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missaengg · 3 months ago

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A Lazy Sunday Morning

Pairing: Rafayel x f!reader Tags: mdni, mild smut, fluff and humor, p in v sex, sleepy sex, sleepy cuddles, sleepy kisses Word Count: 1365 It was a lovely quiet Sunday morning, the first Sunday you’d been off in weeks, god damn it, and all you wanted was to sleep in, wake up refreshed, and maybe grab a coffee with brunch, not be assaulted by your boyfriend’s half asleep libido! ao3 link here.

It was a lazy Sunday morning. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Rafayel was pressing his morning wood against your butt from his position as big spoon. But it was no accidental position-related pressing. No, he was most definitely, not so subtly grinding it into your ass.

“Rafayel…”

Your voice came out as a mewling whine. He had ridden you last night until two in the morning! You were still covered in the remnants of last night’s activities, still red from where he had marked you with his mouth, still raw from the multiple moments of bliss he had given you, and still sore from where he had driven into you many times… so many times.

“Mornin’,” Rafayel’s sleepy voice mumbled into your hair.

You could tell from his heavy breathing, the way it whistled in your ear, the way his chest pushed against you slowly as he breathed in and out that he wasn’t fully awake. He pressed himself closer to you, one leg hooking over yours until they were tangled. All while he was still grinding his wood… into… your… ass.

You were exhausted and sore and sticky. Neither of you could muster the short trip to the bathroom to wash off after last night’s activities, instead falling asleep soon after in each other’s arms. It was a lovely quiet Sunday morning, the first Sunday you’d been off in weeks, god damn it, and all you wanted was to sleep in, wake up refreshed, and maybe grab a coffee with brunch, not be assaulted by your boyfriend’s half asleep libido — and my god did Rafayel have a little needy libido. The man was insatiable, trying to stick some part of him into you constantly. (Not that you’d ever admit that maybe you couldn’t get enough of him either, and that technically you did wake up refreshed just not in the way people would assume.)

And yet… you felt a pooling begin in your core, a familiar warm, wet arousal, a familiar swelling of your pussy, a familiar aching throb between your legs. You desired to enjoy your lazy Sunday morning with much needed sleep, especially after your — ahem — activities last night, but your body was betraying you, reacting to your boyfriend’s actions behind you.

He was burying his nose into your hair, deeply breathing in the smell of what was left of your shampoo. His hands were creeping up to fondle your chest, fingers lazily tugging at things he had explored thoroughly last night with his hot, pouty mouth. You wanted to protest for him to let you fucking sleep, but that was a lie— you were relishing his touch. He was driving you insane. His hot breath. His desperate hands. His firm body running along yours. His long length pressed against your ass cheek.

Rafayel stirred from behind you, little sleepy moans breaking the silence of the room, his little Rafayel growing even stiffer — was that even possible?!

“I wanna— I wanna feel you.”

The nuzzles in your hair were demanding. He moved his hips so that he was aligned with you from behind, a little sleepy hum of approval in his throat when his tip grazed along your sweet arousal. And then he slid in.

You softly gasped, a little sensual breathy, holy-ducking-shit-that-feels-so-ducking-good gasp. He slid in without much effort because you were so fucking wet, burying himself deep until he reached the hilt. Despite how many times he had been inside you the night before, he still left you feeling absolutely, deliciously stuffed. He wasn’t too big or too small, he was just right almost like his dick was made just for you. You reactively clenched around him, shivering from the anticipation of what he would do to you.

But then nothing. His normally greedy hands were still on your body. His normally desperate cock remained only buried. His labored breathing finally floated into your ears. You turned your head around to glance at him.

“Raf?”

He didn’t respond. He had a peaceful expression on his face, an adorable little grin gracing his lips, strands of his soft purple hair falling into his closed eyes. You reached a free hand back to softly brush them out of his face.

“Are you… sleeping?”

A noncommittal grunt rumbled from within him. Your mouth dropped open. The man had fallen back asleep! You oscillated between feeling incensed at his sleepy, horny, greedy, insatiable self riling you up, rousing all the sleep that you needed away and between feeling giggly, blushy schoolgirl at how goddamn adorable he currently looked in his sleep… with his dick twitching inside you.

You pressed a chaste kiss to his eyelid. Adorable won. Adorable always won. You startled when his eyes fluttered open, gazing into you, still hazy from slumber.

“Mornin’.”

“You said that already.” You giggled at his disorientation. How was he still so cute after all this time?

“I did?”

You nodded. His lips quirked into a lazy smirk.

“You’re warm.”

“Am I?”

“…And wet.”

“…yes?”

Your voice cracked as you blushed. There was no denying that you were very much turned on, but in your defense, there was a Rafayel inside of you and well, your boyfriend was attractive. Very… very… attractive…

“Again?”

His voice was still heavy from the lingering haze of sleep, but there was a naughty gleam in his eyes now, a wicked mischievous gleam, one that both delighted you and made you shiver.

You didn’t say anything, pouting at his teasing. God, he infuriated you, in both good and bad ways. You felt a hand trail its fingers down your side to your thigh where it lightly traced the letters of what felt to be its owner’s name, R-A-F-A-Y-E-L, so lightly you squirmed from his ticklish strokes.

“Do you want me to claim you again? Last night wasn’t enough?”

The amusement was evident in his tone. It only spurred on your excitement, but you weren’t about to let him win.

“Raf, it’s Sunday. I’m off. I want to sleep,” you whined, but your cunt decided that moment was the moment it would spasm around Rafayel’s cock betraying what you truly wanted. That little fucking mini you bitch.

Rafayel shook in laughter behind you, each laugh vibrating from his body to yours, his damn little mini Rafayel twitching inside eliciting a shiver – or two – from you. He entwined his fingers with yours, and slowly, he moved, but only just. He pulled out only about an inch or two before sliding in again.

“I’ll be gentle after last night’s… activities.”

His whisper tickled your ear, goosebumps prickling on your skin. He gently pressed his lips along your nape, grazing his nose behind your ear. Last night he was feral, but this morning he was sweet. So deliciously sweet.

You closed your eyes feeling a quiet bliss, content at how his arms enveloped you, how warm his body felt against yours, and how full you felt — physically and emotionally. You reveled in the lazy thrusts of your partner.

Rafayel slowly pulled out, and you looked back confused as to why he stopped, but you soon understood when he carefully rolled you onto your back, positioning himself above you. He guided himself back in, sinking down until all of him was fully flush against you save for his upper chest and face.

“Wanted to see you.”

He rubbed his nose against yours, briefly resting his forehead on you before placing tender, fluttery kisses on your eyelids, your cheeks, the corners of your mouths, anywhere he fancied. He still moved inside of you, but today, it wasn’t so much about the movement, but rather the proximity. If yesterday’s ecstasy was a burning inferno, today’s was a cozy blanket.

You returned his kisses with one of your own, also tender and chaste. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck pulling him as close to you as physically possible without melting into one another.

“Is this lazy enough for you?”

You smiled, a lovely little agreeable smile. Your pussy clenched around him also in agreement, and the most delectable little groan spilled from his lips.

“Yes, I think it is.”

#love and deepspace #loveanddeepspace #lads #lads fanfic #lnds #l&ds #rafayel x you #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace

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andreafmn · 2 months ago

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I'm Not Afraid | Chapter 23

Word Count: 3.1K Warnings: depictions of violence, mentions of blood

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack, as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

A/N: i've been MIA for a while, but trying to get back into the flow of things 💖

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Morning had come all too quickly for (Y/N). Sleep clung onto her body, threatening to never let go—not that she wanted it to. She had been exhausted for days, and it had finally caught up to her. Her limbs felt heavy, and her body felt sore. All she wanted was to rest—preferably for days. But a stinging pain in her shoulder after a particular wrong move had her shooting up from the warmth of her bed. At that moment, she noticed the other figure.

Right beside her, Derek lay unmoving. His eyelids fluttered in his sleep, his breathing soft and even. (Y/N) thought she had dreamt of him coming over, but there he was.

She thought she’d feel anger having him that close. Yet, after everything they had gone through in the hours of the night, it seemed that feeling had dissipated. She was glad to see him there, alive. Even through it all, she was glad he was alive.

Still, it didn’t mean she had to allow him to sleep comfortably on her bed. “Derek,” she said as she shook his shoulder. “Wake up, Derek.”

The attempt seemed futile as all the man did was turn in his spot and groan, annoyed that his deep slumber was being disturbed. With an exasperated sigh, (Y/N) used her unwounded arms to punch his arm as she screamed his name. Derek startled awake, stumbling to the ground as he gained consciousness.

“Good morning,” (Y/N) smiled coyly. “Sleep well?”

“Uh, yeah, I did,” he said after clearing his throat, the morning raspiness clinging to his vocal cords. “I didn’t really mean to sleep over. You just fell asleep on me, and well…”

“It’s fine, Derek,” she sighed. “I understand that you were worried last night. Now, you can get the hell out and leave me be.”

“Don’t be like that, (Y/N).”

She was wrong. She wasn’t angry at unconscious Derek. But him being awake ignited the flame of her ire. “Like what exactly, Derek?” she spat. “Last I heard, you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“That’s…” he stopped as he tried to find the right words, scratching his neck in frustration. “That was out of context.”

“Out of context? You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she scoffed. “Please, Derek, enlighten me on what the context was for you to tell me that you couldn’t trust me because I could turn out just like Kate.”

Having the words spat back to him stung the man. He knew why he had to push her away. He knew he had to do everything in his power to keep her safe from that one thing—not that it helped her when it came to things out of his control. But he could protect her from this one thing. Just this one thing. “I just… I don’t think I could tell you without putting your life at risk,” he admitted. “The last thing I want is for something to happen to you because of me.”

“Something has already happened, Derek,” the girl exclaimed. “We all almost died. That’s something. What else has to happen for you to start telling the truth?”

“Funny that you talk about the truth when you didn’t even tell me you had a plan with Scott,” he bit back. “Regardless of what’s happened, you didn’t even trust me enough to tell me that.”

“You wanted to kill Jackson! That was the best solution you could come up with,” (Y/N) spat. “When Gerard threatened Scott, he knew he had to find a way to defeat him. And when I confronted him about what happened at the station, he asked for my help and not to tell you. Your mind was already made up about the Kanima, and we knew nothing would sway you.”

She was right. That much Derek knew.

He also knew he should have let things go, to focus on finding a way to win her back. It was all he wanted. But he had yet to learn not to destroy the things he yearned for. “So, you and Scott are a team now?” Derek scoffed. “You seem to keep changing bands when it suits you best.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t stand not to be in control,” she seethed. “You told Scott you’d do things his way and went back on your word. Guess I should have seen that coming. If you could go back on what you told him, I shouldn’t have been surprised when you changed your mind about me, too.”

“What? Like you did in the beginning?” he retorted. “Why is it okay for you to keep secrets, but I can’t? Why are you allowed to change your mind a thousand times, but I can’t?”

“You know that’s not the same thing.” (Y/N) felt her blood bubble in her veins. Everything she had done, she had already given a reason for—the very reason he used to break her heart. Her life as she knew it had imploded, and she had put distance between them to protect them both from heartache. And she had never, ever used his fears against him. “You called me heartless. You compared me to a murderer. You told me you lied. How am I supposed to trust anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“If I could tell you, I would, (Y/N),” he said, his tone calming, trying to soothe her. “I just… I can’t. Not yet.”

“Then why are you even here? Why come see if I’m okay? Why spend the night in my bed? Why, Derek?” she cried. “I can’t do this. I can’t keep waiting for the moment you think I’m worthy of the truth.”

Derek couldn’t find the right words. Nothing that would come out of his mouth would be good enough to appease (Y/N)’s worries—nothing at that point had even come out right. He didn’t want to give her a half-truth, nor did he want to lie. All he knew was he couldn’t concern her with his worries because she would try to come up with a solution that would never be good enough—not to keep her safe.

“For years, I was terrified of making a connection with someone because I knew there would always come a day when I would lose it. And then I met you,” the girl sniffled, wiping away the stray tear that had fallen from her eye. “Now I know it’s not worth the trouble. People leave regardless of how much you l... care about them.”

“(Y/N)…”

“Just go, Derek,” she sighed, swallowing the fresh tears that threatened to fall. “If you’re not gonna tell me what I need to hear, just go.”

“I…”

Before he could say anything else, a knock echoed through the room. “Hey, (Y/N),” her father’s voice rang out. “There’s a Stiles waiting for you at the door. Says he’s got your bike.”

“I’ll be down in a sec,” she called out to Henry before turning back to Derek. “Go. We’re done here.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you gonna tell me the truth?”

“You know I can’t right now.”

“Then, until you can, we’re done,” (Y/N) said as she reached for the door. “Bye, Derek. Thanks for stopping by.”

He didn’t have time to answer before the girl left her bedroom without sparing Derek another glance. Once she was far enough away, she clutched her chest and took in a much-needed steadying breath. She could feel her heart hammering against her—something that would not have gotten past the werewolf—and her mind clouded with conflicting thoughts.

There was a part of her that wanted to forgive Derek and forget everything he had said. It was the part driven by emotion, softening her resolve at just the mere sight of him. She wanted to run into his arms and stay there until someone physically pried her off him.

There were many things she wanted.

All she had to do was turn around.

But there was the part of her that knew better. It knew the words Derek had spoken could not be unsaid. Knew that her heart had been marked by those words and they would dampen her mind for the rest of her life. Derek hadn’t said he didn’t believe what he had muttered days before, only that his words were taken out of context. And whatever context that was, (Y/N) wasn’t sure she wanted to know anymore.

So, she continued on, Brody following behind. He whined with every step they took, occasionally looking back to her bedroom as though telling her to go back. He could sense there were things left unsaid and feelings left untapped. But he kept walking beside (Y/N), wondering why she didn’t turn around.

“Hey,” (Y/N) said as she met Stiles outside, thankful for the timely distraction. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’d like to say it doesn’t hurt, but I could barely sleep last night,” the boy chuckled. “For being an old guy dying with cancer, your grandfather really can pack a punch.”

“Well, it might not mean much, but I’m sorry that happened. This family has been working with a twisted version of a code.”

“It means a lot, (Y/N),” Stiles smiled. “And I can’t be too angry. You got the worse end of the deal.”

“Eh, could have been worse,” she shrugged. “It might take some time to heal, but at least Gerard is crawling away like the cockroach he is. I’d take a knife for that any day.”

“So, you’re really okay, then?”

“I am, Stiles,” she smiled. “And thanks. For bringing back the bike and for saving our asses last night. Talk about impeccable timing.”

The boy’s face grew red at the compliment, and he scratched his neck in an effort to hide his bashfulness. “Oh, well, I, uh, didn’t really do anything,” he stammered before awkwardly laughing. “Other than dent the Jeep a bit. You guys were the ones that actually did all the heavy lifting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Stiles. It’s because of you that thing didn’t get derailed,” (Y/N) assured. “You didn’t play into Gerard’s tactic, and you got Lydia to the warehouse just as we thought things would end differently. You’re the reason Jackson and maybe a lot of us are still alive. That’s not nothing. So, thank you, Stiles.”

“Nah, don’t mention it,” the boy chuckled, looking back to his car as his face grew redder by the second. He waved toward Scott, who returned a teasing smile and a wave to his friend. “But anyway, Scott drove your bike here. And now, we’re on our way to play some lacrosse. Don’t know if you heard, but I don’t only save lives. I save games, too.”

“I did hear,” she grinned. “If you keep going down this road, soon enough, you won’t need the bat anymore. Maybe we could even show you some real self-defense moves.”

“Would you?” Stiles asked excitedly. “Might come in handy in lacrosse, too.”

“Well, it’s a date, then. It’ll be fun to train with a beginner,” (Y/N) teased. “I know you won’t be able to stab me.”

“Oh, just you wait,” he laughed. “All I need is eighteen years of training, and I’ll be just as good as you.”

“Stick with lacrosse then,” she said. “I got stabbed last night, and you’re actually getting good at that.”

“We all know last night was a fluke,” the boy winked. “Between you and me, I think you’re the better hunter.”

Stiles left soon after, waving alongside Scott as they passed her on the street. He’d left with the promise of checking up on her and keeping her in the self-defense classes. She remained outside until the car disappeared. Partly to wave the boys goodbye but mostly to ensure that Derek was long gone.

She knew he wouldn’t be inside. At least, she liked to think he respected her enough to have left. He owed her that much.

Thankfully, her bedroom was empty when she reached it. She allowed herself to fall into bed, ignoring the lingering scent and warmth Derek had somehow left behind. Exhaustion clung to her body once more, dragging her into the endless void of sleep. It didn’t matter how hard she fought it, she succumbed to slumber and the inner workings of her mind.

But if she thought she was getting respite from her worldly troubles in her dreams, she’d be wrong.

(Y/N) tossed and turned with visions of all that could have gone wrong the night before. She saw Gerard’s plan working. Instead of his body rejecting the bite, his eyes glowed yellow, and claws came from his fingertips. The very claws that then slit Derek’s throat taking his alpha status and life. She saw the Kanima ripping through each and every one of her friends before finally slicing into her.

Once that scene was over and she turned to her side in bed, another one took its place. She saw Derek and Peter sinking their claws into Jackson as they’d had, only this time, the boy did not rise. Jackson fell to the ground in a puddle of his own blood, his body slowly returning to his human form while Lydia cried by his side.

Another turn and the image in her mind changed. And that one scared her the most. (Y/N) would not have been able to witness the rest of the night had the dream truly happened. In the last sequence, Allison had not gone for just an immobilizing hit. Blinded by rage and revenge, she had gone in for the kill. The girl felt the knife slide into her stomach, the burning pain spreading through her body as though it was happening. She felt the air leave her lungs as she choked while her mouth flooded with blood. She heard her father’s screams, joined by the wails of her friends. The image of the darkness behind her own cousin’s eyes became an infallible stain in her mind.

As she tried to take in a breath in the dream, she found herself startling awake. Her body was drenched in sweat, and her heart threatened to jump out of her chest. But she was alive.

An itching under the gauze of her wounds reminded her that the only mark that had been left on her from the night before had been two cuts and not her life. She ripped the blankets off her body, clawing at the medical tape and the pink-stained gauze, ready to face the wounds and cement her reality.

Yet, when she uncovered her skin, there was merely a healed line instead of the scabbed mess it should have been. If anyone looked at the wound, they would have thought it had been a scratch she’d gotten weeks before—nothing like having a blade plunged into her leg. And her shoulder was no different. The bloody mess it had been had become a thing of the past.

It didn’t make sense. Nothing did.

The scratches on her face from the Kanima had only begun to scar, and that had been done weeks before. But a wound that had occurred only hours before had seemingly healed overnight. It simply wasn’t possible.

That’s when Gerard’s words flashed in her mind, a particular name taking center stage.

(Y/N) wanted to wait before she confronted her parents with what her grandfather had said. Faced with imminent death, people tended to say anything to save themselves. Yet, she could feel the truth in his voice. He was smart; calculated. He had chosen what to say to her carefully. In a game of chess, he had sacrificed a rook in order to save the King—all to make sure the most valuable piece was left standing. It hadn’t helped him in the end, but he had been able to plant seeds of doubt in her mind.

When she’d awaken, the sun had just started to set, and she knew her parents had to be home. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t continue to push the inevitable conversation. Even if she knew it would destroy the very fabric of her family’s constitution, it was time for the truth to come to light.

The girl made her way quietly downstairs, listening to the sounds of her parents. She could hear the rustling of grocery bags and Brody’s excited barks as her parents walked in and out of the garage. They seemed fine, normal even. At least, that’s what others would have thought if they had seen them. But (Y/N) had heard their fights; she had witnessed their hatred. Everything needed to be put to rest. One way or another.

She made her way into the kitchen, smiling softly as her mother noticed her presence. “Oh, hey, honey,” the woman smiled. “We’re just about to get started with dinner. But if you’re hungry right now, you can go ahead and grab anything from the pantry.”

“I’m not really hungry,” she shrugged. “I was just…”

“What is it, munchkin?” her father was quick to fuss. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) said. “It’s something else.”

“Well, what is it, honey?”

(Y/N) stretched the collar of her shirt to reveal her wound—or the lack thereof. “My leg is the same,” the girl explained. “I was stabbed just hours ago, and it’s like nothing happened at all.”

“Honey…”

“I need to know the truth,” she interrupted. “Dad, I know there’s something you have been keeping from me—both of you. And I think it has something to do with this. And I know you both know what I am talking about.”

“We don’t… what are you saying, honey?” her mother stammered. “You think we have anything to do with…?”

“Who’s Raina?”

The name stopped the pair in their tracks, their eyes growing wide in surprise. Her parents shared a look of concern, trying to hold a conversation with just their gaze. It was obvious they were trying to find a way to keep their lie alive, obvious they were not prepared to speak on the truth just yet.

“Where did you…?” her father muttered. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Gerard told me to ask you about it last night,” she answered. “He seemed to know exactly what would get you two talking. And from the looks of it, he was right. Who is Raina, dad?”

“Honey,” her mother tried to speak. “We…”

“No! I’m done with the lies!” the girl exclaimed. “I want to know what’s happening to me, and I wanna know who this Raina is, and what the hell does she have to do with you two.”

Next ->

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okkalo · 2 years ago

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Can I request some headcanons? Heartwarming moments + bllk boys (nagi, sae, chigiri, and yukimiya) if that’s okay? Thank you!

hi anon :) i got kinda confused with heartwarming moments (i overthink everything.) so i hope i did this right isjjd anyways i hope u enjoy and thank u for the request 🫶

characters: nagi, sae, chigiri, yukimiya (THANK U FOR REQUESTING HIM BTW IVE BEEN DRY ON HIM LATELY)

warnings: chigiri’s reader has a big family, yukimiya has a suggested fem reader, nagi and yukimiya are both aged up

nagi

- lol once in a lifetime experience fr

- nagi loves you so so much but dating nagi is basically a routine

- a routine that involves a lot of cuddles

- so you don’t really have a chance to experience more

- especially since nagi isn’t someone who expresses how head-over-heels he is for you

- so it’s fair to say you were surprised when reo sent you a video of drunk nagi boasting about how good of a spouse you were with the vocabulary of a 1st grader

- it surprised you even more once he suddenly got upset in the middle of his sentence and started pouting, saying he missed you all of a sudden

- you could only giggle at nagi’s vulnerable yet cute state, reading the text from reo that stated they were on their way to drop nagi off

- once you heard the doorbell ring you quickly answer, opening the door to see your pouty nagi slumped over reo’s back

- once nagi looked up to see you, however, he hurriedly and messily got off of his friend’s back to stumble towards you

- expecting a hug? yeah, no he doesn’t do that. at least not yet

- instead he stops directly in front of you just to mumble a “hi.” to add to it, the way he spoke sounded as if you had taken his breath

- you smiled at his actions, hands going up to cup his cheeks as you greeted him back

- he had INSTANTLY melted into your arm, half his weight now a part of yours

- reo probably asked if you needed help getting him inside too once he heard you huff at the weight change

- i can imagine reo asking that while trying to pull nagi off of you and nagi whining once again

- so even if you needed the extra help, there was no way nagi would let it happen

- you were sure to thank reo for bringing the giant baby back to you before you struggled to even get to the couch

- you try to tell nagi to loosen his grip on you some? he’ll whine. good luck.

- but you did have to admit it was nice to be on nagi’s mind, even if it was a bit overbearing

sae

- another somewhat rare one

- you had been feeling under the weather recently

- stress had been getting to you recently, your immune system weakening

- and it certainly didn’t help that your allergies were worse than ever

- short story shorter, you got sick

- and sae hadn’t known until he had finally gotten a break from football and decided to visit you

- he actually makes you feel worse at first

- he walks in, face scrunched in disgust at your form before he asks “what happened to you?”

- thanks sae.

- he immediately felt bad once he found out you were sick

- how did he show it? 😯 with this face.

- no other way

- he does, however, go to try to comfort you

- he’s moving hair out of your face and getting a cold rag for your sweaty forehead

- he tries to coax you to sleep first, laying beside you as his hand rubs at your stomach lightly

- you eventually do fall asleep only to wake up with a mild headache and unbelievably sore throat, and sadly with no sae in sight

- so, ignoring the tiredness of your body you got up to trudge into the kitchen to get a glass of water with some pills to follow

- what you didn’t expect to see was sae struggling to use a can opener on a can of soup

- it didn’t take long for him to notice your presence, eyes catching on your exhausted form as his brows furrowed

- “what the hell are you doing here?”

- if you weren’t in a miserable state you would’ve burst out laughing because the sight was so hard to believe

- sae, who struggled with anything not football related, trying to crack open a can of soup for you in this dumb apron you had sitting around the house as a joke

- once he figured out you needed some sort of medicine he immediately sighed, mostly to himself for not thinking of that, before demanding you go back to the room

- he followed you back after a few minutes with a bowl of soup, glass of water, and something to ease the pain you were in

- don’t bring up how the soup was cold at the bottom.

- he also ended up getting sick from staying to close to you during that time

- what a guy

chigiri

- he had been meeting your family for the first time.

- and much to your surprise, he hadn’t seemed nervous whatsoever

- even if it included more than your parents, going as far as including your aunts and grandparents

- ig he just knows no one can really hate him

- anyways they all loved him, what did you expect?

- he did so good, even agreeing to help around the kitchen while you got dragged away from him by your younger cousins

- yeah, he was that good to where he was confident in being involved in some girl talk with your mom, grandma, and one of your aunts

- okay enough of my dumb narrating

- you both had started getting bombarded with questions about the relationship

- and good god if you had heard what he had said you would count just that as a heartwarming moment

- he spoke about you with so so much love, so much so that the girls listening had started getting jealous

- meanwhile you were getting questioned by your cousins and your other aunt

- and the questions were nothing special nor different than the ones you had gotten from your friends

- but for some reason they made you realize how in love you were with him

- maybe that and the small peeks you guys would take a each other from the two different rooms

- and the occasional moments where both of your eyes met, both holding so much love in them as you both pause in your sentence just to admire the other

- and the way your family constantly asked when the marriage was

- and your mother pulling you aside to confirm you had definitely found the one

- you had knew you wanted to marry him by the end of that night

yukimiya

- let’s be real. every moment in your relationship is a heartwarming moment

- so i’m going to go a little extra for this one and write for dad yukki

- HE HAS TWO LITTLE GIRLS AND LOVES THEM WITH HIS HEART.

- and mother’s day was coming up

- so he obviously had to do something with them

- so he decided to make a card with them

- but he had to do it secretly so you put up with constant giggles and whispers from your daughters

- yukimiya was so good at hiding it though so you never suspected a thing, even with the small hints from the two girls

- you only found out because you had gotten home earlier then intended

- you heard the shared squeals of your daughters from the kitchen, so you followed to sound

- only to see the girls surrounding a picture you couldn’t quite see and yukimiya smiling proudly at their reactions

- you decided to stay quiet to continue listening in on the conversation

- turns out they were gasping at the years you and yukimiya had been together while staring at an old picture of the two fo you

- the picture happened to have you in a dress with yukimiya in a suit

- the two girls started whispering about how underdressed yukki was LOL

- “wow daddy, a prince would wear more than that y’know..”

- he could only awkwardly chuckle while having no choice but to agree

- you let out a small chuckle at his awkward agreement, revealing your position

- your daughters immediately tried to hide the big card, letting out a squeal while yukimiya just looked at you with a soft smile

- he told the girls to go up and hide the card in one of their rooms (he immediately regretted it once he heard them start fighting over who would be housing the card)

- meanwhile he goes over to encase you in his arms, giving a soft peck to your lips

- “you really did outshine me in that picture, princess.”

- ONT HE FLORR GOODBYE

unedited thanks for reading!

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dewedup · 1 year ago

Note

would you be so kind as to provide us with a Mountain sick-fic bc I have the Flu and I'm projecting on my tall guy 😔🙏

please enjoy sick!Mount, pack dynamics, tour travel, and a concerned Zephyr 🖤🖤🖤

as per usual a huge and loving thank you to @jimothybarnes for betaing and making me feel like I wrote the next great novel 🥰

(i may or may not have started a part two of possessive mount breaking zeph's heat when he's feeling better, it ties into the ending of this one so if that's something anyone's interested in reading let me know!)

1.8k of fluff, comfort and cuteness below the cut or on AO3 HERE

It starts with a tickle in the back of his throat. Mountain finds himself clearing it periodically throughout the day, but never getting rid of the foreign feeling when he swallows. It’s a small thing though, something he can push to the back of his mind while he focuses on sound checks, travelling and performing- basically everything related to being on tour.

He wakes up a day or two later and feels exhausted. His bones ache, his brain is foggy, the cold grip of a headache approaching from the edge of his consciousness. The tickle has doubled down in its presence, now tender and sore with every breath, word, or swallow. He feels like getting hit by a vehicle on the highway they’re driving down would be swifter and less painful than the illness working its way through his immune system.

He’s like a zombie, sleepwalking through the motions. Luckily, it’s just a travel day, spent moving from their last location to the next venue. He’s stuck on the bus for the entirety of the day, tries to spend time out in the lounge area with everyone else. But Phantom is loud and overly excited, peering through the window in utter delight as he points out the unofficial eighth wonder of the world.

They’re driving past the Grand Canyon, which honestly isn’t that grand, Mountain’s seen bigger canyons in Hell. Being a ghoul of the earth means he’s very fluent in geographic abnormalities, erosion and rocks. Instead of giving Phantom a lesson in his rocky background, which Swiss seems to be anticipating, if the roll of his eyes as he looks at Mountain is any indication, Mountain simply pats Phantom on the shoulder. He mutters good ghoul under his breath, and retreats to the sleeping bunks.

His rest is pitiful, he’s hot and sweaty, then he’s kicking the blankets off only to be greeted with a chill that seeps into his bones, limbs shaking at the abrupt changes in temperature. He never succumbs to complete sleep, lingering in a half-state of lethargy and just feeling poorly.

It might be minutes, hours or days later, when he feels a cool hand press against his forehead. He’s hallucinating now, because it feels like the hand of his mate, the same one that’s still at home, a disgusting amount of distance between them. He knows it’s not real, their sweet scent of licorice and fresh linen doesn’t fill his nostrils. But then again, he’s pretty congested, hasn’t been able to smell anything in the last day and a half.

Mountain whines as the touch moves from his forehead, shifting down to his equally heated cheek and offering the tiniest bit of respite from the fever. He’s sweating again, wants to rip his own skin off to escape the burning inside of him, when a light breeze seemingly appears from nowhere. It dances across his body, giving him the first sense of relief since he laid down in his bunk.

“Pietra,” the demon caressing his face coos, and Mountain truly must have died and went to Hell, because there’s only one soul who calls him the Italian word for stone.

He squints open an eye, meeting the concerned face of his mate.

“Zeph?” Mountain’s voice wobbles, cracking on the singular word, as tears threaten to fall. Zephyr takes a second to assess their situation before climbing right into the bunk beside Mountain, pulling their mate close.

Mountain rests his head on Zephyr’s chest as he lets out a few pathetic sniffles, mainly just feeling sorry for himself.

“We’re at the hotel, love. The others went inside, they didn’t want to wake you. My flight landed early so I’ve been here for a bit, setting up our nest.”

Nest. That’s right, in Mountain’s deteriorated state he forgot Zephyr was scheduled to go into heat any day now. The Ministry opted long ago to pay for a flight for them if Mountain was away, rather than deal with an aggravated air ghoul who would take their frustrations out on the abbey and all who stumbled across their path.

If Mountain let out a few extra tears at the thought of his mate, already on edge from their own rising hormones, putting their needs aside to care for him, well, neither of them speak on it.

Eventually, Zephyr convinces Mountain to leave the safety of the bunk and retreat to their hotel room. It involves a lot of gentle encouragement and a few filthy promises for when he’s feeling better. Mountain can’t smell anything, so he misses the slight bite to Zeph’s scent, the telltale sign of the beginning of a heat that they push down forcibly with sheer willpower, knowing Mountain is in no shape to fulfill their needs at this moment.

They share a bath, slightly hotter than Zephyr would prefer, but the steam helps to clear Mountain’s congested airways and the warmth soothing the aching in his bones. It’s intimate in a nonsexual way, how Zephyr lathers up a washcloth and takes their time rinsing the sweat and sickness from Mountain’s skin.

Mountain’s soon dry and in his pyjamas, a steady hand at the small of his back guiding him to the bed in the centre of the hotel room. True to their word, Zephyr had created a fine nest, bringing blankets from their den at home to create a soft spot for them to connect with each other. Mountain falls into the pile, burrowing his way to the perfect spot and collapsing into the down pillows.

Zephyr seamlessly joins Mountain, wrapping their arms around him in a big spoon position. It is something Mountain usually takes up in their shared bed, but his need for comfort is apparent and Zephyr isn’t too put out by getting to hold their mate in their arms like this.

Mountain falls asleep to the soft hums vibrating from Zephyr’s chest, his own purrs mixing in at the same tempo, every single part of their being made for each other.

_________

Mountain wakes up, lying awkwardly on a couch too small for his big frame. He’s confused, disoriented, and doesn’t remember where he is for far longer than he’d like to admit.

His brain feels foggy, his eyes landing on a bottle of water left on the table in front of him, the condensation having dripped to the table, creating a small puddle of liquid around the container.

The bottle brings back the memory of Zephyr braiding his hair on this very couch, enthusiastically agreeing with Rain as the water ghoul tried to force some cold medication in Mountain’s mouth. He remembers putting up a good struggle, managing to knock Rain back a few steps before Dew intervened. With Zephyr yanking on his hair, tilting his head back and Dew lying on top of him, bodily restraining his movements, Rain was able to slide home a few of the abnormally large pills. Mountain fought valiantly, but Rain pulled a demonic move covering his mouth and pinching his nose until he was forced to swallow, begrudgingly and with a promise of murder in his eyes.

Apparently, the cold medication was exactly what he needed. While he isn’t at one hundred percent, he feels the best he can remember feeling for the last week. His achy bones are no more, and he can even breathe through his nose a little, picking up the lingering scent of his mate all over his body.

A loud noise from out the hallway catches his attention, and Mountain realizes that he had the best nap of his life in the green room of the venue they were set to perform at tonight.

Except, no one else is hustling around in the usual pre-show panic.

The green room is usually filled with excitement and adrenaline, packed with bodies, as Swiss hogs the mirror to apply his black lipstick. But it’s empty, the remnants of the pre-show hurricane evident.

Mountain hears the opening rift of Kaisarion and bolts up from the couch, looking around wildly for his costume, but it’s nowhere to be found. He can’t believe they didn’t wake him up, what the actual fuck is going on.

He gets to the side of the stage much quicker than he would have in the state he was mere hours ago, looking out from the wings as his band feeds the energy to the crowd before them.

His eyes shift over his pack, watching as they back up Papa who’s already pandering to the sea of people. A crash of cymbals pulls his attention to the back middle stage, to his drum set.

It’s like a punch to his gut, but in the best way possible, seeing who is undeniably his mate, in his costume, playing his kit.

Zephyr isn’t a small statured ghoul by any means, it’s just that Mountain’s well… Mountainous.

His costume fits his mate poorly, they’ve rolled the arms up, displaying the sleeves of delicate illustrations depicting the fall of Christ, ink woven in their skin that Mountain has spent countless hours admiring. The pant legs bunch up where they fall, too much extra material with nowhere else to go.

Mountain’s heart skips a beat when he realizes Zephyr is shoeless, exactly how he normally performs.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Zeph is a natural, they’ve spent long hours in the rehearsal room with Mountain, watching him work through tricky sections or just putting his own twist on Papa’s work. He’s filled with love, admiration, and just an all-around feeling of mine while watching his mate perform with his pack.

Mountain eventually just settles on the ground of the side stage, sitting cross-legged and just enjoying the show from his secret little viewpoint. He laughs along with the jokes Papa pulls out of his ass, his smile unshakeable as he watches Dew tease Rain from this angle. Swiss is chaotic, he usually only sees him leave his platform from the corner of his eye, unsure of what exactly the multi ghoul gets up to, but now he has his answers. He’s usually so focused on his own performance he doesn’t get the chance to just sit and watch the magic happen, and it is magical, the atmosphere they craft together and the beautiful music they create.

During Miasma, Zephyr opts out of a solo in favour of handing Dew and Phantom a drumstick each. Mountain grins wildly, watching lovingly as Zeph orchestrates with their free hands while keeping rhythm with the kick drum. They encourage Dew and Phantom to bang away at the snare and cymbals, Mountain cringing slightly at the force of some of the hits. A little wear and tear won’t tarnish the memory working its way into the deep recesses of his brain though, as the utter joy and happiness bubbles over into a delighted, trilling laugh when Zeph tosses him a smirk and secret little wave.

#gloom writes #gloom answers #fic request #mountain ghoul #zephyr ghoul #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #swiss ghoul #mountain x zephyr #mountain/zephyr #the band ghost ficlet #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfic

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limerental · 1 year ago

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ficletvember 2023 - day 2

thronebreaker corporate modern au

gen but implied meve/reynard and implied gascon/reynard

Under pressure to compete with Nilfgaard Industries, Meve must hire a social media manager to save her company from bankruptcy. Unfortunately, the only applicant is Gascon.

Meve got into the office later than she'd like, having slept through several alarms after a night's sleep as poor as usual.

If she hadn't been urged home by her well-meaning assistant, she would have stayed up half the night and slept on the horrible sofa in the corner of her office and oken just as sore and grouchy.

But at least on time.

The drive in on her motobike, ordinarily enough to lift her spirits, served only to remind her that summer would be over soon.

The morning air had taken on a chill, her curled fingers wind-beaten and stiff as she parked in the garage. Every month that passed only served to remind her of the sorry state of her company's finances. She dreaded the next quarterly report.

If they didn't turn it around by the end of the year, then everything she'd worked for could be lost.

She startled Reynard at his desk as she dropped her bag and helmet in a haphazard pile.

The man had donned his mustard yellow office cardigan that lived draped over the back of his chair. Another sure sign of fall approaching. He looked as exhausted as she felt, eyes bruised beneath the wire frames of his reading glasses.

Must have slept here. The hypocrite. She'd have to remember to urge him home tonight before he could urge her.

"Morning, ma'am," Reynard greeted with his usual grimace of a smile, "your interview is waiting for you in th' board room."

"My what?"

"The social media manager position, ma'am. Your only applicant."

Meve groaned.

She'd hoped to grab an espresso from the temperamental machine down the hall before even thinking of speaking to anyone.

Wordlessly, Reynard interrupted her downward spiral by presenting her with a steaming cup he'd had ready. Sixth sense for any small thing she needed, that man.

"I'd crash and burn without you, love," Meve said and did not miss the man's flustered fiddle with the tidy papers on his desk. She hid a smile against the rim of her espresso. A smile that faded as she prepared mentally for the task at hand.

An interview. For a social media position that didn't seem wholly necessary.

The company'd gotten on just fine for years without any accounts and with a bare bones website updated once a year.

Or maybe not.

They were facing potential bankruptcy after all. Mostly thanks to the looming threat of their main competitor, Nilfgaard Industries. Nilfgaard likely had a whole office dedicated purely to managing their internet presence.

She and Reynard had briefly given it a go themselves, hunched together over Meve's aging laptop, but neither were anything approaching technologically savvy. Or sociable. Meve had last logged into her Facebook years ago after tiring of bigoted relatives, and Reynard's tech knowledge began and ended with a bizarrely intimate relationship with the office fax machine.

In other words, they'd both floundered and given up quickly.

Meve glanced at the portfolio handed over by Reynard, her brow furrowing.

She tipped back her coffee, grimaced, and made for the board roam.

The man who waited for his interview had kicked his feet up on the conference table, wide-brimmed cap sifting askew on his head.

It was maybe a little generous to call him a man. His resume claimed he had a degree in Public Relations from a reputable university, but he looked no older than her own teenaged sons.

He also appeared to be sleeping, his head fallen against his shoulder.

Meve cleared her throat.

A small, shaggy dog suddenly began to bark as it leapt at her from beneath the table, which nearly startled Meve into dropping the dregs of her espresso and prompted the boy to wake.

"Down, boy!" he called, laughing, and the little beast gave up on bouncing against her legs to skitter back under the table.

"Um," said Meve, dumbfounded.

The boy stood to greet her, dimpled grin more charming than it should have been given the circumstances.

"Gascon," he said with a vigorous shake of her hand. "And you've met Knickers. I'm his emotional support dog."

"Right," she said. "Pardon me a moment."

Reynard grimaced at her in sympathy.

And yet, he'd failed to warn her. The bastard.

"Reynard, there's an imbecile in the board room. Are you certain that–?"

"Yes," said Reynard morosely.

"And do we really need–?"

"Yes, we do."

"And he was truly the only–?"

"Unfortunately."

Meve sighed.

Gascon had returned to his presumptuous lounge, his boots dirtying the conference table. He waggled his fingers at her in greeting.

Intent on getting this over with as quickly as possible, Meve sat across from him, lips pursed. Rarely one for rigid formal office decorum, she sat prim and still with her legs politely crossed for once.

The boy didn't take a hint.

He tipped back his chair onto two legs, clasped hands folded across his chest. He'd deigned to wear a dress shirt at least, but one so wrinkled and buttoned so haphazardly that he may as well have worn a track suit and appeared more put together.

"May we begin?" Meve asked and didn't wait for Gascon's sweeping gesture to go on before cracking open the folder before her.

On paper, he seemed well-qualified for the position, as far as she could tell. A sizeable following on several platforms Reynard had suggested they target. Several internships and professional references.

Unfortunately, his list of accolades veered increasingly into the absurd the further down the list she scanned. A successful SoundCloud. Viral TikToks. Under managerial experience, he had listed–

"It says here that for the past five years your only source of employment has been," Meve adjusted her reading glasses, stolen from Reynard's stash of extras, "moderating a Minecraft server."

"Oh yeah, and th' discord," said Gascon. "Hard fuckin' work. Full-time gig."

"Right," said Meve stiffly, regretting every decision she had made in her life up to this point, most chiefly in choosing to take over her late husband's company after his untimely passing rather than doing something more sensible and less likely to leave her most likely forced to hire this idiot.

She flipped through several more pages of the boy's portfolio.

Only to go still as she was greeted with an elaborate drawing of a cartoon dog with truly alarmingly large breasts stretching tight its shirt, its tongue lolling out and eyes crossed.

"Oh, I can design a mascot," said Gascon cheerily. "Figure this boring old joint needs one. Could print somethin' like that on your business cards."

Meve breathed slowly through her nose.

She focused very intently on imagining the fate of the company if something couldn't be done to bring in more revenue. Forget her own income and livelihood, her employees and their families relied on her. Nilfgaard's recent monopoly on the industry meant if this place went under, there'd be no choice but settling for its appalling labor practices and questionable ethics.

She had very little choice.

Unfortunately, this overgrown child of a man with his yappy dog and utter lack of professionalism might be their last hope to break into new markets and turn the company around.

Even worse, as Gascon chattered on happily about his several step plan to build their platforms, she noted that nothing he said sounded overly absurd.

She had no choice but to hire him.

Much whooping and ridiculous howling followed her announcement. The little dog danced on its hind legs like a circus act, and the boy stopped to film it, cackling.

Meve sighed even more deeply.

Though Meve feared she would regret her decision, some of her reservations were tempered by the amusing sight of Reynard flushed pink as Gascon leaned flirtatiously across his desk to speak with him, mussing carefully organized documents.

Her reservations returned tenfold when Knickers lifted its leg on the edge of the desk.

#my fic #this is deeply silly lmao #don't think too hard about what the company does. idk either #witcher fic #thronebreaker

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pi-cat000 · 2 years ago

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MSA time travel idea (part 44)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25 Lewis POV 3, Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34, Lewis POV 5, Mystery POV 2, Lewis POV 6, Vivi POV 5, Lewis POV 7 Vivi POV 6 Vivi POV 7 42 43

Part 45 here?

...

When Arthur blinks back awake his head is heavy like it has been filled with cotton and there is a persistent throbbing soreness to his shoulder. Out of habit, he checks his arm. It is still his arm and still attached to his shoulder. The dull pain is from a shotgun wound and not a recent amputation. After several years of arm-related pains and aches, it is a familiar enough sensation. Easily ignored. Best to just go back to sleep and let the world fade away. Everything is better when he is not awake to feel the press of guilt weighing on his throughs. Fittingly, it is this same guilt that drags him into a more coherent state.

He can’t drift back to sleep yet.

What right does he have to sleep when his Uncle and Lewis might never wake up? For all he knew his last conversation with Vivi had been a hallucination conjured by his exhausted brain and his Uncle was dead and Lewis possessed.

He shifts his attention to the room, immediately spying Vivi sitting at his bedside. The room is quiet enough that he can hear her finger tapping aggressively across her phone. She is hunched under Lewis’s oversized jacket, reading something on her phone, her brow creased into a scowl. The dirt on her face is gone and her shirt is a lighter shade of blue so enough time has passed for Vivi to leave the hospital, get changed, and come back.

He clears his throat to catch her attention, watching how a faint smile tugs at the corners of Vivi’s mouth when their eyes meet. Like she is happy to see him or something.

“Are Lew…” he immediately breaks into a coughing fit before fumbling for the half-full cup at his bedside, shrugging away Vivi’s attempt at helping and gulping the water down.

He clears his throat again.

“Lewis and Uncle Lance? Are they…” alive?

Vivi’s smile falls away, settling into a more neutral line of worry.

“Lance is still in intensive care, but only because he needs a ventilator. The nurse in his ward says he’ll be moved out today as long as there is no further complications with his injuries. As for Lewis’s situation…” She breaths out, face crumpling ever so briefly, “there’s been no change. He’s still in a coma…”

“Do you think I can see them?” Maybe it’s dumb but Arthur wants to confirm with his own eyes that they are both alive. He attempts to wiggle upright and finds it difficult from his prone position.

“I can’t see why not. They’re in different parts of the hospital so it’s a bit of a walk.” Vivi looks him over, gaze critical. Pain spikes in his chest and he fumbles for the bed’s remote knocking over the now empty cup, so it tumbles to the ground.

“…we should ask a nurse first,” she amends, catching the remote before he can knock it off the table as well. She offers it to him, and gives a shaky smile. He tries to return the gesture but the expression feels wrong...disconcerting…He lets his eyes drop to focus on the remote, selecting the setting that would raise him into a more upright position.

Vivi’s hand rests against his shoulder, drawing his eyes back to her.

“Just take it easy Arthur. I checked in on Lance not even an hour ago and Nicholas and Maria are with Lewis almost around the clock. They’ll let me know if things change.” She holds up her phone which is lit up with several message notifications, none were from Lewis's parents.

“Right…” Arthur lets himself relax back onto the bed with a weary exhale. “Okay…”

He doesn’t have the energy to make a fuss or press for more. Not with Vivi looking so upset. Arthur doesn’t think-not even in his own timeline- he has ever seen Vivi look so unhappy. But of course, in his timeline, Vivi had complexly forgotten Lewis and it was hard to be sad about something you couldn’t remember.

Their conversation fizzles out and Arthur lets himself fall back onto the bed in favour of staring at the ceiling.

Remembering was better. It had to be better. Right?

Lewis wasn’t in the clear yet. If Lewis died then…then maybe forgetting was better. The ugly thought twists in his chest. Lewis’s disappearance had been the source of so much going wrong in his life. Would he have been better off completely forgetting as well?

“….” Vivi clears her throat and he twitches. Awkwardly, he shifts his attention back to her, realising he was still staring unblinkingly at the ceiling.

“I’ll go ask a nurse and see if we can visit Uncle Lance,” Vivi says, saving him from what would surely have been a clumsy attempt at reassurance.

“Just wait a second… I’ll be right back.”

Not like he could go anywhere. He has nowhere to go.

When Vivi returns she is accompanied by a harried-looking nurse who, despite not appearing pleased, helps Arthur into a wheelchair, impressing upon him the importance of not making an extraneous movement.

Arthur half follows along with the instructions. This isn’t his first time in the hospital with a serious injury. Everything is very familiar including Vivi pulling out her phone to take notes, nodding seriously. Deja vu. He is really starting to hate the feeling.

“…and please stay on hospital grounds.” The nurse finishes after which Vivi asks a few more questions which Arthur doesn’t pay attention to. The energy needed for him to move from his bed into the chair has left him exhausted.

“Arthur. I’m going to push you now. Let me know if anything hurts or if I’m going too fast or something.” Vivi leans over him, filling his field of view.

He takes a long, tired breath. “Sure…”

Vivi bites at her bottom lip, obviously worried. He tries once again to muster up a smile and give her some indication that he appreciates her efforts. Even if said efforts were undeserved.

All he can manage is a grimace.

…..

Lance is alive.

He had known Lance was alive. Why would Vivi lie about that? Seeing that his Uncle was alive in person makes it real.

Arthur leans as far forward as he can while confined to the wheelchair, attempting to see as much of the man as possible. From this low angle, he can see the profile of his uncle’s face and not much else. Despite it being eerily pale his chest is rising and falling in slow rhythmic patterns. There is a heart monitor counting out steady beats. The beeping is loud enough that it thankfully drowns out the soft tick-tick of the clock on the wall. This wasn’t the room Lance had almost died in but it looks similar enough that makes his skin itch. He focuses on the beep beep of the monitor and the soft breaths of his Uncle instead.

Some small, fractured shard in his chest loosens. The demon had failed. Maybe his cursed luck had rubbed off on it while it occupied Arthur’s body. Maybe Arthur’s unique ability to screw everything up had been passed onto the demon.

Sharing is caring.

He glances away from his Uncle’s chest and up at Vivi who is sitting in the room’s visitor's chair.

She is still chewing at her bottom lip, watching Lance. When she notices him watching, she turns, looking like she wants to ask a question. An uncomfortable question going by her hesitation. There is no shortage of possible topics. Arthur has barely explained anything.

She doesn’t ask her question and Arthur turns back to his Uncle. They both sit in unbroken silence.

…

The hallway between his and his Uncle's rooms has large windows with a view onto a half-paved, half-gravel courtyard. The open-air courtyard separates the hospital’s two main buildings and access to the adjacent research centre. Arthur can't help but let his eyes be drawn to the space. The sun outside is directly overhead, meaning everything is blindingly bright, making the hospital’s interior dim by comparison. Benches and tables are clustered around two sprawling trees at its centre. All were occupied by groups of off-duty doctors, nurses, and researchers. Nobody wanted to sit on the benches placed along the perimeter and under the hash midday sun.

Vivi follows his gaze. “Do you want to go outside?”

Arthur shrugs.

....

They end up sitting on the bench closest to the building entrance, barely shaded in the lea of the hospital. Well, Vivi sits on the beach. Arthur sits in his wheelchair next to her. It doesn’t take long for the sun to beat some warmth into him.

Deja vu all over again. He and Vivi had spent several afternoons sitting in this courtyard, talking themselves in circles trying to figure out what had happened in the Cave. He remembers accidentally trigging one of Vivi’s more severe blackouts on this exact bench trying to get her to remember Lewis. Months later, when Arthur started working on his prosthetic arm at the research centre, Vivi would visit on her lunch breaks and they would eat out here together. He doesn’t know why the memory makes his throat tight.

“It’s a bit hot out,” Vivi comments awkwardly, tugging off Lewis’ jacket to rest across her lap. She eyes him, tilting her head to the side.

“It's nice I guess…the hospital is too cold…” she continues after a beat.

“This place could do with more trees though.” She eyes the space and squints at the sun critically. “There’s not enough shade out here.”

“Yeah…” he agrees in lieu of anything substantial to say. The statement rings familiar. Vivi had complained about the lack of shade in the courtyard back then as well.

He lets out a weary breath, “So…” He might as well do this now while he has some iota of energy. Once he was back in his bed this would be almost impossible.

“So?” Vivi repeats.

“So…do you want to talk about it.”

“It?”

He hesitates, “You want to ask questions, right?” Obviously, she has questions he has barely told her jack, his own mind mocks him.

“That obvious huh?”

“A little …” he winces which has Vivi looking concerned again, “I know when you’ve got something on your mind.”

“I’m just worried.” She gestures at the hospital buildings around them. “about you and Lewis and everything else. It’s…it’s a lot to process.”

“In the future…” He starts, “In my timeline, I lost my arm like Lewis.” It feels like a cruel joke explaining it but, if the information helps, then little discomfort was worth it.

“It happened just after Lewis…ah…” he swallows, deciding that mentioning Lewis’s death probably wasn’t a great idea if his goal was to make Vivi feel better.

He starts again, “The old mines-the cave where I lost my arm- there was no cell reception out there, not up in mountains. Vivi, my Vivi, had to drive me to the main road so I probably lost just as much if not more blood. It took a few days, but I still woke up abet missing a few key memories. Hopefully, it’ll be the same for Lewis…i mean he’s a lot bigger than me...more blood?”

Shiny blue eyes meet his, unsure, conflicted.

“Lewis should wake up,” he clarifies, “hopefully not missing any important memories. The missing memory thing kind of sucked…a lot…” He tails off lamely, swallowing again to help with his dry throat. Understatement of the century. What if Lewis ended up with memory problems like Vivi? God, if Lewis forgets anyone let it be him and not Vivi. Please don’t let Lewis forget Vivi. Unease sits about him like a well-worn coat.

Vivi sighs, “I…” She shifts to sit a little straighter like she was physically pushing aside their combined gloom, “yeah…I hope so too.”

Arthur grimaces. He had always been terrible at cheering Vivi up. “You can ask more questions. I…I’ll answer them now.”

“I do have a few,” Vivi agrees, and lets a long, frustrated breath, “Okay…I have more than a few questions.” Another pause. “Actually, I have nothing but questions really.” Her open mouth clicks shut and he finds himself the subject of a scrutinising stare. She is scanning his face for something…he doesn’t know what.

“I promise I will answer?” He tries to inject some enthusiasm into the statement, but his voice sounds just as thin and tired as he feels. Vivi’s stare turns troubled.

“I mean…” Arthur starts again, “I’ll tell the truth. I did promise I would."

“That’s not….” Vivi interrupts and frowns. She takes a breath, “I don’t want people lying to me and that includes lies of omission. But look, just rest, get better, and tell me when you’re ready. I know about time travel and the body snatcher. I have Mystery to answer the more general questions now he's actually telling me stuff. You just focus on recovery.”

She nods to herself and sits back on the bench satisfied.

“I’m fine,” he reassures. “Just ask away…hmm…some of it isn’t very pleasant but I’m fine.” If he repeats it enough times maybe it would come true as if that strategy had ever worked for him.

“...” Vivi raises a brow, giving him one of her ‘do you seriously think I’ll believe that’ looks.

“I am fine.” He defends.

Vivi huffs, crossing her arms, “I thought you said you’d be telling the truth.”

Arthur grimaces, “That’s not fair. I’m fine enough for this.”

“You’re really not.”

“I mean…aside from the bullet wound I’m fine. Just ask me anything.” And now he just sounds desperate. Great. Why does Vivi pick this to be adamant about?

Vivi just scans him again, silent, scrutinising, like she is trying to decide what question to ask. It is a familiar expression.

“Arthur. Are we friends?”

Arthur blinks. “What?” Not the question he had expected.

“In the future are we friends?”

“Yes. Of course, we are, were, friends. You've always been my best friend,”

“I’m still your friend, right?”

“Ah…” Arthur hesitates because…because he doesn’t know what to say. Were they friends? Did Vivi still want to be friends? Why, after all his lying and the trouble he caused, would she still want to be friends? His hesitation does him no favours because Vivi is now a mix of indignant and worried.

“Maybe?” He answers. Vivi’s whole forehead lifts in disbelief.

“I mean…Yes?” He tries again.

“Then stop acting like we’re not,” Vivi bites, anger colouring her voice before she takes a calming breath and confirms, “We’re friends.”

She uncrosses her arms, turning so she can give the side of this wheelchair a light tap, “and as your friend, I want you to take it easy. If you’re set on telling me everything, then we can do it later. There will be time for explanations and questions. I’m not going anywhere.”

Oh no. He was not waiting for later. If he didn’t say something now he’d never have the courage to say it. It was now or never.

“The other Arthur, the one original Arthur from this timeline, he wanted to go on the supernatural-themed road trip originally, before I came back and replaced him.” He begins, ignoring Vivi's attempt at interrupting.

“We painted the van and put on that Mystery Skull logo like you always wanted. It even turned out looking pretty cool. Technically I didn’t lie about being afraid of supernatural stuff. Everything bad in our lives started on that road trip and none of it was normal or explainable. I didn’t want you and Lewis to get hurt.”

Arthur scrambles to reorder the sorry saga into something that was somewhat chronological, trying to separate the two timelines out in his head so he could cover any major differences. He could skip the majority of the road trip. He barely remembered enough of the good parts to recap them anyway.

“The road trip ended with Lewis disappearing you see, and I didn’t want a repeat of that. It didn’t work. You both got hurt anyway. Sorry.” He mutters the last bit like saying sorry made any difference.

“Arthur…” Vivi tries to interrupt again but Arthur pushes on.

“We solved mysteries, saw way too many lame roadside attractions, went to every haunted diner between here and California and no one got food poisoning … It was a good road trip. Your…ah…your itinerary was spot on.”

Vivi’s expression is now pinched, pained. He gives a weak almost-smile which Vivi doesn’t return. He quickly looks away, staring at his lap, mouth dry.

He swallows and chokes out, “Then there was the Demon. The Cave. No more arm. No more Lewis. Haha.” Even to his own ears his laugh sound hollow. His chest hurts and he takes a shuddering breath.

“I didn’t remember Lewis dying. Not at first. Not for a long while. Traumatic amnesia will do that apparently.”

Too much of a coward…locking away the memories of his role in Lewis’s death. If not for the demon, who knows if he would have ever remembered?

“Everyone tried to tell me Lewis was gone, but I didn’t listen. Guess I just didn’t want to believe it. To me, it was like he had just vanished. Poof. I always knew something was off about it. Something more to the story than Lewis getting lost in a cave and...and succumbing to exposure somewhere where none of the search parties could find him…I was only partially right."

He blinks rapidly to clear incoming tears. With no demon to dull this physical response, it feels like he reliving that moment of realisation all over again. The grief feels like a lead brick sitting in his chest.

“and Vivi got hit with some memory curse. The memory curse was our running theory because it targeted her memories of Lewis specifically. She forget him, everything about him and most things associated with him. It was too specific to be anything normal. It had to be a curse because a curse was better than brain damage or anomalous, medically inexplicable, memory loss triggered by a traumatic event. At least a curse might have been curable. No one believed us.”

And why would they have believed him? Arthur had barely believed it himself.

“It was bad in the beginning when no one knew what was wrong. We would mention Lewis’s name and you would just not register it or check out like a real-life blue screen. You barely recognised his parents. Anything that reminded you of him kind of zonked you out. After we discovered what was triggering it…” he swallows the familiar old sting of helpless frustration ignites, adding to his grief, “At least we knew what to avoid talking about."

“Once I recovered enough from losing my arm we went searching... ” He chokes out and stops talking because he physically can’t continue.

A glance at Vivi shows that she is understandably upset, her face slightly paler despite the sun's heat.

“I’m guessing convincing me to search for a person I didn’t remember wasn’t easy,” She mumbles and her voice also sounds wobbly like she’s trying to not cry.

He quickly looks away, sniffing back tears and pushing on, “You do like to ask questions and know things. I used to say we were searching for your memories…it was close enough to the truth. I thought that maybe, if we found Lewis, the memories would all come back. I was kind of desperate.”

It had always been a farfetched goal. The kind of goal that sprung from desperate hope. Hope so painful it kept him awake at night on the rare occasions the nightmares didn’t. Hope that he would carefully tuck away in the morning to prevent Vivi from catching on to the fact that something was terribly wrong.

It feels oddly freeing to voice this to Vivi now. He had clung to the belief that finding Lewis would break some mysterious curse and return all Vivi’s missing memories for so long that he had grown afraid that any points to the contrary would cause his motivation to crumble. It had always been a point of tension between him and Vivi. He wishes he could have explained it back then. Back when it mattered.

“Was saving Lewis the reason you came back?”

Arthur blinks rapidly to clear his vision and glances to the side, “No. It wasn’t. Like I said, I didn’t know Lewis was gone gone until I was…” He stops, wincing and swallowing, “I was already here in that past when I found out he was..d..dead.”

“I don’t know how I came back. We were out on one of our investigations looking for Lewis and we ran into this…Tree creature…looked like a human-shaped tree…. I hit it with the van by accident. It’s kind of hard to remember now...” He slowly sorts through half-truths. His encounter with Lewis directly after hitting the Tree Lady dwarfed everything else in his mind, making the strange attack seem barely important. He hardly remembers events between seeing Lewis at his ghost mansion and crashing into Kingsman Mechanics.

“I ended up crashing the van...” Arthur stops, stalling. Then Lewis killed him…his brain helpfully supplies.

All his fault…he had wanted Lewis dead. So weak and pathetic. It was only fair that Lewis return the favour.

“...and I woke up in my bed. At home. In this body. Two years in the past…” He finishes quickly.

“The demon…”

“Body snatcher.” Vivi corrects. “Don’t call it a demon,” she explains, “Calling it a demon makes it sound impressive. That thing was a parasitic asshole.”

“Ri…Right,” The venom in Vivi’s voice has him restarting, “The… body snatcher…” He shakes off his discomfort and the undercurrent of fear. Arthur remembers how annoyed the demon had been when Vivi called it a body snatcher and a small part of him worries...

“It was just as surprised to find out about the time travel and was really interested in how I did it. I...I didn’t know anything useful …It, ah, went through my memories pretty throwaway so I got nothing…not even subconsciously. The…body snatcher…ah…found the memory of me pushing Lewis of a cliff…in the cave…that’s how I, ah, know I killed Lewis. The demon found the memory and showed me.”

There is a sharp movement and rustling next him and Vivi stands up. Then the crunch of gravel. Arthur tilts his head up to see Vivi standing in front of him, leaning over. She reaches out to put one hand on each of Arthur’s shoulder, grip relaxed so as not to aggravate his injury. She holds him at arm’s length, scanning his face, her expression intense.

“Stop that." She commands.

“Stop what?” Arthur responds dumbly.

“Stop saying you killed Lewis.”

“I…”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“You weren’t there. You can’t know that.”

“I know enough.”

“But…” the words stick again, “that’s just it! You don’t know. You don’t know everything…I…I haven’t told you everything yet. When I tell you, you’ll agree with me.” When he looks up the sun is high enough in the sky that it turns Vivi into a darkened outline, stirring up hazy half-forgotten deams.

He squints up at the blurry Vivi-shaped outline but can’t make out her face. The word around him is too blindingly bright to make out anything.

“It’ll be okay Arthur. Just explain what happened. I’ll understand...We all make mistakes.”

He deliberately averts his eyes, muttering, “Why are you both so stubborn.”

Vivi obviously hears because she pulls back and frowns. Then, slowly, she reaches out with one hand to touch his cheek. Arthur, confused, also reaches up with his uninjured arm to put his hand over hers. Vivi brings her other hand around so she is squeezing both his cheeks together, scanning his face.

“We’re not different people. Me and your 'future Vivi' are the same person. Just like you’re still my Arthur.”

He doesn't meet her gaze. It is a lot harder to do with her holding his face like this.

"I’m just as much your best friend as she was…”

“…” he doesn’t know what to say so pulls one of her hands away from his cheek.

“Any version of me would care if their friend,” She emphasises the word, retracting her other hand without prompting, straightening “went through something awful. I care. We’re the same.”

“But you’re...we're not. I’m not your friend…” Arthur can’t help but protest even when he knows he should give it up and let Vivi believe what she wants. Arthur never won these sorts of arguments. Better to let everything stew and think up an argument with sounder logic later when Vivi was less worked up.

Frustrated at himself he continues, “I came back to fix things, and everybody was worse off for it. I lied to you. I lied to Lewis. Now Lewis’s arm is gone…That was supposed to be me! I was the one who lost their arm. I hurt Uncle Lance. I killed Darrel! I stabbed him. He was nice. A good guy. He always took my shifts at the workshop when I couldn’t work and I couldn't save him. Just like I couldn't save Lewis. I'm cursed. If I had just not been here, he would be alive.”

“Two years Arthur,” Vivi interrupts, hash now, standing taller, hands on her hips, “You’re two years older. Last I checked, that doesn’t make you a monster so stop acting like I’ll pack up and leave because you aren’t 100%, A-Okay after living through all that horrible stuff. Nothing you say is going to change my mind so you can just quit while your ahead.”

When he opens his mouth to argue Vivi beats him to it, “Don’t you dare try and get rid of me.”

“I’ll confess.” He continues hysterically. If Vivi won’t believe him then maybe he should find a way to remove himself from the equation, “Turn myself in. I’ll tell the police I drove Darrel out into the desert and killed him.”

“No.” Vivi objects. Sharp and abrupt. “You’re not going to tell the police you did anything because it wasn’t you who did it.”

“I can’t just leave him out there. He deserves better.”

Vivi’s face spasms, “Not at your expense…You shouldn’t take the fall for this. Not on top of everything else.”

She glances around but the space around them is clear of people and Arthur realises that their conversation had been growing louder and more intense. The courtyard is now mostly empty with many of the hospital employees returning to work

Vivi lets out a long breath then kneels down, putting her at eye level, crouched in front of his chair.

Arthur still can’t hold eye contact. Vivi’s eyes are too intense.

“When the police come to question you,” she says in a lower voice, “you need to say that you came to the hospital to see your uncle then went off for some alone time to gather yourself. They’ll have you on the security cameras so you can’t deny that you were here. Luckily, they also have that asshole Micky on the cameras. Out of the two of you, he is way more suspicious, and they already have him in custody so it’s not completely unbelievable that he would kill some random employee. Guy was a nut case.”

“He’s not some random employee.” Arthur interrupts upset, finding his voice again, “Darrel was a friend, and I killed him.”

“No. No you didn’t,” Vivi snaps matching his upset with equal frustration. “Look, I know you think you deserve some punishment for...I don’t know...having a bad case of amnesia and getting possessed, both of which were out of your control. That bastard parasite probably fed you a bunch of bullshit lies as well. It seemed like just the type to gaslight. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Arthur stalls in unhappy silence, not prepared to compromise or give ground.

“If you confess to the murder then I’m going to say I was a co-conspirator and planned the whole thing.”

Arthur blinks, finally looking up. Vivi’s glare is frosty, intense, and unyielding.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why…why would you do that.”

“I told you. I’m going to help you, Arthur. If you’re set on doing this, then I’m not letting you face murder charges alone. What did you think I meant when I said that.”

“Not this,” Arthur cracks, “You can’t.”

“I can and will.” She really meant that.

“But… you’ll be arrested or something…” He is not actually sure what would happen if Vivi randomly confessed to his crime.

“Just the way it has gotta’ be apparently.”

Arthur gets with another wave of déjà vu because he has had this conversation or a similar one with Vivi before. In another life. In a different future. It leaves him floundering as both versions of Vivi seem to meld into each other, like everything he loved about his own Vivi was seeping through to this new one.

“This isn’t …” He starts then stops. “It’s not supposed to be this way,” he says helplessly. Vivi wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“Of course not. What’s the point of changing the future if everything stays the same? We’ve both seen the same moves. You know how this works.”

“Half of those movies end with a lesson on inevitable consequences and fate.”

“And half of them end with everything sorting itself out. Look, we can argue about this until I get kicked out at closing time -remind me to find the paperwork so I can sign myself up as your medical proxy- but I can guarantee that nothing you will say will change my mind.”

Well, he’s not sure about that. Maybe if told her the real truth about Lewis and his role in his murder she would leave. He wasn’t sure. The answer, which moments ago he had been so certain of, was now unclear.

“I can’t leave Darrel out in the desert,” he repeats, exhausted, “He deserves better…”

Vivi frowns, opening her mouth and then clicking it shut, considering him. Her jaw clenches and she flops back so she is now leaning against his chair instead of crouching, half stretched out across the gravel path.

“Yeah…okay,” she props up an elbow against a knee, massaging her eyes. “How about this? You give me as good a proximation of the location as possible, or any landmarks you remember, and I’ll go track Darrel down with Mystery. Then I’ll leave an anonymous tip with the police, and they can handle the rest. How does that sound?”

“Like you’re giving me much of a choice.” He mutters, trying to not let his thoughts wander off into dangerous lands filled with crackling fire and unkind whispers that would berate him for giving in and letting Vivi bully him out of justly deserved consequences.

Vivi glances up at him and she is back to looking sad, anger falling away

“Maybe I’m being too blunt about all this. I’m not good at this sort of stuff,” she says, “but, Arthur, if Darrel was a friend, then he wouldn’t have blamed you. Just like I don’t blame you. Just like Uncle Lance or Lewis wouldn’t blame you.”

He can’t help but shiver. Bright purple flames dance across his vision like ghostly hands pulling his attention.

Lewis’s angry fire catches in in shirt and a sudden drop awaits on either side of him.

“This is your fault!”

He can almost feel the heat.

Lewis had blamed him.

He doesn’t know who to believe. Should he believe Vivi, sitting here with him, peering at him with such honest intensity that he can hardly stand to look at her? Or should he believe Lewis, dead by his hand, left in a future that didn’t exist?

For some strange, unfathomable reason, he thinks he believes Vivi. If she was so willing to share the consequences of his failures, then maybe she wouldn’t care that he was so weak and pathetic. He squashes the sentiment. He can’t think like that. It’s wrong.

It must be wrong.

...

Note: a year later and this is finally done.

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #arthur #ViVi #HEAVY ANGST #hospitals #unreliable narrator #fanfiction #fanfic #time travel #dialogue heavy

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ethereousdelirious · 1 year ago

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Sicktember 2023 Day 1

Prompt: Hopelessly Bad at Self Care

Fandom: Po.kémon

Characters, Br.assius, Ha.ssel

Wordcount: 1,138

Notes: *through a mouthful of drywall* these 2 make me feel insane

Brassius awoke in a fever.

This was not an unusual occurrence nor even an unexpected one; he'd felt it coming on in a slow creep: the sore throat and perpetual chill of yesterday magnified a hundredfold today.

He got up and wrapped his quilt around himself and imagined it was Hassel's arms around his shoulders. Rain tapped politely against the windows as though to draw his attention to the gray mists enveloping Artazon. The world was quiet and empty and Brassius was alone.

Everything around him magnified itself in relation to him, every sensation owning him completely. The scraping of the lid when he opened up his favorite canister of loose-leaf tea, the cold of the doorknob when he seized it. He let the quilt fall from his shoulders as the rainfall surrounded him and the door fell shut.

The curled tea leaves clinging to his shirt grew damp and fell, littering the trail his bare feet left in the mud. He weaved aimlessly behind houses and around the main roads, driven by feverish impulses— he might leave town, he might climb the windmill. His head spun and ideas never stayed for long. Nothing ever stayed with Brassius for long, his passions and notions as ephemeral as the clouds.

Rain dripped into his eyes and he blinked it away impatiently, certain in the idea that he had to go somewhere. Artazon was calling him. Nature herself singing out. Inviting him. And he was so tired, too tired and he would come because she called.

The rolling mist darkened for a moment. Brassius' head dipped, his body listing.

"Brassie!"

The voice seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. Brassius blinked, but the darkness at the corners of his vision refused to retreat.

"Brassie!"

Closer now.

His heart fluttered; he couldn't breathe. He couldn't see.

"Brassie!"

His head lolled and found something solid and rainwater dripped off his heels. He shuddered back to himself and the sweet smell of oranges made a home in his lungs. Something warmer than raindrops dripped onto his cheeks.

"Hassel?" He tried to move but couldn't, his arms pinned to his sides by a taut expanse of green fabric— Hassel's jacket. "What…?"

"You scared me." Hassel started to walk, pulling Brassius closer, somehow, to his chest. "I heard the door shut and you were gone— Oh, Brassie, you're burning up. Why didn't you say anything?"

If Hassel had been there warming his bed, Brassius was sure he would have remembered it. But no, he'd woken up alone and cold and aching. And beyond that… Before that…

Hassel murmured to him the whole way home, dodging under awnings and tree canopies to keep them out of the rain when possible. Not that it mattered at this point. They were both soaked through.

And still, Hassel weaved a meandering path in pursuit of shelter and hunched over when he couldn't find it, his broad shoulders shielding Brassius from the worst of the downpour.

At home, Hassel stripped Brassius and toweled him off and Brassius, malleable, let him. The dryer hummed and Hassel ran worn terry cloth over Brassius' fevered skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. "Did you have bad dreams, Brassie?" he asked, discarding a used towel in favor of a fresh one. He worked it gently over Brassius' feet, wiping away mud and pine needles.

Brassius wasn't entirely sure this wasn't a dream. Here was Hassel kneeling before him with such a look of rapture in his eyes that one might have thought Brassius was doing him a favor.

Brassius' back ached.

His head swam.

It must have shown on his face. Hassel froze, the towel still wrapped around Brassius' foot. "What's the matter?"

"I…" Brassius' chin dipped and there was no way to articulate the bone-deep exhaustion, that he couldn't sit up. He tried anyway, with his head bowed. "I'm tired, Hass."

Too tired to sleep, as they both soon found out. Brassius shifted beneath his covers, clutching his quilt, which Hassel had rescued from the porch. It was still a little chilled, but Brassius couldn't bear to let go of it. Tremors ran through his legs and he arched his back when the shaking became too much.

Hassel palmed his forehead and looked down at him with a tenderness Brassius knew he didn't deserve. "Do you feel cold?" he asked.

Brassius nodded, though his chief affliction was too elusive to articulate, that miserable sensation that his skin was wrong somehow, that his body didn't fit inside itself.

Hassel vanished with a word that Brassius didn't hear and time became the blur of his ceiling, colorful suncatchers indistinct at the edges of his vision. He shivered under his covers and the rain sounded like static, filling his head.

"Still awake?" Hassel asked softly, tapping his knuckles on the doorframe.

"Hass…" Something incommunicable warmed Brassius' face and pricked his eyes. There just weren't words, not for this. Not for Hassel, who had already done this once before and never should have to do it again. "I'm sorry."

Hassel entered the room properly and set a steaming mug on the nightstand. Citrus and rooibos mingled in the air. He sat and ran his hand through Brassius' matted hair. "I know, Brassie. I'm not angry. I��" He ran the backs of two fingers down Brasius' fevered cheek, tender as a lover. "I was never angry. I was worried about you."

"I know," Brassius murmured, miserable.

"I just want you to take care of yourself, that's all."

Brassius tightened his grip on the quilt and watched the steam curl in the air. Food, water, and sleep had always been trifles to him, boxes to check so he could jump into the creative process. It was his work that he sustained himself on, that gave him the drive to keep on living.

Until it hadn't.

Until it had fallen away and he'd had nothing and Hassel had found him broken and worthless and found value in him anyway.

"I don't think I know how," Brassius said.

Hassel took the mug off the nightstand and passed it over. "You can start by not wandering out in the rain when you have a fever."

"I… didn't mean to." Brassius let go of the quilt and let it settle on his chest. The thick ceramic mug was warm in his hands and he pulled it close. "But I think I was dreaming, Hass."

"Dreaming?"

"I must have been dreaming. She was calling for me."

Hassel stroked Brassius' hair again, his fierce eyes gleaming. "I'm going to call your doctor soon."

"Am I scaring you still?" Brassius looked Hassel in the face, seeking the heat in those eyes. "Do I really frighten you?"

Hassel smiled sadly and took Brassius up in his arms. "Only because I care about you, my dear."

#sicktember 2023 #ethereous writes

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cryunderthewillowtree · 2 years ago

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Coral Streaks – Chapter 10

Synopsis – In which she loves him, but he's utterly, painfully clueless. Awra always believed love should be easy – a beautiful gift from Eywa herself. But when she falls for the oldest Sully, it's a love filled with trial. A tale of coming apart and finding your way back.

Related Warnings: Eventual Smut (Aged Up Characters), Language, Descriptions of assault, Harassment

Characters – Neteyam x Fem Metkayina!reader

Related Tags: Major Angst, Slow-Burn, Friends-To-Lovers, Heartache, Tension, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: Posting this from my Ao3 account, please feel free to head over there to read this story as well! I realised only after being 14 chapters in that I spelt Omatikaya wrong this entire time – my apologies in advance. But please enjoy this story nonetheless!

[Do not interact with this story if you are underage.]

When she wakes up, it’s with an unpleasant jolt. She’s breathing heavily, and her body burns with exhaustion. For a moment, memories of Te’lau come rushing back, and she whimpers in fear. Her eyes squeeze shut and an influx of images of her pressed into the dirt, choking, screaming for help come flooding back like a tidal wave. A horrible mix of shame and terror brews in her stomach, and bile rises in her throat. She leans over, throwing up violently on the floor next to her. She heaves painfully, the smell of vomit is acrid in the air. When she’s done, she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, before falling back down into a fetal position; tired out.

She feels a stray tear drip down the side of her face, pooling in her ear before dripping onto the floor. She tries her best to stop the tears from coming, pinching her lips shut as she tries to steady her breathing. In, hold and out. In, hold and out. She chants this mantra in her head, focusing on clenching and unclenching her fists clenching where they lay at her side. Her body is in excruciating pain – an acute soreness that is present all over her torso; particularly around her neck and chest. She winces when her breathing exacerbates the ache, gingerly placing a shaky hand on her chest to calm herself down.

A shout sounds out in the distance. She cracks open her eyes, taking in her surroundings for the first time. She’s in a marui, that much is obvious from the webbed ceiling made of seagrass and pelts; to the fireplace and soft seagrass bedding. It’s familiar, but not. She doesn’t recognise the scent of the marui – it’s a lot more bitter, sharp and tangy like salt. The belongings strewn around don’t look like her parents’ either, so she must be–

Her heart sinks into her stomach at the realisation that she must be in Te’lau’s marui. She feels her stomach turn, and she fights the urge to vomit again. “Eywa–” She heaves, panic already making her hair stand on edge as she struggles to her feet. Her back stings terribly at her movement, and her sore joints protest. But she desperately scrambles onto her hands and knees, before using the lip of the marui’s entrance as purchase to hoist her body up. Her legs feel heavy, almost like they’d fallen asleep; making walking difficult. Yet, she persists, tumbling out of the marui and limping in the direction of home.

Outside the marui, it’s village life as usual. Metkayina villagers traipse past with baskets full of fish and other pickings of the day, no doubt fresh off the morning’s hunt. A hunt that she’d missed because Te’lau had–

She shakes her head, trying to rid it of the traumatising flashbacks. She shudders in fear, shambling towards the Tak’hu. She hoped and prayed to Eywa that Te’lau wouldn’t be there with his family, but in her pain, Awra was just desperate to find her parents. She grunted in exertion, the bite wound on her neck stinging ferociously. She whimpered at the feeling, having forgotten all about it. She felt her eyes water at the thought of him biting her, violating her in such a vile manner. Awra clasps a hand over the wound, shielding it from sight. She hobbles faster towards the marui, reaching the lip before her knees collapse.

She lets herself fall, crumbling into a heap just outside the Tak’hu. She could hear voices inside, ears straining for Te’lau’s voice. She can feel her heart pounding excruciatingly in her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible to hide from danger where she lay on the netting. A few minutes pass, and a male voice appears right at the entrance of the marui. It’s a lot deeper than Te’lau’s, and has a strange accent. Jake Sully.

“What was the one thing I asked? The one thing!” Jake’s voice radiated frustration, and she cowered instinctually.

“Stay out of trouble.” Lo’ak, she registers. It’s followed by another male voice, “It was my fault–”

She swallows. Neteyam. It was Neteyam’s voice. At the sound, she can feel herself whine; reaching out for him where he stood just out of reach. At a time like this, the timbre of his voice was soothing – a comfort from the terror she’d experienced in the last 24 hours. “‘Teyam–” she whines, eyes squeezing in agony. Her hand comes away from her neck wet with blood, tinged with yellow pus. She retches at the smell, bile rising in her throat again.

“Yeah I don’t think so.” Jake answers sternly. She listens in, biting her lip to stop herself from making noise. “You gotta stop taking the heat for this knucklehead.” There’s silence for a bit, before Jake barks out a, “Dismissed”. She hears someone dart out of the marui, and she reaches a limp hand out to call for help, but her throat is sore and nothing comes out. She frowns in frustration, trying to pull herself up to call for help.

The sound of Jake’s voice interrupts her efforts. “What’d the other guys look like?” A beat of silence.

“Worse,” comes Neteyam’s reply. “Much worse.” She can almost hear the smugness in his voice, and if not for her predicament, she would have smiled too. But all she could manage was a grunt as she tried to pick herself off the netting again.

She feels the netting bounce abruptly, shaking her back into a crouch. She panics, whipping around to face the person who’d just exited the marui. She feels her ears press flat against her skull in fear, ready to bare her teeth, when she’s met with alarmed golden eyes.

“Awra?” Neteyam scrambles to his knees, reaching for her as she leans in his touch. She whimpers, grabbing onto his arms as she tries to drag herself closer to him. He pulls her into his lap, cradling her head delicately in one arm. “Awra? Awra! What happened?” He asks, voice shrill with panic.

She feels relieved, melting into his warmth as he holds her. She feels her eyes flutter, opening her mouth to reply but no words come out. Her throat burns, and her lips are cracked and bitten. The wound on her neck is raw, and smearing blood over Neteyam’s arm.

“Is this blood– what happened Awra? Hey!” He’s panicking now, amber eyes wide with fear and confusion. He’s shaking her, trying to coax a response out of her but to no avail. Awra just moans in discomfort, sweat beading at her hairline. Exhaustion weighs down her limbs, and she allows her eyes to slide shut. So tired, just want to take a nap, she thinks. She can feel him shaking her, but she can’t seem to force her eyes to open. Everything hurts, hurts so bad ‘teyam.

Neteyam shakes her again, stroking her cheek frantically in an attempt to keep her from closing her eyes. “Awra! Hey! Stay awake, please. You have to stay awake for me.” He pleads, placing a hand over the wound on her neck to stop the bleeding. His hand comes away crimson, the blood sticky where it pools in the divots of his palm. He grimaces, bracing a hand on the back of her knee and hauls her into his arms. He stands, bouncing on the netting and clambers ungracefully back into the marui.

“Dad! Sir! Sir!” Awra can hear muffled shouting, and swaying like she’s being carried. It reminds her of the way she used to be swaddled as a baby – her father carrying her in his arms as he toddled around the marui doing chores or attending to his hunters. It was a comforting sensation, and for a moment, she felt at peace. Her limbs no longer hurt, and her neck didn’t sting anymore. She felt like she was floating.

Jake rushes up to the entrance of the marui, eyebrows knitting together at the sight of his son holding the Olo’ eyktan’s daughter. “Neteyam? What’s going on?” He demands, already helping Neteyam lay Awra down on the floor. Awra can hear them conversing, bits and pieces of the conversation as she drifts in and out of consciousness. She can make out the panic and worry in Neteyam’s voice, and the confusion in Jake’s. She feels hands adjusting her more comfortably, and her eyelids flutter.

She can hear Jake calling for someone, and then the marui is bustling with commotion. There’s a strong stench of herbs, and she barely registers her mother’s voice. She tries to open her eyes, but her eyelids feel heavy, and her head lolls to the side. There are hands pulling and tugging on her torso, and she furrows her eyebrows in discomfort. Awra can barely understand what’s happening around her, sleepiness tugging on the edges of her consciousness.

The last thing she hears before falling asleep is her name being called.

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

When she wakes up again, she’s comfortable. Her body is warm, like there’s something large draped over her. She purrs in the back of her throat, snuggling deeper into the warmth surrounding her.

The mass on her body shifts, grunting. “Neteyam?” She rasps out, voice hoarse. She winces at the sound of her own voice – foreign and croaky.

The Ometicayan boy shoots up, relief flooding his delicate features. “Awra!” His arm is curled protectively around her midsection, and he must have fallen asleep waiting for her to gain consciousness. His eyes are still sleepy, and his voice is also raspy with misuse. “You’re awake. Thank Eywa.” He whispers, eyes boring into hers.

She smiles, hand coming up to cup his cheek. He’s smiling down at her, braids falling over his shoulders where he’s leaning over her form. “I’m awake.” She rasps, thumb sliding over his cheek.

He exhales, his breath coming out shuddery. “Are you feeling okay?” He hushes out, face contorting in worry. “I saw you–there was so much blood.” He mutters, hand coming to rest over hers on his cheek.

She winces at this words, a stiff smile on her lips. She nodded slowly, forcing out a: “I’m fine ‘teyam.” Neteyam doesn’t look convinced at her words, eyebrows dipping even more with worry. She chuckles airily, cautious of the burn in her throat. She swipes at the space between his eyebrows, pressing down on the folds of skin where they creased in his concern. “Who’s going to get wrinkles now, skawng?” She teases but her voice is devoid of its usual playfulness. Instead she sounds tired and wary.

Neteyam doesn’t answer. He reaches for a small bowl of water, and brings it to her lips. “Here you, drink.” She sips at the water slowly, letting it wet her tongue. She smiles gratefully, swiping away the excess water droplets on her lips. He puts the bowl down, and shifts next to her. It’s silent, but the way he’s fidgeting tells her he’s trying to work up the courage to talk.

“What is it ‘teyam?” She asks softly. He perks up at that, tail swishing side to side on the floor behind him.

“What happened?” Comes his questioning reply, eyes boring into hers. “I was worried…so worried Awra.” He reaches for her hand, sliding their palms together. As he does so, he shoots a quick glance at the entrance of the marui they’re in. She realises belatedly they’re in the Sully marui, and she blinks in confusion.

“I’m in your marui? Where–my parents? I heard them just now. Before I passed out.” She stumbles, eyeing the marui entrance wearily.

He strokes comfortingly over her hand. “They’re away for now, clan business. My parents went too, so we have some time alone.” He says, smiling. She returns the smile, squeezing his hand just a little in appreciation. “They’ll be back to check on you in a bit, so I should go soon. I stayed because I–”

“You were worried. I know ‘teyam.” She finishes his sentence for him, a tiny chuckle rumbling in her chest. He smiles bashfully and dips his head. “You don’t have to worry though. I am fine.” She adds, using her free hand to gesture at herself.

The smile on his face dampens, and his eyebrows furrow again. “Awra–”

“Shush. I am fine. I just need to rest.” Liar.

He doesn’t look convinced, just holds her hand as a comfortable silence envelops them. She hears his lips part, and she turns her head to look at him. Hesitation is written all over his features.

“Who bit you?” His voice shakes with the question, and he swallows as he lets his eyes graze past the wound on her neck. Awra blinks, hand coming up to cover the wound from sight instinctively. He lets go of her hand, reaching over to stop her from clamping a hand over her neck. “Awra, please.”

Awra swallows, shaking her head. “It’s nothing.” His eyebrows dip even further, his tail thumping on the ground. Liar, Awra. You’re a liar. Not just a whore, but a liar too.

Her eyes squeeze shut at the memory of that word, the way Te’lau had spat it at her when he–

“Nothing, it’s nothing. I promise.” She inhales, breath shuddery and broken. She looks into his eyes – filled with so much warmth and concern, and it breaks her heart. She could never let him know what happened – he’d never forgive himself for letting her walk to the village alone. She also feared the repercussions with Te’lau; he could out her secret relationship with Neteyam, and then what? She would have to live a life disgraced? Disowned? She’d be known as the girl who brought shame and dishonour upon her family. She’d never be able to look her father in the eyes again.

“Awra, please. It’s not nothing.” He pleads, lifting her hand to get a look at the bite mark. “Baby please, just tell me what happened.” His heart breaks at the sight of four puncture wounds, deep enough to reveal the blue of her flesh under the skin. The area is inflamed and raw – long scratch marks surrounding the bite wound that are crusted with blood. It looked like someone had bit her hard, sunk their fangs in until she’d been unable to move. He knew she’d fought back, the scratch marks were evidence she had tried to shield herself from her perpetrator. The thought makes him sick with disgust and anger, and sends his stomach coiling in pain for her.

Awra sees his face contort in pity, and wrenches free of his grasp. Clamping a firm hand down on the bite mark, she wrestles herself to her feet, whimpering in pain. “Neteyam, please. Just forget it okay? It was nothing.” He persists, grabbing her free hand to stop her from leaving. “I just got into a fight with another Na’vi, and they bit me. It was an accident.” She lies, already feeling self-pity flood her throat. Liar, you’re a liar. Protecting Te’lau because you’re a whore. A whore who got what’s coming to her.

She whimpers – in pain, in fear in hate. Hate for herself, for Te’lau and for her family. “Neteyam!” She pleads, yanking her arm away. She bares her teeth at him when he doesn’t release his grip, and his face crumples with hurt. It shatters her heart. “‘Teyam–”

His grip slips, and she manages to get her hand free. “Awra–” He scrambles to his feet, reaching for her as she makes a break for the doorway. A hand still covering her neck, she slips from the marui and sprints towards her marui. She can feel him chasing after her, and she turns around to see him weaving through the village in pursuit.

“Awra!” He shouts. “Awra stop!” She faces away and bites her cheek, dodging village folk left and right. His footsteps are gaining on her, thundering behind her as she runs. At this point, people are giving them weird looks, stopping to wonder why the strange Ometicayan boy is chasing after the Olo’ eyktan’s daughter. Murmurs rise in a few hunters when she dashes past, but she doesn’t stop to acknowledge them.

“Stop following me Neteyam!” She hollers back, turning back to look at him. “Stop–”

She collides with someone, and it sends her sprawling into the ground. The impact leaves her seeing stars for a second, before she blinks and–it’s Te’lau. He’s standing there rubbing his chest where she’d bumped into him, squinting down at her before realisation crosses his features. Then, he’s sneering knowingly, taking in the hand she’s got covering her neck and her panicked expression.

“Oh? Out so soon?” He starts, crouching down to eye level. She scoots away, baring her teeth. He just smirks, taking another step closer to her. “I really thought you’d be down for longer…after what happened. Guess you’re a lot tougher than I thought.”

He’s so close she can feel his breath breeze over her face, and she has to stop herself from gagging. “Leave me alone, Te’lau. Leave me–”

He snarls at her lowly, and her jaw snaps shut in terror. The sound of his hiss sends chills crawling up her spine, and almost immediately, the wound on her neck starts to sting and ache. She whimpers, tail curling around herself in protection.

“No matter, girl.” He spits, that horrible sneer on his face again. “A tough girl like you can take more, don’t you think? All the more for me to–.”

Her breath catches in her throat, humiliation gripping her chest in a vice at his words. All she can is his rough hands strangling her, cutting off her air supply. Him pressing her into the ground, viciously clawing and scratching at her skin. Her blood, pouring down her shoulder as he–

And then, a dark blue arm comes into view, pushing hard at Te’lau’s right shoulder and sending him tipping onto his behind. He growls, and the sound is met with another growl. Awra stops breathing. Neteyam. She’d forgotten he was behind her, running after her through the village. God, he can’t be here. Te’lau will know it’s him, he’ll tell–

She can feel herself start to panic again, chest becoming stuffy. Neteyam is completely unaware, standing next to her, shoulders squared in a protective stance. “Back off.” He says lowly, pointing a finger in Te’lau’s direction. “Now.”

Te’lau tilts his head, staring up at Neteyam where’s crouching on the ground. His expression is stony, eyes wide as he stares the other male down. He looks like he’s thinking, and then a knowing smirk comes over his features. He sneers at Awra, licking his lips as his expression morphs into something predatory. She instinctively backs away from him, and Neteyam steps in front of her to shield her from his gaze.

“I see.” Is all Te’lau says, clicking his tongue as he smiles sickly sweet at her. “I see.” He repeats the phrase with a look of understanding, gaze trailing up to fix on Neteyam’s stoic one.

Neteyam’s growl rumbles in his chest, and she can’t help the little tumble her heart does at the sound. He’s being protective, she thinks, and curses the way her stomach flutters as the way he’s putting himself between her and Te’lau. “I said back. Off. You won’t like it when I repeat myself.” He warns, eyes boring holes into Te’lau’s forehead.

Te’lau just snickers condescendingly, lips turned upwards in a devilish smirk. He says nothing, just raises his palms in a mock surrender as he gets to his feet. Neteyam takes another step forward, but Te’lau just sneers and steps away slowly.

“Smart choice.” Is all Neteyam says in return, staring the Metkayina boy down until he walks away. Only when he disappears from sight does Neteyam finally let his guard down, imaginary hackles lowering as his stance relaxes. His shoulders slump, and he sighs to alleviate the tension in his body. He spins on his heel, extending a hand and pulling Awra to her feet.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” He asks, worry clouding his handsome features. He gives her a once–over, checking for more scratches from her fall. “Who is he?” Neteyam asks, still scanning Awra for hurt.

When she doesn’t answer, he looks at her face, seeing tear tracks on her cheeks. He stops, eyes widening. “Awra? Why’re you crying?” He asks gently, a hand coming to rest on her back. She doesn’t answer, shrinking into herself. Awra can’t bring herself to make eye contact. There’s shame burning in her every vein, but also fear; raw, concentrated terror at her encounter with Te’lau. She feels a sob come on, and she gnaws at her bottom lip to stop it. Neteyam is bending down, cupping her cheeks; urging her to look at him.

��Awra, my darling.” He soothes, shushing her. “What’s happening? Talk to me, my darling.” She shakes her head, pushing away from his grasp fervently. His ears droop, hands resting firmly on her shoulders. “Awra.” And he pulls her firmly into his embrace, bracing her head against his chest.

She struggles against his grip, much to his dismay. She wrenches free of the hug, wiping at her cheeks hastily as she clears her throat. She spares a glance at his face, and her heart breaks at his pained expression; eyebrows pinched and mouth parted in confusion. I’m sorry.

“Awra?” Comes his hurt whisper. She feels her eyes water and takes in a shuddery breath.

“I can’t do this, Neteyam. Not here, not–,” she chokes on her exhale, and a tear slides down her cheek. She wraps her arms around herself protectively, cheeks burning in shame. She feels like the village folk are staring, and her ears twitch at the sound of confused murmuring all around her. Panic rises in her chest, and she looks up at the Ometicayan boy again, eyes brimming with tears. “I have to go. Please let me go. My mother, she’ll,” she chokes on a sob, “she’ll–they’ll get mad if they see me here.” She feels incredibly naked standing in the middle of the village, Netetam staring at her.

“Awra, please–” He tries, distress lacing his voice.

“I’m going to go. Thank you–thanks for standing up for me. I appreciate it.” She collects herself and hushes out a reply. Arms still wrapped tightly around herself, she makes for the direction of her family’s marui, willing herself not to glance backwards at the Ometicayan boy. She bites her lip in aguish, tears clouding her vision. Humiliation, fear and panic floods her veins like a dam, and her heart clenches painfully in her chest. All she can think about is Neteyam’s brokenhearted expression when she’d turned away his affection. The way his golden eyes had crumpled in desolation while his hands twitched by his side. His touch was burning on her skin – on her forearms, stomach and shoulders. And then there was Te’lau.

The thought of the Metkayina boy’s name sends nausea rolling in her gut. On cue, the bite mark on her neck starts to ache in the worst way, and she whimpers in pain and grabs at the wound as she runs. Her other arm is still curled around her own midsection, tail wrapped around her thigh as she darts through the buzz of village life. He’s blackmailing me, she thinks, eyes watering. The realisation makes her stomach sink to her feet, and the self-loathing that coils in her belly is unexpected and takes her by surprise.

You brought this upon yourself, she thinks. She wipes at her eyes aggressively. You brought this upon yourself. This is all your fault. Mother told you not to mess around with the Ometicayans, and what did you do? You ignored her. You CHOSE to ignore her. And now, you reap what you sow. Stupid, stupid Awra.

She collapses in her marui, her breath knocked out of her as she falls. She can’t feel the pain when she lands on the floor, limbs feeling cold and numb. She curls up, finally allowing herself to cry. The sobs leave her body in painful spasms, fraught with anguish. She claws at her neck and face, feeling disgusted at herself for allowing this to happen. Your fault, she chides herself, all your fault. You deserve this. All of this. She cries until her throat is raw, and her eyes are tender to the touch. All she can think about is Te’lau’s sneer, his sharp canines glinting in the light. She shudders, eyes rolling back. The pain is all-consuming, and her body aches with tension.

For the first time in her young life, Awra realises she’s afraid. Deathly afraid of what tomorrow might bring. She felt paralysed, laying on the floor of her family home – limbs cold and frozen where she’s curled up into a fetal position. Her breath coming out in choppy pants as she blinks away the residual tears, the droplets sliding down her cheeks and pooling in the divots of her neck. She’s not cried like this since she was a baby. When all the tears were cried, and no more came when she tried, she laid there on the floor – numb. And nothing crossed her mind but the realisation that she had no idea how to fix her problem this time. So she just let herself lay there, still, till morning.

#neteyam x reader #neteyam angst #neteyam avatar #neteyam imagine #neteyam sully #atwow #avatar the movie #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #avatar

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kwanamikaela · 14 days ago

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ENERGY REPORT • May 9

Note: Energy Reports/Updates are based on a real-time occurences in planetary/Collective field; I do not channel; Reports are not channelings, insights, interpretations, wisdom, predictions. I do not use the Schumann resonance measurement chart, nor other resources.

We just had huge Solar EXPANSION, back in April; and, Now, we are having MASS of the Solar Light - high vibrational spectrum of Plasma and concentrated luminous particles, like the second EXPANSION (May 8/9).

The second one, is following so soon, that vibrational wave it is creating, is merging with the vibrational wave created by the first one.

It is early to say, but… from observations, what I see in planetary field / Quantum field, (today) there is related 'pattern', - present occurence in energetic level (increase of the Energy) has tendency to EXPAND. That's why, there is given the term "The second Solar Expansion", and I will use this term also further.

The Energy EXPANDS. It is very felt, in a meaning, - Sun Light from our physical Sun is having 'different type' of the brightness and 'consistence'.

- Speed and pace existing in the planetary field (in energetic level) is ramping up.

In simple words, EVERYTHING is changing! Strongly. Again. Congratulations ⚡

This is not simple intensity of the next incoming energies; these both EXPANSIONS are BIG PLAYERS.

Both Expansions contains enormous quantity of the Energy - Light directed into:

• planeyary field (supporting Ascension phases for the planet)

• Collective field (supporting shifts in the Collective Consciousness, in order for Humanity continue to release / let go of the 3D Matrix Perception and to welcome 5D and higher Perception)

(You can look into April's Energy Reports, where I spoke about the Solar Expansion to gain better bigger picture).

Also, this second EXPANSION has already higher tone in the Energy itself, other Light Codes, information / Data packages / "support tools".

I will write about it, as we go.

The Second Solar EXPANSION have a task to propel Humanity forward. Through linear May. To continue wake the masses up. To lit up Courage, Authenticity, not forgetting TENDERNESS - Heart - point of our Ascension to the 5D and higher environment, where we are creating, perceiving, acting from our Heart.

About physical level - body.

The reason, why so many can experience this period, with this second Expansion much more 'heavier' or say, that it is heavy to the body, is because of very short (!) linear time between the first one and the second one.

Bodies still process Everything from the April.

And, with new dose, - it's double load.

Re-post about physical level responses:

Impact: bones,skeleton; head/sore throat/digestive system/temple area/headache/chest

Crystallisation ON 👑☀️

Additionally: possible blood pressure (up/down)

Frequencies singing in ears

Tiredness, exhaustion…

Dizziness

Loving Blessings 💛

Kwana Mikaela

Photo by eriocean (Instagram)

May 9, 2021

#energyreport

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healthymind1o · 8 months ago

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Can Sleep Apnea Cause Seizures?

Can Sleep Apnea Cause Seizures? If so, the best way is to seek professional help. Similarly, many experts believe that untreated sleep apnea can lead to seizures. Sleep apnea is a disorder involving frequent breathing disruptions during sleep. It may affect the brain in ways that make seizures more likely. According to the World Health Organization, 50 million individuals around the world have epilepsy. Seizures can be pretty dangerous. Many times, medication lowers the risk of seizures. By contrast, researchers found a link between Obstructive Sleep Apnea (OSA) and seizure disorders. Feeling difficulty while sleeping? If so, no need to worry! Treasure Behavioral Health is here to treat sleep apnea and make you able to get restful sleep.

Sleep Apnea and Seizures

Studies have found a correlation between sleep apnea and seizures. The link between them remains unknown. Modern research indicates that sleep apnea may be the cause of the seizures. Many studies have found that sleep apnea involves a pointed airway during sleep. It is common among people with epilepsy, a condition involving recurring seizures. OSA is ubiquitous in people who have persistent epilepsy and more frequent seizures.

Does Sleep Apnea Cause Seizures?

For individuals with epilepsy, a lack of sleep can lead to seizures. Sleep apnea consequences in poor-quality sleep. At that moment, the probability of having a seizure during the night increases. People with sleep apnea can stop living while they sleep for numerous seconds at a time. This goes on during the night and disturbs sleep patterns. Even if the patient doesn’t wake up each time it happens, they lose a soothing night’s sleep. As a result, about one-fourth of people with epilepsy observe their first seizure later in adulthood.

Sleep Apnea and Epilepsy

Does sleep apnea cause seizures? Yes, there does seem to be a link between sleep apnea and seizure disorders.

Studies show that as much as 40% of individuals with epilepsy also have sleep apnea. It is far more advanced than in the rest of the population. It’s not completely clear if sleep apnea is a cause of epilepsy or if epilepsy may be the source of sleep apnea.

1.Oxygen and the brain

Your brain requires a constant supply of oxygen to work properly. By contrast, sleep apnea patients often have less oxygen in their bloodstream.

2.Epilepsy and old age

Around one-quarter of people with epilepsy create the illness later in life. Epilepsy and sleep apnea are also more likely to grow older.

3.Epilepsy drugs

Some epilepsy drugs reduce the muscles in our respiratory (breathing) systems. It is believable that this is the cause of sleep apnea epilepsy for some individuals with epilepsy.

Severe Sleep Apnea Seizures Symptoms

People with obstructive sleep apnea feel exhausted during the day and snore noisily at night. The symptoms of sleep apnea may include:

Loud snoring

Mixing and rotating during sleep

Waking up with the sensation of urinating

Mouth breathing

Feeling tired

Headaches

Dry or sore throat

Extreme daytime sleepiness

Trouble with memory

Ineffectiveness of sex drive

Can Sleep Apnea Cause Seizures– Find the Facts About It

There appears to be a link between sleep apnea and seizures. Sleep apnea can reduce blood oxygen saturation levels. It interferes with regular electrical brain activity. It triggers epileptic seizures. Sleep apnea is frequently diagnosed in people with epilepsy. Nearly 40% of epilepsy patients have sleep apnea.

In epilepsy patients, a lack of sleep can cause a seizure. Age-related risk factors increase the likelihood of having both sleep apnea and epilepsy.

Those already managing epilepsy should be aware of the common symptoms of sleep apnea. Identifying a sleep disorder can help prevent epileptic seizures. It improves the overall health and restful sleep of those with epilepsy.

Does Sleep Apnea Cause Inflammation?

Searchers found that obstructive sleep apnea syndrome promotes a persistent low-intensity inflammatory state. Inflammation is associated with changes in neurocognition, mood, behavior, cardiovascular function, and metabolism. Sleep apnea and inflammation have been linked in the past, but the exact nature of the connection up to this point has been murky. Sleep apnea creates a persistent low-intensity inflammatory state.

Does Sleep Apnea Cause Anemia?

Sleep apnea and anemia may cause similar symptoms, making it difficult to determine which is affecting your health. They may also contribute to each other, although they are distinct conditions with different symptoms.

Sleep problems can arise for reasons other than a person’s sleep disorder. Sleep problems are frequently associated with certain medical conditions, such as anemia. Although there is an association between anemia and sleep. There is insufficient evidence to establish a causal relationship.

The link between anemia and sleep affects sleep and the sleep disorders associated with low iron levels.

Sleep Apnea Seizure Treatment

It is significant for anyone who has a seizure to get proper medical attention. Prompt emergency care should be sought if a person has never had a prior seizure or if seizures are prolonged or worsening. A doctor can help prescribe appropriate treatment. It may involve addressing an underlying cause or using medications or other therapies to prevent seizures. For individuals who have seizures, OSA may occur through breathing during sleep. Treating OSA may also reduce the frequency of seizures. Still, more studies are needed to identify the optimal treatment plan.

Final Words

Can sleep apnea cause seizures? Yes, sleep apnea can lead to seizures when it persists continuously. Consult a doctor if you have sleep apnea symptoms. So, if you are taking multiple antiepileptic medications but are still experiencing seizures. Treatment for sleep apnea and improving sleep quality. It may help alleviate epilepsy symptoms and potential health consequences. A sleep study allows doctors to detect sleep apnea and sleep-related seizures. You may opt to get treated better by connecting with Dr. Roberta Iyamu.

FAQs

Can sleep apnea cause non-epileptic seizures?

Based on the observations from monitoring and the patient’s response. We concluded these seizure-like events as non-epileptic spells. It is triggered by apnea-related arousals in the context of OSA.

What is an apnea seizure?

The connection between sleep apnea and epilepsy is not fully understood. Some sign suggests that sleep apnea has the potential to cause or worsen seizures. Seizures occur because of irregular brain activity.

What are the dangers of sleep apnea?

NHLBI research found that sleep apnea may increase the danger of high blood pressure, diabetes, heart disease, and stroke.

What is the most serious potential consequence of sleep apnea?

There are serious potential consequences to undiagnosed or untreated sleep apnea. It makes sleep difficult. It can lead to high blood pressure, heart disease, stroke, diabetes, and dementia.

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goodnidra1 · 2 years ago

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Sleep Apnea: What It Is, Causes, Symptoms & Treatment

Sleep apnea is a serious sleep disorder that occurs when breathing is repeatedly interrupted during sleep. It can cause a person to experience loud snoring, gasping for air, and pauses in breathing during sleep. The long-term effects of untreated sleep apnea can lead to serious health problems, such as cardiovascular disease and stroke. If you or someone you know has been diagnosed with sleep apnea or may be at risk, it’s important to understand the causes, symptoms and treatment options for this condition.

What Is Sleep Apnea?

Sleep apnea is a potentially harmful respiratory disorder related to interrupted breathing that can occur both during sleep and while awake. It’s defined as frequent pauses in breathing which last from several seconds up to two minutes or longer at a time. Depending on the severity of the case, the pauses occur either less than 5 times (mild) or more than 30 times an hour (severe). There are three primary types of sleep apnea: obstructive (OSA), central (CSA), andcomplex (mix of OSA & CSA).

Causes of Sleep Apnea

Obstructive sleep apnea is typically caused by physical blockages within the airway such as enlarged tissue in your mouth, throat or soft palate. When these tissues vibrate during breathing they can block off your airway temporarily resulting in snoring and/or breath cessation. Central sleep apnea doesn’t have any physical obstructions but results from a communication lapse between your brain and respiratory muscles where your brain fails to transmit proper signals telling them how to function properly while sleeping. Other causes include obesity, genetics, aging, drugs & alcohol consumption and sinus infections.

Signs & Symptoms of Sleep Apnea

Common signs & Sleep Apnea symptoms are:

Loud snoring would be coupled with periods where there is no noise as breathing stops for a brief period of time;

Waking up feeling exhausted even after getting 7-9 hours of restful sleep;

Difficulty focusing due to exhaustion; headaches when waking up;

Waking up several times throughout the night attempting unsuccessfully to catch one’s breath;

Dry mouth when wakes up; sore throat upon arising from bed;

Fatigue throughout the day regardless if how much rest one gets;

Chest pain – accompanied with intermittent gaspings for breathe throughout night time hours;

Shaking episodes while trying catching breath midsleep & frequently need urinating multiple times each night time hour despite not drinking priorly opening hours priorly before attempting bedtime routine activities once again

Treatment Options for Sleep Apnea

There are several treatment options for Sleep Apnea but it is important that you get your appointment fixed with the best in the business. You just need to research well and book your appointment with the specialist for proper diagnosis after your experience any of the sleep apnea symptoms. If you are still looking for one, then you can always consider connect with the experts at Goodnidra and get everything sorted in no time.

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donutloverxo · 4 years ago

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His queen

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Note - An anon asked for an au sequel to first night with no stucky but this can be read as a one shot. Thanks to lizzygal(link to ao3) for her advice on this! This is written for @sweetlyscared's 1k angst challenge! Congrats boo! I used the prompt 'Do you love her?' Although this is hardly angsty but it's as angsty as someone as soft as me can get🥺 Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Summary - Married life with Steve was amazing (although with a few bumps in the way) until you discovered a heartbreaking secret.

Warnings - explicit sexual content, painful sex, innocent naive insecure reader, dub con/noncon, soft dark Steve, jealous Steve, ooc villain Sharon, like a little breeding kink, some angst.

Pairing - soft dark king!Steve x reader

Word count - 5.3k

Steve jolted when your palm hit him across his face, his hand circled around your wrist, ready to fight whatever it was that slapped him off, his grip loosening when he realised it was just you. You wiggled your hand away from his grip, mumbling incoherently before turning away from him, so that he could only see the silhouette of your nude back in the dim light.

Although he had been with a handful of women, he never had to share a bed with one. He didn’t think he’d ever have to, he was born in royalty, raised to be a king. While he liked having your soft warm body in his arms, he maybe could live without your hands slapping him, or both your legs over his thighs and hips.

It was customary for wives to have their own chambers after the honeymoon period was over. And with a heavy heart he had sent you to your own chambers, he made sure you were treated to the best luxuries possible.

But he found himself missing your presence soon enough. Your legs over his, you annoying him for attention whenever he was working, the way you hummed a song in your head, how you often clumsily bumped into things, your sweet beautiful voice, your scent, everything about you.

So he went to your room, told you that you were to live with him in his chambers from then on. You were hesitant at first, but didn’t say no to him.

You could never deny him anything. He loved that about you. How subservient you were despite being so fiery.

He was grateful to have made you move in, in times like these, when his cock was hard and achingly pressed against your thigh, he had you right where he wanted you.

He softly called out your name, he’d rather have you awake for this. He loved listening to the sweet sounds he could pull out of you. When you didn’t so much as stir he decided he would just have to wake you up another way.

Pushing your legs off his, spreading them apart to make room for him as he hovered over you, pressing soft kisses, rubbing his beard against your skin, he made his way down to his destination, he was parched for your nectar.

He kissed your petal, your cunt already oozing with need, your body would always want him even if you weren’t awake. He frowned when you didn’t move at all. He had been a bit too rough with you that night, exhausting you, making you pass out as soon as he was done, but he was growing more and more impatient.

Scraping his teeth over your clit, he bit it ever so lightly as you yelped awake.

“Oh!” you gasped when you looked down to find the king between your legs.

Swallowing a lump, because this was still so very strange to you. Your mother had told you how a man and woman make love before your wedding, but she never mentioned anything like this.

From your knowledge the king putting his mouth there wouldn’t result in you getting pregnant. But it did bring you great pleasure, to the point where it was maddening.

Sometimes it was the only thing on your mind.

It was as if you were addicted to it.

“My king...” you squirmed when you felt him push his fingers inside you, “I’m so tired... I have court tomorrow...” How he managed to do all his duties and still have you at least thrice everyday was beyond you.

“You don’t have to go. You’re the queen, the future mother of my children, you deserve a day off. Besides I do work you a bit too hard, don’t I?” he asked before plunging his tongue into your heat.

“Huh? No... I’m glad to be serving you...” And you had yet to give him any heirs.

It wasn’t long before you released all over his mouth, your cheeks heating up when you saw his beard coated with your slick as he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“You can stay in bed all day tomorrow. That way you’ll be strong and ready by the time I’m back.” He told you before capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, as you tasted yourself on his mouth.

Turns out a day off was everything that you had needed. You were born a princess, albeit of a kingdom standing on its last legs, you were the youngest of six sisters, your prospects weren’t all that great.

Your mother told you that you’d be lucky to get a rich lord, let alone a Duke or a prince. A King was out of the question. She taught you how to handle a household, she never could’ve prepared you for court or to be a queen. You always dreamt of marrying for love. Of running away after falling for a stable boy and living far away and being free.

But you married the King of the most prestigious kingdom in the whole world. While you had grown to love Steven, you didn’t love all the responsibilities that were thrusted upon you so suddenly, you didn’t like how you were always under scrutiny. Every move you made was watched and judged by others. You still couldn’t believe your life sometimes.

So it was nice to have a day to yourself. You had slept in till late in the morning, having your breakfast in bed before taking a leisurely bath and then decided to go for a walk in the garden just before the sunset before you’d have to go back up and have dinner with your husband before having to perform your wifely duties.

“Your grace,” you smiled upon hearing the familiar voice, turning around to see Lady Sharon approaching you.

You hadn’t seen her in over a month. She had been so kind to assist you and help you get acclimated to your duties, you’d always be grateful to her.

“I thought you were under the weather,” she frowned. It was the excuse you had given to skip court with your ladies that day. Which wasn’t a complete lie. You were a little sore between your legs. But a warm bath had fixed that.

“I’m feeling quite better,” you said, standing upright, a dignified smile on your face--formal and curt.

Always be formal and curt with everyone. Your instinct was to hug her when you saw her after her month long trip, like you would to any of your sisters or friends, but you must always act like a queen since you were one.

“How was your trip?” you asked her as she hooked her arm in yours so you could both resume walking.

“It went alright. Mama wants to marry me off to the Duke Stark, the trip was some sort of matchmaking ploy,” she snorted.

“What’s wrong with Stark? He seems so charming.” You remember meeting him at your coronation ceremony. Where he had got you beautiful pearls from an exotic country.

“He maybe charming, but at the end of the day - he’s manwhore.”

You gasped incredulously, your hand over your mouth as you looked around to make sure your maids didn’t hear you, “Lady Sharon,” you chastised her, “We can’t use that sort of language.”

“Forgive me, your grace,” she apologized, “I often forget how naive you are.”

“What? Naive?” you huffed. “Not using such filthy language hardly makes me naive.”

“Live a little, all royals are debauched in one way or another. I’m surprised to see just how much of a square you are.”

“Is... is being a square a bad thing?” You wanted to know. You never thought of yourself as a conformist, in fact your mother used to tell you you’ll die an old maid if you didn’t start acting more like a lady and less like a spoilt brat.

“Sometimes it is...” she pondered. “Well, for instance, being a square in bed might be boring for some men.”

“What?” you gasped again. Tightening your grip on her arm and walking at a faster pace to put some distance between you and your maids, “Give us a minute,” you told them.

“Lady Sharon,” you looked into her blue eyes, much like your husbands but a little darker, “Have you ever been with a man?”

“I have,” she shrugged. “Just the one. He was my true love.”

“Bu – but you aren’t married.” You frowned.

“So?”

“So, how can you make love to anyone if you aren’t married...” Your mother had told you that making love only ever happened between a man and his wife.

“I... you do know what making love entails right? This is what I meant when I said you were too much of a square,” she chuckled.

“Don’t... don’t make fun of me...” you pouted.

“I’m sorry, your grace, it’s just,” she put a hand over her mouth as she cleared her throat, “Really funny. Two people, who aren’t married, can make love. Being married is good but not a requirement.”

“I suppose that makes sense, me and his majesty could do it even if we weren’t married...”

“Is he happy with you?” she wanted to know.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just, you don’t know much about physical relations, and there needs to be a certain level of knowledge and experience for it to be good at it.”

“Do you think he is unsatisfied with me?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she shrugged. “Does he seem unsatisfied?”

He was always asking for it. Which you preferred, because you’d die of embarrassment if you ever had to initiate it. You couldn’t go for too long without it either. He had went on a hunting trip for just a couple of days and you wanted to jump on him and keep him in your bed as soon as you saw him.

Why would he ask for it again and again if he was satisfied?

“I’m not sure... since you know so much about it would you give me some advice?”

“My, I would’ve thought you’d call me a harlot or a whore instead you’re asking for advice...” she smirked.

“Oh, I would never. That is what my mother would say, probably, but you’re my friend. Besides, I would want to make love to Steve even if we weren’t married, and if he was a stable boy.”

“A stable boy?” she quirked a blonde brow.

“Yes! And I would be me, a princess. It’s just a silly dream I used to have,” you shrugged. “What happened to your love? The one you lost?”

“He got married to someone else,” she stated. And although she was firm and sophisticated as always, you could hear his voice wavering and how much pain she was in.

“Oh my... I am so sorry, Sharon,” you said, engulfing her in a hug to comfort her, now that you do actually love someone, now that you know what loving someone deeply means, how overwhelming it can be, you couldn’t even imagine what losing that love would feel like. “You’ll find someone better.”

“There is no one better, your grace. But I’ll give you some advice,” she pulled away from you, putting some distance between you both, “You have to pay special attention to his balls. Many ladies tend to forget them.”

“Ball...? Like toys? I don’t believe he has any.”

“Your grace,” she rolled her eyes as she snickered, “He does have them. That is where your children will come from.”

“Um... what? Wouldn’t they come from...” you looked down, to the place between your legs. That’s where kids come from. That’s what you had been told.

“Well, yes, that is where they will pop out of. But the balls... the ones right behind his manhood, that’s where his seed comes from.”

“Oh...” you nodded as you realised what she was talking about. “So... what about the... balls?”

“Just pay special attention to them. He would like that. Suck on them, tug on them... but gently!” she chuckled as she realised she would have to talk down to you since you were so inexperienced.

“Oh... alright... anything else I can do?”

“Try to be more... active... instead of just sitting there and taking it you know?”

“Alright. I think I get the gist of it.”

“You ready for me, petal?” Steven asked as he looked down at you, naked and vulnerable, so beautiful and all his. He nudged his cock against your intimate lips, prodding at your entrance as he awaited your answer. He knew he could be too much for you sometimes, he was trying to do better. So he could make you love him at least half of as much as he loves you.

“Mm-hm... but um...” you trailed off. Not exactly knowing how you would go about asking to suck his balls.

“What?”

“I was just wondering if... I could... do that...” you fluttered your lashes, that usually got you whatever you wanted from him.

“And what is ‘that’?”

“You know... when you make me put my mouth on you...”

He didn’t usually make you use your mouth.

Most of the times Steven had a strict unofficial schedule he followed when it came to lovemaking. He wasn’t someone who liked or embraced change, he was always strategic, as a king and as your husband.

He’d kiss you till you were out of breath, then your neck, and then your breasts, he’d spend a long amount of time there, maybe because you liked that the most probably. And then he’d use his fingers to work you up, tasting you, eating you out and drinking your nectar.

That drove you mad, till you were on the brink of insanity.

You loved it as much as you hated it. You had never felt so out of control in your entire life. Not even when your parents told you they were going to marry you off to a kingdom far away, to a man you had never even met before.

Steven would complain that you thrashed and moved around too much, although he would encourage you to make all the noise that you wished. He pinned you down by your hips. Sometimes he’d make you make once, twice, thrice, it depended on how desperate he was to get his own release.

And then he’d have you on your back. Whispering the filthiest things to you as he fucked you, filled you up with his seed.

He’d hold you close to him, kissing your hair, kissing your cheeks and touching your ever so intimately. That was when you were the most clingy, you’d hold on so tightly to him. You were more vulnerable than usual. You would tell him about how, even though you love being the queen and his wife, it was so new and overwhelming, how you miss your family and your old life. How things had changed and so drastically. He’d always tell you that it would all be okay. That he would take care of you and never let anything bad ever happen to you.

Then he’d have you on your hands and knees. He told you he liked looking at your behind and spanking it.

After that you’d both fall asleep. Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night and nudge you awake to love you some more. But he rarely ever made you suck him off.

“You wanna suck my cock?” he smirked as you meekly nodded. “Go right ahead then, petal. It’s all yours now, you don’t have to ask,” he told you as he sat up on his knees.

You looked at his cock. Hard and standing tall and proud up against his stomach. You now knew that being aroused made him hard and much much bigger. Maybe that’s why it’s often such a tasking job to take him--often leaving your cunt so sore.

Soft dark golden hair, much like that of his beard, and then you noticed them. His twin balls.

You took a deep breath as you took him in your mouth, suckling on his head, following your instincts and what he had taught you.

Your hand coming up and cupping his balls, massaging them gently in your hand. You stopped when you felt him go stiff.

Pulling his cock out of your mouth you looked up at him. “Did I do something wrong?” as you wiped your spittle and his preejaculate off your mouth.

“No,” he shook his head. It wasn’t often that he was stunned. Not ever really. But you, taking that kind of initiative, to touch him without him asking for you to, did shock him just a little.

He held onto the back of your head, bringing his balls just next to your mouth, against your soft lips, “Suck on them,” he told you.

You suckled at one, working the other one with your hand as he pulled at the roots of your head.

“Fuck! Stop!” he heaved, pulling you away, “I have to save it for your beautiful cunt, my queen,” he told you as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before he pushed you back down on the mattress.

Swiftly entering you, you were still as tight as the night of your wedding, which meant he had to be patient while fucking you, and he tried. He really did. But he was not a patient man. Especially not when you had just put your mouth on him and worked your magic in mere seconds.

He put most of his weight on you as he slowly pushed in and out of you, your face scrunched up in pleasure as you dug your nails into his shoulders.

With your pussy hugging him so well, almost as if it was made for him, as if you were made by the gods just for him.

“What have you done to me?” he rasped, touching his damp forehead to yours. You had weaved some sort of magic on him, making him crazy for you. Now it was hard to tell where he ended and you began.

You pressed a hand against your mouth to stop from giggling or making any sort of noise. Resting your back against the cool surface of the throne. You chose the back of the throne in the court as your place of hiding. Maybe it wasn’t the most strategic ploy but you were playing against a six year old.

Lila Barton had asked to play hide and seek with you. Only to receive a scolding from her nanny--to not bother the queen with such trivial matters.

It was as if you were reliving your childhood. You always felt you were made to grow up and be a lady too fast. With your mother and sisters telling you how important it was to act mature and be a lady, or you wouldn’t be able to marry well. Or marry at all.

So you jumped at the first opportunity to play with the kid. Making her count to twenty before looking for a place to hide. You had to go get your lessons for sewing so you didn’t have a lot of time, you hoped she would find you soon.

“But you’re not even considering it!”

You perked up when you heard the familiar voice, it was Lady Sharon! You had to thank her for all her advice, things had been going great with Steven ever since you listened to her. He had been opening up to you as well, although he was still as voracious in his love making. If anything... he wanted you even more now. Which you didn’t think could even be possible.

But some part of you absolutely loved it. And you knew you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You peaked out to see her, to maybe call her to join you on the floor, hiding behind the large throne. You frowned when you saw that she was holding onto Steven’s arm, looking up at him with a certain desperation in her eyes.

“There is nothing to consider. I’m a married man. It would be adultery – a crime,” he stated.

“Bu – but you promised, you told me you didn’t love her. You said you didn’t have any other choice. I’m not asking you to leave her for me, I know that’s not possible. I’m not a fucking idiot like her.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth again to keep your sobs in, tears streaming down your face as you watched your husband, and his lover, have a lovers quarrel.

You couldn’t hear any more of it. Couldn’t bear it breaking your heart anymore than it already had. You quickly got up, fleeing out of the room by the back entrance - which the servants often used.

“You watch your mouth when you speak of the queen,” he yanked his arm free of her, putting some distance between himself and her, “I didn’t make any promises like that. I told you I intended to be faithful to her even if I didn’t love her.”

He knew it was a mistake to ever get involved with Sharon. He never wanted to be a womanizer. But he had his needs. He didn’t think she would become so obsessed with him. He had broken off their short fling as soon as he became betrothed to you.

He felt responsible for all the rumours about him and her and her ruined reputation. So he had arranged for her to marry his good friend Stark but she had her mind set on him.

“I like the queen. She’s a good friend of mine. I don’t intend to replace her,” she explained. She had no interest in being a queen and having such tedious and boring responsibilities anyway—the power and the status that came along with it just wasn’t worth the hassle. She pitied you and how you just weren’t made for the job.

“But she can’t satisfy you, she can’t give you what you need-- What I can give you,” Being the Kings mistress would probably be better than being a Duchess and marrying some boring old man.

“Won’t you even think about it?”

“No I won’t. And you are to never speak of this again,” he warned her.

“Your grace...” Lydia was completely confused. Standing there with your dress in her hands as you frantically stuffed your clothes in a chest.

She had never seen two people as in love as you and the king. When she first met you, it didn’t seem as if you and Steven would make a good couple. She assumed your marriage would be like any other she had seen. Cold and distant.

Steve had never been smitten with a woman, she always felt there maybe something wrong with him. But he had grown so fond of you in such a short time. Even going as far as asking you to live with him in his chambers. Having the king around often made her duties to you challenging. But she was happy for you.

“I don’t understand. What wrong? Why do you want to leave so suddenly.” Does the king approve of your sudden departure? If not would she get in trouble for it?

“He lied to me,” you sobbed. “I thought--” you let out a hiccup.

“Calm down,” she said as she rubbed your forearms. She wasn’t afraid to touch you in such friendly ways, you weren’t as stuck up as most royals.

You took a deep breath as you tried to explain to your handmaiden why you both had to leave as soon as possible. Before Steven gets back. You’ll move all your things to the room you were supposed to live in and just lock him out of your chambers.

“I would’ve been fine living on my own. Just being a wife and a queen. But he made me believe... that we could be more. That he loved me. It’s not true,” you shook your head. “He lied. He has another lover.”

“Oh,” she let out. She was disappointed on your behalf but not surprised. It would be strange if the king didn’t have any other lovers. “I’m sorry, your grace.”

“I’ll be fine,” you sniffled. “This'll be a good lesson for me. My mother always told me I have my head in the clouds and should live in reality. That’ll teach me to dream.”

It was almost funny for her to watch you babble nonsense, stable boys, princesses and backstabbing friends, take a break to cry your heart out and then resume packing and trying to order all the other servants.

“What’s going on here?”

Everyone stopped moving as soon as they heard the kings voice. He of course looked at the Lydia for an explanation.

“The queen wants us to...”

“I’m moving back to my old chambers,” you briskly walked to him, standing right in front of him, looking him in the eye. He was much taller than you, making you crane your neck to actually get a good look at him, but you still tried to look intimidating and confrontational.

“Why?” he frowned. “Put everything back just as it was,” he ordered everyone.

“No!” you stomped your foot, looking very much like an indignant child who had his toy taken away, than a queen, “Don’t! We’re moving!” But of course nobody would listen to you over Steven. Not just because he was their king, but also because he was much more intimidating than you.

“Stop it!” he reprimanded you. “Whatever troubles you may have, we can sort them out together, but you are not moving back. And that’s the end of that.”

“No! I’m leaving! I’d like to see you try to stop me!” You hmphed. Pushing past him and making way for the door. You didn’t need to take your things with you now, you could just send for them later.

You screamed bloody murder when you felt Stevens arm around your stomach, as he threw you over his shoulder in the blink of an eye, “HELP!!” You yelled at the guards and your maids, who didn’t want to get involved, quickly scurrying out of the room.

“Ring the bell if you need anything, your grace,” Lydia said on her way out to you before she closed the door. It didn’t seem as if the king intended to do any real harm to you so she wasn’t that worried about you.

You kept on hitting his back, thrashing around his hold to break free, “Put me down!”

He threw you on your marital bed, his fingers making quick work of ridding him of his clothes so he could show you how he was just never going to let you go.

“Why do you even care? If I leave or not? You can just call for your lover!”

“My lover?” he frowned as he tried to push your skirts up your legs, which was proving to be a difficult task. Maybe he should’ve asked the maids to undress you before making them leave.

“Do you love her?” you asked, looking up at him and stopping your futile resistance for a few moments, your lips wobbly as you felt your vision blue with tears. You were born a princess, living a relatively sheltered life, never knowing pain so unbearable. As if you would never recover from this, you would never be the same.

You would never believe in love again.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, petal,” he said, getting frustrated with all the buttons and ties on your dress and ripping your skirt apart. Which he regretted, just a little because you started crying again.

“No! I like this dress.”

“I’ll buy you another one. I’ll buy you a hundred more.” He said as he hovered over you, diving in to kiss your beautiful lips and make you stop saying such preposterous things.

You sniffled as you tried to push him away, making him gather your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head.

“Stop it,” he told you. “When will you understand that you belong to me now? If I say you have to live with me, here, then that’s what you’ll do.”

“I’m not your slave,” you retorted as you tried to wiggle your hands out of his grip.

“Stop listening to rumors! There are plenty going around. I do not have a lover.”

“No. I saw it with my own eyes. You and Lady Sharon. Just this afternoon.”

“What did you see?”

“I... she said she was your lover...?” You tried to think of what exactly had been said between them. But you couldn’t remember. You were blinded by your fury and your sorrow.

“We used to be lovers, before you and I ever met, but not anymore. I could never think of another, I could never love anyone else,” he said softly as he touched your cheek with his other hand, “You want to know why?”

“Why?” you pouted, feeling a little stupid now.

“Because you’ve ruined me, my queen. You’ve made me a lovesick fool. I could never love anyone else the way I love you. Do you want to know how much I love you?” he asked as you meekly nodded.

Pulling his cock out of breaches, he pushed your skirts up, exposing your thighs to him, he rubbed his cock along the slick of your pussy.

“Did fighting with me make you wet, my queen?” he asked, making you avert your gaze.

“I...” it was the way he had simply thrown you around, how he just wouldn’t let you leave, “Maybe...”

“Hm, don’t start picking fights with me for no reason though. My poor heart won’t be able to bear it,” he cooed as he kissed your cheeks, wet from your tears. “You look beautiful when you cry, love, but I only want you crying when I’m fucking you, you understand?”

“Yes...”

He pushed inside you, you were tighter than usual, it was difficult to even properly enter you. The pain of it of course made you cry again. You sobbed into the crook of his neck as he shushed you.

“You feel my love, darling,” he asked as he was buried to the hilt inside you, “I’ll give you a child soon enough. Then you’ll have a living breathing proof of it,” he whispered in your ear as he started steadily moving, making sure that he won’t hurt you.

“I wish... I was your one and only... like you are mine,” you sniffled as you held on to him, soon it is wasn’t hurting as much, it was a little uncomfortable but you could bear through it.

“You are my one and only. You’re the only woman I have ever loved. Do you love me, petal?”

He looked down at you, wanting you to say it. He needed you to love him, for you to say it to him, he needed to know you weren’t here just because you were scared of him.

“I love you, Steve,” you sniffled, rubbing your runny nose with the back of your hand.

He smiled at you, his hand trailing down both your bodies as he twisted your pearl between his fingers.

“It’s okay... it’s okay...” He kept telling you as you screamed at the top of your lungs, your climax making your mind and your vision fuzzy.

“I’m going to fill you up, petal,” he told you as he finished inside you, staying inside you for a long while after he was done just to make sure you knew how he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

#sweetlysad1kchallenge #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers

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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

Note

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically. “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up.

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.” He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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alreadyblondenow · 4 years ago

Text

What happened on Valentines day?

▸ Mark x female!reader ▸ 1,685k words ▸ Smut, Fluff ▸ Met on a dating app, one night stand, unprotected sex, mentions of rough sex, mentions of bruises, biting, Mark bites you ▸ Requested. I’m not taking requests but here it is. Also uploaded this using my phone so theres no read more for now and next button hehe

For Valentine's day, you scored a hookup on this dating app that you used for the first time. To earn your trust, he invited you to his apartment instead of going to cheap hotels and to save yourselves from the hassle.

 Good boy, innocent, and shy. These are your impressions to Mark that changed immediately the moment after he openned your legs.

 The innocent-looking guy turned out to be incredibly good in bed and he definitely knew how to fuck. He was rough, gentle, fun, and sweet all in one night, asking you if you want another round whenever you’re calm and ready to go again.

 In other words, your Valentine’s day turned out fine because of Mark.

 Days after Valentine’s day, he texted you for the first time again and asked if you’re free to come over. Of course, you said yes. Why would you turn down a good fuck right?

 And that's how you and Mark turned out to be loyal fuck buddies. The sex was so good that you remained fuck buddies for almost a year now. It wasn’t decided or anything, no negotiations, no requests. It just simply happened.

 Mark is a decent person even though it’s all about sex between you two. You’re not friends, not even close to being friends because friends know important things about each other while Mark only knows your name, cellphone number, and your good spot whenever you have sex or he eats you out.

 You on the other hand only knew him through the things that he shows to you. What you see is what you get.

 He doesn’t like kissing on the lips but he sure does know how to kiss your body. And with that, you think that Mark is scared to love or he’s easy to fall for someone and he’s just protecting himself.

 “Sorry if I bit your shoulders. I was trying so hard not to kiss you-“ he says with ragged breaths after a good round.

 He may be rough on you in bed sometimes that you go home with a lot of red marks, or your body became very sore for days and you couldn’t walk properly, but he’s nice enough to take care of you, ask if something is hurting, then get you a glass of water afterward. There’s no doubt that Mark is a gentleman.

 He is low maintenance and doesn’t have any funny business up in his sleeve. He’s not clingy and not into cuddling, he doesn’t invite you to go out with him and watch movies or have coffee. Again, it’s all about sex and sex only.

 Mark may be cold and boring like that, but sometimes he can be sweet without even trying. Like that one time when he bit you too much during sex, and he was fucking you so hard that you thought you were going to break, he asked you to stay over so he could take care of you.

 “Everything okay? Was the water warm or too cold? Are you all covered now? I’ll come in with your clothes” He was talking about the bath that he prepared for you, and for someone who has seen you naked a hundred times already he still cares if you’re now covered or not.

 “Y-yeah come in”

 “Here, these should fit you perfectly” he placed the clothes near the sink and went behind you. “Let me see?” He said, asking to take a look at the bruises he caused, whispering sweet and soft apologies that felt like kisses on your skin but they were words.

 On the next day, you caught yourself using Mark’s arm as your pillow and caught his hands around your waist, keeping your back close against his chest. Cuddling while sleeping, that’s the perfect term.

 And when you feel him wake up against you, you pretend to be asleep and feel him remove his arms and replace them with a pillow. And before he gets up from bed, he put a blanket on you just to be sure you’re not cold.

 The very reason why you continue to fuck Mark and not look for a boyfriend instead is maybe everything he does for you is exactly what you want and need from a guy. And that maybe you’ll stop seeing him if you develop feelings for him already.

 Now your problem is... you don’t know if you already have feelings for him or you’re denying it.

 On your second Valentine’s together, he texted you an address of a fancy hotel together with a room number.

 “What’s this all about? Mark Lee, making me feel special on Valentine’s hmm?” You teased him and gave him your stuff.

 “I won it from our office raffle, thought we should use it today” he explains and gave you the tour before you eat dinner together.

 After having a hot shower and drying your hair before you join Mark to bed, you caught him doing some work-related stuff without a shirt and just wearing his pajama. You always see him naked but this is the first time that you actually admired his body.

 When he saw you standing beside the bed, he put away his laptop and invited you to sit on his lap.

 He was quiet for a moment, just staring blankly in front of you while caressing your legs slowly. You wanted to ask what’s wrong, but your relationship with him is not exactly the caring type so you waited for him instead.

 “How’s your day?” He asked. That’s new you thought.

 “Fine” you answered shortly and started to undo your robe and get naked, “What time do we finish tonight?” you added and started kissing his chest.

 “Stay for the night, I don’t want to stay in this place alone,” he says and started kissing your boobs. Emphasis on the kissing because normally he sucks your nipples until it's swollen and hard.

 He came closer to you, kissing the valley between your boobs and pushing you more towards him, then you noticed his kisses were slowly going up and you thought he will stop on your neck but he didn’t. He went for your lips and kiss you softly.

 Finally admitting his feelings for you.

 “Tell me what’s wrong? I feel like I’m with a totally different Mark tonight, why?” you asked, not hiding your frustrations. He’s still not answering your question. “It’s like we’re breaking all our rules tonight and you’re not telling me why. I’m not mad, please just tell me what’s on your mind, or I will go home”

 “N-no” he suddenly grips your waist but not too tight, just enough to tell you he doesn’t want you to go. “We never had rules, just the kissing. I just didn’t want to hurt you tonight and...” he clears his throat before continuing, “I’m starting to have feelings for you. I was planning to confess after we have sex to make the moment sweeter but you just have to ruin it” he chuckled and came closer to your face and boldly kissed your lips again.

A peck that’s so sweet and meaningful for you.

 “Now will you let me fuck you now? And kiss you the whole night?” he said and effortlessly switched your bodies, putting him on top of you and swiftly removing his pajama and boxers briefs. Pumping his cock immediately and pushing two fingers in your cunt to make you wet.

 He kisses you while pushing in, something very new for both of you, and kept kissing for a few more minutes while he’s still inside you.

 When he finally rolled his hips, you feel like having sex with him for the first time but this time the sex is 10x better because of his lips. Bodies to bodies, lips to lips while he fucks you slow and good that even Mark didn’t expect that he will love fucking you slow.

 Together, you hit your highs at the same time while you kiss deeper than earlier while catching each other’s breath.

 He pulled out and lie beside you, keeping you close to his body while your hands are intertwined. This is the first time that he cuddled with you after sex and gosh you want to savor the feeling but your lids are giving up on you.

 The next thing you know, you caught yourself again, cuddling while sleeping with Mark, and tried to pull away from his tight embrace. Old habits.

 “Stay,” he says, eyes still closed but he kept you closer to him. “Sleep again,” he added and kissed your forehead. Slightly reminding you of the sudden confession last night.

 On the second time you woke up, Mark is not beside you but pretty flowers on the bedside table greeted you with a small note, ‘last night wasn’t a dream. please get up, I miss you already’ and it instantly made you smile.

 After your second Valentine’s day together, Mark courted you properly but you soon made it official because you realized you wasted enough time. And with a few months of dating, your relationship with Mark evolved into something real because you’re now officially dating and finally living together in a new apartment. And even more intimate in a whole new level that you don’t have sex too much now.

 “How’s work?” He asked, eyes still closed as you flop in between his legs and lie on his chest. When you didn’t answer him, he knew already that you had an exhausting day. You feel him wrap his arms around your body, a simple gesture from your boyfriend that says, ‘it’s okay, you’re home and you’re in my arms now’.

 “How about you?” You asked in return, he just let out a heavy sigh and you knew already that his day was exhausting too. So you did your part and kiss him on the lips softly and long enough to take his tiredness away.

 “I love you. Thank you” he said and kissed you one last time before he turns off the lampshade. “Good night, I’ll love you again tomorrow” he whispers.

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