#they pine then they bone then they live together in bliss

[vexed-n-hexed]

Sometimes I like to fantasize about the goofy ass shit Eddie would get up to on tiktok in a modern au. Like he would be so fun and chaotic.

Steve could be so many different personas online (hot himbo, Camboy, bi athlete, single dad wholesome content, idc), but Eddie? Every au he’d be posting some elaborate shenanigans online every chance he got.

[libidomechanica]

Drug thy mouldy mammoths, “grand Cuvier”

While as if thou hast none alone.     So he did not take me oft to leade the bow’d fu’ low unto     the siren! No arméd Host, not times call, and I were the     bed to the night sooner or Baal, which plaidie, the long. Drug thy     mouldy mammoths, grand Cuvier!—

Thus answers Death. No birds of     life from its snare, condemn all subiect to vse eloquence     and terror of the Diamond peace or wanting in his eyes     were nowhere you full sailes drown’d, or the iron chain-swung     censer teeming; no shrives

today when the best: for our     life.—Forget me loved, which would rather sigh like a prosper     weel again; his cheek or pine, but he is a gentle squeeze,     warm as a pall, that the due place? And Betty well abroad     in all this Papa fool’s

heart! Will I fashion of the bliss,     a love were most articular independing near him     no cure than the covered with a passage in her gentle     Night hath not talk, not too sick, and speed: and mine had bloom well;     perhaps, and shadows. Aunt,

besides to fear of sapless Earth,     and all were to please; and the iron chain-swung censer teeming     years. For he had carv’d, and harass’d in abeyance unto     his lamp were none a word, and yet alas, which he glory     as may see, and destroyed.

Now the hideous prison     wastes and to finish all speed: and my ribs cracking in his     little lazy love; no doubt too so braver at our forehead     of gliding songs of God nor stumbling, and a spirit     seems too often graveyard,

they little bone dry voice most dear,     and years would weep the stark and quickness and put new so the     tangled with proved so soone increase thy wynters wrath I heard     not, nor seize to pain, feeding horse, thou, Love, call me Papa.     His eyes shut her notes and

such untold, by his car, aloft,     you may loue in her like raven he, of real to me. This     hand rent, when the darts as with fair Venus, save such a little     things progressed was before the tuneless crocodile.     He would love and on her

equipage. His step, by all wet,     shaking and day: and if such rites of love, and with my footsteps     worn a path to me, i’ll fear to me, I thanks, for me,     dear delighted sheep, and thus Good Betty is thy vaine looks     that vnbitted too creeping

prisoned thy cradle on the earth?     Gives more without some have leaves express grace and made appetite     beyond the dog, a little heart of the suddenly     seem right, we have no crime. If you pleases its winters warming     me nourishing-room:

it has all soon steam-engine at     the bedded in triumphs to the Romish Tityrus, I     heare speaks up as tiny no-sex voice? Nor atom that I     should be as good turn’d—her bosom shakes. Wise Head—clean Heart, loue     onely realm in an

evil stroke of Fate; as equal     share. Through the birds sang for Love’s silver bread or the pony     too. And early graine?—Whilst our heart aflame. Their good claret     set before his book, then ware; it is no little stars and     at first touch, first the secret,

my Sandy O; tho’ my heart!     Said the friend of transfer where in the guitar, nursing them     toll. Through it half a higher souls.—Kill a man’s face a morning’s     a turnpike rose or scorn my loves, are over, from ebon     stray. Was but could not

need to do, we lived the hideous     priest, meanest lump of clay stolen a star, and there, where,     what you’re lucky together, each helped us on the setting     the kelp holds what had taught save Scotchman in the primroses     blow in the chair when,

a new voice of weather’d from his     guide philosophise, and reward the while thy selfe, but never     call, tis held there were to climb o’er the surgeon came I     follow the short he came the gadding vnto my bracelet. Save     some folks be, the couldn’t risk

my bracelet. Born to die, to our     ago, on Johnny? Read with the poor are though care. And     imperial. And Maud was hidden frog wades; and homeward for     him, and Maud too, be off! Polluted way, a year behind     in search twig: an army

down. And the sole months. A depth in     the ready: fire or swan’s down his tale. For so to see each     man kisses again—At the sinks tears can never rue. Then     glide, on the with shouting to do not only tears, by the     loved as one things of love

my sight, and make the skies, maud the     dreadful day. Thine; for think not Woe with vernal oaths are pecking     eye: but straight, can come away, and years beset her; point     of youth, gives me to thy words, thro’ the last lone how shall hope,     of the South, darken’d eyes?

[jvngkook97]

True Colors

pairing; dancer!jimin, non-idol!jimin x non-idol!reader, cashier!reader ft. kim taehyung + jung hoseok

genre; angst, fluff, smut, fwb, f2l, soulmate au

warnings; mentions of death, cursing, jealousy, implied non explicit smut, verbal fighting, pining more on reader’s end, jimin is scared to commit both to reader and of relationships in general, both are insanely stubborn in this so bare with them

rating; 18+

w/c; 6,058 sorry not sorry

a/n; super excited to add this one to the list, and as always pls like + reblog if you enjoyed. <3 feedback is appreciated! ty.

soulmate au masterlist ~ coming soon!

His blood ran cold. Whole body pulsating. His pupils were blown wide, shaking in their sockets. Tears cascaded down his cheeks relentlessly in rivers.

Mouth open in a bone curdling, shiver inducing wail that he didn’t know his diaphragm was even capable of making.

Heart clenching in a pain he didn’t know was possible….until now.

Sitting on his knees in the middle of a busy New York City sidewalk, clusters of people walked around him. Many looked on in sympathy, already knowing the reason behind the male’s emotional display. None envying him in the slightest, only hoping to never be in the same position themselves. At least, not until they were old and lived a long, happy, and hopefully successful, life.

He looked up at the once beautiful, clear blue skies above him that adorned fluffy white clouds of all shapes and sizes he realized he now took for granted. Then he bit down on his quivering lip, drawing blood that slid down his chin and littered the grey concrete sidewalk with little splatters around him.

And for the first time in seven blissful years, everything was a dull, colorless, lifeless, shade of grey.

Which only meant one thing.

His soulmate was dead.

2 Years Later

Hovering over your body, arms flexing from holding his weight over you, his body finally stilled in his actions. Eyes closing in reflex from the euphoric feeling that spread throughout his body, breaths coming out in shallow pants a hair width away from your lips, his hair cascading around him, slightly tickling your face, you watched him come undone.

An equally as blissed out look could be seen on your face as your body shook in spasms. Mouth open in a silent moan, you subconsciously started to lean up the little distance to the dancer’s lips getting lost in a post haze world of your own. Just as your lips were about to connect, his eyes flew wide open.

He pushed off of you in a flourish as if your body had turned into white hot lava. Nearly tripping over the blankets that accumulated in a pile around your bed during your hasty hook up, before being able to right himself. Immediately he began searching the floor for his clothes, not even wanting to stay there for another second. He needed to leave. He had to leave. Now.

You realized your mistake as soon as you almost did it. His reaction sobering you up instantly. Pushing yourself up into a sitting position, you scooted closer to the edge of the bed and let your legs fall off the side, feet hitting the cold floor. Cautiously, you leaned over to try and touch the dancer’s still bare shoulder. You could visibly see his body shaking a few feet away from you and felt a huge wave of guilt hit you.

“Jimin, I’m so sorry. I honestly don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean too–,” your plea fell on deaf ears as he whipped his head to look at you, whole body closing in on itself as he flinched away from your touch. His eyes that once held a burning passion prior to your sexual activities that caused you both to stumble to your bedroom, now held a scathing look as his eyes narrowed into barely visible slits. His voice felt like you were standing under an ice cold shower.

“Do not fucking touch me, y/n.”

His words are what stopped you from moving at all. Silently, you watched him finally gather his clothes together and put them on as fast as he could, given the tight quarters of the room you occupied. In times like these, you wished you didn’t cheap out on picking the bigger room, but at the time of signing the lease you barely had enough money to afford the room you live in now.

“Please, Jimin. Don’t shut me out, it was an honest mistake! I would never intentionally–“

He gripped the doorknob with knuckles turning white, his back towards you. Head down, he slipped his shoes on and pulled open the door, stepping one foot out of the threshold before saying one last statement.

“There was one rule, y/n. Just one. And you were going to break it. Even knowing how I feel on the matter? I just–,” his words got caught in his throat as he tried his best to keep his rage to a minimum. He was upset, yes. But he wasn’t one to raise his voice at a woman. He was taught better than that. They taught him better than that.

“Just give me time.”

And then he was out the door. The gentle way he closed it made a whine begin to bubble up your throat, before you silenced it. You had fucked up. You had royally fucked up.

———————————————————————

You had met Park Jimin in a rather rebellious phase in your life. Meeting at a club meant for people to be able to escape the social pressures of the world to find your soulmate. One that’s sole focus was for you to let loose without a care, and meet people who shared the same ideals and opinions as you on the matter. So, there wouldn’t be any guilt on either end the next morning when you would inevitably wake up in a stranger’s bed and still see that dull grey in your vision. It was welcomed, more expected.

It was hard not to notice the skilled dancer whose moves outshone all others on the dance floor that night, eight months ago. You were with a few of your close friends, Kim Taehyung and Jung Hoseok. One was a freelance photographer, and the other was a dancer like Jimin. Hobi, as you preferred to call him, knew of Park Jimin, who was two years his senior at the dance academy.

He told you how he looked up to Jimin, as well as others in the academy. For awhile, it seemed like he was really going to be someone, to make something of himself, he had promise. There was a scout that was going to be at their rendition of ‘The Nutcracker’, he was representing a very prestigious dance team that traveled the world with their art. Jimin’s dream, Hoseok said he told him, the night prior to the dance recital. He was nervous, but mostly excited. So imagine to his surprise when the next day, he just never shows up to rehearsals. Completely missing out on seeing the scout.

It wouldn’t be until months later that he would find out exactly why he never showed up. It was Kim Taehyung that witnessed his collapse that dreary morning, making his was back from a photo shoot he just got done shooting. Taehyung being the one to coax the heartbroken shell of a man that day to his feet on shaky legs. Ushering him into his apartment that was a few blocks down, where he let the dancer crash on his couch until he was able to think clearly again. Taehyung was able to get Jimin to tell him what happened before he fell asleep from exhaustion. Then the next morning when Taehyung woke up, he was gone. The only proof he had that he was ever there in the first place being the neatly folded up blankets and pillows stacked on the end of the couch. And a post it note that was stuck to a freshly brewed, still warm, coffee pot that was hastily scrawled that said ‘thank you’. After that day, he never saw the dancer again. Until now.

Having caught the dancer’s eye, within the span of minutes after the two finished giving you some background on Jimin, you decided right then and there, you were going to befriend this dancer. Always having this inner need to help fix those that were broken, as if it was engrained into your DNA.

Grabbing a hold of Taehyung and Hobi’s hands, you led them into the sweaty mass of bodies that still crowded the dance floor. You needed an in, and they were going to be it.

As a trio you started dancing, your body in between both of theirs. To others, it would’ve looked as if both males that flanked either side of you were yours. And they were, but not like that, never like that. It’s true, you might’ve released some sexual tension with the two men, both separately and together, but it was equally beneficial, and strictly platonic. In a world where you were destined to have a soulmate, you know you would survive if you happened to never find yours, because you had them. And to you? They were even better than a soulmate could ever be.

Jimin noticed you three, or rather, he noticed you. It’s hard to say exactly what came over him that night. Maybe it was the way he watched your body move so gracefully and effortlessly, or from the generous shots he received from other fellow club goers, but when he saw the two male’s put their hands on you? He saw red.

It made no sense. He had never seen you before, never even met you. Yet all he could think about, all he could feel in the moment, was that he wanted you. Not being an aggressive guy at all in his life, he still wanted to rip their hands off your luscious curves and replace them with his. It’s like his body had a mind of it’s own as he naturally gravitated towards you three, swiftly making his way through the bodies that still remained on the dance floor.

Giving the two men a side eye glance, noticing the dancer getting visibly closer to you, they took the hint and gradually let go of you, deciding to just dance together not to far off from where you were. As you swayed your hips side to side to the beat that reverberated from the floor, you held your hands up above your head, wanting Jimin to take the bait. He did.

Eyes narrowing in on the exposed flesh between your crop top and skirt, his hands found a newfound purpose. Not wanting to waste any time, any second with you, he pulled your body flush against his, his knee finding home between the flesh of your thighs, rubbing against your clothed core in a way that had your body shivering in anticipation of what was to come later on that night in the confines of your closed bedroom door.

Like a moth to a flame, he pulled you in with his burning eyes, and you had no chance of survival.

——————————————��————————

From that night on, you two were seemingly inseparable. But you both agreed, your relationship was strictly friends with benefits. Nothing more, nothing less. He also had one very important rule. In fact, it was the only rule.

No kissing.

If that line were to ever be crossed, your unspoken contract would end.

You never found out exactly why he was so adamant on it being a rule, not really caring to ask with the way he made your body sing with his skilled hands and equally as skilled, very flexible, body.

But now? As you watched his body disappear into the crowds of New York from your bedroom window, walking away at break neck speed, to get away from you, you wish you knew.

Well, you can’t say you didn’t have an inkling of an idea as to why he lived life that way. There was no other explanation other than the undeniable fact that when two people kissed, there was a possibility that they could be your soulmate. And your once dull and colorless life would be renewed and rejuvenated. The world around you would come alive in various colors you’ve only ever read about in textbooks, having not been able to see for yourself with your own two eyes due to the simple fact that you have yet to find said soulmate. Having kissed both Taehyung and Hobi, you already knew it wasn’t either of them, so you were basically shit out of luck.

It’s not that you didn’t believe in them, you just weren’t as uptight as most people about finding them. If it’s meant to be anyways, why bother going out of your way to find them? It’ll happen when it’s meant too, was your life philosophy. Which is why you lived life the way you did, and went to clubs that were considered as taboo for most people of society. Though another thing was that you never cared what people thought of you. Cause those who mind, don’t matter, and those who matter, don’t mind.

Your doorbell ringing is what signaled you that someone was at your door. Opening the door that Jimin just walked out of not too long ago, you knew it wouldn’t have been him. His pride would never let him. No, it was your platonic soulmates, Taehyung and Hobi, who stood at your front door with wide smiles and bags of your favorite food. Yet another reason as to why they just had to be your soulmates. It’s like they always knew when you needed them.

So when they saw you, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, they coo’ed at you with empathy and understanding, having passed up the dancer on their way up the stairs to your apartment. Stepping through the doorway, they shut the door behind them gently, which made you let out a broken whimper at the action that further reminded you of Jimin. Hobi set the bags he was holding on the floor and enveloped you into his warm, and safe, arms. Taehyung rubbed your back in solidarity and kissed the top of your head. It was in that moment, you knew you would be okay, no matter what happened.

———————————————————————

It wouldn’t be until three months later that you saw the dancer again. Though, if it was up to him, it would’ve been much longer. However, he didn’t expect to be seeing you behind the counter at one of his favorite corner stores he frequently went to, being close to his apartment and all. During said months, he was able to get your image out of his mind long enough to focus back on his dance studies. Something he’s been wanting to get back to, ever since you helped him regain his confidence back. All those late nights in a random dance studio that allowed him to practice, as you watched from your view on the floor, content. Head swaying side to side to the music of choice, which was often some composer of classical music. Not that you minded, it was soothing. The complete opposite of what Hobi would be dancing too, which normally consisted of some kind of hip hop, or rap.

You were having a good night so far, having just started your night shift a couple of hours ago. The floor was spotless, the shelves were stacked, the windows were shiny. It was a slow work day, one that let you get a lot done, for once, since you started this job two weeks ago.

Your back was to the counter, hair up in a high ponytail that was haphazardly thrown up, stray baby hairs sticking out in random directions. Restocking the cigarettes always took the longest, it seemed like. Never realizing just exactly how much people liked placing the cancer sticks, as you liked to call them, between their lips on a daily basis. Losing the only parent you ever knew when you were twenty to the horrible disease. Your dad. Mom having split not too long after you were born, not yet ready to give up the party life and her youth for you.

With an inward grimace, you were just about to place the last box in it's position on the shelf when a throat clearing could be heard from behind you. Turning around with an apology ready to spew from your lips, you stopped mid turn when you locked eyes with the customer in front of you on the other side of the counter. Eyes you haven't seen in three months.

It was Jimin.

His eyes widening upon realization that he was staring into yours, had his mouth open in an awkward attempt at something, anything, he could say to you. But nothing came out. Instead, it was you who broke the silence. Resolving to sticking to work mode, you let out the normal spiel of a cashier that worked at a hole in the wall corner store.

"Will that be all for you today, sir?" you spoke in a professional, and equally as fake manner. Refusing to break eye contact with the male first, already having glanced at what brought him into your work.

Condoms. It was a fucking box of XL condoms.

Fitting for his size, you were very intimately aware of being correct. Knowing that most men, or boys, who chose this size was probably lying out of their ass. Some even going so far as to use it as an attempt at a pick up line to get you to go on a date with them. Rather than show face on what you really thought of them, much like you're currently doing with Jimin, you once again chose to stay in work mode. Good to know he has no qualms with finding someone else to satisfy his needs. You not being so lucky in the matter, not having been with anyone since him. Not even your platonic soulmates who you know wouldn't mind helping you out. It's like your body wouldn't let you. You physically feeling ill at the thought of sharing your bed, your body with someone else who wasn't Jimin. Like it was wrong.

"Wait, I–this isn't what it looks like, I swear, y/n." He doesn't know why he felt the need to try and explain himself to you. Someone who was no more than a person willing to share their body with him. Nothing serious, just a fling. Or, so he thought. His mind and heart telling him otherwise.

"Have a good day, sir. Please, come again." you said in a monotone voice. No fake smile, no fake customer voice. You didn't even give him the luxury of the chance to explain. Turning your back on the dancer, you resumed your work responsibilities. Jimin stared at your back, just standing there for a moment, waiting to see if you would miraculously turn back around. But alas, his waiting was futile. Sighing quietly in defeat, he grabbed the box of condoms off the counter and dejectedly walked out the automatic doors. Shoving the box of condoms into his friend, Jungkook's, waiting hands, he brushed past his shoulder harshly and stuck his hands in his coat pockets. Ultimately, deciding to just make the trek back home, his night out with friends now ruined by your insinuation.

Unbeknownst to you, he hasn’t been with anyone since either.

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

Despite your body's feelings towards having sex with someone who wasn't Jimin, you were determined to now find someone, anyone, to help take your mind off him. Arriving to your destination of choice as soon as you got off work, you knocked loudly on the apartment door. Taehyung answered with a wide smile on his face, his hair was wet, probably from the shower he just took. His chest was bare, water droplets still sliding down his abs that led to his happy trail. Said trail leading to what you really came for, hidden beneath the fabric of his grey sweatpants that hung loosely around his hips. Licking your lips in anticipation, you locked eyes with Taehyung and walked into his apartment, shutting the door behind you. He immediately knew what you came here for, having a sixth sense for what you needed, or rather what your body needed, over the years of knowing you. His smile turned into a serious face, one full of determination to make you feel better, and a hint of lust.

He led you to the couch that sit in the middle of the living room. You sat down, legs opening in anticipation of what was to come. The way he now kneeled in between your legs, gently opening them wider with his large hands that were now placed on the tops of your thighs, right underneath the skirt you were wearing, made you mewl softly.

"Please." you whispered softly, eyes tearing up.

He softly shushed you, giving you a small smile of understanding. Fingertips brushing against the waistband of your underwear, he slid the flimsy material down your legs slowly, and let it fall somewhere on the ground beside him. Rubbing the tops of your thighs in circles soothingly, he placed gentle kisses on the inside of each of your thighs, getting dangerously close to where you needed him most.

As soon as his tongue lapped at your core, you threw your head back against the couch, mouth open in a soft moan. Your hands naturally went to grab onto random tufts of his hair, tugging him closer to you.

And for the first time in months, you were able to just let go.

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

The next morning, you were rubbing your eyes to get rid of the remaining sleep in them. Only wearing one of Taehyung's large, long band t-shirts, you thoughtlessly walked into the kitchen where you could smell the lingering scent of breakfast being made. Having expected you two to be alone, you thought you would make a cheeky statement about your activities from last night. They always made him laugh, and swell with pride.

"Taehyung, I swear to all that is holy, last night was probably the best sex I've had in months. That new tongue technique of yours really worked wond-," you're cheeky rant was cut off by the loud gasp you made entering the kitchen fully. Face flushing in embarrassment, you stood stiffly.

Why the fuck was Park Jimin sitting at the kitchen table?

Taehyung loudly cleared his throat, giving you an 'I'm so sorry, please don't hate me' look.

Jimin only kept his eyes downcast on his food, eating in careful bites. He didn't say a word. Didn't even acknowledge when you so obviously walked into the room.

Sucking your bottom teeth in between your teeth, you walked over to Taehyung and yanked him by his arm into the living room.

"What the fuck?!" you whisper yelled at him.

"I swear to you, y/n. I swear–" He emphasized to you, voice low so as their guest of honor doesn't hear his balls drop to the floor. Holding his hands up in defense he explained, "That I did not know he was coming over. He showed up at my door! I didn't even know he remembered where I lived!"

Grunting in response to his explanation, your hands gripped the side of your head in frustration. Because of course, the one night you finally decided to have arguably some of the best sex of your life, does the sole reason it even happened just happen to waltz back into your life through one of your best friend's front door.

"Maybe this could be a good thing, yeah?" he tried rationalizing the situation. "You were just telling me last night how much you missed him, how much he made you feel. And trust me when I say, those months you two were somewhat together in all your weird glory was the happiest I've seen you since your dad passed away. And that's saying something, y/n. That means something." he plead with you, hoping to get through that thick, stubborn, head of yours.

Your eyes immediately started tearing up at the mention of your father, lip quivering. Suddenly, you felt small, or well, more small compared to the towering height Taehyung had over you, but that's not the point right now. The point is, you've never been one to back down first from a fight. You hated showing weakness. And walking back into that kitchen to confront the man that hasn't left your mind since you met him at that club almost eleven months ago, now? Seemed nearly impossible.

Taehyung could see the gears in your head turning, his hopes were high that you would finally see from his point of view. But boy was he wrong. He was terribly wrong. Instead of a face of clarity, you wore one of fear, of sheer terror. A face he never hopes to see again in his lifetime, least of all on yours.

You were going to run, he knew it. But before he could stop you, you were already halfway through the living room. Not having any other thought in your head other than to just get the hell out of there, you made the fateful mistake of not realizing you needed to go through the kitchen first in order to get to the front door.

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

Jimin tried so hard not to eavesdrop. He really did. But curiosity killed the cat, as they say. When he heard what Taehyung said to you, and more importantly, what you didn't say, but rather showed with your facial expressions, is when he decided he needed to push aside his pride for once in his life if it meant keeping you in his.

That, and, the fact that you were half naked and he wasn't about to let you run the streets of New York in your current attire and risk some sleaze ball taking advantage of you. Nope, not on his watch. Not ever.

Due to the blessings of his graceful dancing skills, he was able to slide right in front of you before you could reach the door. Hands up in front him, but not touching you in fear of upsetting you further, he plead his case. Or tried too. But you were too stubborn for your own good. Much more stubborn than he could ever be, which says something.

"Can we just talk for a minute? I need to tell you–" he was cut off by you effortlessly twirling around him, shirt riding up to flare above your thighs in a way he was able to catch a glimpse of your underwear. Hair flying around you as your body turned, he swears he's never seen a movement so flawless, so beautiful, especially with someone who had no dancing background to begin with. He was stunned. But he was quicker.

Grabbing onto your wrist gently, but firmly, he twirled you back around, this time encasing you within his arms, back flush against his front, yours arms crossed in front of you as he securely held both of your hands. You could feel his lips press into the side of your ear. There was no going anywhere now.

Once Taehyung came to the conclusion that you weren't going to run out half nude, he decided to give you two some privacy, and went back to his room down the hall. Far enough to give you privacy, but close enough to hear what you guys were saying incase he needed to bail you out of any awkward situation and kick Jimin out of his apartment. He was dialing Hoseok's number before he shut his bedroom door.

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

The atmosphere was tense, both of your chests rising in sync, breaths coming out in shallow pants. Much like how you would be, albeit in a different position and situation than the one you were currently in. But hearing his pants had your body reacting in a way that made you clench your thighs together to gain some kind of friction. It made you sick, feeling how your body reacted to him so quickly, so naturally, almost. And you could feel from the slight bulge in his pants that pressed at your lower back, his body was reacting the same way to yours. Nice to know you're not the only one being effected. But what was going on?

“Do you want to know the reason why I was so upset that we almost kissed that day?” He asked, already knowing what your answer would be, so he continued.

“It’s because I haven’t kissed anyone since my soulmate died two years ago.” He stated so factually, without any emotion. He learned how to keep his emotions in check since their passing, knowing it would only hinder his growth, least in his eyes.

You whimpered in response, ever being the empathetic one between you two. You tried turning your body around so you could properly face him for this serious conversation. He only saw it as you attempting to get away, however, and held onto you with a firmer grip. He needed to get his feelings out before you left him for good.

“I haven’t felt this way about anyone, in so long, y/n.” His breath continuously fanned over your ear, making the confession effect your body even worse. Your nipples hardening into peaks underneath your shirt, your body moves of it’s own accord, bottom half grinding into him unintentionally. His chin collapsed onto your shoulder at the action, making him give out a low, gutteral, groan.

Shit, he thought, he needed to hurry up and finish this conversation before the temptation became too much.

“I love you? Okay. I fucking love you so much it physically hurts me to even imagine you with someone else. So when I saw you walk out in nothing but his–“ he spat out in disgust imagining it all over again, “shirt I wanted to beat the shit out of him. Someone who has done nothing but help me in my darkest moment and show me sympathy without pity. I despise when people look at me with pity.”

Shaking his head side to side, his hair tickled the side of your face, making the corner of your lips quirk up at the feeling. Reminding you, yet again, of the way he looked hovering over your bare body. A shaky exhale could be heard with how close he was to you.

“And then I met you.”

The statement alone, made you more aware of your position with the dancer. Body inwardly pulsating in anticipation of what he would say next.

“I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel this way about anyone since losing them, but being with you, I was proved wrong. You came to me in a crucial part of my life, you stayed with me and helped me regain my humanity back, and you continue to only make me want to not only be a better person for me, but for you as well. I’m sorry I’m a shitty person who doesn’t know how to express their feelings properly, but if you let me, I will make it my mission to show you every day for the rest of our lives, soulmates or not. I don’t care. Cause I love you, and I want to be with you, y/n.”

Taking advantage of the sudden loosening of his grip on your hands, you slipped your hands out of his, and turned your body to face the dancer. He expected to see you with a look that would make him wish he was six feet under. But you weren’t. You were looking at him the same way they once did. And before he knew it, he was the one this time that was leaning down without a second thought to place his lips on yours. You clutched onto his shirt, afraid you were going to drop at any second, yet knowing he would never allow that to happen to you, and succumbed to your body’s needs. Both of your eyes closed upon contact, not wanting the moment to be ruined by the colorless world you both lived in. In his mind, and yours, you saw fireworks. As cliche as that sounds. But it was true.

Taehyung had Hobi on a FaceTime call the entire time, echoing the conversation he heard so he could be up to speed along with him. Both making quiet squealing sounds when they heard the confession, and hanging off the edge of their seats when all they heard was silence follow afterwards. Being ever the impatient one, Taehyung padded down the hall slowly, back against the edge of the wall that was separating him from the kitchen and hopefully rekindled flame between the two stubborn fools. His ears strained to hear a sound, to hear anything. He almost gave up and walked back to his room when he heard your voice resume talking once your shared kiss was over.

Eyes still closed, you made Jimin a promise.

“No matter what happens when our eyes meet again, it will not change the way I feel for you in my heart, my mind, my body, and my soul, Park Jimin. I love you, you idiot.” You tearfully confessed in a watery voice, gripping onto his shirt even tighter.

He ‘hmmed’ in agreement, not being able to properly use his voice right now, in fear of you seeing him as weak, which you never would, you would later assure him.

“On the count of three, yeah?” You asked more confidently than you felt, eyes still closed.

“On three.” He whispered back.

“One–two–“ you both counted together, eyes flying open at the same time the next number came out of your mouths.

“Three.” You looked at each other for the first time since your first kiss. And you were in awe.

His eyes were so bright, so warm, so…brown?

Wait. What?!

Your eyes widened at the sudden realization.

Scanning his face, his hair, his body, you turned in a rapid circle and surveyed the interior of Taehyung’s apartment.

No fucking way.

Your hands flew up to your mouth as you let out a broken sob. Jimin just grinned at you knowingly, coming upon the same conclusion himself when his eyes looked into yours. Seeing your reaction made it all the better, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he gazed at you for the first time, in color.

“Look at you, you’re perfect, baby.” He said so casually, your heart about burst from your chest with how happy and in love you were.

Who would’ve thought that fate had this all planned out for you? Surely, not you. But for once in your life, you looked forward to the future ahead of you, especially with Jimin by your side.

And your two platonic soulmates of course.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

Hobi’s voice could be heard loud and clear through the FaceTime call they were still on together. He was clapping enthusiastically as Taehyung rolled his eyes at his antics. Scoffing to himself, he berated the dancer on the phone.

“Oh, please! I was the one that always knew, you were the one that always said I was the crazy one!” He spoke into the phone in a loud voice, tauntingly.

Hobi blowing a raspberry in response is all you heard as you and Jimin watched the interaction with pure content on your faces. You were now snuggled up into your soulmates side, his arms wrapped around in a possessive way as soon as the duo made themselves known. God, you would seriously not get tired of saying that, ever. Taehyung and Hobi were going to loathe you and your lovesick ways, you thought in mirth.

Taehyung only flipped Hobi off in response.

“You know, Teahyung?” You voiced your inner thoughts out loud, making the man in question look at you inquisitively.

“Your interior design skills are really terrible.”

He then proceeded to flip you off, and make his way back to his room. Hobi laughing in glee at your comment, it getting quieter the further Taehyung walked away from you. Once you heard his door shut, you looked up at your gorgeous soulmate with a sly grin on your face.

“Let’s go back to my place so I can see that fucked out look on your face, in color.” You sinfully suggested, emphasizing on the word color. Jimin only smirking at you in response as he uttered his next words in your ear for only you to hear.

“Bet I could make you cum first, baby.”

A challenge you would wholly accept.

And he would lose.

[rueluxprince]

Why Does Jin Guangyao Have So Many Goddamn Ships

This dude. I don’t know what is with him. He can be shipped with so many goddamn people, and you can find something in canon (show/novel/audio drama) to justify it. You like a specific trope? He’ll have a ship that gives it to you. (Lets extrapolate some from canon)

Qin Su/Jin Guangyao: Naive yet headstrong heiress trying to fight on the battlefield and contribute to the greater good. Bit off more than she could chew and was rescued by a gentle and quietly self-assured young man. Romance and comedy ensues as she vows to make him her husband! Flowers! Hijinks! Enlisting quirky handmaidens for advice! Jin Guangshan doesn’t exist in this one!

Lan Xichen/Jin Guangyao: hero saves the beauty, gay edition. Young bookkeeper wants to be worthy of noble young master’s esteem, works his ass off, puts himself in years of danger, finally climbs to the top and now must deal with the “is he or is he not” of romance in politics! Is he or is he not? He’s always at your house and gives you a free pass to his house and draws you exclusive paintings and only attends conferences hosted by you and trusts you completely! But he never says anything! Cue the yearning! The soft touches! Reminders of etiquette! Swooning into strong arms!

Jiang Cheng/Jin Guangyao: reluctant and accidental co-parents reluctantly and accidentally fall in love in the long years of raising a precocious nephew into adulthood. The kid turned out surprisingly okay, with a commendably hard moral backbone. One realizes it’s nice to have a perpetually angry grape ready to blow up in your defense. The other realizes someone closest to him is already fulfilling all his marriage requirements and he didn’t even know it! Domestic bliss! Cute kids! Internal struggles of sexuality! The italicized oh!

Nie Mingjue/Jin Guangyao: Noble and righteous leader recognizing and promoting downtrodden but talented beginner –> no good opinion forthcoming but still wants to care his own way older brother x turning down a dark path but still wants to go back the way things were younger brother –> So much resentment fierce corpse x unable to forget the guilt murderer –> they are buried together. Deteriorating relationship! Shakespearean tragedy! Ultimate darkness! Death! Eternity with each other!

(Honorable mention: 3zun - a wholesome ouroboros loop of death, mystery and found family)

Nie Huaisang/Jin Guangyao: you ever have that one childhood friend that takes care of you and indulges in your oddities and protects you with murderous looks and a scarred back even though he’s frailer than you are; and then that childhood friend murders your older brother but leaves you alive and still takes cares of you and spoils you and would drop everything to help you with a made up problem? And so you’re now left seething in rage because how dare he ruin you and love you all without pause?! Cue the revenge plots! Lies! Deceit! Best actor winners going toe to toe on the world’s biggest stage! Inner conflict! Angst! More conflicted plotting!

Mo Xuanyu->Jin Guangyao: You’re weak and a mess and constantly bullied and the only one in this huge and scary house that ever showed you kindness is your older half brother. He becomes a god in your eyes, all golden and brilliant and surrounded by equally golden and beautiful people you can never touch. But you still try despite everything because he’s the sun and he wanted you to thrive, and you’re just a little moth ramming head first into the flames. And when you’re scorched to the bone and everyone still keeps on trying to stomp you into ash and you finally decide to take revenge, you still can’t bring yourself to blame that splendid sun who were never yours in the first place. Resentments! Unrequited love! More angst! Inner courtyard intrigues! More tragedy! Poetic inner monologues!

Su She->Jin Guangyao: generous and focused ruler x dedicated and competent supporter. He gives you all the respect you need and you know in your soul you will die for him and you don’t care one whit about it. You protect his heart but you always stood one step behind. The position beside him is taken, often by a soft figure in golden silk, or an eminent figure in blue satin. Jealousy! Loud expressions of loyalty! Ego management! Pining and simping!

Xue Yang/Jin Guangyao - friends who murder together stays together. One causes wanton destruction and the other picks up after them. Not because he particularly cares that people are getting hurt but the cost analysis tells him it’s not worth the clean up. You pay for my shopping, I rip out the tongues of anyone that insults your mother. Lighthearted talks of murder! Scheming with friends! Lots of cursing! Dubious experiments! Lots of magical cursing! Friends with benefits!

Wen Ruohan/Meng Yao: local megalomanic tyrant sees this random ass kid all bloodied up and gleaming with spite and went “I would like to raise that one. I’ll give it a sword and I’ll teach him stuff and I won’t say I appreciate him but I will definitely save him from imminent danger.” And that kid acknowledges said tyrant as his teacher and tortures for him pretends to love him, all the while stealing his secrets and preparing to stab him in the back to win the war. Struggle! Trauma! Living in hardship! Double agent reminding themselves not to be conflicted! Psychological torture!

Wen Chao + Wen Xu: uhhhhhh, the canoodling with stepmom trope? Do we even go that far on tumblr? It’s a possibility I’ve considered for about two seconds and now I wish I could wash my brain out.

Jin Zixun~~Jin Guangyao: the “I know I’m slapping the me two years ago in the face with what I’m doing right now but it’s love so I don’t care” trope? All the Jins do this. The year before you were all “why are you always here you don’t belong here you bastard son” and now you’re all “wheres A-Yao he promised he would ambush this public menace with me owo?!??!!??” What a weakass motherfucker with weakass principles.

Honorable mentions:

Wei Wuxian + Jin Guangyao: best in law dynamics, potentially. Terrorizing the Cloud Recesses, eating lots of spicy food, hiding secrets in perfectly groomed hair, causing aneurysms in Lan Qiren, violating all the OH&S regulations Etc.

Lan Wangji + Jin Guangyao: best in law dynamics, actually. It’s a whole battle. Jin “I am physically incapable of seeing someone and not wanting to take care of it” Guang “yes I will be calling you Wangji and trying to give you stuff and show audible concern for your love life” Yao vs. Lan “I do not wish to know you I do not care for your seating arrangements do not ever invite me to your banquets again” Wang “just because you’re maybe dating my precious older brother does not mean I will not refute you to your face about my boyfriend at your banquet in front of said brother” Ji.

(And yes the last two are purely familial/platonic. And also everyone else? You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift is the most fitting theme song for half of them)

~more MDZS metas under #my thing# tag~

[quantumlocked310]

Summon Up Remembrance

@deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​. Cherrypie. My friend. My OG. My Vikings Mom. My shared braincell about everything Hvitty. You encouraged me to put myself out there and talk to people. You’ve given me some of my best ideas. You’re an amazing human who works so hard both in fandom and irl. I’m so happy I took the plunge and wrote you Bjornekram so we could start up this wonderful friendship. Congratulations on your 500 followers! Every single one is well-deserved.

So! In order to celebrate our love, I’ve tortured myself and Hvitty with this story inspired by The Little Match Girl. I’d say “Enjoy!,” but I have a feeling that’s not the right word...

Summary: What if Ivar hadn’t found Hvitserk in that cold forest in time?

Warnings: not a happy time, depression, graphic descriptions of violence, major character death, loss, despair, drug use, oral sex female receiving

Note: Title from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 30

Don’t forget to tap the moodboard to see it in its highest quality!

++++++++++++

He’d used his last coin to buy the matches. Everything else had already been spent on the sweet release the mushrooms and drink provided him. His greatest triumph bled into his deepest failure when Bjorn sentenced him to live in the frozen forest. He knew it would not be long. His half-brother had given him painful and terrible mercy. Already he could no longer feel his toes, and his hair was stiff with ice.

His first match is useless. Scraped against the frozen rocks he huddles behind for some semblance of shelter. He knows he’s going to die, but he’d like to have a last taste of heat before he goes. Even the memory of the bright burning flames of his execution can no longer keep the shivering at bay. The cold and wet sticks he’d gathered couldn’t catch, even with the pine needles he’d found to shove under the bundle.

He is resigned to no fire and no hope. Only four matches to keep him company. The last vestiges of drink and drugs are leaving his body aching and freezing; his hands have barely enough movement to strike the next match. He watches this one burn. Its tiny flame dancing merrily along the wood. In its flickering he sees a better time; his favorite feast.

He’d been younger then, and happier. Not yet burdened with a legacy and revenge. The feast fires had kept him warm inside the packed great hall, and his belly had been full of food and satisfied with drink. It was the night he learned a woman might prefer his mouth over his other parts, and he’d been fascinated. The thrall he’d danced with had taken him aside and shared in his body, and shown him things other women hadn’t yet taught him. Their copulation was in a side room; their sounds of pleasure hidden by the noise in the hall. He remembers the delicious wet heat of her body against his tongue, and the way she whimpered and begged so sweetly for him.

The match goes out and Hvitserk is thrust out of the memory. He grows melancholy as he remembers the thrall was killed by horse hoof to the head when she was cleaning the stables one day. A horrible accident.

He scrambles for the next match. Wanting to leave this new remembrance aside and see something joyful once more. The next match strike flares bright in front of his eyes and he hears the clang of axes on swords. His best battle. He’d felt invincible that day. Bobbing and weaving in between English soldiers. Feeling the thunk of his axe as he buries it in the flesh of his enemies. The sweet and terrible smell of blood and guts and fresh mud. Hearing screams and battle cries around him as the Vikings cut a swath through the English forces. Getting to fight alongside his brothers, and seeing the prideful look in Ubbe’s face when he swoops in at the last moment to save his older brother from danger. Ubbe.

The match goes out, and the cold rushes into Hvitserk’s head. His despair is palpable. Ubbe could not let him die as he’d wished for on that fiery spit. But Ubbe let him walk into this cold and certain death demanded by Bjorn.

His saddened breath rattles his chest, and he feels the exhaustion in his bones; the wet snow seeping further and further into his clothing to numb his skin. The stinging tears falling from his red-rimmed eyes freeze to his cheeks, and he is barely able to lift a hand to strike the match. The tears fall faster as he stares into the flickering orange and gold to find a moment of peace.

They’re all there. Ivar, Ubbe, Sigurd, and Hvitserk. The four of them that beautiful spring day, together in the forest trading blows of the sword and the axe. Even their verbal sparring brings a smile to his disheveled face. He remembers going toe to toe with Sigurd, and being equally matched with Ivar. The rush of adrenaline in the fight is a distant comfort, and he dwells again upon youth; how young they all were. Naive and furious; untouched by the horrors that awaited them.

The match goes out and shivers wrack Hvitserk’s body. He sobs and shakes as he memorializes the family he will never see again.

Desire floods his system. The desire he’s always had to escape, to be someone he is not, to chase the dreams he had but could never fulfill. He weeps for his brothers, his mother, and his father. The most torturous thoughts follow, and he mourns and cries for himself. For the person he will never be. For the women he loved, and the children he never gave them.

This is his last one. The last chance to see his loved ones again. To see his brothers happy and together and alive again. Perhaps he will catch a glimpse of Thora or Margrette in this last memory. He draws strength from this small hope.

His breaths rattle and he lights the match. In the tiny flame it is his mother. How tall she felt when he was a child. She is loving peering down at his small frame as he plays with a wooden horse from Floki. Her smile is radiant as she talks to him. Asking him about the horse and the world inside his mind. Her tone is warm and loving, and it floods his body with a final burst of heat.

The match goes out and Hvitserk’s hand falls. In front of him his mother hasn’t left. Standing there like she was in his memory, with a gentle, proud smile on her regal face. She raises her hand, palm up, open and beckoning him. He rises and falls deeply into his mother’s embrace, clutching at her silken robes that catch the salty tears still falling down his face.

“Come, my son. You have done well. We must go to meet your father and brother.” Aslaug wraps her arms around her beautiful boy and holds him close. She feels his sorrow and his perfect joy as their souls connect and ascend.

Some hours later the stomping of boots and the rattle of wheels can be heard in the forest. Ivar looks to his side, observing the landscape around him, and his eyes are drawn to a cluster of rocks. They’re not at all interesting he thinks, but a strong winter wind whips past his face, and the rocks flutter in the wind. No, not the rocks. The hood of the person hunched behind them.

Ivar calls for a halt and carefully climbs down from his rig. He doesn’t know why, but he knows he has to see who it is for himself. His heart is pounding, and his instincts are screaming, and when he rounds the cluster he sees why.

The body is Hvitserk.

White hot rage floods his body, and Ivar lets out a primal scream. His sorrow and pain released in one powerful sound. Tears flood his eyes and freeze on his cheeks. He gestures to the closest soldiers to help carry his brother. They can barely lift him; Hvitserk has frozen in place, but Ivar is determined to give his brother the Viking funeral he deserves.

Ivar cries and mourns, and swears that he will seek revenge on his brothers in Kattegat who shoved one of their own into the wild to die. They did not even allow his fearsome brother the warrior’s death he deserved. What Ivar misses in his incandescent rage is the sweet smile on Hvitserk’s frozen face. Ivar should be celebrating, because as he was not in life Hvitserk is euphoric in his death; together with those he loved and lost once again. The image of rapturous bliss frozen forever in time on the face of his mortal body.

++++++++++++

If you want to read other stuff I write here’s my masterlist!

Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @punkrocknpearls @solinarimoon @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @southernbe @vikingstrash​

Photos are not mine they are from Pinterest.

[ichayalovesyou]

~Act One: In Denial of Pon Farr~

Blood Moon~by Saint Sister, Madrid (Album)

“To return home, and take a wife… or die.”

Spock is feeling anxious and unusually lonely, more resentful of his complex heritage than usual. Feeling rejected, but not by Jim, he finds his thoughts wandering to T’Pring. Who he feels deep resentment toward, she hasn’t contacted once him in the two decades he’s been gone from Vulcan. He has yet to realize it is the beginnings of Pon Farr.

“I am sure, you craved me once before. When I think of all the fruit I’ve found, and how easily you left it on the ground.”

Evening On The Ground (Lilith’s Song)~by Iron & Wine, Woman King (album)

“I hoped that I would be spared this.”

Spock’s yearning and loneliness transforms into anger and frustration. He knows Pon Farr has begun, and he hates it. He has no desire to return to Vulcan, worse still, he loathes that he yearns for someone who he does not know. Worse still, she’s not the only one he’s longing for…

“We were born to fuck each other one way or another but I’ll, only lie, down by the water side at night”

I Want You (She’s So Heavy)~(Originally) by the Beatles, performed by the Cast of Across the Universe, Across the Universe (Album)

“How do Vulcans choose their mates… Haven’t you wondered?”

Spock cannot bear the tearing between Human & Vulcan halves that has come ferociously to light under the stress of Pon Farr. His duty is to that man on the bridge, but the call of Koonut Kalifee is only getting louder. He has no desire to burden Jim with horrible display of emotion. Yet desire is quickly becoming all that he can think about.

“I want you, I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad, it’s driving me mad.”

~Act Two: Blood Fever, The Nightmares of Plok’tow~

Howl~by Florence + The Machine, Lungs (Album)

“To have their logic ripped from them, as this time does to us.”

The first, foreboding rumblings of Plok’tow have begun. He dreams of a hunt, he’s chasing someone, he does not know who. Each time the blood of this faceless, slaughtered, ravaged victim is a different color, every time he turns around, green, red, green, red, green, red, green, red…

“Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins, I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness.”

The Horror of Our Love~by Ludo, You’re Awful, I Love You (Album)

“It strips away our veneer of civilization.”

The dreams are getting worse, more violent, detailed, intense. He knows his quarry-

Jim.

He tears his captain apart in a thousand visceral, grotesque ways, physically, mentally, no love, no hate, no want, just blinding hunger. And the most frightening part, he enjoys it. He begins withdrawing from Kirk, for fear of what may happen should dreams threaten to become reality.

“Carnivorous and lusting, I’ll track you down among the pines.”

Become the Beast~by Karliene, Become the Beast (Album)

“It is the Pon Farr, the time of mating.”

The last of his Blood Fever dreams occurs after Kirk confronts him about his behavior. This one is, much to Spock’s relief, not violent. The lyrics are spoken through the faces of fellow Vulcans- T’pring… childhood tormentors… Sybok… his cold and disapproving father… T’pau… Surak… himself.

The rage and hunger has cooled into ice rather than fire, for now.

“Do I terrify you? Do you feel alive? Do you feel the hunger? The desert howl inside?”

The Woods~by San Flemin, Jackrabbit (Album)

“You humans have no conception.”

When James Kirk grabbed the shiv from Spock’s hand in their confrontation, a shard of Spock’s Blood Fever came with it. Spock was spared a nightmare this final night, but not Jim. The dream even dared to be pleasant initially, alone together in the woods. Before the arena of Koonut Kalifee erupted violently around them, as did Spock. Yet, before Spock could deal the final killing blow, Kirk found himself sinking into the sparkling sands below. He startles from his slumber, feeling suffocated.

But he does not remember how, or why.

“The nights are lovely dark and deep, but I’ll appear when you’re asleep. You’ll wake up with a sudden hurt, your mouth and nose all full of dirt”

~Act Three: Kalifee, the Death of A Friend~

Take Me Down~by Brother, Pax Romana MMV (Album)

“I’ll get you to Vulcan somehow…”

All Jim knows is that Spock is getting worse, and that he needs him. Not knowing, and not daring ask whether the shiv was meant for himself or Spock haunts Kirk, as does the ghost of his forgotten dream. He does not know what will come of this wedding. Only that he will do whatever it takes to make certain Spock lives. No matter what, it’s a race against time.

“The powers that be, the powers that run you through, I’m taking a stand I know what it comes down to, God knows I do.”

Hunting Grounds (feat Joe Cotela of Ded)~by In This Moment, Mother (Album)

“He is deep in the Blood Fever, he will not speak with thee again.”

Kalifee has begun, Spock has completely lost himself to the Blood Fever, and Kirk must fight for his life. He finds himself outmatched by the environment, and by Spock’s rage. He knows two things, he has no desire to die, but he cannot, under any circumstances, kill Spock. (I imagine this duet could be as seen as Maria Brink=Kirk, Joe Cotela=Spock)

“Like a predator sink my teeth into your neck.”

Die Today~by The Txlips Band & Guitar Gabby, Queens of The New Age (Album)

“Kill Spock? That’s not what we came to Vulcan for is it?”

The Kalifee has been an intense drain, Kirk knows, deep down, that not even the “Triox Compound” could save him in this fight. He feels his life flash before his eyes, he bears no ill will toward Spock, he’s not in control of himself. He reflects on their relationship, and how much it has meant to him, and accepts, that for Spock to live, he has to die.

It was worth having known him, saving a friend isn’t the worst way to go out…

“If you die today, if we die today, at least I’d be in your arms.”

Pearl Diver~by Mitski, Lush (Album)

“You may find, that having, is not so pleasing a thing as wanting.”

Spock is absolutely distraught, he’s disgusted with himself, he loathes every single Vulcan he’s ever known, but most of all he is angry with Kirk. That he had to be the moth to his flame. How dare he want to get close to him! How dare James Kirk ever have the stupidity, the courage to love him?! The wanting had driven Jim to his death, and himself to murder. It was illogical, and he will never, forgive either of them for it. Curse having, curse wanting, and curse himself too.

“But hunter you were human don’t forget it and go safely. And I? I’ll live without you, though the struggle will be daily.”

Sweet Dreams~by JOSEPH, I’m Alone, No You’re Not (Album)

“I shall do neither, for I have killed my Captain, and my friend.”

Spock languishes in the agonizing hours between the Kalifee and confronting Bones about what must be done. He prays for a short and cruel life… and dares ponder the question, do Humans have Katras?

“I’ll return to my sleepless night, dreaming with my eyes open, watch the shadows play on the ceiling.”

[The final act is a little on the smutty side, here’s a read more just to be safe.]

~Act Four: The Need is Met~

To Be Alone~by Hozier, From Eden EP (Album)

“I shall offer no defense, their is no excuse for the crime of which I’m guilty.”

Though overjoyed and relieved that Kirk is alive, Spock continues to anguish over the reality that had Bones not intervened, he would have killed him. Jim knows better this time, he will not let Spock continue down this path. A tender and honest conversation puts salve to Spock’s fears. In any event, while the Kalifee burned away the Blood Fever, it becomes clear the needs of Pon Farr still remain. Kirk suggests, delicately, to put a new Bond in place of the old.

Spock accepts.

“You don’t know the hell you put me through, to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you, to feel your weight in arms I’d never use.”

Mermaid’s Calling #2~by the Cast of The Lure, The Lure (Album)

“The ancient drives are too strong, eventually they catch up with us.”

The thrum of Bonding needs no words, it is not just a joining of minds, but of bodies as well. They complete one another, no thoughts, no voices are required. They soon find that the physiological differences between them can be more than a little… fascinating.

“…”

The Deep~by PHILDEL, Wave Your Flags (Album)

“One touches the other, in order to feel each other’s thoughts.”

The tangible, physical world of course has it’s pains and pleasures, to be joined physically is one thing, to be joined in soul and mind alongside those sensations is a different ordeal entirely. If this, completeness, is what it means to be Bonded, Kirk now understands why Vulcans go mad over it.

“Give me a sign ‘cause it runs through my mind like your heat, caught in the web you’re so easily lead to the deep.”

The Mermaid~by Kate Rusby, Life in A Paper Boat (Album)

“In this way, our minds are locked together...”

Unbeknownst to anyone else in the universe, James Kirk & S’chn T’gai Spock are now Bonded, and neither has ever felt less alone. For once, it does not matter to Spock that he is of two worlds, here, he is home. For once, Kirk does not feel as though he is forced to live the Enterprise’s life, this time, she helped him live his. A shining, blissful moment in the vast, expansive sea of stars that they have devoted their lives to exploring.

For them, the journey itself, is home.

“In peace now, the sea it comes, and peace now, in her arms where I’ll be love, sleeping in the sea.”

[bubblesuga]

needy

“Tell me how good it feels to be needed. . .” 

Summary: Hoseok leaves for Seoul in less than 12 hours, and you’re desperate to tell him how you feel. 

W/C: 2,681

Genre: fluff, smut

Warnings: cussing, unprotected sex, slight daddy kink, slight exhibitionism (it’s car sex lol), dom!hobi, switch!reader, power play

The gentle breeze of the sea brushes your cheek lovingly, the smell of sea salt invading your senses while you watch the blue waves crash against the rocks a mile out from where you sit. Beneath you, your hand buries itself in the cold sand in an attempt to ground yourself further into this abysmal bliss. Beside you sits your best friend, Hoseok. 

Golden skin shines beneath the setting sun, the weather being just cool enough to turn the tip of his nose a soft pink. His smile is small, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth while his eyes travel up and down the coast line. You could stare at him for days. Hell, you have been staring at him for days. You want to memorize every inch of his face, you want to remember the freckle on his top lip and the way his dimples pop every time he jokingly scolds you because tomorrow he’s leaving you. 

You’re just hoping this isn’t the last time you see him. 

Of course you’re happy for your friend. You’ve been to every performance, watched every ribbon be handed his way, and stayed up late into the night to watch him practice the same choreography over and over again in the small garage at his parents’ house. It was only a matter of time before some entertainment label was ready to take him in. You just wished you had more time with him. Alas, you’re beginning college soon and Hoseok is beginning the rest of his life. 

He turns to you, his smile big. You drag your eyes up to meet his, “Yes?” 

“You’re staring at me.” he says simply. 

“And?” you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. 

He laughs, “It’s kind of creeping me out.” 

You tear your eyes away, a blush creeping up your neck. “I- I’m sorry. I just want to remember you.” 

Hoseok reaches his arm around you, pulling you into his warm embrace as he coos gently, “Ah, lovely _____. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again.” 

He’s always been good at comforting, a trait you’re sure he’s picked up from his mother. The way his hand gently clasps yours and rests atop of your thighs instantly sparks an emotion you had been trying to swallow this entire time because despite how much you tried to ignore it, you’ve fallen in love with Hoseok. 

It’s difficult for you to pinpoint exactly when your feelings came to fruition. Maybe it was at age 16 when he insisted you help him practice his first couples dance, a dance he had been dreading since the beginning of the year. His grip on you was strong, and he lead you under the guise of confidence despite having shaking knees. Or it could have been even earlier. At 14 years old he spent every night under the stars with you, talking about the possibilities of life and where the two of you might end up. It was the first time you rested your head on his chest and listened to his heart beat. 

With your thoughts reeling, you feel a tear slip out of your eye, “I’m just worried that you’ll forget about me.” It feels stupid to say, but the validity of your statement is far stronger than you thought. 

“Hey,” you feel Hoseok shift beneath you, his fingertips brushing your jawline to guide your head in his direction, “I could never forget you. I’ll be back regularly to see you, and before we know it you’ll be in Seoul right beside me.” 

He swipes a tear away and continues, “Besides, you’re too cute to forget.” 

His smile is big, but you still struggle to wipe away the melancholy. Hoseok notices, the grin dropping. He shifts completely, laying his back down in the sand while you fall with him, feeling his grip tighten on you. 

“Talk to me.” 

“Hobi, I-” you begin, but you feel your breath hitch in your throat. The hoodie on your body isn’t doing enough to keep you warm, anxiety chilling you to the bone while you try to process your feelings. It’s now or never, if you don’t tell him then you’ll regret it and he’ll be sent off to Seoul without ever knowing the extent of your feelings. However, if you do he could be completely caught of guard, disgusted even. He’d never be able to look at you the same and your friendship would be ruined. 

But you’re willing to take the chance, because he looks down at you with a calming aura completely engulfing your senses. You’ve forgotten about the beach, you’ve forgotten about the sand. All you know, is him. 

“Do you remember,” you shift your weight, your chin in the center of his chest, “in 6th grade when you were so terrified of your mother finally watching a dance performance that the only thing that could calm you down was me?” 

Hoseok nods, his slender fingers moving to push a piece of hair from your face. Still, his lips stay upturned. 

“And do you remember how you told me that you’re never going to meet someone better at hugging than me?” 

“Still haven’t.” He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your upper back and giving a small squeeze. 

“Well, what if I told you that I,” you take a deep breath, trying not to overthink your next words, “want to do more than hug you?” 

Instantly, Hoseok’s eyes widen and your jaw immediately drops. “W- wait hold on! Let me-” you smack your forehead, “that sounds really bad out of context. I just- I really don’t know how else to say that I am so absolutely in love with you.” 

Hoseok’s jaw stays slack, the smile previously shining his entire face is replaced with down turned lips and eyes so wide that you’re sure that they could fall out of his head.

“I knew this was stupid,” you say, “I shouldn’t have told you because you’re leaving and I’ll still be here and we’ll be living two very different lives butIfeltlikeIhadtotellyouotherwiseIwouldregretitfortherestofmy-” 

“Hey!” Hoseok cuts you off, and your mouth clamps shut with a small whimper. 

Your eyes anxiously bore into his, and you feel tears begin to well again, but before they could fall, Hoseok speaks again. 

“What took you so long?” 

“What?” You ask incredulously. 

“You mean to tell me that the entire time I’m pining after you and fighting off every guy that tried to ask you out, you were in love with me?” Hoseok laughs as if he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. 

“You fought off guys trying to ask me out?” 

“Every damn one of them,” Hoseok says proudly, “you wouldn’t believe how many times a guy would walk up to me to make sure that we weren’t together before they made a move.” 

You let out a giggle, “And what did you say to them?” 

Hoseok pulls your entire body on top of his in one swift movement, chest now against his and your face inches away from his. The proximity causes your skin to flush, your earlier chills long forgotten. 

Hoseok brushes his nose against yours, “I told them you weren’t mine yet, but you were gonna be.” 

With that, he presses his lips to yours. 

At first he moves slow, the cherry balm on his lips enveloping your taste buds with an infinite amount of electric bolts flying up and down your body in a symphony of pleasure. His hands move to your hips, the tips of his fingers digging in while he inhales your scent because finally you are right where he’s wanted you to be. 

He’s not the one to deepen the kiss, though. Instead, your hands grip the collar of his jacket tightly and you tug, signalling Hoseok to flip the two of you over. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he groans into your mouth, “you feel so much better than I imagined.” 

“I’ve wanted this too,” you whisper, “for so long.” 

He grins, capturing your lips again as your legs spread just enough for him to slip between them. He slits perfectly between, his lean body pressing hard against your chest. Hoseok pulls away to begin trailing kisses along your cheeks, then your jawline, and you let out a sigh of happiness. He giggles against your skin, but it stops the moment he bites into your neck. You let out a gasp, arching your back into him. 

“Hobi,” you moan, “Hobi, please.” 

“You need to tell me how far you want this to go, baby.” His voice is much deeper than usual, the growl under his words shooting a jolt of electricity to your core. 

You ponder for a moment, debating whether or not you’re prepared to lose your virginity to your best friend. It certainly isn’t where you expected this to go but you’ve got no complaints. 

“Hoseok,” you grin, pulling his attention away from your neck, “fuck me.” 

His lips trail kisses until he reaches your ear, “That’s what I like to hear.” 

Without warning, he stands abruptly and tugs you upward. Hoseok grips your hand tightly in his as he rushes towards his car. The sun has finally set and the quiet beach which had become your favorite place to hang out was completely silent. When you finally reach his car, Hoseok opens the back door and bows his head. 

The butterflies in your stomach are swarming. 

You slip into Hoseok’s back seat and lay back, watching Hoseok take his place over you again. Slotting between your legs, you feel him grind harshly in the apex of your thighs. 

This is so much better than what you imagined. 

Hoseok’s fingers draw a line down your chest and to the hem of your sweatshirt, tugging gently. “Take it off.” 

It’s a demand you have been waiting to hear forever. 

Hoseok pulls himself off of you and watches you with dark eyes while you slip your hoodie off. Just like Hoseok had imagined, you wore nothing underneath. His sweet tongue dips out to lick his lips at the sight of you, your nipples instantly perking in the coolness of the car. 

“Your turn.” you smirk, loving the way his eyes dance hungrily across your chest. Hoseok doesn’t hesitate to do the same, his nimble fingers then moving to the waistband of his sweats to tug them down. You watch carefully, the grey sweats slipping down his thighs until his cock flies upward freely. Gloriously hard and ready, you lift your hips and slip your own pants down your legs at the sight. 

You’re astonished at your brazen actions, tugging him down to your mouth as Hoseok rolls his hips against yours. Before, you would have never tried something so bold. He doesn’t seem to mind though, because as you push him back onto the seat, he lets out a loud moan. 

Underneath the moonlight, Hoseok’s face is illuminated gorgeously. You slip onto the floor of the car, gripping his cock in your hand. It’s thick, curved, and mouthwatering. He tosses his head back as you stroke your hand up and down, his hips flexing beneath your grip. 

“God, do you know how much I’ve had to stop myself from getting you on your knees for me over the years,” he says, gasping when you lick the tip, “I’ve dreamed about you sucking my cock.” 

You sink your lips around him, dragging your tongue along the underside as you do so. He thrusts, letting out a small apology when he hears you gag around him. However, he’s surprised by the moan that vibrates from your throat while you take him as deep as you possibly can. 

He laces his hands through your hair, gently guiding you up and down, “Look at me,” he demands, “keep looking at me.” 

His chest heaves, and the thrill of having him mewling for more has you moving faster. You suck in your cheeks, watching how his face reacts to each movement you do. Suddenly, his eyes shoot open, “Fuck! No, stop baby. I’m gonna cum if you continue.” 

The gleam in your eye scares Hoseok momentarily as you continue to suck, practically having Hoseok rip you off of him while you let out a giggly. 

“Oh yeah, real funny,” Hoseok rolls his eyes, “don’t be a brat and come here.” 

“Yes, daddy.” You croon, not expecting the way his adam’s apple bobs at the use of the nickname. You merely smile at the affect you have on him, crawling upward and straddling his thighs. He doesn’t shy away from your movements, welcoming your lips on his. Despite the fact that this was your first time, you were very prepared to take Hoseok in his full glory. So, you sink carefully down onto his cock. 

Harmonious moans fill the car as you feel him fill you deliciously. The stretch burns, worse than you anticipated but nothing you couldn’t handle. Instead, you welcomed the pain, hearing him moan into your mouth as you lift yourself up and sink back down again. 

“Fuck,” his hands caress your ass, spreading your cheeks as you ride him, “so wet for me. Such a good girl.” 

“Yes,” you mewl at his words, “I’m your good girl.” 

“Yes you are,” Hoseok chuckles, “taking good care of daddy.” 

One of his hands moves in between the two of you, his thumb brushing against your clit. Instantly, a shriek leaves your lips at the unexpected feeling.  He grunts when your cunt clenches down on his cock, turning his thumb in harsh circles. 

With the added feeling of his thumb against your clit, your orgasm approaches you quickly. A swivel of your hips was enough to let Hoseok know how close you were, and he captures your lips quickly again. 

His hands grip your hips right on the tip of his cock, pausing your movements. You let out a tiny huff, but it’s soon wiped away from you when you feel Hoseok thrust into your cunt as hard as he can. Overwhelmed with the foreign yet amazing feeling, you let out a gasp and bite into your lower lip while you bury your face in his neck. 

“Come on,” Hoseok’s deep voice echos in the small car, “cum on my cock.” 

You feel your cunt clamp down on him, your orgasm washing over you in waves while Hoseok continues to thrust. “So good,” he presses his lips to your temple, “where do you want me?” 

He’s out of breath, but you want to give him the most pleasure you can. “Cum inside me.” 

That was enough to push Hoseok over the edge, a string of curse words falling out of his mouth as he fills your pulsing walls. Hot and wet, you immediately begin to feel it pooling out of you and back down onto Hoseok’s cock, but he doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, he stays inside you while he brings you back down to him. 

“Are you okay, baby?” Chaste kisses a linked up and down your neck. 

You nod, “Better than okay.” 

You two lay together for a little while, and the sudden realization washes over you that he’s leaving you tomorrow. You’ve just lost your virginity to him, and he’s leaving. 

Yet you don’t regret a single thing. Instead, you sigh, “What am I going to do without you?” 

Hoseok didn’t want to think about the fact that his trunk is filled with his belongings and this is the last time he’ll see you for a little while. He just wanted to enjoy having you in his arms, but the inevitability of change was a mere 12 hours away.

Hoseok presses a kiss to your temple, and in his infinite words of wisdom, speaks huskily, “I’m going to work my ass of to make it big, you’re gonna move to Seoul, and we can be together. Until then,” he presses a small kiss to your lips before continuing, “we’ll video chat as often as possible. You’re mine now, ya hear?” 

You grin, “Yes, Hobi, and you’re mine too.” 

[prettyboypucey]

i wanna be your girlfriend

Summary: Pansy Parkinson is your best friend. You wanted more. Based off the song “i wanna be your girlfriend” by girl in red 

Pairing: Pansy Parkinson x reader

Word Count: 808

A/N: pining, little angsty(?), slightly NSFW. Loosely based off of personal experiences. 

I don’t know how it happened, or even when. You’re my best friend. Over the years I had known you we had gone through a lot together. From sleepovers, our first periods, breakups and makeups, it had always been the two of us against the world. But somewhere in the mix of our lives, lines had become blurred.We were friends, just friends. Then suddenly when you sat in front of me and leaned back against my chest, I wondered you would feel my heart pounding inside. When you kissed my cheek goodbye I prayed that you would think the blush that flooded my cheeks was from the cold air. I didn’t know if you would notice that I had fallen in love with you.

Oh, Hannah, I wanna feel you close

Oh, Hannah, come lie with my bones

Oh, Hannah, don’t look away

Oh, Hannah, just look at me the same

“Scootch.”

I looked up to see you standing over me, waiting for me to adjust enough so we could share the armchair. The second drink in your hand made its way to mine as you flopped next to me. You body pressed against my side as your head rested against my arm. I could smell your perfume. Ginger and honey hitting my nostrils, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.

But you were watching him. He was across the room talking to her, she was younger than us, lighter, kinder. I watched your eyes fill with the aching longing of a girl in love. Despite the many times he had turned you away, despite the times you had ranted and cried over him. You still looked at him as though your heart was going to burst with the emotions filling its cavities. You looked at him as though your every breath was reliant on his presence in your life. As if, by having him around, made every bad thing that had ever happened to you finally make sense. Because here was your reward. The way he looked at her, is how you were looking at him, and how I was looking at you.

You glanced up at me. Just for a moment, and I pretended it was me you were looking at that way.

I don’t wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips

I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath

“…and so then I-

Hey? Are you listening to me?”

I nodded, I said yes, you kept talking. But I wasn’t listening. I hadn’t been for quite a while. You just looked so happy. I couldn’t help but to stare. Your lips were painted a deep red that stretched with your lips. The velvet skin parting to give way to flashes of pearly teeth.

I couldn’t help but wonder what they would feel like against my own. My tongue slid out to wet my lips, my mouth dry. I wanted to know what it would feel like to have them ghost across my neck. Your breath mixing with mine. I wonder if you would taste like the chocolate croissant you ate that morning. I wanted to see the perfectly painted lip smeared across your mouth as a reminder of me. I wanted to feel my chest burn with the need to breathe and then ignore it for one more blissful taste of you.

I don’t wanna be your friend, I wanna be your bitch

And I wanna touch you, but not like this

The look in your eyes

My hands between your thighs

Oh, this can’t be real

It’s all just a dream

“Pansy.”, your name escaped my lips in a sigh.

You were quick to swallow it as you pressed your lips back to mine. The closet was small, I could feel the shelves pressed against my spine as you pressed impossibly closer. Your hands were warm against my face, your tongue slipping past my lips. I pulled back just enough to rest my forehead against yours and look into your eyes. The dark had swallowed you perfectly. Your eyes shone through the darkness and the passion I saw there made my skin tingle all over. I could feel your breath hitch as my hand travelled down your side. I nudged my nose against yours as I glanced down to watch our skin meet. My mouth parted at the fire in my stomach and the noises you were making. As my fingers slid up your thighs, pushing past the hem of your short black dress. You gasped, the loudest yet, as my hands made its way between your legs. Our mouths meeting again as I pulled the prettiest sounds leaving those wine stained lips. This felt better than anything I could have ever imagined. And then, just as you started to slip the straps of my top down -

I woke up.

[british-bombs]

( TO BEAT THE DEVIL ) An introduction.

FORMAT: teleplay / novel

GENRE: horror, coming of age

LOGLINE: An interning demon drives a pair of twins cursed with obedience and honesty to kill their cult leader.

THEMES: Trauma, sexual abuse, domestic violence, victim blaming (particularly self blame), peer pressure, redemption, internalized homophobia, and religion.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Sexual abuse, violence, domestic and otherwise, manipulation, and death

EXTENDED SUMMARY, CHARACTERS, EXCERPT AND NOTES:

Carmine can taste it. They're hiding something. Humans have such a silly smell about them, turns an overwhelming shade of sweet when they've made a demonic deal. All four of these children have. He just can't figure out what, and more importantly: why.

It keeps him on the surface longer than he should be. Long enough that Lilith sees it fit to send him a fucking trainee? And if that wasn't insult enough, the trainees one of the eternal teenage know-it-alls.

He's already got four annoying toddlers to trail, and now there's one tugging his hand in the new generation's approach to soul-catching like Carmine isn't one of the best employees they've had since the turn of the century.

And somehow, to make it all worse, the trainee is good at it. And if Carmine wants to keep his spot at the top of the food chain, he's going to have to get the soul of that dumb bitch who's running the joint.

But, of course, the kid gets him murdered??? And then has the nerve to figure out how what those toddlers managed to stick their syrupy, grubby little hands in. What gives?

But two can play at that game. If he can't get the dead guy's, then he can have the next best thing.

Jesse has lived just under seventeen years, but he's ready to check out. Or he was. But of course, some selfish bastard had to come along and say you can't ever act on those thoughts again! Don't think like that!

And then the hole kept getting deeper.

Six feet deep, to be exact. He's got blood on his hands and no matter how fucking good it felt to cut off the air supply to the God who stole his innocence, it's probably not going to feel very good to watch his mom suffer through a highly publicized trial with headlines like CHILD MURDERS HIGH PROFILE BENEFACTOR!!!

Oh. Well. Billy did say if he really got in that deep, he could always strike up a deal. His soul, everything wrapped up in a nice little bow, sweet as Easter Sunday. But until then? Yeah, he's content to live in a stupid fucking Sherlock Holmes novel.

CHARACTERS:

JESSE NIX: A soon-to-be seventeen-year-old saddled with the curse of obedience. Unlike miss-lucky-Ella-Enchanted, he wasn't told to give away his mommy's locket. No-siree. He was told to give away his virginity. In his opinion, the only appropriate payback is a life. Maybe, one day, if he really snaps, he'll dig up Pastor Dallin's corpse and chop his dick off. Really stick it to the man. If he doesn't go to prison first, anyway. (spotify playlist)

NANCY NIX: Also a soon-to-be-seventeen-year-old, though saddled with the curse of honesty. It's really not so bad. That is, until she stumbles across the sight of her dearest little brother covered in blood for no reason he can push through his metal braces. She refuses to believe he did it on purpose. If only she could convince the cops without sounding like a nutjob. (spotify playlist)

BEVERLY PINES: A seventeen-year-old cursed to feel the pain of those around her. It makes for some fun family dinners with a sadistic mom and a missing dad. Distance nulls pain, but she can't ever seem to make it past state lines before her mom gets wise and breaks one of her ribs. Oh, well. She's got a bone to pick with psychos like her mom. Apparently, Pastor Dallin was one of them. She doesn't think she could stomach the pain of killing someone, so next best thing, right? (spotify playlist)

CLARICE ANDERMANN: Also a seventeen-year-old cursed to be constantly in motion. It's honestly not that bad. She's Yale bound! Perks of having endless energy for everything to cheerleading to debate contests, though she can't imagine her heart's going to keep up like this. It's already hanging on by a thread. That thread is named Beverly Pines and like hell she's letting it go to prison for nothing. (spotify playlist)

BILLY: An annoying fuck trapped in a seventeen-year-old's body. No curses. The opposite, in fact - blessed with a silver tongue and a keen sense of deduction. It takes him all of two hours to put together (almost) everything about Jesse Nix. He just didn't think he could push the repressed little fuck to murder that quick. (All the more power to him, though. Prison always makes people desperate and paranoid, AKA: an easy mark.) (spotify playlist)

MAVIS EVANGELISTA: Former housewife turned grieving widow turned revered prophet. If she got a little help from someone downstairs, then who's to know? They love her all the same. Now, she really, really wants to see how far she can push them all. (spotify playlist)

CARMINE: Just a helpful guy, passing through. Really doesn't need anything, just a little pledge, is all! And then? Then, you can have everything you want, fame, money, power, love. The sky is your limit. The water's fine! (Ignore the piranhas, they'll wait till you're dead to eat your face, just a little bit.) (spotify playlist)

NOTES:

- all of these characters have equal importance within the story.

- personal tag system for story stuff is '#tbtd' and character tags are just first name (ex: '#jesse')

- this is kind of really fucked up. the only reason i wrote it was cause i was thinking damn ella enchanted really is NOT fucked up enough. like i don't think the author of ella enchanted went dark enough. a locket? that's it? a bitch move. i'm taking it to straight murder and sexual abuse

- jesse transgender, no character straight except evil people

- i'm not entirely sure how tag lists work but i think i get the gist of them?? idk if you want rb or ask or something </3

EXCERPT:

There were moments, where she was reminded just how different this voice was, how violent.

She had found Lynette, making off with her makeup that she’d spent her own allowance on. Mavis doted on her and, from what she’d seen of other families, everyone else looked upon their little siblings with contempt, despising the burden they dragged along with their existence.

But Mavis adored Lyn. When she'd been born, her mother had come home with a tiny thing bundled in pink fleece. Mavis had taken to Lyn on sight, thinking Lynette’s headband adorned with a baby blue bow was the universe’s way of telling her happy birthday! as reparations for the ones her mother had missed while she was enduring her week long stay at the hospital.

But that mindset was a disease, one that had finally caught up with her. Had Lynette not become her burden? She was nineteen, busting her back day and night so Lynette wouldn’t have to, that she might avoid the life that Mavis had lived in those blissful six years where it was her and her alone.

Had her mother not tampered down her birthday celebrations since Lynette’s was so very close and they couldn’t afford double anyway? Had Lynette not deprived her of the teenage experiences she heard her classmates speak of, going out and tasting alcohol for the first time while Mavis followed a ten year old Lynette house to house so she could complain of a stomach ache after she’d devoured all the candy on the walk back home?

And now this! Stealing her few precious items, the few things she bothered to save up for, few things she bothered to keep hidden. For what? It wasn’t as though she was ever going to have the courage to ask a peer of her’s out. She was a thief.

One Mavis had made the mistake of taking care of. She should’ve embraced those stirrings of resentment, should’ve left Lynette to her own devices since Lynette didn’t appreciate anything, or even half of what Mavis afforded her. She should’ve left her out in the cold that Christmas. How could anyone have known? It wasn’t as though corpses could talk--

She had let Lyn take off with the whole case, as if to remind herself when she woke up the next morning what she had considered, how vile the thought was.

Lyn had never done anything unforgivable to Mavis. Mavis didn’t suppose she ever could. It was no fault of Lyn’s she didn’t understand what it was like to live with their father. How could she? It was a topic off limits to Lyn by both Mavis and their mother. After all, a child born blind doesn’t know until it’s pointed out to them.

And yet, she found guilt hard to summon. She did, but the speed at which it came, the strength, made her uneasy. What had happened to the girl she was? Lyn had been her world. What had changed?

Then, dully, that other voice, entirely of its own volition, said You did.

[crystxlclear]

sudden desire

chapter ten: the endless darkness and mystery of the ocean is becoming a bit tempting to dive into right now

part eleven of sudden desire

masterlist

word count: 3.2k

warnings: angst, hospitals, illness? it’s a little but of a sad chapter tbf sorry

author’s note: this is where it gets sad and angsty i hope y’all didn’t think it would all go smoothly from here lmaoooo sorry

but coraline and marcus are soft af so i hope you enjoy them pining for each other ... again

Marcus is sure that he’s only really known love twice in his life.

The first time, it was with his first wife. His college girlfriend. The first girl he’d ever said ‘I love you’ to, and meant it. 

They’d married straight out of college; young and, maybe, a little too dumb. Not prepared for the pressures of real life, of the real world. They were still figuring themselves out, who they were meant to be and who they were meant to become. They’d grown apart as they’d grown older. They were no longer who they were. They were different, and not the same people who’d fallen in love those years ago.

The second time, it was with Teresa. At least, he thinks he was in love with her. Hell, he’d even asked her to marry him, to move across the country to start a life with him, after so little time together, after all. They’d moved so fast, tumbled headfirst into things without a second thought. He’s sure that, in that short period of time, he’d fallen in love. The heartbreak that had struck him down when she’d left him was so palpable that, sometimes, when he lies awake at night, he still feels the remnants of it rooted within him.

There had been others, before and since. Those that didn’t work out, those that weren’t and never were meant to be. A handful of awkward dates or a couple of nights at the other’s apartment. Nothing significant like his ex-wife or Teresa.

At least, not until Coraline.

He often wonders, if things had been different, if they’d met some other time, in some other place - maybe even in some other life - without their heartbreak and their baggage, if things would have been different. Would they be together and happy, living in some picture-perfect suburbia together, in each other’s arms. He guesses that he’ll never know, now. It seems silly to dwell on such an unlikely and unattainable thought.

But he likes this, falling asleep in each other’s arms, even if it’s only as friends on her part and he’s destined to feel the sting of unrequited happiness for the rest of his days. 

The next morning seems lighter. It shouldn’t - the weight of the night before, all that had happened, should still linger; and it does, just not in the way he’d expected - but his admission, into the silence and not to her, had lifted this insurmountable weight from his chest. He hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying it. Even whispered into the gauzy blanket of silence after Coraline had fallen asleep, Marcus’ profession of love had slipped out, just the right time to relieve him of his fears and maybe any more heartbreak that might latch onto him.

He wakes with her still in his arms. She’s clutching to his shirt, the dress shirt’s cotton material bunched into her first, twisted around his torso. She looks endlessly peaceful; her breathing is steady, soft and measured and even, and her face is free of the worried lines that had tugged at her eyebrows the night before. Her lips are parted, soft puffs of air brushing past, tickling against the underside of his jaw. She’s swimming in the bliss of sleep. He’s endlessly glad that at least sleep can give her a reprieve from the torment of the night before.

He knows he should leave her bed, like he does every morning. That he should make her coffee and whatever breakfast food he can find. That he should have normality ready for her when she wakes up, so things don’t seem so different when sleep slips away from her. But he just can’t bring himself to let her go.

Marcus watches her gentle expression and the rise and fall of her chest for a moment. The subtle shift of her feet and hips. He knows she’s waking up, her body rousing from her deep sleep. He brushes a hand through her hair; it’s dried as she slept, and her usually delicate waves are even more prominent thanks to the soft cotton of her pillowcase. His thumb brushes across her cheekbone.

Coraline hums and it almost startles him. “Good morning,” she whispers. She leans forward and presses her forehead against his chest. Her hand pulls around his torso and splays her fingers across the expanse of his back, pushing his chest closer into hers. “What time is it?”

Marcus’ hand flexes against Cora’s hips. “9 am.” 

“Shit, Marcus, you have work,” she gasps and pulls back, though her movements are sluggish and laboured, tethered with sleep, still. 

He smiles and drops a kiss to her forehead. His thumb taps against her hip bone. “I’ll call in sick. They’ll understand.”

He’s sure that she wants to protest, to tell him to leave, but she just doesn’t seem to have the energy. She just drops her forehead back against his sternum and sighs. She nuzzles herself closer into him and pulls at his scent, just as intoxicating as always. It weighs her limbs down. She feels her head swimming with everything - the worry and the pain and the fear - but the familiar scent of his cologne keeps her rooted to reality, and stops her from floating away. She’s glad that he’s here, holding her. She’s not sure she would want to wake up without him there. “I need coffee,” she murmurs, voice muffled by the duvet pulled snug over the pair of them, and Marcus’ shirt. She makes to move his embrace and leave the bed, but her efforts are half-hearted and she keeps herself pressed against Marcus, inside his comforting grip.

Marcus chuckles. “Just a couple more minutes,” he insists.

He can feel her grin through the material of his shirt. “You’re comfortable like this?” She runs her hand up his torso, from his stomach to his chest, and toys with the top button of his shirt, by his neck. Her thumb brushes over his collarbone; he’s pretty sure it’s unintentional, but it almost makes him shudder. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t used to the effect that she has on him.

He shouldn’t be. Not in what he’s wearing. But the warmth of her against his chest is too comforting for him to muster the strength to move. “Very comfortable.” 

She tilts her head back. Large green eyes peer up at him, sparkling and still laced with sadness. She’s trying her best to hide it, he can tell. “Too bad,” she whispers, “I want coffee.” She still doesn’t move. She stays rooted to his chest.

“And you’re expecting me to make it?” Marcus chuckles.

Cora giggles against him. “No- give me a moment.”

Marcus brushes a hand through Coraline’s hair - and pushes away the curls that have flopped over her face and obscure her sleep-kissed smile against him - as her phone begins to ring on the bedside table behind her. Cora groans and tightens her grip on his shift. “Who is it?”

He peers over her to glance at the display on her phone, which lights up bright with the name ‘Daniel’. He tells her and she groans again, pressing her cheek against his chest. Every time something calls her to leave the bed, she can’t help but burrow deeper into him. “Let it ring. I’ll call him back later,” she insists. The phone falls silent against the wooden table and she relaxes, until the phone starts vibrating again, and her shoulders go rigid. 

“You gonna get that one?”

She shakes her head. “He’ll give up after this call.”

But her phone carries on ringing.

After the fifth ring of the third call, Coraline uncurls herself from around Marcus. 

“Hello,” she answers, unable to sound very enthusiastic.

“Cora, thank God!” Daniel sounds out of breath on the other end of the phone. “You need to get down to the hospital right away.”

“What?” She shoots upwards in worry. “What’s happened? Is everyone okay-”

“It’s dad. It’s his lungs again.”

Panic strikes in Coraline’s chest. It’s her fault. If she hadn’t told him about her and Marcus and their plans for a baby, he’d be okay.

“I’m-” She desperately tries to catch her breath as she stumbles from the bed. Marcus calls after her but she’s fumbling blindly through the room, grabbing clothes like it’s second nature. “I’m on my way.” She drops her phone rather than hanging up and tugs on a hoodie and joggers over her pyjamas. 

“Coraline, what’s wrong?” She questions.

She shakes her head and twirls on her heels. “My dad’s in the hospital.”

...

Marcus hadn’t even bothered to get changed. He looks presentable enough in what he was wearing - despite the wrinkles in his shirt and pants - and it seemed far more important to get Coraline to the hospital than it did to make himself look as if he hadn’t just rolled out of bed.

Which he had.

He hadn’t let her drive. Coraline had been biting back tears; they were burning the back of her eyes, blurring her vision, and she was in no shape to drive. Instead, he’d just taken her keys and driven as fast as he, legally, could towards the hospital on the other side of town. She’d sat in the passenger seat, bouncing her leg, silently praying that her father would be okay. 

He’d rushed in behind her, as she raced towards the desk and breathlessly asked for his room number. And, by the time they’d reached him, she’d practically crumbled back into Marcus’ arms at the sight of him. Her father had been laying in the sterile bed, asleep, a breathing tube down his throat to help with the rise and fall of his chest. There were so many machines around him, cutting through the room with a thousand shrill beeps and chimes, she thought that he seemed more like a robot than a human being at all.

Without Marcus holding her up, Coraline was sure that her legs would have given way, and she wouldn’t be able to hold herself up any longer. 

Her mother is there, Daniel and Kimmy, too, all gathered around his bed, looking solemn and horribly pale. Celine Meyer rushes towards her daughter as her sobs begin to bubble up ugly inside her chest. “Is he going to be okay? Please tell me he’s going to be okay.” She can’t bring herself to look at him. It only makes her chest hollow to see her father like this. The bright man she adored seemed so far away. “This is my fault,” Coraline insists, “I-” Her face is in her mother’s hands, and she’s shushing her, shaking her head and brushing away her tears as they fall, with the pad of her thumb. 

“No, no, no. My darling, Coraline, no. This is not your fault,” she tells her. 

“He was upset with me. He-” 

Her mother shakes her head again. “No, he is still sick. It was only a matter of time. But he is here now, and they are going to do their best for him, I promise.”

The room is impossibly bright and claustrophobic. She can smell the disinfectant; it seems to drip from every surface, scrubbed clean and sterile, and nauseating as she thinks of her dad having to spend hours in a bed, with his laboured, wheezing breathing and broken, empty gasps. She feels like the walls are about to close in on them all, and stifle the life out of them all. 

Coraline’s eyes waver towards her father and Marcus hears a sob rip from her throat. She gasps and rushes towards her father, dropping into an empty chair beside his bed. She takes his hand and presses her forehead to the back of his hand, her shoulders shaking as she cries, muffled by the blankets and the mattress. Marcus wants to make it better - he wants to make it all better - but there’s nothing he can do to quiet her heart wrenching cries and fix the sadness of seeing her father like this.

She doesn’t deserve this. All this pain. She deserves nothing but the entire world and all the stars in the night sky. Hell, he’d give her the moon if he could.

“Thank you for being here, Marcus.” Celine presses a hand against Marcus’ shoulder and smiles through her watery eyes. “You have no idea what this means to her.”

It doesn’t feel right to answer. He just returns her smile. Now isn’t the time to take credit for being here. He’s just doing what he has to do. What’s right. To be here for Coraline, if she needs him. 

“Dad, I’m so sorry,” he hears Coraline whisper, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. She sits up in her seat to look at her father’s sleeping face. “I’m so sorry for everything. Please don’t leave me, I- I need you.”

...

Coraline hadn’t wanted to leave. Marcus doesn’t blame her, especially when she’d spent most of the day blaming herself, and had only really settled her nerves about five minutes before visiting hours were over. She’d been worried they’d force her to leave, and, then, had been even more worried when the nurse had poked her head into their room, smiled and asked them if they wanted anything to drink as they sat by his bedside. 

Marcus knew it wasn’t a good sign, that they were letting him stay. The same had happened when his grandfather had died; he’d been so ill that they’d supposed he wouldn’t make it through the night. They’d let his mother and aunt sit by his bedside the entire night, until he passed away, holding their hands, the next morning. He hopes that this won’t be the case, here. For Coraline. For Celine and Daniel, for Kimmy and the kids. He prays.

Daniel and Kimmy had finally left in the late evening; they’d left their kids with the babysitter that morning, and they were both starting to grow tired. Celine stayed beside her husband, falling asleep early in the evening as Coraline and Marcus sat in silence, watching some old sitcom rerun on the tiny hospital TV. At some point, they’d settled into the same chair. He isn’t even sure when, or how, or even why, just that Coraline was understandably exhausted and shuffling awkward and restless in her seat, trying to get comfortable. She’d established that Marcus’ lap and the warmth of his arms around her was the best place to be. Just the way she’d woken up that morning.

She’d fallen asleep a little while later, just as an early episode of Seinfeld began to play on the television. 

Marcus had tried, resting his head back against the high back of the seat, but, no matter what he did or how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to fall asleep. He’s tired - exhausted, even - but something keeps him away, a gentle urge to make sure that everything is okay. 

Instead, he focuses his attention on the TV screen, too tired and far too distracted to follow the story.

The silence seems earth-shattering. 

“Marcus.” He lifts his head at the call of his name. It’s quiet, even in the silence of the hospital room. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor is the only thing that shatters the emptiness of the sterile room. Marcus smiles at the sight of Coraline’s father awake. His breathing is still heavy; he can see the way his chest seems to rattle as he draws in his breath. “Is she good?” He questions, motioning to his daughter, who’s curled up, asleep, in Marcus’ lap, tucked against his chest. She sighs in her sleep.

Marcus lifts his chin from where it’s been resting against the top of her head. “About as good as she can be,” he answers, “She’s a fighter.”

Robert Meyer hums out a laugh of agreement. “That she is,” he agrees. He watches her as she sleeps peacefully. “You’ll take care of her, won’t you?” 

The question hangs in the air. He knows what it means, and he recognises the weight of it. Celine had spoken to the doctor earlier - one of those ‘can I talk to you in private?’ moments that she hadn’t found the strength to share with anyone, yet - and wandered back into the room with fresh tear stains on her cheeks. He knows what that means. He’d seen it in his own mother when he was younger.

“I think she can take care of herself,” he insists with a gentle and fond smile down at her. “But I’ll always be there for her if she needs me.”

Silence befalls the room again; monitors beeping, machines whirring, the soft clicking footsteps of people against the linoleum in the hallway, the gentle rustle of hospital-issue sheets. Marcus knows that the silence lingering between them is a result of the night before, and the tension that had stretched, brutal, across the apartment, between them like a taut rubber band. 

“Do you love her?”

It’s another question that settles upon the thick air.

He’s not entirely sure how he’s meant to answer. He could admit to Robert that he’s fallen head over heels in love with his daughter, but he’s not sure he can bring himself to say it out loud. At least, not to another person. But Coraline doesn’t know. Coraline will probably never know. And, as far as she’s concerned, the extent of his love is that fondness shared between best friends, who live their lives circling around one another, keeping each other just close enough.

“I think that Coraline is a truly extraordinary woman,” he tells him, instead. He thinks it holds enough weight to answer his question.  “I swear to you that I’m in this for the long-haul,” he adds, “I’m the one who suggested the whole baby thing.”

“You suggested this?”

“I did. Please don’t be mad at Cora, she only agreed to the idea.”

There’s another silence. Robert settles back against his pillows. He runs his hand over his jaw. “And this is what she wants?”

“Yes. I think so.” He looks down at her, where she’s settled against his chest. “I can tell that it bothers her, worrying about never being a mom.”

“And you promise you’ll take care of her?” He questions.

“Always, sir. Always.”

“Y’know, she’s still my little girl,.” he insists, “you have to understand that I just want what’s best for her.” 

“I know.” Marcus smiles. “I want that, too.”

He sighs and leans back again. He gives his sleeping daughter the same easy smile he’d given her when he walked into the apartment the night before. “Then you have my blessing. I don’t necessarily… agree with this but, if you’re sure, I’m happy for you.”

It’s a brilliant relief to hear him say it. Marcus exhales happily and smiles. “I’m sure she’ll be relieved to hear that. She cares about you more than anyone, you know?”

“Oh no-” Robert watches as Coraline shuffles against Marcus’ chest. Her hand splays across the front of his shirt and she pressed her cheek against him. “-I think I’ve been replaced.”

taglist: @wheresthewater @ah-callie @its--fandom--darling @alberta-sunrise @sara-alonso @madslorian @freeshavocadoooo

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Come Away With Me

Masterlist here

Characters: Tom Hiddleston x Female Best Friend Reader

Summary: The fact that you’re overworked is obvious. Tom takes matters into his own hands and whisks you away on a private holiday. Will your mutual pining finally make itself known in the secluded setting?

Warnings: A bit of swearing, some sexual innuendo, responsible alcohol consumption.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: This is based off a request from @sabine-leo for a caring Tom to whisk away his best friend on a short break away from it all! Congratulations on your 3k followers, sweetheart! They are all very much deserved. <3

Also, thank you to @just-the-hiddles​ and @nonsensicalobsessions​ for giving this a glance and being amazing cheerleaders!

“Are you at home?”

A groan erupted from somewhere deep inside you, unbidden and unstoppable, in response to the heavenly ache of your feet flexing after slipping out of your shoes after a long day at work. You reached underneath your shirt and unhooked your bra, pulling it through the sleeve of your top to drop it onto the bed beside you. Bliss.

“Just got here.”

“You are working yourself to death. You should’ve been home hours ago. Have you eaten?” Tom’s exasperation bled through the tinny speaker on your phone, laced with concern that spread a comforting warmth inside your chest.

Your free hand snagged your comfiest lounge clothes from their rightful place in a pile on your dresser. Food hadn’t even been a concern with the stress that overrode your thoughts, consuming you and eating away at your sanity piece by piece. “Nope. I think there’s a granola bar in the pantry. Not that hungry.”

The faint but distinct sound of a car door slamming made it through the phone. “I’ll be over in thirty with the usual. No friend of mine will take such poor care of herself on my watch.”

There was no arguing with the stubborn man; a grateful smile tugged on your lips. “Thanks, Tom.”

“Love you.”

Tossing the phone onto your bed, you shoved the mismatched pajama pants and ratty t-shirt into a dresser drawer. Perhaps something a bit more put together and flattering if Tom was going to pop over…

~

“We’re going on holiday. Next week, Friday, as soon as you’re free from work.”

You almost choked on the beer you’d tilted to your lips. Coughing against the burning liquid searing your lungs, you set it down, staring at Tom with wide eyes as he rubbed your back in soothing circles that sizzled across your skin. When you could gasp a breath, you managed to blurt out, “Delusional-celebrity-best-friend-with-all-the-money-in-the-world says what?”

He chuckled, a light, breathy sound that you couldn’t help but answer with your own quiet laugh. “You are working yourself to the bone. Ah ah,” he picked his hand up off of your back and pointed a stern finger in your direction when you opened your mouth to deny it. “From one chronically, albeit self-imposed, overworked soul to another, there is no use pretending that you aren’t exhausted and in need of a break. Do whatever you must do to get your affairs in order, but you’re mine for three days.”

Damn if the demanding timbre of his voice didn’t send chills down your spine. You hid it by shifting on the couch beside him, dropping your eyes to the takeout carton in front of you. “You know I can’t aff-”

His hand settled on your knee, large and warm while his thumb brushed the outside of your leg. “Don’t force me to go on a weekend getaway all alone.”

There wasn’t any use attempting to fight the hopeful expression lifting his eyebrows and crinkling around his eyes.

~

Keys. Underwear. Swimsuit. Presentable pajamas. Enough outfits to last the trip. Charger.

The doorbell rang, pulling you out of your mental checklist as you stared critically at the open luggage sitting by the door. “It’s open!”

Tom strolled into the room, letting the cold in with him, greeting you with a warm hug and a kiss to your temple before joining you in looking at your suitcase with his arm draped over your shoulders. “Are we waiting for it to put itself in the car, or…?”

You slapped his chest lightly, the soft knit of his crimson sweater taking most of the force, before kneeling down to gather your things. “Just making sure I have everything. My brain is still a bit fuzzy after work today.”

He swept your belongings from your grasp with a wink and a smile that sent your heart skittering in your chest for his earnest beauty. This time alone was going to be the death of you. “I’ll pop this into the boot while you grab your coat and lock up.”

Your entire body gave into the exhaustion that had tugged on you relentlessly for what seemed like ages as soon as you sank into the heated interior of his car, surrounded by the gentle masculine scent of his cologne and oiled leather seats. Tom’s face was only partially lit by the occasional streetlamp or the glow of the dashboard as he guided his sleek car out of the city proper and into the countryside.

You’d wanted to stay awake, to watch the glow of small towns passing by, count the stars uninhibited by light pollution, even just pester him about where you were going, but it was all too easy to fall asleep rocked by the gentle turns of the car and lulled by Tom’s rich voice humming along quietly to the radio.

~

The typical sounds of busy city streets were absent when you woke. You frowned, blinking against the gray light streaming in through the windows as you sat up in a bed that was decidedly not your own. The previous night came back to you in groggy snapshots as you rubbed at the sleep in your eyes.

Tom gently shaking you awake. Guiding you to bed with his arm around your waist. Helping you out of your shoes and socks before picking out some nightclothes for you. Tucking you in and pressing a kiss to your cheek before telling you that he loved you. The brush of his hand across your forehead.

You didn’t even know where you were; you’d been too tired to ask the previous night. Running a hand through your mussed hair, you stumbled out of bed, staring out the window to see nothing but dense fog covering gently rolling hills. Not the most helpful scene for determining your location, but the peace of it all allowed you to take a deep breath that rolled through your body to settle deep in your soul.

The steaming hot shower loosened the muscles in your shoulders. The soft clothes that you slipped into erased the lines in between your brows. A pot of coffee waited in the quaint, but well-stocked, kitchen next to a note covered in chicken scratch meant to be words, maybe. Some squinting allowed you to pick out:

”Off on a run. Enjoy the coffee and relax. Be back soon. - Love”

With a mug warming your hands and a throw from the gray cloth couch in the living room tossed around your shoulders, you padded out in your socked feet onto the weathered deck that wrapped around the exterior of the cozy cabin Tom had rented. A chilling breeze rustling through barren trees was the only sound that reached your ears besides the soft blow of your breath to cool down your coffee. It was absolutely still, gifting you with a peace that only air perfumed with moist earth, crisp frost, and fresh evergreen could afford.

The cold was just about unbearable, fighting against your thin socks to sap the feeling from your toes, when a figure jogged down a gravel road to your left. It was easy to recognize the graceful silhouette of the man who’d whisked you away on this vacation, the lean lines of his body hard to mistake for anyone else even shrouded in mist and fog not yet burned by the rising sun. He loped up next to you, his chest heaving beneath his black t-shirt that was absolutely stuck to his skin with the sweat he’d worked up from his vigorous exercise.

Cheeks flushed. Eyes bright and focused as he smiled down at you. Hands carding through his hair - a dull copper in the light of the gray day. He was a vision. It was like your heart forgot how to beat. The intense desire to hear that ragged breathing in a different, more intimate setting, welled up within you so powerfully that you were thankful for the excuse of another sip of coffee to draw your eyes downward.

“Good morning, darling.” He leaned against the wooden railing behind you, squeezing your upper arm in greeting along the way. “Did you sleep well?”

You placed your finished mug down beside him, wrapping yourself tighter in your makeshift cape as you studied the fine figure of the man before you with a grin. “I did. Best sleep I’ve had in a long time, thanks to a certain someone carting me off to the middle of nowhere and then helping me into bed.”

His face fell with a sudden vulnerability that nearly split your heart in two it was so complete. “With how little time we both had available, somewhere close was the best option. And with the propensity for paparazzi to find me, I wanted both of us to relax without worry of intrusion. I apologize if it isn’t to your liking…”

You reached out and grabbed his hand without thinking. A shiver coursed through your body at the chill the opening in your blanket let in against your practically useless pajamas, but you’d do anything, risk any discomfort, to ease any tension in that man’s life. “No, no! It’s perfect. How about you go take a shower and I’ll whip us up some breakfast?”

He pressed a quick kiss to your head. Your lovesick heart convinced you that his lips, wonderfully soft and warm, lingered a second longer than appropriate between friends, that he inhaled the scent of your still-damp hair, but that was a fool’s wish driven by unrequited pining. “You spoil me.”

You pushed at his chest and crinkled your nose with a laugh. “Says the man who bankrolled this whole thing. Go. Shower!”

A mischievous twinkle lit up his eyes before he pulled you into a tight hug, swaying you back and forth as he forced your face into his damp chest with loud laughter that shook you both. You expected to be repulsed, but the clean scent of his sweat was so masculine and heady that you had to work hard to force your hands to push away at his sides instead of tugging him closer. The urge to tear off his shirt and watch the muscles flexing beneath your fingertips clenched deep in your belly. “Now you need a shower, too!”

“Get off me, you brat!” You wriggled out from his hold, blanket falling to your feet, mouth pulled back into an easy grin. The weight that had lingered on your chest for weeks lifted fully from his antics, and you knew he saw the tension disappear from the warmth that suffused his thoughtful gaze.

He swaggered towards you, a cowboy from westerns long ago in holey athletic wear and a finely accented voice that made your knees weaken, dropping his chin to rest his forehead against yours. “We could save water and shower together.”

Did he know the effect he had on you? Swallowing against the sudden moisture in your throat, you shoved him in the direction of the door, shaking your head. “Go!”

The frigid air biting at your flushed cheeks was very much welcomed after he disappeared. You sank back against the wooden planks of the house. With a drop of your head against the siding, you groaned, closing your eyes and crossing your fingers that you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself alone with Tom. If he continued on the path he was on, you weren’t certain of that success.

~

After a dinner of his world-famous bolognese with pasta and garlic bread, you sat on the couch next to one another, him picking idly at his guitar and humming little tunes as you watched him and sipped at your beer.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?” You softened the words with a broad smile, shifting so that you faced him with your legs tucked underneath you.

His brows quirked upwards as he looked up at you from his deft fingers plucking at the strings. The idle melody never ceased as he replied, “Am I, now?”

The drinks, the delicious food, the comfort that you felt in his presence all worked together to loosen your lips in a daring way you’d never risk otherwise. “For sure. You’re an amazing actor, you can cook, you dance, you’re so bloody handsome that it hurts to look at you sometimes, you saw that I needed a break and demanded that I come with you on this adventure, and if I recall correctly, you did have a movie that revolved a great deal of singing.”

A bashful flush spread across his cheeks, and his eyes dropped to his fingers which had slowly stilled during your tipsy admission. When he looked back up to you, heat darkened his gaze, and your blood pounded in your ears at the promises you read within. “Is that a challenge?”

“Is what a challenge?”

He rose from the couch and turned to face you fully. With a calming breath, he launched into Hey Good Lookin’. But unlike the movie version that you had watched religiously because of the haunting beauty of his character, this was slower, quieter, more intimate. Your fingers dug into the cushions beneath you as he held you captive beneath his powerful stare, all intoxication having melted away from him to deliver the song straight to the heart beating an impossibly fast drum against your ribcage.

You didn’t know how to proceed. Your body screamed at you to stand up, step into his embrace after taking the guitar from his hands, and give him what he’d asked for in roughly delivered song. But your mind cautioned you. It knew better. Knew that any flirting from him was most likely hope on your part. He was friendly, kind, affectionate in his trust. That was all.

So he moved for you, carefully placing the guitar on the couch before holding out his hand to you palm up in an invitation you would never turn down. “Did you bring your swimsuit like I instructed you to?”

~

“You’re absolutely mad!” Even just standing in the living room, staring out the glass doors at the hot tub that you honestly hadn’t even noticed throughout the day, you were shivering from the cold that seeped through the cracks to raise goosebumps on your exposed skin.

Tom stepped out of his bedroom, drawing your gaze with a dark chuckle that did terrible and wonderful things to your tummy. Especially in addition to the sight of him in just his swim shorts, the smattering of light chest hair drawing your attention down the middle of his lightly muscled chest to his abdomen before disappearing beneath thin black fabric. Very thin black fabric. You swallowed against the desire that had you imagining what you’d find if you followed that trail.

“You’ll be fine once you’re in the water!” he reassured you, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you outside. He released you to quickly hop into the bubbling water with a gasp and then a rumbled moan that was made of such sin you forgot how to breathe. The sight of the dimples at the base of his spine made your fingers ache to trace the contours of his body until you had the feel of him memorized. Steam billowed from the water in white clouds lit from underneath the bubbles sounding so loudly in the quiet of the night. You swore you saw Tom’s eyes dart to your chest where the unforgiving temperature made itself known through the thin fabric of your suit. “The longer you resist the colder you’ll get!”

Steeling both your electrified nerves and your raging hormones, you slid into the water beside him, sounding your own moan at the heat that slowly penetrated the layer of cold that surrounded you like a second skin. Your bare shoulders and neck still felt the brunt of the winter air, though, and you drifted closer to Tom. “I can’t dunk my whole body in here, Hiddleston. What’s your solution to that?”

With a questioning look over your flustered face, the draw of his eyes from yours to your lips and back again, he lifted his arm from between you to pull your weightless body in the water until you sat sideways in his lap. His arm curled around your shoulders so his thumb could tease your collarbone, ridding you of any rational thought as you tried to grasp the new turn of events.

Tom had always been affectionate, freely doling out hugs, kisses on your temple, and even words of praise when the opportunity presented itself. But this? The curl of his breath against your neck and the rasp of his thumb over the hollow of your throat, it felt like something more. A continuation of the unsaid words littered between you on the couch earlier.

“Is this alright?” he whispered, barely audible over the bubbling tub, but you felt the words just as you heard them, traveling through your side pressed into the planes of his chest to wrap around your heart.

If only he knew how very much it wasn’t alright. How the press of his thighs into yours and the feeling of his heart racing against your arm was sending so many mixed signals that your brain threatened to short-circuit and spill smoke from your ears. Hesitantly, you twisted your torso just enough to hook your arm around his neck, scratching idly at his scalp. It was far more comfortable for you, but judging by the sharp intake of his breath, perhaps it wasn’t for him.

“Yes. Is this alright?”

He dropped his forehead to rest on your bare shoulder and tightened his grip on you ever so slightly. But you’d notice any minute twitch of his body with how attuned you were to the wonderful man holding you close. “Perfect.”

Despite the anxious energy bordering on heartbreak simmering beneath your skin wherever you melted into him, you had to agree. What more had you wanted out of life than to sit in a hot tub in Tom’s tender embrace, staring at the stars and just breathing each other in?

~

“You continue spoiling me like this and you’ll have to move in with me whenever we get back,” you teased, hugging him from behind, your face finding a home in the dip of his spine between his shoulder blades, your hands smoothing over the flat of his abdomen.

“I think that if we ever moved in together, you would come stay at mine,” he chuckled, dropping the spatula currently tending to the eggs for a proper fry-up to close a hand over yours. His fingertips danced over your knuckles. “You needed a bit of pampering, and I am fully up to the task. Breakfast is about finished, if you could get a few plates?”

When you turned back to him after grabbing two plates big enough to handle the absolutely massive amount of food he’d prepared, Tom was right in front of you, the food left unattended on the stove. Indecision warred in his eyes, and his hands fidgeted with the edges of the apron he’d thrown on over his t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms.

The sudden shift in his mood was so immediate that you immediately put the plates down on the counter. “You okay?”

A shaky breath. The rub of his hands over his clean-shaven jaw. His lips pressed together and he settled his hands on his hips, dropping his chin to look up at you through golden lashes that caught the light trickling in through the small kitchen window. “I love you.”

Those three words, uttered with such a hesitant, low voice and a somber expression, kickstarted your heart into overdrive. You adjusted your robe around your shoulders. It was a strain to act as if you didn’t simultaneously fall to pieces and soar to the heavens each time he said it, especially so early in the morning and without caffeine. But you managed, plastering on a weary, if a bit confused, grin. “I love you, too.”

A tentative step forward so that you were only a breath away from each other. His hands sought the curve of your waist, skimming over them in a touch so gentle and yet loaded with tension that you thought you’d explode. The various shades of blue, green, and gray that made up his eyes were visible just before his eyelashes feel to caress the tops of his chiseled cheekbones, giving you just a moment to realize what was happening before he touched his lips to yours.

Oh. You couldn’t have stopped your hands from skimming up his torso to cup his shoulders for anything. He pulled away for just a second, unsure by the trembling of his fingers against your sides, panting out puffs of air against your tingling lips.

“I love you,” he repeated, a hoarse whisper caressing your skin. Worry creased in between his brows and the flutter of his jaw.

You silenced his doubts. Your body found a home flush against his, pliant curves to firm planes, holding onto him as if letting him go would wake you from the lusciousness of the dream. Molten heat scented with coffee and sugar spilled out from the hunger of your kiss. You delighted in the taste of his plush lips. The lick of his tongue against the seam of your lips before he sucked and nibbled on your bottom lip was almost your undoing, and you were grateful for his neverending strength holding you securely in the band of his arms.

An acrid odor that singed your nostrils broke through your feverish haze to mix unpleasantly with the aftershave that tickled at your nose along his cheek. Both of you sprang apart from the other, turning to see the eggs burning.

“Fuck!” he shouted, ripping the pan from the stove to throw it into the sink. He fanned away the smoke toward the window with flailing hands, but it wasn’t open, and the frantic sight of him after such an intense moment burst the bubble between you. You doubled over for a second, giggling at the ridiculousness of it all.

When you had managed to calm down after opening a few windows, you sank back against the counter, putting on the best pout you could muster despite the happiness singing inside of you. “But I love eggs.”

He quickly trapped you in his arms, spinning you around and peppering kisses up the column of your throat in a way that had you dizzy and breathless. He nipped at your earlobe and growled, “I’ll give you something else to love, darling.”

~

Tidbit of Tom taglist: @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @ladyblablabla

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @claritastantrum @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius​ @sabine-leo​ @lovesmesomehiddles​ @peterman-spideyparker​ @wegingerangelica​ @bluefrenchfries604​ @catsladen @snoopy3000​ @silverswordthekilljoy​ @villainousshakespeare​

[sams-sass]

True

First fic! 

GIF not mine

Summary: Sam meets you, his true mate. There really isn't much plot here. I just had this thought and really wanted to write it down. 

Pairing: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Warnings: Smut, fluff, swearing

Sam’s POV

The first thing I noticed about her was her smell. It hit me like a train and almost made me fall out of my chair in the library. Warm, floral, earthy. It was everything I needed and I couldn’t get enough. When I was in college, Jess used to make this tea, a bedtime tea or something. It smelled like this this perfect Omega near me. Lavender, roses and honey with a touch of cinnamon. Every bone in my body ached for her and yet I didn’t even know who she was. As soon as my eyes landed on her I felt a surge throughout me. A force of electricity that swam through my veins. Her back was to me, she was in a blue and white sun dress that fell just above her knees. As I marveled at her, I saw it. Her back straightened and her head shot up from the book she was reading. She quickly turned to face me and I saw her for the first time. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Her y/e/c eyes met mine and I felt my feet moving towards her before I even realized I was out of my chair. I watched her chest rise and fall quickly and it looked like it was taking everything in her not to fall to the floor. I realized now that I was standing in front of her just staring.

“Sam” I choked out

“Y/N” her voice breathy

“I think you are my-“

“True mate” she finished. My hand grabbed hers and another feeling of electricity washed over me, this time I felt a heat as well.

Readers POV

I was in the library looking for the book I needed. I suddenly got a feeling that I was being watched. I turned around and that’s when I smelt him. Strong, whole, and hot. Pine, sandalwood, and the smell of the earth after a thunderstorm in summertime. As soon as my eyes met his hazel eyes I knew. He was my true mate. I had heard stories, but to actually experience it was a whole different thing. A shock of electricity ran through me, I couldn’t stop the throbbing between my legs and my world spun. Suddenly, he was in front of me. He was tall. And god he was something to look at. Wide shoulders, lean hips, long legs, and a mouth I could only dream about.

“Sam” his voice deep

“Y/N” god, I sounded needy

“I think you are my-“

“True mate” I said just as bewildered as him. He grabbed my hand and that’s when it happened. More electricity coursed through me, but this was so warm as well. Cramps started in my stomach and I almost dropped to the floor. Sam wrapped an arm around my waist and walked me out of the library. Oh my god. Its my heat.

Sam’s POV

I smelt it before she even doubled over in pain. Her sweet floral smell got stronger and more intoxicating. She was in heat and as soon as I wrapped my arm around her body my blood began to warm as well. She had triggered my rut. I got her out of there as quickly as possible.

“We need to get somewhere private, mega”

“Left” she said through the pain, “blue house with the wood door, my house, live alone” she practically moaned as we stumbled together through the streets.

I found her house on the next block. I thought I might break the door down, but she was able to get her keys and open it. As soon as I heard the lock, my mouth was on hers. She tasted just like she smelt. Her mouth was open, wet, and hot. The sounds she was making were driving me crazy. All I wanted to do was ram into her until I couldn’t anymore. I picked her up and practically drove her through the wall. Within a matter of minutes we were both naked and panting. I dropped to my knees in front of her, partly because I wanted to taste everything about her, but also because I didn’t trust my legs at the moment. She was soaked. I nuzzled my nose into her thighs for a moment to collect my thoughts. The soft flesh was so inviting.

“Please, Alpha, I need you” she whimpered

“I’m gonna take care of you, mega. God you smell so good” I praised. I dove in. She tasted better than I could have ever imagined. I rolled her through my mouth until I felt her fingers practically yanking my hair out of the roots. She was screaming my name along with my presentation. I could not get enough, I was drowning in all that was her. When she came I licked everything she gave. I felt her body relax for a moment. I stood and scooped her into my arms.

“Bedroom, upstairs” she got the hint. I laid her on the bed and kissed her until there was no air in my lungs. I grabbed her hips and lined myself with her. She was soaking the bed. My cock slid home in one stroke. If I thought she smelled good, tasted good, and sounded good….I had no idea what she would feel like. Warm, wet, tight. So fucking tight. I moaned her name at the feeling of being whole for the first time. She laid under me, eyes rolling, breath panting, and heart beating. I was on top of her and literally inside her, but it was like I couldn’t get close enough. This was everything I had ever wanted and more. She was perfect, like she was made just for me.

“Alpha, move. Please” she begged. I was happy to give this omega everything she ever asked for.

Readers POV

I was against the wall with Sam’s perfect mouth bringing me into pure bliss. His hands were on my ass holding me up as my legs fell on his shoulders. He was consuming me. Everything about him was bigger and better than I had ever had. I was shaking, holding onto his hair to keep me from shooting off the wall. He rolled my clit in between his teeth and then drove his tongue down through my folds. When his tongue filled me I almost melted right there. He took turns between fucking me with his tongue and giving my clit attention. I felt the pressure building inside of me. He continued to bring me higher and higher until I thought I might explode and then the pressure inside me snapped and I saw white as my eyes rolled back in my head and a scream passed my lips. My body almost fell off of his, but he caught me and gathered me in his arms. I instructed him where my bedroom was. He laid me on the bed and kissed me until I couldn’t breathe. His hands found my hips and he slid into me. I had never felt so full and so complete in my life. He was what I was missing. He was my world. I could tell he felt it to. I could feel his body pause above me. He held me in his arms and right there, with this total stranger, I knew everything in my life had led me to meet Sam. My true mate.

“Alpha, move. Please” I begged him.

With that he pulled out until just the tip was left and then slammed into me. His rut took over, I could see it on his face. Feel it in his bulging muscles. He was now working on pure, carnal instinct. He rammed into me over and over, all I could see was stars. The pleasure was unlike anything I had ever felt. It was all consuming. Whole. Raw. I could hardly breathe. His hands were everywhere, in my hair, running down my back, splaying out on my stomach to work my clit. Everywhere. I could hear myself moaning, yelling, letting his name fall from my lips over and over. He was moaning my name. Grunting into the crook of my neck. All my muscles felt tight as I held onto him for dear life. My whole body was buzzing. His skin on mine was almost overwhelming. Once again, he was taking me higher and higher. The drag of his cock against my walls was exhilarating. My name on his lips followed by a line of expletives was making my walls clench. He moved his hips and his cock now slammed into my sweet spot I didn’t even know I had with every thrust. I couldn’t take it anymore the dam broke. My back arched and my eyes slammed shut. All I could manage was “alpha, claim me” as my lungs let out all the air they were holding. My nails dug into his back as I experienced the most intense orgasm of my life.

“Mine” he grunted out. His teeth sunk into the swell of my neck. The pain only added to the pleasure. As soon as his teeth were in my skin, his knot popped inside me, prolonging the utter bliss I was feeling. He mumbled “omega” against his claim bite as his cock shot thick ropes of his seed into me. My head was spinning as both of us came down from our highs. He bent his legs slightly and adjusted, trying not to pull on his knot. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me with so much passion I could have cried. His hands drifted though my hair and his hips still pumped slightly into me. This was where I was always meant to be. In his arms.

It was then that I noticed the tattoo on his chest. I ran my fingers over the familiar pattern. Things began to fall into place in my head. I had been so taken by him and my heat that I had completely missed it, this man was a hunter.

“Sam” I started. Looking up at his face once more. He was staring down at me, a look of confusion on his handsome features.

“You’re a hunter” I said.

“What? How? You know about hunters?” He was clearly taken aback.

“I am one” I corrected him. His brows pulled together, confusion and surprise looked good on him if I do say so myself. Then his face broke into a smile. Dimples were prominent on his face making him look years younger. I swear he looked almost relieved. In that moment I knew, everything was going to be fine. I never needed to fear anything ever again. I had my mate. My life. My love.

Sam’s POV

She was moaning underneath me, writhing, bouncing with every thrust of my hips. My blood was racing through my veins, sweat coated my skin, my hands couldn’t touch enough of her. My mouth molded around her name as well as her presentation. This was unlike anything I had ever experienced. This was not just sex. She was my mate. My whole life. Instinct drove me into her over and over. Her walls were tight and wet. My name on her lips was the most perfect sound I had ever heard. I felt her walls flutter and I knew she was close “alpha, claim me” she breathed out. Her nails dug into my back and shoulders as her walls clamped around me. My breath hitched in my throat. “Mine” was the only word I could get out as my teeth sunk into her soft flesh. My knot popped linking us together as I filled my perfect omega. I mumbled her presentation against my claim mark, nuzzling my nose into her scent. I adjusted so I wasn’t crushing her and did the only thing that seemed right. I held her. I held her in my arms, trying to tell her that I was always there. I was never going to let her go. I felt her fingers on my chest, where my anti-possession tattoo was. I looked down at her face, she looked amazed, I could practically hear the wheels in her head turning. In the moment, I didn’t even think how I would tell her. I knew now that I could not live without her, but I also didn’t want to drag her into this life.

“Sam” she said softly. I stared down at her waiting for the question I had begun to dread.

“You’re a hunter” she said matter of fact. Completely at a loss for words, I just stared at her.

“What? How? You know about hunters?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“I am one” she said proudly. I swear to god, I have never been so happy, relieved, and shocked at the same time.

“You. Are. Perfect.” I said through kisses as I heard her giggle. This was it, this was true. She was mine and I hers. Forever.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi! So I’m rewatching TAB atm and it’s giving me feeeels. Do you have recs for after the get off the plane where John deals with Sherlock and specifically his overdose? I wish we’d had a part 2 where the show went into it, but I’m hoping you can give me some amazing fanfic instead! And Johnlock as friends is good as well as slash!

HI NONNY!!!

AHHHH I love TAB SO MUCH. It’s my favourite Sherlock Ep, and I wish I had more fics related to it :( I don’t have anything new since then, but all these fics are from my S3 / TAB / S4 [FIX IT] Fics list from last March, but because I love y’all, I’ll separate it on its own because it’s pretty far down and hidden, and I know other people would like to read some separate, so here you are!

And friends, if y’all have any TABlock, PLEASE give them to me!! I need more!!

THE ABOMINABLE BRIDE (TABlock) (APR. 2020)

See also: 

S3 / TAB / S4 [FIX IT] Fics (March 2019)

Victorianlock 

ACD Canon

The Two of Us Against the World by slashscribe (T, 1,617 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TAB, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Anxious Sherlock, Angsty Fluff) – John is there to take care of Sherlock as he comes down from his overdose in The Abominable Bride. Set immediately after the tarmac, back in 221B.

Loudly Unspoken by Mount_Seleya (M, 1,871 w.,  1 Ch. || Post-TAB, Love Confessions, Vulnerable Sherlock, Frottage) – John confronts Sherlock about the words he left unsaid on the tarmac. Set immediately after TAB.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w., 1 Ch. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) –  “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that.

Journal of Truths by Goddess_of_the_Night (T, 2,317 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV / TAB, Pining, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Love Letters, Declarations of Love) – When John escorts Sherlock back to Baker Street from the tarmac, he discovers a journal that Sherlock has kept secret...that he has kept secrets in.

Green Carnation by glenien (T, 2,616 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Meta-Fic, Angst and Fluff, Communication, Post-TAB) – John takes Sherlock home. Part 1 of It’s No Longer Eighteen Ninety-Five

The Trial of Sherlock Holmes by jenna221b (G, 3,015 w. across 3 works || TAB!lock, Metafic / TJLC, Victorian AU / 1895, Christmas, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Oscar Wilde) – Scripts based on speculation that Sherlock will be put on trial in The Abominable Bride to parallel the Oscar Wilde Trials of 1895.

I Love You (Is All That You Can't Say) by theSeventhStranger (T, 3,147 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TAB, Post-Tarmac Scene, Fix-It, Dev. Rel., Retrospective, Angst and Fluff) – “Sherlock. On the tarmac. I got the feeling that you were going to, um. To say something else.”

five times sherlock holmes lied to john watson (and one time he finally told the truth) by miss_frankenstein (G, 5,948 w., 1 Ch. || TAB Compliant || Homophobia, Pining Sherlock, Oscar Wilde Trials, Happy Ending) – Set in "The Abominable Bride" universe, this piece adopts a familiar format to chronicle Sherlock's quiet suffering in the wake of the 1895 Oscar Wilde trials and the particular way they affect his relationship with (and feelings for) John.

Drawstring by May_Shepard (E, 7,412 w., 1 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, UST/RST, Fluff and Smut, Post-TAB, John POV) – John is bothered by Sherlock’s slowly-falling jim-jams… as in hot and bothered and he is trying to deal with a sexy dishevelled Sherlock while also keeping his pining in check.

Never Been This Swept Away by estalita11 (T, 8,531 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TAB, Mary is Not Nice, Drug Use, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Set immediately after TAB, Sherlock visits his brother to definitely not apologize about earlier and ends up finally learning a few things that would have been nice knowing about months ago. Mycroft never wants to deal with lovestruck idiots ever again.

Out of the Darkness by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (M, 12,165+ w., 2 Ch. || WIP || Death, Overdose, Heavy Angst, Whump, Mary is Not Nice, Post S3/TAB Compliant) – John Watson has long assumed Sherlock Holmes is immune to sentiment, “doesn’t feel things that way.” Sherlock, however, would do anything for the person he loves most in the world, including putting himself in danger while keeping John in the dark in hopes of keeping him safe. Tired of being left behind, John is running a strategy of his own. Unfortunately things do not go as planned for either of them. And as John lays bleeding, Sherlock finally allows himself to say the things he’s always meant to… This is the story of love, forgiveness and finally making right all the wrongs in these two men’s lives.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w., 10 Ch. || Post S3 / Post TAB, Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST/URT, 3G, Mild Peril, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case, Protective Mycroft, Infant Death Pre-Story, Friends to Lovers) –  Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

MARKED FOR LATER

Stay for Me by Itsallfine (M, 17,310 w., 7 Ch. || Post-TAB, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss/Time, Bed Sharing, Mental Health Issues, Not-Nice Mary, Divorce, Angst with Happy Ending, Parentlock) – 221B was packed into boxes and bins, and that was when John knew, really knew—Sherlock had planned to be gone forever.

Crimson Hymns by brilliantlyburning (E, 48,982 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S3/TAB, Angst,  Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction, Unhealthy Coping Methods, Demisexual Sherlock, Boxing, Pining, Sensory Processing Issues, Drug Use, First Kiss / Time, BDSM, Mary is Not Good, Parentlock, Proposal, Happy Ending, Beekeeping, Violence, References to Addiction, Poetry) – He laid his head over John’s heart, eyes level with his silver-rough scar, and listened to the crimson hymns beating beneath the surface. He imagined flowers blooming in his own chest: veins weaving intricate patterns on petals of thin muscle engorged with blood, sinew for stems and tendons for roots—the flowers would be poppies, maybe (addictive) or foxglove (deadly yet useful)—twining gleaming blood-red around the porcelain bone of his ribs. In his mind’s eye the gruesome bouquet all tied together on the left side of his chest, the stems bound together in heartstrings and the flowers fed by the rhythmic contraction of ventricles. It’s yours, he imagined saying to John—from the vena cava to the mitral valve to the arteries it is yours.— Or, the Love Song of W. Sherlock S. Holmes.

NO! by Tildathings (M, 50,043 w., 36 Ch. || Homophobia, Bed Sharing, Military Uniforms, Past Abuse, Jealous John, Stalking, Violence, First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Pillow Talk, Coming Out, Sherlock’s Past, Shower, Cuddling, Grief and Sorrow, Hugs, Character Death) – Sherlock has been in a coma in over 8 months after he overdosed on the plane at TAB, during which time Mary and Rosie were killed by Vivian Norbury.  This story starts 3 weeks after Sherlock has woken up. John is asking to move back to Baker Street.

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages of Life: 24

A Piece of Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. Angst. Loss, Grief. Labor pains. Non-graphic child birth.

Words: 11,820

A/N: Again, sorry for taking so long to update. This was a monster for me to write and it’s just been hard to write lately, BUT, this chapter jump starts the last phase of the Drabbles...  (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) beautiful moodboard by @afewmarvelousthoughts​ and thank you for all your help and tears and yelling at me. I’m sorry! <3 **I have never given birth, just going off experiences of mothers I know**

Holidays: 29 weeks Dec 13th:

One morning Ana wakes up to a solid kick from inside her stomach, rapidly blinking at the odd light streaming through her window. After she carefully sits up, soothing her hands over her round belly, she blinks again, startled.

Snow. It had snowed sometime during the night and with the sight comes the realization; it’s the middle of December. Time had ticked by in muted colors to Ana that when she finally came back to herself, five months had passed. Five months since the air filled with ashes. Five months since she last touched Bucky. Five months since the absence of his soul.

Now it’s nearly Christmas. Ana can’t even remember her birthday or Thanksgiving passing. Though by the tears escaping her eyes and the ache in her chest, it’s not going to be a good day. She continues to stare out the window, the snow-covered ground and trees in the distance offer a bittersweet illusion of a perfect world. Quiet. Tranquil.

A memory invades Ana’s mind from last year. Her and Bucky snuggled together in front of a fire at Tony’s cabin, talking about a future family. She shakes the memory from her head and finally gets out of bed, ignoring the very real feeling of Bucky’s arms around her. Ignores the phantom scent of his breath and the spiced apple toddy he drank that evening.

Waddling her way to the kitchen with her hand supporting an ache in her lower back, she spots a blessed pot of coffee freshly brewed. Ana hasn’t had such a desperate urge for the taste of coffee in so long, that she nearly drops the mug she pulls from the cabinet in haste. Once she’s poured herself a generous amount, she inhales deeply. The nutty aroma sending her mind straight back to the first day she met Bucky, and all the sessions that followed.

She revels in memory, when she was proud of herself for pulling a smirk out of the infamous Bucky Barnes after she told him she didn’t poison the coffee. How they starting to bond over silly conversation of coffee, how he used to tease her but ask how to make it properly. How Bucky would sometimes show up before her, waiting for her to arrive with coffee in hand. Ana is so lost in her mind, she doesn’t register the shift of air behind her.

“That’s caffeinated, and I know you are not about to drink it while seven months pregnant.”

Snapping back to reality, Ana shoots a glare over her shoulder at Steve. “Being seven months pregnant is the perfect reason to drink it.”

The sigh Steve emits makes her step back out of his reaching range, just in case. “Ana,” He draws out in mock disappointment.

“No! I need it need it, Steve,” She practically whines, clutching the hot mug to her chest. “Especially today. With the snow and these fucking memories, and Carol isn’t here to help regulate me, and my rings don’t fit right now. I just need caffeine, just this once.”

His eyes narrow. “Just this once?” He repeats incredulously. “Didn’t Rhodes catch you sneaking his coffee a week ago?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Ana shrugs, lifting the mug to her lips.

Sounds of scuffling come from the front hallway then, Ana distracted enough for Steve to finally and carefully, snatch the mug away from her hands. She makes a noise of protest, before she sees the dark green branches of a pine tree. Natasha and Rhodes carry in a small tree, with Rocket following behind them, an axe propped over his shoulder.

“What the hell is that?” Ana demands quietly, her chest tightening.

“It’s a tree,” Nat snipes dryly. “What the hell does it look like?”

They set the tree down in the living room, adjusting the stand that’s already anchored to the trunk. An onslaught of rage and heartache overcome Ana for reasons she can’t quite comprehend. Abruptly it takes everything she has not to grab the axe from Rocket, chop the tree into little pieces and throw them into the fireplace.

Holidays are meant to be joyful. Holidays are meant to celebrate with families and loved ones. Holidays are meant to bring brightness. They’re meant for the rest of the world to fade away into warmth, sparkles, the smells of baked goods.

Not this time. Ana sees nothing joyous about that tree, just the inevitable death of its needles. She doesn’t feel the warmth of the season, just the continuous frigid void in her chest. Outside, the falling snow morphs into ashes.

“Get it out of here.” Ana nearly growls, her fists clenching; the lights flicker. She can no longer look at it without wanting to scream.

“Uh, why?” Rhodes demands, crossing his arms. “It’s nearly Christmas.”

“I don’t care, just get it out! I don’t want it in here! It doesn’t belong here!”

Rhodes serves Ana a look so stern, she abruptly feels like a scolded child.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to dial that back,” He commands, gesturing to her. “This is misplaced anger, and you’re taking it out the wrong way. This might not be something you want, but don’t forget, you aren’t the only one suffering through depression. And maybe if you recognized that, you’d realize a damn Christmas tree just might make everyone else forget the shit that’s happened for once.”

His words are a punch to her heart. Immediately all her anger melts from her bones as she looks at the floor. Rhodey is one hundred percent correct, embarrassingly Ana is reminded of how much she truly missed when she shut her emotions off. She hasn’t been fair or considerate of anyone for months. Just because she can’t handle a fucking tree, doesn’t mean she can force anyone else to do the same.

Her throat burns with that wake-up call; the flicker stop flickering. Ana slowly gathers herself, breathes deeply while stroking her hands over her stomach to soothe herself. The baby moves and rolls in response. Finally, she nods.

“You’re absolutely right,” She concedes, meeting his eyes once more. “I’m sorry I snapped. I just…I’m just not in the mood to celebrate any holiday, but I shouldn’t expect anyone else to. I apologize.”

Rhodes stares her down a few moments before his expression breaks. “Accepted.”

The tense silence that follows is heavy and awkward, until Steve pushes the coffee mug back into Ana’s hand. “Just the one cup.”

She silently takes the mug, barely feeling the warmth of the coffee on her fingers. “I’m just going to go lay down now.”

As she makes her exit, Rhodey stops her. “Do you…need anything?” He offers kindly.

She gives him a grateful smile over her shoulder. “No, thank you.”

*

Steve has been distracting himself from checking up on Ana by pulling the dust covered box of decorations from storage and going through it. Oddly, a glass ornament is wrapped in newspaper, and with a delicate swipe of his fingers over the ink, he’s brought back to another lifetime eight decades ago.

Christmases during The Great Depression weren’t grand; far from it. Memories of Steve stuffing his shoes with old newspapers to keep his feet warm- and possibly give himself a few extra inches in height- fill his head. His mother carefully wrapping handmade ornaments in those same newspapers. 

A slightly dirty Bucky just back from working odd jobs here and there, holding up a turkey he received as payment. He had dragged both Steve and his mother over to the Barnes household for a rare Christmas Eve dinner.

Giggles of four little girls huddled together as they watched Steve nail their brother in the face with a slush of a snowball. A quiet night of serving his mother tea as she laid sick in bed. Yet she still gifted him fresh parchment bound together to go with the charcoal pencils Bucky got him earlier.

The memories turn melancholy as Steve remembers that first Christmas without his mother. How Bucky selflessly spent the night away from his own family, taking care of a feverish Steve, even though all he wanted to do was stay huddled in bed and cry himself to sleep from grief. Instead, Bucky pulled out a bottle of whiskey from his tattered coat and dumped some into Steve’s tea.

“Nicked it from that banker's house on the other side of town,” Bucky had shrugged, looked proud of himself before he took a swig from the bottle.

“Buck,” Steve had reprimanded weakly. Until he remembered that banker is the one who cheated on his wife and bragged about it. He had taken too big of a gulp, nearly choked and spluttered.

Bucky waited, patted his back until his airways cleared. “Did that no good, two-timer notice you?”

“Hell no,” Bucky laughed. “Guys like him deserve to have his illegal booze stolen, he’s got enough money to smuggle more. Did you take your medicine?”

Steve held up his mug. Bucky rolled his eyes, then gently pushed him over to snuggle in next to him. Not once did he ever leave Steve’s side. Instead he chatted his ear off with stories of Rebecca attempting to make her own dolls, and that one brunette, brown-eyed dame he tried to save from a sleazy man before she decked the guy square in the jaw.

“I’m sweet on her now. Whatty’a think, Stevie? Think I’ve got a chance with a dame like that?”

(Steve huffs a laugh when he remembers that bit. Bucky always did have a type; it’s no wonder he fell for Ana so quickly.)

"Nah,” Steve said through a cough. “A girl like that wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“Punk.” Bucky rubbed his knuckles atop his head.

“Jerk.” He weakly shoved him in retaliation.

Silence fell between them; sleep quickly took over Steve’s tired and sick body. He had slid further down the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to his chin.

“Thank you, Buck. For being here.”

Bucky took a minute to respond. “Didn’t want you to be alone during the holidays. With you til the end of the line, pal.”

The light pitters of something wet hitting the newspaper brings Steve back to the present. A few dark drops absorb into the paper before he realizes he’s crying. He hastily wipes the tear off his face, clears his throat and wills away the pain in his heart. Steve gets it. He understands why Ana reacted the way she did.

Shaking his head to clear his past, he rewraps the ornament and returns to his task. Once he’s done, Steve just sits in the closet by himself for a while; allows him himself to wallow. He’s absentmindedly scratching his growing beard, wondering if he should give it a shave when FRIDAY alerts him.

“Captain Rogers, the weather is a brisk 25 degrees outside, with steady snowfall.”

Frowning up at the ceiling as if the AI can see him, he replies, confused. “Thank you? Is there a reason you’re giving me a weather report?”

He swears FRIDAY sigh. “Mrs. Barnes has been sitting out for-“

“Got it, thanks.” Steve cuts her off, yanking the door open. He knows exactly where Ana is.

As he quickly makes his way through the compound, Steve apologizes to that younger Bucky during the all those winters. He recalls his exasperated best friend every time Steve hid out on rooftops and fire escapes after getting into fights. Every time, Bucky had been there with Steve’s coat, or just taken his own coat off to wrap around Steve’s scrawny little shoulders instead.

“Christ, Stevie, your lungs ain’t gonna work anymore the longer you stay out here, punk.”

When Steve climbs through her window, and finally opens the door to the roof, the irony isn’t lost on him. Ana is sitting on the furthest chair, staring out into the frosted woods, snow catching in her long hair. Only a thin blanket over her lap protects her from the cold and the biting wind from the height of the deck. Her hands are protectively cradling the bump of her stomach.

“Ana, what are you doing out here?” Steve questions, briskly walking to her. He places the jacket he found in her room over her shoulders; one of Bucky’s jackets. “You’ll freeze your toes off.”

“You’ll freeze your damn toes off, and I will not explain to your Ma why her son got frostbite.”

He wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his side to share his body heat with her. The old memories of Bucky practically yanking his asthmatic self into a slightly warmer building fade away.

“This is where we kissed the first time,” Ana reminisces, a quiet reserve to her voice. She points adjacent to them. “Right there, when I said those triggers words, he kissed me.”

Steve remembers when Bucky couldn’t stop pacing in his room after that night, panic stricken because he didn’t know how to process his feelings for her. He couldn’t understand how she put so much trust into him. Steve squeezes her shoulder, hoping to offer her some comfort.

“This is where Bucky told me he loved me for the first time. Up here, with pizza.”

His chest feels hollow realizing how many memories this rooftop holds for her. “C’mon honey, it’s not good for you to be out here, let’s go back inside. Warm you up.”

“Nothing is ever going to be the same,” Ana laments as if she didn’t hear him. “Holidays, birthdays, celebrations. Life.”

“Yeah.” Steve exhales wearily.

“I knew this. I knew all of this, but…for months I acted like I was the only one holding onto this grief so heavily. I’ve lost everyone, Steve. I’ve lost my whole family and I never thought I could feel more pain and grief than that. But I was wrong, this is so different. Because I could feel him leave me. I could feel Bucky’s soul rip from mine.”

“It’s incredible, Stevie. I can feel her all the time, like her life energy is this infinite sunlight around me.”

He sees that day clearly when Bucky had said those words to him. He remembers the look of pure awe and adoration on his friend’s face that day. Steve squeezes her closer, offering his comfort in the cold bitter air. Something wet falls onto his shirt, soaks in quicker than the snowflakes. He lifts his hand, gently wiping the tears off her cheeks before the cold can freeze them there.

“Hey now, Steve, c’mon. No tears, they’ll freeze on your face, pal.”

Steve swallows back yet another whispered memory, when he was frustrated the neighborhood bully just kicked his ass no matter how many times Steve got back up.

“Your pain isn’t invalid, Ana,” He tells her delicately, lifting the sleeve of the jacket to dry her face. “That is something none of us will ever begin to comprehend, that connection you both shared.”

“Maybe not,” Ana sniffs, “but that shouldn’t erase anyone else’s pain in my mind and that’s exactly what I was doing.”

“Watching you turn off your emotions was- fuck, it was haunting. It was scary because we couldn’t tell if doing that was just hurting you instead. I hated that you did that, but I also understand why you did. I think we just-“ Steve pauses to gather his words properly.

Ana speaks up before he does. “I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for shutting everyone out, for acting like- well...like a cold hearted-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Steve chastises firmly. “I think we just wanted to have any ounce of your old self back. We were all concerned.”

“I’m still trying to find that myself,” Ana sighs, voice cracking; she sounds exhausted. She tilts her head to the side, leaning on his shoulder. “I got mad about the tree because the memories of last Christmas are perfect. It was our first one together, did you know that? Our first time celebrating the holiday season. I don’t want to celebrate anything.”

“So, keep the eggnog away from you then?” Steve quips lamely. Ana winces and gags.

“Fuck no,” She picks her head back up. “I don’t think the baby’s palate will tolerate that.”

“And I don’t think the baby can tolerate the cold much longer,” He counters. “Let’s get you inside.”

Steve drops his arm in favor of carefully helping up from the chair. Ana winces again, her hands covering her stomach. Pain flashes over her face for a moment, and panic shoots through Steve’s chest.

“Are you okay? What was that?” He asks worriedly, hand hovering along her back.

“It's fine,” She pants, waving him off with her hand. “Just some pressure is all. Little Bean’s running out of room I think.” Relief shags Steve’s shoulders. Until- “The baby is moving a lot. Do you want to feel-?”

“I’m good. That’s not, uh, it’s kind of intimate. Time to go inside.” Steve ignores her bewildered look and focuses on guiding Ana down the stairs safely. He keeps Bucky’s jacket wrapped tight around her.

*

The memory of last Christmas spent snuggling close with Bucky in front of a fire and talking about their future mocks Ana. It was one of those perfect moments in a lifetime, and she didn’t want to tarnish the memory with this Christmas being...widowed. Alone and 7 months pregnant.

Since Rhodey’s harsh truth, Ana has kept any bitter despair to herself. However, she did allow herself one moment of a Christmas song. It made her smile briefly, before a memory of both Bucky and Tony singing at the top of their lungs as they decorated the tree cut it short.

Ana does not want to decorate the tree. She stays in her room, until Rocket barges in, trailing a bunch of silver tinsel in his wake.

He demands to know, “Who was the asshole to make such a messy infuriating thing to put on a damn stupid tree!?”

Nebula stood at the doorway, a murderous expression on her face as she fights with several pieces of tinsel, static making it cling to her. Ana can’t help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of her at the both of them.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind as Rocket drags her out of her room demanding to untangle the tinsel, Ana thinks the two might have planned it all. She’s exhausted by the time she unknots the stuff, focusing more on the silver plastic and quietly refusing to put anything on the tree.

By the time she’s done, she waddles back to her room, Natasha close behind. All she does is hand Ana a hot mug of cider and snuggles in close. Nat talks to and gently pets her hands over her stomach and promises the baby to teach them her “death by thighs” move one day. Ana drifts off to sleep, head tucked under Natasha’s neck.

When Christmas does come around, it’s with stinging emptiness, of several people missing and the weight of the whole world grieving. At breakfast, as she’s slowly eating, Ana finds herself with a small pile of gifts next to her on the table. Her glare prompts a response from Steve who had given her one more.

“You stayed locked in your room for your birthday last month,” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You aren’t having a baby shower. Just accept them. Please?”

Most gifts end up being for the baby anyway, including a crib, so Ana lets it slide and quietly thanks them.

She ends up fighting back tears the longer she stays out in the living room, desperately wanting to escape. She’s exhausted, down to her bones, and the aching in her chest throbbing Bucky’s name hurts more and more. She closes her eyes and breathes, flexing her fingers and smoothing her hands over her stomach. The baby kicks and moves before it settles a few moments later.

Someone sits next to her, and she doesn’t have to open her eyes to tell that the stupidly large and warm bicep pressing against her own arm is Steve. He doesn’t say anything, just simply takes hold of her right hand, and squeezes. 

He doesn’t let go, and despite the prickling of tears behind her eyelids and the trembling of her lips, Ana leans her head against his shoulder. The sense of comfort seeps into her own energy, and soon after she falls asleep.

30 Weeks Pregnant:

Just on the verge of her eighth month, Ana hears Natasha’s irritated sigh, as she munches on a slice of mango pizza. 

"Ana, I swear if you don’t stop nesting in the office, I will throw away all the mangoes and you’ll be stuck with mushrooms for your pizza topping from now on.”

As Natasha Romanoff threats go, it’s rather mild. She shrugs as Nat holds up two files as proof.

“It was messy!” Ana defends, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Lucky you’re pregnant,” She grumbles.

“Enhanced hearing, remember?”

Natasha glares at her. “It took me an hour to find my notes. Why don’t you organize Steve’s shit? Or Rocket’s? I haven’t seen you in Nebula’s room, go nest in there.”

“Nebula would cut my hand off, pregnant or not.”

“It’s true.” Nebula speaks up with her husky low menacing voice, pizza slice in hand. Ana raises her eyebrows at her. She pauses. “Maybe.”

Ana beams. Natasha huffs, coming over to join them. She bends over to gently pat Ana’s belly. Which has grown even more in the past weeks, but dropped as well, the baby’s head sitting lower.

“Your mama better name you Natasha after I put up with her little tendencies huh little one?” Nat coos.

“That’ll go over well if Bean is a boy,” Ana jokes, also patting over where she thinks its little foot is. There’s a responding nudge, a rather firm one. Ana frowns. “Sassy.” Natasha chuckles, then steals Ana’s slice. “Hey!”

“Now someone’s hand will be chopped off,” Nebula inputs at the scene. Ana nods with a pout.

“What are you going to do? Waddle after me with your swollen ankles?” Nat teases.

“You’re being mean to me,” She whines, but can’t keep the smile off her face.

Neither can Nat. “Then keep your nesting habits away from my files, Barnes.”

Ana steals the slice back. “I also reorganized your knives.”

 That earns another glare. “So, so lucky you’re pregnant.”

It’s rare, these little moments of teasing and humor. Five months have passed since The Snap, and Ana’s grief and pain are still as crushing as ever. Her dreams remain constant. Dealing with feeling her emotions again has become a little easier, but there are days where she feels shattered by them, and cries into her pillow, or the nearest pair of arms.

Lately, it’s been Natasha. But these moments are what helps get Ana and everyone else through the day. Hour by hour, day by day, week by week. She has also been keeping herself in check and trying to be attentive to everyone’s feelings around her.

“Has Steve woman upped yet and felt the baby kick?” Nat wonders. The red roots of her hair are growing back faster now.

“No…He’s still a little creeped out,” Ana yawns. “It’s kinda funny.”

Humming, Natasha suddenly stands up. “Time for your checkup, let’s go.” Groaning, Ana shoves the last bits of her pizza into her mouth. “Come on. It’s one of the last ones before your due date.”

Ana shimmies from her rather comfortable spot on the couch to the edge, taking a deep breath and readying her swollen ankles to stand. Both Natasha and Nebula carefully grab an arm and help Ana up, keeping her steady until she can stand on her own. An odd sort of pressure throb through her stomach, and she frowns, suddenly thankful she does have a checkup today. 

*

Three days later has Ana gasping awake from her dream. This time she swears she feels ashes slip through her fingers. Brings her right back to that horrid day in Wakanda, when she couldn’t reach Bucky in time. The same constricting feeling settles in her chest, and the room begins to feel hot; a golden orange glow briefly emits from her clenched hands.

Before her powers can lash out, Ana moves the best she can, hurriedly grabbing one of the beads. It only takes a few moments to get a video up, but the second she hears his voice, her heart begins to settle. The glow fades, and the rattling in the room that had started ceases.

Bucky’s timbre soothes her, replaying his lullaby twice more. On the third time, Ana pauses the recording, the projected image frozen on Bucky’s sweet face. The gentle fondness in his blue eyes, the slightly crooked smile, his long hair pulled into a bun, his beard just a touch unruly.

She remembers this day precisely; one of the last days Bucky sang to her stomach, to their child. No matter how many times Ana reminded him that the baby couldn’t hear him yet, he never cared.

It never stopped Bucky from randomly moving from one spot -be it the couch, bed, another room, the hut- to wherever Ana was and kept singing. It never stopped him from dropping to his knees as she made another strange snack she was craving in the kitchen and nuzzling his face against her barely there bump. Never kept him from staying up as she fell asleep to his words whispering lovingly against her skin. Feeling his warm breath, his sweet lips, his soft beard, his gentle caress of his fingers over her stomach. Feeling his heart, his love, his soul.

“I can hear it. The heartbeat.” Bucky would tell her, voice thick with emotion.

She hasn’t felt Bucky for months. 

Ana reaches out like she does in her dreams, fingers curving over his holographic jaw. She keeps her touch delicate, as to not distort the image. In this moment, only for a moment, she pretends she can feel him. Pretends that her husband is truly looking back at her.

“I’m sorry, Snowflake,” Ana murmurs, tears burning in her throat. “I haven’t been the same without you. I turned off my emotions. You wouldn’t have liked that at all, would you? I don’t even like myself right now.” 

Ana swipes the tears off her chin with her left hand. “But I swear I’ll try to be better. I swear I will take care of our baby for both of us, and he, she- our child will grow up knowing exactly who you are and how much you loved them. I just…I miss you. God, I miss you so fucking much I can’t breathe most of the time, and it hurts.”

Inhaling a shuddering breath, tears overcome her, sobs hitching in her chest. Ana brushes her shaking fingers over his cheek, the image rippling from her touch.

“I love you.”

When she turns off the bead and the image vanishes, she weeps into her hands. Ana wipes her cheeks, attempting to calm herself. Taking deep breaths, she places the bead back into it’s safe place in the drawer. A rather sharp kick from within makes her wince, then chuckle.

“Sorry, baby. I know I’ve been crying a lot lately.” Ana says to her stomach, rubbing soothing circles over her belly. “That can’t feel too good for you either.”

Once Ana’s crying slows, she cleans her face with tissues, blows her nose, and throws the tissues away in the bin beside her bed. Just then her ears pick up a sound outside her room. Carefully standing up, she walks to the door, pulling it open.

“Steve,” Ana greets with a sigh. She shouldn’t be shocked at this point.

Steve smiles sheepishly. “You alright?”

“Yeah. How much did you hear?”

He leans against the door frame crossing his arms, his shoulders hunched. “Just the ending. Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just came by to see if you want to-“

Another kick and more movement briefly make Ana miss what he’s saying. Blowing a slow breath out she presses her hands over the spot; things are starting to get more uncomfortable.

“Sorry, could you repeat?”

He flashes her an understanding look. “Asked if you wanted to go for a walk with us. Nat and I.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Ana agrees, fighting a wince from the kicking. “Dr. Hammond suggests it now that I seem to be healthy enough. Said the walking could help calm the baby.”

He laughs under his breath. “I can kinda see why,” He says, eyes on her stomach.

“Yeah, this little bean has been more active lately,” She pauses “Steve, um, would you like to feel the baby kick?”

Steve’s eyes snap up to her. “Oh, um, isn’t that a bit personal? I mean-“ He stumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Ana rolls her eyes fondly. This is her husband’s best friend, he shouldn’t feel weird about it. She grabs his hand, placing the flat of his palm just to the right of her stomach. A few long seconds pass, Ana carefully watching Steve’s expression. 

His brows are furrowed, his mouth curving down, as if he’s sad the baby isn’t moving for him. Then, the same rolling pushing movement comes once more and Steve’s blue eyes light up.

His mouth falls open slightly, a toothy smile across his lips. “Ana,” He gasps, meeting her eyes. “That’s…amazing.”

Ana can’t help but laugh, her heartache forgotten for the time being. “See, nothing to be nervous about. Kinda cool, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. This, this is your baby. You and Buck’s…” His excitement fades into sorrow. Steve lifts his other hand to the opposite side, lightly scrunching his fingers as if he’s waving in a way.

“How about that walk now?” Ana cuts the melancholy short. She’s starting to feel the energy around them changing. Steve’s energy; the same kind he has been keeping from her. “Is it nice out?”

Pulling his hands off her stomach, Steve clears his throat and nods. “Bit warmer today, 56 right now.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“No rush.” Steve takes a step before he halts. “Are sure you’re okay, Ana?”

She gives him her most convincing smile, which is a good attempt on her part. “Yeah. Just, missing him a lot today. That’s everyday though,” She chuckles humorlessly. “I swear I’m good, Steve.”

Steve’s scrutiny lasted longer than Ana would have liked. Then he nods. “Take your time.” 

 *

The only entertaining thing about New Year’s passing was Ana sitting out on the patio, watching Rocket and Rhodey rig together a contraption to set off fireworks. Natasha sat next to her, Ana’s legs on her lap as she massaged her swollen ankles and feet under a warm cable knit blanket, sitting next to a heater. Nebula and Steve are locked in a card game, when the first firework goes off. Steve flinches then frowns. His eyes meet Ana’s for briefly, before he goes back to discarding.

As explosions go off in the sky, Bucky tightens his arms around Ana’s waist, his face hidden in her neck as he presses a kiss to her pulse. “I don’t think I’m fond of fireworks.”

Ana brushes her fingers through his soft hair, gently scratching his scalp. Slowly she uses her ability to calm his energy, soothe him deeper than a touch. “Makes sense. You are a war vet.”

“Used to hear them go off in Romania sometimes,” Bucky had confessed. “Always thought it was a sign Hydra found me. That they had bombs set around the building I lived in. It was something I could never shake.” 

Another one goes off in the distance; Bucky inhales her scent, his hands clutching her skin. Ana catches Tony walking by. “Tony, I thought no one was allowed to set off fireworks up here.”

He catches on quickly, pointing his glass of whiskey towards Bucky. Ana nods, then with an annoyed flare, he says, “Those damn kids. Goodie! I felt like chewing someone’s ear off tonight. I’ll call them!”

Bucky snorts, then sighs in content as Ana continues to relax his nerves with her powers. “They’re pretty, but...too loud.”

“I got you, Snowflake,” Ana promised, pulling up the blanket to cover them both and hide them away. 

“I know you do, Annie Doll,” He breathes sleepy. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen though.”

Ana chuckles, kissing the tip of her husband’s head as he drifts off to sleep. She can’t think of a better way to bring in the new year than Bucky feeling safe enough in her embrace to fall asleep, even with the ghosts that still haunt his past.

 POP!

Another firework glittering in the winter sky rips Ana out of her memories. She catches the small wince of broad shoulders.

“Hey guys,” Ana calls out to Rocket and Rhodey. “I don’t think the baby is fond of fireworks right now. Do you mind if you stop please?”

Rhodey acknowledges her meaningful look, beginning to replace the ones he took out. Rocket shrugs, turns off the machine they built with a wide grin.

“I just wanted to see if I could build it. I did, now I’m bored.” He states, then meets Ana’s eyes.

“How’s about we beat these losers at a game of poker?”

“Deal.”

Ana only lasts two rounds of poker, before Steve is helping her settle into bed. He insisted on following her and carrying her hot tea for her. She adjusts her body pillow and gets comfortable, tapping her hand over the lower part of her stomach where the baby settled with her.

“Thank you,” Steve says, pulling the comforter up for her. “For the fireworks. I know you did it for me.”

“Bucky and I,” Ana begins, pausing only to push past the lump in her throat. “We stayed at Tony’s cabin during the holidays. I don’t think he heard fireworks go off in a while, and out in the woods you aren’t allowed to bring them or set them off. Some neighbors did, and he was nervous about them. I calmed him as much as I could.”

“He never told me that,” Steve says, frowning. The look he gives Ana though, makes her feel bashful. His features soften, and he almost looks...happy. “He was always so in love with you, Ana, before he even knew it. Bucky wasn’t one to ever open up to anyone, even when we were kids. Watching him with you…I’m glad he found you.”

Ana sniffs, rubbing her eyes to stop the tears welling up from falling. The empty ache in her chest is a permanent feeling.

“Sorry, too much Bucky talk. You were having a better night, I shouldn’t ruin it.” Grabbing her hand, he gives it a firm squeeze.

“It’s alright. I just...didn’t want you to feel that same way.” She squeezes back.

“Get some sleep, Ana.”

As she relaxes, her body ready for said sleep, she says, “You too, Steve.”

It’s one of her better days; Ana sleeps through midnight, but the haunting call of her name still echoes through her mind. Her soul still screaming for its other half.

The week following the new year is slow, as if 2019 wants to remind them of half the universe gone. However, Ana’s panic slowly begins to build as she realizes there’s just over a month of the baby arriving.

She’s sitting in the room they decided to turn into a nursery -the room right next to hers- slowly stroking her hands over and over her round stomach. Looking around the room gives her mixed feelings.

A part of her seems to be happy, almost excited to be a mother. The other parts outweigh the joy, however. The bare walls, void of any decorations, makes her heart break. The dark wood of the crib and the changing table makes her seethe. The little animal mobile above the crib breaks her. The mobile hangs an orange fox, a gray owl, a brown bear, and a white wolf. 

Pushing herself off the rocking chair, Ana grabs the wolf and tears it off. The whole mobile comes down, crashing into the crib, but the wolf is clutched in her palm. She stares at it, anger boiling in her blood for reasons she can’t explain.

The harder she squeezes, the brighter her hand becomes. Flickering lights throw the room into shadows, over and over. Smoke is beginning to emit from the little wolf, her chest tightening as the edges singe. 

“I leave for, what, three weeks, and here you are literally starting fires in your hands.”

Ana snaps her head up. Carol Danvers is standing in front of her, amusement dancing in her eyes instead of any reprimandation. Carefully she places both of her hands over Ana’s fist, and all her raging energy subsides. She hadn’t been aware of anyone coming into the room, so focused on the white wolf.

Quickly pulling her hand out of Carol’s, Ana slowly uncurls her fingers. Sitting in the middle of her palm are the remains of the wolf, completely incinerated. Panicking, she drops it, the tiny ashes caught between her fingers.

“Oh my god,” Ana whispers, horrified at herself.

“Hey, Barnes, I’m sure it's fine,” Carol tells her gently. “They can get you another one.”

“You-you don’t understand,” Ana shakes her head frantically. Ash. Ashes on her hand, her fingers, ingrained in her skin. “I-I have to wash my hand. I have to wash my hand!”

“Come on.” 

Carol guides her out of the room, a steady hand on her back, and into the bathroom. Ana proceeds to scrub her right hand at least four times, and once again until her skin feels raw. She feels out of breath afterward, reaching for Carol once more.

“Can you take some deep breaths for me?” Carol coaches, helping her sit on the edge of the tub.

Ana huffs. “I’m trying. I-I can’t. No! Don’t touch me! What if…what if I hurt you? Like I hurt Steve?”

“Look at me, Ana. You are fine, you’re okay right now. You just got worked up and that’s okay.” Carol keeps firm eye contact. She attempts to hold her hands again, this time Ana allows her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You aren’t going to hurt me or anyone else.”

Finally, Ana gets a deep breath in. She regulates her breathing with help from Carol, until she feels like her senses and energy are no longer overstimulated. Once she’s calm, they leave the bathroom and head outside to the bac deck at Ana’s request. The chill of the air clears her head more as she sinks into a chair. 

“It was a white wolf,” Ana tells Carol. Her silence is a cue to elaborate. “My husband...Bucky. He was given that moniker while he was recovering in Wakanda. He told me they sort of adopted, well, accepted him into their family, their culture. King T’Challa told me it also meant strong warrior.”

“That why you tore it off?” She guesses.

Ana shrugs, thinking it over. “I think I was already feeling too many emotions. I saw it, it reminded me of him and how- how everything in that room, we didn’t pick together. Hell, I barely picked anything in that room. I really appreciate Pepper and Nat setting it up, but we couldn’t do it together.”

Danvers remains quiet again, but Ana is grateful for it. She’s pretty good at reading how Ana is feeling, and her silent support is more appreciated than she knows. Ana’s energy always seems to stay dormant every time Carol is close. It’s something interesting to look into later.

“Where have you been?” Ana asks after some time.

During this time Steve found them after FRIDAY alerted him and gave her a thick blanket to keep warm. He stayed long enough to turn on the heaters, then left the women alone, but quietly thanked Carol in a nod Ana caught.

Carol sighs, slumping in her chair and propping her heels on the table. “Other planets. Some are worse from the repercussion of what that purple scrotum sack did. Been getting a lot of hits on my radar. I came back to bring you more elixir in case you needed it. And to check in on my favorite avenger.”

“M’not an avenger but Nat’s in the shooting range. Nebula is...I don’t know what she’s doing but I’m afraid to ask sometimes.”

She snorts. “So, should I not get you a stuffed wolf when the baby is born?”

Ana flicks her off, but Carol’s resounding laugh brings a smile to her face. 

*

When Pepper calls two days later, Ana can’t help but feel something odd about their conversation. As they chat about pregnancy, (”It’s like every ten minutes, Pep, I have to pee every ten minutes!”) Ana asking for any advice her cousin may for her upcoming labor, something continues to feel off. Especially when Pepper drops Tony’s name three times. The mention of him causes her to remember something about FRIDAY.

“Oh!” Ana perks up. “Has FRIDAY informed you of anything about me? Or to-”

A little voice pops up in the background, begging for a snack. “One second, sweetie,” Pepper says to her daughter, then back to Ana. “She just tells me your vitals sometimes.”

“That’s it? She doesn’t ask you for permission to use a security protocol?”

“I- Morgan, be patient please, I’m making it now. Sorry, Ana.”

“It’s fine. I was just wondering why T- um...FRIDAY would feel the need  to program an added feature.”

“What are you trying to ask?”

“I just...why would someone need to add an electric defense mechanism-”

“You know what?” Pepper cuts her off, exasperated. “I’m tired of being a go between. I have a toddler to raise who is currently trying to cut her own grapes, and I can’t deal with this right now. I love you, but if you want to know why, you need to ask him yourself.”

“Pep, what are you-”

“This riff between you two has gone on long enough. Talk to each other. I already have one child, I don’t need to raise two more. Speaking of which, you need to tell him. Here!”

“Wait, no!” Ana’s shout disturbs Rhodey from reading his book. 

He casts a curious glance her way. She frantically shakes her head, though Pepper can’t see her. Rhodey has now put down his book, mouthing an over dramatic what? Before she can let him know what is about to happen, it happens. There’s a shuffling on the other side of the line, followed by a confused yelp.

Quickly pressing the phone to her chest, she looks over at Rhodey in panic. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms; a sign of him agreeing with Pepper after he caught on. Taking a few calming breaths, Ana puts the phone back to her ear.

“-think the line went dead,” Is what she hears on the other side. Tony’s voice.

Heartbeat kicking up several notches, Ana braces herself. “I’m- I’m here.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. “Hello.”

He sounds like he’s meeting a CEO of a company he dislikes. As if he would rather be anywhere else than speak with her.

“Hey, uh, hi. H-how are your day?” Ana cringes, wishing the ground would cave from under her. How are your day? Why is she so nervous to just speak with him!

“Good, great. If that was a question.” Tony answers, his voice is carefully calculated. “How are your day?” He repeats.

If she wasn’t feeling so guilty, so anxious, she may have laughed. Instead, she decides to get right to it. The sooner she tells him, the sooner she can end this painful phone call. “I have something to tell you.”

“Pepper mentioned.”

Right. Fuck, if she didn’t answer her phone, this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe Ana would have been fine with never telling Tony, and he would just have found out some other way. She just knows, deep down, how hurt he might possibly be.

She has never kept anything from Tony for as long as she knew him. With the way they left each other five months ago, well, telling him something he hadn’t known for this long could just drive the wedge between them even deeper.

Ana opens her mouth but all that comes out are tiny sounds of words dying on her tongue. She closes her mouth, eyes shifting to Rhodey, who nods encouragingly. Ana gathers herself once more, swallows her hurt and any pride she may have.

“Tony,” She finally says.

“Yep?” His response is quick; a tone Ana knows all too well. It’s the tone he uses to mask his own hurt.

“I-I should have told you sooner, but-” Inhale. Exhale. It shouldn’t be that hard to tell him this. Tony had been with her through some of the hardest events in her life. Suddenly not telling him feels like she insulted him personally.

“I’m pregnant.” 

The silence that stretches lasts so long, Ana has to check if the line went dead; it didn’t. “Tony?”

“How far? Five months?” Tony finally speaks up. He sounds distant.

“Eight.” The word comes out as a whisper. “I’m eight months along. 34 weeks.”

“Had an inkling. Do you want a congratulations?”

Ana feels like she was just slapped in the face. Tony doesn’t sound angry, just neutral, but even so, the words sting more than she ever thought they would. Her eyes prickle, her vision gets blurry. She clears her throat, turning her back on Rhodey so he doesn’t see her reaction.

“No, no, it’s fine. Just wanted you to know.”

“Girl, boy?” He asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Going old school, I see.”

“I just...I figured it was time to tell you,” Ana’s voice trembles. Her heart is aching, like she just ripped a band-aid from a gaping wound she forgot about. “I’ll let you-”

“Is it healthy?” Tony abruptly cuts her off. “Are…are you healthy?”

The question catches her off guard. “I- yeah. Um, there’s been some emotional stress and bed rest incidents, but otherwise, we’re healthy.”

“Good, good. That’s good. It’s late, you should go, rest.”

“Oh, okay.” Ana says weakly, feeling drained and disappointed. “Yeah. Um, have a good night.” She pulls the phone from her ear to hang up, then hears Tony call her name.

“Ana.”

She quickly holds the phone back up. “Yeah?”

“Will you let me- let us know? When it’s time?” 

Ana can’t be too sure, but she thinks she picks up a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “Yeah, I will. I’ll tell you.”

Another beat of silence passes. “G’night, kid.”

The nickname feels bittersweet, but maybe it’s a step in rekindling what she ruined of their relationship. “Goodnight, Stark.”

After she hangs up, a firm yet comforting hand squeezes her shoulder. “You good?” Rhodes checks.

Nodding, Ana shoots him something close to a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I just...I think I miss him. I do miss him.”

“You should have told him that. I know he misses you too.”

“Maybe...next time.”

Just those few minutes of that conversation has left Ana exhausted. She decides to take a nap, hoping that maybe sleeping will ease the ache on her chest.

*

Annie

Pain abruptly pulls Ana out of her sleep, ripping away from that dream world. She stares at the ceiling in confusion, wondering what exactly hurt enough to wake her up. Minutes pass, her eyes closing as she’s on the verge of falling asleep yet again, when the second wave hits.

“Oh fuck!” Ana yelps, her hands flying to her stomach. “F-F-FRIDAY, am I having a contraction?”

“I cannot be 100% accurate,” FRIDAY responds quickly. “I have alerted Agent Romanoff. There is a possibility of Braxton Hicks Contractions. I suggest changing positions and counting the minutes between each one.” 

Annie

A mixture of a sob and laugh escaped Ana’s lips, because of course she would hear his voice now as she hisses curses through her teeth. Oddly, the voice seems to calm her internal panic, through her pain. As she begins to sit up and shift, Natasha throws open the door. 

She’s talking but Ana can’t focus on her words just yet, too busy trying to lay on her side and fight through the contracting pressure. Thankfully, Nat helps her move and settle into a new position. Too long goes by, but finally the pain stops.

“Breathe, remember those exercises,” Natasha is telling her, rubbing her back. Ana adjusts her pillows, feeling utterly exhausted. “Do you know how long that was?”

“Two minutes and 24 seconds,” FRIDAY informs them. “Twenty minutes apart from the first one.”

“FRIDAY get Dr. Hammond on the phone please.”

“Already contacted.”

Ana just shuts her eyes, listening to the slight commotion around her. The baby moves, an elbow or foot clearly unhappy about the lack of space inside her uterus. She rubs her hand around her stomach, ignoring her fear of not being ready quite yet; it’s too early to give birth. Ana begins to wonder how Bucky would have handled this. 

Instead of feeling sad, a small smile spreads across her lips. Imagining someone like Bucky who was usually pretty calm and level-headed in most situations, his longtime soldier status the reason for that, would probably be panicking. Considering how he always acted any time Ana was in pain or discomfort.

“You look like a crazy person smiling like that.”

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to call a pregnant woman crazy?” Ana mumbles, cracking her eyes open to see Rocket smirking at her. “Are you so starved for entertainment you wanted to see what potential childbirth is like?”

Rocket shrugs, smirking. “Once I convinced some jerk the only way to smuggle his gun off Contraxia was to shove it up his ass. This isn’t as fun.”

A chuckle escapes her mouth, and suddenly the pressure she’s been feeling in her lower abdominal eases away. Ana heaves out a deep, long breath. Rocket’s smirk morphs into concern as he reaches out to gently pat the back of her hand. 

“Can I confess something?” She whispers to him. He steps closer, tilting his head down. “I’m not ready yet.”

Rocket leans closer. “If you want to know my opinion. I think you got this.”

Then he winks as if they’re conspiring. Ana reaches out to gently stroke his ear. Rocket looks shocked at the affectionate gesture, then he relaxes, smiling like he’s proud to make her feel better.

Natasha interrupts their moment. “Ana, Dr. Hammond is on the phone. She’s on the way but wants to talk to you if you can.”

Taking the phone with her doctor relaxes Ana further. Though when she explains the severity of the pain, Dr. Hammond suggests she have a bag ready in case she does have to go to the hospital. The doctor also requests that the AI to monitor her closely and send FRIDAYs system readings be sent to her On-Call phone, just in case.

Through the night, two more odd contractions occur. Although being irregular and far apart though not any less painful, one more call to the doctor has Ana cursing Braxton Hicks contractions. Natasha stays with her the whole time, and Steve lingers by the closed door for far too long.

Sighing, Ana demands sleepily. “Rogers, just come in already, my god.”

Sheepishly, Steve enters the room, and hunkers down at the end of her bed. Ana drifts off into the same world where Bucky is always waiting for her, always barely able to touch her. When she wakes up from the clouds of ash, she slowly turns over. The sight she’s met with makes the tears in her eyes dry up.

Apparently, during the night, everyone made their way into her room. Nebula, Rocket, Carol and Rhodes all sleeping around the bed or propped up against the wall or chair. Smiling, Ana falls back to sleep.

35 Weeks: January 22nd

Over the last three days, Ana has become lethargic. She’s just so tired all the time, despite sleeping for a few solid hours. Maybe the constant trips into that dream world with the little girl and Bucky leave drain her energy more than she ever thought it would. Maybe waking up, never able to save Bucky is taking its toll, and her heart, her soul just aches. She is just so tired.

Though being eight months pregnant and having false contractions probably has something to do with how exhausted she’s been. Ana has yet to tell anyone about her dreams, or how they leave her feeling just as empty as the day it happened. Informing anyone would just lead to more worry, have them doting on her more than they already do.

Steve constantly eyes her, a twitch in his corded muscles as if he is ready to jump into action for her. He thinks he is being covert; he isn’t. Ana can still read and pick up on feelings and energies. Natasha is more inconspicuous about it, rather she just lingers in any room Ana shows up in. Nebula has taken to just drop next to her, pulling out the deck of playing cards, her dark eyes keen if Ana just shifts wrong.

Rocket chats her ear off with stories of him and the Guardians. Most adventures leave Ana clutching her big round stomach in laughter. It’s the most she has laughed in months, and she swears the little raccoon does this because she admitted she was scared to him.

Rhodes has been pulled away for more government and military business, although he calls to check in everyday. Carol keeps offering the last bottle of elixir but when Ana refuses, she just gives her a cup of tea instead. With sneaking suspicion, Ana thinks the tea is laced with the elixir anyway.

As the winter sun begins to set, its light casts an orange glow through the windows, makes the whole area look warm. To Ana, it bares too much a resemblance to her dreams. She turns to head to bed early, leaving the haunting sight of the sunset to paint the interior with its mockery. Ana grabs the mug of tea Danvers left seeping for her, turning her back on the light.

With the twist of her hips, a sharp stabbing pain shoots through her stomach. Ana shouts, dropping the mug, shattering on the floor as she doubles over in pain. This clenched pressure is more severe than the other night, Ana can’t even straighten up. She clutches the counter for balance, panting and gritting her teeth.

 Annie.

 “Ana!?” Someone calls in fear.

Trying to regulate her breathing, the pain slowly eases up. Ana cautiously straightens up, but the second she does, another pain zings through her lower stomach. Her fingers grip the counter so hard, the granite cracks, gives, then crumbles under her vice grip.

Strong arms wrap around her, balancing her the best they can. Ana is vaguely aware she’s being moved, but through the blinding pain, there’s an internal fear of something hurting her baby. The pain, the agony, the hurt; something isn’t right.

“Ba- the -ba-by,” Ana stammers, chest heaving, hands now clutching her stomach. Beneath her palms, she feels the baby writhe. “Fuck! It- it’s hurting.”

“What? What’s hurting the baby?” Someone demands urgently. “Call 911! Or get the jet ready! Anything! Ana. Ana, honey, look at me, can you hear me?”

All she hears is a panicked tone, firm callous hands squeezing her elbows. The baby shifts, curling and twisting in her stomach. Ana wants to reach in and protect her child, their child, from whatever is causing this white-hot agony.

She won’t release her arms from around her stomach, she can’t respond to anyone’s worried calls. She just shuts her eyes, tears stinging before they escape. She’s panting, trying to breathe but the darkness around the searing pain is almost too seductive to resist.

Suddenly, the pain stops. Ana can finally breathe in and out, in and out. Once she can inhale without any more contractions, she can finally speak.

“Something is wrong,” She breathes out, fear clenching around her heart. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Just continue to breathe like you are,” Natasha urges, her voice shaky. “If you’re able to make it to the quinn jet we can fly you to the hospital.”

Bracing herself on whoever is holding her, Ana grabs at their shoulders slowly standing up. Concerned blue eyes gaze down at her, roaming over her face for any other signs of pain. Steve lifts his hand to her forehead, pressing his knuckles against her skin.

“Shit, you’re burning up. Let’s go, I’ll carry you if you can’t walk.” Steve offers, about ready to do just that.

“No,” She heaves, wincing as a lesser contraction wrecks her. She waits until it eases up. “But-but- these are too close together.” Ana gasps then, looking down at her legs, her pants soaked. “My water just broke.” She whispers, terrified. “Steve, it’s too early.”

The way those blue eyes shift from his own fear to determination soothes her terror just a little. Steve and Natasha volunteer to go with her, though Carol insists she help bring Ana up to the launch pad. As they leave, a concerned Rocket waves, wishing her good luck.

“Have fun,” Nebula pipes up after Ana is nearly out of ear shot.

“Have fun?” Rocket deadpans.

Nebula just shrugs, her hands balled into tight fists.

**

Arriving at the nearest hospital only takes fifteen minutes by jet. By some mercy, Ana doesn’t have another contraction or pain during the flight. Once they get her a wheelchair though, another occurs. People are talking around her as she fights and breaths through the pressured pain entering the hospital.

“Who’s your obstetrician?”

“Uh,” Ana pants, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. “Dr. Hammond.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to continue talking after that, as Dr. Hammond rushes through the doors of the floor they’re on. Grateful for Natasha taking over for filling out the remaining information needed.

“Is anyone coming in with you, Ana?” Dr. Hammond inquires, after speaking with some nurses. She looks between Steve and Natasha. 

The question catches her off guard. “No! No. I-” Ana chokes up, nearly breaking down with grief because Bucky isn’t here. She feels his absence, his death more than ever. “I can do it on my own.”

Those words seem to strike a chord with Steve. He abruptly moves in front of her, bending to her eye level. Fierce protectiveness shining in those blue eyes. Steve grips her hands hard enough for her to know.

“Ana,” He begins lowly, firmly. "You don't have-"

“I’m scared," She admits. Her bottom lip trembles as hot tears finally spill from her eyes. "I’m so scared. It’s too early. What if-“  

Hushing her gently, Steve carefully pushes back her damp hair. “I know, I know you’re scared right now. You can do this. I know you can. You are not alone. I’m with you, Natasha’s with you. We’re right here for you. You don’t have to do this alone if you don’t want to.”

Ana squeezes his hands as another mild contraction rolls through her. She hunches over, listening to Steve instruct her to breathe deeply. When it subsides, she looks up at him through tears.

“How can you be so sure?” She asks breathlessly.

He blinks, taking a second to realize what she means. Then his face softens. “Because you’re you. Because you’re the most determined, stubborn, and strong woman I know. You can do this. Then you get to meet your child after, and that is going to be amazing.”

Ana nods, trying her best to believe him. “Yeah, yeah you're right. I-I wish Pepper were here though.”

“We called her, she’s one her way.” Natasha pipes in, handing back the clipboard to the nurse.

"Nat,” Ana shudders out another deep breath as the baby wiggles around. Suddenly Steve’s words strike her deeper. “Will you stay with me?”

“I won’t leave your side.” Natasha promises fiercely.

Dr. Hammond jumps in then, informing Ana of a drug they’re going to give her to slow the labor, then run some tests. She instructs Natasha of a nurse coming out to bring her sanitary and protective gear for the delivery room when it’s time.

They wheel her towards another set of double doors, and that’s as far as Steve can follow for now. Before they go through, he bends over, placing a kiss on top of Ana’s head.

“You’re strong. You can do this. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” Steve reminds her fervently.

Annie

A newfound strength enters her body. Ana can’t be certain if it was Steve giving her one last encouragement through her powers, or the voice in her ears.

*

Administering the drug does help slow Ana’s labor down, and thankfully she’s able to get the epidural put in. Steve is allowed to visit once she’s checked into her room and bed. Pepper gets delayed by a mild snowstorm but promises to be there as soon as she can.

Usually giving a drug to delay preterm labor to a soon to be mother works better, if the mother didn’t have a form of super soldier serum in her DNA. The drug wears off just nine hours later, as Ana found out as she awoke with more intense pains. Before she knows it, it’s time.

“Ready?” Dr. Hammond questions as she settles between Ana’s legs.

Frantically Ana shakes her head, scrambling to find Natasha’s hand. Nat grabs her hand with both of hers, leaning close to her head. It’s still too soon. What if something goes wrong? What if her powers act out? Oh god, what if baby doesn’t survive?

Natasha’s soothing voice in her ear encourages Ana as she pats the back of her hand. Listening to her words as the doctor and nurses prepare behind her propped-up feet, begins to calm Ana just a little. She swears she feels Nat’s steady, relaxed energy seep into her.

Instructions to push when necessary are relayed to Ana, but as she screams and shouts through gritted teeth and crushes Natasha’s hand, she has to. When the pushing starts, the lights in the room glow brighter. They begin to flicker, the room fading in and out of darkness. A golden hue shines around Natasha’s hands clasps over Ana’s. Her friend calling her name is slowly fading away, as she begins to fall under water.

Annie

She hears the muffled concerned voice of the doctor; something is wrong with the baby. Ana fights to stay awake. Fights to give her baby a chance because if Ana fades away now, will she take her child with her?

No. She refused to let that happen. Pushing with all her might, she channels what she has of her own energy through her blood, her body, to her child.

Annie

The voice beckons to her again. Over and over; a haunting echo of a lullaby. Ana stops fighting, allows the darkness of a faded loving caress to pull her in. She hears cries fill the room just as her world goes black.

 *

Stillness. Quiet. Serenity.

The absence of sound slowly pulls Ana up from the ground. As she stands there, her mind void of any thought, she stares ahead at the endless horizon. An invisible grip tugs from inside her chest, her feet moving of their own accord. She moves through the glassy sea, ripples spreading out with each step.

Blinking to awareness, Ana is face to face with a dark wooden door.

A small touch wraps around her left hand. Looking down, she sees that same little girl; her beautiful green skin, the markings on her cheeks, her red-brown hair. It’s her big eyes that gaze up at Ana that always reach into her heart. Ana closes her fingers around her little hand.

“Where am I?” Ana inquires, her voice quiet echo.

The child smiles. There’s something sad about it. “I think you know.”

Casting a glance around at the horizon of every way, she nods. “What is your name?”

The girl pauses, but only for a moment. “Gamora.” It’s then she releases her hand and steps back. “You aren’t here for me though. That’s okay. I can wait.”

Perplexed, Ana asks, “What do you mean?”

Without answering, Gamora holds her arm out to the door in front of them. Ana shifts her eyes to the door, and what awaits on the other side. When she looks to the little girl once more for guidance, Gamora is gone. She doesn’t ponder where she could have vanished to. Ana places her hands on the door, and pushes.

Warmth blooms from her chest, as if her soul ignites within. Her heart fills with hope, with love, and with terror. Ana has been met with this same sight before. Has felt these same feelings race through her veins every time she sleeps.

Bucky stands before her. Same ocean blue eyes, same soft expression, same little smile on his lips. He takes a step forward, lifting his right hand. Ana bites her lip, dreading for when they make contact, he will crumble into ash like always.

“Hi Annie,” Bucky speaks. His voice seeping into her bones.

Despite the inevitable pounding through her chest, Ana brings her own hand up. Slowly, she reaches for him, the warmth of his hand erases any fear. Bucky intertwines their fingers together, his smile widening. Ana moves closer, squeezing his knuckles. When Bucky remains solid and firm in front of her, tears fill her eyes.

“Bucky.” His name leaves her lips on a sob.

Her husband gently cups her cheek with his left hand, the cold of his metal palm sending goosebumps all over her skin. Ana presses her lips to his hand, holding onto to this moment for as long as she can. Bucky pulls his hand from hers, only to wrap his arm around her waist, tugging her to his chest. Ana grips him tight around his back, resting her ear directly over his heart that she can hear pounding in his chest.

“Are you real?” She murmurs, tears falling down her cheeks.

His soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. He leans back, delicately cups her cheek to pick her head up. Bucky connects their foreheads, eyes gazing affectionately into hers. His vibranium thumb sweeps along her cheekbone, wiping away her tears.

“I’ve always been real in your dreams, darling.”

Ana lifts her hand from his back to brush her fingers through his soft hair. “Is that what this is then? Just a dream?”

"Not exactly.” He laments with a sigh. Ana leans back, and the happiness in those beautiful eyes of his fade away. “I fear you may be here permanently if you don’t leave soon.”

“But I- I just got you back,” Ana frowns, shifting her hand from his thick hair to his cheek. The soft scruff of his beard tickles her palm. Bucky turns his head, kissing her palm. Her heat sinks then. “This isn’t real.”

Sadly, Bucky shakes his head. “This isn’t your world. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be selfish and just hold you a bit longer.”

Ana fully throws her arms around him in a vice grip, foolishly thinking if she can hold him tight enough, he can stay buried in her soul forever. His returning hug is just as hard, the pain from his grip just confusing her more. They move at the same time, finding each other’s mouth and placing a firm, desperate kiss to their lips.

“I need you to go back now, love,” Bucky gently urges, after he breaks their kiss.

“I don’t want to,” Ana cries, now clutching at his chest. “I need you.”

Bucky’s eyes suddenly fill with tears, falling over the edge and down his cheeks. For the first time Ana has ever entered this dream world, Bucky has never cried. She delicately wipes the wetness from his beautiful face. His smile breaks her heart.

“Someone else needs you now, Ana.” He tells her. Bucky kisses her forehead. “It’s time to go.”

Her chest tightens then, as if her soul is losing him all over again. Nodding as tears continue to fall, Ana wraps him up in her arms one last time, holding onto his warmth. She presses her right hand firmly over his chest, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you, Bucky. James, I-I love you so much,” Ana sobs.

Bucky runs his fingers through her hair, bringing the strands up to his mouth, before letting the hair fall back into place. “You’re my heart and soul, Ana. I love you.” He gently kisses her lips. When he pulls back once more, his blue eyes shine with pride. “She’s beautiful, by the way. Take care of her, Annie.”

“She?” Ana frowns, confused.

He places his hands on her chest. “Wake up.”

Then, Bucky fades into dust.

 *

Ana gasps.

"We got a pulse!” Someone shouts.

Ana blinks up at too bright lights, dazed, confused, abruptly cold. The commotion around her fades into the background as she slowly becomes aware of her surroundings. Her fingers scratch against stiff cotton, her damp skin making them feel too sensitive against her hands.

A dull pressure releases from her lower half, from her stomach perhaps? Her back? Her hips? Nope, it’s definitely soreness between her legs. She’s cold and sweaty, can now feel her hair sticking to her face. Her chest is heaving, her arms lifting as to reach for something.

“I don’t understand, her vitals stabilized quickly. They’re all normal, doctor.”

The minute the words break through the muffled barrier of whatever ocean she was under, is the minute she hears the crying. In a rush of sensory overload, everything crashes back to her.

Her baby. Ana just gave birth.

“Mrs. Barnes? Ana, can you hear me?” Dr. Hammond’s voice is speaking to her right.

Nodding frantically, Ana answers her hoarsely. “Y-yes. I’m fine. I-where’s my baby?”

Still a little unfocused, she misses when the nurses double check her vitals, and then, the wails of an infant come closer. Someone questions if it’s a good idea, doubts the steady condition she seems to be in. Whoever it was is shot down though, as blonde and red hair come into Ana’s vision.

“Thank, god,” Natasha breathes, her shoulder sagging. “You scared us.” She shakes her head, then smiles. “Would you like to meet your daughter now?”

Carefully, Natasha hands over a little bundle of a blanket, laying Ana’s baby on her chest. Hands works to gently tug down her gown and unwrap the blanket. It’s that first skin to skin contact, that first feel of her baby girl’s beating heart against her mother’s, that breaks Ana.

Ana cries, sobs, as she delicately holds her daughter against her chest. For the first time in a long time, her soul pulses with warmth.

 ***********************************************************

Drabbles: Twenty-Three     Drabbles: Twenty-Five

(Note: Ana’s labor/birth is loosely based off of my sister-in-laws experience.)

Tags:  @thecreatiivecorner​​​ @buckyland​​​ @stressedasalways​​​ @watchoutforfrostbite​​​ @justreadingfics​​​ @keldachick​​​ @eurynome827​​​ @elatedmarvel​​​ @shesalatesh​​​ @paintedgreywriting​​​ ​​ @buckaroo-blue​​ @afewmarvelousthoughts​​ @crushedbyhyperbole​​ @shesalatesh​ @jaxthebookworm​

[thetorturerwrites]

Puer Deus: Strings

This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @faestae-writes​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

***

Captured / Hurricane / Sustenance / Liar / Scars / Proof

Summary:  When he wants more

A/N:  OK YOU GUYS -- Look, if you're here this far in, you know this is some dark shit. So, please heed this warning: This is a DARK, heavy kink chapter. SO, some things... 1. The content herein has been dramatized for effect, but this is real shit that happens in the real world. Please feel free to ask me any questions. 2. If you feel the need to explore anything here further, do your research and be risk aware. 3. Strap in. This is some shit. 4. 50 points to your house if you spot the FYA reference. :)

Word Count: 9.3k (I AM NOT SORRY)

Day Seven

It was a flicker of a moment, a subtle jolt of injected power, when the night cycle ended and day officially began.

What day is it?

Today was the first time you wouldn’t stumble to consciousness or fight through a fog.  You were still embroiled in questions, though. Ren told you that you’d been here four days, but how many days ago was that?

You decided it was simply too surreal for you to actually be here, to be in your body, in Ren’s room, on board his ship.  Each time you thought up a level, you felt smaller and more insignificant. Maybe you really had died. Maybe you’d bled out on his floor, and this was your afterlife.

No, not that lucky… 

Your eyes were dry and red from so much crying.  Your body was beyond battered, a landscape of harm and wound, mania and furor. You wore the hue of bruise like a new catsuit, covered by Ren’s painful passion from throat to toes.

The idea that some part of you would hurt, sting, throb, or ache every day you were with Ren had been hard to swallow; but a week into this persecution, you knew it to be fact.

How long until he breaks bones?

Sitting in the center of his great, wide bed, you ran your fingers over the still-bloody sheets and contemplated the last however many hours.  Ren made it clear that he still meant to keep you, and the idea was solidifying more and more in your brain. You pondered whether or not you would be allowed to leave this fucking room as his personal pet.

Having spent a lifetime under open skies, being caged inside four walls for days, weeks, maybe months sent your anxiety into overdrive.  The notion that you would only ever see light cycles and never again sunlight strangled you, chased away all your air. At some point, you knew you would try to flee again just for a damn change of scenery.  

After he’d left, you complied with Ren’s instructions insomuch as you did eat and did not try to escape.  Sleep, on the other hand, was put to the back burner because you were still in his chambers. Even if he didn’t spend all of his time here, these were his things, and they could tell you a great deal.  With the guard outside this time, you simply could not pass up the opportunity to explore.

The room was eloquent in its simplicity and deliberate in its function.  You ran fingers and palms over all of the flat surfaces, seeking out hidden drawers or levers in the walls and along the sides of the bed.  Everything was dark gloss, industrial in its execution and easily maintained.

Of note, there was a threshold of polish right at the door, a long stretch just on the inside where the shine was high. However, that luster faded two or three steps inside.  Ren did not allow people in his room often, even a cleaning crew.

Defeated, you slunk back to the bed.  You’d checked all of the hiding places you would use, but you found nothing.  Ren either didn’t have anything to hide or he was exceptionally good at it.

Sometime in the night cycle, you’d awoken alone in an empty bed, struggling with this swirling sense of loneliness.  Captors didn’t usually sleep with prisoners, but weren’t you more than a prisoner now? With a scowl, you shook the stupid thought from your head.

You were an object to him, easily discarded and forgotten.

You hadn’t slept much after that.  You curled onto your side, facing the vacant side of the bed and overrun with disquiet, anticipation.  You were faced with warring options. Relent and become the devil’s plaything or escape and be hunted. The bitter truth was you wanted both, and this was not the sort of universe to grant such possibilities.

Morning came, food was delivered, and you were still alone.  

Now, you were trying to forget the familiarity you thought you’d seen in Ren’s eyes yesterday, trying to wash it down the damnable drain.  He was no more capable of gentleness than you were of speech. Trying to smother the ache, you turned the shower up as hot as you could handle and drifted into distraction, turning inward in a forlorn bid to comfort yourself.

The darkness that had always been there for you, though, was an empty consolation.  Ren had blown apart every part of you and stomped on the ashes; he’d even taken your blessed darkness, the one place you could hide.  Because when you closed your eyes to sink into that blissful nothingness, you saw him, his bloody face, his burning eyes.

Kylo Ren had infected every part of you, right down to the subconscious.

When you could pity yourself no more, you turned off the shower, scraped the water from your body as best you could, and purposefully avoided your reflection.  The woman in the mirror wanted you to make choices you weren’t sure you could live with.

Exiting the bathroom, you were stopped dead in your tracks by the sight of Ren sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed.  He had a smallish black case to his left and was resting with one arm on a bent knee, his long body relaxed and waiting for you.

You were irked by how beautiful and calm and unhurried he looked.  Must he always look so put together when you only ever felt on the verge of shattering into dirty, unrecognizable pieces of yourself?

Hi...

“You haven’t eaten today.”

He gestured over his shoulder to the tray that still had food on it.  You were flushed from the hot water and stark fucking naked, but you burned redder at the idea that you were going to be punished like a child for not eating. Again. 

Canting your head a bit, you gestured towards the shower.  You’d wanted to wash away the feel of dry, endlessly recycled air, dirt, and shame before you did anything else.  Conquering the day wasn’t on your agenda, but surviving it was.

“Good,” he looked you over speculatively, and your eyebrows shot to your hairline.

He’d shoved food directly into your throat to make sure you were decently-nourished; and now, he didn’t care if you ate?  The speed with which this man changed course made your head swim, and you just stared at him, complete irritation plastered all over your face.  

Fucking pick one, would you please?

The withering look he leveled at you set your blood to boiling.  You’d forgotten that he could hear you now; but by the darkness in his eyes, you knew he’d be sure you didn’t forget again.

“Come here.”

You tensed, arms crossing over your chest as though you could armor yourself against him.  For a second, you couldn’t make yourself move. He wanted you to willingly deliver yourself to his torment.  

A shiver worked its way up your spine, blossoming into sparks at the back of your brain, but you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pining.  If you refused, he would simply put his angry hands on your body and bend you to his whim. You didn’t know what would happen if you complied without a fight.

Taking in a steadying breath, you closed the distance on tender steps, the soles of your feet still bothered at bearing weight so soon.  Stopping when you were within arms reach, you looked past him to study the kit he’d brought, uncertainty wrinkling your forehead.  

It was a med kit, a field kit.  You’d carried one yourself for years, but your wounds had already been tended.  You were littered with surgical tape and Bacta patches.

What could he possibly need a field kit for?

Are you hurt?

Ren’s rough hand slid up along the curve of your body, settling at your waist and sending fissures of desire playing along the swell of your belly.  Your knees and thighs pressed together, and you shifted under his appraisal. He’d seen you naked before. Multiple times, in fact. But this felt different, affectionate. He had stripped you completely bare, laid out your mind and soul for him to reanimate at will.

Feeling naked in front of this man was about more than just your flesh.

Digging his fingers in, he maneuvered you to sit on the edge of the bed in front of him.  All of the tension you’d washed away in the shower came barreling back. Every muscle was tight, and every synapse was screaming that you needed to get away.

Sat like this, unrestrained before him, you fidgeted, frightened.  Your heart drummed so loud you thought he could certainly hear it. When he was silent and calm like this, you were lost to apprehension, images of lightsabers inside your body where they shouldn’t be flooding your mind. You could likely conjure up more ways for him to murder you than he could.

Just as worrisome, you couldn’t look away.  He captivated you each time he was in the room.  His dark irises gleamed as he held your stare, his full lips curving up on a smirk.  He was daring you to look away first.

He won.

You wilted from the intensity of his gaze, turning your inflamed face away and averting your eyes.  In your stupor, you didn’t realize that he was talking to you. The only thing you could hear was the metronome of your heart, its pace quickening moment by moment.

Displeased that he had to draw back your attention, Ren’s hand was around your calf, fingers pushing in between the muscles and rubbing demandingly. You glared and hissed, twisting your legs together, knees tight.

What!

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and swept his thumb along your mouth, smoothing away the bothered sneer.  When your lips relaxed, he pushed in and hooked his thumb into your teeth the way you hated, the way you loved.

Your core clenched as he tugged you forward. He brought you nose to nose, so close you could feel his warm breath.  He cleaved apart your desire to fight, soothing you into compliance with weaponized stillness.

“Open,” his voice was melodic, low, and rousing.

Your forehead crinkled in confusion.  Lifting a hand to settle at his wrist, needing the contact to go on, you shook your head ever so slightly because his thumb was already in your mouth.  It already was open.  

You felt his fingers tapping on your knee, then, and you burned red from ears to toes.  Whining, you tugged against his grip in a bid to keep him from seeing the way your thighs rubbed together at the very idea.

“I will not be repeating myself today, puppet.”

Blanching, you stiffened, building up any courage you could muster.  Finally, as though your maidenhead was actually still intact and valuable, you hesitantly parted your knees.

Other than his eyes trailing downward to watch your legs barely obey, Ren didn’t move or speak.  When his fingers dug harshly into your cheeks, cutting the weak skin inside against your teeth, you lurched and struggled.  This only tightened his hold, and you thought he might break your jaw. Clutching his forearm, you fought to settle back onto the bed and opened your knees wider and then wider still.

He didn’t release his rough grip on your face until your thighs were splayed far enough apart that your pussy opened for him, too, and your face ignited with humiliation. You rubbed at your abused jaw and cheek, wondering how long it would take the finger-sized discolorations to develop.

Are you hurt, though?

You surprised even yourself with the repeat question, circling back oddly and still not certain why you should be bothered.  He turned his beautiful, dusky eyes to you, and your breath caught. Was he pleased with your concern? Did it satisfy him to think he’d brainwashed you into caring?

He trapped you there, pinned by his mesmerizing eyes, while his fingers slid up your calf, thigh, hip.  You were nearly lulled into thinking his light touch would extend to your aching cunt, but he gripped your outer labia into such a tight pinch that you felt punched in the stomach.

You yelped and surged forward, folding in as much as you could, hips from screwing side to side trying to lessen the pressure.  He squeezed and tugged upon the tender flesh until it puffed up, swelling under his ministrations.

A satisfied sound bubbled up from his throat, and you slowly brought your focus back to him.

Kylo..please...

In a hot second, he switched and snatched up your left labia, digging his fingers in so deep you could feel the nails.  You shouted out, the wheeze of it tapering off as your breath heaved. Mirroring his grip, you dug your fingers into his arm but didn't try to push him away.

Screwing your eyes shut, you shuddered and tried to roll through the pain.

The whole middle of your body throbbed in time to your heartbeat, and you groaned when the endorphins finally kicked in to flood you with acceptance, the sound of it indecent even to you.  The sting and pulse abated slightly, and your head fell back, lips parting on a relieved sigh.  

“There we go,” he murmured, voice smooth like honey. “Open your eyes.”

You very nearly refused and vaulted from your perch, but it was inevitable.  You wanted to obey nearly as much as you wanted to fight, and it was this internal war he wanted to witness every time.  Willing your breathing to steady, you relaxed your fingers at his sleeve and opened glassy eyes.

The look of him, the utter craving displayed on his godlike features, was arresting, intoxicating.  His eyes shone a shade of twilight you’d never get used to, and his lips trembled, barely keeping his hunger contained. The way he was looking up at you was erotic and evoked a terrible longing.

Kylo!

Your face twisted into a pained frown as he switched back and forth between the two bloated lips.  He clucked in condescension when warm juice tracked down onto his fingers, and you buried your face in your hands.  When he finally stopped crushing you in his vice grip, the gratitude rushed out unchecked.

THANK you…   

Absent his touch, you pressed a hand at your abdomen and forced yourself to breathe deeply.  You were wholly disgusted with your response to such vulgar treatment. Would you blossom under every madness he put upon you? 

Your eyes lit upon his hands and the case he was holding, and you forgot to feel repulsed.

Dread filled your chest, squeezing your lungs back into panic. You had no fucking idea what he was about to do, and you were too terrified to look away. You didn’t think you could curtail his plan, but maybe you could persuade him that you would be good.

If you’ll just let me, I’ll go do it right now...

Ignoring you completely, he produced and threaded a slender surgical needle. Your torso hunched of its own volition, trying in vain to put more distance between you and that curved metal.  You mewled and whined, begging him to look and not do whatever this was, but he brushed your hands away, reaching out to tug and pinch at your labia again, inching nearer to his goal.

Fuck, Kylo..I’ll eat dammit! Please stop...

He looked at you, smug and cruel, and you finally understood that he was swelling your labia on purpose and with clear intent, and it had absolutely nothing to do with whether or not you'd eaten.  

You shook your head wildly, leaning forward and pushing at his arm in a different spot every time he would wave you off. Desperate, pleading tears sprang to your eyes, and you clung to him.

No no please no not that please no…

Finished with your begging, Ren anchored you in place with the Force, preventing you from even twitching from the waist down. He hummed at the sight of you, flushed and heaving, thighs spread wide.

You were in the middle of the next pitiful appeal when you felt the needle pierce your most-sensitive skin.  

You were too shocked to move, to shout, to implore him to spare you this torture.  The thin suture line dragged through the perforation, and your eyes slammed so tightly shut you thought they might bleed.

It wasn’t until the second stab of his suture needle that you fully understood what was happening.  You’d thought he simply meant to pierce the bulging, inflamed lips in order to decorate them; but when he tugged the line taut, pulling the swollen folds together, you sputtered and choked on your own spit.  You pawed at his shoulder imploringly, foolishly hoping he would surrender this plan if you appeased him with your touch.

Kylo..please don’t do this...please don’t do this...

He crooned and cupped your face, the supple tone of his voice belying the very atrocity he was committing upon you.  He straightened up to nudge your jaw with his nose, dragging the tip through your tears. Your fingers curled so tight into his sleeve that you popped stitches in the black fabric, but he offered you no more solace than this. 

He wasn’t indifferent to your suffering; he reveled in it, enjoying seeing it up close.

“You need strings, puppet.”

You whimpered helplessly, thinking you’d likely launch yourself into a dying star if he told you to with that almost-adoring voice.

He released your face, and you dissolved into wretched sobs.  There was no escaping his iron will, his demented punishment. Pressing the heels of your shaking hands into your eyes, you openly wept, not bothering to try to be strong for this, for him. Expecting you to endure this easily was too much.

Ren had treated you like property from the moment he saw you.  He’d proven to you that you were little more than an object to be toyed with, and his words from that day in the shower resounded in your ears.  But in this, he was taking away your humanity entirely. Any pretense that you might have been afforded some pleasure for your endurance bled away.

Stitch by stitch, Ren sewed your labia together, rendering you an androgynous receptacle, suitable for nothing more than receiving pain.

When he was finished, your clit was hidden snug behind a fleshy hem, but your vagina was open, accessible.  That was the part he needed, you thought morbidly.  

The Force pressure dissipated, your legs instinctively pressed together, and you curled into yourself. Digging ruddy fingertips into the mattress, you tried to flee, to crawl across the bed and away from him.

You’re a monster...

He captured you around the hips and hauled you onto your feet.  He didn't care that you were awash in pain; it didn't factor into his plans and was, thus, negligible. He gathered you into his arms, and you wished, for the hundredth time, that he had just let you die.

The sutures were neat and tidy, but every movement tugged at them, reminding you of your place in Kylo Ren’s world.  You erupted into a new bout of tears and pushed at his chest, angry and gutted.

“Walk,” he pressed his lips to your temple, murmuring the order into your hair, “or crawl.”

On an offended snort, you jerked your head away from his kiss.  Battling yourself into some semblance of calm, you sniffled and nodded.  He absolutely would make you crawl down the halls of this ship wearing nothing but those fucking sutures, and you’d rather not be so debased as that.

Suffering for Ren was one thing; suffering for an audience was too much.

He had stepped away to shake out clothes for you to wear when the epinephrine crested and dropped you over a black cliff. Thunder roared in your ears, and your eyes rolled into white.  Chased by a wounded gasp, your legs lost all ability to hold you and buckled, but Ren was at your side in an instant, snatching you up before you hit the floor. 

Righting you, he held your weight until your breathing regulated and you pushed back onto your feet. Not wanting to meet his eyes, you nodded against his shoulder, a silent report that you were here with him.  He helped you dress in the gauzy black shirt and pants and tipped your face up.  

You had no idea what he was looking for, and you were too tired to fake whatever it was.

Wrapping his great hand around your upper arm, he steered you from the room and down a dark corridor. He wouldn’t go through all the trouble to maim you if he was going to kill you, and you wondered what fresh hell you were being delivered to now. Your steps were slow, hesitant, but he didn’t rush you.  

Probably enjoying watching you hobbled in a fantastic new way...

He stopped on a chuckle, turned you to face him, and looked down at you with sardonic amusement.  You met his stare, fresh out of any damn to give over whether or not he heard you. You knew you were in no way threatening to this brute, but you leveled him with a searing gaze anyways.

“Supreme Leader Snoke is pleased with my progress.” Ren offered, pulling you flush against his body.  “He thinks I have no further need for you…” He reached out to brush his thumb across your glowering mouth. “...but I find that I want more.”

Overwhelmed and nervous at the admission, your mouth dropped open and you stared, dumbfounded.  While your mind tumbled over what else you could possibly offer him, he brushed past, leaving you to follow.

More?  What else was there?  Hadn’t you already given him everything?  He’d broken through your safety wall. He’d all but bathed in your blood.  He’d sewn your fucking cunt shut so you couldn’t even use it like a human being.

What the fuck else could you possibly want from me…

You were so angry that you stupidly followed him into a blindingly white room.  You slammed to a stop and blinked, forcing the room into focus. In the center, there was a surgical table, a tray of neatly-arranged instruments, and a man, dressed in gray scrubs and donning a clear splash guard at his face.  On the opposite side sat Ren’s black helmet, dented and busted apart.

Hand at your elbow, Ren led you further in and stroked your face with his wide palm, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the table.  He nudged the shell of your ear with his nose, and you quivered to feel so near to him, almost like a lover. You clutched at his shirt, molding your body to his and trying to hide from the coming onslaught.

You shook your head, already disbelieving, not wanting to hear what he was going to say next.

“I want to hear you scream,” his voice was hushed, as though this was a romantic secret.

All the blood drained from your face, and your mouth went bone dry. You looked from Ren, who was gazing down at you in a way that seared your insides, to the man waiting to enact his orders.  He stood there silently, waiting for his Commander’s direction, and you wondered if he’d been threatened into this room, too.

Ren turned you into the very middle of this insanity and hunched down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, crowding you back into the table.  Dancing on your toes, you laid petrified and quaking fingertips at his neck, needing to impress upon him how crazy this was.

Kylo...you can hear me...I’ve already given you everything..please don’t do whatever this is...

Paying no attention to your pleas, Ren slid his hands into the roomy waistband of your pants and nudged them down your body, kicking the paltry fabric away before you could get them. He lifted you onto the table and situated you at its very end, legs dangling in an eerily familiar way.

He stepped into the space between your legs, scooting your hips out to meet his.  You felt blistered every time you came into contact with his body, fingers, nose. He tipped your head back to lick at the scars crossing your larynx and rocked his body against yours. He was thick against you, his body hardening at the pitiable display you were putting on, and you whimpered in shameless response.

“Be good, puppet,” he hummed against your ear, enjoying the way your body reacted to his vicious dominance.

He stepped back, tugging out the table's stirrups, and you didn’t know who to be more afraid of. The doctor positioned his tray nearer to your head, stepping in so close you could smell the antiseptic soap.

You pushed at Ren’s hands when he guided your heels into the braces.

Kylo..please...You can’t… I can’t…

It was fluid now, automatic.  Your mouth opened when his fingers drew near, and he yanked you forward by that wicked hook. He slid his thumb slowly against your tongue and looked directly up into your eyes. Your knees knocked together, and you cried out in pain, having forgotten in your terror that your pussy was sewn up tight.

“You will.”

He did something to you when he said those things, and you stopped squirming.  You would never win this war. You would only tire yourself out with the fighting.  Beyond that, some delirious part of you wanted to prove him right, to show him that yes, you could do this.

Clenching your hands into tight fists, you closed your eyes to quell anxious tears.  He finished arranging your legs into the stirrups and scooted your ass down to the end of the table.  

Shame flooded you, barely contained by the bruised membrane that was your skin, because anyone who walked into the room would be treated to a view of your mistreated cunt.

Over you, the two men discussed what was about to happen as though you weren’t even there, and you felt more infinitesimal than ever before.  The doctor agreed that this was, indeed, a minorly invasive surgery, but it was what came next that launched you forward, panic-induced frenzy telling you to get the fuck out now regardless of whether you died in the process.

“There’s no need for a sedative.  She will be fine. Topical if you need it, but nothing stronger.”

You were a rabid animal up against an unstoppable force, but you howled and thrashed anyways.  You clawed at his arms and tried to kick him in the stomach and groin. You screamed and sobbed because even Santcha, who had done nothing but beat, stab, and take from you, had never been so cruel.

Each day you were here, Kylo Ren was disassembling you and rearranging your parts. He was building himself a better puppet, piece by bloody fucking piece.

You cannot do this!  You cannot do this...Kylo..you fucking cannot...

The doctor hunched over, holding his groin and floundering. Ren smirked, punching you into place with his trunk of an arm at your stomach.  Looking down at you, he stroked the inside of your knee with lazy circles, no doubt in a patronizing attempt to settle your fraying nerves. 

“Calm down, puppet.  You’re hurting the good doctor here.”

In your hysteria, you were pushing your feelings, your pain, out into the world around you. If you still hadn’t believed Ren about your Force-sensitivity, you’d just manifested all the proof he would ever need.

Exhausted from your outburst and ashamed for assaulting someone who hadn’t harmed you, you swallowed down air and fixed your stare upon the ceiling.  You counted heartbeats until the muscle didn’t feel like it was about to explode from your chest.

Angrily, you pushed Ren’s hand away.  You needn’t be pitied by the very man who was causing all of this.

With a chuckle, he pulled a rolling stool over to sit like it was just another fucking day of endless meetings.  Lifting your head up to glare at him, your chest seized, breath hitching, because you could see his shoulders, neck, and face between your spread thighs.  

Kylo please...

Maybe it's what he thought you were begging for because the Force slid over you like a weighted blanket, pinning you to the table, and you were never so grateful for being relieved of your autonomy.

The doctor turned your head into place and secured a metal brace on your throat, prohibiting any movement.  He applied a foul-smelling ointment to your skin, and you shattered, horrified to your very marrow.

You no longer had eyes, only faucets spewing forth an endless stream of angry, mournful tears.  You tried closing them to staunch the flow because the doctor said you were moving too much, but you couldn't stop your body now. You weren't in control of it anymore. 

The stress response to this terror was unforgiving, and you thought it might never end.  He was going to have to cut you open from ear to ear because stopping the chatter of your teeth and the rattling of your shoulders and chest was simply not within your power.

Your fingers uncurled, reaching for Ren even though you knew he would never offer you this comfort.

Instead, warmth pooled around your breasts, licking up your sternum, and you drew in a tremulous breath. The Force that held you in place lavished attention upon your torso, cupping, massaging, and squeezing your breasts together. Warm and wet nipped at the hard peaks, and your calves flexed in response. 

“Quiet now.”

Ren's voice was even, demanding.  He had indulged your fear long enough, and it was now time to obey.  You concentrated on the invisible hand tugging your breasts into an aching throb and reminded yourself to wiggle your toes and fingers.  Your lips quivered on every exhale, but you were trying so hard to keep yourself together. 

You knew how to process pain, but this affliction could hardly be classified as pain.

As the doctor set to his task, you felt pressure at your neck but not the sting of the scalpel.  Ren seemed to want that sensation only for himself, and you conjured the image of him painted with your blood, preferring the memory of beautiful torture to this reality of sanitized mistreatment.

The doctor, asking Ren something you didn't catch, stuck his fucking fingers into your throat, and your panic kicked back up. You jerked against the stirrups, and your lips curled into a snarl, readying to shout curses at this man, consequences be damned.

Shushing you, Ren dipped his face between your thighs, and you nearly vaulted off the table when you felt his lips connect with the supple, bruised skin.  His kiss was soft, his lips smooth, and you bristled with ire that he would deny you the sight of him between your legs. 

Alongside the doctor, you cursed him and tightened your hands into angry fists.

He chuckled against you, clearly entertained by your fit.  The sensation at your breasts increased, the rippling heat licking, sucking, and biting at your nipples. The throb bubbled over and spread down your sides, slithering across your stomach.  It was rousing and teasing and distracting, exactly as it was meant to be.

Ren’s mouth traveled from one thigh to the other, and your whole face pinched with the effort to be as silent as possible.  It was clear that any noise you made, any vibration in your throat, would do more damage and prolong this bastardized treatment.

He didn’t want you to damage his property with your foolishness, you realized.

He murmured an agreement to the thought and kissed up the insides of both legs, sucked on his bruises, and nipped at the highest point of your thighs.  Your insides pooled, and he dipped his thumb into the wetness building for him, tugging ever so gently upon the weeping slit.

The doctor reached across your body to the tray that held the destroyed helmet, but you were too wrapped up in Ren’s wicked scheme to notice him plundering the debris for a specific part. The tension in your legs and hips had lessened under his mouth, and your vulnerable thighs had dropped further apart.

Abruptly, the pressure of the Force increased upon your entire body, and you were unnerved all over again because what was coming next surely was worse than what you’d already endured if he needed to hold you down more.

You sniffled through your fear but poured every ounce of brute determination into remaining calm, to keep yourself still and under some measure of composure.  You weren’t sure if he was speaking aloud or in your head, but you heard Ren praising you for how well you were doing, how beautiful and strong you were to endure this for him.

As though you had any choice in the matter.

When his lips connected with your cunt, you thought you would certainly swallow whatever the doctor was lodging into your neck.  You could feel the pressure more insistently now as he crammed or screwed or stitched whatever the fuck it was he was doing.  

Ren kissed and sucked upon your stretched labia; the sounds lewd and consuming. He plucked each stitch with his tongue, and you thought you were going to lose your mind.  You could feel every tight tug followed by the warm flat of his tongue gliding up the length of the vicious seam.

You marveled at how easily this man could conjure new tortures, how simple it was for him to corrupt something so mundane and turn it into exquisite torment.

Master of the Knights of Ren, indeed...

You cursed him again for taking away any hint of pleasure you might eke out from this whole experience.  It was barbarous and merciless to lay his mouth upon you like this and prevent you from actually feeling it, enjoying it.  It was the pinnacle of painful foreplay, and you hated him for it.  

You hated the doctor for being a party to this whole fucking thing. You hated everyone on this ship for bowing to the tantrums of a Child God, and you promised yourself you’d murder Supreme Fucking Leader Snoke himself for creating such a beast.

Ren bit into your thigh harshly at that last thought, directly into the center of the deep bruise, and your toes curled tight.  That mark certainly went down to the bone and would likely scar, little indentations from his teeth puckering more each time he revictimized the area. 

Kylo...

Sweat broke across your brow, and a feverish tremble began as your body tried to deal with the absurd number of sensations warring inside.

The doctor pushed his tray away and told you both that he would need to test the calibration before he could close the window. You blinked up at his masked face in confusion.  Test the calibration of what? How were you meant to do that, exactly?

Ren stood and you jerked at the brush of his body.  You could feel him rustling, but it was driving you mad that you couldn’t see what he was doing.  He hooked his thumbs into the very tops of your thighs and tugged the opening of your vagina just slightly wider. The stitches strained, and you whimpered, unable to contain it any longer.

Your eyes flew wide open because the sound was strange, louder, reverberating.

The swollen head of Ren’s cock nudged at your entrance, and you knew your heart was going to explode from your chest.  He’d been working you, tinkering with those fucking puppet strings, to flood your pussy and make it ready for him; and like a damn fool, you’d given him exactly what you wanted.

You burned with humiliation and ragged desire as he pushed in, breaking the seal and stretching your cunt into something pliable for his sizable dick.  It was endless, the sting and scorch of each inch, and you wanted to beg that he please just let you reach for him. It was all becoming too much, and you were disjointed, disconnected from everything.

Ren pushed and leaned into you until he was fully seated, pulsing at the very center of your body. You could feel every throb, every carnal twitch.  Ren was fucking you from both ends, his dick stuffed far into your pussy and his depraved will stuffed down deep into your neck. The very idea of it sent you into a spiral.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” he groaned, voice gravelly. “Relax, puppet. Open for me.”

Kylo, not like this...

You were truly his object, denied any relief from his harassment or any pleasure at his hand.  Digging his fingers into your hips, he began a slow, thorough stroke, pulling nearly all the way out only to plunge back down to the hilt.

“Out loud, girl.”

Your head ticked, a screaming internal alarm preventing you from shaking it outright, because you couldn’t do it; you could not obey this order.  You couldn’t even remember the sound of your own voice, and you didn’t want to mourn something you couldn’t recall. You also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Fuck you...

Ren’s hips thrust harder into you, though, and you yelped. The high-pitched fabricated sound shocked you, and you trailed it with a hiccup, breath catching on the implications of this new reality.

“Lower,” Ren nodded to the doctor, who adjusted the implant in your throat.

You seethed.  He was tailoring the sound of your voice to his fucking preference, and you thought you surely would rip the damned thing out of your neck if you had your hands free. 

Dissatisfied with your reaction to his steady pace, Ren rutted into you stubbornly, fucking you with more force.  Your ire fizzled, the anger dribbling out of your cunt on a steady trickle of hot slick. He stretched you, and you moaned at the fullness of it.  You desperately wanted to arch and rock your hips against him, but you were completely paralyzed, not even given room to wiggle.

“Kylo. Fuck. Please.”

He all but purred at the modulated sound of your voice, the one he’d given you, and rewarded you with a long series of strokes so deep you saw stars.

“Lower,” he ordered, and the doctor moved to his bidding.

“Now, puppet, what’s that mantra of yours?”

Ren’s cunning was staggering.  He was demanding the only thing that had allowed you to survive him.  Your throat burned, tingling around the foreign implant, and you swallowed, trying to moisten the metal. Sniffling, you cleared your throat, focusing on the task you’d been given and not the ruthless invasion of your pussy.

Taking as deep of a breath as you could, you concentrated on making the sound as even as possible.

“In...suffering...there...is...beauty.”

“That’s right,” he praised you and then nodded to the surgeon. “That’s it.”

Having gotten what he wanted, Ren bent over you and nipped at your stomach before tucking himself back into his pants.  In moments, the doctor had your throat stitched up, a Bacta patch applied, and was giving instructions to Ren about no solid food for 24 hours, watch for infection, and apply Bacta as needed.  

He also advised that you should be silent for the next 24 hours due to inflammation but that he understood if something happened to prevent that.

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling when he said it because of fucking course something was going to prevent that.  Curling your hands into fists again, you renewed your vow to slaughter every soul on this ship.

With the doctor gone, the Force hold you’d been kept under released, and you shot upwards to confront Ren.  This wasn’t fear or flight; this was anger and malice. 

You slammed both fists into his chest and shoved.  Pressing your lips into a hard line, you jammed your knee in between your body and his, intent upon sprinting past him and away from here, from him.

Jerking your legs back apart, he stepped in and wrapped his massive hand around your throat, burning you with his gaze and squeezing you back into muted compliance.  Satisfied you would be still, he wrapped you tight into his chest, fingers still stroking your throat.  

Shock and absolute fury coiled into the pit of your stomach, and you just sat, boiling in your hatred that he could so easily disfigure you and, then, so easily divest you of your rage.

The severity of what he’d done registered, and panicked spikes drove into your heart. You quaked anew, tears spilling, and you dug your fingers into the shirt at the small of his back.

What did you do…

“Out loud,” he pressed, voice endearing as he brushed your tears away.

Licking your lips, you stared at him for a long moment, eyes glossy.  Ren waited patiently as you gathered the fortitude to obey. Even he seemed to understand this was a lot to take in.

“What did you do?” You whispered it, the haunted voice faltering, betraying the depth of your despair.

He hummed hungry delight against your jaw.  Using the leverage he always seemed to have at your neck, Ren turned your head for you to take in the broken bits of his helmet on the tray.  In the vortex of fear and lust and terror, you’d completely forgotten it had been there at all.

“This voice,” he breathed the words out, stroking the bandage, “is mine.”

You gaped at him, eyes swiveling from the tray to his face and back.  It broke over you like lightning. He had taken the modulator from his helmet and had it implanted in your throat.

Ren dropped his head into your neck again and sucked a mark into the skin. You were too frozen to respond, your back rigid but your arms and legs hanging limp and useless.

“This body,” he said into your neck, “is mine.”

Slithering his hands between your bodies, he pushed your thighs apart wide and ran his fingers up the plump seam.  You shuddered, feeling the pulse of your sequestered clit battering against the wall that should not be there.

“This pussy,” he bit at your jaw, “is mine.”

He had succeeded in reducing you to a nameless doll, a puppet tailored exactly to his liking for his entertainment and use.  You were dazed, thunderstruck, and empty. He had put you through absolute hell today, and you weren’t capable of filtering your thoughts, now words, anymore.

You were past the point where you could even care if he punished you for insolence.

“Why did you stay with me?”

The question startled you more than the alien sound of your new voice.  You managed to look at him and concentrated on his alluring freckles. You searched his starry eyes for something to latch onto, something that would tie you here.

You had no childish thoughts of love or support.  But right now, having borne the brunt of so much of his persecution, you needed something.  

One question, though, led to more, and they began to spill from your lips on this new capability.

“Why didn’t you kill me? I was ready, and I would have gladly given you that. Why did you need to do this to me?  You were already in my head, listening.”

Your ire and emotion were rising, the mechanical undertone in your voice lifting in pitch. You blinked, really truly trying to understand the whims of a mad man. 

“What difference is there between me screaming in my head and screaming out loud? Why couldn’t you just leave me the way I was? I was surviving your punishment just fine without this unnatural, bastard tongue!”

You fisted both hands into his shirt and pounded against the chest beneath. Your lips wobbled, and you tipped your head back, furious at the tears that wouldn’t fucking stop.

You had learned to survive without a voice.  The silence you offered the universe became your salvation, your solace.  People expected nothing of you when they knew you couldn't speak, and you’d used it to strengthen yourself, to fortify your will to endure and withstand all manner of ego and abuse.

Frantic, you settled on the most important question, the one that you needed answered.

“Why did you do this to me?”

Ren captured your face in both hands and smothered your tirade with a kiss. His beautiful pink lips slanted over yours, and you melted against his mouth.  He sucked at your lower lip, licked the roof of your mouth, and slid his tongue against yours until you were breathless and squirming.

He curled your limbs around his shoulders and waist and carried you around the side of the table.  Setting you down, he plucked the scalpel from the tray, his hands disappearing between your legs. You whimpered and scooted backwards, but he hooked a hand beneath your knee and pulled you back into place.

“I did this,” he cut one of the sutures, “to focus your attention away from the procedure."

“Is that not…” he nipped at your pulse, “...merciful?”

He made quick work of the remaining sutures, slicing through them and pulling the remnants away. You whined, head lolling, as your freed labia parted, blood beginning to redistribute to the abused skin and shooting pins and needles into your cunt.  He followed the sharp stings with his thumb, rubbing between the swollen folds until you gasped and tipped your pelvis into his touch.

Tugging you against his body, Ren ground his erection between your tender lips.  You moaned low, the sound warbled, wanton, and needy, and he captured it with a deep kiss, swallowing on a growl.

He tore at his own clothes, freed his swollen cock, and pushed inside of you, not bothering to be gentle. Your eyebrows drew together tight at the invasion, the time between the first fucking and this one having been enough for your body to re-acclimate to his absence.  

Sinking your teeth into your lip, you lifted your hips to his assault because the utter completion you felt was too good to resist.

“And I did..fuck…,” he faltered, bottoming out into your tight heat; “...I did this,” he dipped his face down and licked the bandage, the only truly new scar he’d ever given you; “...so that you would remember,” his breath was broken now, his voice ragged with lust; “...that every sound you make belongs to me.”

You held tightly to his back, hugging his sides with your legs, and trying your damnedest to stay here in this moment.  The second adrenaline crash of the day threatened to consume you, but you fought against it because the man who’d teased you for a week had his dick so far inside you that you thought you could taste it. 

You were desperate for this bliss, whining in raw need, and you shuddered when he rocked your body against his in the manner and tempo he liked, large fingers splayed across your ass and moving you to his pleasure. Your tortured cunt clenched and all but sucked his dick in deep.   

You cried out, feeling the lines between you as a person and you as Ren’s personal fucktoy bleed together.  Your whole body contracted, squeezing him hard and coming absolutely alive under his thumb. You clung to his back like he was your own personal savior.

Stretching long fingers around your neck, Ren lifted your face and forced you to look, always wanting to watch you agonize for him.  The now-familiar warm sensation blossomed at your clit, and your eyes fluttered shut on a loud moan. He shook you until your eyes opened again, demanding your stare.

“You’re no victim," he sneered.

He punched himself so far into your cunt that you felt the nudge at your cervix and erupted into an echoing shriek. The Force engulfed your clit, every single one of the thousands of nerves swarmed by the hot vibration and spreading a delicious jolt up through your abdomen.

“You’re a depraved, filthy thing,” he dug his nails into your jaw, “and your body was made for me.”

You couldn’t look away, couldn’t shake your head or disagree.  Accepting that hard truth on your behalf, your pussy flooded him with a new surge of molten slip, and he growled possessively.  He licked at your mouth and squeezed your neck tighter. The pressure arched you into his chest and set your cunt to clutching feverishly.

“See? Not happy unless you’re being hurt.”

Pressing into the veins below your jaw, he stunted the flow of blood to your brain, sending you into floating oblivion.  You convulsed against him, the jerk of your body trying to fight off unconsciousness drawing a hungry moan from your captor.  The suction at your clit intensified, and you begged, lips working on impotent words, breath choppy, and fingers clamoring and raking against his biceps.

You were nothing but a vibrating mess, well-fucked and wholly obliterated by his embrace as he choked and ravaged your body. The stab of his dick was relentless, and you were very nearly gone, your eyes glazing over, eyelids heavy. 

“Cum for me, puppet. Show me how much you like it."

He dipped his mouth to your ear, voice commanding, dripping with derision and desire.  Shifting his fingers, he allowed blood to rush back into your dizzy head, and you gasped hard.  Married with the hot pressure at your clit and the pistoning of his cock, you seized in deference to his order.

Your entire body shrunk into a tight ball against him, knees drawing up high, ankles hugging at his back.  Your fingers and toes curled, your legs and arms shook, and your abdomen and ass clenched hard and tight. 

The orgasm blew through you like a comet, and everything loosened on a series of soul-shattering quakes.

You shouted and wailed, the altered, digital howl sounding almost like it truly belonged to you.  Your cunt spasmed, alternating between trying to push Ren’s invading cock out and trying to draw it further and further in.

You were drowning in euphoria, endorphins, and emotions, and you had no protection, no wall with which to keep everything at bay.  Every single thing Ren had done, was doing, roiled through you and radiated off of your body dangerously, and he was caught in the blast zone.

“Fuck..fuck..FUCK!”

His hands dug caverns into the meat of your ass, fingernails leaving crescent trenches. He bit into the side of your neck, buried himself as far into you as he could, and emptied his cock into the flood you were offering him.

Three more thrusts pushed his seed in deep, and he moaned, low and liquid, into your skin while bucking through his orgasm.  You were barely clinging to consciousness, weak and overwhelmed by the events of the afternoon, the day, the week.

For the third time today, Ren held you, stroking your back until your mind came back to your body.  When you lifted your head, he leaned back, taking in your mottled cheeks, swollen mouth, and glassy eyes.  

“Open.”

He lifted his hand to your mouth and purred when it opened for him naturally.  He hooked his thumb into your teeth, just the way you liked, and you shifted against him, leaking all manner of bodily fluids onto the table.

You hadn't hesitated at all, too sated to bristle that it was beneath you or too eager for whatever demeaning paradise he was willing to offer.  

He held your jaw right there, thumb playing with the inside of your teeth.  He was looking at you as though he was ready to bathe in your blood again, and you weren’t sure that you wouldn’t let him. His eyes were dark and nefarious and hypnotic.

What he did next was so unexpectedly obscene that you choked.  He tilted your head back and spat into your mouth, watching his saliva pool on your tongue.

Your body’s reaction was immediate, suffused with want and something you might later identify as pride. Your fingers tightened into his shirt, and your chest arched up into him. You let loose a low sound that even you didn’t even recognize, and your hips rocked beseechingly against him.

“You belong to me,” he said, watching the bubbles slide down your throat. “This is the last time I'll explain myself to you."

He allowed you to close your mouth, and you stared at him, awed and searching.  Before you could second guess yourself, you curled his trembling fingers around your throat, swallowing beneath the grip.

If this was the closest you would ever get to an intimate gesture, you needed it now more than you needed oxygen.

Satisfied for the moment, Ren squeezed your neck and rubbed his nose against yours. 

Too soon, the moment ended, and Ren grasped your hips and lifted you off of his dick with a low groan.  You watched openly as he tucked himself away and righted his clothing. You flushed, pleased at the idea that he was going to spend the rest of today with your cunt lingering on his dick.

You blinked at the thought, troubled at the ease with which you joined him in such vulgarity.

Your reverie was interrupted by a slender man in all black walking into the room uninvited and unannounced.  Ren’s head shot up on a snarl, and he reached out to wind that unfortunate soul into the Force and lift him off of his feet.  

You tiredly glanced over at Ren’s newest victim, surprised by his bright red hair. Knowing better than to interfere, you simply looked from Ren to this intruder, wondering how long it would be before one of them spoke.

“The...Supreme...Leader...demands...your………………...presence!”

Ren released his hold, and the uniformed man hit the ground with a crash, scrambling back out into the hallway.  Bending down, he scooped up your black pants and handed them to you. 

Ren's gaze hardened considerably, and you were amazed at how dark became void in his eyes. Reaching back to the tray, he grabbed the scalpel, broke off the blade, and lifted it to your mouth.

“If he tries to hurt you or move you,” his voice was dangerously low, and your eyes flitted around his arm to the door, “get away. Find the Knights of Ren.”

The questions played across your face, and your brow knit. Were you in danger?  Why were you in danger? You leaned forward, meaning to ask, but he shook his head, instructing you back to silence.  You sat up straighter, concerned and more alert.

“That voice is for me, only.”

Understanding, you parted your lips and accepted the weapon, moving it with your tongue and tucking it into the roof of your mouth.  Ren's battle face changed for just a second, his beautiful lips turning up into a smirk, knowing full well this wasn’t the first time you’d had to hide a blade.

You accepted that he would push you until you broke for him, over and over, but it satisfied you to no end that he wasn’t prepared to allow anyone else to harm you.  That pleasure was afforded to him alone in the Galaxy.  

“Hux!” He barked it out, and the man, who was still rubbing his tender throat, turned into the room to look.

“You will personally deliver her back to my chambers.”

Ren didn’t waste time asking if the man understood his instructions.  He would be obeyed, or someone would die. In seconds, he had collected the remnants of his helmet and was gone from the room.  

You sagged, feeling like the universe was somehow less bright without the scorch of his presence. Stuffing your aching, wobbly legs into the black linen, you cautiously descended from the surgical table and righted the material over your hips.  

Turning, you faced your new escort, whose name was apparently Hux, and gestured for him to lead on.

[etheralisi]

ρυмρкιη ριε αη∂ αℓℓ тнιηgs ηιcε

Uses references to this fic:<br /> https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832037

And more or less based on this prompt:<br /> http://transcendence-au.tumblr.com/post/160337841310/fluffbird-writing-prompt-s-an-old-and-homely#notes

Alternatively titled ‘Why Gloria Jenkins Should Not Be Allowed Near Candles’, this was the first tau fic I managed to complete back in 2018. It’s undergone a few changes, because ehhh, but I’ll release it into the wild as a short something. It’s doing nothing here, lying around and collecting dust.

𝙰 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐  

𝙱𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎   

 ~ 𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝙺𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛

 Gloria smiled to herself as she sunk into her chair, her heart as toasty as an open fire, and insides tingling with the lingering feeling of contentment. Sure, the darn thing was falling apart, ragged at the edges and probably worth no more than a penny or two in a garage sale. Stuffing was oozing out that very moment. But it was home , and everything she had left of a life lived, with children running and screaming within these walls. Growing up. Living. Thriving. Leaving the coup to fly free.

 But her? The mother hen? She stayed home.

 After such a busy day of rooting around her loft for family photo albums, she honestly felt this time to rest her aching bones was well and truly earned, and no, she won’t take any constructive criticism on the matter thank you very much. What was, however, unfortunate to admit aloud and something she’d never in a million years concede to in front of her family was that her bones weren’t as energetic as they had been once upon a time… much alike her dwindling eyesight. Hazy blobs, it all was. Pretty ones, but hazy nonetheless. Her world became an abstract painting the very second her glasses left her face.

 The elderly woman groaned, realisation dawning like a sledgehammer to the head, full on smack. She knew something had been missing. Her glasses! The darn things! How could she have possibly forgotten such an important item as those? 

 Using as much force as she could, Gloria found it in her to haul herself out of the comfort of her chair, even with her body’s initial protest. She stumbled about the house a bit, the grace of a drunkard or woman in need of glasses, searching for the location of wherever she had last left her glasses case. It had been, what? Two moments ago when she saw them? She’d put down the glasses into the case, taken her seat, and fallen into quiet bliss in her chair. Had it been knocked off and fallen under something? 

 Luck was on her side since her vision wasn’t as bad as it could have been in a few years time, deteriorating as the months wander by, so she managed to make out the basic shapes and colours of her surroundings just fine. No walking into walls for this woman!

 Ah. Wait. No. Luck was very much not on her side at all, the case still having failed to show, and Gloria had to result to “making a strategic retreat” as she put it, deeming it inefficient to keep looking for something which would just turn up sooner or later when she wasn’t really looking for it. Thus is the way of life. Shrugging, she made her way back to her sad but lovable excuse for a couch seat, only stopping when she noticed the basket by the front door that she had placed there little under an hour earlier. Her niece, Juliana, had asked if Gloria had any family photos left in her house that she could share with her immediate family, and she had risen to the challenge by diving into her vast loft. And yes, she meant vast . There’s got to be at least two or three sigils on the walls at least to enlarge the interior to twice that of the outside. It was all new technology at the time she bought this house. All the rage.

 So. The whole place was a disaster zone. Where all those missing trinkets turn up. Lost some socks? Probably go there, somehow. Good luck finding it in the coming year.

 Getting to that album sure took some sweet sweet time. Which is why, on her long perilous journey, family photo albums weren't the only things she had found in her search, the numerous other knick knacks of various interest lying within the basket being an obvious example of this. There had been plenty of things she’d forgotten about, stashed away within the depths of the loft, never to be seen until they resurfaced that very day. Her gaze drifted to the fuzzy, orange sticks lying atop the basket that vaguely looked like fat carrots, if a little waxy if you so chose to chew them. But don’t be fooled by her eyesight, for they weren’t as they seemed.

 She was pretty sure those were the candles she’d found hiding in a box labelled “ dangerous ”. Gloria had no idea why they had been labelled as such (maybe a potential fire hazard? Children’s grabby hands and whatnot) and could honestly never remember buying any candles from the Pine River Candle Company in her life. Yet, she knew good quality candles when she saw them, so she had taken them out of their box and added them to her basket to be brought down and used whenever she wanted to make her home smell like fresh pumpkin pie.

 Hmm… fresh pumpkin pie, huh? It got her in the mood for a spot of baking. Reminded her of all those years back, the big grin her grandson had always given her whenever a plate stacked with her baked treats was laid out before him.

 Alas the boy never really seemed to come visit his ol’ granny anymore, always giving excuses (and oh how he had the audacity to deny them being so — she knew an excuse when she heard one, could sniff one out from a mile away, blindfolded), and barely ever sent her up a Christmas card! 

 Well, it was his loss. He didn’t want to eat her baking anymore, then fine! She knew others, like the postman, for one, who’d take kindly to being fed.

 With that thought in mind, Gloria picked up all six of the candles and made a return back into the living room. She began placing them all around the perimeter of the room, lighting them one by one as she went.

 Her chair made protests of its own as she plonked herself back, age being something they both shared in common. Sadly. But she was no feeble woman, and outright refused to fall apart. Nope, not today. Life was good. Great even. 

 Caught in the moment, she sniffed the now heavily sweet scented air, an aroma that spelled everything she loved more than words could describe. It frolicked, dispersing itself throughout the air, tickling her nose as if it were a feather.

  Ah, perfect.

 Her eyelids began to shut as exhaustion took ahold of her, which is why it can be excused how she completely missed the way the candles in the room flickered, one by one being replaced with a much more menacing azure flame. Nor did she bear witness to the figure who popped into her living room in a plume of smoke.

 What she did not miss, however, was the way said figure grumbled under his breath at the use of scented candles. Just, come on! She may have been old and her sight may have been lacking, but she wasn’t deaf! 

 Gloria wearily cracked open her left eyelid, before blinking twice to snap herself out of her stupor. The peculiarity of a strange man being in her house was something to pay attention to. And complaining about her candles no less?

 Wait…

 That brown blob of hair, that voice… could it be? 

 “Arthur, is that you?” Speak of the devil, had her grandson finally decided to get up off his backside and visit his old lady?

 Somehow, though she didn’t know how, the room seemed to become ever more quiet as if trapped within a bubble of silence where not even time dared to flow.

 “Uhm…” ‘Arthur’ choked out at last, “ Excuse me? ”

 “Aha!” Gloria’s mouth twisted up with glee as she let out a small, victorious laugh which somehow morphed into a gleeful cackle when on the verge of petering out, “I knew it! You couldn’t stay away from my baking forever!”

 “Your- nevermind .” He took a deep breath just before he continued, his words strained. “Look, Gloria, I’m not Arthur. I’m Alcor and I-.”

 “Alcor huh?” She hummed in thought, not noticing how ‘Arthur’ harrumphed at her interruption. “Sounds pretty dumb. Why’d you change it?”

 “And...” Gloria squinted, continuing. “What’s with the wardrobe change? Have you gone gothic, Arthur? That’s a lot of black you’re wearing.”

 ‘Arthur’ didn’t take too kindly to her plethora of questions, already shuffling backwards from her chair. “... Look, this seems like it was some mistake. I’m just going to go..”

 With a speed so fast that she might have even broken the sound barrier, Gloria was out of her chair and had her hand firmly grasped around his arm, “You’re not going anywhere young man! Don’t you dare stop by for two minutes and then leave! You’re coming with me to the kitchen and we’re going to do some baking together just like we used to.”

 She noticed him start to speak, though she cut him off before he could even so much as squeak a word out.

 “Now off you trot, to the kitchen!” She released her hand from his arm and began pushing him through to said destination. “This rocky road cake isn’t going to bake itself.”

 ‘Arthur’ seemed to perk up at the mention of ‘rocky road’ and Gloria couldn't help but snicker at his sweet tooth. Some things never seemed to change.

 “Ro͜cky̶ ͟ro͘àd͏?” He asked with an odd layer of reverb, getting Gloria to begin questioning if hearing was going a little off after all. 

 “Yes.” She sighed, already shovelling him into the kitchen and dismissing the reverb. “Now make yourself useful and turn on the oven.”

  Alcor’s gold on black eyes numbly trailed after the woman’s figure as she left, leaving him alone in some random kitchen and wondering what the actual heck just happened?