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staarboyyy · 1 year ago

Text

Paid in kind

cooper howard [ the ghoul ] x bounty!reader | no pronouns

explicit - minors dni

tags / warnings ; gunplay, breathplay, bondage, spitplay, hairpulling, oral [ m receiving ], throatfucking, wallfucking, creampie, accidental yearning, prolonged eye contact is sexy, switch!cooper is underrated, mentions of past sexual experiences, nondescript reader genitals, rad x as ghoul birth control

summary ; you've been running for weeks, but there's nowhere he won't find you.

word count ; 5.2k

a / n; inspired by the wonderful @ghoulsbounty and @ghoulbrain ! both are such lovely writers, i couldn't help but jump on this old man's bones !! (also as a texan i just had to put a fic out there using my southernisms)

The sun was achingly bright - That was the first thing you recalled. It beat down against the tattered and worn material of what you could manage for clothes, your eyes squinting as they couldn't resist to meet the sky. Everlasting, going as far as you could see - It brought strange comfort to have this one constant in this place, while also being a nice change from the large warehouse you took shelter in. Your feet moved slowly, the gravel against the soles of your shoes shifting with each step, eyes still pinned on the infinite blue stretching above your head forever. Instinctively, you knew being distracted, and taking time to enjoy the small things in this broken world, would be far less than short-lived. Though, taking in slow breaths of the thick air, clogged with the stench of the dirt below your feet and a dry breeze that stung your eyes; So much so, that you hardly noticed the hulking mutated mass moving towards you. It took in ragged breaths, crouched forward, wet tendrils obscuring its surging bloodshot eyes and split-cheeked jaw, messily hanging off the hinges. This action exposed rows of teeth, tattered and yellowed over the years roaming this land - As you whipped your head around, your hand moved with a practiced poise, already hovering over your weapon, itching with the need to draw against this thing that amassed itself towards you. An ear-shattering crack reverberated through the air before you could even finish bearing your teeth, white-knuckling your weapon. The blast was nasty, crushing through the reptile's large skull with an obscene squelch before falling forward to the hot ground with a thud. It lay in the seeping mess of what must be its blood, a dark pungent green, reeking of hot rubber - It stung your nose with a sharp sour tang, churning your stomach as you threw your hand over your mouth, staggering backward from both the sudden onslaught on your senses and the sudden shot tearing through the air.

"Well, well."

Your blood ran cold as the familiar gruff voice came a few yards past the bleeding mess in front of you, your eyes shuddering over the scene to meet the speaker with a widening gaze. He came from around the corner of the warehouse, that man - The one that insisted on shadowing your every move, no matter how far you ran. The soft breeze of the blazing day swept the tattered edges of his long coat, soft jingles following him as he took a few slow steps forward. He had lowered the gun level your face, gloved hands steady on the weapon as his eyes found yours. They were alive - Coherent, a sharp contrast to the little visible skin he showed, stretching scars bound over his cheeks and neck arching down and distorting the grassy texture of his tanned skin. Slowly, his thumb rose, letting it rest on the gun's hammer with a punctuating step.

"Looks like someone's not payin' attention."

You had been on the run for hours, and yet he cocked his head off to the side as his gaze raked over your hardening expression; It was all for nothing, the ghoul hardly affected by the travel you were desperate to turn into escape. Escape from the world that still tangled itself around your neck, pulling you across this wasteland with little, if any direction. Your heart slammed against your ribs, taking in a tentative breath of the nauseating air, keeping your eyes as far from the gurgling body of the reptile. You were hot, hungry, and most of all, exhausted of running. Maybe he knew that - Maybe that's why he chased you, knowing that one day, you would finally give up. The clicking of the hammer being drawn back pulled you from your thoughts, eyes moving to meet the barrel, then scrape back up to him.

"Why don't you just kill me?" It hurt to talk, your throat cut up and raw from breathing the thick radiated air - Still you couldn't shake the question as it pressed past your chapped lips, keeping your eyes pinned on the barrel. It was challenging, how you spoke to the shell of the man. Your eyebrows drew together, focusing past the smoking barrel of his shotgun with an insistent expression. At this, his eyebrow muscles shifted with a slightly suprised chuff.

"So you do speak." The Ghoul. You heard stories, making your way across the wasteland with little you could to make do, falling into bounty work, and getting caught up with bad people - The wrong people. The ones that talked about digging him up, that he would be able to take out the one target that seemingly ruled the wasteland. The Ghoul's voice scraped across the air, the breeze carrying the rough twang in his voice, the jingle of his spurs as he shifted his weight. You didn't care for the stories of your peers; And my, there were stories. Cooper Howard, movie star, face pasted across battered billboards. You also didn't care for the night three men you worked beside insisted on digging him up - But when you saw your face smeared across the radiated land, posters crumbled and pinned messily to boards and the inside of almost every building; You knew he was looking for you.

"I don't know what you want from me," You said in a rasp, unable to dwell on the near teasing tone in his rugged voice, not in this sweltering heat, not with the stifling smell of the creature between you and The Ghoul - The thing, the shell of a man, Cooper Howard; Or at least what was left of him.

"Well - Looks to me, I just saved your life," He mused, clearing the raggedness in his throat as his eyes lowered to your hand. How it twitched over your weapon, tattered gloves hiding bruises and scars. Cooper pushed his tongue to his cheek, head falling slightly to one side as he eyed your trigger-happy fingers strum at your holster teasingly; His mind pulsed with flashing images, the forking of how this awaited meeting would actually pan out. His tongue slid over the grit of his teeth with a slow hissed breath.

"Now, you plan on usin' that thing?"

A beat met you, breath hitching for a moment as he flicked his speculative gaze to return to yours - And just as you caught each other's eyes, your hand moved. Your fingers wrapped over the mangled handle of your pistol, fabric tied over the base for some steadying on your trembling hands; And as soon as you drew, the bullet fired, keeping his eyes on yours as you squeezed the trigger tight. The sound rocketed through the dusty air, his left shoulder falling backward with an unnatural shift, letting his weight fall off to the side as he grunted softly. His gloved hand reached his shoulder, rubbing at the hole now torn through his jacket, hissing through his teeth. You tried to move quickly, the exhaustion cementing you to the hot dirt of the wasteland as your boot heels scraped against the rubble, pushing yourself away from the other. However, it didn't matter now, not as his hand moved from his crooked shoulder to the coiled thick rope slung around his thick belt, wasting no time seeing your sudden urgency to escape.

"Not lettin' you get away again sugar." You nearly made it to your feet as you heard the chilling metal clinks of his spurs, panting as the sun that boiled overhead went dark; Cooper stood above you with a scowl, grasping the lasso now looped around his hands, clutching at the fraying rope with the assured intent to use it. "Now, you best put that toy of yours away. I need you alive." The sharp pull of the lasso whipped through the space between you, taking hold of your throat with a sudden drawn pressure of your quickly swallowing breath. Your hands rose, letting the pistol fall from your grasp as you white-knuckled the rope, now being pulled by it to your feet. Cooper sucked his teeth, tightening the knot with a gruff exhale as your cheeks flushed, blood rushing in your ears in crashing waves. It wasn't choking you per se - Though the pressure spun your head, staggering as he yanked you forward, invasive eyes now inspecting both your growing frantics and the expertly tied knot.

"From how I'm seein' it - I deserve a little kindness for not lettin' that thing tear you apart," You still managed to scoff, even as the rough frayed rope pressed tighter, threatening to take your breath completely.

"Just trading one monster for another," You spoke in a strained voice, eyebrows twitching together as you still tugged at the rope constricting your air, temples pulsing with hot sparks of pain. His lip twitched, eyes darkening and forcing the knot to slide tighter against your throat for just a moment. You choked, breath pulled entirely from your lungs before suddenly falling against the dirt to your knees, ragged coughs pushing between your lips, drinking down gasps of air with a gluttonous groan. Upon opening your eyes, you could make out his boots, and the sound of his soft snickering - He was entertained by it, the way you so quickly fell from challenging him to kneeling, saliva spilling from your lips onto your chin as you coughed on the radiated air, finally able to tear the constricting rope away from your bruised neck. Cooper let it go on, head tilting off to the side with a smug expression before one of his hands met the top of your head. The leather creaked as his fingers spread and tangled themselves in your hair, gripping the locks and yanking back, you had no choice but to rest your watering eyes on his, trying to control your desperate need for clean oxygen.

"You know how many people want'ya dead?" He looked down at you with a blank expression, his jaw shifting slightly as he kept a firm hold on your hair. "Now, I could sure as hell use the caps," Cooper went on, the muscles of his brow shifting as he sucked his teeth. Your mind raced with the many posters you remember seeing, pasted in nearly every store window in Filly - You didn't know the price they set for you, you just knew it was enough to keep your head low and stay far away from any wastelander that seemed a bit too keen on helping you.

"But, I could also see about being paid in kind."

The hot smell of aged leather clogged the wash of dusty oxygen you gasped down in shuddered breaths. He gripped your chin with his free hand, thumbing the pooling saliva glossing over your bottom lip. He looked perversely deep in thought, eyeing the glassy strings as he drew his thumb back, lips parting slightly with a dry chuckle.

"Well ain't you a sight." Cooper sighed the words in a lower tone, as if speaking to only himself. You bared your teeth, jerking your head off to the side with a grunt, the hot sting of his iron grip on your hair causing you to hiss. "Ah, ah. You cut that shit right now," Reluctantly, you squared your shoulders, glaring towards him with a determined expression.

"You've been tailing me for weeks, you know I don't have anything you want." You spoke through grit teeth, making an attempt to reason your way from his grip on your hair, at least long enough to get a better shot on him.

"We both know that ain't true." Silence befell your snarled lips, eyes twitching over changing his expression - It was somber. As close as his mangled face could manage, muscles clenching in his jaw as his eyes sought something distant and familiar. He looked as if he was trying to remember a dream, eyes searching for that connection. How long has it been since he touched another with no violent motive to do so, you wondered. Your eyes softened, a sigh making its way past your cracked lips. Cooper would never admit just how human you were, that familiarity of how your breathing wavered haunting him. The man would not admit many things, that this motive for caps had fallen away weeks ago, that he pictured what this meeting would look like for hours on end; Would you be terrified, fight back as any normal wastelander would? Would you wriggle free of his desperation for a broken connection, even if rooted in malice? Questions like this kept him from approaching you on those nights.

The nights he watched you from afar, making a fire for yourself as you glanced over your shoulder every moment you could, cooking the little amounts of meat you managed to harvest while on the run. He considered interrupting it all, a quiet shot through the night you wouldn't see coming, even going as far as to click back the barrel with an uncharacteristically shaking hand. Though he never did. Even as you slept, and as he held his gun with a ferocious intent to use it, he never even made himself known.

"I saw you." Cooper's grasp on your hair reflected those many nights, fingers twitching, his senses toying with the idea of allowing you to go on or stopping this entire conversation entirely. "I saw you so many times and just waited for the moment you would fucking do it. And you didn't. So please, just be a human for a second and," The man growled, throat rumbling with a charred snarl as he shoved you backward onto the dirt, releasing your hair and wiping the remaining saliva on his glove over his duster. You caught yourself with a grunt - What would it take then? The heel of your palms scrapped into the hot gravel, as you refused to back down. You deserved answers. "And tell me what you want!"

You shouted the last words - If he killed you, so be it. It would just proved to you how much he's lost of himself, the stories, the fuzzy black and white movies you'd heard endlessly about; That you were right the entire time, there was no legendary Ghoul, just a man in pieces reformed by the wasteland. He grimaced at your voice pitching up, hand hovering his holstered gun with an instinctive need to defend himself before glaring down at you.

"Don't look at me like that." He muttered as he watched you push yourself from the ground, grimacing at the throb in your wrists as you knelt with squared shoulders before him. Your lips shaped the words, throat vibrating with the hum of your voice, though they never came to be; What could you say? He wouldn't answer you, and looked at you with pain in his eyes - Your eyebrows twitched, pursing your lips to pacify the pressing questions that threatened to spill. With a slow movement, you lifted your hand, perching your fingers against the worn fabric and leather of his thick belt.

"How do you want me to look at you?" You asked, the question desperate, seeking any answers he would give you. His gaze darkened, head tilting forward to carefully watch your hand, the shadow of his hat cast over his face. A part of you knew he wouldn't answer. Maybe part of you didn't want him to, even as your other hand lifted to slide the coarse leather tail of his belt through the metal buckle, trying your hardest to ignore the holster just off to the left of his hip. As you drew it away, your eyes snuck a glance upwards to meet his eyes. It sent chills through your veins, the focus on his expression a twisted part monster and so painfully human, his brown eyes unable to settle on just one part of you. He hadn't been touched by someone like this in years - Far longer than he could ever explain, let alone remember. His heart stuttered in his chest, lips twitching as a shuddered breath escaped him.

"Like that," Cooper whispered. His voice - Alluring, a deep purr pillowed with a desire. The voice was nearly foreign, the canvas of the wasteland falling away just for a moment; He let himself fall back in time, eyes softening as the familiar pull of his pulse rushed through his veins, the gloved hand that shielded his holster falling away. The warm leather of his glove met your hand, guiding you to him even as his eyes refused to keep your gaze for too long. His grasp on you was soft, his breathing wavering as your palm met the base of his cock, the friction even through his pants eliciting a soft grunt.

Cooper Howard was never a man to beg, even before the wasteland. Though, as he tipped his head back slightly, the word shaped his lips, swallowing back the urge with a clenched jaw. Now was not the time to let his guard down - But your hands were just so goddamn warm. Moving on their own now, your fingers dancing with the rusted zipper and loose button, he pressed his tongue to his cheek, unable to shake the urge. He released your hand and with an animalistically watchful eye, spoke.

"Please." The desperate tone of his growl was not one of demand - It was the need to be touched without scorching ropes, without venomous words, to be human again, even if for just a moment. There it was, you thought. The man in the movies, you could see it in his pleading eyes, in the way his fingers now laced themselves with tremors. He knew better than to be distracted in the heat of the chase, yet in that silent moment, he was helpless. As your touch lingered on the zipper of his pants, a barely audible groan escaped his lips. The coy tug at his clothing was met with barely resisted impatience, his jaw clenching and eyes darting around, warily assessing the safety of your surroundings. With a final click, the last barrier between you and Cooper's now sparking need was removed, freeing him from this teasing torment of anticipation. His cock resembled the rest of his visible skin, scars arching down the stiff base, veins tracing the underside of his shaft, and aching tip beading with arousal; You had your fair share of dalliances across the wasteland, and so had he - Though not like this, your eyes widening slightly as you took in the size of him, how his eyes watched your every reaction. As your hand wrapped around the man's throbbing cock, rugged and needy, hot and pulsating, his breath hitched.

In that moment, you were as much a captor as he was the hunter. The Ghoul's muscles tensed, beads of sweat dewed against his temples; He bit his tongue, silencing the breathy gasps pushed from his lips. Each stroke of your hand along his shaft sent a shockwave of pleasure and agonizing need crashing through him, his lungs straining for breaths that seemed to evade him.

"Shit," Cooper seethed the word through grit teeth, escaping your locked gaze with half-lidded eyes. His cock responded to each one of your movements, his hips stuttering forward in an unpracticed motion as he ached for more. Your thumb breezed over the scabrous tip, gathering the beading arousal now sliding down his shaft with a shudder.

"Like this?" Your lips ghosted over the tip of his twitching cock, eyes heavy as they sought perilously to meet his, letting the hot weight of him press against the soft of your cheek. Hesitantly, his brown eyes found yours, flickering over the wasteland behind you and your tattered clothes, how they shaped the silhouette of your body. His were parted, taking in unsteady breaths with tense shoulders, anticipating your every motion. His eyes were inexplicably human; Perhaps, you thought, for just a moment you could fall into the very same fantasy that he did. That connection, that heat - You craved it just as much as he did. As your tongue pushed from between your lips, you could hear the pleased groan fall from his chest, shoulders rolling back as he yearned for the pleasure you held just over his head.

"Just like that." Cooper gave a slight dip of his chin, shadowing his eyes with the brim of his hat. You hummed at his confirmation, your tongue pressing to the underside of his throbbing cock, generous with your saliva as you slid your mouth to wrap over him entirely. He hissed a chain of curses under his breath, now refusing to move his gaze from yours as his hips eased forward. He wanted more, greedy upon getting the first taste of something so painfully familiar, that heat he craved, the slick warmth of your lips making their way lower around him. Your tongue worked in slow waves, drinking down the salt of his sweat and the sounds you pried from him with every deliberate movement of your head. The texture of his cock rolled over your tongue, the tip now prodding at the soft of your throat, your lips tightening to accommodate the size of him; At this, his hips jutted forward, eyes tightening closed for a brief moment, eyebrow muscles drawing together in a pained expression of impetuous pleasure. He pushed himself deeper, hips now rolling forward in a rhythm he craved, his fingertips tingling as your teeth grazed against the sensitive scarred skin of his cock. "Fuck baby, that's it," Cooper took a heady breath, lifting a hand to his lips and bearing his teeth with a hiss. He took hold of the tip of his glove, swiftly biting down and pulling the thick leather away from his large hand. Warm bare fingers, met your hair, tangling through it with a purr strung tight in the mans chest. You were so soft, hot to the touch, searing his dulled senses with an electric singe he swore he forgot long ago. Glassy saliva slid over your chin, spreading messily over your lips as you took him as far as your throat would allow, the size of him taking your breath. " Christ - Takin' a ghoul's cock down your throat like that," He followed his obscene growl with a shallow thrust, threatening to surpass the limits of your pillowy mouth and throat as he watched you silently struggle for air. He held himself deep inside, each twitch and spasm of your throat working breathy gasps and trembling groans from his shivering body. After a smug moment, he pulled your head away from his length, the sting of your scalp hitching your messy breathing, instinctively moving to wipe the back of your hand against your soaked lips.

Cooper caught your wrist with his still gloved as it rose, swallowing down the biting urge to continue his ravaging of your throat. Sweat traced his jagged features, the shadow of his hat shifting with the glinting sun overhead, his panting causing his broad shoulders to rise and fall. He found himself searching for the words, on the tip of his tongue he could swear it - How long had it been, since he's been run this desperate for someone? His cock tensing and twitching at the simple idea of someone bent over for him? He tugged you to your feet with a chuffed exhale, keeping a firm hold on your wrist to keep your gaze on his. He wouldn't let you go, not now, not as the hunger flamed in his veins, not as he pressed your stomach against the warehouse you once took shelter in. The man pried off his other glove, tossing it to the dirt below your feet. He wanted to feel you.

"Is this what you wanted?" You breathed raggedly, a chuff of an almost smug exhale ghosting past your lips as you rested your cheek against the rusted steel of the warehouse. His hands were invasive, hungry as the rough skin grabbed hold of your waistband, calluses and scars rubbing over your skin as he yanked your pants to your ankles. A glaze of sweat lit your body aflame, his rough palms groping your ass with a shameless groan. "Is this what you pictured those nights you watched me?"

Your words tugged a deep moan from his throat, his bare fingers making their way to your lips; He gathered the left over saliva from your chin, yet your tongue extended to wrap over his middle finger, coaxing him into your mouth with a tantalizing arch of your back. His cock was heavy against your ass, pulsating with a fierce need for release, fingers lathering over your tongue.

"You got a mouth on you, huh?" Cooper leaned down, his length glazed with your saliva sliding over you - He purred in your ear, the throaty bass of his voice stippleing goosebumps over the nape of your neck. He drew his soaked fingers from between your lips, moving to slide them messily against your hole. Your breathing hitched, thighs parting instinctually as his fingers prodded teasingly at your entrance.

Cooper thought of those nights briefly, gloved hand wrapped at the base of his cock as he watched you from afar, teeth crushing into his tongue to silence himself. Cumming to the sound of your voice, the images of you pulsating in his mind wading into his mind, positioned just like this. He chuckled darkly, the tip of his cock throbbing against your soaked entrance. "Arch that back baby - There you go, that's it," He spoke against the shell of your ear, the rough palm of his hand planted at the small of your back, pressing down gently to arch you to his satisfaction.

You don't remember saying his name, though you distinctly recalled the scrawled cursive of navy blue and yellow all over billboards and television screens; There was nowhere he wouldn't follow, there was no way to forget the taste of his name falling over your tongue as he pulled you tight against him, pushing inside you with little hesitation. You could feel him still for a moment, heart staggering in his chest as you cried out. You cried out for him.

"Cooper!"

The man snarled, the palm on your back clutching at your clothes as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of you. The moment your hips met his, he pulled away, then back again. He filled you ruthelessly, pulling your weight against his own just to draw back and fill you again; He clawed at your hips, your lower back, grabbing any of you he possibly could to be sure he'd keep you there. Your head swam with electricity, the slight burn of being stretched so suddenly easing into a head spinning heat, bundling itself tight in your abdomen. Each one of his thrusts stoking the roaring fire in your senses, beads of sweat pooling in the curves of your body as you moved in tandem with the Ghoul.

"Fuck - Sayin' my name all pretty like," He grunted, his head falling back as he pulled one of his hands back, cracking his rough palm against the soft of your ass. You yelped, body flinching at both the sting and the sudden sound, but that seemed to only rouse his hunger for you more. You gasped and arched into the rhythm of his thrusts, feeling the slickness of your saliva and his thickness meld together in a twisted symphony of desire. You pressed against the warehouse, white-knuckled as the pleasure and pain coursed through your body. Every slap echoed in your ears, each time intensifying the sensation, your body clenching around him as you begged for more.

"Cooper, please" You cried out once more, the words tumbling from your lips as if his name was the only thing you'd ever need to say. His hands were tight on your hips, a strangled moan escaping him as he took you. Your eyes fluttered shut, lost to the euphoria of it all. You could feel the walls of your entrance clenching and pulsing around him, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. The Ghoul's rough hands explored your body as your hips began to meet his animalistic thrusts, matching the rhythm and urgency until you were both moving in perfect synchrony, a symbiosis of lust and need. You clawed at the warehouse wall, your legs trembling as your body inched closer and closer to the edge.

"Shit, I'm- I can't, I'm gonna," You knew it wouldn't be long, the coiled rope of need within you was about to snap. A low growl escaped his throat in response, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine, and you knew he was close as well. A hand gripped your hair, tugging gently, his other hand still wrapped over your hip as he drove into you with renewed fervor.

"Cum for me, baby," He moaned for you, a bated breath on his lips. And so you did, the world shattering around you in a wash of blinding pleasure, the shudder that wracked your body echoing the spasms of your core. You screamed his name once more, the sound guttural and raw, as you shattered into pieces, your climax washing over you like a tidal wave. Each spasm of your inner muscles caused him to shudder, his own release close at hand. You could feel your knees shaking, his body accommodating your limp weight as he kept you close against him.

"Look at you, fucked so stupid you can't even stand, sugar?" Cooper spoke between grunts, his hands lined with tremors as he held onto you with a desperate gasp. "Shit baby," His eyes locked on your ass, watching how you threw your weight back against him with reckless abandon - He clenched his jaw tight, the fire in his mind and senses sparking aflame in a sharp thrust forward. His movements became messy, clinging to you and muttering obscenities, shuddering out gasps as the fire roared inside him. "This what'ya want huh? Get filled up sloppy, by a man like me?" Cooper groaned at your responsive whimpers, tipping his chin forward in a slow nod, the fire crumbling into an explosion within mere seconds. He came with torn outcry, burying himself to the hilt inside you, watching your hips slowly milk all he was walling to give you.

For a long moment, you remained locked together, breaths coming in ragged pants, before he slowly pulled out of you, leaving you feeling both empty and full at the same time. You slumped forward, still clinging to the steel wall of the warehouse, feeling every nerve in your body tingling. The soft clatter of a glass bottle pulled you from the wading pleasure of your mind, eyes slowly opening to see a bottle of Rad X hit the heel of your shoe. You swore his hands were still on you, the heaving of his breaths still on your ear - Though as you turned, kneels wobbling slightly, he had disappeared into the sinking dusk of the wasteland. Your eyes circled the land around you, shoes crunching the gravel as you leaned your sweat glazed back against the warehouse.

"Fuck," You sighed the word through panted breaths, glancing down at the Rad X, and quickly doing a double take upon catching sight of something else. A leather glove, discarded in the sand and gravel. With a hesitant breath, you leaned down slightly, fingers hooking the glove into your grasp. You held the warm leather in your hand, turning it in your grasp fondly.

Surely he'd be back for this.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader #cooper howard imagine #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul smut #cooper howard smut #bowies fics #fallout prime #walton goggins #walton goggins x reader #fallout

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padfootagain · 1 year ago

Text

Only an Almost (XIX)

Chapter 19: Ascent

Hi! Here comes a new chapter!

We only have two chapters left, including this one :(

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 5157

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Andrew was never more aware that he was getting older.

The hangover that was stabbing his temples with daggers was the best reminder of all.

Details from the end of the night were fuzzy, at best. He wasn’t certain how he got home, but he had somehow managed to reach his bed. He was still wearing his shirt and pants from the wedding, his hair was a mess, but that was nothing compared to the fog that clogged his brain.

He made a stop by the kitchen first to drink some water, prepared some strong coffee. He splashed some cold water on his face to clear his head. Christ… he needed a shower. Maybe two.

He could recall a cab driver, some very loud music, jumping up and down with the beat, Sam and Daphne laughing, getting drunk on purpose…

… and then there was you lying in bed, fast asleep, him kissing your forehead in a chaste kiss, tucking you in, helping you through the mansion, finding you in the park, the fear of not knowing where you were, him singing that song to you even if the dance was meant for the married couple…

He could hear your voice ringing in his ears, echoing through his head, beating in his heart. Words that rang again and again. Words that he had dreamt of hearing.

He took a couple of deep breaths, and let the unkind voice in his head take over. You were drunk. You didn’t mean it. You said it yourself you didn’t want to be in a relationship, and especially not with him. You were scared, you didn’t want to take the risk, didn’t want to make the sacrifices that a long-distance relationship would require, not for him, at least, because he wasn’t worth it, he wasn’t enough and you didn’t love him, you were just drunk, you didn’t mean it…

He turned on his phone, checked the time. It was already 1pm.

Messages from his friends, from Sam and Daphne, one from his mom, a few from his label…

… and then 10 from you.

He swallowed thickly, but touched your name first anyway.

Hi! I hope you got home safely last night.

First, thank you for taking care of me. I was drunk… obviously

A true gentleman, as usual.

I’m so sorry you had to see that. I was hammered. I wasn’t myself and I said things I shouldn’t have.

Andrew had to stop reading. He took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, bracing for the rejection that was sure to come… again.

Still, he read on.

I know that I’ve fucked up, and that you don’t want to see me anymore. Which is perfectly understandable, and I completely respect your decision. I had no intention to contact you again. It was completely out of line for me to confess my feelings.

Andrew read that last sentence several times, before rushing to the next text.

I’m sorry about what happened. I know you don’t want to see me anymore, and again, I completely understand. I was an idiot and I’ve fucked up everything. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I won’t ask for it. At this point, I just hope that what I said last night didn’t make things even worse.

I know that you’ve probably moved on by now, and I’m not expecting anything from you. I don’t even expect an answer to these texts, and I will simply not contact you again if you choose not to answer. I guess that alcohol simply made me reveal things I would rather not have confessed. I trust you not to tell anyone about this, even if you don’t want to talk to me ever again.

I reckon that I should make it clear, although I expect that you don’t feel the same anymore, that I meant what I said last night. And I wish I hadn’t been so stupid, and told you how I felt while I still could.

His eyes ran through your words again and again, but they remained unchanged, no matter how many times he read them. He let out a long exhale, unable to believe what he was reading was true.

You couldn’t be meaning that… you couldn’t…

I’ll see you this afternoon at our cute couple’s get-together for post-wedding day, before they enjoy their well-deserved honeymoon. Don’t worry though, I won’t initiate a conversation, and will completely understand if you don’t want to talk to me ever again. Also, I’ll stay sober this time, just in case I do something stupid.

If I never hear from you again, know that I wish you the best. You deserve all the happiness in the world.

Andrew struggled to breathe for a moment. He dropped his phone on the counter next to him, buried his face in his hands.

What the fuck was going on?

Andrew hadn’t texted you back. He didn’t want to have this conversation with you over a phone. There were too many things to be told, too many things to be discussed.

He was a ball of nerves by the time three o’clock arrived and he stepped in his friends’ house. Some help was needed to make sure that the rented mansion was in good shape, to take care of the rest of the food and drinks, and obviously, to have another party to celebrate the newlyweds.

And you were there. Standing in the kitchen, making tea, your demeanour perfectly calm, as if you hadn’t dropped a bomb that had shattered his life in a million possibilities the night before…

“Andy!”

You turned to him at the sound of his name, he noticed the way your lips parted, before you looked away in a hurry…

The next second, he was engulfed in Sam’s strong embrace.

“How are you, Mr. Married-man?” Andrew joked, returning the tight hug.

“Ecstatic. Not realising what’s going on…”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“Daphne’s gone with her mother to deal with something… don’t remember what… but somebody has to go to the venue to check that everything is fine before we leave for good. Can you do that?”

“Sure, I’ll go.”

“You want some tea first?”

“No, no… I’m fine. I’ll deal with that.”

“Y/N can go with you, you might need help. The caterer left some food there apparently, even if they were supposed to deal with that and pack it up. Also, check that no one has broken anything, we were all quite drunk last night.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

Andrew looked at you, but you didn’t move towards him. You remained standing there, in the kitchen, the kettle in your hand. You looked almost afraid, definitely uncomfortable.

“You’re coming, Y/N?” he asked, making sure his voice was neutral but still soft. He didn’t want you to believe that he was angry.

You jumped, surprised that he would talk to you. Still, you nodded in a hurry, putting the kettle down.

“Yeah… yeah…”

You offered him a smile, and he reciprocated the gesture. You seemed appeased by it.

You both hurried outside, greeting some other friends who were coming and going, set on different errands. It was merry despite the grey sky and the threat of some new rain.

“I’ll drive,” Andrew said as you reached his car.

“My car is right over there, I’ll follow you.”

“No need, I’ll drop you here after we’re done. Come on.”

You remained staring at him for a moment, clearly trying to gauge his actions.

“I’m not angry,” he said, reading your mind too easily. “You can come in.”

Slowly, you nodded, and opened the car door.

It was silent as Andrew started to drive. An awkward kind of silence that Andrew tried to alleviate by turning on the radio. Van Morrison filled up the empty spaces of the car, while you tried to discreetly look at him, failing miserably. He wanted to laugh at you for being so obvious about it.

It was a short drive to the venue, but he couldn’t find anything to say to you. His throat was dry, he could feel his palms getting clammy at the mere thought of speaking to you. There was too much that needed to be said…

“Andy…” you finally broke the heavy silence, while he was waiting at a red light. “About last night…”

“Can we… can we not do that now?”

When he looked at you, you were clenching your jaw and looking away in a hurry.

“I’m not angry,” he repeated, his voice soft but neutral still.

He didn’t want to let himself get emotional now. There was too much to say and too little time before reaching the venue. Besides, he didn’t want to speak about this in his car, this wasn’t either the right place nor the right time.

“But we should talk about all this after we’re done with the venue and everything… like… when we’re alone and we have time to discuss things.”

“So… you… you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah… I reckon we should.”

“We don’t have to. I understand that you hate me, that you don’t want to have anything to do with me ever again. You don’t have to be this kind to me.”

Andrew couldn’t refrain a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. Christ, you were so wrong… about everything…

“I could never hate you, Y/N. I don’t have that in me.”

“I hurt you. A lot.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“You should hate me.”

But he slowly shook his head, eyes still fixed on the road, and he hoped you wouldn’t notice the way he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“That’s not how love works, Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything, but he could feel your stare upon him. He didn’t know what he could add, so he let the rest of the drive pass in a silent haze, his mind swarming with thoughts and feelings and trying to figure out what he wanted, what he should do, what was reasonable…

More than anything else, he thought about how nice it was to smell your perfume in his car again.

Andrew had taken care of the caterer and the food while you were going around the bedrooms to make sure nothing was wrong. He was looking for you to give you a hand, the mansion was rather large, and the keys needed to be returned after everything had been cleaned and put in order, or fees might be added. Andrew had offered to pay for everything, but Sam and Daphne had refused, and seemed offended by the idea, so the best Andrew could do now was to make sure they wouldn’t pay anything extra. A few other friends and family members were also helping out, and everything was ready.

He found you in one of the bedrooms. You were checking the room quickly, but everything seemed to be in order, except for something that seemed to have been forgotten on top of an old wooden wardrobe. Andrew looked at you for a few seconds as you went on your tiptoes to try and grab whatever object was up there, but you were too small. An amused smile was drawn to his lips when you huffed in annoyance.

You turned around in a jolt when you heard the floor creaking under his weight. He said nothing, stopped only when he was close to you, so close he would only have to bend to kiss you… And then he reached up, and grabbed the forgotten object.

You both exploded with laughter as Andrew revealed a green bra.

“Somebody had fun here last night,” Andrew laughed.

“They definitely got lucky!”

He handed it to you, but you shook your head.

“I’m not taking this, I have no clue who it belongs to!”

“I can’t walk out of here holding a bra!”

“Why not? Is it better if it’s me?”

“Y/N… They’ll think I had sex with someone!”

“And if I walk out with this they’ll think I had sex with someone…”

He rolled his eyes.

“What do we do, then?”

“Can’t you hide it in your jacket?”

“Can’t you?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes, grabbing the piece of garment and stuffing it in the pocket of your vest.

“Alright, crisis averted for our famous diva.”

“A diva? Me?”

You both chuckled at that.

“No, not at all… I don’t know why I joked about that.”

“Because you’re mean.”

He was joking, but your face fell, and the next second you were taking a step back and clearing your throat. And the moment had passed.

“It was the last room. Everybody behaved, apparently.”

“Good… that’s grand… let’s go, then.”

But when he turned towards the door, you held onto his hand.

He lost himself in your eyes… in their shade that he saw at night still, despite the long weeks you had spent apart, and they looked begging now, soft and vulnerable.

“Can we… can we talk before you take me back to my car?”

Slowly, he nodded.

“We can go to my place.”

“Your place?”

“Or yours.”

“You’re sure?”

“We should be alone for this. Alone, and undisturbed.”

You nodded in agreement, letting go of his hand again. He hated the cold of the air that replaced your skin.

You walked out in silence, managed to discreetly get rid of the bra in a bin, stopped to chat with a few friends, but Andrew could hardly be patient anymore. He was careful not to be rude when he pulled you away from the conversation so you could walk back to his car. Still, when you looked at him before climbing in his car, you seemed to read right through him, through the mix of emotions in his hazel eyes, from the impatience to the fear.

“Let’s go to my place,” you said softly as Andrew turned on the engines.

He nodded in silence, struggling to regulate his breathing. There was so much hope and bitterness mingling in his heart now, being injected to his veins, preventing his lungs from functioning properly.

Why had you acted like you didn’t care if you loved him? Did you even love him? Really? Would you be ready to give him a chance? Had you dated anyone since that night?

The drive to your house was made in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. There was music playing on the radio, but Andrew couldn’t notice it. It started to rain at one point, heavy and cold droplets that made it harder to see the road.

Not a word as you both climbed out of his car and hurried to your door, fleeing the rain. It was cold as it dropped on his face, the contrast stark when you let him in your house that was so much warmer.

“Tea?” you merely asked, but didn’t wait for his answer to go prepare a kettle.

He remained frozen in your hallway. All of a sudden, that evening was playing over and over in his head. He looked at the doorknob, and thought about leaving. Just… running away. Never see you again. Then what?

He would spend the next months, or most probably years, trying to forget you, trying to move on. He would bury himself in work so he could numb the pain. Eventually, he’d find someone new, build a life for himself without you in it. He’d avoid you at gatherings with your common friends. He would sing the songs he had written about you, trying to forget that you were the muse behind every note played and every rime spoken. You would find someone else too, get married, build yourself a home and a family with another person joining you in bed every night. Not him. He would never kiss you again, never hold you again, never hear your laughter, never giggle at your snarky remarks, never make love to you ever again…

“Andy?”

He spun around, facing you.

The choice was his. He could still tell you that he never wanted to see you again. That you had hurt him too much and that he didn’t want the two of you to stay in touch.

Or he could walk into your kitchen and talk with you until he was certain about the nature of your feelings for him. And then he’d decide if you were worth putting his heart on the line again or not.

He could run away, or stay.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, voice gentle, head slightly tilted to the side.

He nodded, took a deep breath, and walked over to you.

“Yeah… just… lost in thought.”

You handed him a cup of tea. No sugar nor milk. Two teabags. He recognized the tag of his favourite brand.

“We should sit down,” you offered, voice hesitant, but he nodded, and you smiled as you took a seat in your living room, around your wooden table.

He sat across from you, silently measured the distance that separated you. You were resting your hands on the wooden surface, and he ached to reach out, hold your fingers tight.

You didn’t seem willing to start the conversation, and after a couple of minutes of both of you silently staring at your cups of tea, Andrew exhaled deeply through his nose, closed his eyes, and finally broke the heavy silence that had entered the room.

“So… last night… when you were drunk…”

“Hmm…”

“I reckon we should start from there.”

“Thank you again, for helping me.”

“There’s no need to thank me for that.”

“Sam said you were worried about me.”

He finally looked up at you, gaze getting caught in your stare, and he couldn’t look away after that. He struggled to swallow.

“Of course, I was worried. You were alone, no one knew where, and you didn’t have your phone with you.”

“But you hate me.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“After what happened, you should hate me.”

He heaved a sigh, shook his head, his shoulders bent under an invisible weight. The burden of loving you despite everything…

“I don’t hate you. I’m just… hurt.”

“It’s not exactly better.”

“No, I guess not… But it’s not aimed at you. It’s aimed at myself.”

You blinked a couple of times, a pained expression on your features.

“Yesterday… you said…”

You looked away, setting your gaze on your tea, on the steam that was rising from the porcelain, on the coloured liquid inside.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Because you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I know you didn’t want to hear me say that. Because you want me out of your life, and I understand why. Because I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Andrew clenched his jaw, struggled to keep his heartbeat regular.

“Did you mean it?”

You brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, still avoiding his stare.

“Y/N, look at me. Please, look at me.”

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, but then you complied, looked up at him.

“After everything that has happened, I just need the truth. I just need answers. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay…”

“Just answer me.”

You nodded, waiting for him to speak.

“Did you mean it?”

You blinked tears away, but slowly nodded still.

“When you said…”

His voice broke, he had to clear it to gather words on his tongue once more.

“When you said that you loved me… did you mean it?”

But you nodded again.

“I did mean it. I shouldn’t have said it, though…”

You fell silent when Andrew buried his face in his hands. He was struggling to breathe, struggling not to cry…

“I’m sorry, Andy… I’m so sorry…”

“Why the fuck did you reject me then?” he interrupted you, looking at you once more, his hands falling loudly on the table. “Why did you keep on pushing me away? On making me feel fucking miserable? If you loved me, why would you hurt me like that?”

“I didn’t mean to… I just….”

Your lips trembled, but you went on anyway, voice calm and a little cold.

“My life was a mess… still kind of is, to be fair. I had a new job, and then… then you kissed me that night at the bar and… old feelings came back. Feelings I had been very good at burying and forgetting. And I just… I didn’t want us to remain just friends, but… I was fucking terrified, Andy. I still am, to be honest. And so, I convinced myself that I could… have you while protecting my heart, which was the worst idea ever thought since the beginning of mankind, clearly…”

You heaved a tired sigh, rubbed your forehead as you tightly closed your eyes.

Andrew was remaining perfectly still, utterly quiet. Waiting for you to continue.

“I just thought… I thought that if we didn’t act like a couple, if we didn’t date, I would be able to control how I feel for you. I thought that it could be casual. And you accepted, and I thought… I thought that it meant that you were just attracted to me, and it helped me ignore my own feelings to believe that you just wanted sex.”

“I didn’t want you just for sex. I never did,” he interrupted you, and you stared at him with pain twisting your features.

“I’m sorry, Andy…”

“You said that it didn’t mean anything to you. You said that you didn’t have feelings for me, that… that you felt nothing when we were intimate. You said it was just about fucking…”

“I didn’t say any of that...”

“That’s how you behaved, though.”

“I didn’t say it was just about fucking…”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“It wasn’t about fucking. I always had feelings for you.”

He clenched his jaw, heaved a sigh.

“Why did you pretend it didn’t mean a thing then?”

“Because I was scared. And I didn’t feel ready to have a relationship with you.”

“Because I have to go on tours?”

“Yeah… not just that but… mostly, yes. Because you won’t be here. Dating you means signing up for a long-distance relationship, and I don’t know how to deal with that kind of situation.”

Slowly, he nodded.

“I understand that,” he mumbled.

“You’ll never be around… you’re always off to somewhere else. Our lives are so different…”

“But this is my home. It’s always gonna be my home. I’ll always come back.”

“How do you handle not seeing your partner for months?”

He let out a bitter chuckle.

“Badly,” he truthfully answered, and the two of you shared a sad smile.

“I was afraid to open up to you, to be vulnerable, to let myself feel this way… for you to disappear and break up with me because you’d have found someone better on the other side of the globe…”

“Y/N… I understand why my career can seem like a giant obstacle, because it is one. It’s… so fucking hard to not be with the person you love for months, and I’m so goddamn busy when touring that I can’t promise you that I’ll be able to give you the quality time that you deserve. It’s a nightmare to get our schedules to match, to plan everything out, and that’s without counting all the things that are added along the way that weren’t planned at the beginning of touring… And then there’s the press, and the writing, and the recording, and… and I understand, okay? I understand that you would reject me because of that. But Y/N… if you’re just afraid that I might fall for someone else because we’re apart for a few weeks… that is literally the least probable scenario that could ever happen.”

“Why would it be?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” he answered simply, earnestly, like it was the most obvious truth on earth. “Because I’ve been in love with you for years. And no one has ever replaced you, even when I thought you felt nothing for me, even when we both were dating other people. Trust me, you’re the only woman I want on this planet. The only one I really want.”

He watched as you took his words in, your lower lip trembling, blinking tears away.

“You should have told me,” he went on. “Instead of inventing this fucking arrangement, you should have just told me.”

“I know. But I wasn’t ready to try and be with you…”

“I would have waited. I would have waited for you.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It was fucked up, Y/N… you… it just… it was so painful to me,” Andrew admitted, trying not to let his voice shake too much. “I felt… I felt like you were just using me. I’ve never felt so terrible about myself… cause I… I was just enough for you to fuck me, and nothing more…”

“No, that wasn’t that at all...”

“That’s how it made me feel. Not all the time, of course. There were so many times when I felt… loved. When I felt like you felt more for me than simple physical attraction; most of the time it was the case. And that… it kind of messed with my brain, made me feel like you wanted more; but every time we were getting closer to an actual relationship, you rejected me. And you kept on doing it, over and over, and sometimes it was so fucking painful. Almost mean. And more than unloved, it made me feel… unlovable. Undesirable. And I know that you deserve better than what I can give you with my career, but…”

“Don’t say that. God, Andy don’t say that…”

You heaved a sigh, and Andrew was taken aback when you suddenly stood up, walked around the table and held him close. He didn’t think as he wrapped his arms around you too, though.

“I love you,” you whispered as you held him close, and felt his entire body relax at your words, tears rising back to his eyes. “God, Andrew… I love you so much. I was just scared. It was just bad timing. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I acted like the worst piece of shit, but you are everything but unlovable, okay? How could you think that?”

“Say it again,” he whispered into your neck, noticing the way goosebumps erupted across your skin under his breath. “Say it again.”

“I love you. I love you, Andy…”

Before you could say anything else, he was standing up as well, catching your lips with his in the process.

He heard the shock in your breath, but then your hands were in his hair, and you were pulling him closer, until you were leaning back against the table. His hands on your face to make sure you would stay close. And Christ… the relief of kissing you again, of feeling your lips move perfectly against his at long last, of tasting you once more…

You held him so tightly when you pulled away, arms wrapping around his neck while you rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“Are you dating anyone?” he asked, voice hoarser than usual.

“No…”

“Have you? Since we’ve stopped seeing each other?”

But you shook your head.

“No, nothing. You?”

“No one.”

“Really?”

“You broke my heart… it does take more than a few weeks to get over that,” he chuckled, but you didn’t laugh, merely holding him closer, so close he could barely breathe.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was so scared. I tried fooling myself into thinking I didn’t love you, but I do. I love you…”

“I’ll wait for you,” Andrew whispered into your hair. “If you’re not ready but you’d be willing to give me a chance, I would still wait for you…”

“I don’t deserve you.”

He chuckled.

“I don’t know about that. But I know that I love you, despite everything that happened. And besides… it wasn’t all bad. Most of it was good.”

“When I didn’t act like an arse, you mean?”

“Exactly.”

“I loved it so much, you know? Whenever I let myself get closer to you… whenever I let myself love you… Christ, I was so happy then…”

“I was too. Whenever you let me in, I was happy with you. We could still be happy together, if you give us a chance.”

“I was breaking my own heart every time, you know? Every time, Andy… It was so fucking hard… but I was so scared…”

He pulled away, took your hands in his. He stared at you with begging eyes.

“If you want to try this, long-distance is going to be hard. It’ll be rough. Real rough.”

“I know.”

“I can’t… I can’t go through this again, Y/N.”

“Me neither. It was awful for me too.”

“So… if we try this… we give it a real try: I take you on a proper date, and we don’t hold back.”

“Are you sure you still want me?”

“Yeah… yeah, I still want you. Do you want me?”

You answered by kissing him, slow and passionate, making him melt against you, wrap his arms around your frame.

“I’m all in for the date,” you whispered against his lips. “But… can we still go to my bedroom now?”

“Before the first date? What about giving me a proper wine-and-dine treatment before taking me to bed, huh?” he playfully answered, grinning into your lips, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute.

“I’ll give you wining and dining and everything in between for our first date, but I really want you, right now…”

You fell silent when he let his lips fall to your neck and his hands rise to your breasts.

Little words were exchanged while you left a trail of clothes on the path to your bedroom, staggering now and then as your lips remained sealed to his most of the way.

Except when you were lying on your bed, head against your pillows, looking up at Andrew with adoring eyes as he hovered over you, staring at you like you had hung up the stars and moon in the sky. While he was trembling at the feeling of your naked skin against his, you raised your hands to hold his face, your thumbs gently brushing his cheeks, and his heart stumbled against his ribcage under your tender touch.

“I love you,” you whispered in the softest voice he had ever heard, adoration oozing from your sweet tone. “I love you, Andy.”

He rested his forehead against yours, lowering his body onto yours to feel as much of your skin against his as he could.

“I love you, Y/N,” he murmured with the same devotion and worship in his deep voice. “I love you so fucking much…”

And when he kissed you again, there was no doubt in either of your minds that this was what love was supposed to feel like.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier series #hozier imagine #fanfic #writing #fanfiction #series

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friend-of-giants · 6 months ago

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WIP WEDNESDAY

Who wants a disgusting, mushy, soft and tender kissy scene from an upcoming chapter??? I hope it's you, because that's what I'm sharing.

Tagging everyone who interacted with my post from last week, like I said I would lol. @juniperberries-canisroot @kartaylirsden @full-pockets @funkylittlepenguin @the-sunlit-earth @vervayyn @theladygrim No pressure to participate. But if you have art or writing to share please show me and tag me!! Anyone else who sees this is also welcome!

Before he could even think to respond, [Wren] leaned in, their lips meeting in a fleeting kiss that ended just as quickly as it began. With his heart suddenly leaping into his throat to clog it, Teldryn could only sit there in stunned silence. He studied the look on her face; the slivers of crimson that watched him from behind thick curtains of dark lashes, the hint of wetness on her parted lips, the way the very tips of her ears quivered with each beat of her heart.

He didn't tell his hands to rise to her face, to caress her flushed cheekbones with the pad of his thumb—nor did he tell himself to pull her close and press his mouth against hers, but it all happened anyway. Almost immediately, her lips parted for him, an invitation for him to claim her, which he did not hesitate to do. Though she was out of his sight, she dominated the rest of his senses. Her taste, fire, danced on his tongue, her fingertips delicately grazed the stubble of his jaw to hold him steady, the intoxicating scent of her perfume and the sound of her soft, pleased breaths all rushed into his veins and caused his blood to come alive with want.

That want, though, was soon tainted by worry, one that rose from where it had been tucked away in the back of his mind. This sudden intimacy which he had been craving, would it only lead to failure? Would she soon come to her senses and distance herself again or worse, flee for good?

No. She only did that because of her fears of the past, and of losing me, and she's come clean about that.

Cautiously, briefly, Teldryn opened his eyes. Their mouths still danced with one another, the motions soft and slow and fluid. Her eyes remained closed, as she appeared lost in the moment, fully giving in to what was clearly something she needed, what they both needed. And yet still that worry was there, gnawing at his conscience like a dog would gnaw at a bone. All he truly wanted was for them to remain at peace, to become something. And maybe that would happen; perhaps she would accept him into her life and let him love her like he so desperately wanted.

He had to know for certain where her intentions lay, and whether she would turn around after this day was over and push him away again. If she did, he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle it.

It took all of his willpower to break their kiss. They pulled away from each other, both breathless and flushed. He missed her touch already, missed the way she tasted, the way her scarred lips fit against his. Teldryn swallowed back the lump in his throat, one made of both desire and fear, then spoke.

“Wren…”

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his in an instant. She leaned toward him again, and though it pained him to do so, he avoided the kiss she was about to give.

“What are we?”

#the question remains... what ARE they?#hell even i dont know lol #things are getting serious between my two idiots #tesblr #tag games #wip wednesday #oc: wren #teldryn sero #skyrim fanfic #ascent from the ashes

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pidge-it-up-archive · 7 months ago

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Don't ask for permission

Jayvik | 1321 words | Main Tags: Hurt No Comfort, Jayce has a Breakdown Read it on AO3 Viktor had his shirt on when Jayce saw him after the explosion, but not when he's being carried over to the lab in Jayce's arms, which means, something happened. This is my educated guess on what happens from the moment Jayce sees Viktor, to the moment he decides to use the Hexcore to save him.

Relief was short-lived.

Little did it matter that he was conscious again, could breathe, and was alive. Little did it matter that he could articulate his fingers, feel his legs, and move his toes. Little did it matter that he could hear the chaos, taste the blood, smell the dust, and see the light reflect onto specks of it. All was nothing but an insignificant checklist.

He had first worried about Mel, the one he’d held closely in his arms. Feeling her, checking on her. She was okay, she’d said. They were okay. They were unscathed. But then he’d looked around. A new terror at each glance, a new body. He felt for all of them but the first one to stab deep was Cassandra. He kneeled next to her, air escaping his lungs like life had done to her. He did love her, and he would mourn her, but— his eyes kept searching because he was right next to him, he had been right there, so where—

No.

For a moment, he thinks he curses it. He curses life for clinging to him, curses his senses for working, curses himself for… everything.

Viktor.

He begs his eyes to look away, to blink and delete the image they just saw. Begs his consciousness to slip away from his reach, for his brain to shut down and lay him into gentle darkness. He begs his lungs to block the airflow, his veins to clog his blood, his heart to stop beating.

Viktor.

He curses. He begs. He even prays. But it doesn’t matter, because the gods forsake those who try to mimic them. Because what was that, but the ultimate mockery? What was that but the terror and horror to pay for his hubris of trying to access a power that wasn’t his to touch? If he strains his ears, he can hear their laughter in the movement of the rumbles, in the cries of his colleagues, in the cadence of the soldier’s boots on the ground.

Viktor.

It takes a while for the command to move to go through the fog of his brain, but eventually, it does. He runs. He stumbles and trips, and something hard hits his shin, but he doesn’t registers it, doesn’t care .

Viktor.

He kneels, hands hovering over his body, scared to touch. He tells himself that it is because he doesn’t want to hurt him, and not because he is afraid to confirm what he already knows.

Viktor.

He holds his breath as he cradles his face, feeling like breathing would be borderline irreverent, and he allows his fingertips to wander to where they’ve had to hold themselves from touching so many times before. Gods , why does it have to be like this? He has always held back, but… this is the second time already. In one movement, he sweeps soft dark brown hair away from his face, and traces down to curve behind his ear, landing on the side of his neck, feeling the thin skin for anything below it. There’s nothing.

Viktor. Please.

This didn’t happen last time. Last time, he touched him more roughly, led to despair by not knowing what had happened, but the pulse had been there. Now, he tried to keep calm, to treat him gently, because maybe… Maybe, being gentle wouldn’t do anything at all. Maybe, he already knew that, but he did anyway to appease some inner sense of guilt.

Viktor.

And yet, gently, he removes the rumbles off him — thankfully nothing big — and moves him to the side. It’s only then he throws gentleness in the air, because he cannot be gentle for what he’s about to do. Kneeling by his side, he interlaces his fingers, locks his elbows and presses them on his chest. It doesn’t cave. Oh, his brace.

Please.

He yells for a knife and doesn’t even know which enforcer or soldier handed him one — he didn’t take his eyes off for one second. He does it fast but with reverence, cutting through the shirt and his vest. When he pulls the fabric away, he freezes, but just as fast he shakes his head, forcing his breathing to not stall and his brain to not panic about the carvings in Viktor’s body. That is for later. He looses the brace and starts pressing.

Viktor. Viktor. Viktor.

He remembers the mandatory training for the Academy years ago. Compress 30 times, then 2 rescue breaths. Hard and fast, you can’t be gentle about this, he reminds himself. “I won’t break,” Viktor would have probably said. But he would. And he does. Viktor’s ribs crack by the tenth and he has to fight every single fiber of his soul to not pull back. He has to keep going. He has to. He needs to.

Please, Gods.

When 30 comes, he does what he should have done years ago, over soft linen and under warm light— never like this . He tilts his head, lifts his chin, and presses his lips to his.

Take it, take the air you need. Take the oxygen straight from my chest, I won’t need it if I lose you.

The thought doesn’t scare him so much. It’s true, after all. Everything Jace has become is because of the man under his hands. He had failed to show him that, but it’s true, and he’s not so sure he’s interest in a life without him. He’s nothing without his partner.

Please, not him. Not now .

The thought of losing Viktor haunted him from the moment he realized it was a possibility, but nothing could compare to the shredding pain of it becoming a reality.

NO! Not a reality, I’m not losing you.

He starts compression again; hard and fast, like they said. But another crack rips a sob out of him that nothing in the world could have kept in. He still keeps going.

PLEASE!

He reaches 30 again. He leans down again. His mind can’t keep thinking about all the ways he should have done this before, of all the ways he should have leaned forward and captured those lips. It would have been so easy. He should have shown him. He should have, he should have, he should have. Then he chastises himself for realizing he’s once again taking his loss as a given. Which he refuses to.

Come back, let me show you. PLEASE! I’ll fix it, I’ll fix everything.

He reaches 30 again. He thinks someone calls his name. He ignores them. He leans down again.

I’ll do anything, V. Please, Viktor. Please! Just—

“Come back”. He begs, and he feels it coming out closer to an animalistic cry than a human sound.

He caves over his body the same way he almost caves into the desperation only helplessness can bring. Jayce wasn’t good at going against what was given to him, after all. He fights because he would never forgive himself if he didn’t. He always tries. But in the end, he listens, even if it strips away part of his soul to do so. But— His fingers run over a rune.

Viktor…

Viktor wasn’t— isn’t —like that. Viktor is sure of his potential, he knows where he wants to get, and nothing in the world can stop him once he puts his mind to something. He is the reason Jayce understands what true perseverance is like, because Viktor doesn’t accept no for an answer, not when he believes in the benefit of the yes . He had to, or else the world would have knocked him down ages ago.

Viktor.

Viktor… wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Viktor… wouldn’t accept the gods’ derision, not when he thrived against men’s disdain his whole life.

Viktor… wouldn’t ask for permission to change the world.

He sits up, fastens the braces back on Viktor’s body, and takes him in his arms.

Viktor wouldn’t ask for permission; neither will he.

He runs.

#jayvik #viktor arcane #arcane jayce #jayce x viktor #arcane season 2 #arcane #fic by pidge it up #angst

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appleblueberry-pie · 1 year ago

Note

I saw your post asking for yan Miguel asks:

I’ve been praying for someone to write about Miguel with a giant reader.

I dont even know if I want us to be a whole drider or just a Giant Woman™️ (lady Dimistrescu, my beloved). Or maybe both and we can final form an even bigger spider!

Sorry, I’m just excited to have a place to ask and I’ve had this in my head for so long 😅

It’s just been clinking around that in some spiders the females are much bigger and the males would have to like feed and appease her to try and mate without getting eaten.

And I am an absolute SUCKER for mating rituals!

I hope this catches your interest, thank you for reading 😊

Ooooooooooooooh my god? Yes? Why haven't I thought of this before??

DINNER IS THE DESSERT.

cw: mentions and threats of committing cannibalism. predatory tendencies. animalistic tendencies. sadistic and masochistic tendencies. public humiliation? scent kink. male sub + dom female.

Miguel is scared of you.

You....you aren't giving clear signals. He doesn't know what you want from him. All he wants is to please you, make you happy. He wants you to notice him and fucking love him. He wants to be yours. Not your dinner.

He used to be the tallest in the company. 6'10, 300 lbs. Ever since Jess softly introduced you and scattered off like a mouse, you have been the biggest. 7 feet fucking tall and one extra inch for decoration. 270 lbs and hungry for a mate. He can tell. Your scent wafts up his nose when he's in a 20 foot radius. And when he brings you a gift he think you'll love, he knows you don't like it when you stare down at him, almost disappointed in him, and lets the silence grow as everyone stares at the two of you. He awkwardly leaves when you don't say anything.

No one else will dare talk to you if they're interested because they know that they don't fit your standards. You're too fucking scary. No one. NO one can match your strength or even catch your interest besides him. And it's beautiful, because he's been obsessed with you and everything about you since he first met you. To be your bitch for the rest of his life is a dream come true. And to do that, he has to up his game. Attempting to intimidate you will get him killed. Simply offering himself to you will also get him killed. Actually, used, shown to everyone, and then killed.

And the only thing that has been working so far, has been giving you gifts. That's the only time he has a chance when it comes to communication and even winning a simple glance for your attention.

When you first introduced yourself to him, the both of you were alone. Peter and Jessica hated your energy, and Miguel was the only one that could possibly fight you off if you attacked them.

"Everyone thinks I might kill them if I get too close."

You were too close. He couldn't turn around. You were directly behind him, staring over his shoulder at his work. Not a single muscle in his body moved, his fingers stilled, his breath paused. Your body heat radiated off of your suit, doing nothing to filter the strong scent of your lust and hunger. Miguel felt your breath hit his neck and felt an urge to cry. He felt pathetic. His ears felt clogged as they began ringing, his heart beating out of his chest.

He heard you laugh silently. "You're scared." You took a single step forward, and your front connected with his back. Miguel was becoming overwhelmed with his emotions. Within the five minutes he had known you, he found out he was so utterly attracted to you, wanted to be your mate, and was so fucking terrified of you all at once. Your scent punched its way up to his brain and made him close his eyes with how pungent it was.

"Don't be scared." His heart dropped as he heard himself breathing again, at quite a rapid pace. "Let it happen." He flinched when your cold fingers, and then your hands, touched around his small waist. You exhaled and stared holes into the side of his face. He still couldn't move.

"You smell so good." His heart leaped at the praise and he found the courage to blink again. But then your lips brushed against his neck and he violently flinched, yelping in fear. You were going to eat him. Your hands tightened painfully around his body when he was about to thrash and he began hyperventilating in fear.

"What did I just say??" Your hot breath hit his ears and your words shattered his mind. Without thinking, he responded. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry." You roll your eyes and step away from him, giving him the space he needed. Immediately, he gulped in as much air as he could. His shoulders relaxed slightly and he finally turned around to face you.

You looked as beautiful as he thought. If not, more. Your broad shoulders, muscular legs, sharp eyes and face. You looked down at his raging hard cock and frowned. "So fucking pathetic." You step closer and firmly grab his chin, his eyes turning the other way to not make eye contact out of fear. "It makes me want to taste you." Your words cause an accidental whimper to slip from his lips.

If Miguel knew that taking that serum was going to do this to him, he would've never became spiderman. He felt like he was going to urinate everywhere, climax in front of you, sweat up a storm, and scream for help all at once. He wanted to crawl underneath your skin and be one with you, but wanted to be far away from you at the same time. He felt a violent pull and push when around you and he felt it deep inside of him. Something inside of him screamed that this was his mate, and he was yours to please, and to do anything for your approval. You bring him light. He never was so conscious about his precious body until you came and threatened to kill him in his work space like you owned him. And maybe you already did. Because he's never felt his heart beat like this, he's never felt so alive. He wants you. He wants you.

You bring your eyes down to those lips. His fangs began to protrude and poke at his bottom lip as a natural reaction to a predator. Anything to stay safe and close to away from you. "I wanna have my fun with you, first." Miguel physically can't respond. He lets the silence build, his tongue heavy and numb. But then you let go and walk off like nothing happened. You haven't spoken ever since. And he's been trying to win your love ever since.

Miguel doesn't remember the last time he's had a real conversation with the rest of the spider community. Because all he's been doing is growling at people like a dog when it's not you. Lyla had to set up an entire other email account for people that want to reach out to Miguel and had Jess answer under the account name whenever she could. If you're not out scaring the spiders just from being there, Miguel is out there purposefully scaring people out of their socks. He wants NO attention on you besides his own, and he makes sure of it. Fuck monitoring the missions, fuck eating, fuck sleeping, and fuck the multiverse(for now), you need tending to.

All of his technology as of right now goes into finding out what you love most and what not to give you. He knows you like homecooked meals, he knows what types of clothes you enjoy wearing besides the typical spider suit, and he knows you love baked goods. He watches your everyday life in your universe and has a visceral reaction when he sees you entertaining men and women that come flocking towards you. You know that he wants you. You know that he loves you and would do anything to win you over. So then why on Earth are you talking to them??

As an attempt to forget about your "playful" disloyalty, Miguel has been making you home-cooked meals every day for your breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If you wanted food anywhere else besides his universe, he'll let you choose the location. If you didn't want food, he'd ask if you wanted anything else. Massage? A hot or cold drink? Tired? Take a break, please. He can bring you to one of the resting rooms meant for healing Spider people who are injured, you get a pass. Don't like how long your mission is taking? He'll do the rest for you. All of his attention is yours. But recently, you haven't been reciprocating his advancements.

"Y/n...?" His heart skips a beat when he realizes you're staring at him like that again. You two were once again all alone in his office and you had him cornered. He looks off to the side to the multiple bags of things he was choosing to give to you that you'd enjoy. You had kicked them off of the platform. Clearly you wanted something else, he just couldn't figure out what. He didn't want to die.

"I'm getting bored."

You advance towards him and he stutters out, "What...? Dios mío, por favor, no me hagas daño. You know I-" "Shut up. Just...shut the fuck up." You sigh and rub your face. He stays still and lets you collect yourself. You wished that the smell of fear coming off of him didn't excite you as much as it did. "Why are you so stupid?"(My god, please don't hurt me.)

Miguel purses his lips. That's usually his line. But it's not like he isn't being stupid. He's like a child, blindly bringing their parent random things in hopes of gaining their approval. "Show me." Miguel blinks and looks up at you, confused. He opens his mouth to speak, but immediately shuts it to consider the possibilities. Do you mean himself? Show himself to you? He closes his eyes and inhales.....your scent. It smells so sweet now. You're trying to calm him. The corners of your lips slowly twist up and he understands.

You make him stand where you were, and you lean back on his work desk where he stood, crossing your arms. "Well?" He doesn't let another word slip out of your mouth and disengages his suit. He watches your eyes glint red and pulls down his (now) tight boxers that covered what you're probably wanting to see most. "No." His hands shoot to his sides and you stand to walk over to him. You stare him up and down, slowly circling him to get a full view.

"Think you can take me?" He nods at your question. "Speak." "Yes, I can take you." You place one hand on his lower back and press the softest kiss onto the crevice of his neck. It tingles with the feeling of your plush lips finally hitting his skin. "I don't know......I've heard about the small human women you've given yourself away to." No one compares to how you make him felt. He was offended that you thought his infatuation with you equated to random women he had with flings with to satiate his desire. He wanted to prove himself. Your nails suddenly feel so close to penetrating his skin, the more you touch him. He hears a churring noise come from your throat. And he tries to stop it in time, but he couldn't help reciprocating the same sound, now erupting out of his throat as well. You smile and bring yourself to stand in front of him again. "Is that what I am to you? A little human girl for you to share your seed with?"

Miguel shakes his head and opens his mouth, yet you interrupt him once more. "Then show me." Miguel's brain goes blank and his body feels light as he allows you to keep him safe to show you what his devotion means. He doesn't know if he'll live to see tomorrow or die blissfully to be your meal for the next few days. All he knows and wants and shall have are the next few hours to be yours completely. Body, mind, and soul in the ways he truly desired.

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perpetuallyfive · 6 months ago

Text

A million years ago back on livejournal, there was a yearly meme a few of us participated in where you'd look back at all your old fics and come up with a personal top ten. It was a nice way to reevaluate and look back at work you might have ignored for so long that you essentially forgot about it.

I don't write enough anymore to do this kind of thing yearly, but it's been a long time and I wanted to look back.

So here are my own top ten fics as of this minute in 2025 (in no particular order):

we never sleep, we never try RWBY, "Bar AU", Bumbleby

I'm the kind of person who loves the metaphor inherent to genre fiction, and I try to lean into that with my fanfic. I also love when I have the chance to make the end to my first chapter a bit of a surprise. This fic let me do both!

This fic is about using a trope as a means to explore identity and sense of self. It's also a total misdirect to call it "just an AU set in a bar" instead of what it actually is.

Which is wing fic, fallen angel style. This fic is about angels. There, I gave it away.

Her fingers pull at the sheets, her heels dig into the small of Yang’s back. One knee nearly collides with her jaw and they both laugh, real and raw, a little breathless and unsure. Even Blake, even she feels a loss of breath. She is not someone who should have to breathe, even now, even like this. Unless she is being made mortal, here and now. Is this what it takes to die? Is this pleasure why mortal lives are so brief? It’s too much, a heart could explode from a lifetime of such living. And still, she wants more.

Our Bruises Are Coming Fingersmith, Maud/Sue

I wanted to write a short post-canon fic that explores Maud's kinkiness and the associations she would have with those desires being so linked to her own trauma and abuse, and still hopefully make it hot.

Writing the alternating povs with their very distinctive character voices was extremely fun.

Sue doesn't know how wet her eyes can look when she's lost in her own wanting. She's like a doll at times, with eyes like glass and lips ever on the verge of parting. I watch her and think of words and clips of phrases I have seen etched thick and dark on pale pages or ones I have spoken aloud to a room of eager men. Their heavy breath would clog the air until the words all seemed slick and rounded at their edges. They nestled in the shell of my ear and there they stayed, only to return years later while my hand sits on the pulse in Sue's breast. It beats wildly and I think, eager bitch. I think wanton spreading of her thighs and incline of hips thrusting. I think blooming in purple like an angry red flower on her cheek and feel my own heart race to join hers. My head is filled with poison.

what a night to go dreaming Sleep No More

This is one of the most self-indulgent things I have ever written, and I'm so glad that I did. Inspired by am immersive theater show that the majority of humanity will never see, focused on two minor characters that the majority of the show's fans aren't that invested in, and told in a meandering and muddled style intended to replicate the experience of being lost at the show and the perpetual looping nightmare its characters are caught up in.

Sleep No More is like a half-remembered dream and the fifth floor woods and accompanying sanatorium — as well as all the women that would inhabit it over the years — were one of my very favorite things in my very favorite building for literally years of my life.

Now that it's closed little more than a month ago, I feel more fond of this selfish piece than ever. Re-reading it takes me right back there again.

There have been no wolves in these woods for many years. The last of them were hunted down and left scattered over the earth. They inspected the entrails and said it would be an early harvest. The women picked and pecked over every inch of flesh, squinting at the sky as though there might be rain. And then there was.

You Can't Become Unreal Again Pitch Perfect, Marvel AU Hurt/Comfort, Beca Stark/Chloe Barton

I think this fic gave me a reputation for being really mean to characters that lasted for some time. I love hurt/comfort, at least in theory, but it bothers me how often the slow process of clawing your way back to yourself after intense trauma gets skipped over in favor of the end game. For me, that misses the point. The pain alone isn't what appeals to me; it's the slow unsteady progress that comes after, and how impossibly human that feels.

I wanted to try to capture that in a fic. This is one of those pieces that I'm so proud of but also can't help wondering how I would write it now, older and more experienced as a writer. Sometimes I think maybe I should try something like it again.

There are a lot of reasons the fire escape is a bad idea, but Beca hasn't got a key. So she settles for the pain -- burning up through her shoulders, aching in her wrist until she has to stifle a scream -- and collapses on the floor as soon as she's through the window. She lays there for a while, half-curled on her side, and tries to pinpoint the precise location of each throbbing ache. She might have tripped an alarm, but it's hard to concern herself with something like that when her entire back feels like it's fucking on fire. Worst case scenario: whoever S.H.I.E.L.D. sends over can help her stand again.

Bulletproof Use of Bullet Points Pitch Perfect, Aubrey POV, Beca/Chloe

My second most popular Pitch Perfect fic is Aubrey pov, which just got to be fun in a way that I almost never let myself write and should probably do more often.

Not that Beca has ever needed a reason to complain. She drags her heels walking over, and it's all Aubrey can do not to shout for her to straighten her back and stop making that face like she's sucking on a lemon. Is it really so hard to be nice? To smile? Aubrey smiles all the time, even when she hates people! She smiles at Beca, after all. (Does Beca have any idea how incredibly hard that is for her? No. Of course not. No thought probably ever crosses selfish Beca Mitchell's mind that isn't about downbeats or hipster bullshit.) "Okay then," Aubrey smiles (because she cares to), and pulls her ponytail just a little bit tighter. "Why don't you show me what you can do?"

when the night falls (loneliness calls) RWBY, Winter Schnee gen fic

Winter is one of my absolute favorite characters in RWBY and I wanted to write about her childhood so badly. She nails so many aspects of my favorite archetype, but without being entirely stereotypical.

Obviously the standard warnings would apply for parental abuse from Jacques Schnee, though it's not described in detail.

Her mother’s voice is right behind her, saying, “This one is special. This one is two things, actually, though it only looks like one.” Her hand is light on Winter’s shoulder. “It’s like you, isn’t it? More than what it seems.” “Can I touch it?” Winter doesn’t know what she’ll do if her mother says no. Her throat is so dry and her palms almost itch. Even the sword itself seems to vibrate with a desire to be touched, to be held, to belong. Maybe it is like her after all.

much sweeter than it ought to be RWBY, Dishonored AU, Bumbleby

This one is a sprawling beast, currently unfinished, but I'm including it because I still intend to return. I love this fic in all its messy self-indulgent glory. Committing myself to alternating POVs in every single chapter means some of the chapters are comically long; I know I'm not doing a great job to sell it.

But this is the longest thing I've ever written (by a lot) and surely that much commitment to it says something.

Blake has never dreamed of anything like this happening before. She’s never allowed herself to really consider or want this for herself, to want much of anything just for her in a way that’s entirely selfish. The entire realm will one day be hers, but none of it is meant for her and her alone, not really. It’s all for the Empire, isn’t it, and anything she claims for herself is something she’s going to have to let go of one day. After Adam and everything that she saw, daydreaming felt selfish, like the ambitions of a child. Instead she tried to focus on the future of the Empire. It was the mature response, wasn’t it, to set her own wants and ambitions aside. All of that cold and calm resolve just slips away so fast, pulled out with the momentum that Yang carries with her, like a swelling tide. Doesn’t Blake deserve to want something, if only for a little while?

Manuscripts and Mistakes Gilmore Girls, Post Miniseries, Rory/Paris

Despite loving this ship since the show first aired, I never actually wrote it until this attempt to make something out of the Rory we end up with after A Year in the Life.

This one has a major (pregnancy related) trigger warning, noted in the end notes.

Like the first day Paris saw Rory and knew this girl was going to ruin her life. She couldn't guess at the time, of course, the kind of impact the woman would have fully grown. Even then she wondered sometimes, occasionally -- lying in bed and dreaming of Tristan's strong hands and pouty lips -- about what Rory's chapstick would feel like on her mouth. Once they kissed (once only, briefly), she'd finally known. Rory tastes like raspberry and regret. Like the most trite poem in existence. Like expectations and hopes never met. Something more.

the smell of blood on concrete Arcane, Vampire/Werewolf AU, Caitlyn/Vi

I know this one isn't finished either; but I'm currently writing it, absolutely obsessed with this version of them, and I've been keeping to a consistent enough schedule that it feels genuinely less mean than the inclusion of Dishonored AU.

In a lot of ways this fic has been a convergence of several things I've loved for years all into one work.

Her eyes lock on bright blue — river blue — eyes on the other side, the faintest hint of a smile. “Look at me, Hound.” This time the name doesn’t make Vi bristle. “You’re going to be fine.” The beast inside is glad to be seen. Vi smiles, too many teeth. Everything starts to unspool. Her jaw shatters. Fragments of bone ripple and chip — digging into her flesh at odd angles — outsides reversed with insides. Vertebrae rapidly shift and clatter, like dominoes turned upside down, as she drops to all fours. The vibrating inside her head has turned into a loud keening song. She snarls and a new voice comes out, guttural and low. The pain is like anything else. It doesn’t come all at once. It blossoms, it shifts, it moves like the tide. Her claws dig into the fabric, ripping with a loud shriek of something given way. She pants and takes a running lunge at the bars, pounding into it with her full force. On the other side, she sees Caitlyn smile. “That’s it,” she says. “You’re beautiful.”

Self-Diagnoses for the Consistently Disengaged UnREAL, Rachel Goldberg gen with hints of Rachel/Quinn

I realize that UnREAL barely counts as a fandom and I deeply regret never finishing the actual Rachel/Quinn thing I started — though I genuinely think sometimes I want to circle back to it — but I still think this piece holds up really well as its own little thing.

It had been nice while it lasted. Not to be the crazy girl, the little weirdo, except in the ways she chose to be. She'd felt happy. She thinks so, at least. Not that it matters now. Happiness is like some foreign country she's mostly read about in books. Nice to visit, but who can afford the rent? The food even tasted weird. She's a stale beer and pizza kind of girl.

#meme #my fic #other people should do this!

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roseamongroses · 6 months ago

Text

eggheads | en

Shuri/Riri Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Summer Camp Teacher!Riri, Auntie! Riri, Auntie! Shuri, Plot Device Rainstorm, Sexual Content, Missed Connections, Riri Williams is a Hot Mess, Shuri's into it

Summary: Sometimes smart people can be a little dumb when it comes to matters of love.

Shuri picks up her nephew from summer camp and meets his rather interesting teacher. Sparks fly--or at least they could, but it'll take a little more effort for them to get to the first date.

ao3

“Science camp?” Shuri repeated outloud, baffled—floored—befuddled even.

She swung her carry-on over her shoulder, her wide, glossy sunglasses sliding into place as she stepped outside the airport, “You paid…American dollars... to send my nephew—my cherished blood— to an…" she tasted the words on her tounge, disgust plain, "American, science summer camp? You could have sent him home for free. Is he being punished?”

Nakia’s holograph flickered over the left lens of Shuri’s sunglasses, “Not at all,” she said with a light-hearted chuckle, “You must understand, he practically begged to go. He wants to be like his auntie,” she teased, eyebrows raising pointedly, “Every kid his age apparently goes there for the summer, so I thought it’d be a good experience.”

And at that—Shuri’s heart warmed a smidge with smug satisfaction, “What does he even do there?” she asked, signaling her driver.

“Well, last week they learned about rock formations and visited a river to collect samples. This week they’re learning about circuits and— ” Nakia paused, squinting a bit, lips pursed as she thought, “He wants to show you himself, so I can’t spoil all the fun.”

“Bah--keep your secrets then,” Shuri said, popping the trunk to her car and throwing her suitcase in without a second glance. She accepted the keys from the driver, passing back a sizable tip in return, “What’s the address again?”

Miles away there was a little brick building across from the East Shore Public Library. It was a community center that had seen better years, but it wasn’t any less lively. Rainbow paper-chains threaded through the metal chain-link fences, green cups peppering the front window sills that were filled with budding sprouts, and a faded mural of stars and planets spanned the wall facing the street.

Several kids burst out of the front doors, capes tied around their shoulders as they clambered after one another. They all sprinted towards the jungle-gym out back--an adventure has begun it seems.

Inside, chipped, sickly-yellow walls were littered with peeling flyers. The words were bright, demanding you remember that--and dream for this--and volunteer for that. Little heads slouched along one wall, dark eyes staring ahead--the lot scowling, pouting, and grumbling as they waited to be freed from time out.

A line of colorful doors dotted down the hallway. Inside each classroom there were equally colorful tables, chairs, and walls. The kids clustered around each one--voices overlapping like a chirping nest of birds, grubby fingers reaching for the many tools and materials sprawled across the surface of their respective table. Scissors, wire, little light-bulbs and batteries--they all fought for their weapons of choice.

Their teacher moved about the classroom with ease. She stood tall--which wasn’t saying much, but she stood tall enough. Her grown-out, auburn braids were gathered in a messy bun, sitting crooked at the top of her head. She wore a long, cargo skirt that dragged behind, the sound of her beat-up work boots catching your ear long before you saw her face. The kids dutifully worked on the project, following her instructions.

Well…most of the kids did.

Toussaint stared at the scattered pieces in front of him. Clunky, disconnected--looking nothing like the cartoon diagram. He frowned, mouth shrinking into his face, hands crumpling the instructions as his frustration grew. It tickled his throat and clogged his breath.

“I…don’t get it,” he mumbled to himself, lip wobbling a bit.

What was he doing wrong?

Everyone else understood the instructions just fine. Little lights flickering on one-by-one, each one leaving him behind.

“But it's so easy? I’m done--” Demitrius boasted next to him.

He was a boy who was more afro than face. He had been doodling on the paper and table for most of the time, his project hastily put together long-before they even got instructions. It looked equally wrong and was covered in pudding--gross.

Across the table, the only girl at the table was slumped over, snoring away. Lunella had spent a total of five minutes putting together her project with little difficulty. She didn’t follow the instructions at all. There were parts moving, blinking, and whirring away--most of which she had grabbed from her bag.

She was most likely closer to being a scientist then any of them--then him.

Toussaint flinched at the realization, blinking rapidly as those little drops flowed.

He stared at the paper--it started right back.

Why didn’t it make any sense? Why couldn’t he do something so simple--

Looking up again, Demitrius did a double take, crayon falling as panic flashed across his face. His hand shot up, waving a bit, “Uh…Titi?” he called out, eyes darting around the classroom.

Riri let out a long, drawn out sigh, pinching her nose, “No, lil-man you cannot eat the wires. I done told you this--” she turned around, face falling.

No matter how long she's done this--she could never get used to the face of a crying child.

Toussaint sniffled quietly, tears running hot down his cheeks. They fell onto the instructions, blotting out the words like scattered shadows-- his hands shaking. He didn’t hear the footsteps nor the dragging skirt. He doesn’t know when, but he blinked and the sickly, yellow walls of the hallway were around him.

Riri crouched in front of the child--speaking low and unhurried.

Toussaint didn’t catch a word of what she said, but he pretended to hear. He wiped his nose, “...I’m okay,” he said, voice small--easily swallowed by the noise of the classroom and hallway, “I’m okay, I promise,” he repeated, hoping she’d believe him. Hoping she wouldn’t bring it up to his mom--she was busy enough. He didn’t want to worry her because he was being stupid. At that thought, he let out another choked up sob.

“Hey-hey, hey, I believe you,” Riri reassured softly, nodding as she wiped his face, “We’re jus’ gonna chill for a bit, that’s all.”

Toussaint nodded, sniffling as he blinked back the remaining tears.

After a while they finally returned to the classroom.

Miss Riri eyed the remains of his project curiously for a moment.

Toussaint fidgeted in his chair, looking off, embarrassed, but by the time he looked back--the light was blinking. It didn’t even look all that different from how he had it before and yet it worked.

Bright eyed, Toussaint looked up, “You fixed it,” he said, awed, prodding the project carefully.

“There wasn’t much to fix,” Riri said with a small smile, pointing to the two wires--purple and orange--he had unintentionally crossed, “You were on the right track, you just got a little mixed up.”

Demitrius nodded along, afro bobbing with the movement, “Of course she fixed it, my Titi’s the smartest in the world” he boasted, flashing a toothy grin.

Miss Riri snorted, ruffling his hair, “Well I guess I-”

At that, Toussaint’s nose scrunched up, “She’s not the smartest,” he said, matter of fact.

Demitrius scowled, head whipping around, “Yes she is-”

“No she isn’t-” Toussaint huffed, eyes narrowing as his chin raised, no lingering tears to be seen, “My Tati is the smartest.”

“No my T--”

“I’m sure we’re both smart,” Miss Riri said, cutting them both off with a no-nonsense look, “It’s not a competition, so--" her words were cut short as loud shrieks erupted from a nearby table--a kid threw up. Riri rushed over, conversation long forgotten as she tried to settle down the chaos.

In the meantime, Demitirus and Toussaint stared at each other, eyes glinting as a new challenge had been issued.

Afternoon pick up was a shit show like always.

Kids forgetting shit-- the shoes on their feet and the beads in their head. Parents acting tough for no good reason. Xavier had to break up several fights in the parking lot already. One kid crawled behind the front desk and scribbled over the entire sign in/out sheet in metallic sharpie. Then when she went to confiscate the sharpie, he threw up on her.

So yeah-- a normal, shit end to a shit day.

Riri didn’t hate her job, per say, but it certainly wasn't something she ever imagined doing. Wiping noses, breaking up fights, teaching the planets through song. It wasn’t exactly the filthy rich, inventor, astronaut she always envisioned herself becoming.But...it wasn’t like she had many options at this point. It helped that she liked dealing with kids better than undergrads, but she wasn’t sure that a consistent check was worth the biohazard-ass conditions.

After the first wave of pick-ups--the usual stragglers were left. The rest of the summer staff began to either clean up or supervise the remaining kids playing out back.

Riri manned the front desk, busying herself with the mountains of paper-work. She flipped through the sign in/out sheet, wincing as she noticed the sharpie was bleeding on everything else in the stack. Knowing her boss, he’d expect everything to get reprinted. She’d been bugging the man about setting up a digital sign-in, but he was averse to anything that wasn’t invented before the 1900s.

The bell on the front door rang, but she didn’t bother to look up, eyes darting between her open laptop and the stained paperwork.

Light footsteps approached the front desk and someone cleared their throat, “I’m here to pick up Toussaint,” they said with an accent she couldn’t quite place immediately.

Riri was briefly annoyed about the lack of a last name, but then remembered Toussaint was actually the only kid enrolled with that name this summer. She glanced up, before doing a double take.

That...was not Toussaint’s Mama.

Slim fingers with neatly trimmed nails rested against the counter, a long line she couldn’t help but follow up. Tall, lean, with tightly cropped curls. Shades blocking her eyes, dark and glossy like the athleisure set she wore. Expensive. She stood out—then again, she’d stand out anywhere. The stranger smiled—a cheeky flash of silver and dimples. Riri’s stomach flipped--funny—distantly she heard children laughing.

“Uh, right,” Riri blinked, brain doing a hard reset as she set aside the papers she was sorting through, “Can I see some I.D?” she asked, mouth on autopilot.

Reaching behind the desk, she found a beat-up binder, bursting at the seams. She flipped through the pages and accepted their Passport I.D comparing it to the student’s file. Very professional, calm, mature--fuck she looked a mess. She confirmed the information and picked up her walkie-talkie, notifying them to send Toussaint up.

Riri inhaled, putting on her best customer service smile, “You must be the famous Tati,” she mused as she handed back the I.D. She then adjusted her top, hoping to hide the stains.

Shuri raised her sunglasses, perching them on top of her head—distracting, dark eyes, catching the fluorescent glare like unearthed, precious stone, “He talks about me?” she asked.

“You’re all we can get him to talk about,” Riri shared, unconsciously tugging a braid loose from her bun and twirling it as she spoke, “He had us thinking you're the Queen of England.”

“Oh?”

Riri looked her up and down, eyes taking great care to take in every detail. She leaned against the counter, “I can believe it,” she said, looking around before her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “You’ve got a presence--real regal like.”

“Uh-huh,” Shuri murmured with a creeping smile, “What? Are you saying I'm intimidating?”

“Something like that…” Riri said with a low laugh, fingers tapping against the counter.

Everything about the teacher was--distracting.

Those hands, always in motion. The little cartoon band-aids around her thumbs, a bright, vibrant orange that matched the chain of little flags looping around the marbled, front desk. Gold hoops and a matching chain hanging above her collarbones, moles dotting the curve of her neck. Those broad shoulders and toned arms. Cropped tank-top and that long skirt that hung low on her hips--nothing indecent, but enough to be appreciated. The way her eyes never hesitated to meet her own--a silent challenge—a question.

Then Riri smiled again or rather her smile changed. It became smaller—less polished. Crooked—shy almost. The front gap in her teeth peeking through her lips. Distantly she heard children laughing.

Shuri was unable to decide where her eyes should land.

It was hard to describe--that lingering, something. The air tense, but not unfriendly as they stared at each other-- expectant. As if they were both waiting to see who’d be the first crack--the first to exhale--the first to ask--

Riri stiffened as her walkie-talkie went off again and she remembered herself--her job. She cleared her throat, “Yeah, Toussaint is a sweet student, but…”

At the mention of her nephew, Shuri's attention sharply pivoted, “Did something happen?”

“He had a tough time in lessons today,” Riri gently explained, “He got overwhelmed and had to step out of class for a little bit. Otherwise, he had a pretty good day.”

“Overwhelmed…?” Shuri repeated, uneasy, “Are the lessons difficult?”

After a certain age, she never saw the boy get upset at much. He was always a bright, cheerful child.

Then again, the same could’ve been said about her growing up. More often than not, she became rather adept at hiding the nastier feelings.

Riri sent her a sympathetic look, “The lessons are age-appropriate, but sometimes kids get frustrated and that makes it harder for them.”

Sometimes it wasn’t a matter of being smart enough. Humans are far too complicated to be ruled by logic alone. She knew it unsettled some guardians when their kids struggled. Knowing that it wasn’t something that’d be a quick fix or easily brushed under the rug. Sometimes she’s even had parents pull their kids out of the program--accusing her of all sorts of things, before eventually re-enrolling once they realized the options in the area for affordable S.T.E.M programs were slim to none.

Shuri looked a bit concerned, but she nodded her head, “I’ll be sure to inform his Mother. Thank you for letting us know," she said, making a mental note for later, “So... do you help plan the lessons?” she asked, conversationally.

Riri barked out a laugh, “Nah,” she said, shaking her head, schooling her expression quickly.

Shuri raised her eyebrow, “Not a fan, then?”

Riri hummed, looking off to the side, “The lesson plans are...fine,” she reluctantly admitted, “But, some kids are further along then others, so they get bored and…act up.”

“I’m sure they keep you busy.”

“Mhm," Riri's mouth pinched at the thought, muttering under her breath, "It’s my karma for all the shit I pulled in school growing up.”

“You? A troublemaker?” Shuri asked, leaning against the counter.

“You don’t believe it?” Riri's eyes squinted, cocking her head. A clean scent crept into her space--she didn't entirely mind.

Oh, Shuri believed it.

The teacher was trouble. From that ever elusive smile, to those dangerously sharp eyes--all carefully tucked behind that flimsy professional demeanor.

Growing up, the elders always said that where there was trouble, Shuri would follow.

Today wasn’t any different.

Shuri considered this for a moment, knowing what her next move should be, but--

“Tati--!” Toussaint shouted, sneakers squeaking as he rushed to greet his aunt.

The pair jumped at the sound, pulling away from each other.

Shuri cleared her throat, glancing back uncertainly, but she was quickly distracted as Toussaint jumped into her arms with a bubbly laugh. He was as bright as she remembered. Her worries eased, if only for that moment. It seemed as if her nephew had already forgotten his difficulties.

She lifted him up, the squirming boy falling into another fit of giggles as she tossed him about before setting him down.

Toussaint grabbed her hand, pulling her along as he chatted away. He tossed a careless wave behind, “Bye-bye Miss Riri, ” he called back, pushing through the doors.

Shuri sent Riri one final, lingering look before she was dragged away.

Once the door slammed shut, Riri sucked in her teeth, body slumping against the front desk. She pressed her head against the cool countertop, knocking it a few times for good measure as she collected her thoughts. She let out one, lengthy groan--disappointment rolling right into frustration.

Fucking dammit.

Sure she was sleep-deprived, covered in questionable stains, and looked a mess, but she definitely still had a chance.

If she was lucky, maybe she’d get to see her again.

Shuri swung that baby-blue, back-pack decorated with pink cats over her shoulder. She walked slower then normal, eyes glancing back towards the building every-so-often before inevitably returning to her nephew who was skipping, full-speed ahead.

She was confused, to say the least. They were interrupted, but Shuri had some time to at least ask for her number, give her number--something. But her mouth was dry, intended words lost and easily swept away by her nephew’s excitement.

It was undeniable--she froze.

That big brain of her--faltered, lingering far too long to get to the point. That never happens. She’s been attracted to women in the past. It certainly wouldn’t have been her first time initiating and yet she hesitated.

Riri was working. She was clearly exhausted. It didn’t…feel right to hit on someone when they couldn’t easily reject her advances.

That was probably it.

That was all there was to it.

Shuri shook her head, annoyed at herself. Regardless, the other woman was clearly interested. She should’ve taken the chance, but there was no point in getting too hung up over it. She was leaving in a week anyways.

She settled into the car, starting it up. She glanced into the rear-view mirror, making sure her nephew didn’t forget to put on his seatbelt as he continued to talk his head off.

“Did you go to college--” Toussaint randomly asked in the middle of describing the latest episode of that cartoon series he’s been watching.

Shuri took a moment to process the change of topic, pulling out of the parking space, “...College?” she echoed, confused, “No, I haven’t. Why do you ask?”

At that, her nephew’s face crumpled. He fiddled with his hands, mumbling, “Demitrius says you can’t be the smartest if you don’t go to college…”

Shuri paused at that, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Demitrius?

It must be one of the kids from camp.

“Our education system isn’t structured the same as western institutions,” she said, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

Toussaint straightened up at her tone, recognizing it as another one of her haphazard lessons.

Seeing that she had his attention, Shuri continued, “A good percentage of our population resides in rural areas, so our education system is relatively decentralized and the other tribes--”

Shuri’s built more schools then she’s attended to be honest. Over the years she’s even expanded beyond Wakanda to set up outreach and educational facilities. It was the reason she was in Chicago to begin with--she was overseeing the final touches of the newest facility.

Toussaint listened avidly as she detailed the various tribes and their educational systems. Sometimes she worried if she was going too fast or using too many words he didn’t understand, but he never balked at their discussions. He always took everything in, drinking in each word. Later on he’d usually quietly ask her to elaborate or explain anything he didn’t catch the first time. She figured that he preferred not to be babied. And considering the fact that he was their future King--she knew it was best to inform him the best she could.

Then out of curiosity, she asked what they were even talking about to bring up college to begin with.

“Oh, Demitrius said Miss Riri was smarter then you cause she went to MIT,” Toussaint explained, scowling at the reminder.

“She did?” Shuri asked, interest stirring once more, “Do you know what she studied?”

Toussaint scratched his head, nose scrunching up for a moment before he shook his head--no.

Shuri sighed, a little disappointed, “...Anyhow, you can’t quantify intelligence based on education alone," she said, deciding to move on, "There're far too many variables that can impact that and it can be difficult to compare across regions. Do you understand?”

Toussaint nodded, arriving to a conclusion. Although it probably wasn’t the conclusion Shuri anticipated. He stared out the window, watching the raindrops scatter towards the bottom, envisioning his raindrop beating the rest to the finish line.

#mcu #marvel #bpwf #shuriri #shuri x riri #shuri #riri williams #mcu riri #mcu ironheart #black panther #wakanda forever #fanfiction #writing #happy valentines day

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batsyforyou · 2 years ago

Text

Rain Rain Go Away

Tags: Rain, storms, cuddles, she/her practice

Pairing: Glorfindel x fem reader

Warning: Unedited

Author’s Note: This short drabble was made while I currently fight off my own anxiety and fear of storms as it literally happens outside.

@asianbutnotjapanese

Dozing in her bed the pitter patter of rain hitting her windows came to her ears and she shot up.’

“Rain?”

Throwing off her covers she raced to her window and shoved open her curtains, her heart slamming against her chest and the palm of her hands sweating. Water raced down the glass and over the inky valley.

“No, please no.”

Pulling the curtains shut she jumped at the sound of rumbling thunder. Memories of past storms clawed and howled at her mind and she stumbled in the dark to find her robe. Not bothering with shoes she opened her door, barely closing it behind her as she ran. The halls were dark and what lights that were lit made the shadows dance and they quivered with every lick. The pat of her feet against the floor and her quick breathing echoed in the empty space, the storm gaining strength outside.

Turning the corner she patted up the stairs that lead to Glorfindel’s room and knocked six times in a rhythm. Stepping back she fiddled with her fingers and kept watch over her shoulder examining every corner and straining her ears for noise, half expecting something to pop out and get her even though she knew that Rivendell was a safe place.

The creak of the door opening alerted her and she snapped her head around to see a groggy and brightly shining elf.

“Y/n?” He mumbled, “What is it? Is something the matter?” At this thought he seems to wake up instantly. But she was quick to dissuade him, “I was scared. No, I am sacred.”

“The storm woke me up and I—” Putting the feeling into words made her feel foolish as she realized that she had run all the way to him over something undoubtedly silly and she frowned.

“I’m sorry Glorfindel, I shouldn't have woken you up.”

He shook his head and waved her inside. “No. No, please. I wish to hear about what is bothering you.”

Stepping in she flinched at the thunder outside. Glorfindel frowned and gripped her thin shoulders in his hands. “It is alright. It is just rain.”

“But that's the problem!”

Wide eyed and terrified she felt tears prickle her eyes and her chest was hurting, her knees were trembling and it felt like her lungs were squeezing tightly together, preventing air from getting in. She wanted it to go away. She hated it. She hated it so much!

Bringing her close to him the elf held her in his arms and it felt like the little human woman might break in his hold. She gripped onto him as her heart accelerated, “Can you tell Elrond to make it go away?”

His lips pulled at the corners, amused. “What kind of power do you think he has?”

A squeal clogged in her throat at another boom of thunder, light flashing into the room as the storm got worse outside. “Can I stay with you tonight, please?”

Smiling he nodded, rocking the two of them as he rubbed her back soothingly.

“Of course you can.”

She seemed to relax at the knowledge that she wouldn’t be alone and sniffed. Gently leading her by the hand he directed her to his bed and sat her down on the undisturbed covers where he had not been.

“I myself only recently turned in for the night.”

Crawling back into his side of the bed he sighed and relaxed into his mattress with an arm behind his head.

Shrugging off her robe she dropped it delicately by the bed and shuffled under the covers. Sighing as the feeling of another person nearby worked to calm her but not completely.

The elf watched as she made herself comfortable, his ear twitching with every strike of lightning and every drum of thunder.

“May I ask you something?”

With her eyes closed and gripping the sheets she nodded.

“Why are you so afraid of storms?”

Her heart stopped and slowly began to beat again. “Growing up I loved it when it rained. I’d run outside and play before things got really bad with my siblings. I wanted it to come around more often so I can use an umbrella and make blankets forts with chairs” She giggled at herself. “But eventually, as I grew up, unfortunate events happened to my family that made storms harmful. Especially when the wind would pick up and throw things around.

She took a deep breath. “I guess I just learned to have this feeling.”

The silence in the room was quiet as the rain continued to throw itself at the walls and windows. Unyielding in its pursuit.

“I’m sorry, my friend. I am sure that must have been difficult for you.”

“It was.”

The two laid there as she stared up at the ceiling, she wanted to be comforted and cuddle but didn’t know how to ask. Licking her lips she looked to the elf, he looked to be dozing, maybe even sleeping. She couldn't quite tell with his open eyes.

“Glorfindel?” She paused. He had done more than enough to help her, letting her spend the night with him and sharing his bed. “No, nevermind. Goodnight.”

Turning on her side she turned away from him and curled up tightly. Hoping that sleep would find her soon and that she could wake up and have it all be over with. Dreading that she might find damage outside.

The weight of the bed shifted the sheets rustling and her eyes shot open as she felt a strong arm wrap around her waist and pull her into a warm body. Blushing she pushed her face into the cool pillow and whispered. “Thank you.”

She knew the elf smiled when she felt him squeeze her and warm air blowing into her ear.

“You only need to ask.”

“I’d hold you for all eternity.”

Masterlist

#tolkien #silmarillion #the silmarillion #lotr #glorfindel x reader #glorfindel #Glorfindel x fem readeer

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sttm99 · 10 months ago

Note

Hello, I have a request is that’s possible.

This week is the 2 year anniversary of my best friends murder, and grief is overwhelming.

Can I please request a bakugo x fem!reader whos best friend passed away suddenly, no worries if you don’t want the write it, have a lovely day🩷

I'm so sorry for your loss, and I hope this makes you feel even the slightest bit better❤️❤️

The first thing you remember feeling is the inability to breathe. Like your throat was clogged, and you couldn't take air in. Your hand came up to scratch at your jugular slowly.

"What?" You whisper softly into the phone.

Bakugo frowns at the tremor in your voice. "YN?" He calls out from where he's washing up the dishes from dinner. When you don't answer, he quickly shuts off the water, dries his hand on his shirt, and walks out to where you're standing in the living room. "Hey? What's wrong?"

He doesn't get anything from you, and worry begins to set in.

"A-are you sure? You're sure it's them?" You speak quicker, words practically tumbling into each other. You call out your best friend's full name and briefly describe their features as you try to convince the police on the other end of the phone that it's a mistake.

By now, Bakugo's almost panicking. Swiftly, he's behind you, his arms holding you tightly against him. And you let him, though you don't lean in. You just sort of stand there, frozen in place as the police reiterate everything they'd said before.

Katsuki's close enough now to hear what's being said, and his stomach drops at the news, his arms tightening around you. "Hey, hey... YN."

You don't answer him.

How can you?

He curses under his breath when he feels you begin to tremble in his hold, and your phone falls from your grasp unto the carpeted floor.

"No, no, no...." You whisper almost incoherently with quivering lips as you slowly start sinking to the floor.

Your boyfriend follows, gently letting you down, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with your head now in his chest as you shake and whimper with glossy, wide eyes.

"It's gonna be okay," he whispers into your ear, and you can feel his breath on your skin, his palms tenderly rubbing your arms. It helps just a little and your tears finally begin to fall.

It starts with little sobs he can barely hear, and then small cries until you're bawling your eyes out in his hold.

And he's there through all your different reactions, holding you to him every step of the way. Your head is in the crook of his neck and his lips are pressing kisses into your hair.

"My love..." he murmurs lowly, "It's gonna be okay. I promise. My love-"

His voice is drowned out soon enough, everything turning to just static in your ears as grief takes over you. But you can still feel the quick beating of his heart against his chest, and you can still feel how he holds you and hugs you.

And it's fine... it helps just a bit.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo angst

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voidwritesstuff · 7 months ago

Text

A revenant past.

Cw: Hiraeth has a ptsd/anxiety attack.

Summary: Samael Summons the pale rider Hiraeth with troubling news to deliver about the rogue Nephilim, Death.

>Part of @alexatheris-44 Against Creation AU.

Blackstone Keep rumbled with the earthquakes below the floor,Hiraeth walks down the ebony floor with those golden cracks like gilded obsidian.

The halls are decorated with demon statues,paintings of horrible deaths and villany,Debauchery and tyranny.

Above her torches shone a blood red,the light from the damnation outside filtering through the vitraux with the images of the lord of blackstone Keep made the place coated in crimson like an inescapable bloodbath.

She makes it to the black throne,there sat her lover and lord of blackstone Keep,Samael.

--Lord of Blackstone Keep-- she made a small bow,out of courtesy and flirtatious in nature.

--Ataraxy,welcome-- Samael smirked, waving off the guards.-- Thank you for coming after such short notice, especially since its been only a few weeks since your...mishap.

--Well you did tell me it was of importance.

--Indeed--Now that they are all alone,he offers his hand and she jumps on it. He sets her on his horns and meets that grey eyed gaze that he loves so much-- I am aware you told me I shouldnt worry about that little blight that poisoned you,that he would be trapped in oblivion...

--I did tell you that,yeah-- Hiraeth answered,her hands resting on her lap as her cape drapes off her shoulders and billows with the slight movements of her partner's head.

--But I couldnt let it rest. It got under my skin..-- he continued,knowing he might- probably get an earful-- And a good thing I didnt. My spies have encountered the individual that dared strike you and take advantage of your kindness, he was clutching an amulet of teal...

Ataraxy feels her heart squeeze,dread settling on her chest like a congestion That fills her lungs and doesnt allow her to breathe.

--And...He wasnt alone. He was with a figure that you..might know-- his voice is hesitant,his eyes denote this certain fear of telling her the rest.

--Sammy,please not these cat and mouse games. This is serious-- She put a hand to his horn,her eyes softening and pleading silently.

He sighed,low and rumbling like a deadly mudslide. --He was seen with,who I believe to be,...Death.

Hiraeth's eyes widen,they fill with crystal clear like tears. Her hands go to her mouth as she begins to sob heavily,she curls into herself as her breath falters and she begins to gasp.

The lord of blackstone Keep grips his girl and brings her to his face. He craddles her in his hands and cooes to soothe her. What an unbecoming sight for the demon,soft as an angels feathers for a nephilim.

But he doesnt care,he tries his best to kiss away the tears even if they burn his skin with divinity.

Hes unsure on what to say,the grief and the Despair she felt was so overwhelming. There was a tangible fear and pity.

Ataraxy always felt that it was her responsability to kill Death. He was one of the first borns, and before she knew the atrocities he made of the Abomimations she thought him a just Man. One she admired.

She thought him dead,relieved from the pain of the slaughter. But hes back like a revenant and ready to take his vengeance.

She failed, she failed to kill him and she cant fail from protecting her siblings from him. War had already lost an arm to the reaper and if she were to lose her family the Despair would eat her whole and kill her.

Holy tears fell down her face,darkening as her blood Wells up in her cheeks. That dread clogs her chest like a bad cold,a sickness that was gripping her tight and not letting go. Her breath fails her,her heart beats out of her chest.

Body begins to feel light,her vision doubles and she begins to shake. Samael's eyes soften as she curls into herself,one of his hands stroke those fine,white hairs of hers.

--My dear..-- he called out with a gentleness so unbecoming of a demon lord-- My dear I need you to breathe...-- He began to curl around himself and cradle her in his body. He lays on his throne like a sleeping dragon,guarding his treasure.

Hiraeth wasnt paying attention to his voice,her gaze is unfocused as her mind replays all the memories of her past,of the massacre.

The screams,the bloodshed, the pleas for mercy, corpses falling with a morbid thud. No matter how hard she tries she cant give them a peacefull death. "Please sister! Please-No!!! Gah!".

Shes there,shes killing them again. They still bleed out reaching for her- All of them,dozens hundreds, thousands..

And he remains.

The shadow of demise walking away haggard and swearing vengeance upon The Four.

His eyes shine bright yellow,his anger a funeral pyre.

Her failure.

For what must have been hours, she cries a wailing a mournful cry. Her body shakes and she looks so fragile like brittle bones,easily crushable as dust. A small,withering flower in the dark.

Samael isnt sure what to do other than hold her and kissing away her tears. Eventually her breath evens out and she returns to herself.

With her eyes red from crying, She sits up and in silence she remains. She can tell,even in her state, that theres something else in his eyes something else hes not telling her.

--Wh-What else are you not telling me?-- she asked,reaching for his face. Her hands grip his rocky chin.

--...Nothing else.

--I can tell when youre lying to me-- Hiraeth insisted, shuffling closer.-- Samael, I need you to tell me. Death is dangerous and i need to stop him before he escalates.

He sighs,his warm breath hugging her skin--Hes going to Kothysos...

Ataraxy's eyes widen,she pulls back violently and she begins crawling out of his curled up body. He tries to Grab her,to tell her shes in no state to fight,but shes too slippery, and before he knows it...

Shes gone.

#oc: hiraeth #against Creation au #darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #darksiders genesis #darksiders samael

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mysticalprincesskitten · 5 days ago

Text

Game of the Dragon: Chapter Twelve

AO3 LINK

Where are you?

Endless water waved mockingly. Salty seawater clogged her senses, chafing against raw skin.

The sea’s turbulence paled in comparison to the roaring in Rhaenyra’s ears. Her eyes scoured every league of open water; a few times, her addled mind conjured a pale wing, a hunk of bloodied scales, a red cape floating. Everything ached. When had she eaten last? Or slept? It mattered little. Nothing mattered. Her son was out there. She had to bring him home.

Rhaenyra’s empty stomach trembled. Syrax was growing weary, she could tell, each beat of her golden wings sluggish, struggling to resist the wind when it blew strong and sharp. But Rhaenyra Targaryen was bound to Shipbreaker Bay. She could not leave. Not yet. What if Lucerys had somehow survived? He could be clinging to his dragon’s carcass like a shipwreck. Against all logic, dregs of hope flared, warm in her chest.

Please, she begged the gods. Please.

She’d lost her daughter, Visenya, who’d never even taken her first breath.

Now Lucerys…

No. Not Luke. Not my sweet boy.

She’d been terrified throughout her pregnancy with Lucerys. Jacaerys too, but that was to be expected, given he was her first babe, and the spectre of her mother’s gruesome death still haunted her. Her second pregnancy was supposed to be easier, the maesters promised.

They were wrong.

Rhaenyra had barely bonded with Jacaerys before falling pregnant again, and the nerves were thrice as crippling. What if this babe resembled Harwin, like his brother? How could she spare love for her second babe when her first filled her heart already? Nightmares of bleeding in the childbed plagued her sleep. Food hurt to swallow. Fear consumed her — fear she was a poor mother, fear she was doomed to become her mother.

And when Lucerys was finally placed in her arms, squalling like a cat, all that fear turned to love.

His brown curls did not matter. He was here, and healthy. Her beautiful boy. Rhaenyra’s heart expanded with every child placed in her arms, her capacity for love eclipsing the fear.

But now it was back.

Let me find you alive. Please.

He could have survived. He could. Lucerys could have washed ashore, Arrax taking the blow from Vhagar and shielding his rider. If it … if it happened while the dragons were low in the sky, close to the sea. He could have jumped from the saddle. Clung to a piece of his dragon. He was hiding somewhere, yes that��s it, hiding from Vhagar somewhere along Shipbreaker Bay, or stranded at sea, still floating. She would find him.

She was bringing her son home.

Syrax shrieked, banking left.

Lucerys? Her heart lifted.

A ship crested the surface.

Black sails, Baratheon sigil. The screams of sailors. "Dragon!"

Syrax dove. Rhaenyra grabbed the saddle and leaned forward, squinting.

They were bringing in a vast net. Something was tangled in it. Large, pale…

No.

It wasn’t. Lucerys was alive, he was alive. He’d survived, he’d survived, it wasn't true, no…

Syrax flew low to the sea. Through tears, she glimpsed the remnants of Arrax’s wing; pale scales contrasted the black net encasing it, tangled with a familiar red cloak…

Her son was dead.

Rhaenyra fell deep, deep into agony. A terrible abyss, clawing and screaming, icy dread punching her stomach — and there was only pain. A keening wail. Syrax? Or her?

Dimly, she registered Syrax wheeling them around. Higher into the sky, then lower, diving once more at the Baratheon ship.

Anguish turned to fury.

They were squabbling over her son’s carcass, the traitors who had turned him away, refused to honour their oaths, casting him into a storm to be hunted down by Aemond and Vhagar…

Blood pounded in her ears.

“DRACARYS!”

Fire engulfed the ship.

Rhaenyra felt awful vindication. A respite, a release. It was their fault Lucerys was dead… They killed her son, her sweet, precious boy…

Syrax’s wave of flame didn’t need Rhaenyra’s command. They were one. One soul among two bodies, forged by fire and blood. Screams of burning men pierced the air. Rhaenyra screamed back. Her son was dead, and the agony was too much, she could not stand it, it had to go somewhere…

Fire danced above the water, wood blackening and crackling as the ship succumbed to the blaze.

The queen was missing.

Dragonstone held its breath, waiting for Rhaenyra’s return. Daemon despised the stasis; it made his bones itch, the need to do something carved deep. What were they waiting for? They needed to ambush Vhagar now. The combined might of the dragons could overpower the hoary old bitch. Daemon wanted to mount Caraxes, rally Rhaenys to his cause. Caraxes and Meleys together were a match for Vhagar, surely…

Alas, he had tried. Just that morning he’d met Rhaenys in the Dragonmont after she returned from patrol, demanding she mount Meleys and accompany him to King’s Landing.

“Is this the queen’s orders?” Rhaenys asked, face pinched.

“The queen has forsaken her duties.”

“She is a grieving mother, Daemon. She needs to see for herself.”

“The mother grieves while the queen shirks her responsibility.”

The glare his cousin shot at him could have curdled milk.

“Laena deserved better,” she whispered.

The mention of his former wife cut him short.

“You will mount Meleys now,” he insisted. “That is an order.”

“Would that you were the king.” Rhaenys sauntered away without sparing another glance at him.

Daemon felt chained to Dragonstone. Forced to endure the grief crushing him: for his brother, his daughter, his stepson. Aemond would pay for this. Daemon would see to it personally.

I should be with her. Rhaenyra was alone. Vulnerable. What if Vhagar happened upon her?

“Your Grace.”

Daemon glanced up at the rough northern burr.

“Ser Jorah,” he greeted. “I have a quest for you.”

“For me, Your Grace?”

“For you, and you alone.” Daemon crossed his ankles. “I need you to board a ship east.”

“Where in the east might this ship be heading?” Ser Jorah frowned, eyebrows knitted together.

“To Meereen. I need you to treat with my cousin on my behalf. Implore her to come to our aid. Tell her if she defends Rhaenyra’s claim and renounces her husband, we will ensure both Targaryen empires flourish for the next thousand years.”

Ser Jorah rubbed his mouth. “Queen Daenerys might not be so willing to oppose her husband, especially if it means facing Prince Aemond on the battlefield.”

“Daenerys did not accompany Aemond from Meereen,” Daemon explained. “I know my cousin, Ser. Her absence means a great deal. The Queen of Meereen would not think twice to defend her husband’s birthright, if she believed the Iron Throne was his by rights. But she is not here.”

“Mayhaps she means to join him when the war is won.”

“That is for you to ascertain, my lord. Go to Meereen. Return with Daenerys, or do not return.”

The disgraced knight could hardly refuse. Before his death, Ned Stark had condemned Jorah Mormont for selling poachers apprehended on his land to slavers. Ser Jorah ran from the sword before the Lord of Winterfell arrived at Bear Island to carry out his execution, making his way into Daemon’s employ instead. Were it not for the Rogue Prince, Jorah would have been beheaded a long time ago. Swearing fealty to Daemon saved Mormont’s life. Daemon would never let the knight forget that.

After Jorah took his leave, Daemon assembled the members of Rhaenyra’s new council in her stead. Rhaenys stood opposite him, flanked by Baela and Rhaena. Ser Steffon Darklyn, Ser Alfred Bloome, Lord Simon Staunton and Lord Bartimos Celtigar filled the gaps between them.

“The queen has not returned,” said Ser Alfred.

“A shrewd observation,” snapped Daemon. What an asset to this council, he thought bitterly. “No matter. In her absence, you will take your orders from me.”

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes accusingly.

“She should not be alone,” Lord Simon stated. “Aemond could still be waiting for her.”

On that we agree. “The queen will return when she sees fit.”

Ser Alfred let out a harrumph.

Daemon glared. “Is there something you would like to say, Ser Alfred? Do regale us with your insight.”

The ruddy-faced knight opened his mouth to retort, but the familiar screech of a dragon cut him off.

Daemon’s heart lifted. Relief flooded him. She is home.

As his wife entered the hall, Daemon approached her, gently laying his head in the crook of her neck. She smelled of smoke. Ash covered her beautiful face, matted in her silver hair.

Something had provoked her wrath.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” He whispered.

Rhaenyra gave a shaky nod.

I will kill Aemond myself for inflicting this pain on her.

The council was silent as Rhaenyra steadily walked to the head of the table. Vacant eyes assessed the map sprawled on the table, before looking at them all.

“I want Aemond Targaryen.”

None dared defy her. Her beautiful face crumpled, and she strode from the hall without another word.

#rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra x daemon #a song of ice and fire #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #game of thrones #house targaryen #fanfic #fanfiction #asoiaf

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levi501ackerman · 1 year ago

Text

Steel Heart Chapter 6:

A Cascade of Wine and Water

Hange x Reader Chapter Index Masterlist

Megan's Notes: When I was writing one part I got extremely hungry and made carbonara at 12am. Posted 7/19/2024

Word Count: 5.3k

By the second morning after the vicious mutts, Levi decided he was going to give you tea with crushed sleeping pills.

The first night—hours after the Marleyan mutts attacked—most of the knights were jolted awake and they rushed out of their tents. Their hearts were beating in their throats looking around the dark forest for a sign of danger, frantically asking each other what was going on. Your screams and ugly wailing sobs attracted them to Levi’s tent, where they discovered Levi shaking your thrashing body. Levi assured the knights not to worry and that you were having a nightmare. For the rest of the first night, they laid in their bed rolls with their hearts hammering each time your cries projected into the forest.

The knights slept better the following night, Captain Levi was able to recognize when you were having restless dreams. He was able to wake you before your sobs turned into screams which was favorable considering that night you camped near a village just outside of Karanese District. Levi himself had trouble sleeping and it didn’t tire him to hold you as you cried. He stroked your hair and reassured you were safe, feeling sympathetic.

Levi recognized how you fully trusted and were loyal to Sir Zacharius, but it slightly irked him how much you followed him seeking his company, especially after the Marleyan mutts.

As the remaining knights and Levi rode into the Karanese District, you kept your eyes peeled. Occasionally, your heart panged at the sight of a shadow imagining it was a threatening person. It practically kept you on edge the entire trip into the city. You held Levi tight, looking around for more mutts or any sign of danger.

When reaching the outer gate of the Karanese District, an unexpected sense of comfort released the tight knot in your abdomen. Karanese District looked like Shiganshina. The terracotta-colored roofs, a canal running through the city, and one large building being the most distinct of them all.

“Keep your head down,” Levi told you, and when some civilians were admiring and heckling the knights, you understood Levi’s reasonings.

“Dad come look! There are knights!” Said a voice from a child.

“Hi, Levi!” A woman’s voice called out for him.

“JEAN YOU’RE HOT!”

“Levi Ackerman?! Of the Royal King’s Guard?!”

“What the hell happened in Shiganshina?!”

“Why would a Royal King’s Guard leave the castle?”

“Did you know Levi is one of the jeweled knights?”

“Woah, they all look so intimidating.”

“Who’s with Levi?!”

“Are they here to protect us?”

“Whoever it is, it's clearly someone special!”

“Hi Jean!!”

“I think they’re guarding that person.”

“You guys take care of us when the Marleyan Cult attacks Karanese!”

“It would be an honor if one of you bought my bread!”

“JEAN KIRSTEIN I’LL BE A GOOD HOUSEWIFE!”

The attention from the townspeople and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone were clogging your ears. You couldn’t think straight. The noise was relentless and pressure started building behind your nose. Your chest was aching, then it began to be hard to breathe. It was all too much.

“Hey, calm down,” Levi turned over his shoulder, his voice soothing. “We’re almost to headquarters. Until then into the nose, out of the mouth.”

“W-Why are they screaming at us?”

“Just focus on breathing.”

The building for the Karanese Military Headquarters was much larger in person. The grey stone walls towered above the small surrounding buildings. When entering the yard surrounding the fortress, dozens upon dozens of knights were standing guard. The sound of the grand iron gates closing with a metallic echo startled you. The collective tension was released among the knights, feeling secure behind the gate of the fort. Levi and the knights got off their horses, guiding them and walking closer to the entrance of the headquarters.

“Can you help me again?” You asked, Levi held up his arms. You slid off his horse awkwardly, holding Levi’s shoulders for security. After, Levi gestured for Jean to walk with him. Jean held onto the reins of his new horse, striding forward to Levi. The majestic horse walking with Jean was not his original horse.

A memory of Jean and Levi conversing after the Marleyan mutts attacked took over your thoughts. You remember the anguished look on Jean’s face when he came to terms with having to put his horse down. Jean’s horse had two legs bitten off along with a crater of exposed muscle, tendon, and blood near the shoulder given by the ferocious hounds. It was sickening to hear the horse’s cries when Jean had to put it out of its misery. Another memory flashed to Jean’s sorrowful face later that evening when telling you he loved his horse named Thunder. It was quiet during that dinner and not only because Levi asked for a moment of silence to honor the four knights that died, but because the knights were exhausted.

As you trailed behind Levi, you heard him discussing with Jean about the needed supplies. You looked down at the stone ground in an attempt to avoid the eyes of all the guards of the fortress. The clank of the armor, the horses nickering and snorting with each step toward the large entrance attracted the eyes of all nearby. How could the guards of the headquarters not take their eyes off a group of wounded and exhausted knights? When approaching the door, Levi asked for you to take the reins of his horse. He walked ahead meeting a knight in front of the doors. The entire group of knights with their horses stopped before the door, giving you a chance to pet Levi’s beautiful horse.

While you were petting the base of her neck, you felt the heat of the sun on her. You looked into her eyes, giving a small smile, and hoping she knew the extent of your gratitude. Levi’s horse was glancing at you and then she turned her head toward you. She lowered her head to the level of your face while not breaking eye contact and after a moment she blew some air on your face. You took the initiative to pet her jaw enjoying the attention she was giving you.

“Levi’s horse seems to have bonded with you quickly,” Jean said.

“Levi doesn’t want me to name the horse, but I think I thought of a name for her,” you said looking at her majestic presence. Levi turned from his discussion with the knight.

“Grab any personal items and anything you don’t want left with the horses. Commander Lobov’s guards are going to store our horses in the stables. The kitchen is going to get started on lunch for us, I’ll be in a meeting, and then after they’ll show us to our beds.” An influx of guards started walking toward the horses, carefully taking the horses. Levi walked back toward Jean, you, and his horse. “Connie!” Levi called over and when he approached, “You and Jean are attending the meeting with me.”

“May I take the horse?” Asked a tall, blonde, and burly knight towering over you. Though you had your hood on, the way he looked at you made you feel uneasy. You ducked your head down, trying to avoid his gaze on your face. You gave him Levi’s horse and then drew closer to Levi, Jean, and Connie.

A guard of the Karanese fortress and Commander Lobov lead everyone through the tall and grand oak doors. The inside was a hive of knights hastily walking to where they were headed. A knight was guiding a young group of people presumably trainees, two knights were walking and discussing the papers they were holding, and another group of knights was pushing a cart of broken weaponry. The guard began splitting off from Commander Lobov leading Levi’s knights to a dining hall. You stayed with Levi, Jean, and Connie seeking their protection. Levi suddenly realized you were trailing behind him.

“You need to eat—”

“I’m staying with you,” You said quietly.

“Princess, this is a military base it’s one of the safest places in the district. Did you see all those guards outside? Do you see all these knights just in this room alone? The minute there is a threat all of them are prepared to fight. Do not worry, you are safe here,” Levi assured. You looked at Jean and Connie and then Commander Lobov spoke up from behind them.

“Captain, we can arrange for lunch to be brought to our meeting. It’s not a problem.” He said in a friendly manner. You looked at Levi with pleading eyes, you were determined to go with him.

“Fine let’s go.” Levi started walking down the hall to Commander Lobov’s side. A pang of embarrassment sprung inside, Levi seemed annoyed with you. You tried to remind yourself he just doesn’t smile a lot and paired with his bluntness he creates a standoff demeanor. He’s not mad at me.

“Do you think Levi’s mad at me?” You whispered to Connie.

“No, Princess Y/N, you don’t have to worry.”

Eventually, you entered a large room with a long dark oak table in the center, the walls were lined with bookshelves, and one wall had windows reaching the high ceiling. Under the table was a large light purple rug, and hanging from the high ceiling was a crystal chandelier. The extravagant room distracted you from Commander Lobov, shutting the door and respecting you by kneeling.

“Your Highness,” He said with a fist over his heart. “Welcome to the Karanese District Military Headquarters, Knight Commander Lobov at your service. I hope you feel safe and comfortable while you are here.” Commander Lobov said genuinely and then he softly took your right hand and kissed it.

“Thank you, I like this room a lot.” Commander Lobov roared with laughter, standing up. He glanced at Levi.

“So it’s true. You did go into hiding when you were young.” He said with a big smile on his face.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I did. The women who raised me kept me safe and I miss them. I don’t even know if they’re alive. I didn’t know I was being hidden from a cult until a few weeks ago . . .” Commander Lobov’s eyes lingered on your gloomy face.

“Where were you raised? Orvud? Dauper village? Shiganshina? Yarckel?” You nodded, with your eyes becoming glossy.

“Shiganshina . . . it was destroyed by the cult.” Your chest started heaving and your eyes met with Levi’s pleading for comfort.

“Princess, let's sit down.” Lobov guided you to one of the seats next at the large table. Jean and Connie started to pull out the oak chairs, but when you noticed Levi was sitting next to Jean you decided to get up and sit in what was going to be Jean’s seat. He was stunned into confusion, at you taking his chair to sit next to Levi.

“I’ll just sit over here . . .” Connie laughed at Jean losing his chair.

“So Levi and his scouts took you from Shiganshina? Were you The First Knight?” Commander Lobov asked you and Levi as he got situated across the table.

“Miche Zacharius was rotated into The First Knight position a couple years ago. He was expected to be the last until the Princess’ twenty-fifth birthday. Obviously, the operation was scrambled together when the cult attacked Shiganshina a few weeks ago. That’s why we need your help, Commander.” Commander Lobov leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Levi and understanding the gravity of his request.

“How can I help?”

“First, I need information. Erwin Smith, Commander of the Royal King’s Guard, has been here?”

“No. I have not heard of him being here and I have not received a message of his arrival. Honestly, even seeing you outside of Mitras Castle is surprising, Captain Levi.”

“Dame Hange Zoe? Have they passed through in the past two weeks?”

“No. Again, nothing.” Levi sighed with no attempt to hide his frustration with the situation he was in with his comrades.

“I haven’t heard from Dame Hange in a while. No messengers from them and I am unaware if my messengers have reached Hange. I’m concerned . . . we were supposed to meet in Trost, but I received a message from Erwin that a ward of the Marleyan Cult had taken Trost. Not only that, we came across Commander Flagon’s camp. No survivors and his sword is missing.”

“Don’t tell me—”

“Yes . . . a jeweled sword.” Commander Lobov cursed under his breath and then he hit the table with his fist. A knock was heard on the door behind you and then a voice called they had the food for the knights. A tall, handsome man with blonde hair and brown eyes was pushing a two-tier serving cart. The cart had six plates with steel dish lids, extra plates, a large carafe of water, bottled wine, silverware, and cups. He pushed the cart to Commander Lobov’s side. Then he stood proudly in his traditional white double-breasted chef jacket and pants, looking friendly with a hint of shyness.

“Good afternoon, Princess Y/N, Captain Levi and may I please hear your names . . . ?”

“Connie Springer.”

“Jean Kirstein.” The handsome man smiled.

“Welcome Connie and Jean. Welcome Captain Levi and your Highness to Karanese Headquarters. I am Niccolo, one of the main chefs and also a Knight of the Scout Regiment. I would like to share with you my favorite comfort foods.” Niccolo turned to his cart, he brought out four placemats, their simplicity was elegant. There was a purple border along the white rectangle, you realized it was the same shade of light purple that matched the carpet underneath the table. Then Niccolo placed small empty plates and silverware on your placemats, and one plate with a steel cover in front of you. “As the kitchen has an influx of potatoes and it is my favorite vegetable. This appetizer is my garlic potato skins with cheese garnished with parsley.” He lifted the cover and the delicious garlic scent filled your nostrils.

“Woah,” you whispered and your mouth watered. Connie and Jean were frothing with desire.

“Thank you, your Highness. Have you had this before?”

“Not potatoes like this.” You all grabbed a piece desperate for warm food. The knights at the camp were running out of food and meal rations were very small. This was your first meal of the day.

“Would you like water or wine?” Niccolo asked setting cups in front of Jean and Connie. You heard of wine once, but never tried it. You thought you recalled Fairy Godmother Ymir saying she needed wine when Fair Godmother Christa annoyed her.

“I’ll take wine,” Connie said.

“Wine thank you,” Jean said.

“What’s wine?” You whispered to Levi, who was staring intently at Niccolo waiting for your answer.

“A type of alcohol. We’ll have water.” Levi said firmly to Niccolo.

“Is there a reason why I can’t try some?”

“Because I said so.”

“Okay sorry, Levi.” While Niccolo poured your drinks. You bit into the warm potato, the food brought pleasure to your mouth and you quickly devoured the potato skin. Jean and Connie devoured the potato as well while Levi was cutting it with a fork and knife.

“For the main meal,” Niccolo took the empty plates except for Levi’s and placed the four large plates with a dish cover on top in front of everyone. “I made my favorite comfort meal I enjoy eating when I am sick or had a long day. It is mushroom risotto garnished with breadcrumbs and parsley—hot from the kitchen. “Please enjoy.” When you lifted the lid the golden risotto and sautéed mushrooms smelled delightful. You carefully took a spoonful of the rice and the sensation of heat along with the buttery, garlic hint of flavor was satisfying. You scooped more into your mouth.

“Niccolo, sir, this is absolutely wonderful! I’ve never had risotto before!” You said and a large teeth-showing smile grew on his face and a tint of pink on his cheeks.

“Your Highness, it means so much to me, that you enjoy my dish!”

“This really is delicious,” Jean added.

“Thank you so much!” Niccolo said and you took a sip of water. The cool sensation went down your throat, pooled at your chest, and then spread. You realized how dehydrated you were once you emptied your glass. “More water?” Niccolo held the carafe and then poured more water into your glass. You glanced over at Levi and even he was enjoying the risotto dish, nearly finishing it.

“Do you think it’s good, Levi?” You softly asked.

“Wonderful.”

“Thank you, Captain!” Niccolo said and then he placed the last covered dish in front of you preparing to speak. “This is one of my favorite desserts, I make it every time I finish it. It’s a simple chocolate cake and I enjoy having slices of strawberries paired with it.” Niccolo lifted the lid to see four sliced pieces of chocolate cake, on the top and along the side were a generous amount of sliced strawberries. Niccolo placed clean, tiny plates next to the risotto plate and then began to to transfer a slice to each plate.

“The strawberries are perfect!” Connie said, taking more bites. The anticipation was killing you for when Niccolo was going to put a slice on your plate. Jean took a bite of his cake and moaned.

“Really good! You’re right the ripe strawberries with the chocolate are wonderful!” Jean said. You grew antsy, holding your fork and ready to dig in. Niccolo placed the slice in front of you and you used your fork to cut a piece of the cake, making sure to get a slice of strawberry on your fork. The combination of strawberries and chocolate was wonderful. It was sweet and satisfying.

“No thank you, I am full,” Levi said holding a hand up. You gasped excitedly.

“Levi can we have your slice?!” You asked grasping Levi’s arm, he pulled away and you swore you saw a slight smile.

“Knock yourselves out.”

“Thank you, Captain!!” Connie said.

“ALRIGHT! More cake!” Jean said.

“Thanks!!”

“You kids turn my hair grey,” Levi said under his breath. Niccolo divided the remaining slice and then put it on the plates.

“This dessert is delicious!” Jean said.

“I am glad you enjoyed this meal, it was an honor to serve you all the food. This morning we got two full cows and currently the kitchen is working on dividing the meat and already working on tonight’s dinner. There will be the options of T bone steak, rib eye steak, there will be chuck roast, and braised beef short ribs, and all the cuts of beef you like we’ll be serving over the next few days. Like I said earlier we have an influx potatoes, so we will have the option of roasted or mashed potatoes along with gravy. Your Highness, I highly recommend the braised beef short rib.” Niccolo said with a smile back on his face.

“Thank you, Niccolo, I’ll try it.” As Niccolo started gathering the plates, Jean, Connie, and Levi were also thanking Niccolo for the meal.

“Let’s get back to business,” Levi said to Commander Lobov who leaned forward in his chair returning to listen to Levi intently. “The other day a ward of the Marleyan Cult attacked my men with mutts. We lost four men and two horses. Six men received stitches, but I want the medics here to relook at the stitches and redo them if needed. We did a light evaluation of our horses, but I want your horse wrangler to do a full health examination. We need help with food, there’s practically nothing left. I would like at least three knights from headquarters but two is generous . . .” Commander Lobov nodded at Levi.

“Three men, food, and health evaluations for your men and the horses, right away Captain.” Commander Lobov extended his hand to Levi and they shook firmly.

Later when the knight was showing you your room, you felt stressed when you saw the one bed in yours. You plead with Levi who rolled his eyes when you requested to sleep in the same room. He gave in. Levi's and your's room was at the very end of the corridor, the one room next to it had Jean, Connie, and two other knights.

You stayed by Levi’s side when Commander Lobov was introducing the three knights to Levi. One you recognize from earlier in the day, the big burly blonde knight who took Levi’s horse for you. He looked like he could knock out someone with one punch. He along with the other knights introduced themselves, kneeling and saluting for you. He was the last to introduce himself to you and Levi.

“Your Highness,” His husky voice started, “I’m Reiner Braun a Knight of the Scout Regiment. I will protect and ensure you will live to fulfill your duty.” Then he kissed your hand with some of his facial hair tickling you.

“Gentlemen, we head to Stohess the morning after tomorrow. Be ready for any moment we need to leave suddenly. ” Levi said and Reiner’s eyes stayed on yours longer than necessary. You along with Levi walked outside of the door of the room to see Chef Niccolo.

“Commander Lobov, Captain Levi. Princess Y/N,” Niccolo saluted with a fist over his heart. “Let me join your squad. I guarantee I will be an asset as I have experience cooking on the field.” You imagined Niccolo cooking the mushroom dish from earlier and were convinced. Levi looked skeptically at the man pridefully saluting.

“Niccolo, your persistence is admirable, however, you are an asset in the kitchen.” Commander Lobov said.

“Please sir,” there was an unexpected plea in his voice. “It would be an honor to escort the Princess to Mitras Castle.”

“No. That’s final.”

“Commander. Captain. If another knight is needed I’ll be ready to leave, sir!” Niccolo’s left leg was trembling . . .

The end of the day was greeted by rain. Dark clouds floated above Karanese District, pouring rain onto the town. The thunder and lightning were approaching from the distance, getting louder. During dinner, you had the braised beef short ribs. Niccolo’s recommendation was delicious, the beef was tender and practically falling off the bone. It’s been a while since you had consistent meals, especially with a large piece of protein.

You sat next to Levi who was discussing with some of his men the key points for the journey to Stohess District. The main plan was to stay along the river and the camping spots were set up in a way where there would be no nights staying in the city. Only a day of getting supplies then continuing onwards to camp somewhere inside Wall Sina. Levi decided that meeting with Commander Erwin and Dame Hange was a loss and that he was going to try to push to reach Mitras Castle as soon as possible.

There was an unsettling feeling in the air while through the halls. You followed Levi, Jean, and Connie back to the rooms. Each crack of the thunder made your shoulders jump, the loud sound startled you. Jean and Connie stayed in your room talking with Captain Levi. The sounds of the rain on the window made satisfying tapping noises that made you feel tingly and relaxed. Your eyes were droopy and heavy. Their voices were fading away.

Something woke you in the night. It was dark and the moonlight was shining through the window. You turned over to see Levi’s bed empty. Your eyebrows furrowed and you slowly started to pull the blankets off of yourself, contemplating leaving the room to search for Levi. Hopefully, he was in Jean and Connie’s room next door. Perhaps he left so you could sleep in a quiet room?

The rain was pounding against the window. The view from your room showed a quiet wet night. The streets of Karanese District were lit by lamps, just like how it was in Shiganshina. There was barely any movement. In the distance, you could see the inner gate. You could see the tiny figures that were knights guarding the activity of the gate. There seemed to be a group of knights on horses entering the inner gate, riding through the rain, thunder, and lightning.

The creaking sound of the door slowly opening, made you whip your head around to see Jean in the doorway. He rushed in, closing the door behind softly.

“Princess, are you okay?” Jean with a sense of urgency in his voice.

“Y-Yes. I just woke up where’s Levi?” You asked and then Jean marched to you then knelt unexpectedly in front of you, he held your arms and looked into your eyes. Your heart skipped a beat, with a foreboding feeling that Jean was not going to tell you good news.

“Princess I do not want to scare you,” Jean’s eyes were sharp, and alert along with a hint of fear. A loud crack of thunder made your heart bulge from your chest. “You need to listen . . . Levi found Commander Lobov murdered in his office. He knows the traitor is in the headquarters.” Your heart sank, thinking of the man who was helping Levi’s knights was murdered. He was the leader of the headquarters, the man in charge of everything and he was murdered . . . Your eyes widened and your hands started trembling.

“Is Levi next?! Is he alive?! Where is he?!” You thought of Levi’s throat getting slashed by some evil person, his body hidden in some closet. Another scenario your imagination played was a group of awful men ganging up on Levi and though he put up a tough fight, he in the end gets murdered. Your breath labored, coming in short, rapid gasps at the thought of Levi getting kicked and beaten to death.

“Princess, Levi is alive, he’s going to meet us soon.”

“THEN WHERE IS HE?!” You flung yourself on Jean wrapping your arms around his next, choking out sobs. Your chest was heaving and Jean wrapped his arms around you and then he stood up.

“I said he’s going to meet us soon, so calm down! Please your Highness where’s your cloak?” Jean asked looking around the dark room. Then he grabbed your cloak off the floor. “Put this on and then we’re going to meet Levi!” With your cloak on you followed Jean out of the room. It suddenly felt slightly warmer. You clung to Jean as he took you down the hallway. In the distance, you could hear men yelling instinctively. There was a bright light at the end of the hall. Doors to the rooms where the knights slept were opened, showing their empty rooms. Jean guided you to the end of the hall, both your eyes grew at the sight, feeling heat on your skin.

You looked over the railing looking five floors down and seeing the ground flooring. One wall on the ground floor was busted open, with a hot fire burning. Several knights were fighting the fire while some knights were rushing out of the door. You saw through the railings on the other floors the haste movement of knights rushing to evacuate.

“What’s happening?! Is the fire because of the lightning?!” Your voice quivered.

“Stay by me, we’ll meet with Levi and get somewhere safe,” Jean assured and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. There was a loud boom and the building shook. Dirt and dust fell from the ceiling. Jean and you stumbled on your feet and then you both grabbed the railing.

“What was that?! Was that a bomb?!” You sobbed remembering the sounds of the explosions during the night you escaped Shiganshina.

“Shit! Let’s move!” Jean pulled you toward the stairs. You both ran down the stairs and the closer you got to the ground floor the more packed the area was with knights. Some were pushing and shoving making the situation worse. A knight ran into Jean knocking him from you, you tried to hold your grasp on his arm, but he was shoved away from you.

“Jean!” You shrieked. More knights were shoving Jean forward, the clones of steel armor making it hard to differentiate in the chaos. “JEAN!” You screamed, running forward, pushing, and hitting armor. You did your best to push through the knights, urging your body toward Jean.

“Y/N!” Another voice yelled and then an arm pulled you through the wave of the knights, suddenly you were against a wall with Connie and Jean.

“Jean are you okay?!”

“There are stairs on the west side of the headquarters with less human traffic!” Connie started leading you and Jean toward the west side. Knights pushed against you, Connie and Jean heading in the opposite direction of you. You held Jean’s arm and Connie’s hand through the force of knights. The smell of smoke was starting to get stronger almost making you cough.

“CONNIE!” Down a corridor was Levi waving his hand. The three of you changed directions going down a north corridor. Levi and more knights you recognized from his camp were in the corridor.

“LEVI!” You screamed. When Connie, Jean, and you got closer to the group you hugged Levi feeling relieved he was alive. “I thought you were going to die!” You said frantically.

“Calm down Princess! Into the nose, out through the mouth!” Levi said and you nodded. Then Levi turned to his men. “We need to get to our horses! Get to the first meeting point! The church in the village passed the inner gate!” Your head was spinning there was too much going on and your adrenaline was pumping. Your breathing was getting better but there was so much going on it was hard to process where you were in the headquarters. “Listen, I don’t know if a ward of Marleyans followed us or if this is an ambush, however, there is a group outside and they know the Princess is in here. Protect Y/N at all costs! Lay down your lives!”

A sudden rumbling and a loud boom shook the building once again. You lost your balance and a wind of dust blinded you. You shut your eyes and plugged your ears. But it didn’t muffle the yelling and the sound of the building collapsing. Levi’s arm pulled you back and you were pulled onto the ground.

You started feeling drips of water on your face and you opened your eyes and saw the floor covered with dots of water. Your eyebrows furrowed and then you glanced upwards to see a chunk of the building opened up to the stormy sky. Thunder boomed through the headquarters loudly, and your heart jolted. The ground in front of you was . . . gone? The floor of the corridor . . . was gone? Your breath was shaky as you realized your boots were nearly hanging off the hole in the floor. You turned to Levi only to notice the knight that pulled you back wasn’t Levi. The knight wasn’t Jean or Connie. It was one of the other knights. With your heart thumping in your chest, you got on all fours. Crawling toward the hole in the ground. You coughed as you kept breathing in dust and the faint smell of smoke. You whimpered as you crawled and carefully looked down. The debris of the building went through all the floors landing on the ground floor. Stones were crushing knights, you saw a pile of rubble with limbs sticking out and bodies lying lifeless on the rubble and around it. Among the bodies on the rubble were Levi, Jean, and Connie’s.

next chapter Chapter 7: Dame Hange Zoe

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thegoblinwitchqueen · 4 months ago

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Broken Hearts Still Beat

Slow Burn/NSFW: Silco/OC,Vander/OC, Silco/Vander (fuck it everyone is in love)

A03

Summary: Set during the pre-canon events, we follow Orla Engelhardt, an Enforcer with an innate desire to help others, but when her staunch moral code leads her on the precipice of discovering corruption within her ranks, she finds herself in the capture of Zaunite revolutionaries, unable to return to Piltover due to a bounty on her head.

The collision of two worlds working together to find the murderer of her squad and the tough choices between the life she knew and the life she discovers with Silco and Vander.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Lanes

Things weren’t supposed to go this way.”

A faded ringing in Orla’s ears from the blast dulled out most of the conversation between blurred figures, frantic and desperate, as they bossed the bound enforcer down shoddy stairs. Aged wood groaned under the weight of three or more sets of boots aside from her own, and for a moment, Orla worried they’d fall straight through.

“I don’t like this,” A deep voice like tumbling boulders boomed over Orla’s short stature, angry and laced with heavy frustration. “What are we going to do now, Silco!”

Orla couldn’t see— her goggles were cracked and covered in soot, and whatever little vision she would’ve had was fogged into obscurity from the heat of her labored breathing.

No, things weren’t supposed to go this way at all.

With the passage of each confusing moment, since she found herself tied up and carried away by strangers, precious oxygen escaped through the seem of the gas mask assigned with her uniform. The same gas mask she received the first day of her training, a feat not many Enforcers could relate to. A broken clicking of the internal fans hissed through the thick and metallic air like the damned contraption was ready to give up at any second.

“Vander, I need you to calm down.” another voice growled, low and bitter like stones grinding together underneath carriage wheels. His breath shook slightly in quiet uncertainty. “Let me just—give me a minute to think.”

Zaun tasted bitter against Orla’s tongue and burned the hair in her nose, clogging her throat. No matter how many desperate pulls for fresh air her lungs tried, she felt like she was minutes away from drowning in a sea of harsh chemicals and ore dust.

The Grey.

“Calm down? Calm down?! Silco, we don’t have time to sit on our asses and think!” Vander hissed, pushing Orla further into the depths with a forceful shove. “Who fucking knows how long it’ll be before they find out what happened? Days? Hours? Minutes? Fuck! Topside might have already sent more of them to investigate! What were you thinking? I can’t believe you fucking blew them up!”

‘There was no air and no sunlight. We were dying. I was dying. I had to do something. Anything—we needed to get out.’

How anyone, or anything, could survive the harsh conditions of the undercity was beyond most of Piltover’s comprehension, Orla included, but the large population hidden beneath the earth was a testament to the resilience of the decedents of a once great nation.

People whose considerable constitution and knowledge of the winding caverns and precious metals caught the eyes of Piltover’s oligarchs, forcing them to work in the mines that supported her side of the water under promises of shared wealth and protection from outside invasion.

False promises.

It was the only explanation Orla could give for how her captors survived the explosion: They were hardy. Or rather, far enough away from its epicenter in the mines.

‘Right, we were in the mines.’

“Wait—You think I did that?” Silco huffed through his nose with a sarcastic laugh. “Whatever that was wasn’t my work! That explosion was a freak accident. We both know that part of the mines has been empty for years. It could have been from old powder left over or something. Besides, the job was supposed to be a clean sweep of abandoned supplies. No issues—- no enforcers—no problems.”

It felt like an eternity before they reached the familiarity of a sturdy, concrete floor underneath. Orla stumbled blindly forward, unsure, before a large hand gripped the entirety of her shoulder. It forced her into a chair while another’s hands freed hers briefly, then tied them tightly behind her. A sharp pain in her right wrist reverberated up her forearm and into her shoulder.

Broken?

Painful.

She writhed against her restraints.

A large growl of a sigh left Vander’s chest in one long breath. He pushed Orla back against the chair, knocking the wind out of her with only a bit of his strength. Another gasp escaped Orla, followed by a string of curses. “You sure you two weren’t followed? No one saw you enter from the back? Fuck, You shouldn’t have brought her here, Silco. The last thing we need is a bunch of blue bastards sniffing about.”

“Bringing her here wasn’t my idea!” Silco paced the room, “and I’m sure. No one saw us. Do you honestly think that this is what I wanted? Enforcers swarming the streets? Fuck! Have some faith in me, brother.”

“I can only Bash so many enforcer skulls, Silco. They’re like cockroaches. They won’t stop.”

“It’s not my fucking fault!”

“Gods, shut the fuck up, you two!”

This time, a woman’s raspy but pleasant voice chided the two grown men as if they were children squabbling over who ate the last piece of the pie. “Do you want us to draw even more attention? ‘Cuz that’s what you’re doing. Sure, get louder and see who hears us.”

“Felicia—“

Felicia rose from her knees to check the bindings she tied around Orla for any loose ends. Once satisfied, she gently touched Orla’s shoulder to hold still, shushing her calmy.

The enforcer froze.

It was The kindest touch Orla had felt in a while. Felicia sighed. “I don’t understand why they were down there, to begin with. No one goes down that path. It’s too dangerous.”

Felicia’s footsteps echoed throughout the room, followed by the loud pop of an opened bottle. She spit out the cork and took a big swig.

“The shafts had collapsed most of the way ahead of them—-it wasn’t like they could go much further. There isn’t anything of value down there. The veins had long since dried up.” Silco said, taking the bottle from Felicia’s hands. He took a swig for himself and then handed it back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Exactly. How many were there?”

“Four—Five of them, including our friend here,” Felicia took another swig. “I went to check after all hell broke loose, but from what I saw…they were already dead long before we got there. Well, except for this one.”

‘

Dead? All of them?’ Orla said to herself, staring through her goggles into nothingness. “ Redding, Maddox, Hood—Dead? Even young Piya? No, she was alive, wasn’t she?’

Orla thought of the young enforcer’s crooked smile with Her missing canine she wore with honor. It happened in a fight during her first arrest. An assault by some punk on an older woman just trying to buy groceries. Piya was only 20—a baby compared to Orla’s early 30s.

It couldn’t be true.

There was no way her squad was dead. Orla tried to think back and maybe remember some details to rationalize what happened to them. But the memories of the hours earlier were made up of faded colors blown out like the pages of a book submerged in water.

A whimper executed Orla, the sudden and painful realization that she was the only one left.

Vander said nothing, and silence fell over the group. Each caught up in their thoughts about how the fuck they were going to explain away the tied-up Piltie seated before them.

No, not just a Piltie, a fucking Enforcer.

Silco broke first.

“You should have been there, Vander. We needed you.” Silco said, his voice low. Orla thought she could hear a twinge of sadness, no, disappointment—hidden between the words.

“I couldn’t close up shop on a Friday night,” Vander responded. “We need the money now more than ever.”

The clicking of Orla’s mask had finally stopped, and not even the taste of chemicals was coming through. Her body's instinctual desire for fresh air began to cause a feeling of panic to claw up from the depths of her chest. She pulled and pushed against her restraints, growing desperate to remove the suffocation.

She couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think.

She needed air.

It didn’t help that the room was uncomfortably dark, even for the undercity. Orla began to struggle, panic fully enveloping her body. “I-I can’t breathe!”

Orla began to cry out, and Vander hissed between his teeth. “Wait-stop moving! Shut up! They’ll hear you!”

In one solid movement, Vander grabbed the mask and pulled. The broken thing popped off Orla’s face with a sticky, suction-cup sound, and a gasp of desperation followed her goggles. Underneath, Orla’s face was covered in red blotches and ugly bruises along the seam where it had rubbed raw from heat, sweat, and grime.

“Sweet gods, thank you.”

The air was thick, but Orla could breathe. She took in a few big gulps, gasping and letting her head hang. The top of her head barely rested on her thighs, but the relief was enough. Her eyes were sore and swollen like a bug, her lips rubbed raw, and her hair stuck to her face. She must’ve been an awful sight to behold. And boy, did she feel as sorry as she indeed looked.

The room she found herself in was large, dank, and cramped to the brim with wood barrels. The scent of whiskey and wine surrounded her. It was sweet and sour and provided relief from the undercity’s constant hint of refuse.

Orla’s captors didn’t move. Only they stared at her to see what would happen next.

Would she scream? Would she fight?

Honestly, a struggle was the furthest thing from Orla’s mind. Her voice was hoarse from yelling; she doubted she’d make more than a breathy sound even if she wanted to. Orla felt weak, and she was outmatched three to one. A fight between her and her captors was one she was not able to survive—or willing to, for that matter.

“Where am I?” Orla croaked, wiping the sweat from her mouth on her shoulder. Her throat burned. It was no wonder everyone here had a rasp to their voice. “What are you going to do to me?”

Orla wasn’t so much as afraid of what was to come, more curious of anything. Why did they bother to bring her here?

To the undercity, a good enforcer is a dead one. And she was neither dead nor a good one by her standards. Though, she supposed Grayson might have said otherwise.

After a long, agonizing moment, A man the size to match his mountainous voice rested one hand on his hip as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He stepped forward, crouching before Orla to look at the enforcer's face from her seated level.

At first glance, Orla thought Vander was handsome. He donned a wide, clean-shaven, and chiseled jaw that matched the mighty strength of his massive body. At full height, he towered over Hood, the tallest member of her squad, standing at a minimum of 6’5”(198cm). That meant Vander had to be close to seven feet (200 cm).

He was an absolute monster of a man.

Despite the lack of resources the undercity provided, Vander’s body was thick muscles hidden under a thin layer of baby fat. It was nothing like the “strong men” of the performers Orla had seen as a child, touring Piltover’s markets' bustling streets during the summer seasons.

No, this man had raw, natural strength. Orla could tell he had worked hard his whole life. Despite everything, his eyes made her feel an odd sense of safety—light and transparent like a cloud in gray skies, broken only by the stands of his messy brown hair.

“That’s what we are trying to figure out, Bug.” He laughed, poking at her swollen eyes. She flinched, and the scowl she wore intensified his amusement.

“Should’ve left her,” Silco mumbled bitterly under frustrated breath, approaching cautiously from behind Vander.

Orla’s eyes flicked towards him, and for a moment, she thought she saw an amused smile pull at the corner of his mouth.

Silco was the opposite of Vander in almost every way. Where the mountain had muscles and a strong face, Silco was lean meat with a body made of harsh angles. His shoulders were broad, his waist thin, and though he was taller than most men, he was nothing compared to Vander. Silco’s head barely reached Vander’s shoulders.

Though not conventionally attractive by Piltover’s standards, as most would say about Vander, Silco’s was far from unattractive. His face was nothing but high cheekbones, a pointed chin, thin lips, And an angular nose that hooked and took up most of his face’s real estate—a rather pretty, feminine face for a masculine figure.

Orla couldn’t describe the silent pull his aura had on her.

Silco’s eyes were light green, like water-worn glass found along the shoreline, and Behind them was a mind to match the sharpness of it all.

He stared her down, looking at the pitiful enforcer as though his gaze dared Orla to say something—do something to allow him to let out whatever creature he desperately kept at bay inside him. A familiarity Orla saw within herself.

Silco tossed the long strands of black, messy hair away from his left eye while his hands, slender and scarred, fumbled through his pockets in search of something. An already half-used cigarette that he placed between his broken front teeth. “What should we do with you?”

“I’ll stay with her,” Felicia said, pouring some of the bottle she held onto a dirty rag. “I’ll clean up her wounds while you two bozos figure something out.”

Felicia was, at first glance, an absolute stunner. Her hair was purple, similar to where a sunset met the night sky, which she kept in one braid over her left shoulder. Her lips were small but full. Her expressions were significant, and her voice was easy to listen to. She was skinny but shapely and muscular. She looked like someone meant for quick movements, and her hands kept their soft look about them despite the noticeable wear and tear on her trigger finger. This Felicia had a way with guns. Orla could tell—one gunner to another.

Vander nodded approvingly, rising once again to his full height. “Right, I’ll go upstairs and keep things normal. No one can know she’s here. At least not yet. Sil, do you think you can keep watch outside tonight? Warn us if any bastards in blue come sniffing about?”

Silco grimaced, pulling the last bit of tobacco from his cigarette before flicking the still smoldering butt in Orla’s direction. He didn’t bother hiding his disdain for her profession, though that wasn’t uncommon among the undercity. “Fine. But I’m taking a bottle of the good stuff with me. I deserve it after getting us out of this mess.”

He turned, glancing up and down Orla one last time before he made his way up the stairs, one soft footstep at a time, Leaving behind A few curses in his wake.

Vander hesitated but turned to join him with lips slightly parted as if he wished to say something. It was clear from the look on his face that he felt uncomfortable with the idea of Felicia being alone with an enforcer.

On a typical day, one enforcer was dangerous, but a desperate one even more so.

Felicia shook her head and mouthed for him to leave. He smiled a half smile and went upstairs before turning to look at Orla from over his shoulder.

“Welcome to The Lanes.”

#my fic #arcane silco #arcane vander #silco x oc #vander x silco #vander x oc #arcane fic #vanco #zaundads #zaun trio #arcane spoilers #arcane zaun #posting on tumblr is a biiiitch #archive of our own

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starstrucksid · 7 months ago

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Tw: murder, sexual assault, violence

Something i could never have prt2

When she turned around I quickly stood up, grabbed her by her jet black hair and yanked her to the ground. Her sky-blue dress was covered in mud, she looked less than perfect to me now. She was no longer the girl I had once loved, she was now nothing to me. I had placed my foot on her ankle and stepped on her, she whined out in pain. I bent down and covered her mouth. “ shut up, just shut the fuck up!”

Her tears ran down her cheeks onto my hand. She had looked at me like I was a monster. I found myself laughing at her and the fear in her eyes made me even more excited. I climbed on top of her and sat on her legs making sure she didn’t move. Her face was so pretty all the time no matter if she was crying or covered in mud. I began to lean into her face, I wanted to kiss her, I wanted to feel her soft lips onto mine but before I could she slapped me. That sent a jolt throughout my body, I grabbed her wrist and pinned them down. I looked into her eyes with fury . “Don't play hard to get, why won’t you just accept that I like you, huh?” I yelled at her and leaned in more so close that our faces could touch. “I just want to kiss you”. I spoke softly “Get the hell away from me, you freak” She yelled at me. I leaned down and forcefully kissed her lips. The kiss was everything I hoped for and more. The whole time I held her down she cried and whined for me to let her go. Her sweet cries didn't affect me. she had made herself clear she didn’t like me. Even though she made me angry I realized I still wanted her.

My kisses trailed down her neck and stopped at her collar bone. My breathing got heavy and I felt myself getting even more excited. As my hand slowly caressed her soft skin, her sobs turned to screams as she realized what was going to happen next, what I was going to do to her, the anger and disgust in her eyes turned to fear as she begged me to stop. This sparked excitement in me and I couldn't help but smile, the adrenaline coursing through my body as I squeezed and groped her.

I let go of one of her wrists and held it with my other hand. My free hand traveled down her body. I squeezed her breasts and continued my way down her body. Once I got to the hem of her skirt, her struggling increased.

She squirmed and kicked her legs but I didn't care. I began to lift up her skirt. To see how beautiful she was. My dad had always told me that a woman is captivating from the outside but the true beauty is underneath their clothes. I wanted to see so badly. Just as I got a glimpse of her white polka-dotted panties, she was able to get one of her hands free. She smacked me twice causing me to quickly react. I began to hit her multiple times. Punching her small face over and over again. Her cries grew louder. The rain masking her tears, but not drowning out the sound of her crying voice, her once sweet voice now turned into low hoarse sobs.., I tried to cover her mouth but she was still too loud. I panicked and grabbed a rock. I struck her head multiple times . Within a few hits her cries stopped. When I looked down at her I realized what I had done.

I began to panic, I didn't know what to do. If I had let her go back to her family she would have snitched on me and I would have been in trouble, so I did what I had to do, I didn’t have a choice. the sounds of my heart beating clogging my ear. I dragged her to the edge of the slope and pushed her body into the creek below. Her body rolled down the muddy slope and she landed face down in the water. Once I finished I began to run down the path all the way to the exit.

#writeblr #my writing #fantasy #writers on tumblr #writing #original story #smut #thriller #ao3 #ao3 writer #something i could never have #storytelling #novel

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thelioncourts · 2 years ago

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"Facio ut Facias" Interview with the Vampire (2022) Armand/Louis de Pointe du Lac Rating: E; Chapters: 1 of 2; Tags: Human AU, Power Imbalance, Power Dynamics, Boss/Employee

"I do that you may do"

When he was little and the summer paid its annual visit, Louis and his siblings would fill up a plastic kiddie pool with the hose attached to the back of the house. The pool was their stage and the sun their blaring stage lights. Sometimes they would engage in sea battles, their toy boats becoming imposing pirate ships, their green army men becoming pirates, and every splash, every joyful scream, every dramatized “Oh no!” as a ship went down was the performance behind it all. Sometimes Grace, his sister, would beg and guilt them into playing mermaids, the saddest “Please, Louis!” and “Paul, for me?” quickly becoming an enthusiastic “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” before the intricate story of the captured mermaid, her best fish friend, and the king of the oceans resulted in lots of feet-flapping and water sloshing over the pool’s rim. And, sometimes, if Paul wanted to stay inside and Grace was at a friend’s house, Louis would go out to the pool by himself, relishing in the cooling effect of the water and sometimes putting his face under just to see how long he could hold his breath.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…

When he would resurface, a gasp for air loud in his water-clogged ears, he’d count again, this time to steady his heart.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…

Nowadays he needed to steady his heart for many other reasons, usually ones related to his too-high blood pressure for any twenty-six-year-old. And to do so, he didn’t just count anymore. No, now he counted, the numbers slow and precise as they crossed his mind, but they were paired with the thrumming of his fingers on whatever was the nearest surface. His pointer finger always was the strongest sound, falling in the pause between two numbers, and when he felt centered again, he’d drum out a happy beat. Just for him.

As of right now though, he’d counted to fifty three separate times and had even taken breaks between each attempt at finding his peace to fix the collar of his shirt, to adjust his posture, to consciously put a stop to his bouncing leg, and yet he couldn’t get his breathing quite right, couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was drowning in apprehension, couldn’t —

A paper coffee cup, all white except for the blue logo of the Warehouse 88 coffeeshop down the road etched on the front, slammed down on his desk. The few drops of still-warm coffee that escaped from the tiny drinking hole in the lid landed on Louis’ hand and startled him out of his fourth attempt at counting, his eyes opening, a sound of protest leaving his mouth.

“I lost my spot,” Louis said without explanation, wiping his other hand across the coffee splattered one before glaring up at Bricks.

He might as well have been glaring at a wall for all the impact his glare had on Bricks who simply leaned against the corner of his desk, her hip resting against the drawer he kept his notebooks and personal calendar within.

“And I cannot tell you how little I care about your ‘spot,’” Bricks said. Still none-too-gently, she pushed the cup of coffee closer to Louis, her manicured nails only a shade lighter than the Warehouse 88 logo.

Bricks was one of the digital marketing managers here at Romanus Nisus Technologies and she was damn near the best. Nothing got by her. Every detail was seen, every possibility was thought of, and every “I” and “T” got dotted and crossed as long as she was working.

She had been on the hiring team that interviewed and brought Louis on, and beyond the Big Boss, as she — affectionately, Louis was pretty certain — called him, her questions were the most intimidating given how ill-prepared he felt for them, how much thinking they required him to do on the spot. She had also been one of his biggest advocates once he was hired, not letting anyone steer him in the wrong direction or take advantage of his newness.

And here she still was, checking in on him on what would be the make-or-break day of his career here.

Louis eyed the cup warily. “I can’t drink that, Bricks. I’m already too nervous and the caffeine will just give me more jitters.”

“No, the caffeine will keep you from getting a caffeine-headache. If you do get a caffeine-headache, you’ll be useless and will probably end up crying or yelling. It’s pretty fifty-fifty on which it’ll be.”

“That’s not —” Louis started to protest, but any and all protests died quickly, shriveling up into nothingness in his throat. They bloomed out into a sigh instead, a heavy one that raised Louis’ shoulders damn near to his ears before letting them fall heavily. Atlas tabling the world.

It was true, afterall.

Louis was notorious for his coffee, needing it like air to get through the day. It wouldn’t be smart to not have it today, to risk his addiction getting the best of him.

“What are you so worried about?”

Bricks’ voice was quieter, unobtrusive in Louis’ ever-running psyche, and when Louis looked at her again, really looked at her, he could see all that this was: her worry about him.

It meant more to him than even the coffee.

So he truthfully answered her. “Everything.”

She rolled her eyes. “Really? One little review has you contemplating the meaning of everything?” She pushed the coffee even closer to him.

“It’s not just one little review,” Louis said, and he leaned back in his chair, legs extending out in front of him uselessly. “It’s the end of my probationary period. If they don’t like me, they can let me go.”

Bricks rolled her eyes even harder. “They’re not going to do that.”

“How do you know?” Louis asked, and there was an edge to his voice, like he might push, like he might act out and say, “You’ve been here since it was a startup, you didn’t have to do all this.” But he didn’t.

“Because everyone likes you,” Bricks said. She said so without room for argument, said so with conviction, and she leaned down into his space, crowding him against his own chair as she continued with, “There’s not a person here who doesn’t like you. Well, maybe except that crazy-ass lady —”

“The one who thought that I was trying to steal her man because he wouldn’t quit touching me at the party we had a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yeah, that crazy-ass lady is the only person here who doesn’t like you. And she don’t count. So that leaves us with an office of fifty-three other people who do like you.” Before Louis could say anything, Bricks continued. “And that leaves us with you being on nearly the same level of crazy as that lady with her delusions that you want her balding man. Do you really want to be associated with her in any capacity?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought. Now drink your coffee, do your job like normal, and when you get called back to see the Big Boss, keep your cool, keep your head high, and go get that rave review you’re going to get.”

She turned and started walking back to her office before Louis could even reach for the coffee and he sighed again, still eyeing the cup a bit warily, before he picked it up and brought it to his mouth.

I’m going to buy her the biggest gift basket ever, Louis thought as he repressed an almost-moan from escaping him at the first taste of his favorite Warehouse 88 latte, the maca root latte. It’ll have at least three different bottles of wine. And a month’s worth of face masks. And a gift card to that massage therapy place. And a DoorDash gift card too.

He took another sip, feeling the heat of the drink travel all the way down his throat before settling comfortably in his stomach, warming him from the inside out. After a few more worshipful drinks, he turned to his stagnant computer monitor, shook out his shoulders a little, and settled in.

Bricks was right — she was always right — he just needed to work. There was nothing else he could do about the review anyhow. Not now.

Louis was a conversational design consultant. Artificial intelligence was, arguably, the fastest growing technological advancement of the 2020s, and Romanus Nisus Technologies was a leader in its implementation and ever-growing performance. It was a lot of writing and a lot of research, things Louis was an expert in, and he was good at it. He, and the rest of the design team, would put together dialogue, writing it and responding to it, in order to simplify, eliminate, automate, and encourage customer problems and connection.

Right now they were working with an up-and-coming fantasy sports league app designer. Louis was assigned to work on the exceedingly complicated search function, something that sounded simplistic but got really finicky when artificial intelligence was put in. It was especially finicky for something so expansive given that this particular fantasy sports league app was international and all-inclusive with its sports options.

Cracking the knuckles of his fingers and taking one more long drink of his latte, Louis got to work.

By the time lunch rolled around, Louis was in the zone. He was hardly thinking at all about his review, his brain now too focused on getting all he could done before the Zoom meeting he had to be on with their Dubai office later. His fingers were flying across the keyboard, his eyes darting between his split computer monitor screen, his mind firing away with a hundred different thoughts at once, and it was so much going on that he, once again, was startled by Bricks’ approach. Instead of a coffee, it was her hand covering the mouse of his computer, shaking it violently across his screen and dragging one of the charts he’d created out of alignment with the rest of the file he was working on.

“You’re the worst,” Louis said, snatching the mouse away from Bricks, unable to be serious at all about it when she was laughing infectiously.

“And you’re embarrassing. Eyes nearly bugged out of your skull.” Even though she was the only one actively harassing him, there were a few others standing behind her, smiling familiarly at the banter he and Bricks always fell into, and Bricks nodded her head back at them. “We’re going to lunch. Probably down to the bistro on Greenbriar, but we’ll go to that diner on Jillane if the bistro’s too busy. You want to join?”

Her tone was casual, but her eyes were demanding, telling him without telling him to get his ass up, put on his coat, and walk with them to lunch. And he was hungry. As soon as he had snatched the mouse back, his stomach had growled, rumbling deep and equally as demanding as Bricks’ stare.

But…

“I can’t,” Louis said. He leaned all the way back in his chair, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt to avoid looking back up. “I’ve got a lot done on this file, but I need to clean it up, get it perfect, because I have that meeting with Dubai soon. I’m just going to stay.”

He didn’t need to be looking at Bricks to know that she was upset with him.

“Can we get you anything?” Anne, one of the SEO managers, asked.

Louis smiled at her and reached into the pocket of his coat hanging on his chair, pulling out his wallet and rifling through it for a couple bills. He looked up at Anne, then at Bricks pleadingly, handing forward the money.

“Another latte? To get me through the day?”

Anne agreed cheerfully, not at all reading the clench of Bricks’ jaw, and Louis kept his pleading gaze, trying to soothe away her worried irritation. Bricks snatched the money out of his hand.

“I’m keeping the change,” she said as she turned on her heel.

Louis wasn’t going to argue with her one bit about that.

It took a few moments to get back to work properly, and those few moments of not working were enough to get him dwelling on his inevitable review meeting today.

He tried to put his mind back to where it was, tried to remember exactly what he was going to say next, and so he reread what he’d typed so far, getting as far as halfway down the page, to where he said, “...Cialdini’s authority principle is an ethos appeal, relying on…” before he got distracted by Rashid walking hurriedly in front of him. He was talking into his earpiece, the words mumbled and not meant for the ears of others. Louis watched him until he disappeared down the hallway.

Rashid was the Big Boss’ personal assistant. He was a quiet man, always dressed in subdued colors, always fiddling with his iPad, always doing whatever it was the Big Boss needed him to do. When the Big Boss traveled, Rashid traveled. When the Big Boss was staying late, Rashid was staying late. When the Big Boss held an all-staff meeting, Rashid stood right beside him.

Louis wondered —

No. That wasn’t appropriate.

And yet he couldn’t help but wonder.

He wondered so long that he got nothing else accomplished on his file before his computer calendar dinged at him, telling him it was time to log in for his meeting with the Dubai office.

The meeting started as all Zoom meetings did, awkwardly and full of stilted small talk. There were a couple of other people from here at the New York office, and most of the Dubai attendees were people Louis had become very familiar with. He didn’t know why they had to play this formality game every time.

About halfway through the meeting, a meeting in which Louis had uttered four words and been steamrolled over by the Dubai team leader every other time he’d tried to speak, Bricks and the others returned from lunch and she snuck around his desk to set his latte on it. He mouthed a quick ‘Thank you’ to her and cautiously took a drink of it, watching his own picture in the Zoom camera to make sure he looked normal and like he was still playing attention despite his now lazer-focus on his coffee.

The meeting ended on the same note it had run on, Louis staying mostly quiet while the more experienced people talked, and everyone signed off just as awkwardly as they had signed on. Louis had long drained his coffee dry during the remainder of the meeting and was taking off his headphones to thank Bricks properly for it when Rashid came back down the hallway on silent feet.

“Louis de Pointe du Lac?” he said succinctly, looking down at his iPad, his voice clipping sharply on the final ‘c.’

Louis felt like a deer caught in the headlights, his hands resting on the arms of his chair in preparation of pushing himself up and out of it, and, just as a deer, his heart immediately picked up its pace, wanting him to run but leaving him frozen instead.

“Mr. de Romanus will see you now.”

If Rashid noticed his expression, his insurmountable fear, he didn’t pay it any mind. He stood passively at the hallway’s entrance, iPad held in line with his diaphragm, shoulders relaxed, and it was inevitable that Louis was going to go with him.

Louis finished the act of standing, fingers dancing across the surface of his desk as he did so, and found himself too aware of how stiff his legs felt, how almost shaky they were as he took his first step forward. Rashid’s eyes, though non-judgemental, were watching his every move.

Louis smoothed down his shirt.

When he reached Rashid, the toes of their shoes only a couple of feet apart, Rashid tapped on the iPad with precision two, three, four times, then said, “Come with me,” and began the journey back down the hallway.

The hallway was a dark gray, in-line with the rest of the office and its grayscale coloring, everything all simple shades of blacks and whites. To some, it may seem dull or monotonous, but Louis knew there was a reason behind it all; it made the art on the walls pop.

The Big Boss was an art aficionado. Louis wasn’t sure if it was a hobby or if he did it professionally in any capacity — though he would put money on Rashid knowing — but he did know that he had an eye for it. EVery piece was specially chosen, was specially placed, and Louis had heard him once on the phone talking to an art dealer, had heard the knowledge and passion in that conversation, and it had plagued him for weeks.

As they walked down the hallway, Louis a step behind Rashid the entire time, the art got rarer, stood out more, caught Louis’ eye.

It was grounding, in some way.

Of course, whatever grounding it provided vanished entirely when they reached the end of the hallway, reached the offices.

There were two offices down here. The one office was Rashid’s. The door to it was open and Louis could see that, like his clothes, the office was subdued. Almost unused. The other office, with its closed door, had a silver plaque on the outside of it, the name ‘A. de Romanus’ etched sharply into its surface.

Louis stared at the plaque, eyes unblinking, and he only stopped when Rashid trailed off to say, “Whenever you’re ready.”

He wanted to reply, wanted to say, “I’m never going to be ready,” but Rashid was already going to (returning to?) his office, the door creaking shut behind him.

It had been inevitable that Louis was going to come down this hallway with Rashid and it was inevitable now that he was going to enter this office.

With a soft hand, he knocked on the door — and he immediately cringed at how weak the knock sounded, wishing it had been stronger, been more professional.

No matter the strength of the knock though, it brought on what Louis knew was going to be the response.

“Come in.”

The voice was muffled through the solid-core door. Louis swallowed down a lungful of air, breathed it out, then reached for the doorknob.

This door swung open with no creaks and revealed a much-lived-in office, an antithesis to its neighbor’s.

There was art everywhere. Paintings, small sculptures, books, and other miscellaneous collected things covered nearly every available surface of the walls and shelves and cabinets. Most of the paintings were from the Renaissance era, that much Louis recognized, and yet he couldn’t pay them any mind, not when the man in the office was sitting there.

The Big Boss.

Armand de Romanus.

CEO and founder of Romanus Nisus Technologies, Armand de Romanus was not what people expected.

He hadn’t been what Louis had expected, that’s for sure.

When Louis had first gotten his foot in the door for an interview here, he’d interviewed with a team chosen specifically for the initial hiring process. Mr. de Romanus hadn’t been part of that, hadn’t bothered to meet Louis until Louis had made it past the first three rounds of interviews, until the pool of possible hires had narrowed down to five remaining candidates.

Louis hadn’t given much thought to what the CEO of the company would be like. He hadn’t assumed he would meet him at all, really. But he supposed that if someone were to have asked him what he thought Mr. de Romanus was like, Louis would have answered ‘Old and white?’ because weren’t most CEOs that?

When Mr. de Romanus had walked into Louis’ fourth-round interview, Louis had been taken aback by everything he was.

Young. Gorgeous. A soft-spoken kind of assertiveness. Not at all the old, white man Louis was expecting.

His appearance was blinding, beautiful and sharp, all dark intensity and edges. He reminded Louis so much of the art pieces he decorated the office space with; meant to be looked at, not to be known.

Do not touch.

As for his age, Louis had left that fourth-round interview and, sitting at the bus stop, Googled his possible boss, the name Armand de Romanus bringing up a hundred articles, each one talking about the brilliance of the young 34-year-old CEO of the technological startup, the young 34-year-old CEO that was — as far as anyone knew — New York’s hottest and richest bachelor with no apparent intention on changing status anytime soon.

That fourth-round interview had also left Louis certain that he wasn’t going to get the job. Mr. de Romanus had walked in that room and all intelligent thought had left Louis in a rush. He was so sure he fumbled over all of his answers that interview, wavering under the stare from those all-consuming brown eyes, stuttering and stopping as he saw those long fingers pull a sleek, leatherbound notebook closer, as he saw those same fingers soothe down the edge of his strong jaw.

And his voice…

Louis had been so surprised to get the call from Rashid the day after that fourth-round interview asking him to come in for a fifth and final interview. He’d felt no more put together with Mr. de Romanus in the room again, but somehow things had fallen in his favor.

Since his first day here, the start of his probationary period per the hiring contract, Louis had met with Mr. de Romanus as much as most others. He saw him once every week during their weekly all-staff meetings, saw him every other week in the biweekly meetings with him and the rest of the AI-specific team, and, a handful of times, had even talked to him one-on-one when Louis had a question that couldn’t be answered by any of his managers — AI was still, in this context, very new — or when Louis had a particularly enlightened idea that had even Armand de Romanus interested.

The most vivid personal interaction they’d ever had was so insignificant in the day-to-day workings of the office, had to have been so miniscule in anyone else’s eyes, that Louis got embarrassed at just how flustered the memory made him.

It had only been a month ago.

There had been a complication with a prototype software the Dubai office had headlined and they’d been in hours and hours worth of meetings with them trying to work out a solution. Mr. de Romanus was notoriously cool and collected, utterly unfazed by seemingly anything, so when Louis saw even him pinching the bridge of his nose after days of meetings, he’d found himself staying later and later, waving goodbye to colleagues that left at five, making good friends with the late janitorial staff, working and working and working.

It had paid off. Between some movement made by Damek in Dubai and a particular statement Mr. de Romanus had said about simplicity, Louis had discovered what exactly their problem had been and, more importantly, how to solve it. He’d pulled Bricks aside immediately that next morning, explaining to her what he had found and asking how to best go about proposing it to whoever needed to hear it, and by ten that morning he was standing in front of everyone in the office, Mr. de Romanus sitting front and center.

Mr. de Romanus had been quiet during Louis’ entire presentation, a hand curled up in front of his mouth, and when Louis had been done talking, he had nudged Rashid, muttering something Louis couldn’t hear, then he had stood up, thanked Louis for his work in an offhand way, and left. And Louis had thought that had been it; and he was okay with that. But a few hours later, Louis had been making himself a coffee in the lounge and had turned to find Mr. de Romanus — Armand. Mr. de Romanus had insisted Louis call him Armand that day. — standing there at the threshold. Louis had almost jumped at the unexpected sight of him, had brought a hand to his chest like a goddamn damsel in a film, and Mr. de Romanus — Armand — had smiled a small, quiet smile, had apologized for startling him.

“I wanted to thank you,” he had continued after he apologized, his voice low, the tone of it warmer than the coffee in Louis’ hands. “Your hard work has not gone unnoticed. Not at all.”

“I was just trying to do my job,” Louis had said. He felt awkward, stuck, standing between the countertop and the exit, Armand the only thing in his way. Armand had kept that small, quiet smile, had kept it as he walked forward.

Every step he had taken made Louis hyper-aware of his growing proximity and when he was only inches away, they had locked eyes, had kept them locked as Armand’s shoulder brushed his.

But he hadn’t been walking forward to say anything else, hadn’t been walking forward to…Louis couldn’t finish that thought, its unrealisticness, its fantasy. No, he had only been walking forward to make himself a cup of coffee too, those hands of his busying themselves with the high-end espresso machine he generously provided for the employees.

Louis had been so embarrassed that he had thought Armand was going to say anything else, do anything else, that he immediately shuffled to the exit, trying to hurry out of there before the flush to his face became obvious, that he almost missed when Armand replied, “Yes. You’re very good at your job,” with something indefinable in his voice.

Louis had startled again at that, feet hesitating in his walk, and he had tried to, with dignity, say a quick, “Thank you, sir,” before actually leaving to avoid further embarrassment.

He had smiled the whole walk back to his desk though.

And he had thought about that moment so much since, had replayed the warmth where Armand’s shoulder had touched his, had replayed that indefinable tone over and over and over again.

“Louis.”

Mr. de Romanus saying his name brought him out of his reminiscing and made Louis suddenly aware that he was just standing in the doorway, his hands hanging at his sides like an idiot.

God, Louis thought as he focused control on his walk to the chairs in front of the big desk, Can’t I just be normal?

Mr. de Romanus — Armand, Louis kept repeating, trying to make it familiar before he was corrected again — wasn’t facing him, was sitting in his tall-backed chair and facing his main computer monitor, his fingers typing rhythmically on the keyboard. Louis could see a wave of his black curls in the bit of him that could be seen around the chair’s mass.

Armand made no other movement, said nothing else, after Louis sat. He continued to type instead, silent and busy, and Louis found every passing second added new heights of anxiety to the whole situation.

Louis was lining up the seam of his sleeve with the curve of his wrist, giving him something to do, giving his worried fingers pause, and he almost missed the definitive sound of Armand clicking away from whatever was on his screen, almost missed the slight push of Armand’s chair just far enough back for him to turn.

“I apologize. One of the investors doesn’t know how to read his own contract.”

Louis had seen Armand walk through the office once this morning, seen him and Rashid walking shoulder-to-shoulder as they went to a meeting with the SEO team, and yet seeing him up close was something entirely different.

There was no one like Armand de Romanus.

Dark curls of black hair. Straight, strong brows over beautiful, hooded brown eyes. A nose belonging to the statues in old museums. A sharp smile hidden behind his lips. Brown skin shown a tantalizing amount with the slight openness of his shirt that stretched over broad shoulders.

Louis breathed out a heavy, consuming breath.

“How are you today, Louis?”

Grateful you can’t read my mind, Louis thought ruefully.

But…

It was a simple question and it had a simple, expected answer. Yet Louis found himself, however briefly, distracted by the shadow shifting across Armand’s collarbone, by the skin of his forearm that was bared as he reached across his desk into the organizer there, plucking out a file. The initials ‘LDPDL’ were printed on its tab.

“I’m fine,” Louis answered, his hands resting nervously on his lap. “How are you, Mr. de Romanus?”

“Haven’t I told you to call me Armand?” Armand smiled that small, quiet smile Louis had come to associate with him, but his tone was firm. Louis adjusted his shoulders.

“Yes, sir. I’m not very good with first names.” The ‘with authority’ was left unsaid.

Armand’s small, quiet smile deepened. “That southern raising is hard to shake, I'd presume.” Louis tilted his head slightly, felt his eyes widen just so, but Armand was settling into his own chair, broad shoulders perfectly in-line with the width of it. Then he flipped open the file he had grabbed, eyes falling on its first page. “Graduated from Tulane University in 2018. Full-ride covered by the Dean’s Honor Scholarship. Summa cum laude at graduation.” His eyes went back up to Louis, just for a moment, then fell to the file once again. “You graduated early. You must have worked incredibly hard.”

He paused and there was an opportunity for Louis to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. He’d never been too great at taking compliments and while these were mostly all facts, there was praise implied behind the words, praise that made Louis warm all the way down to his toes. It was best he stayed silent and that didn’t seem to bother Armand at all anyhow. He kept perusing the file at his leisure.

“You worked for your father while in high school and also while completing your undergraduate degree. Can you tell me about that?”

“Sure,” Louis said, leaning forward in his seat a little. “My daddy started his business real young so a lot was established already. He taught me the basics, scheduling clients, organizing things and whatnot, but by college I was helping to bring him into the twenty-first century by making everything electronic. I tweaked a couple of established software programs to better fit his business. That was it really.”

Armand didn’t look at Louis while he talked, only kept purposefully rifling through the papers, humming thoughtfully.

“Excelled in your graduate school,” Armand said, though this sounded more to himself than to Louis. “As you’re aware, part of this evaluation process relies on me receiving feedback from trusted employees here.”

Louis was aware. It had been something the HR head had gone over while Louis signed his contracts and was informed about the ninety-day probationary period. The first ninety-days would be spent being trained and given more and more individual responsibility so, by the end, the new hire was working the job as they would be should they be hired permanently. In order to assure that the new hire was handling the pressures of the job, the boss — Armand — would collect reviews from at least five different managers in positions that worked hand-in-hand with the new hire’s position. Those reviews would be a huge component of the new hire’s chances of being taken on.

“Yes, sir.”

“And, without reading them all to you word for word, I can tell you,” Armand kept rifling through the papers, “that each one is full of nothing but glowing praise.”

Heat from the rush of relief, from the rush of being praised, shot out all down Louis’ extremities, tingling in the tips of his fingers, dancing down each knob of his spine, settling at his feet.

Armand lingered on a specific page in the file. “‘Louis is dedicated to perfection. He works tirelessly in order to assure that his work is the best when it is turned in, making certain it needs no fixings. If everyone worked like him, all of our problems would be almost nonexistent.’” Another page. “‘Louis is intelligent and creative. He finds solutions that many of us miss because his mind interprets things as an artist. It’s different than our predominantly STEM-related approach to things and it’s wonderful to work alongside him and see it play out in real time.’” Another page. “‘Louis is efficient. He is constantly working, never letting something sit still on his desk, in his emails, for any extended period of time before it is addressed. He completes assignments in record time and with minimal, if any, mistakes.’”

Armand folded the file over, humming again. “Even our mail deliverer has nothing but good things to say about you. He made a point to tell me when I was signing for a certified letter that you go out of your way to show him kindness. That also does not go unnoticed or unappreciated.”

For the first time since Louis had sat down, Armand looked at him. Really looked at him. He was quiet, unnervingly so, for too long a time in Louis’ mind, those intense eyes seemingly searching for something. For what, Louis didn’t know. But he did know that he wanted nothing more than for Armand to look away. He also knew that he wanted nothing more than for Armand to never look anywhere else.

“What do you want, Louis?”

There were many things Louis had thought could happen in this review, many questions that could be asked, and he had ran through, in his head, what he thought were the most probable ones, figuring out how he would answer, what he would say and how he would say it.

This was not one of those questions he’d practiced.

“Oh. I — I’m not —” and he was stuttering, already messing up. “I’m not sure what you mean. I apologize.”

That small, quiet smile made another appearance. “No need to apologize. Allow me to clarify. What do you want to do? What do you want here at this company? What do you want out of life?”

Now that Louis could work with.

“I want to contribute and assist in any way I can. I hope to rise to a higher position so I can contribute and assist even more, on more imperative assignments.”

This entire meeting was a show in how much Louis could be unprepared. Because he thought his answer, while standard, was just fine. He hadn’t expected Armand to laugh.

It wasn’t loud, nor had Louis ever thought Armand’s laugh would be in the times he’d allowed himself to think about it at all, but it was deep, resonating in his chest. Louis was certain that if they were touching in any way, he would’ve been able to feel that laugh travel through him like an electric current.

But he didn’t like that Armand was laughing at him, didn’t —

“You misunderstand me.”

Louis swallowed hard passed personal protest.

“I have no questions, no concerns, about your dedication to this company or to your job. I’ve seen your work. I’ve seen what everyone has to say about your work. No, I want to know what you want to do. Is this everything you dream of? Is the technology business something you see yourself doing the rest of your life?”

“I’m not sure…” Louis started. Then he clamped his mouth shut. Armand tilted his own head at the action.

“Go on.”

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me working here.”

Armand folded the file down slightly, pulling it closer to his chest. “Why is that?”

“Because…” and Louis fumbled again. It didn’t feel right saying this out loud here, to his boss, to —

But Armand’s stare was unrelenting.

“Because my dreams aren’t realistic.”

Armand kept staring, his fingers tapping silently on the back of the file now. “How so?”

Louis wanted to rear back at all the questioning, at how unsteady it made him feel. Is this an interrogation? he wanted to ask. Why do you want to know? How badly will the truth hurt me? How do you know there’s more? Why do you care that there’s more?

“The art,” Louis started instead, gesturing around the room. “Is it a personal interest or a professional one?”

“A bit of both,” Armand said. He sounded amused. It was getting underneath Louis’ skin.

It was sobering too, like cold water being splashed right in his face.

“Literature is that for me.” Louis paused. “Or I want it to be, anyway. It’s been a personal interest since I was little, since my mamaw started reading bedtime stories to me. I’d like for it to be my professional interest too, but, as I said, it’s unrealistic.”

“I’m going to repeat myself,” Armand said, leaning forward in his chair, coming a whole three inches closer, three whole inches of air that he seemed to suck right out of Louis’ lungs. “How so?”

“There’s no money in literature.”

Armand hummed again and, this time, Louis saw the question coming. So he elaborated.

“I could have tried to become a professor, and it has a lot of appeal still, but it’s not stable enough. It’s too flooded with applicants and research. And given the lack of support for the arts, the push for STEM, there’s too much in the air around it anyhow.”

There was a thoughtful look on Armand’s face now, his attention rapt. It made Louis continue unprompted.

“I told my parents once that I wanted to write a book. My daddy said, ‘You have to accomplish something first before you write a book.’ He didn’t know that I wanted to write stories, not memoirs. My mamaw had agreed with him, telling me to get a good job, build a good life, and then I could write a book in my retirement about how others could be just like me.” Louis felt himself smiling wryly. “I knew then they’d never support anything but business. They wanted me to be just like my daddy. Better than him actually, but that was only implied.”

“And you ended up here,” Armand said, opening up Louis’ file again, skimming through it with some kind of new interest. “How did that happen?”

“I listened to my parents’ wishes. Went to college for business. Relied on English literature courses to make up my humanities requirements and fell in love with books all over again. But I was doing good with my business classes and my parents were proud. I almost changed my major anyway, was encouraged to do so by a journalism professor I had actually, but then…” Louis trailed. Armand said nothing, only waited patiently. “Then my daddy died and I became the provider for the family.”

“Surely a businessman like your father had something in place to take care of them all with his passing,” Armand said.

“We all thought he would. I definitely did. But when we talked to his lawyer we learned that our family was in hot water.” Louis shrugged. “He made some bad investments and never recovered. So I had to do something.”

“Hence the early graduation,” Armand said, filling in the story. Louis nodded.

“I needed to start making money.”

The file lowered in Armand’s hands again. He opened his mouth to speak then shut it, pausing himself, contemplating something, before opening it once more. “So you worked, got into a top graduate program, worked while completing said program, and chose to move here to work for me.”

“I suppose that’s the best summarization of it all,” Louis nodded.

“And, in your opinion, is this company the best place for you to be at in this stage of your life? Is this company the best place for you to be in order to achieve what it is you wish to achieve?”

Louis didn’t answer right away. How could he? It was such a loaded pair of questions.

He took in a deep breath then breathed it out steadily before he tried to answer.

“I like it here. I do. There are good people here. There’s good work to be done here. I’d like to work for this company, be successful for it, help the company be successful as well. Then, one day, when I’ve got decades under my belt, maybe I’ll have the time to write a book. I should have a hundred ideas to work with then, lots of life experience to help me out too. It’ll all fall as it should. I could write the book slowly, starting now too, use what free time I have to —”

Louis’ tongue almost bled with how hard he bit down on it, a physical attempt to stop his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to talk so much.

Embarrassment — was that the right word for what he felt? It wasn’t shame, but it was close and — flooded him, made his face flush, burned the tops of his ears.

And anger of some kind, bubbling and vicious, flooded through him too, settled unhappily in the pit of his stomach. Armand had pushed him to talk, hadn’t let Louis’ professional and appropriate answers stand on their own. He had made Louis say all of this, had —

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Armand was no longer looking at him. He had, within the last minute, turned his impenetrable gaze back to Louis’ file, his expression unreadable as he tracked over the words on the pages.

Louis wondered what page he was looking at, wondered what he was thinking…wondered the worst.

It was another eternity before Armand made a sound, a click of his tongue on the back of his teeth, and he tossed Louis’ file onto his desk with a flourish. It closed on its own, the sleek, dark front of the folder falling over whatever page had held Armand’s attention for that agonizing minute, and when Armand said, “I need to see you after work. Five sharp,” he didn’t make it optional.

“Why?” Louis couldn’t help but ask anyway, fumbling the word out after Armand didn’t elaborate.

It brought those intense eyes back to Louis’ and Louis couldn’t help but look away, shifting in his seat.

“Because I have another meeting in ten minutes and I’m afraid that what we need to go over will take much longer than that.”

Only a few minutes later, Louis was back in the main office, feeling dazed like he just left a movie theater after a matinee showing. It must have showed on his face too because Bricks came over to him, eyebrows high and face expectant, a hesitant smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“So?”

Louis blinked. “He wants to see me after work. Says that we didn’t have enough time to go over what he wanted to.”

“Quit being so defeatist!” Bricks said, threading her arm through his and leading him toward her office. Her voice was as it always was, but Louis could see something flicker across her face, a confusion, a worry, a — he didn’t know. He did know that it made him feel even worse. “Maybe you’re getting a promotion. It’d make sense.”

#my writing #loumand #armand/louis de pointe du lac

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