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legguk · 3 years ago

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Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #help idk what im doing

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blackwidow-bby · 4 years ago

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A Case of You -Alcina Dimitrescu x Maiden!Reader

I’ve been wanting to write something based on the song ‘A Case of You’ by Joni Mitchell. Alternatively the K.D. Lang version is also very good and meaningful to me. Also who better to write with than really tall vampire mommy 😭

As always feedback is appreciated highly! Thank you for reading 💙

Warnings: blood, and smut (18+) little babies

🩸🩸

You had been polishing the silverware reflecting on the years that you had been in Castle Dimitrescu. 3 short but eventful years. At the beginning it was hectic, bouncing between all of the orders from the daughters and those of the Lady herself. Cleaning up countless messes left around as if they were guests in their own home. Clothes here, blood stains there, broken plates and cups everywhere. It had been as if your birth in the village was a curse, born to feel ashamed of poor class. A majority of the women that lived in the village knew that the only fate of their futures was to be sent to work for Castle Dimitrescu until the end of their days. Once the fair young women reached 18 that was where they were sent. Of course not all of them were so “lucky”. The rest of the women and all of the men were left to the struggles of the small village left to the devices of the surrounding lycans of the other lords. Or worse, kidnapped never to be seen again.

Most of the villagers rumored that those that disappeared were taken by the holy Mother herself and experimented on. Everyone knew what she could do, but for all of the bad sometimes holy Mother Miranda brought some good. One time before sweet Imelda lost her leg to a lycan attack, she saw the fainted mark on the side of its face. The same mark her husband had upon his face on the same side, before his disappearance traveling back to town. As she was dragged back safely by a couple farmers who managed to kill the sickly beast, the only sounds that all of the inhabitants could hear were her screams of her husbands name. Utterly distraught that she could become so unrecognizable enough to his dead eyes that in his transformation could still cause her deadly harm. He never had an angry bone in his body, but if that rumor was true, the experiment had created a monster of a once calm man.

All of your years weren’t as hectic as the first year. Eventually the lady of the house had taken a liking to your work. Always quick to come and cater to any mundane request her and her daughters had demanded of you. Actually now that you think, you can’t remember the last time any of your orders came from the daughters. They only came from the head maid or Lady Dimitrescu herself. A small quirk of your lips found it’s way thinking of your Lady.

Shortly into your second year she began to request you privately into her bed chamber. The first time she asked for you, you had been scared that your end had found it’s way sooner than you would have liked. Your heart was racing in your chest, begging your feet to be just as erratic on the way to her room. Somehow you managed to compose your pace but your heart insisted on faltering you. You knocked three times on her door upon arrival. You were unsure if she had heard, the doors of the castle were solid wood and although your hands were not soft due to the amount of work you were asked to do, your knuckles certainly weren’t hard enough to evade a slight throb from the hefty door.

Her voice crooned from with in, “Come in, my dear.” You opened the door to her chambers carefully as to not slam the wood open and not damage whatever might be on the other side of its radius. She smiled down on you very sweetly. There was something in here eyes. It felt almost like an admiration. You wiped that thought from your mind as quickly as it came. Why on earth would she ever admire you.

She sauntered toward where you stood and slowly lifted her hand. The fear you harbored for the Lady caused you to flinch at her movement. She had never laid a hand upon your person but that did not mean your time would not come.

Your flinching halted her movements. Her expression changed but only slightly. “My dear, I am not going to harm you in such a way.” She had lowered her voice in the close proximity of your bodies. You opened your eyes once more to see her gently place her soft gloved hand upon your head. Gently she moved it down by your ear and caressed the side. “Come to me little one.”

You followed her to her vanity. The space was tidy with neatly placed powders and lipsticks and other make up you had never seen any of the women of the village actually own. She sat down on her chair in front of the vanity. All of the furniture you noticed was made to her size in this dim room. None of the maids were ever called to clean this space, it made you wonder if she even used it at all. Maybe the Lady chose to take care of her own space in a way she knew no one could ever recreate or perfect to her liking. She hummed and pulled your hand to her. In her glorious size, she picked you up and placed you on her lap facing the large mirror. Your eyes shifted between her and your own height. Even perched on her Lady’s lap, your height was still shorter than her own.

Her eyes never met yours even as she slightly moved about to gather a soft brush and place it closer within reach. Your heart was still bounding in your chest trying to make sense of what was perspiring at this moment. The Lady removed her gloves by pulling one finger at a time until they could slip off smoothly. She then reached up and began to undo the clean French braid your hair was done in. She was being so kind and so soft with you, you were baffled. She started to unwork the three strands until she reached your scalp. You moved in tandem with the Lady as she reached again to grab the brush and began at the bottom of where your hair reached. Her ministrations were so soft it allowed your heart to calm. You kept your hands in your own lap, not daring to speak before being spoken to or move before being asked to move. Your Lady focusing solely on brushing the tangles from your hair allowed your own eyes to look about the space you sat. Her only task to groom your tresses, allowed you to get a good look at her face. Her lips and cheeks looked so soft. Her face wasn’t stoic but content in the space. She certainly didn’t look as nervous to have you here as you did to be here. Occasionally her hand would come around the underside and her knuckles would gently brush against your clothes back.

Everything she did was so calm and planned and relaxing. You took the rest of the opportunity to admire her further. Her raven dark locks meticulously curled in their places. Her hat always cocked to the side on her head, you wondered if it ever got in the way. She certainly never let it bother her if it did. The sudden speaking of her voice caused you to jump due to how silent it was seconds before, “I had been admiring you from afar for a while now. I’m sure you have an idea of why you had been called to my chambers after not being asked to before.”

Your voice betrayed you, you had been silent for too long. “Y-yes my Lady. I think I know why I’m here.” She hummed again. You felt the brush finally make its way to your scalp. The bristles were so soft and comforting they made your eye lids heavy. Seeing that she was done with her work on your hair, she placed the brush back in its spot and made eye contact with you through the mirror. She looked at you for a couple minutes more until she spoke again. “You’re always so quiet and kind around everyone here. My daughters can have a way with making the maids end up with either tougher skin or breaking their calm façade.” She was now running her fingers down the length of your back over your uniform. “But not you. You are still the same as you were when you showed up. Quiet and composed.” You weren’t sure if you should thank her for the compliment or be offended by being told that you haven’t changed. You felt like you could handle anything after the tortures her daughters could put maids through.

You could feel her hands moving back up your back and over your shoulders. Her cold slender fingers found your collar while the other hand swayed your hair over your left shoulder no doubt to expose your neck to her. This is it. This is how you end. What a lovely way to die. Her faced inched closer to your exposed neck and you could feel her breath inches away from the space. Your eyes couldn’t seem to move away from her though. You watched the whole thing and how her face never changed emotion. Everything she had done with you was in admiration. Like she longed for what you could offer her as if she didn’t have everything she could want in this castle.

Her face inched closer until you felt her lips press against the spot she was just eyeing. She lightly kissed you and reveled in the sounds you let escape. A chill ran down your body and found purchase in your stomach. You could feel the butterflies going crazy. Yes truly what a lovely way to die. You braced yourself when you saw her go to bite. Braced yourself for the white hot pain to shoot across your whole body but it never came. Instead the only thing you felt was pleasure. She continued to suck in the same spot for moments more. It all made you feel a growing knot down lower. Her strong arms encircled around your waist to hold you tightly as if you could slip away at any moment. You felt them hugging you tightly. The embrace soothed every part of you. You had never felt so cared for.

Unconsciously you noticed that your hands found purchase upon her own. Her face lifted from the crook of your neck, not a smudge to be seen or hair out of place. You could feel her lips by your ear. “I could drink a case of you, and still I would be on my feet.” She whispered and it made you visibly shudder in need. What kind of affect was she having on you?

“You must never speak of this with anyone”

🩸🩸

She requested you many more times and each one was just as delicate and sweet as the last one.

“You’ve been polishing that spoon for an awfully long time, dear.”

Your head whipped around at the Lady’s sultry voice. Your Lady, you thought. “What is it that has your mind occupied?” She questioned.

“Nothing my Lady. I was simply thinking of you.”

She smiled a genuine smile at you and reached her hand toward you. You walked up to her and laced your fingers with hers. Every moment you spent with her you cherished since the first. She reserved so much kindness for you. Internally she ached for the next time she would request you again. Thinking of the way your blood tasted on her lips. So bitter and so sweet. She couldn’t help but want something slightly different this time.

You both made your way to her private chambers once more like clockwork. She allowed you to enter before bending her way inside. You immediately walked over to her vanity as that was where she always fed from you right after brushing out your hair. You turned to her and smiled but she stopped next to her own bed. “Come here to me, my little love.” You walked up slight confusion on your face. “If any of this makes you uncomfortable, I want you to stop me. Can you do that for me, draga mea?” You nodded slightly. She sat down on the edge of her bed and reached her hand to wipe the wrinkle that etched on your forehead in your confusion.

“My little doe, you mean more to me than you could ever know.” She pulled your hand to her and moved both of you to the head of the bed. Gently she cupped your chin in her large hand. You closed your eyes and suddenly you felt her lips press against yours. Gods they were so soft but so cold. You reciprocated her kiss. Alcina had craved this for too long but she needed to pace herself. She has the rest of the afternoon until the night to indulge in anything your freely gave to her. You didn’t move to stop her and she took this as invitation to continue further. Keeping your lips pressed to hers, her hands roamed your body lower than just your back. She relished in the soft skin of your thighs and the way you felt under material that had softened from years of wear and wash. She couldn’t help but think of how your bare skin would feel under her own hands.

Your own arms snaked their way to her face as you cupped the sides with both hands. Your lips continued to move in tandem with her own letting soft whimpers escape here and there. Her hands grabbed the hem of your dress and slowly made her way up to removing the garment. You whined when she separated the kiss to completely remove the dress. “Are you still okay, little doe?” You answered with a small yes and moved to undo the buttons behind her own dress. Once the buttons were undone enough to slide her dress down you moved the sleeves down her muscular arms. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of looking how small your body was compared to hers. How soft and unblemished your skin was. All she wanted was to kiss every soft inch. Even the one side of your neck that she fed from ceased a single indent. She always made sure to feed carefully as to not rise suspicions.

She pulled you back into her slightly laying over you and began to kiss you once more as her hands roamed to your chest. She wrapped her hand around to undo your bra carefully to free your soft tissue from their confines. She separated once more to look at all of you that was exposed. The gods certainly took their time in creating such a spectacular woman she had thought. Her whole hand moved down to palm your breast lightly. She could feel the bumps raise and your nipple harder under her touch. You let out a little moan under her touch. She could spend eternity doing anything to hear your little sounds. Little sounds only she could make you release. She looked into your eyes creating the distraction for her hand to move to your underwear. You stared deep into her golden orbs never breaking as she sought out your core with her finger. Your breath hitched when you felt her slide down your soft folds and move back up to your clit. You were warm and wet and all for her. Alcina’s sweet little doe. She pressed a small peck to your lips then moved her mouth down to your breast that her hand had just been. She began to suck as she teased the entrance to your tight hole. She relished in the feeling of your most intimate parts and the sounds she could draw out from your delicious mouth. You were arching your back into her wanting nothing more than to be so close to her.

Your hands gripped anywhere the could. Her arms, shoulders, neck, hair. Everything she was doing made your brain go crazy. You did everything you could to find where your hands fit best. Her soft tongue swirled around your nipple while the tip of her finger pressed deeper into you. She was losing patience in having more of you and it was taking everything in her body not to devour before she was content you felt as good as she did all those times she tasted your blood. But damn did she want all of it. He finger pressed deeper until she was down to her knuckle. Your soft panting didn’t give any indication that you were in pain. She started to move her finger in and out at a slow pace to get your body use to the intrusion. Your panting grew louder and so did your moans. You wish you could feel this way everyday from this moment on. So cared for, so deeply wanted. Alcina kissed her way up from your breast to your neck. Leaving light nips and soft kisses near where she could feel your pulse quicken. He finger moved faster inside of you, pressing at your soft walls until she found that spongey spot that would surely get more sounds out. She had to take her time though.

‘Ohs’ and ‘ahs’ were all you could really get out along with all of your sickeningly sweet moans. Alcina never expressed out loud but she wanted you to say her name. Moan her name out from your lips, cry to the gods or whoever would listen that she could make you feel bliss like you’ve never felt before. No one ever got this much want out of her. She never wanted anyone the way she wants you right now. The way she’s been wanting you since you came to the castle. Her little doe unraveling under her half naked body. You were finding it harder to contain any noises and began to moan louder the faster her finger moved. All of a sudden curled her fingers, hitting that one spot. “My Lady!” It made Alcina hummm. “Tell me little doe, do you know my true name?” It took every fiber of your being to come up with an answer for your Lady. “N-no my Lady. T-the maids, they d-don’t talk.”

It was amazing you could come up with that through your haze. The Lady was sucking on your neck while she curled her finger more to get you to come undone the way she wanted. “It’s Alcina little one. I want to hear my name fall from your lips.” The knot in your stomach grew. You were getting very close from her sinful fingers buried inside your tight hole. Alcina could feel your Wales tightening around her. As she felt you get closer she bit down on your neck to drink from you the way she had truly craved. The knot broke and you came hard on her fingers, screaming her name to the high heavens. She continued to feed through your orgasm and once she felt your walls stop pulsing she lid her finger out and detached away from your neck.

You were sweating at this point. Utterly spent wrapped up with your Lady holding you tight. She wiped the little droplets that formed on your neck and pulled you onto her as close as she could get you. Your head rested there on her chest still panting. She would go to the farthest parts of the world for you. Hopefully she would have all of the time to prove it to you now.

“I could drink a case of you.” She whispered into your hair before placing a kiss to your crown. You mumbled a little getting more comfortable and sinking into Alcina’s chest.

Sleep began to take over you. “I would still be on my feet.” Was the last thing you said before slumbering in your Lady’s arms.

🩸🩸

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina x maiden #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x maiden #alcina fic #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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crash-cinematic-universe · 4 years ago

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tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

warnings: language! but that’s about it. kind of cheesy at some points but yknow what im not lactose intolerant

notes: this is the monsterous fic thats been kicking my ass this past week (6.2k words babey!!!) i was originally going to add ~~steamy~~ section to this one but i decided against it to make it readable for those who don’t wanna see that kind of stuff. if you want me to separately publish that then just lmk!! (if any of yall wanna talk about richard siken to me then please do, his work is so good)

taglist: @stranger-names , @gooseyhouse , @parkersdarling

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- no pun intended. His speed is a blessing, but also a bitter curse. He moves at the speed of sound, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the roads; he moves impossibly fast, and no one ever tries to catch up with him. People get tired of Peter rather quickly, not bothering to get attached to him when they know they can’t keep up.

That’s why it’s so jarringly startling when you decide to stick around. When faced with the grand decision of throwing in the towel and leaving Peter behind or sticking around and trying your best, you chose the latter. It was surprising, to say the least. Peter waited patiently for the distance between the two of you to start growing; he waited for the void you once filled to open up again. However, the void never emptied, and the distance never grew.

To anyone else, this would be a wonderful experience. Knowing that you wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten about would be comforting to anyone else in Peter’s position. However, this did the exact opposite for Peter. He wasn’t comforted or relaxed, on the contrary, he was always on edge. The future was cruel, and the mystery of it all felt like torture.

To quote the great Richard Silken, “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Peter lived and breathed by this ideology, that everyone he loves would have to leave eventually, whether it be by their own volition or not. It was obvious that you didn’t plan on abandoning ship anytime soon, so Peter decided he’d take matters into his own hands. If you weren’t going to be the first one to walk away, then he’d be the one to run away from you. He soon came to learn that loneliness was at its most bitter when you’ve come to taste the sweetness of love.

Love was a strange, complicated beast that Peter Maximoff had never dealt with before. If he were to be completely honest, love scared him. It scared him more than dying scared him. To Peter, death was an escape. Death was the end of a tiring journey, it was safe and simple and easy. Love was the opposite, it was the mouth of a dragon and the edge of a blade. It was the beginning to something so fragile and powerful, something that could end in flames.

Peter realized he loved you on a summer afternoon. The sun was shining and you were in the shade. He sat down next to you, and within minutes Kurt and Ororo appeared at your side. They seemed so put together, so sure and strong. Peter felt out of place-- he felt as if he were standing outside of a cabin looking in through the window at your wonderful friendships. He watched with his nose pressed against the glass as you walked across the room and opened the cabin door to let him in.

Peter realized he was in love with you in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm raged outside the mansion walls and raindrops kept time as Peter walked down the hallway. You were sitting on the floor of the common room next to a dying fire, a book clenched tightly in your hands. For a moment, he just stood against a wall and watched you. As creepy as he felt, a part of him believed he’d ruin your night by making himself known. He was okay with being a fly on the wall if it meant he’d get to see you. Peter wondered if there was a world where he had the pleasure of knowing you, without you having the burden of knowing him.

Still, you saw him. And you knew him. And you waved him over with a smile. He felt the urge to run, to leave you here alone with yourself, but he stayed put. Then, one step at a time, he moved forward. He got closer and closer before he found himself standing at your feet.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you told him. He believed it. Peter sat down next to you, letting his shoulder brush against yours.

“What’re you reading?” He asked. Peter already knew what you were reading, he read the cover of the book the moment he sat down, but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Crush by Richard Siken,”

“Oh. What’s it about?” Peter already knew what it was about. He’d read it at least fifty times.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’d much rather just read it to you and let you decide for yourself,” Peter’s stupid little heart lurched, and he almost cried at the thought. He held it together, though.

“That would be nice,” He said softly.

“Sorry about all the writing in the margins, I can’t help myself sometimes.” Peter scanned the sides of the pages, marveling at your notes. Some of them were reactions, littered with exclamation points and question marks and bold letters. Some of them were underlined phrases and little doodles-- most notably a little drawing of a chameleon on a tiger lily. He loved them.

“It’s okay. Literature is meant to be marked up-- what’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?”

“That’s a good point,” You grinned. Then, the reading began, and you allowed Peter to rest his head on your shoulder as you read to him. Even though he’d heard the poems a billion times by now, they sounded brand new coming from you. He listened closely. You were arriving at his favorite part, “You are Jeff” section 24.

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you...” You read on, not noticing the way Peter’s eyes had shifted from the book you were holding to your face. Peter’s mind wanders, and he curses himself for missing the lines you were reading “... You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

Peter felt like he was going to cry. You kept reading and he kept looking. It was getting late, and Peter was getting tired. Your voice had softened and slowed, and the fire that was burning in the fireplace had all but died. Peter was the one that fell asleep first, and you followed closely after. Both of you had lingering smiles on your faces.

Intimacy is an odd thing, isn’t it? Thinking critically, intimacy is just vulnerability with more layers. It’s the closeness between people, it’s allowing yourself to connect with someone you care about. It’s stripping yourself down to muscle and bone and hoping the other person doesn’t let you bleed out. It’s a level of trust that is more than closing your eyes and falling backwards; it’s closing your eyes and letting them push you over the edge into the unknown, and trusting them enough to know you’ll be okay when you hit the ground.

It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he had trouble with being intimate with other people. Too many times had trusted someone to push him over the edge, only to realize he’d be shattered when he hits the ground. After that, he decided intimacy was overrated. It’s not like anyone was going to have that kind of relationship with him, anyway.

Of course, then you came along and uprooted his entire worldview, like you had with everything else. He found himself thinking about you at every waking moment, which inevitably led to him… thinking about you at every waking moment, if you catch my drift. Sure, intimacy involves more than just physical intimacy, but Peter knows he can’t ignore the feeling that rises in his stomach whenever he’s around you. For the first year or so of your relationship, Peter became very familiar with the feeling of an ice-cold shower.

What Peter didn’t take into consideration was you. For some reason, Peter struggled to understand the fact that you were just as attracted to him as he was attracted to you. It was no secret that Peter was insecure, but he never really realized how much his insecurity affected his relationships. If he couldn’t love himself, how could anyone else? Peter is the only one who gets to see his persona in its truest form, and every time he has to avert his eyes. It’s safe to say his physical appearance has been the cause of very many painful-- and occasionally tear-filled-- sleepless nights.

He told you this. He told you everything. He told you about Erik, he told you about his childhood, he told you about everything he loved and hated and feared and yearned for. That ordeal alone was scary enough, knowing that at any moment you could decide you didn’t want to deal with him anymore, but as always, you stuck around. You told him everything. You told him about your family and your struggles. You told him about everything you loved and hated and feared and yearned for, and not once did Peter even think that he wanted to walk away. This is the kind of intimacy that, over the years, Peter had struggled with less and less.

Still, it was the sexual aspect of intimacy that freaked him out. It was a beast he’d never dealt with, a feat he’d never faced. That being said, as every day went by Peter became more and more… frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, so he'd just let the subject approach him and wing it.

And as he sat on his bed watching as you twirled around to Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”, Peter realized he didn’t have much to worry about.

“Dance with me, dollface,” you laughed, reaching out for him. You looked like someone straight out of a movie, the lim blue light coming from Peter’s arcade machines illuminating a halo above your head. You put Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez to shame. Peter took your hand, grinning like an idiot as you twirled him around.

There he was, dancing in his mother’s basement with his favorite person in the entire world. He wasn’t a great dancer, and neither were you, but that didn’t matter. Peter was dreading this visit-- he hated the idea of being back in the basement that made him feel like a failure. But you assured him that you’d be there with him, and that getting to see his family would make it all worth it. His family isn’t what made it worth it, though.

“Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd came next, slower and a bit more somber, but still danceable. Your arms shifted to around his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. Somehow, you ended up with your back against the wall as the song came to a close. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you,” Peter spoke softly. This was a small victory-- he’d been so scared of the mere idea of loving someone. You were the only one who got to hear his love confessions. They were for you, and for you only.

“I love you too,” Peter would never, ever get tired of hearing that. Knowing that you love him is enough to keep him going for a hundred years. And he knows the odds, he knows that love is rocky and painful as much as it is beautiful. He knows that love can feel sweet in the beginning and go sour overtime. He knows that first, second, third relationships don’t always work out. But he thinks this is going to work out. And Peter doesn’t think this will ever go sour. Maybe that’s his blissful ignorance talking, maybe he’s jinxing it, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. Right now he is at his happiest, at his most content.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly, pecking Peter on the cheek. He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, and Peter grinned. In an instant the tv across the room began playing the opening credits to the first movie that popped into his head.

“The Breakfast Club?” You questioned. Peter shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good coming-of-age kind of movie,”

You sat against the headboard of Peter’s bed, allowing Peter to settle beside you. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he was quick to grab your hand. Peter loved the closeness. Over the past year, he’d come to realize he was a very affectionate person. Previously, Peter hadn’t known soft, physical love; the only time anyone would ever touch him would be as punishment or defense, not love. Love. Peter had gotten more comfortable with the idea of love, because when he thinks of love he thinks of you.

Every good story has a villain. A villain that you love to hate, or hate to love. A villain you can sympathize with, a villain you can’t excuse, a villain that the mere mention of makes you sick to your stomach. An unexpected villain. An obvious villain. A villain that’s just trying his goddamn best. Sometimes the villain is defeated, sometimes the villain changes their evil ways. Sometimes the villain dies and the crowd cheers.

Peter Maximoff never thought he’d be the villain of his own story. He tried his hardest to be a good person, but there was always that side of him that made him afraid. He was like an explosive; whenever someone got too close, he’d detonate and destroy everything around him. It was a self-defense tactic, albeit counterproductive.

It killed you to see him that way. He told you about the relationships he’d lost to himself. He told you about the abandonment and the loneliness. It broke your heart. He tried to distract himself, drowning himself in work so he’d never have the opportunity to ruin what he had with you. Peter Maximoff was a walnut tree; every time he planted his roots and began to grow, he’d kill anything that grew too close. However, the constant working started to wear Peter down.

It started with the late nights. He’d collapse next to you at four AM, knocking out the minute his head hit the pillow. Still, he’d be awake before you were, already scrambling around trying to complete various tasks. He was like a machine that was running from it’s problems. The late nights turned to all-nighters, and the few hours Peter managed to salvage set aside for sleep had shrunk to a few minutes at a time. He didn’t eat anything with even a hint of nutritional value. At this rate, he was going to work himself to death.

The worst part? Peter knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to shut up the little voice in his head that urged him to act out. The entirety of his childhood, Peter destroyed what he created. The need to be isolated, the feeling that he deserves to be alone spread throughout his body like a cancer. He locked himself away in the basement, trying desperately to stay out of everyone’s way so they wouldn’t shut him out. People tried to coerce him out of his cave, to pull him out of the bottomless pit he threw himself into. Peter saw them as the sirens trying to lure him into the ocean of loneliness, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. In his eyes, anyone who tried to help him were the villains of his amazing, heroic tale. Fortunately for him, one by one, they started to give up on helping him. They thought he was a lost cause; a fucking loser who was destined to wallow in his own self-pity until he died. At first, this was a triumph. He defeated them, he outwitted the sphinx and slayed the dragon. But a part of him hated himself for becoming the worst-case scenario that every parent feared their child would grow up to be.

He pulled himself out of his pit and back onto his feet, all by himself. It was hell on Earth, but he did it. That cancerous feeling of uselessness retracted back into itself, now residing in the place next to Peter’s heart. However, that horrifying fear of becoming a burden began to grow again, this time when Peter was in his mid-20s. He began to overcompensate, and that led him to where he was; always on the brink of collapse, running on nothing but coffee and twenty minutes of sleep. In return, Peter got to have friends. In his mind, that was fair. In your mind? Not even close.

You managed to catch him in his bedroom as he was in the midst of simultaneously scribbling in a notebook and reading an open novel. Peter Maximoff would always be the most beautiful person in the world in your eyes, but at that moment, he looked like hell. Your plan seemed foolproof, but then again, you weren’t sure what you were walking into. Lately, Peter didn’t seem like himself. Probably because of the lack of sleep.

“Peter?” He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded. “I got you something.”

“You did?” A sleepy smile was all he could muster, but that was google enough for you.��

“I did. It’s to mark exactly three years since I first met you,” you sat down on his bed, placing the small wrapped book right next to you. Peter glanced at the calendar on the wall-- oh god, you were right. It’s been three years to the day and he forgot. He deserves the title of “World’s Worst Boyfriend”. Scott will probably be upset that he’s losing his title.

“What’re you up to?”

“Finishing up some old work I’ve been putting off,” he punctuated his sentence with a yawn. “Some of my old work and some of Hank’s, too.” “Why are you doing Hank’s work?”

“He seemed stressed about something, thought I might help clear his head,” The sentiment is sweet, you’ll give him that.

“Alright, well, can we talk for a minute?” Alarm bells went off in Peter’s brain. There has never, in the history of the universe, been a good conversation that started with ‘can we talk for a minute?’ or any of it’s cruel variants.

“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now, can this wait?” It was obvious that the answer to that was no, but still, he felt the need to ask.

“Not really, no. It’s important.” Peter saw the next few seconds playing out in his head. The inevitable had come to fruition; you realized that you could do better, and now you were cutting him loose. He couldn’t blame you, not really, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to rip him to shreds. He realized that whatever you brought for him was most likely a parting gift. How sweet.

“Oh. Alright.”

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight,” you sighed. “I’m worried about you, Peter.”

Oh. He’s heard this speech before, he knows the spiel. He can vaguely recall a guidance counselor telling him the exact same thing before Peter decided to call him a slew of expletives. The tar pit in his chest began to grow.

“I’m fine.” This was a lie. The first lie in a long chain of lies that Peter was about to tell to you, his favorite person in the world. He loved you, but in that moment his vision clouded over. You weren’t the person he loved and cherished anymore, no, you were just another faceless blur that provided a temporary escape.

“Really? I feel like you’re pushing everyone away, you’re pushing me away.” Peter was becoming more and more irritated by the second.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m not pushing you away.

“Don’t lie to me,” your voice is firm and unwavering. “You don’t sleep, you almost never eat-- I don’t think I’ve seen you stand still for more than three minutes once in the past month--”

“That’s just how I am,” Peter huffs. He wanted this conversation to be over. “That’s not your problem.”

“Your wellbeing is my problem, Peter, that’s the whole point of being friends with someone. Even more so now, because you’re my partner and I care about you--”

“Then stop,” Peter rolled his eyes. He's more irritable than normal-- most likely because he hasn’t slept in days. He could almost feel the venomous arms of isolation creeping around him. It’s a sick pattern, he knows; every time someone gets close to him, he feels the need to self-destruct before they lose interest. Even now, even after all this time, Peter’s still powerless against the poison in his veins.

“What?” You’re losing your reserve and your stature. He can tell. You’re slouching and picking at the cuticles on your thumb. It’s almost as if he’s been shoved into the back seat, and is now being forced to watch as a stranger takes the wheel and crashes the car. So much frustration, so much hurt, and it’s all coming out right now, onto you. Peter already regrets this entire interaction, but still, he manages to spit acid.

“Stop caring. Just leave, I know you want to. I know every night, you lie awake and think about all the different ways you can leave me in the dust. Not that it would matter to me.” This is another lie. Your eyes flash with hurt, but you stay put. You know he’s just being an asshole because he’s exhausted and too stubborn to admit that you’re right. He’s egging you on intentionally, trying to get you to snap and walk away.

“Peter, god, I love you but sometimes you can be so...”

“So what? C’mon, be honest with me,” He huffed.

“Frustrating,” You surrendered. The poise you once held was gone. “I know it isn’t your fault-- I know you’ve trusted so many people so deeply and been betrayed or sold out and I know you’ve loved so many times and been thrown to the curb without a second thought. But I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m here for you, and that I love you. I’ve tried everything, and it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. I want to make this work, but I need you to work with me.” It’s evident in your voice that you’re desperate. You’re just hoping you’ll get through to him, somehow. “I need you to want it as bad as I do-- hell, I need you to want it at all.” Here it comes--

“You ever think, maybe, I just don’t want you to be that person for me? I’ve spent my life being independent, my entire existence so far has been built around the fact that I’m going to end up alone. People come and people go-- people like you and Charles-- and they tell me they care. They tell me that they love me and that they're here for me. And then they get tired of me and they leave. I wish that you would just leave me the fuck alone and let me live in solitude,” There it was. The lie to end all lies. The words tasted awful coming out of his mouth, and the whole ordeal left his mouth tasting very… sour. Peter had to look away, he couldn’t look at the expression on your face.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” Your eyes never met his, but you paused before you exited the room. “I know you’re probably just… I don’t know, going through something, but you’re being an asshole. Don’t talk to me until you’ve sorted your shit out. Enjoy your solitude.” You left the room impossibly fast, your fists clenched so tightly Peter feared that your nails would break the skin on your palms. He struggled to keep it together-- why the fuck did he do that?

Peter collapsed onto his bed, and it’s only then that he realized you left behind the gift you got him. A part of him thought he should return it to you, but the other part of him urged for it to be opened. He tore the wrapping paper off before he realized what he was doing. The hardcover book the wrapping paper concealed was handbound, the cover littered with your beautifully familiar handwriting. In big, bold letters The Best of Poetry in the Humble Opinion of Y/n L/n was scrawled at the top.

Peter vividly remembers a late night you spent talking to him. You told him about your favorite poems, outlining each and every little detail you loved about them. Some of them he’d read already, some of them he hadn’t, but all of them sounded like artwork coming from you. He opened the front cover, and you’d written something else on the inside.

“In the words of the wonderful Peter Maximoff, ‘What’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?’. This is me, sharing the love.”

Carefully, Peter opened to a random page in the book. He saw the notes in the margins and the doodles and the exclamation points and before he knew it Peter was on the verge of tears. He was barely containing himself, and then he read a specific annotation you made.

He had opened to the first page of “The Worm King’s Lullaby”, one of your all-time favorites. A specific line was underlined, one that Peter was all too familiar with: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Beside it, you wrote:

“As much of a genius Mr. Siken is, I have to disagree with this. If you love someone enough, you’ll never leave them and they’ll never leave you. Even if they die, even if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a little part of them to carry with you. Carry this part of me with you, Peter. Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.”

That was it. The floodgates broke. Everything that Peter had held back came pouring out-- the past 10 minutes finally caught up with him, and they hit him like a bus. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, his knees pulled up to his chest so tightly he thought his legs would snap. Peter wanted to rip all his hair out or punch a hole in the wall or hold his head underwater until he was nothing but an obituary and a headstone. His chest burned and the pit of despair inside his chest had overtaken his system, and he hated himself with a burning passion. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that?

Peter Maximoff had his breakdown in solitude, revealing in the fact that he was, undeniably, the villain of his own life.

As it turns out, ‘getting his shit together’ is much harder than Peter originally anticipated. He's trying, he really is, but it's hard. Especially without you there. Peter knows that he fucked up, and he knows that he needs to work for your forgiveness. And don’t worry, he’s going to work for it.

It had only been a week, but the entire mansion could tell that something was off. Life just wasn’t the same without the randomized gusts of wind that would knock people off their feet; no one had been seriously injured or had something stolen from them. The whirlwind that was mansion life, while still chaotic, lost it’s fun.

Charles tried to keep things running smoothly, but he was an old man and didn’t exactly understand you and Peter. People would knock on your door every now and then, but you didn’t answer. You were much too busy analyzing exactly how much of a bitch you were being-- realistically, the answer is 0%, but you didn’t see it that way. No, from your perspective, you saw Peter having a mental breakdown and you ditched him. Pretty shitty move.

What you didn’t realize was that Peter was doing the exact same thing, however, the blame falls mostly on his shoulders, and boy does he know it. He’s been scripting his grand apology, trying desperately to find the right words to express exactly how sorry he is. Peter was never very good with words-- it’s always too hard to know if you’re going to say the wrong thing and mess everything up. Although, it’s hard to see how the scenario could get any worse.

He made the executive decision to start with “I’m sorry”-- a solid start to any apology. Sure, he could stop there, but Peter realized that he’d probably need more to win back his partner. So, he managed to scribble down a few more lines on a tiny notecard he was supposed to use for studying. Oh, what a wondrous redemption arc this would be; Peter gets into a fight with his wonderful partner and ruins their relationship and then struggles to come up with a coherent apology.

“I’m sorry about what I said, that was shitty. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. God, he was going to die alone, wasn’t he? Maybe this is the cruel punishment the world is dealing to him, the universe is deciding that Peter’s redemption arc would be better if it, well, didn’t exist. Even so, he isn’t planning on giving up or giving in just yet.

He scrapped what he had so far and started at the beginning once again. His 9th grade english teacher would tell him to write about what he knows, and though he doesn’t know much, he’s an expert when it comes to himself. Peter knows how he feels about you, he knows how sorry he is, and he knows that he really, really, really wants you to know that he didn’t mean a word he said about not wanting you. Peter knows about love, at least a little bit, and he realizes he’ll need more than just words.

His mind drifts to that night, years ago, in front of the fireplace. He vividly remembers a tiger lily and a chameleon scribbled in the margins of your book. Realistically, Peter couldn’t get his hands on a chameleon, but a tiger lily was a different story. In high school, Peter took a botany course because he thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t, it was boring as all hell, but it seems like his slacking paid off. He knew tiger lilies were indigenous to Asia, but they’d become quite common along New England-area roadways.

Peter grabbed his jacket and took off, tearing through the roads like his life depended on it. In less than 10 minutes, Peter found himself in the middle of New Hampshire drenched in rain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve checked the weather before leaving. Nevertheless, he takes off into the small wooded area that laid passed the road’s end. Dozens of mushrooms dotted the muddy ground and mossy rocks clouded his peripheral vision. The rain begins to lighten as he spots a bright orange tiger lily peeking through the remains of a tree stump. He sprints over to it.

The tiger lily is bloomed and beautiful and Peter can’t tear his eyes away from the wide array of speckles and splotches and color. It’s pristine, but some of the petals are torn or wilting. The roots stretch into the stump below it, and Peter leans closer. The stump is old and worn, fungi and bugs eat away at the base next to a large hole where a family of worms reside. The stump is ugly, sure, but it’s useful. It helps keep the bugs fed and keeps the worms warm. There’s a metaphor here somewhere, but Peter is too distracted to find it.

He gently picks the flower and spins on his heel, taking off once again. The rain makes it harder to run, but it’ll take a lot more than water to stop Peter. By the time Peter gets back to Xavier’s the flower is a little crushed, but it’s still somewhat pristine.

He has the flower, he has the apology, and now all he needs is courage. Thankfully, that courage comes quickly as he instinctively knocks on your bedroom door. He probably should’ve stopped to collect himself, but he was riding a wave of adrenaline that wouldn’t come back.

“Go away, Jean,” You called from inside. You sounded tired, and it made Peter sad.

“It’s-- uh-- it’s not Jean,” Peter can hear your hesitant footsteps approaching the door, and suddenly the courage he managed to build up drained. His hands are shaking by the time you open the door. You look up at him, and Peter looks back at you, and suddenly everything is much harder to do. He looks down at his feet.

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, but clear.

“Hi.” Peter’s voice is uneven and quiet. You stand there in silence for a minute before Peter pipes up again.

“So, uh, you’re probably still mad at me and I get that, but I just want you to hear me out. I-If that’s okay,” You nod slowly, and Peter takes a deep breath. He thinks about the written apology that sat in his coat pocket, and he makes the last-minute decision to forget about it. He’ll speak from the heart, or, whatever people in rom-coms do.

“I’m sorry. It was really shitty of me to get angry at you because you were worried about me-- although, I guess shitty is an understatement. Everything that I said about, yknow, not wanting you or Charles or anyone else around anymore wasn’t true. I need you guys, and I love you guys and it was unfair of me to push you away. Solitude really sucks. I guess I’m just not very good at navigating relationships,” He exhales, and his chest shudders. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I just thought I should make it clear how I feel.” It’s only then that he remembers about the tiger lily in his hand. “Oh, and this is for you.”

“A tiger lily?” you smiled softly. “These are my favorite-- how did you know?”

“I’m just observant, I guess. You usually draw them when you’re bored, I figured you’d like to see one in person,” You gently took the tiger lily in your hand. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, and Peter realized that was probably a bad sign. His chest drops just a bit, and he takes a small step backwards.

“I guess I should probably leave you alone--” Peter can’t get very far, because you immediately jump forward and wrap your arms around him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, you can feel Peter’s arms lock around your waist.

“Thank you,” You whispered. “Please don’t go.” Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and a horrible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The close-contact was refreshing; he didn’t realize how much he missed it until that moment. He was pretty sure he would never, ever let you go. Not again.

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- that is, until you came along. You proved to him that he deserved physical affection, that his mutation and his personality and weirdo quirks didn’t make him lesser or unlovable. Peter Maximoff deserved love, and you were the one who never failed to love him.

You sat on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, reading to the group of children sitting at your feet. The emotional lines of “Snow and Dirty Rain” fell from your lips, and with every turning syllable the small group would listen just a little bit closer. Peter did, too, desperately trying to hear every single word you said. Class was almost over, and once the students were dismissed you’d probably stop reading.

“I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is,” Your eyes tore away from the page to look at the kids at your feet. They fell upon Peter, and a smile erupted on your face.

Peter vaguely recalls the twisted idea of love that he held as a teenager. He thought love was a dragon to be defeated, a battle that could be won or lost. It’s clear now that love is the opposite-- it isn’t a fight or a battle or a thing to be conquered. It’s more like a flower; it needs to be cherished and cared for in order to grow. Sometimes the flower wilts and dies, and that’s natural, but sometimes the flower lasts for a lifetime.

Love wasn’t a dragon or a knight, it didn’t have a hero or a villain; it was much more like a tiger lily and a tree stump.

#Evan Peters #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x reader #wandavision #xmen fanfiction #xmen

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tales-unique · 4 years ago

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FAITH, LOST IV

Oh honey she starts off so spicy! Hence why it's all under a Read More since I don't wanna get done for showing the nasty straight out the gate. Minors better beware! ;3

Tagging the boos, for obvs reasons @chelseareferenced @buckysbaby1 hope you all like it! 😘😘

Chapter 4

It begins as soon as your eyes flutter open. The darkness, familiar, like an old friend, coerces your senses into a heightened state. Exposed, your skin prickles at the coolness of the room, writhing against soft sheets. You exhale in exhilaration; you know what’s to come. It starts small, a low thrum of electricity in the air that tickles your bare flesh. Then it builds, tantalizingly slow, a measured surge of power that has you twisting yourself in knots. You want more. Only He can give you more. His arrival is heralded by the scent of oil and whiskey, leather and smoke. It caresses you, embraces you, and sends you into overdrive. It’s instinctual, a primal desire. It corrupts your mind, the sequence disjointing in its take over. Thick boots echo on a wooden floor, your mouth falling open with a heated breath. Your back arches when you feel his weight dip the bed, heat radiating from him. The contrast has you trembling, body wired. His hands, strong and calloused, grip the backs of your thighs easily. A simple tug and you’re at his mercy, legs parting easily in his strong grip. You moan, he growls. He likes what he can see, those beast eyes glowing a dangerous red in the blackness. Sharp indents form against delicate skin, his claws marking your inner thighs. His little lamb, so sweet and so ready for the slaughter. Then there’s movement, the shuffle of fabric, the chink of a belt buckle. You tense, but you’re ready. The air surges with the oncoming crescendo, the room spinning, or maybe it’s you? You’re not sure, preoccupied with the molten heat that pools suddenly between your legs. You feel his grin, all teeth and tongue helping to blot out the sharp stab of pain. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned—

The sudden chaos of a burst steam pipe in the hallway outside your room abruptly shocks you from your slumber, a cacophony of sounds assaulting your sleep-hazed senses. You hear Heisenberg shouting, the scraping of metal being reshaped at will, the harsh hissing of escaping steam. Groaning at the rude awakening you flop back against the lumpy couch cushions, kicking off your blanket in protest. A light sheen of sweat covers your body, making your nightclothes stick to you in an uncomfortable way. As you stare up at the ceiling you try to decode the meaning behind your dream. You recall with an embarrassing amount of clarity just what it was you were doing and who you were enjoying it with. Humiliation blooms within you, coloring your cheeks a shade of scarlet. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t indulged in the past, you just never had desires so blatant before. Especially for someone who was your superior in every way. “Hey, you awake in there?” Heisenberg’s voice cuts your thoughts short. All the racket has stopped, there’s just the usual hum of the Factory. “Y-yes!” You squeak, stomach clenching uncharacteristically as you sit up, “I’m awake!” “Well get your ass up, we have work to do!” He claps his hands hard to exaggerate his point and you lament your new found torture as his footfalls recede down the corridor. Oh merciful Mother Miranda how were you supposed to face him anymore?

Heisenberg is, for lack of a better word, pissed. It surges through him and it shows in the haphazard, volatile approach he takes with his work. It isn’t rational, this level of response on his part, but he can’t help it. You’ve barely spoken a full sentence to him all day. Now, he’s under no illusions that you were going to become the best of friends. After all, you had been sent to him by Mother Bitch herself to be his servant and he knew that you were three sheets to the wind over this religious bullshit, but he’d thought that you’d been showing progress in becoming your own person. At least, you were , until that little incident where he had you pinned against his desk and decided to take his teasing to the next level. It isn’t often that Heisenberg considers that he may have gone too far with something, or someone , but he’s definitely considering the possibility now that you seem to be avoiding him wherever possible. You’d even brushed off his blatant last ditch attempt, an offer to accompany him to see his forge and the projects he’d been working on, in favour of praying to Mother Miranda. It’s the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. You’d been so close to opening up, to no longer being a tool, but instead you’re become even more the meek little lamb of Miranda’s flock. Frustration bubbles within and his temper, short-fused as it already is, takes a critical hit. As a result everything he does has a sharp, volatile edge to it; even something as simple as opening a door is menacing in his current state. It serves to further deter you from him, giving you the space you so desperately desired. That is, until Heisenberg reaches his limit. “Just open up already! You can’t ignore me forever!” He thunders where he stands in the hallway, gritting his teeth in a vicious snarl. When he’s met with your persistent silence he howls in frustration, throwing his arms up in the air. The irony of him choosing to remain outside your door doesn’t go amiss, since it’s well known that he could easily rip the door from its hinges with the flick of his hand because of his nifty little ability to manipulate metal. Which, coincidentally, nearly everything in this Factory is made of in some form or another. But he doesn’t and you’re thankful for that, even if you still don’t want to face him. It continues on relentlessly, neither side backing down, and without realizing it, the whole thing becomes a game in its own right. One that pits you against one another to see who cracks first. So it’s a surprise when it’s Heisenberg that seeks you out first. It’s a situation of his own making, having followed you on the gritty live feed from his security cameras. With ease he catches you off guard on your way out of the elevator, taking your fright in his stride. “Easy now!” He exclaims, his hands raised in surrender. You’re cagey, looking for a way out. He isn’t going to give you one because he’s had about enough of you giving him the cold shoulder over a goddamn joke . You’ve pressed yourself tight against the wall, watching him like a hawk. He can hear the frantic flutter of your heart, the sharp intakes of breath, and his jaw tightens. He can’t get distracted now, he needs to focus — this was not the time to enjoy your distress. “Now I know that I can be a bit of a handful,” he starts, then falters, mouth working to try and word it just right, “but, really, hasn’t this gone on long enough? I didn’t mean any harm by it! Just a little teasing, you weren’t meant to get upset.” Oh, he thinks this is because of that time. You stare up at him in utter disbelief. You want to slap him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt the innate burning desire to inflict bodily harm on anyone, but here you stand, about ready to knock those glasses right off his face. “You have literally no idea how you make me feel , do you?” You accuse him, incredulous, your posture straightening. Things might have slipped back to the way they were before all of this if he had just let you be, allowed you to warm back up to him, and maybe you might have been content with that. This was a turmoil of his own creation, after all, so why not let him stew in it a while. But now? Now you were at your limit. You’re tired of constantly tip-toeing around yourself because of him and his stupid games. If anything, you’re even more tentative to rekindle whatever this relationship is that you have with him, to throw in the towel and tell Mother Miranda she’d been wrong about you. It made you sour to think that what little progress you had made had been lost and it’s taken its toll on you. There’s a harsh look to you that has Heisenberg’s head spinning, apprehension gripping him. “H-Hold on a minute,” he attempts to defend himself, an uncomfortable blend of emotions sitting like a stone in his stomach. He’s conflicted over your new found confidence. You’re no longer the mild-mannered devotee that was wound around Mother Miranda’s finger, standing tall. You’re practically shining. It’s a good look on you, but he’s not exactly thrilled to be the one on the receiving end. “No!” You snap, squaring up to him. You see his brilliant eyes widen behind his circular glasses and for once in your life you feel powerful and in control . “I’ve done nothing but try my best here, trying to make something good out of this situation and you made me feel like a complete idiot !” The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you feel lighter now that they’re out in the open. Who knew that having your shame out in the open could feel so liberating. You take a deep breath when you feel the pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, trying to ground yourself. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him. Not in this lifetime, or the next. Heisenberg stares down at you with a look of realization on his face, now fully aware that there was more to this than your feelings of inadequacy, that you were little more than a joke to him. It’s always been there, in the way your heart races when he gets just that little bit too close or how your eyes soften when he’s agonizing over his work. He goes to speak this revelation but you shake your head, lower lip trembling. “I was just trying to help .” The way your voice breaks has him in a tailspin, the look of pure anguish in your eyes cutting him deep. This is in no way what he had envisioned when he spotted the chance to clear the air with you. “Oh come on, don’t cry!” It’s a desperate plea, something you never thought you would hear from him. “You’re making me feel really shitty here!” “That’s because you are!” You sob, unable to hold it back anymore. You feel like such a pathetic idiot. That overwhelming monster of self-degradation looms, fueling your misery. If only a dark abyss could just swallow you up and save you from this embarrassment, but you know that’s not going to happen. There’s only this awkward moment, lingering between you. You whimper, trying desperately to wipe away your tears. They stream down your cheeks, burning against your already flushed skin as you sniffle. Suddenly his hands are encasing your own in a firm grip. With a surprisingly gentle touch he tugs them down, exposing you. The whites of your eyes are marred with tiny lines of red and your long lashes clump together from your tears. You’re a mess, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he finds you oddly endearing in the moment. Swallowing, you try to understand what’s going on. Your hands are still held in his, the feel of soft leather almost comforting against your skin, and you wonder if you’re dreaming again. Something stirs in you, glowing embers kicking up from ashes, and you try to pull away. It’s an admirable attempt but Heisenberg easily catches you, holding you in a vice-like grip against him. You whine at the harshness of his grasp and he frowns, loosening his hold just enough to make it bearable. “I’m sorry, alright?” He mumbles, hesitating. It’s been so long, too long, since he’s been in such close proximity to someone who wasn’t prey. You aren’t fighting him, you aren’t trying your damnedest to get away. In fact, you look as though you’re captivated by him. It’s a side of him that no one has ever seen before, the dejection of a man twisted into being a monster. Something inside you breaks anew at how lost he looks, the last and most dangerous of the Lords at Mother Miranda’s disposal. He’s nothing more than a dog on a choke chain, to be used when it’s suited and then discarded afterwards. Just like you. “Heisenberg,” your voice is hushed, woeful. The words are so genuine and your heart isn’t yet made of stone to be immune to their plight. When you shift in his grasp there’s no resistance and you reach up to gently cup his cheeks in your hands. The stubble on his face tickles your palms and his skin is warm and smooth to the touch. You find you quite like it, the contrast of textures. He does little in the way to stop you. In fact, he encourages you. His hands find purchase on your hips, thumbs brushing the delicate spots just below your rib cage. It elicits a soft gasp from you, your body stiffening beneath him. Glistening eyes stare up at him, a swirling maelstrom threatening to drown him along with you. He’s curious whether or not you’re ready to commit to this. Heisenberg knows what you want, or better yet, what your body wants, but your mind eludes him. He waits with bated breath to see what path you will take, the uncomfortable feeling of anxiety creeping in his bones. It’s like poison, a crawling taint that threatens to take over him. What have you done to him? The exact same thing he did to you. It’s a disquieting notion, one that almost overtakes him, until it doesn’t. The doubts are suddenly banished and relief washes over him at the feel of your silken lips against his in a tender kiss. The chain breaks; you're both suddenly free, and it feels euphoric .

#RE #RE8 #RE 8 #Resident Evil #Resident Evil 8 #Resident Evil 8 Village #RE Imagine #RE Imagines #RE8 Imagine #RE8 Imagines #Resident Evil Imagine #Resident Evil Imagines #Karl Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg Imagine #Karl Heisenberg Imagines #Karl Heisenberg x Reader #Heisenberg Imagine #Heinsenberg Imagines #Heisenberg x Reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

By the king’s hand 🐍 XII

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence, trauma, allusions to torture.

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

Summary: You return to the capital but much has changed.

Note: Another chapter?! What!!!!! It took me a little to decide on how it was all going to unfold but I’ve figured it out and personally I think it’s just getting more and more intriguing.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You spent another day at Alfre castle. Loki left you to the chamber glowing with the constant spark of the fire and you were thankful for the space. Hal brought your meals and sat with you as you opened the shutters to look out onto the snowy yards for a time. When the chamber grew brisk, you closed them again and sat beneath a fur by the hearth.

It all felt surreal; like a dream. When you slept, you woke with a start, convinced you were still in the cart rocking between the slosh of barreled ale. As consciousness struck, you reached to your stomach and another shock came. There really was a life inside of you. You still weren’t certain how to feel about it.

On the third day, Loki roused you in the lowlight of the early dawn. He dressed without Hal and rubbed his eyes as he yawned. He had been busy, at what you did not know, or dare ask after. He pulled on an ermine trimmed cloak and handed you a lined cape of your own.

“Are we leaving?” You asked quietly as he hovered by the fireplace.

“We must,” he replied as he leaned on the mantle and watched the flames flicker to embers. “It is a long journey and I’ve much to do.”

You hadn’t talked much in the past days. It wasn’t that you and the king had ever had very much to speak on but there was a shift. It made you uneasy; afraid.

“Ask me.” He said as he turned to you.

“What?”

“I see it on your face, mouse,” he smoothed a fold in his cloak. “So ask me what it is that makes you quiet.”

“I’ve always been quiet.” You argued.

“Ah, but you’ve ever been obliged to counter my every word,” he went to the table and took the sewn hide gloves. “So speak to me.”

“Th-- Your brother. If he knows I am found, how is he still confident?” You wondered. “Does he truly think I would not tell what he did?”

“You underestimate my brother’s arrogance,” Loki chuckled. “And he believes he is unscathed because I’ve assured him he is. Before I sent him off after his accomplice, whom I knew he would not return with, I assured him it was the guard alone who had plotted against me.” He pulled on the gloves. “I saw the glimmer in his eye. I heard the guilt in his voice as he asked again after you. I told him you were too addled to recall what happened to you.”

“And he doesn’t suspect your deception?”

“My brother is not so clever as that. It is the very reason he gave up the crown.” Loki neared and braced your shoulder, “Up, mouse.” You stood and he swept the cape around you and tied it at your throat. “Say what you will of my father, gods rest him, he was a smart man, a wiser king. Thor inherited his brutishness but not his wit.” Loki stood back and his eyes flicked up and down you, “It is the only thing I would thank him for. And my mother of course. She was too intelligent for any of us.”

He spun away and paced around the small table. He turned back as it stood between you. “You’re quiet again.”

You stared at him. Loki rarely spoke his mind, his intent, his tricks so plainly. You were waiting; waiting for the cruel king who’d sentenced you to a cell and then his bed. For the man who had dangled you before the beasts who’d done worse.

“When we have returned to the capital, it will be as it was…” It was a question, a statement; you weren’t entirely sure.

He lifted his chin and inhaled deeply. “You are as you were; my bedwarmer.”

You nodded and pulled the cape snug around you. You didn’t expect any different.

“But you carry a royal bastard. I must consider that, too.” He continued. “I suppose, it cannot be entirely the same.”

Silence. Long, tense, hot despite the dying hearth. He looked at you and for a moment, you saw pity in his green eyes.

“Mouse, go on.” He urged. “I am listening and I haven’t time to coax your words so tediously from you.”

“Why not… Send me away. I’ll only grow bigger and when the child has come--”

His face hardened and he gripped the back of a chair. “It is my child. And you remain, as before, mine. You will have your time to convalesce but I see no reason to have you away from me.” He lowered his face, “Unless you do prefer the cell again.”

You swallowed the threat. You knotted your fingers together and nodded. Loki hadn’t changed, only the circumstance. A different sort of cruelty than his brother, but cruel nonetheless.

“Should we go, then, your majesty?” You swayed on your legs anxiously.

He looked up and pushed himself straight. “Let’s,” he waved you across the room, “When we are returned to the palace, Birger will need to look you over and we have delayed for long enough.”

He opened the door and waited for you to near. As you came to the door, his hand settled on the small of your back. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “That child means there is a part of me in you. A piece of my life. A king’s life is sacred; to threaten even a drop of his blood is treason. You mightn’t care for yourself but you will see my child safe.”

You turned to look at him and his gaze pierced you to your core. You pursed your lips and nodded. He nudged you through the door and caught your arm before you could go far. He took your hand as he guided you down the spiral stairs.

“Be cautious,” he said, “These steps are treacherous.”

You let him see you through the descent as your blood grew cold. You watched the dark ends of his hair mingle with the pale fur of his collar. A shiver crawled over your flesh and you blinked away tears. Had you been stupid enough to think he cared for you? No, it was only what you could do for him; what you could give him.

🐍

You were ushered into a carriage, this one unlike the frigid cart with its stout kegs. There were cushioned benches and fur blankets awaiting you. You suspected, however, that if it wasn’t for your condition, your transport would not be so generous. Hal sat across from you as you broke your fast on nuts and oaty bread. The boy’s task was to make sure you ate and rested upon the journey. Well, there wasn’t much else to do or that you wanted to do.

He was quiet as he opened a book and read and you peeked out around the curtains, the hooves of horses trod through the snow noisily, and the voices of your escort rose now and again. You hugged a fur around you leaned against the wall of the carriage.

You peeked over at the boy. What was it to be a man? To be a noble? He might be Loki’s attendant but he had more freedom than you could dream of.

“What is it you read?” You asked curiously, bored of the grinding turn of wheels and powder of snow without.

“A Reflection on Knighthood and Gallantry,” he closed the book and smiled up at you. “The king bids it.”

“The king tells you what to read?” You wondered.

His smile grew brighter and his cheeks coloured. “He does now that he has named me his squire.” He declared. “This book is a guide on how to be a proper knight.”

“And you can learn all that from letters?” You squinted.

“And the king would teach me combat by sword,” he explained, “Train me to fight in his name.”

“Oh,” you cleared your throat, “That is a great honour. Do I call you ‘sir’ now?”

“Not yet,” he chuckled, “My lady--”

“That will never be my title,” you frowned, “I am still just… what I was.”

His smile fell and he watched you. He bent his head and thought before he spoke again. “The king did worry. He is only stubborn about his thoughts. Mostly about his emotions.”

“He cares for me as he does his favourite horse,” you scoffed, “If he could not ride anymore, he would merely find a new steed to carry him.”

“But you carry his child,” Hal countered, “That is a blessing.”

“A curse. A child I will not be allowed to love.” You folded your hands before your stomach. “A child many would hate for its ill-breeding.”

Hal was quiet. He set the book down on the bench and shifted.

“I was with him when you disappeared. He was angry at first. That is often his first reaction. He thought you had run from him after how you’d been arguing since your illness. Then when his men did not discover you, he was concerned. And he saw the change in his brother and his guard.” The boy lowered his voice, “As I poured him wine, of which he drank much, he confessed he thought you dead.”

“And that thought troubled him?” You challenged.

“I think it did. He did not say it but he did not need to.”

You shook your head and sighed. “He would find another.” You said, “Easily. There are hundreds of peasants on the very streets I came from.”

“Well, he did change in your absence and the shadow has fallen away from him since your return,” Hal said softly, “Even as he readies for his betrothed he does linger with you.”

“Betrothed…” You’d heard the word before, from Thor. You hadn’t bothered to ask, hadn’t been so concerned or brazen. A king would need to marry eventually. You dared to hope it might distract Loki from you. “He is to marry?”

“A young princess from Ervil,” Hal said, “Syndia. She is expected in the spring.”

“So why should he want me back? He will get a proper heir on his bride.” You grumbled.

“Yes, why should he?” Hal grinned.

“Oh, hush,” you scowled, “You are young. The world seems romantic at your age. You will find it is truly tragic.”

The boy was quiet and his expression remained cheerful as he watched you. You tried to ignore him as you hunched in your seat. You pressed your palms to your stomach as it stirred. Were you hungry? Nauseous? It was hard to tell one from another.

“Stop,” you snapped at last as you looked to Hal again. “Don’t look at me thus.”

“My…” He stopped himself from the misplaced title, “I am happy to have you back, even if you will not believe it.” He said and took up his book again. “It was quiet without you.”

🐍

The capital was white with winter. You couldn’t bear to watch the streets pass as you entered the city. You would only be reminded of the life you’d never have again. You were tired and achy from days in the carriage. Sleep came in spurts but when you dozed, you returned to the grasp of your former tormentors. Awake, you never quite shook their hold on you.

You rolled through the gates of the palace and your carriage was directed around the back. You were shown into the royal abode apart from Loki; still a secret kept.

As you were ushered down the corridors by the armored guards, you found it hard to keep your feet moving. You were reminded of Magnus and you had the stabbing urge to flee. The further you got, the more the finality of your sentence returned to you. You hadn’t been rescued, only returned to your former keeper.

You were shown into a chamber apart from the king’s. The change roiled your nerves and made you uneasy as you waited alone in the rooms. Perhaps he might be done with you. Perhaps you might wait out your pregnancy. Perhaps he might be diverted by his pending marriage and new bride. It might not be all as dire as you thought.

You paced as the door opened. Loki entered. It had been hours since your arrival but you hadn’t been able to rest. Every time you sat, you were back up on your feet within minutes. The king barely noticed you as he unbuttoned his deep green jacket and pulled a chair away from the square table for himself. He sat with a long sigh.

“You should not fret so,” he rebuked, “Sit. You will drive both of us mad.”

You stopped but did not sit. You turned to him and your skirts swirled around your legs. They were thicker than those he’d given you before; plainer. Thick wool padded for the winter air. He tilted his head as he took you in.

“My chambers are currently under repair,” he said, “So we will abide these.”

You chewed your lip and picked at the cuff of the gown. He kicked out the other chair and pointed to it.

“Sit,” he ordered, “Before I tie you down.”

You flinched. Your hands trembled and you clutched your wrist as you recalled the shackles around them. You still felt the weight; the skin still raw and tender. You remembered vaguely Hal and the guards struggling to unscrew them. You looked down at your hands and took a step back. You were overcome with a swell of terror.

Your legs crumpled and you curled up on the floor, covering your head as if you would be beaten. You rocked on your side and murmured, though your words did not make any sense, even to you.

You heard the chair, footsteps, and felt a warmth on your arm. You smacked Loki away as he touched you and you felt sobs lodged in your throat as you fought to hold them back. He caught your arm and cooed as he stroked your cheek.

“Mouse, little mouse,” he said calmly, “Shhh, please, stop this.”

He snaked his arm beneath you as he sat on the floor and drew your upper half into his lap. He said your name and his thumbs gently brushed back and forth against your temples. He never used your name. You grabbed his wrist and your eyes rounded as you gaped up at him. You were helpless as your wits scattered around you.

“What’s wrong with me?” You whimpered.

“Nothing at all,” he moved to sit with you between his legs and leaned you against him. He rocked you back and forth as a hand stretched over your stomach and the other rested gently on your chest. “You’re safe.”

“No, no, I’m not. I’m not!” You shook and kicked your legs.

He hushed you again as he continued to lull you. You gripped his leg tightly and he let you. He counted your breath as his fingers tapped lightly on your chest and you calmed after some time.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered. “Mouse, can I move you to the bed?”

You nodded and he carefully stood. He lifted you to your feet and led you with an arm around your back through to the bedchamber. He sat you down on the edge of the mattress and dusted off your skirts.

“You’ve made a mess of this.” He sniffed and sat beside you to loosen the laces of the dress. You winced and he stopped. “I only want to lay you down so you can sleep, mouse.”

You went limp and let him strip away the dress before he laid you across the bed and pushed a pillow under your head. Your thin shift was taut across your swollen breasts and rounding stomach.

“I will call for Birger,” he said as his fingers danced over your middle. He stared down at your stomach and a wrinkle formed between his brows. “Rest.”

He drew the blankets over you and strode away. You heard him curse as he approached the door. You stared up at the bed curtains and curled your fingers into the bedclothes. You closed your eyes as you listened to your errant heartbeat. You felt trapped in your own body, as if it wasn’t your own.

🐍

You recalled the physician beside you. He felt your neck then your stomach. He said some words you couldn’t decipher as the king’s shadow loomed at the foot of the bed. A fire flickered and you fell asleep to the smell of the burning wood and the taste of something pungent.

When you woke, voices drifted in through the open bedchamber door. The king’s, another. You sat up dizzily and strained to hear their words. As they came clearer, you sat back against the headboard and closed your eyes again.

“The lady is here and her child. We did have to take a slow pace due to the babe.” The man said. “We’ve word the prince has barricaded himself at Starseed.”

“Ah,” Loki snickered, “Well, you’ve my maps. You know the tunnels, the passes. You’ve covered them all?”

“Four men to each,” the other confirmed. “The lady does seek an audience.”

“She will have it when I am ready.” Loki countered, “For now, you will keep her and my nephew comfortable.

“Your majesty,” you heard the clink of armor.

“And the baker’s girl?” The king prodded.

“She is in the dungeons, as you ordered,” The man replied.

“Excellent,” Loki slithered. “And she is fit to talk?”

“We await your orders.”

You opened your eyes and slowly turned your legs over the edge of the bed. You stood with the aid of the bedpost and crossed to the open door. You peered through and leaned on the frame.

“Gilla?” You asked.

Loki glanced at you and waved away the armored guard with two fingers. “As you were.” He dismissed him and stood. The man left without ado and the king stood to approach you. “Mouse, you should cover yourself.”

“What did you do to Gilla?” You caught his hands before they could meet your shoulders. “She is in the dungeon?”

“There are many baker’s daughters in this city,” Loki said evenly.

“Then tell me it is not her,” you demanded.

His mouth curved and he dropped his head. “Alright, come. Sit.” He twisted so that he gripped your wrist. “We will talk.”

He pulled you to the chaise and sat. You lowered yourself beside him as he let you go. He leaned back with the heels of his hands on the edge of the cushion and slung one leg over the other.

“It is her. She was… favoured by my brother who is now, by royal mandate, a traitor,” Loki said coolly, “And by association, it is necessary that we hold her until her innocence can be proven.”

You gasped and your lip quivered. “She… your brother…”

“Oh, she went to him all too willingly,” Loki preened, “As she did, upon my first unpleasant meeting with the girl, try to throw herself upon me.” His lip curled. “By his word, she is easily bought with pearls.”

You frowned and bit down. You were sickened by his words but could not disbelieve them. You loved Gilla but she had never been very smart. It was her foolishness which had led you to that point.

“You think she conspired with him to… to do what he did to me?”

“Oh, I cannot declare my brother, a prince, a traitor upon his perversions but I can and I have named him such upon his plot to steal back the crown he proffered.” Loki stated. “A conspiracy which I have evidence of enough to convict him twelve times over.”

“Convict? Traitor?” You tried to clear your mind of the fatigue that lingered. “Gilla wouldn’t… she’s not that--that--”

“She is dull.” Loki snickered, “Even my brother could see that.”

“So why--”

“I need witnesses for the trial.”

“Trial?”

“I cannot simply assert that my brother is a traitor. That could mean civil war. I must prove it, without a doubt, to the people. So I need witnesses against him.” Loki explained.

“And you would coerce Gilla to go along with your evidence?”

“Me? No,” he smirked, “But I think you could convince her to tell the truth to the kingdom. On the gods themselves, to confess the prince’s treachery.”

“I…” you breathed, “But what would happen to her?”

“She would not have acted in my brother’s plot, but you know men do talk carelessly after their pleasure has been taken.” He sat up and looked you in the eye.

“You wouldn’t hurt her?”

“She will be sent away.” Loki resigned. “Far so that none know of her fate.”

“And if I refuse to betray her?”

“Why, she’s already done the same to you,” Loki sneered, “But if you choose to stand on your obstinacy, I will draw the truth from her myself and she will not leave those dungeons whole.”

“You said you have evidence.”

“I do.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you not want vengeance? This is the way.”

“She is my friend.”

“She abandoned you. She left you that night of my coronation and when you did see her again, what did she do but preen in hopes of a jewel or coin?” Loki scowled, “She could not hide from me her envy of you. She coveted all I had given you. She did not care for your suffering.”

“And you?” You scoffed. “You don’t--”

“I never pretended to be your friend. I’ve always been straightforward in our… arrangement.” He shrugged. “You are kept well; you have clothes, food, and place in my bed. And despite your protests, you mewl in pleasure when you are at your duty.”

You stared at him; repulsed, stunned. You crossed your arms over your middle and lowered your head. One moment, he was holding you in his arms and cooing over you, the next he was speaking lecherously of how he delighted in abusing you. Threatening you into manipulating your oldest friend.

But what else could you do?

“Promise, she will be unharmed.”

“On my orders, my men will not so much as look at her.” The king affirmed.

You nodded and raised your head again. “Alright… I’ll talk to her.”

#loki #dark!loki #dark loki #loki x reader #series #fic #by the king's hand #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #thor #dark!thor #au #medieval au #king!loki

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pepperpills · 4 years ago

Text

The Harvest - RE8 Fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Notes: heey guys, thanks everyone who has been reading this series, it was fun writting this story, but as i said a couple of chapters ago, it has come to an end. I am currently writting a new Heis x Reader story, focusing more on wordbuilding and their relationship. I guess The Harvest, as my first try on this, has been a great experience and I hope the next one turns out better. That being said, please enjoy this piece and I will see you all later on a new begginning, thanks!

Warning: NSFW content

Part I - Destiny (1) Part I - Destiny (2) Part II - The Lord Part III - The Hunt Part IV - Soft Torture Part V - Cry Baby

Part VI - The Encounter

It wasn’t a particular sunny day, but the weather was cooler than usual. It was enough for Karl to decide to work outside, once the heat inside the factory was overwhelming his sweaty body. He was shirtless, but still had his hat and spectacles on to protect him from the sun and the light.

Heisenberg was in the middle of something. Ever since you two inaugurated the new wing, he has been working to the bone on a new project. You understood he was trying a new set of armour to make the Soldats tougher. Unfortunately, for you, this was a task you couldn’t help him with. It was still on project, but he was already trying to find the material and that was why he had been searching the factory’s yard all morning, coming and going, absolutely focused.

You were getting bored, though. Once you couldn’t adventure the factory by your own anymore – neither wanted to, having in mind what happened last time –, you chose to sunbath at the yard in the early hours. It was still kind of chilly, because no matter what, the Village was always like that, and you obviously didn’t have any bikinis, once you really didn’t need a set living where you lived. In that manner, you bathed in your panties, wearing no bra.

You gave Karl a major distraction, because of this. First, he was jealous of your boobs exposed like that, but you managed to convince him no one could see you, once the factory was only accessible by the bridge and it was a considerable walk from the allowed parts of the Village. He chilled, but something in his pants was feeling encaged.

Not long after, you got bored. Then an idea crossed your mind causing you to smile. You quickly went to the bedroom to change, grab a few things and then went to the kitchen. Karl had been so long under the sun that he might as well be thirsty. Considering that, you prepared a juice with lots of ice, leaving the building to meet him outside caring a glass of it.

“Hey, Karl.” You called him, his body half inside one of the tanks. “What about a quick break?” You offered, rising the glass once he looked at you.

His countenance showed interest. His mouth was indeed dry, almost causing him chapped lips. Heisenberg walked towards you, the scene glowing in your eyes. The man’s chest was shiny with the sweat. Without his shirt, you had a great view of his body, enjoying the sight of his strong arms. Karl was a Renascence painting for you and the thought of it made you smile, which only invited him nearer.

“Thank you, buttercup.” He said, taking the glass you offered him.

He drank it almost entirely at once, causing some drops to roll down his bearded chin. When he was done, you came closer, resting your hands on his shoulders, not being able to resist a stupid idea that came through your mind. Heisenberg was a bit confused, but accepted your approach, placing his free hand on your hips. Instead of kissing him, you licked his chin, retracing the juice line. He wasn’t expecting it. You finished with a kiss, looking for his tongue, willing to make yours dance with his inside your mouths.

“You’re full of tricks, aren’t you?” Karl laughed when you let his lips go.

“Just some.” You shrugged, smirking back at him. “But I will let you work for now, I know you’re busy.” Now he had a sorrow expression, your kiss had awakened something in him, but you were right, he needed to find at least one metal piece to try on the model.

“It is okay, I will meet you later.” You comforted him, playing with ones of his rebel hair locks.

“I will make it up to you, Y/N.” Karl promised, pressing you harder against his chest, not wanting to let you go.

“No need to, just be there.” You planted a soft kiss on his lips to which he couldn’t help but smile.

“Ok, I will be, kitten.” Heisenberg kissed you once more, eager to taste you, he was intense.

After a couple more kisses, you managed to soften his grip around your hips and he decided that if he could finish the work earlier, it meant more time with you. With that in mind, he returned to the tank. You excused yourself, telling him you were going out to hunt to try the improvements you made on your bow.

You started walking towards the forest behind the factory. As soon as you reached the firsts trees, you noticed a change in the lighting. Clouds were now hiding the sun, bringing in new winds. You puffed, your plans of a cooler hunt probably spoiled because of this change of weather. Neither way, you were already there.

You took your usual path, going down to the stream. Not long after you noticed the absence of Lycans in the surroundings. You use to listen to their roars and sometimes even footsteps, but this time the only sound heard was the birds chanting. An odd atmosphere took over the forest, making you a bit tense.

Maybe they were occupied somewhere else, you thought that they could be on a hunt of their own, chasing a poor villager. This didn’t relax you, though. You kept looking around, searching for Lycans and other animals.

This happened half way to the stream, so fast you weren’t able to process the entire thing. You got distracted with a noise coming from your right, you looked over a fallen trunk, but saw nothing but a mild movement on a bush. It could be the wind, but you wouldn’t take your chances on a silly thought.

The aura was so tense you were about to make up your mind on coming back to the factory, leaving the hunt for another day, scared again of the creatures of the forest. You didn’t have time to decide, though. On your left, a wet thud caused you to jump. Your attention rapidly turned to the source of it.

A body had just fallen from one of the tree’s highest branches. For all you knew, that was a Moroaica, judging by its clothes and grey skin. This wasn’t the work of a Lycan. They would only eat other creatures when they didn’t have a different flesh and, before opting for this alternative, they would feast on the Village’s cattle. This must be something difference.

Only to confirm your suspicions, the culprit land in front of you. It came out of nowhere. Well, from one of the branches above your body. You instinctively screamed, not even noticing it, even though it was pretty loud. This thing wasn’t like anything you have ever seen in your life, but it resembled a lost tale from the cabins.

The story was about a pale creature, one that inhabits the dark, but would go out of its hiding places to hunt when starving. It was described to have sharp fangs for teeth and a blood thirst. On the folk’s tale, the thing wouldn’t have much reason, it would only know two things: the hunger and the instinct of reproduction.

However, this one, standing in front of you, had a human malice written in its red injected eyes, a beauty in its traces. It smirked at your thunderstruck face, feasting on your fear before feasting on your blood. The creature, which resembled a woman, approached your form elegantly, not rushing, having everything under its control.

She extended a hand full of sharp claws to your cheekbone, putting away a hair lock. She dug one claw into your skin, causing the red liquid to flow. Then she licked the blood from her nail, moaning to your sweet taste.

“You are too pretty to spoil.” She made up her mind, giving you a Cheshire cat smile.

The next movement was a blur to your human perception. You believe the thing attacked you, because you remember feeling your back meeting the soil with a thud. She was on top of you, pressing fangs on your neck. You passed out, regaining a faint consciousness some time later when you were being cared on someone’s shoulder when, before passing out again, your sensitive nostrils perceived a scent of oil.

-x-

Karl was worried out of his mind when he found you. He thought he heard your scream, but it was really the Lycan’s roars responding to it that enlightened the situation to him. He had just found the perfect metal piece when it happened, leaving the factory in a rush, panting already, only thinking of bringing his hammer that flew to his hand as he passed through the grid.

He used the Lycan’s flair to find you. No sign of whatever made that to you, it was only your body lying cold on the dead grass. He almost panicked, imagining you were forever lost. The relief the man felt to feel a weak blow of air on his hand when he placed it close to your nose was indescribable.

Heisenberg didn’t think twice before putting you over his shoulder, his hammer being held by his other hand, and take you back to the factory, cursing himself he let your go earlier, thinking he should have joined you or, at least, sent an escort of dogs with you.

You didn’t wake up for a long time. He laid you on his bed, watching as your chest went up and down with your breathing, this being the only thing that calmed his nerves down a little. But not so much later, he had to leave for a while, afraid he would throw everything metallic on the room.

He put on a real tantrum on a room nearby, not knowing the noises came to you on dreams as much as his enraged screams. Karl almost lost it there, turning himself into a beast on the sight of you hurt. Managing to stop only so he could really analyse your situation.

It was bad, but how bad he wasn’t sure. After being somewhat calmer, Karl quickly noticed the marks on your neck. He wasn’t a moron, specially when being “raised” with Alcina, he knew it was a bloodsucker’s doing. However, Lady Dimitrescu would never do such a messy job and it was even less probable that she would adventure herself on his area. No, it had to be a foreign.

Heisenberg would gladly chase this beast, swearing to tear it apart with his own teeth if it pleased him, but he couldn’t just leave you on your own. He sat on a chair beside the bed, holding your hand on his, focusing on the warmth on your skin. He stood like that for ours, after cleaning your wounds, on the verge of tears. At some point, he rested his head on your shoulder, near your soon-to-be new scar.

“C’mon, buttercup, wake up.” Karl whispered in your ear.

His hot breath was gently calling you out of a paralysis state. Your eyes started to open, your lips unglued, but a fever was commanding your body, making you feel restless. Heisenberg noticed your minor movements, his heart beat accelerating at the sight of your awakening.

“Fuck, Y/N!” He cursed, but a smiled formed on his lips. “Fuck, doll, what a scare you gave me!” Karl held your hand tighter.

“Karl…” You started. “I don’t feel so well.” You told him, seeing that perfect smile faint.

“I know.” He agreed. “I guess I know what it is.” An unpleasant expression formed on his brow. “Wait here.”

Karl didn’t wait until you responded, knowing you wouldn’t let him leave the room, but he had to test something and he really believed it would make you feel better. For fucks sake! It was the only way to make you cure. He went down the factory, to a part of it you didn’t yet know, but was going to get used to soon enough. He grabbed a bag of liquid and left, heading to the kitchen.

He poured the liquid in a glass and came back to you. You were now sat, trembling like crazy, wrapped by the blanket, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the cold. Seeing this, he didn’t mind sitting down on the chair again, extending the glass to you.

“Here, drink it.” He told you.

“What is it?” You asked, but the strong scent didn’t leave any doubts, you were just playing dumb.

“I guess you know what it is, Y/N.” Karl raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you hungry?” In response your stomach rumbled, making the man smirk.

“I-I can’t.” You sounded disgusted.

“You have to, kitten. It will make you feel better.” He took your hand on his, passing you the glass and guiding it to your lips.

You opened up just a little, resisting your new instincts, but as soon as the smell got more intense being that close to your nostrils, you gave up and drank it voraciously. The iron flavour making you salivate as the liquid calmed you down, stopping the trembling, washing away your fever, more potent than any medicine. When you emptied the glass, you proceeded to lick every last drop of blood reminiscent.

“That is a wild kitten.” Karl mocked, relieved at your reaction.

“Karl, what happened to me?” You wondered, not sure if he could answer.

Before telling you, he got into bed, taking off the blanket that was hiding your form. His fingers reached your marks, the sore region aching with the contact, causing him to retreat his digits. He sighed.

“You are not human anymore, Y/N.” Heisenberg told you, heavily.

“What?” You voice was a lot lower than your expected. You looked down to your lap.

“You encountered a thing back in the forest, right?” You only nodded. “Well, that thing bit you and… Well, transformed you.” He clarified.

“I feel… Better.” You moved your hands, stretching the fingers. “I mean, it hurts, but somehow I am more disposed.”

“You know…” Karl started, setting himself against the headboard, pulling you to rest in between his legs, your head resting on his chest as he played with your hair. “It isn’t ideal, but at least, now we can be together for a long time.” He kissed the top of your head and glanced down at you, care written all over his grey abysms.

“Forever?” You softly asked.

“Forever, kitten, forever.” Karl answered.

THE END.

#resident evil #re8 #karl heisenberg #re village #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 village #heisenberg #heisendaddy #heisenberg resident evil #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 fanfic #original post #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #fanfic #re fanfic #the harvest

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belit0 · 4 years ago

Note

Okay hear me out something really really and really dark with indra 🤭 Like you “cheating on him” ( Reader didn’t probally just some weirdo mailman arriving at theyre mountain home asking for stuff and the reader lets him and somehow they make it into the bedroom?? 😭) and indra comes in and it just becomes really dark

"something really really and really dark with Indra..."

My brain didn't need much more to create something completely bizarre and sickening.

TW: Non-con, kidnapping, blood, s3x with a dead man lmao.

The night was short, too short for your liking. You always get this feeling when Indra is absent when his presence is so far away he is not even perceptible in the scope of your reach.

If your man is with you, you know when the sun goes down the torture begins. Upon meeting him, you never expected such a handsome countenance could carry so much evil inside. And although he claims to want you, at this point you understand all he wants is absolute possession over you, he is not interested in pursuing your love or seeking your adoration.

But of course, whoever fell into the clutches of such a beast, and to make matters worse, voluntarily as you had done, had no way to escape. Who would dare to face the mighty Otsutsuki? He who would make people run in dismay at the mere sound of his name.

Trapped in the depths of an isolated forest, you had given up any hope of ever walking the earth freely years ago. There was no way to evade the surveillance of your partner, who was everywhere with the secrecy of a feline.

If you had the courage to try to run, to scream for help, what awaited on feeling his hands around your neck was even worse than death. He always got what he desired, and the only thing he had craved was you.

It took several frustrating attempts to free yourself that led you to be brutally clamored by him on the forest floor, while his grip left bruises on any part that had contact with your skin. The scene ended grotesquely, as he carried you back home as if nothing had happened. Your bloody form, with clothes torn off and a few bones, were broken by Indra's violence, lay fainting on his arms, time after time.

Eventually, you understood that there would be no point with such an approach when in your last try it all got too much and he decided to break both of your wrists to make you stop resisting. The recovery was long, and when you were back to normal, you decided to succumb to being used every night rather than savaged that way.

But now, as you sat looking out the window, you thought to yourself. Indra had left on a trip weeks ago, and as usual, it was unclear where he was heading. Escaping would be imprudent, for perhaps it was all a test, a made-up situation to see how you would react to such a prolonged absence.

Forgetting the matter, you got up to the kitchen when a loud noise on the outside caught your attention. Resuming your previous position, you watched as a man with long black hair fell to his knees a few feet from the door, dropping to the ground and barely holding himself up with his hands.

There it is, Indra's damned testing.

Rushing away from the window and leaning your back against the wall, you gasped for breath, trying to calm yourself. As sorry as you were for that human being, you knew that your partner would appear at any second and cruelly end his life. He was simply trying to make you take a false step, tempting your big heart and your ample generosity.

Minutes that felt like an eternity passed, as the pleas for help grew lighter and lighter and the volume diminished.

No one was attacking.

The man continued to kneel, trying to reach the house.

Unable to endure, you decided to betray your preemptive alarms and ran out of the house. This person was severely wounded, unable to move or walk on his own.

A sense of security assaulted you as you helped him in and laid him down on your bed, while you analyzed the wounds and the origin of the blood.

No one was attacking!

It was a tough job to put the man's battered body to rights, but after extensive treatment of his wounds, he was no longer in danger and regained his breath, still lying on Indra's pillow.

And with that, the man grabbed you by the nape of your neck and leaned you over him, causing the lips of the two of you to gently meet. It wasn't like Indra's touches, it wasn't possessive or unwanted, it was romantic, gentle, warm, and beautiful.

"You saved my life and I don't even know your name..."

"No need to exaggerate, gentleman. Had I left you there, you probably would have woken up after a good few minutes, I simply relieved the pain. As for my name... I regret to say that I cannot reveal it."

"A beautiful mystery... in that case, there's no need to know mine either."

The temperature rose, not taking long to exchange tongues, and avoiding to climb on top of him because of the state of his poor body, you lay down on your side of the bed, where Indra had taken you countless times.

Not wanting to let go, you simply let him handle the moment.

After a slight hesitation, he pulled away and looked into your eyes, asking permission to do it again. Licking your lips, it was you who initiated the action this time.

Hands danced everywhere, and clothes were lost with speed. He had you mount him, making it clear he could not exert himself too much due to lack of strength. Not wanting to argue against that logic, you sank on his erect length with a moan, while your eyes closed tightly.

You only opened them when you began to feel your orgasm approach, seeking eye contact for more pleasure. But you were disconcerted to see that his gaze was fixed on a corner of the room, to which your back was turned.

A pleased smile graced his features, not even paying attention to you.

"This way is fine, boss?"

Your blood froze in understanding.

Indra's test.

But what you didn't expect was for the man beneath you to suddenly become completely paralyzed, as a muffled THUD rang through the room and the hot liquid splashed your face and chest, as well as your arms.

Your eyes squeezed shut as a kunai was thrust into his forehead, killing him on the spot. A quick instinct assaulted your muscles as you tried to pull the slain man's limb out of you and run, getting away from your partner and trying to save yourself.

Now, this was the worst situation in the world.

There was no way you were going to pull through this.

But a huge, strong hand grabbed your hair as he noticed your intentions, pulling you down on the man's body and extracting the murder weapon with the other hand.

Tears began to stream down your cheeks as your hands closed over his wrist, futilely trying to make him let go of your hair.

"Unsightly..."

"Disgusting..."

"It only took you a second of my absence to jump on a bastard's cock. I knew you were an insufferable fucker from the way you cry and beg for my touches, but now I see it's your natural way of acting...you're just a whore, aren't you?"

It has been a long time since you realized how your rejections towards his actions were perceived and qualified as wanting, where Indra's reality was completely distorted.

"I...N-N-N..."

You can't get your tongue to move properly to outline his name, trying to defend yourself somehow. Ironic, for that heated muscle had danced shamelessly seconds ago across the man's lips lying beneath you.

"Shut your ungrateful mouth you rotten filthy bitch."

Your face is pressing against the man's neck, being held still by Indra. The blood dripping from the mortal wound on that person's forehead oozed down your features, mingling with your tears.

"Is this what you wanted? It takes a worm-like him to make you realize who you belong to? A damn misfortune that cute little cunt of yours has been desecrated in such a manner."

And as your breathing continued to heave and your body was convulsing in revulsion because the murdered man's limb continued inside you, you didn't notice Indra's weight on your back until it was too late.

"I allowed this hole to remain virgin waiting to be taken when my first son was inside you... The notion of fucking you along with my offspring was wonderful, but as you won't outlive this, I'll give myself the treat I've been depriving of."

You can feel the tip of his cock exert pressure on your ass, and even as a dead man lies beneath you both, filling your pussy, Indra has no trouble getting fully hard and forcing his way into you.

Holding your neck with both hands, his chest is pressed against your back as his waist slams viciously over your form, making you cry out in pain and getting halting pleas for mercy from your lips.

Everything is a nightmare.

Indra is a nightmare.

And even with the dark picture in that room, with your face smeared in The Otsutsuki's latest victim's blood, you hear his breathing pick up pace, grunts coming from deep in his throat as his dick mercilessly works your tight channel.

The man's length beneath your body lost its rigidity, uselessly stuffing you.

You have no idea how much time elapsed in that assault, for your consciousness shut down a few times and you were forcibly awakened by his slapping.

Eventually, his seed mixes with the blood coming from your not-so-virgin opening. Beastly sounds are heard from behind you as your eyes close in defeat, tears continue to fall unchecked.

And suddenly the last sensation you experience in your life is that of such abuse.

Accompanied by the sharp cold metal teeth of the kunai that slits your throat and robs you of your last breath.

#otsutsuki indra x reader #indra otsutsuki #otsutsuki indra #naruto shippuden #naruto imagines #naruto x reader #indra x reader #indra otsutsuki x reader #indra scenario #indra imagines

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sadachmesarthim · 4 years ago

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coercive notions - stucky

content: semi-graphic violence, blood, minor character deaths, emotional manipulation and abuse, false imprisonment, kidnapping, torture in the form of nonconsensual body modifications, stockholm syndrome.

dead dove: do not eat. steve sucks big time in this one. i’m not really sorry about it.

note: happy 6k followers to @sweeterthanthis !!! i love the idea of these prompts, they definitely did their job !! i was thrilled when i saw i got my quote of choice. this one’s based on ”i wish i knew how to quit you” from brokeback mountain (my favorite angsty husbands)

if the timeline is nonsensical in this - think 2 years post engame but no one's actually died! there is also some background starker but it's only mentioned twice. this is my first time writing for steve and bucky, and my first ~dark~ piece. it was definitely the challenge it presented itself as, and i’m super thankful for the opportunity to participate alongside so many talented witers!!

word count: 4.2k ; read time 15 minutes

Steve'd survived because of Bucky.

Bucky was the one that kept the fevers at bay, bought him medicine, nursed him back to health even when neither of them thought he'd survive through the night. Bucky was the one that dragged him out of the river, and left him alive on the bank.

Left him to wake up.

Bucky was the one that welcomed him with open arms when Steve was abandoned by the Avengers. Steve'd lost his home, his family - everyone and everything he had - when the world rejected him (the millionth time). Bucky was the one that came back. He'd lost his arm, his identity, everyone and everything he remembered - but he still ran to Steve without hesitation. No matter how far away they got, no matter what separated them, they always came back to one another.

They got together right after the fight with Tony in Siberia.

They'd found each other, and suddenly gained a future.

Steve had never... really pictured himself having a future. When he was younger, he accepted that he'd die young. A fever that wouldn't break, a cough that wouldn't leave, pneumonia he couldn't beat... Then he joined the army. He suddenly... had possibilities.

But there was still war, he was still fighting, and he was still in the line of danger every single day. It didn't matter if he was fighting Hitler, homophobia, Hydra, - someone was always gunning for him. Someone was always trying to get him killed. And it worked! He died! Crashed straight into the ocean and froze, for seventy fucking years!

Until someone had the audacity to defrost him, and yet again force him into the line of fire. Without really consulting him first. It was something Steve was slowly coming to terms with - he’d always be fighting, always be serving, always be protecting.

He’d been failing his job as a protector, lately.

+//////+

They all thought it was a bit weird, but then again, so is living with two men that look seventy years younger than they actually are. So is living with your coworkers. So is being a superhero. So of course none of the other Avengers said anything.

Not when Bucky started asking Steve permission for things - to get up from, and leave, the table after meetings. If he could get seconds during breakfast or dinner. If he was allowed to come on patrols or missions. Everyone just assumed it was a forties thing, or that it was just Bucky getting more comfortable around them. The dirtier minds of the group (Tony, Peter, Natasha) chalked it up to a kinky sex thing.

Steve saw it as devotion.

Bucky saw it as a way to keep him appeased.

See, Steve'd gotten more... irritable, lately. Every time Bucky got hurt on patrol, was in a bad position during a mission, needlessly volunteered to do something dangerous - it pissed Steve off to high heavens, for no reason. It'd gotten significantly worse over the course of a few months, to the point where Bucky could barely breathe without Steve getting upset.

It came to a head one day when Bucky got pinned during a fight with New York's latest nuisance. He wasn't even supposed to be there, it was his day off, for fucks sake. But he'd heard the call go out, and suited up before following a few minutes behind the rest of the crew.

This particular species of big nasty™ (a xorrian dog? Thor had called it?) had an... upsetting taste for live, warm flesh. He popped up outta nowhere over Manhattan during the Friday morning rush, apparently scouting Earth for the next course in their Milky Way Dinner Service.

Bucky, self sacrificing moron that he is, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just as Steve laid down the final blow, narrowly avoiding the alien's jaw, Bucky slid underneath it, shoving his hand between the soft plating of the monster's stomach. He reached in, single-handedly gutting the thing while Steve put a shield-sized dent in its skull.

Their foe dropped almost instantly, crushing Bucky beneath several tons of dead weight. None of them would have known he was there, either, if Tony hadn’t programmed life-sensing protocols in a new combat arm he’d gifted the soldier for his second anniversary home and Hydra-free. A signal went to Tony’s suit the instant FRIDAY sensed structural integrity issues, sending him a precise location.

“What do you mean he’s here, babygirl? We didn’t call him in.” The worry in Tony’s voice was apparent, calling the attention of the rest of his team. They were all intrigued, prematurely pulled from their celebrations of a fight well won.

“It seems that Sergeant Barnes is approximately twenty paces northwest of your location, and his elevation is slowly decreasing. Would you like a map of the area?”

“Uhh, no Fri. I think I know exactly where he is. Cap, get your ass over here!” His heart rate was increasing by the second. If he thought correctly (as Tony almost always did), Bucky was... underneath the alien. “We need to pick this fucker up, or flip it, or something. I think Bucky’s stuck under it.”

Steve’s blood ran cold. “Tony, what the fuck are you talking about? Bucky wasn’t part of the group today.”

Steve didn’t hide his anxiety well when it came to Bucky. Their team knew that he was Steve’s whole world. One more life threatening situation, and Steve might actually die from old age with all the years Bucky’d stressed out of him. FRIDAY sending a detailed ping with Bucky’s combat arm location didn’t do anything to ease his anxiety, either. He knew it was just like Bucky to do something like this - jump in without word, all act and no think. Try to help his team out and wind up crushed by an alien pet the size of a 787.

Peter was next to them, soon, ready to help get this thing off their friend. Together, they managed to drag Mister Beast-of-the-Week far enough down the street, revealing a very unconscious, very bloody Winter Soldier nestled in the asphalt.

Steve was on him in a second, picking Bucky up with both hands. Tony already had FRIDAY doing preliminary scans and sending them back to Cho and Strange. Initial reads weren’t terrible, all things considered, but he still looked like shit. He might be five hundred times stronger than the average man, but no one’s prepared to be stuck under 200 tons of pure xeno-reptilian mass. Not even Bucky Barnes.

His head rolled back freely as Steve picked him up, exposing an already bruised and swelling jaw. Steve’s breath caught in his throat, choking him on his own shock. Saved by the bell, Cho called Tony back immediately, sending for one of them to bring him to the tower surgical site immediately.

“We have to go, Steve. Let us take him, we’ll get him fixed. We’ve done it before. We can do it again. But you have to let him go.” Steve’s upward glance brought him Tony’s exasperated face. He was dizzy, everything felt like slow motion.

He didn’t register the movement until he saw it, watching Peter’s hands as they held him back. Tony took Bucky’s lifeless form, carrying him toward Stark Tower and away from the wreckage.

The wreckage he shouldn’t have been anywhere near in the first place.

The wreckage he wouldn’t even have known about if he didn’t beg Tony to be included in all mission alerts.

The wreckage he would have avoided if it weren’t for the martyr complex he’d had since birth. It might not be nearly as strong as Steve’s, but it was still there. Bucky’d always gone to obscene lengths protecting the people he loved.

Steve had a track record of doing a piss poor job of repaying the favor. He couldn’t save him from the war. He couldn’t save him from the train, or from Hydra. He couldn’t save him from Thanos. He couldn’t even save him from a stupid little skirmish downtown. No, from where he was standing, Steve’d fucked up. Big time.

He promised that day, he wasn’t going to let anything like this happen again.

+//////+

It was weeks before he was back to normal, and even then - Bucky wasn't entirely sure he wanted to leave. Not because he was still sore, or not feeling up to par. In fact, he'd been antsier and more ready to get back into the field than ever. He missed his friends, he missed the people he fought evil with every day. He missed sparring with Sam and going on runs with Peter, listening as Thor regaled stories about Old Asgard no one.. could quite follow. Missed the twice weekly calls from Shuri. But most of all, he missed his freedom.

Steve wasn't ready to give it to him.

When he woke up after surgery, Steve was right next to his recovery bed. He almost looked like he did back in the day - sleep deprived, worry lines forcing their way to the surface of his face. Vague frustration enveloped him, even when he met Bucky's conscious form for the first time.

Their first few conversations were tender, loving, but it didn't take long for them to sour.

Steve'd insisted on bringing Bucky back to their shared floor immediately after he woke. He allowed Cho to look him over, FRIDAY to scan him, everyone to come say hi - but he never let Bucky out of his sight. Not while Bucky was awake, anyway.

He slept a lot in those first few days. He was still healing, and while it might have been much faster than anyone expected, he was also recovering from what should have been several deaths over. He spent most of his time in bed, asleep, or talking to Steve.

Most of it was lecture, some was praise. How stupid he was to get involved on his day off. How much Steve loved him. How he wasn't allowed to go being a martyr like that again. How much Steve loved him. How Steve was going to do a better job of watching over him from now on. How much Steve loved him.

There was a lot of that, after Bucky woke up. How much Steve loved him. How important Bucky was to him, how much it meant to him that Bucky was alive and breathing and conscious and okay. Every time he got a lecture, or a reminder, Steve's hand was on him somewhere. His shoulder, his wrist, his face. His throat. Every time he spoke, he squeezed, just the tiniest bit. Not threatening, not even to force acknowledgement. Just.. Because he could. To the untrained eye, it was just physical contact.

Bucky knew better.

Bucky knew conditioning when he saw it. When he felt it.

Bucky also knew he was significantly more susceptible to conditioning than most people.

Bucky was fucked.

+//////+

Tony didn't think anything of it when Steve asked for handcuffs that could hold a supersoldier back. He, too, was a pervert with a genetically enhanced super-boyfriend, who was he to deny the Captain a little fun? He'd designed restraints Peter could use without breaking (or hurting himself!), why not share the love?

No one thought anything of it when Bucky stopped joining them on missions. Trauma has a different effect on everyone, maybe Bucky just needed time to process almost dying (again). No one would blame him for it. Hell, most of them encouraged his staying home.

None of them... really thought anything of it when he quit leaving altogether. They trusted Steve's judgement, and if he didn't think Bucky was ready to leave, then he wasn't. Bucky knew better than to defy him, too - just kept his mouth shut around "yes, Steve"s and "okay, Steve"s.

The conditioning didn't stop as he got stronger. He'd been back to 100% weeks ago, but Steve was still babying him. Carrying him to the shower, not letting Bucky bathe himself, or brush his own teeth. He couldn't dress or eat without help, go anywhere without asking. "I just want to keep you safe. I need to know that you're not going to get hurt." Steve's words remained calm, level, but his face betrayed the threat behind them. If you don't listen, you won't be able to leave at all.

Bucky'd learned the hard way that if he didn't listen to Steve, he wouldn't have a choice. He'd attempted to leave their floor by himself while Steve was out on a mission with Tony, Nat, and Thor - he got up early, showered, got dressed. His first taste of freedom in a long time, he was so excited to go see everyone again.

He was downstairs and halfway through breakfast with Bruce and Peter when Steve got back.

+//////+

Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun. It's a familiar feeling to him, one he thought he'd never deal with again. The isolation. The lack of control. The fear.

Steve initially hadn't looked mad. He let Bucky finish his meal, kept a distant but watchful eye over the group until the two others finished and moved on to their lab work downstairs.

Bucky knew he was fucked. He'd broken rules. He'd left their room without permission. Steve might not have looked it, but Bucky could feel the anger and disappointment radiating off him.

After that... He wasn't allowed to do anything.

No workouts, no missions, no patrols. No leaving their room. Steve'd used the restraints Tony made - had him thoroughly tied down to the floor below their bed. No internet, no phone. Not a single book or movie or boardgame in sight. Good boys don't require entertainment to behave. No eating - Steve'd placed a gastric tube down his sinus to provide nutrition. His muzzle, the one hydra'd used... Steve'd locked it over his jaw, and left it there. Good boys don't need to use their mouths - not to drink, not to eat. Not to talk back or call for help. No using the bathroom on his own - he had a catheter replaced once a day, and Steve changed his bag as needed. Good boys don't get to leave the bed, not even if it's an emergency.

He learned to wait for Steve. Learned his schedule - early morning meetings with Wakanda, check ins with Fury and Maria, patrol a bit after lunch. Then, he'd come back, make sure Bucky's bag was empty and his feeding tube was flushed and clean before feeding him.

Steve allowed him to use the bathroom and shower at night, under incredibly watchful eyes. The restraints Tony'd made were long enough to stretch the entire perimeter of their room, but Steve kept him on a short leash. Bucky had five minutes total - shit, shower, shave. If he didn't finish in time... There's always tomorrow.

If he did, he'd get rewarded.

Steve'd wrap him up in a large fluffy towel, carry him to bed. He'd bring back the sweet little reminders, with his hand around Bucky's throat. How much Steve loved him. How this was all for his protection. How Steve wasn't going to let anything happen to him, ever again. How proud Steve was of him, for letting him return that favor, even decades later. How well behaved Bucky was, how good he'd been for Steve.

Steve was so different from Hydra, too. That's what made it so fucking difficult to resist the love bomb-type conditioning. He wasn't the torture type - didn't like the idea of doing anything he didn't have to. Steve didn't want to hurt him, and Bucky knew that. He found it harder to reject Steve's advances the longer he was locked in that fucking room, found it harder to discern whether or not he... wanted... to reject it.

He was Bucky's dialysis, and his drinking problem.

He was Bucky's oxygen machine, and the cigarettes he'd smoked to earn him one.

Steve could ask Bucky to do anything, ask him for anything... and he was powerless to say no. He'd tried.

+//////+

It'd gotten him a flick to the mouth, for his hesitation.

"When I ask you a question, love, you need to answer me. Do you understand?" The tears in his eyes nearly spilled over, sharp pain from his lips radiating into his nose and the corners of his eyes. He didn't want to answer. He wanted to leave. He wanted to run, to get the fuck away from Steve and the compound and everything.

"Yes."

"Yes what, angel?" Steve might've been good about keeping his emotions checked in public, but Bucky could tell he was smug. Gloating. He enjoyed this. What'd happened to the sweet kid from Brooklyn that could barely hold himself upright? Bucky missed him.

"Yes, Stevie. I’m sorry Stevie." Saying his name was painful. This wasn't his Steve. This wasn't the Steve he'd fallen in love with. Wasn't even the man that'd dragged him out from underneath that alien... How long ago? Months? Years?

Bucky didn't know anymore.

Didn't know why his friends hadn't saved him yet. Didn't know how his absence went unnoticed for... however long it'd been. Didn't know why he was struggling to be upset about it all.

Steve, observant as he was, could practically see the gears turning in the other's head. He cradled Bucky's face in his hands, drawing him into calculated eye contact. Bucky felt sick. There was something... wrong, there. Something Bucky'd never seen before.

"They don't love you like I do, Buck. They don't want you. They don't love you."

Bucky flinched at the words, physically recoiling from Steve's grasp. He knew it wasn't true, he knew... He thought it wasn't, right?

Steve's laugh pulled Bucky out of his own thoughts, bringing him back to the room in front of him. He had a display up, with various recordings of the rest of the Avengers. He flipped through them, muting and unmuting seemingly at random.

"... I mean, he's probably ditched us for Zemo again. Would that really shock you?"

"he almost died again. I don't blame him, i wouldn't want to be found eith-"

"-e can take care of himself, let's just give him time."

Steve waved the holo display away when he saw the first few tears fall. "Don't you see, Baby? They don't care like I do - they don't love you like I love you. No one will ever love you like I love you." Steve's words stung, but Bucky couldn't deny that they made sense. Of course no one was looking for him. He was unpredictable, still kind of an outsider. Why would they try to come find him? Why would they care?

Bucky's mouth moved before his brain could stop him.

"'m sorry, Stevie, please, I'm so sorry! I-I- I thought they cared, please, please don't leave me Stevie! I was so wrong, Steve please! Wish I knew how to stop, Stevie, but you know I can't. You gotta help me stop Stevie, I've been so confused, been tryin' to quit you Stevie but I can't. Wish I could quit you but I can't, I can’t be left alone anymore. Please, you can take my arm if you want it, Stevie. Take anything, take whatever you want from just please, please don’t leave me alone anymore!"

He was in hysterics at this point, unable to believe what was coming out of him. Was he really okay with Steve taking his arm away? Did he really love this Steve back? Was he just scared?

The worst part was that he couldn't tell.

+//////+

The smell of fresh coffee woke him before he was ready. His eyes burned, still dry after Steve refused to close the window before they went to bed.

Bucky would have closed it himself, but he couldn't actually reach that far.

They'd moved out to the cabin a few months after Bucky finally broke realized how wrong he was. It was a cute little place, big enough for the two of them but small enough to not draw attention if someone came upon it by accident. Not that they really could. Steve'd installed motion sensors five miles out, and had fully automated... solutions, in place, should any threats or issues arise.

They went entirely unused.

It really was a beautiful plot of land - they had a few animals, a cute pair of kittens to dote on and play with. He had enough room to move around, to sit in the sun or curl up in bed. He had plenty of books, games, anything and everything he could want to occupy his time, really. He had Steve.

And breakfast now, apparently.

Steve set the plate on the bedside table, gently sitting next to his lover and planting small kisses on his still shut eyelids. Bucky looked up and smiled, blushing at the hand that'd wrapped around his neck. He reached out, gently thumbing at the inside of Steve's wrist. Oh, how he'd missed this. Missed contact with his Steve.

He opened his mouth, accepting the bite Steve offered him. Steve always made the best pancakes, he thought, appreciating the hot meal hitting his tongue. He hadn't eaten this good in weeks. It was hard for him to cook without his arm, but Steve always provided. Steve cooked for them, cleaned up after them, made sure Bucky was sated. Safe.

He'd taken off for a mission nearly a month ago. A dangerous one, he'd said. One he might not return from for a while, he'd said. Bucky worried. He always did when Steve left, especially since he couldn't know where or why he was going. But Steve always came back to him. Sometimes, he was back in one piece. Once, he'd come home with an arrow in his stomach and several gunshot wounds. That'd been a... scary night. Another time, he came home with half of his hair singed off and his clothes in tatters.

Last night... Last night he finally came home, and he looked like shit.

He was covered in bruises, nearly 40 pounds lighter than he was when he'd left. There were holes in the shield, too large to be bullets but too small to be anything else easily recognizable. Some were through his suit, too - puncture wounds littering his chest and stomach. They were already partially closed, but he was still bloody.

There were still webs in his hair, too - Bucky brushed them away after Steve closed (and locked. always locked.) the door. He knew better than to comment. Steve was just protecting him. Steve loved him, he was doing what he needed to keep Bucky safe.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt. That each time Steve left for a mission, Bucky cried himself to sleep. He thought, eventually, that the pain would go away. That the death of each of his friends would get easier, somehow. That the fear, the hope, of losing Steve would stop consuming him.

He'd just smiled, kissed his husband's cheek, and helped him strip down. He'd mouthed at the graze left on the side of Steve's neck, reverent in the presence that was his protector. Bucky'd developed quite the complex, in their time of isolation. Every time Steve came in - from cutting firewood, picking food from the garden, feeding the animals, or from nights like last... Bucky just couldn't stop talking.

About how he wouldn't be alive without Steve. How he'd still be a mindless slave for Hydra, killing innocent people under everyone's noses. How he owed Steve his life, a thousand times over. How he'd've been taken by Ross or Stark or Clint or someone, and locked away miles under the sea. He'd pressed them into Steve's jaw like kiss-coated secrets, like no one in the entire world knew these things but Bucky & Steve. Like they were bits of information to cherish, to chew on and savour before swallowing.

Steve just laughed, picking Bucky up and bringing him to bed. He followed shortly after, cleaning and patching himself up before snuggling right up to Bucky.

Sleeping was interesting, initially, but they'd adapted. It was easier to cuddle Bucky without his arm, but sometimes Steve woke up with his legs tangled in loose chains by the footboard. It was an easy enough trade, in Bucky's opinion. Give up his arm, give up a bit of freedom, and get a loving, devoted husband in return? One that would make him breakfast in bed, one that would hold him and kiss him and praise him whenever he needed? One that would kill for him? Die for him?

Bucky saw it as a fair enough trade, and if that meant their friends needed to die... He tried not to think about it.

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kyber-kisses · 5 years ago

Text

All The Comforts of Home

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: mentions of torture, blood, cursing, spn level gore (but there’s fluff!)

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Square filled: Nightmares

Summary: After the Reader is taken, Sam and Dean come to the rescue but it doesn’t take long for Dean to see that something isn’t right.

A/n: I’m back at it again with Bad Things Happen bingo! Anyways hope you enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated!

Four weeks.

That’s how you had been missing. That how long Dean had been tearing up Colorado looking for you. Four weeks of total panic and fear as he chased leads back and forth across the front range.

It took four weeks before he finally found a solid lead, one that was currently tied firmly to the chair in front of him and his brother, coal black eyes boring into him as if trying to kill him with just a look.

But all Dean felt as he looked down at this lowlife demon was hot rage, everything in his vision going red.

“Is she alive?” His voice sharp as he gripped the blade tightly in his hand, jaw clenched.

“Is who alive?”

Dean let out a light huff as he shook his head. Did this demon really think playing dumb was going to work on him? “Y/N. Our friend.”

The demon only shook his hanging head, leaning against his restraints. “Y/N, I Don’t know no Y/N.” His answer unfortunately getting him a solid fist in the gut from Dean, doubling him over in pain.

“Try again.”

A sly smirk crossed the demons features as it leaned forward further, eyes suddenly bright. “Aw, does the great Dean Winchester have a girlfriend?”

A low growl rumbled in Deans throat as he swung the chair next to him around, sitting down harshly in front of the vile piece of crap he was working with. “Focus right here-“ he knocked his knuckles against the underside of the demons chin, forcing him to look up. “Right here, or I’ll shove this blade into your goddamn neck.”

The change was almost instant, because it was a universal truth at this point that the Winchester brothers were things monsters told their children about at night. The beasts under your bed. In other words, you did not mess with them if you wanted to keep living. And truth be told, as Dean sat there, he never thought he’d seen a demon crack so quickly. For a second he almost believed it was a poor innocent person he had bound in rope.

“She’s-shes Alive.” It panted, still gasping for air from Deans punch. “She’s our newest pet.”

“Where is she being kept?”

“In the town.”

Growing impatient, Dean drew his hand back before driving the blade into the demons thigh, it’s eyes once more going black as it screamed.

“What town?!”

“Sterling! She’s being kept in Sterling!”

“Sam check for any demonic signs in Sterling.” Dean spoke over his shoulder, eyes still glued to the demon slowly falling apart in front of him.

“On it. You want me to load the stuff into the car?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out as soon as I’m done with this guy.” Slowly rising from his seat, Dean flipped the knife in his hand, pushing the old chair back into its proper spot.

“You gonna let me go now?”

Dean shot the demon an amused look, tilting his head ever so slightly. “You do know who your messing with right? You think I’m gonna let you go? Especially after you took someone I care about?”

“I told you where she was! Now let me out!” The demon barked, rocking forward in the chair in an attempt to get closer to the Winchester. He didn’t get very far before Dean swiftly plunged the blade into his jugular, the point of impact sparking before fizzing out.

“Yeah, not gonna happen buddy.” Shaking his head, he pulled the blade out before wiping it on the sleeve of his canvas jacket. Dean pocketed the weapon before grabbing the last of the duffel bags and heading out the door after his brother.

You were alive. He was going to find you and he was going to save you.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Brave. It was a silly word the longer you thought about it. It meant ready to face and endure danger and pain while showing courage. You were never that while hunting. You were never “ready” for pain and danger. You just barreled through. That’s how the job got done. Bravery never had anything to do with it.

Sam and Dean constantly said you were one of the bravest and toughest people they had ever met. . . But you didn’t feel that way. Not now at least. If anything you were the furthest from it.

The only way you could properly describe your holding cell was that it was clear that it had once been an old meat locker. Massive hooks hung limply from the ceiling, and the cold cement floor beneath your bare feet was stained dark in multiple areas. When you were first thrown in here you had tried everything in your power to get out, and when that didn’t work you changed tactics, doing everything you could just to stay warm in the freezing cell, from push-ups to jumping jacks and everything in between.

But soon the days began to feel longer and with it you began to get weaker. The demons holding you here barley fed you, and even when they did you ended up puking half of it right back up anyways.

Then there was the issue of the demons themselves. You didn’t know how many there were, only that when they came they had a different face each time. They’d slink into the room with their black eyes and bag full of knickknacks and that’s when the real fun for them would begin.

Letting out a deep sigh you curled in your toes, hoping it would generate some warmth, resting your head against the yellowing tile of the walls. Your body felt as though it had been bruised in every corner. Your legs felt shaky and you already knew they could not support your own body weight. Even your head felt heavy. The real pain came in waves though. Just when you thought the soreness was beginning to subside another bolt of pain shot up your spine. Your back arching as the pain rushed through your body like an ignited fire, your eyes squeezing closed as your face contorted.

You didn’t know exactly what they were doing to you, but what you did know was that you had never experienced such pain in your life.

You could feel your head spinning as you leaned forward, grabbing fistfuls of hair. You pulled on it in a futile attempt to direct the pain away from the rest of your body. Thankfully after a moment it began to work and you dropped your hands once more, ignoring the tremble in them.

Pain. You had been experiencing it for so long now that you couldn’t even remember what it was like to not feel it.

Tucking your legs closer into you, you curled back up in the corner you had grown so familiar with, resting your head against your inner forearms as you let your fingers tangle in your hair.

You just wanted to go home. You didn’t even know why the demons wanted you in the first place. You weren’t anything special.

Head still in your arms you felt the first pricks of tears in the corners of your no doubt already red eyes. But that’s all that happened. You were to dehydrated and tired to actually cry.

Home. Just think about home.

You could feel sleep slowly beginning to take you when you heard the first gunshots echo down the hallway beyond your four cold walls. Suddenly alert you picked your head up, eyeing the door wearily. A moment later another set of shots was heard, this time much closer and you could feel your heart rate increase.

The muffled sound of boots striking concrete echoed down the hallway, and before you could come up with a proper plan, there was another bang and the massive metal door was kicked open, your reflexes making you scramble back in fear.

“Y/N?!”

Dean entered the room like a living storm, gun still raised in defense as he scanned the room. Only lowering his weapon when his eyes found yours. His heart instantly breaking off into little pieces at the state of you. You were covered head to toe in bruises and cuts. Your skin dirty and smeared with blood.

“Y/N-“ he breathed out again, tucking his gun back into his waistband as he quickly crossed the floor towards you, shedding his jacket as he did. “Sam, I found her!” Being as gentle as he could, he wrapped the canvas material around your shoulders, kneeling down to do so.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Yeah. Sam and I came to get you out of here. How does that sound?” Giving you a small smile he smoothed back your hair, getting the stray pieces out of your face.

“Good.”

“Okay. Can you walk?”

“I-I think so.” You nodded, bracing one hand on the wall and grabbing Deans outstretched palm in your other, slowly pushing yourself up onto wobbly legs.

“There we go. That wasn’t too fast was it?” Dean questioned, keeping a hand on the base of your back to keep you steady.

“No.”

Taking a deep breath, you took a step forward- only for your legs to quickly buckle underneath you. Fortunately Dean was quicker and his own knees bent as he wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you from falling.

“Okay, alright. Take it slow.”

“Dean, how is she- Y/N!” And just like his brother, Sam was suddenly at your other side. A look of concern filling his features as he helped support you.

“We gotta get her out of here. Get her some place warmer than this freezer.” Dean sighed, adjusting his grip on you as he looked down at you.

“Here, I got her. You go ahead of us and make sure we cleared this place out.” Sam nodded, watching as his brother hesitated before agreeing.

“Okay, okay. Y/N, I’m gonna pass you to Sam. That alright?”

“Mhmm.”

Slowly unwinding his arm from his waist, he allowed you to fall into Sam’s arms. Only pulling his gun back out once he knew you wouldn’t drop.

“Alright, and up we go.” With one swift movement Sam hoisted you up into his arms, cradling you close to his massive frame. “This okay, Y/N?”

You let out a small groan before replying with a soft yes, all the sudden movement quickly reminding you of how sore you were. How battered.

You just wanted to go home. You just wanted everything to go back to normal.

You wanted to feel better.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

The motel room was quiet as Dean and Sam helped stitch you up. Quiet to the point in which neither of them were bold enough to say anything in attempt to break it.

Dean would have preferred driving through the night to get back to the bunker, but you deserved to sleep in an actual bed and not in the back seat of Baby. So instead the three of you found yourselves at some dinky motel right off of 36 and just outside Atwood Kansas.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” Dean sighed, threading the needle through what he guessed was the eighth gash he had worked on since they began patching you up.

“I’m fine.”

At your words, both brothers paused their work to share a concerned look. Ever since they found you, you had been repeating those two words like a broken record, your voice monotone and calm.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Dean-“ Sam sighed a warning as he finished bandaging your calf, dropping the extra materials back into the first aid kit.

“What? I’m just stating a fact.” Dean shot back, still focused entirely on the gash on your shoulder blade, his fingers working gently to finish the stitches.

He didn’t mean to snap. Really, he didn’t. He was just worried. Really, really fucking worried. It was clear that you were anything but fine. You barley spoke and if he was being completely honest, when he looked at you it was like looking at a husk. You weren’t yourself. He was hoping that once they got some food in you and some sleep you might slowly come back to them, but you didn’t.

“It hurts.” You mumbled suddenly. Your words making Dean pull his hands away from his work in fear that it was his doing, before he realized you were talking about your actual injuries.

“I know, Sweetheart. I know. Those painkillers Sam give you kickin in yet?”

“I think so.”

“Well those things will conk you right out. You should sleep like a baby.” Dean let out a light chuckle as he finished his work. The snapping of the first aid kit telling you he was done.

Running a hand through hair you could still feel it was damp from the shower you had taken earlier to clean the blood and dirt off of you. It felt good to be clean, but you still didn’t feel right. You still didnt feel like you. As you stood up Dean was at your side once again, helping you across the room towards the bed.

That was another thing. From the the moment they found you Dean had been a constant. Never wavering from your side unless you were taking a shower or going to the bathroom. All he wanted to do was help, and you gladly let him. The comfort and safety he gave off being greatly welcomed after four weeks of pure agony.

“You need Me or Sam to get you anything?” He asked lightly after helping you get situated on one of the motel beds.

Fidgeting with the hem of the shirt Dean had lent you, you shook your head. “No. I’m okay. Thank you though.”

“Okay. You promise you’ll tell us though if you do?”

“I promise.” You nodded, giving him the faintest of smiles as you did so. The action being enough to give Dean some relief, even if only for a moment. You were still in there.

“Alright, get some sleep. You need it.” Leaning down he pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline before retreating back to the table Sam was seated at. Before his butt had even hit the chair he could see that you were already out. Your eyes closed as you pressed your face into the pillow.

“I’m worried about her.”

“I know, Dean. So am I.”

Prying open the cap to his beer, he leaned back in his seat. “She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met, Sam. I’ve never seen her like this.”

“Well being tortured doesn’t exactly leave one walking away with good memories, Dean.”

At the word torture Dean felt himself flinch. His stomach rolled at the mere thought of some creature carving into you. He should have taken his time offing each one of those demons, drawn out their suffering a little longer because of what they inflicted on you.

“She didn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right. She didn’t. But at least she’s alive. I know she’s not okay, but we need to give her some time. Let her heal.”

“God, I know. I know.” Setting the beer bottle back down, Dean ran his hands through his hair. “I just want her to be okay.”

There was a moment of silence before the younger Winchester spoke up again. “You should tell her.”

“Sam-“ Dean warned, lifting his head from his hands to glare at his brother.

“I’m serious. When she gets better you should tell her how you feel.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” Shaking his head Dean pushed himself out of his seat before grabbing his duffel and heading towards the bathroom to change. Doing anything to avoid the topic at hand. “Just go to bed, Sam.”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Dean didn’t sleep in a bed that night. Usually he bunked with you but he was afraid he might nudge or kick you and hit one of your bruises or stitches, and he decided against sharing a bed with Sam because the giant took up most of the bed anyways. So instead he wrapped himself in one of the spare blankets usually hanging from the foot of the bed and slept between the two mattresses. Sure he could have taken the couch but it was too small for his 6’1 body, plus he wanted to be close to you in case you needed something. Sam insisted that you would be fine, but Dean refused. The hunter not going to bed until the little neon clock on the nightstand blinked 1:30 AM.

He had maybe been asleep half an hour when things took a turn like he had been fearing. A loud scream from your lips suddenly pierced the still air of the motel room, sending both boys upright as they whipped their guns out from beneath their pillows. There was a sharp thud as you fell off the other side of the bed and Dean was on his feet in seconds, eyes wide and alert.

“Y/N!”

Peering through the dark room, he could see your silhouette scramble back until your back hit the wall with a sharp thud.

Nightmares. That was the only thing that could come to Deans mind. It was the only thing that made sense in the otherwise safety of the motel room. Tossing his gun onto Sams bed he quickly vaulted over the mattress dividing the two of you, sinking to his knees in front of you as he wrapped his hands around your wrists.

“Y/N! Y/N, it’s me. It’s Dean.”

“No! Don’t- don’t touch me!” You screamed, flinching away from Deans desperate touch. At this point Sam has gotten out of bed, flicking on the bathroom light so they could somewhat see. Your eyes were wild, and your breathing was fast and shallow. Your whole body trembling with uncontrollable fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Dean spoke gently, sliding his hands from your wrists and into your palms. It was only when your eyes finally met that he scooted himself behind you and pulled you between his legs, your back resting against his chest as his arms wrapped around you. “Listen to me. You’re safe and they aren’t going to hurt you again. I’m here now. Trust me, I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

Dean almost expected you to launch yourself out of his arms in panic but you didn’t. Instead he felt you slowly begin to relax in his hold, tears collecting on the sleeve of his Henley as you let out a breath. “I-“

“It’s okay.” Dean shushed you, pulling you further into his lap as he let you calm down. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

“Dean-“ Sam began only to be waved off by his brother.

Cradling the back of your neck, Dean allowed you to rest your head in the crook of his, the hunter placing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he smoothed your hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. It was a nightmare. We all get em.”

“No. I’m supposed to be brave, but I’m not. I’m not brave.” Your sobs coming back as your fingers twisted into the fabric of Deans Henley, using it as somewhat of a lifeline.

“Woah, don’t say that. That ain’t true at all.” Dean quickly interjected, pulling back to look you in the eyes. His hand moving from the back of your neck so he could thumb away your tears. “You’re the bravest person Sam and I know, and the strongest.”

“It’s a lie. Those demons broke me, Dean.” Shaking your head you ignored the crack in your voice. “They broke me.”

“No. No they didn’t.” By this point he had your face cradled between his two hands as he looked at you fiercely. “Sure, they may have put a few dents in ya, but they didn’t break you. You’re like polished freakin steel. It’s gonna take a lot more than a few low level demons to bring you down.”

Your lips parted as you tried to find words, but none came. The man had stunned you into total silence. . . So instead you found yourself leaning forward once more to wrap your arms around him again, the hunter not hesitating to return the gesture. The breath from his lips lightly tickling your neck as nestled against it.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“But I want to. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you and Sam.”

Even if he denied it later on, you could feel Dean smile against your skin. “Let’s get your back to bed.”

“Only if you promise not to sleep on the floor.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me.” Adjusting you in his arms, Dean picked you up off the rough carpet of the motel room floor, before softly depositing you the nearest bed. Sam was already back asleep by the time Dean turned the bathroom light back off.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?” Dean hummed, sinking down onto the mattress besides you.

“Why did those demons take me?”

There was a pause before an answer came through the dark between you. “They were trying to use you to get to me.”

“. . . Why?”

Another pause.

“Because you’re my weak spot.” Dean swallowed, feeling the next words crawl up his throat with a vengeance. “Because I’m in-love with you.”

The silence that followed made Dean want to jump out the nearest window. For a moment he thought you had fallen back asleep and he let out a sigh of relief, but then he heard you suck in a breath.

“Don’t play with my emotions, Dean. That’s not funny.”

“I swear to you, I would never joke about something like this. I’m in love with you and I have been for quite some time.” Even in the dark Deans hand found yours, the hunter tangling his fingers in your own.

“. . . I- what if I don’t believe you?” You spoke softly.

“Then I’ll just keep telling you until you do.”

“Im just kidding, I believe you. . .But don’t let that stop you.”

“Oh?”

“I love you too.”

“That’s nice to hear.” Dean let out a relieved chuckle at your words, rolling over to loop an arm around you.

“Okay, as happy as I am for the both of you, would the two of you please shut up and go to bed? There’s still one person in this room who is trying to sleep.”

SPN Taglist (still open)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spn x reader #dean winchester imagine #bi-danvers writing #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #dean x reader

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redqueen-hypothesis · 4 years ago

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overdose ➳ lucien (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x lucien xu (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 3401

➳ GENRE: angst, questionable good ending

➳ SYNOPSIS: contains spoilers from chapter 25, angst, angst and more angst!

He’s shaking.

Trembling, his fingers reach out for a tiny glass bottle. He misses the first time, grabs it on the second, drawing it towards him and inserting a syringe into it, filling it with clear, crystal liquid.

His hands twitch involuntarily, causing the level of liquid in the syringe to shoot up far past a normal dose, but he doesn’t care about that right now. Releasing the remains of the empty bottle, the glass falls to the ground and shatters - joining the other broken shards on the ground in iridescent smithereens.

He collapses on the bed in a mess of clammy skin and cold sweat, yanking up one sleeve to reveal his forearm. The silence is deafening in his ears, almost unbearably so. He can’t stand another second of it.

This empty world, this aching loneliness.

The needle breaks skin, silver sinking into his arm. The press of the syringe feels almost cathartic, a release from the torturous longing he’s had to suffer since that day.

Tossing the emptied syringe to the side, he allows himself to lie back on the bed, exhausted. His heartbeat slows, monochrome world before his eyes swimming in shades of black and grey. Disembodied echoes of laughter, that of a man and woman, tug at him from the recesses of his mind - an old memory wrapping its claws around his throat.

He closes his eyes, abandoning himself at the edge of insanity, and lets himself fall.

He’ll see you soon enough.

>>>

You’re dressed in white.

A summer dress of lace, hem flirting with your knees, the vision of innocence and purity even in the darkness of his room. Untainted by the ugliness of the world, bold in kindness and enduring in your own right. Lucien’s always admired that about you, perhaps more than he should.

His ruin has been brought about by his own hands. He destroyed himself the very moment he fell for you.

You’re crouched beside him, barefoot on glass shards scattered across his bedroom floor, and yet you do not bleed nor cry out in pain. Instead, your expression is serene, a mere white canvas. His eyes drink in the sight of your face like a man parched from wandering deserts without a drop of water, from the tilt of your mouth to the softness in your eyes.

He’s missed you so much. He misses you so painfully that it’s difficult to breathe. There’s a gaping chasm in his chest that just refuses to be filled no matter what he pours into it, leaving him an empty, hollow shell of a man.

You had once asked him this question, standing on opposite ends of a press room, if the advancement of the world was worth the death of someone precious to him. At that moment, he hadn’t replied your question.

But now, he knows the answer.

He wouldn’t. Not even if it cost him the entire world.

And yet you, nothing but a silly, weak fool who knew almost nothing about EVOLs and the workings of Black Swan, had decided to sacrifice yourself instead. He can’t bear to think about how afraid you must have felt those very seconds before death, and worse, he wasn’t there for you when you’d needed him the most.

“I’m sorry.” The words fall from his mouth before he can stop them, spilling out of his throat and made ugly with grief. Guilt claws at the inside of his chest, an unrestrained, rabid beast, shredding his lungs with white hot knives and rendering him unable to breathe. A single tear streaks down his cheek, a burning trail against his skin. “I’m so sorry.”

The phantom of you only smiles in response, eyes empty and devoid of warmth.

Dead people can’t forgive the living.

“I trusted you.” Your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper, but he catches every single word. They lodge in his chest, more painful that any physical wound. “I trusted you and you betrayed me.”

I didn’t mean to, he wants to scream, but the words won’t leave his mouth. I didn’t want to, I wanted to save you, no matter the cost. I was ready to throw everything away, if only-

“If you want to see me again, then die.” Your eyes are blank, indifferent. Perhaps that hurts more than the burning anger of your hatred would, because it reminds Lucien that this isn’t really you. “Die and join me in hell. It’s the least you deserve, Ares.”

With every word you say, it gets harder to breathe. Lucien feels like he’s suffocating, gasping for breath. But even worse is when you get to your feet, still with that chillingly emotionless smile on your face, turning around to leave. “Stop calling me back to you when I’m already dead. I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

No. Don’t go.

“Please, don’t leave.” Lucien gasps breathlessly, stumbling out of the bed. He doesn’t feel the pain of the glass shards digging into the soles of his feet, only the hot blood that spills out from punctured skin. His fingers grasp your wrist, trying to stop you from departing.

You can’t go. Not now. Not ever.

You turn around slowly to meet his eyes, and Lucien’s heart plummets into the pit of his stomach.

Blood spills from the side of your mouth, eyes empty and glazed over. Your blood, black in his sight, falls onto above your heart in a chilling visual - the very place where you’d been stabbed. The stain spreads before his very eyes, a black, twisting butterfly undergoing metamorphosis, the colour of your dress turning midnight within seconds until the last hints of white vanishes from his sight.

His heart stops in his chest. It is the Black Queen smiles back at him now, eyes alight with maniacal delight. Her laughter is high and cold.

“This is what you wanted all along, wasn’t it, Ares? The evolution of mankind you wanted so much... isn’t that your greatest desire?”

“No!” Lucien shouts, voice cracking, releasing her hand as if burned. This isn’t what he wants. But it’s too late now, and she smiles back at him with bloodied lips. She wears your face, but the cruelness in her eyes sets the two of you apart - the moon and the sun, night and day. “I never wanted her to die. Never!”

The Black Queen coos, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “I thought you of all people should know this, Ares. I’m disappointed. In your own words, sacrifice a few to save many, isn’t that right?” Her voice is tender, but the hands comes up to touch cup Lucien’s cheek are vicious, sharp nails digging into his skin. “You should be pleased by this.”

Lucien rips her hand from his face in fury, his fingers locking around her throat. Stop talking, stop speaking, just stop- Black blood drips down onto his wrist, leaving inky trails along his forearm. The Black Queen only laughs, tilting her head to the side as if regarding some interesting specimen before her.

“You won’t be able to do it.” Each word is poison sprouting in his chest. “I’m still her.”

Lucien’s breath comes out in a ragged cry, a choked scream ripping itself from his chest. His fingers tighten around her delicate neck, crushing her once and for all. “You can never be her. You will never be her.”

Her smile is triumphant. “And that’s why you will never see her again.”

Before his eyes, the Black Queen shatters into a million pieces, falling to the ground in a shower of black shards. The pieces of her scatter across the wooden floors, joining the rest of the broken glass on the ground, leaving nothing but the echo of her cruel laugh in his ears.

Yet, Lucien feels no joy nor satisfaction at the sight. Chest feeling just as vacant as before, he simply stumbles back to the bed, collapsing onto it and burying his face in his hands.

Raw screams tear from his throat, tears and blood mingling on his face and hands. His throat is raw with agony, and yet he can’t seem to stop - there’s so much pain in his chest that he feels like he’ll shatter if he tries to keep it in.

He doesn’t stop until he’s exhausted himself completely, physically and emotionally. In the end, dreamless sleep finally takes mercy on him and drags him under.

He wonders if he’ll remember any of this when he wakes up.

>>>

The sound of his apartment door unlocking rouses Lucien from his slumber.

An intruder, he thinks dazedly, but can’t really bring himself to care. He lies still, unmoving on the bed, thoughts drifting back to the Black Queen that had appeared in his dreams.

You will never see her again.

A fear, so intense, creeps through him like ice cold water trickling through his veins. What if he won’t even be able to see you, even in his dreams? Frantic, he bolts upright, desperately scrambling for the syringe he’d left on the sweat soaked mattress - and stills.

There’s someone standing in the doorway. His breath catches in the back of his throat when he realises who it is.

It’s you.

The moonlight washes over your form, bathing you in an almost ethereal glow. Lucien doesn’t dare to breathe, or even blink, afraid that your mirage will disappear with even the slightest of disturbance. Your eyes are wide with shock, mouth slightly parted as you look at him - that’s a new expression he’s never seen before in his dreams.

He must not have woken up from the previous hallucination, his internal subconscious reasons. It must have been the increased dosage, his exhaustion, something. His hands tremble, clenching into fists at his sides. Your name leaves his lips in a hushed whisper.

“You’re here. You’re not gone.” His voice is hoarse, throat burning.

At his words, you finally move, taking a tentative step forward. Your usual dress is streaked with dirt, slightly frayed at the edges. “Yes... I used the spare key to get in, I hope you don’t mind. I know we parted on bad terms but... I just thought I should see you.”

You’re a figment of his imagination, and yet you’re apologizing for entering his house without telling him? His mind is really getting better at constructing nightmares in the form of your likeness to torture him with, he laughs deprecatingly. It’s a bittersweet feeling.

Just a few steps, but forever out of reach.

“You look terrible.” You observe aloud, taking a step closer. Your pink lips are pressed together in concern, and he wants to run his finger over them, feel their softness, but he knows he’ll only find emptiness. “Lucien... are you alright?”

At your words, Lucien can’t help the chuckle that starts deep in his chest, before it rising to his throat and spills out of his mouth. His laughter shakes his chest, before it dissolves into painful coughs. “Lucien!”

“I’m not alright.” He answers honestly, when the hacking dies down. His eyes burn with it, and your own widen at the sight of it, as if it’s your first time witnessing him break down in front of you. “I haven’t been since the day you died.”

He hears your breath hitch in your throat, the shiny sheen of your own eyes filling with tears. So much like you, his chest tightens painfully at the thought. “I thought... I thought you only cared about me because of the Queen gene. Because of Black Swan.”

The naked hurt in your eyes seizes him by the throat, and instantly he’s desperate to deny this. He needs to make sure the ghost of you knows what he couldn’t tell you when you were still alive. “Never. I loved you, I still love you. I-” Pain spikes through his throat, still raw from screaming and he gasps a ragged breath, hand instinctively raising to his neck.

“Lucien, please stop talking, I’ll-” Your hurry to him, concern written all over your face before you come to a halt, expression a mixture of horror and shock as you glance down at the myriad of shattered glass at your feet. “What’s all this doing on the floor?”

Now that Lucien looks down, he can see the floor stained with red, the same colour tracked over the mattress. You must see it as well, because your lips part on a gasp, brows furrowing as you make the connection. “You’re hurt!”

A fitting punishment for what I did to you, he thinks. But then, instead of mocking him for his pain or reminding him of how he’d betrayed you, you swipe the tears from your eyes fiercely, a soft sniff escaping you. “Wait here, I’ll get a broom and sweep this up-”

You’re going to leave.

“Don’t go!” The shout escapes him in a desperate cry, and you flinch at the sheer volume of his words. Seeing the hesitation on your face, he makes to rise from the bed, to stand closer to you, but you hold a hand up, looking visibly distressed and worried.

“Don’t move another inch! There’s glass all over the floor and you’re hurt.” Your voice is laced with near tangible pain, as if his afflictions are your own. “What happened? Why are there pill bottles all over the floor?” Bending down, you touch a label on the shattered remains of a glass bottle, little white pills spilled across the wooden floorboards. “Hallu... hallucinogens!?”

He doesn’t flinch at the accusing tone in your voice, leaning back against the wall, limbs suddenly leaden, exhausted. His eyes remain fixed on you, unwilling to tear themselves away even for a second. “Please... stay.” His voice breaks at the end, hoarse with emotion. “I don’t know when it’ll wear off, so please... just stay a little longer.”

The shock on your face melts into realization, before it turns into something resembling fury. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so angry before, tears glistening at the corners of your eyes. “You mean, you’ve been taking hallucinogens this entire time to see me again? From the time I’ve been dead, all the way until now?”

“I couldn’t bear not seeing you again.” Lucien breathes, a shaky exhale escaping his mouth. The corners of his lips lift in a sad, self deprecating smile. “I’m sorry I’m unable to let you rest in peace because of my own selfish desires.”

If you want to see me again, then die. Join me in hell, Ares.

A long moment of silence stretches between the two of you, filled by nothing but moonlight and shadows. Lucien shivers, cold sweat still beading on the back of his neck and wonders for a second if he’s trembling so feverishly from the increased dosage. Perhaps he really might join you in death soon. The thought doesn’t sound so bad to him.

“Do you really still think I’m a hallucination?”

His head snaps up to stare at you in shock, an emotion that he doesn’t quite dare to name nearly sprouting in his chest. Your eyes are fierce with emotion as you stare back at him, and he almost, almost, lets himself hope that the impossible could have happened somehow, that you’re alive-

And yet he knows, deep in his chest, that you aren’t. The worst nightmares don’t begin by taking you from him, they lull him into a false sense of security and make him hope that it all could have been a bad dream - until the world collapses and burns into nothing but fire and ash. “You’re going to disappear the moment I close my eyes, just like every other time. So please, don’t-”

Your gaze is unwavering, a determined hand extended to him. “Touch me. Touch me and see if I’m real or not.”

Black blood and a cruel laugh flash in the back of his mind. The sight of your face shattering into glass replays over and over, your neck crumbling in his grip, the light dying out in your eyes.

You’ll never see her again.

“Don’t.” His voice is more like a moan of a wounded animal, a pathetic, begging thing. He buries his face in his hands, unable to look you in the eye. “I can’t want to watch you fall apart again.”

“I won’t.” Your promise hangs in the air between the two of you. There’s no lie in your voice. “I promise, Lucien. I’m real, I’m fine, I’m alive. Touch me.”

He doesn’t want to. He’s scared.

“Damn it, Lucien-” There’s the sound of glass crunching under feet, and then his mattress dips under an additional weight. Before he can fully comprehend what this means, a pair of arms suddenly wrap around him, pulling him into the embrace of a small, soft body.

Lucien can’t remember how to breathe. It’s like time has ceased to flow, and nothing is real except for the warmth that emanates from the body pressed to his. A choked sob struggles in his throat, trying to wrench its way free, trapped in place by disbelief.

“I’m real.” You repeat, fingers lacing with his tightly. He grips them hard, recalling the shape and feel of them in his - they fit together perfectly, key in lock, just like he remembers. “You’re real.” He says, in a daze.

“Mmmhmm. Your other hand reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes, and he finds his eyes tracing your features hungrily, desperate to commit every part of you to memory. “You’re really terrible at taking care of yourself when I’m not there, you silly man.”

That’s when he knows it’s really you.

He opens his mouth to laugh, to speak, to say something - it leaves him in the form of a choked sob. More and more start to spill from his mouth, inconsolable. He’s shaking from the force of them, fingers clinging to the fabric of your dress. There’s so much he wants to tell you, but he can’t find the words.

I’m sorry, he wants to say. Over and over again, until you can forgive him. Nothing is more precious than this tiny body in his arms.

“I wanted you to come back and tell me off.” Lucien finally croaks, voice a broken whisper, still staring. He can’t tear his eyes away, too afraid to even blink. Your smile is sad, hurting for him as you kiss the tears from his eyelashes - so tender that his heart feels like it’s ripping itself in half. “I... I-”

Suddenly, pain spikes through his head and he groans, slumping against your body. His body is breaking out in feverish chills, temperature running dangerously hot. “Lucien! What’s wrong?”

“O-overdose...” He manages, gritting his teeth against the agony - his vision swims before his eyes and it takes all his effort not to pass out on the spot. “It’s just too much in my body, that’s all. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Stupid scientist, what’s the use of that brain if you can’t even take care of yourself-” You mutter under your breath, hushed with anxiety as your hands grip his shoulders to support his weight. “Lie down, get some rest. I’ll go get you some water and a towel.”

“No!” Lucien clutches you to him the second he hears those words - he’s terrified that you’ll vanish like a good dream the second he wakes up. “Don’t go, please-”

It’s pathetic to beg like this, stripped of any sense of pride and self dignity, heart bared in an ugly, gaping hole in his chest - and he doesn’t care.

Your face paints over with pained tenderness before you finally nod, wrapping your arms around him once more and tucking his face into the crook of your neck. There, he can feel the flutter of your pulse against his lips - strong and steady, a sure sign of life.

“You’re alive.” Lucien repeats again, just to make sure. Your fingers tangle in his hair, stroking over his back. He shudders at your touch and buries his face tighter against your neck.

“Alive.” You confirm. Your breath is warm against the shell of his ear. “Go to sleep, now.”

Finally, he allows exhaustion to take him, eyes slipping shut as darkness replaces his vision. The last thing he’s aware of is the warmth that envelopes him, too acute to be false, too good to be real.

Your promise echoes in the last vestiges of his consciousness.

I’ll be here when you wake up.

#mlqc lucien #mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mr love lucien #mr love queen's choice #lucien #lucien xu #lucien fanfic

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jenovahh · 3 years ago

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The Honey Pot - Ch. 18 - Ruin

“I thought you didn’t fuck your employees.” You bite out, digging your nails into his tuxedo, still trying to resist, but now that he's gotten between your legs, all blood has drained from your brain and into the core that burns between your thighs.

"We have long since passed that relationship," he shoves your blazer to the side as much as possible, his fingers able to pop open the buttons on your shirt with one hand. "We are not lovers and we are not enemies…but we are each others." His lips press hotly to your skin, searing in its touch and you bite down harshly on your lip to keep a whimper from slipping out.

"Zenos--" you breathe, looking up and down the hallway, "--let’s at least," you bury your fingers in his hair to pull him off of you, but it has the opposite intended affect. He moans long and low, cursing as you can feel yourself get wetter at the sound. "Take me to your room." you demand and his eyes spark at your order. Tightening your thighs around him, you hold tight as he makes his way to his room, fishing for the keycard hurriedly. He practically slams it against the door, but it’s good enough for the locking mechanism to let you inside. He’s barely got you across the threshold before spinning you both to pin your back against the door just as it shuts.

"Only because you wished it did I bring you back here." he growls, hands trailing down to your ass, giving a brutal squeeze. For someone who insisted on calling you his beast, the look in Zenos eyes could only be described as feral. "I have no qualms about fucking you in a hallway."

That statement sends more heat to your core than it should, but you fight to keep a level head. "I'm not going to jail because you couldn't keep it in your pants long enough, you brute." You hiss, flushing deeply as it ebbs into a whimper as he rolls his hips against you. "Oh gods,"

He chooses not to respond to that, instead taking the flat of his tongue to lick a line up from the valley of your breasts to your jawline. He has no shame in repeating the motion, listening for your whimpers as your chest arches into his own, your panties clinging uncomfortably to your lower lips. Now that you aren't complaining, he takes a little more time to unbutton your shirt further, exposing your breasts to his ravenous gaze. Before you can even try to bring your hands to push him away, he unhooks your legs from your hips to make you stand on your feet, spinning you around to face the door before you can protest.

"Can we at least get to the bed, oh," His teeth join in with his tongue on your neck, nibbling and biting as his hands slide up to cup your mounds in them. He tests them, feels their weight, massaging them with a hint of reverence and impatience. He releases a shuddering breath against your skin, slowly inhaling on the next breath as he buries his nose into your hair.

"Exquisite," he praises, coaxing your arms to aid him in taking your blazer and shirt off. He plucks your linkpearl from your ear and drops it to the floor, uncaring if it could get crushed underfoot. "You do not understand how much I have wanted this…" he sighs, undoing your bra with one hand. He wastes no time pushing it out of the way to mold flesh to flesh. You can't count how many times you've felt the rough texture of his hands, be they adjusting your form or slamming you to the ground, but feeling them cradle your breasts so carefully…

You release a long and loud moan.

Zenos pressed himself closer against you in response, the imprint of his cock promising everything and more as it nestles itself in the cleft of your ass. His fingers move to tweak your nipples and you cry out; legs trembling in their fight to keep you upright. "Zenos, please,"

"You will not rush me," he snarls, aiding you in shoving your pants down along with your panties. You kick them off ungracefully in your impatience and you cannot bring yourself to care. His fingers delve between your legs painfully slow, spreading your soft petals with his long fingers. "Look at how wet you are…you've wanted this as badly as I." he chuckles, the entire sound reverberating through you due to his closeness.

You pout as you can't bring yourself to take the blow to your pride by admitting that in a very deep part of you, yes, you have wanted this for quite some time. Your legs quake and tremble in anticipation, his fingers running over your lower lips, teasing you as his finger just grazes the pink bud beneath. Your will fractures for a second, making you willing to put your pride on the shelf. "Put them in me,"

"You know what I want to hear." He hums, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling. He chuckles as your thighs quiver around him, bringing his other hand to creep up to your throat possessively. "Just a few simple words. You were so brazen earlier. What was it you said; you cared for me?"

"Fuck you," you ground out, hips moving in time with the rhythm he skirts around your clit. Your tongue darts out to swipe across your lips, staring at his own as you wish he would close the distance once more and kiss you. "Narcissistic bastard,"

"Just a few words Honey, and I will give you what you want so badly." He purrs, fingers moving to spread your lower lips apart, middle finger grazing across your clit torturously slow. Just his touch alone pulls a whimper from your throat, your hand clasping around his wrist as your will finally breaks.

"I’ve wanted you, please, please," He slips a finger inside and you moan even louder, throwing your head back against his chest, caring little for the face you were making. Eyes fluttered shut, you bask in his attention as you feel him press a kiss to your forehead, so gentle compared to how lewdly his second finger was now pushing into you.

"I will ruin you for anyone else." A threat and a promise from his lips, whispered against your skin so tenderly that it sends anticipation racing through you rather than fear. His fingers pump into you in a steady rhythm, grazing your clit deliciously each time. Bracing your free hand against the door, it’s a fight to keep yourself upright under his ministrations.

Why does it feel so good?

Why is your head in a fog?

It had never felt this good with Estinien, with anybody--

His fingers pump into you relentlessly, increasing in speed as his grip around your throat grows a little tighter. With his strength he could easily snap your neck, but--

You trust him.

You give yourself over to your desires, over to him and let him careen you to the point of no return. He curls his fingers to hit that spot and with a few more thrusts you come on his hand, sobbing his name as your legs finally give up. He sinks down to the floor with you, your body unwilling to let his hand go as you tremble from the force of your orgasm. "Oh…Oh gods,"

A few more seconds pass and he finally withdraws his hand, unabashedly licking it clean, tasting your honey. He hums to himself as he does so, scooping you into his arms once its finally clean. "Color me impressed, my beast. I don't think I've seen anyone fall apart quite as beautifully as you do." Despite his sweet words, he drops you on the bed, giving you a few more moments to recover.

Lying there, you watch shamelessly as he undresses; refusing to blink lest you miss a single moment of it. He drops his cufflinks to the floor along with his bowtie, eyes focused solely on you. To be the center of his attention like this is flattering, even as he says nothing at all, you can tell he does not need to.

His tuxedo jacket comes off next, falling to the floor, then next his cummerbund. A little more aware now that the haze of your release has lifted, you sit up as he unbuttons his shirt, going painstakingly slow as he reveals the creamy expanse of his muscled chest to you.

"Look all you want." he breathes, shrugging out of his shirt. You take a curious breath as a tattoo in the shape of a dragon snakes its way across his left pectoral, the detail to it stunning and almost surreal.

Unnatural.

But as his hands finally reach for his hands reach for his slacks, you find you can ask him about that later. With bated breath you watch as he unzips them oh so slowly, you know he is teasing you. As he steps out of them, you can see the outline of his cock more clearly, mouth watering at the idea of getting a taste. "You may taste me later," he pulls down his underwear, allowing his cock to spring free. It is everything you hoped for and more, your eyes able to tear away for but a second to meet his own. "I have denied myself of you for too long."

Kneeling on the bed he makes his way to climb over you, his eyes raking over your form. "How should I take you first?"

"Hard," you respond with no hesitation, "and fast." You swear you can see his eyes visibly dilate at that, the flame of lust you saw in his eyes turning into a wildfire, ready to destroy all in its path.

You hoped you were on the list.

Nude as you are, he makes his way to you across the bed, looking every bit the beast he so proclaimed others to be. Strands of his hair fall from his shoulders, framing his face, the face that is looking at you so intensely that it steals your breath. "On your knees." He orders and you are too taken by him to defy him, flipping to your front and presenting yourself to him. His hands grip your hips, smoothing over your skin as he lines his cock up with your entrance. You can feel his warmth already, whimpering as he presses the head toward your entrance. You're faintly thankful of keeping up with your contraceptive as he glides himself along your lower lips, slicking himself up with your juices.

"Don't tease me, you bastard…" you growl faintly, pressing your hips back toward him.

"So eager...you really do want me badly, don’t you?" He murmurs, fitting the head inside your pussy, making your breath hitch. Any protest of ever wanting him dies in your throat. "The feeling is more than mutual…"

The confession makes you gasp, a gasp that gives way to a moan as your fingers fist in the sheets while he pushes in slowly. You take deep, calming breaths, because while Estinien is big yes, Zenos is another beast entirely.

And it’s to your surprise Zenos feels perfect.

He teases you, this you know, a hand pressing down hard on your back as he works your body. Sometimes he pulls out a little to slowly push further in, taking his time while also leaving you whining beneath him. "Zenos if you don't just...put it in," you growl, trying to push your hips backwards but the pressure of his hand pinning you down is too great to do anything from this position. You love it as much as you hate it, your growl turning to a moan as he pushes that much deeper.

Clicking his tongue, he rubs a gentle hand along your hip, a foil to how he bears his strength upon your back. "While I share in your eagerness, I will not break you." You don't have turn face him to hear the dark promise in his next words. "At least, not like this." You feel the pressure of his hand alleviate for a second before he cages you with his body, breath raising the fine hairs on the back of your neck as he nibbles on the skin. "The poor are so quick to consume even the tiniest of pleasures, knowing they are not meant to last, or that they may never experience them again. I intend to treasure my prize."

Just as he finishes that statement does he fully hilt himself within you. He releases a shuddering moan against your skin just as you release your own lengthy one, burying your face against the silken sheets. Your head is in a total fog as you adjust to his girth, the way he fills you not only completely, but perfectly, to the point where there is not a part of your core that is untouched by him. As your body eventually relaxes against him, he doesn't wait for your okay to wrap his arms around your front, keeping you flush against him as he sits up once more.

Practically in his lap were it not for how his legs were spread, he sighs contentedly against your neck, licking a long line to your jaw. His hand comes up to cup your jaw to face him, allowing him to kiss you once more, your moan swallowed down his throat as his other hand reached between your legs, fingers running along where he split you open. "I can't deny how good it feels to finally have you on my cock…" he murmurs, fingers dancing around your clit, lips brushing against your own, sending just faint hints of pleasure racing through your veins. You wiggled your hips to urge him to move but his hold on you didn't let you get far. "What do you want me to do…?" he asks innocently despite the lewd way you are connected.

"Fuck me, Garlean." You demand, eyes alight with fire, hoping he'll rise to your bait. The smirk he gives you lets you know he sees right through you, but still he reaches to kiss you deeply, pulling out so very slowly, all the way to the tip. "More," you beg, voice raspy to your own ears.

His hand clasps your chin tighter, possessively even, eyes hooded as though he looks to be gazing upon the sun for the first time. "Even in this do you seek to defy me…" He snaps his hips roughly, your sheathe so wet for him he hilts within you with minimal resistance. "As I had said earlier this night...I need to remind you of your place." His arms tense around you as he sets a steady pace, his girth brushing against your clit along with his fingers, and you swear he was trying to make you come.

Your hands fly up to the arm holding your chin, eyes pleading for something as he sends you careening towards oblivion. "W-Wait," your breath comes out in a gasp, gliding into a moan as his fingers work your clit, the pace of his hips nowhere near punishing, but his fingers work your clit furiously. His gaze is fixated on you and you alone, before his eyes catch something on the far wall, a smirk gracing his features.

"Look, my beast," he purrs, turning your chin to spy your reflection in the tall windows across the room. "Look at you. After fighting me so long, look at you." he croons burying his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. "Looking like this, you seem more like a docile lapdog, than the beast I have longed to face." His tone sounds disappointed, bored even, but you can see the truth in how enamored he is with the sight of his cock thrusting into you. "Watch yourself fall apart at my hand, the one you claim to hate so passionately."

You shake your head as best as you're able, eyes locked on the two of you, heart pounding as you see how good the two of you look in the window. His muscular thighs framing your own, his torso overshadowing yours, his hands hold you to him like he owns you. His beautiful golden hair sticking to him, the look of your skin against his. The sight only adds to your mounting pleasure until just one more flick of his finger across your clit sends you tumbling, his name pulled past your lips in a keening cry as your body tenses around him with the force of your second release. As you go slack in his arms he holds you tight, kissing on your neck gently, nibbling the skin lightly. Once your body has fully relaxed does he thrust again, his fingers brushing across your nub just barely.

Whining from overstimulation, your body instinctively tries to pull away from his touch but he whispers sweet words into your ear, pulling you closer against him. "Don't run from me now that I have you." he rumbles, sending a shiver down your spine as he pulls out, and you feel bereft from the loss. "Let the hunter savor his kill. His reward from a successful hunt."

"Will you stop that," you snap, despite how you allow him to flip you over to lie on your back. You don't fight against him as he hooks your knees over his arms, lining himself up to enter you again. "We really need to work on your bedroom talk."

"Oh? Would you prefer to hear how I had dreamed of you riding my cock?" He asks and the question immediately makes you flush with such a bold statement. "How you had begun to fill my fantasies of me tempering that defiant mouth with your lips wrapped around me…" he choose that moment to push in, moaning deeply as he pushed your thighs against you, aided by your flexibility.

“Y-Y...You,” Even if you cannot make your lips form the question you so desperately want to ask, the disbelief in your voice is enough for him to understand.

“Have I ever been afraid to voice my desires?” He croons, nearly bending you in half but you feel no pain as his palms lay flat against the bed. Like this, he feels to reach impossibly deeper making you throw your head back. Taking advantage of the skin presented to him, Zenos attacks like the very predator he refuses to see himself as and marks you for his own. Your toes curl as a moan you’d be embarrassed to recall later escapes your throat, but if he found it weird, he did not mention it. “I have wanted you for far longer than I wish to admit. But it seems words are the only thing you understand.”

That strikes a chord within you, tears pooling in your eyes as he rears his hips back and starts a slow sensuous pace, breathing ragged as he leaves no part of your neck unmarked.

Words are the only thing you understand.

“Zenos…” you moan, burying your hands in his hair to jerk his face up to your own, bringing him into a bruising kiss, his lips frozen against your own as if he was not expecting you to use such force. But he follows suit easily enough, your kiss so passionate you miss the spark of something more pass through you.

Breaking apart, he chuckles against your lips, swiping his tongue across his own. “Tell me, my beast,” He gives a hard thrust, his gaze reverent as he watches you come undone. “Did you feel the same? Did you dream of me too?” his gaze grows cold and dark for a moment, sending shivers down your spine. “Even when you were fucking that excuse of a bodyguard?”

You gasp, eyes wide with confusion at how he could’ve possibly found out. “How did you--”

“I am not the jealous type,” He assures you, smirking cruelly. “How can I be jealous when I knew you would come back to where you belonged?” he whispers, picking up the pace slightly.

Despite yourself, you can’t stop yourself from biting out cruel barbs, if only to regain some high ground. “To think you’d go as far as listen to me fucking someone else...did you like what you heard?” you grin callously, but you forget that if he wants to hurt you, he knows how to hurt.

“Your moans were quite lovely. Though I have to say I certainly do prefer hearing them for myself.” He laughs, punctuating his statement with a sharp thrust, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. “But it is what you said after that stuck with me.”

I feel so...guilty.

“Even then, you were thinking of me. Thinking of how you cared about me.” He growls, fucking you harder now, to the point the bed rocks against the wall. "Thinking of how you belong to me."

“No, that’s not,” But words fail you because he’s right.

Twelve above, he’s fucking right.

You bring him to you for another harsh kiss, anything to shut him up so he can’t know your heart better than you do.

“You fucking idiot,” you moan against him, hands pulling tight against his hair in a death grip, tugging painfully on his scalp but if anything, the motion seems to make him pound you faster. You wish you could wrap your legs around his hips, hold him as close as possible, needing something to anchor you in this tidal wave of emotion he’s seen fit to unleash upon you. “Zenos, please,”

He’s far past words himself, his thrusts staggering in pace and you know he’s close. Your lips brush against each other, just so, your name a whisper on his lips as he comes undone with a shuddering moan, body convulsing with the force of his orgasm. You can feel his seed reach deep inside you, his head falling against the bed as he gulps down air. Somewhat sluggishly, he moves a hand between the two of you, releasing your leg to reach for your clit and play with the swollen nub, your pleasure barely having a chance to falter as he drags you down into bliss with him, screaming his name into the night.

Morning comes, and you look like you got in a fight rather than had an a tumble in the sheets with the heir of Galvus enterprises.

The day starts off rather relaxed; the sun is shining through the windows of the hotel room, your body pleasantly sore as you burrow into the silk sheets a little further. Before you could get comfortable enough to drift off to sleep again, Zenos has tossed a bagel at you, demanding you get up and eat.

Sitting up, you find him standing near the side of the bed, dressed in a simple bathrobe, arms crossed. Looking for the offending object he threw at you, you pick it up from the bed and look back up at him in disbelief. “Did you just...throw a fucking bagel,”

Arching a brow, he huffs out a laugh. “Yes, I did. Eat it; you’ve been asleep well past sunrise.”

“We are in a different timezone, Zenos.” You growl, having half the mind to chuck the bagel back at him, but even the bagel didn’t deserve that.

And because it was a rich people bagel, it wasn’t nearly hard enough to do any real damage.

“Excuses.” He leaves the bed to return to the breakfast nook across the way, picking up a newspaper from the table. “I’m surprised you had slept in for as long as you did.”

“Some of us have normal circadian rhythms,” you snarl, angrily taking a bite out of the bagel. It is good. “And also didn’t have living daylights fucked out of them by their boss just a few hours ago.” A smirk graces his face at that, entirely too pleased. You forgot it was too easy to stroke his ego…

“True as that may be, I will not have you slacking off.” His voice is haughty and you swear his big head could blot out the sun. “Especially when I have decided to treat you to a more indulgent breakfast.”

At that you perk up immediately, watching as he pulls a lid off a literal silver platter, revealing a rather hearty breakfast. You throw the covers off you, ready to head over and dig in, only to remember that you are stark naked. Grabbing the sheets, you bring them back to you again, grumbling at his amusement at your expense.

“If I recall, I believe I did not...handle your suit as well as I should have,” he laments, though there is not a onze of regret in his voice, “But your room isn’t far from mine, correct? Just a floor or two down?”

“I am not walking to my room with nothing but a bed sheet to be decent, Zenos yae Galvus.” You hiss, fixing him with their fieriest glare you could muster.

“I would never suggest such a thing.” He scoffs, finally glancing up from the newspaper to fix you with a sultry look. “However, you do have two options. I believe my shirt is somewhere on the side of the bed over there; if you want to cling onto what remains left your modesty, help yourself to it. Otherwise, I have no qualms about you eating breakfast here in the nude…” His gaze goes absolutely ravenous. “Though, I cannot promise you will get much eating done if you do.”

Awash from more embarrassment than you can handle, you decide to swallow your pride one more time and search around the side of the bed as instructed and find his dress shirt from the night prior. As expected, it is big on you, not just from its length, but the fact it must account for all that rippling muscle you had your hands on last night. Buttoning it to where it would be comfortable, you head over to the breakfast nook and have a seat, mouth watering at the sausages and eggs laying before you.

“Why the change of heart?” You ask, eyeing the food warily.

“The kitchens are too busy preparing others’ food to prepare special orders. I will also admit I woke up slightly later than usual. There are more residents here than usual due to the gala.” He waves dismissively, reaching for a cup of coffee you hadn’t noticed before. “Though I decided, since you behaved so well last night, I thought you deserved a small reward.”

“Well aren’t you feeling yourself?” You huff, reaching for a fork and knife and reaching for a plate to put your own share of food upon.

“Hardly. You did that last night.”

By the gods, he was insufferable.

You had to wonder if part of the reason he treated you like shit is that he was unfathomably, sexually frustrated; he had been the perfect picture of helpful since you first opened your eyes that morning. Not only had he ordered you breakfast, but he had called for room service to bring a change of clothes up to his room for you to change into. The gestures were a complete turn around from how he had been treating you, that it almost gave you a little whiplash.

You care about me. And I belong to you.

Thinking on his words, you wonder what it was about that statement had finally made things click in his head that you gave a little more than a damn about him.

What would this mean for the two of you down the line?

Not letting your inner thoughts show, you’re glad at least that you have the day to be a tourist, and explore the sandy shores of Limsa Lominsa. It was strange to have a city built so close the shore, but you supposed that was part of its charm. When questioned where you were going, you told the truth, and promptly lost his interest as a result. You’re tempted to try and goad him into coming along anyway, but stop yourself before you do something you regret.

La Noscea is just as magical and amazing as you had expected it, the salty tang of the air a scent you not soon forget. If you were being monitored, let them see; let them see how despite all the beatings and killing you had to do, you were still a normal person with hopes and dreams and aspirations. There was so much world you wanted to see.

You took pictures of everything you thought was interesting, wanting to show Y’shtola and Lyse that despite everything, despite the maiming, the stealing, the killing--

There were still some moments of joy.

“Father, you seem displeased.”

Zenos clearly knows why, if his smug smirk is anything to go by. Varis’ foul countenance would be normal, if not for the accusing look he pins you with.

“And where did you run off to the night before?” He asks, tone clipped.

Frowning, you stand your ground. “Your son decided to walk off without telling anyone and I followed him, since that is part of my job.” You answer as evenly as possible, daring him to say anything against it.

“Followed him all the way to his room, I take it?” Varis presses, doing his best to loom over you.

Clearly Varis didn’t get the memo that even his son couldn’t get you to back down.

“He’s safe ain’t he?” You ground out, tired of everyone looking into your fucking sex life like it was up for inspection. Seriously, what was the fucking deal?

“I suppose so.” Varis sighs, turning his back to you with nothing else to say apparently. Livia and Rhitahtyn flank him, each of them giving you their own shrewd look. Nothing would come of it from worrying about it, and you thought it best to just leave it be now until you returned home.

“Do not concern yourself with my father’s childish ways.” Zenos comments, his voice floating to you easily even over the hub bub of the airport. “But do be wary.”

He didn't have to tell you twice.

"You're increasing my visits to Estinien?" You balk, gut twisting at this position Varis is putting you in.

"I don't believe I hesitated." He answers lowly, brows furrowed. "You have proven that the bodyguard is hardly better than a dog and will come sniffing at any piece of meat put in front of it; put it to use as I had asked, and get some worthwhile information."

"I am not using sex to weasel information out of my friend!" you shout, emotions a storm despite the cool, calculating glare of Varis.

"Really now? You obviously had no problem spreading your legs for him before." He chuckles, crossing one long leg over the other. Just seeing how unbothered he looks threatens to send you into a fury.

"Stay out of my fucking business."

Varis is silent for a moment, before he heaves out an obviously fake sigh. "I will...as long as you are all right with some…‘trouble’ befalling poor Ardbert."

You go stock still, not believing the words you're hearing.

You had always feared, always known, but--

For it to finally come to this…?

A dark look overshadows your face as your hands itch to wrap around his neck. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, but I would." He grins cruelly, reclining in his plush chair, fingers steepled across his lap. "It would be as simple as a bomb under his seat or remote activation to shut off his car at an inopportune moment. Or perhaps, paying someone to force him off the road,"

"Enough!"

Your body quakes with fear.

Breathing heavily, you dig your blunt nails into the leather chair, trying to calm yourself down. You knew he was a bastard, but for him not even blink an eye at the thought of killing one of his most loyal employees…

Ardbert, who had dreams, hopes, aspirations. A loving girlfriend. Friends. Family.

Snuffed out like a light.

"I'll go."

Arriving at the estate, you wish you could dredge up the enthusiasm you once had seeing the gate open before you, but instead all you find is dread.

"Honey!" Cid calls, making his way through his large yard in khaki shorts and what you’re pretty sure is a Costa del Sol shirt. "I did not expect you today, well rather until Varis made a rather untimely call, the bastard." He grumbles, all smiles until he can sense your dour mood. "Honey,"

"I’m sorry for the surprise visit," you apologize, giving a deep bow. "It was rather unexpected to me as well."

Frowning, you can tell Cid obviously doesn't buy it. "Omega!" he calls and sure enough does the little beetle come scuttling from some unknown location and into Cid’s waiting palm. "There, we are safe. What's the matter?"

Eyes watery with tears you blink them back, failing as they stream down your cheeks. "Cid, I,"

No, it was too risky. You couldn't. Even with the device disguising your words, you knew Cid would be worried and would tell Estinien who would be furious--

"I...I need the device not to follow me today," you start, a lump catching in your throat as you can literally see how Cid puts two and two together in a split second.

"He's threatening you, isn't he?" He ask, voice low and rumbling, causing you to nod weakly. Pursing his lips together, Cid's fists clench at his sides, eyes studying the ground momentarily before settling back on you. "Tell me how I can help."

Shaking your head, you warble out your plea, "Cid, please don't get involved. If anything were to happen,"

"I can always create false leads, send him on a goose chase." Cid assures you, gently placing his arms on your shoulders, bringing you to him. "I can help."

The comfort of his embrace does little to ease your fears, but it at least calms you enough that your crying turns into sniffles. You allow him to hold you, wondering if you really could trust Cid to stay safe and let him help you. With someone as capable as Estinien, he should be fine, right?

The very thought makes your instincts riot.

"I appreciate the thought," you begin, slowly pulling away from his embrace, "but I couldn't bear to put you in danger Cid." Giving him a smile that does not reach your eyes, you sigh and begin walking inside the house, kicking your shoes off pitifully.

You're practically dragging your feet as you make your way out to Estinien’s little slice of heaven, the small home no longer the refuge you had looked forward to every weekend. Just the sight of it bogs your steps down with questions of commitment and confusion, unsure what you want as your feet finally come to a stop at his doorstep. With a shaky hand, you knock lightly, so light that no one would’ve heard it even if they were a few steps down the hall.

“Come in, you sad sack.” Estinien grumbles, swinging the door open and yanking you inside. You yelp as you lose your balance, crashing into his sturdy torso, the door slamming shut behind you. He’s warm as always, that wintry, wooden scent that clung to him filling your nostrils as you breathe him in. Somehow it calms you, and despite how you felt pulling yourself across the lawn, you relax in his embrace.

Estinien stands there himself for a moment before his free hand smooths itself down your back, and you sigh at his touch. “You look like shit.”

It bears repeating, but you feel like shit.

“I do, don’t I?” you laugh, dropping your gym bag to the floor. Fisting your hands in his shirt, you finally stand to gaze at him, his bottom lip poked out in a pout, but he cannot hide the concern in his eyes.

Once he’s sure you’re steady, he tilts your chin up, cool breath flowing in wisps across your face as you grip at his threads even tighter. “Estinien,”

As if he could no longer restrain himself, he presses his lips to yours, soft and fierce and filled with longing. There is a note of sadness to his kiss and your throat tightens up from trying to hold back your own tears waiting to be shed. His request to deepen the kiss does not go unnoticed and you cannot help yourself either, unable to deny yourself or him the simplest of pleasures, the comfort that is being in the arms of another.

When his hand reaches for the hem of your shirt, your hand moves to stop him, and he stops. You’re surprised at his action and you think he knows, for his next words are, “If you want me to stop, I will.”

“That’s the thing,” you laugh again, humor completely absent from your voice. “I don’t know if I want you to. But something is telling me I should make you.”

You both stand there in silence, the day ticking by seconds at a time as you wait for him to say something. But there is nothing for Estinien to say for the decision of whether this continues does not lie with him, but with you.

“I don’t want to use you.” You finally say, able to put the bitter feeling in your heart into words.

Estinien studies you, that look of absolute yearning filling his eyes, as he rubs his thumb across you chin, catching your bottom lip. “And what would you say if I told you I wanted you to use me?”

A sort of righteous anger fills you at that from nowhere. “I would say you deserve better than that.” The surety of the statement strengthens the anger you had felt uttering the words themselves. Despite his prickly nature, any woman would be lucky to have him.

Barking out a cold laugh, Estinien dips low once again, whispering his next words against your lips. “It would seem you cannot even take your own advice.”

As you gasp, he steals your breath away along with another kiss, except this one is far hungrier than the one he had greeted you with. Moaning into his mouth, you grunt as he pushes you back against the wall, the two of you still standing in the doorway as his hands make their way up your shirt, feeling the skin that’s hidden beneath.

With every touch does Estinien set your body aflame, your mind doing flips as your heart pounds wildly in your chest. Guilt slows your motions as he hurries to undress you, and you do your best to press back the shame you feel as his fingers slip inside you.

“We are not lovers and we are not enemies…but we are each others.”

How did it turn out to be this way?

Estinien is normal. Safe, non-threatening. He treats you so well, he laughs at your jokes, you feel like an equal around him--

“We have long since passed that relationship.”

When Estinien hilts in you it feels good, but not as good--

Sweet, almost too sweet--

Right, but not right enough--

Incomplete--

By the Twelve, Estinien deserves more.

And you aren’t the one able to give that to him.

“I will ruin you for anyone else.”

Not when you belong to him.

#FFXIV #zenos yae galvus #zenos #Final Fantasy XIV #ff14 #THP

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justjessame · 4 years ago

Text

Glorious, Before the Burden - The Mourning ~ 10

My thoughts of Loki weren’t all darkness and sadness. After I’d had my fill of my garden at night, I’d retire to my bed - too big without him next to me. I’d thought I’d grown accustomed while alone in Asgard after his fall, but here, on Midgard where we first shared a bed it appeared that nostalgia came rushing back.

Lying beneath a blanket that felt too heavy, on sheets that felt too warm, I’d be overcome with memories of better times - other beds - where I wasn’t alone.

“Do you know,” Loki’s cool finger danced up my bare spine as my teeth dug into my lip and my eyes fluttered shut at the chill drawing gooseflesh to the surface of my sweat glistening skin, after all he’d just helped me see Valhalla in all its glory - again. “That I see constellations under your skin,” his tongue replaced his finger tip and I arched up to meet him, sighing at the change, the temptation, the NEED that he was building. “Shall I tell you the tales of each one, my love?”

I’d wake each morning twisted in the bedding, sweating and feeling as if I’d had no rest - because I hadn’t rested. I was reliving every moment of my life with Loki - while he was living on without me, with the belief that I was gone.

Michael Griffiths had adopted me, much as he’d told Director Nick Fury, he assumed the role of grandfather. And as such, he took it upon himself to get me acclimated to my new home. Including, against my better judgement, teaching me the ways around that dreaded beast - the computer.

“It won’t bite,” he assured me, opening up the portable version he insisted on bringing over.

A laptop, as it was called - although I’d only seen them set upon tables and desks - the screen flickered awake and as he talked me through the navigation, I found that it was a portal to more information. That coupled with the internet, it could help me gain knowledge of the points and passages of Midgard that I had missed, even with a few trips that Loki had surprised me with over the course of our marriage - they’d been spontaneous and random - I had much to learn.

“See,” Michael knew that I loved learning - a ferocious appetite, he called it - and this appealed to my need for it. “This cottage was already wired for wi-fi, a call was all it took -” he’d done it for me, just as he’d taken care of the cell phone, as he’d handled much of what I would have missed. I offered to repay him, but he shook me off, refusing every offer. “I have no family, no close family at least.”

And so - we became one another’s family. Taking comfort in each other’s company, I’d listen to his tales of a childhood that sounded simple, yet wonderful - and he understood when I didn’t share as much. I need to keep myself tucked away, at least for a while longer.

Not every night was filled with memories - some were filled with images that I couldn’t place. Images that I felt certain my mind gave me to give me solace, to ease my pain, to make me feel peace - though some were so dark that I had to fear that perhaps Odin was urging Frigga to send me a reminder of my punishment.

I saw Loki, in chains - shackled and held in place by guards, my pain hit me so low and deep I was startled that I couldn’t wake. I watched as he asked Frigga if he’d made her proud, as he warned him not to make things worse - as Odin ordered her out. How could my eyes burn so hot in a dream?

Loki, my brave, darling, ARROGANT love, standing tall and laughing at his adopted father - mockingly asking what the problem was in what he’d done on Midgard - why there was such a fuss. And then, as Odin and he had their back and forth, as he truly took notice of his surroundings, it seemed to dawn on him FINALLY that something was TRULY amiss.

“Where is SHE?” His tone wasn’t one of fear. It was anger, the anger I expected when he would first note my absence. “Where’s MY WIFE?”

Odin, had he always looked so smug? Had he always looked so all knowing and condescending? Or was I simply cynical now? My eyes see him through the filter of pain and being cast out for my honesty.

“Your WIFE,” he made the word sound like a crime, as if I WERE a crime. “Is DEAD.” Loki stared at him, opening his mouth and preparing to argue, but Odin wasn’t through. “By her own hand,” he nodded at a guard who stepped forward and my heart twisted as I saw just how deeply they’d plotted to keep us apart, to truly destroy our connection.

The guard held one of the hair picks Loki had commissioned for me, my favorite in fact, coated in blood and I knew - I knew that they really had severed the bond. It was as if Frigga had taken that pick and shoved it right through my heart, coating it in my actual life’s blood.

Loki didn’t allow Odin to see him react. He shut off all comments about me. Returning to the mocking, arrogant prisoner that Thor had returned from Midgard with - accepting, from an outward appearance, my suicide with a stoic heart. But I knew my husband, and I saw the red tint in his eyes, I saw the flash that crossed his face, and I understood - he wouldn’t allow Odin to see his pain. He wouldn’t allow his capture, this person who had taken him as a pathway to peace with one of Asgard’s oldest enemies to see how broken he was by the news that I was dead. Not after - not with his failure, not after he lost his way and his regret was piling ever higher.

Hearing that Frigga wouldn’t be allowed to visit was a final blow - life imprisonment without solace or peace. And for once - since he first started plotting for his throne - he felt he deserved it.

Gasping awake, I saw that dawn hadn’t yet crested. A glance at the clock told me I hadn’t slept more than a few moments. This tortuous dream felt like it had taken YEARS off my life, that it had lasted DAYS to watch, but it was moments.

Sobbing as I thought of Loki, MY Loki having to hear that I’d taken my life - considering how they’d searched our rooms, taking anything I could have considered doing just that, and wondered - had they WANTED me to? Had a family I’d been married into, a family I’d thought myself a part of for so very long, wished me to do them this favor? End my life so once they could find my husband, they would have a built in torture ready made?

I couldn’t - no, Frigga wouldn’t want me to have done such a monstrous thing. It was one thing to SAY it, to try to convince him that I had - but to push me to it? That was beyond anything anyone I knew would ever press for. These dark thoughts would get me nowhere - no closer to - but would ANY thoughts get me closer to HIM?

Picking through our past, I fought to find ONE, just ONE that would make it feel like he was near - and I felt as though I might be growing near it - but then just as it came within grasping distance, just as I could ALMOST catch a hint of a whiff of his scent, a glimmer of the blue of his eyes - it was gone - and I was alone once more.

“Sigyn,” Loki’s eyes were as red rimmed as they’d been in our rooms - the day of destruction that should have warned me of what was to come. The sob building in his chest. “My love, is that you?” It was as if he COULD see me, locked away in what I could easily see was one of Asgard’s prison cells. “Have you come to haunt me, my darling?”

I shook my head, reaching for him, my own eyes burning again. Wanting so badly to touch him, to feel his cool touch. “No, Loki, no,” my throat burned too, as if I’d swallowed glass. “Why would I haunt you?”

He didn’t come closer, regret and fear warring for dominance within him. “Of all my failures, wife, pushing you to THIS -” he gestured at whatever he was seeing when he looked at me. “THIS cuts me the deepest.”

Confusion overtook my longing for him, what - turning slighting, I caught sight of my reflection - rather a reflection of the wraith that my Loki saw when he glanced my way - what else could one call the withered, bloody being that seemed ragged with death and despair, wearing sorrow like a cloak, the wound I’d supposedly given myself with the weapon he’d had created for me blossoming from my chest like a grotesque flower.

“Oh, Loki,” looking down, unable to meet his gaze, not like this - in this form, this monstrosity that they’ve twisted me into. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Then whose?” His pain and grief pierced me as deeply as the false wound would have. “Whose fault if not mine?”

Waking up with tears streaming, the pain still clenching tight around my heart, I wished that I could have answered him. That I could have told Loki who was at fault - but would answering him have truly helped?

#loki x sigyn #loki series #loki #sigyn #angst #alternate universe #mention of smut #bear with me

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bubbletimestories · 5 years ago

Text

Yes, my Lady (Sebastian Michaelis/Reader)

Summary: You are a cousin of Ciel who has nothing to do with etiquette or conventions. After an evening of playing with the servants, you go to bed but fall asleep halfway. A butler devil will accompany you and take care of you... with zeal.

Warnings: sensuality, sexual tension, strip-tease

Themes: erotism, sleep, virginity, undressing, touch

A/N. I wrote this in one go and I absolutely did not read it again ^^

Translated with Google traduction, sorry ^^’

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23431300

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Bursts of laughter pierce the silence of a mansion on which night has fallen and the butler of these places comes to order his subordinates to make less noise. The count's sleep is a precious thing and even if the house is huge, Sebastian does not want to risk his master waking up, under penalty of suffering his bad mood when he has so much work to do. Silently, the hell of a butler approaches the servants' quarters where the cheerful voices of his colleagues come from, as well as a laugh whose origins he recognizes without understanding its presence.

- Lady Y/N?

When you hear your name, you startle and blush immediately because you cannot mistake who is behind your back. Bard drops a curse and puts down his cards, waiting to see what's going to happen, as do the maid and the gardener who watch their supervisor with concern. With his ruby eyes that make so much of an impact on you, Sebastian details your strange man's outfit, the clothes he recognizes as those of your cousin, the count. The simplest possible, they highlight your silhouette more than they hide it and he frowns when he discovers one of his shirts because those of his master would be too small to erase the curves of your female body.

Aware that all of this may seem preposterous, you are tempted to apologize and blush while running away but this idea does not last. You prefer to smile by raising an unobtrusive eyebrow in the direction of the butler, waving your cards with your fingertips.

- I was bored, alone in my room, so I wanted to keep Finnian and the others company. Are you joining us for a game?

Sebastian stares at you, radiant in your impertinence as a lady to whom nothing is refused, and makes a modest sign to refuse the invitation. The softness of his voice should not make you forget the strange sparkle of his almost pink eyes when he looks at you.

- It’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid I’m still too busy. Feel free to call me if you need anything.

You cannot say if you are disappointed or relieved by this answer but you let him take leave before returning to the game in progress and to the servants who, if they were very surprised when they saw you arrive, got used to your presence and to your familiar attitude. As the butler's steps wander off into the hallway, May Linn slides you in with a playful tone.

- You see, miss, he didn't even notice that I had taken a shirt from him.

You are far from being so sure but you say nothing, preferring to resume the game as if nothing had happened even if the disturbance caused by the arrival of the man in black has not yet subsided. You lose the first round but win the next, the hours passing at a crazy speed, much faster than during the many balls that you are required to attend and which are deadly boring. Midnight has long since struck when you put your cards down on the table, stifling a yawn, struggling to keep your eyes open.

- Thank you very much for this beautiful evening, I think it's time for me to go to bed. Well done for your three of a kind, Baldroy, I didn't see anything coming.

The servants greet you cheerfully, exhausted themselves, and you go out into the corridor to return to your room, candle in hand. In this huge mansion, you have the impression that ghosts could emerge from the walls and it would not be surprising after the tragic events of a few years ago. But the specters do not scare you, you are much too tired to let your imagination wander. However, you quickly realize that you no longer know where to go to find the stairs, you had to turn in the wrong place. Your eyelids close on their own and you lean against a wall for a while, taking a break. The freshness of the partition does not help you get out of your torpor, on the contrary, and you fall asleep half standing, in an anything but graceful position. It’s only a few minutes, just long enough to rest your eyes. You’re already imagining yourself walking the rest of the way, the passing corridors, the marble staircase, your bedroom door and your bed calling you. Sleep weakens your legs and you slide down the wall, threatening to drop your candle on the polished parquet.

Two arms support you before you touch the ground, retrieving the candle while lifting you with ease in a fluid movement. Surprised, you open your eyes with a grimace of protest, open your mouth to ask that you be put down but a soft voice anticipates your thoughts as you are lifted from the ground.

- Hush ... don't move, to carry you is the least I can do. I am unforgivable for letting you stay awake for so long.

Sebastian hemmed his lips in a smile as he walked the mansion without making more noise than a spirit, the candle casting shadows on his face, bringing out his bright eyes like those of a wolf. You would like to contemplate him at your ease, convinced that an eternity staring at him would not allow you to feast on his strange appearance, like a vampire in a gothic novel. However, when he whispers to you to rest at ease, your eyes close on their own and you plunge into a warm drowsiness, coiled in the arms of the butler.

In an effort to stay awake, you open your eyes and discover that you are in your room, the young man placing you on the bed that welcomes your body like a fluffy cloud. Now you're going to be able to sleep for a day or two, at least that's what you think and you notice with astonishment that the butler does not leave the room. Instead, he sheds the candle to better lean on you, his gloved hands brushing against your ankles as he begins to take off your shoes. Before your questioning look (despite the sleep that blurs your thoughts), he quietly explains:

- You can't sleep in this outfit. Relax, I'll take care of everything.

A groan pits your throat and you refuse to close your eyes, sensing without really understanding how special this moment is. With a calculated casualness, Sebastian carefully arranges the shoes before pulling your stockings, slowly, gently sliding them over your naked skin like a snake's molt. Your breath quickens to be thus stripped, especially by him who haunts your shameful dreams for some time. He seems to think of nothing but his work and goes up to your belly, a ray of moon hanging the white of his gloves along your leg. With a movement of the index finger, he blows up the button on your pants and your heart misses a beat when you see the malicious glow in the bloody pupils. For nothing in the world you would not want him to stop and while he spreads the sides of the garment to better remove it, you feel your pelvis contracting forward as if to call for a caress, not to break the contact with those long, careful hands.

- Let me do it…, he laughs softly while watching your fine flesh reveal itself as he takes off the pants, Lady Y/N, the male clothes suit you to delight.

As soft as a rag doll, you can only look at him and observe the spark of pleasure in his look to see you so offered, unable to calm your breathing or the beating of your heart. The jasket you're wearing doesn't last long, but when the butler prepares to undo the thin buttons on your shirt - or rather, "his" shirt - he interrupts his gesture with an embarrassed air.

- Please excuse me, I fear that these gloves will bother me to do my job properly. Allow me...

He steps back slightly and wedges the white fabric between his teeth, removing with a sensual slowness the only barrier between him and your half-naked body. One by one, the gloves fall to the floor and you think with a shiver of what these long, nimble fingers could do. Sebastian resumes his torture, undoing the buttons to free your chest better, touching the tips which harden as he takes off the immaculate shirt. From the disorder of your body, he loses nothing, neither the tension of your muscles, however languid, nor the movement of your lips half-opened by the emotion.

Leaving you halfway between the torpor and an excitement of which you do not yet understand all the power, the butler stands up to get a nightgown but you moan your dissatisfaction, shaking your head to signify that you do not want to clothing, you don't want anything on your body except his own. This thought shocks you so much it is daring and the pink goes up to your cheeks, however, you do not look away.

- Sebastian…

Your voice is nothing like a little girl's petition, not knowing what she is asking for, there is the imperious tone of the Phantomhive and the man in black cannot help but smile. He drops the night linen and returns to the bed, his eyes shining like two amethysts as he looks at you. You have nothing of a frightened virgin without flavor nor of a false virtue who only seeks to satisfy her voracity. The hell of a butler had already had the opportunity to observe you from afar, to notice the confusion when he met your gaze (and how could it have been otherwise?), this way of acting as if the outside world was of no importance. His bare hand lands on his heart as he tilts slightly, waiting for a word from you.

- Order and I will obey

His whisper fills the entire space of the room like a shadow that slides over your skin, creeping into each pore to fill you entirely. Your heart stops and you feel feverish, without any shame at the idea of being naked in front of the servant because he is much more than that, you would have to be blind to see in him only a docile and harmless young man. The beast has never been so present and you want it.

- Sebastian... warm me up.

Two hands with black nails come to grip your wrists while a breath comes to extinguish the flickering flame of the candle. Before the room sinks into darkness, you have time to notice the smile of the butler running his tongue over his sharp teeth, wedging your body between his thighs.

- Yes... my Lady

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #Sebastian Michaelis x reader #fic

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ibijau · 4 years ago

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Deathbed Wedding pt8

Qingheng-Jun faces accusations, and Yu Ziyuan makes a suggestion (Also on AO3)

In the end, Qingheng-Jun decided to follow the younger men as they went to check on Nie Huaisang. Although they had mentioned having other things to do, Lan Qiren, Meng Yao, and Yu Ziyuan followed close behind, sensing perhaps that there was a real risk for problems if Qingheng-Jun and Nie Mingjue were to be left in the same room without supervision. Although Yu Ziyuan probably only knew a few rumours, Lan Xichen knew that his uncle was aware of the full situation, and from what Nie Huaisang used to say about Meng Yao it was likely the young man also knew more than he should have.

Jiang Yanli led them all to a guest room where Nie Huaisang had been installed while Yunmeng Jiang’s physician cared for him.

As soon as he stepped inside and saw the state of his brother, Nie Mingjue let out a noise like a wounded beast and ran toward the bed. He knelt down next to it, his hands hovering over the body there, yet not daring to touch anything for fear of making the injuries worse. Only when the Jiang physician gently told him on her way out that it would not cause problems did Nie Mingjue dare to take one of his brother’s hands in his. Even then he held it as if it were something delicate, and even the gentlest of touches might leave a mark.

“A-Sang,” he called in a low voice. “A-Sang, I’m here. Can you hear me?”

There was no answer.

If not for the slow, laboured rise and fall of his chest, Nie Huaisang might have looked dead already. From where he stood in the doorway, Lan Xichen could see that most of his lover’s body was covered with bandages that were stained by healing salves and blood. Even his face had not been spared. The left side appeared somewhat intact, but the right one was covered in bandages like the rest of Nie Huaisang’s body.

“He was grounded,” Nie Mingjue said, glancing behind toward Meng Yao who tensed and couldn’t help hiding a little behind Yu Ziyuan and Lan Qiren. “How did he get to that Night Hunt?”

“He must have found a way out,” Meng Yao hesitantly replied, avoiding his sect leader's eyes. “Nie zongzhu knows that his brother can be quite… quite stubborn. And Nie zongzhu never saw fit to tell me where he went, so I was unable to warn him when I discovered that Nie gongzi had left.”

“I left him in your hands, Meng Yao!”

Meng Yao flinched, and bowed silently. Lan Xichen felt sorry for him, and hoped he would not pay too high a price for his failure to keep Nie Huaisang safe.

“Are you going to stay over there?” Nie Mingjue snarled, turning his attention to Lan Xichen who flinched as well. “After all this, he’s not good enough for you anymore?”

Trembling and half sick from the smell of blood and medicine that reached him even from where he was, Lan Xichen hesitated. If he came close, if he really saw Nie Huaisang, if he could touch him, this would all be real. But if he stayed away, then maybe it would just turn out to be a dream, or a mistake. It couldn’t be his beloved, laying on that bed. It had to be someone else, because Nie Huaisang should never have been allowed to endure such suffering.

And yet to be away from him was a torture as well. After so long, Lan Xichen needed to be close to his lover again, to hold his hand one last time.

Between the need to stay away and the need to be close, the second won. Lan Xichen took a step forward, only to be stopped when his father grabbed his arm.

“We had an agreement,” Qingheng-Jun reminded him. “If you do not keep your part of it by behaving, then I will count myself free of the demands you made of me.”

Lan Xichen hesitated again, until his uncle intervened and forced his father to let go of his arm.

“I won’t hear that from you,” Lan Qiren sneered. “Let the boy have this at least. Go, Xichen. Your father won’t fault you for your grief.”

Without losing a moment more, Lan Xichen walked to the bed. He dared not be next to Nie Mingjue at the moment, so he went to the other side of the bed and knelt there. Just as he had suspected earlier, the right side of Nie Huaisang’s body was in a worse state than the left. Lan Xichen, after a glance at Nie Mingjue, took Nie Huaisang’s other hand in his and started checking his pulse. He found his lover’s heart weak, and his energies nearly entirely gone, like a candle on the brink of giving its last spark.

Ever since hearing about the tragedy when they were in Gusu, Lan Xichen had fought to keep his composure, hoping against all hope that it would turn out a false alarm, and taking example on Nie Mingjue’s self-control. Now though, his usual calm failed him and he broke into tears, pressing his lips against the back of Nie Huaisang’s hand while sobbing heavily.

“How did it happen?” Nie Mingjue asked, staring at his brother's ashen face. “Weren’t his friends there too?”

“They were,” Yu Ziyuan confirmed coolly. “They say he ended up like this because he distracted the beast that ambushed them, and gave them a chance to flee. I owe him my son’s life, Nie zongzhu. So does Lan zongzhu, for that matter.”

Nie Mingjue did not reply, but through his tears Lan Xichen saw his friend’s expression darken. No matter what, he would prefer having his brother alive and well as a foolish coward, rather than to see him heroic but dying. But then, with what Lan Xichen had told him only some days prior...

Although he had little sympathy left for his father, Lan Xichen nearly told him to run while he still could, lest he suffer the full power of Nie Mingjue’s wrath.

He would have, if not for how cold Nie Huaisang’s hand felt in his, how much the boy he loved struggled to breathe.

“Lan zongzhu, a while ago I came to suggest a marriage between my brother and your son,” Nie Mingjue remarked, calmly, gently running his fingers against his brother's cheek. “At the time you said you had objections regarding my brother’s cultivation. You said that unless it improved, such a union could not be considered.”

“I said that. Are you trying to blame me for this, Nie zongzhu? I could not have been expected to guess he would not know his own limits. Although this is a tragedy…”

“What did he need to do?” Nie Mingjue cut him, gently putting his brother’s hand back on the bed before rising to his feet and walking up to Qingheng-Jun, towering over him. “Well? At what point would you have decided that he was good enough, when his reputation was apparently the only true objection you had to this union? Would this have been enough?” he snarled, gesturing at the bed, his eyes never leaving Qingheng-Jun’s. “Would anything have been enough?”

Qingheng-Jun did not answer right away, surprised by the question. Guessing what was going on, he turned his gaze to his son and glared at him.

“I don’t know what Xichen told you, but…”

“He told me the truth,” Nie Mingjue snapped. “Which is more than can be said of you. You were never going to allow that marriage, were you?”

Qingheng-Jun hesitated, as any wise man would have done when faced with Nie Mingjue’s wrath. Saying the truth would only bring trouble at that point, yet lying wasn’t an option either, because both Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren knew better, and neither of them would let Qingheng-Jun get away with it.

Not after this.

When Qingheng-Jun’s silence lasted to long for his taste, Lan Qiren coughed lightly to get Nie Mingjue’s attention.

“Xiongzhang believes that mixing love and marriage is not a good idea,” he said in a conciliatory tone, his expression one of concern and innocence. “Although his sons had not been informed of it when you came for your offer, Lan zongzhu had already decided long ago that a love match would not be an option for them, since he thinks it makes men foolish. As he told me after, he only meant to let you down gently. Since he spends little time with people, and even less with teenagers, he never realised that Nie gongzi would take his words as a challenge.”

Hearing those veiled accusations, Qingheng-Jun turned pale, while Lan Xichen shot his uncle a grateful look.

He had known since childhood that his father and uncle were not on good terms, but for the sake of their sect they usually managed to put their difference aside and act as a team. Lan Qiren had endured a lot for his brother’s sake. He had accepted a murderer as his sister-in-law, taken on the responsibilities of a sect leader without any of the advantages. He had also raised his brother’s sons as if they were his own, caring for them as their parents never did, and so perhaps Qingheng-Jun should have guessed on which side Lan Qiren would be on this matter.

“Strong passions lead to bad choices and regrets,” Qingheng-Jun stated coldly, gesturing impatiently toward the bed. “Look at Xichen now. The way he’s reacting to this is proof that I was right, and if anything those boys should not have been allowed to get so close. If you had been more careful, Qiren, this would not have happened.”

Ignoring the way Lan Qiren rolled his eyes, Qingheng-Jun turned to his son with a severe expression.

“Take it from my experience,” he said. “Love is fleeting. Marriage should be a partnership and the two parties should work together, but it brings nothing good to mix emotions into it. When you marry…”

“I will not marry,” Lan Xichen hissed at him, pressing his lips to Nie Huaisang’s hand. “You cannot make me, not after this.”

“You will marry. Or have you forgotten our agreement?”

Lan Xichen clenched his teeth and dropped his forehead against the back of his lover’s hand. He could not have forgotten, though he regretted that choice now.

He had been threatening to run to Qinghe and simply elope with Nie Huaisang when his father had attacked him with that offer. It had been a low blow, forcing him to choose between his lover and his brother, the two people he liked best in the world, knowing one of them would suffer no matter what he decided. Lan Xichen, in the end, had given in to reason and duty.

With the way things had turned out, he regretted it. If he had run away that day, then Nie Huaisang would never have gone on that Night Hunt, would not be laying on that bed, mangled and dying.

“So it is true that Lan gongzi had a special relationship with Nie gongzi,” Yu Ziyuan remarked with some disdain to her voice, bringing everyone's attention on herself.

She did not look too impressed by the news of Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang's relationship, but she also seemed less upset than Lan Xichen would have guessed. All in all, he thought she just looked rather bored.

“I did not want to listen to rumours before, but this confirms it,” she continued. “I must say, it makes me reconsider the option of marrying my daughter to him. An unresolved first love never does a marriage any good. I might change my mind about our agreement, Lan zongzhu. Unless…”

“Unless?” Qingheng-Jun asked, smoothing his features in a more polite expression.

“Unless we do resolve that first love,” Yu Ziyuan suggested, glancing at Nie Huaisang. “That boy, in his current condition, isn’t going to live very long. Lan zongzhu can check himself, if he doesn’t believe me. If you were to give in, it would only delay our plans for a little while, and I am sure that Lan gongzi will know to be grateful in the future and behave appropriately.”

Qingheng-Jun frowned at her.

“What do you mean about giving in?”

Yu Ziyuan smiled, showing too much teeth to have any hint of warmth in her expression.

“Isn’t it obvious? Lan zongzhu, I am saying to marry your son to Nie gongzi before he dies.”

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #deathbed wedding au

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