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hanckocks-dagger · 1 year ago

Text

Shake, rattle, and roll

masterlist

John Hancock x f!reader

Description: After three weeks on the road, you come home to Goodneighbor to find a sweet surprise from Hancock. Naturally, you fuck him about it.

Tags: Such sappy smut guys, holy shit theyre in love, Hancock is a simp. Reader could be viewed as SoSu or not, no y/n, female anatomy

Warnings: smut! Pretty vanilla though, honestly, so nothing else to mention

Word count: 6K

Cross posted on my ao3

The last day of travel was always the worst; with the end goal in sight

The morning sun beat down on you, the trek from Lexington having seemed almost endless. There was only one thing on your mind as you marched over the Harvard bridge; Hancock's bed. You had the full intention of crawling right into it and staying there, comatose, for several days.

Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. You needed to unload the spare weapons you'd picked up, throw those to KL-E-0. You also had some things to drop at Daisy's, some things to pass on to Ham for the Third Rail...

You pulled your pack higher onto your shoulders, ignoring the ache of your back from the weight of it, all the junk you'd decided to ferry back with you. The straps of the bag were sure to leave deep, painful indents in your skin, almost permanently rubbed raw after weeks of travel.

Downtown, you skirted between Diamond City outposts, making your usual wide berth around the city itself. Despite being human and technically welcome inside the city, you'd taken to avoiding it, as if their prejudice was infectious. You hadn't entered the gates in months by now, and even though you missed Power Noodles and stopping by the agency to bother Nick, you felt no real urge to step inside.

The inhabitants' paranoia, towards the institute and towards outsiders, made the air in the city oppressive. Compared to the freedom of Goodneighbor, even with all of its own problems, Diamond City felt tyrannical in comparison.

You made a wide berth around the old scrap yard, overrun by feral dogs, climbing a fire escape to reach the elevated turnpike.

The closer you got to Goodneighbor, the hard it was to push forward. With the end in sight, close enough that you could practically count the steps you had left, aware of every finite amount of energy you had to eke from your body. Still, you reused to break, pushing forward, hands wrapped tight around the straps of your pack, like a schoolchild with their brightly colored schoolbag

Just a little further. Just a little more. The turnpike turned North, and you had to duck and pause as some gunner scouts passed, the highway connected to some high-rises, precarious wooden planks forming bridges.

Crouched down low, your calves burned, your fingers ached as you gripped your revolver, checking the bullet count on autopilot and lining up a shot, just in case you were spotted.

You weren't, the mercenaries passing from one end of the bridge to the other, wood creaking under their weight, loud, unconcerned conversation passing between them.

You sneaked past them in a crouch, knees and back protesting, familiar flood of adrenaline humming through your blood, heartbeat in your ears. The thrill stayed even once you were out of eyesight, until you'd shaken out your joints and rolled your shoulders, back to your brisk pace.

One of these days, you promised yourself, zeroing in on the broken jaw of the freeway that you used to find your bearings, you'd find a way to make a portable Ham-radio. Staying away so long was making you half-insane. You hadn't heard his voice in over two weeks, and at this point you would have sold all the loot you were lugging around to see his face a few minutes sooner. You'd pay insane sums to be able to hear him on the regular while you were away. Joking, complaining, hell, even just reading off his fucking caravan logs.

The body of the freeway dropped to the ground, crumbling concrete surrounding a Gunner camp, probably the one those two idiots earlier were supposed to be protecting. Well, you thought, pulling a trip-mine from your pack, it wasn't your fault if they were fucking morons.

Behind the rusted body of a truck, you waited for the perfect moment to strike, listening with patience to the Gunners as they yelled and laughed, carefree in the way only over-confident assholes ever could be. On a different day, you would have attacked with something more complicated, something that could blast the entire camp in one go, but today, you were tired and homesick.

At the right moment, you activated the mine and tossed it, scurrying from behind your car to drop off the side of the freeway, landing in a crouch in an alley a street over from Goodneighbor, booking it as the mine went off and the yells changed from happy to panicked.

You'd often thought, as you and Hancock laid spread eagle on the bed, or sprawled over the couch, that between the two of you, you were by far the one more likely to turn feral. He was too clever, his mind too sharp, even dulled by drugs. You were the one running around the wasteland, scampering like some little creature, hoarding old-world junk, killing nearly indiscriminately. You survived on the high of your own adrenaline, surviving scrapes by the skin of your teeth, by clawing, biting, crushing, choking.

You held your breath until you could see the glow of the welcome-sign, neon arrow pointing at the door, like to the entrance of a dingy nightclub. It shone like a beacon even in the daylight, beckoning you home.

When your fingers touched the door, you swore you gained a second wind, the eerie stillness of downtown Boston turning into the hum of bustling Goodneighbor residents. You greeted the Neighborhood watch as you entered the town, and they variously tipped caps or winked at you, hands always on their guns.

Daisy's was full, the sure sign of a newly passed caravan. You spotted that Railroad guy, sipping from a bottle on the bench in front of the store, doing his usual job of completely failing to fit in by being almost unnaturally nondescript. That might work in Diamond city, but not in Goodneighbor.

Your steps were slow as you maneuvered through the crowd, aware of the pack on your back and the guns slung over your shoulders. You headed for Kill or Be killed, planning to unload some ammo and spare rifle you'd picked up. You kept your eyes peeled for that flash of red in your periphery, the heat that filled your chest whenever you were near him.

KL-E-0's store was empty, meaning she was probably on the second floor, conducting some less than savory business. You'd hustle out of there if you heard the sound of her laser powering up, but you decided to spare a few minutes.

You leaned your forearms onto the counter, taking some of the weight off your sore feet and back, eyes running over the visible apparel, wondering what things you should offload.

Sure enough, barely a minute passed before you could hear the wood creaking above you, footsteps descending the staircase and an achingly familiar voice:

"-Talk when my girl brings something new, call it a uh- personal favor."

You raised your head from where it had been lolling, that familiar voice sending a sweet ache through your chest and a giddy smile onto your face. His girl.

Hancock was turned away from you, speaking to KL-E-0, trusty shotgun in his hands.

If your pack had been lighter, you would have bounded into his arms and dragged him right back to the old State House. You would have indulged the exhibitionist in him, wrapped your legs around his waist and let him stick his tongue down your throat right there in the street.

Instead, though, you settled for walking over, supporting the bottom of your pack to keep it from rattling. KL-E-0's red eye flickered over to you for a moment, inscrutable as always, but she stayed quiet, allowing you to surprise Hancock as he chattered about the recoil of his gun.

You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, smushing your face between his shoulder blades. You breathed him in, the familiar smell of tanned hide, cigarettes and that ever present old-museum-smell that he'd tried many times in vain to get rid of. You inhaled with a shudder, pressing a kiss to his back, feeling his momentary frozen shock melt away as he seemed to register who was touching him.

He spun in your arms, leaving you face to face with soft eyes and a softer smile, a hand coming up to cup your cheek.

Warm lips pressed to yours and you melted arms sliding up to hook around his shoulders, pulling him flush to you. A corner of your mind– or your heart– which had spent the past two weeks growling about being apart from him, finally quieted down.

"Is that your gun digging into my hip, or are you just happy to see me, love?" He asked you when you separated, leaving you to snort and hide your face in his shoulder, so giddy you thought you might burst with it.

You swallowed past your joy, composing yourself so that you could lean back and flick the tip of Hancock's tricorn-hat upwards, giving you a better view of those lovely dark eyes, always so emotive, crinkled at the corners.

"Good to see you too, Mister Mayor," You breathed, hands sliding from his shoulders down to his waist, backing out of KL-E-0's store, dragging Hancock along with you. He came willingly, not allowing even an extra inch between the two of you.

All thoughts of bartering, even your own body's complaints were forgotten, your heart singing. You blinked against the sunlight, convinced suddenly that the weather was reflecting your mood.

"What's your plan for the day?" You asked, when it became clear Hancock was too busy staring at you to say anything. The two of you seemed to be wandering in a leisurely pace towards the old State House, but you didn't care where you were going. You'd follow him around all day if you had to. You could be going right back into the Wastes for all you cared. You'd trail behind him as he did whatever he needed to do, collapse from exhaustion and let him carry you back to bed.

"Oh, you know," He said, pulling you up the steps to the Old State House, opening the door for you, ushering you inside, "Was gonna get high and mope around all day, waiting for you." He had no sooner shut the door than he grabbed you by your belt, pinning you to the wall, your heavy pack hitting the wall. "Probably drive Fahrenheit crazy with my pining–"

You hum, smoothing out the lapels of his coat as his hands wander.

"Now, I'm thinking we go up and let the whole town we're reunited."

"Sounds perfect," You agreed, pressing a kiss to his jaw before pushing him gently in the direction of the staircase. He led the charge, half toppling over every step in his desperation not to let go of you.

The second you hit the landing he whisked you back into his arms again, hands restless as he squeezed your sides, traveled up your arms, touched your face, all before coming right back down again to squeeze your ass. Another breathy laugh escaped you, so happy you couldn't put your smile away even as you kissed him.

His hand slid up to your lower back, guiding you towards the bedroom, your lips still locked together.

you pulled away at the door as Hancock filled with the stubborn doorknob, always jammed right when you needed it to open. You keep your arms hooked around him, but you give a salute to the neighborhood watchman stationed in front of your door. His face stayed stoic, either used to yours and Hancock's antics, or from copious threats from Hancock. Both seem equally likely.

He did give you a nod, though, as Hancock crooned in victory, having managed to fling the doors open. You gave him a smile, right as Hancock grabbed your arms and pulled you in. You kicked the doors shut behind you, already laughing as Hancock showered your face with kisses, dipping you like a dancer.

You separated from him enough to finally drop your pack, which thumps to the floor. Your guns come off, placed down with more care, followed by your bandolier and scavenging jacket.

Hancock cracked the doors open as you busied yourself, calling out, "Make sure to keep all the riff-raff out today, yeah brother?" And then the doors were shut and locked. A peaceful quiet descending over you.

He takes your hands, pulling you to the center of the bedroom, leaving you bathed in afternoon sunlight peeking in from the open balcony door. The room was as clean as it ever was, five hundred years of grime that you'd long given up on trying to get rid of.

With the door open and the spring air flooding in, everything felt fresher, not weighed down by centuries of history, but just a normal bedroom. Your books had been stacked in neat piles on the dresser, where you could see one of your shirt sleeves peeking out from the drawer. The bed was newly made, and....

"Is that..?" You stared, taking in the sharp white color of the fresh sheets, looking brand fucking new. Not Commonwealth new either, no, this looked like the bleached and pressed sheets of a fucking prewar hotel.

Your eyes sought out Hancock's, expecting to find him grinning, boastful, the usual exaggerated ego coupled with his general cool-demeanor, but instead you found him looking... uncertain. One hand rubbing the back of his neck like he was... bashful.

"Where did you get this?" You asked, stepping over to the bed. You ran a hand almost irreverently over the fresh sheets, feeling the starched, crisp texture of it, not rotting and mildewed like almost everything was.

"Oh, a uh– new trade caravan passed through last week. From somewhere out west, they've been growing cotton and weaving shit.

As if in a trance, you started shucking off your clothes, not wanting to sully the fresh sheets with your blood and dirt stained layers. You only get as far as your outer shirt when Hancock's hands sneak back onto your waist, almost timid in their touch. You half wanted to slap them off in your urge to get naked, get under the sheets and let him touch you there all he wanted.

Instead, you spin around to face him, guide his hands under your shirt to the warm skin of your stomach. "You're an angel, you know that?" You said.

He laughed, "Only for you, sister. Devil to everyone else."

You laughed back at him, finally shedding your shirt. As you try to wrestle off your boots with the force of your heel, all the examples to the contrary fly into your head: Every kind action he'd done, every willingly shared drug, every situation where he'd chosen less violence than he needed to. The nights you'd spent watching him agonize over whether he was good enough for his community, whether he was making the right decisions.

Instead of bringing those up, you pecked his lips in thanks. With his 'help' (groping), you got your undershirt and bra off, leaving your torso bare.

You leant down to unlace your boots, your earlier attempts having been futile, but before you could Hancock had you off your feet, tossing you head first into soft, fresh sheets. He took over, hands trailing teasingly over the waistband of your pants before he turned to your boots, sliding them off and taking your socks with them.

You groaned, cheek smushed into the mattress, as nimble hands pull your pants down and off. Trailing fingers, tickling the backs of your naked calves, up into the hollow of your knees. You had to stifle a giggle as a feather light touch against your inner thigh made you jump.

The bed shifted as he climbed onto it, his legs bracketing yours, knees pressing into the flesh of your thighs.

Fingers on the waistband of your underwear.

"How about we get these off?" His voice, low and gravelly, suddenly hot in your ear. A gentle bite to the cartilage of your earlobe, the drag of fabric as your underwear was pulled down your legs and then tossed somewhere.

"You know," You breathed, raising yourself onto your elbows so you could crane your neck and tried to catch him in a kiss. You missed, but settled for kissing his shoulder, hovering just by your head. "I'm feeling a bit exposed here. You've stripped me bare and you're still clothed."

You turned underneath him, determined to get him to kiss you again, were met with his grinning face just above yours. "Well, let no one call me an unfair man," He said, sinking onto his haunches, just out of reach of your desperate mouth. He plucked his tricorn from his head, settled it onto your.

You raised yourself to him, stole a quick peck, languishing in every brush of his lips against yours. It was dangerous, how much you'd missed him on the road, pining to the point of distraction. The times you'd ducked into buildings to ease an ache brought on by reminiscing, imagining him besides you, or on you, or in you. Imagining him being beside you as you stumbled into firefights, imagined his hands patching you up, rather than your own.

"You didn't happen to remember to take any Rad-X this morning, didya?"

His words pulled you from your stewing. You groaned. In your excitement to get home, you'd completely forgotten.

"Can't we just... skip it? This once?" You asked, pulling on his collar, dragging him down to lie on top of you, his mouth in reach again. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, hooking one leg around his waist to ground him to you, keep him from getting distracted.

"You and I both know you'd regret that in the morning, sister."

He was right, the bastard. Spending your morning throwing up, hooked to a Rad-Away was not your ideal first day back. So, lamentably, you release your grip on him, hands and leg flopping to the side as he leant over to grab a bottle from the nightstand.

"I'm sure we can find something to... entertain you, while we wait for it to kick in."

You pouted, making a show of how frustrating his interruption had been, how desperate you were to get him back. Here you were, naked, spread-eagle and waiting, with patience you didn't have.

You watched, silently, as he dug into the bottle, drawing out two pills. As he stepped back over, you pulled yourself back onto your elbows, waiting for him to hand them over, or maybe deposit them into your mouth himself.

Instead, as he kneeled onto the bed, he put them into his own mouth, leaning over you to meld his lips to yours. You grabbed at him, feeling his arms wrap around your waist to support your weight as you melted in his arms. Slowly, in long, deep, searing kisses, the pills moved from his mouth to yours. Once they were on your tongue, he pulled his mouth off yours, scarred lips shining with spit, and moved to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as you gather enough saliva to swallow the pills.

Rad-X was quick to kick in, but the effects weren't instantaneous, leaving the pair of you with at least ten minutes to kill. On a normal day, you would have been happy to spend those minutes making out, taking your time in stripping Hancock off his clothes, egging each other on with dirty words and dangerous fantasies. But you'd spent over three weeks away from Goodneighbor, over three weeks of precarious mental foreplay, dreaming of his touch at night, fantasizing of him in the day. Suddenly, even the prospect of radiation sickness was not enough of a reason to stay away.

You tore at his coat, rucking his frilly shirt out from under his sash, exposing his slim stomach. You watched the muscle there tense under your touch, as you ran cold hands over his hips, tugging him closer to you. With practiced hands, you made quick work of untying the sash at his hips, satiny fabric sliding from your fingers and onto the floor like a waterfall.

Hancock bit into the flesh of your shoulder, making you hiss and dig your nails into the skin by his hip bones in retaliation.

You pull his chin upwards, leading his mouth to yours again, keeping those teeth from doing any more damage just yet.

Your generous hands wandered, up and under his shirt, roaming over the breadth of his chest, feeling it expand as he inhaled. You nipped at his bottom lip, drawing out a rumbling groan, felt both in your mouth against his, and in the vibrations against your fingertips.

You scooted to the edge of the bed, bracketing his hips with your thighs, freeing his hands so you could tug his coat off. Your hands slipped up under his collar, pushing his narrow shoulders backwards, giving you enough leverage to push the heavy coat backwards, the heavy fabric thumping to the ground.

Sometimes, when Hancock looked particularly vulnerable, usually collapsed on one of his couches, bleary with the haze of jet, his outfit reminded you of a child playing dress-up. In ancient coat tailored for a man with broader shoulders, a hat fit for a pirate and a disdain for the sort power he wielded.

You pulled your lips off of his, formulating a plea that would get you what you wanted, what words would make him understand just how badly you ached for him, just how unbearable the emptiness in you was. You pressed a chaste kiss to his sternum, bare but hiding in the ruffles of his shirt, and made a blind grab for the waistband of his pants, words suddenly elusive.

His hands stopped yours, stilling them just by the button on his pants, so close to their goal.

You whined, the sound almost entirely involuntary, tilting your head up to meet Hancock's gaze with your own, sure now that he was teasing you.

"John," You managed, "This is cruel."

His eyes crinkled, as if you were the one making the joke, as if you weren't the one burning from the inside out.

"Well, now, I can't have you destroying my reputation. I worked hard to be known as a generous lover."

"Then stop teasing and fuck me."

But he only snickered like a bawdy teenager, gentle hands guiding yours to grasp at the fresh sheets. You watched helplessly, heartbeat in your throat, as he stepped back, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows before sinking to the floor in front of you, guiding your legs over his shoulders.

"This'll coast you over, sister."

He grabbed you by your thighs, tugging you closer until you could feel his breath on your [core]. Your thighs trembled, heels digging into his back, desperate to push him closer, to get his mouth where it needed to be.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, hands balled into fists, half convinced you would burst into tears if he didn't do something. You swore you could feel him laugh, right up against your pussy, unable to hear it over the rush of blood in your ears, a split second before his tongue was finally, mercifully, on you. The slick drag of it landing quickly on your clit, lapping at it teasingly, every strike on your nerves making you seize, already so worked up from being near him.

You cursed on an exhale, lungs burning, every nerve in your body sparking, your blood heating. There was an obscene slurping as he sucked hard against your clit, pressure just on the right side of pain, his fingers digging into your thighs.

Your head pushed hard into the mattress, Hancock's hat falling into your eyes, rendering the outside world suddenly dark.

Suddenly, all pressure vanished, making you let out a long, pitiful whine, releasing your death grip on the sheets to raise the hat and see what the ghoul would be torturing you with this time. You raised your head, found Hancock on his knees by the bed, looking at you with pure reverence, fingers running up and down over the plush, soft skin of your inner thighs.

You could feel the way his ministrations had spread your juices, the way the skin at the meet of your thigh and pelvis were glued together, sticky, pulling at your pubic hair just enough to be uncomfortable.

"What are you starin' at?" You panted, trying to get his wandering mind back to the matter at hand.

He grinned up at you from his perch, "What do you think?"

Fingers, crawling slowly, teasingly, up your thigh, into the divot where leg meets hip, tickling. Then, slow, gentle strokes through your pussy lips, scooping up all your wetness. A teasing, fleeting touch across your clit, making you seize, arching off the bed with a whine.

Then, the slick, slow glide of those fingers inside you.

"F-Fuck," You huffed, meaning to say something more like 'fucking finally, you torturer'.

"Such a pretty girl for me," Hancock says, that sly purr sending its own spark up your spine, mixed with his fingers, a slow, tantalizing in and out, "Been thinking about you for days, love. All alone out there, with no one to help you out. Running back home, to me, to let me help."

His fingers stilled. You clenched around him, every muscle in your legs seizing, your chest heaving.

"Is that what you were doing?" His voice was delicious, closer now. There's a bite into the flesh of your stomach, just above your belly button and you tensed against it, squirming into his fingers.

"Yes," You breathed, grinding hard onto his fingers, willing something, anything, to put pressure on your clit. You try squeezing your legs together, but Hancock's arm is in the way. A pathetic whimper escapes you.

"Wanna tell me about it, sister?"

You get out a "Please," legs moving restlessly, trying to get him to do anything, go in our out, anything at all. Blindly, you reach out and get him by the back of the neck, trying to push him downwards. You can feel his smile against the skin of your hip.

"Nngh- mmm, yes, I thought of you. Every day I was away." His head sunk lower, chin resting on your pelvis. "Thought about this, or sharing a hit of jet, or letting you pour wine into my mouth."

His mouth found your clit again, and you were sure you could cry, feeling his tongue flicking at the little nub, fingers starting to move again, a slow, languid in and out.

You arched off the bed, hands gripping the back of Hancock's head, legs going over his shoulders, pressing into his back.

"Shit," You breathed, one hand shifting to grab his forearm. The pressure on your clit increased suddenly, sending a spark through you that left you limp. Your hands slid from their grips, spilling onto the bed.

You looked down, finding Hancock's eyes on you. Then, he twisted his fingers in a way you didn’t recognize increasing the suction on your clit until you felt like he was trying to give you a hickey. You gasped, fingers digging hard into the bed, fabric rustling in your palms, hips snapping upwards, further into his mouth.

"Wait, that felt– do it again," You panted, to which he happily obliged, tongue and fingers twisting in a way that lit a spark in your body, like the strike of a lighter. A few more repeated movements and you moaned, probably loud enough to wake the drifters in the attic. Hancock's free hand wandered up the bed, catching one of yours in his own with a gentle squeeze. A moment so sappily romantic it managed to push you over the edge, your orgasm cresting over you like a warm wave.

Slowly, with a few extra nips to your inner thigh, Hancock sat back. Face wet with you, mouth curved up into a smile. You squeezed your legs together, shading your clit from the open air, chest heaving as you recovered from over stimulation.

"Get up here, please," You called, voice languid, hands reaching out to embrace him, crush him to you, hold him there forever. He obliged, crawling up against you, the texture of his pants against your naked thighs sending goosebumps across your skin. He slotted perfectly into your arms, pressing his mouth to yours.

You ached for him, wanting to get him closer, to tangle with him until you were impossible to separate. You kissed him like you were starving, all teeth and desperation, hands moving to shove off his vest, to unbutton his shirt, to get him naked, get him closer. He helped you, tossing the vest and then the shirt to the floor, warm chest pressing to yours, your tits trapped between the two of you, his rough skin grazing against your nipples, heat building behind your sternum.

Between your bodies, you felt his hand work at his pants. You were pressed so close together that every fumble grazed against your core, sending shocks of heat through you. You were so overwhelmed with need you couldn't decide where to put your hands, sure you'd be more of a hindrance than a help if you tried to get involved.

He made quick work of it, tugging down his pants, followed by his underwear.

He lined himself up, your excitement mounting until you were sure you would come again the second he entered. He captured your lips in another searing kiss, and finally your hands moved without you having to think about it, settling low on his hips in an effort to drive him closer.

"Ready?" He asked, and you felt your mind flash back to your first time with him, a rushed affair after a night drinking with him at the Third Rail. Even then, as it was a desperate fumble to get naked as fast as possible, spread over the couch in his office, clawing and biting with ferality, both of you desperate to get closer, even then, he had paused, hands on your panties, and asked, in that same soft tone, if you were ready, as if he expected you to have changed your mind.

"Yeah, I'm ready," You breathed, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation.

It's a slow, slick, delicious glide that has both of you groaning. Something in you slots into place, all your frenetic energy calm, as you grip at Hancock's back, burying your face in his neck as he starts to move.

"God, that's so–" you gasped, unable to finish, unsure of the words. You hitched a leg up onto John's waist, dragged him in for another kiss.

His pace was achingly slow, his touches sickeningly sweet. You focused on the fullness of it, the way the glide and drag of it seemed to fill your lungs even as he stole your breath with his tongue.

You wanted to live in this moment forever, here with him, inseparable in every way, as close as you could be. Hancock's hips drove deep, making you arch your back with a gasp for air, his lips vanishing off yours. The pace stayed sweet, sentimental, and you relished every sound that came from his mouth, every trembling breath.

"Wait," you breathed, tapping his shoulder like a time out, "Lemme, ugh–" With a few moves, you've twisted the two of you around, him on his back, you supporting yourself over him. He looked up at you, eyes twinkling with pure adoration, as you settled yourself with your legs under you, hands moving to his chest so you can keep your balance.

You settled yourself down onto his cock, your hips flush with his, and his hands found your waist, squeezing with that same softness. You set a pace, still calm, but decidedly faster, enough that your tits jiggle as you move.

"If this is some fucked up hallucination," Hancock rasped, voice choked, "I swear I'll lay off the drugs."

You laughed, breathless, grinding down to find that perfect spot inside you, hitting it over and over again, until the pleasure of it turns the inside of your eyelids white and your hands buckle, give out.

Arms caught you, of course, Hancock flipping you back over, managing to land that sweet spot again, enough that the tension spreads across your body, every muscle tensing up as you moaned, inches away from your second orgasm. His fingers on your clit do the trick, a few tight circles and the tension suddenly seeps out of you, a long, silent exhale. He fucked you through it, pace slowing down as you catch your breath.

You lean up to capture his lips again, grinding your hips to meet his thrusts, encouraging him to speed it up, to chase his own pleasure, relishing in the way his pace grows frantic, sloppier.

He gripped your wrists, bringing them over your head, held tight in his hands. Your torso lengthened, chin tilting upwards, exposing the length of your neck to him. He pulled away from your mouth so you take the chance, craning your neck upwards to nip at his skin, finding the soft tendons and sucking hard.

Through gasping breaths, he asked, "Where– nngh– where do you want me?" Your legs tightened around him, hands clawing at his back, using all the strength you had to keep him where he was.

Already, you can feel the way your own pressure is building back up, the way the repeated slide of it drives you right back to the edge.

"In– in me," You gasped, muscles shaking as he managed to hit that perfect spot in you over and over, back arching clean off the bed. You still weren't ready to let him go, even as you neared your third orgasm, still desperate to keep him where he was.

"Are you–"

"John," You cried, his hips slowing as he stopped again to check, your welfare always at the front of his mind. Sure, it would leave you raw and burning, making the next round a bit more pain than pleasure, but all you could think about was keeping the sensation of him imprinted on you as long as possible. "I'm sure, please."

He rutted against you, hips grinding against yours. His head dropped to your shoulder, gasping against your sweat slicked skin, two fingers sliding down against your throbbing clit.

You whimpered against him as pleasure flooded your body again, your grip on him weakening as your muscles shook, legs slipping from around his waist.

You mumbled words of praise as he came, hands roaming around his back, onto his cheek, your whispers of, "So good, so perfect, you're perfect, baby," audible only to him as he moaned. You felt the heat of him inside you, the slow building of fullness even as he softened.

You felt the slow, familiar tingling that preceded the lightly burning pain that would start. You felt Hancock shifting out of you, his mouth twisted into a guilty frown in the skin of your shoulder.

You clenched, feeling the slow dribble of heat spilling onto your skin.

Hancock's lips traced a path across your shoulder, down your arm, the occasional wet smack or nip at your skin pausing his journey. He detached himself from you slowly, regretfully, as if taking his skin off yours was some great sin. And it was, but in the service of a greater good, grabbing a clean strip of cloth from the bedside drawer, cleaning you up in gentle caresses, stickiness removed from your inner thighs, even softer touches over your pussy lips.

You let him busy himself, even as your fingers itched to get him back, wanting to tell him that you'd had worse pain, that you'd hurt for him every second if you had to. Instead, you only smiled at him when he glanced up at you, reaching up to pull him back to you. He came willingly as you pulled him back into your arms.

Tension faded out of your muscles and you melted into the bed, hands wrapped around Hancock's middle. "Did you miss me while I was gone?" You asked, smiling, voice soft. You just wanted to hear him say it, your own little version of 'I love you'.

Hancock raised his head, pecking your lips gently, leaving them tingling.

"More than you could ever know," He said, painfully earnest.

"Mmm, I think I have some idea."

Notes:

The smut chapter took me ages to write for some reason, so if it sucks... uh. No it doesn't (if u see any spelling errors pls let me know tho)

Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment, or request something, or just come chat with me!

#hancock x reader #john hancock x you #john hancock #john hancock x reader #hancock #hancock fo4 #hancock fallout #hancock x sole survivor #hancock x you #fallout companions #fallout imagines #fallout 4 companions #hancock smut #my writing #fo4 companions

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impala-dreamer · 1 year ago

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Tell me a story about reader trying to hide something from Spencer Reid (fluffish)

A Not-So-Secret Secret

Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Fluff and Secrets and Pregnancy Revelations

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

It was like trying to play tag with God. You took a step, and he followed. You turned a corner, and he was there waiting. It was fucking impossible. He seemed to be everywhere at the same time; his light brown eyes forever following you around, detailing and documenting every odd move and every evasive answer. It almost made you feel sorry for the serial killers he interviewed and every suspect he’d been in contact with.

Almost.

While you were becoming increasingly infuriated with his passive observational skills, you were still determined to keep it all a secret. Soon, you would make your little announcement, apologize for being so moody the last few weeks, and give an excuse for all the seemingly random running out of rooms you’d been doing in the early mornings. Soon, you’d sit him down and spill the beans; pray that he’d be OK with it all. Soon. But trekking through the damp woods of Vermont while looking for an UnSub was neither the time nor the place.

Even though he was a few yards ahead, you could somehow still feel him watching you. It was as if he had eyes behind his head, or, at the very least, a bit of ESP that transcended the physical limitations of the human body and let him watch you no matter where he was. The internal workings of his mind were surely a sight to see. Maybe someday, you mused, you’d put him in an MRI machine and map his genius in real-time.

Fallen branches snapped under your boots and the fog chilled your bones. The FBI windbreaker you’d grabbed instead of your usual wool coat was not enough to stave off the dampness. Pausing for a moment, you cupped your hands and breathed into them, hoping to take the frozen sting off of your fingertips.

Spencer heard your footsteps stop and spun around instantly.

“Are you OK?” His voice was low but his concern carried easily through the trees.

A deep breath squared your shoulders and you prepared to resume your hike. “Absolutely,” you replied with a wink and a smile.

He knew you were lying. He always knew. What he didn’t know, you hoped, was why.

To your left, the heavy flapping of wings caught your ear, and you turned to see a large black bird taking flight. You followed it upwards, watching its impressive wingspan darken the sky as it ascended. As it faded into the gray sky, a line of smoke appeared about half a mile away. A chimney. The scent of burning logs floated by on a cold breeze and the smell turned your stomach. Quickly, you dropped your face into your hand, desperate to hide your gag.

Spencer was a foot away when you straightened back up. His eyes were narrowed, his lips drawn into a tight pink line. He let his hand hover over your shoulder, unsure if you’d allow it to land.

“Y/N-”

Clearing your throat, you brushed him off with a reassuring but fake smile. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Damnit. “Spencer, if I say I’m fine, I’m fine.” You crossed your arms and tried to stand your ground but another wave of nausea struck you. The wretch clicked in the back of your throat and you swallowed it down, hard. “Let’s go,” you insisted. “I’m freezing.”

He sighed. “I told you to wear a sweater.” His hand fell lovingly on your shoulder. “You know, the weather in this area this time of year can-”

You cut him off harshly. “I do not need a lesson on the weather patterns of New England, Spencer!”

He flinched at your tone and slowly curled his fingers as he lifted his hand away. He frowned and nodded thoughtfully. “Sorry.”

Your heart sank and you cursed every wayward hormone and chemical in your body. “No.” You shook your head and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just…” Moody and terrified. Starving yet nauseated; freezing yet sweating… “I’m cold and I wanna get back to the hotel. This is getting us nowhere.” Did I mention I’m gonna throw up if I have to keep smelling that fire? “Let’s just hurry up and do what we came to do so I can go home. OK?” Also, my feet hurt and I’m a little dizzy.

He studied your face for a long moment and then nodded. “Let’s just go. We’re only a mile from the car and I doubt we’ll get much further before you pass out.”

His words flowed in one ear and out the other before spinning around and slapping you in the face. You jolted.

“Uh, what?”

“You’re shaking and you’ve gone a little pale.” His hand returned to your shoulder. The weight was reassuring but his words had you on edge.

Do you know? You stared up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I said I’m fine.”

His other hand pressed gently against your cheek and you melted into the comforting warmth. “You should probably eat something too. I have saltines and water in the car. It’ll settle your stomach.”

Son of a bitch. “Not hungry,” you fibbed, “but thanks.”

A gurgle from your stomach told otherwise and you gave up. Tiny tears welled in your eyes and you sank into yourself a bit. Busted. Found out. Betrayed by your own gut.

Spencer smiled sweetly. “You know I know, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, I do now.”

He pulled you close and kissed the top of your head. Wrapping your arms around him, you settled your head over his heart.

“When were you going to tell me?” he asked.

“I don’t know, when my water broke?”

He laughed. It vibrated through him. “Why were you afraid to tell me?”

With a sigh, you pushed away to look up at him. He was handsome and messy and you wanted to punch him in his stupid perfect face for being so smart. “I wasn’t afraid, I just… wanted to… I don’t know, I mean, we never talked about kids or anything but-”

He stopped your ramble with a kiss and held your face gently in his hands. “It’s a good surprise,” he whispered. “We’ll figure it out, OK?”

His smile was honest and you relaxed. “OK.”

“Good.”

“But seriously, I need to eat something or I’m going to puke all over you.”

The walk back to the car was somehow easier. Perhaps it was the relief of not having to hide anymore, or maybe the prospect of crackers ahead. Either way, it felt as if you were floating over the dead leaves.

“I did hide it pretty well though, didn’t I?”

He laughed under his breath at your query. “Yeah. Pretty good.”

Who’s lying now?

“When did you figure it out?”

Spencer pushed his glasses up a bit and looked off towards the big black SUV waiting at the edge of the forest.

“Few weeks ago,” he admitted.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “You left the pregnancy test on the sink.”

Son of a bitch…

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #fluff #drabble #tell me about

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aldryrththerainbowheart · 8 months ago

Text

Jason Todd loves to travel to cozy forest cabin getaways with you

🍂 Especially in the middle of autumn/one the cusp of winter. A little strange, considering people usually prefer spring, summer or at least warmer months of autumn. You asked him about it once, he said it's the calmness of the forest that's preparing for winter.

Like everything's falling asleep. Calm, quiet, undisturbed by anything.

🍂 You have one place surrounded by mountains that you book year in advance and visit every year for a week. It's a long wooden hut made of layered logs with stone fireplace and terrace window overlooking nature. Nestled on the high slope right under the mountain, it offers a beautiful view of valley with river curling like a snake through the slopes and acres upon acres of ancient pine trees.

🍂 He makes sure you're stocked with everything you need. Even the things you don't need but he bought them because he knew you liked them. Your favorite coffee, dried fruits and nuts, his favorite beef jerky, soup cans, store bought dough for pizza, fresh buns and cinnamon buns, eggs for morning omelettes, pumkin spice and ingredients for simmer pot (you taught him to drink that pretty quickly).

🍂 It's that calm quiet routine he falls into wih you there that he loves the most. You wake up late, burried under the patterned blankets, to a cold autumn morning with golden-brown leaves falling behind your window. He doesn't want to let you go until you bribe him with fresh coffee. It another half an hour before you get out of bed, either talking or reading your respective books you brought with you. Then and only then, you get out of bed. Usually one makes breakfeast while other gets ready or sits at the dining table. You rarely use that table, usually taking the food either outside on the terrace, the couch or bed.

🍂 Your days are filled with hiking and walks through the wilderness. Each morning greets you with the soft light of dawn as you lace up your hiking boots, ready to explore the outdoors. The air is fresh and crisp, filled with the earthy scents of pine and wildflowers.

As you venture deeper into the wild, you find yourself surrounded by towering trees that sway gently in the breeze. You might encounter babbling brooks that meander through the landscape, their crystal-clear waters shimmering in the sunlight. With every step, you are greeted by the symphony of nature—the cheerful chirping of birds, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, and the distant sounds of nature that fill the air with tranquility.

Each hike offers its own unique adventure: sometimes you climb to breathtaking vistas that reveal sprawling valleys below, while other times, you wander through serene glades where wild animals may cross your path. You take the time to pause and appreciate the beauty around you, capturing moments with photographs or simply soaking in the sights and sounds.

In the evenings, as the sun sets and casts a warm glow across the horizon, you reflect on the day’s explorations, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the connection you have with nature. Whether trekking through rugged mountain terrain or strolling along peaceful forest paths.

🍂 Unlike eating times, your walks are usually filled with peacefull silence, disturbed only by the sounds of rustling leaves, crunching of branches under your feet or animals. Speak of which, you were pretty nervous when you encountered bear or moose, but Jason assured you that as long as you don't bother them, they won't bother you. You didn't know that wolves are so much bigger that a dog until a pack of them was chilling early in the morning around your cabin.

🍂 You make sure to bring your beaten-down old camera on these trips. Because some of these breathtaking sights cannot be captured by a phone. You have tons of them with beautiful sighs of nature, that one time you decided to go up the mountain slope, and the little fox family you stumbled upon. There's also plenty of pictures of Jason, sometimes taken without his knowledge. It's a rare sight when you manage to see that expression of pure serenity on his face, let alone capture it on the camera. There's one you cherish the most. It was taken when you climbed up the hill to a clearing. The sunlight is still peeking over the mountains and is shining directly on his back. He looks to the side and light illuminates his face perfectly, tracing the lines of his face in light and shadow. Dark strands peek from underneath his beanie and his neck is buriend in the scarf you made him. A fog is rising from his lips and one green eye is cast in sunlight. In the background, a blurried out expanse of forest and mountaintops. A copy of this photo made its way to the Wayne manor.

🍂 In the evenings, you cook dinner together and then either play boardgames or, you guessed it, read some more. Jason always looks forward to cooking dinner with you. You blast music for your portable radio, you mess with each other by throwing bits of food and argue what toppings should or should not go on a pizza. You test out what board games would stand the trial on the game nights with his family and you always end with cards against humanity. Your always at disadvantage when playing Black Stories. It's not your fault you're not detective like someone.

🍂 Out of all activities, your absolute favorite undoubtedly has to be stargazing with Jason. There’s something truly magical about those nights spent together, standing under the open sky, clean of the polution of Gotham city.

In those quiet moments, as you both gaze up at the milions of twinkling lights, you feel a deep sense of peace and connection. The cool night air envelops you, and every sigh, every laugh, and every shared dream feels amplified against the backdrop of shimmering constellations. With Jason by your side, it’s not just about the beauty of the night's sky; it's about the warmth of his presence, the quiet conversations that stretch into the night, and the comfort of knowing that you’re sharing these moments with the person you love most. The stars don’t just fill the sky; they light up your hearts, creating a memories that feels timeless and everlasting.

#needed some comfort lately #and i think you need it too #simmer pots are amazing #highly recommend #jason tood #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd i love you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x male reader #jason todd x oc #dc #jason todd fluff #jason todd domesticity

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ahoycaptainautumn · 2 years ago

Text

Fated Mates Part 2

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

You find yourself confronting Astarion on the whereabouts of a certain vampire, but get more than you bargained for.

Summer kissed winds whistle around your party as you continue to trek forward. The nearest town was still some many miles away according to the ancient wooden sign you saw ways back on the dirt path you’ve followed. You had all come to the agreement that there must be someone, somewhere, who knows what those things were and how to treat the parasite they implanted in all of you. The team couldn’t be more different and strange if you tried. Personalities instantly clashing and fights already broken out. You maintain peace as best you can, somehow the unspoken leader of the rag tag group. You warm to most of the members, all but the cold blooded one. There was no mistaking what those eyes were. The way his canines came to such a point. You’ve met enough of his kind, with swift justice making them meet their end. Not one of them had gotten you any closer to who and where the vampire who had killed your family is. You planned to be asking Astarion similar questions once his guard was down and camp was set. That time should be coming here shortly, the sun beginning its turn down for the evening as it crests over the mountains in warm orange light. Thankfully you and the rest of your party had found left bits and pieces of gear along the trail to put together a semblance of a camp. Even lucky enough to buy or swindle for more when passing fellow travelers or merchants. Astarion had somehow charmed a group of travelers into a lavious camping set, the lucky bastard.

The tranquil sounds of a river flowing fills your ears and your stomach can’t help but grumble at the thought of the seafood within it. The others must think the same as you as you all come to a standstill locating which direction the sound comes from. You lead the group through the brush off the path keeping an ear for the sound of lapping water getting louder. Under fallen trees and several berry bushes you find a quaint clearing near said river. The surrounding trees give much needed shade with limbs of long forgotten trees placed nearly in a perfect triangle in the center.

“Perfect!” Karlach rejoices, throwing her camp gear on the ground with a thud. Everyone shakes off the equipment they’ve so far gotten and make way to prepare the space for the night. Astarion flanks your side silently, his lips so close to your ears you can feel his breath on your neck.

“Good job little killer.” A tingle shoots straight up your spine and shakes out through your shoulders. You scowl and side step, ready to remind him of personal space but he’s already moved and gone to set up his tent. You bite your lip in frustration and choose to not follow behind him. He would be hearing from you very soon regardless.

—-----------

With dinner settled in your stomach and water in your canteen you felt like a brand new person. A fire roared in the middle of the logs as you all enjoyed the warmth of the fire against the cool night air. You passed time seeming to absentmindedly twiddle pieces of wood, small but necessary stakes easily hid under clothing. No one seemed to pay it any mind. People were now drifting in and out of the warm campfire, most calling it a night. You feigned the same, cuddled into your sleeping sack. Truly, you kept an eye on Astarion and his comings and goings. If your assumptions were correct, he would need to leave camp soon to find someone or something to sink his teeth into. That’s when you would sneak into his tent and surprise him on his return. You peer out of one eye and find Astarion closing the tent he set up a bit away from the rest of everyone. Only the small crunch of branches alerts you that he has went off into the forest. You waste no time and jump out of the sleeping bag and head towards his tent. You do a double check around camp, sure that everyone is truly asleep. With a bated breath you break your way into his tent. A gasp escapes you as you take in the lavish interior. Soft fur pelts line the flooring with fluffed pillows and duvets littering the far corners. Black silk sheets are thrown over overly plush arm chairs. A long oak table with an ornate table cover littered with maps and quills sits to your immediate left. Dripping wax candles crowd every surface available to them. Your attention snaps to the sound of soft footsteps nearing the tent just outside. You curse yourself for even taking the precious time to gape at his grand belongings. You make the quickest and easiest decision and dive under the table. Just at that moment you hear his feet at the entrance and swallow your ragged breaths. You’ve got this, this isn’t anything new to you; you remind yourself. You register the polished shoes of Astarion enter inside. He makes a few steps into the tent and you ready yourself. You smirk at how easy this has become. Stupid vampires, so full of themselves, so naive and not even suspecting-

“Are you going to come out or do I have to drag you out?” Astarion asks in a bored tone. Your nails dig into your palms in frustration. Biting back every curse you can think you slink out from under the table and stand behind the vampire. He keeps his back to you as he reaches in front of his chest to undo the buttons of his shirt. Animal blood stains the front of his shirt, his first feed had made all civility lost on him. Savagery had taken hold of him and he felt that same fire now. For how it was going to be used was up to you.

“You know if you wanted a fun little night you could of just asked me little killer.” Astarion muses, mocking your new nickname. A cocky smirk graces his face as he juts his chin towards the pile of pillows in the corner. “That would make a much better spot than that dreary old table.”

You reach ever so carefully down into your boot where you had kept a stake hidden. Controlling your breaths, counting each one to zero in your focus you raise your weapon straight.

“I came here looking for answers, not to fuck.” You spit from behind grinding teeth. You remind yourself of the anger that fuels you. The revenge that fills your being and drives you.

“Oh darling, who says both aren’t possible.” Astarion keeps up, he cocks his head your way as he begins to turn to look at you. He’s met with the sight of your deadly stare and a sharpened stake directed right at him. All smugness wipes clean from his face as fury takes hold. “Smart little thing.” is all he gets out before you rush him. Your feet move quick, unnaturally fast, and bring you closer to him. Astarion swings to the side grabbing hold of your arm to further throw you into the tent. He brings you off kilter, stumbling forward past him. You correct yourself and pivot back. An alabaster hand flys forward and grabs the scruff of your shirt. His other hand reaches out to further grab hold. But you move and wrap a leg around his own and pull towards yourself. He loses balance and tumbles back a bit. Its enough to get his hand off of you and you use those precious moments to push off and towards him. Your fingers grip your stake and you raise it overhead. Astarion sweeps a leg out and catches your midriff. Oxygen explodes out of your lungs as you crash into the table. Astarion leaps onto you, catching each of your arms with his hands. He twists the stake out from your grip and seizes both of your wrists in one of his hands. The momentum has your back slamming into the oak beneath you. A hand pounds down next to your head as Astarion face comes a breath away from your own.

“Looks like your quite trapped.” Astarion snickers. His lips hover just over your own, breathes mingling in the small bit of space between you two. Hungry crimson eyes skim over you and find purchase in your biting gaze. Heat and anger passes in your shared stare. His canines shine in the flickering candle light as he brings himself inch by inch closer to your neck. Your throat bobs and you swear his eyes follow the thump of your pulse in your carotid. You can’t help the muffled squeal that barely escapes your full lips. Astarion hears it though and his malicious grin only grows wider. You push against the restraint of his strong grasp and wriggle on the hard table. His other hand comes to your throat and cold fingers swipe hair away from your neck. His thumb presses under your chin and forces your gaze up and over as his nose brushes against your cheek. Hot breath licks your neck.

His attention is now fully on his next meal and away from the threat that truly lies beneath him. Using core strength you fling your body upwards as best you can as you tuck your knees into your chest. Not a second later your boots find purchase on his chest and thrust him back as hard as you can. Astarion flounders back and trips over the discarded silk sheet lying on the floor. You push off the table hard and sink into a crouch. A second stake hidden in the opposite boot makes its appearance as you then jump on the fallen Astarion. You straddle him, a hand on his chest with the other pointing the stake right at his jugular. The point just kisses his ivory skin creating a small wound. He scowls at you, nothing but pure hatred gleaming through his eyes.

“Like I said, I have questions. And you are going to answer them Vampire.” You press. You see a small flinch of movement come from his hands and you warn him with jabbing the sharpened wood a little deeper into his throat. You tut at his attempts to move.“You are not my first nor last biter, so don’t try it with me.”

“But I would dare say I’m the most handsome.” He smiles. You have to fight the urge not to roll your eyes. He assesses his situation looking you up and down. Asserting you are a decent enough threat he stills his attempts at escape. “What’s your questions then?”

“I’m looking for a certain vampire. I have a score to settle. Names Cazador, where can I find him?” You ask. At the mention of the vampire Astarion’s face drops. A chill wraps the air and an unnatural stillness settles between the two of you. The temperature drops and you almost shiver. Astarion’s face is unreadable, a look of fright and confusion mixes on his face. Nails digging into the wooden weapon you lean into it, putting a bit of extra pressure on the device.

“Well? Anything to say blood sucker?” Your patience thinning. Astarion’s eyebrows scrunch together, trying to unwrap what you had just said to him. Surely he must of misheard you. There’s no way some stranger he just happen to meet would be asking about the Cazador. His old master. The slave owner. His personal horror.

“Cazador?” Asatarion can’t help but repeat. His brain refused to keep up with what was happening. His thoughts a run away train at the mention of his old owner.

“Did I stutter vampire? Now are you going to tell me or do I press this stake all the way through?” You seethe.

“Why?” The authenticity of his question makes your eyebrows raise. His face holds no mystery, just curiosity.

“Does it matter? He has spilled blood and I plan to return the favor. Now. Where can I find him? Once this tadpole situation is handled he’s my goal.” You press. Astarion takes a minute to ponder his situation.

“I’ll tell you where he is. For a cost. A tic for tac. See, if you want to get your hands on Cazador you are going to have to get in line. I have my own qualms with him myself. We could.. help each other.” He bargains. A feeling of mistrust burrows deep in your chest. No good came from vampire bargains. As much as you had high suspicions, this was the first time someone knew Cazador or was willing to go against him in giving away his location.

“And what do you want in return?” You ask. You back the pointed stick from his jugular and retreat your hands from him. Astarion brings himself up by the elbows to look you in the eyes.

“A debt to be collected at my choosing. Doing what I ask at that time.” Asatarion smirks. Curse the vampire, of course he would keep an open ended bargain. You desperately want to say no. To drive a stake in his unmoving heart and go on with it. But this was your first shot, maybe only shot, at finding Cazador. Letting a long breath out you level your gaze with his. You hesitate before responding.

“Are the rumors true? Bargains with vampires are signed with a kiss?” You timidly ask. It was something you had picked up from another traveler before. Someone who had run into their supposed fair share of vampires. A wide smirk stretches across Astarions face.

“My my, don’t you know everything. Now, do we have a deal?” You take one more deep breath and give a small nod. Astarions hand reaches up and wraps around your neck and twines within your hair. His other hand finds purchase on your hip and brings you closer to his chest. He lifts his face to yours as you gently bend to reach. Your eyes flutter close as Astarions lips press into your own. Lips mold perfectly together, as if they were created for this moment alone. A knot tightens in your chest. A soul grabbing lurch pulls you into him. It’s gravitational. World stopping. Like when your eyes had met for the first time the world seems to fall away from the both of you. Just as quickly as it had come, Astarion pulls from the kiss. You mentally recover from the way it gripped you so harshly. Chalking it up to the very anti-romance your life has led thus far. You swear you see astonishment in his features, but just as quickly it is gone.

“And whoever told you bargains are sealed with kisses was the biggest perv in all Faerun, but do thank him for me.” Astarion is all grins. A blush explodes across your face and down your chest. You feel red hot and immediately jump off Astarion as if he is made of fire. Astarion rises, flicking dust from his shoulders nonchalantly.

“You are the absolute worst!” You all but scream.

“Please, the flirting can only get you so far.” Astarion watches you fling yourself from his tent without a look back, hot anger palpable from you. Once you made your exit Astarion sinks to his knees with a hand quivering at his lips. He had a small suspicion when he met your gaze. The way the world seemed to standstill. That an immortal and ancient knot seem to tie at that very moment. But he didn’t think it possible. A rarity. Almost laughable really, especially for a spawn.

“Mates.” He whispers to himself.

Part one here

Part three here

#smut #reader insert #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 #bd3 #fated love #mates

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vhaenaera · 3 months ago

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— An account from the Stark Chronicles, 141 - 183 AC

Each year, as the snows deepened and the rivers crusted with ice, the folk of the North made their long trek southward to Winterfell. They came not with pleas, but with purpose—knowing well the ancient accord: food, warmth, and shelter would be theirs, as it always was, in return for service rendered. The men lent their backs to timber and stone, hauling logs through the snow-choked gatehouses, repairing broken ramparts and wind-scoured walls. The women, robed in wool and adorned with pins of weirwood and bone, set about the sacred task of weaving—tapestries of thread and blood-memory, passed down mother to daughter, each stitch a vow to the old gods.

These were not idle works. The North remembered. The North prepared.

Lord Cregan Stark had ridden out weeks prior, vanishing into the frostbitten wilds with spear and hound in pursuit of meat and pelt for the Yuletide stores. When he returned, the sun was dim behind a veil of cloud, and the courtyard had stirred to life with the bustle of preparation. Children ran underfoot, snow-soaked and shrieking in mirth, while men shouted over the groaning of carts and the creak of swollen wood. The banners of House Stark snapped in the wind.

Even his children—the young wolves—tumbled over one another in the drifted yard, boys and girls alike roughhousing with all the vigour of their house. Yet Cregan, smiling though he was, noted the absence of one. A pair of violet-and-grey eyes, like twilight before a storm, were missing from the frolic.

It was then the cry rang out.

Shrill. Drenched in terror.

The courtyard stilled as if gripped by a sudden frost. All turned to see a child—small, pale, her breath steaming in frantic bursts—fleeing from the mouth of the crypts. Her sobs tore through the air like a knife through linen, and the thumping of her boots across the packed snow echoed louder than it ought. She threw herself at Cregan’s leg, clutching him with the desperation of one drowning. The stench of earth—dank and old—clung to her like smoke.

He knelt, boots crunching, and took her cheeks in his gloved hands. Her skin was ice-cold. The eyes that met his own were those he had sought: mismatched, wide with panic. Serana.

“Hush now, little one. What frightens you so?” he asked, gentling his voice though his heart had begun to thunder.

“B-bad man… in the tunnels,” she whimpered. “Papa—bad! Bad bad bad!” Her trembling finger pointed to the gaping maw of the crypts, flanked by two stone direwolves whose eyes seemed darker than usual.

Cregan followed her gesture. The shadows beyond the threshold did not stir, and yet… the longer he gazed, the more his unease grew. The air seemed stiller there. He had known the crypts all his life—knew their winding halls, their old kings laid in silence beneath heavy stone. A place of reverence, never dread. But now, his flesh prickled.

He lifted Serana into his arms. She clung tightly, her small fingers twisted in his cloak. His shoulders ached from the long ride, but the weight of his daughter was familiar and grounding. He stroked her hair with a steady hand.

“You are safe, little wolf,” he murmured. “There is no man down there, only bones and memory. The mind plays tricks in the dark.”

But before they crossed the threshold of the keep, she shrieked again—this time louder.

“Big!” she cried. “White, big, scary! He looked at me, Papa! In the deep! He had eyes like—like snow!”

He halted.

Her breath hitched as she continued to weep, but her words had already planted their seed. Cregan turned his gaze once more to the crypt entrance. The wind had shifted. It whispered now.

He said nothing further. But he did not sleep that night, even with his wife’s warm presence at his side. His flesh was warm, but his mind remained cold.

#fire and blood #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #house stark #cregan stark #stark #winterfell #crypt #winterfell crypt #fanfic #headcanon

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sashaisready · 1 year ago

Text

The ‘You’ Problem - One Shot

Beefy!Bucky x Female!SHIELD!Reader

*bangs clipboard* ONE BED! ONE BED! ONE BED!

Guys…I threw this together today on a whim. Apologies in advance for the utterly self indulgent fluff with a bit of smut thrown in for good measure. You’ve got all my fave tropes here - one bed, forced proximity, misunderstandings and bad communication, grumpy and sunshine..

In my mind this is Beefy!Bucky (CW era Bucky) but you are of course invited to envisage your favourite Bucky. There is a slightly silly plot point about him being thicc (lmao). Reader is female, not physically described.

I hope you enjoy!! ❤️

warnings: bit’o’smut

Wordcount: around 4.4k (lol)

🛏️

You could see his face fall as he opened the door. Your eyes followed his past the safe house entrance and inside through to the open plan cabin.

All on one floor. A small kitchenette, basic but seemingly clean at least. A cheap, plastic dining table with a few dingy chairs tucked into the far corner. A crumpled leather sofa that had seen better days. A battered old door at the rear that you assumed lead to the bathroom (you hoped, anyway). A large fireplace with a basket of logs next to it - merciful after a long trek out in the cold air. And- Oh.

Oh.

A double bed in the middle of the space.

A bed. As in…singular. One.

It didn’t take a Mathematician to work out the equation of two people plus one bed and what that equalled.

Especially when one of those people seemed particularly prickly towards the other, for reasons the other didn’t fully understand.

Tonight would be the most awkward night’s sleep of your life.

“Great…” growled Bucky sarcastically as he reluctantly crossed the threshold, dropping the duffle bags of equipment by the fireplace.

“Hmm, homely” you chirped, hoping a joke might ease the tension. Of course he didn’t respond.

You dropped your gaze as he began stripping his tactical gear off, piling it onto the arm of the couch. He tugged off his boots and wordlessly headed to the bathroom, the door slamming behind him.

You sighed heavily. He must’ve said ten words to you in total on this mission. The mission itself had gone well, at least. You had got the intel you needed and neither of you had been compromised in the process. You had got in and out. As a SHIELD agent you didn’t normally work with the Avengers directly in the field, but Stark and Steve had put you on this one with Bucky because of his stealth skills and your knowledge of tech and a particular comms device that was difficult to master - even for the best heroes in the biz.

You knew them all. Well. Ish. You saw them around the tower. Helped them with surveillance and intel. Most of them were sweet and chatty, nothing like the mythical, two-dimensional hero figures the media portrayed them to be. Sure, they were brilliant at what they did but they were also warm. Flawed. Human. Steve was a sweetie, Tony was an egomaniac but he could hold a conversation at least. Nat was a great ally to have but an even better friend. Sam made you laugh like nobody else. They were your friends.

Well. Almost all of them.

Bucky had never really…well…warmed to you. You remember the first day Steve had introduced you both, you had eagerly outstretched your hand to shake his and you watched as his nervous eyes flitted between your hand and Steve. He finally took it reluctantly, muttering a hello as he quickly dropped your hold and stormed off.

And that was that. You had tried to get to know him but he simply wasn’t interested. He’d only speak to you if he absolutely had to for work, grunted if you asked him something and seemed to do everything in his power to keep a wide berth between the two of you. At first you assumed it was because of what he’d been through, brainwashed assassins carrying the weight of their trauma are hardly known for their perky attitude and charismatic social skills. Maybe he just had a problem with people...

But you soon noticed he wasn’t really like that with anyone else. Sure, he was prickly and a bit sarcastic, but he engaged. He talked. He laughed. God, you loved his laugh. Sweet. Unencumbered. Slightly dorky. It made you smile on the rare occasions you were lucky enough to hear it.

He would squabble with Sam. Bond with Steve. Train with Nat. You thought maybe it was because you were just an agent, but he was better with the others. Always reserved, sure, but he’d chat to your SHIELD colleagues. He’d ask them for help with the tech. You were pretty sure he flirted with Emily, another agent on your team, and you couldn’t ignore the quiet thrum of jealousy in your stomach when you heard them chatting animatedly about pizza toppings or that time you caught her sliding her hand over his vibranium arm..

…no. He didn’t seem to have a people problem. Just a ‘you’ problem.

You weren’t sure what you’d done to upset him, and you were too embarrassed to ask Steve in case you looked whiny and desperate. It wasn’t really a good look for a SHIELD agent to pathetically ask an Avenger why his friend didn’t like her. This wasn’t high school.

You had a reputation for being a bit sunshine-y. You were always quite cheery at work, doing your best to put a brave face on and inject optimism where you could. It was just how you’d always been. It kept you going. Service with a smile. The world was a dark place, and you figured a little extra light was no bad thing. Maybe Bucky took offence to it, writing you off as a perky airhead. Maybe he’d seen too much death and destruction to see the world the way you did, and you simply annoyed him because of it.

Only the man himself knew the real reason. You’d accepted you may never be sure. So you did your best to work with him, pretending not to notice his snarky comments and unimpressed looks. Smiling through your pain like always. Generally it was easy, you didn’t spend much time with him anyway.

…Until you were stuck on a mission with him. Waiting for the quinjet in the middle of nowhere, stuck in a tiny cabin in the dead of winter, with one bed and only the man who hated you for company.

The man you also had a teensy bit of a crush on, too. Yes, it wasn’t ideal to crush on the one person who seemed to loathe you, but clearly you were a dumbass.

You were rudely pulled from your thoughts by a loud spluttering and spitting noise. It took you a second to realise it must be the cabin’s creaky pipes warming up, so Bucky was showering. You did your best not to think about him all naked and soaped up and wet and-

You flung your laptop open and got to work uploading the files from the mission, sending your report over to head office and sending a quick summary to Stark. At least there was signal out here. Working is good. Only productive thoughts. No room for shower thoughts.

You were so engrossed in your emails that you didn’t hear the bathroom door swing open behind you.

“Bathroom’s free” said a gruff voice that made you jump in surprise.

You whipped around to face him and did your best to keep your eyes from falling out of your head when you were faced with Bucky fresh from the shower. Small water droplets ran down his chiselled chest, his long hair damp and falling in soft tendrils, a perfectly prominent ‘V’ pointing down to you-know-where, all topped off with the tiniest towel known to man clinging to his hips. The hardest working piece of fabric you’d ever seen.

You felt your face flush and nodded overly enthusiastically.

“G-great, thanks” you mumbled.

He seemed to oblivious to your discomfort so you took that moment to dash to the bathroom yourself, leaning against the door after you’d closed it and doing your best to keep it together. You just needed to get through the night. The quinjet was coming to get you in the morning. You could do this. You could survive tiny towels and fresh soaped abs until then.

You took your sweet time showering, ignoring the mildewy tiles and inconsistent water temperature to spend as much time hidden in the bathroom as possible. You finally admitted defeat and emerged, drying yourself with one of the threadbare towels and changing into some sweats.

“Was about to contact HQ and tell them you’d drowned in the bathroom” Bucky deadpanned as you re-entered the main cabin. He didn’t look up, his eyes locked on his phone as he laid on the bed. Bucky in bed. He was dressed in dark sweats, the fresh smell emanating from him almost intoxicating.

“I just…like to be clean after a mission” you replied, your voice slightly wobbly.

He nodded, his eyes flickering up to yours. “Yeah, I get that” he mumbled.

This was probably the most you’d spoken to each other all afternoon. You suppressed your surprise.

“You tired?” He asked, his tone almost interrogating. He seemed wide awake. You supposed super soldiers didn’t really need as much sleep as mere mortals did.

“Mm. A little” you responded, trying to appear nonchalant and not show how desperate you were to curl up and pass out. Not that you thought you could in such close proximity to him.

In an attempt to appear relaxed you stretched your arms and inadvertently knocked a little wooden pinecone ornament off the small side table next to you. It flew almost comically across the room, bouncing on the floor and smashing against the kitchen cabinet (thankfully remaining intact).

The silence was heavy. Bucky raised an eyebrow as you quickly scuttled and retrieved it, hastily putting it back in place. You could’ve sworn his face betrayed a sliver of amusement but it quickly moulded back to his standard-issue stoicism.

“They confirmed that the jet will be here at 0730 tomorrow” he murmured, looking back at his phone.

The fact he hadn’t acknowledged your faux pas made it even more embarrassing. You nodded quickly and tried to ignore the sudden heat in your cheeks.

Fortunately the evening progressed with no other embarrassments. You both had a dinner of instant noodles in silence, then spent some time separately tying up the loose ends on your respective mission duties - sending emails, debriefing Steve on the phone. You don’t think Bucky smiled even once.

Your heart thumped in your chest as it got later and darker, until you could no longer avoid the elephant in the room.

However it was Bucky who raised it, nipping it in the bud with his trademark pragmatism.

“I’ll take the couch” he said sternly. “You can have the bed”.

“Oh…thanks. But it’s okay, if you want the bed-” you started to protest but he cut you off.

“It’s fine” he barked.

You couldn’t deny that avoiding the awkwardness of having to share a bed was a relief, although a small part of you felt a tiny bit disappointed.

“There’s only one blanket…” you said warily as your eyes scanned the cabin for something you may have missed…a blanket basket..a linen closet, anything…

“Don’t need one” he quickly dismissed as he laid down on his back atop the couch, wriggling his body against the cushions to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands over his chest. You couldn’t resist stealing a peek. He looked so angelic with his eyes closed. So much softer and sweeter than he normally did. You swallowed a gasp and quickly turned away before he caught you.

You took that as your cue to climb into the bed, shivering slightly as you pulled the shabby blanket tightly against you. The fire Bucky had lit in the fireplace earlier had finally burnt out, and you were suddenly very aware of how cold it was between these four wooden walls.

“Night” you said gently as you switched off the beside lamp, plunging the cabin into darkness.

Bucky merely grunted and you heard him roll over onto his side, the couch creaking painfully under his weight. Well, he was a big guy.

You squeezed your eyes shut and did your best to fall asleep quickly, not wanting to think too hard about how the most handsome man you’d ever met was sleeping mere feet away from you. A braver version of you would be honest about how you really felt, using this close proximity to ask him directly what his issue with you was. An even braver version would use this opportunity to move over to the sofa and stroke his hair from his eyes and lean over and-

But you were a coward.

You would likely never be alone with him like this ever again, and here you were wimping out and cowering in bed. Typical.

You realised you could still hear the couch creaking. It seemed to be getting louder. That was odd. Bucky wasn’t even moving. What even was that? It sounded like…something cracking?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud snapping sound, then a huge crash and then eventually Bucky yelling. You’re suddenly frantic, in panic mode as you immediately assumed the safe house has been compromised and the two of you had somehow been tracked. You fling yourself out of bed, grabbing the pistol you stashed by the nightstand and practically smashing the lamp switch, ready to take down whoever has broken in.

As the cabin is illuminated you’re stunned by sight in front of you.

Bucky is laying on the floor, his face like thunder as he scowls and curses. The couch is…somehow…cut perfectly in two, sliced down the middle.

“What the…?” You stammer as you lower your gun and take in the scene.

Bucky suddenly sits up and leans over, assessing the wreckage.

“It’s goddam termites!!” He spits.

“Huh??” You utter, struggling to make sense of what’s going on.

“Termites!!” He yells again, angrily gesturing at where the couch has split.

You lean in and can now see the jagged edges of the exposed wooden frame, huge holes dotted along the structure. Yep, he was right - termites.

“They’ve clearly been eating away at this old-ass couch for some time, it must’ve finally given up” he says furiously. His vibranium fingers squeeze into a fist and he angrily punches through some of the remaining chewed-up frame.

You did your best. Truly you did. But nothing could stop the wave of laughter that bubbled out of you in that moment. The image of Bucky in a heap on the floor…the deafening crash…the ridiculous debris of the couch…the fear of intruders…it was simply all too much. You threw your head back and laughed. Your laughter was a runaway train, impossible to stop. It wasn’t just the absurdity of the tableau in front of you…it was all of the tension and awkwardness that had been brewing between you and Bucky. All of your stress. The laugh was a cathartic release of all of it.

Bucky scowled as he got to his feet. “It’s not that funny…” he muttered.

“I’m sorry..I’m sorry…” you managed to yelp as you caught your breath. “I thought…I thought we were under attack, I drew…drew my gun and everything. But it was just…just…” you inhaled sharply. “It was just…your big super soldier ass smashing up the couch”.

Bucky’s eyes widened at that. You watched the anger darken his features before the corner of his mouth rolled up into a smirk. The smirk became a smile. The smile became a grin. The grin became a laugh. He was laughing!! Bucky was actually laughing!!

“Who you callin’ big ass?” He sneered, although the playfulness was clear as day.

That only made you laugh harder.

You both stood there and laughed until your eyes watered and your sides hurt, eventually running out of steam. Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with disdain.

“You think they could spring for a Holiday Inn or something” he scoffed. “I know it’s slim pickings out in the middle of nowhere, but surely they could find something better than this shitbox”.

You chuckled. “Tony cheaping out I guess. But it’s kinda cosy at least…”

Bucky scoffed again. “Why do you always do that?” He said accusingly.

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Try to…put a positive spin on everything. Sometimes things just suck and that’s okay”.

You blanched, surprised. He’d never asked you anything like that before. “Well…uh…it’s just who I am I guess. Keeps me going”.

He studied you carefully. “Well…okay. But as long as you know it’s okay to just let something be shitty. You don’t always have to put on a brave face”.

Your eyes widened, surprised at the tenderness in his tone. “I’m not…putting it on. It’s just…me”.

He nodded. You realised this was your one chance. You had to take it.

“Is that why…you’re always so cold to me? You think I’m some phoney pretending the world is all sunshine and rainbows” you asked hesitantly.

He blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that.

“Huh?”

“C’mon, don’t insult my intelligence, Bucky. We both know you’re not exactly my best friend” you prodded.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been kinda a jerk. I guess I’m not really used to people like you…and I don’t know how to be”.

“People like me…?”

He smirked. “Optimists”.

“Oh…”

“It’s nothing personal” he continued. “I guess with my background…I just…don’t really come across too many peppy people in our line of work. I find it hard to get my head around. But it’s my problem…not yours”.

You nodded, taken aback by his candour. “Alright…I get that. But…I haven’t ever done anything to you. And I’d like it if we could maybe say more than five words to each other over an eight hour mission…”

He grimaced. “Yeah. Look…I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to take my issues out on you. Can we start over? Try again?”

His voice was hopeful. He sounded genuine. You couldn’t help but feel the excitement of this new progress swirl in your tummy.

You smiled. “Yeah. That would be good. Thanks”.

He nodded, smiling back at you. “Okay. Let’s talk more about it tomorrow…But for now we probably should get some sleep. It’s late”.

He sighed wearily and sat back on the floor, stretching out and laying on his back.

You watched this, baffled. “What…are you doing?”

He looked up at you in annoyance. “What does it look like?” He said sarcastically.

“It…looks like you’re sleeping on the hard floor with no blankets or pillows”.

“Well I can’t sleep on the broken couch can I…”

“Just get into the bed” you sighed

He sat up, eyeing you with suspicion. “What?”

“The bed. We can share. We’re both adults aren’t we? Serum or not, you’re not getting any sleep on that wooden floor. Plus, it’s freezing in here”.

He tilted his head. “And you’re sure you’re okay with that? Because I can sleep here just fine…I’ve had worse”

You shrugged, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You walked back over to the bed and pulled the covers back as you hopped back in.

“Sure. Just try not to break this too, okay big ass?” You replied playfully. “Tony will end up sending us a bill if you keep wrecking the joint.”

He rolled his eyes as he relented, strolling over and flopping onto the other side of the bed. “Whatever. But if you snore I will wake you up”.

You grinned, delighted at the shift in atmosphere. Maybe Bucky would never like you the way you liked him, but if you had a chance at being his friend you would take that. You would grasp it with both hands and never let go.

Once you both settled down and you switched off the lamp for the second time that night, your head hit the pillow and you did your best to fall asleep. You tried to ignore the sheer heat radiating from the heavy body next to you. You didn’t really get up close and personal with Bucky so had no idea he ran this hot. Serum thing, you guessed. The mattress sagged under the weight of his bulk and you were painfully aware of how close you were to him, his back to you. You could’ve barely reached out and easily brushed his fingers. His thick shoulders were right there. His strong thighs were just by you. His beautiful blue eyes were resting beneath his eyelids. You felt your mouth go dry and squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall asleep and rescue your mind from this psychic torment.

Unfortunately the cabin’s poor insulation quickly made itself known and soon all you could think about was how cold you were. How did this place only have one blanket?? You couldn’t even wrap yourself up in it properly because Bucky had half. You fantasised about endless duvets and comforters, fluffy pillows and hot water bottles. Electric blankets and knitted quilts.

You were debating getting up and going to try find another layer of clothing in your pack when Bucky’s grumpy voice interrupted.

“Can you keep still? Jeez”.

You realised then that you were shivering. The trembling of your limbs was causing you to shake, gently rocking the bed.

“I’m sorry…it’s cold okay?” You hissed in the dark.

“Oh c‘mon…” he sneered.

“We aren’t all super soldiers!!” You spat, clenching your teeth together to stop them chattering. “I’m not a human bonfire like you”.

“Ugh. So dramatic. Come’ere” he groaned.

Before you could fully compute he rolled over and pulled you into his arms, nestling you in his grasp.

You had become the little spoon.

“Uh…” you eked out in surprise.

“Shut up and go to sleep” he scolded lightly. “You can’t still be cold now…”

You shook your head, your brain short circuiting. It was as if every possible thought had left you all at once. You felt the dual sensation of metal and flesh hug your torso, the warmth of his breath by your ear. And oh god the heat. The heat.

You laid perfectly still as if any sudden movements would startle him and shake him out of this. You heard his breathing deepen suddenly and at first you thought he was falling asleep…but then you felt it.

It indeed.

There was something hard pressing into your bottom.

You felt your face flush. Your mouth fell agape. He knew exactly what he was doing. This wasn’t an accident. A flash of boldness hit you like a lightning bolt, his audaciousness igniting something within you. You couldn’t process what this meant right now, you just had to ride the wave, so to speak. He rocked into you a little harder. You had to make it clear that you knew what this was. So you experimentally pushed your hips back against his. You were cautious, a slow manoeuvre at first to test the water. He grunted, then slowly moved himself forward once more, pressing himself harder against you. You pushed back again, uttering a small moan which he reciprocated with his own. You did this for a little while, pressing against each other and finding a rhythm. The only sounds were your clothes swishing against the sheets and a quiet chorus of whimpers and groans. No words were spoken.

He carefully snaked his vibranium arm around you and you shuddered as he raised your shirt, walking his fingers down across your bare stomach to your hips, daringly pulling back the waistband of your sweats. He took his time, his breath dense against your ear as you closed your eyes and felt the cool metal trace your scorching skin beneath.

His digits toyed with the side of your underwear with painful slowness, his breathing quickening as he continued to rock his bulge into your backside. You could only whine as his fingers finally breached the fabric and made their way inside. He groaned heavily into your neck as he found the readiness of your essence, viscous and dripping from his fingers as he traced further and further in. You whimpered as he finally put you out of your misery and found your clit, expertly toying with it but applying enough pressure to build and build and build…

You rocked eagerly against his hand as he slipped one metal finger inside of you. Then two. All in rhythm with the thrust of your hips in time with his. His circling increased suddenly, his fingers continued to pump and you gasped as you reached your peak, finally reaching the top and plummeting off the edge, your voice hoarse and laboured as you cried out into the dark cabin, the stars of your climax both dizzying and intoxicating.

He held you close as you fell back down to earth, still not a word spoken by either of you. Nothing had needed to be said. He gently removed his hand from your panties and cupped your chin, wrenching your face to his and gifting you the sweetest, softest kiss you’d ever experienced. His lips brushing yours with tenderness and care. A stark contrast to the salacious way he’d touched you.

“I haven’t been entirely honest…” he spoke into the dark, his voice hoarse and strained with lust.

You stroked his cheek fondly. “Mm?”

“It wasn’t just your…optimism” he told you as he kissed you again. “I…I couldn’t handle the way I felt about you. I always liked you…always wanted you. From that very first moment Steve introduced us. I was a goner. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I didn’t know how to talk to you. So I purposefully put space between us. It was immature, I know” he sighed.

You smiled into the dark, your head reeling from all the ways the world had changed in the last hour. Your heart exploding after finally hearing the words you’d longed for. The words you’d never expected to actually hear.

“You’re so soft…and sweet. I like the way you try and see the good in everything. It makes me wanna be less of a grumpy asshole. And you make me laugh. The way you sent that pinecone flying earlier…” he chuckled. “You’re utterly ridiculous. You know that?”

You grinned. “You didn’t laugh!! It made it so much worse that you didn’t laugh…”

He sniggered. “I’m sorry. Look. I wanted to. I just didn’t want you to think I was making fun of you”.

You giggled, touched by the strange but well meaning logic.

“Will you give me a chance to make it up to you?” He asked softly, his hand lazily running up your thigh.

“Bucky…”

“Yeah, doll?”

“The quinjet will be here in a few hours. So you better get started on that apology…”

You felt his smile in the dark as his lips touched yours again, one arm pulling you into him as the other began to tug down your sweats.

“You’re on doll, you’re on”.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #Beefy!Bucky x Female!SHIELD!Reader #beefy!bucky

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smokysr · 9 days ago

Text

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 | 𝐒. 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝

CHAPTER III — Old Books, Cedar Wood, & Chamomile.

pairing: spencer reid x misaki hirose (oc)

content warning: none, spencer yapping about Star Trek

summary: She’s offered warmth, but doesn’t know how to hold it. The case sharpens. And somewhere between guilt and grief, she lets Spencer in.

previous. | masterlist. | next.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞." — 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢.

1:24 P. M. — local PD, Cleveland, Ohio.

The police department hummed with movement, the low murmur of phones ringing and officers shuffling past barely registering to Misaki. She paced near the evidence board, biting at her nail, eyes scanning the photographs for the third time.

Spencer was hunched over a desk, hands flipping through notes at a rapid pace, brows furrowed in concentration. The silence between them wasn't awkward—they'd grown accustomed to it—but it wasn't comforting either. Misaki found herself replaying the earlier interview in her head on a loop, her mind snagging on every pause, every look Gigi gave, every question she herself asked.

Did I push too hard? Was it even my place?

She exhaled slowly and glanced down at her phone. No new messages—not like she was expecting any. Her fingers tapped against her thigh as she resumed pacing. Every moment she had with the team felt like walking a wire she hadn't quite earned the right to stand on.

Reid hadn't said much since they returned—focused, serious. Unreadable, as always. Still, she hoped for something—a glance, a nod, anything. Just enough to settle the unease twisting in her chest. And she could already feel a migraine starting.

She sat down, eyes closed. But the thoughts didn't quiet. Morgan and Elle had just come back from canvassing, and Gideon had ducked out with a local police officer to follow up on something near the victim's neighborhood. The room's energy was fragmented—like a system in motion, where she was still trying to find her rhythm. The team moved with ease, with history. And she? She was just... placed. Not quite part of the current.

It doesn't matter. I worked hard for this. They'll have to accept me—whether they like it or not.

It was hard—everyone saw her as a product of nepotism. And maybe she was. But not once did she ever use her last name to get to where she is now. Every time she introduced herself as Hirose, that's all they saw. Never mind the fact that she clawed her way here on her own.

Misaki rubbed her temple, trying to massage the ache away. She was about to get up again when Spencer's voice cut through the silence.

"They never fixed the camera near the back exit."

Her eyes flicked to him. He was still fixed on the files, but now he was talking—to her.

"What?" She blinked.

He didn't look up. "The CCTV at Amber's workplace. Maintenance log says it's been broken for a week. We're not getting anything from it."

How could I have missed that? I should've checked it myself—cover all bases.

Spencer finally glanced up. "You were right to focus on the bar."

Misaki straightened. It wasn't praise—but not quite criticism either.

She nodded. The earlier heaviness didn't vanish, but it dulled—replaced by the sharper rhythm of purpose. Work she could do. Work that made sense.

And for now, that was enough.

The door creaked open.

Hotch and JJ stepped inside, both looking like they haven't stopped moving since they left. Misaki straightened her posture. Her fingers instinctively tightened around the file.

Hotch walked past her, settling down near Spencer.

"I read your message," he said, tone even. "Good work."

A flicker of surprise crossed her face. "Thank you, sir."

Elle gave her a casual nod, "nice catch."

Misaki nodded back, trying not to overthink it—though the small swell of relief was hard to ignore. She held her expression still.

Spencer stood and spoke before the silence stretched too long. "We talked to Gigi Palmer, Green confessed about having an affair with Blakeman. She also mentioned Amber being a regular at the bar—spending at least three nights a week, sometimes more."

Misaki added. "A few of those nights were late. Past midnight. Definitely worth checking surveillance if they had any saved." Her voice wasn't loud, but steady.

No one responded to the comment directly. It wasn't ignored—just... absorbed, moved past. The conversation kept going, and she followed it like a second current, walking a half-step behind.

Gideon arrived shortly after—empty-handed. The bar didn't open until 7 P.M., which meant the next few hours would be a waiting game.

Misaki leaned against the counter, paper cup in hand, staring at the swirl of cheap coffee like it held answers. "You're braver than me, drinking that stuff," a voice cut through her thoughts.

It was Elle.

Misaki looked up. "Just trying to stay vertical."

Elle cracked a small smile as she stepped over to the machine. "Trust me, it doesn't get any easier." There was a pause, not uncomfortable. Misaki's brow furrowed, glancing over as Elle leaned back against the counter beside her.

"You did good earlier," Elle said, almost casually. "Interviewing Gigi like that."

Misaki blinked. "Thanks."

"You remind me a little of how I was when I first started. Except, you ask smarter questions."

That pulled a tiny breath of a laugh out of Misaki. "I doubt that."

"You shouldn't." Elle sipped her coffee, grimacing slightly at the shitty taste. "You're here because you're good."

The words hit heavy, but not unkind. Misaki looked down at her hands.

"I know what they all think, just from the look in their eyes. Nepo baby and all that." She hesitated. "It's been 23 years and I've yet to outrun that legacy. Sometimes I ask myself if I came here because I truly loved the job or—if I'm here just to prove them wrong."

Elle nodded. "You don't owe anyone anything. What matters is how you work with the team—to lock up the monsters."

The hum of the vending machine filled the silence between them. For the first time since she arrived, Misaki didn't feel like she had to put up a front. She wasn't emotional or anything—not at all, but she wasn't so guarded either.

Elle turned to leave but paused at the door. "I'm gonna go reread the case files. We can go over it together if you want."

Misaki looked up, surprised. "Uh..."

"Yeah," her voice soft.

"Good," Elle smiled before disappearing down the hall.

Misaki stood there a moment longer. She felt warm—maybe from the bad coffee, or maybe because of Elle. She wasn't part of the team yet—not really. But today, she'd taken a step closer.

────────── Misaki

Turns out, Elle and I weren't the only ones reviewing case files. Morgan was there too—nose buried in a stack of papers. The room was filled with silence and concentration. I walked over to the evidence board.

I must have missed something.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself—loud enough for the precinct to hear, apparently. My migraine is acting up again.

"You always this intense?" Morgan stood beside me, eyes on the board.

"Only when I'm awake." It was a joke. An attempt at it at least—though it wasn't far from the truth.

He raised a brow. "You really wanna keep up with the team, huh?"

I stayed silent. Was it that obvious?

"I'm not here to keep up," I said, voice flat. "I'm here to earn it." He shot me a look—a smirk plastered on his face.

Did I say something wrong?

"What's with the look?" I asked, not meaning to come off too strong.

"You're interesting, kid." He walked past me, giving me a pat on the shoulder. "I'll be taking a walk, call me if something comes up." Morgan looked at me, then at Elle—she didn't look up, only gave a nod.

I went back to my desk, skimming over the files once more. Though, it was hard to focus when Morgan's words echoed in my mind. He called me "interesting."

Interesting.

That's what they all said when they weren't sure if you were good or just lucky.

────────── 8:15 P.M. — Lowlights, Cleveland, Ohio.

The bar Amber used to visit was just a few blocks away from her workplace, tucked between a liquor store and a payday loan office. Just the kind of place you wouldn't notice unless you knew where to look.

Morgan walked in first, I followed behind. The atmosphere was warm, almost too welcoming. Soft music played under the clink of glasses. A handful of patrons—businessmen in tailored suits—drowning their sorrows in booze.

We walked up to the counter, the bartender was busy serving drinks. Morgan raised a hand, catching the bartender's attention.

"Can I get you two anything?" He greeted us with a smile.

"FBI," Morgan said, flashing his badge. I mirrored the motion. "We're here to ask a few questions." The bartender nodded, for a split second his expression changed but was masked quickly.

"Of course, how can I help?" He gave a smile, treating us as if we were just here for drinks—way too relaxed.

"Do you know anyone named Amber Green?" Morgan said casually, like starting up a conversation with a friend. But the bartender was already being profiled by him.

While Morgan did his job, I scanned the place. Looking out for any cameras or regulars that seemed too quiet. And there it was, above the counter.

Palmer said they sat by the bartender that night. If we're lucky, the camera might've caught something—if the footage is still there

"Yeah, I know her." He paused, longer than he should have. "One of our regulars, she often came here alone or with a blonde man."

And Chase Green is a brunette.

"Mind if we checked out footage of that security camera?" I nodded to the CCTV behind the counter. He seemed to think for a second—was he hesitating?

"Not at all," he shook his head. "But, each footage is only saved for a week max." He added. It's still worth checking out.

"We'd like a copy anyway," Morgan looked in my direction. His eyes were encouraging, which was a nice change.

"Amber was a regular, yes?" I started.

He didn't reply, only gave a nod.

"Can you tell me more about her and the guy she's often seen with?"

He swallowed, "they would unwind here after long hours of work. Chatting late into the night." Eyes flickered back-and-forth between me and Morgan.

"Paid good as well, the guy just leaves money on the counter—running off before I can even give them their change." He continued.

"Were there any instances where it seemed like they weren't on good terms? Disagreements? Tension?" I asked.

He paused to think for a moment, "nothing serious like that. I overheard her complaining about something and then stormed off—but then he chased her shortly after."

He hasn't said anything about Amber and Gigi yet. Interesting.

"Other than the man, did Amber ever bring someone else to this bar? Could be a friend? Coworker?"

He didn't reply.

"Not that I remember, no."

I hummed in response, shooting Morgan a look—signaling that I was done.

Morgan caught my look. No words needed.

That was new.

He continued to talk to the bartender, gathering more intel. Places like this were made to ease the mind—a place for people to shrug off whatever weight they carried on their shoulders. But something didn't sit right with me here and I can't shake off that feeling.

I hadn't realized I was zoned out until Morgan's hand landed on my shoulder. I flinched.

"Let's go," I blinked. "We got what we came for." He waved the USB in my face.

That went faster than I expected.

"Unless... you want to get a couple of drinks?" He offered.

For a second, I ralmost considered it.

Unprofessional.

There it was. That scrutinizing voice I grew up with. Dad. His name's already followed me here—now he's scolding me mid-case?

Morgan picked up on my thoughts somehow.

"You good?" Concern written all over his face. The most expression I've gotten from anyone in the team, so far.

"Yeah," I hesitated.

"I think I'll pass on the drinks tonight." I shot him a polite smile, he understood.

"Let's go back to the hotel then." He gestured for me to go first, opening the door before my hand even touched the handle.

I used to think being seen made you vulnerable. But tonight—it made me feel a little less alone.

──────────

A knock.

Not loud. Two soft raps, followed by silence.

I didn't move right away. Just blinked up at the ceiling, debating whether to ignore it completely. Then I sighed, dragging myself out of bed—opening the door just enough to peek.

Spencer.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight awkwardly. Hair slightly tousled like he had been pacing—overthinking—probably both. An unusual contrast from his usual neat, almost clinical look.

"Hey," he said. Quiet, like it might echo in the hallway if he wasn't careful. "Just wanted to check if you... needed anything."

His eyes avoided mine. Was he nervous?

"From the bar scene, I mean," he added quickly.

I blinked. "No, I'm good. I'm just—going over some footage."

"Right," he nodded. "Good."

Silence stretched between us—not uncomfortable, just hovering.

His eyes flicked past me, to the dark room behind. "You haven't turned your lights on."

Was he worried that he woke me up?

"Helps with the migraine," I offered.

He nodded again. Lips pressing into a thin line. He does that whenever he's thinking. Probably calculating the neurological implications of that.

Then—

"You did well back there."

My face scrunched. "You're saying what now?"

Spencer looked up at me with that slightly lost, honest expression he sometimes wore. "Takes me a while to say things."

You and I both.

"Thanks," I said instead, voice softer than I meant.

He turned around, about to leave.

"Would you like to watch the footage with me?" I offered.

I said it too fast to fully register what I'd done. Not that I wanted to take it back—it's a privilege to work with Spencer. I just didn't expect those words to come out of my mouth so soon.

I preferred solitude. My sacred space—away from the gruesome and noisy world. Whether it was in my apartment, a hotel somewhere in America, or my childhood home—I never let anyone in. This room was sacred. Mine. The only place where I had full control of my surroundings.

But with him, I didn't hesitate.

Spencer looked up, wide-eyed—like a real-life Bambi.

"I'd like that," he said. Voice soft. Measured.

We locked eyes for a second longer. The awkward silence from earlier shifted into something quieter. Calmer. Familiar.

I opened the door wider.

I let him in.

Spencer stepped inside cautiously, like he wasn't sure if he should. He didn't hover or look around—just sat on the edge of the chair near the desk while I took the floor, laptop open between us.

"Fun fact," he said, almost absentmindedly. "Your brain processes visual information faster in dim light because it relies more on motion and contrast than detail."

I blinked at him.

He glanced over. "So technically, watching the surveillance footage in the dark might help you catch something everyone else misses."

A pause.

I turned to him slowly. "Is that why you came in here? To teach me to see better?"

He blinked. "Maybe."

I snorted before I could stop myself. He smiled—almost proud. And somehow, the room felt less heavy.

It was quarter past one. Spencer was still in my room, but he was no longer sitting at the edge of the chair. He sat beside me—on the cold floor.

The footage played, nothing new stood out. My eyes began to strain, so I leaned back, rubbing at them.

"You know," he started, voice casual, "the surveillance systems in most bars are nowhere near as sophisticated as people think. But Star Trek actually predicted highly accurate real-time video communications way back in the 1960s."

I glanced up at him.

He blinked, then added. "Specifically in the original series—season one, episode fourteen. Kirk uses what's basically a video call to speak to someone lightyears away. It was pure science fiction at that time, but it ended up inspiring real-word development of telecommunications."

A beat passed.

I smiled, "is that supposed to make me feel better about watching hours of pixelated bar footage?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Maybe. Or maybe I just really like Star Trek."

"You don't say."

It was kind of admirable the way he rambled on. Maybe even cute—

My brows furrowed. Where the hell did that come from?

He tilted his head. "The original cast had its flaws, but it was one of the first shows to depict a genuinely diverse crew working as equals. There was a Russian during the Cold War, a Japanese officer not long after World War II, and Uhura—one of the first black women on television who wasn't cast as a maid. It wasn't just science fiction. It was... idealism."

His voice softened near the end, and I caught the faraway look in his eyes.

Idealism. In this line of work?

"Didn't think you'd be the optimistic type," I murmured.

"I'm not," he said flatly. "But sometimes, believing in the idea of something better is enough."

We went quiet again. Spencer turned his focus back to the footage, the dim light from the screen painting his face in blue and shadow.

I used to think optimism was for people who hadn't seen the world yet. But sitting next to him—his voice soft with wonder—I realized maybe there was a different kind. A quiet hope. The kind you don't talk about out loud. The kind you hide in late night ramblings and pixelated footage.

I yawned. Exhaustion catching up to me. But still, I tried to resist—failed, obviously. Spencer seemed to have caught on, he moved closer. Our shoulders touched.

Eventually, my head rested on his shoulder. I don't know when—or how—it happened. I was usually good at holding off my needs, especially sleep.

And just so you know, I would never—and I mean never—lower my guard like that.

Spencer smelled like old books—not dusty, but the soft scent of aged pages and leather bound spines, with a hint of cedar wood and chamomile.

I didn't say anything else.

Neither did he.

We didn't move. We didn't speak. And still, it felt like something changed.

author's note:

This chapter was softer—less crime, more connection. I wanted to show a quieter side of Misaki, especially how she's still learning to let people in. Moments with Spencer are subtle now, but they matter.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #bau team #undressed fic #misaki hirose

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callofdudes · 2 years ago

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Did they just post artwork? Yes. Am I in love with every viking/cod au that crosses my path? Yes. Do I like shifters? Fucking absolutely.

And @aidenlydia has fed me all of those at once. So obviously I'm writing something for it because it's beautiful! Here is their original post.

Winter fall.

09 SoapGhost

Snow in the Highlands was always to be expected. Even in the deep treks as the white specks of freezing cold weather clung to his beard. Icy blue eyes only added to the background, wind whipping around them up in the mountains.

John stopped in the slow, noticing part of the thick pine tree line had been caved in. Branches snapped and trees arching from a weight.

Deep foot prints quickly being filled by the pummelling snow leading into the dark abyss of the forest.

Along his collar, Ghost stirred. Fluffing his feathers along John's neck, making him shiver a little.

"You wanna go have a look?"

The rather large crow's wings puffed out from the fuzzy fur cloak John wore, making a rather disgruntled noise.

John chuckles. "Be quick then, we're both hungry."

His little feet bounced, pushing off of John's shoulder and flapping his large black wings against the harsh winds. Snow landing across his feathers and beak.

John watched as Ghost took the wind, soaring up over the tree line and dashing through the pine wood.

The trees bowed and swayed, bending as Ghost monitored the snowy forest floor. Seeing broken branches and trees bent all the way down the side of the embankment.

Sharp eyes surveying every inch until he spotted their goal. The large elk that had wandered it's way into their trap and woken their stomachs gnawing on some grass.

Ghost cawed, alerting John before diving toward the large beast.

Hearing his cry, John grabbed his axe, rushing through the flurry of snow. Past pine branches and into the thick darkness.

Following the deep trails of the elk until coming across the opening where Ghost was picking a fight with it.

Feet planted on the elks muzzle as it tried to shake him off and cant him away. Ghost squawked, flapping his wings into its face, disorienting it.

Before the elk could figure out what was happening, John slammed his axe in an upper cut, the blade lodging between the thick fur and skin, tearing at the ribs, making the animal cry.

Blood covered the pearl white snow, soaking into the flurry as it fought and then fell to its demise.

Ghost squawked, flapping his wings rapidly and landing on John's head and fluffing his feathers, stretching out one wing to finely clean the feathers.

John secured the elk to a rope and pulled it up over his shoulder. "You all good up there??" John reached up and Simon hopped along the top of his head, crooning his beak to peck at John's firm hand.

"Good lad. Let's get this back to a fire. I'm starving."

Simon flapped his wings, hopping down into the fur of John's cloak, snuggling up and puffing out his feathers a little.

They trekked back through the snow with their meal, heading back to the cave opening where they'd been set up to hunt game for the last week.

Their leather bed rolls laid across from each other, the rocks pulled up around thee scorched wood of last night's fire.

John set the elk onto a rock, grabbing out his dagger. "Get the fire going yeah?" Ghost nuzzled his beak against John's neck and flapped down into the snow.

Tight leather shoes crunching to the snow. Ghost wrapped his arms around his body, the cloth scarf that wrapped around his neck, one end falling to end at his breast, the other wrapped over his nose. Hiding his pale complexion amongst the flurry of snow.

His eyes still resembling the sharp, cunning gaze of the crow. Nimble hands wrapped in leather picking up wood from under their small camp out and replacing the old logs.

He looked up at John, his large muscles flexing as he split open the elk. Stripping the intestines and skinning the top from the meat of the animal.

He grabbed their chipped rocks from by John's bedside, striking them over the fresh wood and watching them catch light.

"How long will that last us?" He finally asks before blowing on the starting sparks of the fire.

"A week or two if we eat wisely." John replied, throwing the skin into a pile next to the rest of their leather, which they would use to package and conserve the meat in the cold climate.

"How long do you suspect we'll be out here?"

"Long enough. Why? Wanting a vacation already?" John chuckles softly.

Simon scoffs, folding one knee up to his chin, poking the fire with their stick. "No, just wondering."

A gentle silence followed. The howl of the wind passing by their small alcove but never entering. And the occasional noise of John chopping up the fat of the animal.

It wasn't a long process, they'd done it before.

When John was ready he pulled off part of the pure thigh meat. The slick slabs from each side laying in the snow.

For now he'd leave it. So he took the pieces up and sat near Ghost on the small rock carve out, his leather sleeping pad cushioning his arse barely.

He got the metal hook and slipped one of the slabs of meat onto it. The flames in the pit sparkling, popping and reaching up to the meat. Blood dripped into the fire, making it sizzle and crackle.

Ghost watched it. Still poking his stick around in the fire aimlessly. John noticed, even Simon's small amount of feather coverage around his forearms, shoulders and ears were barely enough against the wind that passed.

He unclipped his heavy cloak, pulling the emblem away from his neck, catching Ghost's attention.

It was a silent exchange when he laid the cloak over Ghost's shoulders. Watching him slightly slump as the fabric engulfed his body into the warmth that John's own body had.

Ghost pulled it close, sinking into it while he watched the fire.

John's large muscular shoulders bare to the cold weather turned slightly red around his neck muscle, dusted with barely noticable freckles.

Ghost looked over at him, shifting a little closer. John hummed softly, feeling Simon's smaller body closer to him, "We'll head back to the village soon for proper rest."

Simon hummed, staring into the fire. "We can get some alcohol too.."

John chuckles softly. "And alcohol, bloody yes we're getting alcohol."

Simon looks up at him, leaning slowly against his side. "You're a dumb drunk."

"Mm, well I can say the same about you."

John tucked the cloak in tighter, pulling Ghost right against him, surprising the smaller man.

He huffed softly, looking away at the ground, but it was warm. John's large hand wrapped around him, holding him protectively. There was always something so nice about it.

His eyelids fluttered slightly, drooping and allowing himself to lean in further to the side of the steady man.

A branch snapped, making him sit back up straight again.

John's attention also moved to the opening of the cave, placing a firm hand on Ghost's thigh. "Easy, just the wind." He assured.

Ghost slowly relaxed, looking back over at the snow covered land once more to double check.

John's arm remained protectively around him, holding his thigh, letting Simon curl up closely to him.

John poked the fire with the stick, splashing more embers up onto the meat. The time slowly ticked away as it cooked.

The small amount of feather coverage on Simon's forearms bristled. One arm poking out from the cloak, crooning his neck to nip at the mashed feathers and preen them back into place with his teeth.

John thought it was adorable. Sitting with him in that peaceful moment. Getting some time to just relax. Knowing they'd be out here for hunting season quite a while. But they made a good team, that's for sure.

I was gonna do more but got a road trip and I love these two. This was what I could splurge onto the page. I want more 😭😭

#Ghostsoap #Soapghost #09 simon ghost riley #09 soapghost #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #captain mactavish #viking john MacTavish #crow shifter Simon Riley

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stonecoldholly · 5 months ago

Text

Worldwalker: Chapter 7

Summary - After witnessing a ritual at a pagan festival in her hometown, Sam suddenly finds herself in a world where magic exists and dangers far worse than everyday crime lurk around every corner. Accepting her unfortunate situation is one challenge; trusting these otherworldly beings to help her is another. As she uncovers the truth, she often finds that it leads to more trouble than it’s worth. Sam must navigate this new world, find her way back home, and restart her life.

Warnings - Nothing that I can think of at this time.

Word Count - 8.4k

A/N - More character building, bond strengthening, and the beginning of some story developments. I'm starting to get reeeealllly excited, ya'll.

Part 8

AO3 Link

“We live in cities you’ll never see on screen. Not very pretty but we sure know how to run things. Livin’ in the ruins of the palace within my dreams. And you know, we’re on each other’s team.”

Team - Lorde

Winter Court/Autumn Court Border, Prythian

On the outskirts of the warded boundary line separating the Winter and Autumn courts, Cassian and Azriel landed with reverberating thuds, making the snow on the branches surrounding them shake loose from their impacts. The full, luminous moon above them cast a silvery glow along the snow-covered landscape, bright and stark against the cold and dark forest. Cassian and Azriel felt a strange familiarity within the woods, a call back to the environment and conditions of the Illyrian mountains they grew up in.

Their wings folded tightly inward as they began their trek towards the Autumn border, the heavy snowfall diminishing as they neared closer to the divide. Azriel's shadows spread before them, skirting through the mud and snow piles, spinning around the barren trees, searching for possible threats and information to carry back. Cassian's head was on a swivel, trained eyes scanning the forest intently as his siphons gleamed in the darkness. He stood tall and unyielding, even as the harsh wind of the Winter Court attempted to pierce his leathers and throw him off balance. Azriel’s hand was inches from Truth-Teller, the blade secured to his thigh as they weaved through the fallen trees and bare bushes like phantoms.

Ahead. Eris. Ahead.

Azriel's shadows whispered to him, and he tapped Cassian on the arm to alert him silently. They both came to a halt, still within the Winter border and assessed their surroundings. The bare, snowy branches of the Winter Court gradually faded into an Autumn forest ahead; trees retained their colorful leaves, the heavy snow receded into a minimal dusting over thick mud, and the intensity of the biting wind decreased to a zephyr. Only the quiet creaking of branches holding the weight of snow emitted from the woods around them, signaling they were still very much alone.

Azriel could see the Autumn border ahead, but Eris would not be directly on the borderline waiting. He would be tucked away well within his Court's boundaries and, subsequently, his father's jurisdiction. Azriel and Cassian shared a look of knowing, double-checking their protections and grabbing their weapons from their holsters. Together, they continued forward, timing their steps to minimize the sound of approach.

Once they crossed into Autumn, Azriel felt the air change as they slipped through the invisible barrier. The scent of water-logged tree trunks and decaying leaves met his nose, the wildlife living within the woods alerting one another to a new arrival in the lands. Azriel knew there were far worse beings hiding in these woods than mere foxes and wolves; apex predators lurked in that darkness that could tear someone apart and transform into a thing of nightmares.

He was one of them.

“I was expecting one of Rhysand’s winged guard dogs, but I didn't think I would require both."

Cassian turned to see Eris leaning against the tree to their left, a lazy smirk plastered upon his face. Azriel had known he was there, having seen the slight disturbance of the leaves in the mud, but Azriel gave Eris no indication that he even heard what the son of Autumn had said.

“I’m honored.” Eris continued as he pushed himself off the tree, brushing his hand down his midnight blue coat sleeve. "I even half expected to see my brother. Tell me, how is Lucien doing these days?”

“I would have figured you'd have seen him when he visited your mother," Cassian replied, willingly offering the information. This was a strategic play to minimize their time spent within the borders of this gods' forsaken Court.

Eris hummed, “He came to see mother, not me.” He took a few steps closer to the Illyrian warriors, gloved hands in his pockets and standing proud as he continued, his voice firm and unrelenting. "Let's cut to the chase; you know what or who breached Autumn's borders. Under Prythian law, I have the right to gather all information about it and open an investigation. Under Autumn Court jurisdiction, this matter falls to the General of the Autumn Court forces. It allows for any measures to secure the border and the safety of Autumn's people by any means necessary. As it is clear that Lucien, your emissary, was last seen in these woods when the breach happened, it only solidifies that the Night Court is involved.”

Cassian reached inside his leathers, holding a black envelope with a silver wax seal toward Eris. Handing over the carefully crafted information, an evasive truth disguised as a detailed explanation, was the easy part. “Rhysand sends his regards.”

Eris took the envelope, breaking the seal to read the contents immediately. His facial expression never faltered as he read the letter from Rhysand. Instead, he folded it and put it inside his coat pocket. While his face remained impassive, his eyes burned with carefully controlled anger. “You expect me to believe that a human female had simply wandered her way through the woods of the human lands, bypassed into the Spring Court without being noticed by that beastly idiot, and ended up here? Slipping past the Forest House, my father's elite guards, and myself? How daft do you think I am?”

Azriel wanted to tell him exactly what he thought of Eris, and by the expression on Cassian's face, he felt the same way. However, Azriel's face remained cold and indifferent, his shadows nearly concealing him entirely from sight. Neither Cassian nor Azriel offered to answer Eris's questions.

Eris scoffed at them, “We are in the business of helping each other. I help you, you help me.”

“What makes you think we need your help?” Cassian asked, crossing his arms across his chest. This meeting had already exceeded his personal time restriction.

Eris gave him a serpentine-like smile, the fire within him shining in his amber eyes. "Because I know more than you think I do. I request that you follow me. I have something to show you."

Azriel finally said, "Tell us what it is before we blindly get led into Autumn." Something was beginning to sour in his stomach.

"You will see when we get there. It's quite a long walk, and we have much to discuss until then."

“Give us an approximate location, and we will meet there. The less time we spend in your presence, the better." For you was the unspoken addition, Azriel had wanted to say.

"Six miles from the Forest House, southwest.” Eris disappeared without so much as a sound.

Azriel turned his attention to Cassian, who was already looking at him. "This feels like a trap," he said.

Azriel nodded in agreement but grabbed Cassian’s arm anyway. “Be ready.”

The black cloud formed around them, growing thicker and larger until an onyx wall of shadows completely surrounded them. They appeared on the other side within moments, the shadows dissipating back into a soft mist-like form around Azriel. Eris was waiting exactly where he said he would be, hands still in his pockets. He led them silently through the forest, the overgrowth of vegetation thickening the closer they got to the Forest House. Azriel knew they were too close for comfort near Beron's palace; his guards wouldn't be too far from where they were wandering. His shadows dispersed everywhere to note where the guards were stationed throughout the woods.

They walked for another quarter mile before Eris stopped, holding his hand up to a halt. He turned towards them for a moment before stepping aside, motioning to the forest floor behind him, "This is where the human came through," He turned his head, and just over his right shoulder, Cassian and Azriel could see the impact site where Sam landed in Prythian. “You can tell Rhysand that his fabrication of events is not appreciated.”

Surprisingly, the earth had a rather large indention, and mud splashed and piled up in odd areas. Leaves and brush were disturbed around the muddied puddle, and the thick, wet earth was a pungent assault on their senses. Cassian could see Azriel’s shadows zipping around the large area, collecting as much information left behind as possible.

Azriel studied the surroundings, marking the footprints in the ground that matched Sam's boots. Suddenly, Cassian and Azriel were hanging by a thread within the bargain. They knew they would have to give Eris information regarding Sam, but Eris had already gathered more information than they had intended to share. Rhysand’s message was a clear indication of attempted deception. A sinking feeling began to descend in Azriel’s stomach.

"So now that we have determined that the breach was caused by her, can you tell me where she came from?"

Azriel continued to look at the impact site, amazed that Sam hadn't had more injuries than a couple of cuts and bruises she had walked away with. With an impact zone that is extensive and brutal, a human should have broken a few bones at the least. “We’re not sure.”

“Bullshit. I’m sure she’s told you exactly where she came from.”

“She has told us nothing.” Cassian tried...and failed. Even as he said it, he knew it was thinly veiled.

“Lie to me again; I will burn you where you stand and send your ashes back to your mate in a wooden box." Eris spat, his eyes nearly glowing with anger and the fire pulsating beneath his skin. "I do not appreciate being left in the dark when the entire situation clearly began in my Court. Now, tell me where she is from.”

Cassian sighed heavily, hoping the bargain tattoo didn’t strike him dead as he opened his mouth. "She's from another planet; she called it Earth. We don't know where it is, how she got here, or any other answers to your questions. I assure you, we have those same questions."

"Then I would like to meet her myself and determine if she is a threat to my Court," Eris demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. “At the very least.”

"She's human," Azriel replied; his hazel eyes were hard and cold as he stared at the eldest Vanserra offspring. The last thing he wanted was Eris within a foot of Sam’s presence.

"Feyre was human once, too, and look at what she was able to accomplish under the mountain. Never underestimate a human female.” Eris remained firm in his stance, even with the two Illyrian warriors sizing him up and crowding him. He was a force to be reckoned with in his own right, standing proud as the General of the Autumn Court forces.

Fast. She landed hard. Unconscious.

She was too close to the Forest House.

She moved north for hours and made it seven miles.

Traced to a tree. She slept on a branch.

Fear. She was terrified.

Lucien. Smoke hounds.

"At what point did you send the smokehounds after her?" Azriel asked; his shadows continued to whisper bits of information to him. Seven miles north from their location, Sam had strapped herself to a tree to sleep and presumably met Lucien around the area.

Eris didn't so much as blink. "I didn't send them after her; I sent them after Lucien to see where he would go. I sent guards after her."

Cassian whipped his head towards Eris, his wings twitching, anger pulsing through his body. “You sent guards after her?”

Eris rolled his eyes, dropping his arms. “Please. Tell me that you wouldn’t do the same? If the only information you had was a trespasser roaming within the lands, you would have also sent soldiers out to investigate. Don't paint me out to be a villain because I followed protocol." He sneered at Cassian, disdain dripping from his words like venom. “Not like they caught up to her in time.”

“Trust me, we don’t have to paint you that way. You do a great job of it yourself.” Cassian quipped, looking at the forest floor with a thoughtful expression.

Eris bared his teeth, “They would have taken her into custody an-”

“And then tortured her for information. She couldn’t even speak our language, Eris; imagine what Beron would have done to her.” Azriel snarled at him, his shadows growing thicker around him in response to his agitation.

“Oh, so my guards would have simply done what you do? Hilarious, really, that it’s okay when you do it but vile and wrong when other courts do the same thing. Save your heroic defense for someone who can’t see through you, Shadowsinger.” Eris spat at him, his eyes flashing like a roaring fire.

Azriel held onto his temper with every ounce of willpower he had left. Eris knew what buttons to press and how hard to get a reaction; he was a professional at being an asshole, and even centuries later, Azriel still wanted to rip his throat out with his teeth.

Cassian, who was teetering on the edge of throwing the mission to the wind and pummeling Eris into the mud, ran a hand down his face as he took a deep breath. "Beyond what we have already shared, we have no further information. If you do not have any information to give us, whether it is the current situation or not, then we will be on our way."

“I already told you what I wanted. I would like to meet her.” The smirk on Eris’ face was vicious. “Samantha.”

Azriel's shadows rose like serpents, peering over his shoulders like vipers ready to strike. Deadly suspicion bubbled within him, his skin itching at the need to tear Eris to pieces. “We never told you her name.”

"No, but you did just confirm it.” Eris smirked, opening his pristine jacket to pull an object out from within his inside pocket. "My smoke hounds found this, just over there.”

In his hand was a small, palm-sized folded leather wallet. Eris opened it and pulled out what looked like a white card: "Samantha Grace Damato. Female. Date of birth is December 8, 1994, from a place called Savannah, Georgia. This also has an image of her. Does she look familiar?"

In Eris's hand was a hard white card with the words ‘Drivers License’ printed at the top, a picture of Sam smiling on the left, and her details printed along the right. The black wallet was caked in dried mud but had clearly been wiped off to the best of Eris’ ability. Azriel's face was frozen in a cold rage, and Cassian stood still like a statue. Eris did, indeed, know more than they were willing to share.

Eris’ serpentine grin stretched across his face. “Checkmate.”

Azriel’s shadows snatched the card and wallet from Eris’ hand before he could react, vanishing from sight. He could only imagine what Rhysand would say at this gloriously failed mission. Eris would have to be read in; it was unavoidable.

Eris could only grin at having one-upped the Night Court, "I will meet her; perhaps I could be of some assistance."

“How?” Cassian snapped back at him. He didn't need to be agreeable or happy about Eris' involvement. He was even less thrilled that Eris would be around his mate and Mor again.

“I have information regarding the movements of the units recently dispatched by Vallahan,” Eris offered as he buffed his nails against the lapel of his coat.

“According to our sources, that is all hearsay," Azriel dismissed, listening more to what his shadows were whispering to him than to what Eris was saying. Azriel trusted his sources more than he trusted Eris, after all.

“You are not the only spy in this country or this world. I also have eyes and ears in other parts of this world and have good authority to say there is growing tension within Rask and Vallahan, enough that they sent small scouting units from their shores a few days ago.”

“And did your informants disclose why?” Cassian asked, watching Azriel's shadows momentarily before turning to Eris.

“Let me see,” Eris made a show of tapping his finger to his chin in contemplation. “What recent events could have caused curiosity in Prythian? I wonder what-”

Cassian rolled his eyes, “Okay, we get it. Sam’s appearance. Why would they be interested in her?”

"They don't know it was her, now do they? Given what information your High Lord is keeping close to his chest, all they know and what the rest of the High Lords know is that a tremble was felt. They are looking for the reason. Clearly, it was strong enough to draw attention from the Continent.”

“I understand, but why would they waste resources sending units out on a blind mission? It doesn't make sense."

“It’s not a blind mission,” Azriel finally said with a sigh. He had been staring at the impact site, and the small crater in the Earth seemed to gloat at him. They know exactly where it came from."

Eris stood up straighter, his eyes narrowing. “And how would you know that?”

Azriel’s hand hovered above the indention, this black mist swirling around his hand. “It has a magical signature. I can feel it.” Cassian held his hand above the hole in the ground as well, shaking his hand as he felt the prickling of the magic brush against his skin. "The rift created the magical signature; it's like a beacon, vibrating along the ward lines.”

“So they are coming to Autumn,” Eris’s hand trembled with suppressed rage. He closed his fist and then stretched his fingers out, tiny sparks flying from his fingers. "I believe I require Rhysand's daemati skills."

“Rhys. This turned into a bigger issue than we planned.”

“What do you mean?”

Cassian allowed Rhys to peer into his head to access what he was currently seeing. Cassian could almost feel Rhys's frustration and dread.

“Report immediately to the River House.”

“And Eris?”

“...We will prepare for his arrival. Bring him here, not to the Court of Nightmares. We, at least, need to prevent Keir from being aware.”

“Understood.”

-x-

Velaris, Night Court, Prythian

A few short blocks from the townhouse, Sam and Lucien found themselves in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, an incredible outdoor market filled with meats, livestock, baked goods, and spices. The scent in the air was mouthwatering, so many spices mingling together that Sam had trouble pinpointing exactly what she was smelling. Sam could retain her barrings between the Sidra located to the east and the Palace market to the west, knowing that Lucien wouldn’t let her get lost in Velaris.

While being surrounded by a multitude of scents and sounds was overwhelming in its own right, Sam was not prepared to see all the different kinds of faeries within the Night Court. She tried to control her staring, attempting to be as respectful as possible, but when a blue-scaled faerie walked by her wearing nothing at all, she felt her fear spike. Even as the blue-scaled faerie nodded to her and Lucien in greeting, Sam had half-hidden herself behind Lucien in fright. Lucien, bless him, had pulled her aside into a nearby alley to allow her to collect herself, her heart beating a frantic tattoo against the inside of her rib cage as faeries of all different species roamed around the city.

“They won’t hurt you, Sam. They are just as curious of you as you are of them.” Lucien assured her calmly, rubbing her upper arm and back in reassurance.

Sam, whose eyes were as wide as saucers and face as white as a sheet of paper, took more than a handful of deep breaths, allowing the fresh oxygen to chase her terror out of her bloodstream. Her skin was prickling from her excessive heavy breathing, and her vision was beginning to blue around the edges. “I know, I am so sorry. I..I just...I wasn’t expectin’ that. A part of me just expects to see other humans or fae that look like the ones I’ve met already or who look kinda like me or somethin’. I didn’t – oh god.”

"You don't have to explain; I understand, " he replied, stepping back to give her some space and looking up and down the alley to assure her they were still alone. "In your world, does everyone look like you?”

Sam shook her head, taking another deep breath, trying to mentally talk herself out of her growing panic attack. She closed her eyes and straightened her spine. “No,” She leaned back against the solid wall of a shop, the sun catching the adjacent rooftop’s chimney and carving out a column of shade over her. “No, we are a wide variety of people and come in various combinations of shape, size, and color. We’re all different.”

“The same as it is here in Prythian. You are different to them as they are to you,” Lucien explained; his voice was comforting, a steady baritone that Sam focused on while she fought to get her breathing under control. She slowly opened her eyes as he continued, "We are just like the people of your world; some of us have wings or horns, some of us have scales, fur, or various colored skin; we may even bleed different colors, but we are all just trying to make a better life for ourselves, for our families. Most of us aren't bad; we have a few, but we try, and I think that's what matters. That’s what you have to remember.”

Sam watched Lucien as he spoke, his passion for the people of Velaris, of Prythian, touching a part of her heart that had long gone quiet. In more ways than one, he was right; they were just like Sam and the people of her world. Different races and religions, various physical characteristics, different backgrounds, and upbringings, but all just trying. Trying to make a life and make a difference somehow despite everything stacked against them. They try to write the story of their lives and give it a happy ending or just a good ending to a decent life that is well lived.

Sam frowned down at the ground of the alleyway, her shame and embarrassment getting the best of her. She licked her bottom lip, sucking them inward before looking up at Lucien, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I didn't mean to panic; I just...I just didn't know what to do.”

Lucien studied her, “You don’t have to apologize, Sam.” He gave her a half smile, taking a step closer. “This-” He motioned to Velaris. “It’s all new to you. But hey, look at me," He tapped a finger under her chin, causing her to look up at him. His amber and golden eyes were soft as he looked at her, and Sam could see the magical traces of his mechanical eye in the gold. "You are welcomed here in Velaris, in Prythian; these faes, Lesser or not, High Fae or not, accept you because the Court of Dreams is for exactly that, dreamers. We believe in co-existence; many fae here have or know someone who has fought in the Hybern wars on the side of mortals. They fought for you before they even knew you.”

Sam turned her head at the mouth of the alley, watching the fae stroll by, eating baked goods and sipping from steaming cups. Couples pointing items out in shop windows, children racing past playing with fake swords made of soft fabrics, and their parents pulling up the rear with smiles on their green faces, no worry about their children getting taken off the streets or ran over by a speeding car.

Regret still turned in her heart, feeling like she had offended the fae without ever saying a word. Her hiding behind Lucien had hurt their feelings, and they felt judged in a place that celebrated the opposite. On Earth, differences were not celebrated in "normal society." In fact, they were frowned upon and sometimes punished. If someone did not conform, if they were 'different,' they were hated or feared and sometimes, in extreme cases, harmed or killed.

Here, differences were accepted, and it tugged on Sam's heart to realize just how far Earth had fallen. This foreign world, while not advanced in technology or in ways of that nature, was more advanced in acceptance and tolerance than her home planet. Sam hoped she lived long enough to see her world evolve.

“Come on, let's go find what you're looking for. I'll explain the lead-up to the Wars along the way." Lucien guided her from the alleyway and back into the market area, where vendors were still in high spirits, even if the regret chewed at her with every fae she passed.

As they walked along the vendor's tents, Sam resisted the urge to fall back into memories of her home. Lucien explained, in basic terms, the reasoning behind both Hybern wars, focusing mainly on the more recent one. Sam could tell that there would be multiple versions of the story depending on who she asked and that he was skipping over some details. Not that she minded; she was sure she would hear the full story at some point, but getting an idea of why this country had just recovered from a war was a good start. America was always involved in some foreign war at home, but the idea and the effects were not lost on her. She had been blessed, though, not having to live in an actual war zone where bombs were falling from the sky, and the air raid sirens would wake the population up at night to take cover.

She was told about The Wall collapsing, how it was still shattered, and the human lands were still easily accessible through the Spring Court. He talked about a female named Amarantha and the destruction she caused across the lands for nearly 50 years. She learned of another High Lord, Tamlin, who now patrolled the Spring Court in a beast form but was once his best friend and how he and Tamlin were the first fae males to meet Feyre. He explained how and why Feyre had purposefully led the Court to its downfall. She heard about Lucien's role at the beginning of the war, how he chose Feyre and helped her escape the Spring Court, and how he chose his mate, her sister, over his lifelong friendship with Tamlin.

He continued divulging what Cassian and Azriel’s roles were while they purchased some hamburger meat from a vendor with giant horns emerging from his head. Sam smiled at him, though a little forced, and thanked him, taking the bag of meat from him. The horned fae bowed his head to her and smiled back as they turned to continue walking. He explained how the High Lords, Rhysand included, were trapped Under the Mountain. He would bounce back and forth throughout his explanation to relay more information to her, knowing it was a lot to take in and understand when hearing it secondhand.

“So, that’s how you met your mate, Elain?” Sam asked as they weaved through the crowded market. She sipped a delicious lavender and lemon tea from a cup that a stall worker had all but thrust into her hands, welcoming her to Velaris.

Lucien dodged around a group of fae who looked more human, and Sam, unintentionally, felt more at ease as they passed them, “As she came out of the Cauldron, the bond snapped.”

“And? What’s she like?” Sam prodded as they stopped in front of an herb and spice stall. Sam began picking through, smelling, and examining the small pouches they offered.

Lucien picked up a satchel of spices, sniffing it and putting it back down with a disgusted look. "She's kind, soft-spoken, thoughtful, creative, and likes to garden.” He mindlessly rubbed the fabric of another satchel as he thought about Elain. "She's a seer...when inside the Cauldron...when she was being Made, she was granted a gift."

“So she can see the future?" Sam asked, stopping to stare at him. If there was a seer within the family, this might make her life a little easier. Elain could point her in the right direction as to what to research about to find her way home.

“Yes and no," He replied, slightly shrugging his shoulder. "It comes in riddles, really. Elain can't always make them out, and we can't usually figure them out; they don't tend to make sense, really, until afterward. She wishes she didn’t have the gift.”

Sam watched as his face turned into longing, and her heart broke for him. "She hasn't accepted the bond, has she?" Lucien was silent, but he shook his head. Sam nodded at the response, turning her attention back to the spices. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm giving her time and space. She…didn't ask for this, and….I won't force her to," Lucien answered quietly. Sam could see just how torn he was about it. It was killing him, and he was allowing it; he was allowing his heart to break and would continue to do so until she either accepted or didn't.

“What happens if someone doesn’t accept the bond?” Sam whispered, watching his face intensely and carefully, almost fearing the answer.

“The bond will still pull, but it would feel...different," he began, and with every word he continued to speak, his shoulder tensed. "But with the rejected bond, the male would likely be so emotionally unstable that he would lose his mind. For the female, it would be less severe but still distressing."

“Oh Lucien…”

"Don't." Lucien snapped, looking up at her. For a split second, Sam felt fear rush through her bloodstream. “Don’t pity me; I don't need it. If that is what she wants, I will go through whatever I must.”

Sam’s brows shot up at the anger in his face; she finally saw another side of him, the fiery side that calls from the Autumn Court. “Okay.” She held her hands up, the bag of meat hitting her forearm. “Wasn’t my intention to offend you, I just didn’t know.” She had wanted to snap back at him, meet his anger with anger, but it wasn't called for; this was a sensitive topic they had wandered into, and she hadn't realized just how sensitive it was, how distraught it was making Lucien.

Lucien took a deep breath, uncurling the fist around the satchel of spices he had been holding. "I apologize, Sam, I...I-"

“I know,” She replied, touching his shoulder. “I know. You’re fine. I won’t bring it up again.”

He sighed and looked up at the sky, searching for something before looking back at her. “No, that’s...I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me. I don’t want you to feel bad for asking questions.”

Sam nodded, gathering her herbs and spices in a pile. "Thank you, Lucien." She offered him a small smile. Besides, I doubt this will be the first time you snap at me. I'm quite hardheaded."

Lucien snorted, paid the vendor for the herbs and spices she had picked out, and took the bag to carry them. "That is already something I realized; there is no need to drive the point home."

Sam grinned, looping her arm through his as they walked down through the market some more. "Tell me about your home. You're from Autumn Court?"

Lucien nodded, “I was born in the Autumn Court, yes. It’s where I learned to fish, hunt, and survive on my own, but I defected to Spring when…" He sighed and shook his head as if he was erasing the memories image. “My father killed the female I was in love with and - ”

Sam abruptly stopped, forcing Lucien to stop beside her. "Are you fuckin' serious?"

Lucien looked highly uncomfortable. He kept glancing around the market at all the passing fae, and Sam felt horrible, again, for asking about his life. "It's...a long story. I have a complicated upbringing, but...I will tell you if you wish to know."

Sam studied his face; his uncomfortable expression and tense body language dissuaded her from further prying. "We can save it for later...God, no offense, but...fuck me, you’ve been through the wringer, haven’t you?”

Lucien bristled at her wording, his face turning a hue of pink that clashed horribly with his hair. "I-I...Sam,"

Sam let out a short laugh, her stomach twisting painfully, "Not literally!” As she laughed, tension seemed to release its hold on Lucien's tight muscles. "It's an expression! What I mean is...damn, you've been through it." She had a vague memory of Azriel nearly reacting in the same way, making her laugh some more. "I’m sorry.”

“What are you making?” Lucien asked quickly to change the subject off of him. "We've been wandering for a few hours, but you haven't told me what you plan on making."

Sam shifted on her feet, smiling up at him, almost embarrassed. "I wanted to thank ya'll for being so nice to me and offerin' to help me get back home. I mean, I don't know you well enough, and it's not like I have any money to buy ya'll somethin', so I was going to make dinner…a meal from my world that I love. It's called a cheeseburger, and I’mma make it with a side of onion rings.”

“A cheeseburger?”

"A cheeseburger," Sam said again, and she began to guide him toward the baked goods section of the market with a smile. "I noticed ya'll either eat big slabs of meat or peck like a bird on charcuterie boards, and after I drank the hangover cure Azriel gave me, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about home food; I just really, really wanted a greasy burger. So, I figured I would make dinner as a thank you. It's not a fancy meal; it's kinda messy, but it is an American classic.”

“Well, Cassian and Azriel might not be back before dinner, but when they return, they'll have to debrief Rhysand and Feyre." Lucien slid his arm from hers as they neared the bread stand, numerous loaves of different varieties displayed on the table before them. “So it’ll likely just be you and I.”

“What’s happening?” Sam felt a sting of anxiety race through her as they weighed their options of buns, rolls, and loaves. She shifted the bag of meat to her other hand to lean closer to the overflowing tables.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think it’s anything to be concerned with just yet," Lucien replied, waving a dismissive hand. It was an answer but not an answer that told Sam that it may have something in connection with her, but how much. Lucien wasn't sure if he even knew anything at all. She didn’t push the issue, so I'm sure she would find out later. However, it didn't stop the anxiety threatening to spread throughout her body.

As Sam was perusing the vendor stalls for the kind of bun she was looking for, she couldn't help but wonder how Cassian and Azriel were fairing wherever they were. She knew the basic outlines of their jobs within the Night Court; their titles alone sent her imagination into overdrive, but she had grown attached quickly to them. Lucien had saved her and brought her to safety, only to continue to give a damn about her. Cass treated her like the big brother she never wanted but was so glad she had, even though he hardly knew her, and Azriel spent time getting to know her, listening to her as she rambled on about her life and taking an interest in her world.

Saying goodbye would already be challenging.

A fleeting thought passed through her. Should she be making connections and bonds to the fae here? Shouldn't she try to distance herself? Creating friendships with people she would have to leave would be painful, and she hated a goodbye. Sam frowned as the memory of her mother's funeral filtered through her mind. The most painful memory she could remember, the most permanent goodbye, and how her life had changed after she passed...Sam felt torn about her impending permanent goodbye to this land. To these people.

“Anything I can help you with?” A soft feminine voice asked from in front of her.

“I’ll need four of those hard buns, please.” Sam pointed to the golden brown rolls neatly stacked in a pile. Being around the numerous types of baked goods, the aroma of yeast and sweet-smelling loaves of bread, and the bustling of the city market filled Sam with a sense of peace, holding her comfortably in the warm embrace of her comfort zone and away from the dark depths of her memories.

“Of course, anything else? I made this cinnamon bread just this morning; it felt like the time of year to start baking comfort goods.” The female was beautiful; nearly everyone was there, and Sam was beginning to notice. She had tan, unblemished skin, eyes a piercing but warm shade of golden brown, and more prominent pointed ears than any other fae Sam had seen. Based on what Lucien had told her, she determined that the female in front of her was of the Lesser fae but didn’t know much past that.

Sam smiled at the female as she held out a loaf of cinnamon bread towards her. She inhaled deeply, cinnamon and nutmeg tingling her nose and filling her with warmth. "I bake a pumpkin bread with cinnamon and chocolate around this time of year. Warm it up and pair it with a cuppa coffee? Chef’s kiss.” Sam replied and motioned to the specialty loaf still in her hands. “I’ll take that too. What else ya got?”

The female's eyes lit up and brought her to the side table, happiness beaming from her face. It made Sam feel good to make a stranger happy. "Well, we got a new shipment of pistachio nuts from the Day Court, so I made pistachio muffins with a crumble topping over here. My first attempt at it, so don't judge me too hard." She offered one of the muffins to Sam, who gratefully accepted it and tore a piece of the top off.

The flavor was unreal, better than what she had on her planet, and Sam’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. The nutty, floral flavor of the toasted pistachio mingling with the sweetness of the brown sugar topping delighted Sam's taste buds. "Oh, girl, you did that." Sam praised after swallowing her bite. "Oh, you did that! I love the subtle hint of orange zest; it's a lovely aftertaste that pairs well with the pistachio."

The female vendor's smile lit up brighter than Sam thought possible; the grin was infectious. "I was worried it would be too much!"

Sam shook her head, waving it off. "No, it's perfect; it's just enough. Whenever I work with pistachios, I try to add cardamom where I can because it helps balance the sweetness and citrus; it kinda has the same effect as the orange zest but brings a more spicy and warm element to baked goods like this. You should totally try it; see how it works out for ya.”

Sam watched as she pulled out a notepad and wrote 'cardamom' down, and it filled her with a sense of pride. She loved cooking and baking; she made it her job after ditching retail, and any chance to learn more about the art or share her knowledge made Sam feel good about herself.

“And over here, I made some orange and cranberry bread. I know it sounds strange-”

“It doesn't; the flavor pallets line up; they would complement each other."

Sam ended up trying the orange and cranberry bread, maple pecan cookies, and what Sam knows to be an apple fritter. Everything was delectable. None of the spices or flavors were overpowering or underwhelming; they were all perfectly balanced and delicious. They talked about each recipe, trading hints, and secret ingredients, and Sam became intrigued to learn more about Prythian's cooking and baking techniques. Sam was going to have a field day cooking and baking herself while she was here.

“I’m Carys.”

“I'm Sam. It's nice to meet you, " she said, holding out her hand to shake. This is my friend Lucien." Lucien offered a slight bow to Carys, who blushed at his attention. Sam smirked at Lucien, nudging him as Carys turned away to bag up the pastries and bread Sam had picked out. "Turn off the charm, Luce. You're making her flustered."

Lucien quirked an eyebrow, “Luce?”

Sam shrugged, grabbing the bag from Carys while Lucien paid for her. "It sounded better in my head, really." She turned to Carys, thanking her. "I'll make something for you soon, and if I can't get it to you, I'll send Lucien instead. You'll love it, and I can write down the recipe for you if you would like."

“I would love that! I hope to see you soon, Sam!”

Sam waved goodbye and headed back down the cobblestone streets towards the townhouse with Lucien. She carried the meat and baked goods while Lucien carried the spices, herbs, and produce they had gotten earlier. She already missed shopping carts and cars.

“Seems like you may have made a new friend," Lucien noted, guiding her away from the males unloading a ship that had just docked along the side of the Sidra. Pallets and barrels were being passed around and offloaded for a large stretch of the river, not too unlike Savannah...again.

Sam switched the bags to her other hand as Lucien went to grab them to carry for her. “Nah, I got it, thanks though. I mean, I don’t know if I made a friend yet, ya know? We just talked about food.” She shrugged in response, briefly looking down at the cobblestones to see where she was stepping.

Lucien studied her momentarily, "In Prythian, in this world, food offered by a female is a big deal." Sam looked at him as they walked. "If a female has a mate or it is known that there is a bond between two people when the female offers food to the male, it means she has accepted the mating bond. I’m sure the same is likely if both parties are of the same sex.”

"But...she's neither my mate nor you, so I don't think I count. I mean, would it even be possible for me? I'm not from here." Sam laughed, stepping onto the sidewalk after leaving the city market.

"Faes can have human mates; it is known to have happened, but it is rare. The bond would be...suppressed, I guess you could say. You would feel a pull but not as strongly as you would if you were fae yourself." Lucien explained patiently. "You not being from this world, well, that's something that hasn't been explained, so you're on your own on that one."

Sam laughed softly, "Definitely one of a kind, I suppose." She looked up at the sky, slowly stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Above her, the early evening sky began to turn a soft pink and brilliant light blue, the merging colors swirling above her and stealing her attention. “Cooking….baking...it’s a love language for me. It’s how I show my love and appreciation to people I care about. I was never good at talkin' about my feelings, so...being here, talkin' to you and Cassian, Azriel and Feyre, even Rhys, it's...it's all so new, and I feel some typa way about it. It's a weird feeling to be so open and vulnerable with near strangers, but...ya'll have done so much for me already. More than I could have ever expected or asked for, even more than I deserve, and I am so unbelievably grateful and thankful for you, Lucien."

Lucien stood quietly beside her as she spoke, soaking up her words and watching the sky with her.

Sam looked at him briefly before looking at the glistening water of the Sidra, the surface of the water reflecting the sky above it. “I don’t know why I am here, I don’t know how I got here, but I am so blessed to have been able to see this." She motioned to Velaris; the stunning city sparkled and shined in a way that made the wonder rush back into her. Velaris seemed to be showing off for her at her praise. “To be given a chance to be here, meet ya'll, to meet you. I will never be able to say it enough, but Lucien, thank you for saving my life and helping me...for continuing to help me.”

"There's no need to thank me, Sam, " he replied softly. He was also watching the river, his expression distant, his mind elsewhere.

Sam's face softened at the look. She was content to stand beside him in silence for a few minutes. She watched the ripples of the water distort the reflection of the colorful sky, and the soft slaps of the waves hitting against the stones created a momentary space of serenity.

Sam turned back to Lucien, touching his arm to bring him back to the present. “Then I will cook to show you how thankful I am for you. Plus, you ain't lived unless you've had a burger." Sam looped her arm around his, and they returned to the townhouse in quiet companionship.

While Lucien went to freshen up in his rooms, Sam made her way to the kitchen. She gathered everything she would need, setting it out around her. Finding pans and knives was a scavenger hunt, and attempting to work the stove was a learning lesson, fiddling with knobs and smacking the appliance in the end. It decided to turn on after that. Sam wondered if the townhouse had its own magic and decided to take pity on her.

While the house was quiet, she washed her hands and prepped the onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and pickles. She also gathered the hamburger meat and seasoned it. Sam could hardly wait for everything to finish, excited to be making her favorite meal for Lucien, who was slowly becoming a great friend to her.

As she began heating up the oil for the onion rings, she let her thoughts filter through her mind as she moved from dredging them to frying them. She felt the need to do something normal; her routine had been upended, and despite the shooting lesson with Cassian and Azriel, her late-night conversations, and going into Velaris with Lucien, she still felt massively out of place. Another thought plaguing her was that she wasn't researching to find a way back home. She hadn't even started, and her mind went blank when she tried.

Was time the same here as it was on Earth? Was it different?

Did Melissa think something horrible happened to her? Had Josh filed the missing persons yet?

Why was she here? What is the purpose of ripping her from her world and throwing her into this one?

"You've been adjusting; give yourself some credit. You don't always have to be on 'go.'"

Sam sighed as she flipped onion rings over in the hot oil, her self-pep talk twisting her gut painfully. Even though she knew she was doing the best she could at the pace that was set, she still felt like she could be doing more. She should have written down what she could remember in that notebook instead of snapping it closed and talking to Azriel instead. She wanted to go home; she needed to go home. She didn't belong here!

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Sam.” Her eyes snapped up to see Lucien leaning against the door frame, watching as she removed the onion rings from the oil and set them on the paper towel. "You're in your head too much, and stop whatever you're thinking about. You won't convince that other voice of anything, so don't try to. Don't listen to it."

Sam felt a wave of emotion overtake her. “How do you know that? How could you tell?”

Lucien gave her a small, sad smile. "Well, not only is the entire conversation playing on your face, but it's expressions that I have seen in the mirror, and it's a losing battle."

Sam began making the burgers and toasting the buns, letting a moment of silence pass. "How do I get them to stop? The thoughts?"

"Sometimes you can't. Sometimes, you have no choice but to let them pass. But if those voices tell you that you can't do it or you're not doing enough...it's coming from a place of fear and anger.”

Sam nodded, keeping her eyes on the burgers as they cooked. Lucien went to the fridge and grabbed an opened bottle of chilled wine. Pouring two glasses, he handed one to Sam, who took it and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "You sure this is a good idea?"

Lucien snorted, leaning against the countertop near her. "You have adult supervision tonight."

“Azriel was with me that night.”

"He's not always considered 'adult supervision,'" Lucien grumbled, sipping from his glass. "Besides, we're drinking from an already opened bottle, and I won't open another one."

Sam snickered, plating the burgers once they were done and the cheese melted. She layered the lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickles. She made her burger with mayo and ketchup and Lucien's with mayo, ketchup, and mustard. She plated the onion rings and motioned to the table. "Alright, are you ready for a life-changing moment?"

Lucien eyed the burger and onion rings, looking a little apprehensive. “That looks huge.”

“It’s American, baby. It ain't going to look healthy, but it will be delicious.”

She set his plate in front of his spot as he pulled her chair out for her. She thanked him, and they sat down across from each other. Sam was a bundle of nerves as she watched Lucien pick up the burger. She grinned while he took a bite, and an involuntary moan left his throat.

Sam’s grin could not be contained, stretching so large that her cheeks hurt. “Oh yeah, that’s it.”

“By the Mother,” Lucien praised, finishing chewing his bite and looking at her with wide eyes. “You made more, right?”

Sam laughed loudly, and it felt like all her earlier thoughts and questions were being chased away by it.

They spent a few hours sitting at the table, eating the burger and onion rings Sam made, picking at the numerous baked goods bought from the market, and sipping faerie wine. They talked into the early night hours, laughing and cracking jokes, sharing stories of their harsh and beautiful lives.

Goodbye was going to hurt.

Tag List: @smol-grandpa, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @plants-w0rld, @rcarbo1

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marieanthonysoprano · 1 month ago

Text

[Into Darkness/Beyond]

---

Watching the '09 Star Trek flick and my live reactions:

As someone with astigmatism this opening feels like a look into what having cataracts when I'm old might be like.

I know Kirk grew up in Iowa but this is corny.

Winona Ryder typecast as mum of autistic gay sons with bowl cuts.

Autistic Gay Sons and their debut album Bowl Cuts is Kirk's Midwest emo band.

@charliewfell96: "[Pike] can whistle the communicator tone?"

Me: "This old man is hot now."

McCoy being scared of flying instead of transporters is actually pretty funny as a deep cut joke.

Karl Urban is pretty.

Karl Urban is so, so pretty.

This Enterprise looks like it's been given the landlord special.

Chekov's Wussian accent is widiculous but I gotta have solidarity with his voice recognition struggles. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿😔

McCoy running after Kirk and repeatedly injecting him feels like a scene from a school anti-drug assembly.

Not gonna check how long he meant by minutes there buddy? Like if someone told me the complete obliteration of the planet was minutes away I'd clarify how many minutes before beaming down.

SFX note: don't make your tragic destruction of a planet look like an anus swallowing itself.

Spubble closeup.

This planet is so white Tumblr could make a sexyman out of it.

Nero explaining his plan: "The only thing that can stop a bad guy with a genocide is a good guy with a genocide! I win murder forever, mwahaha!" (The five year old in charge of writing this script fell asleep at this point.)

The demogorgon from Stranger Things first role.

OG SPOCK. I LOVE HIM. Leonard Nimoy my beloved.

This whole plot only happened OG Spock got stuck in space traffic and shared hole with Nero.

OG Spock really trying to hide his disappointment in what a little bitch this vers of Kirk is being rn like he's watching a nervous kitten pish on his favourite cardigan.

Simon Pegg's Scottish accent is pretty good, but English actors doing Scottish accents makes me a bit uncomfortable bc Scottish actors are expected to use RP by default for roles and being treated as inferior to English has endangered our native languages (Scots, Gaelic).

On the other hand he's a great Scotty and you can tell how much love he's got for the role.

"No Jim, I'm not coming with you, I was really expensive to cast. What are they going to do, not have Leonard Nimoy appear in this film? No, I won't be back again until the finale, which the studio calculated to have the best cost to heartstrings pulled ratio."

🖖😢 too buddy you're the best part of this film.

"I'm going to go cry in my room, please note this in the log, this is going to fuck up my schedule for the day."

Sarek is so well cast in this. Ben Cross plays him with a subtlety that stands out in a movie that is mostly loud and dumb.

Mind melding with a dead guy? Girl he has no brainwaves he's a meat flopsicle.

"I know your face." Nero that is an entirely different actor than William Shatner you are faceblind.

"My name is Nero Montoya. I killed your father. Prepare to die."

We've all been on a Zoom call where someone's connection was that poor.

When you've got so many daddy issues you'll even call yourself Dad to get a crumb of paternal attention.

Well that felt like being at the opticians.

#star trek #tos #aos #star trek 2009 #film #space opera #live reaction #personal

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sylusjinwoon · 1 year ago

Text

{ 116 }

the hardest to love.

clive rosfield x fem.reader

warnings: unedited; soft depictions of physical intimacy - minors don't interact.

by choosing to interact with this 18+ content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings.

{ but i've been the hardest to love, and yet i can't believe that you still want me. }

you were the first to awaken when a sudden coldness was felt coursing through your veins, alerting you to how your once shared bed only held your form above its mattress with your lover all but present.

willing for this to be nothing but a bad dream, you keep your eyes shut and slowly reach out to the opposite side of the bed, only to feel the cold sheets against the palm of your hands. such a cold sensation was enough to force you to open your eyes, feeling them sting with the sensation of unshed tears.

you sit up in bed and look towards the dying embers settled within the fireplace, its warmth all but lukewarm as you could feel the night air paint goosebumps against your skin.

clive's sudden absence made your heart ache, hurting you deeply as you could feel the pinpricks of your slumber drifting away from you as you wondered where he had gone. lately, his distance has become difficult for you to accept, and you weren't sure if you could survive if clive ever told you he stopped loving you.

there was a strange anxiety felt settling within the pit of your stomach, and you felt nauseous at the thought of clive leaving you.

you, who had loved him throughout everything-

you, who had never once thought about leaving him or abandoning him-

even if he were to ever stop loving you; even if he were the first to abandon you, you knew that deep down that you would never ever stop loving the man simply known as clive rosfield.

ignoring the cold that was felt permeating into the cabin walls, you allow your bare feet to swing over the bed, touching at the wooden floors while making your trek towards the living room. looking out at the open window, you saw that clive's ax was gone and was immediately filled with relief, knowing that he had gone out to collect wood for the fire.

not wishing for your beloved to feel alone, you decide to wait against the settee that was settled in the living space, keeping warm by blowing puffs of air into your hands to help with staving off the cold felt in your extremities.

you hadn't the slightest clue how much time had passed, and you were close to dosing off had it not been for the sounds of the door unlocking and opening, revealing clive. he has his arms full with wood and appeared taken aback by the sight of you. he frowns a bit, setting some of the freshly cut wood to the side while calling out your name. "why are you still awake? it's late, my love."

your heart begins to turn inexplicably warm at the sound of his usual term of endearment for you, making your heart begin to race as you got up to help him.

the heartache you once felt at the thought of clive's distance all but dissipates as you eagerly take a hold of some of the logs he had brought, not heeding his warning about the splinters.

only when you felt a sharp prickling pain at your fingertips did you gasp and move away, dropping the log as your eyebrows became furrowed with concern. without wasting a second, clive discards the rest of the logs.

"i told you to not be so rash, now come closer, so that i can see the splinter beneath the moonlight."

clive chastises you, but you knew that his words were said completely due to the love and concern he held for you. as he turns your hand around, he sees the splinter and carefully extracts it from your fingertips. you wince in response to the slight pain, letting out a laugh as you decided to hide your discomfort with a joke.

"my, had i known that all it would take for you to notice me once more was a mere splinter, than i would have gladly given myself a million of them all at once."

clive frowns at your words, with a hurtful expression crossing his features for the briefest of moments. he meets your gaze and sees how utterly defeated you looked. you hear him say your name while caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.

"whatever do you mean by this, love?"

"clive, i'm not stupid, nor will i ever be a woman you could hide things from. i know how distance you have become. i cannot count the times i have woken up in bed, cold and alone without you near."

clive lets out a soft string of curses, "by the founder..."

he mumbles a few other words that you couldn't quite catch, sitting on the spot next to you while running a hand through his onyx hair. you kept your gaze on his, yet, it was clear that the rosfield knight was not brave enough to maintain eye contact with you.

"this is no excuse, i-i know that, but... i always felt so undeserving of love. i always saw myself as an irredeemable monster who was incapable of receiving love. hell, even my own mother scorned me since the moment i was born."

you could hear the way his voice broke each time he spoke, yet still, you remained tight lipped and quiet, forcing yourself to remain quiet.

"i grew up with feelings of self-loathing, and that has never stopped, even to this day. i always thought that i would be alone, but that all blew up into flames the moment you stepped into my life."

clive finally meets your gaze, and you felt your heart ache even further upon seeing the sheen of unshed tears settled against his true blue eyes. "you, who painted my entire world in a rose colored lens, making valisthea appear so much more beautiful than it truly was. you brought so much light into my life-"

"but then, those damn thoughts would always resurface. i would think about how...how you were much to beautiful for me to keep. that i was a selfish bastard for wanting to keep you to myself. t-that, if i were to ever tell you of these thoughts, that you would leave me. that i've been the hardest to love because... i never knew how to love you properly; that you were never mine."

a silence was settled between the two of you, and you could see clive looking away from you, curling into himself as he hid his face beneath the palm of his hands. "so... i figured since you would leave me anyways, then i had no reason to remain by your side, pushing you away because i-i never deserved you."

unable to stand being away from him, you softly call out to him, climbing on top of his lap as you settled yourself even closer to him. with your arms wrapped around him, you allow your lips to brush against his deep onyx locks, ready to comfort him and shower him with all the love you had to offer.

"you've never been the hardest to love, clive." you whisper to him, taking a hold of both of his hands so that he could reveal himself to you. he was still silently crying when you brushed your lips against his damp cheeks, the touch as soft as a butterfly's wings as you could taste the saltiness of his tears.

you hear him ready to let out a protest, yet you simply shushed him in response, not allowing your beloved to interrupt you. "loving you has never been difficult, clive. in fact, loving you has become as natural as breathing to me..."

"but, if you still do not believe my words, then please, allow me to show you."

taking a hold of his hand, you get off of his lap, feeling pleased that clive was already following you into your shared room. with your bed in sight, you gently shove your beloved against the mattress. you hear his gruff voice calling out your name, further fueling your desire for him as you carefully stepped out of your nightgown, allowing the gossamer material to pool against your feet.

you crawl on top of the bed, relishing in clive's labored gasps of your name. you allow your hands to explore the fabric of his tunic, lifting it up as his gorgeously crafted body was revealed to you. his name falls from your parted lips in a reverent whisper, and you spend the next moments worshipping his form.

your lips latch on to his skin, pressing butterfly kisses down his chest. each time you felt his sweat rolling down his skin, you would eagerly lick the bitter substance away, basking in his groans. you felt clive delve his hands into your hair, pulling at them gently each time your lips eagerly met with his heated skin. little did you know that your touch was enough to send clive's heart into flames, leaving him a mess of grunts as groans as he begged for you.

the feelings of desire coupled along with the intensity of love you felt for him was enough to make you pull down his leather pants, revealing his painful erection to you as you slowly began to stroke him. you could feel the moisture collecting between your legs, your swollen sex aching almost with a desperation to finally have him inside of you.

"let me show you how much i love you- how much i need you... how i will always need you." your voice comes out as whiny and breathless, still stroking him into full hardness before placing your slickness over his pulsating cock, moving back and forth while creating an almost maddening friction between you and him.

when the need for him became too much was when you gently lifted yourself off of him, allowing his tip to collect some more droplets of your arousal before fully sinking down on him. this makes clive cry out to you, the feeling of your warm and wet walls feeling so maddeningly addictive and sinful. he buries his head against the plush pillows, letting out a string of curses.

"fuck, you feel so fucking good. i can't take it 'nymore...!"

you weren't faring any better yourself, bracing yourself against his broad chest as you eagerly bounced yourself up and down his shaft. you could feel each and every inch of him massaging at your walls, making you cry out in response. "founder... it has been far too long, clive...! you fill me so well."

clive could reach parts of you that you didn't know existed, and when you adjusted your movements, you could feel the tip of him hit a part deep inside you that had you seeing stars. with a gasp of his name, you continue riding him, losing all sense of direction as your movements became sloppier.

but clive didn't seem to mind, seeming to urge you on as he places his hands on your waist, helping you bounce up and down his cock as he speeds up your movement. you were getting close, becoming breathless as your lovemaking began to make loud squeaking noises against your shared mattress.

with one final push against his hips, you began to see light blinding your vision, your core convulsing around clive's cock as it takes on a tighter grip the moment you felt your release.

"FUCK!" clive lets out a hiss, sitting up from his position to capture your lips in a searing kiss. as you were caught in the throes of passion, clive continues to thrust his hips upwards, allowing you to ride out your orgasm before stilling his hips completely.

you let out another, drawn out moan, feeling thick streams of his seed going into you as you were certain he had painted the entirety of your wall white. you could feel the mixture of your releases escape out of your soaked core and down clive's now flaccid cock.

in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking, you were as content as a cat who's had her fill of cream, letting out a purr as you rested your head against clive's broad shoulders. with the lust completely gone, you basked in the love you had for him, pressing lingering kisses against his shoulder as clive leans in to kiss at your damp hair.

"by the founder, it's too damn hot." you let out a soft gasp when clive places a hand on your hips, still wishing to remain connected to you as he rips his tunic away from his body. when his chest was completely bare for you, clive lays back down, taking you with him as you giggled in response.

"so do you believe in my love for you, now?" you brush your lips against his jawline, waiting for his answer as you could feel his laughter, the vibrations sending tiny pinpricks of pleasure coursing through you.

"hmm..." clive considers his answer for a few moments before he lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze as a wolfish grin decorates his handsome features. "i would not mind another demonstration, if you are still up for it?"

you gasp when you feel him suddenly growing inside of you, with him thrusting his hips once more as the red hot pleasure returns in full force, making you giggle as you eagerly lay back in bed with clive settled between your legs and hovering over you, ready to spend the next several hours loving you further as he showed no signs of stopping.

a.n. - it has been far too long since i wrote anything substantial for clive rosfield and posted it here. this story is to just show how truly attractive and irresistible this man is 🤭 this is unedited, but i hope you readers enjoy 🌌

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#clive rosfield x reader #clive rosfield x you #ffxvi x reader #ffxvi x you #clive rosfield #.stories

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