#you’d never see Moore with anything more that a smirk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

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Scratches in the Surface

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: Investigating Shepherd was a mistake, but the betrayal of John Price hurt more than anything Shadow Company could do to you.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Talks of gore, torture, violence, swearing, blood, angst

A/N: Not really sure if I like this or not, but the idea was good so I kept it. Your codename in this is ‘Key.’ Part 2

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The buzzing lights above you were going to drive you insane faster than the damn clicking of the man’s pen, but you endured the overstimulation of your brain with an expression of boredom.

Click, click-clack, click,

God, You clench your teeth together, either stop that, or I’m going to–

When you go to move your hands over the metal table, the cuffs around your wrists shriek as they slide. The man in front of you pauses, looking up from his file, the manila folder sitting tantalizingly close; your fingers curl over the paper cup to your right, grabbing it and dragging it to your lips.

As you sip the stale water, your eyes bore into the CIA Agent over the rim, unblinking and dead. Feeling the liquid travel down your throat and hit hard into your empty stomach, you watch the man tense in his seat, his eyes averting from your own quickly like you were a blazing fire. Suppressing a smirk, the man clears his throat.

You place the cup down delicately, leaving a small amount of water behind, right as the door behind the man opens loudly, creaking on its hinges and making you cringe.

Your gaze snaps to the familiar head of blonde hair that belongs to Kate Laswell, her stone-cold face more wrinkled since the last time you had seen her. The woman walks through the door, and the Agent gets to his feet quickly, leaving the file on the table.

“Ma’am,” He says, holding onto the back of the chair as he turns to face Laswell, “She hasn’t said anything since she arrived.”

“Thank you, Moore. I’ll take it from here,” Kate sighs deeply, her white dress shirt and black pants swishing as the air conditioning comes on. The lanyard around her neck makes a slight clinking noise as her name card jumps with her steps.

You tilt your head as far as the bandages around your neck allow, feeling the stitches on your throat pull painfully; you hoped your former friend could see the blood already staining the gauze.

The man leaves with clacking shoes, taking the godforsaken pen with him, and Laswell takes his seat. You couldn’t help but compare the scene to a transaction – you being the package thrown between unwilling participants. Not that you cared. The aches and pains in your body demanded retribution; you were more scar tissue now than skin.

The silence between the two of you is thick, eyes clashing in a mute battle of wills you know you’ll win. You’d had four years to squelch every ounce of weakness from your body – waiting, praying, for this moment.

Just as you imagined, Laswell breaks first.

“I never knew that Shepherd was capable of doing what he did,” Her hair collects in a bun at the base of her neck, and her bangs caress her forehead. The Agent’s style hadn’t changed, at least, “When you told me that I should–”

Kate stops mid-sentence.

You watch her gaze fall to your arms on the table and your fingers twitch.

Frowning, you suppose the widening of her eyes was about all the reaction you would get out of her; the one second of horror that sweeps Laswell’s eyes before the practiced calm resettles like mud in the water. But the satisfaction you garner is unparalleled.

“You ever been thrown into a tub full of glass, Kate,” Laswell flinches at the gravel in your throat, vocal cords ripping with every word, “It’s not that bad if you don’t move so much,” You smirk, letting the dry skin on your lips break open, “Kinda hard, though, when you have a million little knives digging into your flesh.”

“I didn’t…” Kate closes her eyes and sucks in a breath, looking away from the mangled remains of the skin of your arms, the more significant cuts starting at your elbow that jaggedly run down your forearm. Those ones weren't made by glass, but you didn’t tell the woman that.

Let her squirm, You pick up your paper cup, grasping the rim and the hard wire hidden in the fold, It’s been a long time since I had that effect on anyone. I want to get my edge back. I need my edge back.

Kate continues her previous sentence, placing her hands on top of the folder on the table and clenching them together. You bring the cup to your lips, sipping down the last few drops before letting your bound hands fall once more. You rest them on your lap and fiddle with the cup, shifting your shoulders to relieve the tension that sits there.

“I didn’t believe you at the time about Shepherd, Key, and that was my biggest mistake. I led an investigation the second you went missing but as far as everyone was concerned you had disappeared off the face of the earth. We had no leads, no information, and no trace,” She sighs, “You have to believe me when I say we did everything that we could too–”

“We?” You scoff, “We? You’re saying you had Price working on this?” You spit out the name as venom leaks from your tone; leaning forward you see shadows move from the corner of your eye.

You had nearly forgotten the glass window to your right, no doubt the multiple shadows barely seen behind the one-way were faces you had prayed to come and save you for all that time in the facility. You knew Price’s outline when you saw it – bulkier than the rest, large shoulders, and the bulge around his head because of that damn black beanie. The fidgeting was a new tick, though. Then again, it had been years. Maybe you had never really known him at all.

You blink, stuffing away that fact with a pounding heart.

Calm down, you growl to yourself, You’re in control. You…You are fucking in control. Don’t think about John Price.

“...That’s really cute. Do you want a medal? A pat on the back?” You grunt and shut down the conversation, noticing you’ve been crushing the cup in your grip under the table, the object shaking from the force of your fingers. Leaning back, you take in a slow breath, “It never really added to much, did it?”

To anyone besides Kate Laswell and John Price, no one would have noticed your sanity fraying at the seams inside your pounding brain. Licking your tongue over your teeth your eyes stay locked with Laswell’s as you feel panic build.

It’s a long time before the woman speaks again. She utters your real name under her breath.

“We tried everything to find you. But as I got sucked more and more into Shepherd’s world, allegations started to gain validity, and the news of your death–”

“And all it took was him losing three American missiles and his little Shadow Company friends killing more than half a city in Mexico?” You force out a chuckle, your white hospital t-shirt uncomfortable over the mass amounts of bandages digging into your skin. Kate brings a hand to her temple, rubbing it with shaking hands, “Yeah,” You deadpan, “They told me about that.”

“Do…Do you know anything about where he might be?”

“Shepherd?” You sputter out a harsh laugh that leaves Laswell swallowing, “what, do you think I’m the center of the gossip ring? They kept me in a fucking dark room for days at a time. The only thing I heard was the rats eating the corpses in the corner and the sound of my blood hitting the drain basin.”

You rose your right hand as far as the cuffs would allow and pointed your thump at the one-way glass, “Until your Toy Soldiers broke me out, that is.”

“Key,” Kate shakes her head and you know what bullshit she’s about to spill, “I can’t imagine what you went through for all those years. If we knew you were still alive I know Price and I would have–”

You tune out whatever Laswell says, fingers fidgeting under the table as you turn your head and itch the thin bandage over your chin with your shoulder, feeling stitches break open. The Ac unit was so damn loud, and that stupid buzzing of the lights.

Fuck, everything’s just too loud, You begin to bite on the skin of your bottom lip, peeling back the flesh until you feel blood dribble down.

Laswell calls your name, and you narrowly suppress a flinch, your eyes flickering closed before snapping back to the woman. You release your lip silently and live with the pain that breeds.

“What?” You numbly question, foot shaking under the table.

“How about I get you something to eat?” Kate draws out and you don’t like the concerned glance she sends to the glass as she shuffles forward in her chair, “They have those mini sandwiches in the cafeteria that you love.” The woman licks her lips, her blue eyes running over the noticeable bulges of bandages and gauze that span your chest and abdomen, down your thighs and legs. The bottoms of your feet, under your socks and shoes, even have wraps. All stained red.

“Not hungry,” You clear your throat through the lie.

“Key,” Kate whispers, “you’re skin and bones.”

“You think I don’t know that, Laswell?” The words set you off, snapping from your lips as your eyes flash and your face twists. The Agent tenses, shoulders locking tight, “I’ve looked like this ever since you and Price sold me off like a fucking dog with a rope around its neck!” Your wild eyes revel in the fear that sweeps Kate’s face. She doesn’t know you anymore, “That was you two wasn’t it? Or are my memories more fucked up than I know…? Huh?! Did the electrocution finally fry my brain?!”

Laswell’s eyes fall to the table.

“I trusted you!” You’re screaming now, guttural and savage; every so often your voice would break, and the shadows behind the glass were all straight as a rod except one, one who slightly hunches as if in guilt, “You both left me to die! I gave you evidence, I showed you facts and you turned me over like I meant nothing to you! Like I meant nothing to Price!” The words hurt you when you spit them out, and the stitches over your throat feel like they’re on fire.

Oh, God, John I wanted more than anything for you to find me – t-to stop it. Stop the pain, stop the torture. I need you. Where did you go, John?

“We couldn’t act on–”

“You trusted Shepherd more than you trusted me! That’s what you acted on. That’s the truth.” You turn your head to the ceiling, trying to stop the vile tears that coat your eyes as you suck in ragged breaths. Your ribs ache awfully.

A minute passes, then two.

The next words come out muffled with numbness, whispered from your bloody lips, “Their deaths are on you. I pass off my guilt of it.”

You could hear a pin drop. Hell, did they even know?

“The bodies in the corner…” Laswell whispers, and you hear her throat get clogged.

“What,” You snicker, “Your forensic team not identify them yet? The ones with their faces still on, that is?”

“Who are they, Key?” Kate whispers but you know she knows the answer already. So does Price.

You turn your head to the glass, finding that familiar shadow and boring your eyes into it blankly. Feeling your tears dribble down your cheeks, you smirk when the black on the other end turns its head away. The others shift nervously before you look back at Kate.

“Shane, Jax, Alice, and Sam.”

Laswell’s eyes snap downward to her clenched hands.

You lean closer, “Look at me,” You growl lowly, “Kate, look at me.”

Her eyes are red when they meet yours and you stifle a deep-chested laugh at the sight. A vicious smile blooms over your cheeks, teeth and all.

“He killed my fucking family, Laswell. My squad. My brothers and sisters that I never even involved in this because I knew how it could end if it went south. And they ripped them to fucking pieces while they were still alive,” You lift a free hand and throw your unlocked cuffs on the table, the small, thin, metal wire from your paper cup visibly stuck in the key slot. It rams onto the surface with a bang. Laswell flinches back, head snapping to the object in surprise, “That’s on you and Price. And I want it to haunt you just as it haunts me.” You tilt your head to the side, nodding towards the cuffs, “Good to see my nickname held up, at least. As you can imagine my tricks don’t work so well on rope or barbed wire.”

A ruckus sounds from the other room, loud shouting, and the rushing of feet. You lean back in your chair, slouching, and not soon after the door to the room slams open; John Price stands in the doorway with a stupid look on his face you can’t help but huff at.

“There he is,” You mutter, staring his blue eyes down as his large frame nearly hits the sides of the wall. You spread your arm out, elbows on the armrests sarcastically, “The other person I’m so eager to see.”

Laswell stands on shaky feet and exits the room, shoving past John as he stares at you. For a moment you see what you could on describe as guilt on his face before it's wiped away the next instant.

Not bothering to speak anymore – you’ve said your piece – you bring your hands up and caress the red skin where the cuffs had been. The area was more sensitive now that the flesh had been torn away time after time while you were held by Shadow Company in some godforsaken facility in the wilderness. You throw the remnants of the ripped-up cup onto the table.

The door closes nearly silently, and heavy feet pad forward. You could lie to yourself and say you don’t feel your heart pounding, but what use would it be?

John sits in Laswell’s chair before palming the once more left-behind file. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, as he slowly flips through the pictures. Pictures of you, of your once perfect body full of scars and burns and bruises over every inch. You swore you saw his fingers begin to shake as he turns another page.

John Price used to be something important to you. A friend, a mentor, and if time had permitted, perhaps he would have been something more. You don’t choose to dwell on these thoughts, but they haunt you still; how he would always prioritize your safety on missions, and give you a rare real smile when you impressed him. His laugh when you slipped out crappy jokes on missions together. The imprint of his calloused hand seemed to forever live on the back of your head, dragging you into a tight hug as you remember an OP in Romania.

On the mission, when a bullet had lodged itself between your third and fourth rib, the outcome had seemed grim – hopeless – but all John did was grab your cheeks and force your eyes on him as the Medic worked hastily, grunting and uttering calmly.

“Eyes open, Sweetheart. Keep them on me, eh…? There you go, atta girl. I’m right here,” It was safe to say you had chosen to stare at those unusually soft baby blues the entire time you were getting Evac. and John had dragged you into the ramshackle head-to-chest-hug the second you were stable, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Talking so sweetly you had wanted nothing more than him.

He had been so much more than a Captain to you.

But that was all so long ago, and the memories were rotted like tree trunks. He was just another face, a handsome one, yes – he still hadn't shaved his beard and the circles under his eyes looked darker than you could ever remember seeing them – but still that rugged charm that was John.

I trusted you, You want to scream at him, hit him, tear his throat out. But in the end, you did nothing, but you didn’t trust me.

The wrinkles around his eyes tighten as he sees the extensive claw shreds over your back on one of the printed sheets, the impression of dog teeth over your left shoulder blade and right thigh.

You feel a tightening in your throat.

“They liked their dogs,” You mutter, “That’s for sure.”

Price’s throat bobs.

“German Shepherd?” He asks, accented voice thick, picking up the picture and grasping it so tightly the corner creases.

“Nah, Doberman.”

“Hm,” He grunts, finally looking up from the picture to stare into your broken eyes. Against your better judgment, you look away first, not able to stand the unwavering blue with that specific emotion staining the iris. John was different from Laswell. He…He had meant more.

That’s why it hurt so much to be near him because he would always mean more.

Under the table, your feet shook. John cleared his throat, placing the image down and closing the file before he, in the buzzing of the lights and the whishing of the Ac, whispers your name under his lips.

You’re ashamed of the way it makes you feel like you could cry, your body freezing. Only he could utter it in that way. You had waited to hear him say your name every single day you were stuck with the Shadows.

“Save it,” You nod your head his way once, not looking up from your lap, “I don’t want your apology, Price. It’s done.”

The Captain’s head nods firmly, ever the gentleman, chin jerking as he clenches his jaw. John’s fingers close your file and he taps it with the back of his knuckles, prompting you to raise your gaze to follow the motion.

“I want every name you can remember, yeah?” You pause, for a moment you thought you hadn’t heard him correctly. Under the table, you can feel your knee spasm with nerves.

Picking your gaze up, you travel the length of Price’s tight gray shirt; looking over his combat vest and all the tiny pouches holding only he knows what. You settle on the man’s eyes with a small hitch in your breath. He looked furious, downright lethal.

John’s shoulders were tense, muscles vibrating with badly concealed anger. At his neck, he had a visible tendon from how hard he was clenching his jaw. Had he not read the file before now? Seen the pictures? Or was that not even the point? You frown, shifting in your chair with nervousness. Your head was all messed up.

Logically you knew his anger wasn't directed at you, but you could never be too cautious when it came to someone you haven’t seen in a while. Men had been the source of your problems for four years, and even if you knew John the thought remained that if you had changed so drastically, so could he.

At your silence, Price pauses, blinking a few times before he realizes his hand is clenched on the table, nails biting into his skin. He leans back into the chair with a heavy inhalation, bringing a hand up to rub over his face. John holds a hand over his mouth for a moment, eyes closed, and you watch him and his unsteady breaths that echo through the interrogation room. His chest sputters.

So now he cares, You ask bitterly, blinking away the anxiety in your bones with false calm, now he wants to help.

“Where was that anger when I asked you to help me investigate Shepherd?” You whisper, saliva stuck under your tongue.

John never answers and not a second later he’s standing and stalking out the door with measured steps, but manages to close the door softly behind him before his form disappears.

Come back, You want to plead the second the lock latches, your hands shaking violently in your lap, don’t leave me alone here, John. Don’t leave me alone. I-I can’t be alone again.

But you say nothing.

Outwardly no one can analyze your body language the way that the Captain or Laswell could. All they see is a blank slate waiting to be filled sitting stone-still in an interrogation room. Left alone, all you can do is force back the tears and listen to the loud buzzing and the whining of the Ac, trying with all of your might to forget Captain John Price and the damning comfort his presence still brings you after years of hell.

But how could you forget him? All of the good memories you have left are of him; the only ones untainted by blood or a dark room with no light. The shrieking of rats is like a symphony of death that plays on repeat in your head, digging into the small spaces in your ribs and intestines. But you welcome it because anything is better than thinking about John. Of the times you shared with him.

The betrayal itself is less painful than the memories.

#john price #john price x reader #John price x you #modern warfare #MW2 #cod #cod x reader #cod mw22 #cod x you #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #mw2 2022

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julek · 4 years ago

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a humble offering to @west-moor and @kueble, for bringing this post to life. they’re very dumb, your honor. | read on ao3

It starts at dinner one night.

They settled in a few days ago, bringing the ice cold from the mountains and the snow with them, after trudging up the Killer for two weeks. They sit at the wooden table and before them stands Vesemir’s famous roast, the one Geralt had told Jaskier all about.

Geralt helps himself to some potatoes, and gestures to Jaskier’s plate. “You want some?”

Before Jaskier can nod, Lambert cuts him off. “Darling,” he says with a pointed tone.

Geralt turns to him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “What?”

“You seemed to have forgotten you were speaking to your bard, there,” Lambert quips, and sits back with a knowing smirk. “Just wanted to help you out.”

Geralt blinks. “Uh.”

Jaskier notices the way he’s frozen in place, and gently touches his forearm, ignoring Lambert’s non-sequitur. “I’d love some, Geralt. Thank you.”

“Uh,” Geralt repeats, and doesn’t take his eyes off Lambert as he fills Jaskier’s plate. “Sure.”

Jaskier pads into the kitchen the next morning, eyes still fuzzy with sleep and an old, worn woolen sweater hanging off his shoulder. Geralt looks up from his bowl of kasha and smiles.

“Morning,” Jaskier mumbles, and sits down at the table.

“Good morning.”

The shout comes from the pantry, followed by the unmistakable sound of pans and cups clattering. “Morning, honey!”

Jaskier narrows his eyes, and looks at Geralt for help. He shakes his head. “Um. Hi?”

Out of the pantry walks Lambert, hands full of baking ingredients, a flour scar crossing his cheek. “How’d ya sleep, sweetheart?”

Jaskier decidedly does not blush a bright shade of red. He doesn’t. “Well, that’s just— thank you, Lambert, for asking. I slept well, even though this keep’s freezing cold and my bed was entirely too big for one fragile bard such as myself.”

Lambert frowns. “What do you mean, too big? You’re not sharing with Geralt?”

Geralt chokes on his kasha, momentarily. Jaskier snorts and shakes his head. “No, I’m staying in the east wing.”

“Ah,” Lambert says, a wolfish grin on his face as he ties the apron behind his back. “That’s… interesting.”

He shoots Geralt a look that’s there a second and gone the next, and Jaskier would’ve missed it, if not for the developed skill of observing Witchers and their fleeting emotions. Still, it’s a look he can’t decipher, a mix of amusement and mischief. Best not to find out, he decides.

“So, Lambert,” he starts, a touch louder than he should. “What’s that you’re making?”

Geralt had warned him, Jaskier thinks in retrospect, that Lambert was a bit weird. An acquired taste. And he is, Jaskier won’t deny it, but he’s also incredibly unpredictable — his gruff demeanor and rough disposition always, without fail, betray the sweet words that leave his mouth.

He’d been brushing the horses down when Lambert ruffled his hair and called him dear. Geralt nearly dropped his sword one morning, when Jaskier walked out onto the courtyards and Lambert called out hello, sunshine. On their way to the library to get absolutely smashed, a gentle touch to his elbow and little bird.

They’re all incredibly sweet, incredibly unexpected delicacies, and Jaskier doesn’t know what to make of them. Sure, Lambert isn’t horrible to look at in the slightest, what with the entire lean-body, scarred-face look he has going on, with the playful teasing and easy smiles he gets out of him. He’s objectively handsome, and funny, and kind, when he has to be, and Jaskier has let him know, many times. He hasn’t been exactly subtle in feeling his muscles through his linen shirts and sending looks his way whenever he’s said something salacious and tempting — signs so clear even the brother of one of the Continent’s most oblivious Witcher could read them. Which is why it’s so infuriatingly confusing, the fact that name-calling is all Lambert’s got for him.

And it’s not lost to him at all, the way Geralt frowns and fiddles with his medallion whenever Lambert lets a honey-sweet pet name slip. He doesn’t miss the way Geralt stubbornly looks straight ahead, focused on absolutely nothing at all, nor the way his mouth twitches, almost, almost resembling a pout.

It’s amusing, to say the least.

“Well, I’m off to bed, my wonderful friends,” Jaskier announces one night, after playing a few annoying renditions of Toss a Coin, until he got Eskel to break and beg him to stop.

The wolves say their goodbyes, and just as Jaskier’s about to leave the Great Hall, Lambert calls after him.

“Night, love,” he says, offhandedly, and continues his conversation with Eskel, as if nothing had happened.

Jaskier scans the room, and his eyes fall on Geralt, who’s trying very hard to remain seated, even when his knuckles are white and his leg is bouncing wildly enough to propel him into the night sky. His amber gaze follows Lambert’s movements and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say Geralt was about to throttle his brother.

“Hmm.” He murmurs. “Goodnight, Lambert. Goodnight, Geralt.”

Jaskier smiles sweetly and leaves the room at a leisurely pace. He can feel Geralt’s eyes on his back.

One particularly chilly afternoon, Jaskier’s leaving the library when he hears voices that carry through the hall.

“Well? Gonna explain yourself?”

Oh, the middle-aged woman that lives inside Jaskier’s heart and loves to gossip jumps up and down in joy at the prospect of what seems to be a very interesting conversation. He slips out of the room and presses his back to the wall, even when he knows the Witchers could sense his presence. It’s more fun if there’s a risk to get caught, he reasons.

Lambert’s voice is low, and Jaskier can hear his smug smile as he says, “Well, you weren’t doing anything about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Geralt’s voice echoes.

“It means, you thick-headed idiot,” Lambert drags the words out, like he’s speaking to a child. If Jaskier’s quiet, he can hear the way Geralt’s blood boils in his veins. “That you’ve been walking in circles for too long. Jaskier’s here.” At the mention of his name, the bard perks up.

“I know that, Lambert. I invited him. What’s that got to do with this— this sweet talking thing you’ve got going on? It’s weird. Creeps me out.”

“What? I can be decent when needs must!” Comes Lambert’s offended retort. “What I’m saying, pretty boy, is that he’s a good thing, the kind that Witchers never get to have. Not that you own him or anything— it’s just. He’s good, and he’s obviously waited for you to make a move, sometime in this past decade. He’s here, for fuck’s sake— in an old ruin in the middle of fucking nowhere, holed up with four Witchers and a goat, nothing else. Ain’t exactly a walk in the park.”

Jaskier stands very still, his heart beating out of his chest.

“Hmm. I still— I don’t deserve him.”

Lambert laughs. “Well, too bad, then. You can’t come to me with that self-deprecating shit, I’m not Eskel. But, fuck, if you don’t deserve him, who the fuck does? Certainly not me, but— I need you to listen very closely— he won’t wait forever. He might even settle for me, if you don’t make a move soon.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah.”

Geralt’s footsteps echo down the hall, moving closer to Lambert, Jaskier thinks.

“You’ll stop with the pet names, then?”

Lambert laughs, again. “Absolutely not. It’s too fun seeing you get all hot and bothered.” He steps out of the room, thankfully, in the opposite direction, and calls out, “Don’t fuck it up!”

Jaskier lets out a breath and slides to the floor, gathering the new information in his brain. Geralt wants him. He wants him, and worst of all, thinks he’s undeserving — damn him and his humility. He lets out a laugh in disbelief.

Geralt wants him.

The next morning, when Jaskier walks into the kitchen, he’s greeted by a blushing Geralt.

“Hi,” Jaskier says, an amused smile curling his lips, and sits down at the table. “How are you this morning, dear?”

Geralt pushes a bowl in his direction, a bit too strongly. “Good.” He coughs. “Uh, I’m good… Sugar face.”

“Huh?” Jaskier stops mid-bite. He quickly regains his composure. “Um— that’s good, I’m glad, yeah.”

Geralt grimaces, and an awkward silence follows. Jaskier digs into his breakfast with more enthusiasm than necessary, until Lambert walks in, firewood under both arms.

“Lambert! Thank the Gods— I mean, uh, it’s so good to see you. It’s a bit chilly this morning, isn’t it? I’m sure you agree, what with coming straight from the great outdoors and such— I’m going to the library, if anyone needs me, uh, just,” he rambles as he washes his bowl, “just call. You know. My name. Jaskier the bard, ha— that’s me! Anyway, see you.”

He makes haste to leave the kitchen, and as he walks down the hall, he hears Lambert clicking his tongue.

“Fuck, Wolf, it’s not even mid-morning.”

Jaskier stays in the library until the sweet aroma of Vesemir’s stew reaches the room and his stomach rumbles pleasantly at the thought. Given the way he’d fled the kitchen, he wouldn’t be surprised if no one called him to lunch — they probably thought he was having some sort of stroke, with his word-vomiting and hurried escape. He’s just opened a new book when he hears a knock.

“Come in,” he says, voice steady.

The door opens, and sure enough, Geralt’s standing at the doorway, a sheepish smile on his face and a terribly endearing flush creeping up his neck.

“Hey, love,” Jaskier says, because it’s difficult to call him otherwise. “You okay?”

“Hmm.” Geralt walks over to his chair, and stands there awkwardly until Jaskier gestures to a bench next to him. “We’ll have lunch soon.”

Jaskier smiles. “I was just thinking about that. It’s stew, isn’t it? Oh, Vesemir spoils me so.”

“Thought you’d be hungry,” Geralt says, looking at his hands. “You left breakfast early.”

Jaskier pales, then lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh! Yes, well, I had suddenly remembered a book I just had to examine more closely, and—”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s looking at him now, and Jaskier closes his mouth, choosing to look back into his amber eyes and wait for whatever comes. Nothing does, for a while — they just stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak up. Finally, Geralt does.

“I invited you up here, to spend the winter with me,” he rasps, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of not being close to you, Jaskier, I— I can’t stand it.”

Jaskier’s heart breaks a little. “Geralt.”

“I should’ve asked you to come up here years ago. I wasn’t brave enough. Thought you’d hate the idea.” He grimaces.

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats. “When you asked me to come here with you— you have no idea what it meant to me, knowing you still wanted my company. I couldn’t have been happier.”

Geralt sniffs and gives him a weak smile, his white hair falling on his face.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, and gestures vaguely at the space between them. “The whole…”

“Calling me disgustingly sweet and somewhat alarming pet names?”

Geralt nods.

“I know, dear heart.” Jaskier takes Geralt’s hands in his own. “I know, and I don’t expect you to.”

“I’d still like to call you something, though,” Geralt says, the tiniest hint of a pout on his lips. “Can’t let Lambert best me.”

Jaskier snorts. “So it’s all about honor, then?”

Geralt shakes his head. “It’s about you.”

And oh, he sounds so sincere, so open and fragile, Jaskier can’t find it in himself to tease him any further.

“You know what I loved the most about traveling to Kaer Morhen with you?”

A tiny frown knits Geralt’s brow. “What?”

“‘T was when we stopped in those hamlets, the ones that aren’t even on maps,” he murmurs. “Where you gather your supplies, where people know you and call you by your name. You know why?”

Geralt shakes his head.

“Because,” Jaskier whispers, bringing their foreheads together, “whenever they asked you about me, about who I was, your answer was always the same.”

He’s my bard, Geralt had said to the horse trader when they bought a mule. My bard, he’d answered, when the chatty shopkeeper had inquired about the colorful fellow trailing after him. My bard, he’d said with a shrug and a fond smile, as Jaskier and the tailor entwined themselves in an argument about fabrics and the season’s colors.

My bard.

“You always called me yours.”

Jaskier closes his eyes when he feels Geralt’s lips on his own, a soft, gentle thing. They move slowly, simply exploring — when they part, there are kisses being pressed to his cheeks, his brow, the corner of his mouth and his jaw.

Geralt smiles at him, and Jaskier smiles back, aware that they probably look like two lovesick fools staring at each other, but far too gone to care.

“I don’t need flowery names or honey-soaked terms of endearment,” Jaskier assures him. “Being called yours is more than enough.”

Geralt presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Hmm. Can’t go around claiming you as mine, though. ‘S a bit archaic.”

“Mm. You’re right. Love of my life, my moon and my stars should be enough, then. Rolls off the tongue, even.”

Geralt growls. “Jask.”

“Dearly beloved— no, that’s too formal— I’ve always been fond of Angel, though I doubt I’ve earned that title.”

Geralt kisses him again, and Jaskier half-suspects it’s less about the tender gesture and more about shutting him up.

“I’ll think of more, you know. You can’t distract me with kisses forever.”

Geralt huffs a laugh. “Okay.” He pecks his cheek. “Bard.”

“Yours,” Jaskier says smugly.

Before Geralt can open his mouth, the library door swings open.

“Fucking finally, Geralt! We’re all so very happy for this revelation, way to go, and all that.” He clasps his hands together. “Now, you both need to get your asses to lunch, otherwise Vesemir will kick you out. Jaskier, baby, please be grossly in love with Geralt later.”

Geralt groans. “Fuck off, Lambert.”

He leaves with a cackle. Jaskier smooths out his doublet, gets up and holds his hand out to Geralt. He grins.

“You coming, sugar face?”

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #fair warning this turned out way softer than i intended. it's geraskier tenderness hours #also it largely does not make sense #like. at all #hope y'all like it still!#this was fun #also yes there are only two locations at kaer morhen they’re the kitchen and the library. no i do not take criticism

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moonbaby26 · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Night of the Storm

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation of previous chapter. Weeks after Loki’s last appearance you were finally beginning to give up hope, only to find you’d been on his mind all along as he lures you into being alone with him late one night. His other side shows more of itself as things quickly turn into relieving that pent up physical need.

Warnings: People drowning. Also *here comes the smut.* But the start and finish of it is still marked in red within the chapter if you want to skip that part. I know everyone has their own comfort levels. The only thing in this though that I would even consider slight kink is just a bit of biting and tiny bit of blood from that, like really small. Otherwise it’s just needy gods doing what needy gods do.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys , @loveableasshole , @insanitybyanothername

My Masterlist

——————————

You had replayed your last words with Loki over and over so many times in your head. Had you been too forward after all? Was it too presumptuous to think anything could really come of such a random acquaintanceship?

The more days that passed, the more you questioned what you really remembered of your brief time together versus what you may have only imagined in your optimism.

The night he left, you remembered feeling so sure that he would return. Maybe you weren’t certain in what way he would want to see you next, but you had at least felt he would set foot in your home he called Midgard again. And that he would call your name to the waves once more.

So when the days eventually stretched into weeks with no further sign of him, you had to accept the possibility that you were very wrong on your assumptions.

As you stared upward now from the deep ocean, the blackness all around was only penetrated by the briefest strobes of white. The occasional lightning’s flash silhouetting the wooden ship hulls rising and falling far above you.

It was so late into the night, but your Father’s anger cared not for time. The captain of the fleet above had committed the sin of hubris. He had declared himself a master of the sea after too many trips safely across, and now your Father’s storms aimed to remind this man of a harsh truth.

Your uncle Hades would surely claim souls tonight, one way or another. That was already decided per Father’s orders. But should they all die, then none of the men could carry on this message, this teaching moment either.

So you waited, and you listened. Who among them would plead for intervention as the waters first breached their ships? Father could show his wrath, but he’d sent you to show the other side as well.

Mercy from the gods. Whichever ship contained the most believers, whichever prayed the hardest, that was the one Father had asked you to spare.

But the rest....you could only watch as their bodies joined you one by one in the darkness. And you knew soon that they would only find themselves upon the banks of the river Styx.

You bid the nymphs to comfort the men as best they could, to accept fate rather than fight it. The ocean above was simply rage, but down in this abyss they would only know peace.

When the chosen surviving ship had emerged in your mind though, you pushed only that one forward. The waves began to miss it, ignore it even as the ship fully righted.

“Follow them all the way to their home shores,” You commanded the nymphs. “Let none from that vessel drown under your guard.”

“Yes, goddess.” They answered, swimming quickly to join the now fleeing ship. These mortals would return home with tales of their brush with death. But they would also remember as their prayers had parted the seas only for them.

Yet you felt no satisfaction, even with your duty to your Father done. Your distraction still lingered as you only sank further away from the storm’s flashes in the time afterward, to the colder depths where you intended to again sleep alone.

Floating, suspended in the blackness as you’d closed your eyes, to any that could have somehow seen you, you would have looked most like a corpse as well. Albeit intact, unmarred, and with that smallest pulse of life as the thin slits on your neck pulled in those tiny breaths.

But after only a little while you’d opened your eyes again into the void. Because you felt that someone was watching you. It would seem impossible, but you were so certain of this fact so abruptly then that you called out, your magic giving your words wide presence even within the water.

“And what being are you that should watch a goddess as she tries to sleep? Do you now judge my actions invisible one?”

You waited, but of course the void would not answer back, could not even as the feeling of some ethereal eye upon you would not leave.

What did it want from you?

“Milady!”

You startled harshly, even the distant voice of a nymph shocking you at this depth. She couldn’t reach you though, so you had to swim back upward to her.

When you neared further back towards the surface a quick moving fish cut across your vision. It circled, panicked, and calling again. A younger nymph who could not yet take on any larger form. “Milady, thank goodness I found you. Loki has finally returned! But he is injured!”

That was the last of anything you had expected. But you ordered her to stay where it was safe, to only join the others once more before you tore off into the darkness to head for shore.

———————————

As you emerged from the waves, they crashed rough against your back. You hadn’t realized father’s storms had stretched this far. The rain stung against your now exposed skin as you walked onto the beach in the downpour. Loki had never come at night before. And for it to be now no less, in this tempest, you breathed as you looked around for him in the darkness. But you heard nothing over the wind and waves.

“Loki!” You called.

At last you saw a shadow somehow darker than the rest, shifting then just within the tree line. You hurried towards it.

“They said you were injured!” You spoke over the storm.

“I’m fine.” He grumbled, though seemingly more agitated at the rain as he looked all like a drenched rat fallen off a moor line now, making you wonder how long he’d really been waiting for you here.

“I know a place, come on,” You insisted.

But even in these circumstances, you hesitated to touch him, yet knowing it would have been far easier to guide him if you could have only taken his arm. But you did your best to lead him regardless, further along the shore until you came upon the cave opening you were seeking.

“Even during high tide it stays dry in here,” You explained, now finally able to speak at a more normal volume with the sounds of the storm muted somewhat as you went farther back into the cavern together.

Yet light would be an issue, as you were already looking around for a way to at least make a fire.

But to your surprise one started from nothing, in the center of the cave now flickering as the light then shown on you both.

Loki lowered his hand afterward, evidently having just used some other kind of magic you weren’t aware of.

But as you turned to him, you could now see the deep bruising on his face even in the firelight.

“You said you weren’t hurt.” You spoke, that tone of concern not hidden.

“It is minor.” He answered, but offered nothing more.

You waited for one long moment, before finally deciding that any notion of privacy he may hold was now overshadowed by the obvious need for some explanation. “Minor enough to come here in the dead of night in the middle of a near hurricane?”

He gave you an odd look, but you didn’t shrink back.

“I only had another large, predictable argument with my brother.” He finally said. “He decided to help solve things in the only way he knows how. I used magic, he used his fists, and here I am.” Loki had already started to try and smooth his wind mussed hair back into place though, some vanity evident there even as he continued. “And this was only one of few places he would not follow me. Brother has no interest in this part of Midgard currently. He at least allows me this.”

“I see.” You answered, though feeling something was still not right here even as you tried to choose your next course of action carefully. “Would you like help drying off at least then?” You asked.

“You insinuate that you can control rainwater as well?” He questioned skeptically.

“Only if it’s made by one of my father’s storms, yes. Which this clearly was.” You replied, raising your own hands as you willed the water to leave him. And it did lift from his hair, from his clothes, even his skin as the reformed droplets floated strangely in midair before you cast them back out the cave entrance with another flick of your hands.

He watched the water leave with the slightest bit of interest before turning his attention fully back to you then.

“And what is your dear father so unhappy with tonight?” Loki asked, adjusting his now at least somewhat dryer clothing. You couldn’t pull out every bit of dampness true, but it was far better than being completely drenched.

“He felt a mortal had lost respect for the dangers of the seas.” You answered plainly.

But Loki actually was silent for a moment at that as only a dark smirk crossed his features. That little knot in your stomach seemed to tighten at the sight.

“And they say I’m petty.” He finally said. “How many mortals did you really let drown tonight, goddess?”

“So it was you.” You said abruptly, accusing him then and there as you neared closer. “You were watching me!”

“No.” He corrected, though looking pleased none the less that you had made the connection so quickly. “Heimdall was. Yet by my request.”

“Why?” You questioned, but not really knowing what to feel as a mix of anger and embarrassment rose in your confusion.

“I wanted to know if your parting words held any truth. And if you’d grow restless the longer I waited to return.” He smiled then, but there was still a cruelty to it. “Yet that show I did not expect. Heimdall can be quite good at relaying details when pressed. And sparing only the mortals that plead for you tonight, letting the rest become food for your sea beasts....ah, and yet with your servants still comforting the damned. It was really quite a finishing touch.”

“So this is the kind of god you are then?” You asked sharply, though still not sure what you’d really expected.

“I am.” He offered. “And I also am not.”

You tensed, patience truly beginning to wane. “There is no point to speak in riddles to me. What is your real intention here Asgardian?”

“Tsk. Now you wound? I am only back to the Asgardian again?” He tilted his head slightly. “No, you tell me. Why did you leave the protection of your seas so quickly at only the word I was wounded, so panicked that you did not even think to bring that spear of yours?”

Your eyes widened slightly, that realization only just hitting you with his question. It hadn’t crossed your mind once to bring it, even now as he stood so near with that growing look of triumph in his eyes.

“You play games with me.” You retorted, even as you watched those fake bruises now fade from his pale skin.

“And now I know what you would do if it were all true,” he answered, yet with that smirk returning.

“I could fill this entire cave and drown you where you stand you know.” You countered.

“You could try,” He agreed. “But you won’t.”

“You presume too much.” He was becoming maddening. Everything you said, he only grew bolder, he taunted harder. And the worst of it all was, you were not really fighting back. Why were you not fighting back?

“You missed me, goddess. It isn’t that hard to deduce. Not anymore. You wanted this.” He finally said. “And if it’s all the same, I share that frustration. I kept away long enough to be sure. But watching you, knowing what you’re willing to do...I wanted to come back and see it first hand.”

And in all these weeks, tonight wasn’t the only night you’d let mortals perish in Father’s name, or even caused it yourself as you’d manipulated the seas on his orders. And was that really what excited Loki tonight? Seeing you use your powers to this darker extent?

“Is this really how Asgardians flirt? Over the bodies of the innocent?” You asked, unable to keep yourself to sane words any longer. It had all gone too far so quickly.

“I am not all Asgardians. And you and I both know there is no such thing as innocence.” He murmured just as his hands first touched you, taking your wrists. The grasp of his long fingers was surprisingly cold. That chill honestly the first thing you noticed, even as you didn’t push him away.

You watched only his eyes for that moment. And in your own awe you realized he was actually still waiting for you to deny him. You were being given a choice here. But you didn’t refuse him. You couldn’t. You’d already thought of this possibility more than once in your many nights alone.

And it was only you who closed the gap first as you took his lips in yours. You felt him tense briefly though, as if he was still somewhat surprised himself before he returned the motion in full force.

****SMUT INCOMING, KEEP SCROLLING IF WISHING TO SKIP

The rock wall of the cave soon met your back as he pressed you against it. It hurt somewhat, but you weren’t made of glass.

As he pinned your arms against the wall as well, his tongue pressed its way into your mouth. But the taste of him was something you only wanted more of then. Yet when your own tongue fought quickly back, you felt him pull away just enough to look into your eyes once more.

His face hovered only inches from your own as he eyed you hungrily. “You realize I won’t be able to stop once this starts. It’s been far too long. Speak now...or be silent save for saying my praises, goddess.”

“Prideful beast,” You breathed, shifting in his grip. “You think I do this each night either? Try closer to never.”

He seemed even more goaded at that, pleased at the revelation, “Then tell me what you want, (Y/N).”

“You.” You answered immediately, reservation shattered as his body pressed further against your own.

“Then I shall enjoy the privilege.” He whispered huskily, and you leaned your head back just as you felt him bite suddenly after, his mouth rough on your neck. You were sure he was testing if marks could be made on your skin, trying to claim it any way he could now as he pressed a little harder and harder with those teeth.

The juxtaposition of a man who would sit with you for hours only reading, versus this possessive creature he was now shifting towards was so very interesting.

And as he released your wrists, his hands only moved to the straps of your dress next. Yanking them from your shoulders, and sliding the thin fabric easily from your chest, exposing your breasts to his groping touch before his mouth moved over your chest.

As he roughly kissed one breast, his hand squeezed the other tightly. In another too fast movement though, his other hand had now already pulled the rest of your dress away. He pulled you from the wall just enough for it to fall around your ankles then as you realized just how quickly he’d rendered you fully nude here before him. All while you’d only been nearly still, too wrapped up in the desperate feel of it all.

After the dress had fallen though, he did pull back not long after, seeming to admire the view for a moment before his hand then went between your legs.

“I wondered how much you’d taste of the sea,” He murmured, licking that slight residue of salt from his lips as his fingers massaged your entrance.

You opened your legs a little more, leaning further back against the wall to help support yourself as those little flicks and movements of his fingers weakened you further.

“You have entirely too many clothes on,” You panted quietly, not caring if your tone sounded more like pleading in that moment.

“You just want me in you already, don’t you, goddess?” He all but growled, taunting you even as he slipped his fingers inside then.

Before you could hope to really answer, he was kissing you again though, his tongue probing nearly as hard as his fingers were pressing below.

You could feel the resistance decreasing though, the more your inner wetness grew and his fingers slid in and out all the quicker. Something he no doubt could feel as well as he broke the kiss once more.

“Beg me then,” He commanded against your ear.

Even in your own need, you were realizing how much he wanted to be in control. Power aroused him, just as he’d evidently been watching you exert your own in all these days, and just as he wanted to feel dominant over you now.

But you also knew how little you cared either way in this moment. You wanted him to be satisfied just as much as you wanted your own release.

“I want you,” You tried again, locking eyes with him once more. But as you tried to reach for his clothing he only caught your hand in his free one.

“Not good enough,” He reiterated, needing more.

It was hard to think in depth though as his other hand only kept moving just enough to keep you stimulated, but not enough to finish you off.

But alright, you could play this game if you had to. You growled a little yourself, “Fuck me, Loki”. That’s what he wanted to hear wasn’t it? You could see that desperate look in his eyes grow and you knew you about had him. In the moment though, you added one more thing, this time being quick enough with your hand to grab hold of his crotch before he could stop you. “Do it, King. Fuck me.”

He let out another sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan as he pulled his fingers out from you before grabbing you by the arms to force you away from the wall entirely.

He released you only brief enough to face his palms towards his own body. The dark green cloak he wore separated at once from his other clothing, it then splaying out across the floor of the cave. And with another motion his black leather unwrapped itself, almost like invisible hands pulling it all from him as he stepped out of his boots. Then at once he was to you again as the rest of his clothing folded itself neatly out of the way.

But you wished time would slow down in that moment, yourself trying to see every detail of his naked form in the firelight before his body slammed back against yours. That vivid white skin, lean, but surprising you with the musculature that had still been hiding there.

In the ocean, you knew well that it wasn’t always the biggest, bulkiest predators to fear the most. Some of the leaner, faster ones could have your throat ripped out long before the others should you let them in too close.

And his mouth met yours just as harshly then, urging you down to lay on your back upon his cloak on the cave floor.

If your back was bruised later, you hardly cared, as you wrapped your legs around him and he laid his weight upon you. Your hands were free now, and you gladly used them, running them through his hair, and up and down his body to feel all you could of him. He was smooth, with that chill to him that was still so unique.

You found his already strong erection as well, stroking it with one hand as your other moved back into his hair. You held the back of his head as he moved down again to suck at your collarbone, his fingers digging into your hips harshly as he thrust against your hand, urging you to guide him in.

And you were more than ready, allowing him to push inside as you angled him as deep as he could go.

He took full advantage at once too, pulling almost all the way back out before slamming back inside as you gasped.

He lifted up onto his elbows enough to look you in the eyes as he pulled out again, before repeating the second harsh thrust, then a third, and a fourth.

It ached, yet somehow you couldn’t imagine this any other way tonight. He wanted to claim you now, as hard and thoroughly as he could.

And you could take it as you breathed his name. You wanted him to let out all his frustration as your hands moved to his back and your nails dug into his shoulders with each faster thrust.

He bore his teeth with a hiss of pain as your nails finally broke his skin. But he liked it you knew, even as he bit down on your shoulder in return.

You felt the pressure, maybe a little stinging, but your back only arched into him as his hips continued to slam against you mercilessly.

As his mouth let go of you again though, and he lifted up, manhood still inside you, you could see that slightest bit of gold ichor on his lips. The blood of the Olympians. Your blood.

He smiled, knowing full well what he’d done in his haze of lust. “Is that what the remnants of ambrosia tastes like?” He whispered, licking his lips.

Contact with ichor could kill any mortal outright, and here he was playing with it. Yet you truly had no idea what its effects could be on an Asgardian. “You do take risks, don’t you, King?”

He made a pleasured sound, still thoroughly enjoying that word out of your mouth as he grabbed your breasts again, thrusting hard once more. “Only when the odds favor me, goddess.”

Your muscles were tensing though, as he squeezed your breasts and changed his angle slightly to rub more against that sensitive bundle of nerves at your entrance as his cock slid in and out.

You couldn’t know what you really looked like to him right now, sprawled out on your back beneath him, laying on his own cloak as he fucked you like he’d never have the chance again.

But you could see his own expression, and his eyes were so intense, like under a spell of euphoria as his breath grew more rapid.

Would he pull out you wondered? Did you even want him to?

“Loki,” You spoke, raising your hand up to the side of his face gently, even though you realized his own red blood now dotted your fingernails.

He surprised you when he only turned his face enough to kiss your hand though, still watching you even as you felt him jerk inside you abruptly. You saw him shudder as that orgasm went through him, and you felt his seed pulsing out deep inside you.

But even as he came, his hand went back to your entrance, bidding you to do the same as he tormented your clit. You’d been on that edge for so long, it was easy to finally let go as you trembled beneath him, getting your own release then.

And even then he still didn’t pull out. He only tugged you so that you both rolled onto your sides on his cloak, still facing one another.

You were both breathing rather hard now, and you truly wanted to close your eyes to rest for a moment, but you felt his fingers edging along the side of your face as you opened your eyes again.

He kissed you once more, and you could taste that sweetness that you knew was indeed the leftovers of your own blood.

****SMUT DONE, CAN KEEP READING HERE

“Have you been sated?” You asked, reaching up to run your thumb across his bottom lip.

He grinned slightly at the touch. “To say yes would only be another lie now wouldn’t it? I am never sated, dear. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t thoroughly enjoy this.”

With that he reached out enough to touch his hand to the cloak beneath you. You felt the material shift before the sides of it suddenly extended, wrapping around you both like a blanket in the cool cave.

More of his own magic no doubt, but there were no complaints from you as you just rested your head against him, closing your eyes again. He allowed it, so you supposed he was also too tired to do anything differently.

You weren’t sure for how long he would actually stay this way. But for now you would only take comfort in this rarity of intimacy as best you could, breathing in his scent, and savoring the feel of his skin still against yours.

———————————-

It was only the extremely persistent calling of seagulls that finally woke you. Groggily you yawned, only startled as you realized yourself fully naked and for one chaotic moment could not remember how in Gaia’s name you got that way.

You sat up abruptly as the green cloak fell away from your bare body. But the silky feel of it brought you back to reality as you ran your hand out across it.

The sunlight was shining brightly into the cave. The fire long gone, and Loki along with it as you now sat alone here. All his clothes that had been stacked against the wall were also gone. Though with some bit of humor you realized your dress was now neatly folded beside the edge of the cloak for you to find. Quite far removed from its original point of just being piled beside the wall last night.

Though with him gone it was interesting that none of the nymphs had yet joined you. Perhaps they had just been too polite. But when you saw those same annoyingly loud gulls with some now walking up and down nervously at the cave entrance, you realized them for what they were.

You pulled Loki’s cloak back around yourself before laying back down, even while calling out. “You can come in, girls! I’m awake!”

With that a flurry of seagulls immediately flew into the cave, landing all around. And in moments they were all beautiful sea nymphs again, staring at you expectantly.

“You cannot tell my father, okay?” Was the very first thing you said as they all nodded highly enthusiastically.

But when you didn’t say anything immediately more, you could tell they were all about to explode in anticipation. “Yes, we coupled. Yes, I’d do it again.” You finally said.

They all squealed, no doubt realizing as well how badly you’d wished for his return in the last weeks. Yet that was also when the questions came.

“But was he better than an Olympian?”

“Was he tender, or rough? Did he try to please you, milady?”

“Was he big? I’ve heard everything is bigger up north. Aren’t they from the north?”

“My gods, girls, I don’t know. It’s not like I do this all the time.” You grumbled a little, curling up further into his cloak. It still smelled like him you realized. A rich scent, likely whatever it was that the royal quarters in Asgard smelled like.

“Oh we know! But it’s just, oh this is so exciting! You’ve finally taken a lover!”

Though as they continued to chat away, you did think of something you could actually ask them in return.

“When did he leave anyway? Did you see him?” You questioned.

“Oh,” They considered this for a moment. “Before sunrise surely, but we were um, asleep...most of us. We roosted outside the cave to wait for you, goddess.”

“I followed him!” Another one said. “But he told me to leave him be and go home.”

“What form were you in?” You asked, surprised he would so quickly recognize a nymph if in another form.

“Oh...well I was a seal.”

You blinked, imagining the ridiculousness of a nosy seal trying to inconspicuously waddle behind Loki all the way back up the beach and hillside last night.

“You should have been a small shorebird, and stuck to the trees to watch from a distance.” You commented.

“Ah, yes, that probably would have worked well.” They agreed.

You sighed a little, but it didn’t matter much regardless. As much as you still wanted to savor last night, Loki was already gone again. Which also meant that once again you could only wonder when, if ever, he might see fit to see you once more.

He’d already showed his capacity to fake his own injuries just to lure you in faster. So there was always the possibility that everything, all of it, had just been some elaborate scheme to bed you. And with that pleasure won, he may only be off to his next challenge far away from here.

You would have to accept whatever the Fates allowed, because what other choice did you have? But there was still no question. If you could see him again, you would gladly do so.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

#loki fanfic #loki smut #loki x reader #loki x original female character #loki x oc #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki #loki odinson #loki odison x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki fandom #loki of asgard #loki layfeyson x reader #loki layfeyson imagine

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keyboardink · 3 years ago

Text

“crushed”

Sam and Deena are completely oblivious that their feelings are mutual, especially when Sam thinks Deena and Kate are together and Peter enters the picture.

pairing: samantha “sam” fraser x deena johnson / media: fear street trilogy

genre: friends to lovers, angst with hurt/comfort & fluff / word count: 2.6k / rating: pg-13 / warnings: bullying, a bit of swearing

a/n: so this is an au where deena and sam aren’t exes so sam never left shadyside (& kate isn’t all “screw ur ex” ya know). also kate is bi and no one dies. this is based mainly off 1994 (since 1666 hasn’t come out yet haha). please lmk if you like this & want more fear street fics from me. enjoy! :)

"I still can't believe you're dating a Sunnyvaler," Kate said, popping a potato chip into her mouth.

"Doesn't that totally go against the rules of this town?" Simon chimed in, stealing a tater tot from Sam's lunch tray.

"Oh, please," Sam scoffed, swatting Simon's hand away as he reached for a second piece. "He's actually a nice guy if you got to know him."

"Since when has the star quarterback ever been a nice guy?" Kate replied, earning a raised eyebrow from Simon. "Look, just because I cheer for them doesn't mean I like them."

The stiff wooden table rattled as Deena dropped into a seat across from Sam and next to Kate. She tried to pull her bomber jacket around herself quickly--

"New shirt?" Kate asked.

--but she wasn't quick enough.

"No," Deena sighed, letting the jacket hang open to expose a black, skin-tight tank top underneath. It used to be her favorite, previously baggy in all the right places, but it returned from her last laundry day one-size-too-small. "It just shrunk in the wash and I was running late." She kept her eyes down, focused on the unappetizing cafeteria food in front of her.

Kate eyed her for a moment, then looked over at Sam, who was practically drooling over this new shirt that provided a perfect V-shaped view from where she was sitting.

"I know you're not a fan of tight clothes," Kate countered, "but it looks nice on you. Makes your boobs look amazing."

Deena playfully elbowed Kate's arm, a small smile brightening her downcast expression.

Sam watched the two girls as it unfolded - the low-cut shirt, the raised eyebrows from Kate as she scanned Deena's body, the laughter following her joking shove. Had she imagined the flickers of lighthearted tension between them? She averted her gaze, envy bubbling up in her throat. She pulled her tucked hair out from behind her ears to cover the burning, red blush she felt building there.

"So, what were you guys talking about?" Deena asked, insecurity still swimming in her mind despite Kate's compliment. She looked up at Sam, who appeared to be too interested in her tater tots to hear the shirt dilemma. Although she was somewhat relieved, she felt a pang of disappointment at Sam's disinterest; she was the only person Deena had hoped would look at her.

"Sam's got a new boyfriend," Simon answered, his voice half-muffled by a mouthful of dull-brown burger, oblivious to the sideways glances being thrown around the table.

"And he's from Sunnyvale," Kate added, spitting out the town name as though it tasted worse than the school lunch.

"What? Isn't that, like, against town law or something?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Simon accidentally spewed small chunks of meat on his tray in the midst of his excitement.

"What's his name?" Deena covered herself with her jacket again.

"Peter."

"Peter? Oh, come on, you could've at least picked a guy who didn't have a basic name," Simon rolled his eyes, as if 'Simon' was the most unique name on the planet.

"Honestly, yeah, kinda sounds a little too basic," Deena said, her eyebrows furrowed. She felt a heat tightening within her chest. She was angry at herself, at Sam, at the world.

"I'm not making him up, if that's what you're suggesting." Sam cast a glare across the table, but it didn't stop them.

"Which Peter? I mean, there's Peter Williams, Peter Anderson, Peter Moore..." Simon counted along on his fingers.

"Oh, no," Deena interrupted, a smirk pulling her lips. "He goes to another school. You wouldn't know him."

The two threw their heads back and laughed. Deena felt the fury in her chest loosen slightly, a bit of relief found in the pain she caused others. It was her defense mechanism: when the world turns to shit, you act even worse - that's how you survive.

Sam was on her feet, her eyes full of tears and frustration. "His name's Peter Brody, and he's number 29 on the Sunnyvale football team, and he's actually a good fucking guy, unlike you." Her eyes narrowed, focusing on Deena, who suddenly didn't find the whole thing all that funny anymore.

And with that, Sam picked up her lunch tray, turned on her heel, and walked out of the cafeteria.

***

Monday dragged on, every class seeming longer than usual for both Sam and Deena as they sat in separate silences. Though apart, they each felt the same waves of guilt, anger, and sadness wash over them in cycles as clocks ticked their way to the end of the school day.

Deena was walking out of band practice, which had only extended her already-exhausting day, when she spotted a familiar head of blonde leaning against the cinder-block wall across the hallway.

"Hey," Sam said, reaching her hand out slightly. Her hair was tied back, adorned with an azure bow, and she wore her cheerleading uniform to match.

Deena stopped as guilt flooded her lungs once again. "Hey," she replied in a whisper muffled by her emotions.

"I just got out of practice. Want to walk together?"

Deena could tell Sam was lying. Kate normally waited with her, and they would both be shiny with sweat. The water bottle in Sam's hand was almost empty, meaning she had likely been waiting for quite a while.

Deena nodded, and they started to make their way towards the exit that led to the student lot.

"I just wanted to say sorry," Sam began, "for earlier. It was pretty shitty of me to say that."

"Yeah, but I was being shitty, too." Deena pushed open the heavy, navy-blue door. Sunlight blinded both of them. "I just can't believe you'd get a boyfriend and not tell me."

Sam stayed silent, unable to come up with a reply. Deena had been the first person she wanted to tell, but Kate saw Peter grab her ass after last weekend's game, and suddenly her boyfriend was all anyone could talk about. Sam didn't even know why she had agreed to go out with him in the first place. Everyone had said it must've been a prank, because why else would a Sunnyvaler date a Shadysider? Something about the whole relationship gave Sam a twinge of nausea if she thought about it too much, so she just tried not to think about it.

But she had wanted to tell Deena. She had wanted to see if she would be even a little jealous at the idea of her having a boyfriend. It just hadn't played out that way.

"See you tomorrow?" Sam said, stopping at the curb.

"Is your dad picking you up?" Deena looked around for the familiar, beat-up Ford that Sam's father drove, but to no avail.

"He should be here soon."

Deena knew he had a tendency to flake on his daughter, despite being the one who got custody in their divorce battle. Although Deena hated him for his neglect, she was silently, selfishly grateful that Sam didn't move to Sunnyvale with her mom. Regardless, if her dad wasn't here now, the sun would probably set before he'd remember to show up.

"Come on," Deena said. "I'll drive you home."

The drive was almost-silent. A disc played Pixies at a volume low enough to just barely understand over the sound of rumbling tires on uneven gravel. Sam's house was a bit out of the way for Deena, but as she was slowly realizing, she'd do almost anything for her.

"Thanks for the ride," Sam smiled sheepishly, pulling her backpack up from the floor. She started to open the car door, then hesitated. "Actually, wait, can I ask you something?"

Deena's heart leapt into her throat. "Shoot."

"Are you and Kate, um... like, together, at all?"

"What? No, no no no." A chuckle slipped past Deena's lips at the idea.

Sam must've thought Deena was laughing at her, because she felt her ears grow warm in embarrassment. "Oh, sorry, I just thought... I saw how you two were at lunch today and it just, I don't know. I thought you weren't telling me something." Sam looked at her sneakers, almost pristine white with the exception of faded grass stains on the toes.

"No, we're just friends, I promise. We've been best friends forever. I mean, she was there when I first got boobs, so, I mean, that's just how we are." Deena immediately cringed at that sentence. Way to make it better, dumbass, she thought.

"Oh. Okay. She just talks about you all the time to me, whenever we're at practice, you know? She'll say things like 'Damn, didn't Deena look really good today?' to me, like, all the time."

Deena let herself laugh at that. "Oh, really? Wooow. Good to know."

"I mean, from that I just kind of assumed that you guys had a thing. How could I not, right?"

Deena nodded, understanding that Kate's comments were her attempts at being a good wingman and not confessions of underlying feelings. "Kate and I both like girls, yeah, but not each other, not like that." Deena's gaze flickered over Sam's face, taking in her eyes, her ears, her lips. "Definitely not like that," she added in a soft whisper.

Sam looked up and smiled sweetly, her stare lingering for a moment too long before she returned to the moment. "Well, thanks again for the ride. See you tomorrow." She gave an adorable little wave as she stepped out of Deena's car.

"See ya," Deena replied, her stomach fluttery.

***

The days passed, and the friend group of four had returned to almost-normal. The only thing out of place happened on Friday night, after the second football game of the season. Normally, they would all grab pizza and watch a movie after the game, but this time was different.

"Peter invited me to a Sunnyvale party," Sam explained when they met in the middle of the field as the crowd started to file out. "Maybe next week?"

So Deena, Kate, and Simon ate their pizza without Sam, feeling a tangible emptiness where she would normally be.

Kate's house was on the so-called "good side" of town, where the roads had less potholes and the houses had more structure. It was the most Sunnyvale-esque part of Shadyside. Her living room was homey, with family portraits on the walls and a couch that was lived-in but not worn-out. They had rented Candyman from the town's Blockbuster, which played on Kate's boxy TV.

"I don't like this," Simon said, chewing a pepperoni slice.

Kate responded without looking at him. "The pizza or the movie?"

"Actually, I like both of those things," Simon replied with conviction. "I was talking about Sam. It feels... I don't know, lonely?"

"What are we, chopped liver?" Deena joked.

"I mean, some days you can come close to it," he teased back.

They all returned their attention to the movie, red and white light bouncing across their faces. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door at the exact moment a jump-scare flashed on-screen, causing the trio to startle.

"I'll get it," Deena offered, jumping up from her seat.

She opened the front door to reveal Sam, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her hair was slick and her blue uniform looked damp. Her arms were wrapped around herself as she shivered in the cool October air.

"What the fuck happened?" Deena stepped out of the way to let Sam in.

Simon and Kate scrambled to join them when they realized who had arrived.

"Oh my God, what happened?" Kate plucked her school cardigan off the coatrack and wrapped it around Sam's shoulders.

"Did Petey break up with you?" Simon asked. "I mean, you guys were only dating a week. It couldn't've been that serious, right?"

Kate elbowed Simon in the stomach at his insensitive comment, eliciting a pained groan from him.

Sam hugged the cardigan around herself, but moved her arms enough to reveal "IT" scribbled in black Sharpie under her cheerleading uniform's "SH".

"What the fuck?" Deena repeated, this time more to herself than Sam.

"God, those assholes really have no idea how much uniforms cost," Kate muttered.

"And they... they p-poured ice water on m-me," Sam stuttered just as Simon returned from the living room with a throw blanket. She gave him a grateful smile as she enveloped herself in it.

"C'mon, let's sit down, alright?" Kate suggested. "You want a hot cocoa?"

Sam nodded and followed Deena and Simon to the couch, while Kate split off to the kitchen.

"They poured ice water on you?" Deena asked as she sat next to Sam, a hand around her shoulders.

"Th-they got someone to hold my arms back so they c-could write 'shit' on me, and then someone came outside with a bucket, and-" A small sob came out of Sam's throat, and another tear rolled down her cheek.

Deena didn't stop herself before reaching up and wiping it away. She let her fingers stay there for a moment, unable to think clearly.

Simon stood up quietly, making a hushed excuse about helping Kate with the hot chocolate before disappearing into the kitchen.

"He's such a douchebag," Deena muttered, furious that someone would hurt such a sweet creature like Sam. "I'm so sorry. I'll kick his ass for you."

Sam chuckled at her offer. "Can I watch?"

Deena laughed softly at her response, then realized that her hand was still pressed against Sam's cheek and pulled it away. She let it fall onto her leg, but Sam reached over and rested her own hand on Deena's.

After a minute of silence, Sam had almost stopped sniffling when she spoke again. "I don't even know why I agreed to go out with him. Like, damn, he's not even that hot. I could've at least gotten played by a hot guy." Sam half-giggled at herself then sighed. "I should've seen it coming."

"Hey, it's not your fault," Deena said, placing her other hand on top of Sam's. Her hand was cold and delicate between hers, and she hoped that holding it would provide some warmth to her.

"If I'm being honest," Sam continued, "I think I only really went out with him to forget about this other crush."

"Hold up, you never told me about that. Who is it?"

Deena's obliviousness faded away as Sam looked up at her with wide eyes. The jealousy, the talk in her car, the longing that filled the space between them now - at this moment, it all clicked into place.

"Oh," Deena whispered.

"Deena," Sam spoke, hushed as she leaned forward. "Can I...?"

"Please," Deena breathed as their lips touched, soft and scared and new all at once. The thought of crossing a line beyond the point of return flashed through their minds, but it seemed as though they both wanted to push the boundaries. Sam's free hand cupped Deena's cheek shyly, as Deena squeezed her other hand between hers. They treated each other carefully, as though kissing too hard might break the other, which would be a crime worse than death.

"YES!" Kate shouted, giving Simon a high-five. Some hot chocolate spilled out of the mug in her other hand and onto the floor, but they were both too enthusiastic to care.

"Finally, you guys!" Simon ran over to them, wrapping them both in a wide hug from behind the couch as a giant grin spread on his face.

"You guys were watching?!" Deena asked. She felt her cheeks flush as she pulled away.

"Duh!" Simon answered. "We've been waiting for this!"

"Took you guys for-fucking-ever," Kate said with a smile, handing Sam her cup.

Sam held the cup up to her newly-warmed lips, courtesy of Deena, and took a sip, looking over the edge at her. Deena saw her blue eyes crinkle into a smile, and her mouth returned the sweet sentiment.

#inkwrites #deena johnson x sam fraser #fear street #fear street 1994 #sam fraser #samantha fraser #deena johnson #deena johnson x samantha fraser #samantha fraser x deena johnson #sam fraser x deena johnson #fear street fic #wlw #sam fraser fic #samantha fraser fic #deena johnson fic #fluff #angst #friends to lovers #fear street au

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ihearthes · 4 years ago

Photo

Golden Rod

(inspired by Golden MV)

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (2nd person) Rating: Smut (18+ only) Word Count: 2829

“Thanks for the ride, Ryan!” you call, waving at Lambert’s assistant as he drives away to the garages on the Vesta. “Ciao!”

Excited to show Harry your new lingerie, you enter the villa where the team has been staying. “Is he done for the day, Ben?” The words are muffled behind the cloth mask you’ve insisted is essential despite the drop in Italy’s coronavirus cases.

The Fulwell 73 producer points upstairs without a word before bending over the video footage he’s scouring with the director. The opulent surroundings have been modernized, and you grin while mounting the stairs to the top floor where the master suite consumes the entire space. From the expansive open windows, you view the Tyrrhenian Sea, causing you to literally pinch yourself. How had life blessed you in such a way? Giddy, you continue up the stone steps.

Kicking off your sandals, you curl your toes into the cool, smooth tile. Fuck. This had been the perfect day. Swimming in the infinity pool during the morning with endless fresh fruits at your fingertips whenever you stepped out of the water to feel the warm sun on your skin. A socially distanced lunch of Insalata Di Mare Campanese (Seafood Salad) with Molly in a local restaurant. A trip to the stores with the adorable stylist Ryan -- where he’d introduced you to a new designer of gloriously sexy lingerie!

You’d bought four pieces.

Harry was going to love all of them, and you couldn’t wait to showcase them in your own private fashion show on the secure top floor of the Italian villa.

Stopping in the marbled bathroom, you draw in a deep breath at the chill on your heated feet. Quickly, you wash your hands, singing “Happy Birthday” twice like you’d been taught to ensure 20 seconds has elapsed. No way were you going to be responsible for inadvertently passing along the virus to your boyfriend during the Golden music video shoot. He’d end up missing out on filming the music video and the upcoming Don’t Worry Darling if he tested positive. Carefully removing your mask, you toss it into the laundry hamper before washing your hands a second time.

Tiptoeing out of the bath, you wonder where the man of the hour might be. Napping? Nope. Not in the bed. On the loggia, you spy Harry settled in a chair, staring into space.

“Can’t blame you, Styles. That’s one hell of a view.” Gazing over the colorful boats moored in the sea near the coast, your eyes feast on the sky with its tints of reds, pinks, yellows, and oranges as the sun begins to sink into the water. Honestly, you expect to hear a sizzle as the bright ball of gases descends into the blue serenity of the sea.

“Indeed.” His quiet voice doesn’t sound normal for Harry, and you approach slowly, like one might a wounded deer. Wouldn’t want to frighten him away.

“Harry!” The gasp leaves your throat, and you press your hand to your mouth to capture the sound too late as it has already escaped. “What the hell happened to your knee?”

He shrugs, finally glancing in your direction. “Skinned it. Hi, love. Did you have a good day?”

“I had a beautiful day, but what the fuck did you do to your knee?” Crouching down, you examine the spot where blood is flowing. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but enough that you want to clean it. “My poor baby,” you coo, “Let me clean that for you.”

Rising, you glide to the bathroom again.

“Bring some ice too, love,” he requests, tacking on a “please” at the last minute.

Stopping in the suite’s tiny kitchen, you search the small freezer for ice as requested. Ransacking the cabinets in the bathroom, you manage to locate cotton balls, an antiseptic, and a bandage. Returning to Harry, you kneel at his feet. “This might sting a bit.” Cautiously, you cover the cotton ball with the antiseptic and press it to his wound.

He winces, but the only sound he releases is a mild hiss.

“Sorry, baby.”

“It’s not a big deal, love.”

As the blood vanishes with its absorption into the cotton ball, you agree with him. The wound is relatively minor. Should form a scab in the next day or so. Carefully, you remove the adhesive from the bandage and press it over the small scratch.

“Don’t worry, darling,” you tease, “you’ll heal soon enough.”

“Gonna run that one into the ground, aren’t you?” he jokes.

“Might as well,” your shrug, grinning. “Don’t worry, H. You’re so golden.” His smile gives away his mirth at the pun. “Soon enough, you’ll be done filming, and moving on to something else. And I’ll give you hell about whatever the next thing is too.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he confesses with intense eye contact, and your insides start to flutter.

As an afterthought, you hold up a bag of frozen peas. “No ice, H. I’m so American that I forgot Europeans don’t do much ice. Will this do?”

“Sure.” Grabbing the bag of peas, he smirks before placing it on his crotch.

You raise an eyebrow. “Your dick needs ice?”

His eyes rake over you. “Kind of went running without an athletic supporter today.”

Planting your hands on your hips, you glare at him. “Why would you damage the goods like that?”

Raising his shoulders, he grins, “The fans will love it.”

Your lower lip juts out as you pout at him. “Does that mean it’s off limits to me?”

“It’s sore, love. Not broken.” Harry emphasizes, but that doesn’t make you feel any better.

“But I’ve got lingerie,” you state clearly.

He sits up quickly, shifting the bag of frozen peas on his crotch. “You do?”

“Yep.” You allow the ‘P’ to pop. “Ryan introduced me to a new designer. I bought four sets.”

“Fuck,” he breathes.

“Not with your dick wounded,” you remind him with a tiny hitch in your breathy voice.

“Fuck,” he repeats.

“Should I model the first one or wait until tomorrow?” You’re definitely pushing the envelope here, yet how dare he give fans priority to his most precious bits?!

Eyes darkening, he sweeps his gaze over your light trousers and loose shirt. “Ummmm...now please.”

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t want you to hurt your dick more.”

The exasperated roll of his eyes makes you smile. “I wanna see, love.”

Examining him, you come to the conclusion that he’s an adult and knows what he wants. With a nod, you grasp the handle of the bag from the designer. “Be right back!” Hurrying to the bedroom, you set the bag down before rummaging in it for the most sedate look: a white lacy baby doll bit that hits mid-thigh and comes with a long peignoir. Putting on frilly high heeled slipper with it, you strut in front of him with the robe tightly covering your body, watching as his eyes darken.

“Like this one?”

“Shit, love. It’s…”

When you part the edges to reveal the concoction underneath, Harry has to catch his breath, shifting in the seat as he adjusts the frozen peas.

“Hot?” you taunt.

“Mhm. Come here, and check my temperature.” His voice is throaty, and you recognize the signs quite easily.

“Nope. Three more to go before I get within touching distance, H. Sorry.”

“Dammit,” He mockingly shakes his head. “You know I could easily see all of them on separate nights. Let’s just start with this one.”

Purposely, you push your lip out in a pout. “But then the other lingerie would get jealous, and Ryan went to a lot of effort to get me a private viewing. After all, this stuff isn’t available to the general public.”

“No?” He sighs, and you catch the hitch in his comment. “Bring on the second one then.”

Confidently, you swagger from the room. With shaky hands, you withdraw the bright red lace camisole and boy short. Is this the appropriate one to wear next? The red might just push him over the edge. Best to stay out of his reach then. Smirking, you pull the outfit on and waltz onto the balcony with a twirl, your hair on pointe as its curls bounced with you.

“Holy fuck. That’s the second one?” His strangled cry makes you laugh in joy.

“How’s that cock feeling now?” you gesture in the direction of his crotch.

“The peas have melted I believe.”

“Mhm. Maybe you should go get something else from the freezer then.”

“Nah. I’d rather you come get this bag for me. I might be too injured to walk inside.”

“Oh, you’re so funny. I know this game. I get close to you, and the other two lingerie outfits never see the light of day. Nope. You want more frozen food for your genitals, you can get it yourself.” Laughing, you smack your rounded ass as you amble into the bedroom again.

“Fuck!” Harry yells behind you.

The dialogue combined with the strutting has your pussy feeling damp as the waves of arousal rush over you. Sure you’d fucked last night, but today was a new day, and you wanted to feel that dick inside you -- regardless of the damage he did by jogging in the city for the video.

The third one is pink -- and you’re well aware from experience how much Harry loves pink. The baby doll dress is silk and lands just at the top of your thighs with a black lace bodice that laces in the middle. Kind of laces anyway. Plenty of boob still visible. Or barely hidden. Whichever you prefer.

“Oh my god. You’re killing me!” Harry whines as you parade just out of his reach. When he starts to rise, you shake a finger at him.

“No, no, H. You need to recuperate from running today. Better stay seated.”

He chokes as you twist around to show him all sides, including the g-string with its bare backside.

“You’re evil!” he calls as you dance back into the bedroom.

This is the final one, and you prepare carefully. It takes extra time to put on, and you smile as you observe your image in the room’s mirror. Deftly, you slip a couple of condoms in the bodice of the bralette.

You find a playlist of romantic Italian music and set it to play on the Bluetooth speaker in the bedroom, ensuring the volume is high enough to be heard on the loggia.

Harry gasps the moment he sees you. “You’re not wearing anything under that!”

Playfully you glance down at the last lingerie set. “Oh, damn. I guess when I put the garter skirt and stockings on, I must have forgotten the panties. Forgive me?”

His head bobs up and down as he gulps.

“Now,” you murmur, approaching him. Grasping a pillow from a nearby chair, you plop it on the floor in front of him, settling on your knees there. “I think the best thing is if I take a look at this dick to make sure you didn’t do too much damage.”

Removing the no-longer-frozen peas, you toss the bag to the side. No one will be eating those. Ever. Silently, Harry waits while you carefully peel down the top of his elasticized shorts and remove his cock. You have to catch your breath every time you get to glimpse it, and today is no exception.

Your mouth waters, and you lick your lips as you hold his rigid length in your hand, your eyes flickering up to his where he’s staring intently at you. Maintaining eye contact, you run your tongue over the tip of his cock, paying extra attention to the slit there.

“Mmmm,” you murmur. “The tip seems to be okay. Let me check the length.”

Using your saliva as lubrication, you run your hands down his shaft to his balls. “Doesn’t appear to be broken,” you smirk, “In fact, seems pretty solid and firm to me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, “Might want to apply some suction there, love, just in case.”

You don’t really care what he means by that last phrase. You’re more than happy to test out the equipment to ensure that it’s in full working order. Spreading his legs more firmly, you lean in, sliding his entire dick into your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. Harry grasps the hair at the back of your hand, bunching it in his hand as he guides you along his length. You hear him sigh, and you’re confident he’s tilted his head back and closed his eyes, but when you glance at him, you find that his eyes are still on your lips.

Fuck. It turns you on even more, and you can feel your pussy dripping onto the pillow. You make a mental note to remove the cover and wash it before leaving the villa.

As your lips glide along him, you’re frustrated at not having full access to him. As you apply suction to his tip, you pop off him with an audible sound. Both of your hands reach for the waistband of his shorts, and you gently encourage him -- “Lift your bum, H” -- so you can fully remove the garment, throwing it over your shoulder and hoping it doesn’t sail into the pool below. Harry smiles, adjusting his stance into the biggest man spread you’ve ever seen.

Before you return to your ministrations on his cock, you grasps your chin, drawing your face forward and upwards until he can lock lips with you.

“Not much longer, love, or I’ll explode.”

“I don’t mind,” you purr.

“Mhm. But if we’re fully going to test the equipment, then that should include more than a bj.”

“Ah, I see,” you grin. “But of course. We want to be thorough.”

First, though, you are compelled to play with his balls, so you take him into your mouth again, adding one hand to his length while the fingers on the other play with the balls underneath. Fuck. You could do this all day. Breathing through your nose, you deepthroat him and suck for a solid ten seconds before you release him completely.

With a grin, you stand, kicking aside the pillow. “Hmmmmm...trying to decide the best way to do this.” Your voice has a catch in it, and you wipe your mouth before bending over and capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Tongue darting forward, you taste him, allowing him to suckle your tongue briefly.

As you come up for air, Harry moves his legs together while slipping his hand between yours and nudging your legs apart. With one finger he teases your clit, flicking it from side to side as he watches your face and eases another digit inside you. Oh hell. This feels…

“Fuck, H.”

“You’re so tight, baby. Come sit here. Let’s test out the equipment. Make sure everything works properly.”

At his invitation, you step forward as he shifts his bum down on the chair a bit.

“Shit. I forgot…”

With his words, you remove the first condom from your bralette where it has conveniently been nuzzling your nipple, the hard corner of the foil packet hardening your nip.

Grasping his dick, he uses the tip to slap at your pussy a few times before using your internal juices to lubricate himself. Your eyes roll back into your head as the two of you work together so you can slide onto him without any additional moments wasted.

When you’re fully seated on his dick, you grind just for a moment.

“Hmmmm...seems sturdy enough,” you pant.

“Oh, you’re so funny,” he drawls, but his eyes roll back in his head when you glide along his length, your stockinged thighs surrounded by his large hands. “Fuck, love.”

“Working on it,” you laugh breathlessly as the rhythm becomes easier. His hands move to your arse as he assists you in riding him.

Draping your arms over his shoulders, you shake your tits in his face, and he grins as he bends his head to press a kiss at the juncture of your boobs.

As your climax begins to arrive, your movements become less steady and more sporadic. Harry, knowing you as he does, reaches between your bodies to tease your clit as you throw your head back and cry out two thrusts before his seed spurts into the condom and his eyes roll back into his head. Spent, you collapse on his chest, still joined.

“I think,” you whisper as you kiss his neck while playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, “we can agree that the equipment still works just fine. No damage here.” Picking up your head, you glare at him. “But no more, H! What’s mine is mine. The fans get enough of you.”

He laughs as his arms surround you, and he buries his head in your shoulder.

“Of course, love. Whatever you say.”

A/N: Reblogs are love, my readers. If you liked this even just a little tiny bit, please take a second to reblog so that others might find it. Getting likes is nice, but it doesn’t help me grow my readership. Thanks for your consideration!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #my writing #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #1d imagine #harry styles reader insert #original writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #sorry I'm so slow at getting this one finished!#please let me know what you think

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childrenofthenightt · 3 years ago

Text

That’s The Way (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Warning(s): Jimmy and Y/N falling in love at first sight🥺, nsfw insinuations in the beginning but nothing bad, language

Author’s notes: It’s Jimmy time, mates! I’m so sorry for making you wait so long! Slow burns can suck like that sometimes. I hope you’re enjoying the plot so far, and that it wasn’t what you expected! There’s so much more drama to come, though, so I hope you’re excited for that😂 As usual, please enjoy, happy reading, and send us messages if you have theories, comments, music recommendations for the playlist, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

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Y/N’s train ride home from The Yardbirds’ hotel was a constant swirl of what the fucks booming in her mind: what the fuck just happened, what the fuck does this mean, what the fuck am I doing, what the fuck is Jim doing, what the fuck will this become?

Out of all the things on God’s good, green earth he could have wanted, he wanted her to kiss him. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Y/N thought when she initially heard the request. Then, when she questioned it, he escalated it to a blowjob since she thought a kiss was “too tame.” Y/N eventually did kiss Jim, as he wished. She was pretty sure that he still wanted her to kiss him after his little upgrade, and boy, was she right. ‘He called me a princess’, she remembered...what the hell was that supposed to mean?

As contradictory as it was, her mind was racing with so many thoughts, yet, at the same time, none at all. She was in overdrive, unable to think straight. Y/N forced herself to come to her senses as the train neared her stop, since her parents could not see the sheer bewilderment in her eyes and facial expression as she walked into her home. They would ask question after question, interrogating her as if she had committed a crime they had to get to the bottom of. She had to admit, reluctantly, that this was exciting. The star-studded aspect of it, the secrecy… It was a rollercoaster ride, yet Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to get off anytime soon. In the back of her mind, though, she knew this little dalliance wasn’t going to lead to anything serious.

Jim, however, currently sitting at the foot of his bed in an empty hotel room, was in a complete daze. He couldn’t comprehend that this was reality. The most beautiful girl in the whole world had just sucked him off, and then kissed him! She was completely obedient yet willing, and adorably shy, blushing every two seconds. But the kiss. It was dizzyingly soft, sweet, and passionate on her part. To Jim, this meeting of lips was perfect. Addictive. Devastatingly addictive, like a drug. He wanted more. Her lips were something else to taste and feel. He wondered if she would ever come back to him with intimate intentions. Perhaps even to spend the night, or something even more serious. By the way she so often smiled in a bright and enthusiastic way, Jim thought she just might. He had come to the conclusion, after continuously replaying what had happened just minutes ago in his head, that he was falling hopelessly in love with this girl. His Y/N.

Jim had never felt like this before.

And he didn’t know what to do about it.

~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later...

Y/N’s mum had sent her and her brother Charlie by train into London to go grocery shopping, and perhaps to visit Carnaby Street, Portobello Market, and the Oxfam charity shops to get some new clothes for themselves. Pushing the cart around the supermarket, Y/N and Charlie looked intently at the handwritten list their mum had given them.

“Alright, what do we need next?” Y/N asked, her head tilted to see the small piece of paper.

“Uh, we still have to get oatmeal, eggs, and some fruits and vegetables,” Charlie replied, mirroring Y/N’s position as he gazed down at the list in his hands, which was slowly being painted with black ink. They were making good time, all things considered.

“Let’s go to the produce section then, so we can get everything all in one go,” Y/N decided, starting to push the cart in that direction.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Charlie’s nod served as confirmation, and the two walked on, gazes captured every-so-often by the gaggle of people passing by.

Once the two siblings reached their desired destination, Y/N began inspecting the clear clamshell containers of assorted berries as Charlie went to fetch a bag of broccoli florets and a variety of potatoes. As Y/N began placing the fruit in the cart, she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

She turned around to see a very domestic-looking Jeff Beck, pushing around a grocery cart, just like she was. It was odd to see him going about his life as though he was just an ordinary working-class man, especially being the revered guitar god he was. Y/N laughed at the sight as he came over towards her.

“Hi Jeff,” Y/N greeted, walking over to give him a hug.

“Hello darling,” he responded, tilting the girl back and forth in the hug, long arms cradling her against his chest. “How are you doing?”

Y/N looked at him with a small grin after pulling away. An exhale passes through pursed lips as she replies. “As well as I can be, I guess. How ‘bout you?”

“Can’t complain,” he smiled, which then turned a little more solemn. He reached out a hand to place on her upper arm in solace. “I’m still really sorry about Sam, love. I wish I could’ve told you, but he swore me to secrecy… and I don’t want to lose my job just yet.”

“Don’t worry about it, I completely understand. It’s not your fault.” Y/N’s chuckle chimed through the air, much like the birdsongs that seemed to fill the space around them, and she paused, “I’ve done quite a bit of soul-searching recently, and I don’t think I truly loved him...the situation was all so new and exciting, that it made me believe I did. But now, I realize I didn’t.”

“I’m glad you found the light at the end of the tunnel, kid. But that’s life, Y/N. You win some and you lose some.”

“Thank you, Jeff. Really. For being so supportive,” Y/N said in gratitude, as Jeff flashed her a toothy smile.

“Ah, don’t mention it...actually, it’s funny I ran into you because I was actually going to call you, but I… may have lost your number.” A sheepish hand ran through the short hair at the nape of his neck, and Y/N giggles at the man’s hesitancy.

“That’s okay. Here, I’ll write it down for you,” Y/N grinned as she took out a spare piece of paper and a pen from her bag, “what did you need to call me for?”

Jeff watched Y/N’s hands as she scribbled down her number. Her handwriting was neat, soft spirals decorating the ends of her letters. Playful, yet full of grace. Just like her, Jeff thought. “There’s a May Ball at Queen’s College in Oxford on the 18th, and I was wondering if you’d like to come. It’s outdoors, and it should be a nice day.”

As Y/N handed Jeff the piece of paper, he continued. “More importantly, a good friend of mine is attending, and I thought you would like to meet him. You two are pretty similar, so I think you’ll hit it off really well.”

“Do you mean that this meeting is supposed to be a sort of… romantic proposition?” Y/N tilted her head in playful confusion.

Jeff smirked. “Not necessarily. He’s friends with the rest of the guys, so it’s only fair that you meet him, since we consider you a part of our inner circle.”

Y/N grinned at his statement, shaking her head, a chuckle tumbling past her lips. “Well, for the record, Jeff, I’m retired from dating for a while,” she admitted, “the whole thing with Paul shook me up a bit, and I need time to trust again, y’know?”

“Yeah, I understand. But my friend is a nice bloke, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much, or put up a front. If you’re uncomfortable, of course we can—”

Charlie came running up to Y/N’s cart and placed the bags of broccoli and potatoes inside. He then stood next to Y/N to see this stranger that she was talking to. Jeff noticed the little boy who suddenly appeared next to Y/N, and smiled warmly. Pointing to the boy, and changing his voice to be a bit gentler than usual, he asked, “Who’s this, Y/N?”

“This is my little brother Charlie,” Y/N said, softly putting her hand on her brother’s back, bringing him to the forefront. Charlie widely smiled at Jeff, baring his childish grin that was missing a couple teeth. Charlie couldn't wait until they grew in, because it would “finally make him look like a real man”, as he exclaimed so often at home.

Jeff crouched down to Charlie’s level and stuck out his hand to shake Charlie’s. “Nice to meet ya, mate. I’m Jeff, a friend of your sister’s.”

Charlie’s eyes widened as he recognized who this man was. “Jeff Beck?” Charlie asked hopefully, “as in the guitar god, Jeff Beck?”

Jeff chuckled as he looked up at Y/N. “Is this the shit you’ve been feeding him?” Y/N nodded and laughed.

“There’s an ounce of truth in that statement, isn't there, Beck?”

“Yes, I’m Jeff Beck, but I’m just the lead guitarist for The Yardbirds. The guitar god title goes to Hendrix, or Scotty Moore,” Jeff explained. What a humble change of pace for Jeff, Y/N thought.

Jeff stood back up and walked with Y/N and her brother throughout the store, pushing their carts in sync and grabbing food as they went. He asked her about what she was up to musically, and she talked about how she was polishing up some Debussy and Rachmaninoff pieces, as well as fiddling around with some old Fats Domino and Everly Brothers records. Charlie and Jeff bonded over their love of cars, which made Y/N very happy.

~~~~~~~~

18th June 1966

The day of the May Ball came. Y/N was excited for the show, but she didn’t want a sour encounter with Paul to ruin her good time. Jeff had called her earlier in the week to give her instructions on what to do upon arrival, and how to access the backstage area safely.

The backstage area was a white tent with the sides covered. Inside, there were multiple long tables of different distinguished people, such as Mama Cass and Graham Nash. Alcohol and little finger foods littered the tables, served in such abundance that it seemed no one was going to see tomorrow.

Y/N walked over to where she saw her friends, and upon spotting the girl, they all waved and said their cheerful hellos. Y/N walked over to sit with them, and ended up taking a seat between Chris and Jeff, crossing her legs and folding her hands in a sophisticated manner, always the lady she was taught to be. She chose her seat at the table very carefully, sitting very far away from Paul Samwell-Smith.

As everyone chatted away, she noticed there was a tall, thin young man with short, dark wavy hair who sat down in a seat between Jeff and Keith, delicately holding a flute of champagne. He was looped back into the conversation immediately, as if he had known the band his whole life. When Y/N saw him, her heart stopped.

This new boy was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He looked like an English James Dean; with the kind of attractiveness that anyone, male or female, completely swooned over with a single glance. This stranger could get anything he wanted at the drop of a hat, with his gorgeous looks and his graceful countenance. He had a sullen, mysterious edge to him, but he also looked gentle and sweet at the same time. He had eyes as green as a forest full of lush deciduous trees, flawlessly framed by dark, bushy eyebrows and accented by long, thick eyelashes. His nose was adorable, petite as it was, and his lips were full and pouty. His smile and laugh made Y/N melt on the inside, his perfectly straight teeth illuminating his porcelain face.

For a moment, Y/N thought she was in love. She was pulled back from her daydream quickly, though, because Jeff realized that now was the perfect opportunity to introduce his two friends.

“Y/N, this is my friend Jimmy, who I was telling you about,” Jeff said, getting Y/N’s attention. Y/N grinned as she refocused on the situation.

Jimmy turned towards Jeff when he heard his name, and that’s when he saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, sitting right next to Jeff. Lucky bastard.

His breath hitched in his throat upon sight of this girl. She was perfect; she looked like an actual angel. The way her hair, soft-looking and slightly wispy in the light summer wind, cascaded down her shoulders; her doe-eyes seemed to twinkle in the dimming light of day, pulling him in like the strongest of currents. Her pillowy, supple lips encased a perfect smile, slightly crooked. It was, like the rest of her, completely endearing.

It was then, looking at this beautiful woman, (Y/N… Jeff had said her name, hadn't he?) that Jimmy remembers he was taken. His girlfriend, Jackie DeShannon, was waiting for him at home, but he only had eyes for the girl in front of him, and it would stay that way, it seemed.. He had to get to know her.

Jimmy snapped out of his hypnosis in the nick of time. He softly smiled at Y/N, a smile that made Y/N’s insides lurch, holding out his hand for her to shake as he turned on the charm. “Jimmy Page,” he initiated, his voice being softer and more calming than Y/N expected.

Y/N shyly smiled at him, a dark pink flush gracing her natural complexion, as she reached out to grasp his hand. “Y/N Y/L/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Jeff has told me about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Jimmy chuckled.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Y/N beamed, a feigned contemplative look on her face.

“How do you know Jeff?” Jimmy asked, turning his body towards her, now fully invested in getting to know Y/N.

“I met him...a year ago I wanna say? Is that right, Jeff? At a Yardbirds gig at the Marquee,” Y/N asked for clarification. The last thing she wanted to do is lie about Jeff to Jimmy, even if it was something as insignificant as this. In addition, she wanted to use Jeff as a temporary crutch in the conversation. Jimmy’s beauty was making her feel shyer than she already was; she felt as if she was curling into herself.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jeff intervened, “but she didn’t just meet me, she met the whole band.”

Jeff immediately noticed that the band was leaving the table to get ready to go on stage. Jimmy and Y/N didn’t even notice the table’s departure because they were so wrapped up in each other’s presence and words. Jimmy even moved a seat over to get closer to Y/N, although he said it was an attempt to “hear her better since the room was so loud of drunken buffoons”. Y/N had giggled at that, and it had sounded like music to the man’s ears. Jimmy was completely taken with her, as easy as it was to see.

“Wait, so how do you know Jeff?” Y/N asked curiously.

“I've known him since I was… gosh… thirteen or fourteen? We bonded over the guitar and blues. Indian music, too,” Jimmy grinned, taking a sip of his warming champagne.

“You play the guitar too?” Y/N gasped. Jimmy nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Oh jeez, I should’ve known! No wonder you’re tight with the Yardbirds,” she giggled.

Jimmy’s eyes twinkled at her now-flustered demeanor. “You’re okay, Y/N,” he chuckled, placing a hand gently on her forearm. Y/N felt her entire body break out into chills.

“I’m a session musician, actually,” he began, his hand lingering on the girl’s arm, for what seemed like a millennium to Y/N. “I’d hate to simplistically explain what a session musician is to someone like you if you already know what it is.” It sounded like he was holding back a bout of embarrassed laughter. “You must be quite intelligent, especially in matters of music, if Jeff has stuck by you for all this time.”

Y/N smiled bashfully. He’s so sensitive, she thought dreamily. “Yes, I know what a session musician is,” she giggled, “I’ve been a piano player all my life, so I know a thing or two about what you blokes are talking about when it comes to music.”

Jimmy’s heart began to thump a little faster as his smile widened. “Wow! That’s brilliant. Are you classically trained then?”

“Yes, but I do know quite a bit of blues numbers.”

“Oh, so you really know what you’re talking about! I have to admit, although I am a session musician, I’m not particularly good at reading music. Maybe you could teach me a few things about sight reading and we can jam some time?”

Y/N blushed as her lips pursed together in a grin. “I would love that. We’d have so much fun!” The way that Y/N’s full lips twisted together in a smile looked so damn kissable to Jimmy.

“My girlfriend was actually supposed to teach me music theory, but we never got around to it, unfortunately,” Jimmy continued.

“Ah, okay. Well, if you give me a time, date, and place, we can definitely make it work,” Y/N beamed.

“Wonderful!” An awkward, pregnant pause filled the space, and Y/N cleared her throat, unconsciously sliding closer to Jimmy. There was almost a magnetic pull to him, and Y/N was caught up in it.

“So, what’s it like being a session musician? I’m sure you get asked that all the time,” Y/N laughed.

Jimmy smiled. “It’s quite grueling, brutal at times, but I find it fulfilling. One mistake, and you’re fired, so it’s a lot of pressure.”

“Oh wow! That must be horrible to deal with.”

“Yeah, sometimes the pressure can really settle into you, but for me it dissipates once I’m in the booth. There’s three sessions a day, five days a week, so I don’t have much time for leisure. It’s been getting really dry lately since all I’m playing is rhythm guitar. I love experimentation and stretching out on lead guitar, so constant rhythm is getting quite annoying.”

“I understand where you’re coming from then, from a creative standpoint. How long have you been a session player?”

“Four years, roughly.”

“You must be quite dedicated then!” Y/N exclaimed, “who have you played with?”

“Oh gosh,” Jimmy exhaled deeply, calloused fingers raising to land on his chin. Slight stubble shadows it, and the sharp scent of aftershave wafted towards the girl. Lost in the scent, Y/N nearly missed his reply. “The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, Donovan, The Who, Petula Clark, Jackie DeShannon, Carter Lewis and the Southerners, Neil Christian and the Crusaders, Herman’s Hermits, Marianne Faithfull… just to name a few.”

“Wow! What a resumé!” she gushed, “That’s incredible. You should be so proud, Jimmy.”

“Thank you very much, love, I appreciate it.”

Suddenly, an announcer’s booming voice cut through Jimmy and Y/N’s conversation as he introduced the Yardbirds to the stage. As the five men walked on, Jimmy stood up from his chair.

“Come with me to the wings so we can see and hear them better,” he smiled, holding out his arm for Y/N to take. Y/N agreed, standing up and linking her arm with Jimmy’s as they walked in sync to the side of the stage.

The first few numbers were played perfectly, and it was clear that the audience (and even the road crew) were enchanted by the spectacle. Y/N knew from past shows that the next song would be “Train Kept A-Rollin’,” and she knew that they always knocked that one out of the park. It was always stimulating and explosive.

Jeff and Chris began the opening riff, the low E, G, and A notes thundering out of the monitors melodically. Just as Keith sang “got a train” on his cue, he fell straight backward and hit his head off Jim’s bass drum. Jimmy and Y/N’s jaws dropped in shock as a loud gasp echoed through the air from the audience. The music abruptly stopped as the rest of the band crowded around Keith’s fallen figure to see if he was alright. Murmurings of “fucking hells” were all that were spoken from the road crew as they tried to redeem the concert.

“He was drunk,” Jimmy whispered to Y/N giddily, “he was completely out to lunch and wobbling as he walked onstage.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Y/N replied quietly with a grin, “that definitely explains all the empty bottles and glasses on the table.”

Momentarily, Keith got back up and motioned for the band to restart “Train Kept A-Rollin’” and they finished the song without another mishap. The rest of the set was completed smoothly, and everything sounded sonically incredible. Jimmy and Y/N stood close together the entire time, Jimmy sneaking glances at Y/N from time to time. He lost his breath with the way her eyes were almost aglow in the fading light, and her soft-looking lips parted in childlike wonder as she watched the live music.

The Yardbirds came off the stage, begrudgingly making their way into the backstage tent, where Jimmy and Y/N had situated themselves. No one looked happy, especially Paul. Jeff had his usual stoic look, but he was rushing around for any alcoholic beverage he could find to ease his nerves after what could have been the worst possible scenario.

Everyone took a seat at the table where they were before the show. Jimmy and Y/N sat next to each other as they took in the distressed expressions of the five other men. Jeff was slumped in his chair, next to Jimmy, taking swigs of a beer he’d found. Jim and Chris just stared at the ground, drink in hand. Paul just looked royally pissed off, to the point that it almost scared Y/N. Keith, however, was still totally out of it in his drunken stupor.

“Hey, Jim,” Jeff said quietly to Jimmy, “look, you know, I’m really sorry about the gig. I’m sure you aren’t interested in joining the band now…”

“Oh no,” Jimmy chuckled, “that was amazing! Absolutely brilliant! I loved it.”

Y/N’s interest piqued as she heard their whispers of new information. “Wait! Jimmy’s joining the band? I thought there were only supposed to be five live Yardbirds,” she whispered.

Jeff leaned over Jimmy to whisper back to Y/N. “Oh yeah! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this already. Paul is probably going to leave the group...and I think it might be sooner than we thought, especially after the whole Keith fiasco...Jimmy is going to take his place on bass, and hopefully he’ll take on dual lead guitar at some point. Then Chris will do bass,” Jeff’s eyes diverted to Paul, who was sitting with his arms crossed and face angry, staring off into space. Jimmy and Y/N followed Jeff’s line of sight mischievously.

“Oooh! Great plan,” Y/N smiled.

A little smirk creeped across Jeff’s face as he quietly counted down, “3...2...1…”

At the very prompt “1,” Paul abruptly stood up from his chair very loudly, capturing everyone’s attention.

“You know what? I’m done,” Paul exclaimed, stepping away from the chair as he pushed it in under the table.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Jim began, standing up from his own chair, “what do you mean ‘you’re done’? What the hell does that mean?”

Paul sneered at Jim. “What do you think I mean? I mean I’m done with this bullshit. I’ve had enough of the horrid travelling, not being noticed, and this drunk-off-his-ass bastard,” he exclaimed angrily, pointing at Keith.

“You need to relax, Sam,” Chris said gently, “look at everything we’ve accomplished over the last three years. You want to give that up? You’re losing your shit over one bad performance.”

“It’s been on my mind for a long time now, Chris. I fucking hate it,” Paul continued, anxiously running his hands through his hair, “and you know what? Y/N hanging around all the time has made it worse. She’s just here to be our fucking groupie. She’s only eating off our clout to be friends with famous people.” The entire table went silent, looking around nervously.

Y/N’s eyes widened at Paul’s awful accusation. “Are you serious?” she shot back coldly, “I knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“Oh what, you think I don’t recognize that that’s your motive?” Paul said condescendingly.

“If you think that being absolutely obsessed with you all is my sole hobby, my motive, whatever that means... you are sadly mistaken,” Y/N responded, her eyes closing to slits and her lips pressed together in disgust.

“You’re probably sleeping with Jim or Chris now for all I know!” he shouted, arms flailing in the air.

Y/N was fuming now, standing up from her own chair facing Paul. “How dare you make me seem like I’m a whore for the Yardbirds! Even if I was sleeping with Jim or Chris, that would be none of your business because you pursued me when you were fucking married, you dipshit.”

Paul’s maddening countenance grew. “You’re just an insecure little girl who needs famous musicians around her to validate her and make feel better about herself. You’re a fucking nuisance, like a gnat that just won’t fly away even when you swat at it again and again.”

Y/N gasped, the sound drowned out by the screech of metal against tile, as Jimmy stood up from his chair. He was distraught, upset at the antics between the two bitter exes, and stepped in front of Y/N to protect her from the horrible verbal blows served by Paul Samwell-Smith. Jeff beat him by a second, as he started to berate Sam for his little episode.

“You listen up, you wanker,” Jeff started, wagging his index finger in front of Sam’s face, “you’re just being a butthurt little bitch because Y/N found out that you were married. If anyone’s the whore here, it’s you. Y/N is our friend, even Jimmy’s now, and she takes care of us and makes us happy. She’s not just some whimsy, disposable groupie like the way you used her; she’s an intelligent, sweet, pretty girl who has our best interest at heart. And we have hers. You have to be a fucking idiot not to see that.”

Paul was taken aback. “I write, produce, and play bass for this group. All you do is play lead guitar. Trust me, Beck, I’m not the idiot here.”

“Well, your goddamn head isn’t screwed on straight, then,” Jimmy added, “I’ll be taking your place, thank you very much. And you will never mistreat Y/N on my watch. Ever. I’ve known her for about an hour, and she’s already absolutely magnificent.”

Y/N’s throat felt clenched, but some of the tension was relieved when she realized how protective Jimmy was being over her. As mad as she was, butterflies filled her stomach at his warm ways.

“I’m out of here! You all suck anyway. Have a nice trip to hell, all of you,” Paul said as he walked away to the road crew to get his belongings, flipping the people at the table off.

Y/N sat back down in her chair once Paul was out of sight, slouching and holding her cheeks with her hands as she blankly stared at the edge of the table. Jimmy and the four Yardbirds dragged their chairs closer to a saddened Y/N, who was determined to fight off the tears that threatened to roll down her fury-flush cheeks.

Jeff frowned at the state of his friend, starting to softly rub her cardigan-clothed back to console her. “I’m so sorry about Sam, Y/N. His behaviour was absolutely horrendous, and I can assure you, none of the things he said about you were even close to being true.”

Keith, still a bit drunk, stood up and walked over to Y/N, planting a peck on her cheek. “We’re so glad you’re here, dear. Truly. That belligerent little asshole can suck a fat one.”

A close-lipped smile found its way on Y/N’s lips. “Thanks Keith,” she chuckled.

“I’m going to go get you a cup of water, alright love?” Chris said as he stood up to walk over towards the bar.

“Thank you so much Chris,” she called after him. Chris flashed her a kind smile as he walked away.

I guess Mum and Dad were wrong...they really do care about me, Y/N thought happily, they really, truly do.

~~~~~~~~

After the May Ball was over, and the sky was growing darker with the coming evening, Jimmy and Y/N walked around the grounds of the venue together, talking about anything and everything and sharing laughs.

The lighthearted mood took a drastic shift at one of Jimmy’s followup questions.

“So, Y/N, if you don’t mind me asking, what was the whole row between you and Sam about?”

Y/N flashed a sad smile, but it quickly faded as she took a deep exhale. “Well—”

Panicked, Jimmy took this as a cue that she didn’t want to talk about it. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I get it because of how heated it was. I’m just worried about you, is all,” he interrupted.

“No, it’s okay. Really. I trust you,” she replied with a pursed lip-smile. Jimmy returned the sentiment, internally relieved that Y/N had already seemed to take a liking to him.

“Alright, so about a year or so ago, I went to a Yardbirds gig at the Crawdaddy Club, a few months after I met the band for the first time. Paul asked me out after that show, and nobody told me he was married, so naturally, I accepted.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, love. What a shitty thing to do, especially to someone as wonderful as you,” Jimmy replied with a little flush, giving the girl a little rub on the small of her back.

Heat rippled throughout Y/N’s body at his touch. Regaining her composure, she sighed. “Thank you Jimmy. That means a lot. More than you know, actually.”

After a short silence, Y/N continued. “We went out for about eight months...and in retrospect, it now makes sense why I could never go over to his place. But anyway, I found out about it before the band played on Ready, Steady, Go in February. Keith, Jeff, Jim, and I were all talking at the front of the stage before rehearsals and it slipped.”

“Who ended up telling you?”

“Jim, but it was purely an accident.” Suddenly, all of the events that had happened between her and Jim guiltily flooded her mind. Now with Jimmy beginning to infiltrate her mind and cloud her vision, how was she supposed to genuinely enjoy the secrecy? Ah shit, she thought, here we go again.

“After the show, I confronted him about it,” Y/N continued, “and he was blaming me for our time together, a-and for ‘tempting’ him into asking me out just by being… me?”

“He seems like a right wanker, I can tell you that for sure,” Jimmy muttered, sliding his hand from its resting place on her back, to her shoulder, squeezing it lightly in solidarity. Y/N met his eyes then, tears filling her gaze, and Jimmy frowns. No one as lovely as her should be feeling this way. He smiles at her, and to Y/N, it is filled with comfort and appreciation. Some emotion… something akin to love, perhaps, lit a fire in her chest, and she looks away. The evening ambience does nothing to hide the traitorous blush that painted her cheeks.

“It’s getting quite dark out, love. How did you get here?” Jimmy asked, stealing another glance at a girl as she looked down at her ballet flats once more.

“I took the train, actually,” Y/N replied.

“Oh, so did I! Here, I’ll walk with you over to the station then.”

Y/N grinned at him. “That’s so kind of you, Jimmy. Thank you.”

“No problem, love. What’s your stop?” Jimmy asked as they began to make their way over to the station.

“St. Alban’s. How about you?”

“Epsom. I still live with my parents, I’m afraid,” he chuckled sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay!” she laughed with him, “so do I. It’s nice though, to still live with your parents… home-cooked meals and laundry and all. Plus sleeping in your own bed, and using your own bathroom, of course.”

“Those are very good points,” Jimmy agreed with a chuckle.

The two boarded the train once they got to the station, only waiting on the platform for a few minutes. They continued to talk all the way to St. Albans, where Y/N got off to walk home.

“Say you’ll see me again sometime soon, Y/N,” Jimmy half-asked, half-declared as she stood up to get off the train.

Y/N grinned at him. “I definitely will, Jimmy. It was so nice meeting you tonight...I loved getting to know you.”

“The feeling is mutual, love. Please stay safe and take care of yourself, okay?” he reached out his hand to grab Y/N’s, shaking it a little and smiling at her. Y/N nearly swooned at the gesture.

“I’ll try my best. You do the same as well. Have a good night!”

“Thank you, you too!” Jimmy waved as Y/N walked out the train’s doors. Her scent, a delicious mixture of vanilla with a hint of laundry detergent, lingered in the air as she passed by, weakening him both physically and his rational judgment.

He had a lot of thinking to do on the ride home.

————

Taglist: @blood-on-blood @reincarnated70sbaby

#that's the way #jimmy page #the yardbirds #led zeppelin #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfic #classic rock fanfic

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youngerdrgrey · 3 years ago

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highlight(s) of my life // a WildMoore fanfic (2/2)

about: Inspired by Sophie's new S3 highlights. Good Bro ™ Ryan Wilder teases Sophie about what other post-break up activities Sophie might have partaken in. Sophie is less than amused and more than a little interested.

read part one here + read part two on ao3

🦇

Right. It’s not like Ryan hasn’t considered it. Sophie is, well, she’s Sophie freaking Moore. But she’s also Sophie ‘Kate’s ex,’ and Sophie ‘member of the Bat Team.’ Sophie ‘quit her job after Ryan wanted her to.’ Sophie ‘sat with Ryan on Coryana when they both thought Ryan was dying.’

There have been many nights where Ryan lies awake with the ghost of Sophie’s hand in hers. It’s ridiculous. She couldn’t really feel the heat of Sophie through the gloves. But she could feel Sophie’s shoulder. Hear Sophie’s breathing along with the crackle of the field. Remember Sophie’s voice straining as she urged Ryan to hold on just a little longer, just until they got to Luke.

Ryan used to say she wanted to go peacefully, in her sleep, with her wife beside her. Very The Notebook. Dying on Coryana like that wouldn’t have been the exact same, but it wasn’t the worst interpretation.

Maybe that moment did something to her. Maybe it changed them both. Maybe it… crossed some wires to have literally been there together through that. Or maybe it has more to do with the last few weeks. With everything from “I know you’re Batwoman, Ryan” through to here, in the bar, with Sophie’s expectant eyes on her.

What the fuck does Ryan say to that?

Another woman slips up beside Sophie before Ryan can respond. This brown skinned girl with dark blue box braids and a staggering set of dimples. Her smile’s amazing as she turns to Sophie.

“I’ve seen you around here before. Vodka, right?” she asks.

Ryan responds at the same time that Sophie does. “Tequila,” they say together. Ryan flashes back to that night of Never Have I Ever at the loft. Back when the couch seemed miles long and too small at the same time, when Ryan’s face betrayed her and softened as she watched Sophie think up things that she hadn’t done.

Sophie gives Box Braids a polite smile before looking back to Ryan. “Can we…?” She motions with her head to the side.

Box Braids’ eyes volley between Sophie and Ryan. “Ah. Well, can I still get the discount?”

Ryan shakes her head at Box Braids. “Deal’s off. Sorry.” Box Braids walks off, and Sophie stares at Ryan expectantly. The thing is, if Ryan goes with Sophie, then everything changes. That should be a good thing. That could be, right?

Ryan scans the bar for some kind of excuse. Sophie clocks the avoidance. Sophie’s earlier nervousness shifts into impatience. Her brows lift as she tries to tamp it down.

“Seriously? You’re supposed to be off soon anyway.”

Ryan chuckles. “Leaving work early? Issa bad look for the manager.” Sophie glares at Ryan, which, okay, that’s fair. Sophie’s trying to put herself out there, and Ryan can feel her heart pounding in her chest.

“You know what else is a bad look?” Sophie motions at the general charged air between them. “This. I’m a big girl, Ryan. If you’re not interested, then say that. I can handle it.”

After being rejected by her own mom, a bartender probably wouldn’t hold much weight. Ryan gulps. It’s not that she isn’t interested. It’s just… the timing and the bar and… the them. But she can’t let Sophie leave thinking that Ryan’s not interested.

Ryan pulls her apron off and slips it under the counter. “Come on.” She leads the way from behind the bar and out towards the back exit. Sophie follows her without another word. They turn down the small employee-only hallway and out the door to the back.

It’ll be better out here. It’s private, but not too private. The loft would’ve been an awful idea. Mary’s gone tonight, and it would’ve just been the two of them. Just Sophie with her sunshine hair and incredible lips.

The back of the bar’s well lit, but it’s an overhead light that somehow makes Sophie look smaller than normal. Sophie holds herself tighter when she’s unsure. As if exuding confidence will make up for the fact that she so clearly doesn’t know how to proceed here.

Sophie breaks the silence first. “Believe it or not, I thought this would go much smoother.”

Has she thought about this a lot? How long has Sophie been into her? Ryan bites down the questions and goes for a smooth response of her own.

“How’d you see it going?”

Sophie glances around. Her eyes land on the bench against the brick wall. It’s mostly for smokers and vapers. One time Ryan saw two people hooking up on it. Ryan’d hosed them down and taped a ‘DO NOT HAVE SEX HERE’ sign on the wall behind it. Sophie chuckles at the sign as she crosses to sit down.

She leans back. “First, I walk in with my new hair and my nice outfit, but you don’t see me right away.” She’s already off to the wrong start. Ryan had spotted Sophie the moment that she entered The Hold Up. Ryan played it off, but Ryan usually knew where Sophie was.

Sophie continues, “I sit at the corner of the bar and wait until you look my way. You’d go to make me a drink, but I’d stop you and say that we’re getting out of here.”

Ryan would’ve smiled at that. Would’ve joked that Sophie isn’t in charge here, and Sophie would’ve lifted a brow in a silent challenge. Her apron would’ve been tucked under the counter within minutes.

Sophie grins. “I drive us out to the quarry near the river. There’s not much to do there, so it’s quiet when nothing else ever is. I’ve got blankets in my car, and a hoodie since you never wear real clothes.”

Ryan cuts in. “I wear real clothes.” Sophie gives her a doubtful look from the bench. There’s still way too much space between them, so Ryan walks over to sit beside Sophie. “I’m not knocking your plan or anything, but you know I have a van, right? It’s got a heater, a ton of blankets, and a lot more space than your car.”

Sophie’s eyes widen. “Wait, is that where you went when Kate came back?” She turns to face Ryan as her own face crumples. “You chose a van over staying with me?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Ryan insists.

Sophie’s tone hardens anyway. “Yeah, right.”

Ryan shakes her head. “It wasn’t. I…. I’m used to holding space and giving it back.” In group homes, in seasonal jobs, and here, in the most important job she’s ever had. “You were so excited to have her back, and I didn’t want to be in the way of that. It’s easier if I just let go.”

Sophie breathes that in, and her eyes seek out Ryan’s. Ryan averts hers to the ground in front of them. She doesn’t need to see the pity. It’s not—

“Hey,” Sophie bumps her shoulder into Ryan’s, “You’re not in the way. You were once or twice, like when you stopped my fear toxin run, but….” Sophie takes a deep breath. “I meant what I said during the blackout. About you making Batwoman your own and giving the city hope again. It’s not the suit that did that. It’s you. And I would gladly spend the whole night praising you if that’s what it takes for you to see that.”

Her tone’s earnest and raspy in the way that makes Ryan’s heart swell. It’s hard to talk around it, so Ryan jokes, “I don’t need your praise. It’s not really my thing.”

Sophie reaches up to cup Ryan’s cheek in her hand. Ryan melts into the touch. It would be embarrassing, if not for the fact that Sophie’s hand shakes just a bit against Ryan’s skin.

As Ryan turns her head to face Sophie’s, Sophie whispers, “Show me what is?”

Honestly, the praise thing would be pretty great. Ryan could use a few reminders that she’s meant to be here, that Sophie wants this and wants them. That Ryan’s not a placeholder and is actually the reason Sophie’s sitting out here instead of going after any of the women who might want her.

Ryan lifts a hand to the highlights in Sophie’s hair. “You really do look amazing.”

Sophie smirks. “You should see them in the sun. Maybe in the morning?”

Ryan laughs. “Very smooth.” She drops her forehead, and Sophie brings hers to meet it. “I’m not that easy.”

Sophie snorts. “You’ve never been easy, Ryan. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

This could be an awful idea. But Ryan’s done a lot worse than go out with a woman she’s already falling for. Ryan has to look through her lashes to meet Sophie’s eyes. They’re rich and searching, and Ryan knows hers could give the answer. Hers could give everything. So she pulls back just enough to bring her lips to Sophie’s. A soft brush at first. A yes to trying. A yes to a night on the river and finding each other under the covers. A yes to a life, if that’s what Sophie wants.

Sophie chases after Ryan’s lips, catching her and deepening the conversation. Because she does want. She’s shown again and again that she wants anything Ryan will give her. She’s gone along with ridiculous plans and the countless times that Ryan’s iced her out. She’s here for this, and as her tongue swipes across Ryan’s lips, Ryan finally lets her in.

When they do break away, Ryan’s breathless. “You wanna see my van?”

Sophie laughs, then nods, then kisses Ryan again. “Who’s easy now?”

🦇

#wildmoore #ryan x sophie #ryan wilder #sophie moore #batwoman fic #mine #subscribe to me on ao3 if you haven't already #batwoman #batwoman: s3 #batwoman: s2

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mysoftboybensolo · 3 years ago

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The Alienist and the Soprano

Chapter 7: The Truth

A/N: This was inspired by Laszlo’s love of opera and my thought on what if he fell for an opera singer. Multi chapter. Canon divergence, there is no Mary Palmer here (I loved Mary and Laszlo, so I don’t feel like I could have her here and have him be with another woman). A mix of show and book canons. No Y/N, OC named Evelina Lind.

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029150

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem OC!

Summary: The last thing Laszlo Kreizler ever expected while investigating the death of children was to fall in love, and with an opera singer no less!

Warnings: Age gap, mentions of childhood bullying, death of a teen, mentions attempt of relative sexual abuse.

Sleep didn’t come easy to Evelina, but she managed to sleep long enough and with the help of extra strong coffee, though she grimaced her way through it, Evelina felt ready to start rehearsals. Well, except for one thing.

“Sara?” Evelina came down the stairs, finding Sara at her typewriter. “Sara, have you seen my handkerchief?”

“Which one is it?” she asked without looking up from her typewriter.

“It’s white with lace edging and embroidered on it is a blue bird.”

“I’m afraid not dear,” she said, then paused and looked back. “Ask Tessie. Perhaps she found it while cleaning and thought to wash it.”

“Perhaps, thank you!”

But no, Tessie hadn’t seen it either. Oh well, Evelina thinks, I know it must be around here somewhere. And besides, she had to hurry to the opera house for rehearsals. Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette was the next show she would be in, as the titular Juliette, and for the first week of rehearsals, she kept thinking about the incident at her old place. She hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary since that day and there were no other attempts made, so perhaps it was just some random pervert who decided that he would take her knickers just because he could.

She felt like she could breathe at last when she saw John come to her during rehearsals with a smile on his face. “Evelina! It’s done, the murderer has been caught!”

“Oh, John, I am so glad. I bet it must be a huge sigh of relief for you all.”

“We’re having a little celebration tonight and we would like you to join us.”

“Me? But I didn’t do anything to help the case.”

“But you did offer moral support and helped organize to help us this past week,” John said, trying to reason the decision, “And even so, we all consider you a dear friend. Please, Sara and I would love to have you, as would Laszlo,” he finishes with a slight tease in his voice.

She blushed then bit her lip. “Well, I suppose if I am not intruding.”

“Not at all. Get the details from Sara, for I must run, and you must get back to work.” John gave a quick kiss to her hand and hurried off.

Evelina smiled, excited about the upcoming night, though some thought it was for another reason. “Well,” Maria said after sneaking into Evelina’s dressing room after rehearsals, “Mr. Moore looked quite happy to see you.”

“He was happy because they caught the murderer. Tonight, they all are celebrating and asked me to come along.”

“Mr. Moore is quite a handsome man. He doesn’t really come around here, doesn’t like opera they say, but he certain has come more for you.”

“Idiot,” Evelina said, affectionately, “He is not interested in me. Whether he knows it or not, he is in love with someone else. And even if he did feel anything of the kind towards me, I couldn’t accept him.”

“Why? He’s well off, handsome, not pretentious. Why couldn’t you-oh, wait a minute!” Maria moves closer to sit by Evelina, feeling smug, “Of course! You have a lover!”

Evelina looked over at Maria, her cheeks burning. “No, no, but…I do have feelings for someone.”

Maria gasped and was all giddy. “Who? Tell me, oh please!”

“No,” she said firmly, “I don’t want to risk it. It could be bad luck if I say who when it’s not even official.”

“Oh, alright,” Maria teased back, but then asked, “Does he know how you feel?”

“Not yet. It’s difficult sometimes to tell. There are moments I think he must feel the same, for all the times he’s allowed me to visit him, the way we talk about nearly everything, and his smiles that he offers. But there are times, he turns from me, is stiff as a board and almost seem distant. At times, I wonder if he is just humoring me, or if he only thinks of me as a friend. I wish I knew.”

Maria placed her hands on Evelina’s shoulders, making her turn to look at her. “You know what I think? I think that tonight, you should tell him. Tell him how you feel and let it all be settled. Even if the answer isn’t what you’d hope for, at least you’ll know, rather than torturing yourself with not knowing. But you must take that risk. Understand?”

Evelina sighed then nodded. Maria was right, she should just come out with it and ask the doctor what his feelings for her are. As soon as she returned home, she worked on how to go about this; should she just outright ask him what is going on between them or should she try to build up to it and ease into the subject? Sara said that the restaurant they were going to has a ballroom and a beautiful garden, which gave Evelina ideas of possibly getting Laszlo alone to ask him.

Evening came and Sara looked ravishing in a red and gold satin gown, while Evelina wore a lavender gown with lace, and both felt that tonight they had looked their finest. The pair arrived seeing the Isaacson Brothers with John, but Laszlo wasn’t anywhere.

“Good evening gentlemen, congratulations on solving the case!” Evelina spoke, feeling relief to say those words.

“Thank you. Of course, you’d always want to catch them before too many die, but at least we know no one else will get hurt because of him,” Lucius said.

“Too right. We are sorry if we are late,” Sara spoke.

“Nonsense. We are early, surprisingly. Laszlo wanted to make sure everything was prepared before you ladies came.”

And right on cue, Laszlo stepped out of the building, announcing that everything was ready. Laszlo smiled at Sara but his froze when he saw Evelina. She looked lovely, as always but it seemed no matter how many times he’d see her, his heart would stop at her beauty, and the lavender seemed to make her eyes stand out even more, which almost seemed to shine when she saw him.

“Well, I think we ought to go in,” John said, “Marcus and Lucius, if you please,” gesturing for them to go in, “I’ll take Sara and Laszlo you with Evelina. Paired up rather nicely, don’t you think?” He gave a quick wink to Laszlo, which made the good doctor blush, but nevertheless, he escorted Evelina in and at the table, the pair were seated next to each other, making it even cozier, as John put it.

The dinner went beautifully, everyone ate, drank and were merry, even the stoic Laszlo, who smiled more than Evelina had ever seen him smile, and it was a beautiful sight. Oh God, how she loved him. She didn’t care if anyone could see the adoration in her eyes as she stared at him or hear the tenderness in her voice as she spoke to him, she wasn’t going to be ashamed of her feelings, and no doubt the wine helped to make her bold.

With dinner done, John had asked Sara for a dance, and Evelina tried to help Lucius gain the courage to dance as she noticed a young lady stare at him, but he blushed and nervously smiled, saying that he might later. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I need to take a turn about the room, I think it’ll help clear my head a bit.”

“Laszlo, why don’t you go with her? It might do you good too,” Marcus suggested, but it didn’t escape either of them the lightness in his voice and smirk, as if he had a plan coming to fruition at last.

Taking his suggestion, Laszlo and Evelina took a walk around the ballroom, staring at the dancers. “John and Sara look wonderful out there.”

“Do you like dancing?”

“I do. But it’s all dependent upon the partner. I’d rather sit off to the side with an interesting person than dance with an insufferable one.”

“I never do well at events like this. Dancing and socializing has never been one of my better skills but John suggested coming here, at least the food is good.”

“And the company?”

“Oh, the company is always good when you are around.” Laszlo realized that he just said that and felt his face grow warm, but didn’t dare look at his young companion, and didn’t see the grin on her face.

A man around Laszlo’s age suddenly popped up in front of them, clearly enjoying himself too much and loudly made his appearance know to all. “Laszlo! It’s been so long, how are you?”

“I am well, thank you Tobias.” It was evident that Laszlo was uncomfortable with his presence, evident except to said presence. Laszlo quickly introduced the man to Evelina, as if it was a chore to do so.

“The singer!” he said, laughing. “Well, never expected you to be in such company,” he elbowed Laszlo in his rib, which must have been too rough for it made Laszlo wince and rub the spot.

“What do you mean sir?” Evelina asked, feeling as if he meant to insult her.

“Well, you see miss, when Las and I were kids, I used to pull so many pranks on him,” he laughed, “Getting him to do tasks he couldn’t do with his right arm, got the other boys to whack him with sticks and stones,” he bent over laughing in remembrance, “But the best one was the rumors we spread to freak the girls out.”

“’Freak the girls out’?” she repeated, dumbfounded.

“You see, if we wanted to make a girl to be truly be horrified, we’d tell them that Las had a crush on them.” His laughter roared, making a few people look over at them. “How you should have seen them quickly grow disgusted by the idea. Lame Las having a crush on them, it was worse than an entire bucket of dirt and worms!”

Evelina peered over to Laszlo, who looked absolutely crushed at the resurgence of the memories and her heart broke for him. “If you’ll excuse me,” he murmured, quickly getting away to step out in the gardens, meaning he slipped from Evelina’s grasp.

“Ah, yes, Las could certainly repel any woman and seems to do so still. You look like you could enjoy a dance, may I?” He tried to wrap his arms around her, but she sharply retraced from his embrace.

“Sir, your brand of humor is cruel and your manners are abhorrent. You utterly repel me, and I’d rather eat an entire bucket of dirt and worms than spend another second in your presence.” And with that, she stormed off, following Laszlo outside. At first, she couldn’t find him, but as she turned the corner, she saw that he was staring at the fountain, glistening in the moonlight. Carefully, she approached him. “Are you alright?”

He spoke not for a while, but then suddenly, low and hoarse said, “Tobias was one of the many who made my childhood unbearable. But now you see, when I had once said that I would never have a family, what I had meant. I have always been undesirable to the sex of women. My secret is out.” He turned his head slightly, his hand brushing against his eyes and she knew he was wiping his tears.

A new song began to play and Evelina asked, “Will you dance with me, Laszlo?”

“I fear I am not a good partner, besides, you should be ashamed to be seen with me.”

“Who is around to see?”

Laszlo looked at her, her eyes tender and kind, he looked around and indeed she was right, they were alone. Perhaps it was because he was in a vulnerable state that he decided to concede to her request or because he knew her intentions were good and pure, so when his weak hand rested on the small of her back, it caused a frightful stir in his heart.

A sigh too soft for him to take note from her lips as he touched her, Evelina felt as if she would melt into his arms as he took her hand and together, they moved to the soft melody. It wasn’t perfect, due to his lack of practice and uncertainty, but she would not have it any other way. Just being near him was enough. Between the glow of the moonlight and the chandeliers, and the gorgeous scenery, one would think this was a picture from a romance novel, preciously the moment when two characters realize they were in love.

The problem was, they were already in love, and long knew it, but neither felt brave enough to say it.

The song ended but neither seemed to stop until they heard applause, making them chuckle and blush, but not yet release their hold on the other. “Um, would you like a drink? I can get us some champagne.” Evelina nodded, and watched as he walked away, sighing. When he comes back, then will be the perfect moment for Evelina to ask Laszlo, to confess her feelings, but something from the dark changed the mood immediately.

A sudden scream sent a shiver up Laszlo’s spine and when he turned to the source, he saw Evelina, running towards the ballroom, her hands over her mouth and broken sobs. He ran over to her, not caring if he pushed people away, and instinctively, she buried herself into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her as if to protect her from some invisible source.

“What happened?” John asked deeply concerned, with Sara right beside him.

“I don’t know,” Laszlo said, then decided, “We need to get her out of here.”

Lucius and Marcus hurried off to call for a carriage as Laszlo, John and Sara helped to get her away. “Forgive us,” John politely excused themselves, as people stared, “She just had a little scare.”

They all managed to fit into a carriage, going to the closest place, which was Sara’s house. Laszlo did not let go of his hold on Evelina, and she did not lift her head at all from his chest, finding solace in the rhythm of his heart. Once settled in the den, everyone tried their best to help calm her.

“Should I get some tea?” John offered.

“Damn the tea,” Sara replied, “She needs something stronger.” She went to her cabinet and pulled out a whiskey bottle and filled a glass.

“Sara,” John started, “I don’t think that she’ll take it well.”

Laszlo took the glass from Sara and helped Evelina drink it, who downed the whole glass, shocking John as she took it like a champ. “Please forgive me,” she said weakly, “I just…I saw someone.”

“Who? Was it the man who entered your room?” Sara questioned, her hand on Evelina's shoulder, drawing comforting circles.

“Who did what?” Laszlo asked perturbed.

“Evelina moved in with me because someone had entered her room and…took her knickers.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” John questioned.

“I told Sara,” she said, tears threatening to escape, “And I wasn’t sure then, but now seeing him, I was right. He found me.”

“Who?”

She lifted her head, looking at Laszlo. “I have to confess something to you. I lied. When you asked if I had any family, I said I had none living. It was a lie, I have one, though I wish I did not. My brother, Winston. And he has found me.”

Laszlo looked down at her with pitiable eyes rather than accusing ones, then reached behind him to wrap a blanket around her. “Let us help you if we may. Start from the very beginning.”

She nodded, and both John and Sara took a seat, the Isaacson brothers standing by the fireplace, all ready to hear this tale of woe.

“Winston had always behaved differently, but it was believed he’d grow out of those tempers. Papa had always managed to calm him, but nothing that Mum or I did help, in fact, it seemed he had a particular hatred towards women in general. He was cruel, irrational and irregular. One moment, he would play the protective brother who chased off any male, young or old, but then the next call me terrible names and act as if he despised my very existence. I was twelve when Mum died, approaching womanhood, so things began to change, I began to change, and Winston changed towards me too. There was a boy who was sweet on me, and once kissed my hand, a gesture that offended me not. By nightfall, he was found dead, beaten savagely, and no one knew who did it. But I knew, or at least I came to understand, that it was Winston. He murdered that poor boy because of me. And I found out the reason why in the worst way possible.”

“In what way?” Laszlo asked.

Evelina took a moment, then carefully spoke, with her heart racing against her chest. “When Winston tried to rape me.”

Sara’s hand went to her mouth in shock, John and Laszlo stared in horror. “Your own brother?” Marcus asked, “What on earth made him do such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Evelina whispered, her eyes watering. “I was just sitting in our den reading, when Winston came in and started to shout at me. He called me dreadful things, things I would not dare to repeat. I tried to walk away, having been fed up with his cruelty, but he grabbed me, flung me on the floor and laid on top of me. He asked me why I can’t love him, and it shocked me, because he never seemed to care whether I did or did not love him. And yet, here he was, hurt and confused, and I was confused. How could he not know that he made me hate him? How was I to believe that he loved me when every word he spoke, every action he took towards me was always one of hate? He told me how he killed for me, how he loves me better than any man ever would or could, that I was meant to be his and his alone. He tried to kiss me, like lovers would and it terrified me.

“I shouted and screamed, but we were alone, and I truly feared that he would have done it, so I tried to fight him as much as I could until either he gave up or someone came. Thankfully, Papa returned in time and removed Winston from me. He wasted no time to have me secured safely away from the house while he worked out sending Winston to a sanitarium, somewhere far from England. I was fifteen then. And for nearly a decade, we were happy, at peace. Only in my nightmares would Winston haunt me, but I felt certain that he’d never leave.”

She pulled the blanket closer to herself, shuddering. “When Papa died, I had worked out his estate. He wasn’t a rich man, but he always made good on his promises. Sadly, when everything was done and paid for, I had received a letter from the sanitarium, saying that if Winston’s fee couldn’t be paid, then he would be released. I knew I hadn’t much time before he’d come back, so, I sold off whatever I could, enough to start a new life and headed for here in America. I was always looking over my shoulder, afraid that the moment my guard was down, he’d appear. The man who attacked me the night we met, I had almost believed it to be my brother, and I had thought that perhaps I was being foolish, that I was at last free of him. Until now.”

Everyone listened with astonishment and pity. No wonder she was afraid, and how remarkable it was for her, a single young woman to make a life on her own, a difficult decision no doubt, despite having no one to turn to. It was because of this, each felt an urge to protect and aid their friend, a friend who had already fought so long and hard against a demon who haunted her every waking moment.

“I have put you all in great danger, for he will stop at nothing to get me back. It was he who threw the rock in your institute, for he must have seen us walking in the park and must have become very jealous. If he even sees a man look twice at me, he’ll get terribly jealous and will consider them a threat, and I fear that he will see you as one,” her eyes scanned over the men, then she turned to Laszlo, “Especially you.” She leaned forward, her hand falling on Laszlo’s bad hand, and desperation in her voice, pleaded, “Oh, my friends, as I like to think of you all as such, I beg that you do not leave me in my hour of need. I will be more than happy to repay you all however you wish for this kindness, and I know it is much that I am asking of you but now more than ever, I am in desperate need of friends.”

Laszlo placed his good hand on hers and looked her in the eyes and with no hesitation replied, “I promise you, we will not let anything happen to you. You may depend on us to help you through this difficult time and catch him before he harms you."

“The same goes for me,” John said. The Isaacson Brother offered their support and Sara maintained that Evelina not only may stay, but must stay with her until he is caught. For the first time in many months, Evelina felt like she could breathe, and hope shined through this night. Indeed, she is putting her trust in the right people, and she must, or else worse than Winston taking her away, is him hurting Laszlo, a fate worse than death.

As she managed to calm down and settle in bed, she realized that indeed the truth will out, just not the truth she wanted to share.

Tagging: @monsieurbruhl @flutterskies @sokoviandelights, @cazzyimagines, @rumblelibrary, @fictionlandslanddreams, @violetmuses and @barnesxnobles. If anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know!

#daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #the alienist #laszlo kreizler #fanfiction

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viking-raider · 4 years ago

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The Crimson Sun - Mature

Summary: Everything had been perfect with you and August after the Crimson Moon, until they weren’t.

Pairing: August Walker/You

Word Count: 8,257

Rating: Mature - Language, Angst, Soft!August, Trauma, PTSD, Mentions of Terrorism, Grief, Regret, Depression, Night Terrors, Smut - Fingering (F - Receiving), Oral (M - Receiving), Reconciliation

Prequel: The Crimson Moon

Inspiration: The Crimson Moon, that was an Anon ask that @littlefreya received (x)

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @wardl0w, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @bellastellaluna, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernatural, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas, @oh-for-fic-sake, @sauvage-et-libre, @mis-lil-red, @angreav, @crazyandanonymous4u, @the-mighty-jellybean @henrycavell, @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair, @iam-laiya, @worshipping-skarsgard, @thetruthandotherstories, @ruthoakenshield, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss, @theonetheycallhannah, @nina-skyee, @thatgirly81, @inanna999, @suueeeeeee, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8, @beckster07890, @daddys-littlewhitegirl, @magic-and-the-macabre, @stxphmxlls, @radaofrivia, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss, @starstruckkittyangel, @heartfelt-pen, @stuckupstucky, @dummiesshort, @la-cey, @singeramg, @queenoftheworldisdead, @brooklymw, @raspberrydreamclouds,

“August.”

You whimpered in your sleep, head thrashing on your pillow. “August.”

“Baby.”

“August!” You screamed, snapping upright.

“It's all right, baby.”

A deep and sleepy voice whispered, a heavy and sluggish arm wrapped around your waist and slid you over to a heavy body, warm from sleep and the down winter blankets, to fend off the icy cold of the bedroom and the three feet of snow outside.

“Ssshh, lay down with me.”

A second arm coaxed you over the strong and muscular body, palm cupping the back of your head as you buried your face into a warm chest, a silent and choked sob muted in your throat, snot from your nose making a mess of the hair there, the solid and real thump of a heart against your cheek. A blanket was pulled over you, creating a cocoon, against the cold and the world outside of it, as strong and broad palms rubbed and pressed firm circles, up and down your back, fingers brushing through your hair, soothing your frightened and shell shocked body into relaxing.

“I'm right here.” August whispered, coddling you tenderly. “I haven't left you, Angel.”

August had grown accustomed to your night terrors by now, they'd been happening every night for the last three months, ever since the accident in Kashmir. He would stay awake for hours after you fell asleep, caressing your cheek and hair, keeping you tucked against his body, so you could feel the touch of his skin, the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart, making sure you knew he was still there with you, by your side, alive and healthy.

He was your Guardian Angel, he always had been and he always would be.

You rubbed your cheek against his snotty chest and let out a shaky breath, shivering against his body as you laid on top of August, the only place you really felt safe, in his arms. “I'm-I'm sorr--”

“Ssshh, Angel. It's all right, I keep telling you that.” August replied, kissing the top of your head and giving you a reassuring squeeze. “I can't have you being afraid. What kind of husband would I be, hm?” He cooed at you, the soft hairs of his mustache brushing your forehead.

“If I let you be afraid?”

August entered the spacious apartment you both shared, you had moved in with August a month after dating. It was a simple and minimalist apartment, the walls were a warm gray color, the floors, glazed concrete, a curved, seventy inch and mounted tv on the wall, in front of a lazy boy, big enough for two, you and August loved cuddling on the massive recliner, while watching your shows. The rest of the apartment was similar, other than August's decked out office for his business as a CIA Agent, and his even more secret work as the Chief Apostle, John Lark.

The room with the most attention to detail, was the bedroom, with a massive and elevated bed. You had slept in August's bed one night, before he tossed the mattress he had and bought the best and top of the line mattress to replace it. You had been severely injured on one of your first operative missions, which caused two pinched nerves in your left hip and bad lower back, so after that first night you woke up stiff and in agony. August wasn't going to stand for that, he didn't care how much money he had to spend on a mattress, as long as you were comfortable, pain-free and slept well.

“Angel?” He called out.

August had never called you by your name, first, last or middle for that matter. When you first met, he addressed you as You or Girl. After you started dating, August started calling you; baby, darling and sometimes, Bug. He'd call you, Sweet Buns, if he was in a mood, but, his go to was simply, Angel. You were his Angel, his beam of light, in a world that had been nothing but darkness and pain to him since he was four years old.

“Angel.” He called out again, brows creasing.

He knew you were home, your car was in its spot, your shoes by the front door and your favorite coat was hung up. He mounted the stairs to the second floor and carefully moved down the hallway, like a panther stalking its prey. August found the bedroom door for half open, the light on, but didn't hear anything on the other side, so he slowly pushed it open with one hand, while the other reached to the gun on his hip, expecting something bad. But, the bedroom was empty as well, his paranoid and suspicious nature starting to elevate, but he kept his usual calm and cool nature pristine.

“Angel?” He said in his normal tone of voice, carefully sliding the gun from its holster and thumbing open the safety.

“Gus?” You replied, coming out of the walk-in closet, holding something in your hand.

“What do you have there, Bug?” He asked, clicking the safety back on his gun and holstering it again, relaxing, seeing you were all right.

You held out your hand and August's face went slack. “Is this?” You looked up at him, jittery.

“You weren't supposed to find that.” August sighed, taking a box from you. “Were you snooping?” He asked, giving you a sly and mischievous smirk.

“No, I was packing.” You told him, blinking at him. “Moore contacted me an hour ago, with a contract for MI6, they're sending me to do some work in Belgium.” You explained to him, seeing that alerted look in his blue eyes.

August had well hidden and cultivated abandonment issues, from his father running out on him and his abusive mother, as a child. So, every time you told him you were packing to go somewhere for work, that little plant in his belly would bloom. You smiled at him, gripping his wrist and giving it three squeezes. That little blooming plant was never spoken about. You tried talking to August about it once, and it ended up with him flying into a rage and disappearing for a week, and when he came back he was a complete mess.

So, you'd developed a reassuring tick with him, touching him three times in any way, a squeeze or a tap, even kisses, if the situation allowed it.

“How long are you going to be gone?” August asked, gripping the box in his hand.

“At least a month.” You informed him.

“Well, this isn't at all how I planned it.” He sighed, releasing it and flipping open the black suede lid. “Angel,” He smiled brightly at you, dropping to a knee. “Will you marry me?”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and you cupped his scruffy face in your hands. “August Walker, wants to get married? Who is this impostor?” You teased him.

He had told you flat out, on the first date, to never expect anything more than a boyfriend and girlfriend relationship, marriages were too messy and clingy, traceable and always fell apart.

“I know, I'm breaking my own code and rules on the matter.” He chuckled at you, turning his head to kiss one of your palms. “But, you've made me a changed man, Angel. I want to marry you, I want to keep you forever and ever.”

You felt giddy. “Yes, August. I'll marry you.” You giggled, excited at the prospect of being his wife.

The two of you married that afternoon, just the two of you, no one else in the world mattered. It was seven months after the Crimson Moon, and everything felt so good and peaceful.

It lasted like that for almost three years, three blissful years of marriage, kicking ass and taking names, for the CIA and MI6. But, both of you should have known better, having lived the lives you had, before and during undercover work.

It all started to crumble, when you got the missive at your accustomed drop off for them. Your hands shook and grew damp as you held the manila folder with the name, John Lark, type on the lip with a typewriter.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” You mumbled, stuck in a loop and shaking. “Oh fucking god.”

You couldn't bring yourself to open it.

Shoving the folder into your bag, you scrambled back home, August was away on his own mission with Ethan Hunt, somewhere in Paris. You paced the apartment, spiraling between the deepest despair, furious rage and blinding tears, screaming at the top of your lungs; luckily your neighbors were used to August making you scream, and a variety of other noises that came out of the apartment, when you were both home together.

Finally, you just melted into a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor, knowing you had no choice, but to track down your own husband.

Once you pulled yourself together, you opened the folder, still sitting on the kitchen floor. There were archive photos on the Apostles, all blurred and barred, but you quickly identified August in nearly all of them, it was a wonder how no one put two and two together already. His signature mustache was as immaculate as ever, even back then, his height and build, that made your body react despite being in severe shock and it being a photograph.

“Damn it, August.” You sighed, finally getting to the mission report.

'John Lark, radical leader of the Apostles, splinter group from Solomon Lane's now dismantled, Syndicate.' Read the start of the report. 'Lark is credited with what is called, the Manifesto.'

You flipped over the report and saw the declassified copy of the Manifesto and the first line alone made you shiver. 'There has never been peace without first a great suffering, the greater the suffering, the greater the peace.'

“What the fuck have you been up too, Gus.” You asked aloud, rubbing the side of your face and going back to the rest of the report.

'Lark and his Apostles have already released the deadly agent, Smallpox, to kick start their Manifesto for world peace. Intel has reported that John Lark would be seeking a person only known as, the white widow, in Paris, in an attempt to retrieve three Plutonium cores and fashion them into some of the strongest bombs, since the Atomic bomb, during World War II.'

Your eyes were fixed on the last line, August, your beloved husband, was trying to make bombs to destroy half of the world, all in the frightening name of peace. It felt like someone was pouring ice cold water down your back, remembering all those nights in bed, after rounds and rounds of mind blowing sex, how August always promised that he would make the world a better place for you, tenderly playing with you hair and kissing your forehead and temple, til you drifted off to sleep.

To think this was what he had been doing in those long nights holed up in his office. Making the world a better place..

“For me.” You dropped back against the door of the dishwasher and stared down at the stupidly expensive wedding ring on your finger, wondering how many people August had killed to buy it for you.

Sighing, you unclasped a gold necklace August had bought you for your last birthday and slipped your wedding onto it, before slipping it back around your neck. You always put it there, when you were about to go on a mission, for both security, if your enemy couldn't see a ring, then they wouldn't have something to leverage against you, and it still kept August close to your heart.

Going upstairs, you pulled out your carry size duffle bag and the locked case for your firearm, putting on your holster and securing your gun to your hip, checked the rest of the kit you took with you and packed it with a couple pairs of clothing. Before you headed out to hunt August down, you stopped, picked up the report on Walker and Lark, shredded it and burned it in the fire grate, covering up any traces of having the file.

“Marco, it's me.” You said, getting into your car. “I'm going on vacation, can you make sure the plane's ready for me. Thanks.” You pulled out of your parking spot, looking up at the apartment that had been home for the last five years and wondered if you would ever see it again.

“How about a nice and warm cup of tea?” August asked, nuzzling your hair and knowing it was going to be a little while before you managed to fall back to sleep.

“Okay.” You whimpered, your voice distant and detached, the nightmare playing over and over in your mind.

Nodding and kissing your hair once more, August let you slip out of his embrace and got up, making sure your little blanket cocoon stayed intact as he did, knowing that being hidden in the blankets made the world feel smaller and less heavy for you. Biting his bottom lip against the hiss of icy needles shooting up his bare feet, the fire in the grate had long since died, so the raging blizzard outside had been able to reach its claws into the rest of the house as August padded his way downstairs to the modest kitchen. He pulled your favorite cup and tea down from the cabinet, filled the kettle and set it on the gas stove burner. He stood in the kitchen, staring out the huge breakfast nook window, seeing nothing but a blanket of snow on the ground and everything else blurred by the flurry of snow, whipping around the secluded house, it made August feel like he was trapped in a snow-globe.

He hated snow-globes.

Even though he was naked and his skin rippled with chills, August didn't move from his spot to find warmth. He felt that he didn't deserve it.

“I don't deserve it.” He answered his conscious back. “Not for what I've done to her.” He whispered into the white void in front of him.

Your words from Kashmir still echoed in his skull.

“August!”

He was making his way to the helicopter, he only had fifteen minutes to get away from the village, before it was too late, when he heard your voice. At first, he thought that it was just his imagination, it had a habit of conjuring your voice when he was about to do something dangerous, his little canary.

“August, stop!”

He froze, that wasn't his imagination.

His blue eyes steadily started to grow and a tight chill gripped his heart as he slowly started to turn around, praying under his breath that he was just hearing things, projecting your voice over Hunt's. But, no. There you were, standing a yard away, your gun trained on him and an utterly crushed expression on your exhausted face, you hadn't slept well, to not at all, for the week you had been tracking him down.

You could have just called him, like you always had, when you decided to join him on a mission, but you knew August all too well and he knew you even better. The moment he heard your voice, he would know something was up.

“What are you doing here?” He snapped at you, looking up the hill behind you, seeing Hunt appear on the crest. “Fuck.” He mumbled under his breath, then held his hand out to you. “Come on, you have to come with me.”

“No, August.” You shook your head at him, blinking the blinding tears out of your eyes. “Give me the fail safe, August.” You held out your own hand.

“I can't, Angel.” He replied, shaking his head back at you and gripping the device tighter.

“Please, August. Don't do this.” You begged him, your hands starting to shake. “You don't have to do this.”

“But I do, Angel.” August let out a shaky breath. “I'm doing this for you, for us.”

“I don't want this!” You barked at him, exasperated and wounded.

“I'm going to do it anyway, come with me. It's not safe here, Angel.” He tried convincing you.

“No, August.” You shook your head at him. “I won't be able to live with this. Is it more important for you to 'bring great suffering for the greater good' than my own conscious is?”

“No, Angel. It's not.” He gulped, thickly.

“Then, give me the fail safe, August.” You motioned for it. “Stop this, if not for the greater good, but for me. There's still time to fix this!”

August looked between you and the fail safe clutched tightly in his hand, you could see him starting to relax, slowly making up his mind about giving you the fail safe to the two bombs that were armed and ready to be set to their fifteen minute detonation countdown. He took a careful step towards you, and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding since getting the mission to take August down.

“Walker!” A voice behind you screamed, sounding very pissed.

“No.” You whimpered, watching the stubborn and cold expression wash over August's face and eyes. “August, no!” You yelled at him, as he turned on his heel and started marching towards the helicopter he was going for, when you stopped him.

He got into the helicopter and it was like he didn't see you anymore, his eyes glued to someone charging up behind you. You dropped your arms to your sides, defeated, and heartbroken as you watched the helicopter fly away. The person that snapped August into his John Lark alter-ego slid to a stop beside you, looking after his helicopter as well, huffing and puffing, then looked at you.

“Who are you?”

“Ethan Hunt, I'm assuming.” You asked, a steely coldness washing over you, purely a defense mechanism against the turmoil brewing and raging inside of you.

“The same.” He answered, frowning at you.

“I'm an agent for MI6, tasked with stopping one John Lark, also known as August Walker.” You told him, your voice toneless. “And you just fucked that up, along with my life.” You hissed, turning on a dime and marching back to the helicopter you had arrived in, resolved to go after August before he could start the countdown.

'Is it more important for you to 'bring great suffering, for the greater good' than my own conscious.'

The whistle of the kettle pulled August out of his thoughts with a full body quiver of cold and guilt. He pulled the kettle off the fire and poured the steaming hot water into your prepared cup, then turned off the stove, setting the kettle on the cold back burner. He held your cup between his hands, driving out some of the cold from his chilled body; so cold now, that his cock felt like concrete. Sighing, August took the hot cup back upstairs to you, sitting your tea on the bed stand, then turned to the cold fireplace. Squatting down, August pulled out several logs from the firewood box, by the fireplace, and set about stacking them on the ashes of the previous fire, with an almost OCD-like precision. He stayed there for a minute or two, ensuring that the fire caught the oak logs, adding another log for good measure, before standing back up and sitting on the edge of the bed, where the lump of your body was in the mound of blankets.

“You can come out now, Angel.” He whispered, rubbing your leg through the blankets. “I got the fire going again, it'll be warm soon.”

Sighing, you fold back the blankets from over your head and look up at him, your eyes are dim, bloodshot, red rimmed and lashes wet with tears. It crushed August every time he saw your face, knowing he was the reason and cause of all your trauma, heartache and tears. He cupped your cheek in his hand, gently wiping away the stray tears before they could dampen your cheeks anymore than they had already.

“I'm sorry.” He muttered, for what could have easily been the trillionth time.

You frowned up at him, then cast your eyes away from him, at least you could look at him for a moment or two now and stand him touching you. For the first month after Kashmir, it was hard for you to look at him, or anything that even belonged to August, much less stand his touch or hear the sound of his voice. August took all of it, bearing his punishment, you shying away from him, the silent treatment and the long, cold nights of an empty bed, because being in the same bed, the same room, as him was just too much for you to take. You still barely uttered a word to him, going from head shakes, sighs and shoulder shrugs to single, monosyllabic words.

You hadn't even wanted to do that, you thought, sitting up in bed and reaching out for your tea.

It was the third night in a row.

That you woke up from the new reoccurring nightmare. August missed the first one you had, being downstairs, staring at the bright screen of his laptop. The second one, he just stood in the hallway outside the door of the guest room you hold yourself inside of, listening. You had woken up him, crying out his name. At first, he feared they had found you and were trying to take you, ripping blankets off his body, nearly tearing his pillow in half to grab his gun that lived under it now and raced down the hall to you. But, when his fingertips touched the door to your room, he stopped dead and cold, you were gasping for breath, like you'd been choked by a powerful hand, choking on your tears and snot, hugging yourself, nails digging into the skin of your shoulders and drawing blood, your mind's feeble attempt to prove you were awake, as you rocked yourself back and forth, back and forth.

The third one, some part of you no longer cared, you needed to be next to August, you needed the warmth of his skin against your cold skin, you needed to feel the soft waves of his breathing against your shoulder and neck as he spooned you into his real and intact body, you needed to feel the pounding of his heart against your back or cheek.

It was the only thing that chased the dream away.

The cold wind that blew against your face as you looked out the open door of your helicopter, August's own helicopter nothing, but a black dot, against the snowy peaks in front of you. You leaned forward and bumped your fist against the aircraft pilot's shoulder, a signal, to go faster. Nodding his head, the pilot picked up speed, pushing the craft as fast as it could go; which wasn't fast enough for you. You frowned, hearing the whoosh of another helicopter's blades getting close to yours. Leaning out and looking back, you saw the third helicopter in time to see someone get thrown out of it.

“What the fuck?” You snapped as it caught up with yours.

You met the determined eyes of Ethan Hunt, who stared blankly back at you. Growling, you flipped Ethan the finger and sat back.

“Ignore him.” You told the pilot over the headset. “We don't change course or directive.”

'I just hope we make it to August, first.' You thought, keeping your eyes out the front windshield of the helicopter, on the steadily growing dot of August's.

“Here.” He whispered, taking a soft throw blanket off the back of a chair in the corner and laid it over your bare shoulders, as you sat in bed, sipping your tea. “Better?” He asked, tilting his head to see your down turned face.

“Yeah.” You nodded around the rim of your cup.

“Good.” He half smiled, moving around to the other side of the bed and slipping under the covers with you, seeking the fragile warmth he knew was there.

The room was quiet, except for your careful sips of the hot and flavorful liquid; August had perfected how you liked your tea, what felt like a lifetime ago, and the crackle and pops of the fireplace, the heat of which was finally beating the snowy cold back outside the walls of the master bedroom. Your mind wandered off to the only other subject it wanted to think about, how long would you and August be in hiding, here in the cabin he had hidden in the deep, snowy woods of Siberia. It had already been three months, and August had told you it would only take four, before everything died down, thinking August was dead.

But, that wouldn't stop what the agencies must be thinking about what happened to you, in the aftermath of Kashmir.

Hunt's helicopter managed to over take yours, much to your frustration and terror.

You were forced to hopelessly watch as Hunt tried dropping some type of payload on top of August's helicopter. Luckily, August's pilot was able to make an evasive maneuver and dodged it, sending the load crashing into a lake below. You had spots in your eyes from the levels of stress and migraines you had been suffering the last week of hunting your bull-headed husband down, always just one step behind him.

It wasn't until you ran into Ilsa, that you found out that August was heading to Kashmir, India, where he and Solomon Lane, who August helped break out and let loose, were planning on pulling off their coup de grâce, that the Syndicate had failed to finish, because of Hunt, and the Apostles were trying to finish, with the help of August and his damned Manifesto.

You slammed your tight fist down on your thigh, trying to control your temper as it bubbled up inside of you. You'd never forgive August Walker for putting you through this. You had begged him to keep you out of the Apostles' way. But, you had fallen on your own sword, when you fell in love with him and you had shot yourself in the foot, when you married him. You had broken the agency code and rules, 'don't fall for your enemy', and while August as himself wasn't your enemy, August as John Lark, was your enemy.

Why hadn't you just left him, when he told you the truth behind who John Lark really was? Why hadn't you had him cuffed, then and there, and taking in, to be interrogated and stopped, just like Lane had been?

The answer always came back the same, 'I love him.'

“Idiot.” You hissed out loud, catching the attention of the pilot. “Not you.” You barked at him, rolling your eyes.

You looked up and saw how close the three helicopters had gotten together, close enough for you to see tracer rounds and bullets flying out of the open door of August's helicopter and into Hunt's. It wasn't until almost too late, that the pilots realized how close to a mountain peak the three aircrafts were.

The pilot for August tried pulling back, which only caused Ethan to ram into the back of them, then domino into yours, all three colliding. Your helicopter nose dived, crashing into the other side of the peak and crushed the whole front of it, killing your pilot on impact. Hunt's flipped end over end, then rolled, while August's rolled and skidded to a stop, perilously close to the edge of the peak. He panted as his plane settled, and worked on trying to undo his seat belt, only to hear the rolling metal of Hunt's plane, still coming down the mountain side, slamming into his and sending them over the edge, to a shelf below.

Struggling for a moment and growling, you yanked the tactical switchblade out of your boot and cut yourself free of your seat belt, landing sideways on the roof of the upside down helicopter. Digging out some of the snow blocking the only way out of the wreck, you shimmied out of it and turned, blood running down the side of your face, your whole body throbbing and screaming, blood seeping through the shirt you were wearing, but you didn't bother looking at whatever the cause was. You had to get to August, just catching his and Hunt's helicopters colliding and slipping over the edge.

The cold was a blessing after all, as you trudged as quickly as you could to the edge, numbing away all your pain, psychically and emotionally, your mind too distracted on your target and mission to consider freezing or bleeding to death. Stumbling to the edge of the peak, you looked down and let out a breath of relief seeing August crawl out of his wreckage, mostly unharmed, but you also saw Ethan doing the same. You desperately tried to think of something to do, you couldn't yell, you were too far from them to hear you and the peak was too shear for you to try and rock climb down by hand.

So, you were forced to watch August and Ethan duke it out, fighting and fumbling in a dangerous game of cat and mouse, for the fail safe attached to August. You stopped breathing several times as you watched them get to the edge of the shelf, teetering, before righting themselves and moving away again. Ethan was finally able to grab the fail safe from August, both of them out of breath from their exertion and the high altitude. You watched them talk, too far to hear whatever it was they were discussing, no doubt trying to make a case for why each of them was right for what they were trying to do for the world. Ethan shook his head and August's body tensed with a rekindled rage, charging Hunt like a bull.

“August!”

You screamed, eyes huge as Ethan dodged out of the way and August went stumbling towards the edge, trying to stop himself, before he fell.

“August!” You screamed even louder.

He teetered for a moment, before the rock beneath him crumbled and he fell, your heart and stomach plummeting with him.

You had no idea how long you were out, or how long after watching August die, that you blacked out. But, when you woke up to an incessant and annoying beating sound in your ears, your exhausted mind became aware of how much pain you were in, a moment later, and whimpered, shifting and struggling.

“Hey now.” A soft voice called to you, a strong hand gripping yours. “You're all right now. You're safe, just calm down and rest.”

“August.” You mewled, the images of him falling flashing in your mind, like an old film reel. “Oh god, August.”

The hand holding yours let go, the sound of hard soled shoes clacking against linoleum, moving away, and a door opened, before the voice whispered to someone outside the room. “She's awake and calling for him.”

You lost consciousness again, only to wake a few minutes later, a warm palm cupping your bruised cheek, making you reach out and wrap a weak hand around a thick wrist. The room was quiet for a while, the only thing you were aware of was that warm hand cupping your face and the strong pulse against your own palm.

“August.” You whined, having drifted back off to sleep and dreaming about him again.

“Ssshh.” The owner of the hand replied. “I'm right here. Don't fret, Angel.”

Your eyes snapped open and you looked up to see August standing by your bedside, a soft and tired smile on his face. He had a black eye and a split lip, but other than that, he looked perfectly fine. You frowned, wincing at you did, and shook your head, not understanding.

How was he there with you, you had watched him fall, there was no way he could have survived.

Could he?

“August?” You choked around a lump of tearful confusion.

“Yeah, Angel.” He smiled at you, gingerly sitting down beside you.

“Ho-how?” You licked your split and chapped lips. “I watched you di--”

“No, Angel. I didn't die.” He chuckled at you, then winced, pressing a hand to his ribs. “I managed to catch myself on a small ledge, not too far down from the shelf.” He explained, reaching out to pick up a paper cup with a bendy straw in it, tenderly holding it to your lips, so you could wet your throat.

“Hunt thought I was dead, and got picked up by his crew.” He went on to explain to you. “You know how much of a cautious man I am, bug. All I had to do was hold on long enough for them to leave, then I took this handy little thing out of my pocket.”

He removed a small, square device out of his pocket, it had a button on it and a blinking red light above that, it looked like a car fob.

“It's a GPS locator.” August answered your silent question. “I press it and my Apostles will show up, wherever I am.” He told you, putting it back into his pocket. “It's a lucky thing for you too. They saw you laying out in the snow as they flew over to land on the shelf. Two of them climbed up and got you, while the others pulled me up. I didn't have anything more than a busted lip, black eye and a couple of broken ribs.”

You laid there listening to him, trying to connect all the information he was giving you.

“You, on the other hand, have a pretty nasty cut on your head.” He, very gingerly, touched his fingertips to the twelve stitches along your hairline. “You have a concussion and been out for a couple of days. But, this was the injury that made me fear for you.” He said, pulling down the hospital blankets and moving your hospital gown aside, revealing a ugly gash on your side and stomach, just above your hip, closed with a line of staples.

“Part of the door handle to your helicopter got dislodged in the wreck and went through your side.” He frowned at the wound, feeling overwhelming guilt. “You lost consciousness from the blood loss, and would have bled to death, if it wasn't for all the snow you were laying in, and the boys getting to you, when they did.”

That cast your net of alarm farther than just August being alive. “Where are we?” You asked, eyes darting around the dark room.

“Somewhere safe, don't you worry about that, Angel.” August assured you, fixing your gown and blankets. “It's the home base of the Apostles, we have one of the top doctors in the world in our fold. He's the one that stitched you up.” He said, sounding incredibly grateful for it.

“What about Hunt?” You asked, not reassured at all. “The CIA, MI6, everyone else? They know you're Lark, August. When they find out...”

“Ssshh.” He hushed you, shaking his head and patting your leg. “Don't worry about any of that, Angel. Let me worry about it. You just worry about resting and healing up. I have somewhere we can go, for a few months. Then, everything will calm down, in four or five months, and we'll go from there.”

“All right?” He smiled at you, leaning in to kiss you on the lips, but you turned your head, his lips meeting your cheek; it cut August to the quick.

“I know you're upset with me, for doing what I did.”

You stared out the half shaded window in your room, taking a deep breath of the overly clean air, and nodded your head. You needed time to think and process everything, the man you loved, that you bound yourself to with an 'I do', three years before, and had broken your trust. You knew, you weren't innocent in the matter, you had known who August really was and ignored it, bottling it up and pretending it wasn't real. A part of you, deep down inside, also knew that August would one day step over that line that would force you to choose.

Would you step away from August, still loving him, but unable to live with his actions and move on? Maybe, even turn him in.

Would you decide to step over that line with him? You had promised and vowed, 'for better or for worse', and you had been through both with August.

You didn't know.

You wondered, if MI6 thought you also died in the crash on the mountain. But, they would investigate the area, they had to make sure August was dead, and would be suspicious, if they didn't find his body, and would probably start drawing speculations, when they didn't find yours, or when you didn't report in afterwards; telling them that you had miraculously survived and gotten off the mountain, somehow, on your own.

It all made your head hurt and made you feel like you were being slowly dragged down to hell.

Could you feign amnesia? Stockholm Syndrome? Blackmailed or kidnapped? If you did decide to leave August, and let him pay for all the wrongs he made, in the name of 'greater peace'. You probably could, everyone knew how dominant, imposing and persuasive August could be. He had almost fooled Sloane into thinking Hunt was really Lark, not naming the countless others he had manipulated and turned for his own uses and purposes.

'Holy shit,' You suddenly thought. 'Had August been manipulating me, for his own reasons?'

You looked at Walker from the corner of your eyes, he was resting back against the headboard, his eyes closed as he lounged, probably taking a quick cat nap, you kept him up most nights with your nightmares, so he was just as tired as you were. August had also been holding secret and down low meetings with nearly every member of the Apostles and other contacts he had out in the world. You were never privy to those discussions, he didn't want to drag you any deeper into his dark world than he hadn't already.

'But, what did that matter?' You considered yourself.

True enough, you had tried to carry out your mission, to stop August from blowing up half the world for his crazy notion of peace and harmony, but you had also failed at it. You had unwittingly helped August as well, you covered his tracks, keeping his secret life and dealings to yourself, ignoring every hint and spot of evidence that could send Walker to jail for the rest of his natural life, and his afterlife for that matter. Your bosses and colleagues had several briefings and meetings about the Syndicate, Solomon Lane, the Apostles and John Lark, and even though your palms sweat through all of them, you kept your lips zipped.

You would more than likely share the same dark cell August would, in the end.

“August?” You whispered, your voice rough from such little use and screaming out in your dreams.

August startled awake, blue eyes wide and searching the room, before they rested on you, the alarm turning into shock, it was the first time you had said his name, in the last three months, that wasn't from you dreaming. He gulped and sat up beside you, arm loosely wrapped around your waist.

“What is it, Angel?” He whispered back, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Why?” You rasped, blinking at him, softly. “Why did you tell me about being Lark?” You asked him, clutching onto the little remaining heat of your tea, like a life preserver in the seamless ocean you were stranded in. “Why did you...” You paused and cleared your throat.

“Why do you love me, yet tear me apart with all of this?”

He sighed and pressed his lips to your forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. “I never meant to fall in love with you, Angel. I tried my hardest not to, please believe that.” He rested his fingertips under your chin and tipped your head to look up at him. “I never meant or wanted to drag you into this fucked up world I inhabit. I wanted to protect my sweet Angel, with everything I have.”

“But, I'm a selfish and greedy man. When I want something, I want it and nothing, no one, not even myself, can stop me from getting it. I desire you above all else.”

“Yet, you still tried blowing up the world, when I begged you not too.” You replied, bottom lip quivering, it hurt so much. “Why? Because it was Hunt?”

“Yes.” August sighed, nodded his head. “He stopped Lane from acting out his plans and I didn't want him doing the same to me. Though, he did, in the end. I can't take back leaving you there, I wanted you to come with me. But, I knew you wouldn't, not my Angel.”

“That I've started to corrupt, like the demon that I am.” He hissed into your ear, angry only at himself.

You closed your eyes and rested your temple against his forehead, tucking your almost empty cup between your legs. “Part of me hates you, for what you've done to our lives, what you tried to do to the lives of so many others.”

“I deserve that.” He whimpered, biting his lip. “And more.”

“But,” You mumbled, finger circling the rim of your cup.

“But—what, Angel?”

“All I really want.” You sniffled, tears dripping down your cheeks and August kissing them away. “Is to be with you.” You said it, so softly, it took a moment for August to be sure it's what you said.

August smiled, nuzzling your hair and face, his nose rubbing against your cheek and nose, pressing sweet and small kisses to your neck. He was shy about kissing and touching you intimately again, it had been nearly six months since the last time you both made love, the night before he left for Paris, with Hunt. He took it slow, in case you changed your mind and repulsed him, but so far, you had gently reacted to him, nudging your face against his.

Smirking, August took your cup and set it aside on your night stand and tugged the blanket off your shoulders, the heat from the roaring fire had made the room toasty, leaving you and August sweaty. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, turning into his body as his small kisses grew to open kisses, leaving love bites on your neck and throat, as he trailed down your chest, tasting your skin and the salt of your sweat. He moaned, closing his mouth around your nipple, flicking his tongue at it until it pebbled, then started biting and sucking at it, squeezing and palming the other one, so it didn't feel left out.

“August.” You panted, carding your fingers through his damp curls. “Ah, fuck.” You hissed as his fingers slipped into the waistband of your panties and started petting your neglected clit.

“You're so sensitive, Angel.” He cooed around your breast, his eyes a stormy-blue with lust. “You haven't been touching yourself, while I was away.” He teased you, giving your clit a couple of flicks of his finger, making you cry out.

“It's not the same.” You panted, your head falling back and fingers gripping his hair.

“Oh, then I definitely want that delectable pussy around my cock.” He laughed, finger teasing your entrance. “You are going to gush so hard around me, Angel. You're already a dripping mess.” He said, removing his hand from your panties and spreading his thick fingers, seeing the thick string and film of your arousal between them, sparkling in the firelight.

“Fuck, I've missed this.” He rumbled, sucking his soaked fingers into his mouth and moaning around them, your taste overpowering his tastebuds.

Your pupils blew out watching him suckle his fingers, eyes closed, in ecstasy. Growling, you laid back and lifted your hips, yanking your ruined panties off impatiently and tossed them to the floor. Sliding a hand up and down August's back, you coaxed him to lay down with you, moving your hand over his chest, caressing his cowboy beard, then trailed down his stomach, circled his naval, then dripped between his legs, finding his hard member, that never really softened. August slowly licked his lips and moaned, rocking his hips into your hand as you stroked his shaft, swiveling and rubbing your thumb over his purple tip, smearing pre-come all over your hand and his cock.

Letting his penis go, your hand ventured a little bit lower, cupping those egg-sized balls, squeezing and rolling them in your hand, like a pair of dice. August's body shivered in response, smirking at him, you kicked all the blankets to the floor and moved between August's legs, pushing his legs up, so his knees bent and snuggled down on your belly.

“It seems you haven't been neglecting yourself, Walker.” You told him, nipping the inside of his thick thigh.

It seemed, even though you both were in hiding, his scrotum stood out from the rest of his body at this angle, neatly man-scaped, while the rest of his body tended to be hairy.

“Rules are rules.” August panted, lifting his head to look down his torso at you.

You chuckled at him, taking a long lick over his sack and giving one of them a delicate suck. He had asked you to suck his balls not long after you both started having sex, they were exceptionally sensitive, and you had caused August to come by playing with them, more than once. But, before you agreed to do the deed, you told him you weren't putting them in your mouth, while they looked like two hairy gerbils. So, from then on, August meticulously groomed them, even when he was away from months on end, it had become a habit.

“I shave my balls more, for you, than I shave my face.” August moaned, as you swallowed one of them and teased his cock, feathering your fingertips up and down its shaft.

You laughed around his ball, the vibration made him gasp and tossed him very close to the edge, so you pulled back, edging the hell out of him. August looked down at you, a serene calm washed over both of you, a calm and peacefulness that hadn't been around for several weeks, the fear of being found loomed over the house.

“This isn't right.” August sighed, grabbing you by the shoulders and pulling you up to him.

“What?” You blinked back.

“You shouldn't be pleasuring me.” He told you, wrapping his arms around your waist and turning you both on your sides. “I've wronged and hurt you, I've nearly cost you your life. I cost your job, and so much more.” He spoke softly.

Taking your leg and slinging it over his own hip, so the pair of you facing each other, chests pressed together and staring into each other's eyes, August's hips slowly rubbed against you, his hand pressed flat against your lower back.

“I should be pleasing you, making up for what I've done.” He said, moving just enough to slip the head of his cock between your folds. “Let me do this for you, Angel.” He hummed, fingers brushing your hair.

“Please.” He begged, looking so vulnerable.

All you could do was nod, your throat tight around a lump, and pressed your forehead against his, clinging onto him as he rocked into you. All fear, anger and even lusty desire, were gone from you and August now, all that was left was raw emotions and the need to find each other again. You hugged your leg around August's hip and waist, pulling him closer and deeper into you, flexing your walls around his shaft. Both of you grew warm and sweaty from the heat in the room and your bodies were so close together, the slickness of your skin made it easier to thrust into you; sharing the same hot breath.

“I love you, Angel.” He whispered, cupping your neck and thrusting more steadily into you.

“I love you too, August.” You moaned back, biting your lip.

Coming in tandem felt sublime and refreshing, melting all the stress and worries out of your bodies. Even as you both fell asleep, you were still connected and wrapped around each other. You let go of your questions and worries, it would be fine, you and August would figure out how to put your lives back together some other time

And, for the first time in months, you dreamt of something other than August dying. You dreamt of you holding his hand, him smiling lovingly at you, and walking into the sun.

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superbadassnatural · 4 years ago

Text

Stranger - part one

Summary: After a disastrous date, Y/N decides to drown her sorrows in a bar a few blocks down the road. Luckily, she meets a stranger that manages to talk some sense into her. Pairing: Dean x Reader (future) // Mason (OMC) x Reader (past) Word count: 3,493 Warnings:little bit of angst, fluff, break-up, Dean being the true gentleman he is A/N: this was written for “1541 Folllowers Celebration” hosted by the sweetest of all @herstarburststories (I’m sorry this took me so long). The prompt is bolded. Hope you all enjoy!

(x)

“Whiskey,” a gravel voice mixed with the sound of the stool being pulled out of the counter. “Neat.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look in that direction. You didn’t want another person to see your face. Not that you cared that strangers saw you crying, but you were already feeling humiliated enough for one night. You downed your shot, closing your eyes as your throat burned.

The music filled your ears. You could only hope this man wouldn’t say a word to you. He was the first person to sit near you since you got here. No one dared to take place even remotely close to you, not even three stools from yours. No one wanted to sit beside a crying mess. No one wanted to feel obliged to ask if everything was fine, even though they already knew the answer.

Sometimes you hated how curious you were. You wanted to know if the man was as handsome as you imagined when you heard his voice. You shouldn’t look. The music. Focus on the music. Loud pop songs echoed in the crowded bar. A group of girls danced and screamed over the dance floor. It seemed to be like a bachelorette party. A few guys hustled pool in the back. Others tried to make their way to undergrads’ panties. Older men sat alone in booths, nursing their beer. On your peripheral view, you watched as the man tapped his glass, asking for a refill. The barman poured him another shot of whiskey.

“Mike, can I get more vodka, please?” You held your glass out for him, batting your eyelashes.

“You already had enough, Y/N,” he walked to you, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“But it did me good, didn’t it?” You raised your eyebrows. “Look, I’m not even crying anymore.”

“I know, but we should get you in a cab.”

“Just one more shot and I promise that’s it for the night,” you stuck out your pinky finger to him. He only shook his head.

“We’ve already done this three times.”

“Fourth time's the charm,” you smirked.

“Only one shot and you’re done,” he warned, pouring your drink. “Then it’s just water for you.”

“Thanks, Mike,” grinning, you took the glass from the counter and downed it.

A sigh escaped your lips as the drink burned its way down your throat. You felt a pair of eyes heavy on you. Placing the empty glass on the wooden counter, you turned to the stranger sitting within two feet from you. Piercing green eyes roamed over your form, studying you until they found their way to your eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat as he seemed to stare deep into your soul. It felt as if he was unveiling your deepest secrets. You half-smiled at him with a little raise of your hand in a finger wave. He raised his glass before bringing it to his lips.

“I’m Dean,” he said with a warm smile.

“Y/N,” the sound of your voice helped to remind you of your real condition.

God, he must think you were some lunatic.

You turned away from him, facing the countless bottles displaying in front of you. Your hands flew to your face, fingers trying to clean the smeared mascara under your eyes. On your peripheral view, you noticed the man standing up from his seat. A shaky sigh escaped your lips as he started walking towards you.

“May I?” He asked, hand on the metal stool beside you.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to give him a decent answer. You just wanted to be left alone, but you didn’t want to sound rude. Unlike other people in the bar, he didn’t give you the same pitiful look. His eyes only showed kindness.

“I heard these guys have the best burger in town,” he said. “Is it true?”

Without averting your gaze from the bottles in the display, you shrugged. You could feel his eyes on you. He clicked his tongue, pursing his lips.

“You from around here? Have you eaten here before?” you didn’t answer him. “Right,” he sighed. “Guess we should order and see it for ourselves then.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” you turned to him. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I didn’t come here to flirt. So if you don’t mind-“

“Wow, wow, I’m gonna have to stop you there,” his green eyes widened. “I’m not trying to flirt with you or anything. Don’t get me wrong, but you seemed pretty beaten up so I thought that maybe you would enjoy some company to get your mind off whatever it is that’s bothering you. Now if you don’t want me here, then just say the word and I’m gone.”

“No, uh, you can stay I guess.”

“Good,” he gave you a short nod. “Burgers?”

“Yeah,” you smiled weakly.

Dean ordered a bacon cheeseburger with a portion of french fries. You decided to order the same. The two of you waited in silence. Not that there was a need to say anything. The food arrived along with two beers. A moan escaped Dean’s lips once he took a bite of his burger.

“Hmmm, this is so good,” he grumbled, his eyes closed and mouthful.

Your lips curled into a small smile at the sight of the stranger savoring his food. You took a bite of your burger, repressing a moan in the back of your throat. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried their food, but it had been a while though. They still had the best cheeseburger in town for sure.

“It’s good, huh?” He asked you, lips curled upwards.

“Yeah, it is.”

You finished the rest of your food in comfortable silence. Both too focused on the heavenly taste and the greasy french fries.

“Shit, you shouldn’t be having that,” he said as you took a sip of your beer.

“Of course I should.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” he shook his head. “That Mike guy said you already had enough to drink tonight and from now on you would only have water.”

“Oh, c’mon, I’m not even drunk,” you nearly whined. “And why would you care?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I just know that if you get really drunk to the point you won’t be able to walk, then someone might want to take advantage of you.”

“Hmmm, you got a point,” you took another gulp of your beverage and he gave you a sharp look. “But you see, Mike is my friend so he’s not gonna let anyone take advantage of me. Especially you.”

“Me?” His green eyes widened, voice rising about an octave or two. “Especially me?”

“I don’t know you. In fact, you could be pretending to be nice just to drug me or something.”

“I’d never do that,” he sounded truly offended.

“How am I supposed to know you’re saying the truth?”

“Guess you just gotta trust me.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, downing the last bit of your drink. “The last time I trusted somebody all I got was an astronomical heartbreak.”

“Since I’m a stranger, I can’t break your heart.”

“But you could kill me,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m a serial killer,” he rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the bottle in his hand and downing the rest of the beer. “I’m not a serial killer.”

“I know,” you chuckled. “You look harmless, Dean. You seem as innocent as a puppy.”

Dean rolled his eyes, signaling to the bartender to serve another round.

“So do you mind me asking what you're doing here?” He asked, green eyes searching for any expression that gave away the reason you were alone on a Friday night.

“Well, since you’re just a stranger and you’re not a serial killer, then I don’t mind you asking,” you pointed. “My boyfriend broke up with me.”

“That sucks,” he muttered before gulping his beer. “Guess that’s why you look like you’ve been crying for hours on end, right?”

“Right,” you clicked your tongue. “What about you, Dean? What’re you doing here alone on a Friday night?”

“Relaxing I guess,” he shrugged. “Plus, a friend of mine told me the food here is great. I had to figure that out for myself.”

“Hmmm, I see,” you nodded. “Guess I look terrible right now.”

“I wouldn’t say terrible,” he leaned to your side, his lips curving in a playful smile. “You don’t look terrible, Y/N. You actually caught my eyes when I stepped inside.”

“Then you saw my face and-“

“Then I saw your face and wondered what could have broken that pretty girl’s spirit.”

“Mason happened,” you mumbled, eyes focused on the recently opened bottle in your hands.

“So the douche has a name.”

“I thought he was going to propose,” you chuckled humorlessly before taking a large gulp of your beer. “Can you believe it? How crazy is that? I was sure he was gonna propose and he broke up with me!”

“He might be worse than I thought.”

“Oh, he is. I was sure he was planning a surprise. Who the hell invites someone to their favorite restaurant just to break up with them? C’mon, look at me,” you motioned to your body. “I dressed up for this. I put on a really nice dress just to look good. ‘Cause I knew I’d remember this. I was sure I was gonna come back home with a diamond ring on my finger and we’d have some hot ‘hey, we’re engaged’ sex. I’m ridiculous.”

“No, you’re not. That guy certainly didn’t deserve you. If he wanted to break up, he wouldn’t have given you hope for a brighter future.”

“I was probably reading too much into this.”

“So? He still shouldn’t have done it this way.”

“Can you believe he didn’t even pay the check?” A dry chuckle escaped your lips.

“He’s a dick.”

“You know the greatest loves of all time are over now,” you sighed, taking a bite of the last french fry.

“No, they are not,” he shook his head vehemently, staring back at you with wide eyes.

“How do you know that?”

“How do you know they are?” He challenged.

“Look around, Dean,” you said. “Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt? Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore? Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck? DiCaprio and Gisele? They all broke up.”

“So what?” Dean blurted out, his voice rising. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Of course it does,” you argued. “They’re all beautiful, smart, kind people and they are alone. People looked up to them. If they got divorced, then what’s left for me?”

“You have nothing to do with them,” he said. “And since you care so much about famous people and their relationships why aren’t you talking about Beckham and Victoria? Obama and Michelle? Gisele married freaking Tom Brady. He’s way better than DiCaprio,” he pointed out. “The greatest loves of all time aren’t over, Y/N.”

“But why does it feel like they are?”

Tears started to well in your eyes. Your voice wavered just above a whisper. Dean smiled sympathetically.

“You just had your heart broken by someone you care about. It’s okay to feel this way.”

“You’re a nice guy, you know?”

“I heard that once or twice,” he smiled, his head ducking down to hide the blush that crept up in his cheeks. “Now where’s that restaurant you mentioned?”

“Just a few blocks from here. The fancy Italian one,” Dean nodded. “Why?”

“Not today of course, but I’m gonna take you there again sometime.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Teasingly, your lips curled into a smirk. You were having a blast watching him get all flustered.

“No, what I’m saying is since that’s one of your favorite restaurants, you shouldn’t have a bad memory of it.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, your eyes finding his beautiful green irises. “Dean? Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure, anything. Shoot.”

“When I walked down to this bar I had made up my mind that I would get drunk tonight,” you admitted. “It’s much easier to deal with a hangover in the morning than crying myself to sleep. Can you respect that?” You offered him the best pleading look you could muster.

“Yeah, I can,” he nodded, finishing his drinking and calling for another round. “I don’t judge you, alright?”

“You don’t?” Dean noticed a spark in your eyes when you heard his words.

“I don’t,” he smiled. “I’ve been there. It was a long time ago but I still remember how much it hurt. I drowned my sorrows throughout the whole week. I stank alcohol. Then things got better. They always do. You might not see it now, but you will.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

Dean only shrugged. Silence fell between you. Dean finished what it was his last beer while you had a few more and some whiskey shots. Every gulp seemed like a better idea. It was. Anything was better than having that dull ache in your chest.

“Why did he do that?” You drawled as a cry broke out. Dean snapped from his thoughts and turned to you. “If he didn’t love me anymore, why couldn't he make it painless?”

“Because he’s an idiot and he only cared about himself.”

“Why people always leave me? Am I this broken that people just feel like they need to go away?”

“No, of course not,” his voice was gentle, his hand reached up to your cheek, fingers wiping the tears that fell freely. “You’re not broken, Y/N.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not broken and if people leave you, then it’s their loss,” a weak smile appeared on your lips. “You wanna hear something?” You only nodded. “What kind of tree fits in your hand?”

“What?” You asked with a tilt of your head. Your mind was too foggy to understand where he wanted to get with that.

“What kind of tree fits in your hand?” He asked again, a playful smile hanging on his lips.

“None,” your eyes casted down to your hands, examining them carefully. “My hand is too small to fit a tree.”

“No, Y/N,” he shook his head, trying to hold back his laugh. “It’s a palm tree.”

You stared blankly at him. Dean could almost see the gears in your head slowly spinning due to the alcohol. When you didn’t laugh, he decided it was better to explain it to you.

“Y/N,” he took your hand in his big one. You hummed. “A palm tree.”

“Oh,” you muttered, gaze fixated on your hand in his. Dean searched for any sign that would give away what you thought of his stupid joke. “Oh!” You blurted.

A wave of laughter came out louder than you expected. His joke finally made sense to you. Dean chuckled. He was relieved you found it funny. At least the drunk version of you did. Your laugh was contagious and the most heartwarming sound Dean had heard in months. He watched hiccups escape your lips with a smile.

“Alright, I think you had enough now,” Dean reached for the beer bottle on the wooden counter, he took a gulp and fished it. “We should get you home.”

“Okay,” you sighed, hands fumbling in your purse in search of your phone. “Here,” you placed it in his hands. “Call an Uber for me. It’s-“

“You’re not getting in an uber like this,” he shook his head. “C’mon, I’ll drop you home.”

Dean placed some bills on the counter, enough to cover your drinks and a generous tip. You hopped off the stool in a quick movement, feet wobbling, legs barely able to hold your weight.

“Hey, easy there,” he said, his hands wrapping on your biceps, keeping you steady. “Can you walk?”

“Mmhmm.”

You followed him to his car. Giggles escaped your lips out of nowhere. Dean only smiled with a shook of his head. He opened the door for you, making sure you wouldn’t bump your head or just fall on the passenger seat. You mumbled your address and were surprised that he understood what you said.

“I… I got a joke too,” your tongue drawled most ridiculously.

“You do?” He chuckled, taking a quick glance at you before turning his attention back to the road.

“I do.”

Dean waited for you to share but nothing came out.

“You not gonna share?”

“What do you call a be- a bear with no ears?” You hooted.

“What?” He smiled at you.

“A B.”

Dean chuckled. It wasn’t the kind of laugh you were expecting though. He glanced at you and noticed your arms crossed over your chest while a pout hung on your lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t like it,” you mumbled.

“Of course I did,” he nearly squealed.

He pulled up in the driveway and put the car in park. Dean climbed out of it and circled. A creak echoed through your dizzy head as he opened the door. You hopped off your seat, wobbly feet causing you to lose your balance. Firm, warm hands wrapped on your elbows, keeping you from falling. You were so tired and your legs weren’t even cooperating.

“You sure you can walk?” His emerald eyes scanned you. You only shook your head in defeat, not even daring to meet his eyes. “Okay. Just gimme your keys then.”

Hands fumbling in your purse, you found the keys and handed them to him.

“It’s the bigger one,” you told him.

Dean nodded. Before your tipsy mind could get a hold of what was happening, your feet were off the ground. One arm was under your legs and the other supported your back. You wrapped your arms around his neck, nuzzling into his chest. The warmth of his body irradiated through the layers of clothing. His musky scent was almost inebriating.

“Hmmm, so comfy,” you muttered against his flannel.

Dean walked with you in his arms to the front door. He managed to open it without having to let go of you. Stepping inside, his eyes roamed over the living room.

“My bedroom is in the far end,” you explained, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt, eyes closed.

The door to your room was open and Dean was glad for that. He walked in carefully not to have you bumping your head against the doorframe. Dean placed you on the bed. Your entire body relaxed at the feeling of the soft mattress. He removed your boots and you curled up on your side, opening your eyes to see him sitting beside you.

“You okay?” He asked, fingers gently tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Been better,” you said sleepily. “Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good. I’m glad,” he smiled, his thumb caressed your cheek. “You’re tired. I should get going.”

“Don’t,” you whined, holding his wrist. “Stay, please.”

“Only for a little while.”

“The room is spinning,” you chuckled.

“God, you’re gonna wake up to a killer hangover.”

“Yep.”

You got lost in his jade eyes, enjoying his proximity and the feeling of his fingers on your cheek. Even in your drunk state, you could still make some of his gorgeous features.

“Why can’t I just fall in love with someone like you?” Your voice was barely audible as you dragged out most words. “You barely even know me, but you’re already taking care of me. You’re one of the good guys, Dean.”

“I try, sweetheart,” he smiled.

“I can see myself falling for you.”

“Nah, you can’t,” he scoffed. “You’re probably seeing two of me right now.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled.

“I’m gonna get you some water, then you’ll go to sleep, alright?”

“Alrighty,” you yawned.

Dean headed to the kitchen to get you a glass of water. He felt bad seeing you this way. He could see it in your eyes how much you were hurting over the break-up. He walked back into the room only to find you already asleep, curled on your side. He placed the glass on the nightstand.

Before leaving, Dean searched for some paper. He fumbled in your drawers, finding a block of sticky notes and a pen. He wrote down on the paper and left it on the nightstand, your phone on top of it. Dean exited the room, closing the door behind him, and left the house. He made his way to the car and he couldn’t help but hope he’d see you again.

Tomorrow you’d wake up to a pounding headache, a dry mouth, and several waves of nausea. Then you’d found his note resting under your phone.

You probably don’t remember me, but I’m the guy who brought you home safe and sound. I can help you remember what happened last night. And I kinda owe you a date to that restaurant you like. Just call me: (785) 389-7216 or don’t. I don’t know. - Dean.

Read part two here!

I’d love to know what you think of this one! Consider sharing your thoughts with me via reply, reblog or ask!

Forevers: @hobby27 @thewinchesterandreidwhore

Dean Sweethearts:@maya-craziness @akshi8278 @herfalsegod @witch-of-letters @weepingwillowphoenix @deanmonandnegansbitch

#starburstsnewmilestone #supernatural #dean winchester #spn #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #deanreader

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hunnybadgerv · 4 years ago

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Hold On | Mass Effect | Guardians in the Darkness | Nyx Shepard x Kaidan Alenko

Summary: Nyx tries to apply some reason to the changes in their rekindled relationship and that she remembers of their last chance at the free expression of how they felt for one another.

a/n: This was supposed to be a smutty little thing for @painterofhorizons, then Nyx and Kaidan got all feelsy on me.

Read on AO3

Hold On

The hot water dribbled over his shoulders and down his back in speeding rivulets. Nyx wondered if she’d ever really get used to the sight—Kaidan Alenko in her shower, in her bed, in her life, again. It hadn’t felt like this the last time. Those few weeks of leave on Earth, holed up in his apartment, invading his home and his life. It became so easy. A peck good morning then a run that turned into a race back to be the first to get into the shower. Sometimes negotiations were involved as who got there first. Almost every time they ended up in a stalemate, making out under the waterfall of hot water—hands teasing as much as washing.

Nyx patted her cheek and chin with the towel she held up in front of her, remembering how she would just waltz across the room and fall onto his sofa. She would drape her legs along the cushions and prop her feet in his lap as they read the few reports that filtered into their inboxes during the repair and resupply of the Normandy. She never saw it ending, even knowing that it couldn’t stay just like that. She had basked in the comfort and relative normalcy of it, of having him right there whenever she turned around, of them having the chance to just be them, together.

Kaidan still ameliorated the chaos. And together they were moving toward hale and cozy in this new chance at a relationship, but she didn’t find the same kind of calm they had when it felt like they had all the time in the world.

Maybe that’s it, she wondered as she smiled at him.

He’d looked over at her and caught her ogling him. Kaidan smirked and kept his warm gaze on her as she mostly just stared back at him; Nyx didn’t even make a play at drying off or having anything better to do than look at him.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, grabbing the shampoo off the inset shelf near the water controls.

“Trying to figure out why I can’t take my eyes off you.”

He smiled at her again. “Well, rumor has it I’m a rather handsome gentleman.”

“That’s truth, not a rumor, hon.” Shepard managed to turn and actually moved to drape the towel around her, finally breaking eye contact with him as she fussed with the corner and tried to tuck it tight enough to hold itself up.

He chuckled at her, tipping his head back to rinse the shimmery suds from his salted black hair. Complete hard, honest truth. Her mind distracted itself again by the subtle hints of difference between then and now—her hazy memories and the reality of the man standing before her.

Nyx traced her index finger through the condensation on the counter. “It’s not the same as in Vancouver,” she finally admitted.

He’d been reaching for the knob when their eyes locked in the mirror’s reflection. When he turned it, the bathroom was bathed in a near deafening silence. She watched him still. Observed the way he pushed the towel through his hair then down his chest as he closed the distance between them with drippy, sloshing footsteps. Tucking his towel around his waist, he never dropped her gaze. Not even when he stood right behind her. Even then it didn’t really drop so much as shift when he just turned and angled her chin to get her to look up at him.

“I hadn’t lost you yet,” he said so quietly that she thought her heart might break.

Oh, there is that, too, she remembered. That part was too easy for her to forget. It wasn’t the same for her. The attack on the Normandy bled into the attack on Lazarus Station, like no time had passed between. Even though she knew it wasn’t like that for anyone else, not him or Tali or Garrus—any of her friends and family. She couldn’t help the guilt that cropped up at once again having forgotten.

“I sold that place so fast,” he admitted, his thumb grazing her jaw.

Nyx couldn’t say anything she just stared up into his face unable to look away. He hadn’t told her that.

“Couldn’t turn around in there without seeing you.” Kaidan rested his forehead against hers. A gruff sound played in his throat. “You’d only been there two damn weeks and you were everywhere.”

Again her voice failed her, her throat too tight to even contemplate anything more than breathing. Besides, what could she really say. All she could manage was tilting her chin enough to brush her lips against his. Her hand cupped his cheek as she closed her eyes and kissed him again. It was the only solid communication she could muster in the moment, the only apology, the only comfort.

Finally, she found her voice again. “I thought maybe—” she started but she didn’t know how to say it, not without being blunt and impolitic. “With all this. The threat. I mean. This might be the last moment we have.”

“Damn, Nyx.”

“There were a lot of things I didn’t get to say … before.” The last word came out smaller.

Kaidan just stared at her, his hands tightening on her hips like he might somehow be able to keep her from drifting off into space if something happened right in that moment.

“But it wasn’t because I didn’t have the chance,” she argued, staring up at him like somehow the words falling from her mouth could change the past. “I just … I thought—”

“There’d be more time,” he answered, finishing the thought that got stuck in her throat.

The curve on her lips showcased the traces of anguish that still twisted deep in her chest. “I keep wondering why I stare every time I look at you, like I’m trying to memorize every angle, every curve. Why I can’t not touch you when you’re near. Why I need to hold you so close and so tight all the time. I wondered if it was the Reapers, the inevitability of … all of it. I mean—”

Kaidan’s mouth landed on hers. It was less a kiss and more just away to stop everything for a second—her mind, her voice. The quiver in his lips told her more than she really wanted to think about. Eventually, the silencing technique evolved into a proper kiss, one brimming with desperation and passion. His embrace crushed her to him; Nyx didn’t want him to let up, she welcomed this pressure. Maybe an anxious little piece of her hoped that they could anchor one another right in that spot long enough to hold back time and steal a moment from the universe, a moment all their own.

Like all moorings, their embrace could bear no permanence. Inch by inch, in increments, they shifted apart, trading a tight grip for gentle caresses. Desperate kisses gave way to delicate longing.

“I don’t want to talk about the Reapers,” Kaidan whispered against her mouth. “Not here. Not now.” His hands curled her damp hair behind her ears; his fingertips traced the line of her jaw. “I only get you all to myself for a little while. And I don’t want to spend it talking about the war.”

Nyx nodded. She understood, seconded that opinion, even. Her head tipped back to meet his kiss when he leaned closer. She had to rise onto her tiptoes in order to drape her arms over his broad shoulders.

Grazing her neck in their retreat, his hands dropped from her face. He grabbed her bottom and used the counter for leverage to get her off her feet. There was no hesitation in the way she wrapped her legs around his hips, locking her ankles at the base of his spine. The bathroom door swished open, the warm humidity giving way to the dry chill air of her quarters. He knew the route by heart, which was lucky because she wasn’t about to miss one kiss along the way.

The tight squeeze of his arms around her waist inspired her to loosen her leg lock on his torso and she stood up on the edge of the bed. It changed the angle of their kiss, giving her a rare moment of height advantage. She kissed him, smiling against his mouth as she held his face in both her hands.

“There is something to be said for being taller,” she teased.

Kaidan chuckled at her. His hands smoothed down her hips to the edge of the towel. The gentlest of tugs was all it took to dislodge it. She gave him a chastising look when it pooled around her feet on the corner of the bed.

“That it does,” he hummed in agreement glancing down at her chest which was just about even with his mouth.

Her grip on his cheeks tightened when he moved toward her skin. “Ah, ah, ah.”

Kaidan’s hands moved with purpose, dropping his own towel then scooping her legs out from under her and back into his arms. After a few steps on his knees, he laid her gently on the bed like some kind of princess, at least that’s how it made Nyx feel. He was careful with her, treated her as if she were delicate and precious despite the fact she’d proven over and over in her life just how tough, how unbreakable, and how strong she was.

Of course, he didn’t need her to be strong for him. He always seemed to be the one who was strong for her. Nyx kissed him harder. Only letting it break long enough for the two of them to wrangle the sheets down and back up. Kaidan barely even had a chance to get himself covered before she pressed herself against his side, dotting his chest with soft kisses. One arm slid beneath her head, under her pillow as he cradled her closer.

A quiet hum settled in his chest as she continued to dot quick pecks and lingering open-mouthed kisses over his pecs, collarbone, and toward his neck. His fingertips danced lightly at the small of her back. A needy groan parted his lips when her hand skimmed up his thigh and slipped between them.

“So much for sleep,” he chuckled against her hairline as she stroked him again.

“Who said anything about that?” Nyx blinked up at him, and Kaidan captured her lips in a deep kiss. She shifted against his warm skin, draping her leg over his hip.

The hand at the small of her back traced the back of her thigh down to her knee, then shifted direction again as he nibbled at her lips. A soft gasp parted her pink lips when he grazed her center. “Not me,” he agreed.

He thickened in her hand and she pressed her hips toward his teasing fingers, chasing temptation. “I want you so bad,” she whispered against his chest as she nuzzled against his skin, leaving kisses here and there. “I mean always,” she admitted, blinking up at him.

“Really?” he purred, wearing a smirk.

“God, yes,” she moaned when he slipped his finger inside her. Her hips stuttered when he traced the same digit through her folds to circle her clit.

“Like, when?” he taunted, leaning forward to suck her earlobe into his mouth.

Her hips shifted in a languid rhythm, chasing his touch; her hand moved with a similar, firm pace and particular purpose. Nyx hummed, a mix of excitement and contemplation. “You and Joker were talking about vectors the other day. And when you leaned over the console …” Her eyebrows flashed upward.

“Yes?” he prompted.

Nyx grinned at him. “Well, it wasn’t your back I wanted to put my hand on.”

“Commander!” he said, feigning shock. “Are you suggesting you wanted to grab my ass on the bridge?”

She gave him a look that suggested he was close, but not quite on the mark. “It’s terrible, I know. Sometimes you flash that sweet smirk my way and the only thing I can think about is getting you out of that uniform and under me.” Nyx keened when he slipped his fingers inside her again. Kaidan held her gaze as her head tipped back with the sound.

“You clearly don’t know how inappropriately I’m thinking when you drop armor on the flight back,” his mouth closed over her throat. “When you tug that suit half off and tie the arms around your waist.”

She hummed and gripped his cock a little tighter. “You’re not the only one thinking just how easy it would be for you to push me against the wall of the shuttle and just fuck the adrenaline out of my system.”

Kaidan bit down on her shoulder hard with a low growl. Using his forearm, he positioned her leg higher on his side and shooed her hand off his cock. Her breath quivered when he pressed it against her. Her hips swirled, rubbing her clit with the plump tip before Kaidan guided himself against her. He teased them both, coating himself in her wetness before he slipped into her with the slightest shift in his hips. Each stroke pressed her clit against his shaft as he pumped into her shallowly.

“I don’t think Cortez and Vega would approve,” he finally said, thrusting sharply into her and making Nyx gasp.

“Cortez might be forgiving.”

“Garrus wouldn’t,” Kaidan teased.

“Never can tell.” She rocked against his languid movements savoring the way his body moved into hers. He gripped her ass tightly, pulling her toward him each time while keeping her leg up and out of the way. “You feel amazing,” she told him, clinging to his neck like she might fall through the hull of the ship if she didn’t.

Distance was not something she wanted or needed. “You were wet so fast.”

A blush raced across her face. “Told you. It takes less than nothing to get me thinking about you in compromising positions.”

Kaidan kissed her hard. “Fuck,” he growled against her mouth. She knew he was on the edge before his rhythm went jagged; she felt that telltale stretch that telegraphed his orgasm. His hand tightened on her rear; so much so, she knew she was likely to wake up with bruises. He pulled her forward, burying himself inside her as he came. Nyx stroked his neck, while she kissed him slow and deep.

His grip on her eased as he thrusted in and out of her a few more times until he softened enough for her to lose the stimulation. Then his hand shifted, moving between her legs in as close a manner as he could mimic. He teased her clit, sliding back when her hips rocked in order to dip his fingers into her. Kissing her the whole time.

“I want to hear you come, Nyx,” he announced against her mouth when her breathing reached a fevered pitch. “You to come apart. I’ve got you.” His voice was thick with need, as his deft fingers urged her onward.

She would have liked to come with him, but even when she didn’t he never let her go without. Kaidan refused to even contemplate her being unsatisfied.

“I know,” she said, petting the back of is head as she held onto him with every ounce of strength she could manage.

“Damn, I wish I was inside you,” he groaned against her neck before biting her. She knew he wasn’t anywhere close to the end of his refractory period, and there was no way she could keep this up.

“I’m close,” she gasped against his cheek, a part of her wishing she weren’t, a part of her wishing she could hold out for those few extra minutes until she could have him inside her again. “Kaidan,” she purred. “Kiss me.”

He didn’t miss a beat, his lips were on hers and his tongue in her mouth an instant later. That hum in her throat, built to a moan. Her hips worked against his hand. Kaidan held her tight against him as he inched her toward the precipice. A wave of warm electricity washed through her limbs when the proverbial dam broke. She shuddered against him, one hand shooting to his wrist to keep him from pulling away before the sensation faded.

They finally shifted apart, both their bodies slicked in a fresh sheen of sweat. “Maybe we should have held off on the shower,” he teased, stealing a kiss from her before he flicked the sheets off of himself. “Don’t you move a muscle,” he ordered before heading to the bathroom.

“Yes, sir. Major, sir,” she replied in breathless teasing.

Kaidan shot her a playful look over his shoulder. A little voice in the back of her head kind of hoped he might make her pay for that little gibe. She bit her lip and watched him walk back across the room; it was then she realized that one of her earlier observations had been completely correct. She was trying to memorize every detail. When he knelt on the edge of the bed, she bolted upright and grabbed him by the neck to pull him into a kiss. He caught himself on one hand, which kept him from toppling onto her completely—not that Nyx would have minded at all.

He kissed her without question, entirely consumed by it as she was. Once her grip eased up, Kaidan shifted.

“Missed you, too,” he chuckled. Tenderly, he eased her legs apart and swiped the cooling wet fabric between her legs. It wasn’t a shower, but it would work. He folded it and did it again, lingering a bit longer than necessary as the pattern of the hand towel’s fabric pressed and slid against her still swollen clit. When she looked up at him, he was watching her reaction.

She smiled at him and leaned up to steal another kiss. “Kaidan?”

“Hmm?” he replied, setting the towel on the bedside table.

“Would you rub my back?”

He grinned at her and kissed her on the tip of the nose. “It’d be my pleasure.”

Nyx let him lie back against the pillows, then fitted herself against him, with her head tucked into the crook of his shoulder. The lights dimmed, and the only sound other than their breathing was the quiet barely there hum of the filters for the fish tanks. Kaidan’s fingers traced across her bare skin until he was sure she was asleep. Even so, his hand only fell still once his own sleep cycle stole his consciousness from him.

#Mass Effect Fanfiction #Nyx Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #Shenko #Mass Effect #Guardians in the Darkness #Badger Scribbles #NSFT #NS*W #Angst and Fluff and Smut #Smut with Feelings #There's a cut for a reason #though I always add a cut to keep the posts shorter #But this time there's more of a reason

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nightships · 4 years ago

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The Captain’s Cabin Part 1 (again)

It’s been ages, but @everything-person sent a kind ask about a broken link! I have a sneaky feeling tumblr didn’t like my shirtless edit of our fair Killian that I originally uploaded with the fic. There is ALMOST CERTAINLY a better way to do this, and maybe i’ll get the energy to go fix the links in the old posts, but in the meantime here’s a re-upload of chapter one! reminder that it’s also on ao3. check my “jess writes cs” tag for the rest.

“The Captain’s Cabin?”

Emma squinted up at the sign, covering her eyes to keep the morning light from turning her blind. It was a ridiculous name, if she said so herself. (Never mind that this was their first day in town, and she’d been the one to choose the place.)

“I don’t know about this,” she said, sliding her eyes back to the blonde girl at her side. “We could just get back in the car and find a nice, motel-side Arby’s.”

“We just spent five hours in the car, not counting the five minutes it took to find that parking spot, Emma,” Elsa whined, “If I don’t get to eat whatever it is I’m smelling right now, I think I might cry.”

Emma ceded, but only because the smell of fried seafood was calling to her too.

The two of them stepped out of the misty morning and into the little dockside restaurant, Emma shaking her hair out of her hooded anorak jacket and Elsa flinging her braid back over her shoulder. The lunch crowd was still milling about, mostly older citizens and young parents, and the two were only too happy to take their time finding seats. The walls were stained dark, as if the warm drizzle outside had penetrated the wood, and covered in weather-worn treasures that undoubtedly came from the nearby sea. One side of the small building stood on ground level, but the other seemed to stretch out toward the water. It was nice, Emma had to admit, nicer than the dorky sign on the front had led on.

The two of them chose seats at the end of the long bar, despite all earlier protests about sitting for any prolonged periods (ever again, Elsa had promised, one foot up on the dashboard and the other hanging out the passenger window.) Elsa busied herself tracing the faces of old sailors and fisherman pictured on the walls, while Emma watched the tide coming in.

It hardly looked pleasant out, but she was certain those little black blobs in the distance were boats. She ran her hand over the windowpane to get a clearer view and squinted again, trying to figure out exactly what kind of vessels had caught her attention.

“Can I help the both of you?”

Emma swiveled on the little barstool and found herself eye-level with a toothy, if welcoming, grin. The man was standing on the other side of the bar, his black shirt emblazoned with the same logo from the sign outside the restaurant. She had no idea how he snuck up on her like that, but Elsa answered him before she could voice her question back.

“You definitely can. We’ve been in the car for far too long, and we need food.”

“I’ll have to see if we’ve got any laying around, then,” he said with a bit of a laugh, seeming to relax into his smile as he regarded Emma more thoroughly. "Where are you traveling from?”

“Boston,” the both of them answered, tiredness coming through in Emma’s voice and restlessness coming through in Elsa’s.

He clicked his tongue and handed both of them menus, leaning a hip against the bar as he played with one of the bottles on the counter top. “Quite a long ways away, but at least you chose a beautiful day to come up. It’s not always this nice out.”

“You call this nice?” Emma chuckled, wrinkling her nose as she nodded toward the window. “It’s about to rain.” “On the contrary, lass. I’d reckon the sun’ll be out before you’ve finished your meal.” His smile was challenging her now, as if he was about to reach out into the air and ask her to shake on it.

“Speaking of,” Elsa said, swiveling her menu toward him and pointing at a dish. “Can I get this with curly fries?”

“There’s no way,” Emma said, shaking her head at the man. He was leaned over the counter, arms folded out in front of him. She thought she could see the beginnings of a tattoo on the inside of his arm but refused to inspect any further, knowing his eyes had been following her a little too closely already.

“Ah, but there is,” he sang out. “When you’ve lived here as long as I, you tend to get accustomed to the signs.”

"Nobody’s that good,” She pressed, crossing her arms in front of her. He’d been keeping them (well, keeping her,if Elsa’s less-than-subtle looks meant anything) company ever since they’d ordered a meal, and since then she’d come to know quite a bit about him. His name was Killian Jones, and it didn’t sound like an American name because it wasn’t. He and his brother had come over from the United Kingdom a few years ago and started up business here. They had a sailboat, of all things, moored out at the end of the restaurant’s dock, and that apparently gave him the ability to predict the weather. “You have to have checked an app, or something.”

He shook his head again, eyes sparkling as they regarded her. “I could show you, if you’d like,” he said, a bit of extra something in his voice as he made the offer. “Liam’s not quite done with your orders yet, and it won’t take long.”

Emma gave him a challenging look of her own, then, wondering just how many tourists got an invite out onto his sailboat while their meals were made ready. On the other hand, though, her legs weren’t nearly stretched enough after driving for so long, and she did like the idea of standing again.

“Oh, go do it,” Elsa said, tearing her straw wrapper into tiny little squares atop the bar. “I’ll wait here for when the food gets out.”

“See? She’ll wait here, for when the food gets out,” Killian said, sweeping his arm out toward Elsa and raising his brow at Emma. “Come on, Swan, don’t make a man beg.”

Again, Emma relented, but only because she would never hear the end of it from Elsa if she acted like going with him was a big deal.

“What made you pick Maine, of all places?”

They were both leaned against the rail of his sailboat (which was more than a little impressive, Emma grudgingly admitted. With something like this at her disposal, she’d probably spend a few cloudy days on the water, too) and watching the little town ferry pick up passengers from the neighboring dock. It’d made three trips since they came outside, passengers snapping pictures and laughing at the sea spray when they passed over particularly large curls of wake.

“I could ask you the same,” he countered, twisting his neck to regard her. She didn’t remember him coming to stand so close, exactly, but then the past twenty minutes had gone by without her thinking of a single excuse to run back to Elsa. (It definitely had nothing to do with the way he seemed to talk about the sea like it was his first love, that was certain.)

“It’s different,” she told him with a small laugh. “We’re not moving in.”

“We didn’t think we were either, to be honest. Liam and I had plans to sail up and down the coast, to pack up every time we thought we were getting too rooted down.”

“Guess that worked out for the two of you,” Emma countered, nodding back toward the restaurant. “Big change of plans?”

“You could say that.” His smile turned wistful then, almost dreamlike, and Emma found herself watching him as he turned his eyes back to the sea. She couldn’t tell if it was the way the sun was now warming their faces or simply the way he was born, but the ocean seemed pooled right there in his eyes, too. He turned to her then, catching her off guard once more with his closeness. “I’ll wager your food’s waiting for you now, love.”

Surprisingly reluctant to leave the peaceful, salty air out on the docks, Emma nodded, letting him lead her back inside. Most of the lunch rush had taken off by then, and it was almost too easy to hear her friend’s voice carrying through the restaurant as they stepped back through the doorway.

“- she’s not really my sister, even though she looks it, but we always take this big sisterly road trip in the spring to celebrate meeting each other. She pretends she hates long trips, but I know that - Emma!”

Emma’s eyes widened considerably as she saw her friend chatting up a dark-haired stranger, one whose head looked exactly like Killian’s from the angle she had on him. He turned then, a lighter shade of blue eyes meeting hers. He was wearing the same shirt as Killian, too, but all brotherly resemblance ended below eye level.

“You must be Emma,” the man said, straightening up off the barstool and reaching out a large, square hand. “Liam Jones, privilege to be at your services today.”

Emma could see Elsa’s bright eyes behind him, switching frantically between delight and panic. She had always been terrible at improvisation, especially when it came to someone she wanted to impress. Emma only smiled and shook his hand warmly, not missing the gigantic plate of curly fries that Elsa had placed between them. (She didn’t miss the look Liam gave to Killian, either, but she found herself wishing she’d seen it from Elsa’s perspective instead. As it was, he was standing too close to her for her to see.)

“Nice to meet you. Are you the one I need to thank for the sandwich waiting over at my seat?”

“I am, especially since my second-in-command was nowhere to be found,” Liam said pointedly, aiming his smirk at her instead of his brother this time. She managed not to blush, but there was no hiding the snort that came from Elsa at her seat.

Seeing the food on her plate reminded Emma of their reason for visiting, and she found herself lingering there long after her plate held nothing but crumbs, swapping travel stories with the two men who held the sea in their eyes. It was comfortable, just as much as her ride together with Elsa had been, and suddenly she found herself wondering what else they might have missed if they hadn’t pulled off the interstate to fuel up in the little seaside town.

(Elsa, for all her part, wasn’t even trying to be subtle as she offered Liam the last long curly fry on her plate, complaining when he told her it’d be ungentlemanly to take anything more from her plate than he already had. Her argument was that he’d made them, after all, and deserved to spend a little time savoring the dishes he made. They didn’t even notice it when Killian snuck the thing off her plate and ate it himself.)

“So,” Killian finally asks, stepping up to tackle the question they’d all been dancing around, “How long are the both of you in town?”

"Oh, we only planned on stopping for a few-” Emma felt the point of Elsa’s shoe dig into her shin then, effectively cutting her off before she could say anything drastic. Emma swiveled back and gave her just as deliberate and obvious a look, wondering what the hell had gotten into her.

“A few days. Maybe a week or two,” Elsa supplied, sipping at her water and refusing to meet Emma’s eyes. “We don’t really have to be back any time soon.”

Emma let it go after a moment, but only because she didn’t want that to be the last smile she saw on Killian Jones’ face.

#jess writes cs #the captain's cabin #captain swan ff #captain swan au #cs modern au #jess writes fic #TAGS FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE #jeez i feel old and dusty #but here you go!

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hb-writes · 4 years ago

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True Stories

Written in response to Hauntober prompt #6: Fog

Summary: Little Lady Blinder universe. Clara and Finn chatting about ghost stories while taking a ride on Uncle Charlie’s narrowboat.

Characters Featured: Finn Shelby, Clara Shelby (Shelby!Sister), Charlie Strong

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Clara regretted it a bit, begging for her and Finn to be allowed to come along with Curly on the narrowboat instead of just taking the train to London.

The twins had spent much of their childhood playing on their uncle’s boats as they moored in the yard or moved about the city, but Clara had never ridden them beyond the city limits. She had never been subjected to the long stretches of deserted towpaths between towns or the low, suffocating tunnels, the dense fog that made her wonder how Curly could even steer the boat straight. And worst of all, she was cold, chilled right through her fingers and toes and spine, feeling more frozen than she remembered being in the entirety of her life.

But Clara would not tell anyone that, not even her dear twin, Finn, because he’d go spouting off about it the very moment they arrived to Ada’s, and then she’d go and tell Tommy, and then Clara would never hear the end of it.

Tommy already had quite enough things to tell the youngest Shelby ‘I told you so’ for, though he never did, not with those exact words. Tommy needed much less pizzazz than the phrase supplied to get his points across, and he preferred a raised eyebrow or a long stare or a smirk, maybe a single well-chosen word, his little sister’s name said in just the right tone.

So, Clara sat beside Finn, shivering as he smoked a cigarette, and she didn’t think once on the idea of uttering aloud a single grumble about the cold or the dampness or the fact that she’d decided she didn’t much like traveling the cut at night, not this time of year, at least. And further more, Clara decided on telling Tommy a grand story about their journey on the Grand Union, and in her telling, she’d claim being nothing but comfortable and content and express only the sentiment that she’d thoroughly enjoyed herself.

“Here,” Finn said as he offered his cigarette. “This’ll warm you up.”

Clara frowned and shook her head, her arms wrapped around her legs, her head resting against her knees. Even if the cigarette could give her any significant warmth, Clara wasn’t a smoker. She would rather have a cup of tea, or a sliver of whiskey, not that either would truly warm her. More than anything, she longed for a well-stoked fire and the pile of blankets back home on her bed.

Finn shrugged, pulling the cigarette back.

“Tom told you to wear more than that silly coat,” he said. “You’d say you’re freezing in the middle of July and you wear that thing this time of year?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, pulling the silly coat a bit tighter.

“Trying to be all posh down in London,” Finn continued. “Don’t know why, not as if Ada will let us get up to anything.”

Clara lifted her head, leaning back into the boxes behind them. “If you’re going to insist on being irritating, you can go and--” Clara started.

“Fuck! Did you see that?” Finn asked, knocking Clara’s shoulder as he nodded ahead.

“See what?” she asked, squinting as she searched the dark, hazy expanse in front of them. “How the hell can you see a bloody thing with all this fog?”

“There’s another tunnel up ahead,” Charlie interrupted, stepping up behind his niece and nephew, leaning on the box. “It’s a low one though, best to go on inside.”

“We’ll be alright, eh, Clara?” Finn asked, nudging his sister in the side. “The whole point of this trip was because she wanted to sleep out under the stars.”

Charlie glanced up, but there weren’t any stars to be seen through the fog. He shrugged, learning long ago that there was seldom a time it was worthwhile to go about arguing logic with the Shelby lot of bullheaded children.

“Suit yourselves,” Charlie offered as he headed to join Curly at the back of the boat, bringing the lantern with him as he left the kids in near darkness.

Clara shifted further down against the crate as the boat entered the cavernous mouth of the tunnel, the crumbling brick just visible through the fog. She’d never considered herself claustrophobic, but something about being so close to walls on three sides with water on the fourth, and with no end of the tunnel in sight, set her pulse a bit quicker. She shivered as the tunnel’s damp air chilled her further, the shaft seeming to narrow as the boat trudged along.

“What’d you see before?” she asked, turning to look at her brother.

Finn shrugged. “I don’t know. Thought I saw a light or something,” he said. “You know, they say over a hundred people died here in this tunnel.”

Clara watched Finn, his face little more than a dark silhouette though he was just beside her.

“You’re making that up,” she answered.

“I’m not. There was a tunnel collapse and a crash and who knows how many people have accidentally drowned in there.” Finn flicked his cigarette over the side of the boat and sat up straighter, shifting so his back faced the boat’s bow. He watched his sister as she remained propped up against the crate, her shivering arms crossed tight over her chest. “And then there’s the story about Sarah Kitchens...”

“Stop trying to scare me, Finn,” she answered. “It’s not gonna work.”

“I’m not trying to scare you. It’s a true story. Go ask Uncle Charlie if you don’t believe me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re too scared to walk the boat alone in the dark.”

“I am not. I’m just not going to make the trip because you’re being an idiot.”

“Well, I’m telling the story whether you wanna hear it or not, so if you’re too sca--”

“Yeah? You gonna tell it to yourself if I go in?” she asked, scoffing. “Just tell the fucking story, Finn.”

Finn cleared his throat. “Well, the way I heard it, Sarah Kitchens was the love of one of the rich lads in town, a real pretty girl, about seventeen or so, but she’d met a navvy who was here building the tunnel, this guy from a few towns down, and they fell in love,” he said, “And they’d come down here, Sarah and the navvy man, when the tunnel was deserted and they’d well, you kno--”

Clara cuffed Finn on the arm and he raised an arm to shield himself from another smack.

“What the hell?”

“Just get on with it,” she answered.

“Well, anyway, they’d come down here with their candles and all, to get some time alone, and one night the rich lad, he gathered his friends and followed her, cause she wasn’t seeming so interested anymore and well, they found her with the navvy, and him and the friends, they grabbed Sarah and they walled her up alive right then for cheating on him--”

“For cheating? You never said she was dating the rich lad,” Clara said.

“Yeah, but he liked her,” Finn answered.

“But she wasn’t cheating on him, then.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Fine, he walled her up ‘cause he was crazy, then. Doesn’t much matter why he did it. Either way, she ended up stuck somewhere in these walls.” He nodded up towards the ceiling of the tunnel. “Some say there are nights, must be when she’s missing her navvy, and you can still see their candles, like she’s waiting for him… and there’s others say they’ve seen her blood on the walls, seeping right through the rock and--”

A stream of cool water flowed down from a crack in the brick above them.

Clara’s scream pierced the air, reverberating off the tunnel’s walls, overtaking the dull hum of the boat’s motor and the calm lapping of the water against the hull.

Finn's responding laugh echoed too, booming off the walls as he laid back holding his stomach.

“It’s not fucking funny,” Clara answered, flicking away the water that had landed on her neck and in her hair and shoving her heel into his leg.

“Yes, it fucking is,” Finn answered, grabbing her ankle. He lifted his free arm to block an assumed onslaught of smacks.

Instead, Clara jabbed him under the ribs.

Finn dropped her ankle and shifted away, both hands held up in defense. “Christ, don’t you start with that.”

“You were--” Clara started, her attention drawn to the flickering light at the far end of the tunnel. “What the fuck is that?”

“What the fuck is what?” Finn asked.

“The light!” Clara pointed to the source of the faint. Finn eyes followed.

“A fu... it’s a fucking candle,” Finn mumbled out, a pitiful wail escaping his lips as he abandoned his sister, nearly tripping over himself as he moved toward the back of the boat.

Clara was still giggling to herself in the darkness when Charlie came up to check on her, not getting a word out of his nephew as he sped by to get in the cabin.

“What are you kids playing at? Shrieking like banshees in a fucking tunnel?”

Clara snorted. “Finn just scared himself with a ghost story. Thought he saw the candles of Sarah Kitchens and the navvy up ahead,” she answered, nodding towards the tunnel’s far end, and the dim light shining through the blanket of fog.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You mean the boat coming the other way?”

“I know what it is,” Clara answered. “Finny didn’t though.”

“Well, I heard you screaming, too.”

“Got dripped on a bit,” she answered.

“An awful lot of noise for a few drops of water.” Charlie turned away from his niece for a moment, took note of their general whereabouts before meeting her eye again.

“The story’s true though,” Charlie said, the smirk on his face hidden as he lifted his lantern to reveal the reddish-brown blemish covering the tunnel wall.

It was nothing more than a conveniently positioned iron stain, a well-timed trick Charlie Strong had been employing to scare Shelby kids for over two decades now, but Clara didn’t know that as she too sought the shelter of the narrow boat’s cabin.

The twins didn’t come out again until they were nearly to London, when there were no more eerie tunnels in sight and the night’s fog was long past burned off by the morning sun.

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Read more Little Lady Blinder stories here.

#Hauntober #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #finn shelby #shelby!sister #clara shelby #little lady blinder #charlie strong

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