#yes william is round faced. he always is to me <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

howdyjourney · 19 days ago

Text

Sing Your Body Electric

- chapter 5 -

who: William H. Bonney x Original Female Character

genre: western romance longfic (multiple chapters)

this chapter: voyeurism • sexual references • (unresolved) sexual tension • mutual pining • yearning

(lmk if you want to be tagged)

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Chapter five

3 Weeks Later

Billy hadn’t meant to follow her.

He was just headed upstream to check the snares, boots crunching soft through pine needles, dust rising in warm little ghosts beneath the hem of his coat. Wasn’t even thinking of her until he heard the splash.

Then he stopped short, breath catching sharp in his throat like he’d swallowed a burr.

Down past the dogwood bend, half-hidden behind a stand of willow scrub, he saw her. Pale as moonlight, standing hip-deep in the creek with her back to him, arms slicked up with suds, dark braid dripping riverwater down the soft line of her spine.

He should’ve turned around.

Should’ve muttered a curse and marched back to camp like a goddamn gentleman.

But he didn’t.

Didn’t move at all, in fact—just stood there like a fool, tucked behind a tree where the branches bent low, heart thudding hard enough to rattle his teeth. The sun slanted gold through the leaves, gilding her skin in warm light. Her chemise hung on a branch beside her like a flag of surrender.

And she was—

Sweet Jesus.

The curve of her back was all gentle lines and soft shadows, except for a healed scar. Water beaded along the ridges of her shoulder blades, trailed down to where the swell of her backside rose out of the water like some kind of carved offering. That was what struck him hardest—that damned rump, same as always. Heart-shaped and high, round like it was made for a man’s hands. His hands.

Billy swallowed hard, jaw clenched. His fingers twitched where they hung at his sides.

He could almost picture it—what he’d do, if he had the right. If she ever gave him the look that meant yes. He’d wade in slow, careful as a man approaching a spooked filly. She’d turn, startled, maybe try to cover herself with those little hands, all blush and wide eyes, but he’d catch her wrists, kiss the fear right out of her. Murmur low and rough against her temple: Don’t be afraid. I’ll be good to you, I swear it.

Then he’d guide her back—gently, always gently—until the cold water kissed her thighs and her backside rested firm against his front. He’d wrap an arm around that soft waist, palm the curve of her belly, tilt her chin so he could kiss her mouth while the creek ran past them like a hymn. He’d mouth at her throat, trail kisses down the slope of her shoulder. Let her feel how bad he wanted her. Let her know she had him—ruined him, more like.

And if she leaned back into him—just the smallest shift of hips, the faintest sigh—he’d lose every last drop of sense. Fist her braid, tip her head, whisper filthy, reverent things into the shell of her ear.

Let me touch you, little dove. Let me make you feel what I feel. Been dreaming of you every night, waking up with your name bitten into my pillow.

He dragged a hand down his face, shook his head once like he could rattle the vision loose.

The truth was, he’d never seen anything so goddamn pretty in his life. Not a single painted whore in Santa Fe or Denver could match her. Not with her modest little frame, all sweet slopes and startled breath. She was too real, too raw—like something wild and half-tamed. And it made the hunger worse. Holy, almost.

She turned just enough to rinse her arms, and his breath left him in a hiss. Her breasts—small, high, perfect—glimpsed only for a heartbeat through the blur of sun on water. He didn’t dare blink. Every inch of her was pure temptation: skin kissed pink by wind and sun, thighs soft where they met, that narrow strip of shadow and the patch of soft, black hair between them driving him half-insane.

He hadn’t known a man could go dumb from a glimpse. A secret place, soft and wild. Not coy, not tidy like the illustrations passed around in bunkhouses and back rooms, but real. Hers. A velvet-dark promise tucked beneath the curve of her belly.

Billy swallowed hard, pulse gone thunderous in his throat.

He wanted to press his face there, bury himself where her scent lived deepest, breathe her in until he couldn’t tell which part of him was hunger and which was awe. He wanted to feel that downy hair tickle his lips as he kissed her open. Lick her slow, nose brushing that shadowed softness, hands gripping the plush weight of her hips until she forgot her own name.

He bit the inside of his cheek, tasted blood. This wasn’t right. She didn’t know he was watching. She’d never let him if she did. She trusted him.

And that trust? It was the only thing that kept his boots rooted to the ground.

He backed away slow, one step at a time, careful not to snap a twig or rustle a branch. His pulse roared in his ears, thick and shamed and wanting. By the time he reached camp, sweat had soaked through the back of his shirt, and his trousers were tight enough to make him curse.

He sat on a log, elbows on his knees, and stared at the dust between his boots.

It was wrong. He knew that.

But God in heaven, he’d go to his grave remembering how she looked just then—bathed in light and riverwater, soft as a whispered prayer, too beautiful, too pure for a bastard like him to even dream of.

Still, that night in the tent, when her breathing slowed into sleep, and her shoulder brushed his beneath the blanket they shared, he closed his eyes and let himself imagine—just once—what she’d sound like if she ever said yes.

Not because he planned to take it.

Only because his heart wouldn’t stop asking.

Eva hadn’t meant to linger.

She had stepped from the tent only to shake crumbs from the flour sack—moonlight silver on her bare feet, camp quiet but for the mare’s lazy snort—and there he was: Billy, shirtless at the fire, feeding sticks to an amber core that pulsed with every breath he took.

The sight rooted her like a fence post.

He knelt in profile, trousers low on lean hips, one knee braced as he leaned to coax flame. Lamplight could never have mapped muscle the way that fire did—drawing gold across the sweep of his shoulders, limning the ridge of each scar, each sinew honed by trail work and gun recoil. Sweat gleamed at the nape of his neck, slid down the long line of spine to disappear beneath the waistband. Her gaze followed—uninvited, disobedient—and snagged on the faint trail of darker hair that arrowed from his navel to places modesty refused to name. Heat flared in her cheeks though the night air nipped autumn-cool.

Billy straightened, rolled one shoulder to ease tension. The motion flexed his back wide as a barn door, then narrowed to a trim waist tough as cured hide. Broad palms brushed dust from his knees, fingers long, deft—same hands that had lifted her onto the saddle a hundred times, that settled a revolver trigger light as a prayer, that once gentled a stray colt until the skittish thing nosed sugar from his palm. She imagined those hands at other work: tipping her chin, guiding her braid aside, splaying over her corset stays like the promise of thunder. The thought made her stomach dip, flutter-soft.

She told herself to leave—return to the tent, to quilts and the safety of darkness—but something in the low hush of flame and the hush of his breathing held her. Billy reached for the canteen, up-tipped it, and water spilled along the groove between pectorals, racing over ribs before vanishing into denim. He huffed at the chill, raked wet hair off his brow. The gesture exposed the vulnerable slope of throat, the notch where a pulse beat strong. Eva’s own pulse answered, quick, uncertain.

He’s an outlaw, she reminded herself. Wanted posters carry his very smile. Yet here, stripped of hat and holster, he looked less a legend than a man—tired, scarred, alive. And holy mercy, beautiful. Rough beauty, like canyon walls sculpted by wind: edges sharp, colors raw, nothing of polite parlor symmetry. She’d grown up around polished gentlemen—planters’ sons smelling of bay rum—who bowed and spoke poetry their tutors fed them. None had made her heart hammer like the quiet silhouette crouched by tonight’s coals.

Billy tossed the doused stick aside, settled onto a log, forearms resting on spread knees. Fire glazed the fine dusting of hair on his forearms, highlighted the veins that tracked to callused knuckles. He stared into the flames as if listening to debts only he could hear. A sigh escaped him—soft, wearied—and in it she caught a loneliness that matched the one she carried like a hidden bruise.

He’d never look at you that way, a small voice warned. Too small, too fancy, too skittish; he’d said as much, early days on the trail. She was the dove he aimed to drop off in a cage of clapboard respectability. He needed gun smoke and hard liquor nights, women who understood a man might ride out at dawn and not come back.

Still… when he draped his coat over her shoulders those first frigid nights, she’d felt steadiness in the weight. That afternoon a month ago, when he blocked the store clerk’s greedy stare, anger had sparked in his eyes as bright as any outlaw blaze. Protection, she told herself, nothing more. Yet protection could feel dangerously like care.

Fire popped; a coal collapsed to ash. Billy roused, rubbed the back of his neck. Suddenly—too suddenly—his head turned. Moonlight caught in his gaze, pale and piercing, fixed right where she stood half-shadowed by the juniper.

Eva’s breath stilled. For a heartbeat neither moved—two deer frozen on separate ridgelines. Then she managed a small, embarrassed smile and lifted the cloth bag in explanation. “Just—shaking crumbs,” she called, voice barely above night insects.

His features softened; she thought she saw the ghost of a smile before he nodded once. “Get inside,” he said, low but gentle. “Air’s cooling fast.”

She bobbed a nod, backed two steps, pulse thundering. When she reached canvas flap she dared one glance over her shoulder: he had turned to the fire again, but one hand now lay absently on the log where she had stood moments before, fingers curled as if holding an echo.

Inside, she slipped beneath blankets, heart fugitive in her chest. Beyond thin canvas, the Kid’s boots scraped once, then quiet. She closed her eyes, but sleep held off, replaced by the image of lamplight skating down his torso, by questions that tingled like sparks: What would those clever hands feel like if they held her not out of duty, but desire? What sound would he make if she touched the hollow above his hip? And could a man born to gun smoke ever want a girl who still flinched at thunder?

Modesty—and fear—bade her bury such thoughts in the dark.

But her heart wouldn’t stop asking.

Somewhere outside, Billy added a fresh stick to the fire, and its crack told her he was no closer to rest than she was.

Billy lay flat on his back, arms crossed under his head, staring up at the inside of the canvas like it might split open and drop stars down on him.

It didn’t. Just creaked in the breeze, tugged by the wind rolling down off the hills. Same as every night since they crossed the state line. Same as the hollow churn in his gut and the ache lodged low in his spine that never seemed to quit anymore.

A few feet away, Eva breathed soft and steady, curled under the edge of his coat again—her coat now, he supposed. Not like he was taking it back. He’d let her have it the first night. She hadn’t asked. Just looked so cold, so small, shaking like a leaf in a wash basin, he couldn’t stand it.

Now he couldn’t stand this.

He’d seen her bathing.

No. That wasn’t right. He’d watched her bathe, hidden like a goddamn coward, peeking through willow branches like some backwoods heathen, heart slamming like a war drum while his eyes drank her in like she was spring water in the desert.

And she’d had no idea.

That was the worst of it. The trusting little thing had looked at him all day like he was some noble gun-hand, come to save her from hell itself. And meanwhile he’d been lying in his own sweat, burning with the image of her rinsing creekwater down those perfect hips. Of the soft curve where her thighs met. Of the way her backside rose round and high when she turned just so, like God Himself had sculpted it outta sugar and sin.

He gritted his teeth, hard. His jaw ached from the tension of it. And still—still—his body stirred with memory. A low, restless throb that wouldn’t quit, shame be damned.

She shifted in her sleep with a tiny sigh, and Billy nearly bolted upright.

He turned his head instead, slow and careful. In the faint light from the moon bleeding through canvas, he saw the curve of her cheek against the blanket, one hand curled under her chin like a child. Her braid spilled down her back, loosened at the tie, stray strands clinging to her throat.

She was too close.

Too warm.

Too his, in some secret, silent way that twisted the knife even deeper.

And he hated himself for it. Hated how his gaze tracked the rise and fall of her breath beneath the blanket, how his mind painted the memory of her bare skin like a prayer he hadn’t earned the right to say. Hated that the ache in him wasn’t just want—it was worse. Agonizing.

He wanted to protect her, yes. Wanted to guard her from every outlaw and coyote and cold wind that might tear her apart. But God help him, he also wanted to roll onto his side and pull her close, slip an arm around that soft little waist and feel her sigh into him. Wanted to press his mouth to her neck and whisper, low and wrong: Let me have you, darlin’. Just once. Just here, in the dark where it’s safe. Say yes and I’ll be yours.

She’d never say yes.

And that was good. That was right.

She didn’t belong to a man like him—never would. She belonged to quiet porches and clean church dresses and the kind of boy who could offer her a surname that didn’t come with a bounty. Not a wanted man sleeping rough in stolen canvas and thinking filthy things about a girl who cried in her sleep.

Billy dragged a hand down his face, palm rough with trail dust. His throat felt tight, and not just from guilt. From want, too. Want that had teeth.

And fear.

Because the more he looked at her, the more he feared he wouldn’t be able to give her up when the time came. That he’d find a town, find a mission, find a doctor’s wife or some widow with space and kindness enough to take her in—and he wouldn’t let her go.

Not because she needed him.

But because he needed her.

That scared him worse than the gallows.

He rolled onto his side, facing away from her, and gripped the edge of his blanket like it might anchor him to something decent. Something sane.

She shifted again behind him. Soft sigh. Soft rustle of fabric.

And then her voice—sleepy, small, half-murmured: “Billy?”

He froze.

“…You alright?” she mumbled, not even opening her eyes. “Heard you movin’.”

He swallowed hard. Found his voice somewhere in the dry gravel of his throat.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… thinkin’, is all.”

A pause. Then: “Can’t sleep neither.”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not without breaking.

But after a minute, he felt her hand brush his back—light as a moth wing, barely there. And then she settled again. Quiet, breathing even.

Billy lay in the dark with the ghost of her touch burned into his spine, and knew—knew—he was lost.

And tomorrow he’d saddle up, ride out, and tell himself again that he was just gettin’ her safe.

But it’d be a lie.

Because somewhere between the campfire and the creek, between her smile and the goddamn shape of her in moonlight, something in him had already changed.

He wasn’t just running from the law anymore.

He was running from her.

And he knew—sooner or later—he’d stop.

The mare’s ears moved first. Then Billy felt it—an off cadence in the ground, as if some invisible drum had struck once and gone silent. He hauled the reins, easing to a standstill on a low ridge where wind carved ripples through the iron-colored soil. Sagebrush hunched in scattered clumps, each bush crouching like a wary coyote among the dunes.

“What is it?” Eva asked from the saddle behind him, voice muffled by the flap of his duster collar she used as a windbreak.

“Sign,” he murmured.

He swung down, boots crunching crust that broke to fine red grit. A line of shallow impressions angled across the path they’d been following—narrow ovals no longer than his palm, toes slightly turned out, heel edge clipped sharp by the breeze. Nothing like a cavalry boot or a drifter’s hobnail.

Billy knelt, pressed two fingers to the nearest print. Sand sifted, warm against his calluses. “Naabání,” he said—the Navajo loanword the Mescalero scouts used for soft-sole moccasins. “Only three sets. Light packs.” He measured depth by eye. “Scouts, not a war party.”

Eva slid off the horse—still awkward in her blanket-skirt but surer each mile—then crouched beside him. She traced a print’s length with the tip of a stick, lips moving silently. “Nine… maybe ten inches,” she whispered. “Big as your boot, but weight’s different. Whoever it is walks softer than you.”

Billy’s brow climbed under his hat brim. “Good eye.”

She shrugged, blowing a stray braid-hair from her cheek. “Used to watch my brothers track fox ’round the bayou. Prints talk if you listen right.” She glanced up, caught his surprise, and a shy pride warmed her eyes.

South, a low growl of thunder rolled along the horizon; storm clouds bruised the sky where mesa met flat. Heat lightning stitched a ragged seam in the charcoal mass, promising afternoon rain or worse. Here, sunlight still blazed, but the wind began to carry that copper smell of weather on the move.

Billy straightened, scanning the empty miles of rippled red. No outcroppings, no cottonwood arroyo—just naked basin until the land rose again far west. “Not a damn lick of cover,” he muttered.

Eva shaded her eyes. “If the scouts are friendly, we’re fine. If not…”

“We stay small and polite,” he finished. He studied her face—dust-smudged, determined—and felt a hint of respect quiver through the usual worry. “You catch any more words besides naabání, you speak gentle. Else let me handle.”

She nodded. “Understood.”

Billy mounted, then offered a hand. She grasped his wrist—firm, confident now—swung up behind. The mare tossed her head, sensing tension. Billy stroked her neck. “Easy, girl.”

He put heels to flank, guiding north-northwest, angling off the scouts’ trail but not so sharp it looked like panic. Eyes sweeping every ridge-line, every shimmer of heat that might hide motion. Behind them the sky growled again, deeper, and a gust whipped Eva’s braid over his shoulder.

“Storm or scouts,” he said over his shoulder, “one’ll find us by nightfall. Keep those fox-watching eyes peeled.”

Eva tightened her arms just enough for balance. “I’m looking,” she promised.

They rode on across the red washboard earth—two tiny figures against a giant sky—while three sets of moccasin tracks faded grain by grain beneath the restless wind.

The land pinched inward without warning, two sandstone walls pressing the wash into a corridor no wider than a wagon tongue. Sunlight pooled between the cliffs like molten brass; heat shimmered off every surface, turning distance to mirage. Billy slowed the mare to a cautious walk, eyes never still. Gullies like this were nature’s choke points—good for ambush, bad for travelers who fancied easy exits.

Eva’s knees tightened against the blanket-skirt. She squinted up the ledges where lizards clung motionless, tails twitching in slow zigzags. Wind couldn’t reach here; even their own breathing sounded loud.

The arrow arrived on a hush of air.

Thwunk—sand spat a yard ahead of the mare’s nose, shaft quivering, fletchings trembling turquoise and crow-black. Not a kill-shot; a line in the dirt. Warning clear as any spoken word.

Billy’s hand found the Colt before thought finished firing through nerves. He drew but kept the muzzle low, barrel angled to the wash floor. “Easy, girl,” he muttered to the horse more than to Eva. “Don’t twitch.”

A scrape of boot-sole on stone. Another. Then three figures rose onto the rim twenty feet above, silhouettes carved out of sun glare. Lean men in faded cotton shirts the color of wet ash, hair tied back with strips of trade cloth. German silver conchos winked at belts and rifle straps—tokens of battles won, bargains struck. No war paint, no feathers, but every stance screamed ready.

Middle scout lifted a hand, palm out: halt sign. The other two rested hands on bows notched with arrows but held at ease.

Heat pounded like a forge. Sweat trickled from Billy’s brow; he dared not wipe it. “Mescalero,” he said under breath. “Likely hunting party’s eyes.”

Eva nodded once, barely. She noted the turquoise beadwork on the arrow’s nock—Mescalero women bartered such beads at Fort Stanton. She’d sewn plenty onto dresses back at Rosemead, never guessing one day they’d spell her fate.

Billy lifted his free hand, open, showing no threat. “We ride peaceful,” he called in border-Spanish first, then in broken Apache borrowed from mule-skinners: “Diyin, só ‘ashkii, nízhoné—good friends, good trail.”

The lead scout didn’t move. Sun carved shadows down his cheekbones; his eyes, obsidian calm, traveled to Eva—a white woman in a man’s dust-coat, riding blanket-skirt. Flicked to Billy’s Colt, still down but unholstered. Flicked to the mare’s flank, where canteens clinked half-empty.

A breath of stillness. Even the lizards froze.

Billy’s trigger finger twitched once against steel but stayed straight. “We got no quarrel,” he called. “Passin’ through.”

Eva felt the drag of every second; thunderheads behind them shoved waves of heat into the canyon, cooking silence alive. Her heart drummed so loud she swore it shook the arrow still quivering in sand.

Then the scout on the right lifted his bow a fraction, arrow rising—but only to level across the gorge, not draw. Gesture clear: Turn out your pockets first, strangers.

Billy’s grip tightened on the Colt; muscle knotted along his jaw. The scout’s bow flexed a hair wider in warning.

Eva laid a hand on Billy’s wrist—light, urgent. She slid from the saddle, boots hitting sand. The nearest arrow still marked the “stop line”; she stepped exactly to it, no farther, raised both hands shoulder-high. Sun glared off her hairpins as she addressed the leader in the same soft trade Comanche she’d risked learning by hearth-fires years ago:

“Awéé’ dóó ashkii—dóó t’áá hwáji’ígíí—háádę́ę – we travel only two hearts, two horses; sickness on his hand, need water.” She pointed gently to Billy’s rope-burned palm, then to her own shoulder where the lash welt showed under collar. She tapped the salve tin at her belt. “Medicines to share. No guns for war.”

Her accent was off—Southern drawl bending vowel lengths—but the sounds were close enough. The lead scout’s eyes narrowed, assessing sincerity more than grammar. A crow called distant overhead, wings dark against the white blast sky.

Billy’s pulse echoed in his ears. Colt grew heavier by the second. The scout studied Eva—note of surprise there, perhaps respect—then eased tension from his own bowstring. He spoke three clipped words in Mescalero dialect to his companions. One shouldered bow. The other grounded his arrow tip in gravel, signaling parley accepted.

Billy exhaled slow; sand hissed beneath his boots as he holstered the Colt. “Good sign,” he muttered.

Eva dared a small breath of relief. But the closer clouds crackled with heat lightning—reminding them nature gave no long recess for human stalemates.

Billy guided the mare forward three paces, stopping beside Eva. He kept hands visible, stance loose but ready. “Let’s hope talk’s cheaper than lead,” he said quietly.

Above, the three scouts started down the ledge path—sun striking conchos into white sparks—closing the distance for whatever bargain would follow, while the arrow in the sand marked the thin line between passage and peril.

Then, a shift.

The three scouts descended the cliff path in nimble zigzags, stone chips rattling ahead of their soft-sole steps. When they reached the wash floor, the eldest—silver threaded through a braid that brushed his belt—raised two fingers and called in rough English:

“Water. Meat. Quiet sit. You come.”

His tone was neither command nor plea—more a statement of balanced courtesy. Still, Billy shifted a half-step toward Eva, shoulder brushing hers in silent instruction. He answered in Spanish laced with the Mescalero he’d scraped together on cattle drives: “We share food, then ride. No trouble meant.”

“Trouble is wind,” the elder replied, tapping his chest. “Passes through.”

He nodded toward a notch where the wash widened into a shaded alcove. A small cook-fire already smoked there—juniper needles hissing over coals. Two ponies, lean and leggy, waited with heads low under the cliff’s drip line. A skin bag and a strip of jerked venison hung from a mesquite branch, invitation clear.

Billy glanced at Eva—unspoken question. She answered with a slight tilt of her chin: Your call, but I’m not afraid.

“Stay by me,” he murmured.

They led the mare to the alcove. One scout—barely older than seventeen—produced a clay cup, filled it from a gourd canteen, and handed it to Eva first. His gaze did not stray below her eyes. She thanked him in hesitant Comanche: “Hágoónee’. Na’á I…át’é.” Thank you. I am grateful. The young warrior’s lips formed into the smallest smile.

Billy accepted the next cup. He sipped; water tasted of river stone and cool algae—clean. Suspicion eased a notch.

They settled on rounded boulders around the low fire. Smoke spiraled blue into the slot of sky. The scouts introduced themselves with names that translated rough as River-Stone, Cedar Wind, and the elder, Owl Who Hunts at Noon. Billy offered “William Bonney,” then, after a pause, touched Eva’s sleeve: “And this is my woman, Eva.”

The lie sat strange on his tongue—half burn, half brand—yet when he said it, something inside clicked into place as if always true. River-Stone nodded, dark eyes approving. “Good,” he said in measured English. “Eyes sharp, wit behind them, brave heart.” He inclined his chin toward Eva, respect evident.

Color warmed her cheeks; she bowed her head. No other man outside Billy had looked at her like that—seeing person, not property. Or so she thought.

Owl Who Hunts at Noon flicked a glance at the thunder bank building in the south. “We ride to meet family,” he explained, mixing Comanche, Spanish, and gestures. “Trade deer hide for bullets, salt. Scouts only—no fight.” He tapped the turquoise bead on the arrow still quivering in the wash farther back. “Arrow speak before tongue. Safer.”

Billy acknowledged with a grunt of understanding. They exchanged strips of venison; Eva produced the tiny salve tin, offering it. Cedar Wind sniffed the pungent herbal mix, grinned, and dabbed a scrape on his knuckle.

Conversation drifted—weather signs, river crossings, stories of soldiers too slow to catch what they hunted. Laughter even sparked once, quick as dry grass, when Billy mimed a cavalry horse spooking at its own shadow; Cedar Wind barked approval, slapped his thigh.

Dusk deepened violet between the cliff walls. Time to move before storm or night pinned travelers in bad ground. Billy rose first, brushing grit from his knees. Hand over hers, he helped Eva stand. She thanked the scouts again, her accent softer now, confidence blooming under genuine regard.

As they turned to lead the mare out, Owl Who Hunts at Noon touched Eva’s elbow—light as moth-wings. He leaned close, words meant for her alone, voice low in Comanche that rolled smooth despite age:

“Tháu-ya—your man is good. Heart already set on you like root in riverbank. Bright trail ahead if you hold to each other. Keep him close.”

Startled warmth rushed through her; she managed a nod, throat tight. The elder’s eyes crinkled—mirth and blessing combined—then he stepped back, raising two fingers in farewell.

Billy swung into the saddle, offered Eva his wrist. When she was settled behind him, arms secure around his waist, he turned the mare, lifted a hand. The scouts raised theirs in silent reply. Moments later the pair trotted out of the canyon mouth, hoofbeats swallowed by sand and the first mutter of thunder.

Eva laid her cheek against Billy’s back, feeling the steady drum of his heartbeat beneath trail-worn cotton. His lie—my woman—echoed in her ears, no longer sounding like falsehood at all. She closed her eyes, holding Owl’s whispered prophecy close as the rising storm wind.

They left the wash at a measured walk, hooves muffled in powdery sand. The scouts had melted back into the redrock folds—no sign now but the shallow arrow furrow and the rustle of a yucca frond clipped for good luck. A hot wind hounded their backs, restless to herd thunderclouds into evening.

Billy rode flank, one rein looped loose around his left hand. The right—rope-burned palm raw—hung easy near the Colt but made no move. His gaze skimmed Eva more than the horizon: the set of her shoulders, the way she studied the small deerskin tobacco pouch gifted by the Mescalero like it was a puzzle box. She turned it over between thumb and finger, feeling the beadwork bumps, tracing the zigzag design as if memorizing a story sewn there.

She stood like a seasoned scout, Billy mused, words I’ve never heard spillin’ outta that soft mouth—calm as water in a cedar cup.

He pictured the arrow trembling in sand, how near his finger had crooked to the Colt’s trigger. Two pounds of pressure from turning daylight into blood. Instead she’d walked up, palms bare, and language bridged the gap he’d nearly burned shut with lead.

Guilt prickled under his collar. Men on that ridge weren’t thieves or slavers—just guardians of range their mothers birthed them on. He’d almost mistaken duty for threat. He shifted in the saddle, discomfort more moral than physical.

Ahead, the marked safe trail cut a wavering line through low grass and broken shale. Beyond, mesas stacked dove-gray against cobalt, heat rippling their edges. The mare snorted, sensing Billy’s unrest, but kept her gait steady.

Eva, perched before him, stilled the pouch at last. Her hands had begun to shake—not outwardly, but he saw the twitch in the leather fringe. Adrenaline bleed-off, common as dust after a standoff. She tucked both trembling fists beneath the blanket-skirt, hiding the quake like a child hides a broken doll behind her back.

Billy cleared his throat. “Where’d you learn Comanche?”

She turned slightly, braid swaying. Sun lit a faint sheen of sweat along her hairline. Voice quiet, rough from the dry air: “People talk when they think you ain’t listenin’. Traders came to... a place I once lived by with herd ponies, shiny bead trinkets. A… man I knew kept ‘em to the smokehouse yard, haggled in broken words. I’d perch behind flour barrels—picked up sounds like song verses. Never forgot.”

Billy digested that—image of a silk-wrapped porch girl crouching in shadows memorizing words not meant for her kind. “Listening can be dangerous.”

“Not half as dangerous as not listening.” A small, wry curve tugged her mouth; it passed quick but left an echo. She shifted again and exhaled.

Billy’s chest loosened with an exhale of its own—part relief, part warmer. Admiration, unfamiliar but growing roots. “You saved us ten miles of bad trouble,” he admitted, half-gruff.

Eva shrugged, but color rose under her dust. “You handed over good whiskey and your last salve tin. Fair trade both ways.”

“Whiskey I can replace.” He glanced to his rope-scarred hand, flexed fingers. “Your hide, I can’t.”

Silence settled companionable. The wind pressed sweat from their necks, smelled of distant rain and hot sage. Eva drew the blanket tighter across her lap, shielding her tremor. Under wool, fingers brushed the tobacco pouch again—touchstone against the quake. She remembered Delilah’s hush-talk tales of Numunu traders riding tall bays, swapping mustangs for blue calico. Remembered pressing ears to bunkhouse boards late at night to hear those languages cross-pollinate with laughter. Listen, little bird, Delilah had whispered once, Language is a key you keep concealed—opens gates when chains look thickest. Today the key had clicked a lock.

Behind her, Billy’s mare picked careful footing along the faint line scratched by the scout—Mesa route safe, the man had said. No war parties until the next moon. Billy scanned sky, cataloging banks of thunderheads shouldering in from the south; he gauged they had four, maybe five hours before lightning stitched these flats again.

He leaned forward, voice near her ear but calm. “Storm’ll ride us by dark. We camp in the junipers yonder, use sage they gave. Keep the talking light and the fire lighter.”

Eva nodded. “Yes, Billy.” The name came easier each mile; it anchored her.

Sun dropped behind a small escarpment, casting the trail in bronze glow. Eva risked another tiny tease—recalling their coffee banter. “Think the Mescalero’d trade that sage back for your coffee grounds? Might taste better.”

Billy snorted, a short merry sound he rarely let loose. “Careful, dove. Talk like that and I’ll feed you both.”

Her answering smile stayed fragile but real. Wind caught the braid’s tip, brushed it across his knuckles on the reins—a ghost-soft stroke that felt like a promise.

They rode on: two silhouettes edging west, thunder grumbling distant commentary, trust a cautious colt trailing behind but not bolting. Billy kept eyes sweeping horizons, but part of his attention stayed fixed on the small woman whose curiosity and calm had bought them safe passage. Eva kept her trembling tucked away, sipping quiet courage from thoughts of Delilah’s stories and the warm tobacco pouch in her lap.

Somewhere ahead waited a campfire scented with sage-smoke and, maybe, a laugh or two bitter as Billy’s coffee but shared all the same.

They found the shelf by scent first—piñon sap hanging sweet and heavy in the cooling air, masking the copper tang of distant rain. A ragged limestone lip jutted just high enough to break the wind; below it lay a shallow hollow scooped by some old flash flood. Billy dismounted, ran a slow gaze around the rim—nothing but rabbit tracks and the smeared scrawl of wind under the brush. Good enough.

Eva slid stiff-legged from the mare, boots hitting crushed volcanic rock that shimmered like onyx. She exhaled softly—each mile since the wash had bled the tremor from her hands, but her back still throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Billy read it in the way her shoulders rounded, though she never voiced a complaint.

Twilight washed everything indigo. They made camp quick: hobble rope looped, blankets unfurled, Billy’s flint coaxing sparks into the driest juniper twigs. When the first flame licked upward, Eva untied the tiny rawhide packet the Mescalero scout had pressed into her palm—sage crushed fine, mixed with something sharp and resinous. She crouched and sprinkled a pinch onto the newborn fire. The smoke blushed pale green, then billowed into a fragrant plume that drifted across their little hollow, driving the dusk gnats into a whining retreat.

“Smells like church doors at Easter,” Eva murmured.

“Smells like bugs dyin’,” Billy replied, but the half-smile at the corner of his mouth softened the words. He settled cross-legged, produced a scrap of rice paper, and shook a twist of the desert tobacco into it—dark leaves flecked with pinpoints of silver bead. His fingers, scarred yet deft, rolled the paper into a tight cylinder.

“Gift deserves a christening.” He struck a match, the flare lighting his face sunset-orange, and touched it to the cigarette’s tip. The smoke curled blue around his hat brim. He took a slow draw, then angled the cigarette toward her. “Want the first?”

Eva hesitated—a planter’s daughter was supposed to faint at the notion. But the day had rewritten too many rules to cling to that one. She accepted the roll between thumb and forefinger, brought it to lips still split faintly at the corner, and inhaled.

The tobacco hit back—wild, peppery, with an under-note of sage that burned the back of her throat. She coughed once, twice, eyes watering. Billy chuckled—low and genuine—and she couldn’t help but laugh as well, raspy and startled, the sound spilling out into the purple evening like a brook finally unclogging.

“That,” she wheezed, eyes bright, “tastes worse than your coffee.”

“Grows on you,” he said, reclaiming the roll. He tapped ash into the fire and took another pull. “Like misery and trail dust.”

She laughed again, softer this time. The sage smoke and tobacco braided into a single aromatic ribbon that rose to mingle with the first stars.

Billy set the cigarette on a flat stone, ember guttering. “Turn,” he said gently. He’d warmed the last of their traded salve in the cup lid, and now he dabbed two fingers in, nodding at her shoulder. Eva knelt, loosening the duster and the blanket-skirt tie until fabric peeled away from reddened flesh. The lash cut looked angry but drying. Billy’s touch was careful, almost meditative, smoothing the cool salve across raw ridges. She hissed at first contact, then sighed as the sting faded.

“Mescalero man said this root pulls heat,” he murmured.

Eva closed her eyes a moment, letting desert hush and medicine work its small wonder. When he finished, he re-tied the blanket knot—not too tight, just snug—and draped the duster back around her shoulders. Neither spoke of the intimacy of that tending, but it lingered between them, gentle as the sage scent.

Night settled in earnest. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder beside the low flame, sharing the last inch of cigarette until it was a glowing bead. Billy tossed the butt into the fire; it sparked, hissed, died.

“Back there,” Eva began, tipping her head toward the invisible wash, “when the arrow hit— I kept thinking about my friend’s stories. She used to say shooting stars were chiefs racing across the sky to show their people where to hunt.”

Billy poked the fire, turning a coal. “Mescalero have a different tale. Says the Holy People were shaping the mountains out of flint. Sky cracked under the hammer, flint shards flew off—turned to sparks as they fell. That’s our shooting stars.”

Eva lifted her gaze. The heavens had yawned open above the mesa, pitch velvet strewn with cold diamonds. A lone streak of light—brief, silent—slipped across the northwestern quadrant, then winked out.

“Flint shard,” she whispered.

“Maybe a chief, too.” Billy tilted his hat back, neck bared to starlight. “Plenty of sky for both stories.”

She leaned sideways, just enough that her shoulder brushed his sleeve, seeking balance more than daring. He didn’t shift away. A quiet breath escaped him, not quite a sigh, but the tension he’d worn since Broken Yoke loosened another notch. They watched the sky together, counting silent embers as they burned paths unseen millennia ago.

Somewhere beyond the slope, a coyote lifted a long, lonesome note. Another answered westward. Usually such sounds scraped nerves raw; tonight they folded into the sage smoke like harmonies, part of an old song bigger than fear.

Eva’s eyelids dipped. Billy felt the weight of her head hover near his arm—she caught herself, straightened, embarrassed. He offered no remark, only angled his shoulder subtly inviting. This time she let herself rest against that solid line—three heartbeats, then five—until her breathing slowed, evening out with the hush beneath the stars.

Wind skittered across the mesa, cool enough to raise gooseflesh but gentle as a quilt pulled up. Billy kept watch—eyes tracing constellations, ears tuned for hoof or rattle—yet some part of him rested too, shoulders easing beneath a burden he’d carried longer than he could remember.

When the embers dwindled to glow and the coyotes trotted on to other valleys, he murmured, “Flint shards,” just once, more blessing than story. Eva, half asleep against him, smiled tiny in the dark.

Fear hadn’t vanished—it lurked out there beyond the piñon line—but tonight it felt thinner, like smoke after rain. And under the river of starlight, ringed by sage and warm grit, two outlaws of different sorts sat shoulder-touched, sharing silence that tasted—unexpectedly—of hope.

#tbosas #tom blyth #billy the kid smut #billy the kid series #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid #SYBE #sing your body electric #billy the kid 2022

6 notes · View notes

ananiel · 1 year ago

Note

Hi dear! How are you? I wanted to say thank you again for taking my requests. Like thank you so much🥹. And if you don't mind I want to share my headcanons for twins with you.

1. I always imagining how Louis and Witch! Reader showing the babies the pictures of their parents and just imagine when their first word was “Mama” while they looked at the Reader’s photos. I think it would be so adorable 😻🥰

2. To me Louise would be a little more oblivious and naive girl than Hugo. I am pretty sure Louis and other gang members tried to hide the "dark side" of the society from them. But failed because Hugo is too smart for his own good (Yep, totally got that from William).

3. And now, let's talk about Hugo. Like I said he is too smart for his own age like how William was. And I am pretty sure he was asking questions to his uncles along side with Louise like: "Where are their parents?", "And why they are not with them?". I'm sure they made up a story about their mother being kidnapped after giving birth, and their Fathers going on a journey to find her and bring her back.

Louise found it romantic how their fathers were like knights in shining armors and how loyal they are to their mama. But Hugo found it hard to believe.

4. Hugo is a little protective towards his twin sister. He knows she can protect herself (thanks to Grandpa Jack) but still doesn't allow a lot of guys to be around her.

5. Hugo and Louise have a double surname. Moriarty-Holmes. (Louis actually wanted to be them only Moriarty but Mycroft shows up and like "Nope. Not happening.")

6. I always imagining Louise having long blonde wawy hair with her yellow and red eyes and round face. And because of her innocent looks she had many suitors.

7. And let's imagine that William and Sherlock were able to bring the Reader back. Hugo and Louise won't be yanderes, they'll just be overprotective. Especially next to William and Sherlock, because Hugo noticed that they acted somehow "inappropriately" around their mother.

And again. Thank you for taking my requests. When I saw your yandere Moriarty the patriot with witch! reader scenario, I was like "Genius! Why I never thought about that?* And then I subscribed and so it continued. You writing is amazing!! And if someone telling you opposite just know they are wrong and envy you!!!

Thank You! Thank You a lot! This means a lot to me and i am Glad You took the time to tell me your headcanons. I am good, and i hope that You are good too

Thank You for The compliments, and also, i love to write, and your ideas are amazing, so there's no need to thank me!

I also thought about the name, but i didn't put too much though in it because i was thinking of the posibility of an ultimatum from Mycroft to sherlock, like, i thought of a small confruntation between them, in which Mycroft tries to snap sherlock out of it by telling him

"You're no longer a holmes of you do that" but i do not think that obsesive sherly would listen either way.

As for The questions, i imagine a scared Louis to answear, one that bites his lip and takes a deep breath, because if they can talk and have questions like that, they are probably a few years old, which shows just how much their parents left for, and at this Point , even if Louis still believes William Will return one day... Louis Will take the parent role, especially with w(witch)! Reader by his side

Louie might accept it, but Hugo would be more hard to convince, but i think that the more he finds out about what happend, the more is he on his mother's side, and wouldn't want her to return.

Maybe W! Reader Will take him as her "aprentice" just to guide him on a path to find out the truth, thinking of it.

But Yes, if Sherliam truly returns with their darling, i can imagine the horror on W! Reader's face, for she might be caught in a lie too...

But for me, i think that W! Reader hid o! Reader good, and that they wouldn't think of finding her there.

Anyways, your headcanons were amazing, thank You very much for telling me, i hope to use them in the future 😍

6 notes · View notes

jabbage · 2 years ago

Text

#Letters from Watson #lettersfromwatson

8 notes · View notes

bowandcurtsey · 3 years ago

Note

Hi Aine, could I request some Easter egg hunt headcanons for Yami, Asta and William please <3

AHHHH I'm late for Easter!! My apologies honey, hopefully you had a happy Easter <3 Hehe, this is also very fun to do, thank you for requesting this!

Yami | Asta | William

Yami Sukehiro x gn! reader

So initially he didn't want to join. He thinks it's a hassle and he's hella lazy. But since you were part of the organiser and the bulls kept pestering him to join, he agreed to do it.

But anyway he looks like he doesn't care, but he ends up finding quite a number of easter eggs. He's a show off about it too.

"Heh. This is way too easy. Can you brats at least give me a challenge before asking me to participate?"

They start opening the eggs and to their surprises, it's not all candy. Some got yuls and some got ilttle vouchers that they could head to the meat store to redeem meat.

Yami had quite a bit of yuls and food voucher. But all of a sudden, Asta shouted, "WOW! I got a free bento made by y/n!!"

"I have a lunch date paid by y/n!" Vanessa clapped her hands, "does alcohol count, y/n?"

Yami sulked at you, "that's not fair baby!"

"Why?" you shrugged, "you're in the hunt too? You could've gotten them"

"Free shoulder massage from y/n.." Magna read out his prize. Yami grabbed the man from his head.

"OWWW! YAMI DANJOU!!" Poor Magna's legs were flailing in the air.

"Give that to me." Yami grabbed the Easter egg from him.

"Anyway, now that we had a nice warm up finding all the easter eggs at the base," you announced to everyone, " I've hidden much more in the forest! You guys have 2 hours~"

You winked at Yami, "ready?"

"I'm warning all of you, if you get any more things from y/n I'll kill you personally," The bull captain stared at them.

Of course, Yami ended up finding the most eggs at the end of the day.

Asta

This boy is the most excited about the game, they used to play it back at the church but because they were poor, they had to replace easter eggs for sweet potatoes. Asta and Yuno always gave in the the younger ones so they had more to eat.

But this time round, it was hosted by the magic emperor himself, for all the magic knights to compete, squad vs squad.

Julius had already hidden the eggs beforehand and at Dawn, the squads could start searching for them. The squad with the most eggs AND the knight with the most eggs will get a reward from the magic emperor himself.

Asta was so excited that he couldn't sleep at night. He and Yuno had already made a challenge to each other that they would compete to see who got the most eggs.

He was so pumped and hyped, just like the day of his magic knight entrance exams. He ran around like a mad man, "AHHHHHHH, URGHHHHHH, WHOAAAAAAA" were all you can hear from this boy.

He finds so many easter eggs, the most in the black bulls. Yami was hella proud of his boy, but the captain contributed nothing, he couldn't be bothered with Julius' games.

Asta was just enjoying himself actually, he really made a mess in the entire kingdom. He even swam in lakes and dived in to find eggs.

The black bulls ended up find the most number of eggs and Julius' rewarded them with a nice resort staycation for 3 days. Asta literally had sparkles in his eyes, this boy seldom gets to stay in such a luxurious place, someone please just calm this baby down.

However, Asta didn't get the most number of eggs found, Yuno did. Everybody looked at Asta, whose lips were slightly trembling, everyone thought he was about to cry and was ready to console him

Yuno had such a proud look on his face, but the difference between their eggs were just 2.

"IT'S OKAY. I'LL TRY AGAIN NEXT YEAR!!" Asta finally shouted and Yami smacked him in the back, "that's the spirit, brat!"

Yuno got himself a full day of pampering from spas to massages and Julius got someone to make him a pair of new training boots. This made Asta more determined to try harder again next year. Yes. For the boots.

William Vangeance x f! reader

You suggested this to William before Easter came and told him to organise an Easter Hunt for the Golden Dawn. Seeing that it would boost team bonding and have the team enjoy something once in awhile, he agreed easily.

He planned together with you and you both came up with different point systems to put in the eggs, ranging from 1-10 points, you then came up with the list of rewards they could redeem, like an extra day off, or a nice meal, or a new grimoire holder, etc.

William also low key loved organising this with you, he also felt that it was a good quality date. Seeing you care for the members like they were your kids too, made William really happy. He always thought you were such a great wife and mom material.

He even envisioned you both to be planning this for your future family together and this made him smile to himself on a few occasions.

The day came and you both surprised the team with your little Easter game. The team was really thrilled and exhilarated when they saw the prizes. Some were even discussing about what they would be aiming for.

As the kids started the hunt, you and William watched them as they turned over everything. They were carefree and smiling so much, you and William thought this was such a good idea, since they had been stressed out for months.

"Thank you for the idea, my dearest," he gave you a peck on your temples, "we should do this more often."

-end-

I tried to go with different kind of scenarios, so I hope it's okay!!

104 notes · View notes

scully-loves-ruthie · 3 years ago

Text

Fictober Day 3

Prompt: That was not my intention

Fandom: The X-Files

Scully say on the porch of their makeshift home. A small camper rented from a middle-aged woman who wanted no explanations for their use of cash or their need to provide no identification. “No meth cooking, that’s my only rule, anything else ya’ll two get up to is your own business. I’ll see ya in three months when the money runs out.” With that she left. Were they slightly concerned with the very specific proclamation of no meth cooking, yes. Was it enough for them to turn away from what could very well be a little home for the pair, absolutely not.

Scully pulled Mulder’s knicks sweatshirt tighter around her body as she looked up at the stars. It was best not to recall all the times she’s stood beneath the stars having life altering conversations. The words were always those of change shifting into the darkness making haste toward the morning. She knew even sitting here now that she had one more starry night destiny strangling conversation in her future. The sound of the thin screen door slamming pulled her from her thoughts as Mulder wrapped his arms around her shoulder dropping a long gently kiss on the top of her head.

“Can’t sleep huh?” He asked settling into the chair next to her.

“No, not really.” She whispered into the night.

You scared me earlier at the diner Scully. After you called your mother, you were crying.” He reached out and lifted her chin so he could see her eyes. “You didn’t want me know but I could tell.”

She rose from her chair settling with ease and consistency into Mulder’s lap. “I’m sorry I scared you Mulder, that wasn’t my intention… I just.” Her voice breaks as tears once again began to run down her cheeks. “It’s just this is so hard being away. And not just running,” She took a round shaky breath. “Everything that happened before we ran. Your absence, your death, William.” She laid her hands atop his cheeks looking into him the way only she could. “William. I can’t, I can’t let him go Mulder. I don’t think I ever can.” With those words she broke. Years of tragedy and devastation crested together in a wave swirling with his name.

Mulder wrapped his body around hers forging a barrier between her and the world. A world in which Mulder had spent the better part of a decade devastating her in one form or another. He stroked her back and kissed her neck before murmuring into her hair, “That wasn’t your mother on the phone this morning, was it?”

“No.” Scully replied, her voice stronger almost stern. She pulled herself from Mulder’s embrace facing him, “No it wasn’t.”

@fictober-event @xffictober2022 @today-in-fic

#Fictober day 3 #fictober 2022 #xfiles fanfic #my fic #we got a lil multi parter happening here

29 notes · View notes

lavynrose · 4 years ago

Text

Artem and his S/O confessing at the same time pt. 2

Title: Dedicated

Pairing/s: Artem Wing X Reader

Pronouns: Gender Neutral

Genre: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

Warning/s: grammatical errors

Notes: ok so!!! thank you so much for waiting <3 one thing i'd like to say is that i recommend reading part 1 before this bc it creates a build-up for the story's conclusion. There are some parts here that needed context from part 1. Enjoy!

part 1 here

He couldn't ask for more.

The sunset spilled all around the theme park, the golden intricates of the the railings sparkled than ever before. The orange radiance of the solemn sun gives the park an even more golden glow.

Artem looked around, taking in the seemingly perfect view of what can be only described as serene. The laughter of groups of friends, families walking hand-in-hand, couples giving their significant other loving looks, people enjoying themselves left and right, the quaint smell of hotdogs and popcorn.

You spending your time with him.

The sunset made this picturesque scenery even more breathtaking, and he could come here everyday if only allowed.

Right now, right in this very moment, everything is glowing.

Especially you.

"That was really fun!" the enthusiasm in your voice never fails to make him feel the same. He loves seeing you have fun, without a care in the world. He admits, he also enjoyed getting splashed by water on the raft ride.

He unconsciously offered his arm to link with yours and when you took it as you gazed at him, he's more than satisfied.

You fit so perfectly in his arms, it feels as if you're the missing puzzle piece he never knew his being had. Even having dried after getting soaked from the raft, the warmth that your touch radiated fills his senses with comfort.

This moment of getting to spend time with the person he profoundly longed for was enough for him. Enough for now. You don't need to know his affections for now.

Does he really need to let you know?

His feelings?

It'll probably make your relationship awkward. He's not ready to risk the sweet smiles and playful looks you direct towards him just for his own selfishness.

It doesn't matter. He'll love you even if you won't, anyway.

He then stopped in his tracks, you followed suit. Not caring about the people around you. Lost in the little world the two of you shared. He looked down at your form, "Yes it was. I enjoyed it very much." because you're with me, he wanted to add but instead of saying those words, an amiable look in his cerulean eyes twinkled, and an adoring smile latched upon his features instead.

Almost as if he's telling you an unspoken confession.

His expression however, turned into mild surprise when he noticed how your gaze was filled with enchantment. With a soft glint in your lidded eyes, your brows are knitted together. You were silent.

It baffled him.

Why.

'Why are you looking at me like that?' Artem wanted to blurt out. His mouth opened to say something.

It was unclear to him as to why you looked like you were staring at his very soul.

'Why are you looking at me like,' he can't help but ask himself as he continued to scrutinize your tranced gaze, 'like you want to say the same words I desperately wanted to tell you?'

Are his feelings reciprocated?

You blinked and suddenly looked away, "Uhh, Artem, I-"

"Everyone! One more hour to go for the fireworks! Please look forward to it!" The both of you landed your eyes on the speaker, then on each other.

Artem cleared his throat, pulling the collar of his turtleneck, "You were saying?" he inquired, voice and features laced with curiosity.

You cleared your throat and pulled on your collar, mirroring him, "I..." you started as your eyes darted as if you were looking for excuses, then your orbs glinted with realization and faced Artem, "I just wanted to say that we should take pictures! This is a memorable night after all."

His eyes begin to scan the theme park and his gaze found a small photobooth just beside the merry-go-round.

"Good idea. We haven't had anything to commemorate today's fun." He brushed off your weird behavior earlier as you dragged him towards your destination.

There weren't too many people in the waiting line, there were multiple photobooths, plenty enough to not create a line of more than five costumers per booth.

As soon as it was your turn, you excitedly rummaged through the cute costumes the guests can wear in the photos.

"Look Artem," you snapped your fingers to get his attention, "This would look cute on you!" You squealed as you waved the headband with cat ears in front of his face.

This kind of trend has been circling around lately. No matter how much of a busy man Artem is, he still has seen some posts about this on the internet...

Catboy culture, wasn't it? He wondered.

"You should wear one, too." He suggested. He gingerly took the headband from you and after a few moments of hesitation, he finally gave in to the anticipation in your eyes.

Your eyes were practically sparkling taking in the sight of catboy Artem in the flesh.

"Oh my gosh." You breathed, gaping at him.

Artem blinked. "Is there something on my face?" He then turned to the mirror to check what's wrong, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary though.

"It's nothing!" You frantically waved your hand and gestured towards the camera, "Let's take a photo!" you grinned, wearing cat ears identical to Artem's.

You guys started the photoshoot with your hands making peace signs.

Ah, the classic.

The few shots after just consisted of you putting on different faces while Artem just wore different headbands each shot, with the same pose.

"You guys, please act cuter for the camera! " The photographer suddenly commented.

Isn't Y/N cute enough? Artem internally recoiled.

"Young man, put your arms around your date or something, or do a heart pose together! " Mr. Photographer added.

Artem looked back at you, his eyes meeting yours, both were wide with surprise.

He cleared his throat for what seemed like the nth time today and looked at you for approval, "Do you want to?" he asked as his hands formed half a heart.

Your cheeks lighted aflame as you raised your hand, forming half a heart to connect it with his, "I don't mind."

As your fingers touched, Artem cannot control the pink flushing his cheeks as he smiled at the camera.

The photographer continued to instruct the both of you with how you should pose. He deserves a raise for doing his job really well, Artem thinks.

After of what it seemed like endless snaps of sappy pictures, the two of you decided to print all of them.

"Now we have lots of souvenirs!" you scanned each one of the photos and Artem can't help but think how good you two look together.

He thanked the photographer for putting his all into the shoot, then you both headed for the exit.

"How was it, Artem?" You turned towards him with a profound smile.

You have lots of photos together now. He can already see himself wide awake at night, staring at your couple-like pictures.

It was more than okay.

"It was a fun experience. The cat ears aren't bad." He said as he recalled how astonished you looked when he wore the headband.

"We spent almost 20 minutes there..." You sighed as you looked at your watch.

Artem unconsciously checked his wrist watch as well, "There are 40 minutes left before the fireworks. Do you want to check out more rides before then?"

You surveyed the theme park to look for more booths, "Look at that, Artem." you pointed toward the large and loud crowd at the park's quadrangle.

"Perharps it's someone performing." Artem guessed, hearing the strums of a guitar from the speakers.

"Let's check it out!" Curious, you and Artem shuffled yourselves into the crowd. The faint singing voice grew more and more audible as you got closer to the center of the attraction.

You headed to the front for the best audience experience and the singer came into view, "Isn't that?" Artem's eyes were as wide as saucers when he recognized the person singing.

Funny how you weren't surprised, and he wondered why.

There at the center, sitting at a stool with a guitar in hand, singing with a gold microphone in front of him, was the new employee at the firm, William.

Artem frowned.

That's the guy. The guy who was getting too cozy with you, the guy causing the unpleasant pangs inside his chest.

The guy who was one of the reasons why he got the courage to ask you out on this date in the first place.

The feeling of delight earlier was now replaced by uneasiness.

"I didn't know he was a performer." Artem murmured, and he kept glancing at you.

When he saw that you were clapping your hands and a proud smile has decorated your lips - one that's not aimed him, a sudden bitter feeling overwhelmed his whole being.

You looked very happy, and he hung his head low.

He vividly remembered your smiling faces in the office yesterday, and how William seem to always hang around you.

Artem realized he wasn't special. The warm look that he witnessed from you earlier in the sunset, the look that made him think that you reciprocated his feelings, you probably do that to everyone.

He felt so stupid.

While everyone was watching William hit the notes and strum the strings, Artem was watching your every reactions, only for him to get hurt on the inside.

His heart hurts, the clenching feeling in his chest tightening with every cheer that you voiced.

He's glad it was you who were causing this pain, though.

The crowd boomed with claps and shouts as the last note finished the song, and Artem wasn't in the mood to join them.

6:30pm

"Aren't you going to greet him?" Artem's voice made you look up to him, his brows furrowed and he wasn't making eye contact.

You just brushed his behaviour off and said, "Nope. I wouldn't want to disturb him on this special day!" you felt giddy, knowing that you helped William to set this all up.

As soon as his first day in the office, which was around a month ago, he had overheard you and Kiki talking about the big opening of PAX's amusement park, and kept asking questions about the event. He then learned you were friends with the heir, Marius.

You've never seen a face as shocked as William's when he learned that.

He even made Kiki contact her insiders about the soon to be opened theme park.

Kiki asked why he was so curious, and he said he performs on gigs as a hobby, balancing it with his law career, and that he loves performing ever since he was a kid.

"Performing on the theme park's opening would definitely give me more opportunities!" He sounded so passionate that you can't help but support him.

He became bashful though, as he said, "Besides, I've been looking for an opportunity to surprise my girlfriend next month," you and Kiki beamed at him, "This would make her happy, as I made a new song that I specifically made as a gift for her birthday. I'll sing it on the opening if I'm allowed."

That's why ever since, you became close with William. Whenever you talk though, he almost always talk about her girlfriend.

"30 minutes remaining for the fireworks display!!!" The speakers announced.

You were excited for the fireworks, and an idea popped out of your mind.

"Artem," you called him out "Let's ride on the ferries wheel, that way we're up in the sky as the fireworks erupt," you dragged him to the ferris wheel's ticketing booth, "I heard that it takes 20-30 minutes for a capsule to be on top of the wheel, the time is perfect for us!"

"Can we be alone in the capsule?" Artem suddenly requested, his eyes filled with a look you can't fathom. He looked so vulnerable.

"Yes, that's actually normal. We can request that for the youngest senior attorney with 99% win rate!" You grinned and you expected him to send you one of his gentle smiles, but he just turned his head away, and looked at the distance.

You take a good look at him again once you got the tickets, he's still looking away, a solemn demeanor in his face.

You can't help but wonder what he's thinking. He's been acting a little weird, you thought.

Does he not want to hang out with you anymore?

"Artem, if you don't want to, you can tell me. I won't be mad." You eyed him with concern, "We can just sit on the bench or something." you suggested.

Just like that, his expression changed quickly, regret clouding his face, "Y/N," he sighed, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that with my actions," he stared at you for a few seconds, then you noticed that light was back in his eyes, the fond smile you liksd seeing is back again, "The ferris wheel is perfect." He then grabbed yoir waist and guided you both to the capsule.

You grinned, "I requested a capsule for only the two of us!" you waved the tickets at him, he chuckled and grabbed it from you to give to the person managing the capsules.

The capsule was air-condition inside, with big windows to get a good view of the outside. You expected nothing from a device created by PAX.

Across from you, Artem sits, his mood is a little better now, but you can't help but notice the silent sadness his cerulean eyes hold still.

You don't like seeing him like this.

"Hey, Artem?" you half-whispered, not wanting to surprise him from his reverie.

His eyes met yours, "Yes?" he responded gently.

"You know you can trust me with your problems, right?" You started, you don't let his surprised expression distract you from what you want to say, "I will listen intently to your troubles, and we'll find a way to solve them together! " You declared with the brightest smile you could ever muster, "So please, share your burdens with me. I'll carry them with you." You finished with a toothy grin.

He blinked a few times before finally shaking his head with fondness, "Thank you, Y/N. I want you to know that you are special to me." His face is suddenly filled with so much endearment you quickly looked away, "Uhh, Of course!" your face flushed red and you raised your hide in an attempt to hide it.

Artem chuckled, the sound giving you a sense of comfort and security. You looked up to him again and saw his features get illuminated by the lights flickering in the theme park, his adoring eyes lingering on you.

Like yours was lingering on him.

You smiled at each other, letting the other feel that they're not alone in the battles they're facing.

What are you to each other, anyway? You pondered when you decided to avert your eyes away from him first.

As far as you can recall, friends don't do this kind of thing with each other. The staring, the blushing. Oh, especially the blushing.

You can't help but long for the possibility of having your feelings reciprocated, but oh boy were you afraid.

"Can I sit beside you?" His question brought you to your senses, and you happily obliged, "Of course! This capsule isn't shaky, we'll be okay being on the same side." You made space for him as you patted the empty space. There he sat, his scent enveloping your senses.

It was silent for the whole ride up, but you were comfortable with it. You were with the person you love, being with them is enough.

7:00pm

Your capsule was right on top when suddenly, a boom was heard and splashes of color was seen through the window.

"Artem!" you pointed at the big, colorful patch of explosion that's a little bit below the capsule you were in.

The ferries wheel was so high that you were higher than the fireworks!

The fireworks was on your side of the window, you can see the view to it's fullest glory.

"Whoa!" you exclaimed, your eyes astonished by the scene before you. Your hands flat against the window, when you suddenly felt a body pressed against your back, and a hot breath against your ear, "It's amazing" you heard Artem mutter, as his breaths fanned the hairs on your neck, before resting his chin on your shoulder.

You yelped, you forgot Artem was just beside you!

Your heart pounded against your ribcage when you realized that in order for Artem to see the fireworks, he needs to look at your side of the window.

Heck, your thighs were touching, and you can feel every ounce of heat that his muscular body radiated. He's practically caging you and this small, suffocating space of a capsule isn't helping!

Despite the unbelievable heat that your whole body is feeling right now, you badly wanted him to wrap his arms around you.

Something was pooling in your stomach, something weird. All you can think about right now is Artem kissing you against the window while you sit on his lap.

Warmth filled your already heated cheeks upon realization of what you just imagined, and you mentally slapped yourself. What were you thinking?

The smell of his vanilla cologne isn't helping!

Nobody has ever made you feel this way before. No other person has affected you like this. You think about the things that this man had done for you, he was selfless, hardworking, and most of all, kind.

Especially the smiles he had always shown you. Those smiles filled with comfort and fondness that makes you weak in the knees. Whenever you see that smile, you find yourself looking forward in seeing it again.

To you, Artem Wing was unobtainable.

Yet you wanted to make him yours.

7:01pm

"Artem!" you pointed below with an enthusiastic grin as the fireworks boomed and splashed the sky above the theme park.

His body scooted over to you without realizing, eyes widening with glee and he muttered, "It's amazing" Artem leaned towards you, placing his chin on your shoulder for him to get better view of the fireworks display below.

It's taking every ounce of his control to not face you towards him and claim your lips then and there.

What you said earlier only fueled his raging feelings for you. You were willing to carry his burdens with him? He never had someone say that to him before, and he was happy it's from you.

The evening is flawless. The two of you were alone, having you near him like this, your decleration of support earlier, and a beautiful scenery before him that he won't get to see everyday...

A perfect evening to pour his heart out to you.

He decided that if there was a best time to confess his love for you, that time would be now. He didn't care about your answer right now, he just wanted to let it all out before this passionate feelings can drive him to insanity.

These feelings were driving him crazy, he wanted to let you know how you make him happy, that he thinks about you eveey second of every day, that you ground him and his lonely heart.

He noticed you were silent and unmoving, so he decided to take the chance. He took a deep breath.

"I'm in l-" "Can I ki-"

You turned your body to face him, surprised. Your face only a few centimeters away from his. One wrong move and you'll kiss.

The both of you blinked.

"You... go first." you said, biting your lip.

He stared deep into your eyes, none of you dared to move from this intimate position, your breaths fanning each other's faces.

"Y/N, I," he rested his forehead against yours and breathed with the most vulnerable voice you've ever heard from him, "I'm in love with you..."

You gaped, but he didn't mind.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, "It's okay if you don't feel the same. I..." he opened his eyes to give you a loving gaze "I will keep loving you anyway."

He looked so vulnerable right now, but it didn't scare him. If anything, he feels relief in finally voicing out the feelings he's hidden for so long.

"I was in a bad mood today because I think you were interested in William," you just blinked and he continued, "I mean, you always look happy when you're with him. It crushed my heart." He finished as he waited for your response.

He waited, and waited.

The silence that you were giving him didn't give him any clue to what you were thinking, it's unnerving.

After of what seemed like an eternity you finally let out, "He has a girlfriend, silly." you see Artem's eyes widened and you continued, "It's a long story, but I'm not interested in him. We're just friends."

You felt the heat creep up his face.

"So... what were you going to tell me?" He said hesitantly as he gulped, the embarrasment from earlier evident in his voice.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you darted your eyes, it was now your turn to get really embarassed, "Can I..." your face looks conflicted. That if you say whatever you wanted to say, It'd be the death of you.

You took a deep breath, Artem told you his feelings, so it's only fair you tell him yours, you told yourself and mustered the courage to look up to his ocean eyes, a vast ocean so blue, you could drown in them, "Can I kiss you, Artem?"

It took a moment before he could fully process your words. His brain short-circuit.

"What?" He blurted out as he scanned your face for any signs that maybe, you have made a mistake.

but you replied, "I want to kiss you Artem," you put your hands on his shoulder to steady yourself, "I'm in love with you too."

His body tingled with so much joy, you being in love with him was just a distant dream before.

Not willing to wait anymore, he licked his lips as he slowly dipped his head to meet your already parted mouth, welcoming him.

You may or may not have kissed the entire way down the ride.

Artem Wing is a dedicated man.

Now, he's willing to dedicate himself to you for the rest of his life.

do not repost © lavynrose 08/16/21.

#tears of themis #tears of themis x reader #artem wing #artem wing x reader #artem x reader #tears of themis imagines #tot x reader #zuo ran x reader

268 notes · View notes

fangirlovestuff · 5 years ago

Text

Butterfly Effect - Steve Rogers x reader

a/n - Hey lovely people! this is for @holylulusworld‘s 10,000 followers celebration, congrats!! (even though you have a lot more now lol). the divider is by the amazing @firefly-graphics. italics are for thoughts / flashbacks, and the first parts are all in chronological order. Enjoy!<3

Summary: The words on Steve’s arm point to the circumstances in which he will meet his soulmate, and they’re very specific, or so he thinks.

Prompt: 11 - soulmate AU

Word Count: ~2,070

Warnings: reader gets a tatoo but basically this is just a huge fluff fest:)

"That's a cute owl you're drawing there."

These are the words that were imprinted on Steve's arm since the moment he was born. When Steve could finally read, he asked his mother why are the words there.

"These words are very important," Sarah explained. "They are the first words your soulmate will ever say to you."

"What's a soulmate?" asked a confused Steve.

"A soulmate," his mother answered, "is someone you're gonna love very much. They're the person you'd probably choose to spend the rest of your life with. Their soul is connected to yours in inexplicable ways, almost as if they were one and the same. This," she pointed at the words, "is the sign for you to realize when you'll meet them. Somewhere out there, there's someone with the first words you're gonna say to them."

"So I'll be drawing an owl when I meet my soulfriend?" Steve asked.

"It's soulmate, dear. And I guess you probably will."

"And this… soulmate, will they buy me ice cream?" Steve asked hopefully, not quite getting the point.

Sarah giggled at her son. "Yes, I think they will if you'd want that. But also, they would love you so much, and you'll have the most fun in the world with them."

"Was da your soulmate?" Steve asked.

"He is," his mother answered, the smile on her face tinged with a little sadness that Steve hadn't picked up on.

Okay, so two round eyes, and then the body, and I should add some feathers and –

"Mr. Rogers!" the math teacher said sternly. "I haven’t assigned any equations yet, so I would appreciate it if you'd keep your attention on me instead of your notebook, for now."

"Yes, Ms. Williams," Steve replied sheepishly.

"You know you've already met everyone in this class right? No one here is your soulmate," Bucky whispered once their teacher turned back to the board.

"But I still want to get better at it," Steve shrugged defensively. "She's gonna say it's cute, Buck. For that to happen it needs to actually be cute."

"I don't get your whole fuss around soulmates Steve, but whatever. Suit yourself," Bucky rolled his eyes.

"You don't believe in soulmates?" Steve asked.

"Well, I wouldn't strictly say that, it's just… my words are 'watch it, weirdo.' Call me crazy, but I'm not that stoked to find that person," Bucky chuckled.

"Mr. Barnes! Something to share with the rest of us?" Ms. Williams said.

"No Ms. Williams, I'm sorry," Bucky said timidly and Steve snickered.

Steve could draw owls in his sleep if he needed to. Right now, his pencil was sketching over the page, lightly shading the wings of the owl and the –

"Rogers! You're on in five!" the stage manager called out to him.

Steve sighed and snapped his sketchbook shut. He kept hoping that maybe it was one of the girls on tour with him, but so far it wasn't going so well. The government-mandated entertainment had quite enough free time so Steve could draw as many owls as he wanted to in between shows.

He put the notebook aside and slipped on the cowl they had him wear. The Captain was needed on stage.

"So people take art classes… for fun?" Steve asked, puzzled.

"Yeah," Natasha answered. "Lately you're always drawing away in your little notebook, so if you want to, I could help you sign up for a class. Maybe they can teach an old dog some new tricks," she smirked.

"Ha ha," Steve answered dryly. Yet he couldn't help considering the idea.

The thing was, Steve wasn't sure if his soulmate was still out there to be found. You'd think he would feel a difference, some indication if his soulmate was dead, but when he went out of the ice, Steve felt nothing different. There was still a part of him that was hoping that maybe, just maybe, fate planned this. That his soulmate was still out there.

"That's a great color scheme, Steve," the instructor said, and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Thanks," he smiled, albeit a tad shakily.

This was the fifth class Steve took this month, and yet, no luck. He wasn't even drawing an owl, and yet the start of that sentence made him jump as if he didn't have super… well, everything.

But that doesn't mean he was giving up. His tattoo was still in place, even after all of these years, it hadn't faded. So he had to believe he could still find his soulmate.

These times were a lot more different than his. People here weren't always inclined to live by that philosophy of "soulmates". Some people chose to simply disregard that and find someone they loved regardless. Steve admired that, but he couldn't say he understood. If you're offered your perfect partner, why walk out of that?

"It's called instant gratification," Nat chuckled when he raised that question to her. "People like to have what they want as soon as possible. Besides, some people don't believe it's real, or don't believe it'll work for them. So, they take matters into their own hands."

Steve was more patient than the average person. He waited decades in ice, what's a few more years to find his soulmate?

Bucky had found his soulmate. Steve couldn't believe it.

Sure, he was happy for Bucky. When he came back today from the store with nothing but a small slip of paper, Steve had half a mind to smack him upright the head for not getting anything. Probably forgot his wallet.

But when Bucky showed him the paper he read the words scribbled onto it – "call me, weirdo, xx" and a phone number, Steve pulled Bucky into a tight hug, patting him on the back.

"Congrats, pal," he smiled.

Bucky beamed. Yes, Bucky Barnes, the terrifying Winter Soldier was beaming and his eyes were shining like a high-schooler in love. And Steve wished that could've been him.

He really was happy for Bucky. That's the thing – this was a good thing. Besides from his best friend finding the love of his life, it also meant that Steve's soulmate is almost definitely out there. But he couldn't help feeling a spark of resentment deep inside of him. It made him feel guilty, but he couldn't help the bitter thought that Bucky was never too keen on finding his soulmate while Steve did everything in his power to find them. And yet, Bucky found his while Steve's still in the dark.

So, to get out of his own head a little, Steve decided to go paint in the park.

To be honest, it was a wonder that Steve hadn't gotten awfully tired of drawing by now. But he still loved it, loved the quiet it cultivated in his mind.

Steve set up a canvas and looked around. People weren't noticing him, busy in their own endeavors. He almost started drawing an owl out of instinct, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Steve wanted to forget about the whole soulmate business for a while and just draw.

He saw a butterfly fly over and land on a nearby bush. Steve focused on the butterfly, trying to remember as much as he can. The rest he can improvise. The butterfly fluttered its wings for a few seconds before flying away.

Steve started drawing the butterfly. Once he had the pencil sketch, he started filling it in with the paints he had brought. He started with the little circles on its wings, filling them in so the shade will be just right, and he was about to move on to the rest on the wings when –

"That's a cute owl you're drawing there."

"It's a butterfly," Steve turned around, puzzled, before realizing what you had just said to him.

Your mouth opened in a gentle gasp. Your hair and clothes were a little messy from your long day at work. And at that moment, when you were caught completely off guard, Steve first met you. You were the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on, and he was an artist. He stared at you in utter shock while you returned him a similar look.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" your friend asked, sitting next to you with a worried look.

"I'm tired of looking for my soulmate. Do you know how hard it is to make conversation about butterflies?" you looked back at her. "I want to do this," you told her.

The tattoo artist came closer. "Okay ma'am, you wanted a simple butterfly, right?"

"Yes," you answered decisively. "On my left wrist." Your right hand had your words on it. "It's a butterfly." Maybe if you had a tattoo your soulmate would see it, would find you.

You closed your eyes and braced for what came next.

You weren't sure about this blind date thing, but why not. You trusted your friend that she set you up with a nice guy, at least.

You set up to meet in a park, and from there walk to a nearby restaurant. Right when the guy showed up, there was a butterfly next to you.

"What’s that?" you asked quickly, pointing towards it.

Your date turned his head to look, but by the time he did the butterfly was already flying away. "I don't know, it was probably a bug or something."

You stifled your groan of disappointment. At least you'd get a dinner out of this.

You and Steve were staring at each other in amazement. Finally, you were the one to speak up. "You're Steve Rogers," you said, frowning in disbelief.

"And you're my… soulmate," he returned the same disbelieving look.

You introduced yourself quickly, smiling at him timidly when you finished.

"So, you wanna get ice cream or something?" Steve asked, unsure of what exactly to do. But apparently he said exactly the right thing, because your face lit up.

"Right now though? You're in the middle of your painting and I wouldn't wanna –"

"It doesn't matter," Steve said quickly and stashed the canvas and paints underneath a bench nearby. "No one passes here anyways," he shrugged. "Until today," he smiled and you giggled.

You made your way to an ice cream shop across the street from the park, walking side by side.

"So, what is the great Captain America doing drawing owl-looking butterflies in a local park?" you asked, smiling.

"I was just looking to clear my head a little," Steve said dismissively. "To be honest, the fact that you didn't find me drawing an actual owl is very ironic, looking back," Steve chuckled. "I spent pretty much my entire life drawing owls, attending painting classes, anything I could to find you," his gaze met yours and he smiled softly. "And I find you in a random park while drawing a butterfly."

"Don't underestimate nature's camouflage," you chuckled. "And hey, you think that's ironic? Butterflies are so scarce I got this," you rolled up your left sleeve a little, revealing your butterfly tattoo.

Steve's eyes widened. "It's beautiful," he automatically reached out to trace the lines on your arm, then withdraws his arm when he understands what he's doing. "It's not as beautiful as you," he says with a smile on his face.

You avert your eyes to the ground in front of you. "Thank you," you bashfully say.

You and Steve got your ice cream, and you exchanged plenty of stories of your adventures in search of each other, most of which were devastating when they happened but when you look back at them now, they were actually pretty funny.

"I hope I can see you again," Steve said when it was getting a little late.

He looked so hopeful, but the question in itself made you want to laugh at the obviousness of the answer. Instead, you rose onto your tiptoes, and planted your lips on his soft ones in a sweet kiss.

Once you parted you took a napkin and wrote down your number. "I sure hope to see you soon," you smiled.

"I'll call you, butterfly," Steve grinned and you beamed at the nickname.

And that night you both went home with huge smiles smeared across your faces. Finally, your quest to find your soulmate was at an end, and you could start a new journey, together.

Taglist: @horny-nd-bored @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds @wintersoldierslut @iceebabies @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree @kaitcordx25 @bequeening @steve-barry-damon-logan @itscrazycherryblossomcollection @hollandxmarvel @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000

if you wanna join / be removed from this taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

#lulu's 10k follower challenge #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #soulmate au

654 notes · View notes

teawaffles · 4 years ago

Text

The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 3

“——Friendship is hard. Don’t you think so, William?”

Helena said so with a somewhat philosophical tone. Since the start of the game, she had stayed with William, and now they were hiding in the shade of a tree while keeping an eye on the state of the battle.

Although he was on the lookout for danger, William’s expression remained the same as always.

“Why do you say so?” he replied.

“Earlier, in front of the forest, there were some children having fun together right? Actually, some of them were my friends in the past. We used to be five good friends, but before I knew it, they left me out and became a group of four.”

Even without an explanation, William understood the reason why she’d been excluded. Helena herself knew that as she continued.

“Before, you said these sensations are what made me unique, but there are times when I can’t convey that no matter how much I try to explain it. What’s more, as long as someone differs from them even in the slightest, those children will cast them out without a second thought. My uniqueness really isn’t a big problem, is it?”

“Abilities. Personalities. One’s background, and physical traits…… People will take the smallest differences and use them as a basis for persecution. That is one truth in this world.”

William ventured further, using expressions that were removed from Helena’s personal frustrations — this was a universal problem in society. As for Helena’s relationships with her peers, it might be possible to give her advice such that they could be repaired for a time, but there was no guarantee that a similar situation wouldn’t arise in the future. Hence, William had decided that at this stage, he should avoid intervening more than necessary.

As she continued, Helena appeared to have sensed what he was thinking.

“You know, I only realised this earlier when I was looking at them, but now it seems they’ve become a group of three. There was clearly only one person they weren’t talking to. In a situation like this, what’s the right thing to do?”

Her tone was reminiscent of a student asking their teacher a simple question. But William could tell that it wasn’t because she was being indifferent; rather, she was deliberately trying to act calm. In all likelihood, she was lost as to whether she should step into the other children’s affairs, even after being excluded herself.

Helena was in a complex situation, and he intentionally responded in a detached manner.

“I’m sure that problems like these have no clear answer — there’s a risk that by attempting to improve the situation, one will only end up making it worse. Human relationships are simply that complex and delicate.”

“……I knew it.”

Perhaps she herself had anticipated that answer, for Helena made no attempt to protest, but simply lowered her gaze in dejection. That gesture vividly revealed her conscience — but the world wasn’t so simple as to allow everything to be resolved by good faith alone.

After making sure that she was contemplating that very matter, William spoke to her in a soft voice.

“However, I’m not saying that you should shut away your emotions. Rather, you should take care to anticipate the situations that may arise, and think about what both you and the other party will stand to gain or lose. If, after doing so, you are still determined to carry out your intentions, then that is called courage.”

Helena’s eyes widened.

“……Courage?”

“Yes, courage. When you’re ready to face that problem, Helena, you can always come talk to me. That’s a side job of mine too, you know.”

Saying that, William gave her the reliable smile of a private consultant, and Helena’s face instantly brightened up.

“Alright. When that time comes, I’ll be sure to talk to you again.”

The girl faced forward, her heart filled with gratitude at having met a friend she could trust.

“Well then, I got a little distracted, but now we’re right in the middle of a game. Since I’m already here, I’m definitely going to win.”

But just as she had a change of heart, and her fighting spirit surged forth, William started.

“Helena, look out—”

“Hm?”

Before she could react, in one swift movement as if to hide her, William covered the girl’s entire body with his.

“U-Uh, what? What’s wrong?”

Her understanding still hadn’t caught up with the situation, but William slowly rose to his feet.

“Well, it looks like this is the end for me,” he smiled, somewhat sadly.

Near his waist was a streak of brightly coloured paint. At his feet, a small round mock bullet lay on the ground.

At the sudden occurrence, Helena was taken aback.

“……Did you take the bullet for me?”

“Yep. I can’t sense any enemies nearby, so it must’ve been a sniper shot. With this level of skill, perhaps it’s Moran?”

As he calmly guessed the sniper’s identity, William looked towards the gamekeeper’s cabin built on a distant hill.

“You’ve got to be kidding — you’re going to leave now? Then, what should I do?”

The girl’s voice shook, and her expression grew uneasy, as if she’d been instantly overcome with loneliness. William gave her a mournful smile.

“I’m sorry. But there’s nothing you have to panic about. Be it dashing alone into enemy territory, or joining forces with your allies, you can do whatever you like.”

“B-But……”

Her distress was still plain. Although they weren’t related by blood, in this moment, it felt almost as if they were parent and child. But even as that slightly strange feeling washed over him, William spoke.

“Now that I’m supposed to have retired from the game, it’ll be unfair for me to give any further advice,” he said. “I’ll be leaving early. Well then, good luck, Helena.”

“Ah…… A-Alright.”

William tried to take his leave without showing any lingering attachments or regrets, and Helena gave him a weak wave as he departed.

Then, he called out to her over his shoulder.

“——Just so you know, I haven’t forgotten your other ‘consultation’.”

At his words, Helena suddenly straightened up.

“Yeah, I remember it just fine too.”

Having received her resolute answer, William walked off with unhurried footsteps, as if he were merely taking a stroll.

Even after her dependable friend had vanished, Helena continued to stare in the direction he’d left.

Scoreboard

🔹 Blue team: Albert, Jack, Fred, William, Kevin, Andy

🔺 Red team: Moran, Bond, Louis, Helena

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows

83 notes · View notes

pintsizemama · 4 years ago

Note

Hello love! Congrats on the milestone <3 Can I ask for Jack Daniels and a fairytale AU, fluffy with maybe a dash of smut?

Jack (Daniels) and the Beanstalk

Summary: Jack Daniels gets more than he bargained for when he goes to town to sell his goods.

Pairings: Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey x Reader (female), Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey x You

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle (fairy tale AU)

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,654

Warnings: language, mentions of death of a spouse/mourning, soul mates/true love, references to humans being killed and eaten, kidnapping, captivity, fluff, very light smut...let me know if I missed anything, and I’ll happily add it here!

A/N: My original plan was a story involving Jack as a dragon, but then I decided I wanted to do a rewrite of a classic fairytale…and OF COURSE Jack and the beanstalk seemed like the perfect one for Jack Daniels! LOL…I may still write that dragon one though…it was a really good idea.

Masterlist AO3 Join my taglist

Once upon a time there lived a lonely man named Jack Daniels. Jack lived on a small ranch just outside town. He had lived there for many years all by himself. His wife had died a long time ago, and Jack had tried to get back into the world, but he was just too heartbroken. So, he secluded himself on his ranch, only going into town a few times a year to sell his goods and buy supplies.

Winter was fast approaching, and Jack knew he needed to head into town to get enough supplies to last him through the entire season. He gathered together all his goods and loaded up his truck. The drive into town was quiet while Jack contemplated his future. He was painfully lonely. He wondered if it was time to get back out there. Make some friends. Maybe even meet a lady…his heart clenched at the thought. Even after all these years, he still felt like he was betraying his wife.

Jack parked his truck outside the general store when he came into town. The owner had a deal with Jack, and he usually bought everything Jack had to offer—at a very fair price. It had been a good harvest this year, and Jack even managed to find time to make some furniture and tools to sell. He unloaded his crates onto the front porch and walked into the store.

“Hey, Harold,” Jack greeted the owner. He was a grizzled old man with a kind smile and a pipe always tucked between his teeth.

“Howdy, Jack,” Harold returned. “How’s it going?”

“Same,” Jack shrugged indifferently. Harold was really the only person Jack had contact with at this point. He still got calls from his old buddies Tequila and Champ from time to time, but he hadn’t seen them in years.

“Good harvest this year?” Harold asked. Jack nodded. “Seems to be the case with most of the ranches ‘round here. It was a good year. Just enough rain, just enough sun, and no pests. Yes, sir, a good year indeed.” He stood from his stool behind the counter. “Well, let’s see what ya got fer me.” He slapped his thighs when he stood and walked around the counter. Jack followed him out of the store and helped him sort through the crates and furniture.

“This is a mighty fine haul, Jackie boy,” Harold said with a look of admiration on his face. “This furniture will catch a pretty penny, that’s fer sure. Ole Missus Williams has been looking for a rocker just like this one. She’ll be tickled pick when I call her later.” Jack gave Harold a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Alright, let me grab my books and we’ll figure out a price fer all this here stuff.” Jack nodded and leaned against the railing, arms crossed, as Harold went back in the store. He rested his head back against the pole behind him and sighed deeply. He just wanted to get this over as quickly as possible and get back to the ranch.

“That’s a beautiful chest,” he heard a voice say to his left. He opened his eyes and turned towards the voice. There was a man—someone he had never seen before—standing just in front of the door to the store. He stepped closer and knelt down next to a hope chest Jack had built. It was a medium sized chest, large enough to put at the foot of child’s bed. He had painstakingly carved sweet peas all along it. He didn’t know why he carved sweet peas on it. He normally carved roses—his wife’s favorite flower—but for some reason, he felt this chest should have sweet peas.

“This is superb craftsmanship,” the man complimented. Jack could tell he wasn’t a local just by the way he spoke. “Did you make this?” Jack nodded. “Are you selling it?”

“Harold buys all my goods,” Jack said in a flat voice.

“Well, I would love to buy this one,” the man told him. Jack stared at him for a moment. Finally he shrugged.

“Alright,” he decided.

“Wonderful!” The man exclaimed happily. He pulled a small red velvet pouch from his pocket. “This is all I can offer you.” He opened the bag and poured a small pile of beans into his hand.

“Beans?” Jack asked with a raise of his brow.

“These are not just any beans,” the man assured him. “These beans will grow a stalk like you have never seen before! It will be enough food to last many years!” Jack scoffed.

“Sure, pal,” he said incredulously. “Listen, I ‘ain’t got time for this. I need to get rid of all this shit, get my supplies for the winter, and get back to my ranch. You wanna buy the chest, hand over some cash, or see if you can con Harold into trading it for beans.”

“Sir, please,” the man begged. “This chest is for my daughter. She has been gone for such a long time. I—I’ve missed her so much, and I just know this chest will bring her happiness! Please sir…I love my daughter with all my heart, and I would do anything to see her smile. This is all I have. Please.” Jack felt his heart melt at the man’s words. He could tell he wasn’t lying. He recognized the pain in the man’s eyes. The kind of pain that came from missing the one you love most.

“Alright,” Jack relented. “I’ll trade ya.”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you so much!” The man grabbed Jack’s hand and shook it excitedly.

“Sure,” Jack said, uncomfortable with the man’s gratitude. The man handed Jack the beans. “Just what am I supposed to do with these?”

“They are very durable,” the man told him. “Just toss them in your garden and they will grow.”

“Just like that?” Jack asked.

“Just like that,” the man assured him. “And don’t worry about the approaching winter. The stalk will be thriving before the first snow. And will continue to thrive throughout any weather.” The man thanked Jack once more before picking up the chest and making his way home. Jack shook his head. He was pretty sure he had just been swindled, but he was fine with it. If it made his long lost daughter smile…well, it was worth the money lost.

Harold came back out and they settled the price for the rest of Jack’s items—minus the supplies he needed to take with him. Harold helped Jack load his truck up and bid him farewell. Jack drove back out to the ranch, randomly shaking his head at himself. He still couldn’t believe he had traded the chest for a bag of beans.

When he got home, he quickly unloaded his supplies and set everything up where he needed it. He started the coffee pot and sat down heavily at his kitchen table with a sigh. He felt the bag of beans push against his leg. He pulled it our of his pocket and poured the beans into his hand. There were seven in total. Jack sighed again and stood up. He opened his kitchen window and tossed the beans out into his front garden—now empty due to the coming winter. He shrugged and closed the window. He poured himself a cup of coffee and settled in for the evening. A few hours later he went to bed.

The next morning Jack rose with the sun. He stumbled sleepily into the kitchen and set the coffee pot to brew. He shivered at the slight chill in the air and thought about building a fire in the fireplace. He needed to chop wood today anyway, so he thought it was a good idea. He walked outside to grab a few logs and just about fell over when he looked in the front garden.

“Well, fuck me,” Jack whispered. Growing in the center of the garden was a gigantic bean stalk. His gaze followed it up, and up, and up. It disappear into the clouds. It was thick—Jack couldn’t even wrap his arms around in. The leaves climbed up the entire length of it. Each leaf stem was as thick as Jack’s arm!

“How in the hell?” Jack muttered. Then he laughed. “Well, I guess that asshole didn’t swindle me after all!” He gazed up again. I wonder how high it goes? he thought. Jack shrugged and went back into the house. He poured himself some coffee and sat at the kitchen table, looking out the window. He stared at the bean stalk as he drank his coffee. His curiosity was peaked. He had always had a curious mind and an adventurous spirit.

“Fuck it,” Jack decided. “I’m climbin’ that thing.” He rushed into his room and got dressed. He glanced at his closet and frowned. He felt a familiar, but long forgotten tug. He slowly walked over and opened it. He pulled a box down from the top shelf and set it on the bed. He carefully opened it and stared at the contents. He chewed his lip, trying to make a decision. Finally he reached in and pulled out the contents: a lasso, a whip, two revolvers, and their holsters. He strapped everything to his body. He closed his eyes, remembering the last time he had armed up, many years ago. It felt good to hold his weapons once more. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he should have them on this adventure.

Jack made his way outside and hoisted himself up to the lowest leaf. It was actually quite an easy climb—the leaves spaced out just right, almost like he was climbing a ladder. Jack climbed…and climbed…and climbed. It felt like he was climbing forever. He looked out and saw for miles. He didn’t make the mistake of looking down…he knew that would do him no good. He glanced up and saw he was approaching the clouds. The air was thinner up here, but still breathable. He was starting to doubt his decision to climb this monstrosity.

Finally Jack climbed through the clouds and reached the top of the bean stalk. To his surprise he saw land: miles and miles of beautiful countryside and forests, and just ahead a large castle.

“What the fuck?” Jack grunted as he hopped off the stalk. “How in the hell is this even possible?” Jack looked around. The castle seemed to be the only structure around, so he decided to explore. When he reached the castle he noticed just how massive it was. The door towered over him. He knocked, but he knew it wouldn’t be loud enough. Jack noticed a hole in the bottom of the door, just big enough for him to fit through. He couldn’t help but compare himself to a mouse sneaking into a home…the size difference was that astounding.

Jack slipped through the opening and quietly made his way into the castle. It was rather bare, just some large furniture and a pile of bones near the roaring fireplace. Jack shuttered when he saw some human skulls mixed into the pile. What the hell had he walked into?

The furniture was far too large for any human to use. Jack wondered once more where he was. It felt like he had climbed straight into a story book. He slipped under another door—this one had a large gap between the bottom of the door and the floor—and found himself in a kitchen. This room was far better stocked than the previous room. Just then Jack heard thunderous footsteps approaching. He quickly hid himself underneath one of the large cabinets. They were held up by four sturdy wooden legs, not directly on the floor like most kitchens. He pressed his back against the leg, squeezing his eyes shut when he heard the door open. He heard the footsteps head towards the table in the corner of the room. Jack carefully peered around the cabinet leg to take in his surroundings. He jumped back, barely stifling a yell when he saw a giant of a man sitting at the table. He was HUGE! Burly and rough with a shaggy black beard and hair to match.

The giant sat at the table, eating large pieces of meat right off the bone. He chomped and slurped disgustingly, grease and spit spreading across his grotesque face. Jack turned back, hiding himself once more. He cursed his curiosity and hoped he would get out of this alive. He heard the giant belch loudly, and then in a booming voice he issued a command.

“SING!” The giant bellowed. A moment later Jack heard the melodic sounds of lyre carry across the room, followed by the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. He chanced another look. Hanging just above the counter across the room was a golden cage. Inside was, what Jack could only describe as a goddess.

You were breathtaking, ethereal. Jack stared at you in amazement, your beautiful voice filling his cold, lonely heart with warmth. Jack couldn’t explain it, but he felt like he knew you. He knew for a fact you had never met—he would have remembered meeting such an exquisite being. No, he had never met you, but it was as if his soul recognized you.

You sang for several long minutes, and the giant slumped forward onto the table, sound asleep. His loud snores drowned out your song, and you stopped singing. Jack waited tensely, wondering if the giant would wake. When he was certain the beast would stay asleep, he carefully made his way to your cage. He climbed up on the counter and perched himself on a shelf next to where your cage hung.

“Who are you?” You whispered when Jack reached you.

“Jack,” he answered. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I’ve been held captive here for a long time,” you answered sadly. “The giant heard me sing, and took me away from my home.” Jack saw tears silently falling from your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered. “What’s your name?” You gave him your name.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” Jack murmured. You looked away shyly.

“Now don’t be shy, darlin’,” Jack said gently. “You are gorgeous, and your voice is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.”

“Really?” You asked in awe.

“Truly,” he replied. You spent hours talking to Jack. Hours that felt like mere minutes. Neither of you realized how much time had passed, you were so invested in each other. Jack was enchanted by you and you him.

“Have you tried to escape?” He asked you. You nodded.

“Yes, but this cage has magic protecting it,” you told him. “Only the key can free me.”

“Do you know where the key is?” Jack asked you. You shook your head sadly.

“No, he has never let me out,” you replied. “So, I have never seen him hold it.”

“I’m gonna find that key, darlin,” Jack assured you. Your face brightened at his words. “I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

“Oh Jack!” You exclaimed quietly. “Please, I hate being here…and now knowing you’re out there…well, it would be unbearable for me to stay!”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he promised. “Ole Jack will save the day.” You giggled quietly. Jack climbed down and began searching for the key. He checked drawers and cabinets, jars and boxes, but he couldn’t find the damn key anywhere. Just then he heard the giant stirring.

“Jack!” You whisper shouted. “Hide!” Jack quickly ducked into a cupboard, peering out the slightly open door. The giant sat up and shook his head sleepily. Suddenly he lifted his head up in the air and sniffed.

“Fee, fie, fo, fum, I smell the blood of a delicious human,” the giant bellowed. Delicious human? Jack swallowed thickly. Now he knew how the skulls in the other room met their end…

Jack looked around the cupboard he was in, hoping to find a better hiding spot. He opened a golden box. Inside was a gold key. The key! It was large, but not too large that Jack couldn’t carry it. He strapped it to his back, using the rope attached to the end of it. He watched the giant searching the kitchen. The beast would stop every so often and sniff their air, repeating his phrase ‘Fee, fie, fo, fum, I smell the blood of a delicious human’. Jack waited until the giant was on the other side of the kitchen, his back turned, before he made his move.

He crept carefully out of the cupboard and made his way silently across the kitchen. Once he was situated under your cage he pulled his whip out. He engaged it—the rope spilling out of the handle. He whipped it up, latching it into the front of your cage. He cringed at the small sound it made when it his the gold bars. His gaze flew to the giant, but the monster was still facing away. Jack hit the button and retracted the whip, allowing it to swiftly carry him up to you.

Your face was beaming when you saw he had the key. He quietly slid it into the lock and turned it. The door opened silently and you climbed out of the cage. Jack gestured for you to wrap your arms around his neck. You did and held on tightly. Jack hit the button on his whip again and you were both lowered down to the floor. You suppressed a squeal at the rapid descent. With a flick of his wrist, the whip detached and Jack retracted it once more before tucking it away in his belt. You lowered your arms and he took your hand. One more glance at the giant showed he was on his knees, his head buried in a cabinet searching for Jack.

Jack tugged you along and you quickly, and quietly, made your way to the kitchen door. Jack helped you to slide underneath first, then followed behind you. Once you were out of the kitchen you both breathed a small sigh of relief. Being in a different room than the giant made you feel a bit better. You rushed towards the front door, wanting to put as much distance between the giant and yourselves. You were almost to the door when you heard a loud clang come from the kitchen. You heard the giant roar. You both realized the noise was the key slipping from the cage.

The giant burst through the door and saw the two of you just as you slipped through the small hole in the door. He roared again and you and Jack ran as fast as you could. Jack pulled you towards the bean stalk.

“Hurry,” he panted. “Climb down. As fast as you can, but be careful! It’s a long fall.” You nodded and the two of you began the long climb down. You went surprisingly fast considering how precarious it was. You were about halfway down when you saw the giant break through the clouds and start climbing after you.

“Jack!” You cried out. Jack looked up and saw the giant. He knew it would overtake you both quickly—able to climb much faster than either of you due to his size. Jack continued to descend and pulled out one of his revolvers. He fired at the giant. His howls of pain let Jack know his bullets had found their mark. He couldn’t kill the giant with the gun, but he hoped it would slow him down enough to get you both safely on the ground.

It worked. You both landed on the ground in Jack’s garden. The giant was about halfway down, swatting at the air like a swarm of bees was after him. You laughed when you realized it was because of Jack’s bullets.

“Back up, darlin’,” Jack warned. You stepped back and Jack pulled out his lasso. He began twirling it and you admired his skill. He pressed something and the end turned blue, crackling with electricity. You gasped when you saw it. He whipped it and it wrapped around the stem of one of the large leaves. The current shot down the stem and raced up the entire stalk. When it reached the giant he glowed and crackled just like the end of the lasso. He shook violently and then went stock still. He froze for two long seconds before his body fell backwards and down down down it went, crashing into the meadow behind Jack’s house.

Jack turned off the lasso and walked towards the giant. You went to follow him, but he held out a hand, urging you back.

“Stay there, darlin’,” he said gently. “I don’t want you goin’ near it if it’s still alive.” You nodded and waited anxiously until Jack examined the beast. He came back to you moments later.

“He’s dead,” Jack said calmly. You both heard an odd buzzing sound and turned to face the giant. His body vanished before your eyes—turning to mist and erasing any proof that the monster existed. Just then a large cracking noise filled the air. The bean stalk, weakened by the electrical current, came crashing down into the meadow, right where the giant had been.

“Well,” Jack said with a sigh, “guess that takes care of that.” You laughed, a beautiful melodic sound. Jack smiled at you—the first genuine smile since his wife had passed. “I should cut this thing up. Should be enough food to feed an army for several winters.” You nodded.

“I’ll help,” you offered. “Where’s your ax?” Jack went around the back of the house and grabbed a couple axes from the wood pile. The two of you worked side by side, laughing and enjoying your time together. You had cut up about a third of the stalk when Jack noticed a man walking up his drive.

“Well, who in the hell could that be?” He wondered aloud. You both dropped the axes and walked forward to greet the visitor. Jack recognized the man from the general store—the one who had given him the beans. He was holding the chest.

“You weren’t kidding ‘bout them beans,” Jack called to him. The man didn’t hear him. His gaze was fixed on you.

“Papa?” You whispered, shock on your beautiful face.

“Sweet pea,” he cried. He set down the chest, and you ran to him and hugged him tight. Jack was frozen in disbelief. You both cried and exclaimed how wonderful it was to see each other again after all this time.

“Well, I think there is some explaining to do,” Jack said after you two broke apart. “Why don’t we head into the house and have some coffee.” Your father nodded and Jack led the both of you into his kitchen. He brewed a fresh pot of coffee and the three of you sat at his kitchen table. Your father told you both how he had searched for you for years. No one believe him when he said a giant kidnapped his daughter. He had almost given up hope that he would ever find you. Then one day a fairy came to him. She gave him the magic beans and told him what needed to be done.

“Why didn’t you plant them right away,” you asked, confused.

“I wanted to,” he told you, “but the fairy said only your true love could save you. The beans would only grow for him. She said he was a broken, lost man, and he would never find his way until he found you. She assured me that I would know when I found him. And then she disappeared.” Your father took a sip of his coffee and you and Jack shared a look, both too nervous to mention the whole ‘true love’ thing.

“I knew,” your father continued, “the second I saw that chest”—he nodded towards the chest sitting by the front door—“I knew he was the one.”

“How?” Jack asked, confused.

“The sweet peas,” your father explained. Recognition dawned on your face. “I’ve called her sweet pea since the day she was born. She was born in April, and sweet peas are the birth flower of April. And they represent kindheartedness—which my daughter has in droves. She is a sweet pea…so, I just knew.” Jack swallowed thickly.

“I normally carve roses,” he said quietly. “They were my late wife’s favorite…but this time, I felt this…urge to carve sweet peas. I couldn’t explain it…I just had to…” You reached out and grasped Jack’s hand. He squeezed yours and met your eyes. A current passed between the two of you. You felt it…you both did. This was something special. Something powerful. Something you couldn’t explain or rationalize. But it felt right.

“I want you to know,” your father said, breaking the intense moment between you two, “you have my blessing. Whatever you two decide…I support you.” Jack nodded.

“I know this is all…shit, this is crazy, but it makes sense when I look at her,” Jack told your father. He turned back to you. “I want to give you the world. Make you happy. Spend all my days with you.” You smiled brightly.

“I want that too, Jack,” you whispered. He smiled and lifted your hand up to kiss the back of it.

“Well, that settles it,” you father said, clapping his hands together once. He stood up. He walked over the the hope chest and brought it to the table. He placed it in front of you. “I expect an invite to the wedding.” He eyed Jack. “And I want this chest to go to my first grandchild.” You felt your skin warm at the thought of having Jack’s children. Jack laughed and agreed. He stood and hugged your father.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for leading me to her.” Your father pulled away and smiled, patting Jack on the shoulder. He stepped back and addressed you both.

“I’m living in town now,” he told you. “So I will never be far if you need me.” You stood and hugged him tight. “I’ll come by tomorrow to visit if that’s alright?” You and Jack both agreed and your father saw himself out. Jack looked at you shyly.

“Well—” he began. He looked down at his feet not sure what to say. You walked over to him and took his hands in yours.

“I know this is a lot,” you told him, “but I know it’s right.”

“Me too,” he agreed immediately. He looked down at your lips. “C-Can I kiss you, honey?” He asked huskily.

“Please, Jack,” you whispered. He captured your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. You both moaned at the feeling of his mouth on yours. You had both been so long without human contact, both so touch starved. Jack deepened the kiss and pulled your body against his. You melted into his strong arms. He groaned and licked into your mouth, wanting to lose himself in you completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your breasts against his chest. Jack grabbed your hips and slipped his knee between your legs. He ground his erection against your hip. You eventually parted, panting for breath and on fire with lust and love.

“We should probably finish chopping up that bean stalk,” Jack said absentmindedly, trying to calm the desire racing through him.

“It can wait until tomorrow,” you whispered against his mouth. “We have other things to do tonight. Take me to bed, Jack.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jack said with a smile. He hoisted you up into his strong arms and carried you to the bedroom.

For the first time in a long time, Jack Daniels looked forward to his future.

Join my taglist

If you enjoy my blog and would like to support it, you can always buy me a coffee. Not necessary, but always appreciated.

Taglist:

@xocalliexo @stevie75 @anaaaispunk @strangercoven @sleep-tight1 @juletheghoul @readsalot73 @javierpinme @falulagellerr @just-here-for-the-moment @maxwell--lord @gothicxbarbie @supernaturalgirl89 @paintballkid711 @robur-bellicum @dihra-vesa @andiesturgss @mswarriorbabe80 @kirsteng42 @peach-child

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels #agent whiskey #kingsman golden circle #fairy tale au #soul mates #fluff #Smut #adventure #Pedro Pascal #jack daniels fanfic

41 notes · View notes

abbysfrenchbraid · 5 years ago

Text

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 3

Masterlist / Playlist for reading in this chapter, the reader is fighting an infection and making a furry friend.

CW for phsyical injury, bodily fluids, extreme pain, loss of consciousness and being pinned down by someone (this sounds terrible but I promise it gets more fluffy halfway through!)

This beautiful screencap of Valka was shared in our discord and I don’t know who took it, please let me know if you know the artist so I can credit them and check out their other work!

Healing

You woke up crying, the pain in your cheek threatening to split your head in half. Your cheek was wet from your tears and sticky from the wound that had been seeping all night. Eda stirred next to you and you both stared at each other in utter horror. William’s daughter looked like a corpse. Her cheeks and eyes had sunken deep into her skull and her face was a greyish color. You probably didn’t look any better, if her shock was any indication.

The cell opened and you got your first round of water and bread for the day. The man feeding you gave you a pitiful look but did not say anything about your state. There was still alcohol on his breath and he looked annoyed about his task, probably wishing he was still in bed like the other warriors. You did not dare to ask for help.

You drifted in and out of consciousness for the next few hours as the last few other prisoners were taken to Randvi and questioned about their knowledge and alliances. There was an aura of hopelessness in your cell. No one was speaking, everyone was staring at their feet and flinching at any loud noise. Eda ate a piece of bread and got terrible stomach cramps but managed to keep it down. At least one good thing.

People were going in and out of the longhouse, you could hear horses outside, swords clashing in the distance - probably training - and a few servants sweeping the big hall and cleaning up last night’s mess. Suddenly something small and white moved into your field of vision. Were you dreaming again? You were sure you had a fever by now.

But this was real, Eda saw it too. She had straightened up next to you, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. A scrawny white cat was cautiously circling the cell and apparently scouring for leftovers. You quickly skimmed the ground for anything you could offer the little animal. And yes, there was a big crumb right next to your heel. You carefully pushed it closer to you with your foot and managed to get it all the way into your hands’ reach.

Quietly whispering and purring to the cat, you tried to lure her closer. And sure enough, the little white lady slowly came closer to your hands. You stayed completely still and held out the crumb on your open palm. Carefully, the cat stuck its paw through the bars and pulled the crumb back toward her. She devoured it right away. Softly meowing, she looked up at you, asking for more. You smiled at the sweet animal, a silver lining on this terrible day in this terrible cell.

“Birna! Where are you, you little rascal?” a familiar raspy voice called out, this time in the sweetest singsong, making you smile even more. The cat did not move from its spot next to you, instead meowing back louder to call to her mistress. You slowly stretched out your hands and she watched them curiously, beginning to purr as you drew your fingertips over her soft fur.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Eivor rounding the corner, wearing nothing but a thick grey knee-length tunic and fur boots. She froze in her tracks when she saw the scene before her. You quickly pulled your hands back, thinking she was angry at you for petting the cat. She suddenly rushed to the guard that had fallen asleep on his chair, slapping his chest with the back of her hand and ripping the keys to your cell from his grasp. He jerked awake, but Eivor had already opened the door and squatted down next to you.

“Fuck the gods.” She sounded astonished and extremely worried at the same time. “Damn you, Dag, how did you not see this? Her wound has festered!”

Eivor’s voice got louder and angrier with every word. She placed a hand on your forehead.

“She’s burning up! I’m taking her to Valka.” With one swift motion, she had unbound your hands and picked you up. You hung in her arms, too weak to move. As she carried you out of the pen, she shot Dag a warning look and hissed: “We’ll talk about this later.”

The tall warrior almost ran out of the longhouse, whispering to you to stay with her and that she would take you to the best healer she knew.

“Don’t you worry, little bird. You just have to fight and recover. I will take care of you from now on.”

You arrived at a smaller hut and entered the dimly lit room that smelled of burned incense and freshly cut wood. A small, black-haired woman with a beautiful headdress and impressive facial tattoos leaped to her feet when she saw you come in.

“Oh Eivor, what have you brought me now? Lay her down here.” She motioned to her bed, a simple wooden plank with a sack of straw and a number of furs. Eivor laid you down gently, kneeling next to you and squeezing your hand.

“She was struck by her master two days ago. It must have gotten this bad last night.”

Valka crouched down and inspected your tender flesh. You fainted several times as she prodded at the wound but Eivor always called you back to her. The healer was now assembling herbs, burning something, and heating up water in a kettle over her fireplace. She ground up some sort of root and a few herbs and threw the mixture into the boiling water. Then she took a clean cloth and ordered Eivor to place the hot kettle on a wooden plate next to the bed.

She dipped the cloth into the hot, sour-smelling brew that stung in your eyes and nose, then she pressed it on your cheek. It felt like she had stabbed a dagger into your skull, the pain ringing in your ears and making you see nothing but burning white. You were too exhausted to scream, fading in and out of consciousness. Instead, your body started violently shaking and Valka yelled at Eivor to pin you down before dunking the cloth into the scalding hot liquid and repeating the procedure again and again. Thankfully, you lost consciousness completely after the third time. The last thing you felt was Eivor’s big, warm hands on your upper arms and her knee on your hip, holding you down as you convulsed in pain.

When you woke up for the second time today, you were still lying on Valka’s bed. You wore a long linen tunic and the women seemed to have washed you, freeing you from the sweat and dirt that had accumulated in the last days. The room smelled better than before, the kettle was over the fire again and the small woman stirred dried flowers and other herbs into the water. Eivor was sitting next to you and wringing out another piece of cloth over a bucket. You braced yourself for more pain, but the water was cool and the blonde gently wiped your forehead and healthy cheek, your neck, and upper chest, humming softly to herself. She dampened the towel anew and folded it to lay it on your forehead. It was only now she realized you were awake.

“Little bird.” She laid a hand on your cheek. “The worst is over.”

Valka came over with a mug and put it down next to you. She gave you an exhausted but encouraging smile.

“I apologize for hurting you this much. The infection was spreading across your face, I needed to draw it out. You will need at least a week to heal.”

You raised a hand to your face, but Eivor stopped you from touching yourself.

“We will put on a bandage later. Now there is just a salve,” Valka explained, “and you will have to drink this daily to help your body fight from the inside and give you strength.”

She handed you the clay jug and you carefully raised it to your lips, taking a small sip of the concoction. It tasted sweet and earthy, immediately spreading warmth throughout your body and giving you the strength to fully open your eyes again. The wolf-kissed smiled at you.

“I will leave you in Valka’s care for now. Soon I will take you to my hut and look after you there,” she promised. “I need to go and attend to important business, but I will bring you both supper later.” She took your hand again and softly rubbed her thumb over your knuckles, then she raised it to her lips and placed a feather-light kiss on the back of your hand.

Before leaving, she put her hands on Valka’s shoulders and sincerely thanked her for helping you. Then she gave you a last smile and left.

The healer forced you to drink three jugs of her wonderful tea, then she helped you outside to relieve yourself and brought you back to bed, rubbing the salve into your cheek again and ordering you to sleep for now. The ointment numbed your skin and made the pain bearable. Taking a final look at the sun setting behind the mountains, you drifted away to sleep again.

When Eivor brought bread and stew later, you felt much better already. The two Viking women sat on the floor next to you as you ate together. The stew was made with thick chunks of fatty meat and big slices of root vegetables, filling your stomach for the first time in days. Eivor told Valka about the raid; apparently the healer had not attended the celebrations yesterday. When the warrior told Valka about Dag's terrible state last night and this morning, the dark-haired woman just shook her head about this much exorbitance and stupidity.

Even though you were still exhausted and not fully present at times, it was nice to sit with the two women and listen to them exchange stories and opinions, talk about plans for the future and a woman Valka was thinking about pursuing. The name Randvi caught your attention at one point, but with a meaningful look from Eivor, the topic was changed.

As it got dark and you couldn't stop yourself from yawning, they debated what to do with you this night. Valka offered to sleep on the floor so you could stay here, but Eivor argued that she had a bed large enough and far more comfortable for the both of you. The healer admitted that you seemed to be stable for now and made Eivor promise to call for her immediately if anything happened with you.

She handed Eivor a bag with the ointment, a few clean bandages, and the herb blend for the tea you should drink for the next few days. The blonde slung the pouch over her shoulder, then she approached you with a suddenly shy smile.

“We haven’t asked you for your opinion on this at all. Do you even want to sleep in my hut?” she asked timidly, seeming almost nervous as she waited for your answer.

You shook your head and smiled. “Eivor, I’m just glad to be out of that terrible cell. I will sleep on the floor if I need to.”

“Little bird, tonight you will fly into the land of dreams on the softest wings. This bed is fit for a queen.”

You held up your arm and wrapped it around the back of her neck as she picked you up again. Valka accompanied you outside, then she said her goodbyes and left for the longhouse. Eivor carried you in the other direction and used her knee to open the door to her big wooden cottage. Red rugs covered the wooden floorboards and a big torch next to the entrance lit the room, drenching it in flickering golden light. Her bed really was gigantic, with intricate carvings on the headbord and furs draped over the mattress.

The warrior gently lowered you onto her bed and laid down an enormous quilt over your body. She lit a candle on her side of the bed and put out the torch. Then she sat down on a big trunk and took off her boots, placing them neatly at the foot of the wooden bedframe. Slowly, trying not to disturb you, she laid down next to you and covered herself with a thin blanket. You raised your head.

“Won’t you get cold?”

Eivor looked at you in surprise, probably having assumed you were already sleeping. She gave you her wonderfully crooked smile.

“I’m very hot blooded. I don’t mind the cold.”

“I admire that,” you sighed. “I’m always freezing.”

She turned toward you and rested her head on her arm, stretching out her other hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Her fingers stayed on your forehead for a moment.

“Your fever has dropped. Good,” she mumbled, “you’ll be better tomorrow. Sleep now, little bird.”

Later at night you woke up from the sound of your own chattering teeth. The cold had entered the hut and taken a hold of you with its icy fingers; your whole body was cramping up and shaking.

You looked over at the warrior lying next to you. Eivor was sleeping soundly, her bare arms thrown over her head and one leg sticking out from under the blanket. She seemed to be immune to the bitter cold.

There was no way you could fall asleep like this, freezing and shivering, your jaw hurting from trying to stop the chattering. You had to take the plunge. Slowly, you turned over to Eivor, scooting closer to her and lifting the quilt to come in contact with her warm body. She was radiating heat.

You snuggled up to her, laying your head on her shoulder and resting your arm on her chest. She flinched at your weight on her, opening her eyes to make sure there was no danger. You two shared a silent look, then she smiled and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in closer and warming you up so quickly that you were asleep again within minutes.

The next morning you were woken by the bustle outside, animal noises mixing with the blacksmith’s hammer and people talking as they walked past. A rooster crowed and reminded you of your old home in Williamsburg. You were still lying close to Eivor, your head in the crook of her arm and your leg intertwined with hers. She hummed in her sleep as she felt you stirring and pulled you in, not allowing you to move.

You noticed that your head wasn’t throbbing anymore. Your cheek still felt tender and the wound stung, but you were sure the salve and the herbal infusion Valka had given you would get you through the day.

Eivor moved again, turning her torso toward you and holding you even closer to her chest.

“How did you sleep, little bird?” she mumbled into your hair. “Did I share enough of my warmth with you?”

You pressed your forehead into the hollow spot beneath her collarbone and inhaled her wonderful scent, a mixture of herbs, tree bark, snow days and a faint musk reminding you of the deer on William’s pasture.

“Without you, I would have frozen to death last night,” you murmured back. She enveloped you with her strong, hot body while her fingers stroked your hair absentmindedly.

Suddenly, the blonde drew her head back to look down at you.

“How is your face? Better?”

You nodded.

“It still burns, but I think the worst is over.”

Eivor let go of you and stretched her arm toward the bag on the wooden trunk, almost falling off the bed when she finally caught it. You grabbed her hand just in time to pull her back up, both of you having to laugh at her clumsiness. She opened the small jar with the rich yellow cream and dipped two fingers into the mixture. Careful not to press down too hard, she rubbed the salve into your cheek, all the way from your jaw to your temple. As she massaged the little dent there, you closed your eyes and leaned into her touch.

After a while, Eivor got up and put on leather pants and a coat over her tunic. She lit the fireplace so you would be warm all day and slipped on her boots, promising to return soon with breakfast and a kettle to make your tea.

You let yourself fall back onto the pillow and pulled the quilt all the way up to your nose. This day promised to be a lot more comfortable than the last ones. There was not going to be much to do except lay around and wait for Eivor to check in on you every once in a while. Maybe she would give you something to do - you could mend clothes for her or sweep the hut or prepare food for later.

It seemed terribly unfair to you all of a sudden, you sitting here warm and fed while Eda and the others were still biding their time in their cell. It was not like you had done anything to gain anyone’s favor, Eivor just seemed to take to you a lot and your injury had drastically changed your path here. You wondered what the others were doing now and what they would be doing in the next few weeks. Eivor hadn’t taken them here without reason, there had to be a purpose to all of this.

A noise at the window made you look up. It was Birna, the white cat from yesterday, shooting you a demanding look through the gaps in the wooden grid that let in some light without leaving a big hole in the wall. Right, no glass windows. No wonder you had been freezing last night. Careful not to lose your balance, you got up from the bed and took the grid from the small opening. You were delighted to see that it had started snowing outside. Birna gave you a satisfied meow and squeezed through the window, immediately heading for the bed and curling up right where you had sat. The spot was probably still warm.

After placing the grid back in the window frame, you joined Birna on the mattress. She stretched and rubbed her tiny head against the back of your hand, demanding to be petted, and you humbly obliged. The two of you sat together for a while, the little lady purring in response as you made her compliments and told her about the cats back at Williamsburg.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. This was strange - why would Eivor knock? To make sure you weren’t indecent? She had already seen you naked yesterday, although it would fit her to still be all honorable and courteous.

Another knock.

“Eivor, are you there? It’s Randvi.”

Your breath caught in your throat and Birna looked up at you, indignant at your sudden refusal to pet her. You did not dare to move or say anything.

“Listen, I know we quarreled yesterday, but does this mean you won’t speak to me now? I just want to talk.” She sounded desperate, knocking harder this time. Fuck.

For a moment, there was silence and you started to hope she had left.

Then the handle turned and the door opened.

Randvi stood in the door, tall and beautiful as ever, her hand still on the doorknob. In a matter of seconds, her face went through surprise, confusion, realization, anguish and then nothing but wrath. You sat stone still, staring at her.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet and ice cold.

“So that’s how it is. I understand now.” She laughed but there was no humor in her voice, only bitterness.

Before you could say anything, she had turned on the spot and slammed the door shut. You could hear her steps fade away on the path to the longhouse and finally dared to release the breath you had been holding this entire time.

Birna had jumped at the loud noise, but now she rolled herself up in your lap and began to purr again. You let your head fall back against the headboard and stared up at the ceiling, trying to gather your thoughts.

Jesus Christ.

You jerked up when you heard steps at the door again, but this time it was Eivor that entered. There were snowflakes in her hair, her face was flushed from the cold and she had brought a well-filled jute bag and a dark metal cauldron. A bright smile was on her face as she stomped her feet to get rid of the snow on her boots and threw the bag on the bed.

“First snow!” she pointed out the obvious and took off her coat before letting herself fall onto the bed next to you and giving Birna a big smooch, which the cat took with an annoyed grumble.

“How did she get in here?” Eivor laughed and ruffled the cat’s fur. “She doesn’t like the snow. The little Viking princess is a sensitive one. She stays in here all winter and complains until the thaw comes.”

You cleared your throat. “I let her in through the window. But…” Eivor seemed to finally sense something was wrong and gave you a questioning look.

“Randvi was here.”

The blonde closed her eyes and sighed, then she blinked up at the ceiling just as you had done minutes earlier.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s complicated.” She shook her head.

You bit your lip and gave her an apologetic look. “She seemed displeased.”

This was a vast understatement, but you did not want to get involved in this, whatever it was.

“I’ll talk to her later. This has nothing to do with you,” Eivor promised. Exactly.

You shared a breakfast consisting of bread, goat cheese and dried fruit while the water over the fireplace had started boiling and the herbs inside filled the entire room with their pleasant smell.

When you had finished your meal and started sipping your brew, Eivor propped herself up on her elbow next to you.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Eivor?”

With her fingertips she drew patterns into Birna’s fur, her brow furrowed in contemplation.

“Do you think you could take another look at the map? I am planning on raiding Fort Winton tomorrow or the day after. The time is right, we are experienced in fighting in the snow and cold. I want to get this done.”

You swallowed hard, thinking of the life you had led before. If you supported this raid, you were betraying all your previous affiliations and fealties. Winton’s Steward was a terrible man. He had scared you when you were younger and he scared you now. You were sure that there was not a single person under his rule that enjoyed his company or thought him a good sovereign. You took a deep breath.

“I will. But under one condition: I do not wish to be seen as subject to English rule and fealty. I owe them nothing. I will give you all my knowledge and skill and I will swear my loyalty to you, only you. I will no longer be an English prisoner but your servant and by extension, a part of this clan.”

Eivor listened to you intently and considered your proposition for a moment, then she nodded.

“I would not have let you come into my house and sleep next to me if I did not trust you already. I do not know how, but it sometimes feels like destiny brought us together.” Her hand moved toward yours, then she pulled it back and continued to pet Birna.

“I will speak to the council about this tonight. Tomorrow you shall help us strategize, so we can leave at first light the next day.”

You agreed, stretching out a hand to stroke Birna’s fur and just so happening to brush over Eivor’s knuckles with your fingertips. Both of you had to smile, feeling as if you shared a secret, one that had not fully revealed itself to you yet.

The warrior actually had a few tasks for you that you could take care of in bed: a few of her tunics that had tears and holes, a pair of pants which had ripped at the back - she went crimson red and mumbled something about a drinking contest and a wrestling match - and an old fur coat she had grown out of but gave to you to mend and wear.

You spent the day with Birna, sewing and patching up Eivor’s clothes while telling the cat stories about Delia and Henry and your favorite adventures from your childhood. Eivor came by later, dropping off some more fruit to pass the time until supper. She seemed slightly irritated, but when she saw your work on her clothes she rejoiced.

“You’re an artist, little bird! With you by my side, I will soon look like a queen!”

You laughed and clutched the fur coat to your chest.

“I will take this as my first payment, then. Thank you. Maybe I will finally be warm for once.”

“Y/N, are you telling me you were cold last night? You must be made of ice if my heat could not pierce you,” Eivor teased you playfully.

“Oh, it most certainly did. It seems you are the only one capable of doing so.” You smiled at her. She grabbed your hand and rubbed her thumbs over your palm.

“I need to go now and meet the council. I will come back to warm you later.” She stroked Birna’s fur one last time, then she got up and in leaving threw you a last look that sent blood into your cheeks and made your stomach flutter.

“I long for it,” you whispered after she had closed the door behind her.

#eivor x reader #f!eivor #f!eivor x reader #lady eivor #lady eivor x reader #ac valhalla #assassins creed valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolf-kissed #eivor fanfiction #angst #fluff

183 notes · View notes

blurglesmurfklaine · 4 years ago

Text

Death Cannot Stop True Love

Summary: After being kidnapped from his kidnapper by the Dread Pirate Roberts, Blaine reminisces on the poor farmboy who once held his heart.

The Princess Bride AU, one shot, 1.7k words

A/N: did i work on ANY of my wips this weekend? no <3

BUT DID I WATCH THE PRINCESS BRIDE TWICE AND THEN SUBSEQUENTLY WRITE THIS? YOu BET YOUR ASS I DID

I've never really written anything like this??? But I surprisingly had a lot of fun with it, so let me know what you think! :D

Read on Ao3

***

Blaine’s hands land a bit too roughly against the grey granite for his taste, rather put off by the masked stanger’s manhandling.

He supposes being kidnapped by Willaim Schuester, then having the Dread Pirate Roberts kidnap him from his kidnapper wasn’t quite the delightful way he’d expected to end his evening ride, either.

“Rest, your Highness,” the man in black commands, the strands of tattered fabric that secure his mask tied behind his head billowing in the wind. Blaine refuses to shiver at the cool air of the highland whipping across his face, not wanting to show this man any signs of weakness. “You’re going to need it.”

“You’re the one who’s going to need rest,” Blaine spits, turning to face the man and take a proper seat on the stone. “My betrothed will come for me. Prince Smythe is an excellent tracker. He could track a falcon on a cloudy day, and he and his infantry will have me back in the castle and you in shackles by dusk.”

He should not make such bold claims at a time like this, and certainly not to someone as deadly as the Dread Pirate Roberts. Well, Blaine is only mostly sure he’s speaking to the infamous Pirate known for his murderous voyages on his ship, “Revenge”, but he’s certain enough.

“Ah, yes,” the man says bitterly back, fingers drumming ansty along the handle of his sheathed sword. “Prince Smythe. You have much faith in your most beloved, don’t you?”

Having his daily outing interrupted by that faux-philosopher Schuester from earlier and his two henchmen was unpleasant enough, but of all the things he’s heard come out of someone’s mouth this was the foulest. The law of the land gives Smythe the right to choose his spouse, and he chose Blaine. Despite this, Blaine knows he could never love Sebastian back. Now when he’s really known and lost his true love.

“I never said he was my most beloved,” Blaine snarls.

No. That title belongs to a name too precious to be uttered in front of the likes of a cheating, stealing, slaying pirate.

It’s been five long and lonely years since his dearest Kurt left him to venture out to sea, but Blaine can still feel Kurt’s hand in his sometimes, can still feel the residual warmth, as if it were yesterday. When he closes his eyes, it’s Kurt’s beautiful blue ones that are waiting for him when he falls asleep. Every round that his heart beats, it beats for the long dead Kurt Hummel.

Kurt had been Blaine’s family’s farm boy, and Blaine, in his infantile arrogance, loved nothing more than to boss him around. Whether it was “Farmboy, shine my saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning,” or “Farmboy, take these jugs down by the river to wash,” Kurt always responded with the same simple sentence that sent Blaine’s heart aflutter.

“As you wish.”

Blaine didn’t understand it at first—how could he, when he’d never been in love—the quickening of his pulse when he was near Kurt, how his knees seemed to careen and fail when hazel met piercing blue.

He didn’t understand why, when he’d asked Kurt to clean the stables, Kurt had looked at him with electricity in his eyes like a thunderstorm, and Blaine felt compelled to add a meek, “Please?” to the end of his request. He didn’t understand why when Kurt so softly answered him with those three little words— “As you wish” —Blaine would light like a lantern from the inside out.

He didn’t understand why he asked Kurt to fetch him a pitcher hanging right by his own head, just so he could be graced with having him in such close proximity, chest to chest.

“As you wish,” Kurt had said, and Blaine didn’t understand the magnetic force drawing them closer and closer.

And then Kurt’s lips were on his, and oh, how Blaine finally understood. He understood why wars were waged over Helen of Troy, and why lutists serenaded the public with foolish tunes of love that were actually the least foolish things in their nature.

He understood that every time Kurt said, “As you wish,” what he truly was saying was “I love you.”

He understood so clearly, and everything that wasn’t Kurt was reduced to complete and utter nonsense.

For a short year, they lived on borrowed time. Kurt’s family wasn’t from money, so he left the farm—and with it, Blaine—to seek wealth enough to ask for Blaine’s hand in marriage. It wasn’t long until the news came back to him that Kurt had encountered the Dread Pirate Roberts on the high seas.

There are three things Blaine knows to be true. Kurt Hummel was his one true love, death takes everyone and does not discriminate, and the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.

Kurt never returned to him after that.

“No, I suppose he’s not your one true love,” the Dread Pirate responds, unimpressed. “I wonder whether a royal-to-be like yourself has ever truly loved.”

“I’ve loved and been loved deeper than you will ever know!” Blaine counters. “He was stolen from me, his blood on your sword. I know who you are. You’re the Dread Pirate Roberts, admit it.”

The Dread Pirate gives a little flourish, his night black outfit a stark contrast to the verdant grass of the highlands. “With pride.”

“You killed my love.”

“Quite possible. I’ve killed many of noble blood aboard my ship.”

“You know nothing,” Blaine says. “He was poor. Poor and perfect and with eyes like the sea after a storm. I received notice that he’d crossed your path on the high seas, and as we all know, you never take prisoners.”

Roberts shrugs, displaying such upsetting nonchalance at Kurt’s demise. “Can’t afford to make any exceptions. Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it's nothing but work, work, work, all the time.”

Being held hostage by Schuester while the Dread Pirate fought off Michael Chang, one of the best swordsman ever to walk the earth, was nerve wracking. Hearing how he then proceeded to physically conquer who is probably the tallest man Blaine has ever seen, and then listening as he sat blindfolded to this man outwit William into drinking from a poisoned cup was a hellish enough adventure on its own, but it was not as dreadful as hearing his anguish ridiculed by this stranger.

“You mock my pain!”

“Life is pain, Highness.” The pirate gives Blaine a look that he would consider hurt, if he did not hate him so. “Anyone who says different is selling something… I think I remember this farmboy of yours. This would be about what, five years ago?”

Five years, three months, and sixteen days, Blaine refuses to say. His silence doesn’t deter Roberts from continuing.

“He died well, if it pleases you to hear that much.”

“With all due respect—which is little to none—nothing you can say will please me. Likewise, nothing you can say will harm me.”

“He made no attempts at either bribery or blubbering. He simply said Please. I need to live. It was the please that caught my attention. I need to live for him.” The pirate’s eyes grow misty and distant and so painfully reminiscent of his love’s that Blaine is forced to look away for a moment. “He spoke of a boy so lovely, and of enduring faithfulness. Sad to see he died for nothing. Tell me, Highness, when you heard news of his death, did you immediately become engaged, or did you wait a week out of respect for the dead?”

“Had I a choice in this matter I would join him among the realm of the dead!” Blaine yells back, surprised to see a bit of shock in the thief’s eyes. “You mocked my pain once, do not do it again. I died that day!”

The unmistakable sound of hooves pounding into the ground of the hillside opposite them causes Blaine to sigh in relief. He never thought he would be so elated to see his fiance. Still... elated may be too strong of a word.

The Dread Pirate turns to scout the incoming commotion, and Blaine acts before he has time to second guess himself.

“And you can die, too, for all I care,” he grits out, and shoves hard on the Dread Pirate’s back, sending the murderer tumbling down the hillside.

Blaine’s expecting to hear shouts of terror coming from the pirate, but what he hears next makes his stomach pool with dread.

“Aaaaaas yoooouuuuu wiiiiiiish!” echoes through the hillside, coming from the Dread Pirate Roberts and Blaine’s jaw drops.

“Kurt,” he gasps. “Oh God, what have I done?”

“Over there!” he hears Sebastian’s familiar and grating voice call out from just beyond the hillside. One glance behind his shoulder and Blaine knows they will come for him, and when they do, he will never see Kurt again.

So he jumps forward and follows Kurt rolling down along the slope of the hill.

Small rocks and flowers swirl past him in a blur, dirt kicked up every time his boots collide with the ground, and after falling for what feels like ages, his body finally comes to a halt, right next to Kurt’s warm one.

Blaine shifts to see Kurt better, body bruised from the fall, but soul absolutely jubilant.

Kurt scrambles over to him, black mask having been knocked off in the tumble. “Are you alright? Can you stand?”

Blaine laughs and reaches out to grab Kurt’s— Kurt’s —hand on top of his chest. as if to keep them physically tethered this time. “Stand? You’re alive. If you want, I could fly.” He buries his head deep into Kurt’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of him mixed with the grass and the dirt and the absolute joy of him being alive.

Kurt holds him back just as tight. “I told you I’d always come for you.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“My sweet Blaine,” Kurt murmurs, hand warm against Blaine’s cheek. “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

Blaine barely has time to smile before Kurt’s lips are on his again, back in their rightful place.

#klaine #glee #wow look at me im writing!#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #kurt hummel #blaine anderson

63 notes · View notes

whereforarthur · 5 years ago

Text

Two Heads are Better than One

Requested by @amofbebbanburg: Hello! I know something to write 😝😝😝 if you haven’t written this already, how about a Spencer Reid x reader where they both are geniusses and both can get extremely involved in discussions and the team is always flabbergasted as they don’t understand a thing about them, except.. That Spencer and her have a crush on eachother and they make Spencer fonally act on it? Maybe some NSFW to it ❤

A/N: Takes place during season 5 and mentions Spencer being shot in the knee. Introduction takes place in season 5, episode 5 “Cradle to Grave” Sorry I went a little off of the request I had an idea and I ran with it, I still hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @amofbebbanburg @thatsonezesty13 @slutforthegubes @hazel-howell @rachelssafespace @lindaze

Requests are Closed!

Category: FLUFF and SMUT! (NSFW)

Couple: Spencer Reid x BAU! reader

Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex, chocking, Dom!Spencer, degradation

Word Count: 2,889

******

"The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits."

-Albert Einstein

You were sat at the corner of Spencer's desk as he rambled on about a blog he had just found, you wouldn’t have stayed and listened cause the subject was boring to you, but you stayed because you loved to watch the first genius in the BAU ramble. Especially since he was shot you couldn’t spend a moment away from him, afraid that something like that would happen again.

You were happy to see Derek walk in to the office finally someone else that Reid could talk to besides you. But, before you could give Reid to Derek, he was questioning Reid.

“Reid, what did I miss?”

“Oh, man, you're not gonna believe this. Some moron just posted a blog called "what would Carl Sagan do?" Spencer completely oblivious to what Derek was asking him about.

“No, Reid, the case.” Derek asked him again annoyance clear in his voice. “What's the case?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t know about a case, do you know about a case y/n/n” Spencer now directed his attention to you. You shook your head no “Nope I didn’t hear about any new cases coming in.” You told the boys.

“These emails from Hotch.” "take a look at this, " "new case to review."

“Emails from Hotch? I didn't get any emails from Hotch,” Spencer replied back to Derek while he typed on his computer. “did i? Nothing.” Both you and Spencer were clueless about what Derek was taking about.

The whole time he talked you and Spencer shared questioning gazes between the two of you as you played with his crutches, him stealing them away from you before you hurt yourself or broke them.

Derek had walked to Hotch’s office before you could ask him what was going on you and Spencer just went back to talking about the blog, you both assumed that Hotch had asked Derek to consul on a case before it was brought up in front of the entire team.

*****

“Kristie Taylor, runaway, drug addict, Reported missing from Farmington, New Mexico 3 years ago. Yesterday, she turned up off a freeway Outside of Rio Rancho.” JJ had begin debriefing the team about their new case.

“Sexual assault combined with ligature marks on her wrists and ankles.” Spencer stated reading off of the case file.

“She was asphyxiated.” You shuddered as you stated that as you hand was brought up to your neck, you hated whenever victims died from this, thinking that one day it could be you. In the bedroom you were know as the kinky submissive type, completely different from the dominant personality you used at work. And one of the things that could always get you off was a little bit of breath play, choking, you just loved it when a man took complete control of you, when your life was in his hands.

Those hands, god you had to get over this crush on Spencer ever since he was shot you realized your feelings were more of the “I want you to absolutely destroy me”, then the overprotective family type that they other members of the team had for him.

Spencer shook you out of your thoughts as he mouthed to you “are you okay” you simply nodded your head “yes” and went back to listening to JJ talk about the case.

When you had tuned back in Rossi was talking about how “There are a lot of guys out there who like chains.” You giggled to yourself and girls too, you thought to yourself. Spencer was confused as to way the mention of chains made you giggle, but figured out the answer when he saw the way your pupils were dilated, the rising blush on your checks, and the way you bit you lip with desire.

He blushed to himself, trying to get the imagine of you tied up in chains for him and only him out of his head. He cleared his throat and tried to get rid of the growing bulge in his tight pants.

Rossi asked JJ “ Are we sure this is the same unsub?”

“Kristie Taylor's autopsy report also indicates a second connection between these victims.” JJ replied back to him

Spencer informing the team of the connection, “she was pregnant.” Flipping the case file closed as JJ said that she had just given birth, she was killed within minutes of giving birth.

You had a theory, “This unsub isn't your typical sexual sadist. Captivity and assault we've seen before. What we haven't seen is this signature-- The role he forces these women to fulfill before he kills them. Motherhood.” you told the team all of them looking shocked and terrified.

“Journalist William D. Tammeus wrote, "you don't really understand human nature "unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round "will wave at his parents every time around And why his parents will always wave back."

“So why would a sexual sadist make women carry his children?” Emily asked the team with absolute confusion as to the unsubs motive.

“Gary Heidnik kept a harem in a dungeon. His goal was to create a large family As a replacement for his own broken home.” Spencer answered then turned to look at you, you continued his explanation.

“Josef Fritzl kept his daughter in a cell in his own house, And they had several kids together.”

You and Spencer were always like this, you guys were known to finish each others thoughts almost as if you too shared the same brain. It was absolutely sickening how adorable you two were with each other when you would get into your genius debates, rattling factoids about anything to prove which one was smarter. They were always wondering when you two would finally get together.

And to be honest you had finally had enough of the back and forth of the will they won’t they and you had decided (much to Penelope's constant nagging) that after this case you would finally tell Spencer how you felt, and fingers crossed, jump his bones.

***** The case had finally rapped up after what had felt like forever and you were glad to step foot back into the bullpen, determination coursing through your veins as you eyes landed on Spencer.

“Hey Spencie want to get takeout and do a movie night?, I’ll even let you pick out the first movie” You asked him hoping that he said yes, but he usually always did Spencer could never say no to the puppy dog eyes you were know to give him.

“That sounds amazing,” He replied as he laced your arms together walking you towards the elevator “your place or mine?”

“Yours” If this plan was going to end in the way you hoped it did you wanted it to be done at his place. You wanted him to take you on every surface of his apartment. You felt yourself getting wetter at the idea and before you even realized it Spencer was opening the car door for you to get in, you blushed as you thanked him for being such a gentlemen and got in the car.

*****

You had made your way to Spencer’s apartment without exciting yourself to much, in case he didn’t return the same feeling of attraction.

You sat on the couch as Spencer placed your usual order at your favorite Chinese restaurant. “It’ll be here in 20 minutes” he told you as he joined you on the couch and he set his crutches down on the ground you gathered up some courage to place your hand on his knee.

“Does it still hurt Spencer?” You began to bring your hand up and down his leg in a teasing manner making sure not to put too much pressure on it.

“Umm no-o not that much only when I-i try to put too much pressure on it.” Spencer didn’t know what you were trying to do but, he was hoping that you were finally going to tell him how you felt.

“OK that’s good just tell me if this hurts”

“If what hur...” Before he could finish his sentence you straddled yourself on his lap combing some hair that had falling in his face behind his ears. You smiled deviously as you felt his growing bulge resting at your core, you moaned at the sensation.

And in that moment, Spencer had lost all control, the years of him holding in his feelings were finally able to be set free. He grabbed your chin bringing your face inches away from him. You felt his hot breath fan over your face, another moan escaping your mouth.

His pupils were extremely dilated, they were filled with lust and desire. “Is this why you wanted to do a movie night y/n, huhh?” He left one hand on your check as the other wandered down to your throat giving just enough pressure to make you a whimpering mess in his lap.

“Yes, Doctor” That’s all you needed to say to him before he captured your lips in a breathtaking kiss both of you moaning at the sensation of finally being together.

“That’s what I fucking thought.” Spencer manged to get out in between kisses.

Both of you exploring each others bodies like you both had dreamed about.

His hands now harshly gripping your hips and grinding you against him. You ran your fingers through his lengthy curls, tugging at the ends eliciting several moans from him. He begin to work his kisses from your lips down to your neck leaving love bites in his wake, marking you as his.

With every kiss and bite you were a whimpering mess for him, grinding your hips against his, your core was pulsating and you needed him so badly at this point it hurt.

You finally began to undress each other, the want of him being inside of you taking over your body. You stood up to help remove his clothes making sure that you didn’t hurt his leg.

“Are you able to hold yourself up against a wall” You asked him with a smirk.

“Yes”

You grabbed his hand and shoved him against the wall before getting down on your knees, you stripped yourself down to your bra and underwear. Spencer had to stop himself from practically cumming at the sight.

“You are so fucking gorgeous” He manged to get out in between moans as you began to palm his erection through his underwear.

Finally having enough of teasing him you grabbed his underwear and dragged it down to his ankles, him kicking them off. You were shocked at the sight of him.

His tip was pulsating red with pre-cum as it rest against his stomach, you had never felt more aroused then you were in that exact moment you couldn’t wait any longer, you had to feel him.

You wrapped your hand around his erection, staring to stroke him gently. You stuck your tongue out as you drug it up and down his shaft, bringing it up from the base to the tip. You looked at Spencer, having a feeling that eye contact was a turn on for him, he moaned at the sight of you, which only egged you on even more.

You finally wrapped your lips around the tip, giving it a kiss before you began to to take him in your mouth. You wanted Spencer to fuck your mouth and that is exactly what he did. You felt his grip on the back of your head tighten as he began to thrust rapidly into your mouth, you made sure to relax your jaw to allow him more room inside of you.

He guided your mouth up and down his length, him loving the control that you gave him.

“You fucking love letting me you use that pretty mouth of yours. Fuck, it feels so good baby, you are taking it so well, like the good, slut that you are.” Between the praising and the degradation you were soaking wet and just dying to feel Spencer inside of you.

You loved that you were the only one to see him like this, the complete opposite of how he acted in work. He never cursed, he barely had the courage to take control. But, in this moment he was in full control and both of you were high off the feeling.

Spencer was so close to the edge as much as the idea of cumming down your throat excited him he needed to know hat it felt like to be inside of you first.

You pouted as Spencer yanked you off of him, dragging you up by the hair. You know stood practically dripping from how wet you were on shaky legs as he had to hold you up as he wiped the spit from your chin and the tears that fell from your eyes.

“As much as I wanted to cum into the pretty mouth of yours I think we would both enjoy it much more if I come in your fucking cunt.” Each word made you wetter by the second, he pushed your ruined panties to the side.

He started with two of those perfect and long fingers, that slipped with such ease inside of me, he roughly finger fucked me. He had to hold me up with one hand as we made out like horny teenagers.

As he pumped his fingers inside of me he began to rub my clit with his thumb, he could feel how close your were, the way you were clenching around his fingers, you had stopped kissing him to preoccupied with the feeling of his fingers deep inside of you.

“Are you going to come for me, as I finger that tight pussy up against my apartment wall, for all my neighbors to hear. I want you to fucking scream my name as you moan. I want everyone to know who you belong to.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, you came hard and quick a sting of curses and the doctors name falling from your lips. He never stopped his assault on your pussy, he kept pumping his fingers in and out of you as you came down from your high.

“Good girl, so fucking responsive to me and the real fun hasn’t even begun.”

He lead you to his bedroom him climbing up on the bed first carefully as to not hurt his leg, as soon as he was situated he told you to take off your bra and underwear as he patted his lap.

As soon as you straddled him he gripped your throat making your eyes roll to the back of your head, as his other hand guided his length into you.

Your moans were echoing through the bedroom as he entered you, filling you to the brim completely stretching you out. “Fuck, you take my cock so good baby, so fucking tight.” He stated as he began to pound into you from below you ground your hips against him trying to keep up with his pace.

His hand still tighten wrapped around your throat he pulled you towards him capturing your lips in a kiss that seemed a lot softer compared to the situation that the two of you were in now.

“Fuck, Spencer you fill me up so good.” He moaned at your words only pulling you closer to him and thrusting deeper inside of you. You felt yourself coming closer to release as he groaned against your ear.

The hand from your throat was removed only to move to your bundle of nerves circling it, “I want you to come all over my cock baby, before I fill you up with my load. Understood?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Come for me baby,” he pleads as he feels his release is close. A hot panting mess, you still managed to scream his name as you came.

Spencer wasn’t far behind you still thrusting into with such force, your pussy tightening around him added to his orgasm as he came deep inside of you.

“Oh, god, fuck that feels so good baby.”

You two just sat there for awhile in pure bliss, both of you hot sweaty messes but neither of you cared. After a couple of minutes he pulled out of you you whimpered at the soreness that you felt, but knew that Spencer would take care of it for you.

He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before he hobbled (since he left his crutches in the living room) his way to the bathroom to grab a washcloth to clean you up, you flopped over onto your stomach feeling completely drained.

You couldn’t stop the giddy feeling that coursed throughout your entire body you had never thought this moment was going to happen, especially with a co-worker that you fantasized about on a daily basis. You had finally realized you were also madly in love with this man.

Unbeknownst to you Spencer had felt the same giddy feeling as he stood just there in the bathroom staring at his reflection in the mirror with a smile that spread across his entire face. He had to realized the love he had for you and couldn’t be happy then to tell you.

*****

“Some love stories aren't epic novels. Some are short stories. But that doesn't make them any less filled with love.”

- Carrie Bradshaw

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #bau team

537 notes · View notes

depressedacadamia · 4 years ago

Text

How do you passive aggresively say fuck you in flower? Part II

Summary: It seems that Nico and Will just cant stop running into each other

A/N: FIRST WEEK OF EXAMS OVER, ONLY ONE WEEK TO GO!! Unfortunately, I am not able to write a lot due to tedious revision but I wrote this part 2 a while ago and thought that today would be the perfect time to release it! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy and comment! <3 from me!

Read on AO3 Read Part I on tumblr

They were not expecting to see each other the next day at Uni. In fact, Will was so shocked, he had to pause and squint at the raven haired boy to check that he was the same as the customer 2 days ago. What was this dude doing here? This was the medical college!

Oh shit, what if he’s a new med student or a transfer student?

However, while it seemed that Will had noticed Nico, it seemed that Nico had not noticed Will; he couldn’t have been more appalled as he was ignored and he simply watched in despair as the italian jogged past him without a moment's pause. Not even a Hey, you’re the guy I made out with yesterday, right?

Will was used to having all his past hookups follow him like a sheep and sure, he hadn’t really hooked up with Nico but he was for some reason expecting some sort of reaction from him. Was he that forgettable?

He felt someone dig their elbow into his ribs and was about to shout What the fuck before he realised that Calypso was elbowing him.

“Calypso what!” He winced as he rubbed at his side, still in pain from Calypso’s pointy elbows.

“Do you think I should invite Leo to the dorm party?”

Will’s head perked up. “ Leo? Leo valdez?”

“Yes Leo Valdez, who else?” Calypso sighed.

“I thought you saw him making out with some guy at another party and then proceeded to pretend you never liked him in the first place-”

“- Which is true! I never liked Leo in the first place, he was just a friend!” Calypso desperately defended.

“Everytime someone says they’re just a friend and not they’re just my friend, you know that they’ve crushed on them.”

“Shut up.” Calypso whacked her bag over Will’s head, ignoring his shouts of protests.

Will’s hands instinctively went over his head, tucking his chin in to prevent himself from gaining any brain damage from Calypso. “ Hey, Hey! I work for you, little shit!”

“Exactly, I can fire you any second I want to!” Calypso boasted before remembering something. “ Wasn’t there a request that came in on Saturday? Something like fuck you?”

Will could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. “ Uh, yeah, maybe. I don’t really remember.”

Calypso recognised that tone. That tone was the same tone used during the walk of shame, that tone meant things that she did not want in her shop. Turning her head only halfway, she gave Will a grimace, praying that it hadn’t happened again.

“William Andrew Solace, Please please tell me that you didn’t have sex with another client in my shop!”

“For once,” Will smirked. “ For once, I can actually say that I didn’t.”

Calypso sighed in relief, all the tension in her body simply oozing out all at once. Her shoulders dropped and the tense expression on her face was replaced by her regular small smile that she constantly wore, causing her to seem quite shy, which technically she was.

“You know, you seriously have some nerve Callie, hitting your employees like that. That could be harassment. What happened to the shy girl who could tell me the latin name for any plant out there?”

“Just because I don’t hook up with every good looking breathing thing, does not mean I’m shy.” She put her hands on her hips and took several confident steps while swaying her hips before hitting a hard chest with a thud and feeling the hard floor on her butt. Frustrated, she huffed and without even looking at the perpetrator, began to shout,

“Are you blind or stupid? Look where you’re going for fuck sake.” She ignored the offered hand and got up herself, brushing her scraped hands on her pants.

It was only when Will nudged her, not very discreetly may I add, that she noticed that it was Leo Valdez who was offering the outstretched hand and another very scary looking dude standing by Leo. However, something about him seemed familiar- from the shape of his body to his hair and in particular his jawline. She remembered seeing it somewhere.

Fuck, that was the guy Leo was making out with at that party. She realised.

Simultaneously, Will was thinking- Fuck, that was Nico di Angelo.

“Sorry Leo, Calypso,” Will turned to her, completely avoiding Nico. “ Do you have anything you’d like to say to Leo?”

Claypso gave a bitter look to Will before remebering that Leo fucking Valdez was standing infront of her and she had essentialy told him to fuck off. She had to fight the blush rising to the tip of her ears and could only manage to muster a small pipsqueak of ‘sorry’ while looking down at the floor and having her face curtained by her chestnut hair.

Unexpectedly, she felt a hand move the hair out of her face and slip and finger underneath her chin and tilt it up slightly.

“The least you could do while apologising is look at him,” Nico snarled, standing off to the side, watching as Leo brushed her hair out of the way. Leo turned his head to raise an eyebrow that meant Not cool dude before looking back at Calypso, his eyes warm and his smile generous.

“Sorry about him, he’s running low on social interaction juice. Are you okay there?”

Calypso thought she could feel herself gaping- the worst part was that her little shit of a friend Will pointed it out.

“Close your mouth Callie, you’ll get flies. It’s impolite to stare as well,” Will drawled, his eyes still glued away from Nico. Leo glanced at Calypso’s injured hands, the small scrapes and the little cuts across her palms. His frown was cute, with his eyebrows scrunching up and his eyes pooled with concern as he took her hands in his.

“Oh, Dios mio. I’m so sorry- will you forgive me if I clean these up for you?” Leo held her hands gently, as to not hurt her.

Will butted in before Calypso could respond. “Uh, no, that’s not necessary. I can help her from here!”

Nico snorted. “ Yeah, the med- student definitely knows how to clean up his cuts.”

Will growled in response, unappreciative of Nico’s sarcasm. Leo’s frown in concern only grew, the small displays of guilt visible across his face. “ Are you sure? It’s the least I could do after causing you to fall.”

“No it's fine-”

“-Will, calm down. Yes, I’ll go, but you also owe me,” Calypso confirmed. You know your worth, you know your worth, She chanted in her head.

“Well well, a person who knows what they want, of course, I am in your debt. After you.” Leo pointed to the pavement ahead as he left Will and Nico alone. Nico looked Will up and down before letting out a little snort and walking off, not before giving him a little shove with his shoulder as he walked past.

Will was officially outraged. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? First of all, he was barging into the medical college when he didn’t even attend it, then he was barging him to the floor without even apologising and then laughing about it!

Will turned around while still on the floor and yelled. “Who the fuck do you think you’re pushing dipshit?”

Will really thought he had the upper hand. He was taller, felt he was relatively stronger and his reflexes were okay. But when he saw Percy Jackson, Jason Grace, Piper Mclean, Hazel Levesque, Frank Zhang and Annabeth Chase all crowd round Nico, he felt he was the most screwed person in the world. Luckily for him, no one except a girl with brown skin and confused expression turned around.

Will recognised her as Piper Mclean- she had been voted most beautiful girl in the entire Uni. It was rumoured for a while that she and Jason were dating but ever since Will spotted Piper blushing near a new girl, he highly doubted it. Piper raised an eyebrow and Will gave a sheepish smile as he tried to get up.

Piper scurried over, giving her friends a quick wave before running over to help Will. He accepted her hand, mainly because he was terrified that she may kill him if he didn’t.

“Did Nico knock you down here?” Piper asked as Will heaved himself up. Her voice was sweet, soft and had some element that convinced Will that he could trust her; however, at the same time, he didn’t want to snitch on Nico. He gave a blatant shrug and hoped for the best.

“Don’t worry, Nico always teases people he likes. Little idiot isn’t good at showing any emotion other than being horny or being an arsehole.”

“Are you sure those are emotions?”

“I take psychology so I sure as hell hope they are,” Piper confessed, laughing a bit. Will finally realised why everybody considered Piper so beautiful- she wasn’t just a pretty person, she was a nice person. She went out of her way to help others.

“I take medicine so I’m going to hope for the best that Nico doesn’t kill me. He avoids like I’m the plague then acts like he’s planning on murdering me in my sleep.”

“Wait.” Piper paused before turning to Will with a manic grin on her face. “Are you the guy from the flower shop who made the fuck you bouquet and slept with Nico?”

“We didn’t sleep together!”

But Piper wasn’t listening, she was calling Hazel over. Will watched as a girl with gorgeous dark skin that glowed in the sunlight and a tattoo over her left hand turned her head ever so slightly. Will realised why they called her Death’s sister.

She was undoubtedly beautiful but her silent aura was terrifying, like it was driving you to death itself. Large brown eyes that invited you into the darkness and hands that looked sculpted for leading one to their doom.

“Hey Hazelnut! This is the guy who stole Nico from Leo! And he made the Fuck you bouquet that Annabeth gave Percy!”

Will could feel his heart pounding as Hazel left the group and walked slowly to Piper and Will, her expression never changing. Suddenly, when she was close enough to throw a punch, she broke out into a childish grin and started squealing.

“So you’re the one who made Percy that bouquet!” Hazel grabbed Will’s hands and started shaking them excitedly. She giggled before giving them back to him.

“What does making Percy this bouquet have to do with any of this? I only knew Nico because we made out like once and then the fucker blanked me.”

“That’s my little brother you're talking about,” Hazel warned. Will instantly felt his eyes widened in horror before apologizing profusely; he remembered what Nico had told him about his sister and how the two of them had grown up. Hazel laughed before telling him that she was only joking and that he should let loose a bit.

“Was Nico with Leo when he ignored you? Leo Valdez? About yee tall, messy brown hair and ink on his overalls?”

“Yes…” Will nodded.

“Ahhh, that explains it. Those two have a complicated history. He was probably ignoring you because he and Leo might have gotten back together. Or maybe he just didn’t want Leo to know that he made out with you. Or…” Piper let out a grin that Will had no desire to learn the true meaning of.

“Maybe he was just using Leo to make you jealous,” Piper explained, very much used to the drama herself between Nico and Leo. If it wasn’t Percy and Annabeth, Nico and Leo were almost always in an argument.

“So…” Will was deadly silent for a second while his rage began to simmer. “ Are you telling me he cheated on that Leo kid with me?”

“ I really hope not,” Hazel grimaced, looking back at her brother.

“The little fucker,” Will muttered under his breath as he pushed past the two ladies and made his way towards the remaining group. He didn’t care that he was going to run into Percy Jackson, whom he’d had an underlying grudge with for as long as he’d been going to school, he was furious.

How dare he cheat with him. What was Will, some slut who ruined relationships? Hell no. Sure, he slept around but he didn’t go around getting into relationships and creating drama. One night stands were his protocol.

“You!” Will pointed at Nico viciously, his finger almost touching Nico’s nose. The rest of the group simply watched with amusement as Piper held back Jason, whispering who exactly Will was.

“You little cheating seething whore! What the fuck dude! You just make out with whoever you buy shit from?”

“I don't remember you having much of a problem with it.” Nico shrugged, only infuriating Will that much more. He was so tempted to just punch him then and there, in front of everybody including 6 of the most intimidating people he’d ever seen.

“I don't remember you mentioning you had a boyfriend before you jumped me,” Will spat. Nico seemed a little shocked at that comment, his lips shaping into a small ‘o’ before he let a sultry smirk spread across his face in a manner that showed he was relatively proud of himself, only pissing Will off so much more.

Why was the damned bastard smirking?

“Huh, what boyfriend?” Nico turned to Annabeth. “ Hey, Annie, do I have a boyfriend?”

Annabeth looked down at her watch for dramatic effect. “As of 4 months, you have been boyfriend free,” She started and only continued when she saw the smug look on Nico’s face. “That said, that does not mean you have been booty call free for said months.”

“What do you mean!” Nico cried.

“Oh shut it Nico, everyone knows that you and Leo have been playing each other’s booty call for ages now. Just end it and go out with the florist dude,” Frank scoffed.

“Or don’t! The florist dude sounds like a real ass!” Percy cut in, desperate to not let Nico go out with his lifelong nemesis, William Andrew Solace.

“Oh look, it’s Perseus,” Will taunted. Percy felt himself going red and the entire group went quiet. Will looked around, wondering why everyone was silent.

“Oh, you guys don’t know?” Will smirked, looking directly at Percy, the knowledge on the tip of his tongue. “ That’s what everybody called Percy in middle school, after we learnt the myth of P-”

The rest of the sentence was muffled as Will felt a hand wrap itself around his mouth. He looked up and saw the sea green eyes that read Shut the fuck up . Will, feeling nostalgia from this certain situation, smirked and stuck his tongue out, licking Percy’s hands, eliciting a yelp of disgust from Percy.

“Dude! Why do you always do that! Every fucking time I’m trying to shut you up, you pull shit like this!”

“You’re telling me that wasn’t the first time you tried to ‘shut him up’?” Nico and Annabeth both asked, hostility floating in their voices. Will gave a jolly smile at Percy who groaned and wiped his hands on Will’s shirt, muttering ‘gross’ under his breath. Will shoved Percy who proceeded to make a face back.

“How do you two know each other?” Frank asked, completely confused before Hazel went up on her tiptoes and began whispering in Frank's ear while he nodded along.

Nico, sick of Will’s attention not being focused on him butted in. “ Did you come all this way to flirt with Percy or what?”

Percy and Will both gagged and shivered, the idea of liking each other being just gross.

“I’m here because you son of a bitch, used me!” Will cried, flinging his arms out.

Nico raised an eyebrow. “I did?”

“Your boyfriend, booty call, whatever you wanna call them- was right there and I was just some pawn for you-”

“-If I wasn’t talking or paying any attention to you whatsoever, how on earth would I make them jealous?”

Will didn’t respond, his mind racking for answers, excuses, insults he could fling at the raven haired boy. He noticed he wasn’t wearing his lip ring that day.

“I think you should focus on the fact that Leo and I just so happened to be at the Medical College despite our majors being nothing related and we just so, by chance, crashed into you and your friend,” Nico hinted. He was a bit tired from how oblivious this blond guy was- hadn’t he made it obvious?

Will took a while to connect a few dots, but the problem was that he only connected the exact dots that Nico did not want him to connect.

“Wait, so Leo does like Callie? Is that why you guys are here?”

Nico wanted to fucking facepalm.

Saturday

The shop bell rang. Calypso was sitting at the counter with her apprentice, Meg. They were both chatting, something to do with the variation of a certain dandelion- Will wasn’t very sure.

He was sporting a daisy chain around his wrist that Meg had forced him to wear and a pink rose had been braided into his hair after much argument with Calypso that the thorns would hurt, in which she retorted that she’d obviously clip the bloody thorns.

When the bell rang, none of the three workers really snapped their heads up. But when the bell rang, and then rang and then rang again, they slowly lifted their heads from their conversation. Will, who had been leaning his elbows on the counter to talk to the two ladies, turned his head to see 8, very unwelcome people, walk into his shop.

Nico was standing there with all 7 of hids friends- Percy, Annabeth, Frank, Hazel, Piper, Jason and Leo. All of whom were very much not welcome in any way whatsoever in this shop.

“What are you doing here?”

The friends all glanced at one another before a few sputters of laughter were spread out. Nico, who was wearing his lip ring again, walked forward and picked up a red rose, twirling the thorny flower in his two fingers, ignoring the small prick it made.

He noticed the blood trickling down his thumb and lifted the injury to his lips.

“Didn’t I tell you last time...” Nico asked, his voice teasing but also malicious, a small corner of his lips stained red. “That you’ll be seeing a lot more of us?”

20 notes · View notes