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westside-rot · 6 months ago

Text

Talk To Me Nice

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black reader

No warnings for this one. Hopefully there aren't too many errors cuz it's only lightly edited. I'm trying to squeeze in my last post of the year lol

This little idea is the result of a writing prompt and @megamindsecretlair keeping me honest about writing something every day. Figured I'd share the results with whoever else wants to check it out.

“That’s a bit harsh my love…”

After spending the last 20 minutes filling your home with negative energy you expected reciprocation. Instead you were being derailed with a new form of gaslighting, the kind reserved for evolved men who appeared harmless on the surface but harbored a petty side few got to see. Though impressive, you knew Terry was only using kind words to paint himself the victim. It didn’t matter how many steps ahead you thought you were. The guilt still hit with the same bruising force.

Six months of newlywed bliss cruelly interrupted by disappointment you never wanted to feel so early into your marriage. Perhaps there was a better way to convey that hurt to your husband. Maybe sitting him down for a mature conversation would’ve spared you from the growing pressure around your temples and the rawness in your throat from all the yelling you’d been doing. You were convinced the window for apologies and grand romantic gestures had closed. He'd started it. You were damn sure going to finish it.

You pushed through your doubts and committed to your frustrations with arms folded tightly across your chest, the initial urge to roll your eyes shifting to a hard, resolute stare. “Well Terrence sometimes harsh is necessary.”

He scratched his beard and nodded as though you’d just agreed on what to have for dinner. Silence took over the room once again, intensifying the conflict between you. His eyes never broke contact.

“Are you done?” From anyone else the question would’ve triggered your inner toxic and possibly resulted in the police being called. But there was note of calmness in your husband’s voice that exonerated him from the accusation before it became your new truth. Terry wasn’t being dismissive. He was simply better at regulating his emotions. His inability to stop wringing his hands together revealed the stress hidden within. For a second time you were forced to ignore your guilt for the sake of winning. Mirroring his casual demeanor, you continued to stand firm and prepared for whatever he intended to say next.

“I must’ve imagined sitting in premarital counseling for all those weeks. Or maybe I was the only one taking it seriously. That must be it 'cause at the first sign of a problem you’ve broken every promise we made to each other.” His words landed direct hits on your conscience. Everything holding you together began to cave under the weight of his response. Terry wasn’t wrong. Instinctively, you went into defense mode anyway.

“That’s not fai—”

“Nah, you’re not about to interrupt me. I let you speak. You’ll show me the same respect. Understand?” The natural base in his voice instantly got your attention. Yes sir rang so clearly in your mind you weren’t entirely convinced you hadn’t said it out loud. You prayed Terry couldn’t somehow feel the lust pulsing alongside everything else flooding your system. One day soon under normal circumstances you were going to explore his newfound aggressive side. How, you weren’t entirely sure. With a new goal seared into your brain and soaked through panties clinging to your ass you managed to retain a sense of dignity as you obeyed your husband’s command.

“You’re my wife. One day you’ll be the mother of our children. I refuse to let them hear us talking crazy to each other, so I’m gonna need you to find a better way to communicate your feelings. If I need to sign us back up for therapy I will but this shit ends tonight.”

All the fight drained from your body. Shame took its place. In its presence you were finally able to recall those important conversations leading up to your wedding, the dreams you shared, the legacy you wanted to create. If not for your anger you could have revisited them sooner and found a better use for them. Now you were facing an evening apart, perhaps more depending on how long Terry held on to a grudge.

All you could do was stare at the ground and wait for it to be over with. Hopefully you’d find a way to sleep knowing you had failed your first test as a wife. When your lip started to quiver you promptly bit down on it to keep your hurt feelings in check. You hadn’t behaved in a way deserving of care but when Terry's long fingers reached out to palm the side of your face you sought out his warmth like a needy kitten.

“Now you’re breaking my heart.”

“I can’t help it. Did you have to be so mean?” Though you found your ability to speak you burrowed your pout lips further into his hand. The loudest person in the room didn’t deserve to cry. If you were lucky you'd disappear and rematerialize tomorrow with more sense.

“It got your attention. Besides, I thought harsh was necessary. Or does that only apply when you’re cursing me out?” He chuckled. You weren’t persuaded by the playfulness in his voice to look up. Terry initiated the gesture with fingers affectionately placed beneath your chin. It wasn’t lost on you that he'd repositioned your face at the same proud angle you held while lecturing him as if two nights apart somehow equated to years of neglect. You wanted to look away but soon discovered his eyes remained steadfast and beautiful in the aftermath of the storm you’d caused. They connected with your soul in an instant providing a gentle assurance that you were safe with him.

The words flowed through your upturned lips effortlessly. “I’m sorry baby. You didn’t deserve all those ugly things I said to you.” Before you could say more he captured your face in both hands, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re already forgiven my love.” Terry’s lips grazed yours as he spoke. The distance was torture. Finally, after what felt like an unbearably long time, he covered your mouth with his, reestablishing his dominance with a tenderness that sets your heart and mind at ease. It was a proper reconciliation, but it also wasn’t enough. Not after the way you behaved tonight.

You treated the sincerity on his lips as your own personal buffet. When it became difficult to breathe you pulled away to regain control over the situation. “I still have a lot to make up for.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he pushed the curls back from your face. “We both do. Your approach needs some work, but you had a right to be upset with me.” You nodded and yet nothing in you wanted to celebrate the vindication. You were simply relieved to know you hadn’t caused any irrevocable damage by overreacting. Even more relieved to see him smiling again. "I think my beautiful and extremely childish wife should get the honor of going first.”

The frown you attempted to hold cracked under the pressure of his wide grin. You hate being teased. You were also guilty on all counts and willing to take your punishment. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“It’s very fair.” He mumbled between prolonged kisses down your neck.

You exhaled and curved your fingers over his broad shoulders. It was becoming harder to think or even breathe with him sucking everywhere his lips could reach. “Can we talk it out like grown-ups tomorrow?”

“Of course, baby. It's mandatory from now on.” When he spoke the guttural quality possessing his voice registered deep in the places he’s yet to touch. You felt painfully empty but knew you wouldn’t stay that way for long. At the rate his lips were moving you weren’t convinced you'd make it past the couch. You preferred the comfort of your king-sized bed the scene of your crime was a fitting place for getting down on your knees to make proper use of your mouth.

Terry surprised you when he broke the suction on your collarbone to reunite at eye level. There was a noticeable glint of mischief in his eyes before he bent down to throw you over his shoulder. You squealed and braced a hand at the center of his back for support you really didn't need.

"You better not drop me trying to be cute!"

"I was planning on letting you off easy tonight. Now I'm thinking your apology needs to be as loud as all that shit you've been talking."

"Yes daddy. Remind me what all these big strong muscles are really for. Also, please send help!"

With a single act you reclaim the home you’ve built, your gasps and combined laughter echoing along the walls as he carried you upstairs.

#terry richmond fic #rebel ridge fanfiction #x black reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Note

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

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

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had.

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you.

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.”

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered.

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.”

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse.

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!”

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains.

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest.

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away.

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you.

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive.

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours.

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second.

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds.

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood.

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through.

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did.

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming.

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips.

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest.

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them.

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas.

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar.

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too.

Everything would be done if another city fell.

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry.

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down.

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him.

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another.

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm.

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike.

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that.

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do.

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness.

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up.

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did.

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!”

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock.

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious.

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream.

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static.

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead.

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out.

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t.

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life.

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.”

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile?

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky.

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him.

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine.

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact.

Your face gains heat.

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment.

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow.

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?”

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began.

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died.

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar.

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found.

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.”

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk.

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls.

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.”

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around.

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more.

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water.

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering.

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet.

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important.

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything.

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course.

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious.

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years.

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place.

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet.

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds.

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?”

You weren’t going to stop until you found it.

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet.

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him.

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you.

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you.

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard.

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?”

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it.

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.”

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.”

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after.

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question.

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile.

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building.

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told.

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood.

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch.

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago.

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system.

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real.

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three.

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices.

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.”

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible.

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet.

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?”

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years.

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?”

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh.

The man forces a weak huff.

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you.

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same.

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you.

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck.

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?”

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.”

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you.

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon.

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polarisbibliotheque · 1 year ago

Note

Hey Polaris, hope this helps as a vent piece:

Anger is one of the main traits of demons. Everyone's anger has manifested outward at least some point yet, one person keeps it under Heavy lock and key, Dante.

One day, the anger manifests in its destructive, gruesome and targeted anger in his Sin Devil Trigger as it manifests when that last patient strand snaps.

So here's the prompt:

As Reader wakes up from a hard hit, once fully back to full consciousness, they witness that destructive rage that Dante kept under lock and key. Nearby, Vergil is protectively standing in front of Reader but something's wrong, his hands quivering as he keeps Yamato out in front of him. The real question now pops into Reader's head, how do you calm to a blazing inferno that's unrestrained and now in full swing?

Dante going on a full Sin Devil Trigger rampage (or, very angry Dante)

Pairing: Dante x Reader

Summary: Vergil wasn't one to fear easily - but one thing he would always dread to see; and that would be Dante losing his humanity.

Trigger Warning: Reader stops breathing and is seemingly dead for a while. Lots of blood, lots of anger, lots of self-loathing on this one (they all need therapy)

Author's Note: Oh boy, this was a conversation I was having with dear Fury: how Dante is 10/10 the scariest when he's mad because he keeps his demon on a leash *cough* Subhuman *cough* and he's the one everyone should fear when going berserk, not Vergil. With all the requests I'm having, currently, Fury decided to leave this suggestion out until I had a little more time to write...

Fast forward a few weeks, I'm having issues with a couple of ~friends~ and, honestly, I haven't been this angry in years. To the point of trembling, laughing like a maniac, and wanting to fistfight the gods. Hence, Fury sent me this vent piece so I could satisfy my wrath in a more ~healthy~ way. Hope you guys like it, though, Dante needs a big ol' hug and someone to openly cry too, not just Vergil.

Again, they all need therapy

Not many things could stir fear in Vergil’s heart.

Mundus’ voice, silently taunting him in the back of his head, the memory of everything he had been through in Hell was one of those things. The other one was his twin’s fury.

It was a rare thing for him to grip Yamato with an unsteady pair of hands, putting a lot of effort and strength for them not to tremble – but the sight of Dante completely lost in his bloodlust was not to be trifled with.

The first time Vergil saw it with his own eyes was in Hell, when he and his brother spent a considerable amount of time to cut down the Qliphoth. Vergil was used to the taunts of demons and Dante was as well… Or at least he should be, at that point in their lives.

But the taunts were many. They had been running through the fields of fire without sleep for a couple of days – in the human world, probably, as time had a different flow in Hell – killing everything in sight; and hearing every kind of putrid taunt they could.

What made Dante snap, though, was a simple implication: that it was Dante’s fault that Vergil fell and got subdued by Mundus, suffering endless nightmares for years to come. A strange glint sparked in Dante’s eyes at that moment. The scream that rumbled in his chest was enough to be heard through many layers of Hell.

It wasn’t Dante’s fault, Vergil knew that very well. He had refused to hold his brother’s hand, there was nothing Dante could have done. It was Vergil’s choice, and his sin only. But… For the first time, he saw how much his brother blamed himself for that. How much Dante had suffered, all those years, alone in the human world.

As above, so below… Dante suffered alongside Vergil all those years.

And all of that because of a stupid, childish decision from Vergil’s part. He observed Dante in shock as that realization came down on him – and as he watched the prized human heart of his twin brother seemingly disappear, giving place to a blind, bloodthirsty demon in full Sin Devil Trigger fashion, killing everything in his path.

Vergil stayed away from the destruction, always keeping an eye on his brother… If he could call him that. Dante – the foolish, laidback, talkative, jack of all trades, witty and quippy brother he knew – seemingly was nowhere to be seen. He was gone, and everything left was his demon, with a never-ending thirst for blood.

Not that Vergil hadn’t had moments like those, but he was always alone. He would always find the end of his rage on the floor, exhausted, weak and cold. And so, he waited for Dante’s wrath to wear off – patiently, observing with a heavy heart, sorrow and guilt.

He didn’t enjoy seeing his brother like that.

That was the reason why, when Nico put to vote who was the scariest when angry, you threw your vote at Dante. You and the rest of the crew, except for the Spardas, decided to have a night out at a local diner, just to wind down and have a bit of fun – that sort of talk was a given when you were together.

“Dante, really?” Lady raised one of her eyebrows, staring at you with nothing but doubt in her multicolored eyes. “He can’t hurt even a fly!” When she said that, though, all of the eyes of the group turned at her in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been hunting with him for a while. Dante can be a weapon of mass destruction, but he just… He doesn’t have that heart.”

“Hmmm… I think I have to agree with you on that one.” Trish slowly stirred her chocolate milkshake as Lady thanked with a sip of her vanilla one. “Look, I saw him killing Mundus. I saw Dante fighting the greatest and worst of Hell. He can be dangerous, but his human heart doesn’t let him be scary.”

“That is exactly my point.” You were ready to defend your thesis like a lawyer at court.

“Then why the hell would you vote for him as the scariest?” Nico didn’t have a cigarette on her hands because she had been forbidden to smoke inside the diner, but if she had, she would have been pointing at you with it. “Big flamin’ demon got nothin’ on Vergil, that one’s got the eyes of a killer. Got you chillin’ just by lookin’ at you.”

“Vergil doesn’t control his anger that much – I go as far as saying he doesn’t control himself as much as Dante.” And with those words, you won all the shocked looks you could at that evening. You would count that as a feat. “Is Dante a fool of a Tûk, as my dear Gandalf would say? Yes, he is. Is Vergil a walking death omen? Yes, he also is. But, I have talked to him about Dante being angry, and Vergil gave me enough hints to make it very clear Dante doesn’t let all his feelings out – he chooses to pass as a very aloof himbo of a man, but he is far from that. I’ve been his partner for enough time to say I agree with Vergil.”

“You might have a point.” Kyrie took a sip of her strawberry milkshake, as you let a triumphant smile take over your lips. “Dante might be playful, but we all know he has very deep emotions underneath that. It’s just like with Nero and his punk attitude.”

“But instead, he’s a cinnamon bun on the inside.” Nico topped Kyrie’s phrase, provoking some laughs on the group. That was the most accurate description of Nero if you had ever seen one.

“Dante loves his human heart, but he has a certain beef with his demonic one.” You wouldn’t say to the whole group you went as far as to believe he actually loathed his demonic heritage, as that was something too personal, but you had a hunch they all had some suspicions of that deep inside. “He keeps it in check, hidden, tamed. He lashes out when it’s a good time to do so – when fighting demons.” As you started getting some hums of agreement, you sneakily took Trish’s milkshake. “We have never seen Dante actually angry. And I don’t think we ever will.”

“Oh, now you’re makin’ it difficult.” Nico had to ponder those words, even if she couldn’t really see Dante being as dangerous as you said.

“Eh, not for me. I’m still going with Vergil.” Lady shrugged, firm on her opinion as always.

You took a little longer to get to the final vote – discussing what you had just said, as Trish called you out for stealing her milkshake and having it back, only to share it with you – but the answer was almost unanimous: the scariest one on a fit of wrath was Vergil.

Almost, because you kept adamant in voting on your red devil.

Vergil never came to know about all of that, but if he did, he would have agreed with you – not publicly, as he would hold his new title with pride, always content on inspiring fear as a way to keep himself and his loved ones protected. He would, however, agree with you privately, remembering Dante’s display of wrath in Hell.

That was the reason why his hands trembled on Yamato during your latest hunt together – the one where everything went wrong.

If only you would wake up. Maybe he could save Dante’s soul.

It all happened so fast, Vergil didn’t even see how things ended the way they were at the moment. On one second you were fighting by their side, on the other, you were tossed on the floor, soaked in your own blood, chest immobile. Not breathing.

“Y/n! No, y/n!” It was the very first time Vergil saw Dante dropping everything to run towards you. His brother let go of his sword, ignored all demons around and ran as if you were the only being in that godforsaken place. Vergil had to put himself between him and the demons, keeping them at bay as Dante quickly made his way to you. “Y/n! C’mon, babe! Y/n!”

Dante’s knees hit the floor with a loud thud as he dropped all his weight by your side – not feeling anything at the moment, but it would certainly leave a couple of horrid bruises. As his sky-blue eyes met that harrowing sight, desolation filled his face; Dante forgot how to breath for a split second, barely feeling his very own hands, legs tingling as his body seemed to sink in the ground even further.

Vergil stated the very same thing his brother did – and he never thought he could feel that way with the thought of losing you; but there was Vergil, with numbness on his fingers and a sickness in his stomach. You were the little light that Dante had found in his life, one of the only good things that had happened to him during all his damned years of living. Vergil knew how important you were, how only you could make Dante smile with a sincerity he only had seen when they were kids. What would be of his brother – his foolish, stupid, beloved brother – if he lost you to demons as well…?

The answer would come very soon, but not without a fight from Dante’s side.

“C’mon, y/n, open your eyes…!” Dante’s voice trembled, in a way Vergil had never listened to before. He watched as his twin brother desperately tried to bring you back, heavy hands massaging your chest, followed by breathing inside your mouth, and repeating once more. “C’mon, babe… Don’t leave me here…!” Those words were a whisper as he trembled trying to make your heart beat again, giving his breath to you once more so you could also breathe.

The realization washed Dante’s body as a cold wave, as he slowly felt he wasn’t in his body anymore – his body feeling your weight on his hands, but his soul completely out. Maybe flying away to meet yours wherever you were.

But then, a twisted symphony of distorted cackles and mockery ripped through his ears – the realization also came to the demons, and now they gloated with their first victory. Not only that, but humiliated the son of Sparda for losing his own beloved just like his father had lost Eva.

Vergil was ready to unsheathe Yamato and unleash all his fury to cut those demons in million pieces for that lack of respect – and to allow his brother to mourn properly. He himself had to mourn: you were too precious at the Devil May Cry for Vergil not to feel your loss.

But he wouldn’t need that. A deep growl grabbed the Dark Slayer’s attention, making him immediately turn to his brother. Dante got up from the floor with nothing but rage in his eyes bleeding tears, bare teeth as his demonic heritage boiled to rip through his skin and unleash all its fury on his enemies.

If only Dante had waited a single second, he would have realized what Vergil did. He would have heard a faint heartbeat – trembling, but fighting to survive. He would have seen your broken body trying to breath underneath the blood.

Dante killed the first demons with their own weapons, running towards his sword with a scream that only grew in strength. Vergil kneeled by your side, checking your pulse on your neck, staining his hands with your blood but stating what made his heart beat faster: you weren’t lost. Dante had to know.

The floor rumbled. As Vergil turned his attention towards Dante, he immediately turned back to you to protect you with his body. Dante’s scream thundered through the floor, as if it came from the deepest pits of Hell itself – and a thousand degrees exploded in sparks and molten lava as his Sin Devil Trigger took the place of the man who stood there before.

Vergil was used to the flames of Hell, they would not hurt him. But he wasn’t used to the wrath of his brother – and that might be something none of you would be able to recover. Vergil could take the heat of the explosion that took down many demons in its wake, but your human body couldn’t – and that was the reason why he had to do everything in his power to protect you.

Those silvery eyes turned back at Dante, still keeping a protective arm above you. Usually predatorial, now Vergil had nothing but worry in his gaze, watching with desolation as his brother became the bloodthirsty ruthless demon he never was.

In that state, Dante could make mistakes. He could hit you without even realizing. A misplaced use of his power, a wrong swing of his blade, another explosion of million degrees into hellish flames… Vergil could survive, not you. And, if Dante, who hadn’t realized yet you weren’t lost as he thought you were, ended up being the real reason of your demise…

Vergil didn’t even want to think what would happen.

For all he could see at that moment was a demon fiercely fighting other demons – or, better yet, easily subduing and mercilessly slaughtering all of them. And that was something that was so intrinsic to Dante’s heart: his mercy. Having Dante without his mercy, his kindness, his gentleness, his love, was the same as not having him at all… That was the source of his power, like rage was the source of Vergil’s power.

Watching his brother lost in wrath was heart wrenching, but knowing it could get even worse if he was to completely lose his soul was even more harrowing. Dante’s eyes bled his pain, even in that form, as he soaked his whole self in the viscous blood of his enemies – a monster beyond salvation, a creature without a soul, a lover without a heart. A man with his fragile hope crashed into pieces, abandoning everything that made him who he was, to allow himself to find some comfort through burning his own wrath.

For the first time, it downed on Vergil his brother might not come back. If he lost you, if Dante fatally wounded you, Vergil would never have him again – for Dante would lose the very last brink of humanity inside of him; a brink that Vergil couldn’t even see at that moment and didn’t even know if it was still there. Dante’s eyes were red, his growls distorted and animalistic, his power… Greater than Mundus, greater than even Sparda.

If Dante approached, Vergil would have to fight him. His brother wasn’t in a leveled state of mind to see logic – and he could hurt you, even if Dante would never do that. With all that blind wrath, though, Vergil didn’t even know if his brother would answer if he called.

Holding Yamato with a stronger grip than usual, Vergil stood in front of your body, guarding you from whatever harm that could come your way – be it in demon form… Or in his own twin brother form.

The cold hand of fear, though, slowly crept into his heart and held it on its stark clutches. Yes, Vergil spent his whole life sparring with that fool he had to call his brother – hearing Dante’s taunts and impossible physics, as if he didn’t even make an effort to make Vergil look like a complete buffoon during the fight, no matter how much technique and skill he had – but never Vergil imagined not having that.

Having Dante was a given. Fighting him was a given. Bantering, arguing, sparring, behaving like the bickering old set of twin brothers that they were. Vergil could say he wanted to defeat Dante, but he never wanted to get rid of him. What would his life be without his stupid brother?

Empty. Silent. Cold. Devoid of color.

Dante couldn’t go. And, most of all, he couldn’t go by Vergil’s hands. But if he was too much of a lose canon, if he was too far gone in his demonic frenzy, Vergil would have to put a stop to it…

Like Dante did with him as Nelo Angelo so many years before.

Vergil had to hold the cry that seemed to want to force its way out of his throat – holding back the tears that now glistened in his eyes. He was the most foolish of all… He was responsible for putting Dante on the same situation he found himself in at the moment – and just now he understood how harrowing, how painful and how much of a hell Dante had to go through.

Alone. Just like Vergil was alone in Hell – as above so below, the twins mirroring each other’s fates, on their realms and heritage of preference.

They weren’t so different after all.

As you started to hear the chaos around you once again, your head was spinning viciously and the pain that spread inside your lungs made you think you were going to explode. With an almost inaudible moan, you felt tears streaming down your eyes as you tried to open them, seemingly inhaling blood and pain every time you tried to breathe. You could feel you were covered in something wet and sometimes sticky, but it took some time for you to raise a trembling hand in front of your barely focusing eyes to realize it was blood.

Were you dead…? What had happened…? You could barely remember. You didn’t even know what hit you: suddenly everything turned black and now you were feeling like a bulldozer went over your body and somehow you managed to survive. Perhaps you didn’t, but if you were dead, you wouldn’t be feeling that much pain… At least, that was what people always said that happened after departing from the human world.

Plus, you could still hear the demons – but now, screaming in fear and trying to run away from something that was growling in such an inhuman tone, you wondered if you guys had accidentally summoned something bigger. By the noise, it had to be. The likes of Mundus and the other Kings of Hell – Vergil being the smallest of them, but still as deadly.

Perhaps it was Vergil…? To be fair, though, he never went all out without a really good reason. Maybe he thought you were dead? He appreciated you as much as a brother would appreciate his twin’s partner, but you didn’t expect him to have such a visceral reaction to your death; Unless…

You widened your eyes as your whole body seemed to be washed by a cold wave followed by a lightening that made you tingle from head to toes. Your heart sunk in your chest and the painful breaths you tried before were all but gone. Vergil would have a visceral reaction if he lost his brother. And that, you couldn’t even fathom: life without Dante didn’t exist… Or, at least, it would be something you wouldn’t want to go through.

You forced your body up, slowly turning to one side and barely using your arm to keep your weight as you tried to see what was going on. You had to find him, you had to find Dante. You would crawl to his body, you would shake him around as you could, you would give him your breath, you would give him your soul – but you would try everything to bring him back. You would hold him as tight as you could, you would cry over him, and there wouldn’t be a living or dead thing in this world that would be able to part you from him.

You widened your eyes once more when you saw Vergil keeping your body as a guardian warrior and the source of the chaos and destruction was your beloved red devil – lost in a frenzy, dripping with blood, eyes melting like lava and nothing of human in them.

You had never seen Dante like that.

“Verge…” You tried to cough the word out, but it was nothing more than a dying whisper. You couldn’t see how the blue devil furrowed his brows, thinking he might be hearing things – until you allowed a harsher breath to hurt your lungs so you could try to raise your trembling voice higher. “Vergil…!”

He turned his head enough to see you in the corner of his eyes – doing his best to still keep Dante in his sight. A wave of euphoria washed through Vergil’s body as his hands seemed to get steadier around Yamato: he was right, you were alive. As the fighter you were, the survivor you were… You were breathing and doing your best to get back on your feet again.

“Y/n…” But he couldn’t even talk: the floor rumbled again and Vergil knew what was coming. You placed your hands on the ground, widening your eyes and furrowing your brows, having never felt that before.

For a split second, you caught a glimpse of what was going on: Dante harnessing his power, ready to explode. You had never saw that. You had never saw his eyes devoid of his humanity. You had never seen your Dante as a complete demon like it was happening at that moment.

And, something that you had never been conscious to witness, Vergil threw himself over you to protect your body from his brother’s wrath. You had to cower behind his frame, gripping Vergil’s coat lapel for dear life, but still feeling the burning of a thousand degrees engulf you.

The blue devil didn’t even waver – but both of you had something in your eyes… The dread of the harrowing knowledge that that was Dante. All that destruction, that chaos, that blood… It was all Dante.

You were right, after all. His rage was the scariest to see.

“I need t-…” Your voice was raspy, having to stop mid phrase to cough some more blood that needed to come out of your lungs. “I need to talk to him.” You tried to take a deep breath, but once again it just stopped with a harsh sting on your chest. “He needs to know I’m alive.”

“Hmmm.” Vergil agreed with his head, but you knew he was still pondering what you had said. He helped you up on your feet – doing more of the work than you, easily lifting your body with his strength. “Dante isn’t himself at the moment…” Again, Vergil stood in front of you like a guardian, gripping the Yamato with both hands as soon as he saw you could stand by yourself. If you faltered, though, he was quick enough to hold you. “You must keep that in mind.”

“I know… And I am scared.” You answered in a whisper, looking over Vergil’s shoulder only to see Dante mercilessly slaughtering the last unlucky demons. “But it’s still Dante.”

Vergil didn’t know what to do, if he was being honest with himself. He could have held you back and kept you safe, as his demonic side told him to do, but something inside told him he should let you do what you had to do. Those silvery eyes watched as you bravely walked in haste towards danger; towards hell and doom, ready to embrace it… And willing to make it stop.

“Dante! Dante, love!” You kept calling, but, as Vergil feared before, his brother didn’t respond. He was too far gone, too lost in Hell to come back that easily. Vergil followed your steps slowly, lingering like a shadow behind you… Ready to do whatever he needed to do if Dante’s demon didn’t even recognize you in that blind rage. “Dante! You can stop now… Dante!”

With all the filthy bloody corpses piling up on the floor, that flaming red-hot demonic figure slowly turned its head towards you. Covered in blood, sword dripping with red, molten lava eyes raining all its hollow pain. Expressionless, as he always was on his Sin Devil Trigger, made of fire and coal, hate and rage.

Did he recognize you…? Did he understand what was going on…? Vergil’s grip on Yamato got stronger, ready to unleash a blow on his brother in order to protect you. What you were doing was a gamble – and one with not so nice odds to you. There was a reason why Vergil let Dante’s anger wear out when they were in Hell: he knew there was a good chance Dante wouldn’t even recognize him at the height of his wrath, just like it happened with Vergil on those situations. So, to say the moment at hand was dangerous was a serious understatement.

But humans would always be fascinating, wouldn’t they…? At least, that was what Vergil thought. That towering demon with a flaming chest and leathery wings turned towards you, carrying his huge sword dripping with demonic blood, doing nothing but heavy breathing – and you decided to fearlessly walk towards it.

Humans.

Vergil kept his distance, watching it all unfolding with a weary heart and a trigger hand at ready to fight his brother – to death, if he unfortunately needed to – in order to protect you. He couldn’t have the certainty you had, as your steps kept going in Dante’s direction.

Your legs were shaking, your knees were trembling, but… It was your lover. It was Dante. No matter how much he was lost into his frenzy and wrath, you had to believe his heart would remember you. His soul. It all happened because he thought he had lost you, he had to come back upon knowing you were alright.

It didn’t matter how horrid his wrath looked like, you knew he was in there somewhere.

“Dante… It’s me, I’m alright…” Your voice was still a whisper, unable to speak too loud, but also trying to soothe the anger in his heart. You hesitantly reached out to him, making a growl rumble inside his chest and your steps stop for a while – with Vergil half-unsheathing his sword, ready to fight. “Love…” You called again, breathing as deeply as you could, resuming your walking and extending your hand towards him. “My Dante…”

You were finally at arm’s reach. Vergil held his breath, eyebrows furrowed, silvery predator eyes fixated on what was supposed to be his brother. You raised your hand higher, resting it on Dante’s face.

His Sin Devil Trigger form was nothing but rough. His skin seemed like hard leather and rocky coal, burning so hot it could almost hurt your hand. You wouldn’t back down though: compared to him, you were soft and cold, too fragile and breakable; but you wouldn’t leave. You caressed his rough face, fingers feeling the sharp teeth, the spiky crevices, the unwelcoming features of a face made in Hell.

You felt, though, an unlikely moisture reaching your fingers: a droplet, running from those fiery, empty eyes – those inhuman eyes. You looked at it running through your fingers to the back of your hand, looking back into those frightening eyes that had nothing of a soul in them…

But he was there, wasn’t he? It was him, a part of him that Dante always fought so relentlessly to keep hidden, to keep on a tight leash in the deepest corner of his self. You could see Dante in those eyes – and, as soon as that realization washed through the demon’s body, his head leaned into your hand.

With a flaming spark, the red devil was gone and you had the man back: tired, desolated, falling apart. Dante still leaned his head into your hand – now with soft skin, smooth lips, closed eyes and flowy white hair – almost like an animal that had never been touched with kindness in a whole lifetime. As he opened his eyes, you could see the redness of his tears crowning those sky-blue tones you always loved so much… And there was nothing but fragile vulnerable humanity in them.

“Hi, cowboy…” You whispered with a shadow of a smile on your lips, while your very eyes poured tears – you didn’t know what kind of tears, though, if of happiness, sadness, desperation, pity or love. Maybe all of them at the same time: it was inherently human to feel more than words could describe. You caressed his face as Dante himself started to pour all of his feelings out – this time, not in a fit of rage. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I thought I lost you.” His coarse voice came through as if Dante had been weeks without speaking and his very own vocal cords were barely working. You didn’t doubt his body would be in pain after all he had been through during… That. “I thought… You were gone. I’d never see you again, you were… Like… Like…” Dante closed his eyes again, head hanging low. He could barely breathe as the words fought to get out of his chest and stop suffocating him. His tears hitting the floor while you took his hair out of the way so you could see his face – there was nothing but pain; a pain that hadn’t been healed since he was a child. “Like everyone in my damned fuckin’ life; those things… I thought they had extinguished… Your light, like everyone… Like everyone eventually does… By my side…”

That was rare. Very rare. Dante was very honest with his feelings and usually didn’t hide anything from you, but not to that point – the point where he would honestly and openly say how much he thought he was the thing that doomed everyone else who decided to live with him or be friends with him. That loathing he had inside his heart, that he hid so carefully, it wasn’t something he would say out loud – it was something you knew because you always understood him so well.

You let go of his hair and locked your arms around his large frame, resting your head on his chest – you could hear his heart beating, his human heart. Dante hesitated for the very first time in his life, keeping his arms by your side for a split second, his teary eyes shocked with your reaction.

After all, you had just seen his absolute worst. All the things he always smothered so much inside himself, keeping them on check, always so controlled. You had seen it in all its spiteful and horrid glory – and your reaction was to embrace him instead of running away. Dante expected you to run, it would honestly be the logic and most human thing to do after seeing all of that.

But you walked towards him with your heart beating in fear, touching his face to grab him out of the pit of wrath he was buried into, holding him tightly in your arms as he broke down in all his anger, misery, trauma and self-loathing.

It lasted a split of a second indeed – for soon Dante’s strong arms were wrapped around your fragile body, keeping you close and safe from harm… As well as having his face buried on your neck, crying all that smothered pain inside of his heart out. Your bodies were too exhausted to keep standing for too long – so when your knees wavered, Dante did the same and you kneeled on the floor, never letting go of each other; Dante holding you as tight as he could, promising himself he would never let go.

Vergil could finally put Yamato to rest. When they were in Hell, he allowed his brother’s rage to wear off while observing from afar. This time, he could do the same: guarding you and quietly keeping you both safe and sound.

A sad ghost of a smile graced the Dark Slayer’s lips as he calmly observed you. Maybe his brother was right after all, and he could only wish someday he would be as strong as Dante to carry such power.

A human heart.

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hypewinter · 2 years ago

Text

At first he'd been overjoyed that the cloning had worked. Then, as the weeks went by, he realized just how messed up of a thing he had done. Tim still remembered the faces of everyone after he told them. There were mixes of shock, horror and disappointment. He'd been unable to face both Bruce and Clark for a while after that.

Now Tim sat in a rocking chair within the newly decorated nursery. He looked down at the baby in his lap, who returned his gaze with a blank one of his own.

He sighed as he turned to peer out the window. It was a full moon tonight. "They're mad at me, I know," he finally spoke. "I can't really blame them either. It wasn't fair to Conner. To his memory."

Tim turned to look at the baby once more. He stared into the baby's eyes. Those painfully familiar eyes that were at the same time new and foreign.

"It wasn't fair to you either."

Tim reached down and brushed a bang out of the baby's eyes. "But I swear I'm going to make it up," he continued. "Starting by giving you your own proper name."

Until now, that baby had been referred to as just that. Baby. If not that it was the clone, the child or Conner's clone. But now that Tim had firmly decided he was raising the baby, the kid needed a proper name.

"Hmm," Tim pondered. "What about.... Kevin?"

He received yet another blank look.

"Okay... how about Alex, Wes, Kyle? Timothy Jr?"

Blank stare.

"You could be Douglas. Doug for short."

At that the baby seemed to almost quirk up his eyebrow. As if to say, "Are you serious?" Though that was probably Tim's mind playing tricks on him.

"Yeah," he said with a soft chuckle. "I wasn't really feeling that one either."

Tim closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. "Mark, Luke, Ezekiel, Thomas, Elijah..." Great, now he was just listing off Bible names.

"Daniel..." he muttered absently.

Suddenly, Tim heard a giggle. He looked back down at the baby to see him cooing softly.

"Wait, you like that? Daniel?"

The baby giggled again. This time reaching up towards Tim. Hesitantly, he raised his hand towards the child. He couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped him as the child grabbed onto his pointer finger.

"Ok, Daniel it is."

Except for something still didn't feel right. Tim leaned back and stared at the ceiling as his tried to pinpoint the feeling of wrongness. Then it hit him. He hated whenever people used his full name. It always felt stuffy and formal. It reminded him too much of disappointed looks. Of hands gripping his shoulders or pulling at his ears, telling him to behave.

"Say," he murmured. "Mind if I give you a nickname buddy? How about Dan?"

Daniel scrunched up his eyebrows. "Ok ok, you don't like that one. I get it. Then how about Danny?"

Daniel seemed to appreciate that nickname a whole lot more as him went back to cooing contently. Tim couldn't help as a smile of his own crept onto his face. "It's settled then," he grinned, holding his child up in the air. "Welcome to the family Danny Drake-Wayne!"

He then pulled Danny close into an embrace, closing his eyes as he took in the scent of baby powder and formula. "I promise, you'll have a better childhood than either I or Kon did. I'll make sure of it."

Edit: original prompt for anyone interested

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #winter's tales

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beeisscaredofbees · 9 months ago

Note

That’s amazing. Of course everyone needs to start somewhere. Of course I understand not everyone likes writing smut.

Young Charles Xavier x reader. She’s also has a mutation. She’s kicked out by her parents when they find out that her boyfriend is in a wheelchair. She turns up in the pouring rain with her puppy under her jacket to keep them dry and a black eye because her dad hit her (you don’t have to write that just imply it)

Hope that’s not to detailed but wanted to give you as much detail as I could to help you write it.

Can you please tag me in any future X-Men fanfiction you write.

A.N: Okay, I finally got around to finishing this. I'm actually quite proud of it given it's my first time EVER writing fanfiction and especially with it being a request. I hope you enjoy it even though it is a bit cliche at times. Also, there is slight ableism given the prompt, I did some research to make sure I wasn't using any slurs but if I am wrong PLEASE let me know. I will change it.

Word Count: 1251

Pairing: Young Charles Xavier x Female!Reader

Warnings: Ableism (Only a small sentence), gets kind angsty

You didn’t really know how they had found out. You were so careful. Building a wall of lies so thick and so far that you could no longer see the ends.

You suppose that somewhere along the lines you’d missed a spot, one vital brick that tumbled down the entirety of your life.

Your parents had only just started getting around to the idea of having a ‘freak’ of a daughter. Constantly telling you how lucky you were to at least look ‘normal’ and not like those ‘other ones’.

You were one of the good ones.

They had laid the rules out simply. They didn’t care about your abilities as long as they stayed outside the house and as long as you married a ‘regular human being’. It seemed simple enough and studying for a masters (which they paid for) you figured one more year of hiding wouldn’t be so difficult.

What you never considered was falling madly in love with another mutant. You’d been convinced for so long that you were completely alone in the walls you’d built, that when you met a man who could literally tear them apart you had no choice but to let yourself go.

The argument had started at dinner. It’d been a long day of research which had resulted in nothing but a dead end. Exhausted from sitting reading at a desk all day, you just wanted to get through the traditional family dinner and get straight into bed.

You were sitting in your usual chair, facing your mother while your father sat at the head of the table. It’d been eerily silent from the moment you’d sat down but didn’t mind given your exhaustion.

Suddenly, your father put down his utensils, “I’ve set up a dinner, next week with the neighbors boy,”

Thinking you hadn’t heard correctly, you turn to face him, “pardon?”

“It’s about time that you start thinking of settling down,” your father continues, “most normal girls your age are on their way to having their first child,”

You hear the implication in his voice even if he hadn’t outright said it. Irritated, you push your plate away.

“I am a normal girl, dad,”

You hear your mother sigh, but you can’t seem to look away from your fathers face that twitches in irritation.

“You know what I meant,” he says your name as if it's a burden. He says it as if you were a curse on his normalcy.

You roll your eyes, “yes I know exactly what you meant, father, and I’m not going to be dressed up like some doll to be paraded for the neighbors boy,”

Another twitch, you know you are pushing him too far, but you can’t seem to care anymore.

“He is of good breeding and a wealthy background,” he picks up his utensils again, “the dinner will be on Monday,”

“Breeding?! I’m not cattle, father,”

Your fathers face contorts into a scowl and you know he’s losing patience with you, “He will assure you are the last of your kind in my bloodline,”

You can feel your whole body shaking, “I will not go to that dinner, father,”

You hear your mother whisper your name, you suddenly realize that the shaking wasn’t just within your body but the whole house. With your emotions rampant you couldn’t control your powers as naturally as you normally could.

Breathing in and breathing out, you calm yourself enough to stop the shaking. Your father, however, is maroon with malice. You have pushed him too far.

“I will not let my grandchildren be the offspring of a freak and a paralytic!”

You feel your heart stop. Your mind is racing, unstoppable thoughts wreak havoc in your head. He knew. He knew and now your life is over.

“Father-”

“You thought I wouldn’t find out?” Your father continues to yell, “you thought I’d let you disobey me without consequence?”

You could feel your breathing increase as you enter a panic. Everything is muffled, your father continues yelling but you can’t hear a thing he is saying. You have to get away. You have to get to Charles.

Without realizing, you stand, turning to leave the table, trying to find an escape. With one step, your father is in front of you, rough hands clamping down on your shoulders, forcing you still.

“Let me go,” you whisper, looking down away from your father.

“I forbid you from seeing that man again!”

“Let me go,” you feel the ground tremble beneath you.

“He’s one of you isn’t he?” Your fathers grip tightens on your shoulders, “he’s a freak!”

“Let me go!” You shout back in his face. You don’t initially feel the strike, but you can feel the heat begin to blossom around your eye. And you feel the ground erupt into endless shudders as you watch your father lose his balance and fall to the floor.

With the last of your strength, you run towards your room grabbing your research and your puppy that likes to sleep under your bed. As you race to the front door, you glance at your mother fussing over your father, who is still laid on the floor.

Stopping you turn to face your parents, “I am not a freak. Just because I am different doesn’t mean I’m lesser than,”

You turn to open the front door and with foot out your childhood home, you turn one last time, “I’ll never treat my children the way you’ve treated me, mutant or not,”

With those final words, you run into the rain, hailing the first taxi you see.

It wasn’t until you were at Charles’ front door, drenched and with your puppy under your coat, that you realized how bleak your situation truly was.

No home, no parents, no education.

With nothing left to lose, you knock as loudly as you can, hoping anyone would hear you over the pounding rain.

Almost immediately, the door swings open.

Hank at first looks at you with confusion and then concern. He drags you inside and in the same breath yells for Charles.

The second you see Charles look of concern as he approaches you, you feel the tears start to form in your eyes. Finally able to let go, you feel yourself crumble with the weight of the night.

In no time, Charles holds you in his arms, stroking your soaked hair, whispering into your ear, “it’s okay darling you’re safe now, you’re safe here,”

Once you’ve calmed down, you pull away from him holding your own weight again. His hands don’t leave your face, careful with your already bruising eye.

He whispers your name. He whispers it like prayer, like there’s no one else in the world except you and him. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, “How about we run you a warm bath?”

With no strength left to speak and knowing you didn’t need to, you nod into his hands, closing your eyes and soaking in the comforting warmth he exudes. From within your jacket, you feel your puppy shuffle, stuck in between your torso and Charles’ legs. Pulling away slightly, your puppy leaps away from you and begins sniffing around Charles’ wheelchair.

“I see you’ve brought a friend, darling,” he chuckles, as he watches your puppy continuing to adventure.

You hiccup trying to find the words, “I couldn’t leave him in that house,”

Charles looks back at you, his blue eyes wide with adoration, “he has a home here, he’ll always a home here,”

#charles xavier x reader #young charles xavier #charles xavier #fanfic #charles xavier imagine #xmen x reader

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skibasyndrome · 5 months ago

Note

"please, speak to me" for the prompt thingy?🫶

Tinaaaa!!! Thank you so much for sending me this prompt! I'm extremely sorry for taking forever to write this, but here it iiiis.

Because I simply couldn't leave them in their messy little fwb situation, this is a follow-up to this drabble here.

Hope you'll enjoy! 💜💜💜

For the first couple of days, Wille is so caught up in replaying his last night with Simon that he doesn’t fully notice to which extent he’s being avoided. When he does, the realization hits him square in the chest.

Wille doesn’t think that, during the admittedly relatively short time they’ve known each other, he’s ever gone this long without speaking to Simon. They just clicked, right away, became friendly very quickly, became… more than friendly equally quickly. And up till now they’ve never gone this long without speaking, at least a little bit. Wille misses his friend’s presence next to him during the one lecture on postmodernism they normally attend together. And he misses the stupid jokes they tell each other in the cafeteria during lunch breaks. Wille texts Simon twice during the week following the incident. Both times, Simon answers quickly, but the conversations die down just as quickly. Wille knows he’s busy with exams, but this is different. Simon won’t admit that anything’s wrong, continues to throw Wille a quick smile every time they cross paths on campus. But before Wille has the chance to approach him, he’s gone again. It feels like something ended between them. And Wille doesn’t know what to do about it, let alone what to say. He can’t suggest they have sex again. Well. He would like to, but he won’t. Every time he thinks back to Simon storming off, he feels like an idiot. But any other suggestion feels almost more ridiculous. He can almost hear Simon scoff at him whenever he thinks of something new to say. They’ve never done anything else, they’ve been friendly at uni, then spent their time back in the dorms fucking. Anything beyond that feels like an imposition. In front of his mind’s eye, Simon is rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Wille’s suggestion for brunch on Sunday or a couple drinks Thursday night. And so he keeps them to himself, his silly suggestions. But by week two, Wille feels like he’s going to burst if he lets the scenario play out inside of his head another fucking time. He needs to figure this out, needs to fix whatever there is to fix. Right whatever wrong it was that Wille did. Even if this arrangement, whatever it was, is over for Simon, Wille wants them to part on good terms. And not have Simon think badly of him. He feels more than a little silly as he finds himself walking through the halls of the music lecture building. And even while he’s waiting outside of the room he knows Simon’s choir is practicing in, he almost gets up and leaves again two times. Scrolling on his phone is barely enough of a distraction. Especially when, from time to time, a few beautiful notes hit his ear, coming through the large door. This would be a lot easier if he didn’t immediately recognize the beautiful voice. or Or if he didn’t remember what other beautiful sounds that voice is capable of producing, under the right conditions.

He clears his throat and rolls his neck, trying to banish those tempting images from his mind. He’s about to give up and leave again, go for a walk or go find something else to distract him from his own misery, when the door opens and a couple of students start streaming out. Wille immediately gets up from the random chair he’s found sitting in the hallway, straightens up, feeling weirdly caught and weirdly out of place. Before he can wonder if Simon will even notice him standing in the hallway like a lost little puppy, the door closes again. It leaves Wille standing face to face with the man he hasn’t gotten a proper look at in a very long two weeks. Wille raises his hand for an awkward wave and notices too late that he clearly must’ve interrupted a conversation between Simon and his choir teacher, who now looks between the two of them, visibly confused. Even she must notice that this amount of silence isn’t very normal. Giving Wille another once-over, she retrieves her key from where she was about to lock the door and hands it over to Simon. She tells him to leave it on her desk later before walking off. For a gratingly long moment it looks like Simon is about to run after her. When he turns back around to Wille he looks a little less panicked, albeit no less confused. His bag is casually slung over his shoulder, and something inside of Wille’s chest aches at the familiar picture. Instead of dwelling on it, though, he shakes his head slightly, takes a step towards Simon. “Hey,” he starts and tries to smile, but it must be coming off exactly as weird and forced as it feels, because Simon only nods at him. “Hey.” Simon’s own smile is late, seems a little out of place. Maybe there’s still time to run away. But when Simon opens his mouth to speak, a different sense of panic washes over Wille, so he simply has to blurt it out. “I wanted to see you.” The silence that follows Wille’s confession is clearly taunting him. Simon just looks at him with his brows furrowed. “And I wanted to talk to you,” Wille continues, and maybe it’s the way Simon’s gaze darts back and forth between Wille’s lips and his eyes that makes Wille go on. “Because I missed you,” he says. And because he’s not made enough of a fool of himself. “Miss you, I mean.” Simon only nods quickly and, for a second, Wille gets caught up in his eyes. It's been entirely too long since he’s gotten a proper look at them. If Wille didn’t know any better, the idea that he’s spent hours looking at them before would sound ridiculous.

Simon is the first to break contact. He clears his throat. “So…?” he starts, then trails off, lifting himself up and down on his tiptoes. “Can we talk?” Wille is practically pleading and, as if on cue, a student pushes his way past, apparently seeing no better path than going between him and Simon. “I mean, maybe…” Wille gestures towards the room and Simon catches his hint. He gives a curt nod, one that Wille can’t read. But he does turn around, and not to leave. He slips in through the door, Wille at his heels. And before Wille has any chance to take in the interior of the room, or think about what the fuck he’s supposed to do now, now that he’s gotten to this point, Simon is on him. Wille's back hits the door with a loud thud, his chest immediately colliding with Simon's. He lets out a strangles sound of surprise when he suddenly has an arm full of Simon. But even his moment of shock is cut short when Simon’s lips are on his. Finally again. Wille quickly melts into the touch, relishes in the way Simon licks into his mouth, almost like he's been plagued by the same desperate need that has rendered Wille sleepless for these past two weeks. Wille's arms close around Simon's middle, backpack and all, and Wille lets out a sigh of… something. Relief, probably, but also pleasure. This is what they're good at, this is a way in which they've always understood each other. This is what makes sense for them. So much sense that Simon has Wille heavily panting against his lips in no time, so much sense that Wille’s hands easily find their way into the back pockets of Simon’s jeans, like they’re two puzzle pieces. So much sense that it takes Wille a long time, many seconds, minutes maybe, to realize that this isn’t what he came for. Not really, not initially. He tries to pull back, not going far with the wood of the door right behind him. But Simon understands, moves back, then takes a big step away from Wille that causes Wille’s hands to slip out of his pockets. He weakly holds them at his side, suddenly feeling really awkward about just standing here. He clears his throat. “I…” It’s like Simon didn’t only take away his breath, but also his speech. Wille tears his eyes from Simon’s face, from the soft reddish hue on his cheeks, from his wet lips. “I wanted to talk about last time, what you said. I-” Simon interrupts him with a groan. “Can’t we just forget about this already?” He sounds frustrated, angry almost, but there’s a trace of desperation. Wille swallows hard, very unhelpfully notices Simon’s taste on his tongue. While every bone in Wille’s body is yearning to just get back to what they were doing, to get back to what’s always felt good, he knows he shouldn’t. Not like this. Not until he’s tried, not until-

Simon groans loudly again and moves towards the handle, trying to get past Wille. His rib cage contracts painfully at the sight, and his last resolve crumbles. “Wait, please, wait, Simon,” he tries, quietly, too quietly, but, fuck, how else is he supposed to say this. Without thinking about it, he goes in for Simon’s wrist, grabs it, squeezes once, then lets go again, suddenly terrified he’s making it worse. He back away from the door, stops blocking it. “I’m sorry, Simon, I don’t-” “Don’t say it,” Simon rushes out. As quickly as he reached for the door, he’s taking a few steps back again. Wille opens and closes his mouth again, entirely helpless. He’s not fucking following. He shakes his head, trying to make sense of it all. “But what you said then, and when you left-” “It doesn’t matter, okay?” Simon is pacing, and there’s too much distance between them for Wille’s liking, way too much. But he doesn’t want to reach out, doesn’t want to overstep, but, fuck he needs to fix this, he needs to understand, he needs Simon to tell him. He can’t keep wondering if maybe, just maybe…. When Simon stops pacing only to go for the door again, it bursts out of Wille. “Please, just speak to me!” He startles himself with his raised voice, and Simon stops dead in his tracks, head whipping around towards Wille. It’s Simon’s turn to gape at him, speechless.

He juts out his chin in defiance and crosses his arms. Wille’s heartbeat quickens when Simon turns towards him again. There’s a fire in his eyes that makes Wille feel like Simon is the one towering over him. For another few seconds, they just stare at each other, neither willing to be the first to break contact. It’s scary, tense, like any wrong move could shatter everything. Wille decides then and there that he’ll keep this up for hours if he has to, if it means that Simon isn’t going to run away again. But it seems like Simon has different plans. With a long, exasperated sigh, he turns away again. Wille watched his shoulders sag, watches him throw his head back in frustration. When he runs a hand up and through his curls, a silly part of Wille’s conscience wishes he could be the one doing that. “Look,” Simon starts, and Wille steels himself for whatever revelation might be coming his way. His eyes never leave Simon’s face, still. “I’m sorry, okay?” Wille feels his face fall. “I’m sorry that this isn’t what we wanted, I’m sorry that I said what I said, I just-” Simon tugs on his hair again and lets out a frustrated noise. “It’s okay,” he says, and suddenly all the fierceness drains out of his voice. When he twists his head to look back towards Wille, Wille’s pulse yet again picks up speed.

“It’s okay that you don’t want the same thing, it is!” Wille has trouble listening with his heartbeat hammering away at his temples. “We can keep doing this,” Simon gestures between the two of them ”I’ll be fine, I swear, can we just not talk about-” Suddenly, it clicks. Oh. “Stop,” Wille says, quietly, carefully, and it must be such a stark difference in tone that it’s unsettling. Simon immediately quiets down, enough for Wille to take a step towards him. To finally close the distance between them. Wille doesn’t think his pulse has ever been this quick without him nearing a panic attack. Once again, he swallows. “You’re saying that you… like me?” Simon presses his eyes shut, lets his head fall back in a movement of aggravation. “Wille…,” he groans, but there’s no edge to his voice, no hostility. He rolls his head back, looks pained, but he doesn’t withdraw, stays where he is. “Yes, I like you. That’s the whole point, that’s why-” Oh. Wille doesn’t waste another second, doesn’t give Simon any more time to misunderstand him. With a fervor that’s entirely new in its intensity, he rushes forward. One hand on Simon’s neck, the other reaching for Simon’s arm, linking their fingers together loosely, Wille kisses him. He kisses him and kisses him and lets out a pathetic little noise when Simon presses back after a moment, returns the kiss with equal force. Fuck. Wille can’t keep it in any longer. A wave of relief washes over him, strong, intense, warm, just like Simon. Wille giggles into their kiss, breaks away from Simon’s lips. When he does, he doesn’t pull away, rests his forehead against Simon’s. And he simply can’t hold back his stupid grin. “I like you too,” he says and fuck, that feels a lot like butterflies. “A lot.”

Send me one of these prompts for a short lil story 💜

#wilmon #wilmon fanfic #yr #young royals #wilmon ficlet #yr ficlet #answered #short prompt drabble #wilmonsfolklore

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softestqueeen · 5 months ago

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Hi! I was reading through 500 celebration prompts, first of all: congratulations 🥳🎊🎉you deserve it ! I dont know how comfortable you are with writing post prision spencer, but he is the only one I can think of when I read prompts 2 "It won't be easy you know... trying to love me." and 6 "I- I don't know who I am anymore. I'm scared." . Maybe like before he got arrested they were starting something and he feels that reader is going to give up on him bc of what he did on the inside, and it’s hurt/comfort, you could totally come up with something better. Feel free to ignore 🤍✨

a/n: thank you sm for your request! so, fun fact i stopped watching cm after hotch left (s12) because 1) obv hotch left and 2) i knew my bbg was going to go through it with his mom and prison and stuff and if i don't see it, it doesnt happen. periodt. but, i'm still a sucker for hurt/comfort, so here you go, enjoy <3 warnings: very incorrect mention of events during the prison arc (your girl has no idea), hurt/comfort, mention of prison, mention of murder pairing: post prison!spencer reid x gn!reader I 1175 words special prompts I special masterlist

You and Spencer had only moved in together a few weeks before everything went downhill. Seeing your boyfriend in court, seeing the tears in his eyes once it was clear he had to go to jail almost broke you. Without the suppoert of the team - who suppoerted you when Spencer couldn't and were always there for you - you don't think you would have been able to make it.

But, finally, the BAU found a way to prove his innocence and got him out of that shithole. You were aching to see him, especially because he didn't put you on the visitors list. When you first heard that, you couldn't belive it. Why didn't he wanna see you? But after Garcia visited him and came back with a letter for you from Spencer, where he explained how he didn't want you to see him like this, you somewhat understood him.

It still hurt, but of course you respected his desicion.

So, when he came out about a week ago, you were overjoyed. You almost couldn't believe that you'd get to hold him in you arms again.

Of course you knew he wouldn't be the same man as before after these months in jail, but a small part of you still hoped that you'd get back to normal quite fast. Oh, how wrong you were.

When Spencer first came through the door - Penelope came to pick him up, he didn't want you anywhere near that prison - he practically fell into your amrs and remained like that for what felt like hours. Still, once he pulled away it felt too soon. He was distant, but not unusually so, more like when he had been on a tough case and just needed some space. So, you gave him what he needed.

After your time together you learnt how to read him quite well and with every shy smile he gave you once he realised you were profiling him, you felt like you got a little bit of your Spencer back.

But, you soon realised that he wanted a lot more space than usual. Even when his body language practically screamed for you to be close to him or at least be in the same room, he still kindly asked you fro space. Which was fine, until it wasn't.

You took a week off work to help him get settled in again and today was your first day back at work. Everything was fine and Spencer even hugged you goodbye before you left. You felt so special, as he rarely seeked out any touch these days. Nights that would have been spent cuddled together were now spent on opposite sides with Spencer as far away from you as humanly possible on the bed.

Checking in with him at lunchtime, he told you he had ordered in some food and was now reading some russian book you've never heard of.

You left work the moment the clock hit 6pm and drove home as fast as you could with all the traffic. Opening the door, you take off your shoes and place your keys on the designated hook.

Moving further into the apartment, you realise something is off. You don't see Spencer. Usually when he reads he sits in his favourite chair by the window, the old thing already indented from where he always sits. But he was nowhere to be soon.

"Spence, I'm home," you call out, but are only met with silence. Before you could worry too much, you opened the bedroom door and the sight that awaited you broke your heart.

There was Spencer, you sweet and amazing boyfriend, lying under the covers with tears running down his face. He obviously hasn't registered that you were home, hi hands pulling his legs even tighter against his torso.

You've never seen someone this tall seem so small.

Taking a step forward, you reach out your hand to him, not quite touching him yet.

"Spencer... what's wrong? Please, talk to me?" Once he realised you were there he almost jumped out of his skin in the way he jerked back. Eyes wide he quickly searched for the quickest route out of this situation, but he was quick to realise that he had to talk to you.

He let out a heavy sigh, before scooting back and leaning against the headboard, giving you the space to sit down on the edge of the bed, which he previosuly occupied.

Taking a deep breath he started to talk. "Uhm- uh- as you've probably realised, the other people in prison weren't the nicest to me and I- uhm-," Spencer was evidently having problems with finding the right words, but you were quick to assure him to take his time.

"So, I'll just say I had a hard time, I don't want you to know what they did to me, what I had to do to them. And I- I just don't really know how to act anymore, you know? I'm not- I'm not the same person that I was before prison and that uh- scares me a bit, I guess. I- I don't know who I am anymore. I'm scared."

If your heart could even break any more, it just did. Knowing how insecure Spencer had felt previously and how he had gained so much confidence since you've gotten together. To see this confidence shattered pained you so much.

"Oh, Spencer. I can't even imagine what you have gone through, but I'm so proud of you, you know?" at that he perked up, his previously downcast eyes now meeting yours, "I am proud of you. You did it, it's over and your're here now. You're safe you know and I'm so glad you're back. I love you so much Spencer and I will help you in any way I can. But please, you need to talk to me. I worry about you, because I deeply love you and I only want the best for you."

You could see tears glistening in his eyes again.

"It won't be easy you know... trying to love me."

"Spence, I don't have to try to love you, because I already do. I love you unconditionally, no matter how hard times may get, I'll always be there for you, okay? Loving you is not a task or a burden, but it's a choice. And everyday I wake up and I chose you," with your last word your finger pokes his chest and Spencer finally realsies that this is real.

He is not in prison anymore, he is free. He has you, the love of his life who also loves him back.

Spencer can't take it anymore, he throws himself into your arms and he lets the tears fall freely, soaking your shirt. You don't mind and you also know that he knows that.

This is not over and it will take a while for everything to get back to normal - or whatever normal will be in the future - but now you both knew that it was going to be alright.

the requests for this event ARE CLOSED! thank you to everybody who requested something, I'm now getting to the last ones.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

regular requests open! (now also for the x files)

taglist: @silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@bigbananaa @mmmmokdok

#x reader #reader insert #ao3 #love #fluff #no y/n #criminal minds #hurt/comfort #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #prison arc #500 follower event #softestqueeen fic

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teddy06writes · 9 months ago

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Whumptober Day 9 - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x gn!reader

Prompt: Falling asleep in a hospital room

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of flight accident/sustained injuries but no detail descriptions, my inability to describe a hospital

Summary: When a training incident gone wrong lands Bradley in the hospital, you insist on staying with him.

When you'd gotten the call, your heart had dropped right out of your chest.

You had returned home from a day at work, hardly even noting that Bradley had still yet to text you that he had landed and should be heading home soon.

Halfway through trying to decide what to make for dinner, the phone had rang, delivering you the terrible news. There had been an accident, and your husband was being taken into emergency surgery.

As soon as the call had ended, you were scrambling to find your shoes, dinner completely forgotten. On your way out the door, you called Maverick, demanding answers.

"Hello-"

"What happened? Is Bradley going to be alright? They didn't give me many details, did he look bad?"

Over the phone you heard Maverick sigh deeply, "(y/n), you need to take a deep breath. They just brought him into surgery."

You started your car, transfering the call over the speakers, "But what happened?"

Again, the older man sighed, "You know him, pushing limits and letting Hangman egg him on. His emergency landing was fine, it's just that he was hitting a lot of Gs. Broke his collar bones or something- I'm not sure kid, they wouldn't tell me all of it."

You swallowed thickly, putting on your turn signal, "I'm almost at the hospital. I'll keep you updated."

~~ "Hi, my name is (y/n) Bradshaw, I'm here for my husband, Bradley, he's a naval pilot, I got a call saying he was brought in for emergency surgery."

The woman at the nurses station nodded sympathetically, "Let me see if he's out yet, hun."

You stood, waiting anxiously as she typed away on a keyboard. Around you, the hospital was surprisingly busy, despite the fact that it was getting quite late.

"Alright, it looks like he's not out yet, but I will update you as soon as I can, okay?"

You nodded, "Thank you."

The wait was unnerving. Around you, people drifted in and out of the waiting area, and with nothing to properly distract yourself with, your imagination ran rampant, coming up with the worst possible scenarios of what could've happened to Bradley while in surgery.

Finally, the nurse from earlier approached you, "They're bringing him back up to recovery now, if you'd like me to show you to the room."

"Yes, please," You were on your feet in an instant, "He's okay?"

She nodded, "The surgery was successful."

The recovery room was a buzz of activity when you arrived, as nurses hooked Bradley up to a heart monitor and replaced his IV. It took a moment before any of them noticed you hovering in the doorway.

"Ah, you must be the spouse," One nurse said, finally turning to you, "My name is Lisa, I'll be the main nurse on duty tonight. The bad news is that your husband broke his collarbone and fractured his arm. The good news is that his surgery was successful, and he should be alright in a few weeks."

You smiled, relieved, "Thank you so much."

"It's no problem. He should be awake within the next hour or so. If you need anything, the call button is right there next to the bed."

She disappeared out into the hallway, and you took a seat beside Bradley's bed, the adrenaline of the day finally beginning to bleed away.

It was a relief to have him there in front of you, even if he was still asleep and bruised. You scooted your chair even closer to the bed, taking his limp hand in yours.

Despite the fact that Bradley was alright, the time seemed to pass even slower. As the hour grew later, and your husband stayed asleep, your eyes grew heavier, and if visiting hours had ended, no one had told you.

As Bradley came to, the first thing he felt was the ache of his arms and chest, dulled and muted by whatever pain meds he'd been put on.

When he finally rosed himself enough to drag his eyes open and take in the somewhat familiar sight of a hospital room, the first thing he found was you, at his bedside, fast asleep in an uncomfortable looking chair.

Your hand was still tangled in his on top of the sheets.

#teddy06 writes #teddy06 #teddy 06 #teddy06writes #teddy06 attempts a writing event #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick x gn!reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x gn!reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x gn!reader #rooster x reader #rooster x gn!reader

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guacamolleee · 4 days ago

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too many good choices for the WIP ask meme 😭I want to know about ye old texting and domestic... but since I gotta choose one: say more about the omegaverse? 👀

Ask me about my WIPs!

Well, obviously, now I gotta talk about all three! 🤣

Emmrook ye olde sexting

I got like three different prompts about leaving notes for your lover to find, and I'm currently attempting to do the Summer Spice smut challenge, and there was a prompt there for dirty talk. Smooshing that together gets us: ye olde sexting via love notes 🤣

It starts off sweet. Short and simple like Rook leaving a small "Hope you have a good day at work!" note in Emmrich's bag. Or "I love you" notes hidden in his drawer. Then it continues to escalate until it's dirty notes at the least expected time that he has to hide them from his colleagues and students OR ELSE. He wears a blush the entire day after he finds them.

It's going to be epistolary style, so I'm going to be actually writing the notes so that's going to be fun.

Emmrook domestic

This is a gift for one of my closest fandom friends <3. I'll be using her Rook here. It's also one of the ones I'm integrating with the Summer Spice smut challenge. The plan is sweet and hot — a slow morning, cooking breakfast that turns hot and heavy. Over the table, standing doggy, robes/pajamas still on, just pushed aside 😌

Emmrook omegaverse

ohoho, this one has been in my WIP folder for SO LONG. There's not much about it besides what's on the tin: it's Emmrook omegaverse smut. I don't have like a big in-universe reason for it. I just wanted Emmrich to knot Rook with his dick until they're both crying 🤣

Have a snippet under the cut 😏

“Darling,” he managed to choke out, “You're in heat.”

The words knocked the air out of her. Heat?

She hadn't been in heat since she was a teenager, not since she first presented and started taking her suppressants. The suppressants that were in her pack—

Her eyes widened. No, no, no, no, no — a terrifying realization hit her. She had not taken her suppressants in weeks. She had run out of them, was planning to buy some but never got around to it between each new disaster after the other.

Oh, she was going to be sick.

“Rook, darling, breathe for me.” Emmrich's voice rang through her room, and his scent was in her head, curling around her like ribbons. “I'll help you. But I need you to stay here, can you do that, darling?”

She whimpered head in her arms on the back of her green couch.

“I know it hurts, darling, but only for a little bit. I just need to run to the Necropolis to get something for you and you'll be right as rain.” He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself but seemed to immediately regret it, breathing in a full nose of her scent. He stepped away, back practically against her door, his fingers twitching at his side.

He was leaving her, and her face scrunched, her scent turning sour as tears pricked her eyes. Why was he abandoning her now? “Emmrich…”

“I'll try to be swift, and I'll let the others know not to disturb you.” He turned around fingers gripping the doorknob as he took shallow breaths. “Everything will be alright, my love.”

***

Everything was not alright. Rook burned from inside out, the pounding in her cunt turning worse and worse.

She tried to be good, she really did — stayed in her room, staring at the fishes as the fever rolled through her, and sweat dampened the couch. But it quickly turned unbearable, mind foggy and muscles aching, misery lacing through her skin. She didn't want to be here — she didn't want to be alone. In the most primal part of her psyche, she knew how to make this better, but Emmrich had deemed it necessary to abandon her.

Emmrich. Her mind latched onto him.

Rook knew exactly what she needed. She wasn't entirely sure how she managed to get her clothes back on — wrong and hot and painful — or how she stumbled into his laboratory without alerting half the Fade.

But she did. She climbed the stairs, pulling at the laces of her shirt again and the band of her pants, taking them off and leaving them behind as she was wrapped in his scent. It felt good against her feverish skin, and she nearly started rubbing herself all over his books and his desk. She doubted he would appreciate that, and she was striving to be a good, good girl.

Finally, she found it, through the haze and brain fog, the little mechanism that unlocked the bookcase hiding his bedroom — and she let herself in.

#emmrook #emmrich volkarin #veilguard #dragon age #wip ask game #guacamole asks #the-capricious-one #oc: thana ingellvar #(for two of these wips)#guacamole writing

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bvidzsoo · 1 month ago

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3.5k follower event

Hii, my lovelies! Surprise, surprise, surprise! Thank you so much for reading my stories, for the support you continue to offer me, and all the follows. Since I've hit this small personal milestone, I thought about gifting you something little back as well.

I am opening my ask box for requests for one week (01.06.25~08.06.25)!

𓍼 Criteria for requesting:

genres: fluff & angst; I will not write smut for this event, but it can be suggestive; you must be over 18 to request anything that's suggestive, though!

tropes and setting: I am comfortable with writing almost anything as long as it doesn't contain topics that are too dark; please specify which genre and trope you'd like, as well as the setting when requesting (ex.: supernatural au-idk like vampires-with enemies to lovers; zombie apocalypse with angst and best friends to lovers, etc. let your imagination run wild! ^^)

You can select up to two prompts when requesting, and of course, please specify which member(s) you'd like (unless you want me to choose); I also write m x m stories, so that can be requested as well, just specify which members!

This event is for Ateez, but if anyone wishes to request with Red Velvet, I can write that too!

𓍼 As for the storyline, you can choose from the following prompts:

Quit smiling at me, I can't stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.

Could you hold my hand?

Aw, you're blushing like a rose.

Your lips are really warm.

Would it be too cliche if we matched clothes a little?

Wait, don't pull away...not yet.

First second I saw you, and I couldn't get over how beautiful you were.

I can't get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name, and now you're having breakfast with me in my sweater.

You're staring again.

Would you just shut up and kiss me already?

You can't banish me! This is my bedroom, too!

God, here- just hold my hand.

We never speak of this again, do you hear?

I don't talk about you all the time!

What are you so afraid of?

I don't think I've ever seen you smile.

That kiss...did you really mean it?

I guess this means we belong to each other now, hm?

A date? Sorry, but I have to go home and laugh at that idea.

You were my first kiss.

Take. A. Shower. Now.

Did you sleep here on the bathroom floor?

White paint has more color than your face.

Well, I still have my pants on, so not that drunk!

Are we about to kiss right now?

I don't think I can sleep after that...

Do you normally go this long without sleep?

Oh my God, I don't care!

How many fingers am I holding up? ... I don't have six fingers.

I wasn't that worried, I was just wondering where you were...

Woah, what the hell happened to you?

Please correct me if I've been reading this all wrong, but...

Put that bat down, okay?

Scream all you want. Nobody's gonna hear you.

Oh, I'm sorry, does this hurt?

Do you ever wonder if we've met in another lifetime?

It's not up for discussion, you're my date.

I can't think straight with you.

You don't intimidate me. Cut the act.

For once, I'm not the bad guy here.

If you pass out, I'm not going to catch you.

Okay, what are you doing in my Spiderman onesie in my bedroom?

How the fuck did you survive that?!

I'm a psychopath making a difference!

I must be in heaven.

You come to my room and wake me up at 4am, to cuddle?

I'm pregnant.

I know what you did.

Who even made you the leader?

You're a freak, bro.

𓍼 all prompts were taken from Pinterest; divider

↳Perm. taglist: @licityvibes @thestarskiller @tinyelfperson @chicksmoothie @vcutparis

@faeriehwa @chatsgotmytongue @watermelon2319 @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @e3ellie

@yunhogrippers @rainteez02 @jay-2056 @imgenieforyou-boy @babyshrk

@doublebeesquared @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @faeriehwa @hhollyxo @beljakovina

❀ join the taglist here if you're interested! ^^

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dreamingofep · 10 months ago

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Forbidden Love pt. 5 💔❣️

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Reuniting with Elvis was supposed to be the highlight of your summer, but with unresolved tensions between you two, things aren't what they seem. Fem! reader]

TW: Cussing, teasing, little angst, little fluff, SMUTT!!!

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: Hello everyone! Forgive me for taking so long to write this part. It's been quite busy since coming back from Elvis week and for whatever reason, I could not write anything spicy to save my life. I felt it was so bland and missing something! Then it finally hit me of what this needed heh.😏 I hope this was worth the wait! I'm happy with how this part turned out 🤭

You couldn’t sleep that night. Your brain would not shut off and all you could do was think of those damn hands touching you in all the right places. It felt even worse that John was inches away from you fast asleep. You decide to get up and read in the living room to see if that’ll make you go to sleep faster. You needed the space. Sleeping next to someone tonight just felt wrong.

You turn on the small lamp next to the sofa and pick up something off of your bookshelf. You read the first few pages but you find yourself thinking about Elvis. About his eyes. About his hands. About how good he made you feel without you saying what you wanted. You were upset at yourself for thinking such things. You should have walked out once you found out Dianne wasn’t there. But you didn’t. You stayed and let Elvis take care of every last desire you had last night.

You grunt frustrated and slam your book closed. You slump into the couch and try to get him off your mind. You must have laid there for hours and nothing was working. Those damn hands were taunting you even when they weren’t touching you. Your eyes finally feel heavy and you doze off to sleep.

You woke up a bit jolted, not knowing what time it was. It was only eleven o’clock and you didn’t work til later in the afternoon so that made you relieved. John walks into the room dressed for the day and looks surprised you’re out here on the couch.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks surprised.

“I couldn’t sleep last night. I didn’t want to bother you so I came out here to read,” you explain.

“Mmm, okay. I’m about to head to work. Do you work tonight?” He asks.

“Not til four,” you tell him.

“Okay see you,” he says as he goes for the front door. He quickly stops and pats his pockets. “Shit where’s my keys,” he mumbles to himself. He goes back to the bedroom to search for them.

The shrill sound of the phone ringing makes you jump off the sofa and run to the kitchen to answer it.

“I got it!” You yell out.

You quickly grab the blue phone off the wall and bring it to your ear.

“Hello?” You say very chippy.

“Hi, baby. Just the voice I wanted to hear,” he purred.

Elvis.

You feel yourself crumble a bit hearing that smooth, tenor voice ring into your ear. He sounded like pure, smooth honey and was intoxicating your veins just getting to hear his voice again.

Baby? God, it was so sweet and endearing. You liked how it sounded coming from his mouth. You actually liked it way too much. Especially when he grumbled it low in your ear as his cock was buried inside of you…

You try to snap yourself out of the delusional memory and clear your throat.

“What do you want Elvis?” You say low, just in case John comes in.

He chuckles slightly, “damn, I can’t just call you to see how you are?” He asks coyly.

You snap, “You didn’t for the last eleven years so I don’t understand why you would start now,” you scowl. There was a long pause on the other side of the telephone. You knew you got under his skin. You honestly didn’t care your words were borderline mean. It was the truth and it still hurt you. Even after everything you two did yesterday, it didn’t make up for the pain of losing a friend after all these years.

The silence continued and he still didn’t say anything. You feared he might have hung up.

“Elvis?” You whisper.

“I want you to come over.” He says. His tone made your hair stand up. This wasn’t a question, it was a command.

“What?” You hiss.

“I want you here, now,” he sneered.

“No,” you snap back, “I’m not going over when John is there,” you explain. It was all too risky. You didn’t trust Elvis to be subtle about anything.

“I won’t ask again honey. I need you over here,” he says and the sound of the receiver clicks.

You hotly hang up the phone and put your hands on your hips. This man made you extremely frustrated. Who does he think he is? Ordering you around like you’re just some kid. He had never spoken to you like this.

But damn it curiosity was getting the best of you. What the hell did he want! What could he possibly want from you? You already told him you were not doing anything… salacious with him. It was the heat of the moment and you swore it would not happen. You were just there twelve hours ago. You were not going to let him have his way again.

You quickly put a dress on and fix up your hair.

“John don’t leave, I’m coming with you,” you yell out, hoping he hasn’t left yet. You put on some mascara and lipstick and rush out to the living room. John gives you a confused look.

“Why do you want to go to Elvis’?” He asks confused.

Your brain scrambles for a logical explanation. Nothing seemed like a good enough reason and you panic.

Because he told me to come over and I can’t say no to him.

“Well umm… that was his housekeeper that called. I forgot my pie plate and she also wanted me to write down my recipe so she could make it for Elvis whenever he wanted,” you say nonchalantly. The lie you constructed seemed good enough. John shrugs his shoulders not really caring for the story but doesn’t protest.

“Oh okay whatever, let’s go,” he says as he goes to the front door. You sigh a breath of relief that he bought the story and you wouldn’t have to elaborate anymore. You quickly rush to the passenger side and get in, zooming down Sunset Boulevard, not knowing what state you’ll find Elvis in. Is he going to be really upset by your brazen behavior? No, you had to stay firm in your feelings. You can’t just forgive him like that. He can’t just waltz into your life again after all these years and try to act like nothing happened.

With your wandering thoughts clouding your judgment, you realize you both were about to pull into the rod iron gates of Hillcrest house, seeing Elvis standing out in the driveway with a cigar in his mouth. His expression was blank and unwavering. He wore a dark green shirt and black slacks, with a colorful scarf that hung around his neck. A few strands of hair fell down on his forehead and gave him this dark, brooding look. You take a deep breath and pray this visit won’t be long.

You try your best to act like nothing is bothering you. That this is going to be a brief visit and what you two did last night will not be even thought about while being under his roof. You nonchalantly walk past Elvis and give the most gracious and polite greeting.

“Hi Elvis, nice to see you,” you say shortly, giving him a weak hug and walk into the house like it’s your own. He didn’t even hug you back.

You walk into the cool air-conditioned house and don’t exactly know where to go. You didn’t want to be right in the middle of the entryway if Elvis decided to walk in right after you. You decided to go to the kitchen and actually act like you were getting the pie plate you forgot.

The kitchen was clean and well-organized. There was lots of natural light that poured into the room and the smell of something in the oven made your mouth water. On the back counter, you do see your cleaned pie plate sitting there. The housekeeper walked into the kitchen and was surprised you were in there.

“Hi y/n what a nice surprise, I wasn’t expecting you to stop by,” she says sweetly.

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry about that. I just stopped by to say hi to Elvis and get my pie plate from last night,” you explain.

“Oh not a problem dear, I cleaned it for you,” she says as she goes to pick it up from the counter and hands it to you. “You’ll have to give me the recipe, Elvis was going on and on about how great it is to all of the guys. It was gone by the morning,” she laughs.

Your lie somehow got construed into reality and you don’t exactly know what to say but your nervous energy gets the best of you and you laugh too.

“Oh yes of course! Did you know it’s always been his favorite? I used to make it all the time when I’d visit Graceland. Any party he’d throw, I knew I needed to bake something or he’d pout about it if I didn't,” you giggle. That memory does make you genuinely happy. Those were such good times and wish you could go back and relive them.

“I don’t doubt it, honey. That sounds just like Elvis,” she says gleefully, “Let me grab you a pen and paper. Did you enjoy dinner last night?”

You pause and have to nervously look always from her. You nod your head at her and try to put on your best smile.

“Oh yes, it was absolutely delicious! You really outdid yourself,” you try to say even though you didn’t have a bite of it last night.

It ended up on the floor along with your clothes.

“I’m sorry about the little accident, we were clumsy and the plate fell,” you try to explain. She flashes you a confused look.

“What accident? There was nothing out of place this morning when I got here,” she tells you.

Elvis must have cleaned up the mess he made after you left which left you shocked honestly. Elvis always had someone helping him out with any sort of task. Even years ago, he always had a small group of guys that would go out with him anywhere he went. You see by the size of his entourage now that same principle applies. Even at Graceland, he always had two housekeepers working for him that would do anything he asked. They’d make any meal for him and clean up after him too. It really did shock you she didn’t walk in this morning to find the shattered plates and wasted dinner on the marble floor like when you left.

“Yeah… umm, Elvis accidentally broke a dish but he must have cleaned it up after I left,” you say a bit timidly.

“He broke one of the plates? Agh that boy really needs to be more careful! He’s always breakin’ stuff. But I’m glad you enjoyed the meal. It’s one of my favorites to make. I can give you the recipe if you’d like?”

She stops suddenly and looks past your shoulder, wearing a smile on her face, “Oh, hi Elvis we were just talking about you. Is there anything I can get you?” She asks sweetly.

You turn around quickly and hold your breath when you look at him. He was standing closer to you than you were expecting and of course, he was looking criminally good. You shouldn’t be surprised anymore but you still find yourself looking at him in awe. He has a cute smile on his face, the same one he’d give you when he saw you walk in the front door of Graceland.

“No that’s alright dear thank you. I just wanted to talk to y/n privately if you don’t mind,” he says charmingly.

“Oh of course dear. I’ll be around if you need anything,” she says courtly and walks out of the kitchen quickly.

Now you two were alone again and the tension between you two could be cut with a knife. The way he looks at you… God, those eyes are scorching, blazing with an intense heat. He was like a vortex you couldn’t escape. Why would you? The way his eyes melt into your body and make you feel uncomfortably warm just being in his presence. You watch as his eyes drink you in. Like you’re his favorite drink on this warm June day and he can’t get enough of you. You’re coming to learn that you feel incredibly insecure when he does this. How his eyes are undressing you in plain sight and how he lingers on certain parts of you. You cross your arms against your body so he can get the message you don’t appreciate his rude stares.

“What did you want?” You ask more gently than you did when you asked him on the phone earlier.

He takes a few steps closer to you, not breaking his heated gaze. You back up slightly and huff when you feel your backside hit the counter. You had nowhere else to go and Elvis keeps walking closer to you. He puts his hands on your hips and slowly pulls you into his body. You both sigh and you look up into those big, pleading blue eyes of his.

“I missed you,” he murmurs holding you. He leans down and places a soft kiss on the crook of your neck. You take in a sharp breath when you feel his soft lips touch your skin. You try to hold back the pleased sigh you want to make. He felt too good pressed against you and he knew it.

You push at his chest slightly to get him to look at you.

“No you didn’t,” you mumble. He stares darkly at you, not liking your response.

“Why would I say it then,” he growls. Your heart gallops by his tone and the look he’s giving you.

“I don’t know. We’ve only spent a few hours together, I doubt it was life changing for you…” You look away quickly, not wanting to see his reaction to that, “I don’t really know you anymore Elvis, have you forgotten that?” You say weakly. You slowly push at his chest more so he gives you space. He obliges and frustratedly ruffles his hand through his hair.

“Shit,” he grumbles to himself as he turns away from you momentarily. You nervously watch him pace the kitchen like a caged tiger, sighing and cursing under his breath. His energy made you feel on edge and you’re not sure if you should leave or if that’s going to make him more upset.

He stops and turns back to you, his eyes serious and dark.

“You regret it, don’t you?” He says shortly. You look at him stunned, you feel the air get sucked out of you.

“No, of course not,” you tell him.

“No, don’t lie. Just tell me. Do you not trust me? What is it,” he snaps a little too loudly for your liking.

“Keep your voice down,” you snarl, “I’m telling you the truth Elvis. I don’t regret anything. You just can’t act like everything is fine between us all because we had-,” you stop yourself quickly before saying it out loud. You still couldn’t wrap your head around the last twenty-four hours. None of this seemed real. His eyes were hurt when they looked at you. He didn’t like how you were dismissing most of the moments you had together so far.

He walks back towards you, trying to recollect himself before speaking.

“What can I do then? What can I do to make you realize my words are genuine?” He asks, bringing his hand to your cheek and softly caressing it. You couldn’t denounce how nice it felt to have him touch you so tenderly. You look up into his hurt eyes and see how he’s waiting on bated breath for an answer from you.

You place your hand over his and gently pull it down from your face.

“By starting to treat me like a friend again. I told you, I’ve missed my friend for so long,” you admit, holding his hand in yours.

He sighs, fluttering his eyes and shaking his head slightly.

“Honey, I’m sorry but that’s really hard for me,” he declares.

“It might take some time, yes, but I think it could be nice. We can start over and catch up. I know there’s been so much you’ve been up to and-,” You start to ramble but he cuts you short.

“No, honey, I don’t think you understand me. I don’t think I can just be your friend anymore I-… I want something more from you,” he insinuates as he brings your hand up to his lips and kisses the back of your hand. Another spark rushes through you as you feel him touch you.

“Jesus Elvis,” you sigh, “No, we can’t. Have you forgotten I’m married to someone,” you say a bit defeatedly.

“No I haven’t, but you’re not happy. Just the way you said that sounded like it’s a burden,” he says bluntly.

You freeze and realize he’s right. You think you’ve felt like this for a while but have buried it deep down inside you. You’ve been so focused on just getting by and not realizing that the foundations of the house you made with that man, the one you made vows to, have detrimentally cracked.

“Elvis please, don’t make this harder than it actually has to be,” you sigh.

He pulls you into his arms again, trying to comfort you in any way he can.

“Let me make it easy then. I want you to trust me. I want you to come to me and tell me about anything you need. I don’t want this to be difficult at all. I really think we need to be in each other’s lives at his point in time,” he tries to reason.

Maybe he is right. Maybe it all comes down to timing. Back in ‘58, it wasn’t the time to be as close as you were so he got shipped off to the army. And even when he came back, it wasn’t time to rekindle your friendship right away. What if it all leads to this moment, in this kitchen, in this house, with him holding you in his arms? Your stomach twists nervously, you didn’t like being out in the open where anyone could walk in seeing you two embraced in each other’s arms.

“Can we talk somewhere more private? I don’t want anyone hearing this conversation or walking by,” you say quietly. He quickly nods his head and motions you to follow him through the house. You prayed he wasn’t going to take you to the bedroom as that would be all too telling what you two might be doing in there. You pull at his arm when you two reach the doorway of his room.

“No please, not in there,” you say worriedly.

“It’s fine honey. No one bothers me in here,” he tells you. You check behind you to make sure no wandering eyes can see you and quickly get in the room with him.

You hold your breath as you take in the space once again. Only one drape was open today and let the golden California sunshine gleam in. You glance at the well-made bed and can’t help but relive some of those moments you two shared there. You sit on the corner of the bed, hunched in stature, not sure where you should start this conversation.

“I do trust you, you know that right? Even though you’ve changed throughout the years, I know that my old friend is still in there somewhere,” you say pointing at the vicinity of his chest. He smiles because of this and nods his head.

“I’m sorry, but I’m here now. Anything you need, I’ll give it to you,” he says as he takes a seat beside you.

“I don’t need anything from you Elvis I-,” your voice cracking as you feel emotions hit you like a train. “You’re right I-, I haven’t been happy. It's been quite some time since I’ve been truly happy. I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore, you know?” You say as tears start rolling down your cheeks. He gently wipes them away and wraps you in his arms again.

“I do, I understand honey. I’m sorry you’ve been going through that,” he says tenderly.

“It’s not your fault, you don’t need to be sorry,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around his body. “It’s just been so hard. We’re barely getting by and my acting dreams are in ruin. He doesn’t care about my feelings or what I want in life anymore. He doesn’t care about the career I want. He is just so bitter towards me. I can’t even remember the last time I was truly content with my life. I hate it all. I hate who I’m becoming... It’s like I’ve lost a piece of myself you know” you sniffle, looking hopelessly into his eyes.

He pauses deep in thought, “yes honey, believe me, I know exactly how that feels,” he says timidly.

He lets you cry, no words being said was the right thing to do. He runs his hand through your hair, soothing you without even trying. He makes you feel at peace. Just the very presence of him has you happier than you’ve been in ages.

“Was I able to take your worries away, even for a short time?” He asks innocently. You lift your head off of his shoulder and look into those intoxicating blues.

“Yes, you did,” you tell him.

“If that’s what you need me to be, then I have no problem with that. I’ll be whatever you need me to be. If you need to cry, I’ll be here to comfort you. If you need someone to talk to, I’ll listen,” he explains as he slowly slides his hand to the back of your neck, keeping you looking at him. “If you need me to show you physically, how incredibly beautiful you are… I can do that too,” he coos.

Your heart skips in your chest, unable to take what he’s saying. In comparison to him, you did not feel beautiful or worthy of being showered with his praise.

You sigh, “you know that last part can’t happen,” you say weakly.

“Baby,” he sighs, caressing you in his arms, and placing soft kisses on your forehead. “Last night was… one of the best nights of my life. It’s something I’ll never forget. I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” he says softly.

That just about knocked the wind out of you. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you had thoughts about over the years what it would be like to be with Elvis. In some weird way, he knew you had. Especially after he left for the army. Those memories of the night you shared were etched into your brain forever. You’d lay there late at night, remembering how much you wanted him here in your bed, caressing your body and taking care of every last need you had.

“Don’t be sorry,” you mumble looking down at your shaking hands. You couldn’t handle being this close to him.

“Please forgive me for how I’ve acted. I should have taken care of you that night. I should have been here, treating you better,” he says, grazing your arm with the softest touch.

You look back at him and can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. It was everything you had been waiting for him to say to you. It felt like some weird dream but he was very much real and telling you just what you needed.

“It’s okay…” you mumble, looking at his lips.

“I-, honey I want to take care of you,” he whispers.

You shake your head, “I don’t deserve that honey,” you try to reason.

“Yes, you do. Let me show you how much I want you. I want you here with me. I couldn’t sleep all last night,” he grumbles, placing his hand on the inside of your thigh. You jump slightly at his touch. It was so alluring and you had to fight to move it higher.

“I know, I couldn’t sleep either. I was up late thinking about you,” you whimper.

He squeezes your thigh, liking to hear that you were thinking the same things last night. He grumbles softly to himself when you place your hand on his leg too.

“What were you thinkin’ about honey?” He asks gently.

“Just not believing what had happened. That it was real,” you say blushing.

“I know, I was in a bit of shock once you left,” he says jokingly. He scoots back on the bed with the pillows against his back. He reaches out his hand for you. “Come here baby,” he pleads.

It took everything in you to fight the want to sit next to him on his bed. This would be the perfect opportunity to leave. Keep it on good terms and keep your clothes on. But he always knows how to pull you in and get his way.

You go to him and crawl back on the bed where he’s sitting. Before you have the chance to sit next to him, he quickly lifts you up and sits you on his lap. You look at him stunned, not able to move from his very shocking behavior.

“I just want you close baby,” he says coyly. “What else were you thinkin’ about that was keepin’ you up so late,” he says low, his hand firmly around your waist. His hands felt like quicksand. Every touch and caress made you weaker and melt into his lap.

“I was thinking how much I liked your lips on mine,” you tell him, rubbing his soft lips with your index finger. “And how I loved it when they gave me the most satisfaction I've felt in years,” you sigh. His eyes light up when he hears this, you absent-mindedly twirl the scarf around his neck with your other hand, feeling how soft it is.

“Mmm, good baby.” He grumbles as he pulls you in for a kiss. There was no hesitation from you, your lips eagerly met his and you two clashed like wildfire. His heat consumed yours and you both ached for more from each other. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer.

He makes small groans as he kisses you more while his hands freely roam your body. You knew you said to yourself you’d try to denounce him, that you swore you wouldn’t find yourself in this situation again, but damn it you loved being in his arms. You pull at his scarf and take it off of him, tossing it to the floor. You sneak your hand into his shirt and feel his soft skin. He sighs and stops kissing you briefly.

“Was I right the other day?” He asks with a serious tone.

“Right about what?” You say a little confused and dazed.

“That you still think about my hands when you’re alone? When you’re touching yourself,” he says slyly, his hand snaking up your calf. You take a sharp breath in as you feel his fingers creep higher under your dress and rest on the inside of your thigh. You make a frustrated groan and bury your face in the crook of his neck, trying to hide the way your cheeks are flushed from the filthy thoughts you’ve had over the years. His fingers creep higher until they find your lace panties, resting his hand there. You squeeze at his arm, fighting the way your hips want to lean into his touch.

You feel your heart beat loudly in your chest and don’t know what to say to him. You just can’t tell him some of the things that have crossed your mind. He’s patient, coaxing the answers out of you as his fingers start to gently circle your clit. Wetness pools in your panties and you’re dying for him to be inside of you.

“Tell me, baby, I wanna know,” he murmurs.

You kiss his neck and grumble frustratedly. You look back up at him and see his pleading eyes look back into yours.

“Yes you were right,” you huff, placing a kiss on his cheek and hiding your face in his neck once again. His fingers continued to tease while his other hand helped spread your legs apart. He lifts your face to look back up at him and he has the most pleased look.

“I know. I know because I haven’t stopped thinking ‘bout you,” he says as you gasp from the friction he’s giving you.

“God those hands kill me…” you grumble. He hums softly and continues to tease.

You grasp onto his shirt and tear at it frustratedly. You couldn’t handle how much you needed him. His fingers pull your panties to the side and discovers how wet you’ve become and he groans.

“God baby you need me don’t you?” He asks, his voice low and gruff. All you can do is whimper and rock your hips into his fingers.

“Yes, I want you so bad. Just like that night,” you whimper.

“You wanted to ride me, didn’t you?” He asks mischievously. You suck in a sharp breath, not expecting him to ask something like that. But of course, he was right. That’s exactly what you wanted that night. You didn’t want him to stop you from taking off his pants and let you fuck him til the sun came up. You had zero sexual experience then but you were so confident that you could give both of you the pleasure you needed. The alcohol really made you more confident than you should have been.

“Yes, I did. I wanted you to make me feel good but you stopped me,” you say with a hint of whininess in your voice.

He chuckles amused at your behavior, “I know baby. I’m here,” he says as his fingers tease your entrance. “Come and ride me now,” he groans.

You grunt frustrated, you can’t take any more of this and need him. You pull at his shirt and unbutton it. You kiss and nip at his neck, leaving lipstick marks up and down it, creating a pleased grumble to form in his chest. The aching need he has created in you won’t go away without his help.

Your core continues to weep with every motion of his long fingers. You groan helplessly as your hand moves lower and gently rubs his hard cock. He groans silently and pulls you in for a kiss.

“Yes baby, just like that. Please I want you,” he says as he takes his hand out of your panties and finds the zipper to your dress. He slowly unzips it and you get off the bed to take it off of you. His gaze didn’t look away from you. Your heart hammered away as you were about to let your dress fall to the floor.

You let the straps fall off your shoulders and let it pool at your feet. You quickly glance over at him and watch as he looks intoxicated just looking at you. You cover your breasts with your hand and forearm. Your cheeks burn as he continues to stare and he swings his legs off the bed. He pulls you closer to him and places a soft kiss on your lips, pulling your arm away from your body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whimpers. You don’t respond to him, you can’t handle him saying those kinds of things to you. He pulls down your panties and caresses your naked body in front of him. You try to get him to take his pants off and get him to look at something else. He stands up to unbutton them and shimmies them off. He doesn’t wear anything underneath and his cock springs free.

He looked damn good and you couldn’t help but stare at the man.

He pulls your hand to get back on the bed with him and spreads his legs apart slightly.

“Come here baby,” he coos.

You obey and crawl on the bed with him, straddling his hips. He takes your hand and has you wrap it around his cock. You gently pump it and hear him groan as you do this. The throbbing in your core increased as you hovered over his length and rubbed it through your folds. It didn’t take long to coat him with your wetness and the feeling of him made you even more weak.

You both lock eyes and see how badly you want each other. He was desperate for you, everything about him yearned for you and you couldn’t deny him anything. He puts his hands on your hips and helps you slowly sink down on his length. You groan as you take the first few inches of him, holding onto his shoulders for support. This felt better than you could’ve imagined, how he filled you so perfectly and made your walls hug him with each thrust. You moan softly as you take him slowly. He has the same pleased look on his face as he looks at your breasts and down to where you both are connected.

“Oh God,” you cry. He groans in agreement, squeezing your hips tighter.

His hands slither up the sides of your torso to the front of you and squeeze your breasts in his hands. You groan with how this all feels and take a bit more of him. He pushes your body forward and his lips wrap around your nipple. He squeezes your breasts harder and sucks at them more. You can hardly function with him doing this to you. His hips buck up slightly and fills you more, making you groan loudly.

The more his hands moved all over you, discovering new spots you liked to be touched, you grew nervous again like last night and doubts invaded your mind. You were afraid this wasn’t going to be good for him. You weren’t good enough to be with Elvis like this. This wasn’t going to last. You had to be frank with yourself too, you weren’t experienced in this sort of thing. You had only been with one person he was not the adventurous type. You had to face that you were in a sexless marriage. He never asked you for such things from you which made you feel uneasy about a whole other matter you’d have to find out about. Getting on top rarely happened and you hated the way John would look up unamused at you. It made you feel small and unwanted.

You whimper and pull at Elvis’ hair.

“Honey I can’t do this,” you sigh, lifting yourself off of his length. Elvis’ face is shrouded with concern.

“What’s wrong baby? Does it not feel good?” He asks gently.

“No, no it does, I just- I’m afraid you’re not going to enjoy it,” you say weakly looking away so he doesn’t see your apprehensive expression.

He gently turns your head towards him again, caressing your face in his hand.

“That’s not true baby, I’m loving every second of it. I want you to keep going,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“Really?”

“Yes baby, you feel so good, I can’t get enough,” he almost pleads.

You can’t believe what he’s saying and see how desperately he wants you.

He teases you by rubbing his cock through your folds again, making you throb more. You sigh, slowly moving back and forth on his length. Your core ached and needed more of him too.

“Come on baby, take it nice and slow,” he coos.

You nod your head at him and your breathing staggers. You hover over his length again and he helps you line up his cock to your entrance. You slowly sink down on him and feel instant satisfaction. He felt like heaven as your walls hugged him tightly and made your head fall back.

You moved slowly, just like he told you to, and made you both moan obscenities with each thrust.

“That’s it, baby, just like that,” he coos, rubbing your nipples lightly with his thumbs. His voice alone was going to make you finish quickly if he kept this up. You didn’t know how much you liked hearing how much he loved this. It was addicting. You loved getting praise from him you were soon discovering.

You kept moving in slow, controlled motions, loving everything about this.

“Take a little more baby,” he says gently. You nod your head and do just that, filling you more.

“Oh god,” you whimper. You weren’t used to him still. He was overwhelming with the way he’d fill you in the most complete ways. He lets out a pleased groan, squeezing your hips to still you.

“Fuck you feel good baby,” he groans as he lets his head fall back to the pillows behind him. You look away from him and your eyes squeeze closed, trembling on top of this perfect man as you slow fuck him. You move a bit more, crying out his name as your pleasure builds. You feel his hand gently move your face toward him and your eyes pop back open.

“Look at me, Honey. I wanna see your pretty face when you fuck me,” he tells you as he thrusts his hips into you more, pushing his cock deeper. He felt so damn good in this position. His cock pushes on a sensitive spot that could have you screaming his name if you moved faster.

“Okay baby,” you say weakly, staring into his luring eyes.

You can barely catch your breath as he helps you move a bit faster on him. You scratch at his chest and feel yourself become weaker by the second. You were going to finish soon and he was doing everything in his power to get you there. You cry out for him, begging for him to give you more.

“Takin’ me so well baby, fuck,” he grumbles, sending a pleasurable shock through your body. You loved hearing how much he liked it. You didn’t want him to stop.

“Yeah?” You whimper.

“Yes baby, doing so good. You make me want to cum in that pretty little pussy,” he groans, pushing his hips up and burying his cock all the way inside of you. You moan loudly and you let your eyes squeeze shut. Everything about taking him slow goes out the window and you move faster on him. You put your hands on his chest and fuck him harder.

His hands are firmly squeezing your hips and helping you move on him. He stills you when you’re stuffed to the hilt and trembling with need. He rocks your hips back and forth on him and you feel yourself crumble.

“Elvis oh-,” you whine. You feel your walls flutter around him and you grasp onto his forearms tightly.

“You’re gonna cum for me, baby. Let me feel how much you love this,” he groans as he pulls you in for a kiss.

You moan into his mouth as you feel him pound his hips into you. His pace was unrelenting and made your eyes roll back in your head. You tried to muffle your moans but it was no use, every movement had you dying. It only takes a few more slow, deep thrusts and you feel your coil snap. Your walls flutter and squeeze around his cock, making you both groan in pleasure. You claw at his arms and slowly swivel your hips on him as your orgasm rips through you. You let your head fall back, overwhelmed with what he’s giving you.

“Fuck baby that’s right, cum for me,” he coos. You cover your mouth with your hand to muffle the loud moan he just made you produce. God his voice somehow makes you feel more turned on. You feel your core squeeze around him again and he moans your name in response to it. You keep riding him, wanting to make you both feel as good as possible. You see stars behind your closed eyes and feel like you’re on another planet because of him.

Your eyes flutter open and love to see this gorgeous man writhe underneath you. He lets his head fall back and groans with each movement of your hips. Jesus, he looked good like this. You liked it when he looked completely fucked, when his breathing was ragged, and how his eyes drooped heavy with lust. Your body was getting tired, not able to move much more but he was helping you with that.

You watch as his eyebrows furrow together and his mouth falls open slightly.

“Oh baby, I’m gonna cum,” he grunts. Your breathing falters and you grind at the base of his cock, stuffing you to the hilt.

“Cum baby,” you groan, barely able to move anymore.

He squeezes at your thighs and bucks his hips into you, his length pulsating inside you. You cry out for him and look down at him in disbelief. He somehow felt better like this. You rock your hips back and forth slowly on him and feel his warm seed coat your walls. He curses under his breath and looks at you in shock.

“God baby you feel so good,” he grumbles.

“Yes, so do you,” you say lazily. He grunts louder as he feels you grind on him, giving him as much as you can give before your body was too tired to move anymore.

You finally collapse on his chest and cling to him. He tries to soothe you with gentle touches along your back and your head. Both of you struggled for breath and needed to be in each other’s arms.

You start to lift yourself off of him but he pushes your hips back down on him.

“No baby, keep me inside of you,” he whimpers.

You lay your head on his chest and hear his fluttering heart. He was just as excited as you were.

You both lay there for a while, calming each other down after all of that. You were ultimately in shock. You never experienced something like this. It was pleasurable, euphoric, and thrilling all at the same time. You never expected him to care so much about you. The way he practically begged for you. The way he encouraged you to keep taking more of him. It was so attractive. You couldn’t get enough of his voice. It was one thing singing, it was beautiful and melodious. But when he was directly talking to you, it was low and gravely, making you a puddle with his cock stuffed inside of you.

You whisper in his ear, “you felt so good,” you sigh.

He hums softly, “good baby, so did you. I really can’t get enough,” he grumbles.

“Me either,” you sigh, not believing the words that have come out of your mouth.

He runs his hands through your hair, “stay a little longer please, don’t run off like last night,” he whimpers in your ear. You sigh, this wasn’t easy to try to say no to him.

You sit up to look at him, “you know I can’t stay long. I have work later and I was only supposed to stop by here to get my pie plate,” you tell him.

“That was the lie you constructed? That you desperately needed to come back here to get your pie plate?” He laughs.

You roll your eyes and sigh annoyed.

“No questions were asked, it was a believable story,” you joked.

“Well I didn’t have a bite of your pie, the guys scarfed it down before I could get a crumb,” he grumbles.

“Oh no you’re gonna starve,” you tease.

“Oh I’m not complaining, I got a taste of something else last night that was quite…delicious,” he says slyly.

God save me.

“If you want me to stay longer, you’ll have to come up with a good reason this time. I already made up my story to get here, now it’s your turn,” you say smartly. He gives you a cheeky smile and nods his head.

“Okay fine, that’s fair,” he chuckles and pauses to think of a convoluted story to keep you here. He gives you a cheeky smile when he’s got it.

“I want you to bake me something, that’ll keep you here a few more hours. If you don’t, I might just pout about it,” he says childishly and winks at you. Goddamn it he’s good. You laugh softly and sigh, “fine, you win this time.”

He has you wrapped around his finger and he knows it. You didn’t want to let go though.

Tagging:

@loving-elvis @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis

@ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates

@ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@18|kpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers

@idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy-

@elvisalltheway101@austinsmutler@kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog

@louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadestashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

@sloppiest-of-jos@thisis-theway@gatheraheart

@aphroditebabygirl @faeolwen

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis smut #elvis presely smut #elvis x y/n #fanfiction #sammykinz fics #60s elvis

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denaliwrites · 2 years ago

Text

Little Creepy House

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader

Catch and Release Prompt: "Attic"

Summary: The Doctor really doesn't like attics. Unfortunately, that's where the alien of the week is.

Soundtrack: Walking on Air by Kerli

Requests: Open!

Tag List: @nyxiethesimp

Warnings: Canon-Typical Peril.

"Oh, no," the Doctor groaned from behind you. "Why'd it have to be an attic?"

Indeed, the two of you, as well as the owner of the house (and the mother of the missing child you and the Doctor were looking for), were looking up into the dark hole in the ceiling that fed into the house's attic.

Even you had to admit that, staring into that deep dark shadowy black, you were a little nervous too.

Unlike the Doctor, though, you didn't hesitate to climb up the rickety set of wooden steps leading up. Your head popped up over the threshold, eyes scanning the dark quickly before you hauled the rest of you into the room.

"Bethy?" you called out into the dark. Everything sounded... strangely muffled, up here. Your voice didn't reach nearly as far as you expected, and when you heard the Doctor say your name, you swore it sounded like he was speaking through cotton.

"Bethy?" you tried again, louder, more alert now that you knew you had to really make an effort to hear things up here.

Which... was a little odd, wasn't it? You knew attics were sometimes creepy, full of dust and ancient furniture and vintage chests with skeletons in their wedding dresses stuck inside them.

But you'd never heard of a noise-canceling attic.

You were so busy thinking and listening that you forgot to keep an eye on your feet. Something in your path tripped you up and nearly sent you flying. Wheeling around, however, revealed that nothing was there.

Okay, but you knew the difference between tripping on an object and tripping on air -- there had definitely been something there a moment ago. You may not have seen it, but it had to exist somewhere in the vicinity.

A shiver cascaded down your spine in a way that reminded you of the time the Mean Girl in your class had dropped an ice cube down your shirt. In fact, you were pretty sure that the shiver even left behind a trail of cold sweat that only served to further mimic the memory.

"Doctor?" you called, turning back.

Wait, where was the entrance?

There should've been a glowing beacon of light emanating from behind you, but instead, just pure darkness greeted you. Enveloped you. Made you want to cry out for your mother.

"Oh, fuck this place," you growled to yourself, facing ahead and forging on, steps as determined as they were unsure.

"Bethy?" you shouted again after a minute or so, hoping that somehow it'd reach her this time.

Only silence greeted you at first, but then --

"Mom?" a tiny voice cried out, and you spun in place, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. "Mom?" the voice cried again. You swiftly turned to your left and all but ran ahead, not even caring what danger may lay in wait for you.

"Hey, hey, hey," you said comfortingly as you got nearer to where, to the best of your abilities, you'd calculated the voice was coming from. "I'm not your mom, but she sent me. I'm here to take you back to her, okay? You can come out, it's safe."

You thought maybe you'd been wrong, or that the girl had run away, or maybe that she was just considering her options, but only a moment later a small body launched at you like a missile and hit your body with force. Tiny arms circled your hips, and a scared voice whimpered into your shirt. You could hear sniffles, too.

Kneeling down to the girl's level, you pulled her into a hug and whispered comforting nothings for a moment. She needed a parent -- her mother, to be precise. But you were the best she had for now, so it was up to you to fill in the gap.

"Hey, it's okay," you told her, pulling away so that you could look her in the eyes, your hands gripping her shoulders firmly. "We're going to get out of here, and you're going to see your mom and give her a big hug. And I'm gonna see my friend and give him a big hug. Yeah?"

She nodded, trying to contain her sniffles while she wiped away her tears.

"Say it, Bethy. C'mon."

"Yeah."

"That's a girl. Okay. Let's get the hell out of here."

You stood and took her hand, then turned to face the direction you thought you'd maybe come from.

Well, that wasn't good, was it?

Unwilling to show your fear to the girl, you marched on ahead, gently tugging her along with you. For a while, the two of you were silent as you tried to navigate the dark. Then --

"Hide!"

And then Bethy was gone, quicker than you could even process what had happened. "Bethy?" you called, feeling panic rising in your chest. "Bethy? That's not funny -- where the fuck did you go!?"

There was no answer. At least, not from Bethy.

You could hear something, though, lurching closer. Each muffled, thunking step was accentuated by a rattling breath and a growing sense of dread. Suddenly, you understood why Bethy had told you to hide.

Instead of even trying to do that, though, your body stood frozen, eyes locked on a looming shape in the darkness.

A pathetic moan spilled from your lips as the thing moved closer, and you could finally see details -- though you wished you couldn't.

Its body was an ever-shifting mass of shadows, rippling and roiling. You could see limbs -- arms and legs of flesh, but they were unlike anything you'd ever seen before. The legs reminded you of Godzilla with how thick and heavy they seemed, while the arms -- well, if you had your wits properly about you, you would've compared them to a crab. One arm was massive and ended in a sickle-like claw, while the other was significantly smaller, and looked more like a proper arm -- though the fingers were also claws, just... smaller.

And its face was...

Well, you screamed when you saw it.

The scream was short-lived, cutting off as soon as its massive claw lifted menacingly into the air.

Oh, God, this is where I die, you thought. You weren't going to save Bethy, you were never going to see the Doctor again, or your parents, or anyone in your family, or your friends, or -- or anyone. Anything.

"Don't you fuckin' dare," a voice pierced through the darkness, the void, the hollow silence. It sounded dangerous. And it sounded an awful lot like the Doctor.

The claw froze in the air, no doubt only in hesitation, but a moment of hesitation was all you needed to move, to dive for cover somewhere far from that terrible, awful thing.

"That's better," the Doctor said from... somewhere. You weren't sure. Frankly, you kind of didn't even want to know. All you could say for sure was that, for this moment right now, you were safely hidden under a table, which just so happened to be covered with a white sheet, giving you an extra layer of security.

"Now, why are you in some poor single mother's attic, terrorizing her daughter?" the Doctor asked. All he received in response was the suffocating silence of this godforsaken room.

You heard the sound of the sonic screwdriver. The alien, or creature, or whatever it was, finally made a sound -- you thought it might've been a growl. It sounded... like rocks grinding together, but... garbled. Muffled. Like you were hearing it in impossibly deep water.

Your instincts told you to keep quiet, to be silent as the grave. Even quieter, actually, if that was possible.

That deep, gurgling growl, though. It sent such an intense wave of fear through you that you couldn't help the pitiful moan that came out.

There was a shuffle, followed by one of those awful feet stamping the ground. The alien had turned around.

"Oh, I really wish you hadn't done that," the Doctor sighed. "Run!"

You didn't need to be told twice. Where you were running to was a problem for future you, all you knew for the moment was that you needed to get the fuck away from that thing.

You only stopped running when something in the path tripped you and sent you flying towards the floor. You braced for impact, but other than a sharp hiss, you didn't acknowledge the pain. Instead, you turned sharply and grabbed at the thing that had tripped you.

Your hand wrapped around something cool and smooth, and when you drew it closer you saw that it was the leg of an old ceramic doll. Creepy, but harmless. But that didn't explain how it had disappeared earlier.

The wail it released sure did, though.

You shrieked in return, throwing the doll away into the darkness in fright. "What the fuck," you sobbed, "what the fuck. What the fuck?"

Only silence answered you.

Apparently, you'd run far enough away in this impossibly infinite attic that the alien could no longer hear you. Or the silence was so oppressive that even at near distances sound still couldn't pierce through.

Neither option seemed great, to be honest.

Regardless, though, you had to press on.

Rounding a corner, you were suddenly confronted with Bethy. She was facing away from you, looking down a corridor formed from stacks of boxes and furniture. You said her name quietly to let her know you were near. Big, terrified eyes turned back to look at you and she quickly beckoned you to join her.

You obeyed, crouching once you reached her side and looking down the corridor with her.

"It's the dolls," she whispered, pointing. You could just make out small shapes shifting in the darkness. "They won't let us through."

You sucked in a deep breath and released it as a sigh. "Don't worry," you told her, moving to a stand. "I got this."

Acting blithely unaware of your surroundings as you neared where you'd seen the dolls was surprisingly easy as, for the most part, you were rather unaware. However, your ears were honed into any slight sound that could possibly arise from those creepy little fuckers.

So when, miraculously, you caught the scratching of their little porcelain feet on the attic floor, you froze, geared up, and sent a powerful kick in the direction of the sound.

And you were met with the satisfying shatter of its stupid porcelain head.

More sounds started up, no doubt the assault on one had sent the others into a panic. But you were keyed in, and out for blood. Stomping, smashing, and crushing them was like a sport, and at the end of the match you'd destroyed about eight of them, and silence surrounded you.

"Bethy?" you called. "It's safe to come out now."

There was a quiet shuffling, and then Bethy was beside you, clinging to your arm to the point that it hurt. But you said nothing -- you were scared, too, and would probably cling to the Doctor the same way if he were there.

The two of you made your way through the attic, desperate for... well, anything, really. You were sure Bethy wanted the exit, and while you wouldn't say no to that, you were more interested in finding the Doctor.

You felt like you'd been walking for hours when you finally stumbled on the man himself. He was breathless, no doubt from running, but he grinned when he saw you. "There you are!" he said by way of greeting, pulling you into a hug. Then his eyes caught on Bethy, and he knelt down to her level. "And there you are! Your mum is gonna be very happy to see you."

If you ever made it out of this attic, anyway.

The Doctor made a sound at the back of his throat, and when you redirected your attention to him, you saw that he was looking at you rather seriously. "Any ideas?" he asked, eyes flitting for a moment to look at something behind you.

You felt the overwhelming sense of dread growing, and the fear kept you locked in place, unable to look back.

"No," you whimpered.

The Doctor moved closer, taking your face in your hands and forcing you to look into his eyes. "Hey," he said soothingly, smiling. You moaned in response. "Oh, now, none of that. C'mon. Be brave for me, yeah?"

Fear clouded your mind, and you could feel the thing behind you, could sense that claw hovering over you, ready to strike. But as the Doctor spoke, as more and more words of encouragement washed over you, the feeling started to recede.

And with it, you felt the monster retreating.

"K-keep talking," you told the Doctor urgently.

And he did, and you took his every word in, believed every word. As he spoke, and you listened, not only was the monster retreating but the darkness and silence followed it. You were starting to hear things -- birds chirping, a car driving by. A plane overhead. And you could see light beginning to filter in from... somewhere. Anywhere. Everywhere?

All you really saw, though, was the Doctor.

He was grinning -- no, beaming at you.

"Look at you," he said, voice brimming with pride. "Defeating a monster that feeds off fear and isolation."

You released a relieved giggle. "No, that was all you."

"Oh, it wasn't," he told you, his eyes looking into yours. "My words would've meant nothing if you hadn't trusted me. If you hadn't believed me."

"Of course I trust you."

His grin broadened and he let out a breathy chuckle. "That's good, then. That you trust me. We would've been in a lot of trouble if you didn't."

You laughed. "I'd probably be dead."

"We can't have that," he said, suddenly serious again. For a moment you thought maybe the monster was back, but you blinked and when you opened your eyes, he was smiling again. "No dying on my watch, got it?"

"Trust me, I do not have any plans on doing that any time soon."

#tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #doctor who x reader #the doctor x reader #the doctor x you #reader insert #doctor who fic #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who #the doctor #david tennant #canon typical peril #catch and release prompt #i wont say the alien in this fic is the dredge from dead by daylight #but i will say #its heavily inspired by the dredge from dead by daylight

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blackmoonowl · 9 months ago

Note

Ok ok so like, idk if I can combine prompts but I feel like the match so 7 “the way you flirt is shameful” and 1 “omg you’re in love with her” with Macaroni and Sole, where maybe another companion is teasing Mac and it leads to revelation of feelings :):)

"The way you flirt is shameful."

"Oh my god you're in love with her!"

Pairing: Robert Joseph MacCready x reader

Summary: Pathetic drunk MacCready, just for you as a little treat. He interprets your kindness the wrong way and it's picked up on. Also his grief has him in deniable.

Word count: 1873 words

Authors note: Made it a little longer as an apology for the lack of posts, and since it's two prompts. This is written so bad I'm screeching.

The last Super Mutant hit the ground, and MacCready sighed in relief.

The mercenary immediately looked over his shoulder at you, to make sure you were alright. It was a habit he had gotten into over the last few days, weeks even. He hated having you out of his sight, not close by his side. A distantly familiar warmth enveloped his heart as he spotted you. You leaned against the wall, catching your breath as you looked at the carnage around you.

"Hey.. is everything alright?" MacCready carefully questioned, holstering his sniper rifle as he made his way over to you.

"Yeah... miracle no one got hurt," you mumbled, nudging one of the dead mutants with your foot. The Diamond city guards were recovering as well, dragging the most injured of their group back to the settlement.

"I think that's enough fighting for me today," MacCready mumbled, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Besides, it's getting late, don't fancy getting caught off guard." He paused for a moment, flashing you a crooked grin. "Hey, why don't we head to the Dugout inn? All the fightin' we did here should get us a free drink."

You rolled your eyes at him, giving him a light shove as you walked past him. The mercenary swallowed audibly as your hand remained on his shoulder longer than he had expected. It wasn't the first time you had done that, but it sent a jolt through his body every time.

"You coming or what?" Your voice snapped him out of it. You stood a few feet ahead, looking back at him with a small smile.

"Yeah, I'm comin'." The words came out a mutter, and he doubted if you had even heard him. It didn't matter if you did, anyway. He caught up with you with ease. Having the guards around put him a bit more at ease, but his eyes still darting around the quickly darkening area.

A familiar face met you as the gate opened to let everyone back in. The black haired young woman flashed you a smile, peering at you from under her news cap. MacCready should have expected no less of the news reporter. No doubt the entire settlement heard the artillery and the screams of the mutants.

"Well well, if it isn't our hero. Saving Diamond city yet again," Piped greeted you, nudging your shoulder. "Heard the commotion outside, thought I'd come check."

"Because you're worried or because you need something to report on?" You playfully retorted. Piper shook her head with a small smile.

"People are dying for some more intel on you," she responded as you made your way to the stairs. "You've become quite the celebrity around here."

MacCready largely tuned out the conversation. He wasn't too surprised Piper didn't acknowledge him, after all his reputation made him less that popular. Instead his eyes remained firmly on your back as he trailed behind. As the city came into view, he let out a breath. Man, could he use a drink. Anything to put him more at ease, to get you off his mind.

"So," Piper began, snapping MacCready out of his deep thoughts a second time. "I assume given your companion here.." she shot MacCready a look. "You're headed to the Inn."

"You know me too well, I'm flattered!" MacCready piped up, giving the woman a wink. He wasn't too serious about any of it, his mind still lingering on the vault dweller beside him. Piper didn't seem too impressed.

"Well that's... charming," Piper muttered with a sigh before looking back at you. "I could use a drink myself, been a long day. How about I join?"

"Of course, I don't mind." MacCready near groaned at your reply. Part of him had hoped he could spend more time with you alone, but he supposed he couldn't complain. You were safe, that was all that mattered.

MacCready felt right at home as he stepped into the bar. He cursed the way his heart threatened to jump out his throat as you brushed past him in the narrow hall, your hand planted on his back. A scowl crept across his face. He wasn't upset at the comforting feeling of your touch, but at the weak sensation in his knees. He had lost someone before, he couldn't bring himself to reach out to you. He couldn't lose this, not again.

"You're awfully quiet," you commented, halting beside him. His light eyes met yours before following Piper who had already sat down somewhere. Your thumb gently rubbed over his duster. "Usually you're complaining the ears off my head."

"After what I've been through, I think I earned the right to," he grumbled, feeling as if he was nailed to the floor at your mere touch.

"What's with the sudden mood change?" You frowned. MacCready shook his head. He wasn't going to share too much, he always had a problem keeping his mouth shut.

"Just tired I guess.. that whole Super mutant ambush took a lot out of me," he excused himself as you sat down next to Piper.

Vadim Bobrov showed MacCready a large grin, and MacCready forced a small smile back.

"Hey Vadim," he greeted. "Give me the strong stuff." The mercenary tossed a few caps on the table, and was given a bottle in return.

"Rough day?" The Russian asked, and MacCready just nodded as he took a swig. Alcohol had been his greatest comfort in the wasteland, the soothing burn of the liquid feeling more than welcome. he set the bottle back down on the counter.

"Yeah, you could say that," he replied in a lower tone. He heard you and Piper chat beside him, but he couldn't bring himself to get involved.

Robert went through the bottle faster than expected, only a small quarter of the drink left. His thoughts were getting messier as the moonshine began taking effect. It didn't taste good, but that was hardly the point as he found himself glancing at you. The old clock on the wall ticked by as he made his way through the first drink before ordering another. Noises were fading to the background as he felt the comforting numbness on the alcohol. He barely even noticed the conversation between you and Piper had come to a complete halt.

Every muscle in his body tensed as he felt your hand placed on his wrist. Both you and Piper had stopped talking and were now looking at him.

"What?" He simply replied, his voice more strained than he would have liked. The booze combined with his proximity with you made his head spin. He knew he had likely missed his inclusion into the conversation, but he could hardly bring himself to care.

"Really, is everything alright?" you pressed once more. Your fingers stroked the exposed skin of his wrist with your thumb. The half drunk mercenary peered at you from under his hat. Complicated feeling swirled in his mind. Memories and guilt of the past, mixed with a need for you that he despised, but craved so much at the same time.

"You've been zoning out the whole time. If there's something you need, I'm here for you." The hand of the wrist you gently held onto, began to clench as MacCready took another swig of the bottle. Grief, adoration and pure sadness and frustration welled up in him before he spoke up.

"The way you flirt is shameful."

The sober part of his mind instantly regretted his words as soon as they rang through his head. The tone was desperate yet accusing simultaneously. Piper had stopped drinking as well, shooting him a confused look. You on the other hand, looked concerned more than anything. MacCready looked down, his hat hiding his eyes. He couldn't look you in the eye right now. The silence tore at the widowers mind as he held the bottle in a strong grip as your hand stilled on his.

"What do you mean by that?" He heard you ask. MacCready inwardly cursed as your soft hand left his skin.

"Forget it," the merc snapped, pulling his arm back. No, he couldn't allow this, not again. He couldn't open himself to that potential grief again. He didn't need to look at you to know you were hurt. it twisted something inside him he didn't expect.

"Right..." you mumbled, giving Piper a nod. "I'm going to take a look at the Surplus, be right back."

It took the drunken man everything in his power not to beg or to yell at you. You didn't deserve this from him, not after all you had done for his and his sons sake.

"Nice going," Piper's more irritated tone rang through as she sat two seats away from her. "I thought you liked Blue more than that. Something happen that I'm not aware of?"

"What do you care?" He said, letting go off his second bottle of the moonshine.

"'Cause Blue's my friend, I thought that was pretty obvious." That sentence didn't sit well with MacCready's clouded minded.

"You don't know 'em as well as I do," he grumbled, causing Piper to raise a brow.

"Never said I did... no need to be so jumpy. You act like I'm gonna take Blue away from you," Piper sighed as she lit a cigarette. "You're looming over that dweller like you're her shadow or something."

"Got a problem with that?" He snapped, clutching the bottle again, defensiveness creeping up. "If I don't keep her safe, no one will."

Piper looked at him in a contemplative manner, before her eyes began to widen.

"Oh my god, you're in love with her!"

It took everything in MacCready's power not to audible react to Piper. To have something he tried everything in his power to deny in himself laid out that way did things to him.

"You don't know sh...." he trailed off with a grunt. "You don't know jack about me." He raised his finger to order another bottle. tears pricked behind his eyes at the thought about you and the wife he lost.

"Drowning your sorrows isn't gonna help," Piper said as she exhaled some smoke. "Snapping at your only friend won't help you either. She's gonna find out either way, might as well be honest.

MacCready lowered his head in defeat, He had half a mind to scream at her to mind her own business, but he couldn't argue with her.

"You're so damn nosey, you know that?" He replied with an irritated chuckle as he kept his head down, leaning it into his hand. His eyes stared down at the bottle. He was too wasted to consider his options carefully, but sober enough to take in the truth of Piper's words.

"Took you long enough to figure that one out," she replied as she put the cigarette out in the ash tray.

MacCready steeled his nerves, pushing away from the bar and standing up. "I'll go talk to them," he sighed.

"You're not gonna pay for your drinks?" The news reporter questioned with a raised brow. MacCready looked back at her.

"Vadim's a good guy, he'll understand." With those words he stepped outside into the cold wasteland night.

He'd go talk to you.

#fo4 #fo4 maccready #fo4 maccready x reader #maccready x sole survivor #robert maccready x sole survivor #robert joseph maccready #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout 4 x reader

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