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earthlyyan · 3 years ago

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Taming a Cicin (Platonic!Yan! Albedo x Cicin Mage!Reader)

Sorry if Albedo is OOC here, I haven’t written him before and he’s quite a challenge as I have come to realize.

Warnings: Human Experimentation, taking advantage of amnesia? Drugging. Violence, Needles.

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Hot, searing, pain.

Arms outstretched and bound to the table, you waited for the man to return.

‘Patrol the Liyue-Dragonspine boarder’ they said, ‘it would be easy’ they said.

You had finally grown powerful enough as a Cicin to be trusted with tasks outside of Snezhnaya, and of course you had to be compromised on your first mission outside of your home. You had finally grown useful enough to be placed elsewhere, and they were expecting results. Too bad you were too incompetent to actually complete the job.

Something in the bindings were preventing you from being able to use your abilities. Your delusion had been removed when you lost consciousness. And when you awoke, you were burning. Something foreign was pumping through your body, significantly weakening you. The side effect seemed to be intense pain. Or it could be the other way around, who knows what the man was up to.

You’d seen the man before you were knocked out. He humored you with a fight, but you were easily disarmed and defeated.

His clothing seemed to be that of Mondstadtian origin. Light and flowy, like the anemo god protecting their city. It’s safe to assume he is a knight of Favonius.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

His voice drew you from your contemplative stupor. It was smooth, and calm. During any other circumstance, a voice like his would be a blessing upon your ears.

“What’s going on here? What are you—”

“My name is Albedo.” He said. His footsteps were near silent as he walked towards the table. “I’d ask your name but,” he stood beside you, his face mere inches from your own. His hot breath fanned your face. “I don’t think you’ll be around much longer, so I don’t think bothering with the formalities past this point is important.” He’s going to kill you. Oh archons.

He pulled your delusion from his pocket and brought it up to the light. It didn’t shine in the way a vision would, it was matte, and muddy, like dirty frosted glass. He took it over to a table and scribbled down some notes.

“I already tested its reactions to you while you were unconscious. I wasn’t about to risk you getting the upper hand.” He said, making a show of placing it next to a crafting table. “I had been trying to get my hands on a delusion for quite some time. But all the other fatui agents and mages had been smarter about spying around here.” He scoffed. “I suppose finding someone daft was key.”

You scowled and tried to defend your wounded ego, but the look he sent you silenced any protests you had the stones to make.

He turned back to the table and began shuffling through cabinets, grabbed a few brightly colored vials, and began working over a crafting table.

“You’re researching delusions?” You cleared your throat. You needed to play nice for now if you wanted to survive. “You could easily just ask me and I’d be happy to—”

“I’ve gotten what I need to know about how they react with the body.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I’m researching is… well…” He hummed. “Well, how to figure out how they are assembled. And I highly doubt a lower level Cicin such as yourself would have that sort of information.”

He was right. But your face flushed at the notion.

“So you’re going to kill me?”

“No.” He gave you a quick glance. “Well, I suppose in a way I am. But you’ll still be very much alive.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“You will.” A small puff of smoke came from the table as he lifted a brightly colored liquid to his lantern. He hummed and squinted at it. “Or you won’t. That’s not my problem.”

You struggled lamely against the restraints. The burning ache in your veins made it harder to protest.

Albedo approached with the vial in his hand. He placed a cold hand to your forehead. It was a welcome relief to the scorching pain within.

“Alright, mage.” He swirled the concoction in his hand. “We can do this one of two ways. Either you open your mouth and drink this and behave yourself, or I hold you down and inject it directly into your blood stream. What will it be?” His indifference with the situation was chilling. Was he even human? Even Il Dottore had some sort of emotion when experimenting on his victims. Sadistic glee, yes. But it was better than cold and calculating. You felt like a butterfly pinned to corkboard.

You wanted to see him make a face. Some sort of small victory before you’re forced to partake in this bright green liquid.

So you spat on him.

The clear saliva slowly dripped down his cheek before he wiped it away with his hand. He gave a disappointed sigh. “Seems I was correct about dealing with a fool.”

His arm was on your bicep in seconds as he pulled a glass syringe out of his coat pocket. He sucked up the fluid from the glass and tapped it a few times before abruptly stabbing you with it.

It was a practiced precision, though somehow aggressive enough to draw blood, the sickly green vile was emptied into your arm.

The burning stopped.

Though something much worse filled its stead.

Your head felt like it was splitting apart, being torn at the seams. You swore your brain was leaking out, staining the table under you, but the dryness of your body proved otherwise.

Albedo pulled out a notepad and pen, he looked expectedly at you.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was impassive.

All you could do was scream. Albedo sighed and scribbled down something on his note pad.

“If you focus on nothing but the pain your suffering will only get worse.” Albedo pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Now, elaborate.”

You tried to conjure thoughts other than the extensive pain encompassing your body, anything at all. You grit your teeth and shut your eyes, concentrating. “Hurts—my head—splitting—”

“Yes?” He walked forward and placed a hand on your forehead. His cold skin against your burning flesh was a welcome distraction.

“Dizzy—Its hard—” “You’re doing much better than I had anticipated. I was under the assumption you wouldn’t be able to hold your mind together enough to speak.”

His hands covered your eyes, soothing more of the blazing pain temporarily. You could feel the edges of your vision darkening. You tried to reach out to the alchemist, but your restrained hand only tugged weakly at the binding, before flopping down unceremoniously.

You saw the man above you sigh as your body slowly began to loose feeling.

Bright. It was bright and cold.

There was a chill in the air, you reached to hug yourself for warmth. Coming to realize your body wasn’t sufficiently covered. Nothing but a thin white sheet covering you. Where were you? … Who were you?

You scramble to your knees, bringing them to your chest. You wrapped yourself in the sheet to help keep your warmth close.

“Ah, you’re awake.” A voice startled you, sending you scrambling to cover yourself further with the cloth. “No, no. You’re alright. I’m here to help you.”

“Who are you? Where am I?”

A man with sandy blonde hair entered your frame of vision. He held a bundle of clothes in his hands before placing it gently on the table. He took note of how you trembled more in his presence than had he not made himself known. He lifted his hands in an act of surrender, he wasn’t planning on hurting you.

“My name is Albedo. You are in Dragonspine, a mountain in the country of Mondstadt. I happened to find you in the cold. You were absolutely soaked. I feared you’d freeze to death.”

“Oh…” Your head swam. A thick fog wrapped around it, keeping wandering thoughts at bay. “I don’t—” “Remember much? Your head seemed to have taken significant damage when I had found you. I ran a few tests and it seems you’ve gotten yourself a case of amnesia.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to let you go until I know for a fact that you aren’t a danger to yourself.”

“I don’t know where I’d go.”

“That’s also a problem.”

Albedo smiled at you. Had you known any better you would’ve considered his smile a sinister one. But to the naïve, it was as right as rain.

You didn’t think anything of it when he offered to help you change, your body was still sluggish and you were dreadfully cold. You didn’t think anything of it when he offered you a room, seemingly prepared already, nor did you bat an eye when he would look at you and write things down on his notepad.

Your body would start to ache after a while, a headache creeping up your neck.

“Mister Albedo?” “Just Albedo is fine.” He said. His nose buried in his notes.

“My head is spinning.”

He looked up from his notes, meeting your gaze. “Ah, let’s get you to bed. I’ve got some medicine to take care of that.” He smiled, his hand resting against the small of your back as he led you to the room at the end of the hall.

He tucked you gently under the covers and placed a cold hand on your head. You sighed at the welcome touch. He sighed and walked out, only to return with a small vial of green liquid. He held it to your lips, which you dutifully swallowed. You were out in a matter of moments

He looked at you with a sense of swelling pride. He had done it.

He not only gotten his hand on a delusion, but he also got his hand on a body fit to wield it.

He had tamed a Cicin.

His hand went to caress your cheek, which your body eagerly responded. A smile crept up his face. You were his. His little mage. His little pet project.

#yandere #yandere genshin impact #yandere albedo x reader #yandere albedo #albedo genshin impact #albedo genshin x reader #tw: drugs #tw needles #tw: graphic depictions of violence #god he is hard to write spare me please

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mollymawkwrites · 4 years ago

Note

Geralt/Eskel/Jaskier: Geralt brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen and Eskel/Jaskier get their shit together first (communication skills!!) and Geralt comes to a Realization - dp/spitroasting - the turn of seasons, contrast of bright/dark, warm/cold

... this took way too long and I am so sorry about that. As an apology, here’s more than 5.5k of feelings, pining and misunderstandings, with a sprinkle of smut (as an apology, and not at all because I have zero self-restraint). Thank you so much for the lovely prompt, I hope this lives up to expectations 💖

I’ll post the link to Ao3 in the replies when this is beta’ed, sorry if there are any big mistakes!

CW: post-Mountain break-up, smut, Geralt’s Canonical Self-Loathing.

Falling in love with Eskel is the easiest thing Jaskier has ever done.

It happens slowly, but with a certainty that Jaskier has rarely felt before. Like sinking into a feather mattress, silk sheets caressing your skin.

It was never that easy with Geralt. Jaskier fell in love with him fast, sure, but he also fell hard, had to pick himself up afterwards, bruised and bloody.

The first day he arrives at Kaer Morhen, two weeks after his rescue from Nilfgaardian spies, Jaskier is miserable. The trek up the mountain has been hard on him, but harder even was his underwhelming reunion with Geralt, who barely acknowledged him, grunting that he'd be safer in Kaer Morhen before leaving Jaskier to decide by himself what he wanted to do.

His heart aches with two years of missing his best friend, finding he misses him even more now that they’ve been reunited. He'd always told himself he didn't hold any hope of his relationship with Geralt ever evolving into something more, but getting his heart broken on the top of a mountain had made him realise he'd somehow managed to fool himself too.

So he's prepared to spend a winter avoiding his former friend, though Geralt would probably not even call him that, holing up in whatever drafty room he's been attributed, and then he'll find a new name and dye his hair a different colour and hope it's enough to fool the Nilfs. It's a hard choice to make, renouncing the name he's made for himself, the reputation he's built over twenty years of hard work and songs he's still proud of today. But it's all tied too tightly to Geralt, and neither him nor his heart will survive it. Maybe, if Jaskier the Witcher’s bard is forgotten by everyone, his heartbreak won't be so obvious.

That pathetical plan is countered as soon as he steps foot in Kaer Morhen, and Geralt's brothers and mentor introduce themselves to him. They are similar, yet so different to the Witcher he's known for more than half his life.

They welcome him, if not with open arms, at least with warmth and smiles and, in Lambert's case, snarky banter Jaskier takes great pleasure in reciprocating.

Eskel doesn't draw his attention much at first. The dark-haired Witcher is friendly, tugging Geralt in a bear-like embrace as soon as they've passed the gates, and shaking Jaskier's hand with a kind, genuine smile Jaskier can't help but return.

But over the next couple of weeks, Jaskier spends more and more time with the amber-eyed wolf, discussing music and poetry and history as they execute their respective chores. After only a few days, Eskel is the one who searches him out when Jaskier is helping Vesemir in the kitchen or feeding the chickens in the courtyard. He shows him around the keep, more than the customary tour Vesemir gave Jaskier on his first day here. Eskel is full of stories from his childhood in the keep, and he is not greedy with the details. Jaskier can sense the underlying grief when the Witcher talks about the boys who didn't make it in the Trials, but Eskel doesn't linger in the sadness and makes sure to tell Jaskier all about his and Geralt's most imaginative antics.

The Witcher's company is a delight, and a nice distraction from Jaskier's heartache. When he can't take Geralt's silence and avoidance anymore, he seeks Eskel and his warmth, bathing in the man's attention. After a month, he finds himself dreaming of tanned hands and dark hair as much as pale skin and silver strands.

At first, he feels guilty about it. Eskel does not deserve to be someone's second choice. What he deserves is unconditional, untainted love.

But as days pass, frost a little thicker on the blades of grass in the courtyard every morning, the mountains losing their warm autumn colours to shades of blue and grey, Jaskier and Eskel gravitate towards each other until they collide, softly and without a sound. It happens so naturally, Jaskier almost thinks he’s dreamt it when he wakes up one day at dawn, and instead of his freezing room, he opens his eyes to a broad, golden-skinned chest. His cheek rises and falls with the slow breaths where it rests on one plush pec, a pool of his own saliva glistening in a smattering of dark hair.

He hasn’t felt that relaxed in years, and only part of it is due to the frankly fantastic post-sex bliss he’s still basking in. There is no anxiety, no second thoughts. Eskel made sure to make his intentions clear before they fell into bed together, shocking Jaskier into silence with how open with his feelings he was. The bard still can’t help but compare how completely different Geralt and Eskel are.

They agreed to take things slow, to enjoy each other for the winter and then see where things take them. Jaskier knows he’s falling in love with Eskel, but it doesn’t feel scary. He won’t be alone once the time comes to make a decision.

It takes another week for him to move into Eskel’s room completely. They don’t bother hiding their new… entanglement, to the others. No secret can be kept in a keep full of Witchers, and neither Eskel nor Jaskier cares to pretend.

Lambert gives them shit, to no one’s surprise, and Ciri squeals in delight, the gossiping princess resurfacing for a few moments. Vesemir claps Eskel on the shoulder, before reminding all of them that they have chores to do.

Geralt doesn’t say anything.

Jaskier didn’t expect him to jump in joy, he’s not sure the Witcher is even capable of such displays of emotion, but the white-haired Witcher doesn’t even look at them, only ushers Ciri outside to the training grounds.

Over the next few weeks, Jaskier only sees him at supper. He’s gotten used to avoiding Geralt, to keep out of his way, but until then they would still meet in the hall when the weather was too bad for the Witchers to train outside, or at lunch when they would accidentally come in for a bite at the same time. Eskel and Geralt spend a considerable amount of time together, and Jaskier would often find them together doing whatever repair was needed, but these days, when he manages to escape his chores long enough to seek his lover for a stolen kiss or a quick fuck, Geralt is nowhere in sight.

When Jaskier asks his amber-eyed wolf one evening after they retired to their room, Eskel confirms what he already suspected.

“I haven’t seen him in a while, no,” the Witcher rumbles softly, a hand tracing arabesques on the bare skin of Jaskier’s back. “He goes hunting alone almost every day. He does that, sometimes, when he’s upset, though I’m not sure what it’s about, this time.”

Jaskier hums, pensive. His heart clenches at the thought of Geralt avoiding his own family. Guilt creeps on him, its long, sharp claws burying themselves under his ribs. How dare he come to Geralt’s only home, his only place of peace and acceptance, and claim a place in his brother’s heart? He’s done a shit job of fulfilling Geralt’s wish of having him out of his life, hasn’t he?

A strong arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him closer to the furnace of Eskel’s body.

“What’re you thinking of that makes you smell so sad, songbird?”

Jaskier smiles at the endearment. His wolf is generous with his affection, and Jaskier is selfish. He wants it all. But does he have any right to it, if he is taking it from Geralt?

“Do you think it’s because of us?” He asks, turning his head to rest his chin on Eskel’s sternum. “That Geralt is keeping to himself, I mean.”

Eskel frowns pensively. “I… don’t know. I suppose, in a way. But I think he’s mostly wallowing in his own self-loathing.”

“When isn’t he?” Jaskier teases.

The Witcher huffs, a sad half-smile tugging at his scars. “I was afraid he’d be jealous, or upset, hoping maybe it’d help him pull his head out of his own ass, but I’m afraid it’s buried even deeper than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t want to get between the two of you, but I know Geralt. He ain’t gonna do anything about it, and then he’ll regret it once it’s too late.”

That doesn’t make any sense. “Eskel, there’s nothing between me and Geralt.” Well, that’s not quite true. “I wanted there to be something, for a very long time, but… well, turns out I was the only one wanting it. If anything, I thought I was the one getting between the two of you.”

“Songbird, there hasn’t been anything but friendship between Geralt and I since before you were born.” Sadness clouds Eskel’s eyes for a second, and the piece Jaskier has been missing clicks into place.

“You and Geralt were together?” He asks, voice tight with emotion.

“Not sure we can even call it that,” a bitter smile twists Eskel’s scars in a painful grimace. “We found… comfort, with each other, when nothing else could give us that. But it hasn’t been like that in a very long time.”

“Why?”

Eskel shrugs with one shoulder, almost dislodging Jaskier from his position. “People change, songbird. And when you live as long as we do, well… you can’t expect things to stay the same forever. I’m glad we stayed as close as we are, despite him not wanting us to be anything other than friends anymore.”

The Witcher kisses the crown of Jaskier’s head and flicks his wrist, snuffing out the candles, a clear sign that the conversation is over. Jaskier doesn’t push, conscious this is a sensitive subject, but that doesn’t keep him from staring in the darkness for a long time after Eskel’s breaths have slowed and deepened, troubled by this new facet of the two men he loves.

Geralt’s reaction makes more sense now, why he would act so uncomfortable around Eskel and Jaskier now that the two of them are a thing. If Geralt still has feelings for his friend, then… seeing Jaskier, the man he hates and despises, whom he holds responsible for his every trouble (quite unfairly, in Jaskier’s opinion, but still), taking his place in the arms of the man he’s been in love with for longer than the bard has been alive… well, Jaskier can understand why he’d be upset.

There’s just a tiny bit of pettiness coming from the selfish, ugly part of him, that sings at the idea. Geralt broke his heart on that mountain top, isn’t it simple justice that Jaskier breaks his heart in turn?

But that line of thought is quickly smothered by guilt, and, more upsettingly, love. He’s loved Geralt for half his life now. No matter how hurt he might be, all he wants is for him to be happy. Or as happy as a self-loathing Witcher can be.

And it’s so obvious that Eskel loves him, too, now that Jaskier thinks about it. There’s a softness in his eyes and the corner of his mouth when he looks at Geralt that isn’t there when he’s around anyone else, an ease and a trust that Jaskier used to attribute to long term friendship but can only come from two bodies knowing each other intimately.

Jaskier can’t put himself between the two of them, can’t bear the idea of robbing both men of the little happiness they can find in a world that doesn’t accept them. And if he was Geralt, he would probably let Eskel down gently, taking himself out of the way and hoping the other two would get their shit together and talk, but he’s not, and if there’s a way that the three of them can find even a little satisfaction in this mess, then he’s going to try his best and make it happen.

He only hopes Geralt will listen to him.

It takes him a few days to work up the courage to approach the sullen White Wolf, and then another two to catch him alone, one night after dinner.

Unsurprisingly, he finds him in the stables, brushing down a Roach who seems more interested in nipping at Scorpion’s flanks than in the brooding Witcher in her stall. A wave of fondness overcomes Jaskier at the familiar sight, and he has to shake himself to remember what he’s come here to do.

“Geralt,” he says, softer than he intended. The Witcher doesn’t startle, but he tenses visibly, his grip on the brush turning white-knuckled. Jaskier lets out a trembling sigh, his resolve the only thing keeping him from turning away and finding shelter in Eskel’s arms to cry his heartache away. “We need to talk.”

Geralt doesn’t gratify him with an answer, like maybe if he ignores Jaskier long enough the bard will go away. How he didn’t learn that doesn’t work in the twenty years they’ve known each other, Jaskier has no idea.

“It’s about Eskel.” That, at least, has the merit to catch Geralt’s attention, the Witcher turning his head just enough to peek at Jaskier from the corner of his eye.

“He told me, about… about the two of you. What you were to each other.”

Geralt sucks in a harp breath. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

And Jaskier can see this is a lie even with the Witcher turning his back to him. His heart clenches, for his best friend, despite everything that happened, and his lover, who have not allowed themselves to have what they both so visibly crave. “It does, though. It does matter. I’m not… I have no wish to keep you from each other, Geralt. I… I love him.” Jaskier chokes out, and something painful flashes in Geralt’s eyes. “And I… I…” he almost lets himself say it, bare his heart for Geralt to see, but he’s gotten too used to protecting himself, to hiding his most shameful truth. “I know you do, too.”

Geralt hangs his head between his shoulders, face hidden in the shadows, the warm, low light of the oil lamp he brought with him playing in his pale hair. “You’re making him happy. The two of you… you’re good, together. I am glad you found each other.”

“Are you really, Geralt? Because you’ve been avoiding us for weeks. It’s hurting him.” It’s hurting me, Jaskier doesn’t say, because none of this is about him. “Listen, I… I know you don’t want anything to do with me, I got that loud and clear, but if there’s a way… for us three to… to find satisfaction, then maybe…”

“Speak plainly, bard.”

Jaskier exhales, nerves making his throat tight. “You know I don’t believe in exclusive relationships,” and Geralt doesn’t, either; Yennefer and him both had lovers on the side, it was no secret between them. “If you and Eskel wanted to… start again where you left things, I see no issue with that. I want him to be happy, too. I… I want you to be happy, Geralt. You’re still important to me, even after everything.”

He’s said more than he wanted to, and Geralt doesn’t even deign to look at him. That’s so familiar it hurts. Jaskier smiles, an ugly thing full of regrets and unspoken words, and turns on his heels. He’s done his part. It’s up to Geralt to make a choice, now.

“Jaskier,” a broken voice says as a hand wraps around his wrist. He startles, and turns to find Geralt watching him with pleading eyes. It’s such an absurd sight, it leaves him speechless for a minute, and Geralt takes it as an encouragement to speak. The Witcher clears his throat. “I don’t… You’re…” the way he interrupts himself in obvious frustration, brow furrowed and lips thinned, is almost endearing. “You’re important to me, too.”

Tears swell in Jaskier’s eyes, and he tugs at his wrist to free it. Geralt lets him go without resistance.

“Please don’t lie to me, Geralt. I can take the hurt, I can take the rejection. But I won’t take the pity.” He almost spits the last sentence, and a surge of bitter satisfaction warms his painful heart at Geralt’s flinch.

“I’m not, I swear. I… I’ve missed you, Jask, I’ve missed you so much.” His voice is husky, weighed by shame and regret, and Jaskier has no doubt he is saying the truth. Geralt is a lot of things, but a good actor is not one of them. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought about what I said to you after the dragon hunt. None of it was true, I… I was furious, but it wasn’t your fault. I’m so sorry.”

When Jaskier let himself dream of this moment, while walking down of the mountain or in the dark of the cell the Nilfargiaans kept him in, he’d imagined how he’d make Geralt grovel, how he’d tell him about every little thing Jaskier had ever done for him, to make his life easier, to show him how he could find happiness even on the Path.

As it is, Jaskier only stares at Geralt for a few seconds before tugging him into a crushing embrace. “Fuck, I’ve missed you too, you stupid Witcher.”

Geralt makes a wounded noise but lets himself be engulfed in Jaskier’s arms, tucking his nose in the hollow of his throat. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, warm breath humid against the bard’s skin. “I wanted to come looking after you, but I had to make sure Ciri was safe…”

“I am glad you did,” Jaskier says, petting the hair at the nape of Geralt’s neck. “But why didn’t you say anything once Yennefer brought me to you? Geralt, we climbed up those damn mountains together. It’s been two months since we’ve been here. I thought you didn’t… that you didn’t want me here.”

Hands twist in the back of Jaskier’s thick woolen cape. “I didn’t know how to. While we were still on the Path I was worried about Nilfgaard catching up to us, about keeping Ciri and you fed and safe, and I thought this could wait until we were here. But then…” Geralt makes a frustrated noise so familiar it has Jaskier smiling in the crown of his head.

“Words were hard to find?”

He feels more than he sees Geralt’s nod. “And once you and Eskel became… involved, you seemed so much happier. I thought I’d only make things worse, and that you deserved to move on. To… forget about me. But I do want you here, Jaskier. If I had any right to it, I’d want you by my side always.”

A breath catches in Jaskier's throat, and tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Those are words he's dreamt of hearing for so many years, and he's finally hearing them now, in a stable smelling of horseshit and hay. It's so simple, so mundane, and yet he can barely bring himself to believe this is truly happening.

And maybe it's because he is stunned, or maybe because he's done hiding, but suddenly it feels so important that he says the truth.

"Geralt, you… you must know…" he pulls back, putting just enough distance between them that he can see Geralt's suspiciously red-rimmed eyes, that he can see how the Witcher reacts to his words. "I would have followed you anywhere, until my feet could carry me no more. You know that, right? I've never been subtle," he laughs wetly. Geralt is looking increasingly confused, like he has no idea what Jaskier is talking about, and that just doesn't make sense.

Making a frustrated sound, Jaskier twists his hands in the lapels of Geralt's thick winter coat, tugging him forward slowly so the Witcher can stop him if he wants.

But he doesn't, and their lips meet, harshly enough that Jaskier hopes it'll carry his meaning even through Geralt's thick skull.

It must work, because next thing he knows, he is being ravished quite thoroughly by an enthusiastic Witcher, a hand at the back of his head and another at the small of his back, under the hem of his cape. A thumb rubs circles at the base of his spine, and he's slowly melting into a puddle of contentment, his only thought a constant stream of this is happening, oh my fucking gods this is happening.

There's little time for the realization to set in, though, as a draft of cold wind fills the stables, and a soft "oh" pushes Jaskier and Geralt to separate.

Just outside of the circle of light cast by the oil lamp, Eskel stands watching them, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Jaskier's guts clench in guilt and he steps away from Geralt hurriedly. "Eskel, it's not-" what you think, he doesn't finish, because that is a lie, and Eskel deserves better than lies.

But there's little else Jaskier can say to justify how Eskel just found him, kissing his best friend and former lover passionately in the middle of the night, when he should have been back in their shared bed an hour ago.

He knew he'd fuck up somehow. That's so classic.

The three of them are silent for a heartbeat, the horses shifting in their stalls the only noise in the cramped space, and Jaskier wants to cross the space between Eskel and him so badly, but he knows he doesn't have the right to, and it's killing him.

Just when his agony reaches a peak, Eskel's mouth curls at the corner, softness blooming in his eyes. "I see you've gotten your shit together," he says. " 's about time."

This is so completely out of what Jaskier expected him to say that he doesn’t manage to find a suitable answer. Surprisingly, Geralt is the one to talk next.

“I’m not going to take him from you,” he says cautiously.

“I know,” Eskel grins. “I know that if I asked you you would never even look at him again.”

Jaskier spares a glance for Geralt, and a pit opens in his gut at the acceptance he finds in his eyes.

“But that would make the three of us miserable,” Eskel adds. “And I won’t do that to Jaskier, or to you.”

“Eskel, what are you saying?” If his soft-hearted Witcher is suggesting what Jaskier thinks he is…

“I don’t see why things between us should change, songbird, if you wished to spend some nights in Geralt’s bed. Of course, if you two want to be exclusive to each other,” the first glimmer of doubt insinuates itself in Eskel’s kind voice, but he keeps speaking bravely, “then I will not impose myself.”

“No!” Jaskier says, a little too loud, his hand shooting up to grip at Eskel’s wrist. Roach nickers irritably in her stall at the disturbance.

“I… I mean, if both you and Geralt are amenable, there is space in my bed for the two of you.”

Eskel’s dark eyebrow arches. “Don’t you mean in my bed?”

But his hand closes around Jaskier’s reassuringly, warm and soft as he looks at Geralt. “What do you say, Wolf?”

And Geralt is watching them both with equal part fear and want in his eyes, like his deepest desire is just in reach but he isn’t sure if it’s not going to burn him at the first touch. Jaskier extends his free hand, and he can feel Eskel tensing infinitesimally beside him, careful to keep a relaxed posture, but as worried as Jaskier that their white-haired Witcher is going to bolt out the door to a more familiar loneliness.

Geralt surprises them both by taking Jaskier’s hand with an air of firm resolution, crossing the space between them slowly until he stands close enough to share their warmth. Eskel raises his left hand, cupping Geralt’s jaw with infinite softness. Jaskier can see in his eyes the same pride he is feeling himself, at their white wolf’s bravery.

The air leaves Jaskier’s lungs in a rush when the two men’s lips meet like they weren’t ever meant to part. The contrast of Eskel’s golden skin against Geralt’s milky one is the most beautiful work of art he’s ever been given to see, and the tight heat in his lower belly tells him he wants to see more of it, now.

The two Witchers kiss for a long minute, Jaskier watching them with naked hunger and want, but for once not in a hurry to claim the attention back on himself. He makes an involuntary noise when Eskel nips at Geralt’s lower lip playfully, and two burning golden gazes turn on him. It’s so intense, so heavy, that another breath leaves Jaskier with a wheeze. A grin is spreading on Eskel’s handsome features, and Geralt’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“What do you think, Wolf? Do you think the two of us will be enough to satisfy our little bard?”

And oh, Jaskier does so want them to try.

Jaskier often prides himself loudly and brazenly of his carnal exploits as an Oxenfurt student and travelling bard. He’s had sex with numerous people of all genders and races, sometimes several at the same time, and has been praised for being a generous and enthusiastic lover.

Never has he been so overwhelmed after only a few minutes of foreplay.

There’s a cock down his throat and fingers in his arse and he’s trembling all over. Eskel is soothing him with a palm to his side, murmuring praise as he pushes three thick, oiled fingers to Jaskier’s prostate.

Geralt is brushing a hand down his cheek, feeling his own cock through the stretched skin. Jaskier sucks and licks with single-minded focus, moaning and wiggling when Eskel executes a particularly well-aimed thrust.

“Look at him, asking for more even when he’s stuffed full,” Eskel smugly says to Geralt as he gives a sharp slap to the bard’s arse. Jaskier yelps and jumps forward, Geralt’s cock hitting the back of his throat. He chokes and gags but doesn’t relent, breathing through his nose expertly. Geralt wipes the tears from his cheeks, the tender motion in stark contrast with his curses and animalistic grunts. It’s a contradiction Jaskier is quickly becoming addicted to.

He's so focused on his worship of Geralt's glorious cock he doesn't notice Eskel's fingers slipping out of his hole before they are replaced with the fat head of his prick. He gasps, letting Geralt's hard length slip out of his mouth, resting his temple against his hip as he breathes through the intrusion. He still hasn't gotten used to Eskel's girth, the stretch leaving him drooling and dazed every time.

They're all still as Jaskier accommodates it, testing the sensation with little clenches of his arse that have Eskel grunting and squeezing the plump flesh of his cheeks.

"'m good, you can move," Jaskier mumbles in the dip of Geralt's hip, and Eskel pulls out to execute a few shallow thrusts, getting the both of them used to the new sensations.

When he picks up speed, a hand threads in Jaskier's hair, pulling him to look up and meet a painfully tender gaze. Geralt holds him with one hand, the other grasping his own cock and guiding it back into Jaskier’s begging mouth, smearing a trail of pre-come on his cheek on the way.

It's easy to lose himself into it after that. He is full, warm and content, and he wishes he could stay that way forever, pinned between his two lovers, pleasing them with his wet mouth and his tight arse. Used for their pleasure alone.

He's only human, though, and his stamina can't compare to two Witchers'. He spills almost as soon as Eskel gets a hand on his cock, his wails muffled by Geralt's.

Geralt is caring enough to let Jaskier breathe as he comes down, cradling the bard’s face in his hands, but Eskel doesn't pull out. They've talked about each other's boundaries at length, he knows Jaskier can take more.

He's brushing his thumb where Jaskier and him are connected, hole fluttering with the last spasms of his orgasm. Jaskier whimpers at the sensation.

"Damn, you always get so loose and sloppy when you've come… do you think you could take the two of us like this?"

Jaskier's chest swells with a sob at the thought, arms trembling where they struggle to keep him up. The fingers around his jaw squeeze lightly, demanding his attention, and he meets Geralt's gaze once again.

"Answer to Eskel, pretty lark," Geralt rumbles. "Is it too much? Do you want more?"

"Yes," Jaskier manages to slur. "More, please. I want… I want both of you."

Geralt's pupils expand impossibly larger, and he bends to kiss Jaskier languidly.

He's a very thorough kisser, grunting at the taste of himself on Jaskier's tongue. Tears well up in Jaskier's eyes as emotion seizes his heart. Finally, he thinks, finally, I get to have him.

He shouts in the kiss, breaking their connection, when Eskel's thumb slips along his cock in Jaskier's hole.

The stretch is intense, even with how relaxed Jaskier is from his climax, and his arms give out, his face squashing into the mattress with a moan.

Geralt chuckles above him before gathering the weak bard into his arms, shuffling them so Jaskier is propped against his chest, while Eskel keeps opening him from behind.

It’s too warm there, pinned between his two Witchers, but Jaskier doesn’t have any complaint. Geralt resumes kissing him to distract him from the almost too intense stretch, and it works. When his breath grows too ragged, Geralt frees his lips and lets him rest his head against his shoulder for a second, lungs expanding with deep gulps of breath. Geralt and Eskel talk in hushed voices, but he can’t focus on what they’re saying, his every thought gathering around the point where he is stretched wider than he’s ever been around Eskel’s cock and fingers.

He is manhandled without difficulty, until he is straddling Geralt’s lap, Eskel still buried hilt deep in him, Geralt mouthing at his neck, two pairs of large hands roaming his sides, his back, his stomach.

“You ready, songbird?” Eskel rumbles in his ear, the low timbre of his voice piercing through the thick fog in Jaskier’s fucked out brain.

The bard nods into Geralt’s shoulder, whining pitifully.

“Did you actually manage to fuck words out of him, Eskel?” Geralt says with a hint of humour, squeezing Jaskier against him affectionately. “Might have to give you a medal for that.”

“Hm. What about a kiss?”

Jaskier smiles groggily at the sounds of intense making-out next to his ear, turning his head to admire the view. Geralt and Eskel truly are gorgeous together, skins lit by the candles, sweat beading on their foreheads, a drop rolling down the crease of one of Eskel’s scars to where his lips join Geralt’s. Their kiss is all teeth and tongue, playful and nipping, fighting for a control none of them truly cares about. It’s a sight Jaskier hopes to be graced with every day of his life from now on.

But for now, impatience is making him clench and grind around Eskel, who breaks his and Geralt’s kiss to grunt. “We haven’t forgotten about you, songbird, don’t worry.”

He cups Jaskier’s cheek in his hand to meet his lips, tasting of Geralt and himself.

There’s a new pressure at Jaskier’s entrance and he gasps in Eskel’s mouth when he realizes it’s Geralt’s cock pushing inside him. The three of them moan in unison when it gets past the ring of muscles and slides besides Eskel’s prick. They stay still, panting for a few moments, until Jaskier garbles a “move” and Eskel complies, taking the lead. Geralt, carrying most of Jaskier’s weight, is slower at the beginning, but picks up speed, moving in counterpart to Eskel, never leaving Jaskier empty even for a single second. They hit his prostate with every thrust in, overwhelming him so quickly he’s only a ragdoll between the two of them after only a few minutes of the same treatment.

Eskel and Geralt lavish his throat and shoulders with soft bites and soothing licks, meeting for a kiss over him once or twice.

Jaskier comes quickly, his cock rutting against Geralt’s toned abs, the friction barely enough to have him tip over the edge, coating the rippling muscles in thick white come. Eskel follows him rapidly, his thrusts growing erratic until he spills deep into Jaskier’s ass, whispering his name reverently in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Geralt joins them after a few more thrusts, grunting his release into Jaskier’s collarbone, goosebumps breaking over the skin of his back.

The Witchers’ softening pricks slip out of his ass and Jaskier hisses at the sudden chill of emptiness. A dribble of come drips from his sensitive hole, gaping and fluttering, and Eskel takes a sharp intake of breath at the sight, fingers coming to brush the abused flesh. Jaskier whimpers in protest, too tired to move, and Geralt shushes him with a kiss to the tip of his nose.

They bring him down to the mattress, arranging his limbs comfortably. One of them - Jaskier doesn’t open his eyes to check which - gets up and brings back a rag to clean him up and a waterskin, bullying him to drink even though all he wants is to lie down and sleep.

Finally, they all snuggle up together on the bed that is slightly too small for three grown men, the room stinking of sex.

There will be a lot to talk about, tomorrow when they wake up, but for now Jaskier buries his nose in the crook of Geralt’s neck, Eskel plastered to his back, both their hands meeting on his chest, over his slowly beating heart. Content. Warm. Jaskier drifts off with a smile on his face and a new song in his mind.

#the witcher #jaskier #eskel #geralt #jaskier/eskel/geralt #geraskel #my writing #prompt fill #nsft #greyduckgreygoose

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sineala · 4 years ago

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A Few Thoughts About Hurt/Comfort

I have been asked this month to make a post about hurt/comfort in Avengers comics. And I love h/c -- I actually have a massive number of WIPs right now that are h/c -- so I am very happy to talk about it! Anyway, this is not really all that planned out and this mostly turned into an excursus on Tony Stark's pain. I'm sure you're all surprised.

Like pretty much everyone else, I'm sure, I have found that everything lately has been... pretty tough. And the coping mechanism that really got me through last year and this year was reading and writing a lot of h/c, on the theory that, however lousy a day I'm having, I can absolutely make sure that Tony Stark has a worse one. And then I can make sure he gets hugs. Wish fulfillment? Why, yes. (Once at Hallmark I was trying to find a "get well soon" card, forgot what it was called, and described it to my wife as "a hurt/comfort card.") I think Marvel Comics -- the Avengers side, in particular -- is an interesting canon for h/c for a lot of reasons. Though, honestly, if you asked me to recommend you, a hurt/comfort fan, a new fandom, I would probably just hand you some Starsky & Hutch DVDs. Go watch "The Fix" and get back to me later. If you like that, there's way more where that came from. But there's still lots to love in Marvel! Superhero comics are really a goldmine as far as the hurt side of h/c. Because superheroes, and you probably have noticed this, get hurt a lot. They get hurt repeatedly, in fantastical ways that are probably impossible in real life both physically and emotionally (at least, I don't think anyone's invented mind control yet), and even the heroes without superhuman healing powers tend to get physically hurt a whole lot worse than actual people can take. Currently in Iron Man comics, Tony has a broken back and is dealing with this by locking himself into the armor as a backboard and injecting himself with massive doses of painkillers. He's busy! He's got stuff to do! He doesn't have time to lie around and heal! So, basically, if you name a kind of pain that you would like to see happen to a character, it's probably happened to superheroes. Multiple times. The downside, though, is that comics do not really deliver that well when it comes to the comfort part of h/c. They could. It's not inherent to the medium that they don't. But because of the serial nature of comics and also the fact the primary audience is dudes who want to read about people in spandex punching each other, a lot of the time they don't really feel the need to provide closure and write about people dealing with any of the hurt. (Raise your hand if you're still annoyed with the end of Hickman's Avengers run.) But at the same time, I think that's a quality that makes Avengers ripe for h/c fanfic. Because, generally speaking, fandom likes to provide the things that canon doesn't, and fandom is more than happy to provide the comfort. If you enjoy canonical h/c in comics, I think you really can't go wrong with Iron Man. One of the big innovations of modern Marvel Comics was the concept that heroes would also suffer from relatable human problems, and in practice what this means is that a lot of heroes start with a fully-loaded angst-ridden backstory and origin story, ripe for h/c. So Tony starts out by incurring a heart injury that he fully expects is going to kill him, which he responds to by vowing he won't get close to anyone so they won't be sad when he dies, and throughout the early Silver Age is constantly on the brink of death as his heart nearly gives out on him practically every issue. And then even after his heart gets (mostly) better, there are various plots involving his armor being detrimental to his health and him choosing to fight on anyway. It's hard for me to think of another superhero hitting that particular variety of h/c in exactly the same way. Sure, superheroes risk their lives constantly, because this is how superhero comics work, but Tony is the only one I can think of who is this constantly this badly off, physically. Like, think of all the other heroes who have had a continual solo presence as fan favorites across Marvel history -- Captain America, Thor, Spider-Man, Wolverine, maybe even Deadpool. You know what those guys all have? Healing factors! For the most part, they are not running around continually on the verge of death, and while there are certainly memorable arcs involving several of them being severely injured and/or dead, you really have to work at it. It's not their constant state of affairs, whereas Tony is the kind of superhero who shows up to a fight already bleeding out under his armor. Yeah, I know Extremis gave him a healing factor. But he didn't have it very long, and also he did some extremely dangerous things while he did have it; I'm pretty sure I've never seen Wolverine saying that he'll just solve a problem by cutting off his own foot. So, anyway, yeah, there are a bunch of good arcs involving h/c for Tony. If you're looking for physical injury, he has a whole bunch of heart problems over the years, gets several new hearts, then ruins his brain, et cetera. That level of hurt is basically the background pain of Tony's life; every so often, his heart will get damaged or he'll have to live in the armor or the armor will be killing him, et cetera. If you're looking for more unusual trauma, I am, as always, going to rec Manhunt, a relatively obscure arc in late v3 (IM v3 #65-69) in which Tony has an extremely bad week. His tech is stolen and used to bomb a building. Then he gets shot in the chest. Then while he's at the hospital a nurse tries and fails to poison him, and she then tries to beat him to death. Then he checks himself out of the hospital and a helicopter shoots missiles at him. Then he becomes a fugitive from justice. And then, oh, yeah, he has to fight the Mandarin. It is... a lot. (Volume 3 of Iron Man is pretty good as far as h/c possibilities. You've got a lot of physical pain, Carol's drinking arc, the Sentient Armor, both DreamVision arcs, and Manhunt. Manhunt is finally supposed to be out in trade this month, by the way.) There are of course the drinking arcs, which probably count as their own type of hurt. But if you haven't read the second drinking arc (IM #160-200), please do. Marvel likes to up the stakes on events (Fear Itself, Secret Empire) by making Tony drink, and it does work, I think. I feel like I've spoken at length about Tony's drinking elsewhere so I don't really want to rehash it all here. And then there's the emotional pain. Angst and drama is something that happens to a whole bunch of characters, yes, especially in comics, but somehow Tony seems to end up with possibly more than his fair share of it. Fandom likes to make a lot of Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, so much so that you might think, if you didn't know canon, that this was just fandom running with a throwaway mention of Tony's terrible childhood and making it worse. But, no, canon really does go there with a reasonable amount of frequency. Howard's actual first appearance is in a flashback where he's ordering teenage Tony to break up with his girlfriend because she's the daughter of one of Howard's business rivals. And then we get into the verbal abuse, and the physical abuse, and the time Howard made Tony take his first drink, and the part where Howard was a demon in hell who Tony fought while he insulted him. And more! Currently, in canon, Howard is alive again and is in league with Mephisto for the express purpose of ruining Tony's life. Also when Tony was a baby, Howard tried to trade him to Dracula. I think you can make an argument that fandom is actually showing restraint when compared to canon. Tony also has a whole lot of Terrible Exes whose presence and/or former presence in Tony's life can be used for a lot of hurt. If you've read any amount of fanfic, you probably know that the exes who get the most play in fandom are Sunset Bain and Tiberius Stone -- not that Tony and Ty were ever canonically a couple, of course, but fandom is definitely enamored of this idea. Ty and Sunset both have relatively similar interactions with Tony in canon, in that they are both liars and emotional abusers, heavy on the gaslighting, with the purpose of becoming more successful than Tony. They both also attempt to murder Tony, although this is after he figures out they're evil, at least. (Yes, I know, this is not how either of them usually appear in AUs.) Tony also has a bunch of exes who also have just straight-up tried to murder or otherwise hurt him, sometimes while they are dating, and sometimes before Tony dates them: Whitney Frost, Indries Moomji, Kathy Dare, and Maya Hansen come to mind. There are probably more I'm not thinking of! But, yes, if you want to write about a guy in a series of terrible relationships, please consider Iron Man comics. If mind control is one of your favorite flavors of hurt, Tony's pretty good for that too. We all know about The Crossing. I suppose when I say "mind control" I mostly mean "armor control" because there are an awful lot of plots where someone else makes Tony's armor do whatever they want it to do and Tony is along for the ride -- Demon in a Bottle, Sentient Armor, and Execute Program are the first things that come to mind. There is also a fairly obscure What If that is What If Iron Man Lost The Armor Wars in which Justin Hammer apparently really wants Tony in a mind control collar to take off all his clothes and lounge around in his underwear. No, really. I think a lot of pain for Tony often revolves around his issues with control, generally -- his alcoholism comes into play here again. The entire aftermath of Civil War is also notable for its propensity to hurt Tony over and over and over. Is he stoically soldiering on through his grief after Steve dies? Hell, no! He cries, like, six separate times. He 100% blames himself for Steve's death. It's great. Everybody loves The Confession and the funeral in Fallen Son, but one of my personal favorites is Avengers/Invaders, in which Tony is confronted with a time-traveling Steve from WWII and in order not to screw up the timeline, he can't tell Steve he knows him. He is clearly not coping well. He shuts himself in a room with a giant wall of pictures of Steve! Also there's a part where he has to try to convince Steve he can trust him and he ends up having to tie Steve to a chair to talk to him, and Steve looks at him and asks, "Who did you kill to get where you are?" and I feel like that is probably one of the worst moments in Tony's life. No wonder he gave himself amnesia. So now we might want to ask, okay, but why is hurting Tony in fanfiction so much fun? I mean, I can tell you why I think it's fun. I can't speak for anyone else. One reason is that he is very emotional and very affected by everything he does. Sometimes you will see people complaining that the heroes of m/m fanfic cry too much and this is not realistic. This is not a problem if you're writing Tony! He can cry as much as you want and it's perfectly in character. I don't think it would be as fun to hurt him if he didn't express so much of his pain. But he does. He also feels guilty, and for me that's a very satisfying character element. If he were well-adjusted and didn't blame himself for so many things, it wouldn't be nearly as fun as watching him blame himself for everyone whose death he thinks he is responsible for, whether or not he is. And then he just keeps going, and it's, y'know, nice to watch him be resilient, too. So, I guess, I think hurting him is interesting because it's easy to hurt him, his weak points are pretty obvious, and he reacts a lot. Steve doesn't hurt quite as much as Tony does, in canon. It's certainly possible to hurt him -- I mean, they did actually kill him after Civil War, after all -- but I don't think the canonical patterns of hurting him are as numerous. Obviously deseruming Steve is a fairly popular go-to in terms of physical hurt; he's been deserumed at least three times that I know of. I think's easy to see the appeal there of taking a character who is fairly physically resilient and making him... much less so. Certainly Marvel seems to see the appeal. But other than that I don't think he has any other really common way to get physically injured. Unlike Tony, whose origin story is basically "oh no, I've acquired a disability," Steve's origin story is "I drank a serum that cured all my disabilities." Which, I mean, great wish fulfillment but there's not really as much there to poke at. Pretty much all of Steve's pain is emotional, but, unlike Tony, his pain isn't often specifically in response to someone directly, purposefully hurting him. Hickman's Avengers run is a big exception, yes. His pain seems to come up most often as a kind of situational angst. He feels like a man out of time. He feels out of touch with the modern era, with people his own age. He feels guilt because he feels responsible for Bucky's death. He feels like he can't trust the government and therefore he can't be Captain America. He worries that he doesn't know how to have a normal life. And, yes, these are deep and important worries but it's different than, like, Indries Moomji dumping Tony with the intent to make him sad enough to start drinking. Very few of Steve's villains want to personally ruin Steve's entire life the way Tony's villains do; mostly they just want to do things like bring back the Nazis. In terms of Steve's potential for h/c, I think Steve is harder to hurt than Tony is. Physically, he is definitely harder to hurt. You can deserum him, sure, but unless you want everything you write to be a deseruming fic you're probably not going to want to do that more than a couple of times. And if you want to hurt him physically while he has the serum, you have to hurt him hard. Usually past the point where a regular human would ever survive it. He's also harder to break, emotionally, than Tony is -- which means it's very satisfying when you can get him to break, but this is a guy who's only cried twice (that I remember) in canon. So if you want to get him to cry, you really, really have to wreck him, and he doesn't have as many obvious weak spots. He also doesn't generally sit around blaming himself for things that aren't his fault, and the whole "stewing in guilt" genre of plots for him basically came down to "he was sad that he thought Bucky's death was his fault," and that's really the biggest regret he seems to have, and also Bucky's not dead anymore. The Steve/Tony relationship itself, I would think, is also appealing to h/c fans because canon provides a lot of ways for them to hurt each other. Some people only ship pairings who would never, y'know, take turns beating each other half to death in major event comics. (And for a lot of Marvel Comics history, that was also Steve & Tony, so if you want them to be BFFs who have never fought, you can just set your fic earlier.) They have definitely hurt each other both physically and emotionally, so if you're looking for something easy and satisfying as a h/c fan, you can just read or write something where they... make up. What about Marvel characters other than Steve and Tony? Surely some of them are angsty, yes? Well, yes, but also it depends on the particular flavor of angst that you like. If you like the way Tony hurts, you may very well enjoy Doctor Strange comics, because they have a very similar attitude towards life -- they are both former alcoholics whose origin stories involve physical disabilities, who routinely make tactical decisions that negatively affect their continued existence and/or happiness a whole lot. It's very much an "I must suffer alone in the dark and no one will ever know what I am doing to save the world but it's the right thing to do" sort of vibe. Like, you can read comics where Strange is lying in hell with two broken legs, hallucinating that Clea has finally come to save him. Strange's biggest fear, akin to Tony's control issues, is basically that one day he's going to be an asshole again, so he's out there trying as hard as he can to do good. Also, if you like tentacles, he has all of them. I mean that. Carol also occasionally hits similar angst spots, and her drinking arc is great. A lot of people like Natasha, too; I have read zero Black Widow comics but I get the impression many people enjoy her brand of angst. The mutant metaphor is a little different in terms of overall vibe, but some people really like it as a source of angst -- the whole "protecting a world who hates and fears them" thing. It may not work for you, but if you like your hurt to include things like systemic oppression, go pick up some X-Men comics. Start with something like God Loves Man Kills. I feel like I liked this sort of thing a lot more as a teenager but that I kind of aged out of liking the mutants quite so much. It's also worth mentioning that not everything that hits the spot in one universe will be the same in the others, and I'm mentioning this because I feel like I have to say something about MCU Bucky. MCU fandom seems to get a lot of mileage out of Bucky's guilt about being the Winter Soldier, everything he was forced to do, et cetera. I have definitely read my share of those fics, and FATWS sure went right for that angst too. But as far as I can tell, he doesn't hit the same way at all in 616. And I like him a lot in 616; I'm always pleased when he shows up on a team. (He was so good in Strikeforce. Everyone was so good in Strikeforce.) But the thing is, 616 Bucky is, basically, phenomenally well-adjusted, given everything he's gone through, and I'm including the time he wrestled a bear in a gulag. He gets over having been the Winter Soldier, and now he's just, y'know, a guy with a cool arm who likes to bring guns to every fight to horrify his teammates, and he snarks at Clint. If you're looking for that angst, that is really not him these days. He's all better. So pretty much all that is canon. So what do we do in fandom for h/c? Well, as far as I can tell, a decent amount of it is canon-based or very canon-close -- there are a whole lot of stories exploring the angst of Civil War or Hickman's Avengers run. Tony's drinking comes up a fair amount, and if one of Tony's Evil Exes comes back to haunt him, it's pretty much only Tiberius Stone. I don't think I've read a lot of fic with Steve getting deserumed; it doesn't seem as popular in fandom as in canon. When Steve gets hurt, he tends to just get physically whumped pretty hard, and there's a fair amount of that for Tony too, but of course Steve can take more. There's also a thriving, uh, subgenre of pain involving Hydra Steve doing terrible things to Tony, presumably the terrible things he would have wanted to do to Tony in canon if Tony had had a flesh body. There's the usual kinds of h/c setups that appear in basically every fandom as well -- sickfic, whump, dub-con/non-con. You get the idea. But since fandom in general likes to take specific inspiration from canon, there's a lot of fic where the hurt tends to resemble things that happen more in canon. Like, I feel like comics fic probably has more tentacle fic and more mind control than canons that don't come pre-stocked with those. Probably everybody has a whole lot of "tied up by bad guys," though. And then, of course, fandom brings the comfort that canon does not. This is true in pretty much every fandom -- I mean, you aren't going to find a lot of actual canons where Character A saves Character B from mortal peril and then there's gay sex -- but, like I was saying, comics don't provide a lot of closure before it's onto the next thing. Usually with a different creative team, who has no interest in wrapping up anything from the last team. Steve and Tony talked about the incursions exactly once after Secret Wars and nobody mentioned the part where Steve spent several months trying to hunt Tony down and kill him. Tony is never going to remember the events of Civil War. Hydra Steve died ignominiously in a fire and no one has ever talked about him again. Honestly, if you're looking for a way to get some comfort in your fanfic, picking an event, any event, and just having the characters talk about it will be way more than any of them get in canon. I feel like honestly that can often be a pretty satisfying to read. And even though comics canon physically hurts characters pretty often and pretty badly, they also often skip right past the recovery. Maybe you'll get one page of a character in a hospital bed at the end of the story arc. Maybe you won't. Demon in a Bottle has one splash page of Tony going through alcohol withdrawal and then he's all better. I think Manhunt skips to Tony getting out of the hospital at the end. That's just not a story that they want to tell very often. The second drinking arc is notable in that it devotes almost as many issues to Tony's recovery as it does to getting him to rock-bottom. Similarly, Steve is done with his Nomad angst way way faster than you probably think he is (though The Captain does go in for a fair number of issues). So one of the things we often want to do in fandom is focus on all the bits that canon skips over, both in the "why did no one ever mention this story arc ever again" way and the "wow, so how long are they in the hospital after that" way. That's really all I can think of about h/c! I'm off to write some more of it!

#posts i actually wrote

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jessikahathaway · 4 years ago

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Into Eternity - Part XIV

Holy shit I’m back. Here’s the next chapter, hope you enjoy :)

Pairing: Jimin X Reader

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Royalty!AU

Words: 5,439

Warnings: Major Character Death

You woke up that morning, warmth covering your back. Jimin’s arm wound tightly around your body.

Groaning slightly, you shifted in discomfort. Your husband truly did a number on you last night.

“Darling...?” Jimin said, moving from behind you at your pained noise.

“I’m fine Jimin, go back to bed,” you said, coughing suddenly hitting your chest hard.

“Y/N?” He said, laying you on your back against the pillows.

Shame crossed his face as he saw the state you were in. Your body bruised from his hands, no doubt between your legs hurt even worse. But what killed him was the smile on your face. It was big and bright, like it always was when you saw him.

“I’m fine, Jimin, truly-” more coughing came from your lips.

“I’ll get you something,” he said, covering you up with the blankets and hurrying to grab his clothes that had sat on the floor all night.

“Jimin come back to bed,” you whined. Your pleading tone made his fluffy head pop up from the other side of the mattress.

“But you’re sick-” he began.

“Sick and tired of waiting for you to get back in this bed!”

“Now aren’t you a little monster, demanding things so early,” he muttered.

“I’m so sore,” You huffed, leaning back into the pillows.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been more gentle,” Jimin lamented.

“You can always make it up to me,” you teased, rubbing a thumb along his pouty lips.

Jimin’s eyes grew wide at your suggestion, taking your thumb in his mouth obediently. Just as you were about to suggest your less than appropriate plan to your husband, a knock came to the door.

“Highness? Lady Y/N? The morning has broken, we have a witch to kill,” Jungkook’s voice echoed through the room.

The playful air diminished as you looked at Jimin with fear in your eyes.

“Very good, Jungkook. We will be out momentarily,” Jimin answered.

The sound of the head guard walking away made your body tense. Jimin’s palm found your back as you shuddered from the cold. Bringing your body close to his he sighed.

“If only we could stay in this bed all day, my love,” Jimin teased, “I wish I never had to see you put on another gown in my life.”

“Yet you’re the one always buying them for me,” you countered.

Jimin laughed and fell back onto the bed with you in his arms. “We’ll be free after this day, Y/N... Free to live how we want... To rule how we want. The Kingdom is ours once we get back to the Royal Palace... What is the first thing you’d like to do as Queen?” he asked.

“First thing I’d like to do as Queen,” you thought... Your eyes became starry as you pondered all the possibilities. Jimin loved this look in your eyes. So sparkly and bright. He’ll never tire of it as you grow old together. Because this is the look of a woman who has a future. Not the dead eyed look of a woman who was not living her days, but existing within them. Your doe eyes made him chuckle, snapping you out of your stupor.

“What’s so humourous to you?” you asked, raising a brow in his direction.

Jimin simply shook his head, placing a kiss on your hairline.

“Nothing, my love. Nothing at all.”

---

The first time you laid eyes on Morgana was horrifically calm. She wasn’t angry, nor was she stupendously hideous. She merely look like a feeble, old woman. One who should be walking around with a cane and a small smile etched into her aged skin. But, you knew the truth about her. She was a wicked, despicable woman. One who prayed on the weak of will and faint of heart. She had a sliver of ice that had consumed her heart and soul.

Now, as you looked at her in chains, your heart still raced.

Your palms still sweat.

Because you knew she could kill you. And she would given the chance.

Jimin’s hand was interlocked with your own. The pair of you were walking behind the procession. Jungkook was at the front, leading with his hand on his saber the entire time. Father Jin and Hoseok were next, holding Morgana with the magically charmed restraints. Lord Taehyung and Yoongi were behind them, keeping a good distance between you and her.

You looked nervously at Jimin, knowing something was off in the air. You could feel it in your gut, something was wrong.

“Jimin,” you whispered, leaning into his side. He accepted you there, holding you around the waist as the pair of you walked.

“Yes my love?” he asked, kissing your head gently.

“Something is wrong, something doesn’t feel right,” you warned.

“I understand your nerves, we are about to kill the witch that has made our lives hell. You are nervous, as am I... But I know we must do this. This is the right thing,” Jimin stated.

“J-Jimin that’s not it,” you whimpered.

“Y/N? What is it?” he asked.

“I-”

“Up ahead!” Hoseok shouted, pointing to the monument growing in the distance.

“Finally, soon we’ll be free,” Jimin breathed.

Before you in the sky rose four large stone gates that appeared to be facing in the cardinal directions. In the very center was a pedestal, covered in green moss and lichens. You shivered in the chill of the winter air. But how was there life growing upon the rock in this kind of weather?

“Wow, do you feel that?” Jimin asked as the two of you got closer.

“Yes, it feels... Strong,” you whispered back.

“It’s the magical energy of the monument. It was here before my forefathers were born. They performed all of their rituals here during the dark ages. They prayed to their Gods to provide good harvest, to have the women birth healthy young, for the Kingdom to be prosperous. But they gave that up when the frosts started to become more brutal, women started dying as well as the children. There’s a reason the capitol isn’t here anymore,” Jimin explained.

“Morgana, to the pedestal,” Jungkook practically growled.

You stood besides Jimin, gripping his hand as you watched the witch get led forward. Father Jin latched his side into a stone hitch that lay towards the back of the cold slab of rock. Hoseok did the same on his side.

“Morgana, you are here for committing attempted murder on the King and Queen of this Kingdom,” Jungkook began.

“Which one? There’s been many before these little gutter snipes,” she sneered. You cringed as you saw her teeth, cracked and green before you. Jimin held you close, smoothing his hands down your back.

“Silence you putrid hag!” Jungkook yelled.

“I will read you your rights under God,” Jin said, approaching her with a tenderness she didn’t deserve.

“I don’t believe in your God, take pity on yourself and save the breath, you will need it for when your blood curdling screams take off across the snow later,” she smiled.

“What?” Taehyung said.

Her broken cackle echoed across the area, filling your stomach to the brim with dread. You knew something wasn’t right. You knew it, and yet you still followed. You let Jimin come here, and now-

SNAP.

The chains that held Morgana’s hands to the rocks broke, as if made of string. Jimin threw you behind him, keeping you out of her sight.

Jungkook moved to attack, when Morgana moved her hand, sending Jungkook flying into the stone column behind him.

“Jungkook!” Hoseok yelled.

“Now now, Hoseok... Let’s not pretend anymore shall we?” she teased.

Your blood ran cold.

“No,” you breathed, the fog of the word catching in the air in front of your face. But you still found yourself reeling.

“Hoseok you traitor! I’ll never forgive you for this!” Jimin snarled.

“I’ll never forgive you for taking me away from my pregnant wife! From my child whom I never got to hold in my arms. No, I had to follow my Prince’s orders and miss my wife’s delivery... But no matter, they will be back soon enough,” Hoseok huffed.

“Hoseok, they’re gone. But that isn’t Jimin’s fault! It’s her! It’s Morgana’s fault! She’s the one who attacked the village where they were! Jimin had nothing to do with that!” you tried to rationalize.

“He knew she could go into labor any day, and yet he still sent me. Not Jungkook, not my brother Namjoon. Me,” Hoseok stated.

“Hoseok, you were the only man who could do what I asked. You know that!”

“I can’t forgive you Highness... I just... I can’t,” Hoseok whispered.

“Hoseok dear, I believe it’s time for you to fulfill your end of the bargain,” Morgana chuckled.

“Yes, I believe it is,” Hoseok said. He took out both of his daggers, wielding them in the air before running.

Straight for you.

You closed your eyes tight and waited for a blow that never came. But a sharp metallic ringing is what echoed through the air, not your screams. You peaked your eye open and saw Jimin, sword drawn and being pushed against by Hoseok’s daggers.

“I won’t let you touch her,” Jimin growled, shoving Hoseok back hard against the rock.

“You won’t get a chance to say otherwise,” Hoseok rebuked.

The two began to fight. Jimin on the defense while Hoseok came at him again and again. You watched in horror as the two parried and lunged at each other. It was as if they were dancing, each trying to outsmart the other in the way they moved their bodies.

Hoseok was much more aggressive than Jimin. Hoseok had power behind each move, but Jimin had agility. He swooped and ducked, even falling to the ground to avoid his attacker.

But Hoseok was getting frustrated fast. He wanted this to end, and quickly.

“Hoseok, we’re like brothers, why are you fighting me?” Jimin asked, practically pleading in his tone.

“My family was all I had, and you took that away from me... So I’ll take your family away too,” Hoseok stated, lunging past Jimin’s cheek, leaving a cut across the tender flesh there.

“Jimin!” you yelped, moving to rush forward when you were caught around the waist. Taehyung whispered in your ear, pulling you further away from the action.

“Don’t, let them go, they need to do this,” he explained.

“They’re going to hurt each other, I can’t let that happen,” you whimpered.

“Neither of them truly want to hurt the other, but we need to fool Morgana” Taehyung whispered.

“But his cheek,” you gaped.

“It’s all a show, Morgana thinks that Hoseok is on her side...”

“On her side?”

“Hoseok confessed last night. He told us about his plans and what Morgana was forcing him to do. And that it was all based on the promise of his family being returned to him. But Father Jin discovered that Morgana has never possessed the power to reanimate beings, she was lying to get to him. The weakness of his recent loss made him susceptible,” Taehyung said, slowly pulling you away from their fighting.

Suddenly, you felt a force rip Taehyung from your side, throwing you to the ground with the strength of it. There was ice in your mouth as you coughed, your lungs desperate for oxygen. “Enough!”

Morgana’s sharp voice echoed through the cold stone.

“Y/N!”

You looked up from the snow and towards her. Jimin and Hoseok were breathing heavily, looking at each other with fierce eyes. For people who didn’t really want to kill each other, they were certainly playing the role well.

“Hoseok. That little wench over there is still breathing. Why is that?” Hoseok froze.

“He’s not giving me any room to attack,” Hoseok explained, sweat dripping from his brow..

“I have a reason not to lose,” Jimin stated, “I won’t let her watch me fail.”

Hoseok lunged forward, appearing to attempt a surprise attack, but Jimin simply moves to the side with practiced ease. Hoseok’s face flushed with frustration.

“My prince, you are stubborn. I will give you that, but I won’t lose. I can’t.”

Hoseok moved forward again, and this time Jimin moves a second too late. You heard him hiss in pain as Hoseok’s dagger shredded through his jacket and shirt, cutting his upper bicep.

You screamed and Morgana’s eyes focused on you. A shudder ran down your spine, the equivalent to ice water running through your veins at the look in her eyes. It was as if you were the very bane of her existence. As if she hated nothing more in the world...

Jimin gripped his arm, blood beginning to seep from the wound. “You caught me off guard, Hoseok. Revel in that attack, because it will be the last one you land on me,” Jimin teased, hitting Hoseok’s dagger from his hand and kicking him square in the chest. Hoseok’s breath flew from him as he landed harshly against the ground, Jimin’s shoe digging into his tender flesh.

“Hoseok, it appears I have the upper hand. And what do you say to that?” Jimin gloated.

“I say, NOW NAMJOON!” Hoseok cried.

“Namjoon?!” you yelled.

Then, Morgana lurched forward unnaturally, legs bowing forward as her chest puffed out. Behind her, Namjoon stood bravely. His saber skewered her, through and through.

Tears sprung to your eyes. He wasn’t dead. He survived the Forsaken, and now he was here to fulfill his promise to you and Jimin both.

Hoseok smiled as Morgana cried out, black blood pouring from her ripped skin. Gurgling sounds echoed throughout the clearing, making your stomach churn. Namjoon pressed his foot into her back and shoved her off his sword, watching as she fell into a heap on the ground.

“Hoseok... Y-you traitor... N-Now your family will... be in purga-tory for the... rest of time,” she groaned from the bloodied Earth.

“My family will rest in peace with their murderer dead,” he growled.

Morgana lay there, unmoving. Tentatively, you stood, holding your side.

“Ji-Jimin?” you asked, looking at him with teary eyes.

“Y/N,” he breathed.

You ran over, past Morgana’s body and wrapped your arms around your husband. Jimin smiled as he picked you up and spun you around. Pure elation ran through your veins, burning bright from within you.

“We’re free,” he whispered, kissing your face. You smiled as he set you down, hands locked behind his neck.

“We need to clean your cheek,” you whispered, fingers tracing his wound in a delicate manner.

“We’ll worry about that later, I think someone wants to say hello to you,” Jimin stated.

You turned around and saw Namjoon looking at you, a big grin on his dirty face. “Lady Y/N,” Namjoon greeted, bowing slightly. You matched his smile and ran over, giving him a big hug too.

“I thought we’d lost you,” you whispered, holding him tight.

“I have a duty to uphold my lady. A duty that I will forever follow,” Namjoon declared.

“I’m so glad we wound up not needing this,” Father Jin said, pulling out a small knife.

“What is it?” you asked, taking the blade between your fingers.

“Careful, there is an extremely potent poison placed on the blade,” he warned.

“Why didn’t we just use this instead of Namjoon’s saber, this is more discreet,” you pondered.

“Well it was kind of our last resort. It’s dangerous to wield it as well, because just a nick with this blade could spell death for the injured, I didn’t want to risk anyone’s life if it wasn’t necessary,” Father Jin explained.

“Y/N, you should put it down,” Jimin said, moving forward.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. Looking up at your husband, pure fear trickled down your spine. Morgana’s corpse had moved, standing behind him in a menacing posture.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Jungkook started to run from his place behind the pedestal. Father Jin was thrown backwards, as well as Namjoon and Hoseok. Taehyung remained back where the two of you had been thrown earlier, but his eyes widened in shock. Yoongi took aim from the back.

Before you had time to think, you moved forward shoving Jimin to the ground. Morgana’s blade barely missed his neck... However, it stabbed into your stomach square on. Pain erupted from your abdomen.

Jimin looked up in horror.

His wife...

His beloved wife stood above him, taking a dagger meant for him.

“Y/N! No!”

“I knew you’d protect him. Finally,” she sneered as she twisted the blade in your stomach. You whimpered in pain, feeling your strength begin to sap from your limbs.

“I-I’ll always... protect him,” you heaved.

“Foolish girl, this is what love gets you. Pain and suffering,” Morgana declared.

“No, love has brou-ught me so m-much more than you’ll e-ever know.”

Jimin was frozen to the spot, his heart hammering against his chest. How could he let this happen? He was a failure. He couldn’t even protect his wife from the one thing he knew would harm her.

He failed you.

“Die and know that your husband will fall in love with me, forgetting all about you. All he will know, is me,” she gritted, pulling the knife from your abdominal area.

You collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from your wound. Jimin scrambled to hold you, gripping your face. “Y/N, Y/N look at me,” he panicked, keeping your face level with his.

Morgana grabbed him by the back of his shirt, lifting him into the air with ease. She smiled a black tooth grin at him, making Jimin want to gag. Sniffing around his hair and neck, Morgana licked his injured cheek. She shuddered, seeming to enjoy the sensation of his agony.

“Your despair is so delicious my sweet, and your blood is addictive... God, I can’t wait for you to be mine,” she beamed.

“I-I’ll never be yours,” he fought, kicking his legs and attempting to fall from her ironclad grasp.

As she toyed with Jimin like a cat with a mouse, you saw your opportunity. Reaching forward, you took the knife in your hand and stabbed it directly into her foot.

Morgana shrieked, dropping Jimin onto the ground as she glared at you.

“You little bitch!” she cried, kicking you in the jaw. You groaned in pain, head knocking back aggressively.

“Y/N!” he whimpered.

However, just as Jin said, the poison began to take effect. Morgana’s body seized up unnaturally, twitching and shuddering in pain. “W-What is this?”

“Nightshade poison, mixed with brimstone you unholy demon!” Father Jin cried.

“N-No!” Morgana howled, body crumpling to the ground, continuing to twinge until a few moments later when she finally laid still.

Namjoon rushed over and pushed her over with his foot and took the dagger, ramming in through her skull. Crimson blood and brain matter covered the ground, making your head spin.

The air was eerily quiet.

A soft breeze came over the party.

Jimin scrambled onto his feet, rushing over to your mangled body on the ground. “Y/N? Y/N can you hear me?” he asked, pulling you into his lap.

Your eyes were drooping as you looked at your husband. Your vision was doubling, seeing your husband multiply and then come back to one person made your mind whirl in confusion. “Jimin,” you whispered.

“I’m here my love, I’m right here,” he said, holding your hand to his cheek.

“I-I’m dying,” you stated, weak voice cracking from the strain of speaking.

“No, no Y/N you’re going to be just fine, you’ll be okay,” Jimin said in a pained voice.

He held you close, leaning into your palm that cupped his cheek. Namjoon stood behind him, face grim. Father Jin had come up, kneeling down besides the two of you. Taehyung and Jungkook stood back, looking on with sorrow in their eyes. Hoseok couldn’t bear to watch.

“Keep pressure on it,” Father Jin ordered, pressing his robes to your wounds in an act of desperation.

“Will she live? Father please tell me you can help her,” Jimin pleaded.

Father Jin kept applying pressure to your wound, but you couldn’t feel it anymore... You had gone blissfully numb. You brushed his wounded cheek once more, frowning at the injury with distaste.

“We nee-d, to clean your c-cheek,” you coughed, blood seeping into Father Jin’s robes at an alarming rate.

Jimin felt his stomach drop into the Earth. “Just keep your eyes open, focus on me,” Jimin begged, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. You tried your best, you really did. But your head was swimming from blood loss and pain that it was impossible to complete the task.

“Jimin, we’re... free,” you breathed.

“We are my love, we are free, so now you have to live... You have to live so we can have a family, rule the kingdom together, love each other... forever,” he sobbed.

“I love you... so much, J-Jimin,” you stuttered, vision finally blotting out.

“I love you too, I will love you for the rest of my days,” Jimin cried.

You went limp in his arms, blood starting to stop it’s flow from your wound. Father Jin removed his hands, leaning back and looking down at the ground with tears falling from his eyelashes.

“Father, we must keep pressure on the wound,” he shouted, pressing his hands to your stomach with anguish.

“No we don’t Highness, no we don’t,” Father Jin cried softly.

Jungkook turned his back and was shaking, trying to keep himself together.

“Highness, I failed you, I’m so sorry,” Jungkook weeped.

Taehyung wrapped his arms around the younger male, bringing him to his chest. Taehyung coddled him like a small babe fretting. However, honestly the older man just didn’t want his subordinate to see him cry.

Yoongi covered his mouth, shocked by the proceedings.

Hoseok collapsed to his knees. “I-I... After everything we did, I gave up everything... And she still beat us,” he whispered.

Namjoon moved over to Jimin, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Highness, we must go, the Forsaken still exist, and they will be savage at the loss of their Queen.”

Jimin shook his head, burying his face into your cold neck. “I can’t leave her, I refuse,” he whimpered.

“Highness,” Namjoon urged.

“No! I won’t leave her here, I promised I would never leave her,” Jimin howled. Anguish covered the younger man’s features. Tears ran down his cheeks, making pathways to the earth on his face.

“Jimin!” Namjoon screamed.

The world was rocked into utter silence.

“We all loved her, we all are going to miss her. But now we have to let her go... We have to go, the last thing Lady Y/N would’ve wanted is for you to die with her as well. She died so you could go on living, please Jimin... Please let her go,” Namjoon said.

“Perhaps he can’t,” a distant voice uttered.

Namjoon pulled out his sword, directing it towards the noise.

“Who’s there?” Namjoon called, looking into the distance.

Jimin cradled your body closer to him, hand smoothing down your hair as he cried.

A sliver of blue mist appeared, circling above you and Jimin both. Namjoon pulled out his saber and pointed it into the air.

“Back demons, we’ve already lost so much today, please have mercy,” Namjoon stated, closing his eyes.

“My sweet Y/N,” Jimin sobbed, kissing the tomb of your head. The poor man was broken. The one thing he loved most in this world, taken from him in an instant. He thought the two of you were going to be together forever... But why did forever have to be so short?

“We... are not... demons,” a sweet tone answered.

“This is where we lost each other, and found each other again,” another voice answered.

“Who are you?” Taehyung shouted.

“I am Park Lee Suk, High King of Arcane Kingdom,” one sliver of blue mist answered, transforming into a full apariton. One that looked exactly like the deceased High King.

“And I am Park Lu Na, High Queen of Arcane Kingdom... Or, at least I was supposed to be,” she smiled, sheepish as her body came into view.

“Ghosts?” Jungkook whispered, trying to be brave.

“If you’d like to think of us that way, perhaps it will make it easier,” Luna said, smiling softly at the young male.

“Why are you here?” Father Jin asked, looking at them with interest. He’d never seen spirits before, the Holy words spoke of the dearly departed who can’t move on, whether it be an untimely end or unfinished business that keeps them...

“My poor child,” Lee Suk said, kneeling behind Jimin.

Jimin tightened his grip around you, cradling you close to his chest. “Who are you?”

“You don’t remember me, boy? You look an awful lot like me,” Lee Suk smiled.

“Y-You’re... You’re the ancestor who fell in love with Morgana!” Jimin exclaimed.

“It was not love that Morgana and I shared. She forced me into loving her, placed me under a spell of infatuation. The only thing powerful enough to break that spell, was true love. And Luna here, she set me free. Much like how Y/N set you free as well,” Lee Suk said, giving the boy a reminiscent look.

“Why are you here?” Jungkook asked, coming forward and placing his hand on his sword.

“Oh there’s no need for that.

“Oh, Y/N,” Luna said, coming closing and sitting besides you.

“Y/N,” Jimin whispered, brushing the hair from your face, keeping you within his grasp.

“Tell me, Jimin,” Lee Suk began, placing a phantom hand on Jimin’s shoulder, “Do you believe you could love after Y/N?”

“How could you ask me that? I can’t ever love someone the way I love her... Y/N is everything to me... And now she's gone...”

All beating hearts in the area ached with his broken tone. Jimin looked so utterly torn apart by your passing.

“I want to know you mean it, Jimin,” Luna said, looking him dead in the eyes.

“I can’t ever love someone the way I love Y/N, she’s the love of my life. The only love of my life, and today I failed her... I let her down. When she needed me the most, I couldn’t protect her. It’s all my fault,” Jimin whimpered, hiding his face in your stiff neck.

Luna and Lee Suk looked to one another and nodded before coming towards your body. Jimin tightened his grip around you and tried to keep you away from them.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking at them with uncertainty.

“Just trust us my child,” Lee Suk said, interlocking his hands with Luna.

“Lay her down,” Luna said, motioning with her head.

“I-”

“Sire,” Namjoon interrupts, “Do as they say.” Jimin gave him a frightened look, as if letting you go would mean losing you forever.

“Okay,” Jimin whispered, slowly lowering you from his iron grip to the soft and white blanket of the snow below.

Your hair fanned out against the beautiful ice crystals made Jimin want to cry harder. But soon, his ancestor and yours went to work.

They started at your head, laying their hands about a foot above you. A piercing blue light emanating from their palms. Jimin could barely keep his eyes open, but he watched on with morbid curiosity. Carefully they pressed on, moving over your neck and chest. As they proceeded Jimin realized they were whispering to each other.

Whether it was sweet nothings or a spell, Jimin couldn’t be sure. But soon, you were starting to rise from the snow, levitating into the air with the same blue aura encompassing you now.

“What’s going on?” Yoongi asked, looking up at you.

“I think,” Father Jin began, “I think I know this spell.”

“Father, what are they doing to her?” Taehyung asked, coming up to hold onto Jimin, who looked ready to collapse.

“They are giving the last of themselves. Their very essence, to bring her back,” Father Jin said,

“Oh God please let this work,” Hoseok said, rubbing his face.

“It has to, what other option do we have?” Jungkook whispered.

You were now at least twenty feet in the air, your body surrounded by this blue light. Lee Suk and Luna were with you also.

“Y/N,” Jimin croaked, reaching out for you like a child.

“Be strong Jimin,” Taehyung said wrapping his hand around his friend’s wrist. Trying desperately to stop his own tears.

“Taehyung what if they can’t bring her back? What am I to do?” Jimin whispered.

“Don’t think like that, this will work,” Namjoon said, coming forward to hold onto his friend’s shoulders.

The rest of the men came forward. Showing their support in the only way they could. By being there, next to their King, whom they adored more than anything. Father Jin came forward and took Jimin’s hands.

“Father?” he asked, looking down in confusion.

“You must say these words with me,” he said, wrapping his hands around Jimin’s slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“I know this spell, and it is difficult and rarely used. They’re giving their life force, their souls to bring her back. And they need our help. We must complete the circle for them. They are trying to do it with two people and it’s not enough. We must help them if we are to bring Lady Y/N back,” Father Jin urged, reaching out for the Taehyung as well. “All of you, interlock hands and repeat after me.”

The men did as they were told, all coming together and joining hands.

“From the blessed light above.”

“To the hellish darkness that consumes all.”

“We ask you take this offering of two souls.”

“We ask you to take this offering of two souls.”

The light above them began to pulsate and writhe as if it were wrapping itself around you in a way that was binding.

“Focus on the words men! Only the words!”

“But Father Y/N-”

“Will remain as she is if we don’t continue!”

“Keep going!” Jungkook yelled.

“Please accept our humble offering.”

“Arenatha hotep, inelex totum.”

“Urelian, mosef Y/N, et illiad terinuman.”

“Urelian, mosef Y/N, et iliad terinuman.”

“So let it be done. On this Earth, there may remain only one!”

The light above turned crimson red. Lee Suk peered down at his descendant. A bright smile crossed his face. “I hope you two are happy, like we never could be. Please, never take her for granted. Always cherish her, and remember us.”

Jimin looked at him, a single tear falling down his cheek and he nodded.

With that, the light burst as bright as an explosion lighting up the sky with its fury. Father Jin turned and looked up at your body still hovering in the air.

“She’s gonna fall! Hurry, get ready to catch her!”

Everyone gathered around, locking arms and creating a sort of net to ensure you wouldn’t hit the ground. Soon your body hit the ‘net’, causing everyone to fall down with you. Luckily the snow was deep and took a majority of the impact. Your skin was still paler than Father Jin had hoped. And your dress was still coated in your blood.

“Get her up on the stone, I need to examine her,” Father Jin said, urging everyone up.

“Father did it work?” Jimin asked, coming closer.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, helping to lift you into the air and onto the slab of stone next to you.

“Father,” Jungkook started. “There are Forsaken in this area, we need to move.”

“Jungkook is right, we can’t stay here,” Namjoon responded, coming forward.

“Is there any way for us to move her?” Yoongi asked, looking along the forest line his bow drawn.

“We can move her,” Father Jin answered.

“Then let’s get her to the carriage and back to the castle. I’ll send for guards to come as soon as it is possible,” Jungkook said, moving towards the stone slab.

“Taehyung get Jimin to the carriage as fast as you can, we’ll get Lady Y/N,” Namjoon said.

“Yes, Jimin come on, we’ve got to go,” Taehyung said, pulling his friend by the wrist.

“Y/N,” he whimpered, softly.

“She’ll be alright, come along,” Taehyung cooed.

Jimin slowly tore his eyes away from you and followed Taehyung to the carriage.

#Jimin #Park Jimin #into eternity #Jimin X Reader #Jimin X Reader Smut #Smut #BTS #Bangtan #Jessika Hathaway #Ficswithluv

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fiery-assassin-arc · 4 years ago

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꧁༒☬𝓒𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓮 –𝓘𝓻𝓲𝓼’𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥☬༒꧂

He remains still, not wanting to attack. Hands behind his back. Gentle smile. I am still holding the fire poker in my hands, aimed at him. Part of me wants to attack, but he knows I wouldn’t. I was blinded by rage that day.

He knows I’m haunted by what he did.

I wonder if he had time to reflect.

“Put that down, Phoenix.”

“Why are you in my home?” I accuse, taking a step closer, placing it by his chest. “How are you in my home?”

“I’m the Grandmaster of lock-picking as well as the Lin Kuei.” He explains, raises his eyebrow ever slightly. I should have known. “As for the why,” He looks at the fire poker, me, then at the improv weapon again. “I would like to talk it over with you, if you’re willing to listen to me.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. Contemplating my options. I could listen to him, or get him out of the house. I never did listen to him that day. Even at the pyre, I stood far away from the others as they mourned. I was angry, but how I had to force his hand to have Frost be buried along with the others… I don’t know if I can forgive him. But I’ve also grown so much with him, he’s helped me slowly overcome my fear of the dark (managed, not completely eradicated).

I put the fire poker on the rack, and gesture him to the kitchen. “Hungry? I’m sure you’ve had a long journey.” At his shrug of indifference, I make my way to the kitchen, checking to see if he follows.

Just because I’m angry at him, doesn’t mean I no longer respect him.

He sits on the bar stool, looking uncomfortable as I grab ingredients for colcannon. Potatoes, kale, butter, heavy cream. His cold is familiar I clear my throat, hoping it could ease the tension here. “How are things?”

“The temple has slowly come back to normal. Some new recruits have joined.” He tells me, looks at how I cut the potatoes. Even, use the knife to peel the skin carefully. “Some of the other members miss you, Phoenix. I have missed you.”

The knife slams down on the cutting board, remembering the name I gave myself. It was the rebirth from the ashes. But now I am ash, nothing to spark me. “I don’t know if I can come back stronger like last time.” I say to him. I continue cooking. Boiling the potatoes.

“I have watched you go from a little, barely sparking ember on wood to a forest fire. Destructive, powerful, confident. You have grown in the past five years. Whatever ails you, you will overcome.” There’s pride in his voice, a gentle smile that I haven’t seen in a while.

“Yeah, but now I’m back to where I started.” I argue, before chopping up the kale. “You never did answer my question on why you’re here.”

“I know you have taken a leave of absence. Because you are upset with me.” Sub-Zero sighs, and his hands slap his thighs. “On that day, I thought I could possibly disengage her thoughts, put her in temporary rest. But Raiden decided that it was best to eliminate her entirely. And I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him in time, or didn’t say anything to prevent it.”

I look over at him. His ocean eyes show an amount of regret. I never did look at him that day. All I say was someone who indirectly took something most important from me.

“You both had such a powerful bond, the same Hanzo and I once had. When she challenged me, I made the choice of exile because I would not, could not kill her; deep down I cared for her like one would a daughter to a father. Same with you.” He sighs, and I pass him the bowl of potatoes, and the masher. He chuckles. “What’s this?”

“Mashing potatoes is better than hurting yourself. Trust me. Do it.” I offer, leaning on the kitchen counter.

“That won’t be left unchecked.” Sub-Zero says, and proceeds to mash the vegetable, continues. “I was angry with her when I found she had allied herself with Sektor. I did not hold her back, she simply needed more guidance, even though she was Chief. And I remember how you were hurt by my choices, yet you remained loyal. Why?”

Why. That’s what it all boils down to, does it? Everyone has a why, but do I? I sigh, crack my knuckles. “I did what I thought was right that day. I argued with her earlier that it was foolish to do so, but she didn’t push me to join her.” I look into the bowl of potatoes—looks good enough. But he’s still mashing them in a clockwise motion. “I trusted your judgment, in the end. And I believed, maybe, maybe she’d come back to us.” To me.

“I remember you told me Frost didn’t cyberize you. She set you free.”

“She did. But we fought before that. I don’t know what provoked her, but I noticed her movements…” Sub-Zero pushes the bowl to me, and I prepare the rest of the dish. Adding butter, cream. “It was if she held some sort of restraint. Not completely, but enough to overpower, and get a chance to escape. It was before you and Master Hasashi arrived.” I add salt and pepper. “I think then, she still protected me.” Toss in the kale. Get some bowls for us.

“At least there were still parts of her that were human. Her love for you never left her even when she changed.” He reaches a hand over, hesitant. I slowly take it, embrace the chill. “I hope what I said is enough for closure.”

I feel a lump in my throat, unable to melt with the heat, and I feel tears burn my eyes. Second time today. It’s nice to hear how he really felt that day.

“It’s a start, but it doesn’t mean I’ll forgive you right away. I may need time.”

“That is something I will accept, Phoe—Iris.” He sends me a crooked smile. It’s a comfort to me. “And know, you will always have a home at the temple.”

“And you have a place to stay at the palace,” I offer. “But why do I sense there’s something else…”

Sub-Zero presses his lips into a thin line. “What you said earlier. About cooking is better than hurting yourself. The way you held the fire poker, I notice a look in your eyes: fear.” When I eat as a distraction, he goes on. “Something happened to you, did it?”

I swallow, my food suddenly bland in my mouth. “Grandmaster . . .”

Sub-Zero takes a deep breath, gently pats my shoulder. “I won’t make you tell me, but when you get the chance, you know I’ll be lending an ear.”

I nod. “I appreciate it. You should eat your colcannon, it’s going to get cold.”

“I’m sorry—my what?”

“Colcannon. It’s potatoes with a green vegetable in it. It’s really good.” I gesture to his bowl. “Try some.”

“I guess I will indulge.” Sub-Zero takes a spoonful of the dish, his mouth twisting into a frown. “It’s . . . good.”

“Do you not like the food or my cooking?”

“Erm..”

“You’re a shit liar, Grandmaster Sub-Zero.” At that, we both chuckle softly, the fireplace our music as we try to reform a bond like a lost father and daughter.

This is something. Not like therapy. Or maybe it is. Because a slight weight is off of my chest.

Bend the knee. Lift the leg, Stretch. Repeat until it does something. My pointe shoes are almost ruined, the dirt under the padding and blood seeping at the toe. But it shows dedication, it shows my determination.

I landed the role of the Black Swan, and I’m doing my best to make my moveset more . . . seductive. I would have once gone for the White Swan, but shockingly enough I landed a role that was new to me. I’ll take it.

I walk to the center of the room, and start the dance, Christian screeching words of encouragement with Wren watching. I made one of my rooms a makeshift ballet studio. “Thanks buddy.” I say softly.

“How does it feel being the Black Swan instead one of the little swans?”

“It feels great.” I say, doing a pirouette. “It was fun being the cute swan, but now, being kind of like the bad guy, I’m enjoying it.”

Wren smiles, and lightly coughs into her hand. That’s the second time today. And earlier this morning at brunch. “Let’s hope you won’t become like that ballerina in that movie. Don’t overwork yourself, and don’t stress.” Wren reassures me, shaking off an invisible feeling.

“Do you want some tea? You’re acting like you have a cold.” I stop my practice, and lean against the bar. “Please don’t tell me you caught a cold.”

She scoffs. “What are you worried about? You don’t get sick.”

“Not often. But it’s annoying when the symptoms pop up. I’ll get chills instead of fevers.” I shudder, before redirecting our conversation back. “But you’ve been warm. Your temperature is higher.”

“Maybe I am catching a cold.” I take a step back in fear. She scratches her head. “Or the flu. I’ve been a little nauseated.”

“Have you? For how long?”

“A few days.” Wren sighs. “I’m pretty sure it’s nothing. Now, you’ve made me your ballet coach. So I say we keep going. Come on, show me . . . something alluring.”

I laugh, turn the music back on. I arch my back, my hand floating above my head, spinning on my toes. I make my movements fluid, but sharp. As I look at Wren, I notice how she almost looked a little tired than usual.

Ever since the marriage between her and my brother, Wren has been like a big sister to me, making me laugh and giving me advice, especially when it came to dating. Being myself. But how can I, now? When I no longer know myself?

I spin in a flurry, going at least five times. Stopping once and going once again. Looking at the mirrors. Then I see her.

Someone who died years ago.

The vibrant red hair. The ember eyes, red from angry tears. A bruise under her eye. Blood on her lip. The dress she’s wearing is black. Darkened by obvious stains.

It’s a younger version of me.

I trip my spin and fall on the ground, pain radiating up my leg. My breathing is fast. My heart hurts. What the—why am I seeing a young version of me?

Christian screeches in worry and flies over to me. His head touches my cheek. “I’m okay, boy.” I tell him. Wren looks at me with concern, helping me up. “No, really I’m fine. Let’s keep going, yeah?”

“…Are you sure? That was a nasty fall.”

“I’m sure. And turn up the music louder.” I say, and practice on the other side of the room. Making sure not to look at any mirrors.

#tw blood mention #tw death mention #Of Embers and ashe #{{ Oops

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louhooo · 5 years ago

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Father Like Son

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sugar isn’t that bad, right?

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Swearing, pregnancy, FLUFF

Prompt: step away from the cookies

A/N: Did I stay up until midnight even though I had to work the next day to finish this? Mmm YEAH! Does someone (I’m someone) procrastinate way too much for their own good? Mmm YEAH! This is for @nacho-bucky‘s writing challenge! Cait, even though I don’t know you personally, I feel like you’re one of the sweetest people on here, and I would like to be your friend pls

Feedback is always welcomed! 💘

You pushed yourself up in bed and Bucky inhaled sharply, still in a sleep-induced haze as he started to sit up.

“What is it? Is it the baby?” His hand went to your stomach and he stared up at you. You grinned and laid your hand on top of his.

“No, it’s not the baby. They’re still sound asleep on my bladder.” Bucky’s defense lowered and his head plopped back onto his pillow.

Pregnancy put Bucky on high alert every time, always increasing in magnitude the closer to the due date you got. You still had a few more months before the baby was born, but you couldn’t wait, if only so that Bucky could finally relax with the baby in his arms.

Well... relax as much as father of three with a newborn could.

You patted his hand and he let it slide to the bed and watched as you rolled yourself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. He glanced at the clock. 6:39. Henry would still be asleep, but Annalise would be waking up soon, and would be ready for breakfast.

Bucky reached for the baby monitor on the nightstand and clicked the screen. Sure enough, Annalise was laying on her back, playing with her feet. Bucky grinned and set the monitor back down and got out of bed, throwing on some pants before he walked down the hall to his baby girl’s room. He creaked the door open, and Annalise quickly started to stand up, excited that she could finally get out of her crib. Wouldn’t be much longer before she moved to her ‘big girl’ bed.

“Good morning, sweet pea.” She smiled at her dad and reached her arms up for him. He held her close to his chest, her head going right to the crook of his neck as he walked her back to your bedroom. You were just coming out of the bathroom and smiled.

“Look who’s awake…” you cooed softly, the morning still too early for normal speaking volumes. Annalise smiled at you and made grabby hands. You walked over to her and brought her palm to your lips, kissing it repeatedly. “Wanna go to the store with mama?” Annalise nodded eagerly and Bucky pinched his brows.

“The store? What do you need at the store?” You grinned at Annalise, still holding her hand.

“Figured we could bake some cookies today.”

“You’ve already got stuff for baking, though. I don’t think you needta go to the store.” Your eyes finally met his, and your brows arched slightly. Right…. Bucky was ‘too protective’, as you’d kindly reminded him over and over again. He sighed and gave you a despondent look. “I just don’t want you doing too much. The doctor said you needed to rest.”

“I am rested, Bucky.” A silent command, with a tone that warned of trouble if he tried stopping you. He sighed deeply as he stared at you.

He had one last resort.

“Henry’s gonna be sad if he finds out you went to the store without him.” The look you gave in return was not amused.

“Really?” You asked sardonically. Bucky shrugged innocently.

“He will…. You know he’s a mama’s boy….” You stared at him.

“Henry will be fine, James.” Uh-oh. He got the first name. He sighed in the back of his throat, accepting defeat.

“I’ll get her dressed and fed for you so you can get ready….” he grumbled. You grinned and kissed Annalise’s hand.

“Thank you, papa.” You turned and went to the dresser and started pulling out clothes for the day. Bucky watched you for a few moments until you met his eyes in the mirror. You walked back over to him and puckered your lips for him. “I love you.” He met your lips and hummed.

“I love you.” Another peck, and you shooed them out so you could get ready. Bucky went back to Annalise’s room and changed her diaper and put on long navy pants and a red shirt that had a sparkly gold reindeer on it. He put on her socks and slipped her tiny feet into her white sneakers. They went downstairs and Bucky slid her into her high chair and placed Cheerios down for her while he cut up her banana.

You came down stairs ten minutes later, dressed in black leggings and a sweatshirt that was definitely not yours. You stole a piece of unsmooshed banana from her tray and popped it in your mouth before you went to the bathroom off the kitchen and grabbed Annie’s hair brush and elastics and brushed her curly hair into a pony tail. The usual flurry of excitement followed as you carried Annalise out to the car and got everything you would need for the trek to the grocery store.

Bucky watched you back out of the garage, his hands on his hips, as he tried not to worry. It’s just the grocery store, Buck, not like we’re leaving to go fight HYDRA or anything, you had so lovingly murmured to him just before you left. Now he had that thought in his head.

The pads of feet coming down the stairs grabbed his attention, and he shut the door to the garage and the negative thoughts.

“Who wants waffles?”

A dull thud landed on the table in front of Bucky. He folded the corner of the paper back and inspected what was in front of him. A brown paper bag and you, an innocent grin on your face, and your hands on your belly.

“Hi.”

Your grin grew. “Hi.” Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the bag briefly, before settling back on you.

“Is there something you wanna show me…?”

“Maaaybe…” you sang. Bucky huffed through his nose, a crooked smirk on his face, and folded the newspaper, setting it down next to his coffee.

He pulled the twine handle, peering into the bag. On top were small containers of sprinkles, in various shapes and colors.

“That’s a lotta sprinkles, sweatheart….”

“Well, if we’re gonna make a lot, we’re gonna need a lot.”

“I wanna help, mama!” Henry clambered onto the chair beside Bucky and looked at all the cool stuff his mom bought. Annalise squealed in agreement and tugged on Bucky to pick her up. He helped her onto the chair Henry was on so she could look at what her big brother was looking at.

Bucky raised his brows and looked up at you. “I’m not sure how available I’ll be. With the kids and all.” You snorted.

“Nice try, Barnes. That didn’t work last year, either.” You smirked and Bucky instantly felt guilty for trying to get out of helping you. Well… slightly guilty. You were like a drill sergeant when it came to your cookies, one that could control a whole team of superheroes with just a look.

Especially him.

But it didn’t take much for him to do what you told him to.

You set everything down on the table and walked around and situated yourself on his lap. Bucky sighed and wrapped his hand against your lower back as he sat back against the chair. “You always get mad at me when you bake.” You chuckled and brushed his long hair back.

“Yeah, because you always eat most of the cookies before they’ve even cooled.”

“Do you get a tummy ache, papa?” You turned to Henry and nodded.

“He does, which is why you shouldn’t eat too much of dessert, even if it tastes really good.”

“Well, make cookies that don’t taste good and I won’t eat ‘em….” he grumbled. You looked back at Bucky and tucked a stubborn strand of hair behind his ear and gently scratched his scalp.

“Not on your life.” Bucky huffed through his nose and gazed at you. “I promise to not get mad, if you promise to not eat all the cookies.” Bucky’s eyes roamed your face as he considered your offer. He wasn’t sure he had the restraint.

“Alright, I’ll help.” You grinned and gave him a soft kiss as Henry and Annie cheered.

“Thank you, Bucky.” Bucky puckered his lips for another kiss, but you were already off his lap and picking up the bags and moving them to the counter. “Do you wanna get started?”

“I-” Bucky was interrupted by the kids screaming in excitement.

You had the kids help you grab everything you would need and helped them stand on the step ladder so they could wash their hands at the kitchen sink.

Bucky was making cookies today whether he had a choice or not.

Henry helped dump the measured ingredients into the giant yellow Pyrex bowl, and he even got to help mix it (with mom’s help, of course.) Bucky turned on Nat King Cole and crooned a merry Christmas to you while twirling you around the kitchen. Henry and Annie copied their parents, much to your delight.

Henry was already on his way to being a mini-Bucky, in more ways than just his looks.

After the cookies had come out of the oven and cooled, you mixed up the frosting while Henry and Bucky cleared off the remnants of the early lunch from the kitchen table to make room for decorating. Piping bags of red, green, white, yellow, and blue frosting sat in the middle of your table with the jars of sprinkles, with plates of unfrosted sugar cookies waiting to be decorated.

You showed Henry how to hold the piping bag, and you helped him squeeze it while Bucky held Annalise in his lap and helped keep Henry’s cookie in place. His designs were more abstract, and mainly consisted of concentrated blue globs of frosting on one side of the cookie, and stray lines on the rest.

Bucky helped Annalise hold the frosting, wrapping his hands over hers to help squeeze the bag, decorating the cookies with green hearts or blue stars or whatever random squiggles Annie wanted to make. You put some of the sprinkles in a bowl and showed the kids how to turn the cookie upside-down and push the sprinkles onto the frosting, trying to reduce the amount of sprinkles that wound up on the floor.

Henry and Annie’s favorite part was licking their fingers when the frosting got on them.

The first few times, you and Bucky laughed at their reaction to the taste, but you were quick to notice that tiny fingers were getting more frosting than the cookies.

“Honey, no more frosting on your fingers.”

“It’s an a-cident, mama,” Henry assured as you watched the piping bag go directly on his finger, and then to his mouth. You sighed and looked at Bucky for support, but you watched him do the same thing with the red frosting.

“Bucky!” His eyes went wide and he looked at you, dropping the piping bag on the table. “Kinda hard to discipline when dad’s doing it, too.” Bucky cleared his throat and dawned a more serious face as he lowered to Henry’s level.

“Bub, no more frosting on your fingers,” he turned to Annalise, “you, too, sweet pea. Your tummy’s will hurt if you eat too much.”

“Why?”

“Because when people eat too much sugar, it makes their tummies feel bad because…” Why does it hurt to eat too much sugar? Bucky made a mental note to look that up later. “Too much sugar isn’t good for you. Your body can’t grow big and strong if you only eat sugar.”

“But I like sugar…”

“I do, too, and so does mama, but we just can’t have it all the time.” Henry’s face scrunched up as he processed what his dad was telling him. He turned his gaze to the frosting and sighed.

“Fine…” You weren’t sure how, but Henry wasn’t putting up a fight, and you weren’t about to jinx yourself. You moved to get a wet washcloth and wiped his hands and face, the faint green stain still on his lips. Then, you wiped Annie’s face, taking her from Bucky’s lap and settling her on your hip.

“Okay, babies, let’s go take a quick bath before nap.” Henry slid off the chair and took off to go upstairs. You looked over at Bucky, “You can take a break if you want. It shouldn’t take too long to give ‘em a bath.” Bucky chuckled and stood up.

“It’s cute that you think I’m not gonna help.” You rolled your eyes and chuckled. “I’ll get clean clothes out of the dryer and meet you upstairs.” You smiled and followed Henry upstairs to start the bath. Bucky waited for the squeak of the faucet before he shoved four of the cookies he had frosted into his mouth.

Bucky would have to sneak Henry a cookie later for taking the attention off Bucky.

One with extra frosting.

While the kids napped, you and Bucky finished decorating, giving into the temptation and each eating a cookie or two before you put most them away in airtight containers and stuck them in the freezer, leaving just enough out to put in the snowman cookie jar that sat on the counter.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Bucky loaded the dishwasher and nodded.

“Yeah, we can. Maybe we could nap, too.” You hummed longingly and rubbed your lower back. Bucky came up behind you, massaging the spot in your back that always turned you into butter.

You groaned in pleasure, leaning your head back against Bucky. “Oh my god, you’re amazing….” Bucky smirked and kissed the top of your head.

“Let’s go lay down, sweetheart.” You hummed lazily, letting Bucky guide you to the living room. He grabbed a pillow and blanket from the basket behind the couch and laid them down, tucking you in before sitting on the other side of the couch and extending his legs on the ottoman. You turned on a random movie playing on TV and turned on your side, Bucky’s hand almost instantly going to your head and massaging it. You groaned again and Bucky smirked to himself.

After a few minutes, your breathing evened out, and Bucky settled back, closing his eyes for a few quiet minutes.

You opened your eyes and reached your hand back to rub Bucky’s leg, but instead you just rubbed the corduroy of the couch. You looked up and saw that your husband wasn’t there. He couldn’t have been far. Maybe he went upstairs to lay in bed, or-

You heard the soft clink of ceramic and your head shot in the direction of the kitchen.

That little shit.

You slowly got up and crept towards the kitchen, taking slow and deliberate steps.

“Bucky, step away from the cookies!” You flipped on the kitchen light and caught Bucky red handed with his hand in the cookie jar. His hand was still in the jar and he was frozen, a look of culpability on his face. He’d already ate more than a dozen, but he couldn’t help himself, they were just too damn good. He slowly raised his hand, a cookie firmly in his grasp. You narrowed your eyes on him, “James… I will come over there.” You watched his hand move slowly, but steadily, in the direction of his mouth. “I’m gonna tell Steve,” you threatened. Bucky snorted.

“Real scary, sweetheart,” he rolled his eyes, “What’s he gonna do? Ground me?” You used the distraction to run towards him. His eyes went wide and he tried turning and running in the opposite direction, but he had no traction on the tile with the socks he was wearing. A loud THUD echoed throughout the house.

You grimaced and walked over to him and looked down at him, “You okay?”

He groaned and held his head with his right hand. “I think I’m concussed….” You knelt down.

“Here, let me check.” You brushed his hair back from his face and made him follow your finger. You quickly snatched the cookie out of his hand and giggled at the horror that flashed across his face.

“Hey!” He tried reaching for it, but you laid back, putting your legs out to stop him. He gave you an incredulous look at he sat on his knees looking at you, “Really? You think that’s gonna stop me?”

“I know it will.” Bucky squinted his eyes at you, assessing you. “I told you no cookies!”

“I know, I know…” He put his hands out defensively and shrugged off the chastising. He held out his hand for you and helped you up, snatching the cookie back out of your hands.

“Hey! Bucky! Give me the cookie!” You watched in astonishment as he shoved the whole thing into his giant mouth. You scoffed and walked over to the cookie jar, putting the lid back on and cradling it into your arms. “Fine. I’m taking them with me.” You started walking upstairs.

“Where’re you goin’?” He whispered.

“Go away. I’m hiding the cookie jar.” You whispered back.

“There’re cookies in the freezer, sweetheart. I could still eat them if I wanted to.”

“You hate cookies from the freezer. You like room temperature best.” Hmm… you knew him too well.

“If you hide it, you’ll forget where, and we’ll find moldy cookies this summer when it starts to smell.” You shot him a look.

“I’ll remember,” you spoke with stubborn determination. Your mom brain wasn’t that bad. You went into your bedroom and quickly walked into the closet, shutting door behind you. You opened the box with old baby clothes of Henry’s snapping the lid shut and hiding it under the clean towels. You came back out of the closet and Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Did you hide ‘em?”

“I did.” Bucky grinned and stood up.

“Ya gonna tell me later?” You shook your head. Bucky hummed and took slow steps, getting closer and closer to you. He stared at your belly and rubbed his flesh hand over your bump, making your resolve waver.

That asshole really knew how to pull on your heartstrings.

“Did you even sleep, or did you wait for me to fall asleep so you could sneak cookies?” Bucky chuckled and kept rubbing, but looked at you.

“I told you I wouldn’t eat ‘em if they didn’t taste good…. Should’ve made some that tasted like dirt.” You sighed and raised a very mom-esque brow at him.

“You can’t eat cookies all the time, Buck. We have kids now, and if they see you shoveling cookies into your mouth, they’re going to think that they can do that, too.”

“But, our kids are a lot smarter than I am. They know they can’t eat cookies all the time.”

“One, you really are dumb if you think I’m gonna buy that you’re ‘not smart’,” Bucky grinned, “And two, they both want to be big and strong like you. And if that means they getta eat cookies for three meals, I think they’d be okay with it.” Bucky sighed and weighed your words.

“But they taste good…!” Bucky whined. You chortled and rested your hand on his.

“I know they do, but you don’t get to eat them all the time.” Bucky frowned and you sighed. “Try again later. That look only works for the kids.” Bucky sighed in the back of his throat.

“Well, I gave that look to the kids.” You giggled and patted his cheek before turning to walk back downstairs.

“Sorry, baby.” Bucky grumbled and followed you downstairs. “Maybe you can convince the kids to give you theirs.”

He snorted, “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” You sat back on the couch, cuddling under the blanket, and Bucky went to the kitchen to start the dishwasher. He walked in and froze when he saw Henry trying to take a cookie out of the container in the freezer. He watched as Henry slowly spun around, feeling someone’s presence in the room.

He smiled, guilt written all over his face. “Hi, papa.” Bucky looked at the blue cookie in his hand and back at Henry. He quickly glanced at you in the living room, making sure you weren’t paying attention before he walked up to Henry.

“We’ll split it.” Henry stared wide-eyed at his dad, before quickly nodding in agreement and letting Bucky split the cookie. “But we can’t tell mom.” Henry kept nodding his head and held out his pinkie.

“Pinkie promise.” Bucky interlocked his pinkie with Henry’s and shook their hands.

“Pinkie promise.”

Mom would never know....

...At least for a little while.

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes x You #Bucky Barnes x Y/N #Bucky x You #Bucky x Reader #Bucky x Y/N #Bucky Barnes #domestic!bucky #nachobuckychallenge

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ashiversary · 4 years ago

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One, Two, Three: Stuck As Second Best

Candela knows Blanche well enough to understand that Noire always comes first. Every time, in an instant, without question. So it’s no surprise that Noire is chosen as Mystic II.

So why does it still hurt so much?

@spiritedandloyal says: Happy 4th Ashiversary!!!! Have a MysticIII!Candela AU <3

AU Overview: Lucifel Bonded with Moltres, Carl never had his accident or a falling out with Spark, Noire and Blanche reconciled in their late teens, and both Noire and Candela are on Team Mystic. Click here to read on A03.

“Candela, if I offered you the position of Mystic III, would you accept it?”

The words rang in Candela’s ears, and not in a good way.

Three. Mystic Three. As-in-not-their-first-choice, as in not-their-second-in-command, as in your effort wasn’t enough, you’re not loyal enough, not trustworthy enough, not enough, never enough-

“Oh. I suppose you chose Noire as your assistant?” She asked dumbly, knowing that it wasn’t an answer and already knowing what Blanche will say.

“Yes.” Blanche gave her one of those little side glances, expression difficult to read even for Candela. “…I know the two of you don’t often see eye to eye, but-”

“No, no, darling, makes sense.” Candela cut off whatever Blanche is going to say. She didn’t want to hear them justify all the reasons why they had chosen their twin over her. She didn’t know why she held out hope that maybe she could stack up against her significant other’s other half. She should have known better from the start. Stupid of her to try.

For a moment, she thought maybe her bitterness had sunk into her tone, because Blanche’s brows furrowed. But then they paused, wavered. Uncertain.

“Do you require time to think before-”

“No!” Candela jumped in, somewhere between mortified and grateful. “Yes, my dear, I’ll accept the position. Thank you for choosing me.”

Before Candela could dig into herself for nearly making Blanche think that she didn’t want to be as close to their side as possible, Blanche smiled. It was faint, just a curve of the lips with the corners twitching up, but it made Candela’s heart flutter.

She would do anything to keep that smile around. Even if it meant… well, everything Candela’s been through so far.

And so Candela kept her face pleasant as the elevator approached their destination, even though Blanche had just slapped her across the face with a reminder that you will never be someone’s first choice. She felt like crying, really- like screaming and sobbing and hitting things, but she didn’t let that show.

Blanche took her hand and squeezed it, their PDA-shy equivalent of a kiss goodbye, and Candela was grateful because she wasn’t quite sure she would appreciate being kissed just then. Blanche left for a meeting on the second floor, and Candela punched in the number for the gym.

Knock knock, knock.

“Candela?”

Blanche’s voice was quiet and strained. Tired, maybe.

“What do you want, Blanche?”

Candela’s response was definitely harsh. She’d been stewing in her anger all evening, and it was the kind that ran too deep to be set free with a few punching bags.

There was a pause before Blanche asked “Are you going to come to bed tonight?”

Oh. Right. Tonight was her turn to be Blanche’s personal heater. Because unlike most significant others, she had to share with Blanche’s twin.

“When’s the last time you actually had to come find me, instead of the other way around?”

A shorter pause this time. “You’re upset with me?”

“Maybe.” She snipped.

“C’mon, Candy, don’t be passive aggressive about this, it’s not-”

The last of Candela’s restraint snapped at hearing Noire’s voice. She grabbed the nearest object and threw it.

“STAY THE FUCK OUT OF THIS, NOIRE!”

The decorative throw pillow thunked against the door with enough force to make the nearby artwork rattle against the wall. There was a pause, during which she was sure the twins were whispering to one another, and then one set of feet padded off down the hall.

“Noire has left.” Blanche announced. Candela didn’t respond. “Candela, open the door, please.”

Candela didn’t move.

“Candela, don’t make me override the lock, please. I don’t wish to have to do that.”

Candela sighed.

“Go be with your precious twin, lovely. I’ll be fine.”

“You are,” Blanche hesitated, just for a second. “Precious to me as well. Please let me in so we can discuss this properly.”

Candela was quiet for a moment, emotions swirling inside her like one of Articuno’s storms of legend- chaotic and disorienting, cold and burning all at once. She didn’t want to. But she never could say no to Blanche.

She stood up and crossed to open the door.

Blanche’s breath left them in a little gasp when Candela opened the door, like they’ve been hit in the gut. Candela realized she must look terrible; puffy and red-eyed, smeared make-up, bloodied knuckles and rumpled gym clothes.

She couldn’t find it in herself to care.

Blanche murmured a thanks as they entered and shut the door softly behind them. They didn’t reach for her, nor say anything. They just watched, gaze calculating as always.

“Yes.” Candela said finally.

“Yes..?”

“Yes! I’m upset with you!” Blanche’s face dropped. “And you’re not the only fucking one!”

“With Noire too?”

“No, darling, I’m perfectly fucking peachy with them. Everything is fantastic.”

Blanche was quiet for a second.

“Did you want to be my assistant?”

Candela stared at her, mouth agape.

“Wait, wait- are you serious?” She asked. “Really, darling? Was that not obvious?”

“Not precisely.”

[The worst part, Candela realized, was that they were being honest.]

“I’ve spent the last month working my ass off to try and impress you! I did all those reports! Took extra notes in meetings! Reminded you of events and brought you food! I beat Instinct II’s ranking!”

Now it was Blanche’s turn to be stricken speechless. Candela realized that she is shaking, not with fury or sorrow, but with something that blended both into one and the same.

That feeling, she realized, is heartbreak.

“I know you’re not the greatest with reading people, Blanche, but- how in Arceus’ name did you miss that?”

“I didn’t miss it.” Blanche retorted. “I just assumed that it was your typical ambition fueling you. I didn’t… you didn’t tell me you were vying for the assistant’s position.”

Candela fumed. “Did Noire tell you they wanted to be your assistant?!”

Blanche had the decency to look slightly abashed. “…No.”

“Exactly!” To Candela’s mortification, she realized hot tears were already spilling out of her eyes. “And that’s just it! It always is!”

“That I chose my twin over you?” Blanche asked, a hint of a snarl in their voice.

“That everyone chooses somebody else over me!” Candela snapped, whirling around. The crack in her voice, the weakness, horrified her. “I am NEVER somebody’s first priority!”

“Candela-”

“Four older brothers! You think I was ever anything but the leftover? The fifth wheel? And I’ve never escaped it! Ever!” Her voice cracked on a sob. “And then I had to go and fall in love with the one person who I would throw everything away for and they would still always have someone more important!”

“Candela…”

“Everyone in my life has someone more important. Everyone. You have Noire, Carl has Spark, and my family disowned me. And it’s not fair.”

“Life has never been fair.” Blanche murmured from behind her. They seemed calm, if Candela ignored the frost spreading across the nearest windows.

“No, Blanche, I mean that it’s not fair of me to blame that on everyone else.” Candela said, and the worst of the anger suddenly drained out of her, taking her strength with it. She slumped to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest and pressing the heel of her palms into her eyes like it would block the flow of tears.

Blanche hesitated before speaking, and Candela pressed on. “I’m not dumb, Blanche. I’m the common variable.”

“Oh.” Blanche sat on the floor next to her. “This is an issue of self-worth.”

“No shit.”

A silence hung over them.

“You were Professor Willow’s first assistant to be chosen.”

“Yeah, yeah, and then you beat me at every test.”

“And you beat me repeatedly in battle despite disadvantageous type match-ups. That is not what we’re talking about. Willow did choose you first and you know he didn’t make that choice lightly.”

“That was just one-”

“And once sets a precedent.” Blanche insisted, reaching forwards to brush Candela’s bangs out of her face. Their fingers were icy cold and Candela flinched automatically. Their hand left and she wished she could call it back, but she felt tired and heavy and weak.

“Darling, would it have even changed anything?” She asked. “If you knew I wanted to be your assistant, before?”

Blanche was quiet for a minute. Stock-still, but in the way a frozen river was: all the turbulence of intense thought kept beneath a shell of serenity, with no way to tell if the ice was thick or thin. Candela watched their eyes, the way they flickered and glanced over her, the minute micro-expressions that didn’t reach the rest of their face. She was searching for something in those troubled green irises. She didn’t know what she was looking for.

Blanche sighed.

“I will not lie to you and pretend that you could ever eclipse Noire in the scope of my general priorities.” Blanche murmured. “But Noire is… a part of me. An extension, like a limb. Like Articuno is. I am not complete without them.”

“I’m going to kick your ass all the way back to your therapist if you keep talking like that.” Candela threatened, but there was little heat behind it. Resignation had replaced rage a while back; after everything Blanche had endured, no one expected them to be fully independent.

“My point is,” Blanche continued, “That after Noire, you are my first priority. My best friend, my romantic partner, my ally in battle. To count Noire against your importance would be like counting Articuno.”

“Don’t.” Candela sighed. “Don’t try and make it out like Noire doesn’t count. I will always come in third to your bond and your twin. That’s… I knew what I was getting into with this. Don’t pretend you should change for me. I wouldn’t want you to if you could.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Blanche asked.

“I would, and it would be selfish, and I would regret it forever!” Candela snapped. “Trust me, dear, I’ve spent enough nights awake thinking about it.”

A cool hand rested on Candela’s knee. She wanted to put her own atop of it, but her own hands were gross with tears and snot and split knuckles from hitting punching bags too hard, and Blanche deserved better than that, so she didn’t.

[She was so sick of not being good enough.]

“Let me re-frame what I was going to say.” Blanche said after a long silence. “Just because you are not my first priority does not mean that you are not critically important to me.”

Maybe it was just her imagination, but Candela swore that the frost-burnt symbol over her collarbone grew colder with the words spoken, a reminder of the crest of Articuno branded on her skin.

“It is no secret that if something were to happen to me, Noire would not make for a good leader. Not even for a short duration of time if I were, say, injured.”

“They’d be out for blood, you mean.” Candela snorted.

“And then presumably glued to my bedside, yes.” Blanche agreed. “Which is why I need you.”

Candela paused at that. Blanche didn’t elaborate.

“You’ve lost me, darling.”

Blanche sighed. “I am… not proficient in heart-to-heart conversations.”

“I know that, babe. But I was following up until then.”

Blanche groaned. They took a long minute to find their words.

“If something serious should happen to either Noire or myself, the other will not be in a state fit to handle Team Mystic. That is the responsibility I am entrusting to you as Mystic III.”

“…I think I get it.” Candela said finally.

“Do you?” Blanche said. Their freezing cold hands grasped Candela’s jaw and lifted her head to face them. Blanche’s eyes held a startling intensity normally reserved for battle, but they were as green as the sea. No hint of Articuno’s icy will- just Blanche. Always Blanche.

“Team Mystic is my greatest responsibility. It is my life’s work. It is lives, people and Pokémon alike, balanced on my shoulders. Its upkeep and prestige are of utmost importance. The team’s well-being is crucial to the balance of this city and of this region. And when something happens to me, which I have no doubt it will one day, I am entrusting it to you. Not to Noire. Not to anybody else. You. And Articuno agrees with me. This is what I meant by making you Mystic III. You are not a backup for Noire. You are your own person, and I love you for that.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. It wasn’t what she hoped for. It wasn’t quite enough to heal her aching heart. But at the same time, it was so much more than she dared to dream of. Maybe more than she deserved. And it’s honest and true, and it came from Blanche.

She lunged forwards and their lips met, sudden and a bit messy. Blanche gasped into the kiss but returned it eagerly, still cradling Candela’s face in their hands. She could taste her own tears in the kiss, salty and sharp, but Blanche didn’t seem bothered by them. She could hardly find room to breathe but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, grounding herself in the feeling of cool lips on hers, cold and yet still so animated and alive. Blanche, gorgeous Blanche, intelligent Blanche, witty, clever Blanche, proud, snarky, brilliant Blanche- she was theirs. Not their first priority, but theirs nonetheless.

“Je t’aime, ma feu bleue.” Blanche murmured as they broke the kiss. Their foreheads were pressed together. Blanche’s hands cupped her cheek and wiped away tears with their thumbs, Candela’s own hands tangled in their white locks. “Come sleep with me?”

Part of Candela wanted to say no, that she needed time and space to process this. But she doesn’t. She’d already given up so much just to be with Blanche: her family, her old team, her pride. It would be ungrateful to waste a second of it, she thought- “I don’t know, darling.” She offered them a smirk. “I think maybe I deserve a hot shower first~”

-and Blanche’s mischievous smile reminded her why it was all worth it to be in second place.

#Pokemon Go #Ashiversary #spiritedandloyal #submission #fanfiction #Blanche #Candela #Team Mystic #One Two Three: Stuck As Second Best

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idlecreature · 5 years ago

Text

it’s a delicate business, and you know just how to charge me

Jonah doesn’t write.

Winter lasts an entire year.

Vampire!Mordechai for Jonah Magnus Week! Part 1/Part 2/Part 3

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Mordechai Lukas/Barnabas Bennett, Jonah Magnus/Barnabas Bennett

Content warnings: Dubcon, Unhealthy relationships, manipulation (hence the dubcon warning), The Lonely, death of an OC, choking (both sexy and unsexy)

—there is still so much to tell you. I tell you first in my mind and then the effort of writing is too much for me—

The thick, wet cough that drove Barnabas out of Moorland house finally lifts in the night, and Barnabas breathes a little easier. He wriggles as he anticipates leaving his sickbed, but does his level best to enjoy a quiet Sunday morning wrapped in a heavy duvet with the Kempthorne’s dog eating bacon rinds out of the palm of his hand.

Eleanor Kempthorne primly raps on his door. She balances a sleepy Sampson and a tray piled high with papers over her heavily pregnant belly. “Morning,” she says. “I’ve got your news and your letters - tell your friends to go easy or they’ll exhaust all the postmen in London.”

“Still catching up after my vacation in Kent,” Barnabas says, taking the tray from her with an appreciative murmur.

“I’m glad you finally took that vacation, Barny.” Eleanor moves over and sets Sampson down on the bed. The child immediately burrows under the covers and latches onto Barnabas’s side. “The countryside in Kent can be beautiful - shame you went in the dead of winter, with that bad snowstorm! Seven feet of snow, I heard!”

“Y-yes, that was unfortunate,” Barnabas says. He recalls little but pale days, ice crystals suspended in the air, grasses bleached of all colour, winter roses, and after Mordechai returned barely scraps of anything but the furniture of Moorland as Mordechai took him against every chair and every table.

Eleanor flops on the bed next to him, frowning as she presses the flat of her palm against his flushed cheek. “You seem brighter today, but you still have a fever.”

“O - oh, I think I should be well enough to leave soon. I hate to be a burden.”

She shifts on her side to face him. “There’s no rush, Barny. Would you like to read your mail while I read the Bible?” Her smile dimples. “I’ll make it a silent service.”

“That’d be appreciated,” Barnabas mutters. They fall into an easy silence as Eleanor opens her Bible and follows her Reverend husband’s elegant cursive and Barnabas does his reading and little Sampson drools on his arm and the dog gnaws on a pillow’s tasselled edge.

There’s no letter from Jonah. Jonah’s always the first to forgive, and quick to forgive; Barnabas is unsure what to make of his silence, but it fills him with unease.

“Barny,” Eleanor says, sifting a hand through Sampson’s hair. “John and I have been thinking about ways we could make you a part of the family - and how do you feel about becoming a godfather to Sampson and the new baby?”

“Godfather?” Barnabas echoes. “I -”

Eleanor inhales sharply and before Barnabas can flinch away she grabs his hand and holds it against her belly.

“Do you feel that?”

Barnabas’s eyes slip closed, and yes, he feels the rhythmic movement, and deeper, as a body waiting to be born shifts like the turn of the earth. Barnabas can feel the baby’s impatience.

He removes his hand, trying to twist in the bed between the dog across his legs and the five-year-old pinioning his arm. “I don't - I don’t think you want me as part of your family - as an influence over your children. I’m - I’m an atheist.”

Eleanor studies him, eyes dark and solemn, but not shocked or frightened. “Ah,” she says. “I did suspect. And you know I love you regardless?” Her roaming hand moves from Sampson’s crown to Barnabas’s neck, her fingertips catching across the newly knotting scar. “What’s this mark, Barnabas? It looks like -”

He slaps a hand over his neck. “Nothing,” he says. He starts coughing emphatically into his elbow, and the scar is forgotten as Eleanor fusses over him and gets up again to fetch him a fresh pitcher of water, lifting sleeping Sampson up and away, the dog following close on her heels, and abruptly, he is alone.

Little Sampson jerks at Barnabas’s arm like a waterspout as they watch Sampson’s mother being put into the ground.

Barnabas’s body aches with a disquiet pressure that rings like a struck bell through his ribcage and his teeth and all the small bones of his hands. He feels newly aware of each shift of bone under the crushing weight of his flesh.

He remains stoic. For the little boy’s sake.

It’s still the choke of winter, and there are debts to be paid.

Barnabas decides he doesn’t care where Mordechai gets his money. He just wants it. It’s horribly unsentimental of him, but perhaps Jonah was right, and Barnabas’s morals are just gilt-wrapped-guilt, and his goodwill means nothing. It’s the banal truth that the whole of Barnabas’s life is founded on money. The world turns on it. As long as you have enough, you will always be accepted, and you will never be missed.

Barnabas is someone who has always enjoyed the pleasure of a transaction. And if the particulars involve him standing in a mirrored hallway with a monster opening a vein in his neck, then, well.

There are many mouths to feed.

—though it was radiant, crystal-clear, one of those days when the earth just pauses, enchanted by its own beauty, and every new bud whispers: “am I not heavenly fair!” it curls up in your belly, the beauty of life! In spite of everything, one cannot but praise life.—

Whenever Mordechai’s in Edinburgh, they meet in somebody’s garden. Someone’s put a lot of effort into making it a nice garden, into a picture of domesticity, with an apple tree and a lemon tree, marigolds and hydrangeas, and red lilies in terracotta pots. It would be a lovely place to spend an afternoon with a loved one.

Barnabas considers the springtime flowers. They’re nice. Their perfume disguises the heavy tang of blood that always hangs around Mordechai, and that’s also nice.

“We should get some flowers for Moorland,” Barnabas says, mostly to keep up their one-sided conversation. “Different ones, I mean. Reds and pinks and oranges to liven up the place a bit. And maybe a fruiting tree.”

Mordechai forgoes a vocal response as per usual, optioning for a shrug that falls like gravity.

“It could do with a bit of colour,” Barnabas says, trying to goad him into saying something because he’s spent their precious passing afternoon in utter silence and it’s starting to get on Barnabas’s nerves. Barnabas nudges his knee against Mordechai’s thigh.

“I’m colourblind,” Mordechai says eventually. He’s still looking away, squaring his jaw. “All the men in my family are.”

“And you’re... proud... of that pedigree?”

“No.”

Barnabas sighs, following Mordechai’s dour gaze to the patch of violets. Barnabas knows the flower meanings - he memorised a book of them as a child - but he refuses to think about them. He makes no insistence on prescribed symbolism, only the shapes and the colours that the eye takes and the heart interprets.

“What does purple look like, to you?”

“I can’t tell you,” Mordechai says. And Barnabas understands that.

“What colours can you see, then?”

Barnabas places a hand on Mordechai’s back, where a doctor might listen to the auscultations of his heart, and massages the bands of hard muscle over his skin at the place where he is not quite human.

“Blue,” Mordechai says, leaning into his touch. “There is a shade of blue that I find haunts me lately.” And Mordechai presses his gloved hand to the corner of Barnabas’s eye.

His skeleton stings, hisses, and pain lances down his bones. Barnabas gasps and Mordechai pulls his hand back as if bitten. He looks at Barnabas in open shock. “Did I hurt you?”

“You - you gave me a fright,” Barnabas says. His heart beats quickly in his chest, and his bones still fizz and tingle. “That’s all.”

Mordechai keeps looking at him, and Barnabas worries he’s lapsing back into that dreadful apathetic silence. But Mordechai breathes in, and his gaze collects some focus. He looks at Barnabas properly, then. Deeply. Then he says, “Do you think you could ever love me?”

“I - “ Barnabas says. He wants to bleed into the flowers, into the afternoon. He feels the silver scars under his cravat, their coldness, their weight, like a collar. “Not in this lifetime, I think,” he says, waiting for a flare of embarrassment that doesn’t come. He doesn’t think he’s capable of hurting Mordechai’s feelings.

“Then put your hands around my throat.”

“...”

“Go on.”

Barnabas wraps his fingers around the vertebrae, thumbs touching together on the soft, thin skin over Mordechai’s windpipe, where the ugly gash of a surgical scar bites into his adam’s apple.

“How does that feel?” Mordechai asks.

Mordechai feels cold and dead under his hand, wax-skinned and corpse-damp. There is no thrum of life, no beating vessels that run like roots under his flesh. Barnabas feels like he’s close to learning something about violence and desire, how close they are, how the wires can get crossed. He squeezes Mordechai’s throat, just enough for the vampire to feel the promise of stolen breath.

“Let me make you immortal,” Mordechai says. And he swallows; Barnabas feels the rolling constriction of his throat. “Please, Barnabas,” he whispers.

Barnabas drops his hand to his side. “No.”

Mordechai looks at him furiously, stonily, unrelentingly, but he makes such a small choked-back noise as he wraps Barnabas up in an embrace that offers him little comfort. Barnabas buries his face in Mordechai’s hair, inhaling the scent of blood and frost. It’s Mordechai’s wordless way of showing Barnabas that he means more to him than life.

Mordechai moves in him so slowly, so deliberately, but he’ll still bruise. They take their pleasure from the ransoming of Mordechai’s self-restraint. When he comes, his teeth graze Barnabas’s pulse like a promise, but his jaw does not close. He waits on Barnabas’s word.

When he receives silence, he is not disappointed. He pulls the blankets up over Barnabas’s shoulders and ducks his head so they’re sharing breaths and Mordechai closes his eyes and feigns sleep, but when Barnabas wakes up, several hours later, Mordechai has dropped the pretence of humanity and lies there, sharp and cold, with his fingers ghosting over the shape of Barnabas under the duvet, trembling like fish’s gills desperately working out of the water and it’s a race to see what kills it first, the choke of no oxygen or the drown of its own blood.

“You look pale tonight, Mr. Bennett,” Mrs. Blackwood says. Another Christmas with the Blackwood family, the same faded paper decorations and the sewing hanging limply from lines across the low ceiling. There’s a new smell, polish and boot leather, brought home by the eldest child’s apprenticeship to a shoemaker.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Barnabas says as he sips his sherry. He’s sitting in the best seat in the house, right up against the stove, and it’s stifling him, prickling over his skin and wetting his armpits. He doesn’t dare loosen his cravat, though, the starchy collar scratching uncomfortably at the new necklace of barely-closed wounds.

“We’ll get some colour back in the boy’s cheeks right enough,” Mr. Blackwood says fondly. It’s exactly the kind of thing Barnabas might have wanted his own father to say, once, but now it just sounds gauche. He doesn’t want that anymore, not any part of it.

Barnabas hands his presents to the children: polished toy horses with delicate pink lips and real, curling eyelashes. He barely remembers buying them.

“And we have a Christmas present for you, Mr. Bennett,” Mrs. Blackwood says when her children have stopped crowing and hold their toys against the candle-light so tongues of orange flick over polished white bodies.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary -”

“I must insist,” Mrs. Blackwood says. “Annie knitted it special for you, and she’d be upset something awful if you don’t want it.”

The girl in question blushingly presents her creation. It’s bright red and clumsily knitted, the cabling loose and uneven, but the wool is soft and warm, and it’s the thought that counts. The thought of any one of the hardworking Blackwoods spending any time or money on him -

“Don’t worry about the cost, sweetheart,” Mrs. Blackwood says. “It came out of our James’s Christmas bonus. He’s made a lot of shoes this month, hasn’t he! He’s moving up in the world, and we’re so proud of him, and that’s because of you, Mr. Bennett!”

As she speaks, Mrs. Blackwood takes the scarf and wraps it around Barnabas’s neck. It’s long enough to go around several times. It makes the heat worse, the sweat slicker, pouring out of the reservoir of his body like a spring.

“Thank you, Mr. Bennett,” the James in question says dutifully.

“Mr. Bennett?” Isabel says in alarm.

And, oh, good lord, he’s sobbing. He’s sobbing in front of people he needs to respect him, to see him as a Gentleman, and it’s great, whooping gasps that escape him like a crack in a pressure valve, and it’s all he can do but hastily bid goodbye and push away Isabel’s arm and flee that unbearable heat, the den-like house and the cured-leather and the sweet smell of rum pudding and bodies in close habitation and he stumbles into the winter night and the clarity of the cold, and it’s there, after a few minutes to himself, he realises that he doesn’t want to wear any colours that Mordechai can’t properly see.

Barnabas speeds down Morningside Road, the buildings all endlessly long and featureless dark grey, avoiding every stranger he passes on the street until he comes across a homeless man half-frozen to the pavement under the awning of a business, a newspaper over his face barely stirring with his breath. Barnabas claws off the choking, luridly red scarf and winds it around the man’s neck, tucks the man’s coat around him a little tighter, and pulls off his own gloves and gives them to the man for good measure. The man doesn’t stir.

Barnabas breathes again after that.

—you know M. Everything is give and take with him. When he is away I miss his companionship. I miss talking with the man but when he’s in London or at the garden we can only agree when we are silent or out of each others sight!!! I miss him. I miss you. I hope you can forgive me, Jonah, my foibles and my rash words and my shame. I take it all back. I lie down at your feet and anticipate your heavy tread.—

The sixth time Barnabas arrives at the doorstep of Moorland house to repay a debt, Mordechai is waiting for him. It’s enough of a break in their usual routine that Barnabas approaches cautiously, curiously.

Mordechai offers him a compromise in the form of a small silver ring. It’s a sign of Barnabas’s naivety that he thinks Mordechai is proposing, and he laughs in Mordechai’s face. Mordechai flashes his teeth at him and tells him what it really is: a dressing ring in the fashion of Beau Brummell, a man whom Barnabas has always thought himself as being diametrically opposed to in every regard.

Later, Barnabas takes great pleasure in feeding the ring to Mordechai, watching the glint of metal as it is swallowed, the shiver of it against his prick as Mordechai tugs it gently with his tongue. Barnabas is not as gentle with Mordechai as Mordechai is with him; he likes it when Mordechai chokes, fisting his hand in Mordechai’s pretty curls so he can’t pull his head away, wetting his cheeks and chin with saliva. Barnabas feels the curved piercing bite into the back of Mordechai’s throat, and the catch and pull of his skin must feel like torture. But when Barnabas has found his completion he barely strokes Mordechai before he spills across Barnabas’s hand.

Jonah is always the first to reach out, to reconcile. It’s coming up to a year since they ended that evening with a fight, and Barnabas is starting to believe that after the flames of anger died away, Jonah found that he simply didn't care for Barnabas’s company any more. Barnabas wouldn’t blame him, but it still hurts to lose him. He still sits at his writing desk a little after Christmas and writes a letter with no expectations of a reply, and that, more than anything, makes the yawning pit inside him stretch a little wider.

—anticipate your tread. I think sitting in that garden has made me a very lonely man. There’s something to be said about watching life unfold and feeling completely separate from it. But I must end this letter on a better note: they say in April the snows will have melted and even before it is all quite gone the flowers will begin to rise again...

Please, Jonah, can we be friends again?

Your loyal servant,

Barnabas Bennett.

The cheque comes in the mail, and it is a staggering sum. Enough for Barnabas to set up a proper office, hire a second staff member, open space for another family.

Barnabas wonders what Mordechai will ask of him in return; a sum such as this is a poorly-concealed threat. He could always rip up the cheque. That’s a choice Barnabas could make.

But Barnabas is certain that this is more than what Mordechai can decently afford, he just doesn’t know whether Mordechai knows that. Mordechai is not a fastidious accountant like Barnabas; he spends his money like he has it in infinite supply, hasn’t noticed Barnabas draining him at all, and Barnabas would very much like to continue with the arrangement until he has taken everything from Mordechai, keeping nothing for himself, of course; he wants to drive Mordechai Lukas into the quagmire of desperate poverty as much, and perhaps even more than, he wants to pull families like the Blackwoods out of it, and he doesn’t think he has the willpower to stop himself until he has Mordechai, Moorland house, and the entire Lukas estate crushed into the ground like pale, bloodless worms. He thinks he could love Mordechai, then.

Barnabas’s bones sing softly under his skin as he waits for the cheque to clear.

#[barnabas voice] women want me fish fear me #the magnus archives #barnabas bennett #mordechai lukas #jonah magnus #edit: ONCE AGAIN MISSPELLING JONAHS NAME ON MY BLOG

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wordstrings · 5 years ago

Text

Inbox dump

(brace yourselves, I’m including the timestamps because these have been sitting forever and you may literally forget ever having sent one of these because they’re from so long ago 😬)

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Anonymous said: March 11th 2014 *Clears throat* Non-canon verse, uni AU probably *strums guitar and takes a deep breath* DUEEEEE TO A COMPUTING errORRR, dean and gabe are stuck as roomatesssssssss, whilesamandcascanbestucktogethertoo that'snotaneccesitybutitwouldbegreaaaaaaaaattttttttt, and veeery soon it turns into something of a friendship BUT THEEEENNNN dean fights with saaAAAM and gabe is like "dude stop being so upset" aND FLUFF HAPPEeeeeeEEEEEEeens! *stands up and bows* tyvm for accepting debriel though like omg <3

I’ve been rewatching some of Supernatural seasons 5 and 6 this past weekend, and it reminded me how much I love and miss Gabriel. I still maintain that Debriel is a super-underrated ship. The manic-chaos potential is *muah*. (see: #Debriel)

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Anonymous said: August 7th 2018 psst... light back tickles while cuddling in bed are pure™ and wholesome™

Good shit good shit good shit

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Anonymous said: September 19th 2018 I love science and go to public seminars as often as I can. I walked in to the most recent one (which I had picked at random), and it was on the science of tickling. There were demonstrations. There were hand gestures and finger wiggling. There were in depth descriptions of the anatomy and physiology behind ticklish spots. It was legitimately your Amateur Production’s fic, and I was Kevin. Worst of all it was 2 hours long. I think I died during it and my soul was sucked into hell.

Uhhhhhh where can I get a copy of the slide deck?? Asking for a friend. (see: #series: Amateur Production)

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Anonymous said: September 23rd 2018 your art skills have me shook in the best possible way

aaaahh thank you! Fun fact: I went to art school and even took illustration as a concentration area but I’ve hardly drawn anything for like ten years. When I do draw, it’s usually because there are feelings that I don’t wanna do words about. (see: #strings does art)

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Halo!anon said: September 27th 2018 A small, sinful part of Castiel had the urge to gloat. It was somewhat dampened by the fact that Dean was still under the impression that being abducted is peak romance."I can't believe you went out of your way to set up our second date!" He'd squealed, as Castiel tightened his restraints. - little excerpt of a sequel to Date Nights with Demons i had planned for months but abandoned. halo!anon

Your demented version of Demon!Dean is so entertaining 😄 (see: Date Nights with Demons)

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Anonymous said: November 6th 2018 Aaaaah your Gabriel / Kali drabble was adorable, I can't help but love seeing our mighty archangel reduced to a mass of giggles, and you write Gabriel so so well <3. I love your writing your stories always brighten my day ^^

It’s so rare for him to let his guard down, isn’t it? But when he does, he has a grand old time of it. :) (see: this drabble)

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sarah-lou-who said: November 8th 2018 1/4 Boo! The ghost of my online presence in the community is peeking its head in because I need help. I don’t have a platform or following to sound an alarm, so I’m using my platonic tumblr wife’s platform and following for me, because that’s what platonic tumblr wives do. Right? Anyway, I’m very actively fixated on Attack on Titan atm. You know this very well. You also know my predicament. I seem to have exhausted the entire supply of tickly AoT content I’m interested in that exists currently. 2/4 So, if you’re willing to publish these for me, I’m crying out into the vast TFB lands hoping that there’s someone out there to answer the call. I am in desperate need of tickly AoT content. I don’t know if anyone around here writes for it much these days. I haven’t found anyone. And I know beggars can’t be choosers, but it can’t be helped; I really only care if Eren is involved. Even better would be Levi, but I haven’t found ANYTHING involving him, so I feel like asking for that is futile. 3/4 I digress. Even after all this time I can’t keep my asks less than 50 parts long. So my goal here is that someone, somewhere, will by chance come across these, and be able and willing to either write fic of the tickly variety for Eren and/or Levi from Attack on Titan, or direct me to someone who can, if they know a person who knows a person who knows a person. (Sidenote, hi anyone who still remembers me! It’s Sarah, the more ticklish half of Leerah. I’m doing good and I miss you!) 4/4 (I hope you’re all doing well!) Thank you for letting me take advantage of your devoted followers, Strings! Love yaaa!!!

Ah, my platonic tumblr wife Sarah returns! (Digitally, anyway. Reality-wise, we hang out all the time and it’s probably very rude of me to have not published this ask for so long!) I keep teasing her that she has a Type, and that is dark-haired sulky badass who’d probably make a wicked ‘ler – AoT Levi, SPN Cas, FMA Roy, etc. So anyway, if anyone knows of somewhere I can point her to find the content she’s (still) craving, lmk!

Anonymous said: October 23rd 2019 I’m sorry if this is invasive in any way, but how is Sarah doing? I’ve been absent from Tumblr for a couple years and I see that her blog is now deactivated. I was just wondering if she’s doing alright and if she’s still around here on a different blog maybe?

See above! She doesn’t have a TFB community blog anymore, but she’s doing well. We’re quarantine buddies and helping each other out a lot. Very kind of you to ask! <3

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Anonymous said: December 2nd 2018 Hi, sorry to bother you but do you know what happened to prodigal-anon’s blog? It seems to have been deleted. Sorry again if you’ve been asked this before

No worries, friend! Here’s an answer for you!

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Anonymous said: December 13th 2018 I LOVE THE LOOPY SERIES! I love it so much, is there any chance you’ll be doing a part four? I’d give anything to see Cas and Dean tickle each other, it would be so cute 😍

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I haven’t entirely stopped writing... and Loopy 4 is one of those unfinished pieces that has seen a few additions lately. :) I’ve learned not to make promises about when something might get finished and posted, but I genuinely do believe this may be one of the first things that shows up once I’m ‘back in the game.’ Stay tuned... (see: #series: Loopy)

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Anonymous said: January 1st 2019 No no no you can't just stop there! I need more fluffy destiel with tickles and kissing! Pretty please?

I believe this is in response to Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight. Don’t you worry, anon – Dean and Cas are not done being fluffy on this blog!

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1832wasalongtimeago said: January 25th 2019 Hi I just wanted to pop in and say the Maintenance series is amazing!! The second part was doing things to my poor heart I’ve read it like 5 times already. You’re such an amazing writer and thank you fo writing for us!

I’m very flattered, but I can’t take credit for the Of Maintenance series – that’s the lovely work of ask-flip-frost! It does things to my poor heart, too, so you’re in good company. :)

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Anonymous said: January 26th 2019 Sam Winchester can take a lot of things. The one thing he CAN'T take? Someone using baby talk on him when he's being tickled. He collapses into a puddle of helpless giggles faster than a house of cards in a stiff wind.

Precious Sammy just needs to laugh and be held, doesn’t he? <3

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Anonymous said: May 17th 2019 Thor needs tickles. So. Damn. Much.

Oh this was from right after Endgame came out. Thor did make me feel some sads there. :( Poor bab.

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Anonymous said: July 25th 2019 hi! i’ve read your wonderful fics forever but i’ve never really sent anything like this before so i don’t really know what to say.. but i had a destiel tickly thought and really wanted to share it with somebody, so here goes i guess- dean is taking too long in the shower so cas decides to use his mojo from the other room to speed things along. and listens to dean’s echoey laughs through the door. that’s all. sorry if this is weird! okay bye have a good one

This is not weird and I may have delayed in telling you any of my feelings about it but I definitely have a doc somewhere that has some vague notes about how I’d like to write this because I like it!

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Anonymous said: August 6th 2019 Anhhgff your Good Omens tword fics are so cute snvfddf i never knew I needed that of my favorite husbands till now😳😍

I know, right?! They’re just dying to be dropped into every fluffy situation. (see: #Good Omens)

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Anonymous said: July 25th 2019 Poking my head in to say hello, hope you’re doing well still! I just got into Good Omens and I absolutely loved your fic! (I watched the show first because my book was taking too long in the mail lol) Also, the other week I somehow talked myself into making a tfb blog, after all these years of almost doing so before chickening out (this ask isn’t from it because I just hopped in here briefly in a private phone browser to say hi, it’s literally just august-anon though) ~August!Anon

August!anon, I’m always so happy to see you stop by! Tagging your (not-so-new anymore) blog so everyone can check you out: @august-anon��

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hey-teenblog said: August 4th 2019 I love your fanfiction very much! They give me a lot of pleasant emotions. And most importantly, they, saturated with tenderness and love, gave me to accept myself as lee!! sorry for my english, i'm russian Love you 😘❤️

I will never tire of hearing things like this! Thank you for telling me. “Saturated with tenderness and love” is a such wonderful compliment about my writing – thank you very much! No need to apologize for language differences; I’m always impressed with anyone who manages to pick up English because it’s bonkers.

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Anonymous said: August 23rd 2019 Hi! Just found this blog and wondering some basic info. ** What fandoms do toy write for? ** Do you accept prompts? ** Do you write reader insert fics? Thank you lovley ❤️

Anonymous said: August 29th 2019 Do you write tickle fics for bnha?? Asking for a friend 👀👀

The only fandoms I have reliably been able to write for are Supernatural and Good Omens – but even Good Omens is a rookie player here. Supernatural is my main jam, and Destiel is my favorite flavor. I don’t do reader inserts, but I’m always “accepting” prompts. I just haven’t written many of them for quite a long time now, so you’re welcome to drop them as long as you’re okay with them collecting dust. (see: this selfsame post)

My About/FAQ page is very dusty right now, too, but there might be some useful tidbits in there for you.

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Anonymous said: November 12th 2019 okayokayokay. Have you watched Lucifer? It's on netflix, it's great, so much emotions and pining. (Also, y'know, reg. Luci stuff. He runs a club. Bad jokes. It's great.)

I haven’t, but it’s on my Netflix watchlist, so I’ll get there eventually! I saw a gifset once where he actually did the thing I see in winged fanfic all the time, where there was gunfire and he sheltered someone he cared about with his manifested wings. And honestly, that was the deciding factor for me.

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Anonymous said: November 16th 2019 Oh Man U listen to Critrole as well! Nice! Campaign 1 was awesome but also heartfelt and really gut-punching at points. Who is your fav so far, anyone you aren’t fond of? (& Out of interest do you have any tickle related thoughts on the main crew or upcoming Fics we can look out for? As you said it’s tumbleweeds out here for this fandom’s tickles and I’ll take anything really 😂!) Hope u enjoy!!!!!

It’s STILL tumbleweeds out here and it’s making me crazy! My heart belongs to Vax primarily, Percy secondarily. I don’t really have cohesive thoughts or headcanons about anything, unfortunately. I do have this one mental picture that keeps coming up that I keep wanting to see art of (who knows, maybe I’ll commission somebody someday?) – of ridiculous brute Grog just lifting Vax straight up in his arms and gettin’ wiggly with his fingers while all Vax can do is laugh and pry and kick while absolutely nobody helps him.

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Regarding #series: Accessor:

Anonymous said: August 31st 2015 I would like to see accessor!verse cas using feathers on Dean!!! and NIBBLES and RASPBERRIES and TEETH and TONGUE and WOWWWWWW

ME TOO, FRIEND. It’s been aaaaages since I published anything new for the Accessor AU, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been going back to my unfinished docs every once in a while to add a few lines here and there. ;)

Anonymous said: October 29th 2016 Prompt: Cas is put in charge of getting a treaty with a neighboring country that shares a lot of the same customs, including Accessories, with certain... twists (think Bracelets AU) and treats their personal slaves (like Accessories) like people (listening to opinions, giving proper care, etc.). The foreign diplomats keep bringing that up and talking to Dean. Cas isn't sure he can make it though the diplomatic proceedings. Also, he might be having improper thoughts about that custom and Dean...

I’m posting this here, but I’m definitely keeping this filed elsewhere because it’s FANTASTIC.

Halo!anon submitted: June 4th 2018 I can’t help but imagine how tickling must play a part in other aspects of society in the accessor ‘verse, besides the sessions between master and accessory. So here’s some imagines and headcanons, with a touch of worldbuilding. (Warnings, besides the usual for this AU: death mention, reference to past trauma.)

- Among the high class, during parties and other celebrations, it’s seen as a common courtesy to string up one’s personal accessory in the center of the room and let the guests entertain themselves with them. Lord Castiel never does this with Dean, much to his fellow nobles’ disappointment; the mere suggestion had Dean quaking as things he’d rather forget came back to bite him.

- Every so often, a petty criminal(the poor man’s accessory, if you will) is placed in stocks in a small town’s square and left at the mercy of the very people they used to menace. What happens next usually involves honey, some sheep, and plenty of begging. A guard stands by to warn people, “No hurting, only tickling. Everyone please wait your turn, they’re not going anywhere any time soon.”

- Certain monastic healers perform tickle therapy as a treatment for anxiety, stress, and other “diseases of the soul”, as they call them. Balthazar himself proposed the idea, because of course he did. The rich usually indulge in this kind of therapy secretly, due to its undignified nature. Some contemplate the possibility of training accessories to tickle in the future, but it’s still a big taboo.

- Every town has a folktale about a tickle monster. Curiously, many of them involve controlling plants and attacking through dreams. The southern communities still have a giggle remembering that one time six years ago when Michael offered to hunt down one such monster and came back with Crowley, a sleazy drunkard with a fetish and a dream, sitting in a cage and wearing a mask.

- The Masters sisters, Lillith, Meg and Ruby, have a long history with law enforcement. Their favorite pastime is snatching unlucky merchants off the roads and tickling them into coughing up everything they have. Everyone is sure they had a hand in Fergus"Crowley" Macleod’s untimely demise by ferocious attack hounds, but they’re very good at covering their tracks. They’ll help you cover up your tracks too, if you’re a friend- ask Bela Talbot.

I might make a second part if I get any more ideas. I hope you enjoyed this! -Halo!anon.

I am very fond of you indeed, Halo!anon. These are so creative!

hypahticklish submitted: July 24th 2018 Accessor!Ideas:

~ Gabriel leads a furious rant regarding Prince Lucifer/Sam to Castiel, relating back to perhaps dealings he has directly had with the Prince between their two unstable-yet-truced Kingdoms. Castiel relates with similar views shared by Gehenna’s councilor(s).

~ Dean and Sam BM where the audience learns more about their homevillage. Dean starts it after a rather morose remark from Sam and ends with Sammy smiling and stealing my heart.

~ Balthazar helps Sam in several ways: 1) Learns the Sam was originally a psuedo-Advocates apprentice, as well as herbalist nephew when Sam identifies the components to some salves/medicines he’s making (he had been explaining what he was doing in an attempt to spare himself being attacked like the first couple times) 2) Calls Sam out on being intelligent and making a recklessly stupid choice by selling himself to find Dean. 3) Removes Lucifers mark. And maybe perhaps: 4) Allows Sam to assist in his own healing/medicine making under his careful observation, feigned as needing two sets of hands to do correctly and his assistant was running an errand, to assess his skills. 5) Offer he work in the hospice under him, apprenticing, should Gabriel allow his intelligence not go to waste. It’s not what Sam really wants to do/learn, but it’s better than doing nothing.

~Dean officially thanks Castiel for saving Sam. I’m talking full feels, single man tear sorta thing. And Castiel says “there was never another option” and then its schmoopy sweet with the kisses and the tickles and the Cas saying he loves Dean back!!!!!!!! swoon.

~ Kali!Likes!Sam’s!Spirit! Give me a dinner scene with Gabriel, Kali and Sam where hes holding his own in a diplomatic conversation with them when he nearly crosses a line (maybe something classist? Making it clear that Cas and Gabe are the exception to his experiences) and she says “I like this ones fire. He reminds me of you, my love.” *grabby hands*

~ Prince Lucifer sends a message to Gabriel requesting (threatening) his Helpmate be returned to him for a handsome reward. Sam somehow sees letter and gets spooked because DRAMA. Gabriel responds to Lucifer with the Chief Advocate equivalent of “Fuck Off”

You, my friend. YOU. All these feelings about Sam? Top-notch, and I shall be borrowing them, yes I shall.

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Regarding #android!Cas:

hypahticklish said: January 23rd 2016 Android!Cas deciding today is the DAY. Dean has been teasing him lately that he likes these strange sensations that have him using all his back-up generated power to not accidentally break Dean's bones and challenging him with that cocky smirk and relaxed confidence. Android!Cas practicing during time while Dean rests with holding objects with similar density to the human wrists with enough gentle force that they neither fracture or slip from his grasp. Android!Cas surprising Dean by turning the tables and pinning his wrists over his head while settling himself on Dean's thighs. Android!Cas not necessarily tickling at first so much as just touching like he had been wanting to so as to catalog how his best friend feels with his new technology. Android!Cas feeling that bubble of FEELS in his chest as he listens to Dean swear at him with positive physical actions negating his harsh words, growing more amused as the bubbling giggles begin. I love Android!Cas

Anonymous said: January 23rd 2016 Android!Cas figures out his own strength comes in handy for more than just retaining himself during tickle fights. When he surprises Dean, Dean tends to squirm and fight back a little (even though he told Cas to get him back as part of the experience), so Cas uses his strength to gently hold Dean down while ticking him. Dean's never been held immobile before so it's a new experience for him, but he ends up liking it. Cas notices how Dean relaxes into his hold after a minute or so. Cas doesn't fail to use this knowledge about Dean, coming up with teasing words and methods of ticking to make Dean all squirmy and giggly, taking special notice of how light tickles effect Dean even more than most other touches, using that specially designed soft brush meant to gently clean Cas' delicate computer chips.

Anonymous said: February 17th 2016 I'm joining in on the Android!Cas thing, if not too late. Perhaps Android!Cas has detachable parts, like a foot, and Dean is a jerk and runs off and hides with it all the while tickling it and making fun of Android!Cas's increasingly desperate attempts to get it back.

Y’all, careful deliberate curious determined ‘ler Cas is LIFE. And, reserved confused helpless adorable ‘lee Cas is also life. Detachable and extensible parts are probably key to both of these things.

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Regarding current personal circumstances:

Anonymous said: January 14th 2020 I pray that you’re able to find peace during this difficult time. You are loved more than you will ever know. I know it’s hard to believe, but there will come a time that you are thankful for this experience, because it will have turned you into the person you are truly meant to be. Be strong and be hopeful. Keep your faith and keep knowing that you are going to be okay. Don’t let this dark time destroy the magnificent light inside of you. Sending you so much love

Anonymous said: January 17th 2020 I’m so sorry you’re struggling. Hang in there! We’re all here for you!

Anonymous said: February 11th 2020 all my love, thoughts and prayers are going towards you right now. also wanted to just drop a little thank you note in your inbox for all the light and joy i've found in your fics over the years. im sitting half way through my first year at uni currently but ive been a fan of yours since early highschool and i feel like ive almost grown up with your writing and fanfics in a strange way, so thank you so much for that. sending all my love to you once again- you are so strong x

I love you all so much.

#blog maintenance #ask #you people are too kind #prompt #Accessor 'verse #android!Cas

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captainamericasbeard · 6 years ago

Text

A Long Road- Ch 1

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Mild violence

Summary: While recovering in Wakanda Bucky meets a deadly stranger who needs to learn how to heal.

Part 2

My eyes snap open but my brain is still in a haze. Images race before my eyes and I squeeze them shut again, biting down bile. I see Captain America fighting off a dozen of my guards. A surge of hate in the pit of my stomach as his face swims in my mind. I see Black Widow, the legend I was spoon fed as a child, freeing me from my straps. ”What were they doing to her” she quizzes the air as she takes in the instrument tables surrounding my bed. Burning me alive I think in response. Even now the flames lick the edge of my vision and reach for my skin. The Red Room is on fire.

I squeeze my eyes tighter and take in my surroundings with my other senses. It's clean, I can smell antiseptic. I hear the quiet hum of electricity and the clicking of keys. I sense the soft footsteps and rustling movement of a half dozen bodies. There’s a low murmur of voices in a language I don’t recognize. How is that possible? I know them all… My eyes open again, slowly this time. I’m wary of being overloaded with too much information.

I’m in a lab surrounded by equipment I don’t recognize. Lab techs in white coats flit around me, ghosts trying to avoid my gaze. Once again I'm strapped to a table. Always restrained, I think, I must be as dangerous as they say. I begin to analyze the room, looking for exits, guns, testing my straps. The leather and metal creak under me. A young girl appears at my shoulder. Dark skin, dark eyes, hair falling in long braids, she can’t be older than 19. She smiles at me, an attempt at reassurance.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe.” Her accent is thick, central African I decide. “My name is Suri, what’s yours?” I ignore her question and continue looking around. I can see the dark blue of Cap’s uniform and the black of Romanoff’s behind frosted observational glass. My eyes lock on the super solider and I begin to pull at my restraints in earnest. There’s a fire in my gut telling me to strike this man with everything they put inside of me.

“Calm down,” Suri says anxiously, “no one here is going to hurt you.” She glances up quickly giving silent orders to a lab tech out of my field of vision. When she looks back at me I lock my eyes on her’s. She begins to instinctively back away as she realizes I’ve chosen my target. I’m nearly free of the leather straps around my wrists. Suddenly there’s a needle in my arm.

My left arm snaps free at last and I swing my hand up to the tech who is attempting to administer a sedative. I catch him by the throat and hold his gaze as I choke the air out of his lungs. As he loses consciousness I fling him to the ground and snap the restraint on my other arm. I sit up quickly. My body is quickly ridding itself of the remains of the drug cocktail my handlers used to control me. I bend over begin to work on my ankle restraints, throwing guard after guard off of me as a second thought.

I’m on my feet and moving towards the exit when I'm surrounded by my team of so-called rescuers. Captain America stands in front of me, his only weapon is his broad body blocking the only exit to the lab. His mouth is moving but I’ve blocked out the sound of his voice and am assessing my surroundings. Widow is on my left, her stance wide, her hand hovering over the gun in her hip holster. A third man I don’t recognize is on my right, his fists clenched and ready to strike. I feel like a trapped cat and every muscle in my body is tensed for the strike.

I feel him coming behind me before I ever see him. His form swims in my peripheral mind, tall and broad. I aim to swing a kick around at my attacker’s head but my arms are pinned across my abdomen and my wrists held tightly by one hand that’s human and one that's not. I thrash and howl with pain and feel his grip relax reflexively. I take advantage of his weakness and aim to crush his foot with mine. He throws us to the ground with me on top of him and pins my legs with his.

“Now!” He shouts to Suri who has waited just out of my reach with a needle full of clear liquid. I have to give her credit for her bravery. All the other techs have fled, but this her lab and she has a job to do. She darts forward and plunges the needle into my arm pumping sedative into the muscle thats straining against my captor. I can feel his advantage slipping as I work my arms out of his grip. A few more seconds and I’ll be free to show him exactly what kind of weapon they created to replace him. A few more seconds…

But then I'm the one who’s slipping away. Darkness creeps to the edge of my vision and my eyes fill with fear as I realize I'm losing control. My movements become weaker and less effective and he’s redoubling his grip on me even as I drift away. “It’s going to be ok,” he whispers gruffly in my ear as I lose consciousness completely.

“Ok Sargent Barnes, you can let her go. She’s safe now.” Suri says as Bucky examines me without relaxing his grip, checking to see if I’m faking. My breathing is shallow but steady and my head rests limp against his chest. “I promise, Bucky. This sedative was created for you while you were being treated with us. She’s out,” the princess reassures. It’s her use of his nickname that lets him know she’s sure.

“Get her into chryo as quick as you can. We don’t know what kind of regenerative capabilities she has,” Bucky warns as he gently lays me back on your table. His gut is filling with guilt at what he’s just had to do to me. He can still remember what it feels like, being trapped and drugged like an animal. Being out of control. “What’s her name?” He asks softly.

“She won’t have one, only the one they gave her,” Nat says stepping forward. “Thanks for stepping in Bucky. She’s clearly been trained to recognize us as a threat.” Bucky nods stepping away from the bed to look at the man on the ground. Techs have surrounded him and are scanning him with medical equipment, healing his vocal cords even as he regains consciousness. “I should’ve been faster. She’s stronger than we realized. How did you even get her out?” "We think they’d just been working on her, she was pretty sedated.” Cap chimed in, stepping forward to greet his best friend, “Things went south fast. There is no Red Room anymore, not in Moscow at least.”

“The Red Room? I thought they trained assassins?” Bucky looked quizzically at Nat, forgetting to be delicate about her past.

“We got intel through some of my old contacts in Kiev, they want to be in the Winter Solider business. A lot of groups have been trying to reproduce what Hydra did with you and it looks like one of them finally succeeded,” she shrugged, glancing over at me.

“Well I’m glad you got out,” Bucky replies wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders in a quick hug, “all of you.” He looks back down at the me. They’ve wheeled in a cryogenic sleep chamber and are attaching monitors to my chest and arms. My eyes flutter.

“Don’t worry Buck, they’ll get it out of her. They’ve got you semi stable.” He says smiling.

“Yeah, but I wanted to be fixed. She doesn’t. She’s every inch a weapon. Who knows how much of her is left in there.” Cap doesn’t know how to respond. He’s taken back by the concern in his friend’s voice and the care in his eyes. Especially towards someone who just tried to kick him in the head. Cap claps his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. “Come on man, we’re going to go debrief and then you can show me this farm you’ve been going on about. Goats? Really?”

Bucky smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle but they don’t move away from my form now being lowered into the chamber.

“Don’t worry Sergeant Barnes, I’ll let you know when she’s safely under. She’ll be in good hands with us.” Suri reassures as Cap turns Bucky towards the door. He manages to meet Cap’s gaze.

“Yeah, goats. And they have names.” The group laughs at a now domesticated Winter Solider as they move out of the lab. Bucky offers one last glance back but the medical team has surrounded my chamber, blocking me from view. Suri looks down at me, her brown eyes blazing with determination. “I don’t know your name but I know you can hear me. I also know this isn’t who you were born to be, it’s who they made you, like a spear beaten into shape. I will get you out, I promise.” Her voice lingers on the edge of my consciousness. I’m fighting to wake up but slowly my veins fill with ice as the people around me try to freeze out the fire they set in me long ago. Which will win? I wonder as you slip under the waves, fire or ice?

Thanks for reading. Leave some love.

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lepus-the-bun · 6 years ago

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Oft They Told Of Wondrous Love

She hated this day of the year, the time when she’d run away from everything else. That dreaded sign to her, of impending end, and her failures of her past... Indeed, it was time for her birthday once more. Normally, she’d lock the door to her room, with a bottle of whatever she could grab, and the finest drugs she could score for the day... But not today. No, today she was dragged out and back to a familiar looking cabin tucked away in the back of the shroud.

Her Grandmother’s cabin had stood the test of time, vines creeping upon it’s side as if they land itself wanted to merely reclaim the stolen land. A single dim light lit inside, as Aedwen stood outside of the door with the letter in her hand. The warmth of the spring air in the shroud made her feel stuffy within the adder’s coat she wore... And the humidity irritated at her sole blue eye. Slowly, her gaze panned down to the letter in her hand with a somber frown.

What am I doing?

Her mind raced with the thought as she unfolded the letter for perhaps the hundredth time as she looked down at it. The hand writing carried her grandmother’s elegance, but the words upon it were sweeter than the elderly woman’s heart had shown when they had met again. Her brow furrowed as she exhaled heavily and shook her head.

This is a mistake. I’m going to open the door and have to deal with more damned judgement from her. That damned look in her eyes...

Her fist clenched tightly before she took in a deep breath, and sighed slowly. As much as she wanted to turn back and leave... As much as she wanted to pretend she could ignore this, she could not. As such, her right fist rose to tap her knuckles against the wood in a soft rhythmic manner. Greeted by silence alone, for what seemed a few dreadful eternities, the door soon opened before her.

“Well, there you are. Thought you forgot the way.”

Her grandmother’s sharp tone cut through the distance between them, as before Aedwen stood a shorter elderly woman. Her hair long since white, and tied back in a long fading tail, and face worn and tired with two striking blue eyes gazing at her. A soft tap from the flora filled staff the woman used as a cane, and they stepped to the side, before ushering Aedwen inside with a sweep of the arm.

“Well, don’t stand out there. You’ll catch your death.”

You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?

Aedwen’s lips pulled into a small tense smile as the thought crossed her mind, and she walked her way inside. That familiar smell of lavender and rose buds greeting her as she tried to bury the forlorn memories behind her. The interior of the small cottage falling apart, slowly yet surely over time. Even a woman as determined and strong willed as her grandmother was still a victim of time...

The thought gave a small smile to her lips.

“My apologies, I had business to finish attending to. You know how it is after all, endless work to do.” A penance of work to be fulfilled to ease a guilty conscious.

A small huff left her grandmother. “You only have one day a year to celebrate yourself. Your mother would be disappointed you are treating it so dismissively.”

Aedwen’s lips pulled into a frown as she stood still amidst the room. The door closing behind her with a creak as her grandmother made her way back out, and moved forward to the kitchen without an additional word. Aedwen’s gaze slowly fell to the rickety table that awaited her, with two chairs, and two plates upon it. She remembered helping her grandfather gather the wood, and build the table. It had been the first time she had ever done any real carpentry work, and she had a fondness for it still.

That’d be the last thing she’d be disappointed with.

Her lips pursing gently as her gaze shifted from the table, before she cleared her throat gently.

“... When did Grandfather--”

“Four summers ago.” Her grandmother responded with a shout from the kitchen. “His heart failed him, and we buried him in the family grove.”

“I...” She caught on her words before yet another sigh left her. “... I am sorry.”

There was no reply at first, just a heavy grunt from within the kitchen as her grandmother made her way back out to the table. In her hands a fresh honey cake, with a small layer of frosting resting on the top, with two little candles. The sight... It hadn’t been what she was expecting, of all things. To see her carrying out a cake she hadn’t tasted since she was a child. Aedwen’s gaze stayed lowered, and her voice silent as she tried to think of what, if -anything- she could say.

“We planted his tree, right next to yours.”

Her body froze, at that comment. Her family had a tradition, of burying their dead and planting a tree over them. To protect the body from predators, and nurture a new life into the twelves-wood.

“... My... Tree?”

“Aye. I didn’t stutter. Yours doesn’t have a body under it though, so it’s a runt of the litter.”

“I--”

“You didn’t think we’d do that? You thought we’d think that the seventeen years old girl that ran away into the depths of the shroud, with nary a word or mention, was alive and well?”

I thought you’d have forgotten me.

Her Grandmother picked out a knife, as she began to cut the cake into slices with a small nod. She had two more plates off to the side, guests in her home perhaps that had not yet arrived? Aedwen grimaced before she looked to the side.

“I just--”

“Needed to find yourself, to fix yourself, to do what you needed to do. Probably thought it was too hard now to send a letter back just saying you were alright.”

The words were tipped in venom as her Grandmother spoke them, and despite her efforts she could feel her hands tightening into fists.

“It’s not--”

“It’s not that simple, you had reasons, I need to understand that you’re living -your- own life, and that’s that--”

Aedwen had almost vaulted across the room to slam her hands flat against the table, the old wood creaking violently under the action.

“I FUCKED UP OKAY?! I KNEW I FUCKED UP, AND I... I COULDN’T TURN BACK! ARE YOU HAPPY WITH THAT?!”

I couldn’t face you all again.

“I made my bloody damned mistakes and I’ve tried to make better on it alright?! What do you want, for me to grove--”

She hadn’t expected her grandmother to strike as harsh as she had, the elderly woman’s hand turning Aedwen’s head and leaving a red mark upon the side of her cheek as she was left stunned for a moment.

“I WANTED TO KNOW MY GODS DAMNED GRANDDAUGHTER, THE ONLY THING STILL HERE FROM MY DAUGHTER, WHO I -SWORE- TO HELP KEEP SAFE, WAS -ALIVE- AND -ALRIGHT-!”

Her voice boomed, contrary much to her small stature as Aedwen saw that look of rage in her grandmother’s eyes... But something beyond it as well. A sorrowful compassion of sorts?

“Your... Your Grandfather mourned you for -years-. -I- made a grave for you, to hold no body! My own Granddaughter, left as nothing but a damned tree without even a body below it! Did you ever think, ever -consider- what you being gone for so long would do to us?! Did we not -matter- to you?!”

I didn’t even think of them, in my anger.

Aedwen stood there, her hand rising to her cheek as her grandmother shook before her. A small tear rolling down her cheek before she took in a short gasping breath and the tears began to fall down her aged and weathered face easier.

“I... W-We thought we -lost- you forever... We lost your mother... We lost your father... We lost you... A whole part of the family g-gone in the blink of an eye. And then what... I get -TOLD- from others that you are seen back and wandering around. I thought... I thought you finally came home!”

... I was just running from something else.

“But no! It’s been two years... Two years since you came back, and you never sought out your own family! Do you know how much that -hurts-?! To be so casually -discarded- by your own flesh and blood?!”

Aedwen’s lips pursed, as her gaze fell to the floorboards beneath her feet. The words had struck true to her, and every bit of that truth hurt to come to grips with. Her voice shook, as she stood there, attempting to fight back her tears.

“I... I didn’t... I thought you’d all h-hate me...”

I deserve to be hated.

“Well... They do -NOW-...”

Her Grandmother retorted, wiping at her eyes with her sleeves as she shuffled her way slowly to Aedwen... Her arms opening wide as she wrapped them around Aedwen’s body, and pulled her into a tight hug amidst the soft sounds of her own hiccups. Aedwen’s own tears finally breaking free of her restraint as she felt her knees weaken.

“I-I didn’t... I-I--”

I didn’t want to believe. I don’t want to believe. You should hate me.

“And look... Look how you come back to us... Scarred... Angry... Bitter... And trying to find hope in the hells.”

I was broken before you found me. I was a terrible person before... It just shows now.

Her Grandmother’s hand slowly moved up to stroke the back of her head as she gave a soft shushing sound to Aedwen, as she helped her down onto her knees and held the younger hyur tightly as if afraid she’d vanish.

“... I forgive you... It’s okay... I love you still, no matter how mad I am.”

You shouldn’t.

“Come on then, let it out... We have cake to eat.”

Aedwen’s hand reached up to wipe at her uncovered eye as if she was trying to purge it of acid. A small grunt of a nod, before she gave a loud hiccup, her Grandmother giving a sad sounding laugh before she kissed Aedwen’s forehead and stood up.

“... Hells... I need to wipe my face... You as well. Go on... wash yourself up, get your hiccups under control... And then get your ass back out here for cake.”

There was a small nod from Aedwen as she stayed kneeling on the floor, hiccuping as the tears kept leaving her... No matter how much she wiped her face, they still came.

“Th-Thank you...”

I don’t deserve this.

#ff14 #balmung #story #rp #Aedwen Tyrer #sad #shroud

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kathrynmaslow · 6 years ago

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Love Lies 12/15

Summary: Ever since Emma was 13, she knew she had the ability to destroy people if she wanted to, and some days, she really wanted to. After being forced to go to Greenwood Academy following a traumatizing event in her childhood that brought to the surface her ability to manipulate fire, she never thought she would be free of the place. So for nearly 10 years, she lived a solitary existence with the exception of her best friends, but that was all about to change.

Killian Jones had just been sentenced to attend the university campus at Greenwood Academy after an accident at sea caused him to be dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty’s royal Navy and lose his hand. He doesn’t know what to think about these newfound powers and what they spell for the rest of his now not-so-normal life. But a chance encounter one day has the ability to change all of that.

A story about love and redemption between two people that shows, if you have the right person beside you, you can find a light in the darkness.

Rating: M

Content Warnings: Mentions of Violence/Death, Brief mention of Childhood Abuse/Sexual Assault, Mild Sexual Content

Chapter Notes: For those of you who were wondering exactly what happened to Emma while she was on lock down, here is her side of the story. Thanks as always to my amazing beta @daveyjacobsthepotterhead and artist @princesse-swan. Enjoy!

Read on FF

Catch up on Tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven

Art by @princesse-swan here and here

Chapter 12

Emma was freezing.

Yes, it was beginning to finally turn towards cooler temperatures in the region that the academy was located, but that didn’t necessarily constitute the thick sweater and fleece leggings that she was currently rocking. Rubbing her hands together, her newly minted suppression bracelets clinking into each other with the motion, she tried to get some feeling back into her hands.

When the Headmaster suggested she get put on ice after the attack on the academy, she didn’t think he would mean it so literally.

After they roused her in the medical wing of the academy, Killian nowhere to be found, the Headmaster, security team, and training team were arguing about what to do with her.

Graham, ever faithful, was arguing just to contain her to her room until another set of bracelets was fashioned for her. She hadn’t injured anyone in the attack, and she had protected a lot of the students on campus while showing more restraint than many people here had thought she had, he argued.

The Headmaster wasn’t swayed though. He thought she was a menace, a threat to the safety of everyone on the campus, and that she had to be dealt with immediately and swiftly.

He continued on, talking over the head of the security asking why they were trying to punish her and not Gaston. He suggested they put her on ICE for a few days. Graham visibly blanched when that suggestion came out of the Headmaster’s mouth.

After sharing a look with the rest of the security team members, the head of security turned towards Headmaster Riggans, looking as though he was about to argue again.

All the arguments that he was going to plead on her behalf evaporated when Riggans threatened to fire him on the spot if he didn’t escort Emma to the ICE block immediately. Riggans turned his back on everyone and walked out of the room.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Emma let Graham and another security guard carry her towards the ICE block on campus. Despite living on the campus for ten years, she didn’t know what the ICE block was or where it was located on campus.

But as they kept descending deeper and deeper into and beneath the maximum security facility on campus, Emma began to think that the reason she had never heard of the ICE block on campus was because the students that they sent there never came back.

Badging swiping through the fourth set of security doors, the head of security finally stopped in front of the third door down on the right. There were another six down the row from what she could see, and all the windows and walls surrounding the doors were covered with an ominously thick layer of ice and frost.

“She is going to freeze down here if we don’t take those gloves off her.” Graham said, shifting her so she was standing on her feet without much support.

Still staring at the door in front of him, the head of security nodded his head, “I know.”

“Well can’t you do anything? Riggans took my master key so I can’t get her out of these. I don’t know about you August, but I don’t want to risk putting her in one of those if Riggans didn’t say exactly how long he wanted her down here.” Graham pressed.

“I am well aware of what you are implying here Hunter.” The Head, August, said. Turning to face her, he pulled his set of keys from his pocket.

Fingering slowly through the dozens of keys, he looked directly at her as he slipped one into the slot on her right glove. She was struck by how young he looked.

“You may not know this Ms. Swan, but Mr. Riggans doesn’t know that I am gifted like many of the students here. He thinks that he hired someone just like him, normal, to fill his head of security. I know this about him because I can walk through people’s minds.

I’ve known for a very long time what I could do, but I never attended a school like this, because unless I told someone, no one would ever know what I was capable of. I don’t know what happened to make Riggans so afraid of you, but you are not someone that I think we need to worry about.”

He released the locking mechanism on the gloves, and she felt the warmth of her flames rising up inside of her once again. She looked down quickly at her free hands, flexing her fingers, and back up to him in disbelief.

He pushed a button to the left of the door, and the mechanism slid open with a cracking of ice, “Good luck Ms. Swan.”

The guards shoved her into what she now realized was a cell, and the freezing dark closed in on her.

If it weren’t for the kind heartedness of August, letting her remain without any kind of suppression in the ICE block, she probably would have died.

Walking across campus towards David’s dorm room, she was hoping he would have some information about what happened with Killian.

She hadn’t heard or seen anything about him since she was taken down to the block. And after having nothing to do but worry about keeping herself warm and alive for ten days, she realized how she reacted had been wrong. Killian didn’t deserve the way she reacted, but old habits for her seemed to be hard to shake.

And, she really did need to tell him how she ended up attending the academy in the first place, even if he hadn’t told her how he traveled here.

He saved her life the other day, she at least owed him that much.

Besides, Killian was her friend. Something more if she was being honest with herself.

As she crossed campus, she noticed how things had changed since the attack.

The barrier still hadn’t been repaired, so the clear panes that constructed the dome protecting the campus flickered oddly with electricity while they tried to figure out how to repair the monstrosity. Boulders and singe marks litter the campus buildings as well, remainders of her showdown with Gaston.

Crews were still working to try and remove the boulders and tree branches from the buildings, seeming to enlist the help of military branch members to do some of the heavy lifting that the clean up crews were unable to manage.

There were also more guards in place around the campus, a few had stopped random students as they made there way through campus to make sure they had the proper identification to be there. It seemed as though they didn’t want another army smuggled onto the campus.

One such service member stopped her at the doors to Reynolds hall, asking for her ID badge and scanning the back before allowing her into the building. Some of the color had drained from his face when he beheld the name on her badge, he had obviously heard about the battle on the campus and her role in it.

Emma could hear a commotion as soon as she arrived at David’s floor. Two or three voices yelling at each other, but one with a distinctly familiar accent jumped out to her right away, Killian.

Thank God he is okay, she thought to herself.

Rounding the corner, she hurried down to where she knew David’s room to be, but stopped short as she noticed a tall man in military dress yelling down at Killian.

“First the incident out at sea that got you marshaled and now this! Seriously Killian, I don’t know why you are doing all of this! Are you doing it for attention? Is that it?” The man yelled at him.

Killian visibly angered, a hot flush spreading up his neck and ears and his fist clenching.

“Right, because why else would I do anything. That’s how everything always was! If I didn’t do something right, whether it be during my schooling or during basic training, it’s because I wanted attention! Not because I was actually struggling or anything! You just thought it was a parlor trick to get you out of the spotlight and me into it!”

“You never gave me reason to think otherwise Killian.” The man yelled back.

“WELL GUESS WHAT LIAM, I DON’T WANT THIS!” Killian yelled, shoving at him-Liam-with his hand and blunted wrist.

Liam looked visibly startled when he noticed Killian’s lack of a left hand. He grabbed Killian’s wrist.

“What happened to you, brother?” He asked, his tone so much softer than it had been before.

“You have been keeping tabs on me well enough Liam to know where I was and what had happened, but you didn’t care enough to notice this in the reports. I guess that shows where your real priorities are.”

And with those parting words, Killian shoved past his brother, heading away from Emma towards the stairwell at the back of the building.

As Liam watched Killian go, David took notice of Emma standing there.

“Emma, thank God you are alright. What happened?” He came up to her right away and wrapped her up into a hug. “Jesus, you are freezing.”

“Long story, what was going on over here?” She asked, pointedly looking over Liam when she said it.

“Nothing you need to be concerned about ma’m” Liam said, not turning away from where his younger brother had gone.

“Now see, that is where you are wrong. Killian is my friend, so yeah, that makes you berating him like he is nothing more than a child my problem.” She said, stepping around David to get closer into Liam’s space.

“Really, just being his friend makes it your business now? I’m his brother. You don’t have any say in how I treat my family members. Killian will get over his temper in a couple of hours and will inevitably come back to apologize.”

“But he shouldn’t have to come crawling back to you to apologize when you came here and attacked him! How did you even get in here in the first place, this campus in on lock down after the attacks.” She questioned.

Liam gestured to his uniform, “I am a member of her majesty’s royal Navy, I know exactly what strings to pull and who to talk to to be able to see my little brother.”

“Member of the Navy or not, you shouldn’t be here.” She said, “Killian doesn’t seem to want you here anyway.”

Liam flushed angrily, “Well, I haven’t seen Killian since his ship deployed from London nearly a year and a half ago. I only just received word of his placement after he got Marshaled and dishonorably discharged from the Navy within the last few weeks.”

“And I take it your reunion isn’t going as planned?” Emma said, channeling her best impression of Killian’s smirk that drove her up the wall.

David touched her arm next to her and murmured her name in warning.

“No, it hasn’t, but only because whatever you seem to have done has caused my little brother to turn into a completely different person.”

“We haven’t done anything to him!” Emma said, beginning to feel defensive. Killian had done nothing but respect her and defend her to others around campus, so it only felt right to do so in return.

She just never expected to have to defend him to the brother he spoke so highly of.

“You may not have been the initial cause of the change, but you are only making him worse. Killian was never someone who ran into danger and fought in battles trying to be some kind of hero.” Liam said back, his voice rising harshly, composure breaking.

“He was in the fucking Navy! Of course he was going to become a hero at some point.” Emma retorted, her patience becoming thread bare.

“Yeah, well, I never thought my brother would be a killer either, but that happened too!” Liam yelled, getting into her personal space, his face inches from hers.

All the fight drained out of her in an instant. “What?” Her voice barely more than a whisper.

David moved his body slightly between them, trying to defuse the situation further.

Liam let out a sardonic laugh. “Oh, didn’t expect that of your friend did you.” Liam spat, his voice bitter.

Emma shook her head, not really able to process the thoughts flowing through her head.

“That’s right, Killian is a killer. Killed one of his own men in cold blood when his ship came under attack. I don’t know what happened, but he isn’t my brother any more, and no matter what you all insist, you freaks did this to him.” He pressed a finger into her shoulder.

She barely noticed.

“And I am going to get him out of here, one way or another.”

“That is up to your government, Liam” David said, trying to play the diplomat. “You will have to take it up with them, the leaders here can’t just release him. Especially after what happened last week.”

Emma was barely listening to the conversation anymore.

Sure, Killian had mentioned that he was in the Navy before he had come to the academy, and that they had decided to send him to the states, but he had never talked about what had happened.

But she didn’t know how to process the information that he had killed someone.

It wasn’t like she had a poorer opinion of him now that she knew, but she was finally starting to see him in a different light.

Scenes flashed before her eyes, a looming figure above her in bed when she was 12. Her screaming for someone to come and help her. Roaring flames burning through her room and her house.

A charred body.

Sitting in that courtroom with members of her family staring down at her, some of them crying, some of them angry.

Her first nights here at the academy without anyone to comfort her after being removed from her family.

Family that she hadn’t seen for ten years.

Emma couldn’t say that she completely understood what had happened to Killian, but she was starting too.

“I have to go.” She said in a daze.

Liam and David abandoned the debate they were having when she started to push around the both of them.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Liam asked, trying to push David out of the way to get to her.

David clamped a hand down on Liam’s forearm, hard enough to make him wince. “Watch it buddy. Killian may be your brother, but Emma is my sister, you have no right to talk to her that way.”

“The hell I don’t. She is one of those freaks-”

Liam cut off as David squeezed his forearm harder, “I would think about how you want to finish that sentence, because Killian and I are also classified as one of those ‘freaks’ as you like to call us apparently.”

“You’re no danger to him, she could easily burn him to ashes with just a thought.” He hissed.

That charred body flashed again in front of her eyes.

“Believe me Liam, I am more of a danger to you right now than she is to Killian.” David said, looking pointedly down at Emma’s wrists, where the metal of her new suppression bracelets winked brightly.

“Those keep her powers down to the point where she is no more powerful than you are. Me, they don’t see the need to regulate me that way. So again, think hard about where you want this conversation to go.”

Liam glared daggers down at David for a long second before ripping his arm free and walking off in the opposite direction from where Killian went.

“I have to go.” Emma said again, after remaining silent for the exchange between Liam and David. She started walking for the doors that she had seen Killian go through when she felt a hand touch lightly on her shoulder.

So much lighter than the force David had just shown Liam. Always gentle with her.

“Emma” David said, moving so he was in front of her again. “Be careful. Things got pretty ugly between the two of them, so take it easy on Killian.”

“Don’t worry about me David.” She said, reaching to hug him quickly. “I’ll be okay.”

She let him go and rushed out the doors, barreling down the stairs.

Liam had been arguing with them for a good 10 minutes, so Killian already had a good head start to getting away from them.

Emma thought back on the conversations that they had shared over the last few weeks and thought about all of the places he liked to go when he was in a mood. He wouldn’t go to the library, too many people even with the lockdown.

Nor would he go back to his dorm room. That would probably be the last place he went if Emma was honest. He hated being alone there.

Suddenly, the roof of the science building came to mind. Killian loved being up there in the quiet solitude of the planetarium.

With that in mind, she took off at a run for the science building, hoping she wasn’t too late.

#csbb #2018 csbb #Love Lies #My writing #Captain Swan #emma swan #killian jones #Emma x Killian

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miserablesoldier · 6 years ago

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Texas Hold ‘Em

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader and (Platonic) Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Previously, on Go Fish, on a mission to capture an enhanced individual, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes unassumingly come across them in an elevator in a run down hotel in which gets pretty awkward when it gets stuck in the middle of the night. Now, in the hands of the Avengers in their compound, the team find out and realise there are more sides to the story than just the good guys fighting the bad guys. You’re in their grey area.

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 3.4k+

Author’s Note: This is part two or a sequel to Go Fish, so if you haven’t read it I suggest that you do so you’re not all confused on what’s going on.

You didn’t put up much of a fight. Hell, you didn’t fight at all. All you said was: “which way to your car then?” No commotion, not harsh words just a slow walk to the Jeep.

You thought it was best if you didn’t make it more awkward with Steve and Bucky. You had a good idea of what they were probably thinking about you. Words of betrayal, lies, and a ‘why’ with lots of question marks circling their heads.

Kind of like in Tom and Jerry.

You preferred Ben and Jerry though.

Steve put fancy electronic cuffs on you, the look on his face was just disappointment in you and probably himself for trusting you. “Is this really necessary?” You asked him in a low and soft voice, your eyes refusing to leave his alone.

“Protocol, Ma’am.” Back to the Ma’am, great. Bucky pulled you gently from Steve, helping you into the back of the vehicle with the two super soldiers sat in front of you in case if you were planning of getting away or attacking them in any way shape or form.

Not that you were planning to. Realistically, being with them was the safest place you could be in right now. Protected and guarded by not one, not two but three Avengers. What’s the point in making a getaway if you’re innocent?

Well, depends which crime.

The engine roared to life and pulled out of the car park of the motel. Tony was driving but was insistent with his questions of what happened.

“So, (Y/N), is it? It is, right? No mistake from Scotland Yard?” Stark called from the behind the wheel and through the caged hatch from where you were uncomfortably sat in.

You nodded. “Yeah, they got it right.”

You were sure he smirked or was it a smile? It was hard to tell through the wired window. “You had a hell of a bad day.” He laughed through it.

You frowned and narrowed your eyes at the back of his head. “Do elaborate, Mister Stark.”

Tony ‘ooo’d. “Mister Stark? That sounds kinky.”

“If you think titles are kinky, no judgement from me.” You smiled and shook your head mid-laugh.

You glanced at Steve and Bucky for a split moment and they had the same expressions as they had when they found out you were who they were chasing after. They looked like wounded pups, the ones with soft floppy ears as well.

Tony made a quick right turns and jerked the Jeep which made yourself, Steve and Bucky unbalanced and move involuntarily. You closed your eyes, wincing as you banged the back of your head against the metal back on the car. “Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not – you were saying?” You pushed him to continue his mantra, anything but this silence with the lads would be more preferable.

“Ah, your bad day. You were living in a crappy, dirty motel, got trapped in an elevator with those two and now you’re chained up. Like some kind of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost movie.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t that make me the unsung hero? Or one of the friends that gets killed off?”

“Depends, are you innocent?” Ah, a test. That wasn’t really subtle but you had the eyes of Steve and Bucky on you.

They were intrigued and listening to your answer. “Are any of us really innocent?” Bucky hardened his jaw and looked away as Steve looked down at his shoes.

“Touché.” Tony muttered as the car picked up speed on the dirt road they turned off on.

You leant your head back to the metallic, corrugated wall and closed your eyes. You knew the soldiers were watching you, as they had to, but they was something more behind it than just duty. Closing your eyes, you allowed your mind to wander to a place where there wasn’t any threat to you and there was genuine happiness and a family that loved you.

It’s the same place you go when you need to sleep but sadly, you didn’t have the ability to manipulate dreams at all so they quickly turned to nightmares. Variations upon variations of what happened almost seventeen years before you boarded everything up and high tailed it out of there. At first, it made you sad and in tears but that faded. Year by year. Those tears down fall down the curve of your cheek anymore and the feeling of sadness is now nostalgia.

Now, you have it as a goal. A future to look forward to and not run away from. Those boards will be torn down one day and will be filled with light, warmth and the smell of old books.

A home was your dream and a hope to be a reality.

You were forced out of that façade by a forceful and sudden stop. Opening your eyes, you met Bucky and Steve. Still sat across from you – still visibly upset no matter how much they tried to hide it.

You knew.

“End of the ride, folks.” Tony pulled the hand-break and killed the engine, pulling out the keys. There were no actual windows from in the Jeep so you had no idea where you actual was.

You gathered that was the idea – you were pretty sure that they have a massive Avenger’s sign on the building like they did the tower so the objective of being hidden and discreet was thrown out the window.

Tony opened up the door from the outside and Steve climbed out. Bucky got you up and in front of him, helping you out with ease. You were pretty sure that he could lift and throw you up in the air if he wanted.

You followed Steve and Tony as they led you out of whatever basement this was and into an elevator. Stark smirked. “Hopefully this one won’t stall.” A glare from both super soldiers was earned.

Tough crowd.

You were guided into a cell or four star hotel suite by the look of it. A definite upgrade from the shitty hotel. If this is how Tony treats his prisoners than how does he treat the Avengers? You wanted to ask if you could be a prisoner for a while.

“So, there’s the bed, shower, toilet and a desk as you can see.” They were going to leave you alone for awhile to stew and for them to come up with a game plan with what to do with you.

You nodded, walking over to the bed and parking your butt on it. “Comfy.”

“Glad you think so.” Tony left the room, leaving you with Steve and Bucky.

They just stared at you and you haven’t decided whether you were uncomfortable or welcome to it just yet. The men were waiting on you to explain yourself but after a good, long sullen silence of five minutes – which was pretty awkward – Bucky groaned and left.

Steve stayed for just one moment to say something that you thought could be at least something, anything. “There are set times for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Six am, twelve pm and seven pm.” You nodded.

“Thank you, Steve.” That was genuine and the look he gave you made you actually feel worse for deceiving them even though that you literally met them eight hours ago.

This confused the hell out of you.

Steve left. As the door officially locked, your restraints were unlocked and dropped on the floor.

“Nice.” You dragged out, looking around the room.

Definitely better than the motel.

Hours and hours went by, you figured it was best to sleep until someone either came in with food or came to interrogate you. Someone had come in while you were asleep, it was for dinner and they didn’t wake you up. The food was placed on the desk and, of course, you devoured it when you woke up. You were hungry and the last thing you ate was half a sandwich in an elevator and you knew they didn’t poison the food as they needed you. More like they needed whatever was in your brain to pin the crimes on you because that looked like the way it was heading.

You sat up slowly from the bed as the door unlocked. A woman with dark red hair that stopped at her shoulders came in with nothing in her hands. You recognised her from whatever show or news caster was reporting on the Avengers that day. The Russian assassin or spy, whatever.

She smiled, which you assumed was fake and to lure you in. “Hi there.”

“Hey.”

She motioned to the unused half of the bed. “Mind if I sit?”

You shook your head. “Go right ahead.”

“You’re (Y/N), right?” She asked.

Your eyes scanned her. “Would you be here if I wasn’t?” You smirked.

She exhaled a laugh. “Valid point.”

A silence and then she continued. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“I’m aware.” You crossed your legs and you were also aware of the fact that she was observing and reading your actions to determine what you are like and what your next actions would be.

Which would be nothing at all, to her displeasure.

Natasha found your eyes interesting, you noticed as she kept coming back to them. “Do you know why you’re here?”

You nearly deadpanned at the question. “I reckon I’m here because you have the idea in your heads that I’ve done something bad worthy enough for the Avengers involvement.”

She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You think we are wrong to suspect you?”

“Wrong to suspect me? No. Wrong to in-prison me for it? Yes.” You enjoyed being vague especially with a highly trained assassin.

Natasha straightened her back, she wasn’t expecting this. “You believe someone is framing you?”

“I wouldn’t say framing me, just murdering innocent people in my name to prove a point. I imagine he wasn’t expecting for you guys to get involved.” You added a tidbit to entice her.

Natasha was watching every little muscle you make, watching to see if you were lying at all but what you were saying was and is the truth. “He? Scorned lover?” She smirked.

You laughed. “No, no, more like a guy thinking daddy could fix everything and get away with it.”

“Could I get a name?”

You raised an eyebrow and she informed you of why. “So, you’re not the person in prison for a crime you didn’t commit.

“Check my story, alibi, that sort of thing? He has a few names that I’m aware of.” Natasha got up and pulled out a blank note book from the desk as well as a pen. She handed them to you as you sat down.

Overall, you wrote down seventeen names. One for each year. He would reform himself at the start of every year and get into all sorts of trouble and not the good kind. Natasha was surprised at how many you wrote down, you were sure that she was beginning to believe in your story.

You were being framed.

“Rogers and Barnes will be glad to hear of this.” Natasha dropped that on you as she got up to leave.

You didn’t really believe that. “That so?” You had imagined that they would resent you for a little while, at least.

“Very so.” And Natasha left, the door locking behind her.

Getting back to sleep had proven difficult for a couple hours, so you let your mind wonder to a safe place. You thought you would be back in that house but no, you were in an elevator. You were sat down, with cards in your hands. Steve was there, smiling and laughing. Bucky was beside you, looking at you with those eyes you could actually lose yourself in. This was a safe place and you missed it. You missed being their friend or whatever you were in there for six or so hours.

You were playing this by ear. You weren’t manipulative, you didn’t have a play in mind. You just wanted to live, survive, and play a card game or two. You wanted to get away. You wanted to go home but here you are. In the Avengers compound, laying on the comfiest bed you’ve had the pleasure of sleeping on I’m seventeen years. You had forgot how nice it is to sleep in a nice bed.

Sleep came slow and naturally but you were nudged awake by a different woman with flowing long brown hair. “Can I help you?” You mumbles and groaned, wiping the sleep out of your eyes with the sleeves of your shirt. You didn’t have the strength to figure out her name yet.

The woman had rolled her eyes. “I’m Wanda, and we know you’re innocent.”

“Well, Wanda, I literally just woke up so give me a minute.” You were going slow and she just wanted you up and ready, wanting to shock Steve and Bucky in the morning with you at the table – they weren’t informed of what Natasha got from you last night yet.

A red hue covered your body and forced you up to your feet. You frowned at the woman. “That was rude.”

“Get dressed, Tony cleaned the clothes that you had.” How kind of him.

You got undressed with no warning whatsoever for Wanda, she quickly turned around and you chuckled. Stepping into clean clothes was a nice feeling that you’ve missed. You shoved your feet into your boots and tied your hair back. “You can look now, and we can go.”

Wanda opened the door and you followed, with no restraints this time. In the elevator up, you looked over at her.

“So, where are we going?” You weren’t exactly told.

Wanda glanced at you and the shifted her body to face you. “The kitchen and dining room. It’s breakfast in five minutes.”

“What’s on the menu?” Food sounded good right now.

“It’s a free for all so there’s all kind of cereal, toast and sandwiches and any drinks really. Tony keeps everything fully stocked.” Wanda told you, which she didn’t really have to. You were under the impression that as soon as some kind of briefing went down and they went after the guy you would skedaddle out of there.

And finally back home.

But that wasn’t the case at all, was it?

Everyone was already at the table, beginning to eat as you two left the elevator and walked into the dining room. Bucky looked up first and saw you, and then Steve. Those blue eyes were so wide and full of shock, it was quite comical.

“Wanda, what are you doing? She’s in containment.” Steve rose up from his chair, his mood declined.

You took a step forward towards them. “Didn’t you hear, lads? I’m innocent.” You smiled happily.

“What do you mean innocent?” Bucky was the second to rise up from his chair.

Natasha quickly diffused them. “Sit down, soldiers. She gave me her story and it checks out. (Y/N) is being framed by a guy with a crappy temper.”

Steve and Bucky’s darkened moods seem to fade as they lowered themselves down into their seats. Wanda sat you down beside her and Clint. The two soldiers looked at each other and then you. You felt their eyes on you and you didn’t know what to say to them or think at all – and you weren’t about to say anything at all with nearly every Avenger at the table.

Tony took a bite out of a piece of toast. “So, what’d you do to piss him off so bad?”

“Tony.” Pepper hit his arm as a warning.

He looked at her like he had no idea why she hit him. “What?”

You shrugged. “It’s okay, Miss Potts.” They might as well know.

“I humiliated him at this massively and overtly expensive gala he was hosting for the very first time. I basically ended his social life on the spot and basically his future.” You began as your poured milk on top of your cereal.

They were all quite content on listening to your story, especially Steve and Bucky. “Why were you at the gala?” Clint asked her, taking a sip on his coffee.

“My family were invited.”

Natasha twirled the stirring spoon in her coffee. “Wealthy?”

You shook your head. “I knew what he was and I found out what he was going to continue to do to girls, guys and anyone who got in his way. Whether if it was sport or pleasure. My great great something or other was in business with his great great grandfather so his parents were friendly with mine – that’s how we got in.”

You met Steve and Bucky’s gaze at the other end of the table. Steve spoke to her gently for the first time since the elevator. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing that he didn’t deserve. He hurt someone I care about and karma hit him. It hit him hard and now he wants my head for what I did.” You finished your cereal and downed a glass of fresh orange juice.

Natasha softly spoke to her. “Hey.” She got your attention.

“That cycle ends now.”

You nodded. “Good because I’ve waited seventeen years and I want to go home.”

After breakfast, Natasha and Wanda guided you to the wreck room where a pool table, fuse ball table, air hockey, plenty of video games and books were held. They left you to entertain yourself as they debriefed the mission to the team a couple floors up in the conference room.

You sat on the ‘L’ shaped sofa and watched Hot Fuzz, it was a favourite. For the next three to four days, you had free reign of the facility all by yourself and Vision – who you found a bit weird but so were you.

Steve came back a day early. He wanted to talk to you, alone. You greeted him with a soft ‘Hello’ and he just hugged you. You thought you would be crushed but it was actually nice.

“Is everything okay?” You asked as you pulled away.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, everything is being taken care of. They found him, and it’s happening tonight. Tomorrow you can go home.”

You were shocked, you didn’t think this day would come and it has. That dream would become a reality. “Really?”

He smiled. “Really.”

“Wow.”

“Seventeen years is a long time to be waiting, you know?” Steve sat down with you on the sofa.

You gave him a small smile and nodded. “I had to. To protect the ones I love, I’m sure you could understand, Cap.” That felt wrong but sort of right to say. He was always Steve Rogers to you. You never saw the Captain America side of him – only heard of it.

“Yeah, I thought we should talk finally after what happened.”

“No time like the present.” You felt like you should go first but Steve happens to be a gentlemen.

He looked shy. “I’m sorry.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you and Bucky?” You relaxed your shoulders, removing tenseness from yourself for what’s to come.

He had a few questions to ask. “When you met us, before the elevator, did you know who we were?”

You shook your head. “No, I didn’t. I only realised when I overheard you talking to Bucky when you thought I was listening to loud music then the elevator stalled.”

“That makes sense and makes me feel a lot better actually.” He chuckled, very relieved. He should have talked to you sooner.

You raised an eyebrow. “I still deceived you a little bit.”

Steve shook his head. “No, you didn’t. You made the best of a bad situation. You thought the worst when you realised who we were and wanted to survive.”

“Self preservation and all that.” You looked at your hands, trying to focus on your next words to him.

You came back to his eyes. Very nice eyes. “I don’t regret any friendship made in the elevator with you two. That was me. Those photos are real. Everything was real.”

Another voice made you turn both of your heads. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Bucky.” You slowly stood and he walked over to you. He pulled you into a nice, deep hug which you thoroughly enjoyed.

He took your hands in his. “When you’re ready to finally go home, take our phone numbers. Stay in touch.”

“Maybe, come visit us here.” You smiled, how did you get so attached to these guys?

Steve came up and stood by his best friend. “Perhaps, we could visit you. If you wanted.”

Bucky smiled at you. “Play a game of cards?”

You laughed. “Game night at my place? You’re on.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #the winter soldier #steve rogers x reader #captain america #fanfic #marvel #marvel fics #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #reader insert

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hulksmashin-bannerpackin · 7 years ago

Text

Cursed

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: Reader thinks she is cursed when every man who has ever showed interest in her dies. Loki has actually been killing all potential suitors behind the scenes but his plan backfires when he finally tries to court her and she stays away.

Word Count: 1818

First time writing Loki! I really enjoyed writing for Loki! I’ve got a sequel in mind containing smut, if people express enough interest I’ll try to write it! Tell me what you think ^^

Enjoy!

Y/N grew up within the palace walls, her mother being one of Queen Frigga’s favoured lady in waiting giving Y/N all the opportunities she could ever need to have advantage in life. She spent most of her formative years with the young princes Thor and Loki, playing with them, learning with them, she became close friends with both however she was particularly close with Loki.

They both shared a love of illusions and sorcery and while she did learn in the ways of the blade she preferred to spend her time learning magic with Loki under the tutelage of the beautiful and strong Queen herself. While Thor found bonds with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, Loki and Y/N grew ever closer.

Y/N thought she had the perfect life but then it all started…

When Y/N was a youngling at the learning hall and she began to discover the wonders of the opposite sex. She had a budding crush on a young boy named Braig. He was enthusiastic and joyous and he was kind to her. They started speaking more and more and soon they began spending time together. Y/N never forgot Braig, he was her first kiss after all. One day however Braig had been bitten by a venomous snake. He was found dead within the forrest, guarded by the lush greenery.

Of course Y/N was saddened and she had mourned but at the time she was able to forget for the most part and move on. It wasn’t until she was older, til she matured both in body and mind. She had become a lady. A beautiful lady. She began to gain the attention of her peers. It was then Y/N realised that she was cursed.

For every man that ever showed her interest seemed to be destined to perish over the next thousand or so years of her life. Varmir crushed by an avalanche of boulders, Trandere didn’t survive the trials of the warrior, Haggard lost his life in a brawl after consuming much too much mead and Aevar, Eskil, Galm, Ottar, Wybjorn and Frode had all lost their lives across different battles for Asgard in different realms.

Y/N had laid weeping in her chambers. Loki sat on the edge of her bed with a reserved expression as as he patted her back.

“I’m cursed Loki!” Y/N wailed into her pillow, when she was calm enough to speak.

“Don’t be ridiculous darling, you are not cursed.” Loki said calmly.

“What other possible explanation could there be?!” Y/N sobbed. This was it! This was the last time she would allow herself to fall in love! She had found someone she thought she would be able to safely feel for. A bakers son. A man who had no intentions of following the warriors path. Surely this time her curse wouldn’t effect this man? She was wrong. He had disappeared, seemingly without a trace. This proved that it was her, that somehow she was cursed to be alone without love.

“I think you’re being a little bit over emotional.” Loki ran his hand through her soft (coloured) tresses. “Besides none of those men deserved you.”

“That doesn’t mean they deserve to die Loki!” She sat up, wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand. “Loki, thank you for being there for me but I think I just want to be alone right now.”

“Very well, I hope you’ll join me in the library later tonight.” Loki smiled at her as he stood. Y/N nodded as she gave him a week smile in return. “I will, thank you for understanding.”

Loki’s footsteps echoed down the empty hallway as a dark smile splayed across his face. None of those vulgar whelps deserved the perfection that was Y/N. He couldn’t allow them to taint her or bring her down to a level below her. Loki had loved her the second he met her. He knew of course he didn’t deserve her yet either. Loki had many plans to become great. A great Sorcerer, a great man, a great King. He was determined to become worthy of her and until then he had to make sure he kept the competition scarce.

Loki didn’t mean for it to come so far, he swore it started out innocently! He just couldn’t stand the pit of jealousy welling inside of him whenever someone tried to approach her. The only arm that would suit being around her was his and that’s how it was going to stay.

As the years passed Loki’s hard work seemed to have paid off, Y/N had spurned the advances of all whom came across her. Y/N focused on her studies and by Loki’s side they became great warriors with powerful magic and an ever growing connection between them.

—————————————

Y/N noticed, one day how distressed Loki had seemed to be. She looked for him high and low that day deciding to finally search not in Loki’s favourite place which was the palaces library but in her own favourite hide away. Whenever Y/N was distraught she would go deep into the royal gardens maze, in the centre. There she found Loki brooding away, sitting on one of the benches.

“Loki?” Y/N softly called as she approached him cautiously. He didn’t look up at her or acknowledge her presence. “Loki?” She tried again, sounding more assertive. She sat beside him and placed a hand on his.

He violently pulled away from her as if he had touched fire and that was all Y/N could take anymore.

“For goodness sake Loki talk to me! I will not be ignored!” There was a serious tone in her voice that demanded to be listened too.

Loki looked at her and Y/N’s heart almost broke when she saw his expression. “Loki?” Her voice softened. “What’s the matter…?” She reached out and held his face in her hands, grip firm when she felt the slight tug oh him trying to escape her grasp.

Loki took a deep breath and held his hand over one of her own, leaning his face against it.

“I should of known that I was different, that l, that l didn’t belong. I should have been smart enough to realise. Oh Y/N… The God of lies turned out to truly be the biggest lie of them all…” Loki’s voice was broken, he knew that she was the only one he could show his true feelings too, and it was all the more precious coming from one who wore a mask of so many faces.

“Loki, whatever has happened will be okay. We can get through it together.” Y/N turned to console him but Loki only let out a dry laugh. He waved his hands and in a whirl Y/N’s eyes widened as the Casket Of Ancient Winters appeared before her floating in the air.

“Loki!” Y/N said harshly as she stood. “This is no prank! You cannot steal from Odin’s treasure vault!” Y/N was growing more worried by the second. What kind of trouble had her dear friend gotten into?

Loki simply looked at her, his hands hovered on each side of the Casket before he slowly gripped it. Y/N gasped and she backed away in fright as Loki’s skin and eyes began to change. “L-Loki? What is this?”

Loki looked at her with a sad sort of acceptance. Like he knew he would be shunned. “It turns out this relic wasn’t the only thing my ‘father’ had taken that day.” He spat, the word father was venomous.

A weight came down onto Y/N’s shoulders as different emotions raked through her. Surely somewhere, someone may find this attractive, but to an Asgardian, to someone who grew up to hate Frost Giants and find their race vile and offensive, to say the least it was hard for Y/N to look at. She knew however this was a key moment. What she did now would take a lasting effect forever.

“Oh my dear Loki.” She took careful steps forward and approached him. Her hands twitched by her sides as she raised them and placed them once more on Loki’s cheeks. She felt a chill run down her spine at how his touch was now icy but she ignored it.

“You are still Loki. The past or future cannot change who you are. I will stand with you always.” Y/N smiled at him, trying to convey that her sentiment was genuine. The Casket disappeared and Loki’s pale skin and beautiful eyes returned.

Loki looked into her eyes, searching desperately for the truth in her words. Finally Loki let go of his long held restraint, taking Y/N into his arms Loki crashes his lips against hers in a rapturous kiss. Shock overcame Y/N but that quickly faded as she returned the kiss dazzled and beguiled by the sudden action.

When Y/N realised what was happening she pulled away despite the butterflies in her stomach and the tingling on her lips. “Loki what are you…?” She was so shocked she couldn’t even finish her sentence.

“Y/N I’ve held feelings for you for a very long time, I just, I never felt like I was worth your affection.” Loki confessed, his hands still clenching her shoulders almost painfully tight.

“Loki… I-I can’t…” Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she stepped away from him.

“Because of what I am?” Loki asked, if she were to reject him, well at least he would of the memory of that kiss.

“No. No Loki no… Because of my curse. I couldn’t do that to you…”

Loki froze, his blood ran cold. Did that mean she would return his feelings? And not only that she would accept him for what he truly was?

“Y/N you do not have a curse.” Loki stated with conviction.

“I do Loki, I’m not going to risk you.”

Loki swallowed, he finally had the chance to be with her but she refused him because of his own doing. He couldn’t very well tell her he had sabotaged her all these years.

“Really Y/N I’m far more powerful then any silly curse could comprehend. I-“

“Loki no… l can’t.”

Loki’s face hardened. He felt like a dagger had been twisted into his heart. He had never felt more alone. He stepped back and disappeared leaving Y/N to sink to her knees and cry.

—————————————-

Y/N sat on the edge of the shattered rainbow bridge staring into the empty abyss. She felt broken and her stomach churned painfully. She wanted to cry but after all this time Y/N felt like her tears had all gone. Loki was… dead… She felt like throwing herself off the bridge as well just so see could be with him but she knew that Loki wouldn’t want that.

This was all her fault and no amount of consoling could tell her otherwise. Loki had feelings for her and he was punished for that with her curse…

The End

Taglist: @insanityismysanity12345 @greenangrysnowflake @kitchensink-to-me @zadyalyss @becaamm @theweirdlunatic @itsjackothy @bluebird-burning-gold @surfin-the-sun @ncville @My-crazy-hectic-life @daft-not-punk @fangirlbitch02 @gabriels-trix @ivy-16-18 @theblackqueen-ofmyheart

#loki #loki x reader #loki lafeyson #loki of asgard #marvel #avengers #loki imagine #thor #frigga #loki laufeyson x reader

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