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desos-records · 2 years ago

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Chapter 1: Symptomatic of the Larger Problem

Ghost possession doesn't happen often, but fatality rates are high. Even if an agent does survive, there are the aftereffects to worry about.

After surviving a possession, Lucy Carlyle struggles with recovery, delving ever deeper into the memories of Visitors and, in the process, stumbling into the world of blackmarket Sources.

Meanwhile, George Karim races to learn the truth behind ghost possession in order to protect Lucy and save future agents.

And Anthony Lockwood must face his own past with the London underworld if he wants to save his friends and himself.

The light in the kitchen of 35 Portland Row pierced through its curtains despite best efforts from the house's exhausted occupants. They each privately acknowledged that the light could be much worse (things could always be worse), but even the pale, fragile light from the overcast London winter hurt them all sure as rapier blades.

For once, the cause of their exhaustion was not the long, late hours of a case, but the morning result—senses delicate as they adjusted to the sights and sounds and feel of the present, living world again, the comfortable silence as they dug into toast and eggs and day-old donuts, the slow discovery of new aches and bruises—was the same.

The stumbling silence held until Lucy left for a shower (her second in eight hours). When her footsteps faded and the creak of the last attic stair sounded, George pulled out a casebook. It shook the table and rattled the dishes with its weight as he flipped it open.

Lockwood blinked, a piece of toast loaded with too much strawberry jam half in his mouth. Then his eyes flinched wide, even as a furrow appeared between them and the whites of his eyes flashed under the ever-present shadows. The toast clattered softly onto a plate.

"Oh, no," he groaned.

George ignored him, producing a pencil and beginning to scribble notes.

Lockwood sat up straight and laced his fingers together over the Thinking Cloth, trying for business-like despite the grey hoodie and spikey, ruffled hair. He very nearly managed it. "I said no more experiments."

"This isn't an experiment," George said without looking up.

"No more pet projects. I believe that was my exact phrasing."

"It was." The pencil scraped as George underlined something. "But this isn't a project anymore, Lockwood. You realize what happened is of historic importance, don't you?"

"We almost got Lucy killed."

"Almost being the operative word."

Lockwood scowled, the shadows over his eyes darkening despite the sunny kitchen. George continued.

"Exactly three people in the entire recorded history of the Problem have been possessed by a Visitor and survived to describe the experience. Now, there are four."

Several hours before, while experimenting with Lucy's Talent in order to learn more about the murdered starlet Annabel Ward, the ghost possessed Lucy through its Source—a stolen ring now safely inside a ghost locket. George remembered the moment he realized the expression on Lucy's face was not a Lucy expression.

It had started with the same distant stare she always had when gripped in a particularly strong Sense—those times when she heard shouts while he and Lockwood heard whispers, if anything. Her smile as she described music, laughter, joy, that still felt like Lucy, if a rarity with her. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when she did, when she stepped forward. He saw Lockwood reach his hands out instinctively, waiting to steady her if need be.

When she opened her eyes, however, his heart jumped, knocking hard against his chest. The feeling rather reminded him of an angry poltergeist he once dispatched at Fittes and the table it sent straight through a steel door. But like on a case, he held that fear in check, took measured breaths and wrote quick notes to keep himself focused.

She had smiled a very un-Lucy smile. It was a smile meant to reassure, he thought—or no, to mollify. He doubted that Lucy had ever tried to mollify anyone, ever. The smile flickered on and off as her eyes focused on Lockwood. And her eyes. He saw a kind of love in them, he supposed, but not one that fit Lucy. Adoration, sure, but fear too, eyes wide and frantically searching for something—safety maybe.

Then she reached up and gently touched Lockwood's face. George couldn't see his expression, but he saw the way his shoulders tensed as he leaned away from her. And yet, he still tried to hold her steady.

"We need to stop this. Now," Lockwood had said.

Even though his hands and voice wavered, even as his instinct shouted at him, George had said, "Let's just see what happens."

Immediately after he'd said it, Lucy began to mimic what he quickly realized were the death echoes of Annabel Ward. She'd braced her hand against her own neck, dug her nails into Lockwood's arm, taken shallow, heaving breaths as if…

I can't breathe. Let me breathe.

Possession.

A spike of adrenaline burned through him and he'd run to open the windows, banishing Annabel's spirit, jarring Lucy out of her grip.

Lockwood picked up one of the ever-present pens lying on the Thinking Cloth and started spinning it over his knuckles and back. "Now isn't the time, George," he said. "We can't afford to be distracted."

George's pencil stopped and he glanced up, raising an eyebrow at Lockwood. "Funny, that."

"What?"

He turned back to the casebook. "Did you know there's only twenty cases of possession? Over the last fifty years, only twenty cases. However, Holloway suggests that the actual frequency is much higher, but largely goes unreported due to the high rate of fatality. She found that—"

"George." Lockwood used his tone of voice that underlined things with a fountain pen. "We can go about making history after we settle this debt."

"We'll still need to keep an eye on her."

"What does that mean?"

George set his pencil down, frowning at Lockwood. "The after effects? Psychic Dissociation Syndrome? Echoes of the Visitor's characteristics even after it's contained? Even those trashy magazines you read have talked about it."

If he felt a sting from that last comment, Lockwood didn't show it. "She wasn't under very long," he said evenly. "And it was after sunrise. That wouldn't cause much after effects, surely."

"Maybe. I don't know. No one does. That's why we need to be careful with her. She nearly drowned herself in the bathtub just being around the Source. What happens now that it's been inside her head?"

Lockwood stopped spinning the pen, instead using it to stab at a wraith sketch Lucy had drawn a few weeks ago while they reviewed a case. He held the pen there, staring down at its wide maw.

"Alright," he sighed. "For Lucy."

#I'm back on my bullshit #the ghost possession in the show is too fascinating for me to let well enough alone #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george karim #george cubbins #fanfic #lucy x lockwood #locklyle #the hidden archive #l&co #lockwood and co fanfiction

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starkeymeow · 9 months ago

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waking up to you ₍₉₎

au!rafe cameron x reader

— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

warnings: swearing, more just reader & pogues spending time together, fictional mom n dad being so sweet, reader getting more comfortable in this world wooo, safe !!

authors note: if u still arent part of the tag list, let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <33

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you swipe to answer the call and press the phone to your ear. “hello?” your voice is a little quiet, uncertain as you turn your back to the group and walk further down the shoreline.

“y/n, hey.”

he doesn’t sound frantic, but there’s something heavy in his tone, like he’s working through something in his head. you feel your stomach twist, because this isn't the kind of call you expected to get when he’s supposed to be out on the boat with his dad.

you press the phone closer to your ear, eyes narrowing as you squint out toward the horizon. “what’s up?” you try to keep your voice casual, but the truth is, you’re nervous. the way rafe talks, slow and deliberate, always makes it hard to tell what’s coming next.

there’s a moment of silence on the other end, then rafe’s voice cuts through it. “where are you?”

your whole body freezes. how the hell does he know to ask that already? your mind scrambles for an explanation. you pull the phone away from your ear for a second, looking at it like maybe you misheard, but you didn’t. panic rushes in. “hm?” you manage, the single syllable too light, too shaky.

“can hear the waves,” he says, his voice steady but sharp. there’s no accusation, not yet, but the suspicion is clear. “that doesn’t sound like you’re still home.”

you glance out at the ocean, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. you can almost feel rafe on the other end of the line, piecing it together, his tone careful, calculating.

“oh, yeah,” you say, your mind racing for an excuse. “i’m just . . . by the beach. needed some air. just walking around.”

rafe doesn’t say anything for a moment, and the silence feels like it stretches forever. you can picture him frowning, maybe clenching his jaw, that serious, unreadable look on his face. he doesn’t believe you. you don’t know why but you can just feel it.

“you’re . . . by yourself?” his voice is low, the words dragging out in that way that always makes you second-guess yourself, like he’s giving you just enough rope to practically hang yourself with.

you can’t hesitate now. you force the words out, faster than they should be. “yeah, just wanted to spend my afternoon on the beach,” you say, the lie sticking in your throat, your eyes darting toward the water, where jj and kie are laughing as they paddle out. “we should go out here sometime together, you know. the waves are nice today.”

there’s another long pause, and it’s killing you. you can’t tell if he’s buying it.

finally, he exhales softly. “alright,” he says, his voice calm but still holding that edge, like he’s weighing whether to push further or let it go. “just be careful, angel.”

you blink, a rush of relief washing over you, though your nerves are still frayed. “yeah, of course,” you reply quickly, your heart still pounding, trying to sound normal. “always.”

he pauses for a beat, the tension easing just a little before he continues, his voice shifting to something more casual. “we hooked somethin’ big out here.”

your brow furrows, trying to catch up with the conversation shift. “oh, really?”

“yeah, been fightin’ it for hours,” he says, a little more energy in his voice now. “think it’s a marlin, maybe. lines screamin’, engine’s actin’ up, so we’re gonna be out a while longer.”

“sounds intense, babe.”

“yeah, it is,” he says, and there’s a brief pause. “just wanted to let you know in case you’re waitin’ up later.”

you nod even though he can’t see it. “thanks for letting me know. i’ll probably still be up,” you say.

another pause, and then his voice softens just a little, something almost warm in it. “n’ say hi to your parents for me when you call ‘em tonight, alright?”

you blink, momentarily caught off guard. he’s right, you still have the call with mom. “oh, yeah. i will,” you say, nodding to yourself. “i’ll tell them you said hi.”

“good,” he replies, the calm back in his tone. “i’ll see you when i see you.”

“see you when i see you,” you murmur back, your grip tightening on the phone. “be safe out there.”

“always,” he says, before the call clicks and the line goes dead.

you stand there for a moment, staring at your phone as the sound of the ocean fills the space around you. as you turn back toward the water, you watch the others laughing as they catch the next wave or hang back to watch. for now, you push your thoughts away as you shove your phone into your pocket and jog toward the shoreline.

because you get a free day today.

the sun hovers just above the horizon as you paddle out once again, the water cool and soothing against your skin. you glance back to see sarah waving, her blonde hair whipping in the breeze, and jj and kie laughing, both of them already eyeing the next set of waves.

there’s a lightness in the air, a kind of freedom you hadn’t felt when the day first started. you’re still not used to this world, to their version of you, but you can’t deny how good it feels to move through the water like this, to behave like you normally do and not worry, like you actually belong here.

“come on, y/n!” jj calls from a little further out, spinning his board to face you. “you’re killin’ it out here.”

you laugh, shaking your head, though the compliment settles nicely. “don’t get too cocky, jj,” you call back to him. “‘m just not falling as much anymore.”

“i’d say that’s a win.” sarah’s voice rings out behind you as she paddles up next to you, her board cutting through the waves with ease. “told you you’re a natural.”

you glance over at her, the corner of your mouth tugging up in a smile. “i guess it’s starting to come back to me.” your words are light, but there’s a deeper relief in them—relief that you’re not being found out for the lie that hangs between the two of you.

but natural, yeah, you’re getting the hang of it. in this world, you’re apparently fucking great at this.

you make your way over to sarah to keep her company, then settle on your board, resting your arms on the edges as you float, watching john b and pope further ahead, talking between themselves and waiting for the next set too. jj is already up on his board, riding the last bit of a wave before he hops off, grinning when he makes it to the shore.

“looks like jj’s not gonna wait for us,” sarah says, her eyes following the boy as he jogs back up the beach. “he always does that. catches the last wave just to show off.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “i don’t think i’ll ever be that good.”

kie, who’s been hanging back, paddles up beside you with a teasing grin. “you’re already doing better than me my first time. and let’s be real, none of us are jj-good.”

john b, hearing her, turns back with a playful smirk. “speak for yourself, kie. some of us are just naturals, y’know?”

kie rolls her eyes, splashing him with her hand. “oh, please. you wipe out more than anyone.”

“just part of the fun.” john b shrugs, unaffected.

you watch as pope paddles out toward a new set, lining himself up for the next wave. john b follows, and you take a deep breath, looking over at sarah and kie.

“you going in for this one?” sarah asks, nodding toward the incoming swell with a smile.

you hesitate, watching the water rise and fall in front of you, your fingers tracing the surface of your board. you’ve already surprised yourself today—surprised them too. you might as well just keep practicing, for the skill and the fun of it.

“yeah,” you say, determination settling in. “i’m going for it.”

the three of you paddle out to meet the wave, and there’s a brief moment of stillness as you line yourself up, the water pulling and shifting beneath your board. you feel your heart race, the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through you.

as the wave approaches, you push up, your body moving instinctively now, like it’s finally clicking into place. your legs steady, your feet finding their position as you rise, catching the wave.

you carve into the wave, your body moving with it, bending, shifting, gliding. you can hear the distant whoops of the girls on the shore, but it’s all background noise, lost in the focus of the moment.

when you finally ride the wave to its end, letting yourself fall gently back into the water, you can hear sarah cheering behind you. “that was so good!”

you laugh breathlessly, wiping the water from your eyes as you paddle back toward her. you’ve found your rhythm today—maybe not just in the water, but with all of them too. it’s strange how quickly this place, this life has started to feel like yours.

as you step out of the water, the last remnants of salt cling to your skin. the group are now gathering their boards and towels, something about grabbing food was spoken about earlier. you didn’t really pay attention.

as everyone starts walking toward the van, you can’t help but feel excited about the upcoming meal. god knows you need it. just thinking about it makes your stomach growl in anticipation. you pile into the van, everyone settling in, still laughing.

“thank you!” you say, your voice bright as you pivot away from the counter. the bell above the door jingles softly as you push through and step outside into the parking lot.

the others are scattered around the twinkie. jj and kie are leaning against the side of the van, both with food in hand, while john b and pope sit on the pavement, engaged in a debate about the best fishing spot here.

the moment sarah spots you, her face lights up like the sun breaking through the clouds. she practically springs from her seat in the van, her excitement infectious as she pushes herself out, her arms reaching up high, holding a spoon as if it were a trophy.

“y/n! try this, try this!” she exclaims, practically bouncing on her heels. her joy is palpable, and you can’t help but grin at her enthusiasm.

“yeah? what did you get?” you ask, genuinely curious as you approach her.

“cookies and cream. you’ve had it but craig’s cookies and cream is actually insane. but you have to taste it!” she insists, her eyes sparkling with delight. without waiting for a reply, she offers you her spoon, the scoop of ice cream glistening in the sunlight.

you laugh, shaking your head playfully. “okay, okay. calm down.” you take the spoon from her, the coolness of the ice cream contrasting with the warmth of the day. as you take a bite, savoring the creamy texture and the sweet crunch of the cookies mixed in, your eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“right?” she beams, her grin widening as you nod in appreciation. “i told you it was good!”

“holy shit,” you say, licking your lips. you hand the spoon back to her, both of you caught up in the moment, sharing your favorite flavors as if you were old friends.

suddenly your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pause mid-lick and hum a soft ‘mm’, glancing down at it with curiosity. slipping your phone out, you check the screen to find a message from your mom.

‘ can’t wait to see you! counting down every minute. 😊 ’

quickly, you click off your phone and look up at sarah, who is chatting with jj and kie. you clear your throat to get her attention. “hey, i have to go soon,” you say, reaching for her arm.

kie, overhearing your announcement, leans forward, her interest piqued. “what? where do you have to go?” she asks, a hint of disappointment in her tone. she assumed everyone would be hanging out for the rest of the night.

you give her a small smile, feeling a little guilty for having to leave. “sorry, i have to call my mom soon,” you tell her. “wanna be home when i do.”

john b scratches the back of his head from the curb thoughtfully, his brow furrowing slightly. “we could drive you home if you need,” he offers, glancing between you and sarah.

“thanks, i’d appreciate that,” you reply, your voice softening. you crawl further into the van, finding a cozy spot sprawled across the back seat, your cup of ice cream balanced on your stomach.

sarah had convinced you that it was fine for her and the others to stay longer by hanging out at the house, especially since you told her that ward and rafe would be out for a while, probably way later than seven o’clock.

as you reach the top of the stairs, you can still hear the distant sounds of laughter filtering up from downstairs, where sarah and the others are undoubtedly keeping the energy alive. but for now, you crave a moment of quiet. slipping into rafe’s room, you feel a sense of comfort wash over you as you glance around.

you’ve changed into a fresh set of clothes. the shower had felt rejuvenating, washing away the salt and sand, leaving you feeling clean and new. now, you sit on the edge of rafe’s bed, your phone resting beside you, waiting for your mother’s call.

as the minutes pass, you find yourself lost in thought, replaying moments from the day—the laughter shared, the waves ridden, the feeling of freedom as you finally let go of your nerves and embraced the thrill of this life. a smile creeps onto your face as you think about it.

your phone vibrates, breaking the silence. your heart races for a moment. it’s been only two days, but being in this alternate reality has made you miss home in a way you didn’t expect.

you grab your phone immediately, swiping to accept the facetime call without hesitation, and there she is—your mom. the same kind eyes, the same warmth in her smile that you've known your whole life.

but there’s something just a little different about her. it's subtle—maybe it’s the way her hair is styled, a little more polished, or the delicate necklace around her neck that you don’t remember her ever wearing. and then there’s the backdrop of wherever she’s calling from. bright, beautiful sunshine floods the screen, palm trees swaying gently behind her. costa rica, rafe had told you. your parents are living their dream life, traveling, enjoying the perks of being rich kooks.

you can’t imagine them as kooks, not really. you think about how different the rich kids here act—snobby, entitled, everything you’ve tried to avoid becoming. your parents have never been like that. you hope being kooks in this reality hasn’t changed them, but you push it away. you just want to talk to your mom, even if this isn’t exactly your mom.

“theres my girl,” her voice rings out, just as warm and familiar as ever, and for a second, you feel your heart relax a little.

“hi, mom,” you say, leaning back on the bed as you settle into the call. the sight of her, even with the little differences, makes you feel like you’re finally tethered to something real.

“oh, it’s so good to see your face! we’ve been counting down the minutes until we could call. your dad is off getting us some drinks right now, but he’ll be back in a second. we’re on this gorgeous beach—oh, you’d love it here.” her smile widens as she turns the camera slightly to show the view of the ocean behind her, the waves crashing gently against the shore.

you nod, trying to smile back. “looks amazing,” you murmur, your voice soft. you don't want to talk about the beach or costa rica or the life your parents are apparently living in this reality. you want to talk about something normal, something that reminds you of the life you know.

“so how are you? it’s been so long since i’ve heard from you. i didn’t think you even wanted to call.”

it’s supposed to be a lighthearted comment, a joke. you can hear the playfulness in her tone, but it hits you harder than you expected.

you blink, staring at her face on the screen. “oh,” you breathe out, your heart sinking. you’re not sure why you said it out loud, but there it is, hanging in the air between you. “what do you mean?” the words slip out before you can stop them, quiet, almost to yourself. but mom hears it, her smile faltering just slightly.

“well,” she pauses, glancing away for a second, like she’s deciding whether or not to continue. “i mean, you haven’t been answering your phone lately, honey. your dad and i, we’ve been a little worried. we even thought about coming back down to north carolina to check on you ourselves! it’s not easy when the only way we can reach you is through rafe or ward. it’s . . . well, it’s not ideal."

oh. your stomach twists, and you feel your grip tighten around the phone as the reality of this world crashes into you all over again. y/n has screwed this up—badly. because now, even her parents? you understand ward or jj, to an extent, but seriously?

you would never ignore your parents like that. you wouldn’t disappear on them, leave them worried. but here, in this world, that’s exactly what this version of you has done.

you swallow hard, trying to keep your face neutral, but inside, you’re spiraling. “i— i didn’t realize,” you stammer, shifting your position on rafe’s bed, feeling the weight of this new information press down on you. “i’ve just been . . . busy.”

her expression softens, her eyes full of that familiar kindness, but there’s a sadness there, too, something that tells you this has been going on for a while. “i know things have been tough, sweetie, but we miss you. we’ve been living out here in costa rica, trying to give you space, but it’s hard when we don’t hear from you.”

you nod, but it’s more for show than anything. your mind is racing, trying to figure out how to navigate this. how many calls has y/n ignored? how long have her parents been left in the dark? your heart aches with the realization that you have to fix this, even though you don’t know how.

“i’m sorry,” you say, the words coming out quietly, but they’re genuine. “i’ll be better about that, i promise.”

your mom’s face brightens a little, like she’s holding onto hope that things can go back to normal. “that’s all we want, honey. we just want to know that you’re okay, that you’re happy.”

you force a smile, nodding, though your chest feels heavy, but you push it away. now’s not the time to unpack that. “i’m okay, mom,” you say softly. “i’m okay. that’s why i wanted to . . . call you tonight! even just for a bit.”

“how’s everything been for you?” she asks, her tone bright. “we’ve been so excited to hear about what you’ve been up to.”

you raise your eyebrows. keeping busy? sure. “yeah, i’ve been just hanging out, mostly,” you say, your gaze flicking to the window.

your mom laughs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “well, you deserve it. you work so hard. it’s nice to take a break every once in a while.” there’s a slight pause, and you wonder if she’s going to ask more, dig deeper. but she doesn’t. she’s always known when to let you have your space.

“yeah,” you breathe out, nodding again. “just trying to relax.”

your mom tilts her head slightly, studying you through the screen. “you okay, honey? you seem . . . a little quiet.”

you blink, caught off guard by the question. you hadn’t realized how tense you’ve been, how different you must seem. you force a smile, trying to shake off the unease that’s been settling in your bones since you got here. “i’m fine, just tired. it’s been a long couple of days.”

“well, make sure you’re taking care of yourself,” she says, her voice softening with concern. “i know how you can get when you’re feeling overwhelmed. don’t forget to take time for you, okay?”

your heart clenches at that—at how she still knows you, even if this isn’t exactly your mom. maybe some things don’t change. maybe that bond, that connection, is still there, even here.

you swallow hard, nodding as you shift on the bed. “i will, mom. promise.”

“good.” she smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners the way they always do when she’s relieved. “oh! here’s your dad,” she says suddenly, turning the camera as your dad appears in the background, holding two drinks and grinning when he sees you on the screen.

“hey, y/n!” he says, his voice booming a little louder than you expected. “we miss you! wish you were here with us.”

“miss you too, dad,” you say. and it’s true—you do miss them. you miss your real parents, the ones from your world, the ones who haven’t changed because of money or status. but for now, you’ll take what you can get.

the conversation shifts after that, moving into lighter territory as your parents chat about their day, the places they’ve visited, the food they’ve tried. you nod along, offering small responses, but your mind is elsewhere, still grappling with the oddness of it all. they seem happy, content with this life. and maybe that’s enough for now.

as the call starts to wind down, your mom smiles at you again, her eyes soft. “take care of yourself, okay? and we’ll talk again soon. love you, y/n.”

“love you too, mom,” you say, your heart squeezing in your chest as you end the call.

you let out a long breath, setting your phone down beside you. the house is quiet around you now, the distant sounds of sarah and the others still lingering downstairs.

you roll off the bed slowly, your limbs feeling heavier now that you’ve spoken to them. there’s a small ache in your chest, but you ignore it, pushing yourself up and leaving your phone on the bed. you slip out of rafe’s room and head down the stairs, slipping into the living room where the others are hanging out.

they’re all doing their best to play it safe—well, most of them. john b, kie, and pope are sitting around, their postures a little stiff, clearly wary of being in ward cameron’s house of all places. it’s not exactly the kind of place pogues feel comfortable. you can see it in the way they glance around, as if expecting someone to barge in at any second.

you shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you move toward the group. you drop into the spot beside pope, leaning into him as your eyes look around for sarah. pope glances at you but doesn’t say anything. he just shifts slightly so you’re more comfortable as you rest against him.

you hum softly to yourself, settling in, and let the room’s strange energy wash over you.

kie glances over at you, her brow slightly raised in curiosity. “so, how’d the call go?” she asks, her voice low but interested. before you can answer, sarah walks in with a few snacks, balancing it carefully in her arms while jj gets up to excuse himself.

you stretch your arm out lazily, giving her a thumbs-up. “it was good,” you say, your voice casual. nothing too out of the ordinary, just . . . different.

sarah hands out more snacks, her movements a little distracted. she plops down beside john b, who immediately leans into her, resting the side of his head against hers. it’s a simple gesture, but you can tell it’s his way of grounding her.

sarah glances at you, her voice more hushed now. “when do you think rafe and my dad are gonna come home?”

you shrug, your fingers drumming lightly on your knee. “no idea,” you admit. sarah was the one who invited everyone over, yeah, but the uncertainty of when ward or rafe might walk through the door is clearly starting to wear on her.

john b presses a kiss to the side of sarah’s head, his tone soft but confident. “we’ll be gone before they know it,” he reassures her, then reaches for one of the snacks, holding it up to her lips with a grin. “come on, eat one.”

sarah laughs, pushing him away, her mood lightening almost instantly. “stop,” she protests, though there’s no real fight in her words. john b just chuckles, trying again, and soon she’s taking the bite, her laughter filling the room.

meanwhile, jj is wandering around, probably in the kitchen. he probably didn’t like the snacks sarah brought, so he’s pulling open cabinets and drawers, talking to himself.

“what the hell do these people even eat?” he mumbles, grabbing a box of fancy crackers he’s never seen before and popping one in his mouth. “rich people snacks,” he scoffs, crunching down.

it’s not enough to keep him occupied, though. before long, he’s back in the living room, hovering around the others like a kid who’s been told to behave but doesn’t quite know how. he picks up a vase, turning it over in his hands, eyes narrowing in concentration. for a second, you wonder if he’s going to drop it just to see what would happen, but instead, he sets it down, glancing over his shoulder like he’s proud of himself for resisting the urge.

then, he spots ward’s liquor cabinet, and you can see the gears turning in his head before he even makes a move. “bet rafe won’t miss a bottle,” he says, his voice low, more to himself than anyone else. kie immediately shoots him a glare from where she’s sitting next to you.

“jj, don’t even think about it,” she warns, but he just grins, brushing her off with a wave of his hand.

“come on, kie. what’s the harm? it’s not like they’ll notice.” he’s already opening the cabinet, scanning the selection. his fingers hover over a bottle of bourbon, and for a second, you think he’s going to grab it, but then he pulls his hand back, closing the door with a sigh.

he looks back at the group, shrugging as if it was no big deal, but the restless energy hasn’t left him. you can tell, even as he sits down, bouncing his leg impatiently, that he’s itching for trouble. it’s just a matter of time before he finds it.

pope glances down at you as you lean against him, his body slightly tense, like he’s still on high alert being in the cameron estate. you can feel it in the way he’s been shifting a little. you close your eyes for a second, letting out a slow breath, when you hear him mumble something under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch.

“you handled last night well, by the way.” his voice is soft, almost absentminded as he says it, like he’s been chewing on the thought for a while but just now decided to let it out. “helping to break up rafe and jj at the party. i don’t know what got into him.”

you crack an eye open, glancing up at him. his eyes are gentle, almost apologetic, like he’s taking the blame for jj’s actions. “and, you know, surfing today? not bad. not bad at all,” he says.

you can’t help the tired smile that creeps across your face, a soft laugh escaping you. “oh yeah? you impressed?”

pope raises an eyebrow, his smile a little more pronounced now. “don’t get cocky. but yeah, kinda.” he pauses, then adds, “you really held your own. not just today, but . . . everything lately.”

you mutter a quiet, “thanks, pope,” barely lifting your head as exhaustion settles over you. it’s all catching up. you let your eyes flutter closed, zoning out to the muffled sounds of everyone else in the room, sarah’s soft laughter mixing with john b’s low murmurs.

just as you’re about to fully sink into the comfort of the moment, you hear it—the sound of a car pulling up outside. your eyes snap open immediately. everyone hears it.

you sit up straight, heart racing. shit. your mind immediately goes to ward and rafe, and if they walk in to find the pogues lounging in their living room, you and sarah are going to be in serious trouble.

sarah’s head whips toward the window, panic flashing in her eyes, and you know she’s thinking the same thing.

you can practically feel the room hold its collective breath, waiting, listening, every second stretching painfully long. you all just freeze, the faint murmur of voices creeping through the open window. the words aren’t clear, but you catch enough.

“—that fucking boat—”

it’s unmistakably rafe. your stomach drops. if he’s out there, ward is probably with him, and that means trouble.

panic shoots through the room like electricity. john b is the first to react, his voice low but urgent. “go, go, go,” he hisses, not so much at sarah, who’s scrambling off him, but to the rest of the group. everyone moves at once, instincts kicking in as the stakes set in.

you look to sarah, eyes wide, heart pounding. you’re relying on her to figure this out. sarah meets your gaze for a split second before her brain clicks into gear. “out the back,” she breathes, barely audible over the rush of adrenaline. she glances at john b. “are you guys gonna be okay?”

john b nods, already on his feet. “we parked the twinkie a few blocks down. we’ll be fine.” he squeezes her hand before quickly pressing a kiss to her lips, then heads toward the back. kie, pope, and jj are right behind him, moving like ghosts through the house. sarah watches them go, her shoulders tense with worry, before snapping back to the situation at hand.

you and sarah rush to the front of the house, the sound of rafe and ward getting closer by the second. sarah glances at you, wide-eyed, both of you on the verge of panic. you don’t have much time. the staircase looms ahead, and sarah suddenly lets go of your hand, hesitating. “what do we do?” she sputters, her voice tight with panic.

you can’t help but let out a strained laugh at how ridiculous this is, even if it’s anything but funny. “act natural,” you mutter, though your pulse is hammering in your ears. you give sarah a light shove, urging her up the stairs to her room. “just go! go!”

sarah stumbles up a few steps, glancing back at you with wide eyes, while you stay at the bottom, trying to think of what to do with yourself. you fix your hair quickly, but you and sarah freeze in place, hearts hammering as the sound of keys jangles outside the door.

for a split second, neither of you moves, caught in a silent standoff with the arrival of ward and rafe. sarah stands halfway up the stairs, her foot poised on the next step, while you’re lingering by the foyer entrance, waiting for the door to open.

as soon as the door swings open, sarah springs into action. she forces out a laugh, a little too loud, a little too bright.

you understand exactly how she wants to play it, and you push past the doorway to act like you’re following her up. “right? that’s what i’m saying,” you blurt out, as if you two had been mid-conversation about something funny. you weren’t even thinking, your own voice slipped out in a rush.

the two of you turn toward the front door like you’ve just noticed them there, and sarah’s face lights up before she’s rushing down the stairs. “dad!” she exclaims, her voice ringing with enthusiasm as if she hadn’t just been hiding from him moments before. she hurries over to greet him, her arms outstretched in a warm embrace, though your gaze flickers nervously toward rafe.

ward looks worn out. “you wouldn’t believe the trip we had, sare,” he mutters, shaking his head as he wrestles with his fishing gear and bags. you can see the strain in his posture, but sarah is already in full distraction mode, helping him with his things and trying to draw him into conversation.

you hang back for a moment, trying to gauge rafe’s mood. he stands a little too still, he’s upset, that much is clear. the way he watches his father, the slight clenching of his fists at his sides, tells you he’s not in the best headspace.

as ward and sarah chat, you take a deep breath and approach rafe slowly, trying to keep your expression soft and open. your heart races as you reach out to place a gentle hand on his arm, the warmth of his skin grounding you momentarily. “you okay?” you ask softly.

he glances down at your hand, and for a moment, the tension eases in his posture. “just tired,” he mumbles, and you nod.

slowly, rafe reaches over, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he guides you toward the staircase. his touch sends some comfort through you, and you feel your heartbeat quicken slightly. “i need a shower,” he says, his voice a low rumble as you both begin the ascent. “i feel gross after today. like the engine on my dad’s boat acting up, spending half the day trying to fix it . . . it’s like a nightmare.”

you can’t help but smile at his candidness. “i can’t imagine,” you reply, squeezing his hand on your shoulder. “at least you got a story out of it. now you can rinse off.”

rafa chuckles, and as you reach the top of the stairs, he glances down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “wanna help me?” he jokes, an eyebrow raised suggestively.

“shut up.” you snort, immediately pushing him away with a laugh. “in your dreams,” you say, and it draws a genuine smile from rafe as he reaches for you again.

@v2los @cosmixstar @meeuhsworld @lovdrew @lilithblackkk @rovckwells @cherrylooney @iissza @namelesslosers @cocolovey @rafeyswrd @odairtrqsh @gretag13 @vivian-555 @lunaleah @smol-coffee-addict @twinge-vix @drewsephrry @behindviolettwrites @avngrssckr @stonerroadbull @cali-888 @coquettajob @simpingcorner @nymphetkoo @pinkpantheris @ilyrafe @romaescapes @cold-soup1223 @inaluvrsworld @rafesweetie @faephoria @solo-pitstop-vibes @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @sgecorrow @rafesgiirl @ravisinghs-wife @booksntings @tinyfairies @maybankslover @honeyluvsatj @darleneslane @alysaaaa444 @w4nnabeurs @thewrittenpodcast @watersquirtpewpewboomm @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @benbarneslut @illicit-affcirs @helo1281917 ++

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angrythingstarlight · 3 years ago

Note

for sinday/kinks. what would be the first thing Bucky does when you gift him a fresh set of k-bar knives for his birthday?

Pairing: Dark!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Knife kink, dub/con, mentions of canon-level violence, implied stalking, yandere Bucky, smut.

A/N: Written on my phone. Unedited.

“How did you know I wanted this exact set?” Bucky asks with a grin, his delighted tone drifting across the table. “I swear it’s like you read my mind.”

Bucky saunters to you, pushing the opened gift wrapped box across the table with the tip of his metal finger, his heavy boots thud vociferously on the floor with every slow, steady step towards you. The dull roar of your heartbeat in your ears nearly drowned the sound out. He stops before you, glancing down at the box.

Bucky rummages through the collection of knives and selects the longest one, his hand curving around the black and grey handle, he holds it up the light, letting out a sharp whistle.

“Fucking perfect,” he exclaims, his gaze flickers back to you. “Didn’t doubt you for a second. I knew you were ready for me when I saw you go into my favorite shop and pick these out for me солнечный свет.”

“I-I’m so happy солнечный свет.” Bucky glances down at the Happy Birthday Nick written on the card in his hand, his lips flattening as he crumbles it into a small ball.

“Thank you,” he finishes, tossing the card over his shoulder, his smile widening as his eyes rakes over your body.

He tosses the knife up. Silver flashes, catching the sunlight streaming through the curtains. He keeps throwing it, letting it drop closer to your face with each turn. It’s all you can focus on.

Blade.

Handle.

Blade.

Handle.

Blade.

The tip of the knife stops in front of your face, you flinch. The taut ropes don’t let you get far. Fear surges through your veins and your pulse races.

“Oh no,” Bucky inhales sharply. “I wasn’t-“ he laughs with a shake of his head, bending down, he traces over his mask covering your lips. “I would never let anything harm you.”

You try to speak, but the tape under the mask muffles your words, only garbled frantic sounds come out. Bucky slides the sharp edge of the knife down the column of your throat, his movements delicate, careful to not break your sensitive skin. You go still, your heart slams against your ribcage.

“I know, I know,” he says tenderly. He continues down the valley between your breasts, over stomach until he reaches the apex of your thighs. Bucky flips it around, using the end of the handle to push your panties away from your cunt.

“I can’t decide if I want to break in my gift getting rid of him first,” he says, the handle gliding through your folds, circling your clit once, twice. “Or have you christen my knife with your pretty little pussy.”

You push your hips back, mumbling desperately. Bucky nods, tapping your clit as he gazes up at you with piercing blue eyes, a deviant smile brightening his face,

“You’re right, солнечный свет. He should watch me fuck your sweet cunt, so the last thing Nick will ever see is you coming for me.”

He drags the blunt end down to your slit, you clench down instinctively. A smirk slides across his face as he watches it disappear inside you. “And then, I’ll kill him with your cum dripping off the blade.”

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poemnic-tarot · 2 years ago

Text

Light & Shadow. What part of yourself you cannot see?

1 -2

3-4

🧡 ⭐️ ☀️ 🖤 🦋 🧡 ⭐️ ☀️ 🖤 🦋 🧡

(Disclaimer : This is a general reading please only take what resonate. For entertainment purposes only)

Pile 1🪲

Light: Buffalo, Son of Pentacle. “I haven't met all of me yet"

"It was never a question of biology of nature or nurture. I know now that we healed up through being loved and through loving others"

Light side that you don't see about yourself Pile 1, is that you are a slow and steady win the race kind of person. This trait is very admirable because whereas a lot of people would have get impatient and give up. You slow and steadily and patiently work toward what you want. Your trust in yourself and where you can go is unmatched. Your faith in your abilities, skills and the Divine is quite rare and extremely admirable.

You know deep within your heart that in order to grow a flower you must tend to it consistently, diligently and with love and care. We grow more beautiful where we are loved. You know that in order to be successful in your ventures (whether it's career, hobbies or relationships) it does need hard work, consistently and most importantly, faith in your own ability to make it work. And you have it, you have this faith in yourself that you might not realised.

You are also a very loyal person whether to people you considered your people or even to a particular place, or brand. You are a person who does not give up easily (especially in relationship). When someone need a reassurance or help solving a problem, they would definitely come to you Pile 1, because whether you know it or not a lot of people think of you first when they come across an impossible challenge. They would go "oh Pile 1 can definitely do it". This is not in a "I'm going to used Pile 1 to solve my problem for me" kind of way, but in a more, admirable for your skill, talent and your ability to overcome any impossible challenges. However, there is no obligation for you to help someone if you do not want to. But this is what your light side want to say to you that you have not been noticing.

"We are hard to kill, hard to defeat, our faith in the heaven and ourselves is unrivalled. We alway get what we want eventually and people trust us completely and they are right to because any challenges coming our way will be inevitably defeated. So trust in our ability to walk through mud and dark forest."

"I trust myself to go through hell because I trust myself to get out"

The word to describe your light side is Persistent. Which means it will never die. And that’s really scary to be honest. Persistently shining no matter what come at it.

Poems : Revaluation by @cant-find-my-name

There’s alway going to be a losing battle

It’s an inevitable encounter

But that doesn’t mean you should

Lose hope,

Failure doesn’t alway mean the end

As long as you’re breathing

You can still follow

The string of rope

That has alway been tied to you

And your fated destination…..

Song: The Rumbling by SiM

Shadow : Fire ant, 7 of swords. “This moment will just be another story someday"

Where there's light, there will alway be a shadow. One cannot exist without the other. Pile 1, your shadow side that you cannot see is that you tend to not be as discerning as you could have been about what you're getting into or committed to. You are a very committed person, hard to give up when you're decided to do something, but that also means, you can get stuck on a situation or promises that you can't fulfil. Or can fulfil but at your own expense and that can indicate a poor discernment on whether what you are committing to is worth it or not. Whether what you're committing to is a person, a job, or even a hobbies, a brand etc, bring you nothing but drama, headaches, negativity, gossips, overall not good energy.You might have to ask yourself, 'why do I feel like I need to be loyal to these kind of people, places, brands, etc?'. When all you get in return is anything but peace.

Your shadow self urges you to be very discern on who you share your secret or even your goals with because they might not have the best intention. Even if you think there's no harm in sharing them, or because you're very passionate and excited to share your ideas.Your shadow urges you to protect them for a while, unless, rumours will spreads and your name will be at the centre. Not in a good way. Your shadow have a tendency to overshare and spreads informations that you, yourself are still unsure about. You might think it's fine, no big deal but your words are quite powerful and people tend to listen to you and take your words seriously, so please be extra careful on what you are saying about other people and about yourself. Because weirdly, people tend to remember what you said to them or about them distinctly.

Poem: You wish by @cant-find-my-name

…….. You hated my wings

You aimed and try

To shoot it down

Too many times

But miss and then

It hit

And we both were surprised

To find a phoenix

Rising from ashes

Once again, the dead did not collect

However much

You Wish

Songs : Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush

Book : Focus by Daniel Goldman

🧡 ⭐️ ☀️ 🖤 🦋 🧡 ⭐️ ☀️ 🖤 🦋 🧡

Pile 2🌻

Light : Dragon, 4 of Pentacles. “And when tomorrow comes, you'll call it today. Time remains an illusory play."

Pile 2, What you did not see about your light side is that, you are quite a powerful person, specifically a powerful manifestor. I get a feeling that there's nothing you cannot manifest. As well as, you are extremely intuitive, even psychic. You can sense and see illusions, and things ordinary person would not be able to even comprehend. You have quite a skill and a good grasp of concept of realms and dimensions, and you are not even just powerful here in the 3D, but it seems you are quite active in many places/realms/realities/dimensions. Your light is strong, wide spreads. You see all, no lies or illusion can go passed you. It would be hard to fool or scam you Pile 2.

Your light side that you cannot see, yet, is that it can create something from nothing. Entrepreneurial vibes, build something up from the ground, from your own will power alone. And you have scarily good instinct Pile 2. Your success, in the materials world come from your own ideas and intuition. Never underestimate what you feel, even without proof, because almost, alway, you were right. It would be hard to play or even attack you Pile 2, not even just in the 3D, but also you are extremely aware in all realms/realities/dream realms, etc. One word to describe your light side is "Omnipotent",see all. Trust what you see or feels because that's your light speaking to you.

You also have extremely good self-control. It's hard to budge you from your goal, on what you decided to go for. Example, when you say you're not going to drink for a month, you won't. No amount of temptation or cajoling would break you down. Even when you attended a party full of alcohol. You still did not lose self control. This is one of the light side that you might not realised is within you Pile 2. Your light side is very protected of you, whether you know it or not, nothing can get pass you.

Poem : Hidden strength by @cant-find-my-name

My heart is brave but my mind is not

How can I make my intrusive thoughts

Stop.

Red flag, red light, demonise

Why do I think that everyone is a devil in disguise

Why can’t I believe in goodness

Kind heart, My angels, my spirit guides

I need more trust in me

I don’t want to be stuck

With my shadow for what seem like Eternity,

Kindness, kind heart, innocent,

That was all I am

Why can’t I see that I’m strong?

Strong enough to banish what doesn’t

Belong.

Song: Rainbow by Kacey Musgraves

Shadow side : Horse, 2 of Swords, “To tell the different between the absence of treatment opposed to the evidence of mistreatment"

"You don't notice your progress in life because you are alway raising the bar"

Pile 2, a shadow side that you did not see is that you tend to be extremely hard on yourself. Expect yourself to alway be doing something, anything. Achieving things, finishing one goal and what's next?. Alway planning the next steps ahead without taking the time to reflect and truly think on why you need to fulfil that particular goal so bad. This shadow trait love to watch you go way past your limit. Push yourself over the edge for something that doesn't fulfil you truly. Maybe reevaluate your priory, examine your list/tasks that you deemed important and see if self-care, relaxation is on that list. Because it is important for you to be doing nothing, to have fun doing absolutely nothing. It would be quite dangerous for you to be so concentrated on the material world, because it is a black hole where when one has fallen down, it's nearly impossible to come back up. Your shadow trait want you to questioned and reflect on, what do you consider to be 'true wealth'?.

Pile 2, sometimes you go too far, do almost anything to achieve your goals and watch out for that. When you found yourself compromising your integrity and personal values to get what you want. Then it's really time to reevaluate your priority.

Poem: Plateau Fever by @cant-find-my-name

Can you promise me something?

Let me be happy, give me my peace

As I learned my lesson

Nothing was taken

But nothing was given either

And I’m here flowing

Stuck in this Plateau Fever

Never dream of betterness

Thought it was impossible

A star too far to grab

Now my mindset is shifting

Now I believe in the better

I know goodness

They do last

Song : My Little Love by Adele

Book : Circe by Madeline Miller

🧡 ⭐️ ☀️ 🖤 🦋 🧡 ⭐️ ☀️ 🖤 🦋 🧡

Pile 3🪁

Light : Lamb, Son of Pentacles. "And there will be nights when your life will fall apart and no one will notice the morning you spent putting it back together"

(Quite similar to Pile 1, might want to check it out)

Pile 3, Light side of yourself you cannot see is that you are a very honest person. Trust worthy and have a strong integrity. People can/ tend to trust you with their delicate secret, such as, their credit card number, affairs etc. That is how trust worthy you are. You are also a grounded person, lots of earth energy. People feel safe and protected around you pile 3, like you have their back and are extremely reliable, especially in an emergency. They know to trust you to tell them the truth, tell them like how it is, even if it's not pleasant to do so. "Truth is a gift", and your light side is like a gift to the people. Precious, special, delicate but not fragile.

You are also very determined and patient. Slow and steady win the race kind of person. You are a type to bring support, lift people up and contribute in a big way into people lives, not adding drama, troubles or headaches. Life is easier for people, with you in their life Pile 3. You are very patient and consistent in every area of your life, work, friendship, hobbies, etc. People know what to expect from you and that is a good thing because this light trait of yours make people feel a sense of stability, predictability, and reliability. You have this consistency in your character which make people trust quite easily. "I know pile 3 will come prepare, or Pile 3 will alway have my back."

Your light side or maybe physical vessel might seem delicate but people would be shocked with how much you can endured or how much you had gone through pile 3.People would never guess that you had such a hard time because you come across as someone who have everything in order and there is nothing that is wrong in your life. But that just how you come across, even in your energy, but that is not necessary the truth. The truth is Pile 3, you went to shit, hell and back and able to make it look easy and effortless. Just another day in the office. But if people were to be in your position they would be shocked in how much you have to carried on your shoulders (traumas wise), and surprised by how light you still are, despite what you went through?. It's a mystery to the people and a testament to your strength.

Your light side is strong Pile 3, but in a way that's unexpected. You are strong in your honesty, vulnerability, your conviction and your ability to stand your ground. Your light side can get you through any bad situations and come out on top, come out still you, every time.(Pure) Because whereas most people would give up, you continue to step forward, step by step, consistently, no matter the weathers. That is why people trust you so much because they know you will alway show up no matter what, for them, for yourself, for justice.

Poem : The Truth Doesn’t Sell by @cant-find-my-name

No sooner or later

You’d notice an elephant in the

Living room

The clouds obscuring the

Moon

Plants growing between concrete

Your silence spreads

Like deadly diseases……

(See full poem at @cant-find-my-name )

Song: Back to You by Flower Face

Shadow: High Priestess/Octopus. "When you love what you have, you have everything"

Pile 3

You got a major arcana (High Priestess) as your shadow self. This means that you got a major part of your self hidden in the shadow that you haven't been brought to light, yet. This side of you have an extremely strong intuition but you tend to ignore it. This side of you seem to questioned the intangible, the magic, the sprit side of thing. The things that cannot be proven, which means it's not real right?. Sometime the truth is in the feeling Pile 3,no need to touch it, cause you can't touch emotions but emotions are very real even though it's not tangible. This shadow side find it hard to trust in the unknown. You can trust hard work, day to day, the result from it, but a miracle that strike like lightning and made no sense and come from no where?, No way!. This shadow side of yours find it hard to have faith in the Divine. It is so attached and stuck in the 3D. Maybe too focused on what you can see, and ignore the sighs from your very strong, very real intuition, where you have to closed your eyes to see. Not everything that you think you need is in the 3D will bring that sense of security you are alway chasing.This shadow trait of yours, Pile 3, would have you work extra hard, extra diligent to get that promotion, that car, that house because you think you need it in order to feel secure and safe in this world. But true security comes from within, it come from connection within ourselves first and foremost and the connection between you and the source/Divine.That is the true security where it will truly make you feel safe in this world, the ability to trust one’s own intuition and something bigger than us.

Whenever you feel the need to chase that achievement in order to feel secure, sit still and connect with your own intuition because it would tell you to stop looking externally. It would tell you that you are enough as you are. You are the person you can love 100%.Your shadow self want you to trust in something bigger than yourself more.

Poem: Guiding light by @cant-find-my-name

Walk with me

Take my hand

I’ll guide you to where I am

Passing hidden memories

The illusion that drown out the

Objectivity.

I’ll replace it back to you

And show you the Objective truth….

(See full poem at @cant-find-my-name )

Song : Two by sleeping at last

Book : Wisdom of insecurity by Alan Watts

🧡 ⭐️ ☀️ 🖤 🦋 🧡 ⭐️ ☀️ 🖤 🦋 🧡

Pile 4🥨

Light: Crocodile/Ace of Pentacles."People liked to focus on the things they couldn't have"

Pile 4, your light side is very patient, wise and observant. You have great inner discernment and wisdom to know what actually really matter. What is truly important. You know where to focus on to achieve your goals or to even be in a fulfilment/peaceful state in life. You know what to focus on in your life, which is the positive side of life. You take your time before you rush into things. Impulsiveness is not in your vocabulary. You need to observe and gather important information in order to make your move on anywhere or anything, whether that is a project, relationships. You might be good in investment, or a start up because you have the characteristic for it. Example, where people would focus on the profit, fame, status of entrepreneurialship. However, your light side know what to focus on, which is what is truly most important in life, the service, how can your business serve your community. How can we be of service to this earth, the humanity?.These are the big question your light side have an eyes for. You can see the whole picture, while most people only focused on themselves and what they can gain. Pile 4, you would make a stable, consistent leader. It's hard for you to succumb to instant gratification, you would be surprise how much you can hold back more than average on instant gratification,when you know the wait is worth it.Example, you won't buy a cheap furniture right now and saved and invested in a good quality ones where it will last you longer. Your ability to wait to strike when the timing is right is a strength you might not notice about your self because it just comes naturally to you, and Pile 4, when you strike at something, you never miss.

Poem: Kindness win by @cant-find-my-name

How kind of you to smile when you rather

Not

How kind of you to say ‘sorry’ first

How kind of you to notice unhappiness

In someone

How kind of you to hold the door

Open,

Every little gestures count

The impact life changing sometime

And you may never notice

How kind you are or the choices you made

Were kind……..

Song : come back home by BTS

Shadow: Horse/Justice."What suffering is behind your anger?"

Pile 4, your shadow side that you might not see is that you have more choices than you think. There might have been a limited mindset or limited viewpoint that you have.You might be unconsciously believed that your choice is limited. Your shadow side believes, that true freedom doesn't really exist. There has to be sacrifice, alway. There is no such things as true freedom. This side of yours feel limited, caged in, like you have to choose this or that and one is right and one is wrong, so you better choose the right one. Pile 4, the world is not black or white. There are truly no right or wrong choice for you to make, just one where it would benefit you or benefit others. Some choice might be right and seems wrong and vice versa, and some choices can be both. It's not neither or, it either and. I think this side of your feel that it has been making choices/ choosing a path that might have been benefiting others more than yourself, to the point of imbalance. Where it cannot helped but feel resentment towards others even though it was your own choice to do so. Example, I want to go for that promotion but since this co-worker of mine also want to, I choose not to and give it to them instead because they need it more?, something like that. And this side of yours that really want to go for that promotion wondered why can't we strive for it?, for our goals?, for ourselves.

Why do we have to make a choice benefiting others but not us?, what about us?. Why we need to hold back our momentum because of others?. Your shadow want you to run free, especially with your choices, express your wants and needs more. Want to dye your hair red?, go for it, no need to think if that person will approve of it or not. It is not their decision to make but yours. Go for what you aim for without the need to see if everyone is okay with it or not. You will find your buried anger/resentment will be abated after you acknowledge this shadow trait of yours, notice when you tend to hold back even to your own detriment, example, not confessing your feeling for A because you know B likes A, so you would give your way to B. Say it for yourself, do it for you. And F other people for once.

Poem: Show me by @cant-find-my-name

Surely, I must be sick

On the verge of death

The longing so deep

So agonising

Yearning for a miracle to exist

Or else, all my ability to feel

Will simply perish

I’ve lived on this earth

For far too long

To not be falling in love

Or be loved in return……

Song : Signs of the time by Harry Styles

Book : Atomic Habits by James Clear

🧡 ⭐️ ☀️ 🖤 🦋 🧡 ⭐️ ☀️ 🖤 🦋 🧡

Thank you so much for reading!. If this resonate please leave a tip if you like. See you soon!

Check out @cant-find-my-name for more of my original poetry

#pick a card #tarot messages #tarot reading #sprituality #tarot #tarotcommunity #divination #healing #channeled reading #channeled message #light and shadow

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theringers · 4 years ago

Text

watch me burn - pierre gasly

illicit affairs, part seven

summary: “oh baby, I've been thinking about it, you know that I've been dreaming about it” watch me burn / michele morrone

a/n: hi:) still a few more parts to go but i went a few chapters without smut and this was needed so enjoy:) also if u listen to the title song while u read its a whole new experience lmfao

warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, semi public sex

2 months ago, to the day

Your eyes met his piercing blue eyes in the garage once again. It had been a month since you slept with Pierre and you haven’t stopped thinking about it. The way he stared at you as he fucked you was the exact same way he was glaring at you across the paddock. Needy and desperate.

You shook yourself back into focus and listened as Max’s strategist reiterated today’s race strategy but you couldn’t help daydreaming about what that man could do in bed.

You drowned out the conversation about tyres and looked over to Alpha Tauri at the perfect time. Pierre had his bottom lip between his teeth while he examined his car. He ran his hand slowly over the chassis seductively like he knew you were watching. His fingers grazed the metal in painstakingly slow circles. After he removed his hand from the car was when he caught your eyes. He gave you a smirk, not even a smile, and turned away. It was good to know that you weren’t the only one thinking about what happened.

The race started and you were in the garage, cheering on Max. He had started second on the grid but due to a first lap incident, he was fifth. He was not going to be happy after the race. He can tolerate if he fucks up but having other people interfere with his race is something he takes particularly hard.

Pierre’s car came up behind Max’s around a corner and got too close for comfort. Max jerked his steering wheel too much as he tried to turn, sending Pierre’s car straight into the barriers.

You stood up out of your seat and gasped. Everyone in the garage was relieved to see Max still racing and no one seemed to be concerned about Pierre. You took off your Red Bull Racing branded headphones and slammed them on the table before rushing over to the Alpha Tauri garage.

Anna was seated in her chair, looking worried, but not enough for you. She should be close to tears like you were.

“Have you heard anything from him?” You asked and Anna looked up, almost annoyed.

“He’s conscious,” his race engineer said, “but hurting.” You heard the groan come through followed by a bunch of curse words. He apologized profusely for his move but it was all Max’s fault.

You watched on Alpha Tauri’s monitors as the race was red flagged and decided to head back to Red Bull’s garage. “Let me know when you hear something,” you said to Anna. She nodded and looked back down to her phone. Fucking bitch. Her attitude made you not even feel bad about sleeping with her husband. She didn’t deserve him.

Max walked back to the garage looking like a life size bobble head with his heavy helmet swinging around. “Is Pierre okay?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“He’s conscious. He took a nasty hit.”

“I know, I feel bad. I didn’t mean to, the steering wheel just got away from me. I saw him crash in my rear view mirror.”

You were visibly shaken and Max always knew the right things to say when you weren’t feeling okay.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Max said, rubbing your back.

You nodded in agreement. “I know he will. I’m going to check on him at the medical center once the race starts again.”

Max smiled at you. “That would be good. Make sure you tell him I’m sorry.”

An engineer put his hand on Max’s shoulder and shoved a spreadsheet full of data in his face. He shrugged his shoulders and walked with the engineer to the monitors.

It wasn’t long before the race got underway again. Max made it up to third, podium position, but there were still at least 30 laps left. You started the trek through the paddock and over to the medical center. You were just a bit too late as you saw Pierre walking out down the ramp. He smiled when he saw you approach him.

“How ya feeling champ?” You asked him.

“I’m a bit sore thanks to your husband.”

Your face fell. “He sends his apologies. I promise he was actually remorseful.”

“Max? Remorseful? What did you do to him?”

You laughed. Max did have a temper and tended to be extra competitive but he had formed a special bond with Pierre these last few years. They weren’t friends by any means but they helped each other out whenever possible. This was one of the times that it wasn’t possible.

“He does genuinely feel bad, Pierre.”

“I know he does, it was a racing incident. I saw the footage.” He limped slightly through the paddock and winced when he put pressure on his left leg. “I think I should go lay down for a bit.” He took another step and lost his balance. You grabbed his arm and held him, making sure he stayed steady.

“This is it right here,” he pointed to his motor home.

“Do you want me to help you up there? I don’t want you to fall.” You said with a soft smile on your face. How could he resist your offer of help?

“Sure,” he limped over to the door and you aided him up a few stairs. “Shouldn’t you be watching the rest of the race? Last I checked, Max was doing really well.”

He sat down on the luxe white leather couch in exhaustion and you sat at the table across from him. “He wanted to make sure you’re okay. He’ll be fine.” You looked around the motorhome, observing your surroundings to seem busy. “So Anna’s nice…” you said, followed by a laugh. You had known Anna for a few months now. Their wedding was right before the season started and you really hadn’t known her much before then either. She tended to keep to herself and you wanted to respect that.

“She can be a bit…”

“Yeah, I know. I went to check on you after the crash and she looked like she wanted me dead.”

“In her defense, she caught me checking out your ass this morning. She was not very happy with me after that.”

You leaned forward to give him a light smack. “Pierre!” You shook your head in disappointment. “What did she think of the way you were practically fingering your car this morning?”

He played fake shy. “Oh, you saw that?”

“You make my heart beat crazy fast.” You admitted, putting your hand to your chest. “That didn’t help.”

“Well, as long as you enjoyed yourself.”

Enjoy yourself you did. He was in his same fireproofs from earlier and you were sure he didn’t know how turned on they made you. They were pulled down to his waist, the sleeves hanging low off his hips. His white undershirt was tight to his body, putting his abs on full display. His legs were spread wide, inviting you in. Was it hot in there? Was the air conditioning on?

He ran his hands over his abdomen and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. He groaned, sounding like he was in pain, frustrated, and horny at the same time.

Why did he have to be so unbelievably irresistible to you? When you were around him it was almost impossible to contain yourself. There was a magnetic force dragging you to him constantly. You moved yourself to sit next to him, earning his attention and popping his head up.

“You look really hot right now,” you giggled to yourself. He made you feel like a teenager experiencing her first love. The nerves were through the roof.

“Well, I feel hot.” He looked around the walls of the motorhome. “Where the hell is the air conditioning and who turned it off?”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god it’s not just me.” He looked over at you examined your face. He placed his hand on your red cheeks. “You’re flushed.”

When he touched you, a chill ran through your body. Your body felt on fire and he had the power to send a freezing cold chill through it all.

“My cheeks get really red when I get nervous.” You blushed even more having to admit that. It was your least favorite characteristic of yourself. Everyone always knew flat out when you were nervous.

“I can’t tell if it makes you look cute, like I want to hug you, or if I want to fuck you.” His hand still rested on your cheek as he looked back and forth between your eyes and lips. “You look so god damn innocent. Like I could totally ruin you with just a few minutes alone.” His thumb ran over your lower lip and you instinctively stuck your tongue out to meet his thumb. He took the opportunity to put his thumb in your mouth and you suctioned around it, keeping eye contact with him. “Y/n,” he breathlessly begged, “please.”

His lips crashed to yours, feeling warm and secure the moment they touched. His hands held your neck and you moaned into his mouth, forgetting what it felt like to be touched by him.

He hoisted you onto his lap, wincing a bit when you grazed his knee. His hands fit perfectly in the curves of your waist as he pulled you closer to him, grinding your hips. “Don’t do this to me,” he said into your neck.

“Why not?” You said cheekily.

“We don’t have much time.” You almost forgot that there was a race going on right now.

“I can be quick.” You hopped off of him and locked the motorhome door as he undressed out of his fireproofs. He looked so good in his white suit but he looked even better naked. You slipped off your underwear and hoisted your sundress up to your waist before going back to his lap.

He guided your body on top of his, settling you down as you took all of him in, deep. “Shit. A condom.” You said, after the bare feeling of him inside of you set in. God did it feel good but it wasn’t right.

“I don’t think I have any in here.” He said. “I promise I’ll pull out. I need you so bad.” He lightly bit your nipple through your sundress.

“I will kill you if you’re lying to me.” You started to move your hips and moaned at the sensation. He felt so good filling you up all the way.

He took your ass in his hands and started to bounce you up and down on his cock. “That’s it baby, just like that.” He said, admiring your movements. “Fuck me like a good girl.”

Your head fell forward, the feeling running through your body getting almost unbearable to handle.

“Jesus, Pierre, you feel so good.” You pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail and arched your back, feeling like all eyes were on you in the best way possible.

He watched you in awe as you rode his cock without a care in the world. “Your pussy is so tight baby. So tight for me.” A breathy moan escaped his lips and his face looked like he was in pure bliss. There’s nowhere else he would rather be.

“Shit, shit, I’m gonna come.” He said, panicking. You rushed to get off of him as you saw the liquid pool on his abs.

“Did you…?”

“I don’t think I got any inside of you.”

You took a deep breath to collect your thoughts. God, you hoped not.

next part

#f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 blurb #smut prompts #f1 fanfic #max verstappen imagine #pierre gasly smut #max verstappen smut #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fic #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly fanficfion #max verstappen fanfiction #pg #mv

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philicheesecake · 3 years ago

Text

(UL) Protected

Masterpost

Warnings: Soft unwilling ambiguous ending vore, blood, injuries, mentions of fatal vore

Word count: 2245 words

———

Ruth panted in the darkness. Her heart raced in sync with the booming heartbeat from above. She was scared. She didn't know what was going on. She was worried about Rubin and Warren. Most of all, she was scared of being stuck here again. Her father died in a giant's stomach, and now here she was. Even though she had warmed up to Lexie, each time she was eaten, the fear was just as bad, haunting her from her deepest nightmares.

She shuddered as she felt a soft, gentle rub against her back. The alien pressure felt so distant, and yet so close. It was only sign she wasn't truly alone in here. She was far from alone. Lexie was all around her.

"L-Lexie...?" She called out shakily.

"Ruth, everything's under control, I promise." A loud voice reverberated around her in response. "We'll all meet up at the school, okay? Everyone's fine."

Everything didn't feel "fine."

"But... What about Rubin? Is he okay?" She asked.

Lexie didn't respond for a while. The only sound was of the giant's breathing, her booming heartbeat, and the organic noises from the stomach around her. She could feel a rhythmic swaying in a steady beat. Lexie was walking, that much Ruth could distinguish, but everything else was hidden beyond a veil of blackness, past a wall of flesh she couldn't hope to escape.

A sigh finally resonated around her. A more firm rub against Ruth's shoulder. "Like he said. Cramps. I dunno what's going on with him, so we can just ask him when we meet up later."

Ruth frowned, uncertain weather to believe this answer. She knew Rubin too well. He didn't seem the type to make a big fuss over his own issues. He'd brush anything aside as "cramps" to avoid bringing attention to himself.

That and... so many other things bothered her at this moment.

"Daki said... He'd eat Warren and Rubin." Ruth said quietly. "And you just trust him?"

"We don't have many other options." Lexie said. "He could have run off and killed Warren when we rescued you guys, but he didn't. We can just hope he does the same this time,"

Ruth went silent again, hugging her knees close. "I don't like being powerless like this." She said quietly after a moment.

Lexie sighed, rubbing her middle again. "I know."

The giant began to pick up her pace. Ruth could hear Lexie's heart rate begin to quicken just a bit. Ruth unfurled her hand to nervously pat at the wall. "Hey, what's going on?"

"I can smell some people up ahead. I think I can see the school."

Ruth sighed in relief. "Thank god. Now get closer and get me out of here."

"Okay. Hang tight." Lexie said. The giant's movements quickened, and she put a hand to her belly. The movements continued for some time, then gradually slowed their pace. "Okay, I'm near the entrance of the school there. It looks like there's someone watching the entrance. Wish me luck."

Ruth jerked upwards, squirming a little. "Wait— you can't just walk up to hunters and expect them to be chill with a giant who clearly just ate someone."

Lexie sighed. "Alright. I'll get you out. Hang tight,"

The stomach muscles began to clench around Ruth. She cringed, curling up tighter. She could hear someone's voice outside, then a muffled shout. A sudden gunshot boomed outside, and the stomach loosened around Ruth. There was a lurch of movement as Lexie seemed to topple backwards with a cry of pain. Ruth gasped for hair, pushing out against the stomach walls. "Lexie! What's going on?"

There was a bunch of jerky movements. Lexie seemed to be running. More gunshots boomed outside. Lexie's heart raced, and her breaths quickened. "G—got shot... t-trying to get out of there— n-not safe—" Lexie rasped between breaths.

A wave of fear rolled over Ruth. "What?! Lexie, let me out! Let me look at your wound!"

Lexie continued to move, a ragged cough tore through her lungs. "I'm f-fine— oh hello... blood."

Ruth punched against the walls. "Lexie! Damnit! This is serious! Get me out of here! Let me help you!"

Lexie hiccuped, hissing out in pain. "Agh— easy— I'm fine... I'm f—fffff...."

Gravity suddenly shifted, then collapsed around Ruth, squeezing around her even tighter. Ruth rasped for air, pushing against the slimy walls to try to breathe properly through the tightness. It occurred to her that Lexie must have fallen flat on her face, pinning her stomach beneath her. The weight of a giant on top of Ruth was anything but comfortable, only adding onto the claustrophobic fear of the situation.

"...Lexie?" She coughed out.

No response.

She took in a shuddering breath. She shoved against the walls. "Lexie! Snap out of it! Talk to me!"

Ruth could still hear the pounding heartbeat from around her, though the giant's breaths had deepened. She had passed out. Ruth's heart pounded in dread. Giants digest while they're asleep.

***

The aftermath of Skinner's transformation was met with a lot of debate. Skinner had passed out again shortly after he had transformed back and he was left in a secure room as he recovered while the Legion determined his fate. Thankfully, no one except Eli had been hurt, and most of the damage done was from the one room Skinner's wolf had attacked with Eli in it. They had gotten lucky, this time.

Thunder cracked loudly outside, shaking the building. Rain poured against the roof. Katherine paced the end of the classroom, trying to ignore the burning eyes she could feel bearing down on her from the other Legion members.

"Katherine, this won't work," the Archivist Riley spoke up. "We have protocols against this. Skinner himself said that if any UL member was turned or cursed, they're supposed to be collected from and killed."

"But this is Skinner we're talking about." Katherine said. "He's a collector who has benefitted the Legion for years. He has outstanding promise and talent. Should we waste all of that for just one day a month?"

"During the apocalypse? Yes." A hunter said.

"During the apocalypse we might need him more than ever—" Katherine was interrupted when the door opened and one of the civilians peeked in. "What is it?"

"Katherine... you might want to see this..." the civilian said.

She sighed, rubbing her head. "Can it wait?"

The civilian frowned. "Uh, I don't think so. I think you'll really want to see this asap."

The civilian stepped back, disappearing from the door.

Katherine sighed, returning her attention to the Legion members. "Okay, I think we all need a break for a minute to clear our heads. We'll resume in thirty minutes. How does that sound?"

No one seemed to oppose to the idea, and the Legion members began to move out, or group into corners to talk amongst each other. Katherine took this chance to slip past the crowd and head into the hallway where the civilian was waiting.

"Alright, what's going on?" She asked.

The civilian motioned to follow, beginning to head back down the hallway towards the entrance of the school. Katherine got the message and kept close to the man's strides.

"I was on watch duty. I spotted something I can't explain. I tried out the kapre tears glasses, but it showed nothing. But..." he bit his lip, approaching the door outside and laid a hand on the knob. A couple other civilians were grouped nearby, seeming just as curious and cautious.

Katherine's brow furrowed. She drew her gun cautiously. "Show me."

The man sighed, then pushed the door open. Katherine gasped.

Lying bloody and wet on the doorstep was Warren Pace.

Katherine stared dumbfounded for a moment, then bent down in front of him, checking for a pulse. He was alive. He just lost a lot of blood.

She grunted, lifting him into a fireman carry. One of the civilians opened the door for her again and stepped aside. "Wait— so you're letting him in?"

"Help me get him to the infirmary," Katherine commanded.

The civilians didn't protest, one just hovered beside her with his arms out, trying to offer to help her carry Warren, though it seemed like she had it covered.

Warren was only faintly aware of himself being carried through the school. The familiar stained floors passing beneath him. He blinked blearily out of focus at his new passing environment, before shutting his eyes again with exhaustion.

He eventually felt himself lowered onto a squeaky old cot, though it felt worlds better than sleeping in a prison cell, or on the forest floor from his travels. He sighed deeply, sinking back into the bed. Sleep beckoned, though a thought far stronger itched in his mind.

He blearily managed to open his eyes and stare back up at Katherine. "W-where's my sisters? Th-they... they okay?"

Katherine placed a hand on his shoulder. "They're fine. Just rest. We'll have time to talk later. About everything."

Warren sighed in relief at this news. Every last bit of tension sank away. His sisters were safe.

His breaths eventually deepened and his eyes drifted shut. He was out like a light.

Katherine sighed, getting to her feet. She looked to the medic in charge of the area, who eyed her questioningly. "Take care of him, but don't let him leave this room. Let me know the instant he's in good enough health to talk. If he says anything to you, relay it back to me. Understood?"

The medic nodded.

"Thank you." Katherine sighed, then left the room. She checked her watch. She still had time before she would rejoin the Legion's meeting. But first things first. She needed answers.

***

Eli was interrupted from his sleep from a door shutting and footsteps approach. He groaned, blinking blearily ahead as his eyes slowly came into focus.

"Can y'all just give me a fuckin' break before taking more of my blood?" Eli grumbled. "Skinner already took most of it when I was trying to save your asses."

Katherine closed the door behind her, stepping closer to the chained giant. Eli looked terrible. Nearly every inch of him was coated in bloodstains. Countless bites and scratches marred his skin and tore his clothing. His wrists were once again restrained by their metal cuffs and chains, and his hands still looked out of shape from being broken just last night. Most of the color had left his face. Even after sleeping through the morning, he still hadn't managed to heal much at all yet.

Katherine stopped in front of him, giving him a wary look. "Why did you lie to us?"

Eli cocked his head slightly to the side. "Wha?"

"About Warren Pace."

His expression hardened. "What do ya mean?"

"You didn't kill him. Why did you lie?"

Eli's eyes narrowed. "Yes, of course I did! I think I'd fuckin' remember if I digested someone I never wanted to kill! What are ya playin' at?"

"Warren isn't dead." She said. "He showed up on our doorstep just now."

Eli's eyes flared with fury and he jerked forwards, tugging against the chains holding him. "Don't you fuckin' toy with me, bastard! Warren is dead! I killed him! What more do ya want? What do ya think you'll get outta lying to me!"

Katherine stepped back reflexively. A look of worry briefly crossed her features. She straightened her stance and held out her hand. "Smell me. I carried him in."

Eli's nose wrinkled, at first seeming resistant, then he leaned forward, sniffing at her hand. The visible tension throughout him seemed to dissolve, replaced by a look of dumbfounded shock.

"His blood..."

Katherine studied the giant. "You... really believe you killed him."

Eli's eyes flitted from her hand to her face. "I don't believe it, I know it. I... I coughed up his leg after he was dead. There was nothing of him left."

"Well there is now. He's here, but he won't talk yet."

Eli stared at the floor blankly, appearing shaken by the fact. "Stars...." He murmured. He paused for a moment as he seemed to take this in. "...Olivia might know. She said... something about this. I didn't understand..."

"What does Olivia have to do with this?" Katherine asked.

Eli shrugged. "She... she said something about bringing him back to life before... but she didn't know if it would work again this time." He paused, looking up at Katherine with a slight tinge of hope. "So Warren... is really alive...?"

She nodded.

Eli let out a deep sigh, looking away as he ran a hand down his face. "Can you tell him I'm sorry? That I didn't mean anything I said and did back then?"

Katherine pursed her lips, seeming to just take everything in at this moment. "You can tell him yourself, if he has the guts to visit you again."

She glanced at her watch. She was cutting this close. Eli opened his mouth, though Katherine turned and left before he could speak. He closed his mouth again, still stunned by this new information. Warren was alive.

He leaned back again, knowing he should sleep, though his mind couldn't leave it alone. Dwelling on the thoughts of what he had done. What he had put Warren through. That strange alien feeling of guilt was back anew. He thought he had gotten good at suppressing it, though it was overwhelming now.

#vore story #soft vore #v/ore #v.ore #UL literature

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sailors-diary-for-elise · 4 years ago

Text

Firsts

Okay after this I swear I will post something OTHER than smut, I promise. But here we go, first time with mister Park Seonghwa

Warnings: (oh dear god not as many as my previous one but whew) lingerie, dry humping, multiple orgasms (y/n receiving), oral (y/n receiving again), finger sucking (Seonghwa receiving), fingering, not really orgasm denial but at the same time yes? virgin reader, experienced Seonghwa, over-usage of the name angel, protected sex (I CAN SET A GOOD EXAMPLE), a bit rough at the end, squirting (kinda mentioned but I don’t harp on it), reader kinda blacks out twice from her orgasms sooooo there’s that too but I think that’s it? If I missed anything PLEASE TELL ME.

Note: this was originally written for Jeonghan of Seventeen, but I’ve been considering taking them off of my list of groups I write for cause I haven’t really felt inspired for them 🤷🏼‍♀️ but anyway, ENJOY

Word count: 3k so not as long as Punishment (WHICH IS STILL GETTING NOTES OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH)

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

You were ready. This was the next step in your relationship and an important step in your life. Staring at your reflection, you can’t help but blush. Why? Because you almost don’t recognize yourself in the mirror.

A white lace, two-piece set hugs your curves and accentuates your soft facial features, which is made up of a simple eyeliner and mascara pairing meant to highlight your favorite facial features. Your hair hangs loosely over your shoulders, brushing the sensitive skin there causing goosebumps to rise across your skin and a shiver to run down your spine. Or maybe that’s because of what’s about to happen. With your boyfriend.

Seonghwa and you have been in a steady relationship for a couple years that resulted in you moving with him to Korea a few months back. You aren’t exactly sure when you realized how important Seonghwa had become to you, and you DEFINITELY don’t remember exactly when you decided he’d be your first but you did know that it was the right choice.

Your phone chimes, notifying you of Seonghwa most likely leaving dance practice to head home as he always does. He has no idea what he’s coming home to, nor does he expect it. You and Seonghwa have been moving relatively slow in your relationship, the farthest being make-out sessions that he always ended with sweet pecks and the words “soon, love” always leaving his lips with a smile that made your heart flutter. But now you are ready.

The door opens and shuts, causing your heart to race and legs to tremble. You take a deep breath to steady yourself and calm your nerves.

“Y/n?” Seonghwa calls out, setting his bag down in the living room. “Angel, I’m home. I swear Yunho was trying to kill us today with this new choreography-”

Seonghwa stops mid-sentence, mouth dropping at the beautiful sight before him. His hair is sticking slightly to his forehead, his hand coming up to push it back. And there you stand, hands held to your chest shyly as he looks you up and down. Clearing his throat, he looks away while blushing slightly.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked. Were you changing?” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze as you giggle nervously.

“No. I wasn’t,” you reply, slowly walking forward and placing a cautious hand on his chest to feel his racing heartbeat. “I meant for you to see this. What do you think?”

Seonghwa’s tongue flicks across his lip, before biting it subconsciously and looking at you properly. His pupils blow wide slightly, looking at your seemingly innocent face while choosing his next words carefully. He takes in every part of you, lightly running a single finger from your hip up to your neck where a silky white choker rests. He pulls it slightly, feeling the soft and smooth material against his fingertips while you tilt your head slightly, closing your eyes and letting out a shaky breath.

“You look absolutely ravishing.” is all he says before pulling you into a heated kiss. His lips dance across yours, hands pulling you forward by your hips until you are flush against him. You moan slightly, his tongue swiping across your lips lightly before entering your mouth, feeling his way around. Pulling away slightly, both of you a panting mess as you look in each other’s eyes, foreheads touching and noses rubbing against each other. “Y/n. I want to make sure you are absolutely sure about this. And if you change your mind at any point, just tell me and I’ll stop or we’ll try again later or-”

You cut him off by pressing a kiss to his lips, catching him by surprise and making him sigh softly.

“I’m sure,” you mumble, blushing slightly as he rubs soothing circles on your hips, fingers slipping past the waistband of your underwear. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Hwa. I love you, and I want you to be my first.” Seonghwa smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips before grabbing your wrist and guiding you to the bed, sitting down on the edge and patting his leg.

“Okay angel, but we’re taking this slow and I’m in control,” Seonghwa states as you straddle his lap, his bulge resting on the inside of your thigh causing you to shiver. You look down, but he grabs your chin, smirking while looking in your eyes. “Understood?”

“I understand,” you mumble, biting your lip as he flashes you a brilliant smile that causes your heart to flutter.

“Good angel.” Seonghwa kisses you again, this time more in control of himself as he wraps his arms around you, unclasping your bra and slowly removing it trailing the skin it passes with fluttering touches that cause you to shiver, whimpering against his lips. He pulls away to discard the article of clothing, looking at your now exposed breasts before cupping one in his hand. “Beautiful,” is all he mumbles before bringing a nipple into his mouth and sucking lightly.

A surprised gasp leaves you, followed by a low groan as your hands tangle in his messy grey locks, tugging slightly before moving your hips against his slightly. He groans against you, grasping your hips tightly in warning not to move. Whining, you look down at him as he glares at you, pulling away from your now abused and pointed nipple.

“Don’t test me. I’m barely keeping it together as it is and I want this to be special,” he groans, leaning over you slightly while raising an eyebrow. Gulping, you look down and nod. “Good girl.”

Seonghwa returns to his work, licking and sucking at your nipple while pinching the other before switching to give it the same treatment. You're a moaning and whimpering mess, threading your fingers through his hair as he groans, pulling away after what feels like forever to look at his handy work.

“Now, angel, is there anything you want off of me?” he questions, smirking slightly as you pout at the loss of stimulation. Looking him straight in the eyes, you tug on his shirt indicating you wanting it to be gone. Smiling, he slowly lifts it over his head and throws it behind you. He begins peppering kisses across your jaw and down your neck, stopping at where your shoulder meets your neck to lightly bite there, then laving his tongue across that spot. He begins sucking at it and nibbling, causing shudders to run down your spine.

“S-Seonghwa,” you whimper, tugging his locks slightly.

“What angel?” he whispers, blowing on the now bruised part of your neck before licking a strip up and across where your pulse is.

“I-I need m-more.” You’re a stuttering mess, trying desperately not to move your hips against his tempting bulge. Feeling him chuckle against you, he loosens his grips on your hips to move them in a slow rhythm against his own. “F-fuck.”

He groans into your neck, his hips bucking against yours as you begin moving faster against him. His assault on your neck becomes a bit more aggressive, groaning and cursing as both of your hips move desperately against each other, a warm feeling overcoming your senses. You whimper at the unfamiliar yet pleasant sensation.

“Seonghwa. What is this?” you gasp, hips acting on their own as Seonghwa brings your lips to his in a heated kiss. “Feels g-good.”

“Angel, are you about to cum? Just from my hips? I’m not even in you yet,” he teases, hand reaching between you both to rub your clit through your panties, adding to the feeling before you feel your core tightening. “You can if you want. Go ahead and cum on my lap, angel. Don’t hold back.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you desperately thrust against his hips before a euphoric and sense depriving feeling washes over you, causing your toes to curl and your head to roll back as you moan out. Seonghwa slows his pace against you, whispering praises against your neck before pressing light kisses to help you ride out your orgasm.

“We can stop here if you want, angel. Just let me know. You’re doing so well,” he presses a kiss to your forehead and cheeks, nipping your nose before pecking you lightly on the lips. “I don’t want to overwhelm my sweet angel.”

“No. I’m fine. I want to keep going,” you mumble, coming back to your senses slowly. Chuckling lightly, Seonghwa presses one last kiss on your lips before laying you down on the bed, supporting your head with pillows as he slowly kisses his way down your body, kissing each hip before spreading your legs slowly.

He smirks, lightly touching your sensitive core to see how wet it is. “Look at my sweet angel, all wet and ready for me. Part of me just wants to taste you.”

“Please!” you cry out, surprised as he dives in to lick a strip up over your panties, your head was thrown back and hands finding purchase in his hair again.

“What my angel wants, she gets.” At this, Seonghwa grabs your panties with his teeth and pulls them down your legs slowly, pulling them off completely before throwing them somewhere else with the growing pile of clothes. “Thank you for the meal.”

You are honestly struggling with breathing as Seonghwa licks up your core before sucking your clit into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you hitting his tongue. The vibrations go straight through your core and you almost scream, hips jolting as he picks up his pace in eating you out. Wrapping his lips around you and sucking hard before lapping up the arousal that seeps out of you, hands pinning your hips down. What surprises you the most is when his tongue pokes at your entrance, slowly pushing in and pulling out again. You whimper at the intrusion, slowly becoming more accustomed to the feeling as he continues to fuck his tongue in and out of you. He slowly gains speed, moaning against you as he eats you out like you’re the last meal he is going to have. The warm feeling returns, much more intense than before and growing faster. You open your mouth to warn Seonghwa but all that comes out is a scream as you cum hard, white flashing before your eyes as your body goes rigid.

Your ears are ringing and you hear your name being called in the distance, the white slowly dispersing and you see a very concerned Seonghwa above you tapping your cheek lightly.

“Breathe, Y/n. Come back down from it and breathe,” Seonghwa states firmly once seeing you come out of your high. “Angel, are you ok?”

“That was amazing,” you pant, completely shocked at the powerful orgasm you just experienced. Seonghwa’s hand gently strokes your cheek, followed by a peck there. What you don't expect is how now a painfully hard dick rubs against your core, causing a strained moan to escape his lips. Smirking, you reach between his legs and cup your hand over his bulge, giggling as he grunts into your neck.

“Y/n, stop it,” he groans, hips bucking as you continue to rub him through his pants. “You can’t handle anymore.”

“Says who?” you mumble out, slowly unzipping his jeans and slipping your hand into his underwear and pumping him a couple of times before squeezing his base. Seonghwa hisses in your ear, a mumbled curse passing his lips as he slowly moves his hips to the same rhythm of your hand movements. “I think I’ll be fine, especially if I get to take care of you.”

Before you can continue working on Seonghwa, your hand is ripped out of his pants and he gets off the bed, pulling his jeans and boxers off swiftly and pulling a small package out of one his pockets, ripping it open before rolling a condom on his length, climbing back on top of you as soon as he’s finished. He brings his fingers to your mouth, parting your lips and sliding them in gently.

“Suck them, my love,” he grunts, voice raspy from the noises he was making earlier. “Make sure you get them nice and wet for me, okay?”

You nod, swirling your tongue around his digits before hollowing your cheeks and pulling off his digits, which drip with your saliva. Seonghwa smirks at you, moving down and slowly gathering your leaking juices on his fingertips before slowly sinking one into you.

Gasping, you close your eyes and hiss out, the sudden intrusion strange yet pleasurable. Seonghwa curls his finger in you, before slowly pumping it in and out of you enjoying your writhing body beneath him as he moves up to press kisses across your neck. He keeps a steady pace, being able to tell when you’re ready for another finger until he’s stretched you around three of his long digits.

The warmth returns, but before you get a chance to fully enjoy it Seonghwa pulls his dripping fingers out of your core, holding them in front of his face before sticking them straight in his mouth, cleaning them while moaning at the taste of you.

Diving into your lips, Seonghwa lines himself up with your entrance.

“Are you sure about this?” he questions, checking your eyes and face for any signs of hesitation. A soft smile followed by a gentle nod is all he needs before pushing himself into you, pausing at just the tip.

“A-ah,” you whimper out, wiggling at the stretching sensation that starts where you two are joined before Seonghwa pins your hips down. He’s panting with the amount of restraint he’s putting on himself not to just slam into you and fuck you senseless. A couple of minutes pass before you tap Seonghwa’s shoulder, indicating he can continue. This process of moving, pausing and resuming continues until Seonghwa has bottomed out in you, filling you to the absolute brim.

“So warm, so tight,” he grits out between his teeth, feeling the strain on his muscles. “Fuck baby, I never want to leave this pussy again.”

You’re a whimpering and whining mess, digging your nails into Seonghwa’s shoulders as you try to adjust to his girth and length. Taking a few deep breaths, you gently rut your hips into him feeling a fire ignite in your stomach and spread through your bloodstream. Seonghwa groans, head falling into your shoulder as he whispers praises in your ear.

“S-Seonghwa,” you hiss out, desperate for any kind of stimulation. “Move. Now.”

With that said, Seonghwa slowly pulls out until only his tip remains in you before moving forward again, causing a long groan to break free from your mouth. He continues this slow rhythm, your head lolling back as he begins sucking on the skin of your collarbones. But it’s not enough.

“M-more. Please give me more!” you cry out, desperate for Seonghwa to snap and fuck you into oblivion. He slowly picks up the pace, hips snapping in a sharp rhythm that feels amazing but just not enough. “Damn it Seonghwa, if you don’t pick up the pace I’m throwing you off of me and riding you until I cum.”

At your challenge, Seonghwa stills his hips as he stares at you with blown out eyes and a sweat-covered brow, a smirk growing on his face as he chooses his next words carefully.

“Are you challenging me, angel?” he questions, his smirk growing at how whiny you’ve got now that he’s ceased his movements. “Because while I’m enjoying our current arrangement, I’m perfectly okay switching it up a bit.”

“P-please Seonghwa. Don’t tease, and stop playing nice,” you beg, eyes pleading as you try to move your hips against his. “Just fuck me already-OH!”

Seonghwa adjusts his position, making sure his thrusts hit deep inside of you and causing jolts of pleasure to course through you. His pace has completely changed, his hips slapping against yours and echoing in the small room. You’re practically screaming at this point, panting out Seonghwa’s name in a mantra as he continues his relentless pace.

Seonghwa grunts into your neck, feeling himself twitching inside of you and panicking at the possibility of finishing before you. His concerns are put to rest when you begin clenching around him, moans going higher in pitch and hips stuttering as they attempt to match his pace. Reaching between the both of you, Seonghwa starts circling your clit rapidly, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you finally reach your high, a wet feeling spurting out of you and triggering Seonghwa’s own release.

Thrusting slowly in and out of you, Seonghwa and you ride out your orgasms while trying to catch your breath. After a few minutes of this, you grow uncomfortable and whine at Seonghwa who pulls out of you quickly and collapses next to you.

“Angel,” he grunts, voice raw from what he just experienced. “Are you okay?”

Giggling, you allow him to pull you into a warm and sticky embrace after disposing of the condom. He can feel your heart-rate slowing as you calm after your orgasm. “I’m fine. More than fine, actually. That was amazing, Hwa. Thank you.”

“No thank YOU, angel” Seonghwa states, pressing a light kiss to your temple and working out the knots in your hair. “You shared a moment so important to you with me and put your faith in me. And there are no words that can express how much I appreciate that.”

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can manage, Seonghwa’s soft fingers running through your hair and his honey voice soothing you to sleep. “I always knew it would be you, Seonghwa. Because I love you.”

Seonghwa smiles, pressing a peck on your lips before settling in for the night, deciding to properly clean up the mess when you both wake-up. Right as you fall into consciousness, you hear his angelic voice say one last sentence that sends your heart fluttering out of your chest.

“I love you too, Y/n. Forever and for always, I will love you.”

#ateez smut #ateez soft smut #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #ateez first time smut #seonghwa first time smut #park seonghwa first time smut #i swear i write more than just smut guys ;-;

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lothlaer · 4 years ago

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Proposal: Jaskier's got a fist clenched painfully hard one time when he's really really hurt and Yen has to force his palm open so she can tangle their fingers together and try to keep him from hurting his own hand. And they're both kind of like "oh" at some point idk 😳

Anon this apparently awakened something in me, so thank you for expanding on my post and giving me the inspo to write (checks notes) 1.7k. Hope you enjoy whatever this is!!!

Pre-yennskier, description of blood and injury, 100% hurt/comfort. Read on AO3

“Stop fucking moving,” Geralt hisses, pushing down hard on the hips beneath his hands to still the man’s squirming.

A choked off, muffled whine dies in Jaskier’s throat, his lips pursed tight enough to turn them pale and thin. He’s panting through his nose, clearly in agony, and too out of it to understand that moving will only make this worse.

Yennefer spares the witcher a glance, noting the anxiety and fear that’s obvious on his face, in the tension across his brow, the frantic not-focus of his eyes that flick between the bard’s half-delirious expression and the gaping wound at his side.

She’s done all she can to heal him, sealed up the torn and leaking insides that they all know would have killed him if they hadn’t been here – that still might kill him if they can’t stem the blood loss and prevent infection. She thinks of it like this; clinical, sensible, because she has to.

Jaskier’s heartbeat is quicker than it should be, his breathing equally fast, panicked and pained and shallow. She keeps her ear trained to its frantic rhythm, notices how Geralt’s heart thumps faster than normal too, almost human, almost matching hers. She’d laugh at the symmetry of it all, if it were funny. She’s sure Jaskier would write a poem, if he knew, but she won’t ever tell him.

He stills a little under the pressure of Geralt’s hands, though still struggles. He probably can’t help it by this point, too confused and the pain too intense to allow much rational thought. Geralt can’t work if he keeps kicking, shifting his hips to try to escape the discomfort.

“Yen,” Geralt growls, and she’d tell him off if she thought it would help.

She tells him off anyway, growling his name back as she presses her weight onto the bard’s chest, keeping him pinned. She watches his face, stares at the lines of tears down his temples, wrung out from his scrunched eyes.

The tight seam of Jaskier’s lips splits open, a deep groan and hitching sob forcing its way out as Geralt flushes the wound. He shifts again, and it’s only then that Yennefer notices his hands. The one nearest her grips at her skirt, tugging it towards himself, the other clenched tight enough at his side that the whites of his knuckles stand out even against his bloodless skin.

She reaches for it before she can think about it, dragging his hand over his chest, looking at the way he’s digging his nails into the meat of his palm.

Yennefer doesn’t say anything as she fits her thumb under his, prying it open like the hinge on a rusted box. There’s no treasure within as she does the same with his fingers, forcing them loose enough that his reflex to clench releases, each digit unfolding only to reveal deep indents in his skin like faint purple mouths.

She slips her fingers between his, taking the pressure into her own grip, resting their joined hands over his heart.

He blinks up at her, eyes wet with tears, then lifts his head to look down at himself.

“Don’t look,” Yennefer snaps, pointedly leaning forward to block the vivid red of Geralt’s hands from view.

She knocks her knuckles against his breastbone, drawing his attention back, and he focuses in on the press of their skin together.

She thinks that if he had enough blood left in his body to do so, Jaskier would be blushing. She feels heat rise in her own cheeks in sympathy. His lips part on an inappropriately dreamy sigh, and she realises she’s stroking her thumb back and forth over his clammy skin, then swiftly stops.

Yennefer checks his expression and discovers his eyes on her again, a long moment dragging on as she finds herself unable to look away, their faces closer than she realised and his short breaths puffing against her skin. She’s horribly aware of their entwined hands, the unpleasant sensation of drying blood and mud between them, the frantic heart mere centimetres away, trapped beneath only by fragile human flesh and bone.

Between another aborted cry of pain and a feeble attempt at another kick, Jaskier lets his head fall back to the ground, gaze swimming and dizzy as he stares up at the canopy of the trees above them, his grip tightening to the point of pain as the joints in Yennefer’s hand compress.

She loses track of time for a while, her knees and back aching from being folded over for so long, the quiet and sometimes unpleasant noises coming from Geralt working opposite her the only way to gauge how long they’ve been here, alongside the warbling beat that still echoes against her eardrums. It’s not like his usual music.

She looks back to his face after some time, catches his eyelids fluttering.

“None of that,” she scolds, loud enough to jerk him back into wakefulness.

She turns her head to look at the wound, relieved to find it closed with stitches, no longer sluggishly leaking blood down Jaskier’s side. He’s still covered in it, soaked into his shirt and the trousers covering his propped-up legs, even on the blanket they’ve thrown over him.

Geralt looks up and the relief is clear on his face; they’re not out of the woods yet, but it’s a step in the right direction. His eyes flick to Jaskier’s hand in hers, looking pointedly at where he’s still gripping her dress too, then walking away with a mutter about getting bandages.

Yennefer finds herself alarmingly embarrassed, and withdraws her hand.

Jaskier doesn’t complain, his fingers falling loose and curled where she leaves them.

Geralt returns quickly, begins packing the injury. Jaskier jerks again, then they begin the agonising process of winding bandages around his waist, having to manoeuvre him upright enough to pass them under his back.

By the end he’s even sweatier and paler than he was before. His noises of pain throughout have been quieter than Yennefer was expecting, the usual volume and raucousness of his voice muffled and contained. It’s simultaneously impressive and irritating – men, she thinks.

He groans long and low nonetheless as they shift him sideways onto a bedroll and prop another bag under his knees.

“It’s done, it’s over,” Yennefer finds herself saying quietly while Geralt resituates the blanket.

She wipes a tear away from Jaskier’s cheek with the backs of her fingers, and tries not to overthink the action in the seconds afterwards as his sobs subside.

He’s trembling, either from pain or shock or the cold, and Geralt wastes no time getting him water with some herbs mixed in. He drinks greedily, water spilling out around his mouth until the witcher urges him to slow.

Geralt lays him back down, calls his name softly until his wobbly attention wanders back to them.

“All better?” Jaskier murmurs after a moment, eyelids already half-mast.

Geralt lays a wet cloth over the bard’s forehead and holds his palm on it, steady and reassuring, long enough to lean over and catch Jaskier’s gaze.

“Good enough,” he says, beginning to wipe away the sweat and dirt from Jaskier’s face in gentle strokes.

“Bastard,” Jaskier mutters, eyes falling closed. He only settles for a moment before jerking awake, his eyes wide and alarmed. “Yen?”

He looks around blearily, waving an uncoordinated hand out – seeking her presence, Yennefer realises. She reaches for him, grasping his hand in hers. His gaze snaps to her, and softens.

“Okay?” he asks.

His skin is cool, his heart still racing.

“You’ll be pissing us off with your usual obnoxious poetics within a day, I imagine.”

He frowns at her and shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

“No,” he swallows dryly, “you okay?”

Yennefer opens her mouth, ready for a witty retort to manifest, but all that emerges is the escape of a surprised breath. She thinks of the way they’d been standing side by side when the attack had happened, the way the bard had fallen against her and brought her to her knees in the grass and mud, last autumn’s shed of rotting leaves compacting beneath her hands. The drip of red blending against the dirt. Her stomach twists, then releases.

“Rest, Jaskier.”

He still stares at her.

“I’m fine, you fool.” She squeezes his hand again, thinks of the indents on his palm. “Rest.”

He does, finally, slipping easily into something deeper than sleep. She knows she and Geralt will have their senses fixed on the pump of his blood for days yet, and that it’ll be a while before his body replenishes what he’s lost.

For now, the steadiness of his pulse and his breathing will have to be enough, even if they remain unnatural and fast.

Yennefer realises she’s been staring for a while when she notices Geralt bringing a bowl over, his hands and arms already washed clean of the mess from the past hour.

“Wonderful timing,” he says dryly, shaking the red-tinged water off his fingers with a couple of quick flicks.

“For what, witcher?” Yennefer says shortly, her nerves strung thin and dangerous.

Geralt snorts. Yennefer glares.

“For a realisation.” He smirks at her, smug.

“Fuck off,” she spits, not turning away quick enough to miss the way the man’s smile widens further.

She draws her hands away from Jaskier, his grip limp now, and washes her hands too, surprised to see the ripples on the surface from where she’s shaking. Geralt comes up behind her, his hand falling to her shoulder, and they both look down at the bard. The porcelain tinge of his skin is unnerving, his eyes bruised, and dirt and leaves still cling to his hair. But he’s alive, alive, and the knots in their chests release.

She thinks about leaving now her job’s done, the unpleasant warmth blooming somewhere in her gut making her want to run away, to flee from whatever the bard’s pain and gaze and hands have triggered in her, the feeling snapping sharp like a wire under her skin.

Geralt squeezes her shoulder.

“Stay with him.”

Yennefer feels the words rumble through her, less than an order but more than a suggestion. Her heart leans into it, giving way so carelessly to harmonise with the rhythm of his.

She stays.

#yennskier #jaskier x yennefer #yennefer x jaskier #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfic #hurt!jaskier #geralt is here too lol but i think he's just their Bro #loth txt #my fic #anonymous #ask #i'm gay i like hands ok

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Ignorant | Steve Rogers

Wow I was really going through it with this one, huh? I think I listened to Bring Me To Life by Evanescence for the entire two hours it took to write this. I never write this fast-- I'm really going through it LOL! I hope you enjoy lovelies! It's the first Steve fic for Dinner at DIzzy's!

Appetizers (Tags): Angst

Entres (Pairing): Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Sides (Prompts): 3: “Apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, and don’t play well with others.”

Notes: This has a ton of swearing, Requested by Anon

Word Count: 1.8k

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“Just because you’re the leader here doesn’t mean you have the right to be an asshole, Steve!” Y/n hisses at the man, fists balled at her side.

She’s not going to swing. She would never swing on him— at least she doesn’t think she would— but right now she’s so damn close. All day he’s been pushing her around, yelling at her for the slightest trip ups. Yelling at all of them. She understands that being fugitives isn’t easy but holy shit can the man chill out for five minutes? She fell asleep in the backseat of the car for five fucking minutes! Certainly that doesn’t warrant the hour tongue lashing she just got. It does, however, warrant her retaliation.

He takes a step towards her, face twisted in a snarl unlike anything she’s ever seen before. “Watch your language!”

She doesn’t back down— she’s not scared of him. “Don’t fucking yell at me then! Stop being a dick!”

She doesn’t feel bad for the insult or the way he flinches, his eyes darkening immensely. She had tried to politely ask him for space thirty minutes ago and he didn’t give her any. If he gets to blow off steam or whatever the fuck he’s doing than so will she.

“I’ll stop being a dick when you get some common sense!”

Steve’s raising his own voice now, getting right in her face, and she only pushes forward, her cheeks filling with heat and her stomach clenching painfully. The audacity of this man is incredible. His usual light eyes are a deep navy color now, almost black from his blown pupils. He looks crazy— she doesn’t doubt that she does as well. She would bet money that she looks insane.

“I fell asleep for five fucking minutes and Sam was right fucking next to me! What the fuck is your problem?” She’s doing it on purpose now— if he doesn’t want her to swear then that’s all she’s going to do.

Maybe it’s the triple F-bomb that has the sound of feet pounding against concrete echoing through their shoddy apartment. Maybe it’s just the yelling in general. Either way it’s a good thing that Natsaha and Sam come sprinting in from the other room of the two room complex because if they hadn’t then she’s sure her fist would be cracking against the jaw of Captain Douchebag right now.

“Woah, woah, woah— what the hell’s going on in here?” Sam is quick to get in the middle of them, pushing the super soldier to one end of the room while Nat yanks on y/n’s hoodie. “We could hear you idiots from the stairwell.”

Y/n struggles against Nat for a moment, vision tinted red at the edges. From across the room Steve glares at her, seething. She can practically feel the hatred pouring off of him. It stings at her chest, biting into her veins. He would have kept yelling at her if they hadn’t stopped him, she just knows it. She wishes he would so she could scream back— her stomach and muscles are still tight and she’s aching to lay into him some more. She barely even started and now she feels like she’s about to bubble over.

“Seriously—” Nat tugs again and y/n stops fighting, opting instead to glower at the blonde from across the room— “What’s gotten into you two? You’re supposed to be the responsible ones!”

Steve tears his arm from Sam’s hold but doesn’t clear the space between them. “Why don’t you ask y/n—” he tilts his head, sneering again— “What was it you said ten minutes ago? Oh yeah— apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, and don’t play well with others.”

Why that little fucking— “Don’t put fucking words in my mouth!”

She storms past Natasha, dodging her arm as it flies out— you’re not the only trained markswoman here Nat. Steve does the same, bowling past Sam easily to meet her in the middle of the room.

“Why not? It’s what you meant right?” He’s in her face again, breath hot on her face, and she only retaliates by fuming right back.

She feels like a dragon facing down her enemy— she’s ready to burn the entire building down if it means lowering him a peg or five.

“Actually it wasn’t but now it is you narcissistic dick.”

She can feel Natasha start to pull on her hoodie again but she’s not done— not now. Not when she’s just gotten started.

“You just can’t handle hearing the truth y/n— you can’t handle it when I tell you what you did was wrong. That you could have gotten us fucking killed with your ignorance—”

Her veins flood with fire, her lips curling into a painful scowl. In that moment everything turns slow, her heartbeat a dull thump, thump, thump in her ears, drowning out the rest of his sentence. The only thing that gives away that he’s still speaking is his mouth moving, his teeth bared and ready to be knocked out.

Oh so she’s ignorant now is she? Yeah well fuck you Rogers!

This time the only thing that stops her fist from slamming into Steve’s jaw is Sam catching it mid air, her knuckles slapping off his palm and bringing the sounds in the room rushing back to her at full force. She stumbles back with the impact but the soldier catches her, steadying her on her feet with a worried look in his soft brown eyes. It feels like she’s been underwater for days, her ears popping painfully as she gasps for breath.

“—s enough Steve!” When y/n blinks Nat is shoving her palm against the super soldier’s chest. “You need to back the hell off!”

She doesn’t realize until her eyelashes stick to her cheeks that they’re wet. That she’s crying. The sobs catch up to her when it registers, wracking through her with a force strong enough to have her whole body shaking. Sam is the first to notice, reaching out for her but she backs away, shaking her head. The room falls silent, three pairs of eyes now trained on her but she’s only looking at one pair of wide blue ones. Steve’s chest is heaving up and down, a cross between a feral and a confused look slathered across his features.

The look ignites the last of the dying spark inside her, her hand landing against her chest, wrapping around the dog tags hanging off her neck and yanking until she hears a snap. She waits for the chain to pool in her hands before she whips the metal across the room, hitting him square in the chest with a roar that’s more animal than human tearing from her throat— you wanted flames and now you’re going to get them.

“I’m ignorant? Me? Did you ever stop to ask yourself why the fuck I fell asleep today?” She slips her hands into her hair, tugging so hard on the roots that her scalp feels like it’s burning. “How about because last night you came back from scouting three hours late and looking like you got mauled by a fucking bear? And I asked you what happened and you wouldn't tell me a goddamn thing! You— Mister fucking super serum whatever the fuck! You just went to bed and I spent the rest of the night listening to you gasp for air! Not knowing if the shit was even working or if I was going to wake up to you gone! I—”

Her voice cracks and she curses, scraping her wrist across her face to wipe away some of the hot tears pooling down her cheeks. They feel like trails of lava melting her skin as they rush over her jaw and drip onto the floor. Steve’s face has morphed completely during the span of her rant, his mouth falling open, lips no longer busted open like they had been last night but still horrifying to look at right now. She knows he wants to say something— maybe he even wants to apologize— but there’s no fucking way she’s letting him. She’s not finished yet.

“I spent all night wondering if I was going to lose you! That I would wake up and have nothing! You’re my everything and I thought you were going to die and you wouldn’t tell me anything. So yeah, I guess I’m ignorant! Fuck you too.”

Her throat is raw by the time she’s done spitting the words at him, her head fuzzy from a lack of oxygen and her waning rage. It’s giving way too quickly to sadness— to the agonizing kind of heartbreak that has all her organs seemingly shutting down. Her face is sticky and itchy and she needs to get away from him right now.

She turns to meet the stunned faces of Sam and Nat, swallowing hard and wincing at the way her esophagus stings. She’s not going to have a voice at all tomorrow— or for the next week at this rate. Sam’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head from how wide they are, his mouth open but— like Steve— no words are coming out. She flicks her eyes to Nat who, thankfully, springs into action, nodding her head to the door, the question clear in her eyes— want to get the fuck out of here? Y/n doesn’t answer, she just starts walking.

It’s in that moment that Steve snaps out of his stupor, racing to catch her at the door, warm hand curling gently around her wrist. She doesn’t even give herself a second to enjoy it— to fall into his touch and forget the agony in her chest— before she’s ripping her arm away from him, cradling it against her chest and backing away from him.

“Baby I—” His face is tight, his light brows creasing the middle of his forehead.

She can see it— the regret. It carves across his face, tugging his lips into a frown and making his eyes glass over. Her chest squeezes at the sight, her own eyes coating with a fresh sheen of tears. She wants to wrap her arms around him— to tell him that she forgives him and that she loves him and that she’s scared— but he did this not her and before she knows it she’s taking another step back, shoulder bumping into Nat’s as she shakes her head.

“I’m sleeping with Nat tonight. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Night, Steve.”

Steve’s face falls, the first of his tears pooling down his now angelic face, and as she hesitates. Maybe she should— she feels a tug on her hand, glancing down to where Natasha’s slender fingers wrap around her forearm. She doesn’t have the strength to fight her comrade as she pulls her past the door frame.

As the super soldier falls from her line of sight all she can hear is Sam’s exhausted voice—

“Let her go, man.”

—and she breaks.

#Steve Rogers #Captain America #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #captain america x reader #captain america x y/n #nomad!steve #nomad!steve angst #steve rogers angst #captain america angst #nomad!steve x reader #nomad!steve x y/n #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #captain america fic #captain america imagine #mcu fic #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

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pagingdoctorcarter · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt: "Please don’t regret me." You know what I want.

Oh, I tried! I tried to get them to dance, but I could only fit in so many of your tropes. So have bodyguard, party, fancy dress, declarations of love Obitine, with Satine whump! I hope you enjoy, my love!

(And yes, I'm still filling prompts. I love you all, I'm just REAL SLOW!!!)

DEEPER THAN THE SEA

Despite the best efforts - on both their parts - the evening had passed quite pleasantly.

The food had been good (though too many dishes included hoi for his taste), and the wine had been plentiful (though she’d found it too sweet to tempt her), and the dance floor had been packed all night, though neither of them had condescended to partake.

While the Duchess Satine played the socialite, skirting the edges of the room to flatter this senator and that, doing her best to keep her tongue in check and her temper mild, Obi-Wan Kenobi had been at work securing the venue from any would-be assassins. The threat had been commed in to the Senate nearly a week ago, which, in Kenobi’s eyes, was plenty of time to reschedule or cancel the event. But Satine would not hear of it.

“It is not the Council’s decision whether or not a senator may host her own charity ball, and it is not your duty to censure me for it. If I knew you were so fascinated by the intricacies of my schedule, I might have simply offered you a ticket. As it is, you’re welcome to come stand guard by the door.”

He’d rolled his eyes as she’d turned her back, and sighed. “How long?”

“All night, if you wish.”

“I meant how long is the event?”

She’d stopped, and faced him, the slope of her neck a smooth, unbroken line, the skin there pale and soft, aching for a touch. He’d kept his eyes resolutely on her face, and his hands tucked in his sleeves.

“As I said, my dear Jedi,” she’d said, eyebrow raised. “It shall last as long as you wish.”

She was absolutely infuriating.

And so it was Obi-Wan found himself playing bodyguard while the duchess laughed and teased. The only small consolation was that he was fully justified in spending the evening staring at her - in fact, it was his duty. It shouldn’t have been a hardship. After all, it had been years since he’d had the privilege of being assigned a mission he might complete in perfect comfort. He wasn’t cold, or tired, or injured. He wasn’t being shot at, or pursued by droids or Sith. The only thing he had to worry about was being distracted by the hem of her dress, and the swirl of her skirts, and her bright laugh, and claricrystalline gaze. And every so often, from across the hall, the crowd would shift, and she would turn, and he’d catch her looking back.

Agony.

He should have insisted that Mace accept the assignment, but when he’d questioned him in Council Chambers, his friend had only smirked. “We saved it for you,” he said.

Hours pass, and Obi-Wan stares, and no one comes to kill Satine. At half past one, when the more modest guests begin to retire, he allows himself a brief moment of indulgence and grabs a glass of frizz from a passing server. He throws it back, and grimaces as the alcohol runs over his tongue and cools the back of his throat. Satine was right. It is too sweet.

As if summoned by thought, she appears at his elbow, sidling closer until their shoulders touch, and she can nudge him out of his disappointment.

“Still alive?” she asks.

He sets the glass aside, and shrugs. “As far as I can tell.”

“Well,” she says, taking a sip from her own glass. “You’re welcome to check more thoroughly if it would let you rest easier.”

“Am I?” he asks, and for a second - for the length of time it takes for the words to slide over his lips - he is uncertain whether he is meaning to rebuff her, or if he wants for reassurance.

She must hear that uncertainty, too, because she looks at him full in the face, her brow drawing close and a quizzical look of concern falling over her.

“Do you want to?” she asks.

And in his brief, foolish, selfish moment of consideration, the assassin strikes.

He doesn’t realise it at first, and neither does she. All he sees is her mouth open, her red lips wet with wine, and her breast lifting as she gasps out an exquisite little exclamation of shock. All he hears is her indrawn breath, and the high chime of glass as it shatters against the ground. All he feels is the heat of her body as she stumbles, then reaches for him, then falls into his arms.

“Satine! Satine!” he calls, and as he slips his hand beneath her neck to cradle her head, he feels the hard carapace of some strange creature lodged into the skin there.

She whines as his hand rakes over it, and cries out when, with a sharp tug he rips it out of her flesh. It is no creature at all, but a metal dart fired from the barrel of some airgun, based on the way it is fletched, and the silence of the attack. The body of the dart is empty, it’s poison delivered, and there is not enough of it remaining to determine what it is without a toxicology droid. In his arms, Satine gasps and writhes. Her arms come up to grip at his shoulders, and he throws the dart aside. They don’t have time to wait.

“Obi-Wan,” she gasps, her eyes dark with fear. “Ben, Ben, I can’t breathe.”

“Hush,” he says, doing his best to keep his own terror from rising up, and sweeping him away like the swollen tides of Kamino. “You can. You can.”

He looks around, frantic to find some sign of her attacker as they flee the scene, but instead the room is a whirling mass of horrified bodies, rushing to and fro as the situation becomes clear. Someone screams. A window breaks. Satine’s muscles seize, and she cries out as her spine arches and her limbs go stiff and crooked like kindling. Obi-Wan holds her closer, not restraining her but supporting her body as it balks at the presence of a foreign invader in her veins. He runs a hand through her hair, and whispers to her until the fit passes, leaving her gasping and weeping.

“I need to get help,” he says.

“No,” she protests, gripping his sleeve in desperate fingers. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.”

He grits his teeth, and nods his head, unable to deny her anything. “Alright,” he says. “I won’t.”

Instead, he hits the emergency signal on his personal comlink, knowing that it will summon whichever Council member is closest. Mace is the one to answer, his voice breaking through the din of chaos with the promise of salvation.

“Obi-Wan, are you alright? Your com activated -”

“It’s Satine,” he says, not bothering with the little civilities of conversational etiquette. He interrupts and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he speaks her name with no title. “She’s been poisoned. I don’t know what, but she needs - she needs -”

She screams again, her agony dissolving into a whimper, pulling Obi-Wan’s attention. He presses his forehead to hers, and begs her to hold on. She quiets in his embrace, and he’s not sure if it is exhaustion, or his words which have brought her relief, but in the stillness, an idea comes to him. A dangerous one. Mace can feel the shift, even through the mechanical impulses of the tinny comm.

“Obi-Wan,” barks Mace. “I’m on my way. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m going to do a purge,” he says, and he ends the call. He moves from out beneath her, settling her body gently on the floor.

The movement is enough to stir her from whatever stupor claws at her, and her lashes flutter as she tries to bring him into focus.

“Are you leaving?” she whispers, and the resignation in her voice nearly breaks him.

“No,” he says, choking on the word, choking on his own guilt. “No, I’m not. I won’t.”

He presses his forehead to hers, and holds her face between his palms, but she doesn’t seem to hear him. She sighs, her eyes closing again, her fingers twitching at her side, her hands loose and empty.

“I knew you would,” she says. “I knew you’d have to. I wanted you to.”

“I know.”

“I loved you,” she says, so softly that it is carried to him only on her breath, fluttering against the hair by his ear, turning and glittering like leaves in the wind. “Please just don’t regret me.”

He feels like dying. He feels like a hand has forced itself, elbow deep down his throat, knocking at his teeth to grip his heart in a tight fist, and tear it out of him again.

“I don’t,” he swears. “I don’t. Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare.”

He begs her like she begged him, and the injustice of it lashes against him like a slaver’s whip. He knows how that feels, but this time, he can act. This time, he has the Force. He lays her down - just for a moment - so that he may reach into his boot and withdraw the Vespari blade that Qui-Gon once gave him. The knife is sharp. He has always kept it so, though he has rarely had occasion to use it, and it parts the flesh of his palm as though undoing a seam. There is almost no pain as blood begins to well, spilling over his hand and down his wrist. He has to cut deep.

Then he takes her hand, and does the same.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “This will help.”

He wipes the blade on the edge of his tabard, and tucks it back into his heel, using the ritual of care as an opportunity to centre himself for what he is about to do. But he finds he doesn’t need it. He is calm. His heart has stopped its frantic race, settling into a steady pulse. His lungs don’t ache with the need to take in air. He is not lightheaded, or panicked. He is ready. He is resolved.

He takes her bleeding hand in his, and presses the seam of their flesh together so that their blood mingles, and their heartbeats meet. Then, he closes his eyes, and reaches into the Force.

The concept is simple. As a young knight, his master had taught him a technique to purge toxins from his system. It was not perfect, and relied heavily on the user’s ability to manipulate the Living Force into identifying and binding to the poisonous substance to prevent its absorption into the body. It became infinitely more difficult when the poison was already in the bloodstream. It became impossible when it was in the bloodstream of somebody else.

Satine is Force null. She can neither feel its strength, nor guide its flow. But that does not mean she isn’t touched by it. The Force lives in all things. Obi-Wan knows this. Obi-Wan sees this. And he hopes that by exposing his own blood to hers, by bringing them both into such intimate contact he can follow the line of his body directly into hers, and seek out the poison that way. He opens himself completely, unaware of anyone or anything around him. He feels the heat of a cosmic wind through his hair, though he is so far gone that he has no hair to stroke, no skin to touch, no body at all to feel - except blood. He grounds himself in the flow of his veins, and stitches it to the flow of hers. He feels the Force and imagines its infinite currents as his own, until he is gone, and she is gone, and the Force and the Light is all that remains, burning away everything, even the poison.

And everything goes dark.

He wakes a week later, alone in his quarters. There is a cup of hot, but badly brewed tea by his bed that could be from none other than Anakin. He can feel the concerned furling of his presence looped around the handle of the mug, and creeping along the floor, and only he could have anticipated his awakening so precisely, but he is no longer nearby. His saber lies reverently beside it. His cloak hangs over a chair, and his boots sit upright and polished beside it. But he is on his own. There are no dancing senators, no screaming politicians. No assassins, or broken crystal, or tears. There is no Satine, and he throws back the covers, frantic to see her once again. To know that she lives, to know that she is fine, even if she is without him.

The door to his room slides open at his approach, and he races into the front room on bare and clumsy feet. There, resting elegantly at the centre of a low table sits a modest bouquet of Mandalorian Peace Lilies, beside it, a note scrawled on encrypted flimsi. At his touch, the random symbols rearrange themselves to reveal a message coded only to him.

My Knight, it says. And ever mine. Thank you for your sacrifice. Without regret - Your Lily.

#obitine #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #shameless whump #prompt fill #my fic #I TRIED FOR YOU #XD #lovely lovely lovely #thank you!

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golden-redhead · 4 years ago

Text

Oumota Weekend 2021 Day #2: trick / treat

Read on AO3. -

Momota doesn’t know how he found himself in this position, pressed against the wall with no way out and caged like an animal.

A pair of eyes fixated on him narrows into slits, a slow, lazy smile forming on his lips.

Momota doesn’t think his heart is supposed to beat as fast as it does. Then again, he’s pretty sure it won’t beat for much longer.

“Trick or treat,” the creature hisses, fangs grazing against the exposed skin of Momota’s neck, red eyes flashing in the dark.

Momota doesn’t dare to move, he doesn’t even dare to breathe, frozen in place and painfully aware of his own traitorous heart, racing in his chest. Everything is eerily quiet, the world around them non-existent as suddenly Momota is more conscious of his own mortality than he’s even been before.

He feels the creature’s freezing breath ghost over his jaw as he leans in closer, intimidating despite his small frame and short posture. The sight of the sharp edges of his — his? Is it even a he? — smile sends a shiver down the length of Momota’s spine.

Momota doesn’t consider himself a coward, doesn’t see himself as someone who could be easily scared, but when the creature’s long, cold fingers crawl down the length of his forearm and eventually press against his wrist, searching for the steady flow of blood beneath the skin, he can feel some primal sense of fear overcome him, all of his instincts urging him to run.

To Momota’s utmost surprise, the creature pouts, a weirdly out of place expression on the face of someone like him.

“It’s not fun when you get all scared,” he complains loudly, voice accusatory. “You humans have no sense of humor.”

Momota blinks, still frozen in place.

“I just wanted to mess with you,” his pout deepens and if Momota didn’t know any better, he would say his voice is bordering on a whine. The creature leans back a little, face no longer hidden in the shadows, revealing a pair of lilac eyes and puffed out cheeks.

He doesn’t look all that scary anymore.

In fact, he looks young, younger than Momota even, dark hair sticking in every direction and playful eyes gleaming in the dark as he stares at him curiously, head tilted to the side.

Momota gulps.

“So, uh… Y-you’re not gonna kill me?” Momota blinks rapidly a few times, lifting his hand to brush his fingers against the side of his neck where he can still feel the phantom touch of fangs grazing his skin.

The creature simply waves his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes.

“People are so dramatic,” he huffs. “You’re always like ‘oh no, don’t kill me!’ or ‘aaa, where are my silver bullets?’... So unoriginal.”

“Oh,” Momota mumbles, suddenly feeling stupid.

“Unless you want me to bite you,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, lips stretching in a sly grin.

“Ew” Momota wrinkles his nose. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

The creature gasps dramatically. “Don’t you ew me! I can still change my mind and actually kill you, you know”

Momota studies him for a second, but he doesn’t seem to be serious.

The previous sense of horror and fear for his life seems to have dissipated, replaced with slightly apprehensive curiosity. There’s still a reminder of that primal urge to run thrumming in his veins, the creature’s presence this close to him still unnatural and wrong on some fundamental level. However, with every passing minute it gets easier to ignore, merely a fading memory of the crippling terror he felt not so long ago.

With the threat of losing his life seemingly gone, he realizes that this might be the closest anyone has ever gotten to having a conversation with one of these creatures.

“What’s your name?” he blurts out enthusiastically.

For all of a second, the creature looks taken aback by his bluntness.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” he teases, his mean tone immediately ruined by the giggle that follows, betraying his own excitement.

“Come on, tell me!”

“Weeell, if you insist. My name is Ouma Kokichi, the Supreme Leader of Evil!”

Momota raises an eyebrow. “What kind of name is that?”

Ouma huffs. “Is that how you address your future overlord?”

Momota snorts. “Yeah, no way that I’m calling you that.”

“You will once my minions are done with you,” Ouma crosses his arms over his chest with a smirk. “I’ll have you know that tortures are my specialty!”

“Uh-huh… Somehow I doubt that.”

Now that the threat of losing his life is gone, Momota can’t help but wonder how he was even afraid of him in the first place. The guy could barely reach his shoulders if he stood on the tips of his toes.

“Anyways, my name is Momota Kaito!” He puffs out his chest and flashes Ouma a wide grin. “You better remember that name because you’re gonna hear it!”

Ouma narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“Why? Are you some kind of a big deal, Momota-chan?”

Momota sputters at the nickname. “W-what the hell did you just call me?! And no, not yet! But I’m gonna be! Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars will be a name known around the world, you’ll see!”

For a moment, Ouma stares at him blankly, his expression perfectly devoid of emotion.

It’s the kind of expression Momota’s used to. The expression people make when they think he’s not gonna make it. The expression they make when they think he’s delusional.

But then, Ouma’s face shifts, eyes crinkling and lips stretching in a sly smile, fangs glinting in the moonlight.

“Oh, I think it’s gonna be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Momota-chan,” he says confidently.

#oumota #kokichi ouma #oma kokichi #ndrv3 #oumotaweekend2021 #kaito momota #oumotaweekend #danganronpa #new danganronpa v3 #oumota weekend #danganronpa kokichi #danganronpa kaito #dangan ronpa #oumomo #my writing

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littlemisspascal · 5 years ago

Text

Death and an Angel part 2

Helmetless + Death!Din and Female + Cupid!Reader.

Summary: You’re a Cupid whose primary reason for existing is to guide people in the direction of their soulmates. Din—known to the rest of the universe as Death with a capital D—has, as of three days ago, become your next client. You wonder, not for the first time, how is this your reality?

Rating: G

Word Count: 1000

Warnings: Plot development, pining, overall nothing too serious

Author Note: Oh my gosh! Thank you so much for the incredible response to my little universe!!! I hope you like this segment just as much, fingers crossed. If you want to be added to tag list, let me know!

Link to part one and part 3

Photo Inspiration:

You’re a Cupid whose primary reason for existing is to guide people in the direction of their soulmates. Din—known to the rest of the universe as Death with a capital D—has, as of three days ago, become your next client.

You wonder, not for the first time, how is this your reality?

Memories of your mortal life are few and far between, slipping through your fingers like fireflies in the summer when you try to hold onto them too long. But you doubt anything you experienced could have prepared you for the sight of Death sitting across from you in your living room, legs crossed and entirely at ease in your apartment despite it being his first time visiting.

You have to remind yourself that right here, right now you’re a Cupid with a mission. Quite possibly the biggest mission of your entire career. You can’t screw this up, not even if it feels like an invisible fist is slowly clenching around your heart as you listen to Din describe his ideal soulmate.

“Whoever it is,” he says while unabashedly observing your furnishings, not willing to rule out a specific gender or race, not when they’re his supposed better half. “They can’t be a mortal.”

Your pencil stills mid-note taking, unsure you heard him right. Most people would assume Death has no sense of humor, but you’ve learned from your encounters with him that assumption is far from the truth. However, when you look up from your notebook to check if he’s trying to make some kind of joke, you fail to find any trace of jest in his expression, not even the faintest gleam of amusement in his brown eyes.

You tap your writing utensil mindlessly against your leg, looking him over from head to toe and reconsidering your opinion of him in light of this new information. “I didn’t know you disliked mortals so much you’d purposefully exclude them.”

“You misunderstand, angel. It doesn’t matter if I like a mortal or not, either way my touch will kill them.” Din holds up one of his gloved hands in front of you for inspection, as if you’d never noticed them before. Asshole. “Why do you think I take such precautions when we’re in public spaces?”

Truthfully, a specific reason for him wearing multiple layers hadn’t ever really crossed your mind. You’d just accepted it from the start as a facet of his being. Still, your ears burn with embarrassment hot enough you’re half-convinced the room’s temperature has also risen several degrees. It’s not out of the realm of possibility for your house to turn against you in an effort to cause you humiliation in front of your unattainable crush.

On the receiving end of his arched eyebrow, the only defensive retort you can manage is, “Everyone’s got their quirks. I thought poor fashion choices just happened to be yours.”

“Says the angel who collects newspaper scraps as a hobby,” he fires back, peering around you at the stack of newspapers in the corner you’d yet to sort through for articles that snagged your interest.

More and more you’re starting to regret inviting him into your home.

“We’re not here to talk about me,” you snap, but the rebuke is diminished by the audible note of laughter in your voice, the grin stubbornly pulling at the corners of your mouth.

A flicker of emotion flashes across his face as he stares back at you, as quick to vanish as it was to appear, resembling a glimpse of sunlight peeking through an overcast of clouds. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think he had regarded you with...fondness.

“So,” you shake your head, derailing that pathetic train of thought, and reposition your pencil to continue writing, “your soulmate has to be someone who can survive your touch. Which means they obviously have to be immortal like us.”

Like us, that tiny lovesick voice in the back of your head coos. Maker, you’ve got it bad. If you could get away with slapping yourself in front of him, you’d be giving yourself a concussion right now.

“That should narrow your search down considerably, shouldn’t it?” Din asks, bracing his forearms on his knees as he leans closer into your personal space. If you were to look up, your noses would be within inches of touching.

Stubbornly, you keep your head firmly looking down at your notes. Partly to hide your expression of embarrassment, partly because you don’t trust your own self-control to prevent you from doing something stupid. “In theory, yes. I have a few potential candidates in mind we can arrange dates with.” In response to his prolonged beat of silence, you find yourself offering, “You can wear your armor. If—If that would make you more comfortable, I mean.”

You’re so focused on keeping your breathing steady you nearly miss him murmuring, “Are any of these dates Cupids?”

Your mind is slow to process the question, even slower to form an answer as it flips through the list of names that you’d started compiling from the start of your interrogation.

“No,” you answer at last. Not a single one.

His lips purse, another flicker of emotion flashing across his face, before he pulls away and stands up from his seat. Your heart flips in your chest, because this time you don’t have any doubts about recognizing his expression. But...it doesn’t make any sense.

Din slips his arms through the sleeves of his coat, preparing to leave through your front door and step outside onto the snow-covered sidewalk. You barely pay him any attention, replaying the recent exchange in its entirety on loop within your brain like a vinyl record.

“I look forward to your next call, angel,” Din says, nodding his head in that dumb, stoic way he always does when he leaves you.

“Goodbye,” you say belatedly, seconds after the door had already clicked shut behind him.

In his absence, you finally allow the realization to sink in, rubbing a hand over your mouth in disbelief in spite of the certainty you feel about your assessment being correct.

That look you saw on Din’s face when you’d told him no.

It had been disappointment.

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor

#Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Din Djarin #din x reader #din x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #death and an angel #my fic #my writing #mandalorian x reader #Mandalorian #soulmate au #the mandalorian

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itcanbegoodagain · 4 years ago

Text

Gentle Love

More Everlark fluff, because, really, is there ever too much?

Word Count: 1821 (not really proofread)

Now that the need isn't so dire, it's harder for me to rise before the sun does. And, most times, it isn't a problem. There's no need for me to be up so early in the day. Summer, though, was a different story.

The sun was too damn hot!

So, with heavy and unwilling limbs, I rolled out of bed, straightening the sheets before washing up.

Minutes later, when I crossed into the kitchen, Peeta was already there, finishing breakfast at the table. He broke into a grin, making my lips lift into a smile back. He stood and grabbed the warming teakettle off the stove, filling a mug and placing it at my spot on the table.

Then he took a step over to me and gave me his customary good morning kiss on the crown of my head. At first, I teased him about doing it everyday, but now I wrap my arms around Peeta's stomach, not-so-secretly craving this gentle love every morning.

"Hi," I said softly, grinning and pressing a kiss to his shirt. He hugged me back, resting his cheek on my head. My eyes fell shut again, craving to return to sleep, while I basked in Peeta's steadiness. This little ritual we do always starts my day off on the right foot. The beat of his heart had almost lulled me back into a light sleep when he quietly said my name.

I squeezed him tighter, holding him close for another moment, and unwound myself from his embrace. One of his hands came up to rest on the side of my face. "I gotta head to the bakery now." His thumb lightly ran down my cheekbone. "I'll see you later. Have a good day," he added, and I replied in kind.

I heard the door shut behind Peeta as I sat down to my now cooling tea. Sipped it and, ah yes, the perfect temp. He even remembered to add the extra mint leaf. Quite a spoiled wife, I am.

By the time I finally deemed myself alert enough not to fall out of a tree, the sun was already climbing high in the sky. It was going to be a very hot day.

The animals are much smarter than I am, evidently. They were staying home, in their cool dens and nests, as one should on a day as blistering as this. Sweat was pooling in, just, all of everywhere. I was tired and uncomfortable, to put it lightly. The added bonus of nothing to show for the day really topped it all off.

It was a relief to finally return home, dumping my bow and bag as soon as I entered the door. I peeled my shoes off next, leaving them in the entryway. I'm usually the one fussing at Peeta for doing just that. When I reached our bathroom, the first thing I did was turn the shower on. My clothes were quickly shucked to the floor, the tie from my braid promptly following.

I closed my eyes as I stepped into the cool stream of water, running my fingers through my hair to get it thoroughly soaked. I spun in a slow circle, grateful for the simple luxury of a shower. Still, not one to be wasteful, I indulged in a few more minutes of sitting in the steady stream, then I stood and shut it off.

With the towel wrapped around me, I pondered what to wear as I looked at my closet. I tend to favorite pants, but there is no way. I decided on instead wearing my soft dressing gown, the thin fabric only brushing my knees surely going to keep me cool.

I sighed, pulling the fridge open. My lack of kills from this morning's hunt became glaringly evident, what with all these vegetables staring back at me. I reached in and grabbed a few different things, shutting the door with my hip as I turned around.

Then I got to work, cleaning and chopping as necessary, and put together a pretty nice salad, if I do say so myself. Light, fresh veggies from our garden out back, with a squeeze of lemon juice and cracked pepper sprinkled on top.

Air conditioning has yet to make it out to many places here in Twelve, so all of our windows were thrown wide open, the curtains moving in the summer breeze. I could hear Haymitch's geese honking over in his yard, and I grinned to myself. Geese, of all things to raise.

Peeta came in as I was setting my plate into the rack to dry, using a towel to wipe my hands. I leaned back against the counter, looking him up and down. Took in his sweat-soaked shirt, his flushed cheeks, his damp hair. I rose a brow. "Hot day in the bakery, was it?" I asked, breaking into a grin.

He rolled his eyes as he nodded, shooting me a snarky grin as he grabbed a glass of water. He quickly downed it, filling the glass up again before reaching over to snag my arm and bring me closer.

I backed up a step, his arm falling into the space between us. He sent me an exaggerated pout. "Nope, not until you take a shower. I'm already rinsed off, so no touching until you are, too."

Peeta tried to reach out again, this time for my other arm, and I evaded it. I gave him a look, and he held his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, I give. I'll go shower." Then he grinned, and I knew that look. "But not before I do this!" he said, quickly darting in and pressing a kiss to my cheek.

Before I even reacted, he took off for the stairs, yelling behind him, "Okay! Going! Love you!" as he went. I watched him go, touching my cheek as a flush spread its way across my face. His casual show of love sometimes still makes me shy, but I'm learning to take in every little moment he tells me that he loves me in a different way. I try to do the same for him in return -- he deserves that at the very least. At most, more than anything I could ever give him.

But I'm too selfish to let anyone else have him. And nobody else compares to me in his eyes, so there's really nothing to worry about at all, is there?

My smile slipped off my face over the next few minutes, but it easily returned when I caught Peeta's eye as he came down the stairs. He was wearing his undershorts and a t-shirt on top, also doing his best to stay cool. I stood and made my way over to him as he followed me with his eyes.

He took his hand and ran his fingers up my neck, over my jaw. Cupped my cheek, pulling my head closer as he slowly, deftly, kissed me. My breath caught in my throat, just for a moment. "Am I clean enough for you, now?" he asked, pressing his lips to mine again, gently biting at the bottom one. "I missed you almost as much as I melted in the heat."

I threw my head back and laughed. "Oh, I know. It's merciless out there. I don't even want to think about how hot it is in front of all those ovens."

"Precisely why I closed up early, my dear." He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. "I said to hell with selling what was left in the case, so I shut off the ovens and passed it out on the way home. Knowing you were here may have aided in my decision, but really, who's to say?" He smiled at me again, a hint of mischief playing on his lips.

My heart swelled at his words. How I ended up with such a generous man as my husband, I will never know. Everything he does somehow makes me love him more, and I don't know how there can be much more room in my heart for it to keep growing.

"It's gonna be a meatless day today - no luck hunting this morning," I told him. It's not a problem if I don't get anything out on my hunts; we don't rely on what I bring home, but we vastly prefer it over the butcher's cuts. "There's also a salad in the fridge if you're hungry."

"A personal chef, just for me," he said, pulling the door open and taking the plate out. "Thank you."

I joined Peeta at the table, resting my chin in my hand as I looked out the window. Took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The need for sleep returned now that I had a full belly, and I closed my eyes. Oh, perhaps it's okay not to do anything the rest of the day. I could give myself this day of doing nothing. Perhaps I could convince Peeta to do the same.

I opened my eyes, turning my head to look back at Peeta. He was already watching me, his features soft in the sunlight. Yes, I thought, tilting my head, he will be easy to convince.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "What are you scheming up over there?"

I hummed. "Oh, nothing, really." Then I stood, walking around the table, and planted myself in his lap. One of my arms rested on his shoulder, my hand easily finding its place in his damp hair. Peeta's eyes fell shut as I lightly combed my fingers through his curls. He let out a small sigh. One of his hands traced back and forth on my thigh, the other one twining with my free hand in our lap. We stayed like this for a while, comfortable in the other person's company.

At some point, he began bestowing the lightest and softest kisses along my neck, his closest access point. Using the hand already in his hair, I brought his face up to mine, kissing his lips. He tasted like lemon.

"What do you say," I started, "to lazing around the rest of the day?"

He grinned. "Way ahead of you, my love." Kissed me again, this time with more pressure, my heart racing in response. "Well, maybe not exactly nothing...." he added, pulling me ever closer to him.

I laughed, feeling the warm pressure of our bodies against each other. "I thought that was a given in the term 'lazing around.'"

"It is. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of it."

I bit my lip, holding back a sarcastic response. My thumb tilted his chin up, our lips meeting in the middle for another kiss. He made a noise in the back of his throat when I lightly scraped my nail along his skin, and I grinned against his lips.

A good day to laze around, indeed.

#everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #katniss and peeta #ficlet #fluff #the hunger games #post mockingjay #canon compliant #i struggled writing this so don't tell me if u think it's bad #i love peeta

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scuttle-buttle · 4 years ago

Text

WC: 1973

Rated: E

Tags: technically unprotected smut, fluff, tiny bit of german

✈

“Have you checked the gauges?”

“Yes, Niki,” you huff at his question through your microphone. This was at least the third time he’d asked you to go over everything.

“What about fuel?”

You point to the little meter that showed the tank levels. “Still full.” Your husband turns to face you in the cockpit of the small plane. The look he gives you is one of false annoyance. You know he’s just doing this to be as safe as possible, to minimize risk. “Sorry, sorry,” you offer him a guilty grin. Your husband’s brow cocks before he turns back to the dashboard panel.

His little private jet only held capacity for maybe 8 people total, but today it was just you and your husband. He always said he would teach you how to fly but you never figured that you would be brave enough to follow through with learning. Now here you sit, engine purring under you, a pair of thick headphones over your ears. For the first time Niki was going to let you handle your flight - all of it. Of course, he still had the ability to use the controls on his side of the small cabin, but he made it clear that he would only do so in case of a serious emergency.

“Everything has been checked over and ready for flight,” you confirm.

He tilts his head to offer you a smile. “Gut. When you are ready, Liebling.”

Taking a deep breath, you open up the radio communication line with the air traffic control tower. You recite the technical jargon that Niki had taught you. “This is Lauda 1 requesting clearance for taxi and take off on runway B, north side, over.”

Static comes over the line for a second. “Lauda 1 you are cleared to taxi and take off from runway B, north side, over.”

You release the brakes before pushing the throttle the faintest amount. With one hand on the yoke and the other on the lever you slowly guide the plane towards the runway. It had taken a good six months of Niki being annoyed at you calling it a ‘steering wheel’ before you finally called it by its proper term.

You lined the nose of the plane up with the lines on the runway tarmac. Once you are satisfied with your positioning you pause to let the turbines rev and build up power. With a swallow you lean towards Niki. “You won’t let me fuck this up and kill us both, right?”

“Of course not. But you don’t need to worry about that, you will be fine, Liebe. I know it.” He’s relaxed next to you, as though he’s at home sitting on the couch reading one of his racing magazines.

“If you say so. I love my brother but I’ll be damned if James gets custody of the girls,” you snark with a laugh, all while releasing the brake and pushing the throttle again. Niki’s own snort can be heard over your radio headset.

The plane accelerates under your guidance. You maintain a firm but steady grip on the controls; finally you push the thrust lever all the way. The small aircraft wobbles with friction as it speeds down the track. Suddenly, the front lifts, giving a weightless calm as the nose begins to ascend into the air.

Once you have gotten far enough off the ground you flip the switch to raise the landing gear. Niki has been silent letting you work the last five minutes or so. Over the crackle of your headsets he instructs you “that was very good. Now get us to cruising altitude.”

“Yes, sir,” you acknowledge with a mock salute.

This is by no means the first time you have been in a plane, let alone flying a plane, with your husband. But it is the first time that it is you truly flying. As you travel you admire the view in front of you. It felt like you were seeing the clouds and the sunshine for the first time. The blue nearly overwhelmed you with its vibrancy. You couldn’t help but bite your lip to hold back the way your cheeks threatened to split with how hard you were beaming. Every so often you remember to check back on the gauges and meters to ensure that everything is working properly.

You don’t notice how your husband watches you from the seat beside yours. He admires your confidence at the new skill, completing the tasks with ease. He admires how bright your eyes are, lit by happiness and the light of the sky outside the windows. He admires the fact that even after close to fifteen years of marriage you still humor him and his passions.

When you finally break away from the view to look over at Niki he’s already got his eyes on you. His bottom lip is caught in his teeth. “What?” He raises his brows in question at you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Can I not look at my meine schöne Frau?” he teases you. Even after so many years you still feel the heat rise in your cheeks when he calls you beautiful. “You look good flying my plane. You should do it more often.” Both of your hands remain on the yoke; his hand comes to rest on your thigh, giving you a little squeeze. He leaves it there the rest of the flight.

After maybe an hour or two you have circled the jet back towards the airport. Calling in, you get clearance to land on the same runway you had departed from. Carefully you lower the plane’s altitude to prepare for landing. Flipping the switch, you can just hear the grind of the wheels as they lower.

“The trick here is-”

“You want to line the stripes on the runway next to the nose visually, otherwise it’ll be crooked and I’ll go off the tarmac,” you finish for him.

He chuckles. “See, I don’t even know why I’m here. You don’t need me.”

“Of course I need you, I always need you, Niki.”

He lets you focus as you pull back on the throttle and slow your speed, further lowering to the ground. You line up just as he taught you with the painted runway up ahead. Gently you touch down, the plane jolts as it makes contact. You brake the jet to an acceptable speed to taxi. Adrenaline courses through you. I just flew a plane! you cheer to yourself.

Once the vehicle is parked within the hangar you shut off the engine. Quickly you leave the cockpit to stretch your legs in the spacious passenger cabin. Turning to your husband, your jaw is dropped. “Is this what it feels like? Every time you drove the car? Christ, Niki, I feel like I could do anything! The absolute rush!” Niki has come up behind you, so you face him before bringing his lips to meet your own.

The kiss is full of passion and energy. It deepens as you stand there in the middle of the cabin. You push him away and down into a couch-like seat. He grunts in surprise when you forcibly yank his pants from his hips. When they are to his knees you give up in favor of pulling off your own. Niki wastes no time in tugging you back to him, his mismatched lips attaching themselves to the column of your throat. You, in turn, drag your heat along his hardening shaft. When he is ready you push his cock inside your throbbing core with a groan.

Breathily, you ask “why have we never done this before now?”

His mouth moves away from your jaw to meet your gaze. “Fucked on a plane? I didn’t know you wanted to,” he huffs in amusement.

You start to push and pull your hips at a dizzying pace above him. With each pump the ridge of his cock hits you perfectly. Niki tosses his head back in pleasure, a long moan tumbling out as your walls squeeze him. His hands help to guide your hips as you ride him. “They don’t call it joining the Mile High Club for nothing, love.”

“Not sure-” he grunts at a particularly hard snap of your pelvis “-this counts.”

You shove your fingers between his curls, a bit shorter and a few streaks of silver lining near his temples, and pull his head to rest against yours. “Are you complaining?” you breathe out along his lips. Never once does your pace falter. Instead of answering he gives you a bruising kiss.

It isn’t long before his thumb finds your center, rubbing harsh patterns against your aching clit. He knows exactly how to toss you into the abyss; exactly when you are near shattering. Within seconds you are shouting out his name, clenching around his still-pistoning cock. His own cries of bliss come shortly after.

Resting atop him, Niki rubs his fingers along your clothed back. You hum into his throat where your head lays. “You did so well today, Liebling. I’m very proud of you. Pretty soon you’ll be a better pilot than me.”

You smile into him. “Bullshit,” you laugh. “Me compared to the great Niki Lauda? Impossible.” You pinch the softness of his side.

He gives a laugh of his own, his chest rising with the action. “You never know, could surprise us all.”

You roll your head onto his shoulder to be able to look up at him better. “Mmm, but with you I’ve always known.”

Niki drops a sweet kiss to you. His expression is delicate as he peers down at where you sit atop him. He scrunches his nose as he tells you “I think I knew first. I know I did.”

You study his face for a moment. His tone is confident, like there’s no way he could possibly be wrong about when you first got together so many years ago. You know that the moment for you was pretty early, before you officially even went on your first date. Curiosity wins out. “Oh really?” You sit up on his lap. “And when was that, since you’re so sure?”

“I asked if you would rather go with Hunt than come see me at Ferrari. You nearly jumped out of your skin with how hard you cringed at the idea of him.”

You’re shocked by his confession. “Alright but he’s my brother,” you groan and laugh at the same time, “and…” you think back to that day, “wasn’t that maybe five minutes after we’d met?”

“Yes, but I did not know that at the time. I thought, ‘hmm, an attractive woman that doesn’t want to sleep with that arschloch but instead visit me at the track? She’s someone special’. And I wasn’t wrong.” He brushes a thumb on the skin of your cheek.

“You know, you always tell me that you aren’t good at these things. Romance and the like.” You look up at him from under your lashes.

“And?”

“That was such a lie, Niki. You’re always so sweet to me.”

“Only you, Liebe.”

The two of you right yourselves to leave the airport for the day. The sky is clear as you walk to his car parked outside the hangar. Reaching out, you find your husband’s hand and hold it tight. “So, when can we do this again?”

He turns to face you from where he stands next to you. “That eager for more already?”

“It’s addicting, Lauda,” you shoot back playfully. So many times since you met he had described the drive or flying as addicting. To be faster, to be better, to go harder.

Niki stops suddenly, lips pursing. “Just to be clear, are you talking about flying or the sex?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you wink.

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @mysticalexpertdaze

@loliissmut @fandom-princess-forevermore

#beyond the checkered flag #niki lauda rush 2013 #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl niki lauda #rush 2013 #niki lauda x reader #niki lauda fanfiction #sleeping with the enemy #scuttle-buttle #niki lauda

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peralta-guaranteed · 4 years ago

Note

hc of jake and amy hand holding before dating (i’m convinced they did a few times before they ever dated) and also in the beginning of their relationship + getting teased by the squad 🥰

(this has definitely turned out far more emotional than you’d probably thought, anon, but I don’t make the rules when it comes to fic inspiration)

Amy Santiago is sitting in a booth at Shaw’s, laughing at something one of her friends has said, and she feels a warm hand slip into hers under the table. Jake Peralta is laughing next to her, too, but then he’s also smiling at her only, and his hand wrapped around hers squeezes three times. It hits her like a brick to the face, those three little squeezes. She finally understands them.

-*-

He’s lying in a hospital bed, and Amy thinks she’s never seen something more unsettling than a quiet Jake Peralta. The only sound in the room is the beeping of some monitors he’s hooked up to, and the only movement is his chest rising slow and steady. Something it didn’t do about two hours ago, when she was kneeling over him in some alley and screaming while the medics finally arrived and brought him back. It was a fairly ‘minor’ injury in the end, one bullet wound that the doctor’s had to close up, but it had hit some sort of vein that was important and that lost a lot of blood and that stopped his heart for the few moments she remembers stretching like hours in her mind. She doesn’t remember much else, especially not the medic’s or doctor’s explanations. They’d taken her along in the ambulance, because she was his partner, and she was allowed to sit in the hospital room he was recovering in now, because she was his emergency contact, too. She could’ve been nothing after today. Because the bullet from that gun wasn’t aimed at Jake before he pushed her to the side.

Amy looks down at her hands, folded in her lap, pinching each other to remind her she’s awake, she’s here, and so is Jake. Not awake, but here. Still here. They’re squeaky clean, her hands, because she’s spent a good fifteen minutes in the hospital public toilets scrubbing them free of his blood after he was rushed into surgery and she was left behind, alone in the waiting room, her sensible grey pantsuit coloured red all over her arms. She had a list of things to do in her head - contact Captain McGintley to follow the chain of command, and Terry so something would actually get done. Figure out how and who can transport Peralta home and take care of him, if he gets to go home. (He will. He has to. She will take him.) Call Rosa to find out if they booked the perp properly, and that they add assault with a deadly weapon to his rep sheet (not murder, although that’s what he did, that’s what happened). But she couldn’t do any of that, because she was still shaking, her heart was still racing, and all she could see was his blood on her hands, warm and sticky and dark and drying into a rotten brown shade already. So she washed them clean, and then scrubbed some more, and some more, until she felt as red and raw as the wound in his chest had looked in the ambulance when they got his shirt off. (The jacket of her suit is rotting away in the toilet trashcan now, and she’s shivering ever so slightly in only her short-sleeved blouse, but it is clean and there is not a hint of Jake’s injury anywhere anymore, except in his gaunt cheekbones and the pale colour of his face, and the silence of the room.) His hand twitches while she’s staring at her own, and if it’s instinct or reflex of whatever that makes her reach out and grab it immediately, she doesn’t care. His hand is warm under hers, and it twitches again and then wraps its fingers around her and holds her, steady and calm. He blinks awake, a little disoriented, but then he focuses on her and - smiles.

“You’re okay.” He says, and that’s what breaks her in the end.

She doesn’t outright sob or anything, but she does let her head drop so her hair is hiding her face, hiding the tears he doesn’t need to see first thing after waking up from literal death. She feels his hand pull on her to make her look at him, though, and she can’t deny him, even if her tear-streaked face is probably not a good view.

“Hey, no- don’t-” He rasps, his voice still coming back, “I’m okay too.”

She laughs through her tears, a short little snort, but it helps calm her down - and him too, it seems, because he smiles again.

“You’re far more than just okay, Peralta.” She smiles back, and feels his hand tighten around hers, three little, but distinct squeezes.

-*-

She shouldn’t feel this nervous. She’s a cop, a detective. A good one. She’s done this before, and it’s never been nice, but it’s always something she’s gotten through.

But she fears tomorrow’s court date more than anything else in her life right now, which is why she’s trying to drown the thought of it at Shaw’s. The hangover will probably not be helpful with her witness statement that could possibly make or break this ruling, but her panic demands more alcohol. However, the next beer she orders at the bar is intercepted by a larger, more calloused hand than hers.

“Alright, Santiago, that last one was your sixth, and I really don’t need to deal with Seven Drink Amy tonight.” Jake says as he settles down next to her, hands the beer over to Rosa, who leaves them alone at the bar before Amy can whine and complain.

“I need that drink, Jake. It’s my only friend right now.”

“We both know that’s just Six Drink Sadmy speaking.” He pats her arm as she spreads out over the slightly sticky bartop and whines some more.

“You’re worried about tomorrow.” He continues, reading her thoughts like he sometimes does, which is such an annoying thing he can do. His hand is still on her arm. “You don’t have to be.”

“That girl’s entire life is at stake. And the gang boss is going to kill me and her if he gets off-”

“He’s not going to get off. Not if you tell them exactly what you told the lawyers taking your written statement.”

“Says you.”

“Says Sofia.” There’s a weight to those words that hits her stomach, and it’s only partially the fact that a damn defense attorney is on her side. The other part of why those words from the woman Jake started dating just recently hurt her, she doesn’t want to think about. “Look, I’m gonna drive you home, you’re gonna take a hot shower to detox, then you’re gonna get your perfect 8 hours of sleep, show up at court tomorrow in your best, darkest pant suit, and rock this like you rock everything else.” His hand has wandered down her arm to her hand, now, flips it over to hold it, and it’s pure coincidence that their fingers spread and interlock, surely. “Okay?” He asks one more time, and she sighs.

“Teddy can pick me up-”

“Teddy’s at that conference, remember.”

Oh, right. Something that had been lost to memory between drink three and four, the fact that her boyfriend had booked himself into a seminar the week the court date was announced. It’s a really good one, he’d said, if she wasn’t already busy he would’ve asked her to join, too. Already busy. Regular Amy doesn’t get punchy a lot, and maybe it’s her closeness to Seven Drink Amy right now that makes her want to knock him out for that, but she felt that way when she helped him pack his luggage two days ago too, and she was stonecold sober then.

“Okay.” She nods and tries to get off of the barstool, wobbles quite heavily. “Take me home, Peralta.”

He snorts a laugh and obviously swallows down some sort of joke as he pulls her into a standing position, their hands still locked together. She thinks she imagines it at first, but even after she’s sobered up the next day, she remembers those three short, tight, almost painful squeezes before he let go and steered her to his car.

She doesn’t have much time to think about it, or about how she basically held hands with her best friend while both of their partners were out of town, either. Or how he helped her into her apartment and waited until she was showered and had downed some water and aspirin before tucking her into bed. She can’t think about any of that, because she has to get ready for court.

And when she sits down in the witness’ chair, the gang boss on the bench before her staring her down with murder in his eyes, she notices a set of dress blues in the otherwise thin crowd of people who were allowed in to watch the trial. Three rows down, Jake gives her a silent thumbs up when their eyes meet, and she feels the phantom of his hand again, squeezing hers three times before she begins to speak.

-*-

They’re gonna die. She’s certain. They’re gonna die in here, in this cramped little closet, wedged between some industrial shelving and a broken down sink.

Jake had pulled her in and locked the door behind him, squished her against the wall and himself against the door, and killed the radio on her shoulder as well as his own. The last thing they’d heard crackling through it was “four officers down”. Someone had fallen behind her when she ran for safety, and for a second she thought it had been Jake. That he was standing here now, almost pressed against her in the tight space she would usually panic in, that she could feel his erratic breath on her ear, his racing heart under her hands, was pretty much the only comfort she had left.

She wonders how long it’ll last.

The mission had been an absolute bust. They had expected a gang. They had not expected a well-armed mafia. And now officers were wounded, or dead, and they couldn’t use their radio to find out anything, for fear of being discovered. She can hear gunshots and shouts from further away, and it’s only her paranoia that make them sound as if they're getting closer, but Jake is listening just as intently. Amy thinks of Rosa and Charles, who were on the other side of the building. She thinks of Terry, who’s probably trying to reach any of them by radio from his station in the surveillance van. She thinks of Holt, and can’t see where he might be right now, still next to Terry or commanding whatever backup might be coming in or-

She feels Jake’s hand wrap around hers, still pressed against his chest, and realises that she’s been hyperventilating. If she gets any louder, she’ll give away their position. His forehead against hers is cold, colder than he usually is, clammy with sweat, but the simple pressure of it helps her focus. She can hear him breathe deep, slow, exaggerated, and understands that he’s doing it for her. He probably thinks she’s having a panic attack because of her claustrophobia, or maybe all things at the moment combined. He’s not that far off. She breathes with him, feels the air from their exhales swirl between the few spaces were they don’t connect. There aren’t many. If she looks up, she could kiss him. She’s not quite that sure that she’s going to die in here anymore, but she would definitely hate herself if she did and never found out what that felt like, or if her last kiss on Earth was really from Teddy the night before they broke up. But when she moves her head, she meets his eyes instead, pupils blown wide in the darkness around them. He looks scared and terrified, and his heart under their combined hands is still racing, and the last thing he needs is for Amy to confuse him before they go out in a hail of bullets, action-movie-style, which he’d probably love if it wasn’t so real right now. She wants to say something, anything to calm him down, but she can’t speak, and not just because there are footsteps approaching outside their door.

She feels his hand tighten around hers, three times, faster than before. And then he pulls her into a close hug when the door behind his back opens to reveal blinding light, and she realises he’s shielding her, has been ever since he pushed her first into this storage space. He only lets go when they both hear Terry’s voice, and the Captain’s, the first telling them they are safe, the second immediately trying to update them on the situation with the SWAT team. He holds her hand a second longer than the rest of her, and the three squeezes that follow are far softer and slower than the ones before.

-*-

Amy Santiago and Jake Peralta are sitting in a booth at Shaw’s, laughing at something one of their friends has said, and she feels his hand slip into hers under the table. For only a split second, she’s tempted to pull her hand away. It’s still so new and shaky and unsure, their whole thing, yet at the same time it isn’t. It’s been growing for so long, between them and around them, it feels like it’s always been there. But the rest of the squad is still pulling excited faces whenever they get a little closer, Charles still squeals at every mention of their ‘evenings together’, and Rosa has rolled her eyes so hard she almost strained a muscle the first time she heard Amy refer to Jake as ‘babe’ in front of her. It’s all a little bit embarrassing, and sometimes she wishes they’d stuck to just one of their rules, of not telling anyone until they figure it out. But then she wonders, what was there left to figure out? She was with Jake, and she wanted to be with Jake, and deep down, she could see none of that change at any point in time. Forever, possibly.

Charles is still talking, riding the wave of getting their laugh, but then Jake’s smiling at her only, and his hand wrapped around hers squeezes three times. It hits her like a brick to the face, those three little squeezes. She finally understands them. She remembers them from before, from tense moments and situations of fear, from where he’s been there for her at the worst parts. Holding on tight and feeling the three little bursts of pressure, only wondering a long time later if he did it on purpose, or if it was some sort of reflex.

She feels it again now, and she can finally hear it.

I. Squeeze. Love. Squeeze. You. Squeeze.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet

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