

He went to the door and left you. You sipped at your soup until the cup was empty and this time, your body did not revolt. He returned as you tucked away the cup, lid, and spoon into the plastic bag. You kept the crackers for later. He carried more bags.

He went to the bed and you stood. He pulled out several pieces of clothing and spread them over the mattress. “Had to guess at the sizes but figured it didn’t matter much.” He held up a tee shirt with flowers on it. “Better than my stuff.”

He unpacked his wares; shampoo, soap, lotion, pads, tampons, a hair brush, tooth brush, everything you could think of. You stared at the haul and blinked dumbly. You could choose one item and consider it a luxury; the lot was a treasure trove.

“I’ll have proper room for you shortly but I do have work to do.” He continued. “You let me know if you need anything…” He looked around. “I can get you a television?”

You raised your brows at him and he tilted his head slightly.

“All I ask is that you behave. For now, this room is yours. Stay away from the windows and do as I say.” He continued. “Eat what I give you, take care of yourself, simple enough.” He gathered the bags and stuffed them inside each other. “If you can’t adhere to this, I’m more than willing to help you along.”

You stared at him and backed away from the bed. You were suddenly embarrassed. In the back of your head, you knew this wasn’t a dream come true, only an extension of your former nightmare. You were ashamed that you had hoped for a second that he was decent. His kindness came with a price. Not kindness at all.

“Understood?” He asked curtly.

“Yes,” You forced out as you turned away. “I understand.”

“Okay,” He exhaled. “I’ll let you get all this stuff sorted then.” He gathered up the garbage from the tray and neared the door. “Anything I can get you?”

“N--” You spun on your heel as you gulped back the instinctual denial. “What’s your name?”

He blinked and his brows drew together. He picked at the handle of the plastic bag as he considered you.

“Bucky.” He answered at last. “And yours?”

You opened your mouth to answer and stuttered. You touched your forehead as you thought. Funny, you couldn’t remember. Just like you couldn’t remember where you’d been going that night you were taken or the sound of your mother’s voice. Did you have a mother? No, it was your father who had taken you to the festival and paid for that horse ride, right? Or was that a dream? Another mental escape from the agony of living.

“I don’t know,” You said quietly. “They just called me ‘her’ or ‘it’.”

His lips drew into a line and his jaw ticked. He looked away and stopped fidgeting. “Is there something you want me to call you?”

You followed his gaze to the bed, the shirts, the pants, packs of cotton underwear. “No, but can I think about it?”

“Sure,” He nodded and reached for the door. “Sure. I suppose you should.”

He pulled the door open so quickly you were afraid it would fall off its hinges. He marched out into the hall and the door snapped shut. The lock slid into place and his footsteps didn’t go far before another door clicked.

You went to the bed and took a shirt from the pile, a long sleeve tee with buttons along the neckline. You picked out a pair of straight-legged jeans to match and a pair of socks. Real clothes. You looked down at those hanging off you and felt a tickle in your stomach. There was something very human about dressing yourself.

You were shaken from your reverie of denim and cotton by a sudden banging. You jumped and shuddered as you clutched the fabric. It was the steady beating of a hammer just down the hall. Not erratic or deafening enough to be anything more sinister. You let out a long breath and set down the clothes before swiping the tee over your head.

#Bucky Barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #au #mcu #marvel #captain america #Winter Soldier #triggers at top

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we-always-hit-our-ass · 4 years ago

Text

Right Here (Richard Winters x Reader)

Requested by @easy-company-tradition: “... could you please do dick winters comforting the reader during a panic attack?...”

Author’s Note: Oh gosh, I’ve never actually written anything like this before. I tried to do as much research as I could so I can portray this in an accurate manner. These are very serious, and if I got anything wrong, please feel free to correct me. I apologize for any inaccurate portrayals of panic attacks in this fic.

Words: 2.7k (a bit longer than i anticipated,,,)

BIG FAT WARNING FOR THIS ONE: Panic attacks. If they make you uncomfortable or you don’t want to read a description about how they feel, please please don’t read this! I suggest steppin’ away from this fic if these sorts of things make you upset, I’m incredibly sorry. So panic attack under the cut, please heed my warnings.

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Taglist: @deldontplay, @thatsonefishyboi,@noneofurbusinez, @meteora-fc, @gutsandgloryhere, @hihosilvers, @rayleighshughes, @floydtab, @wexhappyxfew, @sherlollydramoine, @meganthesunflower, @3milesup, @jamie506101, @sunflowerchuck, @softlieb, @k-websters, @punkgeekchic, @speirs-crazy-ass, @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant, @runtdrummer, @fromtheoldtimes, @liebegott

+hello hello, you can totally ask me if ya want to be added!

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Laying on the cushioned sofa, your fingers traced over the yellowed papers of the novel you were reading. It was one of the books that David had recommended you during the war--so when you had returned, you were sent in a rush to find it in any bookstore you could find.

Flicking over the inked words on the flimsy paper, you hummed a random tune as to not make the house as empty as it currently was. The record playing let out a quiet sort of ambience, lulling you to a daze. The book slammed shut, your slipper ladened feet pressing against the hardware floor.

But that was just a couple minutes ago.

It all happened so fast, your body feeling cumbersome as your knees buckled under you. You fell with a thud, the dull pain of your tailbone outshadowed from the sharp pain in your head. So you didn’t know how you found yourself here, your back resting on the wooden cupboards in the kitchen, the handle pressing uncomfortably on the nape of your neck.

You didn’t know when you started bawling your eyes out, the cool tears drying on your cheeks. The stream trailing down your neck, staining the crisp shirt you wore.

Just all the sudden, it hit you--this overwhelming feeling of dread and immediately you wanted it to stop. Everything was just so blurry so you opted to keep your eyes shut, but it did nothing to help with the flashes of horrific scenes from war from flashing in your mind.

Heavy and broken heaves stuttered from your lips, and they wouldn’t stop--no matter how many times you tried to regulate your breathing. Laborious and tense, your chest fell up and down drastically and sometimes a bit staggering. You were quivering so much and your deft fingers didn’t feel like yours. At this moment you felt like you were feeling nothing and everything at once.

Sweat pooled swiftly on your brow, and your hands fell clumsily to wipe it off but to no avail. The air was so muggy and thick, you despised it. You felt so helpless, trapped in the corner of your own kitchen. The slippers which cushioned your feet were long gone, as you had kicked them off in an attempt to stop the writhing and pricking feeling on your legs.

It felt as if about a thousand invisible hands had a tight grip on your throat, blocking your airways as you struggled to even inhale a single bit of oxygen. Light-headed, you feel your whole brain shutting down. And even as you could feel it go blank, the intense feeling shooting throughout your whole being.

It repeated for so long and when you finally thought it had stopped, it comes just as quickly as it leaves. Wave after wave after wave, you felt so drained out of energy. Even with your throat parched as a desert, you still had no desire to get yourself a glass of water.

The pads of your fingertips grow weary from rubbing circles into the temples of your head, your hair a bit messy from running your hands through them so many times. Then at times you would feel like you were in the Sahara, hot flashes bursting randomly here and there.

Your sternum and torso ached and burned so much, and you could almost feel every instance of your wind and chest pipe closing up. Your eyes became sore from releasing too much tears, puffing up the longer you sat idle on the tiled floor. Let this end please, you knew you couldn’t take anymore of this.

Sooner or later the bright, fluorescent hue of the kitchen light grew unbearable, and you turned your head to sink deeper into your shoulder. Whimpers and incomplete and occasionally incoherent sentences left your dried lips and tongue. Running out of tears, silent sobs wracked throughout your body.

Even if it seemed like hours before this happened, it had only been a mere 20 minutes. These events further cemented into your train of thought. And so if you tried to shake them off, it’d only do more harm than good and right then and there the pain only seemed to become more amplified.

Disoriented in your own whirlpool of thoughts and flashing images, you were oblivious to the sound of the front door opening and the voice of the amber head of hair which peeked through your field of vision. Not realizing the echoed voice of your husband, you ignored it--thinking it to be fake and not at all actually happening.

Immediately when Richard received no response from you, his mind went to overdrive. His sapphire eyes blown wide out of proportion, his usually leveled voice grew a bit louder, hoping to catch your attention from wherever you were. Steady and slow-paced footsteps filled the air, and as he approached the kitchen, a small gasp left his mouth. His tall frame easily looked over the marble island in the center of the kitchen. There his eyes laid on your curled form, still hunched over in a fetus position.

Rushing over to your being at the speed of light, he lowered himself down so he could be on level with you. Richard instantly placed his hands on your shoulder as if to remind you that he was there. That he was there by your side. The palm of his hands trailed soothingly on the path of your upper arms and soldiers, and you could feel your turbulent breathing calm down for the briefest of moments.

“Ri--Richard I-- I didn’t know,” You shakily call out to him, struggling to get out any words, “It happened so fast, I--”

“(Y/N)... (Y/N), it’s okay… Shh shh, I got you honey. I got you.”

His calm voice washed over you like cold water on a cold day, the mere tone of it comforting you like no other thing could ever accomplish. All you knew in these hazy moments is that you were extremely relieved from Richard’s mere presence. His long arms slowly but reassuringly wrapped around your form, pulling you closer to him.

Still slightly panicked, you pushed him away lightly and placed your hands flat on his chest to stop him. Richard looked at you with only kindness and understanding, rich pools of aquamarine and cool green gazing at you with love and adoration.

Understanding that you might need some space, he pulls away to settle you down on the floor so he can sit next to you but you retreat your hands--bringing them to tightly grip on the tidied, white button up he wore. Coming back to your senses, you lean forward to close the proximity between you and the scarlet-haired man opening up his arms to welcome you with his embrace.

Opening up his legs, he ushered you between them to make it easier for him to hold you tenderly. Stopping to recollect yourself and to take in the moment, you cracked--a soft yet sharp cry left your form, and you buried your face in Richard’s chest. The palm of your hands were rubbed raw, and your nails indented crescent shaped marks into the soft skin. Tears rolled over the plains of your cheeks, replacing your old and dry ones.

“Look at me, love...Please look at me, (Y/N).” Richard had gently urged you, tilting your head up to meet his ever so softly.

Concerned and worried, your husband pressed his forehead against your feverish one. Both of your thighs settled on the sides of Richard’s waist, and his hands went from the small of your back to your legs. He laid his hands there in such a manner that reassured you that he was there, and that everything will be alright. Pushing yourself to take heavy breaths and failing every time, your husband stopped you in your tracks when he noticed.

With his forehead pulling away from yours and his hands reclaiming their spot on your back, Richard looked at you intently.

“Try to breathe with me okay?” Your husband gently said, rubbing circles on your back as you let out a shaky nod.

Peppering your cheek with kisses before he began, he let out a consoling smile.

“3… 2… 1… Inhale.”

You breathed in lots of air as soon as he said the word and his arms wrapped around you securely as you did. In the same manner he did before, he counted down from three and in a softhearted manner he instructed you to exhale.

“Let it all out, (Y/N)... Exhale.” Taking his time with each of his instructions, Richard patiently sat with you repeating the same words with bits of comforting sentences here and there until your breathing finally calmed down.

Still not knowing what to do, you cuddled closer to your husband as you feebly wrapped your arms around his waist. Whimpering and still trembling, you let yourself sink into the hold of your love. You clung around Richard’s strong frame, gaining comfort from the way he would whisper words of consolation near your ear.

“I’m right here, (Y/N). I’m right here.” He would keep saying, and each time seemed so much more loving than the last.

Everytime your breath seemed to hitch or stop, your husband quickly rushed to action--doing the best he could to give you the slightest bit of comfort to try to make it all better. Richard’s hands on your back ran a slow up-and-down motion and you looked up to take in his doting features. But the soft smile you were about to bestow him turned upside down as your brain ran over the events which just took place. With your mind and heart heavy, you felt defeated all over again. Turning your head to face away from the man you loved, Richard stopped you.

Pausing briefly, he went to cradle your face with both of his hands. Deeply taking oxygen in, Richard then put all of his attention on you. His eyes observing every breath, how your eyes dilated, or how you blinked profusely to keep the tears from falling.

“(Y/N), I want you to remember that I’m right here. That I always will be, and that no matter what--I will never ever leave your side.”

Relaxing immensely, all the tension that built inside of your being vanished without even a single trace. With no words to say, you stayed silent and instead gazed upon his light cobalt eyes with all of the affection you could muster in that moment.

Taking in his words, your eyebrows furrowed before relaxing. Swaddled up in Richard’s love, you relished in the feeling. You don’t think you could ever live a life without him near you. So you sank deeper into his hold as Richard offered you amorous kisses. On your forehead, on your cheeks, near your jaw, and especially on your lips.

All of his kisses were filled to the brim with the utmost care and affection.

You propped your arms on his shoulders, your form moving slightly with Richard positioning his hands to keep your body stable. Your head fell upon his shoulders and you dipped your nose in the crook of his neck. You couldn’t see it but you knew that your husband was smiling softly at your comfortable form.

A great feeling came over you--feelings such as comfort, relief, and glee all mixed and mashed into one hurling emotion--knowing that you had Richard with you. The man who you loved with every single fiber your being could offer. The man who has seen you in your most vulnerable moments and never hesitated to come to your air. The man who held you so devotedly in his arms.

While basking and digging deeper into your head, you could faintly feel the way Richard’s dexterous fingers comb through your hair, his fingers sometimes applying pressure to give you a sort of scalp massage to help you relax just a bit better.

You let yourself sink away from his neck to look at his face. While his eyes were closed--his eyelashes fluttering and brushing over the top of his cheeks--he held such a languid look. An expression of concentration also rested deeply on his face, and you admired him in all of his beauty. You were putty in this man’s hold, but didn’t complain one bit.

For the time being, you let your mind slip away from reality, far away from the outside world. Tuning yourself out, you only focused on yourself and your peaceful husband. Your fingers played with his collar, fanning it down and up or just fiddling with the edges until you grew uninterested.

Closing your eyes to distract yourself, you laid lax and splayed on Richards lap. The two of you were still on the tiled kitchen floor, with you and his breathing the only noises the world has to offer right now.

Your heart was beating, but not at all like the way your heart was rapidly pounding just a few moments ago. This time it was pleasant, and you could’ve sworn that you also felt the thumping of Richard’s heart as you rested your hand on his chest too. You released soft puffs of breaths and you could feel yourself tearing up again. The familiar feeling welled up in your (E/C) eyes and when Richard picked up on you quietly sniffing, he rushed up and sat up with his back as straight as a pole.

“Is everything alright? Do you want me to get anythi--”

“No, no, Richard… It’s fine.” Cutting him off before he could finish you looked up to him with watery orbs, the sight making Richard’s heart pang with a wave of sadness.

“What happened…?”

“It’s just-- It’s just that… I love you so fucking much, Richard.”

“(Y/N), I love you too. I love you so, so, so much…”

Hiccuping and clinging onto him as if your life depended on it, it felt cathartic almost to be with him. You felt complete and you felt as if you can take on anything in the world--no matter how small or big. It was as if love just encased your whole heart and being whenever you were around him and no copious amounts of gratitude could ever capture how grateful you were for him. What happened earlier was shoved in the back of your brain, buried by your emotions for Richard and most likely never to be found again.

Holding out your pinky finger to him, his eyebrows quirked up in curiosity. While it was most certainly an act that was mostly done by children, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about that fact. You held it up for him and he stared at your finger for just a little bit longer before bringing up his own, both of your fingertips soon touching before wrapping each other securely.

“Can you promise me something, Richard?” You began carefully.

“Of course, my love. Anything.”

“Please promise me that… That you’ll never leave me because I wouldn’t dream of ever leaving you.”

With your pinky fingers both wrapped around each other, the look in Richard’s ocean eyes were genuine and gracious.

“I’ll be wherever you need me,” Richard had said, leaning in closer so your foreheads were touching once again. The intimate and soft act brought a sincere smile on your lips and you fluttered your eyelids shut.

“Right here,” He unwrapped his pinky for yours so he can envelop you in another embrace.

Raising his index finger, the cool pad of his fingertip brushed lightly to where your heart is through the flimsy material of your shirt. “And right here.”

Richard then cupped your hand and brought the knuckles to his lips, pressing passionate but quick kisses on them. Chuckling softly at the sweet gesture, you laid there with nothing but your husband occupying your head. Your hectic thoughts had died down and were replaced with calm and tranquil ones. Dropping your hand, it was free to play with the short hair at the base of Richard’s neck.

Drowsy and tired, your entire head felt heavy no matter how many times you attempted to bring it back up. Succumbing to sleep was easy, and Richard’s voice lulled you to it even faster. Before passing out, you did feel a pair of soft lips pressing one last kiss on your forehead. Richard carefully picked you up and scaled up the stairs, heading to the bedroom you two shared.

You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew that you and Richard would be by each other’s sides until the universe ceases to exist.

And you were more than fine with that.

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Author’s Note: Hopefully what I wrote was alright since it was indeed my first time writin’ something like this. Once again, if I did make a mistake, I’m fine with y’all correcting me. I do wish that all of you enjoyed reading this. And JJ, thank you for this request, I love ya! 😩💕

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #richard winters #richard winters x reader #band of brothers imagine #hbo war #hbo war x reader #band of brothers x reader

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springtimebat · 4 years ago

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The demon and the seer

Chapter One: The Carnival Folk

In which a trip is made early, predictions are performed and Frankie Albarn is oddly at home

The last days of October were fading, just like the embers of a dying fire, and the devious clutches of November were finally stretching. It was during these twilight hours, between All Hallows Eve and the broken weeks of early winter, that the Carnival Folk made their return to the town of Bad Seed.

The fields around the place succumbed to grey clouds as their visitors slithered across cracked cobblestone. Their van, that dreaded thing of nightmares, resembled an ancient hearse, with its collapsing bumper and its range of old knic-knacks plastered onto the doors, the windows, the floors. And as the vehicle made its way to the Old Albarn farm, descending through to the hills on its thousands of legs, its swollen exterior fighting against the rain as it began to rain, the villagers of Bad Seed glowered at the fog that had began to make its clumsy way up lanes and junctions, smashing against brick, a homemade, foreign concoction brought with their Carnival Folk in order for them to stay in the shadows. So they could hide. Men crouched in armchairs as the monster passed by the windows, worried for their children. Women of all shapes and sizes, eyes bulbous and full, whispered amongst themselves, heads swimming with myth. Murders of children flocked together around misted glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of phantoms. For a thing of legend to become a thing of reality. For they were all living in rare times. The Carnival Folk, with all their monsters, their fog, their shadows, only visited Bad Seed once in a blue moon. Mutters around town spoke of a blood pact with the crazy old Albarn Family, high up of their farm just outside of town. Others spoke men as big as houses, running through the town, carrying body parts, animals, circus equipment. Some spoke of animals; of elephants with three trunks, of wolves with human hands, of birds with paws and snouts. And then, of course, there was the woman of ancient tomes, with her hunched back and her gammy legs. The old one with her gnarled fingers, her walking stick; a tree branch that was said to stamp out peoples’ lives, summon devils and reanimate the dead. Most importantly, of course, was her glass eye, blue as frost said to bring those who gazed upon it eternal damnation, to curse the onlooker with rotted flesh and a taste for bloodshed. Shadows grew heavy in the town of Bad Seed and the children, in their murders, in their flocks, giggled in delight, in mischief. The old one was here!

Too soon, the van was making its way up old country lanes, having left the harsh confines of town square. The driver, hooded and armed with a threadbare whip, pressed firmly in, until in the midnight throes of mist and dew, the Carnival reached the old Albarn Farm, withering away on its small stretch of fields just outside Bad Seed’s suspicious gates. The van groaned as it came to halt, low exhausted. The driver sighed and mopped thick streams of sweat from his brow. Then he jumped down from his position, rounded the back of his family hearse and pulled the back door open. In the back was the old one, her wrinkled hands clutching the scrap walls. She frowned as she was led out into the moonlight, her amber eyes tiny slits as she got used to her surroundings. The driver, a man of very few words, grabbed the crone by the waist and delivered her onto the decaying pavement, where she landed on two slender legs hidden by an inherited grandmother’s smock.

“Ah, back again Wilson,” The hideous one announced, her voice thick and high. She pointed a finger at the old Albarn Farm just before them. The driver grunted and held out an oak branch he had kept in the front seat until she was ready. The woman shook her head and glowered at him.

“No need Wilson! I can make it on my own this time I know it! This place has a bitter taste. Always has, always will. I’ll be fine for this visit.”

Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t start that my boy,” The old woman scolded, batting away flies with a claw, “Now, have you got the tub?”

Wilson nodded and tapped a rucksack on his brick back. The old master nodded and with that, the two set off towards their destination; the crumbling Albarn farmhouse, taken apart by weeds, with its eyes blank slates.

“Bloody Albarns! They make this journey hard enough without the stairs to climb!” The old one puffed as they finally got to the front door, after ten minutes of step after step after step. Wilson groaned and pressed the doorbell. There they stood for a while, waiting for a welcome, tapping their boots.

Footsteps soared to the old one’s strange ears and the door finally swung open, with a hideous creak. She noticed it was on its last rusty hinge. The Albarn woman appeared in the door frame, her face pale and warped, swarmed with cold sores. After catching sight of the old one and her assistant, Mrs Albarn’s eyes, already quite glassy, dimmed further.

“Do you want to come in?” She muttered, twirling a strand of straw hair around a bony finger. There was a thud from Wilson as he pulled the rucksack off his shoulders and the poor Albarn woman gave a squeak. The old woman smiled up at her, her teeth shiny in the dark.

“That would be nice dear, thank you.”

And with that, the Carnival Folk entered the Albarn farm for what seemed like the thousandth time.

It had been six long years since the old one’s last visit and six long years since the last Albarn child. Yet, as they were ushered into the dilapidated foyer, the old master and her apprentice both realised the house hadn’t changed at all. Same furniture in the same place, just shaggy and worn with time. The carpets had not been replaced and the same cracks had not been scratched from the walls. All that seemed different were the portraits. The Albarn portraits were of the ugly necessary variety. They were an assortment of long gone corpses lining the foyer walls, detailing which was which. Now all the walls were filled to the brim with baby pictures. They told of first steps, of first words, of first guns. The insidious gap-toothed grin of a toddler loomed over the old one and made her cough. As she looked around and as Wilson rummaged through his supplies, Mrs Albarn seemed to stand in her own hallway, clasping and unclasping her greyed hands, opening and closing her fish mouth, unsure of what to do.

“Strange,” The old one wondered, “She wasn’t like this the last time. She was such a happy lamb last time.” The old woman cleared her throat, making the Albarn woman tense.

“Is there anywhere to place the tub? Or shall we go into the Parlour like last time dear?” Mrs Albarn shivered in an invisible wind then nodded. Raising an eyebrow at Wilson, who looked just as puzzled, the old one led the way into the side parlour, just to their right.

“Is there any reason why Frankie insisted we come so early after the baby's birth?”

They had set up the old tub on the coffee table and had now taken to listening to the rain thrash against the windowpane. Mrs Albarn, sitting on a patchwork couch, bit her lip.

“It was actually my idea. I was...concerned. I’m still concerned.”

The old woman rolled her eyes. New mother jitters. There was no doubt about it.

“Couldn’t you have waited a little longer dearie? Autumn is a very hard time of year for us. When you turn your head, October bleeds as quickly as it can into the following February.”

“Don’t you mean November?”

“No. February. Frankie should know how difficult the journey is here. It took us seven months to get to him. And Frankie was a real handful!”

“Yes well, this is a very special case.”

“Has the child set the house on fire?”

“What? No!”

“The barn? The fields?”

“No! Nothing’s on fire!”

“Ah, you see that’s what I would class as a special case. What has the child done there? She’s only what...two months old? What could she have possibly done to make you so anxious?”

Before Mrs Albarn could answer, her husband slumped into their make-shift parlour. He was different too. So very different. When Frankie Albarn’s first child had been born the man had been glowing with pride, happiness… a third thing the old one couldn’t quite remember. Now, he was pale and grey, just like his wife. But Frankie was an Albarn! He had descended from witches and shadows! He was crafted from the midnight sky! Yet those bright eyes had fallen to smoke and faded glass. The old woman sighed. What a waste.

“Hello,” Frankie nodded at the two Carnival Folk in his parlour, “How are you two?”

“Confused Frankie,” The old one sighed, “There better be a good reason for you calling us out here in November no less! Would you care to tell us what is going on?”

“The baby is…odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Just...odd. And Ruth was afraid-”

“Oh yes! She’s already said that! But here we all are, in the farmhouse. Nothing on fire.” A small smile formed on the old woman’s careworn face. Frankie gave a little chuckle, remembering the time he set the living room drapes alight.

“We had them replaced.”

“Oh yes I noticed last time!”

Ruth Albarn sat between them all, perplexed.

“Fran’s upstairs,” She cut in, “Would you like to see her yourself?”

“By all means. Go girl go!”

A few minutes later, the old one of myth and fantasy was sat on a parlour armchair, prodding a baby with a wrinkled finger.

“Ah, lovely! Just lovely! Much better than the boy was!”

Fran Albarn, plump as plump can be, gave the old one a giant grin. Her mother, sitting on the far side of the room, had turned a livid purple.

“Yes,” Ruth growled, “We know. The very first time you said it.”

The old woman blew a loud, obnoxious raspberry on the baby’s tummy. Fran erupted into a cackle, a noise Mrs Albarn seemed utterly repulsed by.

“She had your laugh Frankie!” The crone gawped, “Your hair too!”

She stroked the girl’s dark brown tufts, which had just started to sprout.

Frankie didn’t seem happy about this news and looked down to the floorboards.

“I see nothing wrong with this one. Why on earth did you call?”

Frankie Albarn ran his fingers through his hair.

“When she was born she didn’t scream. She was completely silent. The midwife, some girl from town, said she was born with her eyes wide open.”

“And what lovely eyes too!” The old woman giggled, pinching Fran’s nose. The baby nodded, squirming, “Cheeky bugger!”

“...Anyway, isn’t that a little odd, you know? Being born observing the world around you. Having that much self awareness is a dangerous thing.”

“Perhaps for ordinary folk,” The old one picked the bay up, resting her in chicken-bone arms, “But this is an Albarn. Her kind swims with the fishes and flies high with the birds. There’s more witchcraft in her bones than sewing and farming.”

Ruth Albarn gave a little sob. The crone opposite growled.

“Oh, pull yourself together! It could be much worse!”

“How?” Ruth wailed, “How could it possibly be worse?”

Wilson, silent as the grave, tapped the tub in the centre of the room, his eyes hooded. Frankie patted his wife on the back.

“I think we’re about to find out Love.”

“Steady Wilson! Steady!” The old crone called, placing Fran into the tub, tickling her head and pinching her cheeks before letting go.

“What’s the bowl for?” Ruth whimpered.

“To cook her dear.”

“What?”

The old one sighed and turned back to the baby.

“It was a joke Ruth. Just a joke,” Frankie explained warily.

“Wilson,” The crone called, “I need the flask. Pour the flask!”

Out of his pocket, Wilson produced a flasky, grimy and half full. He reached over Fran in the tub and poured the flask into her forehead, making the baby gurgle.

“What’s all this for?” Ruth whispered to her husband as the old one placed a hand on her daughter’s head. Foam had started to crawl out from the bowl and began to take over the coffee table.

“We’ll see.”

“But-”

“We’ll see.”

“You have to list-”

“Trust me.”

After a minute or so, the old one’s eyelids began to droop and her hand let go of Fran’s head.

“Here we go.”

“Wha-”

“The Fawn!” A voice pushed Ruth back. It was a rough male growl, which soared out of the old one’s throat with such force, it seemed to be the voice of a prisoner, trapped in her tiny frame, “A fawn will come. Only its eyes will remain.”

The Albarns watched, their mouths open. Wilson, stood beside them, lit a cigarette.

“Nothing significant. A man made out of cinders. Crimson. West-West! North-west!” The old one called out, as spit flew down her chin, “A man with no names... A demon... A demon and its…” At this point, the old woman’s eyes, now red and puffy, clicked open. She stared down at the baby, full of so much light, so much potential, so much magic. Then she turned to stare at the parents, all lost and frozen in time.

“Do you know what’s wrong with her?” Frankie asked slowly. The old one shuddered violently but then twisted her mouth into a smile.

“Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s going to be a great little witch. One of the greatest I will ever see.” She replied, with some sadness. Ignoring Ruth’s tears, the old woman of myth, of legend, stumbled back to the parlour door.

“We’re leaving now.”

Frankie Albarn, who had gone to collect his daughter, nodded reluctantly.

“Ruth will see you out.”

“Don’t you want your equipment back?”

“No need for it,” The old one replied, “Got hundreds of them, haven’t we Wilson?” Wilson grunted and raced forward to their van to retrieve his whip.

“That thing you did, it was a prediction right?” Ruth asked as they returned to the front door.

“Indeed.”

“So, they don’t always come true.”

“My predictions are very precise. I have thousands of satisfied customers. But yes I suppose there is room for error.”

“My pa always said to never trust your carnival lot,” Ruth Albarn glared. The old one smirked, her eyes like little suns in the shadows.

“Frankie’s pa ran off with a she-wolf, if I recall correctly. Make sure his son doesn’t do the same dear. History repeating itself is a horrible thing.”

Ruth scoffed and shut the door in the old one’s face.

As the old lady walked down the stairs, she chuckled. By the time she got to her carnival hearse, she was cackling. Wilson, who had climbed back into the front seat, grinned at her.

“I’ll bet you he’s gone in five years time.”

Wilson held up two fingers in the fog.

“Oh that’s a brave bet Wilson my boy!”

Both giggled and the old woman circled the van. When she opened the back door, her face fell a little.

“Shame about the girl. Terrible start to life. Still, I suppose she’ll get away soon enough.”

Wilson grunted and the old one, a relic of lost times, of monsters and men, climbed back into her van. Her assistant, who only spoke in noises, spat out the end of a cigarette and hit his whip onto the dry ground. A strange goodbye to an even stranger place.

And with that, the Carnival Folk disappeared into the hills, its bumper falling off with a giant thud as they hid in the mountains. They would never be seen in the peculiar town of Bad Seed again.

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parental-tendencies · 4 years ago

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Imperfect Prince

LORD HAVE MERCY i wrote this /years/ ago so no spoilers for anything but the characters have developed further than written here (ft. my ancient author’s note)

Warnings/Triggers: scars, one ends up shirtless but not at all in a seductive way, kisses but not gross ones, body issues, self doubt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roman tugged down on his sleeves, trying his best to hide the fresh bandages around his forearm. His last battle with the dragon witch, admittedly, could have gone better, but he had still come back victorious. That little fact, however, only did so much to soothe his bruised ego.Bruised and slightly roasted. Roman mused bitterly, tugging on his sleeve once more before exiting his room. I hope Patton doesn't mind me arriving early to his delectable feast.

Roman smiled at the sight in the kitchen. Patton was dancing along to a light pop song as he cooked, Virgil smiling slightly, carefully cutting the vegetables that the fatherly one had set in front of him. The darker trait's grin widened for a moment at the royal's entrance.

“Hey, Princy. Have fun in the ImagiNation?” Roman struck a mighty pose and smiled wildly.

“It was a fantastic adventure! The dragon witch was quite a formidable opponent this day.” Patton glanced over his shoulder, glasses foggy from the steam of his pot.

“But not too formidable, right?”, lips pursing in concern for one of his kiddos.

“Of course not Padre, have no fear!” Roman posed as dramatically as possible, pumping his fist high in victory. “there is no challenge too great for the Great Prince of Dreams!” Virgil raised a brow at Romans extravagance, but something seemed to catch his attention as he peered closer a Romans lifted fist, shadow-coated eyes narrowing in concentration at the gap between his hand and sleeve.

“My white knight!” Patton cheered from the stove, giggling preciously. Soon Logan entered the fray, moaning that his concentration was thrown off by 57% thanks to Roman and Patton's antics. His attempt at regaining lost time by reading at the dinner table lasted only five minutes under Patton's Disappointed Dad look. He closed his book quietly, placing it on his lap as he continued to eat, not noticing Virgil desperately tying to bury his smirk beneath his food.

Soon the family set about cleaning up, Roman carefully extracting himself from washing the dishes and trading for Virgil's drying position. After the last sparkling glass was put away, Patton sent everyone off to bed, offering another congratulations to Roman on his successful battle, a paternal forehead kiss and quiet “Come if you need me,” to Virgil, and a stern instruction not to stay up reading for Logan. It soon devolved into an argument that ended with Patton confiscating the book over night after no promises that Logan would indeed get his needed sleep. Roman was headed toward toward his own room when a newly hooded Virgil fell into step beside him.

“Can I walk with you?”

“O-of course!” Roman agreed, surprised. His darker-palleted companion had never requested to accompany him before. There was something new in the tone of Virgil's voice that Roman couldn't identify; a serious edge he hadn't heard before. They walk in silence until they had reached Roman's door, Virgil leaning casually against the frame as Roman entered. Instead of leaving for his own room, Virgil leaned into the doorway. His torso was the only thing Roman could see from his bed as his dark companion asked for permission to enter the royal's chambers.

“May I?” Virgil was careful not to even edge a shoe into the others space until specifically allowed. It would do him no good to get kicked out before even talking to Roman, much less accomplishing what he had set out to do.

“Certainly,” the prince smiled, though a tad confused. What did the little storm cloud need? His confusion only grew when Virgil shut the door behind him. He felt no need to reach for his sword however. He had learned he could trust their newest member. He even fancied them friends. With a deep sigh Virgil joined him on the edge of his bed. There was a moment of silence.

“What happened to your hand?” the darker asked, voice subdued. For a moment Roman panicked, before falling back on his years of acting experience. He laughed lightly.

“What are you talking about? Nothing's wrong with my hand.” Virgil looked at Roman's confident smile and only shook his head.

“Don't lie, I saw the bandage before dinner. What happened?” Romans blinding smile slowly dimmed until it was reduced to a small frown. His eyes narrowed as he wallowed in his self-disappointment.

“I was lazy guarding against the Dragon Witch. It was foolish and reckless and she managed to burn me.” The royal's typically happy voice was nearly angry, as if disgusted with himself for getting hurt. Virgil frowned, hoodie falling back to reveal his eyes drawing in concern as he reached for Princy's damaged arm. He hesitated, glancing up at the royal to make sure he was okay with this. Roman nearly declined such an open examination of his shameful lapse of focus, but seeing the gentle concern in his companion's face, he relented with a shaky nod. Virgil was incredibly gentle, pulling Roman's sleeve up slowly in case the jittery prince decided to withdraw. His fingers barely ghosted over Romans exposed skin, careful not to disturb the bandage covering the royal's damaged skin.

Something else caught his attention on Romans surprisingly pale forearm. A small discoloration that Virgil suddenly realized was a scar. Nearly two inches long and clearly from some sort of sizable knife, though it was thicker than any mere kitchen accident. Virgil smoothed his finger over the faded mark with worry.

“Ro, what is this?”

Roman grimaced.“Another failure. I had never fought against daggers before.”

“How many of these do you have?” Virgil breathed, panicked. Roman huffed, pulling his arm away from Virgil's icy hands as he stood.

“I know, they're horrid. They're horrible and disgusting and absolutely awful.” Roman crossed his arms tightly, pinning his damaged forearm against his chest. Virgil scrambled to get near the prince again, nearly falling of the bed.

“What? No. No, that's not what I meant at all.” Everything in him was pushing so frantically to fix whatever he had clearly disturbed with Roman he barely noticed when he put his hand on Princy's arm.

“I just panicked, I'm- I'm sorry,” he finished softly. Roman sighed, almost tired as his shoulders slumped. He loosened his arms.

“Its fine. You don't have to lie, its alright.” Virgil tilted his head, confused.

“About the... scars.” Roman continued, almost hesitating before saying the last word.

“I know they're atrocious.”

Virgil shook his head, voice lowering his voice to match the royal's.“There just a few marks Roman, its nothing.” Roman eyes suddenly widened, emotions whirling across his face too quickly for Virgil to analyze. He suddenly pushed Virgil back, sending him stumbling backwards in surprise as the Prince turned his back to him. Roman tore off his white coat in a frenzy, pulling his t shirt over his head in a rush.

“Does this look like nothing?!” Roman demanded, sounding distraught.

“Is this nothing?!”

Virgil couldn't find his voice to answer. Criss-crossing Romans back was a patchwork of scars, sword swipes and burns and the long, jagged lines of deadly-sharp claws. Lighter, darker, and soft red impressions stood out on Roman's strikingly pale skin. He must not take off his jacket. Virgil realized, somewhere in the part of his mind that wasn't completely freaking out. He's too ashamed. He was broken out of his stupor by Roman's shaky laugh.

“Struck speechless, huh?” Romans voice was quiet, drained of his usual flair. Virgil caught sight of the prince's hands, squeezing his clothes tightly. They were shaking. His whole body was, muscles drawn tight across his whole frame. The royal tilted his head back slightly.

“I know how you feel.” Roman sounded like he was crying. He took a shuddering breath.

“I'm hideous.” Roman whispered.

Virgil stepped forward, stopping just behind the trembling prince. Virgil wrapped his arms around Romans torso, breath catching when he felt the unevenness of more scars on Roman's chest. Virgil buried his face in the natural divot of Roman's spine.

“You're beautiful.” Virgil countered quietly, making sure the prince could hear him. Roman choked out a sob at Virgil's words. As Virgil spoke, he felt his lips brush against uneven skin. A scar he realized; a mace it looked like. Acting on instinct, he pressed his lips to it, kissing it gently. Roman let out another, softer cry in response. Virgil stretched over to the back of the prince's shoulder, kissing a slash mark that stretched down to his first rib. He felt a tear drop onto his hand. He kissed another, a small swirling burn, a little lower and closer to the warrior's spine. And he just continued, kissing every scar he could reach, slow and taking time to acknowledge what exactly had happened, what Roman had suffered keeping everyone safe. Making sure Roman knew that there was no part of him too scary to look at, too horrible to touch.

Though for a few of the deeper ones, Virgil hesitated, whispering questions against Roman's skin, making sure that his gentle touch wouldn't harm his white knight. He knew they might still be sore even long after they'd healed. But each time Roman gave a small nod of consent, silent tears falling down his face. He made his way around eventually, kissing marks along his chest and shoulders. Lips pressed petal soft against a thick red line on Roman's collarbone, Virgil's left hand finally drifted from around Roman's chest, fingers running along Romans arm until he met his hand. He took Roman's lax fingers into his own, entwining their hands.

Virgil took a half step back, raising their joined hands until they were even with his soft smile as he slid his hand down to Romans's wrist. Virgil didn't say anything though, pressing his lips to the small dagger cut he had first discovered, that had led to all of this. He smiled brightly when he felt Roman's captured hand cup his face, squeezing his shadow-coated eyes shut in ecstasy. He opened them again, however. He wasn't quite done. Slowly, and with as much care as he could muster, He ever-so-carefully brushed his lips over the bandage on Roman's arm, light as a butterfly. He looked up, bright eyes watery beneath his bangs as he searched Roman's expression. Roman met his eyes then, the first time since he had revealed his secret. The tears he had shed had evaporated, cheeks reddened and blotchy. But the smile on his face more than made up for it. It wasn't the cocky smirk he typically wore in videos, or the tight smile when he was hiding something, or the casual grin he wore when their family was playing around. It was blinding and sincere, bright as the sun and just as warm. Roman laughed, shocked, happy, on top of the world; feeling totally, completely loved.

“Your absolutely amazing, you know that?” Roman managed, carding his fingers through Virgil's hair. The object of his affections blushed and offered a small smile in return. The prince suddenly pulled Virgil close, hugging him tightly to his damaged chest. Virgil buried his face in Romans shoulder as he held him, careful of Roman's deeper scars. He could feel the royal's chest expand against his body as he sighed.

“Now, after all that I feel like the score's a little uneven, don't you?” Roman whispered lightly, a teasing tone in his voice. Virgil regretfully extracted himself from their embrace, if only enough to meet Roman's eyes. He tilted his head in confusion.

“I've been wanting to do this forever,” Roman admitted with a delicate smile, bringing his right hand up to cup Virgil's head. He pressed their lips together softly, holding his little storm cloud loosely in case he wanted to pull away. Virgil did the exact opposite, regaining the ground he had just abandoned as he pulled Roman closer, arms tightening around his waist immediately. Roman couldn't help but smile for a moment before returning his attentions to his own hero. His biggest shame ended up being the thing that brought his highest hopes to fruition. Maybe the scars weren't as bad as he thought.

Peace out!

This is my first real attempt at a “romance” story, so if its a little awkward toward the end, can you give me some pointers? And I am in desperate need of someone who actually knows how to edit stuff (and assure me my incredibly long setups aren't necessary-this was supposed to be short.), so hit me up if your interested. Thanks for clicking by!

-me

#My writing #sanders sides #roman sanders #ts roman #prinxiety #ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts patton #patton sanders #logansanders #ts logan #sanders sides fic #space blasters effects: *queue queue*#coming together #roman x virgil #ts fic #sides fanfiction #ts fanfiction

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years ago

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Mark of the Wolf Part 12

Catch Up Here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 5k

Warnings: For once... no violence in a MOTW chapter. But... maybe some poorly written rushed angst? I’m sorry... I just wanted to keep this story alive without having to wait a month in between updates... Oops!

A/N: Ayyy... Next chapter things are gonna heat up a bit.... and not just with our killer hunter tree people (Oh gawd, this sentence was stupid.) Enjoy meeting the family!

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

The drive to the Homestead was filled with awkward silence, half snores and faint mumbles traded in for regular conversation. You had been resting against Derek's chest the whole drive, teetering between full-on sleep and temporal distortion from constantly zoning in and out -or at least, it felt like you were time travelling whenever you'd close your eyes for a second and then the next thing you knew, a whole hour had flown past.

Your dreams were foggy, hitting you vividly one moment then incomprehensible the next. Several symbols flooded your thoughts when your eyelids closed, so did Alyster’s hoarse voice, but you blocked most of that out. Through all the disorder within your brain, only one image presented itself clearly and repeatedly: the bow and shank of a golden key without a bit. You kept sketching it in your mind. Over and over and over again until you started tracing the outline of the shape on your thigh using your index finger. Derek noticed but didn’t say anything. You were grateful because you wouldn’t know what to say had he asked.

You knew instantly the moment you were close to home. The air smelled of pine and rain. The sound of chirping and crickets filled the night. You felt Derek's muscles uncoil as soon as that fresh forest air hit his nostrils. He took a long, deep whiff and that caused his chest to rise and the beating of his heart to accelerate. The sound was… calming.

A howl woke you from your half-slumber. You were greeted by a tense energy swarming inside the car. Markus chuckled before reassuring everyone it was simply your youngest brother, Jonah, alerting the rest of your family to your arrival.

The driveway was narrow and paved by pebble-sized stones in place of tar or cobble, the sound of tires rolling over stone was familiar yet odd. Out from behind a tall hedge was the old, two-story wood and brick style house and behind that was the cabin and shed. Your mother and father were standing on the porch, tight smiles on their faces diluted by the breezy way they waved their arms. Beside them stood your sister, Esme. She was wearing workout clothes, undoubtedly from spending her day training Jonah -who was nowhere to be seen.

"Home, sweet home," Markus said as he got out of the car and was promptly greeted by Esme's fist punching his side. "Oof! Why do both my sister's insist on punching me? Are hugs and handshakes no longer an acceptable form of etiquette amongst werewolves?"

Esme's brow was furrowed, she looked furious, "Werewolves, yes. Siblings, not so much.” She punched him again, “You had us worried."

You were certain she was ready to rip him a new one right there and then by scolding him with a wordy speech she had undoubtedly practised several times in the mirror, but it never came. In place of a tongue lashing, she completely blindsiding him with a strong hug. A relieved sigh leaving her full lips.

As soon as you stepped out of the car, you were nearly toppled to the ground by Jonah -who had no doubt picked up the same blindsiding habit from Esme- with one of his trademark sprint hugs.

"Y/N! I missed you! How's your new job? Saved any pups lately? Get bitten by any mean cats? What about your new house? Is it spacey? Do you have your own porch swing? I know how much you love porch swings. You probably noticed ours is gone, I kinda, sorta, maybe broke it. Anyway, what about your neighbours? Is it weird moving someplace where your nearest neighbours can hear it when you sneeze? You sneeze really loudly! Are they nosey or rude or--" Jonah rambled at a faster than lightning pace.

You were still winded from his surprise hug, you almost didn't know what was happening. You couldn’t even get a word in between each speed round of questioning he threw your way.

"I missed you too Speedy," You giggled as you patted his lithe back, he was taller and skinnier than when you last saw him. That worried you. "The real question is: 'What have they been feeding you?' You're practically all bone!" You gawked at your parents.

Your dad chuckled, pushing his glasses farther up his nose, "Don't look at us. He eats more than Esme and Markus combined."

"Hey squirt," Esme wrapped you in a hug after she released Markus from her stony embrace. After she peered over your shoulder with an arched brow at all the strangers currently disembarking from the cars. "I see you've brought guests. Good thing you called ahead of time to give us a heads up." She retorted.

"Oh tish, Esme. Don't be rude," your mom walked down the steps and welcomed the strangers at her doorstep. “Please, ignore her boorish manners. Any friends of Y/N are friends of ours. Welcome, welcome.”

Stiles fumbled a bit, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans before offering a handshake. Scott and Liam inched closer to offer their own introductions while Derek and Peter took in the sheer scope of the Homestead, the latter of whom let out a whistle before remarking, “We invested in the wrong kind of real estate...”

“We?” Derek huffed.

“We’re family. Family is always entitled to a ‘we’,” Peter pointed out.

“I think we are the exception to the rule,” Derek strode away from the insulted looking Peter and introduced himself to your parents. Theo had remained silent and guarded during the entire welcome wagon. The overly warm ambience threw him off. He stood out like a sore thumb. An uncomfortably sore thumb.

"How's the fiancé?" you asked Esme with a bright smile as you made your way inside the house. It was probably the first time you'd been able to smile freely ever since you moved to Beacon Hills.

It comforted you that the house still smelt the same: sandalwood and lavender. Sandalwood was your dad’s go-to scent, he used it to try and mask the smell of tobacco from your mother whenever he’d sneak a cigar. He was never successful in that endeavour. Lavender was the go-to scent of all the candles Maggie made from scratch. She was a dabbler in aromatherapy. Everyone else in the house would always complain about strong smells during Summer, that’s when she did most of her brewing and mixing and distilling like some new-age witch without the pointy hat or warty nose. Your wolf nose wasn’t as keen as everyone else’s, so it never bothered you much. Not unless she was working with jasmine, you couldn’t stand the smell of jasmine.

Esme rolled her eyes, "She's driving me up the wall. Who knew planning a wedding could be so… stressful."

You cocked your head to the side, "Wait, I thought Maggie wanted to elope?"

"She did, originally," Esme sighed in your mom’s direction before shooting you a small smile. "Mom talked her into having a traditional wedding instead."

"All I did was show her your grandmother's wedding dress and a few photo albums, Maggie is a grown woman, she is allowed to change her mind," Your mother winked in your direction.

Jonah darted around Derek and Scott, nose high in the air as he far-from-discretely investigated the new werewolves.

"Hey, Speedy, what is the general rule when you meet other werewolves?" Esme asked with a hint of exasperation in her tone.

Jonah huffed a sigh and pulled his lips into a pout, eyes cast down, "Never be too obvious…”

“And?” Esme pressed.

Jonah bit his lip, “And don't sniff the air… it's rude."

"And what were you doing?" Esme's hands were on her hips now.

Jonah kicked at the air, "Being rude."

You elbowed your sister when you saw your brother's pouting face pull lower, "Cut him some slack, E. He's allowed to fib a little. He’s still a kid. You all had a learning curve too." You held out your hands for Jonah and he dashed to your side and cradled under your frame as though you were his security blanket. He shot Esme a shit-eating grin. "Don't worry Speedy, I'll protect you from the big, bad wolf."

Esme snarled, her eyes turning blue for an instant and then she chuckled and ruffled Jonah's sandy curls, "You're lucky Y/N's here. But don't think for a second that you can use her to get out of morning training."

Jonah shone his golden eyes in a puppy dog manner and Esme simply smacked his face playfully, not having any of his younger sibling bullshit tactics. You laughed at the weird sound he made after Esme’s palm left his face.

You had been so caught up in just being back home and slipping back into comfortable habits that you had forgotten to introduce everyone. "Oh, how rude of me. I haven’t done proper introductions yet. Mom, Dad, Esme, Speedy, these are my… friends from Beacon Hills. That's Derek, his uncle Peter, Scott, Liam, I'm not sure who he is because we met two nights ago and we took separate cars and, of course, we all know Deaton. We had a seventh, but we left her in Mexico."

Theo smirked at your quirky way of saying you hadn't been introduced and gave a half-wave as he decided to handle his own introductions, "Theo."

Everyone gave a wave or a nod or an inaudible, 'Hello'.

"Everyone, these are my parents, Christian and Estella Markolf. The sour face over here is my sister Esme, you all met Markus and this little runt over here is Jonah.” You shook Jonah around like he was a ragdoll, prompting a giggle from him. “Our emissary, Maggie is… somewhere, though I'm not sure where."

"She headed into town early this morning, apparently a package arrived for her," Esme filled you in.

Jonah sniffed the air again, though not as subtly as he thought he was being. Then he turned and whispered to Esme, "Does he smell strange to you?" he set his eyes on Theo.

"Yeah, I'm not all werewolf, that's why. I'm surprised you picked up on it," Theo explained to him loudly.

Esme hid her embarrassment behind a scowl, “Speedy, we just went over this…”

Jonah ignored Esme’s protests and started up a conversation with Theo, "I have a condition that makes my wolf senses more excited than normal. It means I’m constantly running about or my nose picks up on strange smells from miles away. One time I smelt a campfire that was lit on the other side of the property line. Oh, and this one time I heard scratching in the house and it nearly drove me up the wall because it was so loud but no one else could hear it… turns out it was a rat in the basement."

"Ah, Chimera," Theo offered in explanation. "What's your…uh, condition?"

"ADHD," Jonah said simply.

Peter looked at your brother like he suddenly transformed into a peacock and you protectively glowered at him. Derek subtly stomped on Peter’s foot and he let out a hiss in pain. You bit back a laugh.

"Well," you father cleared his throat. "Now that we're all… acquainted, let’s see if we can make some room for all of you. And then after, we’ll let Markus explain what exactly he was doing in Mexico and why he and Esme never bothered to tell their parents they were planning on doing something stupid." he glanced between Esme and Markus with an inquisitive brow arched high. Both your siblings looked away like they’d been burned and shuffled awkwardly.

“Before you go on and tear Markus a new one, remember to mind your temper, your blood pressure is a whole thing now and I don’t need to tell you to keep a handle on it,” your mother patted your father’s chest lovingly before turning to her eldest son. “And you. March on upstairs and take a shower and a couple of aspirin. You reek!”

The house was full and bustling with energy. In every room there was a conversation to be had or a chore to be done. The only time the house had been this full was the time when Maggie had invited her extended family over from Ireland to visit over the holidays.

The house was already beginning to bud off into smaller groups. The youngest members gravitated towards each other. Jonah and Theo hit it off quite easily and it didn’t take long until Liam was pulled into their orbit. Before you knew it, they were outside roughhousing like teenagers -though, to be fair, Jonah was barely over eighteen.

Peter and Esme got to talking about her former pack down in Sao Paulo and Deaton, Scott and Stiles were in the study looking over several open books and notes Maggie had compiled about the hunters. Derek and Markus were outside somewhere talking in hushed whispers. Meanwhile, your dad was helping you and your mother set up your old room.

"It's good to have you home," your mother said as she unfolded the duvet cover. "Despite the circumstances."

You shrugged, focusing your energy on putting the duvet cover on the right way round.

"Though it is rather ironic," your dad chipped in as he brought several sleeping bags down from the attic. "You left to get away from all this werewolf business and somehow you come home with more werewolves. Next thing you know you’ll be marrying a werewolf."

"I get it, I'm a walking disaster with a magnet for the supernatural," you half-joked.

"That Derek boy and his uncle seem quite familiar to me," your mom's face scrunched up in thought. "He wouldn't be a Hale by any chance?"

"Y-yeah… how did you--?"

"I knew his mother, way back when, before I left my old pack." She interrupted you as she fluffed several pillows and took down several blankets from the wardrobe. "He looks so much like his mother..." her eyes glanced out the window and then back at you. “And quite handsome."

You tossed a pillow her way, "Very subtle."

She winked, "It's just an observation."

Your dad grumbled as he took the blankets out of her hands and headed out of the room, "I sure do hope that’s all that was."

“Ignore him, he’s only just gotten used to the fact that he isn’t alpha anymore, he’s a little more territorial than usual,” she snickered behind a quilt.

You heard the clinking of Maggie's chunky metal bangles and numerous pendants before you heard her footsteps when she barged in through the front door holding a cardboard box marked with a 'Royal Mail' stamp on it, "Hey, who are those two strange boyos with Jonah outside?"

She stopped with wide eyes when she saw you, arms spreading wide so she could squeeze your frame between her two plump arms. The frilly sleeves of her summer dress rolling up so you could see her tattoo sleeve in all its glory. You noticed she had gotten a new tattoo added to the collection.

"Aww, Y/N, I've missed you! I didn't think we'd be seeing you so soon after you left..." she studied your face and frowned when she noticed the dark circles under your eyes. "You haven't been sleeping at all. You got a bad dose of stress, don’t you? This won't do." Her strong Irish lilt was still very much present on her tongue.

"Hey, Maggie, I hear you aren't eloping anymore?" you asked and she blushed dotingly.

"What can I say, I decided I wanted the fairy tale wedding after all," She tucked her short hair behind her ear as a deep blush set on her freckled face. “I’m guessing those new additions amongst the garden gnomes belong to you?"

"Oh, I brought more," you nodded behind you where Derek, Peter, Scott and Stiles were all gathered.

"Who is that tall drink of water?" she whispered, but you knew they all heard.

You ignored her comment and glanced down at her parcel balanced between her arm and hip, "What's that?”

"Oh, it's a book my brother sent over," she used her shapely nails to rip open the box with little to no finesse. "Aha!" she cheered when she finally got it open. "It's the right volume too! I’ve gotta crack on with this sweets. We’ll hang properly later, yeah?"

You nodded and stood aside to let her through.

She trotted over to the study and immediately started flipping through pages after a short and sweet introduction to the rest of the pack. Maggie and Deaton got to catching up while Stiles, who was face timing with a pretty girl, pulled up a chair to join them with their studies.

Derek glanced your way while Peter rambled to Esme and Markus about something. He flashed a quick smile at you that caused the temperature in the room to grow much hotter. You hovered aimlessly for a second before seeking out something to do. You settled for sticking your head in the fridge to try and cool down.

Those words Alyster had spoken before kept fading in and out of your subconscious all day like a malfunctioning dimmer switch you could never turn off all the way.

That night, you, Esme and Maggie had curled up under your covers with a pint of lemon sorbet and an old boxset of Friends on DVD. Even though you enjoyed your time away from the madness and bloodshed and time being hunted to the ends of the earth, you never quite relaxed into the secure sanctuary of your bedroom walls.

The crappy TV in your room had the worst sound and you had spent most of the night pretending to watch the poor quality video while Esme and Maggie rotated between bridesmaid talk, the new pack of wolves you had brought home and how many muscles Derek was hiding under his shirt -that particular topic seemed to interest Maggie more that Esme, who simply made disinterested noises every time her better half brought up the topic.

"I mean… I bet his muscles have muscles..." Maggie ate her spoon full of ice-cream slowly, mind elsewhere. "He seems like the kind of guy who would work out shirtless."

"Come with us, and all this chaos can end. Come with us and I'll tell you the truth."

Esme sighed, "If you like him so much, marry him." her words weren't mean or unpleasant, simply the ramblings of a bored woman tired of hearing Maggie fawn over Derek's muscles.

"Come with us and you will learn of your importance to the Order... And the fate of the world."

"I mean… with your permission," Maggie said sarcastically before peppering what could only be cold kisses onto Esme’s cheek, smudging her rouge lipstick all over your older sisters face. Esme didn't mind it one bit.

"All we want is you."

"Easy there, future Mrs Quinn-Markolf," Esme wiped the lipstick smudges onto her t-shirt sleeve. "You keep smothering me like this and I may just have to rethink the, 'Till death do us part' clause in our vows."

Maggie snorted, "Yeah, you'll have to rethink it if you think I'm going to be known as Maggie Quinn-Markolf for the rest of my life."

"Your blood is special.”

Esme pulled away from Maggie, “What? Is Quinn-Markolf not euphonic enough for you? I thought our love was stronger than the clashing sounds of our hyphenated last names!” she retorted.

“Your lineage is special.”

Maggie scrunched her nose and gave a blunt, “Nah, you’d be sorely mistaken there, love.” Esme gasped and Maggie peppered her cheek with more kisses before she could escape from beneath the covers, “I am only codding ya!”

“You are special."

Despite the playful atmosphere, you were too distracted to enjoy the moment.

Esme noticed you had been absent from their conversations and she chalked it up to more than just exhaustion or anti-social behaviour, "You okay, squirt?" she nudged you with her shoulder.

You hummed, taken by surprise by the question. "Yeah, why?"

"Because you've been a little… distant tonight," Maggie finished her thought for her.

"I..." you wanted to say everything was fine. You wanted to put up a brave front and soldier on, but something in you cracked and you had to hold back a sob as you finally caved in, revealing everything that had happened to you since you saved Derek in the vet clinic. You even revealed the part about you almost agreeing to be the sacrificial lamb when Alyster was in your head.

Neither your sister nor her fiancé said anything, they just let you talk and talk until you passed out. It felt good to be open and truthful without the fear of sudden judgement.

The next day, when you woke up, you were squished between Esme and Maggie. Their soft snores waking you from the longest sleep you'd had in a long while. It felt good to get that off your chest. But for some reason, the atmosphere in the house changed. It grew a little more tense.

The days following your homecoming blended together. The pack had spent their free time doing research and trying to come up with a viable plan of action. Liam, Jonah and Theo began to form an odd bond over their werewolf otherness -Liam with his IED, Jonah with his ADHD and Theo with his being a Chimera. Together, they were one ingredient short of turning into some form of an incendiary device. Their energy was exhausting, as was their constant rough-housing. You couldn't fathom how Maggie managed to reign them in whenever they got too rowdy.

Things with Derek were different. He was more distant and whenever you did interact, he'd act pricklier than usual. He was giving you the cold shoulder. Most of the time, if he could avoid it, he wouldn't look you in the eye when he talked to you. His jaw would twitch every now and again as he spoke between clenched teeth. Peter delighted himself in watching your painful interaction. He’d always have a snide comment that would cause Derek to sigh or just walk away.

It was like Derek was being accosted by your very presence and that drove you up the wall. That was why you were storming into the woods at dawn in old combat boots and baggy pyjamas. This behaviour couldn’t continue. You wouldn’t allow it.

You found him in the middle of the meadow, he was shirtless and sweating. His biceps were straining as he dipped his body low in a single armed push-up. You were dazed for a moment, the first glimmers of daybreak causing his sweat slickened body to glisten. It seems Maggie was correct in assuming he worked out without a shirt. A flush burned at your cheeks and you bit your tongue in frustration. Damn him and his perfectly chiselled muscles.

"What are you doing out here so early?" he grumbled out without looking at you.

"I have a bone to pick with you. Didn't want to do it in front of the others," You placed your hands on your hips as though that would make you look more imposing. It didn't.

He stood and let out a strained exhale, bare chest heaving up and down as his midriff tensed and relaxed with every breath. He brushed a hand through his dark, sweaty hair and strode over, picking up his water bottle and spritzing himself with water in an effort to cool himself down.

You could have sworn you saw some of the moisture evaporate off his body. It made you gulp.

"Alright," he was panting, eyes dark. "What is it?" his jaw did that thing again and your face grew even redder. You hoped he'd chalk it up to anger.

"You've been acting… strange around me ever since we got here. Most days you don't even look at me. Usually, this wouldn’t bother me, but we’re supposed to be working together here and I can’t help but feel like maybe I did something wrong... Well did I?"

His eyes narrowed, "Did you do something wrong?" he repeated the question with a condescending tone and then laughed darkly. "Oh, I don't know. I'm usually elated whenever the person I'm trying to protect from sudden death flirts with the idea of giving themselves over to the homicidal maniac that's been stalking them across the country!"

You gasped, "You heard me?"

He rolled his eyes at you, "Of course I heard you! The whole house heard you! You live with a family of werewolves that have super hearing!"

You were growing antsy. What gave him the right to be so angry over something that didn't concern him? What gave him the right to eavesdrop on your private conversations with Esme and Maggie?

You were positively fuming now, "Well, since you took it upon yourself to listen in on my private conversation--"

"I wasn't listening in. I have supernatural hearing!"

You held up your hand to hush him, "Let me finish. Since your supernatural hearing picked up on my private conversation, then you obviously heard why I flirted with the idea of giving myself over to that homicidal maniac. He promised to let you live. I thought you were going to die… all of you."

"That doesn't make things better. He could have been lying to you for all you knew!"

"What if he wasn’t?

"He was!"

"What if he wasn't and all this madness would have ended once I gave myself up?"

"I don’t believe that! And neither should you. I can’t believe you were so reckless. Do you have any idea…" He ran a hand over his scruff roughly. “We promised to protect you. How do you think I would have felt if you wound up dead? Or how Scott would have felt? We chose to put our lives on the line. That was our choice.”

"If it comes down to me choosing between myself and everybody else, it’s simple math. It's my life! I never asked you to try and take it upon yourself to save me! I don't need your permission."

"Maybe you don't get a say in the matter!" Derek's eyes turned blue as he took a step closer to you. “Math isn’t all it’s about. It’s not all check and balance. Death isn’t permanent for everyone else who’s left behind. It just becomes an addition to their own equation.”

You were shaking now, voice going hoarse from all the shouting, "What gives you the right to presume to know what is and isn't best for me or what I can and cannot get a say in?" You finger poked at his chest repeatedly.

He wrapped his strong hands around your wrist, but there was no pressure, he simply used his hold over you to pull you closer so you could better hear his whispers, "Absolutely nothing."

Voice feather-light, you whispered back with a searching gaze, "Then why are you so mad with me for trying to do the right thing?"

"Because..." he tried to explain but gave up with a sigh and then dropped his water bottle.

Before you knew it, Derek's arms snaked around your body and his lips crashed onto yours in a heady kiss. His sharp canines grazed over your sensitive tongue and lips in a seductively dangerous manner. The kiss felt dangerous…forbidden. The perfect balance between pain and pleasure.

You gasped in shock when he deepened the kiss, his tongue coaxing yours to become as fervent as his -lapping, suckling and massaging tender flesh in sweet torment. A deep rumble emerged from his chest that caused your locked tongues to vibrate. Instinctively, he pulled you closer until you were pressed flush to his hot body. You moaned on reflex and felt blood rush to your head until your vision started to spin.

When he finally broke away, you stumbled and took a few breaths to try and gather your wits. Derek's wolfishly warm palms were cupping your face, forcing you to stare up into his deep green eyes. "Because you drive me insane." He finally finished.

"Oh..." a frog set itself in your throat and you had to clear it with a few awkward sounds, "I- Uhem! I, uh… didn't know that. I… I-"

You were flustered and in shock, your body burning with a sensual desire you hadn't had a second ago. All you could think about was how good his lips felt on yours. How soft and tender and deep the kiss was. How talented his tongue was.

You had to fan yourself to try and cool your skin. When that wasn't enough, you grabbed Derek's water bottle off the ground and sprayed yourself with the remnants inside.

With a shrill gasp, you turned to Derek, mustering what little dignity and authority you had left and spoke sternly at him, "That still doesn't excuse your behaviour. I'm glad we could resolve this like adults. I'll see you at the house. I have… things to do. Have a good… exercise."

You nodded to yourself and marched away, leaving the sounds of Derek's baffled chuckles behind. Before you reached the house, Jonah had appeared out of some unseen position and stopped you mid-stride. You shrieked from freight and frowned at him when he gave you an apologetic look.

"Jesus, Speedy! Don’t do that… Announce yourself next time or wear a bell," you steadied your breathing. "What is it?"

"Sorry, it's just, Maggie you know, she… uh, sent me with a message and told me to get to you as quickly as possible," Jonah rambled.

You placed a hand on his shoulder to slow him down, "Talk. Slower."

He nodded, a yawn deforming his smile, "She -Ah, good you're here, I don't have to run after you too. And, oh wow, you’re shirtless. I like running around shirtless too. Esme doesn’t like it though. She says I blind her with my pale skin. It’s not my fault that I can’t tan as nicely as the rest of the family," he spoke to someone behind you.

You turned and noticed Derek had run down from the meadow after hearing you scream. The flush from before threatened to return but you chose to focus on Jonah’s message and not Derek's intense stare.

"Right, okay, back to why Maggie sent me out here to look for you guys," Jonah continued. "She thinks she's cracked it."

"Cracked what?" Derek asked as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders.

"You know, the mystery behind the hunters who’ve been killing werewolves all over the place and what it is exactly that they want," Jonah smacked his palm on his forehead. "She thinks she knows what they are too, thanks to that book Caleb sent her –Caleb is her brother in Ireland– Deaton and that clumsy dude… Stiles, they helped her with everything. They spent all night translating this book with a girl called... Lyria? Lyra? I can’t--" he clicked his fingers repeatedly as though that would magically bring the name back to him.

"Lydia," Derek stated.

Jonah clicked his fingers once more before continuing, "Yeah, her! Anyway. Family meeting in five. Chop-chop. Before Maggie sends Esme after me… And I don't want that."

Jonah sprinted for the house and you were left a little winded by everything.

Derek placed his hand on the small of your back to urge you forward and you shuddered beneath his simple touch and he snatched his hand away as if your skin had electrocuted him.

Things just got complicated.

To be continued...

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javocjovian · 5 years ago

Text

Breaking Point, Ch2 - SPN Kink/ABO Bingo

Title: Breaking Point (chapter 2) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868905/chapters/54811465 Square Filled: Clothing Sharing (Kink Bingo), Cherry Blossom / Vanilla / White Lotus (ABO Bingo) Ship: Sabriel Rating: E Warning: referenced Samifer rape and torture Tags: Trauma, Pain, Mild blood/injury, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Grace Healing, Protective Gabriel, Masturbation, Shame, Alpha!Sam, A/B/O dynamics Summary: Gabriel has raised Sam from Hell after being kidnapped by Lucifer, but Sam struggles to deal with the aftermath.The trauma he endured is overwhelming, he isn’t sure if he can trust the presumably dead Gabriel, and the torture has sent Sam’s body into rut. Canon divergent. Set anytime between seasons 11 and 13. Word Count: 3340 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |

Quote:

"Look at me, Sam. I'm real. You're not in Hell anymore. You're safe." Gabriel kept repeating himself, watching angry tears gleam in Sam's eyes. Sam looked ready to fight to the death, with or without a weapon. Gabriel didn't know what to do. He could just enter Sam's mind, force him to consent then show him the truth, but would that make him any better than his brother?

For a long time, Sam's world was darkness. A part of him knew he was unconscious, just floating in nothingness, not feeling or seeing or knowing. A part of him was relieved by it. He could tell there was something awful on the other side, and he was happy to drift along, never quite breaching the surface.

But soon something began intruding on Sam's solace. It crept and swirled and invaded his nothingness, and Sam realized it was a smell—a strangely familiar smell. It was so familiar that it felt like someone was there with him in the darkness. It was a sweet, saccharine, exotic smell. Sam realized that if he was smelling that meant he had a body, and if he had a body that meant he was alive. Just like that, the nothingness broke.

Sam felt himself lying on something soft. He was wrapped up in something, but it wasn't rope. He could move his arms and legs. He was cool, but it felt good against the distant pressure in his body. Sam knew that feeling intimately—it was pain. But the pain was attached to something else. Something shameful.

Sam opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed in a plain, dark room. It smelled of cherry blossoms, white lotus, and something sweet, like vanilla. He was dressed in a plush red robe, which he realized was the source of the smell. He was, in fact, alone.

For a moment he couldn't remember what was happening or where he was. It looked like a typical, dingy motel room, but there was only one bed. Were they on a case?

Sam sat up and felt that distant pain shoot through him in an unusual way. He reached up and rubbed his neck. His skin was smooth and warm, yet he suddenly remembered blood. He pulled the covers back and his heart dropped.

Dried flecks of blood covered his thighs and lower stomach. Sam's body went cold. He could see Lucifer's hands, painting tallies on his naked flesh.

It came back to him all at once, like someone shot the memories into his brain at point blank range. Sam had been kidnapped by Lucifer. He wasn't in a motel room, he was in Hell, again, and this was one of Lucifer's tricks—an illusion of safety and warmth to make the pain of his reality all the more unbearable. Sam knew this torture well.

The shock of the realization was too much. Sam hung his head and tried to calm his thoughts. His body ached, and he could feel shadows of the pleasure, the pain, the way he'd arched on Lucifer's cock...

Sam wiped his eyes and got up, refusing to acknowledge the strange yet horribly familiar pain. He needed to do something. He needed to act. He pulled the robe closed, which was too short for him, and went to the small bathroom beside the bed.

Sam flicked the lights on and squinted. As his eyes adjusted to the sour, yellow glow, his reflection came into focus.

For a moment Sam wondered if he actually was dead. The person in the mirror looked pale and sickly. There were red rope marks burned into his skin. But Sam knew he wasn't dead. He'd been dead before, and this wasn't death. This was much worse.

Sam dragged his eyes away from his grim reflection and turned on the faucet. He washed his face with lukewarm water, then cupped his hands and drank as much of it as he could. It tasted like iron and sulfur. The taste hurt him like a wound.

Sam shifted his legs, assessing the damage Lucifer had done. He knew that kind of pain well, despite not having incurred it for years ago. Yet it wasn't as bad as he knew it should be. Was he that numb? He reached down and felt himself. He was sore to the touch, but there was no blood. Sam didn't understand. It hadn't been a dream. Had he been healed? Or was he dreaming now? Was he going to wake up, covered in blood?

Part of Sam wanted to curl up on the floor and just wait for the illusion to be lifted. Lucifer would appear, looking dissatisfied that his rouse didn't work. Or Sam would wake up and discover he wasn't in a motel bathroom at all. He stared at the chipped tile floor, wondering what was happening to his body.

Then a thought came to him as if from another life. He wondered if Dean was in a motel bathroom, too—a real one, somewhere far away, trying to find a way to get Sam back.

Sam covered his face. Tears dripped down his chin and hit the porcelain. He never thought he'd be in this situation again—All those old wounds, presumably healed, forced open anew. It took his last bit of strength to stifle his sobs. Lucifer could torture him all he wanted, but he wouldn't break him. What would Dean say?

Sam looked up into the mirror, resolved to stay steady and endure whatever Lucifer had coming. Then he noticed a crack in the top corner. Like a clock being wound, Sam's hunter brain began to stir.

Without blinking, he carefully prized the broken corner of the mirror out the frame. He cut himself a few times, but he kept working. Soon a razor sharp sliver of a mirror fell into his palm. He found the best place to grip it and practiced holding it. He looked at his distorted reflection in the mirror piece and knew what he had to do.

Sam heard a door close in the bedroom and held the makeshift weapon tight. He took a steady breath and walked back into the room.

Sure enough, someone was waiting for him. The dark figure eclipsed the curtain drawn window, casting Sam into darkness. Sam was ready. He gripped the mirror shard and gritted his teeth. But when the figure extended a hand, it wasn't holding a weapon. The person snapped his fingers, and the bedside lamp flickered on.

Warm light doused the room, temporarily blinding Sam. He held the mirror shard out in front of him, ready to fight, but something was wrong—Lucifer was too quiet.

Sam blinked a few times and realized that the figure wasn't Lucifer at all. He was too short. It was an Archangel, but the very last Archangel Sam had expected to see again.

Sam's knees shook and he felt the motel wall hit his back.

"Gabriel?"

The shortest Archangel, Gabriel, stood before Sam, an uncharacteristically sympathetic smile softening his mischievous face.

"Hey, kiddo."

Sam swallowed. He felt dizzy. The flowery, sweet smell overpowered him and Sam slid down the wall and landed on his butt on the musty motel carpet.

Gabriel's face fell. He crossed the room quickly and knelt down to help, but Sam lashed out with the mirror.

"Sam...stop…" Gabriel tried to hold him steady, but Sam was determined to throw him off. Gabriel didn't want to hurt him.

"You're not real! You're dead! I saw you…"

"Sam, stop! It's me…"

"No... you're dead. I saw you die! You're not real!"

Gabriel managed to grab Sam's bloodied hand and make him drop the glass, then he forced Sam's face up to look at him.

Gabriel noticed the cuts on Sam's palm from the mirror and gripped his hand tight. Sam tried to pull away, but a light engulfed both of their hands. Sam froze.

The space between them glowed gold for a moment. When the light faded, Sam's cuts were healed. At least Gabriel could do that.

Sam stared at his hand in shock, then slowly looked up to Gabriel.

Gabriel rose his brows. He released Sam's hand, watching curiously as Sam rubbed his healed palm.

When Sam looked up again he murmured, "Gabriel?"

Gabriel smiled in relief. "In the flesh."

Sam's breathing slowed. He calmed down somewhat, although he didn't take his eyes off of Gabriel. "You're… dead..." He said, as if trying to fight through his own thoughts.

Gabriel sighed. "No. My clone is dead. Me? I escaped."

"But, he…" Sam swallowed. Gabriel's eyes hardened subtly. "Lucifer. He killed you."

"No, Sam." Gabriel said quietly. "You know the greatest trick the Trickster ever taught me? Never reveal your true strength. Lucifer thought he killed me. But what he killed was the greatest illusion a Demigod could create—more than enough to fool an overzealous Archangel."

Sam supposed it made sense. Except, if it were true, that meant… "But, you're here now. Lucifer will know he didn't kill you."

Gabriel shrugged in defeat. "There are some things worth making yourself vulnerable for. I just wish I knew that sooner."

Sam was in too much shock to process that fully. He still didn't look convinced Gabriel was real, but Gabriel figured it was as close as he was going to get.

"Come on, back to bed." He offered his hand to Sam, who took it cautiously and stood up.

Sam was still shaky, but Gabriel was able to get him on the bed. Gabriel smelled like the robe, and Sam finally realized why it was too short on him.

"Now, try to relax, okay? I can't keep healing you." Gabriel said.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"Because, lifting you from Hell took a lot of grace, and now I just sent more grace through you to heal you. Twice. Human bodies aren't built for that."

Sam listened, but it wasn't clear he understood. He was still staring at Gabriel like he was trying to see through him.

"You… lifted me from Hell."

"Yup."

Sam swallowed. "So that...that light…in the dungeon... that was you?"

"Mmhm." Gabriel nodded.

Sam looked away. Gabriel thought he understood why. He pulled the covers up over Sam a little more. Sam was grateful.

Sam looked around the motel room, his expression conflicted. His eyes settled on the piece of mirror Gabriel had put on the bedside table. Sam reached over and picked it up.

Gabriel watched Sam examine his reflection, allowing him a moment of quiet contemplation. But before Gabriel could stop him, Sam dug the mirror shard into his other palm.

"Sam!"

Gabriel seized Sam's hand, but Sam's undamaged hand grabbed Gabriel's arm.

"Don't! Don't heal it. Please," Sam breathed. "I need it."

It wasn't a deep cut, but it was enough to stain the bed covers with blood. Sam gave him a pleading look. Gabriel sighed and let go.

"What do you mean, you need it?" Gabriel asked, fighting his own impulse to just snap his fingers and make the mirror disappear.

Sam didn't respond. He pressed his thumb into the palm of his injured hand and winced. Lights blossomed in his corneas as fresh pain coursed through him. Sam kept applying his thumb, grounding himself in the pain.

"It's real. This is real." He said, more to himself than to Gabriel.

The fresh pain was starkly different than the throbbing, distant pressure still afflicting him from Hell. Sam looked up at Gabriel and placed the injured hand in Gabriel's imploringly.

Gabriel watched as Sam squeezed Gabriel's hand. Sam's expression tightened in pain, but Gabriel thought he understood. He squeezed Sam's hand back, and Sam gasped.

The pain. The pain was real, and so was Gabriel. They both looked at each other for a moment, then, finally, Sam said, "Gabriel?"

Gabriel smiled in relief. "Yup."

Sam stared at him. He closed his eyes but it was too late. Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. Sam held Gabriel's hand tight and Gabriel held it back instantly.

"Sam…" He said softly. He pulled him into a hug, their hands clasped tightly between them. "You're safe. You're home. Lucifer can't get you here."

At last Sam believed him. He buried his head into Gabriel’s shoulder, overcome with a relief so powerful that he couldn't speak. When they broke away, Sam wiped his eyes.

"Where… where are we? Where's Dean?" He cleared his throat.

Gabriel chuckled. Sam was back to normal.

"I already contacted him. He's a full day’s drive away, so… he'll be here in ten hours."

Sam smiled weakly. He rubbed his palm as he began to think. "Gabriel, you're really alive?"

"Alive and kicking."

Sam smiled again, but it was muted. "How did you… Is Lucifer...dead?"

Gabriel's expression faded a little. "No. I was just focused on getting you out. But I did kill about a thousand demons."

Sam nodded, still massaging his palm. "Good."

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come. Finally he said, "Gabriel… thank you."

Gabriel smiled sadly. "I owed you one. When I sent you that hint about the rings, I… if I had known how you were going to get Lucifer in the cage…"

For the first time in Sam's memory, Gabriel looked troubled. But then he took a breath and put on a false smile.

"...well, I might not have ditched the party so soon," he said. "Then when I heard he was back, I knew he'd come after you again. So I came." Gabriel's expression became inscrutable. He looked on the verge of apologizing to Sam, but Sam realized he didn't need to hear it. He’d already forgiven him.

Suddenly, Sam winced and bent over. The distant, pulsing pain overpowered him, and he rubbed his palm harder than ever.

"Sam?"

Sam got up, ignoring Gabriel's hand on his back. "I'm fine… just… one sec…" he muttered and went back to the bathroom, almost knocking a lamp over.

Gabriel watched the door close in concern.

Sam lowered himself onto the edge of the mouldy looking tub. He'd felt a distinct kind of pain ever since he woke up. It had been masked by every other discomforting sensation, but he could no longer deny what it meant. Dread surged through him. There was a sharp pressure in his groin, throbbing and aching. He felt feverish. He released the grip on his hand. It wouldn’t help him anymore.

"Sam?" Gabriel called through the door. "What's going on?"

"Gabriel…" Sam panted. "You need to leave. Go… go find Dean, or Cas."

Sam's heart sank as, instead, Gabriel graced the door open. Gabriel's expression was severe and Sam was immediately reminded that Gabriel was in fact an Archangel.

Sam looked up at him helplessly. He was bent double and holding the robe tightly around himself. "Gabe… I… it's a rut. What happened in Hell, it…" he swallowed, "... it triggered a rut. You need to leave."

But Gabriel didn't budge. "I'm an Archangel, Sam."

"But your vessel's not!"

"My vessel is a duplicate of a Demigod's. A copy. It was created specifically for me. You can't make me go into a rut or into heat or anything."

Sam's brain was working furiously, even as relief swept through him. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." Gabriel knelt down beside him. "I'll go get you some supplies, okay? It'll only take a minute."

Sam didn't acknowledge this. He looked like he was holding something back. Finally he asked, "Can't you just… can you make it stop?"

Gabriel frowned. "I've used too much grace on you already. It's not safe." Gabriel's heart sank at the look of pained acceptance on Sam's face. He'd been expecting that answer.

"Yeah. Okay. No problem."

"I'll be right back Sam," Gabriel said quietly.

Sam nodded again, then with a rush of air Gabriel was gone, along with the sweet smell of exotic flowers.

The only rut Sam had ever remembered being so bad was his first one. Luckily Dean was there. He’d had several ruts by then and knew what to do. But why was this one so intense? Was it just because of Hell?

Sam looked over his sweating, heaving body in the yellow bathroom light. His wounds were gone, and so were his scars. The pain he'd felt when he woke up seemed so real. His body had been tender and raw. But now that he thought about it, all of those sensations seemed to have come from deep within him. From his soul, rather than his body.

Did Sam have a new body? Was this his first rut? He had to know for sure. He had to check and see if he really was undamaged from Lucifer’s assault.

In the privacy of the bathroom, Sam reached beneath his robe with his uninjured hand. He maneuvered himself so he could gently feel his entrance. It was extremely sensitive. Sam spat in his hand then, as slowly as he could, inserted his fingers.

The stretch was painful, but it was that distant pain again. Sam realised it wasn't coming from his body at all. The robe drooped down his shoulders as he probed deeper. He winced a little, but felt unmistakable sparks of pleasure. He began idly stroking his cock, trying to focus on the pleasure rather than the pain. He passed the first knuckle, then the second, but still he encountered no wounds and no further pain. Sam could come to no other conclusion: When Gabriel lifted his soul from Hell, his body had been remade completely.

Sam didn't give it much thought. In fact, his brain had slowed dramatically since he started stroking himself. His rut seemed to have eased up, too. So Sam rested his head on the cool porcelain sink and masturbated on the edge of the tub. He pressed his fingertips into his prostate in time with his strokes, and his body sighed in satisfaction. The world became a blissful blurr, although he started to smell the robe again. The sweet, exotic flowers overwhelmed him. He held the robe to him, feeling it's plush fabric on his bare skin, and let himself get lost in the smell while he brought himself to orgasm.

Sam felt himself begin to knot, then his body tightened up and he came onto the bathroom floor with a shuddering groan.

Sam pressed his head against the sink while he caught his breath. His body rang with satisfaction. His rut retreated momentarily. He felt like he’d just gotten a nap. But as his head cleared he found himself nearly spooning the robe and he immediately came back to reality. He'd just masturbated to Gabriel's scent. His shame compounded and he suddenly felt sickened with himself.

Sam got up and tried to calm himself. He cleaned up the floor and patted himself down with cold water. As he turned to dry off, something caught his eye in the broken mirror.

A handprint. A red, swollen handprint gleamed on the back of his shoulder. Sam stared at it in shock. He remembered Dean's handprint and realized at once where his had come from.

Sam reached around and put his hand over it. He felt a rush of affection for Gabriel, and even more shame.

Just then, he heard the door open in the bedroom. Sam was still knotted, and the robe was definitely too short on him now, so he tugged it down as far as he could, then stepped into the bedroom, slightly red in the face.

Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. Instead there was a bag on the floor. Sam walked over and opened it curiously.

It was filled with supplies for an Alpha. Rut-calming pills, wipes, lubricant, and an embarrassingly large masturbation toy that was the perfect size for Sam. He went even more red in the face and was glad Gabriel had given him a moment alone to open this.

Sam could feel his rut stirring in him again. He sighed and took the bag into the bathroom.

#spnkinkbingo #spn kink bingo 2020 #spnabobingo #supernatural #sabriel #fanfiction #fanfic #My writing #sarasaurusrex #archive of our own #a/b/o dynamics #alpha sam winchester

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datarevived · 4 years ago

Text

-- X.X ᴄʀᴀɴᴋ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ

It's a quiet day today outside the City's walls. With a sky clear as the great sea, and the sun beating against the gentle winds of nature, it's a well enough day off that anyone could ask. The sound of revving sparrow harrowing in the distance.

" Y'know, I did say you'd make it out as a Hunter. "

It had been two Guardians that had taken advantage of the day and recent occasion. Of the duo, an Exo seeming incredibly enthralled over celebratory matters -- digits fumbling over different knobs and settings as he sat upon summoned bike. His Ghost, a familiar eye sore as it hovered near the front of the vehicle, scanning for any inconsistencies before complying with the ideals at hand, as if making note to every detail that structured the sparrow thus far in its' anatomy.

" Yeah? " secondary voice speaks, arms crossed upon blossomed chest as Awoken eyes blink at the scene at hand. Dawning that of a wrinkled cloak, recently gifted by the Vanguard, himself, she prides herself in its' notion with a brief chuckle, tilting her head in speech. " Something you guys see that I can't, I guess. Just kinda, going with my gut now. "

" And I get to ride alongside the notorious rep of a Hunter, " a secondary Ghost chimes in -- its' frame recently painted over from pristine whites to a darker, deeper violet.

" Oh, come on, it's not gonna be that bad. Besides, what's so bad about Hunters? Hawthorne and Ikora made the guy sound like a nutcase, but really aside from Bex here, he's the only one whose talked to me like a person, " the Hunter sighed, waving a hand in tone. " Maybe it's an Exo thing? "

The other having been concentrated on something else at the time, sensors heat at the mention of ones' name before turning his neck around toward the other. Golden optics blinking in mild confusion, " --Huh? What? You called? " a sudden spark pinching against the steel beneath cotton gloves, " --ouch!-- Screws, you said this part was clear! "

" S0rry. "

" Ugh, it's really like you're tryin' to get rid of me some days, " the Exo whined, a dramatic hurt in his voice before snapping back over to the other duo. Shifting upon the seat slightly as he stretches his back some, resituating posture with hands resting in front of his sit. " S'what's an Exo thing? Being courteous? "

" Somethin' like that, " Selene giggles, waving a dismissing hand on the subject before walking over. Icicle-toned eyes examining in further detail the exterior workings of the vehicle, few numbers and gauges highlighted in a red print against steel plating. The handles, both equipped with protruding locks and buttons, none to which she understood how they worked.

Not yet, at least.

Having accidentally committed to driving lessons in her recent return of the City below, Bex being far more excited on the subject of teaching. She couldn't help but feel somewhat mislead, that it would in fact be the witnessing of ones' learning, and not necessarily the teaching routine that provoked the gleeful intent. At least she knew how to shoot a pistol, now.

" So, real easy, right? " Bex comments, scooting back slightly as he gestures towards the monitors in front of him. " This one is your speed, and this one tracks how far you travel from point A to B. Real handy when doing recon," he points, moving his finger elsewhere to a secondary dial, " This? Never really remember what this does. But, never seems too important? Screws hasn't told me anything about it. -- Anyway, this here? " a mashed in button, " Use to be a firin' ma'jig before I busted it up beyond repair. Could never bring myself to bring the ol' girl to the Holidays for a tune up -- "

" He has not paid off his debt for the last run, " his Ghost interjects. Pausing the explanation completely, Warlock's head prodding toward the front of the vehicle.

" Hey -- Screws? Ya done good buddy. Pack it up now. Catch some zz's! " the Exo sneered, waving a wrist towards the front of the sparrow. A hesitant means to react before the curved-shaped shell dissipates in a flash. For good measure, awaiting several seconds after before turning yellow optics back to his Awoken ally, addling a shrug. " And this here, this is your gas, " he extends a hand upon one of the handles, twisting it gently as it purs. " More ya twist, more ya go. Always important to have both hands -- and if you wanna go really fast, use both hands! S'great! "

" Both handles are used to.. accelerate? " her head tilts a moment, perplexed.

" On this model? Sure! "

" Is that even safe? "

" Is what safe? " the Exo blinks.

" That... know what? Never mind. "

" That doesn't sound safe at all, " the remaining Ghost whirls, its' optic narrowed in concern as it looked between the two Guardians. " Are you sure this is the right place to do this? "

" It's fine Data, " Selene assured, giving a nod in his direction.

" Data? Buddy has a name now? " Bex inquires, looking over upon the painted shell as he hops off the sparrow. " Nice to properly meet ya' acquaintance, little light! "

Taking her own turn in the seat, the Awoken slides over in place -- her feet just barely touching the ground from where it hovered as she picks up the conversation. " They're like little memory machines, right? I figured Data would be a easy name for him. " A hand running over the glass of reflective numbers, she picks up her feet and rests them upon the grips at its' side. Getting a feel for comfort before utility, the steady hum comforting to the rumble in her chest.

" She's a little out-dated, but, still does the trick jus' fine, " the Warlock moves over towards the front, giving the build a soft pat. " Had her since... man, time goes by fast. "

" You name your sparrow, too? "

" Name? Well... I mean, yeah ... who wouldn't? She uh... Her names' uh... F.. A.. Asterid. Asterid's her name, reliable girl. "

" Does Screws know about this? " Selene smirks, quirking a brow in playful question as doubt swims effortlessly in the air.

" Screws? 'Course he knows! He and she? Best friends. Hands down, " Bex nodded, lifting his open palms aside in defensive measure. " Except for when shes' feelin' testy. Then they're not best friends. "

"And you mentioned before that uh... if something does go wrong, your Ghost can reforge the sparrow in its' entirety, right? " the Hunter hums, now resting both her hands upon handles, softly gripping and getting a comfortable lean in her posture. Though careful enough to not accidentally trigger anything -- the tensions upon grips still resting at her fingertips.

" Sure can. Part of their little gift - small things like a sparrow or somethin', scans and duplicates it just like us. Makes for a nifty transport when you need some speed out in the blue. Or when y'uhh... y'know, miss a turn going too fast and launch off the cliff side. "

" ...What was that last part? "

" A poorly learned experience -- moving on, " the Exo snapped, rolling his wrist with an index pointed upward to the sky. " So! Ready to rev'er up? Know what true speed n' bliss is?! "

" How bad can it go? " the Hunter chuckles, responding with solid nod before turning her attention back forward. A landing zone of flat land for at least a couple miles, little to no obstacles in the midst for her to get use to the steering. It would be a safe cruise from here to there, simple and easy.

The feeling of power resting beneath her grip, she then cranks one handle forward -- the reaction being... less than expected, the sparrow hardly moving in place but several inches at a time. Confusion muddied her face, a look around before testing both handles at once, this time, only amplifying the speed by a whole 'nother foot worth of travel. Bex and Data standing in place with hopeful expression -- the Exo somewhat cracking in its' exterior as he tried to figure from a distance why the sparrow was moving so... slow.

" Hey, Bex? I think something's wrong, " Selene calls over, both hands still cranking both handles with little to no progression. With a brief jog is Bex able to catch up, over looking all the gears and settings, searching for the issue. It isn't until he scans near her hands that it's found, like a light bulb igniting over ones' head if he could smile.

" Oh, silly! Your pinky is holding on the break, too! " he points, the two far right of the Awoken's fingers having rested upon one of the protruding elements against the handles. " Just take your fingers off that and it'll -- "

--- NYOOOOM ---

It was like a rocket, soaring at the speeds from 5 to 80 miles per hour. The sonic boom of ones' jets, enough to knock the Exo to the ground, flat on his bottom -- optics flickering temporarily in disruption before he shakes himself back to static. Both his sparrow and the Awoken it held captive, now far beyond reach at speeds he hadn't even tampered with personally. A soft hum, as the Ghost approaches the grounded fellow, its' own blue optic blinking in severe concern.

" O-Oh no. Is she going to be all right? "

" She uh... I mean, that's what you're here for, right? " hand raises to the back of his neck in a pinch, before dragging himself upwards to a standing position once more. Shaking out the sand between his exterior parts, arms and legs, before pumping himself up in a sprint to go catch up with his doomed friend. She's gonna be so pissed.

" Seeeeel! We're coming Sel!!! "

" Ah! She's over here! "

" You --whew-- ya' found her? --hhh--, man. Really -- really gotta, --huff-- get this whole, air thing checked out -- "

It had taken under three miles before registering an immediate location, but in the glance of scanning the wood, Data was able to track down his Guardian with relative ease. A small body, crumpled into itself against the bark of a tree, soft hissing becoming more apparent the closer the two approached before peering into a bush and finding the girl in one piece. Several scratches across her clothing and a single light cut on her face -- she's holding her arm in doing so when blue eyes raise to meet her lost companions.

" Oh -- hey. "

" Sel! " the Exo greets happily. " Man, we thought we'd lost ya! How you feelin? "

" I uh... not... great... " she admits, a cynical tone twisted in her words. A pause in between as she thinks for a moment, following the nudging of ones' head in further forward direction near the road. " You're uh... gonna need that maintenance, " it's spoken in favor of the missing vehicle, a cloud of dull smoke channeling a bit more forward past the fallen trunk of a tree. A clear dent in the mass where impact had crashed upon, inevitably flipping she off the sparrow, and the bike itself to... well, it was too loud or bright to tell at the time. Her priorities remaining to clear distance and get off the road. " Don't think Asterid's taking it too well. "

" And I don't think you're taking it too well, " Data mocks, hovering over towards his Light as he scans over her bio-metrics. " You've injured your arm. Should we get you to a medic? "

" Probably? "

" We'll get ya back to the Tower, then, " Bex agrees, looking upon his own shoulder in silent beckon of ones' Ghost, Screws illuminating back in and steering himself near the roads. With minimal effort, its' as if he's done this too many times -- light accumulating in the shape of the defeated sparrow, not a scratch in sight as it's placed gently on the ground, ready for power. " I'll uh... I'll do the driving. "

" Yeah -- yeah, no. I don't wanna... I don't wanna do that again, " Selene shakes her head, causing her world to spin temporarily, eyes going crossed. " M'wait... for my own. "

" I'm sure Holiday can get ya somethin' more your fit, " Bex laughs as he climbs over the bush now, bending a knee and wrapping her uninjured arm around his shoulders. Helping her up and guiding one back to the road, he seats her in front first -- a taken consideration that it'd be difficult to hold on from behind with her injury, before sliding on the narrow backside, himself, stretching his arms as far forward as he can without squishing her against the counsel.

The notion causing the Awoken's face to flush -- both a side of embarrassment for having totaled the others' vehicle and paying the price, and the other, being so close proximity to another person. It was... stressing. Knotting stomach comforted only by the soft purring of the sparrow, she looks over to Data in a dismissive tone before they journey back towards the City. This time at reasonable speeds, the Hunter able to properly sight-see as they rode back from which they came.

" I'm going to safely assume that someone had their hand pulled on both handles, eh? "

" I'm going to safely assume that I don't hear you talking. "

" Haha! Fair, fair. Did you at least have fun? "

" I don't really consider something that is panic educing to be my peak set for entertainment. "

" Everyone has their preferences, " the Exo snorts. " How bout this -- we get you checked out, then we go grab some food. My treat for not having a bachelor in sparrow training. "

" You're telling me you're not even certified? " she teases.

" Not even a little bit! "

" Mm... fine deal. But you're coming to the Tower with me. "

" Spicy ramen here we come! "

#✦ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴ / drabble #destiny 2 short story #D2 story #destiny rp #destiny 2 rp

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strawberriestyles · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: First Impressions

(Banner made by the savior herself @tiostyles)

Harry X OFC (AU)

In which Blue, a perpetual wanderer, finds herself drawn to the mystery of Wolver Valley, and to a certain motorcycle-riding mechanic named Harry.

Read previous part here.

Author’s note: WELCOME TO WOLVER VALLEY. I hope y’all get the same vibe as I do from this place and these characters. Please like, reblog, and LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. Enjoy. Xx

Thank you to my lovely betas: @biteharrysthigh // @lilacobscure // @metinthehallway // @belle-ofthe-sea // @nofoookingway // @lyllibug // @justsaying20

Blue traveled back into town, balancing on the edge of the curb all the way. She hadn’t been in Wolver Valley for more than an hour before she’d seen everything Main Street had to offer: an old-school movie theater, some little boutiques, a diner, a florist, a bookstore, a record shop, a tattoo parlor, and something that looked suspiciously like a strip joint. Not even a cafe.

Deciding that she’d lugged her bag around for long enough, and finding that her strawberries were diminishing at an alarming rate, she made her way to the next block, where she’d caught sight of the Red Roof sign. She checked herself into a room, threw her duffel on the double bed, and stuck the rest of her fruit in the mini fridge. She left before she’d even noticed the pattern on the wallpaper.

As Harry said, The Five and Jive really was just around the corner. A little brick structure with a pot-holed parking lot and dying neon signs lighting up the front windows. Even at six in the evening, it was loud. Music and shouting filtered out through a wood-framed screen door.

Blue pushed her way inside and glanced around. A couple of pool tables, both of which were crowded around. Scratched up booths and a rather empty bar top. Blue swung herself up onto a stool and checked her pockets for cash.

“Oh, new face,” said a woman who appeared on the opposite side of the counter, bronze skin and full lips and cheerful dark eyes. “How exciting."

“Are you Leya?”

The woman looked taken aback. She raised an eyebrow as she leaned backward, toward the lines of bottles arranged on the glowing shelves behind her. “Who’s been talking about me?”

“Harry says hi.”

A wide, white smile spread over Leya’s face. “Well, in that case, first drink’s on the house. What’ll you have?”

“Vodka tonic,” Blue ordered. “You serve fries?”

“Wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said a man, passing behind Leya and laying a hand on her hip as he worked his way to the end of the bar. “Jack likes to add so much salt, you’ll dry your tongue right out.”

“Actually, he’s right,” said Leya. “Onion rings are probably a better option, if you like those.”

Blue sighed. “I guess I’ll take an order, then.”

“Zayn?” Leya cued.

Zayn sipped a glass of water that he’d pulled out from beneath the bar and rolled his eyes before making his way back around her and into the kitchen. Leya returned her attention to Blue and began mixing up her drink.

“So, what’s your name? Where are you from?”

“Blue. And I’m not really from anywhere.”

“Blue. Like the color?”

She nodded shortly. If she was going to have to keep introducing herself to these strangers, she might just stay in her motel room for the rest of her time here. She’d only done it twice so far and she was already finding it tiresome.

“Not from anywhere?” Leya reached beneath the bar and stuck a lime wedge on the rim of Blue’s glass, pushing it across the counter toward her. “You’ve gotta be from somewhere. You didn’t just appear.”

“I was born in California.”

“Oh. Cali girl, huh?”

“Not really,” Blue deadpanned, sipping from the little yellow straw that Leya had stuck in her glass.

“Mysterious, then.”

“You’re not from around here either,” Blue commented, noticing the way that Leya framed her syllables.

“No,” Leya agreed with a short nod. “Jamaica."

Blue glanced around the bar, at the older men tucked away in a corner, dressed all in black and brown leather. There were a few kids who certainly weren’t of drinking age practicing shots at the pool table closest to her, and another of their friends messing with the old jukebox against the far wall. The girl stepped back to the pool table when she’d made a decision and the twang of a country blues song sounded through the room.

“So,” Blue began, spinning back around on her stool, "who would I have to talk to about getting a job here? Just for about a week or so.”

“You have experience bartending?” Leya asked, just as Zayn returned with a basket full of greasy onion rings. He set them down in front of Blue and looked between her and Leya.

“You’re hiring her?” he asked. “Some stranger? What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Her name is Blue,” Leya told him with an irritated look. “And I will hire whoever I’d like.”

Zayn scoffed. “It took me two weeks to convince you to hire me, and we’ve known each other since second grade.”

“Because we’ve known each other since second grade, Zayn. And you’ve been a pain in my ass ever since.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn muttered. He leaned in and pressed a rough kiss to her cheek and then flitted off down the bar to serve another customer.

Blue watched him leave and then raised a brow at Leya. “I should be talking to you, then? Do I have to sleep with you to get a job, too?”

Leya let out a chiming laugh. “Wouldn’t hurt,” she said. “This is my uncle's place. You never answered my question. Do you have experience?”

“I have experience drinking,” Blue offered, sipping at her vodka tonic again. “But I’m a quick learner.”

Leya took a deep breath, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Could be interesting. Where are you staying? Red Roof?”

Blue nodded.

“I’m guessing you don’t have a resume or something for me, huh?”

“No, ma’am.”

A large group of men burst through the screen door. Middle-aged, dads probably, wearing cut-off t-shirts with numbers on the back. Leya tipped her head to them. “All right. I’ve gotta get back to work, Blue. How about you come back tomorrow evening. It’s pretty slow on Sundays. We’ll get you a little training.”

“Sounds like a plan, boss,” Blue responded.

***

The strip-joint-looking place really was a strip joint. Blue knew when she walked past it for a second time, when the blazing sun was beginning to fall at the end of the valley, and a wide-set bouncer newly positioned at the entrance hit her with “You looking for a job, honey?”

“If only you’d asked me a few hours ago,” Blue responded, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and continuing on down the street.

She poked her head into a couple of boutiques. In one she bought herself a new pair of sunglasses, just before the store was about to close, to replace the ones whose frames she’d bent just a few days ago. She slid them into her hair on the top of her head as she stepped back out onto the sidewalk. The sun still wasn’t down, but it was falling, and somehow she was already growing hungry again. Probably because she never finished her onion rings.

Blue trailed up the strip to the neon-lit diner that read “Shelly’s.” She stepped through the door to find it filled with teenagers. Some on dates, some groups crowded into booths too small for the lot of them. There were only two tables left. Blue picked the one closest and threw herself down into the chair facing the windows. She drew out the notebook and pen that were tucked inside her leather jacket—all of which she’d collected from her motel room after she left The Five and Jive.

“What can I get you?”

Blue glanced up to find a waitress standing over her. She had big eyes framed by dark glasses, black, sharp bangs, and bright red lips that she licked at when she had Blue’s attention.

“Do you guys happen to have blueberry pie?”

The waitress—Ava, her name tag read—glanced toward the counter across the room and squinted her eyes. “I think we might just have one slice left. À la mode?”

“No, just the pie, please. Oh, and a black coffee.”

“Sure thing."

Blue opened up the faux leather cover of her notebook as she was left alone again and began to flip through the used pages until she found a blank one. Then she removed the cap of her pen with her teeth and scribbled, in fluid black ink, the date at the top left of the paper: Saturday, July 27, 2019.

She’d only jotted a few words down before Ava returned with a plate of warmed pie. The waitress set a mug on the table, beside the plate, and filled it from a pot of what Blue hoped was fresh coffee.

“Enjoy,” Ava said, withdrawing to fill more emptying mugs at the other tables.

Blue forked a bite of pie into her mouth and studied the diner’s floor as she chewed. The tiles were all different colors, arranged in patterns at some points and completely randomized at others, probably replaced and patched in countless times since this place opened. The pie was mediocre, just like The Five and Jive’s onion rings.

She blew over the lip of her mug, hoping to cool her steaming coffee just enough to take a short sip. The liquid still scalded the tip of her tongue. She teethed the spot, already growing sore, as she began to recount the day’s events, the people she’d met, the words that had been spoken.

Blue thought that perhaps Ava would stick out to her. A pretty, red-lipped waitress, the only person who hadn’t asked for her name all day, the one she’d spoken to most recently. Or even Leya, who was to be her new boss. And she did journal about both of them, along with Zayn. But she was surprised to find it was Harry who held most of her pen’s attention.

Blue didn’t even like him, she didn’t think. He’d been rather rude, acted like she’d inconvenienced him, as if her car’s decision to break down wasn’t an inconvenience to her. But there was something about the short clip of his words and the way that his eyes moved that she must have found interesting.

It was nearly an hour later when she finished writing down her thoughts of the day. Ava refilled her coffee twice. Now Blue’s mug sat half empty and the crust of her blueberry pie still sat on its plate, but she shelled out some cash for the food, along with a few dollars for a tip, and left the money on her table. She placed the chewed-up cap back on her pen and tucked it into her pocket, fitting her notebook under her arm, and left Shelly’s. Despite all the coffee, the day’s events had tired her out, and she craved the stiff sheets of an unfamiliar motel bed.

***

Blue slept late into Sunday afternoon. She awoke to the low glare of sunlight through the thin yellow motel curtains. She turned over, away from the windows, as she stretched against the day.

She was unsurprised by how late it was. The previous night she had driven straight through hoping to make it into the Carolinas before she needed to stop. But here she was stuck on the western end of Missouri, pointlessly deprived of sleep, bunkering down in the musty, scratchy sheets of Wolver Valley’s Red Roof.

Blue forced herself out of bed when she saw the red numbers on the side table’s digital clock. Leya hadn’t given her a time to be at The Five and Jive, but Blue wasn’t going to burn her bridges on the first full day in town. She showered to rinse of the scent of long car rides—the inevitable scent of a traveler. She slipped into a pair of jeans, a thin t-shirt, her worn-in boots, and pulled the front of her hair out of her face, still damp. She clicked the door to her motel room shut behind her and headed off, munching on the rest of her farm market strawberries on the way.

The sun, even from the far end of the valley, was hot on Blue’s back until she reached the corner of the street and turned right. The crowds at the bar really were thinned out tonight, although she was sure they would pick up at least a little before the evening was through. But for now the parking lot was nearly empty. Just a few cars, and on the bit of pavement just in front of the windows, a bike that struck a familiar chord in Blue’s mind.

Her footsteps slowed as she approached the screen door, puffing on the last dregs of her cigarette. She scanned the motorcycle, glinting in the sunlight that seeped through the town’s shadows. She knew whose it was. That familiarity, after only being in town for less than a full day, made Blue uncomfortable, like there was something crawling just below the top layer of her skin. She crushed the sparks of her cigarette out into the pavement just in front of the rubber tire of the motorcycle before slipping into The Five and Jive.

The inside of the bar reflected its barren parking lot. A couple of old-timers were seated at the bar. Leya was wiping down the wood. And Harry was there, as Blue knew he would be, bent over the edge of the left-hand pool table, hair spilling around his face. Another man stood at the table’s corner, hands twisting around the stick clasped between them. A short blond sat on a stool that had been pulled across the room. She twisted the seat beneath her, apparently bored and impatient with the game being played out in front of her. Harry flashed a quick grin as she muttered something to him, revealing a deep dimple in one of his cheeks.

“Oh, good,” Leya said by way of greeting. “Perfect timing.”

Blue offered her a thin smile as she worked her way around to the other side of the bar, crushing the empty pulp basket that had once held her strawberries. She tossed the container into the trash can as she passed it and came to stop beside Leya.

“I’m gonna show you how to mix up some basic things,” said Leya. “But first, can you take these over to them?” She nodded toward the pool table as she pulled out a couple bottles of beer and began pouring tequila up to the rim of a shot glass. “You’ve already met Harry, right?”

Blue sighed as she took the beer bottles in one hand and carefully balanced the shot glass between her other fingers, trying to keep the alcohol from spilling. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Leya went back to wiping down the bar top. Blue took that as her cue. She spun on her heel and trailed across the room. Only the blond noticed her approach, eyeing the tequila shot in Blue’s hand and leaving her doubtless it was meant for her. Blue passed the shot over and was taken aback by how easily this tiny girl downed the alcohol without any type of chaser.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

Harry glanced up at the sound of her voice. The other man with them was still tilted forward, eye squinted as he lined up a shot and sent the cue ball across the table. It bounced off of the eight ball and then rolled into the corner pocket closest to Blue. He swore beneath his breath and then he was looking up, too.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Harry asked.

Blue chuckled drily and held out the beers in his direction. “Again with the rude greetings.”

He scratched the back of his neck and leaned forward to take one of the bottles. The other man traveled around the table to take the other, tipping his head toward her as he took a sip of beer.

“Right. Blue, this is Niall and Boston,” Harry introduced, gesturing respectively to the man beside him and the woman still perched atop her stool. “They work with me.”

Blue raised her eyes to Boston, barely more than five feet tall, eyes glazed over with the effects of alcohol and feet tapping to the rock drumbeat playing through the bar. Blue couldn’t picture her covered in grease and pulling apart the pieces of a car, but it was fun trying to conjure up the image.

“Ah, Blue,” said Niall after he’d swallowed his drink. "The one that tried to set the garage on fire. You know, we’ve already had our fill of arson in this town."

Blue raised her brows. “Is that so?"

"What’re yeh doin’ here?” Harry repeated, cutting Niall off before he could even reply. His bottle was hanging unsipped at his side.

Blue took the glass from Boston’s hand and rounded the table to collect the empty beers that Harry and Niall had already finished from a wooden shelf against the far wall. “I work here.”

“Leya hired you? Thought yeh weren’ stayin’.”

“Just for a week or so.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Boston spoke up from behind her. “You’ll miss the party.”

“Oh, yeah,” Niall echoed. “You should stay another week. Wolver Valley’s bicentennial is coming up. Boston’ll probably be drunk off her ass, but we can take you to the fair and—”

“No,” Harry interrupted again. The other three all turned to stare at him. He finally swallowed a mouthful of his beer and then shrugged. “She’s a traveler. Wants to get outta town. Rushin’ me to get a new exhaust pipe in and—”

“Actually, take your time,” Blue told him. She waved the empty beer bottles in her hand. “I might just stay a few more weeks. Could use the money.”

Harry slipped a hand through his hair as he surveyed her. He didn’t look pleased about the news. Niall, however, nodded in approval. Boston clicked her heels together before hopping down from her stool at last. She really was short, especially beside the two boys.

“Perfect,” she said. “Could you get me one more shot, Blue? It’s my turn to kick Harry’s ass.” She peeled the stick from Niall’s fingers and began re-racking for a new game. “And also, if I could bum a cigarette when you go out for a smoke, I would really appreciate it."

Blue nodded and turned back toward the bar. She dropped the empty bottles in the receptacle that Leya directed her to and then poured out another glass of tequila for Boston. She felt Harry’s eyes on the side of her face, even as she trailed back over to the pool table, where Boston was breaking. And on her back as she returned with the empty shot glass. Hot like fire. The heat only faded as Harry lined up his own shot, and it didn’t return for the rest of Blue’s shift.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harrys styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #mechanic!harry #harry styles drabble #wd

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harveywritings92 · 5 years ago

Text

The path to Isolation pt.1

-now-

"They sat on and threw trash at me again..." Anri mumbled burying her head into her hands as Mayuki patted her back while texting her other friends. "Like I said before An-Chan. they'll never notice you, if you don't assert yourself!" the raven haired girl let out a frustrated sight "How the hell would I do that, when I've put so much work into..this?" She sighed gesturing to herself as her friend frowned trying to come up with something.

"Stop dressing like a grandma for one, and Lose those dumb glasses, I don't think I ever seen you without them." the blonde hummed reaching for the the round frames, only for Anri lean away just out of her reach, causing the blond to pout.

"Boo! you always do that!" Mayuki whined as Anri readjusted her glasses. "How about I just color my hair or something, then I'll think about it?" the ravenette cringed as her friend let this glass shattering squeal, causing a few students to gawk at them Genji's group included.

The green haired boy brows furrowed bemused trying to piece together what the chick..uh, he banged her once, whats her name?...Mizu..no Erm?? Mayuki! that's it! was saying to Anri, but the bottle blonde was talking a mile a minute and pretty much carried the shorter girl out the door. "W-Wait my bag! Mayu!!!"

She quickly walked back for her things as The blonde rushed her out "Hurry, Hurry!!" surprising the class that Goose girl was ditching class, with a cheerleader who yelling a about salons and colors? Were they getting their nails done, Was Anri actually into that kind of stuff??

"I always did like the color..." Anri's voice got distant Genji's gaze then shifted to the window along with rest of the class, it faced the back courtyard, a few minutes later he saw Anri and Mayuki sneak out back; via hole in the fence just missing the gym teacher who was out for a midday smoke.

"Wow..The nerd actually did it." A girl with too much make up on said then turn to her friend. "We can use this! Let's make that nerd do our homework." She suggested a of her friends agreed even throwing in a few ridiculous demands one guy even asked if Anri 'puts out' that caused the girls to laugh before the green haired ninja intervened.

"So, she ditched class once? Whoopee! like we haven't done that before, And you don't see us doing other people work." The makeup girl gaped at Genji like a fish then began to stammer" B..but-" the young Shimada cut her off with sharp look. "Leave it." He said in a deadly tone causing chill to go down the groups spines,they nodded knowing that crossing Genji would be a very unhealthy choice...

on the street with Anri and Mayu!

"So, where do we star?" Mayuki asked Anri who smiled at her friends energy, then noticed something in peripherals thinking fast, the twin braided girl grabbed her blond friend and ducked behind a dumpster, just as a patrol car drove by.

"Well, first let's change our clothes, we stand out like sore thumbs" the honey eyed girl suggested knowing they probably get away better with without looking like a couple of escaped high school schoolgirls, they walked for a few blocks before Anri pointed at a thrift-store across the street.

Causing Mayuki to sweat dropped she's never been in a thrift-store before...and was little wary, [Yes she's from a well off family.] She changed her mind once she found a cute black sleeveless top with a black skirt with a pink floral pattern, that she just had to have.

she changed into those and waited for Anri to come out of the changing room, when she emerged the ravenette was wearing a brown turtle neck under a dip dye sundress that started out white then faded into a pretty leaf green and little grey paper boy's cap.

"Oh you look cute Mayu!" The blond smiled at her friend about to say the same thing but felt something was missing, spying an orange belt Mayuki grabbed it and put it around Anri's waist surprised at how thin the short girl actually was, the ravenette always wore baggy cardigans and slouched a lot walked or sat down it gave everyone the impression that Anri was pudgy! "And now you look like a girl!" the blond chirped as the her honey eyed friend went to pay.

It's a good thing Mayuki was distracted by some of the old toys lining the shop walls, otherwise Anri would have a tough time explaining why her debit-card said: Shimada Anri instead of Townsend. Only Takumi knows about her relationship with the Shimada clan; Mayuki and Mikoto think she's working for them as maid that why she and Genji know each other.

The clerk thanked them for their patronage and the two girls went on with their ditch day, stopping at a restaurant that Mayuki's family owned it took a moment for the hostess to recognize the bottle blonde "Oh miss Sonohara, Table for you and your friend?" the old woman asked leading Anri and Mayuki to the VIP section they were seated in a small booth they ordered some drinks and got down to what Anri was looking for style wise?

"I was thinking red,maybe? nothing too flashy to get get me into trou-" The ravenette was interrupted by someone tapping her shoulder both teens looked up and saw annoyed ginger haired woman around college age wearing very provocatively short purple dress standing behind them. Anri squirmed in her seat knowing exactly what was coming.

"Why hasn't Genjikins been returning my calls." She whined close to stomping her foot the short girl cringed as Mayuki mouthed out "Genjikins?!" in disbelief and snorted as the ginger waited for Anri tell her why Genjikins has been avoiding her. The ravenette though for a second and looked the annoyed woman.

"Ever hear the saying; A critic never pays to eat the same meal twice?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I'm saying Ko-ne-ko~...Is that your Genjikins menu isn't just exclusive to yours...he likes to eat around." Anri's voice dropped to a sultry tone as she watched the woman face drop in recognition after all Anri just called her: Koneko. That was the pet name Ginger's darling Genjikins called her by, and no else!

There's no way her handsome Genjikins was playing around! this little brat was just jealous of their love! Ginger's mind tried reasoned "You're lying! you don't know him you don't know us!" the ginger haired woman hissed as her face was turning a lovely shade of purple almost matching her dress.

Anri feigned innocence, the honey eyed girl pulled her glasses down a tick and winked as she gently took the distraught woman's hand in hers and smirked up at her flirtatiously.

"Why so mad Koneko?~ Oh, I get it...you don't like that name anymore? Well the how about my Dove, Angel or princess,... my dawn?" The ravenette purred before kissing the girl's hand mimicking how Genji would do it, the girl recoiled in disgust than ran off in tears. "Well at least this one didn't slap me." Anri said apathetically recalling the last couple girls who came around asking about Genji.

Mayuki cocked a brow at her; Damn this shorty can one mean Mama Trucker, She then noticed how quiet the ravenette had gotten. Anri seemed to be in pretty deep thought...she almost looked lonely.

"Genjikins, She seriously called him Genjikins?" Mayuki snickered breaking the tense silence between them as Anri snorted "I've heard worst, trust me!" the bespectacled girl giggled before returning to their original conversation, After lunch they set up an appointment at the hair salon just down the block from the restaurant.

They got there and the stylist was a bit hesitant on touching Anri's hair because it was so pretty and well taken care of. he had to ask her several times if she was sure about him taking her hair's virginity, Anri although a bit creeped out by the guys question was totally fine with it, after she pick out a color called chocolate cosmos. the stylist got to work...

it was almost dark by the time he was done, Anri had her newly dyed hair up in a bun and stuffed under her hat for safe keeping as she walked Mayuki home. "Are you sure you don't want to sleepover? My parents wouldn't mind." The bottle blond said as they split a Popsicle on the way.

the former ravenette shook her head; she was pushing it today by skipping school; Hanzo was surly having an aneurysm wondering where she was; her bodyguards were probably out looking for her right now. "Maybe next weekend, I think I'll be grounded for next three days but it was worth it," Anri said awkwardly while rubbing the back of her head, she bid farewell to her friend began the trek home...

Then Anri stopped in her tracks and calmly took off her glasses off almost as if she were cleaning them, not noticing the man behind her ready to grab-. "Y'know..." the man retracted his hand and stood still in the shadows as Anri continued taking "..stalking is a very complicated affair..." She hummed calmly as she tucked her glasses away. "You watch and learn thinking it'll be easy once they're alone."

The former ravenette began to walk again; leading the man deeper into an alley." And just when you think have your target... " She slipped into the shadows that led to dead end the man had a baton ready he reeled it back ready to swing as he rounded the corner only to find...Nothing? but he saw her come this way!

a cold sweat formed on the mans brow as he felt presence behind him. " You find out your target had you from the start.~" The man could only gasp in horror a hand covered his mouth, Needless to say the police were confused when they received a call about a pervert terrorizing a high school girl! only to find said pervert in his underwear hogtied with his own rope with a baton sticking out of his ass.

Anri resisted the urge to laugh as she got home to find Hanzo sitting on the front steps and he looked livid. "And just were where you today?" the elder Shimada brother demanded as the bespectacled girl shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"O-Out with a friend?" She stammered as his brown eyes narrowed at her. "Oh, and was time with this friend more important then school?" He hissed Anri swore she saw a flash blue in his eyes as Hazo held back his wrath. "Honestly, I expected better from you Anri." and with that Hanzo went to train leaving the girl to wallow in her now soured mood.

"Now I wish I hadn't gone easy on that creep..." She mumbled taking her shoes off mentally picturing herself beating snot out of the perv. "What creep?" She jumped hearing Genji's voice glanced around before looking up and finding him hiding out in the rafters, staring down at her curiously. "A pervert tried grabbing me on way home I-" the green haired boy suddenly bristled he jumped from rafters and landed in front of her with a heated looked "Why didn't you say anything when Hanzo was yelling at you?!" Genji hissed as Anri dismissed his anger.

"It wasn't a big deal I handled it." Genji's eyes seemed flashed green the bespectacled girl jumped when he punched the wall just above her head the sound seemed to echo through the halls as Genji glowered at the short girl.

"Not a big deal..." He snarled grabbing her front of her shirt, Anri looked at him in fear before Genji caught himself and pulled away from her; a pregnant silence filled the entryway, the frontdoors suddenly looked interesting to stare at, he glanced back at Anri and saw her hands were shaking...

All because he couldn't keep his stupid instincts in check. "Did he touch you?" He asked hoarsely before biting the inside of his cheek as tiny voice managed to stammer out.

"n..no."

Genji's shoulders relaxed a he let out breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he heard Anri's footsteps hurry away, leaving him alone. "Dammit, I screwed up again." he berated himself before he heard Hanzo yelling for him from the training room, At least he'll have something to take his anger out on...

#Overwatch #fanfiction #Genji x OC #genji shimada #young!Genji #overwatch hanzo #oc x oc #female oc

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tertiaryembarrassment · 6 years ago

Note

I hardly ever see any sam stuff so I'd love to read 130 with him.

130: “Oh my god! You’re in love with her!” 3580 words

request a prompt

(for the purposes of this we’re gonna pretend Sam never imprinted on Emily because female friendships are important and I’m not about to write some bull ‘emily hates reader bc she stole her bf’) (and i’ll put it under the cut bc i clearly went 3000 words overboard)

“Y/N,could you pass me the salad dressing?”

Youreyes follow the line from Emily’s pointed finger to a bottle of dressingsitting unopened on the counter beside you, grabbing it and tossing it into herwaiting hands. She smiles in thanks and turns back to focus on the large bowlof greens before her, slowly unscrewing the bottle and upending it into thesalad. You continue to chop away at the pile of vegetables laid before you,sharp knife gliding easily through a mound of onion.

The twoof you move in harmony through Emily’s kitchen, passing ingredients back andforth, offering taste test spoonfuls to the other, sharing pointers and tipsfor the next step in the recipe. In the past weeks, this dance had becomeroutine for you, spending afternoons pouring over large dinners for the pack ofhungry shapeshifters she so often hosted. The pack harboured the largest ofappetites on their best days, but lately they were coming home completelyfamished, tired and sore from the extra patrols Sam had planned for them.Apparently, new Cold Ones in the area, these ones seemingly unlike the Cullenfamily that lived in Forks, had the boys on edge. Whatever the case, you’resure the pack can handle whatever the vampires can throw their way – theyalways have.

It’ssometimes strange, you think to yourself, to think of how you got yourself intothis in the first place. You sweep a mountain of chopped onions into your handand pour them into the frying pan on the stove, a soft song erupting from thepan as they simmer in the oil. Sam was the first one from the pack that you’dmet. You remember that day very clearly – it was only a few months ago, afterall – when you were sitting quietly in the coffee house, reading to yourself,when you momentarily locked eyes with Sam Uley just in time to see him fumblewith his drink, spilling its contents across your table and into your lap,soaking right through your copy of Prideand Prejudice. You helped him clean it up, and he offered to buy youanother book as an apology. It would be weeks before he’d let you in on thewerewolf secret – but you’d been close friends ever since.

Hebrought you to meet the other shapeshifters soon after that, and in thefollowing weeks you would find yourself settling in comfortably to this odd,unconventional little family. You uncover a jar of tomato sauce, pouring itslowly over a pan of frying onions and meatballs. To your right, Emily leansover a tray of bread slices, applying a coat of butter and garlic to each,readying them for the oven. Emily, although not a shifter, was clearly thematernal figurehead of the group, and had welcomed you so warmly when you firstmet. All of them did, you think, a small smile creeping across your lips at thethought of your friends. They were the most close-knit group you’d ever been apart of, and you counted yourself lucky to be found among their ranks, each oneof them bringing a close friendship you hadn’t experienced in too long – some,closer than others.

“Whatare you smiling about?” Emily says, and you jump. You had hardly realized you weresmiling, let alone that she had been watching.

You biteyour lip, banishing the expression sheepishly. “No reason. I’m just… happy.”

Shesmiles, nodding her head and turning back to work on the garlic bread. “I see.Well, keep working, Happy, we have hungry werewolf mouths to feed.”

Laughing,you obey the command, stirring the sauce in its pan and pulling shakers ofherbs and spices from the cupboards. It’s not long before the food is done, thesavoury smell filling Emily’s small house and wafting out the open front doorwith the summer breeze. A stack of glasses in your hands, you leave the sauceon low and turn to set the dining room table, pulling out placemats and cutlerywhile Emily oversees the oven. With two pairs of hands, the work goes quickly,and the table is set in no time, a full spread of pasta, salad, and garlicbread awaiting it’s devourers. You’re opening your mouth to ask Emily when theboys said they’d be home when you can hear whoops and hollers from the streetoutside – roughhousing and laughter, the telltale signs of the pack.

“Incoming,”Emily laughs, moving towards the door to greet the boys as they come in. Youstand straighter, uncrossing your arms and smoothing down your shirt.

Youcount the pack members as they file in, clapping Emily on the back or throwinga one-armed side hug over her shoulder. She’s all smiles, greeting each one asthey move past her. “Hey Quil, Embry, Jacob,” she starts. Seth enters next, agrin spread across his face – not unusual for Seth – and throws both his armsaround her in greeting. “Hi, Seth!” Leah crosses in after, not stopping togreet Emily, as she’s already occupied with her brother, instead throwing a nodand a tight-lipped smile over her shoulder. “And Leah,” she finishes.

No oneelse enters.

You tryto hide your disappointment, a frown settling on your brow as you curl your lipin. “Where’s Sam?”

They’vealready taken up seats around the table, shoveling piles of food onto emptyplates. Jacob answers you, his words muffled by the mouthful of garlic breadrolling in his cheek. “He didn’t want to leave the perimeter unguarded while weate. With the Cold Ones out, and everything. He’s staying back until we’redone, he’ll come get some when we relieve him.”

“If there’sany left,” Emily teases.

“Jaredand Paul stayed behind too,” Quil notes, eyebrows raised pointedly at you. “Notthat you’d notice.”

A blushheats your face at his comment, and you swing on your heel towards the sinkbefore one of them can point it out. You scrub off a few dirty dishes, gratefulfor something to occupy your attention.

“LeaveY/N alone, Quil,” Emily scolds, moving to lean on the counter beside you. Thepack’s conversation quickly diverges from you to the new vampires in the area,the boys each positive they could take down the coven single-handedly. Soonthey’re shouting over one another, easily drowning out your voice as you speakto Emily in a hushed tone.

“It’snot like that, you know,” you say, eyes glued to the soapy water that coversyour hands, dirty saucepan gripped tightly in a balled fist. “We’re justfriends.”

Emilynods in understanding. “I know,” she agrees, the corners of her lips tugupwards, and her eyes flicker to meet yours. “But just so you know? I don’tthink he’d mind if that wasn’t true.”

Confusionspreads across your face. You open your mouth, about to ask for clarification –what could she mean by that? – when she pushes herself from her place leaningon the counter to join the others at the table.

–

In thenext few hours, the pack has ravaged the meal, leaving little for the threelatecomers, and made their way back into the forest to continue their patrols,grateful for their full bellies before a night of long work. Apparently, thenew coven was more of an issue than you had assumed, the boys telling you abouttheir strength and power, the violence in the vampire’s nature, over dinner.You felt a pit of nervousness grow in your stomach at the thought of Sam beingout there alone.

When thelast of them were gone, you and Emily begin to gather empty plates and glasses,filling the dishwasher. You take three clean plates, filling them with the lastof the food and setting them aside for Sam, Paul, and Jared, before continuingto help clear the table. You’re wiping crumbs from the tabletop with a clothwhen the three boys stumble in, exhausted and sweaty from their long shift.

Youcan’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. “Hey, Paul, Jared,” you nodin greeting, which they return. Your eyes flicker to Sam, who crosses thethreshold a moment after they do, ducking as he passes under the door, hismassive frame almost too tall for the entrance. “Sam.”

Hissmile matches yours. “Y/N.”

A breathof relief escapes you, in part thanks to the knowledge that he’s alright, butalso due to the comfort his presence brings. You’d never been able to describeit – never even tried to say it out loud – but whenever he’s near, things justfeel more… right than when he’s not.As if a part of you stays with him when he leaves, and the rest of you longsfor the missing piece when it’s gone.

“Hey,guys,” Emily calls in greeting from the kitchen sink, up to her elbows in dirtydishes and bubbles. “We saved as much as we could for you. Those boys areanimals.”

“Wolves,” Jared laughs, earning a clap onthe back from Paul. The two move towards the table, uncovering their plates andtearing in, as if it’s been years since they’ve had a good meal. You know for afact that’s not true – you’d cooked for them just last night, they act likethis every time.

Sammakes his way to the table as well, squeezing your arm as he passes you.“Thanks so much, girls. We really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,”you assure him, taking an empty seat between Jared and Sam. You don’t see it,but Emily shakes her head, a playful smile on her lips, at the sight of youabandoning her with the dishes. You turn your attention between the wolves,watching them gulp down food like they’re not sure where their next meal willcome from.

“So,Y/N, did the other guys tell you about the coven that’s been lurking aroundForks?” Jared says, excitedly, through a mouthful of pasta.

Youshake your head. “Only a little – that they’re more powerful than youanticipated. They seemed confident that they could take ‘em, though.”

Samsmacks his lips, interjecting without looking up from his food. “Cocky, you mean. Too much confidence isdangerous when you’re dealing with a powerful enemy.”

“Arethey that dangerous?” You ask, worry dripping from your tone.

“Vampiresare always dangerous,” Paul says.

Jaredfinishes for him. “But these ones are some of the strongest we’ve ever seen.There’s not many of them, but they’re expert trackers and they’re incrediblyfast. Not faster than us, but still – I’d be scared if I were a human-”

Samshoots him a sharp glare. “Don’t scare her, idiot,” he scolds, his voice deepand stern. He shifts his attention to you, his eyes softening. “Don’t listen tohim. We’ve got everything under control.”

Fromhere, Sam leads the conversation away from talk of Cold Ones and danger,instead opting to comment on the deliciousness of the food, for which hereceives sincere thanks from you and Emily. Jared and Paul get to talking aboutsome new action movie coming out that they’re dying to see, and eventually youexcuse yourself from the table, remembering you were supposed to help with thecleaning.

“Sorry,Emily,” you apologize, grabbing a towel and a clean dish, beginning to dry. “Ijust wanted to sit down for a minute.”

Shedoesn’t tear her gaze from her hands, deep in the murky water, running a clothover a submerged dish. There’s a smile in her voice when she speaks. “Oh, don’tworry about little old me,” she laughs, flickering her eyes to you, and then tothe boys around the table. She lowers her voice, leaning towards you. “I hearthe company over there is much moreexciting.”

“I toldyou it’s not like that!” You protest, voice shrill but hushed in a loudwhisper. Your laugh, smile, and blushed cheeks betray you. “I… like him. But we’rejust friends; I like being friends.”

Shepresses her lips together, an unconvinced nod of concede. “I believe you,” shesays.

“No, youdon’t,” you say.

She laughsagain. “I really don’t.”

–

Before long,the three have finished their dinner and helped with the finishing touches onthe cleaning. The group exchanges a round of thanks, for the food, for thetidying, for keeping the reservation safe. It’s Sam who first says they should returnto patrol to help the younger wolves, but his indominable sense ofresponsibility is met with groans of protest from not only Paul and Jared, butEmily.

“Actually,I made dessert,” she says, and you furrow your brow. She hadn’t mentionedanything about a dessert to you, and she hadn’t offered it to the other half ofthe pack. “It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Paul leapsup to Emily instantly. “What kind of dessert? Where is it?”

She batshim away. “Give me a second, and I’ll get it ready. The point is, you’ll allstay a bit longer?”

Jarednods eagerly, but Sam hesitates. His face, handsome, with thick brows and asharp jaw, sets in to a frown, knowing of his duties, that he should check onhis pack. He is alpha, after all.

You didn’tmean to, but you’re staring at him now. When his eyes flicker to meet yours,you instantly dart your gaze away, but it’s a moment too late. He’s seen your pleadingface, selfishly hoping he’d choose to stay.

“We canstay,” he answers, finally. Paul and Jared both let out cheers, but Sam onlylooks at you. You smile, eyes downcast.

“Perfect!”Emily exclaims, clasping her hands together. “Y/N, could you do me a hugefavour and grab me the strawberries? I left them in the fridge downstairs.”

“I canget them,” Paul offers, turning to head down the hallway towards the basementdoor.

Emilythrows a hand in front of him, barring his path. A glare clouds her typicallycheery face. “Nope. You, stay.” She turns to you. “You, go.”

Confusionsettles on your brow, but as Paul backs off you figure it’s easier to complythan to protest. You shuffle away from the group, cocking a brow at Emily, whoseems to ignore you.

You pushopen the basement door, making your way downstairs, flicking on the overheadlight and bathing the cool room in a warm glow. You hadn’t spent much time downhere, but the fridge was easy enough to locate, though you couldn’t imagine whyEmily would have left the strawberries down here. To think of her even needinga second fridge for all the food she holds for the pack makes you laugh – they oughtto start paying her grocery bills, at this rate.

Takingthe strawberries in hand and nudging the door closed with your hip, you startslowly back up the stairs, balancing the box in two hands. Flick the light backoff, close the basement door. You’re about to round the corner back to thekitchen when your name catches your ear.

“Y/N’sgreat – I mean, she’s really great – but we’re just friends. That’s how theimprint works, you do what your imprint needs. And Y/N needs me to be herfriend.”

You stumbleback, catching yourself before you make a noise, holding in a breath. That wasSam’s voice, and that was your name but… he couldn’t be talking about you.Could he? No, of course not. You only knew a little about imprinting – hardly anyof the pack had experienced it yet – but surely, you would have known if Sam had…he would have told you. He’s your friend! He would have told you. You pressyour back to the hallway wall, listening intently.

“How doyou know that’s all she wants? You’venever even told her you imprinted on her!” Emily. You should have known. Kind,supportive, well-meaning Emily. She always wanted the best for you, even if shewas convinced she knew what that looked like better than you did.

Paulsighs. “She has a point, Sam.”

“Stay outof this.” Sam says.

“Sam,everyone can see it but you. She’s so into you! How can you be so blind?” She continues,and you draw in a breath. Were you being obvious? Sure, you liked Sam – but youthought Emily was the only one who could tell. Embarrassment blooms in your stomach,and you press a hand to quell it.

Sam letsout a breath. “It’s… more than that. Evenif she does like me, imprinting is… really intense. What if it’s too much forher?” There’s a beat, but you can’t see what he does. Suddenly, his voicereturns, wavering with emotion. “I can’t lose her. I can’t risk it.”

“Oh mygod,” Emily whispers. “You’re in love with her.”

There’sso answer this time, but a feeling of understanding washes over the group. Whatdid he do? Did he nod? If only you could see him.

“Thentell her,” Jared says.

“Seriously,man.” Paul.

The embarrassmentin your stomach has tied itself into a knot of anxiety, sitting like a rock inyour middle. What did any of this mean?

Emily’svoice is softer, full of comfort and kindness. “You won’t lose her. If eitherof you could stop being so goddamn oblivious, you’d both know that.”

You hearhim laugh now, a deep, rich chuckle that softens the knot a bit. “Is it thatbad?”

A chorusof agreement erupts from his three companions. “Awful,” Emily confirms.

“Gross,”Paul laughs.

“Disgusting,”says Jared.

Samsucks in a deep breath, righting himself, banishing the emotion from his voice.“Okay, okay, I get it.” He clears his throat. “Stop being a coward, tell Y/Nhow I feel. Right?”

“He getsit! Finally!” Emily cheers, earning laughs from the boys. “You could start by helpingher with the strawberries.”

Panicsettles in as you realize what that means. Footsteps grow nearer, and you shiftyour eyes to the package of red berries in your arms, backing slowly towardsthe basement door. Turn the knob…

“Y/N?”

Youwince, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your face to the voice. You don’tneed to open them to know it belongs to Sam.

“Howlong have you been standing there?”

Youreyes shoot open, greeted by Sam, a giant of a man, looming over you, deep linesof worry and embarrassment you can only assume match your own etched into his handsomeface. Behind him, Jared and Paul exchange glances, obviously taken aback seeingtheir alpha in such a vulnerable state, and Emily, a hopeful grin spread acrossher lips.

“Notvery long,” you answer.

“Longenough?” He asks, voice cracking.

You nod,tearing your eyes from him to examine your feet.

Heswings around to address your audience, who back off suddenly, as if to pretendthey hadn’t noticed you. Paul shoves his hands in his pockets, feigning whistlingas he pulls Jared and Emily out of sight, back into the kitchen. Same turnsback towards you, leaning in and lowering his voice. “Can we… talk? Privately?”

–

“I’msorry I didn’t tell you,” Sam leans against Emily’s porch railing, his eyescast up towards the sky, counting constellations in the moonlight.

You pullyour sleeves down, balling the hems in your fists to cover your hands, andcross your arms. Leaning against him on the railing, his warmth seeps into you,fighting with the chill of night. “Why didn’t you?”

“Ithink,” he says, sucking in a breath, “you already heard that part.”

You letout a soft laugh, nodding, biting the corner of your lip. “What does it feellike?”

Heblinks, chewing on your words. Finally, he speaks, voice soft, but confident,like he’d thought of his answer long before you asked the question. “Like you’reeverything. When I met you, it was like everything else just… faded. It allbecame dull in comparison. You became why I do what I do everyday – to see moreof you, to make you smile, to make the world better for you,” he pauses, rubbinga hand on the back of his neck. He turns his head from the stars to face you,but his expression doesn’t change. All the wonder and awe that the infinity ofthe galaxy inspires, he still looks the same when he looks at you. “Intense, right?”

You blowout a breath. “A little.”

“I wantto be a part of your life no matter what that means,” he says. He shifts,leaning one arm on the railing now instead of two, taking hold of your hand nowwith his free one, warm fingers enveloping yours. “Don’t let this change howyou feel.”

A nervouslaugh, and the something banishes the knot in your middle. A moment of courage,you suppose, as your words escape past your lips. “I don’t have to.”

Beforeyou can rethink it, you’re cupping his face in your hands, bringing him towardsyou as you press a kiss to his lips. Without a moment of hesitation, he’s returningit, locking strong hands around your waist, pressing your body against his, dancinghis lips over yours. His warmth consumes you as you lean into him, two forms movingas one, suddenly, feeling the most whole you had since the day you met him.

As ifthat missing piece had finally come home.

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charlie-jennings · 5 years ago

Text

Charlie and Ally at the Diner

Charlie and Ally meet up again at the diner the day after Charlie’s punishment from Margaux.

Para below the cut ---->

Charlie

Charlie eased down into his booth at the diner, feeling a little more beaten down than usual. He’d gone through another long shift at the warehouse following his punishment at the hands of Margaux. There was no option for him to take a sick day despite how miserable he felt - feelings of switches never mattered. The only bright spot he could hope for was Ally and seeing her pretty face. He offered her a weak smile when she came over to the table. “Long night for you too?” He asked, nodding to the other tables in the loud diner.

Ally

Ally had still been a bit surprised to see Charlie that second night, thinking maybe he was just being polite when he said he'd stop by again. But then it happened again a third night, the man taking the same booth over and over and although she barely even knew him, it was nice to see him there- to know that at least one of her customers wasn't going to be rude to her on a nightly basis. She'd just finished with yet another rude table- a young Dom trying to flaunt their 'power', when she saw him walking in and Ally couldn't help but smile to herself, her mood lifting quite a bit as she headed over to him. "You could say that." She had a bandage along the junction between her thumb and pointer finger, a mishap with a broken glass that was just the cherry on top of her day. She noticed though that he looked more than just tired and a little bit of concern flickered over her face but she just hummed a bit as she handed him a menu, telling herself to not be nosy. "I'll get you some coffee, you look like you need a break so there's no rush in ordering."

Charlie

Charlie managed a smirk when she agreed it'd been a long night. He didn't miss the new bandaid on her hand and couldn't help but wonder how she'd gotten it. His thoughts were broken up as she offered him another coffee. He shook his head. "I appreciate it, but you ain't got to. I don't need the extra cost and I don't want you to get in trouble for giving it to me for free." Ally was right though - he did need a break. From his job, from New Eden, from his life. At least he'd found one place he felt comfortable, if only for a little while. "I already know what I want if it makes it easier for you. I ain't in a rush to get outta here, but I know you got a lot of other tables to worry about."

Ally

Ally was about to protest, just say it was on the house so he wouldn't have to worry about it, but he stopped her before she could even get the words out. She didn't really see why it was such a big deal- if she got in trouble it was her problem, not his. She figured people usually jumped at the chance to get something for free... With a little sigh though she nodded, figuring she'd just let him have it his way if he wanted and instead just nodded and took out her little notepad for orders. "Okay, go ahead. ...You sure you don't want that coffee though? Or even just tea or something? There's....I don't know. Just something off about you today.." she hadn't even really meant to say it out loud and she bit her lip, glancing away for a moment as pink colored her cheeks. She hoped it didn't sound weird, like she'd been watching him or something over the last couple days.

Charlie

"Yeah, I'm sure. Just water," Charlie replied. If only she knew. He was off; still bothered by his interaction with Margaux. His body was still sore and he hadn't been in the right frame of mind since. "I, uh, want the usual. Three pancakes, three eggs, side of bacon," he repeated, though his voice was lower and softer than usual. He looked up at Ally and gave her a small smile - wanting to convey that everything was alright. He didn't think he had it in him to lie to her outright.

Ally

Ally still had a flush to her face but she nodded, writing down the same thing he's eaten for the last three days here. She still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong though, that his entire demeanor was off. He wasn't her friend- heck, she didn't even know his last name, but he was consistently kind and sweet to her, had given her little reprieves in her long days, and the thought that something was tainting that, tainting him, didn't sit well with her. She went to go put his food order in, asking one of the cooks to try and speed it out, before she quickly went back to Charlie's booth, sliding him the water. "If you um...if you have a headache or something, I have some advil in my bag?" she offered, trying to still work out what could be wrong.

Charlie

Charlie looked back up at her and smiled, graciously taking the water. He took a little sip of it, brows raising in surprise as Ally asked if he had a headache. He did, and his body ached, and his dick still ached - the memory of the humiliation caused his cheeks to burn. How could he possibly explain to her what had happened to him? "I appreciate it. I do. It's just - it's been a long couple nights," Charlie explained, except not really. "I'd, uh, rather not talk about it. If it's okay. Sooner I forget the better." He could still remember everything vividly, and multiple hot showers hadn't helped to make him feel clean again.

Ally

For a second Ally thought maybe that was it and she'd just been overreacting. But then she saw the flush move along his face, and his somewhat-disjoined reply and she frowned, her brows furrowing a bit. "I..--" she cut herself off though as he said he didn't want to talk about it and she just nodded, a jerky little movement of her head as she looked down, mentally berating herself already for crossing a line, for pushing for too much. "Right. Yeah. Sorry. I'm sorry, I-I um...I'm not the greatest at this whole...human interaction thing." And wasn't that an understatement. She could practically hear her mother's ashamed tone in her hear telling her what a mess she was making of everything. "I'll just..leave you alone now. I'm sorry."

Charlie

Charlie felt guilty - he hadn’t meant to push her away or make her feel bad about asking about him. It was nice, really, to have someone out there worried about him. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to be a dick...” Charlie trailed off. “It ain’t you. Just a interaction with a domme that didn’t go good.” To day the least. His face burned hotter. “Look, I’ll be glad to talk about anything - just maybe not that. I’ll be alright, I promise.”

Ally

Ally had just started taking a step away from his booth when he started speaking, apologizing, and she hesitated, biting her lip still. His words surprised her though—‘interactions’ with dominants usually weren’t pleasant ones- at least as far as she was concerned. She could only imagine what could’ve happened... “I’m sorry about..whatever happened then.” She offered softly, watching him for a moment. “If you need distraction or something else to talk about I’m more than happy too—“ She was about to say more when her name was pretty much screamed from across the diner, making her jump and wince as she turned to look towards the supervisor- an annoyed-looking older domme and she frowned as she nodded. “I’ll be back with your order.’ She promised Charlie, giving him one last look before rushing off.

Charlie

Charlie felt his skin prickle with anger as the dominant yelled at Ally in a scolding, scathing tone. As if she was a misbehaving child. But if he felt helpless before, he felt moreso now - Margaux handily reminded him where he stood in the hierarchy of the city. So he stayed where he was, staring down at the tabletop as Ally walked off. Charlie didn’t look up until she came back by. Knowing that they wouldn’t have a lot of time so long as they were here, he decided to take a chance. “You, uh, want to meet some time when we’re off? So you don’t get in trouble with her?” He asked, nodding toward the manager.

Ally

Ally didn’t come back out for a while, someone else bringing Charlie’s water for him as she got pulled to help with the dishes and cleaning. By the time she’d come back with his food she looked more disheveled, a flush to her cheeks from exertion. She was carrying his plates and she put them down carefully, a little smile on her lips “Sorry about the wait, I tried to get back out as quick as I could with it.” His question caught her off guard and she paused, looking to him for a moment. “I..” she looked back around to her manager, biting her lip. “I don’t get out til like close to two tonight, I don’t want to make you wait that long..”

Charlie

Charlie wasn't sure he could make it until two if he wanted. His physical and mental exhaustion were compounded by the punishment he'd received. "Well, maybe not tonight... but when's your next off day? We could meet then, maybe... actually have a real conversation." One in which Ally wasn't constantly yelled at to return to the back. He flushed a little, realizing he was being a little forward. "I mean, if you want -" he continued, chewing lightly on his bottom lip. "It's just.. you're always nice and it ain't like we can actually talk here."

Ally

Ally admittedly wasn't really used to this. She didn't have people in her life to 'make plans' with. She didn't go out on days off, didn't have friends to spend free time with. She didn't have anyone who wanted to spend time with her. And yet he wanted to? They barely knew each other... But then, isn't this how people got to know each other? She realized she spaced off into her head and by the time she focused she saw he was blushing and stuttering out his reply, trying to backtrack and she shook her head, "No, I...I'd like that." She told him quickly. "I'm actually off tomorrow? And the day after I'm supposed to actually only be here til ten so..not too horrible for once. And days like today when I'm closing, I don't have to come in til the middle of the afternoon so I have mornings free. If....any of that works for you?" she glanced behind again, making sure she wasn't being watched or waited on. "I just realized I don't even know where you work.."

Charlie

Charlie couldn't help but laugh a little at her question. It was fair enough - he'd never told her, though he assumed the fact that he came in filthy and often covered in box dust gave her a bit of a hint. "Not too far from here, actually," he drawled, nodding in the direction of the warehouse. "Ain't nothin' special or exciting, honestly. I work in a warehouse filling, stacking, and loading boxes..." He shrugged, not really sure what else to say about it. "I got to turn around and pull a day shift tomorrow... but I get off at three." One of the rare shorter shifts he got. "We could meet up after, have some pizza at that place you were telling me about."(edited)

Ally

Ally followed his movement, looking out the dark window before back to him. "Hey, a job is a job." She replied softly. "And trust me, as someone who know what it feels like to not have one? To not have any money or any place to go? ..I'd never look down on someone who at least has something." She found herself smiling again when he said he could have time tomorrow and she nodded, "That could work. Later in the day though? That way you can sleep if you want. Maybe..make it a dinner thing?"

Charlie

Charlie knew the sentiment. It wasn't like there were any better prospects out there for him. This job was at least steady and paid enough that he could pay for rent, food, and his expensive physical therapy. "Well... thanks for that... makes me feel better about it anyway." He cast a smile her way, nodding. "Yeah... dinner sounds good -" But Charlie was cut off by the sound of someone hollering for Ally across the diner. He groaned. "Talk to you when the check comes?" he offered, knowing they'd at least be able to finalize their plans over a couple of sentences.

Ally

"No problem." Ally smiled, one that was just starting to grow as he agreed to getting dinner when she heard her name being yelled out again and she grimaced, looking behind herself. "Yeah, definitely. Um, enjoy your food." She tacked on before rushing off- this time to wipe down tables and take care of another few groups of people in another section. Another waiter had come by to clear off Charlie's plates, not even waiting for anything else to be ordered before giving him his receipt and telling him to pay upfront (probably doing of the manager on duty) and by the time Ally was coming back out from the kitchens she saw Charlie at the exit and her heart dropped. She didn't want him to think she was backing out or changed her mind. What if he just stopped coming? She didn't really know where he worked, didn't know where he lived. Hell, didn't even know his last name... She told one of the subs on duty that was actually friendly with that she was going on a smoke break before she rushed off after him and out the door. "Charlie!"

Charlie

Charlie was a bit dismayed when another waiter came by to clean up his plates. To add insult to injury, he was forced to immediately pay, no doubt under scrutiny by the same manager who tended to give Ally the most hell. He paid and there was a flicker of disappointment on the waiter's face when the card went through. He could feel the manager's eyes boring holes into him, clearly unhappy by his presence, either because he was constantly distracting Ally or because he was a switch or maybe a combination of both. Though he wanted to stick around to have that conversation, he wasn't really being left with a choice, and he didn't want to get the other switch in trouble too... Hell, he was a testament as to what happened when a switch angered a dominant. So he left. Charlie made it only a few steps outside of the diner when he heard his name called out and Ally running up behind him. "Hey - shit, you ain't gonna get in trouble, are you?" he asked, concerned. "Sorry for running out - I just.... seemed like the right thing to do."(edited)

Ally

Ally was angry, teeth a bit gritted together as she stormed out the doors about ready to chase him down. Thankfully he hadn't gotten too far though, but still. "I'm so sorry." she blurted out immediately, frowning. She hadn't even thought about herself really in the moment, just how he'd been treated. Not even because he was friendly to her- but because he had been a paying customer, dammit. That, at the absolutely least should've meant something... "What? I--no. No, I'll be fine. I told another girl I was coming out for a smoke break." She waved his concern off, frowning still as she moved to stand in front of him. She had to look up to meet his eyes, realizing just then that every time they spoke he was sitting. Now standing, she barely reached his shoulder. She swallowed, pushing all those thoughts away and instead just shaking her head, "I-I just....I didn't want you to think that was because of me. That like..I'd sent someone else to finish my job, or that I was second guessing meeting up tomorrow and ditching you.."

Charlie

"You ain't got nothing to be sorry for," Charlie replied, shaking his head. He gave her a little smile, hoping to assuage her fear. He was glad to hear she was alright for the moment and shouldn't get in trouble for running out after him. But shouldn't meant little when it came to switches. "I didn't think that, but I appreciate you running out to let me know all the same..." Charlie shifted a bit on his feet and slid his hands into his pockets. "They're assholes to you." Dominants and submissives, at least the traditional ones, tended to be that way to switches - but it didn't make it easier to stomach. "So.. what time for dinner then? Seven too late?" he asked, figuring they'd best make the most of the little time they had.

Ally

"Yes I do. You came here because of me." She blurted it out, not really thinking much of how it sounded and she flushed darkly, feeling the heat on her face as she looked away, "I mean...--not for me, but..well..you know. Dinner after work and all.." Ally waved her hand noncommittally, hoping the darkness didn't make the red on her face too apparent. She just hummed in response at the next bit, shrugging, "Nothing I'm not used to. I'm sure you get it too.." she wondered if maybe that's why he was the way he was tonight. Maybe someone at work hurt him? She had to bite her tongue against the question and instead just shook her head, "No, um..seven is good. Here." She dug into the little pocket of her apron, quickly scribbling before ripping the paper off and handing it to him, her number written on it. "I'm not allowed to have my phone on me during work hours so it's inside. But here."

Charlie

Charlie could feel his own cheeks heating up at her statement. Had he been that obvious? He supposed that wasn't necessarily true - he'd stopped at the diner many times in the past before he saw her. But he'd been going out of his way to see her and clearly she'd noticed. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face. "I mean... yeah, maybe I woulda gone home if I knew you wasn't working..." he admitted out loud. He cleared his throat, almost sure he'd blown it - but then, Ally was reaching into her apron to scribble her number down on a stray piece of paper. Charlie smiled as he took it. "Alright... seven," he repeated. "I'll, uh - I'll text you? Y'know, not during work hours. And, uh, I'll see you for pizza."

Ally

Ally bit her lip but smiled a little bit. “Well, I pretty much work every day. I used to do openings mainly, but for the last few weeks I guess they decided subjecting me to mainly closing is..better.” She shrugged, looking around. “at least the city is quieter at night, albeit not always as safe feeling. but oh well.” She smiled again, a bit wider this time, happier. “Yeah, seven is perfect. Just...text me when you’re on the way? And I can meet you there.”

Charlie

"You gonna be alright getting home?" Charlie asked, concerned when she brought up the issue of safety. Ally was right - New Eden wasn't the best of places to be walking around at night, especially for a switch. "I'll, uh, text you so you got my number. And, yeah, I'll text you when I leave. It ain't too far from my place, so..." He nodded toward the bus stop, knowing he'd need to get there soon if he didn't want to wait another half hour for the next one. "It was, uh - it was good seein' you, Ally. Be careful gettin' home, alright?"

Ally

Ally couldn’t help but roll her eyes but she still had a little smile on her lips, “Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about me, I’m good at taking care of myself. Been doing it all my life.” She followed his line of sight to the bus stop, knowing he had to go--and likewise, she could only use the guise of a smoke break for so long. “Yeah, okay, text me. And you yeah, you should get going, the bus is coming soon.” She told him with a nod. “You too. Get home safe and get some rest. I’m still not sure what happened but..take care of yourself okay? And..I’ll see you tomorrow?”(edited)

Charlie

Charlie nodded, though he wasn't sure how to tell her he couldn't help but be worried about her. Even if he had no reason to be. Ally was just a sweet girl with a pretty face working in a diner - he didn't even know her last name. All he knew was her kindness. "Yeah... I will." With another scalding hot shower and the rest of his bottle of whiskey. "I'll see you tomorrow then." After giving her a final smile, he walked off toward the bus stop, turning his head for one final glance before he arrived.

#Ally

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amemixfan · 6 years ago

Note

L&L AU Prompt (for either Helena or Saerys): MC was originally from the retainers world, one of the Reiner's retainers and have fought in the war with the Witch Queen. After the end of the battle and years of peace, she gets transported to Chicago and meets Chicago!LI. (Where the other world LI either doesn't exist, died, an enemy, or have never met MC. Make any changes you like.)

I chose Helena for this one, and it gets a little sad. Small allusions to her newest season.

———

When the war ended, I envisioned ringing applause. I expected thunderous cheers and victorious cries. I expected the domains to burst into motion and the roar of a people triumphant at last blaring through the world.

However, what I never expected was silence.

Silence fills the air around us. It is a deafening sound, louder than any cheer. The entire world seems to be quiet, biting its tongue and holding its breath, and we stand still.

After years of war after war, it is over. The Witch Queen lies dead at our feet. Her crown is in shatters in my hands and my adrenaline is still pumping through my veins.

My fists squeeze the remnants of the crown in my hand. I hear them crack and bend. My skin is pierced by the glass fragments and I feel a river of red fall from my hand and into the ground below.

I can scarcely believe this. She is gone. Evil has been defeated and peace is now filling the atmosphere and taking its place. War recedes into the shadows of history and sunlight breaks through the Witch Queen’s eternal night. The world is plunged into light and the earth returns with life.

I let the fragments of the crown fall. They crumble into tiny, glass stars on the grass. The sound of them breaking even further breaks through the dull roar of silence.

“Is it done?” Someone asks.

Altea. She is resting against her staff and her face is full of pallor. The fight had taken much out of her, depleted her magic, and sweat clings the hair of her bangs to her forehead. She is panting and her hands shake.

Someone else steps forward. August. He is limping and a trail of blood runs red down his forehead. An ugly gash delivered by Magnus has pierced the skin and I don’t miss the way his hand presses to the wound. It hurts him, but he is too stubborn to loose consciousness now.

He kneels before the corpse of the Witch Queen. She’s sprawled on the ground. Dark, raven hair frames her head like a twisted halo. Her face is whiter than the pale it once was, her eyes are open and white, black veins cross across her face and body, and her dress lies in tatters against her skin. A woman so powerful that the sun was blotted out by her magic is now nothing more than a corpse upon a battlefield.

What a fitting end death is to the one that brought so much of it into the world.

“She is dead,” I reply, “And I am glad for it.”

I stare down at my hands. I broke her crown myself, the source of her magic, and the pieces have cut me. There are jagged cuts to my palms and tiny fragments are buried in my skin. I pay them no mind. The adrenaline coursing through me erases the pain and soreness of war.

I take a step forward towards the corpse. Reiner has shouldered to the front. His armor is scuffed from battle, his nose is heavily bleeding, and he looks exhausted. There is gray to the mess of red hair on his head, stress has aged him early, and he seems almost like an apparition as he gazes at the enemy that brought him so much pain and suffering.

“The war is over. What remains of her scattered Generals will be dealt with accordingly. We made the mistake of allowing them to live after the first war. We won’t do it again,” Reiner announces. His eyes are frozen on the Witch Queen’s corpse. Like the many around us, he can scarcely believe it is done with.

I feel ill suddenly. I have wanted the end of this war for decades, have fantasized about the very moment in which I got to see evil’s incarnate destroyed, but now my victory rings hollow. My pulse pounds in my ears and I want to remove myself from the battlefield as fast as possible.

She should be here. She should be here celebrating with me. She should be at my side finally able to rest and breathe and break free, but she’s not.

I take a shallow breath that shakes my shoulders. Bile rises in my throat and I spin around. I march away, armor clanking against the grass, and ignore the retainers calling after me. I’ll explain to them what happened once I’m away from the smell of blood and carnage.

The edges of the battlefield provide solace. I press myself against a tree and remember how to breathe. My gasps come out quiet and pained. I feel like tearing at my hair but settle for running my fingers through the mess of dark strands instead.

I should be overwhelmed with joy. I should be screaming from the rooftops about the ended war. I should be full of immense relief and pleasure.

But instead I just feel numb.

What good is it to be joyful if I don’t have the one person I love more than life at my side?

The love of my life is gone from this world. She was taken from me by the very monster that now lies dead feet away. My entire reason for fighting was to give her a future, but her life was cut short long ago.

I press my hands to my knees and bend over. Bile climbs up my throat but never makes it. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe. I take long breaths of air just because I can. Breathe because I am alive and my lungs still work while my lover’s don’t. Breathe until my sides ache from the strain and the pain reminds me that I am privileged and fortunate. Death has not taken me yet, but it has destroyed me all the same.

Helena. Her name pains me still. I believed that time would numb me from her death, but the wounds in me are still as raw as the day they were torn into my heart.

If I close my eyes now, tune out the sounds of armor and soldiers commanding the remnants of the Witch Queen’s forces to surrender, I can almost see her. I can see the woman I loved more than life itself before me. Her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her blue eyes staring warmly at me, lips whispering my name reverently as she holds me close-

And her corpse sprawled before me. The blood pooling at her sides, the life leaving her gaze, and her body growing still.

I tear myself out of that recollection and go back to breathing. It takes every ounce of strength that I have not to break down. I force the image away until it is nothing more than a blemish on my memory. I claw at it until it is gone from existence and snuffed out like a candle light.

Helena was my world. My reason for fighting. I had never meant to fall in love with the repentant General of my own doppelgänger but it had happened as naturally as the sun rose in the horizon. Helena and Alain had defected midway through the war. The Witch Queen had finally showed them her true colors, and they had decided that they would no longer be the villains in history.

They had arrived seeking an alliance with Reiner. Reiner had given them the opportunity to prove their loyalties. They had joined the war on our sides. Helena had worked alongside me to take down the Witch Queen once and for all.

Our time together had been brief, but it had been enough. Love had bloomed like a rose between us. I learned to love the woman that had suffered so much in life yet still persisted. Helena learned to love the girl that had sworn her loyalty to Reiner as a child and still remained ever loyal at his side as an adult. We had grown to be each other’s soulmates and reason for living. Our life was full of talks about the future and what we would do once peace won over war-

But that had been cut short. During a battle, I had gotten distracted. In the midst of fighting Lennox, I had left myself open for an attack. The Witch Queen had seized it and attempted to kill me. Helena, unable to stop the attack with her magic due to her blind panic, had jumped before me and taken it. The attack had cut through her and she had died before her body could hit the ground.

I take more shuddering breaths and bow my head. Sweat beads on my brow and I wipe it away. My heart is racing and my mind whirls with terrible memories.

It had taken every ounce of my strength not to kill myself then. What good was a world where the joy had been cut out of it? Why fight a war now when my entire reason for fighting lay dead before me? I had all but decided to follow her in death, but the retainers had stopped me.

Don’t die, they had pleaded with me, avenge her. Destroy the Witch Queen and live for Helena. She’d want you to live.

I press my fists against my eyelids to prevent tears. I am all out of crying. My breath comes out quick.

Now that my mission has been accomplished, my love avenged, what keeps me in this world?

———

The inn belonging to the Falkes is in full swing when I arrive. News of the end of the war has spread like wildfire. Tired soldiers scrounge up some energy for celebration, alcohol runs like a steady stream, and music flows everywhere. The entire world rejoices at the end of its suffering.

I sit on the bar-top nursing a pint of fairy ale. It is bitter on my tongue and I find no comfort in the way it burns down my chest. I drink because I need the distraction, not because I enjoy the taste.

To one side, the retainers are detailing the final battle. Altea’s hands spark with magic as she punctuates her stories, Iseul hangs by her to act out his own fighting stances, and Saerys provides his own commentary. August hangs with Heloise and gives her a full run down of what the final battle was like. Reiner discusses things with council members and draws plans on a napkin of what will be done when reparations begin. Even Alain, out of place in his teals and whites, looks relieved for the war’s end and hangs hesitantly by the retainers.

Everyone is celebrating the end of the war. Everyone except me.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut.

She should be here with me now. Helena and I should be sitting next to the retainers. She should be talking about the war and how it had ended. I should be bragging to everyone who would listen that my love had outshined us all and saved the world.

I should have had her at my side.

A hand is placed on my shoulder. I look over to the side and recognize Queen Ishara. The Elven Queen has a cut to the side of her face, where a blade had nicked her, yet her eyes are bright. She is victorious and war has only brightened her spirit.

“Will you not join the festivities? You are the one that crushed the Witch Queen’s crown. People want to hear the story from your own lips,” the Queen states. She takes the seat next to me without invitation and gazes at me.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

I crushed the crown in my fists, destroyed the source of her evil magic, and kept the shattered pieces. The Crown’s centerpiece is in my pocket. It is heavy and burns me if I touch it. I have kept it for the sole reminder that my love has been avenged.

“I am tired,” I murmur, “I wish to retire.”

I look away and drain the last of my drink. The fairy alcohol scorches my throat as it descends. I hide my displeasure at the taste.

Ishara’s eyes have dimmed a bit. Motherly concern burns in her gaze and I see sympathy begin.

She knows I am hurting. Whether she knows it because of her seeing gifts or just by mother’s intuition, she is aware of my pain. Her hand reaches out for my shoulder.

“You have avenged her,” her voice is soft, “you can rest now.”

I square my jaw until my teeth almost crack. I don’t want to think about revenge anymore.

Revenge had driven me daily. Revenge had roused me from sleep and dragged me to battlefield after battlefield. Revenge had kept me warm when the campfires were low. Revenge had kept me company when Helena’s memory had taunted me.

Now that I have fulfilled it, I feel empty inside. It is almost ironic. Killing the Witch Queen only made me feel worse. The Witch Queen is dead, yet Helena is not here. I don’t know why I expected vengeance to taste sweet when it is the most bitter taste I have ever swallowed.

My life is empty without her in it. What is life without meaning? Am I truly alive or just surviving?

Ishara’s touch begins to burn. I loathe receiving sympathy and want to be left alone. Loneliness kills but perhaps I am ready to leave.

“I will sleep when I am dead,” I argue. I evade Ishara’s grasp.

Ishara’s lips purse. My answer has worried her, and perhaps we both have a reason to worry. I am not sure I would mind eternal rest, so maybe she does have a reason to look upon me now with anxiety.

“I see a blank spot in your future,” the Elven Queen admits, “I cannot see past these next few weeks. Please, do not do anything foolish. She would want you to live.”

I scoff and look away. My hands go into my pockets and I spin around. My room in the inn is upstairs, I am at my limit with society.

“We do not always get what we want. She wanted me to live, and I wanted her to live.”

———

The bed feels emptier without Helena in it. I have never truly realized how large a bed is until I did not have her at my side. If I rest on my back and stretch my arms, I have more than enough space. The sheets are cold, the mattress longs for her form, and I am struck by the loneliness of it all.

Sleep does not come easy, it died with her in that battle field, and I toss and turn. Every once in a while I will fade into unconsciousness, drift across the space between sleep and wakefulness, but I am always roused away by a nightmare. I see her in my dreams, yearn for her, and wake myself up with fresh tears.

At some point, I abandon my rest and sit up. My fingers go to the gem in my pocket.

The Witch Queen’s crown had been a powerful item. The stone at the center glints ominously in the light. It burns to the touch, yet I welcome the pain.

Pain means I am not dreaming. Pain means she is truly gone and I have her crown as proof. Pain means Helena has finally been allowed to rest after a long war-

But, more importantly, pain means I am still alive. Life is a curse, but it is a punishment I take eagerly. Helena died to protect me, the least I can do is prevent her sacrifice from being in vain.

I prop myself up on the window ledge. The Falke Inn overlooks the woods. Moonlight pours through and cascades around me. If only I could drown in it. Drowning in moonlight seems better than wading through darkness.

I turn the crown’s centerpiece over in my fingers. Dark magic coils from it and whispers around me. Temptation’s bony fingers reach out to me and promise me anything my heart desires.

I stifle its attempt and grit my teeth. The Witch Queen took the crown because it promised her power, but I will not make her same mistake. The thing I yearn for the most is my beloved, but I am not foolish. I know I will not see her again.

I look away from the gem and up at the sky. A shooting star blazes a trail overhead. I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip.

Despite my earlier thoughts, I still find myself wishing to see Helena again.

And, as always, my plea will go unanswered.

———

As a favor to me, Reiner set up Helena’s grave in his castle. Her resting place is nestled next to the Wolfson family, and her name is carved lovingly into the marble grave marker.

I kneel before the spot and trace my fingers over every curve of her name. This place will never truly bring me peace, but it does make the impossibility of being alone sink in.

“It is over,” I whisper. “She cannot hurt you any longer.”

My forehead presses to Helena’s gravestone. I will the gods to carry my message to her. Surely she can listen to me now.

We are soulmates, I believe that firmly. Wherever she goes, I go. I feel her presence even if it is just a whisper of grief. I choose to believe that she knows. I want to believe that she remains by my side even now that death has torn us apart.

I bring my lips to her gravestone and press a kiss there. The stone is cold on my skin, but I will myself to pretend that she is here. If I concentrate, I can still feel her touch on my skin.

My eyes begin to burn and I blink them away. Helena would not want me to cry, not over her.

I wipe angrily at my eyes and stand up.

I love her and miss her so much. Were death to strike me down now, I would not mind it. If I could see her again, I would accept my fate.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I curl my fingers over the jewel. As always, the magic burns my skin and sends pricks of pain through my body. I do not mind it. Pain means I am alive whether I want to be or not.

———

Reiner turns the crown’s jewel over in his hands. His lips are thin and Altea hovers over his shoulder with a book in hand. I grind my teeth together as they analyze my trophy.

“Her magic remains,” Altea murmurs. She flips through books faster than her eyes can read. She searches for a way to deactivate the gem.

I bite my lower lip.

“Can you break It?” I ask.

I can feel the remnants of the Witch Queen’s magic from what remains of the crown. It pulses with unholy life and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I want to rid myself of it as quickly as possible.

The sooner all traces of her are gone, the sooner I can go back to mourning Helena in peace.

Altea gazes at her book again and her mouth purses.

“There is a ritual to cleanse it of the magic. It may or may not work. Are you sure you want this?”

Her eyes meet mine and I see her worry. The ritual is a dangerous one and so many things can go wrong. She hopes that I will change my mind.

I won’t. If the ritual is dangerous, I am even more tempted. I am long past the point of caring about my own wellbeing. Any respite from the hollowness I feel in me is a welcome gift.

“I am sure. Perform the ritual.”

———

As if sensing that it is about to be destroyed, the magic within the crown spirals out of control. It scorches the tips of my fingers and climbs up my arms. My entire body pulses with electricity and dark magic.

I squeeze my eyes shut as Altea begins the ritual. Magic surrounds me and chanting registers past the ringing in my ears. The entire world is bathed in light and darkness.

I hold firm on the stone even as the magic tries to consume me.

This crown must be destroyed. The last of the Witch Queen is within it. I want to banish her from history. Erasing her magic from this tiny gem is a must.

How many times had she hurt Helena with her magic? How many times had she used this crown against her? How many times had my love suffered because of this one gem?

I clench my fingers around it even as the stone turns to fire. It cooks in my skin and pulses in my hand.

The magic within the crown panics. It begins to seek me out desperately.

As it once did the Witch Queen, it offers me power. It is so desperate to survive that it is willing to forge an alliance with the very person that killed its wearer.

I bite my tongue. Power means nothing to me. There is nothing I want in life more than the one thing I cannot have.

Altea continues to chant. Her magic swirls in pinks and whites. It spirals towards the jewel in my hand. A crack forms along its surface.

The crown panics again. It extends its offer to immortal life. I will live and remain young forever if I save it. I care not for life. What good is it to live in a world without Helena?

Another crack appears in the jewel. This time, an inhuman shriek resounds from it. The magic is so close to being erased. Altea begins to sweat and her own power strains against it. Just a few more moments and the last of the Witch Queen’s magic will be gone.

I clench my fists around the stone and crush it. My own grip speeds the process of it cracking. I can feel it shuddering in my grasp.

In one last attempt to save itself, the crown offers me one last thing. By now, it is desperate and willing to give me anything.

An image of Helena fills my senses. I see her in her splendor. Her long blonde hair falls across her shoulders, her blue eyes spark with love and affection, and her hand reaches out for me. I feel her close to me, see her appear as a vision, and my heart gives a painful beat.

The crown, it seems, is offering her. If I save it from this ritual, refuse to destroy it, it will give me Helena back.

Death is irreversible, I know that, yet I can’t squash the spark of hope that lights up in me. My mind tells me to be weary of the crown and the dark magic that pulses within it, but my heart is already picking up in rhythm. My breath comes out shallow.

If I am to make a choice and get my beloved back, I must make it now. Altea’s spell is almost complete and the cracks in the jewel are numerous.

Without thinking, I react. My mind is so full of Helena that I don’t realize what I am doing until it is too late.

I move the crown out of Altea’s magic’s reach and move out of the ritual circle. The spell fades away into nothingness and the crown is repaired before my eyes. The Witch Queen’s dark magic will not be destroyed today-

At least not until it holds up its end of the deal.

Altea gives out a weak cry and holds her chest. She is exhausted and shocked.

My hand shakes with the crown. I cannot let my only chance of seeing Helena again be destroyed.

“I-I cannot let you destroy it,” I gasp out. My heart is pounding in my chest.

Altea gapes at me, startled, and edges closer. She calls my name and I hear her worry.

“You have to let me destroy it! Whatever it promised you, it is lying! Do not listen to it!” She extends her hand and waits for me to drop the crown into her palm.

I angle my body away and shield the gem from view.

The crown is a liar, it manipulates people and takes control of them, but I do not care. If it will let me have Helena again, then I will accept whatever fate befalls me because of it.

I see my reflection glinting in the jewel. The girl that stares back at me is heartbroken. She is missing her soulmate, her other half, and the crown pities her. It will give her what she seeks.

I close my eyes and accept the deal. The stone turns cold and magic surrounds me.

The crown for Helena. Like the Witch Queen once did, I accept the deal. The jewel is evil and has wrought so much pain to the world, but if it gives me back Helena I do not care what befalls it.

Altea tries to run for me, tries to save me from myself, but I do not give her the chance.

The crown falls at my feet and light pours from it. A portal appears and shows me a world full of artificial light and metal carriages.

Without thinking, I plunge into it.

Ishara once asked me not to do anything foolish, yet I have defied her. If it will let me see Helena again, I will break every law humanity has.

———

The land I emerge into is called Chicago. I have never heard of it, yet it feels familiar somehow. People swarm past me and hardly give me a second glance. A stranger in armor is a curious sight, yet this city moves too quickly to give me a second thought.

I look around me and bite my cheek. The crown disappeared the moment the portal closed, a relic as powerful as that knows how to hide, so I am all alone in this strange land.

I wander past the streets trying to decipher where I am. Foreign accents fill my ears and bizarre sights blind me.

I know nothing about this world except for the fact that the crown promised me Helena. The thought of seeing her again is what keeps me going.

I wander into the street and squeeze my fingers in a tight fist. The crown swore Helena would be here, yet I cannot find her. Perhaps I was lied to. Perhaps Altea was right and I have fallen for a cruel trick. The crown was so desperate to not be destroyed that I would not be surprised if it has played me for a fool.

I close my eyes and blink away the tears.

In the end, I have been deceived. Helena is not here and I am all alone in a foreign world. If only death would take me now and end my suffering.

A loud noise sounds from behind me. I turn to see a metal carriage barreling towards me. A loud noise emits from it, a honking, and I close my eyes.

I have asked for death and it seems this world is ready to deliver it. Finally. I ready myself for the impact, the crash that will no doubt take me, but it never comes.

Instead, screeching sounds as the metal carriage halts. The smell is of burning rubber as it slams on its brakes. A driver pokes his head out and yells at me to move. I plant myself like a tree.

The side door to the carriage opens. It is a large car that extends past the others. Whoever rides in it is important.

A figure emerges from the carriage and my heart stops.

She wears a long blue and white dress, floral patterns emblazoned across the fabric, and a pink overcoat hangs from her shoulders. Blonde hair is neatly tied back, skin is flushed softly, and her lips are up in a kind smile. I would recognize her anywhere.

Helena.

My knees suddenly feel weak and I gaze at her. My heart gives a million beats per minute and my head is spinning just as fast.

The crown had promised me that she would be here, and it seems like it was telling the truth.

The woman, Helena, approaches me hesitantly. Concern shines in her eyes and she blinks up at me.

“Miss, are you alright?” She angles her head curiously.

Her voice is just like Helena’s. I close my eyes and memorize the smooth sound of it. It is like music to my ears.

“My limo almost hit you, are you hurt? Should I take you to a hospital?” The woman inquires again. True worry burns in her gaze.

I realize she is awaiting for my response. I fumble with what to say.

“Helena?” I ask it softly, tense before her answer, and wait with baited breath.

Please let her be Helena. Please.

The woman blinks quizzically. She begins to smile, but it is not in recognition. Instead, she flushes with praise and pleasant surprise fills her gaze.

“Helen, actually. Do you recognize my work? Are you a fan?” She leans forward excitedly.

A fan? Work?

Cold, numbness washes over me. Helen, not Helena. This is not my beloved.

This woman does not recognize me. She is not the same Helena that loved me. The crown has granted me my wish of seeing her again, but it has twisted it into something terrible.

A lump forms in my throat. Helen continues to talk. She sounds overjoyed.

“Have you seen my movies? My tv shows? I haven’t met a fan yet. The tabloids say I’m a rising star, but you’re the first person that’s recognized me. Where have you seen me before?”

She extends her hands towards me. Her fingers intertwine with mine. I feel a spark as we touch. Even worlds apart, we are a perfect fit.

I do not know what to say to her question, cannot think of a suitable answer, but it does not matter. Helen’s eyes sweep over my armor. I am still wearing the same outfit I wore when she lived. The armor she liked so much on me and fastened herself.

Recognition shines in her face and I grow excited before deflating again. She does not recognize me, she merely recognizes my outfit.

“Wait! I know where you’ve seen me. I was in that fantasy show a few months ago. That’s a really nice cosplay suit,” Helen grins, “I really liked that show. Who was your favorite character?”

Character? Show? The words mean nothing to me. Still, I answer her question. Regardless of the world we are in, she has always been the love of my life.

“You are,” I whisper. I shiver as I say it, feel the force of the meaning behind my words, and squeeze her hands.

Helen must feel something too because a beautiful blush spreads across her cheeks. She warms at the praise and her lips are quirked up in a soft smile. For a second, I forget how to breathe.

“Aw, you’re sweet,” she replies.

She offers me another dazzling smile before glancing back at her driver. The man is impatiently waiting for her and his lips purse. He asks me if I am okay.

Helen turns her concerned gaze on me. One of her fingers curls under my chin and tilts my face up. I am caught in her dark blue-eyed gaze. My mouth dries suddenly and my heart gives another painful lurch. She is just like my Helena…

“Do you want to go to a hospital? What is your name?”

I give her my name. She repeats it under her breath, savors it on her tongue, and blinks. For a moment there is a spark in her eyes, a flare of recognition, but it fades. She still does not know me.

“Where should we drop you off? Do you have an apartment?” She tilts her head.

I have no idea what that is and give her a quizzical stare. She raises an eyebrow.

“What do you remember?”

I pause.

I remember Altea casting the ritual, I remember making a deal with the crown in exchange for Helena, and I remember the portal. Of course, I doubt this is the answer she wants. I bite my lip.

“Nothing. I-I don’t know,” I blink.

Lying to her is painful, I never liked to hide the truth from her, but I cannot tell her who I am. She would never believe me, and I have no right to claim her as my lover. She cannot consent to someone she does not know.

Helen purses her lips. “The shock of the accident must have taken a toll on you. You didn’t hit your head did you?”

She doesn’t wait for my response. Gently, she tugs me lightly towards the carriage, or limo as she called it.

“I’m staying in Chicago for the next few weeks to wrap up a movie. My hotel is nearby. I don’t make a habit of inviting strangers to my place, but I think I owe you. My car nearly killed you today. Come with me and we’ll get things sorted out, yeah? Maybe we can help you remember something.”

She tugs on my hand and leads me to the limo. The driver says nothing as I get in but gives Helen a quizzical stare. She ignores it.

My hand is still in hers and she absentmindedly traces a pattern on my knuckle. It is such a familiar action that my breath is taken away. How is it possible that she is just like my Helena but not her?

Helen folds her legs under her and gazes at me. She gnaws at her bottom lip with her teeth. Again, there is a spark of something in her gaze.

“You really look familiar to me. Do I know you?” She peers closer at me.

I want her to know me, remember me, and be with me. I want her to be my Helena. I want us to be what we used to be, but I know I can’t have that yet. So, instead, I obscure the truth.

“You also look familiar,” I murmur.

Helen nods, still puzzled, and offers me another kind smile. “Well, perhaps we’ve met before?”

I look out the window as the limo begins to move away. The Chicago skyline is so different from my home. Still, I am comforted by Helena at my side.

The crown had promised me Helena and had twisted my wish. It had given me Helen instead and erased her memory. I am hurt as much as I am joyful. I have her back yet she is out of reach all the same.

I square my jaw stubbornly and give her fingers a light squeeze.

Helena does not remember me, Helen is so different from the lover I lost, but it is still her. I feel her as my soulmate. The way my heart beats, the way sparks fly from our every touch, I know she is my destiny.

The crown might have pulled a terrible trick on me, but I will not give up. If this is my Helena, then I will do everything in my power to have her remember me. Hell or high water, I will fight for my beloved.

“Perhaps we have met before,” I nod, “But we can meet again now.”

I extend my hand and offer her my name. “It is nice to meet you.”

Helen takes my hand without hesitation and raises my palm to her lips. She brushes a polite kiss across my knuckles and smiles.

“It is nice to meet you too.”

She doesn’t let go of my hand as she eases back into the seat. I am grateful.

The jewel in the crown tried to hurt me by giving me Helena in a different form, but I will not give up. If Helen is my Helena, I know our love will endure. Our connection transcends timelines and worlds. A love like ours cannot be stifled by magic or death.

I ease against the seats and smile to myself. For the first time in a long time, I feel complete.

My soulmate is at my side once more, and this time I will not lose her. Helena is my destiny and I will fight for her.

#request #helena klein #love and legends #lovestruck voltage #voltage amemix

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