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loveindefinitely · 5 months

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༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

13 — THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS BAD THOUGHTS, ONLY YOUR ACTIONS TALK

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

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You’d, somehow, forgotten just how… vibrant two of your oldest friends were.

With the blades of the helicopter still spinning, the deafening sound of aircrafts around you, and a steady mist of rain, your body collides with another.

“Oi, watch it!” You exclaim, a beaming smile stretched over your features as the bulky, oblivious man squeezes his arms around your torso and buries his head into your neck. “You smell like gunpowder. And your fiancée.”

His voice comes out muffled against your skin. “And you smell like cheap body wash.”

He squeezes you once more before finally letting you go, his dimples deep and hair soggy with rain. You study his features, the sharpness of his jaw and the dusting of brunette against it. Him. One of your oldest friends in the military.

He looses a breath, eyes meeting yours and his hands falling to your shoulders, a comforting weight. You don’t have any words, can’t find them, so all that leaves your lips is a single name.

“Alex,” you whisper, voice breaking in the middle, heart a sore throb in your chest.

The storm clouds above paint the world around you in harsh greys and physical manifestations of sadness – but in it all, your light has arrived.

And how powerful it is.

“Moonflower!” A deeply familiar, feminine voice shouts, and you spread your arms wide and accept the body that crashes against your own. Your laugh is startled and pure, but relief and serotonin floods your system as warm as the embrace you’re surrounded in.

You’d found solace and even a home in your solitude, your loneliness, but now?

Now, with the only two people in your life that have remained by your side, no matter the distance, holding you in their embrace?

It feels like family, even if you know there isn’t a space between the two of them for you to fit in – no crevice large enough for you to ever comfortably merge.

A foster family, maybe. Or a found one, however tenuous and distant.

“I missed you both so much,” you murmur, voice cracking slightly. You clear your throat, inhaling a trembling breath as you squeeze your eyes shut and rest your face in the crook of her neck. She smells of an odd mixture of her usual perfume, and Alex’s cologne.

You wonder if you’ll still have enough limbs attached to get to their wedding, by the time everything has been dealt with.

If you’ll even have a head attached.

It’s a small eternity (or maybe a few seconds, or maybe a few years) until she pulls away, a glint in her eyes that seems a concoction of pity and strength.

“You look stunning, Farah,” you grin, and your cheeks burn with the odd sensation of joy.

She crinkles her nose, dark stray hairs flying across her face from the continuing wind of both winter and the helicopter. Her skin glows with health – and you realise, then, how even with the stress of reconstructing a nation, she’s happy. Honest and unrepentant and golden. A survivor of war, but a survivor nonetheless.

Raising a brow, she returns, “You look like shit.”

A chuckle leaves your throat, the familiarity that is Farah’s honesty akin to a hot chocolate and a blanket wrapped around a freezing frame.

“You look like you’ve been injured,” Alex adds, a small wince gracing his features. He’s miraculously found himself once more at Farah’s side, not unlike a loyal guard dog.

A guard dog guarding a lion, maybe, but a guard dog nonetheless.

“Unlike you two,” you chastise, folding your arms and burying your cold hands in the space between your bicep and breasts, “I’m at war.”

“With the guy we warned you about,” Farah raises her brow, voice acidic and biting. “The guy we told you was going to ruin your life?”

“There’s a difference between ruining my life, and quite literally ruining my life,” you counter, watching a cloud of breath hang in the air, chilled by the evening cold, before dissipating into the breeze.

“He can continue ruining your life inside,” Alex cuts in, a hand falling against the dip of Farah’s spine, and the other moving to rest between your shoulder blades. He applies just enough pressure to be convincing, but not demanding.

It may as well be a demand, however, with how weak your mindscape seems to be in the face of comfort and familiarity.

The base seems small, even with the short distance, a reminder of how self-contained and cataclysmic your life has become (has always been). It’s well past eight, now, and with the winter hours it’s almost pitch black already. A few stars decorate the black landscape, this far out from most light pollution. Your eyes stray to the glistening balls of flame, and you wonder if someday soon you’ll find yourself amongst them.

Two duffel bags hang off of Alex’s shoulder, and it sparks your interest.

“How long are you two planning to stay?” You ask, as if they’re merely old friends staying for a weekend, catching up over bottles of wine and damaged decks of cards.

They both shrug, almost in sync. Your heart thunders in your chest at the small display of how attuned they are with each other – how in love. It’s Farah who answers, simply, “However long it will take.”

When you look down to your boots, ripples of water against sleek concrete cascading beneath each footfall, it’s merely to hide the stretch of a smile that braces your chapped lips. Your voice is small, uncharacteristically vulnerable, when you mutter to the ground, “Thank you.”

“We owe you, hell, we owe you more than a dozen lifetimes for what you’ve done for us,” Alex scoffs, the gratitude rolling off of him unlike the rain soaking his long-sleeved v-neck.

“Let’s just call this even, then,” you retort, lifting your head once more, allowing them both to see the softened curve of your mouth, the gentle slope of your brows.

The rain has paused its pouring, but a whole other kind of thunderstorm awaits the three of you in the entry of the base.

When you’d called Farah and Alex – just two nights ago, mere minutes after finishing your meal with Ghost and Soap – you hadn’t spared many details about Graves. You’d told them of your betrayal, of your thoughts, of the adrenaline rush that was that last fight with him.

What you hadn’t disclosed was your increasingly peculiar arrangement with the 141. Or your tryst with Gaz. Or your mess of feelings, as a whole.

So, really, you hadn’t told them much in the realm of everything.

Now, seeing the outline of four starkly familiar profiles, waiting underneath the small awning above the entrance to the base, you regret leaving such vital pieces of information out of your hours-long call.

“This is the one first impression you don’t want to fuck up,” is all you manage to grate out to the two beside you, before you fall into hearing distance of the very imposing image the 141 has managed to portray. Sometimes, you forget how genuinely daunting the four men are, with the different lights you’ve seen them in.

This is not one of those times.

As soon as the light sitting at the door shines against the three of you, Soap startles forward, clad in only a tight-fitting grey shirt, with a hefty leather jacket in his grip. When he reaches you, not even glancing at the newcomers, he pulls the jacket over your shoulders, warm and gun-rough hands brushing the soft skin of your neck as he does so.

“Impatient, lass, runnin’ off into the rain without any feckin’ layers,” he reprimands, without any bite at all.

You’re stumped, for a moment, before shaking your head lightly and stepping away from the utterly confusing man. With a dramatic flourish of a hand gesture, you motion towards your left.

Thankfully, Soap hadn’t met you too far out, so it only takes a few steps before you’re standing before the other three. A healthy dose of scepticism and tension fills the air between you all, and while you could certainly do without it, it still stings.

Just as you’re about to introduce everyone, despite Soap’s oddly rude behaviour, Price interrupts.

“Bloody hell, small world, ain’t it?” He chuckles, throaty and pleased, muscle-corded arms folded over his chest. His smile is like a beam in the dark of night.

“Thought it’d be a nice surprise, old man,” Farah returns, bringing out her hand for him to shake with a firm grip, both comfortable and at ease in each other’s presence. When Farah goes to pull away, however, Price stops her from doing so with wide eyes, laser-focused on her ring-adorned finger.

“Well I’ll be damned, Alex, how’d you convince her to deal with your arse for eternity?” Price teases, and while you expect the younger man to hit back, he simply beams.

The three seem to be in their own little world, with you, Soap, Gaz and Ghost being left with raised brows.

“Oh, sorry, guys,” Alex raises a hand, having the decency to look sheepish. His eyes trail along the 141 warily, before meeting your own eyes, relaxing slightly under your gaze. He seems reluctant to break the contact, but does so nonetheless, words directed at the 141 as he says, “Price is an old friend.”

Farah and Price break their quiet conversation, directing their attention back to the group at large. It’s quiet, for a moment, which is a blessing considering the large personalities at hand.

You’re the one to break it.

“Well,” you start, a sudden burst of anxiety sparking in your stomach – you hadn’t considered the merging of your two lives, of past and present, the clashing of…

Oh. God.

Oh God. Oh God, you had almost forgotten that, but if you had, maybe they did, too? Yes. Definitely. It’ll be fine.

(It won’t be fine, you’re more certain, but a little lie to yourself can’t hurt. Much.)

You continue, not a breath out of place despite your internal thoughts, “Farah, Alex, meet the 141.”

Gesturing to the four men, meeting all of their eyes, you then gesture to the other two. “Guys, meet Farah and Alex.”

Silence fills the space between you all for a mere moment – just past a second, really – but it’s damning and heavy all the same. It has your chest tightening and your throat constricting, not unlike a thread of rope being pulled taut around the curve of your neck.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” Farah says, voice steady and calculated. Defensive, really.

Gaz’s eyes narrow, his voice perfectly even and sickly sweet as he responds, “I can promise you, the last thing Sweetheart needs is to be taken care of.”

It’s… tense.

You’d, of course, expected that it would take some time for Farah and Alex to become anything close to friendly with the 141, but this feels different. A kind of static alights the air, a live wire sensitive to any spark that will instantly set it aflame.

“It’s good to see you again too, mate,” Alex smiles, but a sharp edge lines the curve of his lips. His eyes meet Gaz’s, and they don’t stray.

With a tight smile, Gaz responds, “Likewise.”

Ghost stands farthest from the group, a haunting spectre, shrouded in shadows with his arms folded over his chest and his hip resting against the wall. It’s impossible to see where, exactly, his eyes are trained – but you know they rest on you nonetheless.

Soap’s jacket remains a comforting weight on your shoulders, and although you’re loath to admit it even to yourself, it is miles better than the thin top you’d braved. He’s standing closest to you, on your right, posture straightened and imposing. He exudes a kind of energy you haven’t felt from him before, the closest being when you’d been separated from him post-surgery, maybe.

“Let’s have some tea, maybe, in the common room?” You ask, but it’s not really a request. Your tone is thick with insistence and command, and no one is in a place to deny you.

By the time you all make it to the common room – Alex and Farah comfortably speaking with Price, and you walking silently with Gaz, Ghost and Soap. The latter, especially, remaining a close presence at your side.

A few candles are lit against the windowsill, and a singular lamp sat against the large couch has been lit. No need for the blinding white light of the ceiling – just comfort and familiarity.

It feels at odds with the terse energy at hand, but simultaneously, a blessing.

Alex immediately takes a seat on the far right of the couch, at ease with himself and his surroundings. Gaz sits on the far left, leaving two spots between them. Without a word, Soap’s hand finds your lower back, and he virtually pulls you with him to sit between the two men.

You find yourself stuck between Alex and Soap, with Ghost, Price and Farah more than happy to stand. Even if there was space, you doubt they’d choose to take a seat.

“We need to find out what Shepherd’s up to,” you speak, breaking the small talk between Price and Farah, as well as between Gaz and Soap. The room falls silent immediately. “And we need to find out what actually happened to my mother.”

The silence continues, and you find yourself pulling the leather jacket tighter around your frame – finding solace in the heat of the two men at either side of you. Your past and your present, both there, both helping.

It’s, surprisingly, Ghost who answers the sentiment first.

“We’re at your disposal,” he simply says, as if it’s ever that simple. Maybe it can be, maybe it will be, with the powerhouse of a group that’s surrounding you now, with all of your history and feelings and sentiments.

You can feel the seeds of hope in your chest begin to blossom, begin to shine underneath the rays of sunlight that are Ghost’s words.

“Are,” you roll your tongue in your mouth, feeling the words out before you speak them, “Are you all ready and willing to do this? Because if you’re not, I’m going to get the job done myself.”

It’s true, suicide mission or not.

“Yer outta yer feckin’ mind if ya think we’re leavin’ ya behind now,” Soap scoffs, relaxing further into the couch as he throws his arm up and around the back of the couch, hand skimming your left shoulder. His thigh presses against your right one.

“You’re stuck with us now, Sweetheart,” Price shrugs, hands in his pockets.

Murmurings of agreement and similar sentiments echo around the group, and you find yourself exhaling such a deep breath that you’re sure it expels some decade-old air that had been stuck in the crevices of your lungs.

“Hold on,” Farah raises her hand, brows furrowing as her other fist rests at her bucked hip. “What’s this whole Sweetheart thing about?”

Soap’s hand finds the nape of your neck, brushing away your hair to rest a firm grip around the warmed skin. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, and another when he responds, “Simple, aye? She’s a Sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s impossible to quell the growing grin that’s creeping onto your face. “This idiot,” you nod towards the Scot at your side, “Was bleeding out. Gave him some sweetheart lollies to help with the blood loss, and, well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoes, his eyes trained on your profile. When you meet his eyes, for a mere second, it feels like an electric shock.

Alex, on your other side, glances at you through the corner of his eyes with a hint of conspiracy. He leans in, mouth just a hair away from your ear, when he asks, “Which one of them are you fucking? Or have they all tumbled into your bed?”

Your elbow to his side is more a knee-jerk reaction to his words than anything, but you’re at least decent enough to wince at his groan of pain. He clutches his side like he’s been shot on the field, head falling to rest against your chest with dramatic flourish. Both Gaz and Soap start, as if about to physically restrain the man, and your unamused gaze immediately finds the Sergeants.

What the actual fuck is up with everyone?

“Not a jealous woman, are you, Farah?” Ghost chimes, voice guttural where he stands just to your left, by the arm of the couch. You can’t say you’d forgotten his presence – even with his silence, it’s a tangible, physical weight on your shoulders – but it still startles you when he speaks.

Farah’s easy smile turns into a cryptic smirk instantaneously, and, fuck.

Maybe, very possibly, most likely definitely: they remembered. Or, at least, Farah did.

Fuck.

You suppose it’s not really a thing you forget, unless your mind’s an overfilled storage room of memories and current events and problems. Which yours most definitely is, and of which theirs is likely not.

“Can’t say I am. Not the first time they’ve gotten handsy,” she shrugs, as if it’s an obvious statement.

As if the room hasn’t instantly dropped approximately ten degrees, and your heart stops where it should be thrumming in your chest.

It’s almost funny, how you instantly train your attention to Gaz. How your mind immediately fears his expression, his reaction to such a thinly veiled sentiment.

What you see is the instant rising of walls, the shuttering of his eyes, and the stiffening of his frame.

You wonder how many missed heartbeats it takes to constitute a heart attack.

“Old fling, were they?” Price asks, because, really, of course he does. When you look to him, he deliberately keeps his gaze on Farah, not giving you a single glance. It’s not jealousy, you know, because it’s Price, and he, in no capacity, holds any such feelings towards you. But it’s something damning nonetheless.

Alex, oblivious idiot that he is, finally pulls his head back up with a sharp laugh. If you didn’t know him, you’d think it was malicious. “Nah. Just thought some experimentation with an extra partner would be fun, and, hey, she is pretty damn hot.”

“You’re a dickhead,” you chastise, suddenly aware of all the points that you and Alex touch – all the points that you and Soap touch.

“Didn’t realise ye were into that,” Soap bites, abruptly, tone sharp and acrid. You barely suppress a shiver at the shift in the man’s attitude, in comparison to his usually jovial and good-natured attitude.

“Didn’t realise you were into kink-shaming, either,” you retort, almost startling at your own defensiveness.

Ghost’s hum feels like a reprimand, akin to an owner using a dog whistle on their trusted border collie, or a dominatrix snapping her whip.

“I don’t think threesomes are a kink?” Alex’s statement ends in a question, a confused look settling over his features. “Like, polyamory definitely isn’t, but what about one-offs? Babe, do you know?”

Farah doesn’t answer, not for a long while. Entirely too aware of the tension filling the room, of the dangerous game she’s about to partake in. The one Alex started, likely unknowingly, but started nonetheless.

“No. It’s not kink. But some of what we did was.”

For, well, not the first time in your life (or even the last week, really), but pretty darn close to it, you consider storming into the weapon supplies and shooting yourself.

“Well!” You exclaim, nervous laughter following the statement, palms clammy where you wipe them against your pants, “Farah, Alex, you probably need some rest, y’know, after your flight. I certainly need it.”

Standing before you even realise you are, you move to get the hell out of there, when Soap’s hand wraps around your wrist, and tugs you back down to sit even closer against him. When Alex’s hand finds your shoulder, you realise distantly that this must be a kind of tug of war. Or piggy in the middle.

Potato, patata. You’re the bait either way.

“The night’s still young,” Price cuts in, and everyone around you seems to nod. “Unless you’re uncomfortable, Sweetheart,” he adds, and the genuinity beneath his words turns into a threat of your pride in your head.

“I’m fine,” you straighten your shoulders, set your nerves. “Just looking out for my friends.”

It’s a lie. You know it, Ghost most likely does, too, and you can only hope that everyone else is ignorant to that small fact.

Subconsciously, you find your attention drifting to Gaz once more.

He hasn’t spoken, you realise, not since Alex had said that. When he catches you watching his profile, lit by the lamp, the candles – he meets your eyes. Not for longer than a second, or half of one, you’re sure, but it hits you like a bullet. When he instantly looks away, you can’t help the sudden anger that stokes the flames in your stomach.

It’s not as if you were openly flirting with either Alex or Farah, and even then, who was he to be mad? You’d been together once, for God’s sake – not for a single moment since. Long days of work and stress and training made the comfort of his bed simply that.

And even then, even then, you were in no way official. Not in any semblance of the word, not with the stakes of the mission at hand, the risk that came with such relationships.

His response gives you half a mind to play up your past on purpose. You won’t, but the urge is definitely there.

It’s not silent, thank god. Alex, Price and Farah have continued a previous conversation, Ghost is silent and brooding, and…

“Didnae pick ye as promiscuous,” Soap states, fiercely meeting your eyes with a swirling of emotions visible within his own. He says the words like they’re poison on his tongue, and, fuck, you’re close to breaking point.

Your responding smile is nothing short of mocking. “Calling me a slut is less wordy, don’t you think?”

“Dinnae put words into my bloody mouth,” Soap seethes, leaning in further to your space, the scent of his cologne invading your senses. You hate how confused it all makes you feel, how unsure of your emotions and goddamn attachments.

“Oh, sorry, does the big bad military man want to tell me what such a big word means? If I don’t have the mental capacity to choose how I have sex, I surely can’t understand your wide vocabulary, can I?” You hiss, bending your neck slightly and not backing away from his posturing for even a moment.

“Soap, stop threatening her,” Price barks, and you distantly remember the people around you, the setting, the image the two of you must make.

You remember, and you can’t seem to find a single fuck to give.

“I can fight my own damn battles!” You yell, not sending a single glance Price’s way – eyes completely remaining on darkened blue instead.

“And that’s why ye still got bloody feckin’ bandages, damn bruises –”

“Do not go there with me right now, Johnny, or I swear to fucking god.”

Both of your chests heave, and you’ve forgotten what even sparked this sudden argument, this spiteful back and forth. You haven’t a clue in this moment, and you relish in it.

“She’s a better damn fighter than the lot of you,” Alex interrupts, “Injuries don’t mean shit, ‘specially not when you don’t know what the fuck she’s gone through.”

Soap directs his ire toward the man at your side, voice thick with anger and his accent when he counters, “And ye know ‘er so much better, jus’ cause ye got in ‘er pants? Aye?”

“Because he isn’t acting like a goddamn meathead!” You find yourself fisting your hand into his shirt, pulling him closer to you, faces inches apart.

“‘Nd kissin’ ‘n tellin’ is fine ‘nd dandy,” Soap laughs, without a hint of humour, “Thought ye had standards.”

A lot of things happen in the preceding moment.

You’d like to say you can’t be blamed for any of the actions that occur, but you also know that accountability is a virtue. And you mean to uphold it.

It goes something like this.

The fist that had been wrapped in his shirt pulls back, and instead, collides with his jaw.

Arms wrap around your chest, caging your arms to your side. Arms, too, wrap around Soap, pulling him away from you. You’re both yelling obscenities, none of which you can name, and you both fight against your restraints.

You don’t need to have a full frame of mind to know that it’s Alex and Price holding you back, and through the haze of it all, you’re sure it’s Ghost and Farah keeping Soap away.

“Calm the hell down!” Price commands, voice a beam of light in a storm. It brings you back to yourself, but not enough to stem the bleeding of your anger, just enough for you to recognise it.

“Bloody idiot, Johnny, get it together!” Ghost is saying to Soap, standing in front of him and shaking his shoulders as Farah’s arms remain wrapped around his torso, keeping his fists below his waist.

Gaz is nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t fucking speak to be, Johnny, I don’t want to see your face,” you shout, eyes glassy, before you finally ease into Price and Alex’s grips, their own going lax. You shoulder off their arms, before without a word, storming down the corridor.

Your name’s called out after you, ‘Sweetheart’, ‘Moonflower’ – none of it matters. Not past the roaring in your ears, the spite burning in your veins. The pent up energy of an unfinished fight.

Shoving open the door to your – Gaz’s – room, you startle when you see the man himself, standing in the middle of the room, shirt in hand. The only light comes from the window, the full moon high in the sky more than enough light to serve as a lamp. His sweats hang loose on his hips, his muscles bulging but still lithe, more like a gymnast’s build than a wrestler’s.

He’s never looked better.

Whether that’s the adrenaline speaking, or the anger, you don’t know. Don’t care. Not past the need to have his mouth against your own.

It takes all of two seconds before the door slams shut behind you, and you’re shoving Gaz onto the bed, his own groan answer enough. His brown eyes glisten with the moonlight, and his throat dips when he swallows, focus trained on where you tug off that damn leather jacket. your shirt following.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” you demand, “Unless it’s yes, no, or please.”

He nods, shaky, voice breaking when he responds, “Yes.”

Kicking off your pants, leaving you standing in only your panties and bra, you move to straddle him. He dutifully remains laid onto the bed, chest heaving in harsh sweeps, mouth slightly open in a mixture of shock and lust.

“Where do you get off,” you breathe, voice heavy with threat as you drag your pointer finger along the length of his throat, before following the line of his collarbone, “Being all moody about who I’ve fucked? What gives you the right?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the weakest he’s ever sounded, “Not – I’m not mad, I just. I want you.”

Your hand finds his neck, forming a light grip around it. You haven’t applied any pressure, but his breath hitches at the weight of it, the promise.

“That sounded like more than one syllable,” you frown, mockingly patronising. You squeeze his neck, not anywhere hard enough to choke, but enough to have him squeezing his eyes shut. “We can talk later.”

He nods, harsh, quick jerks of his head, and the slightly unhinged smile returns to your face.

You hadn’t gotten the fight you’d yearned for, not with Soap, but this is a good enough replacement for that need.

Dragging your hand down his bare chest, you pause when you see scars. Not healed like those from battle, and ones you recognise. Before you can process what it means, Gaz lets out a sharp gasp, and when you look to him, his eyes are wide and.

And scared.

“No, hey, you can speak,” you ramble, and you can feel the flame of rage dim to sparking charcoal. It should be scary, how quickly you find yourself worried for the man, but it’s not. “It’s okay.”

“I should’ve told you,” he immediately breathes, squeezing his eyes shut once more. His head falls back to the bed once more. “I’m.”

He swallows, and you find your hand gravitating to his throat once more – this time, in a soft, soothing caress.

“I’m trans,” he finishes, saying it like one would whisper a secret in a confessional. Your heart stutters in your chest, and it aches, the idea that he’s had lovers who’ve made him feel so awful about his identity.

Your hand moves from his neck to his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eyes, and they finally flutter open once more.

They soften when they see your smile.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say, voice low and cautious. “If you wanna stop, it’s fine, but,” you shrug, “You’re hot. I still wanna fuck. You might have to show me what feels best, but that’s kinda hot, too.”

“You’re okay with it?” His voice is fragile, shaky, and fuck he’s pretty.

“I’m okay with it,” you echo, sentiment genuine and kind. “Tell me what you want, Kyle.”

His arms remain laid out on the bed at either side of him, his skin still heated with want and need and wanton lust. His voice strengthens when he answers.

“I want you to use me – take it out on me,” he says. “Please.”

And who are you to deny such a request?

author's note. i was veryveryvery close to orphaning or marking as complete. i'm not really in or interested in the COD fandom at all anymore, but, i realised that i also want to see where this story goes? excluding the characters, the actual story and world i've created for sweetheart has me wanting to see it to its end.

that, along with the fans. you guys and your genuine interest and comments have made this project worth it. i can't express enough how much you all mean to me, especially those that comment on every chapter and have been there every step of the way. thank you, thank you, thank you.

i can't promise as efficient and regular updates, but i CAN promise that i plan to finish this story in its entirety.

thank you to those who have stuck around, and thank you for those that continue to do so. you mean the world to me, and the very writing of this fic is owed to you.

(also, if anyone has any feedback on my trans rep and dealing with a trans character, PLEASE lmk. i am in no way perfect, and if i've made a mistake, please tell me so i can fix it and grow as a writer!)

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angel5ofp0rn · 3 months

Text

♡ no part. random flashback. ♡

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

You pull up to John's apartment building, a weird feeling of anxiety in your chest.

Your oldest is chattering excitedly in the backseat about spending the weekend with his daddy, while the youngest, still a bit groggy from just have woken up an hour ago, clutches her favorite stuffed animal.

“Alright, monkeys,” you say with forced cheerfulness as you turn off the engine. “Time to go see Daddy.”

Gabriel practically bursts out of his car seat with excitement. You unbuckle Linnie and hoist her onto your hip, grabbing the overnight bags with your free hand.

John opens the door before you can knock, a warm smile spreading across his face as he sees the kids.

“There’s my boy," he grins, kneeling down to your oldest’s level to scoop him up in a bear hug.

Your youngest reaches for John immediately, smiling big around the binkie in her mouth. “And my girl.”

"Hey," you say softly, trying to muster a smile. John stands up, taking Linnie in one arm and holding Gabriel's hand in the other.

It’s then that you notice it—a purplish-reddish mark peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

A hickey.

Your stomach drops, for whatever reason.

"Thanks for bringing them over," John says, his tone casual, as if everything is normal.

“Daddy lets us order pizza!" Gabriel grins, bouncing on his feet.

"That’s great," you reply, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

You force yourself to focus on Gabriel and Linnie, planting a kiss on each of their heads. "You guys be good for Daddy, okay? Mommy will see you on Sunday."

As you turn to leave, John catches your arm gently. "Hey, are you alright?" he asks, trying to meet your eyes.

“I’m fine, and even if I wasn’t, it’s not your job to check up on me.” You mumble, harsher than intended.

John seems to accept this, releasing your arm with soft sigh. "Drive safe," he says simply.

You barely make it to the car before the tears start to burn your eyes. The sight of that hickey, evidence of someone else in John’s life…

You manage to buckle yourself in and start the engine, your vision blurred by tears.

As you drive away, the weight of your emotions overwhelms you. The road ahead is a hazy blur, and sobs wrack your body. The realization that John is moving on, that he’s finding happiness with someone else, feels like a fresh wound.

You pull over to the side of the road, unable to see through the flood of tears. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly as you cry, letting out all the pain, frustration, and loneliness you’ve been holding inside.

The thought of another woman touching John, of him caring for her the way he used to care for you, is almost too much to bear.

After what feels like an eternity, the sobs subside into quiet sniffles. You wipe your eyes, take a few deep breaths, and force yourself to focus.

The kids need you to be strong, that’s what you tell yourself.

With a heavy heart, you pull back onto the road and drive home…

But not before sending a quick reply to that Tinder DM that you had been ignoring for the past three days.

•••

John closed the door after you left and set the baby to her feet to toddle around after her brother. He sighed, a lingering sense of guilt washing over him. He couldn't shake the image of the pain in your eyes when you noticed the hickey.

He thought you’d go off on him, get all pissed and possessive. He didn’t think you’d give him the cold shoulder.

After lunch, John lets the little ones down for a nap in their shared room. He tucks the oldest into his big-boy bed and the baby in the crib against the opposite wall of the small room.

Once they’re asleep John heads to the kitchen and makes himself a cup of coffee. He sits at the kitchen table, savoring the brief moment of peace. His phone was on the table, and he picks it up, going straight to Tinder.

A smirk forms on his lips as he sees a new message from the profile he’s been using under the fake name ��Jake.”

You: Hey, Jake! I’m free tonight if that works for you? 😊

Jake: Let’s meet at that little Italian place downtown around 8.

He sends the message and puts his phone down, leaning back in his chair. He knows you’ll go to the restaurant, expecting to meet “Jake,” only to find yourself stood up.

He hopes the disappointment might lead you to call him for comfort, a scenario he finds himself oddly anticipating.

Hours pass, and the kids eventually wake up from their naps. John spends the evening feeding them dinner and giving them a bath, all the while keeping an eye on the time.

He plays with them until bedtime, reading them stories and tucking them in once more.

As the clock nears 8 PM, John starts to feel a wave of guilt. He knows what he’s doing isn’t fair, but he can’t help himself.

He spends the rest of the evening cleaning up the apartment and watching TV, waiting for the call he suspects might come.

Finally, around 9:30, his phone buzzes. He sees your name on the screen and his heart skips a beat. He answers, trying to sound casual.

“Hey, love. Everything alright?” he asks, even though he knows exactly why you’re calling.

Your voice sounds strained, and he can hear the disappointment. “Yeah, I just… I went out tonight, and the person I was supposed to meet never showed up. I feel so stupid.”

John’s heart aches hearing you like this, but he forces himself to keep up the act. “I’m sorry to hear that, sweetheart. Wanna talk about it?”

You sigh, the frustration evident in your voice. “I just don’t understand why people do this. Why pretend to be interested if you’re just going to disappear?”

John nods, though you can’t see it. “Men are idiots, lovey. But you know I’m always here for you, don’t you?”

“Yeah… yeah, I know.” You sigh softly. You lie back on your bed, looking up at the ceiling.

“Still there?” John asks gently.

“Still here…” You wipe under your eyes, the wetness from your frustrated tears lingering on your cheeks. “The kids asleep?

“Out like lights.” John chuckles softly.

You smile to yourself, imagining how happy and comfy the kids probably are at John’s right now. “I miss them already.”

“You can come by whenever you’d like.” John says, trying not to sound too eager.

You snort at that suggestion.

“Defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

“Suppose it does.” John agrees. “Unless the kids aren’t the only ones you were missin’.”

You want to roll your eyes, go off on him, explain how inappropriate that was to even suggest…

But your heart flutters. Your cheeks blush.

And you’re lonely.

Your attempt to move on totally failed, and here’s John trying to cheer you up. Maybe that was a sign from the universe.

“John…”

“M’sorry,” John says. “I didn’t mean to… to cross any boundaries.”

You chew your bottom lip a bit as you weigh your options.

“Still with me, lovey?”

“Uh-huh…”

You could practically hear the smirk in John’s voice as he spoke next. “No words, hm? What’s on your mind, then?”

“Just… thinking.”

“Thinkin’ about..?” You swear John’s voice just got huskier, more sultry than it was just a moment ago. You feel goosebumps as you hear John exhale, seemingly shifting into a more comfortable position on the couch. “What has you thinking so hard?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” John grins to himself. “Hope it’s not that fuckin’ dickhead who stood you up.”

“No… not him.” You speak softly.

“Someone else, then?”

You roll your eyes, knowing that John is fishing for a specific answer. “Wouldn’t you love to know, Johnathan.”

“Bet I could guess,” He’s smirking, you know he is.

You sit up, kick your heels off and toss your dress towards the hamper. “Bet you’d be right.”

“Why don’t you come over then, lovey?” John practically purrs. You can’t see it, but John’s rubbing a hand over his inner thigh, palming himself over his grey sweatpants. “Could cheer ya up.”

“Yeah?” You sigh, your hand not holding the phone moving dangerously close to the dampness between your legs.

“Yeah,” John whimpers whispers. “Make ya forget all about that fuckin’ Jake…”

You freeze. You remove your hand from your panties. You sit up fully in the bed.

“What did you say?”

“Hm?”

Your eyes narrow. “I never told you what his name was.”

John’s eyes widen. He sits up as well, clearing his throat. “Sure you did, you- you said it was Jake o-or Joe or something-“

“I can’t fucking believe you.” You scoff, ending the call.

John tosses his phone to the floor, rubbing a hand over his face.

Fuck.

#exhusband!price #literally pointless #i just needed to write to turn my brain back on #captain john price #call of duty #captain price #john price #cod headcanons #price headcannon #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #ex husband price #husband!price #price headcanons #husband price #price x reader #price cod #cod mwii #cod mw3

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milf-murdock · 5 months

Note

Hi!! I love love love your writing! Especially your 141!Reader series <3 I don't know if you take requests, but your last post about Simon and baby Joseph made me so angsty and I would love to read more angst from you. Could you please write about Simon thinking 141!Reader was KIA on a mission? Thank you!!!

Anon....who....who hurt you???? I’m kidding 😆 mostly 👀 But for real, this one HURT. Like. OUCH. This man has been through so fucking much…but let’s put him through a bit more 😈😈😈 also, I did very much hurt my own feelings with this one. So I’m thinking we might need a part two reunion because I don’t know if I can leave our Ghosty boy in shambles like this

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The rain patters against the window in a steady rhythm.

Simon watches the fat raindrops roll down the small window pane, one foot anxiously tapping against the concrete floor. He didn’t know why he was called to Price’s office, but there was an ominous charge to the air. Call it a premonition, or maybe an instinct, but he knew in his bones that something was wrong.

The click of the door handle pulls Simon from his thoughts as Price enters the office, a heavy silence filling the air.

“What’s happened?” Simon's voice has a hard edge to it, cutting straight through the bullshit. Watchful eyes appraise every detail of Price’s body language, and Simon notes the deep sunken look of his captain’s eyes accentuated by a somber expression.

Price avoids Simon's gaze, staring down at the oak desktop before him as he takes a seat. The captain wasn’t one to mince words or beat around the bush, but even he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the situation despite his many years in the service.

Simon's heart hammers in his chest, every second in the unknown feeling like an eternity. This isn’t right, he thinks to himself.

Price steels himself with a deep inhale, pulling his gaze from the desk to face Simon head on, looking past the mask, speaking to the man he knew laid beneath.

“I wanted you to hear this from me, son. You…deserve to hear this from me.”

Simon stops breathing.

With practiced determination, Price continues his speech, having rehearsed the words in his head the entire walk down to his office.

“Reconnaissance mission, Operation Blackout, suffered multiple casualties after a long-range detonation by enemy action. There’s been no contact with the team, and rescue attempts were unsuccessful due to the extensive damage caused by the explosion. All team members are presumed KIA. The official course of action…”

The rest of Price’s speech is drowned out by the dull roar in Simon’s ears; his blood runs cold, his rigid body barely breathing.

This can’t be happening. Not again. Never again.

Simon's thoughts grip him by the heart, squeezing painfully.

I can’t do this again.

He had already lost everyone once. Had built impenetrable walls, designed to protect him from this type of pain.

But you. You and your goddamn charm, and your soft smiles, and your relentless fucking attitude. You broke down those walls brick by brick, made Ghost–no, made Simon– feel more like a man than he had in years. You slipped past his ironclad defenses and took his heart without him even realizing it.

And just when he had finally opened up, just when he had finally convinced himself that maybe he could be happy–that you could be happy together. It all came crashing down.

In the distance, Ghost could hear shouting. A chorus of denials piercing the air, heavy ragged breaths filling the silence between.

A heavy hand fell on Ghost's shoulder and he found himself back in his body, looking up at Price, voice raw.

With a stark realization, Ghost realizes it was him. He was the one shouting, the one gasping for breath.

The world tilted out from under him.

____________

Ghost left Price’s office a different man–a mere shell of the man who entered. With every step he took, he felt himself slipping further and further into the familiar safety of Ghost, an unpierceable facade moving through the world.

Everything felt wrong. Every step. Every breath. He felt like he was moving underwater, every action taking twice the effort it should.

The next few hours pass in a blur. The official order that he was being sent on leave. The ensuing argument with Price over the orders. He eventually just gave up. Leave, no leave, it didn’t fucking matter.

None of it fucking matters.

Johnny tries to see him before he leaves, meeting Simon on the tarmac. He tries to be there for his lieutenant, his friend.

The red rim around Johnny’s eyes reminds Simon that he wasn’t the only one who had lost you. They had all lost you. But even that which should have been a comfort, a sort of kinship in the grief, meant nothing. Simon didn’t give a singular fuck. He turned away from Johnny mid-speech, leaving the Scotsman to sit in his grief alone as he watched Ghost disappear into the aircraft.

____________

It takes every ounce of strength Ghost has to make it through the flight. To make it through the drive back home. To make it through that door.

Keep it together, soldier. Don’t you dare fucking lose it, Simon Riley. Just a bit longer.

His belongings crash to the floor as the door slams shut behind him. He doesn’t even bother turning on the light, instead using the faint glow of the moonlight through the curtains to guide him to the cabinet.

Ghost pulls the bottle of bourbon from its resting spot, not even bothering with a glass as he pulls off the corked top and takes a hearty swig.

The burn of the liquid is invigorating, filling Ghost with a quiet simmering fire.

He takes another drink. And another.

He walks through the flat in a daze, the amber liquid dulling his senses, sending him even deeper into the haze of his grief.

Ghost finds himself in front of his dresser, staring at the wooden drawers.

Taking another drink, he steels himself as he yanks open the top drawer. Rummaging beneath the pile of socks and t-shirts, Ghost digs out the small velvet box. He grips it tight in his hand, the small object groaning in protest as waves of rage and pain overtake Ghost, threatening to pull him under. Hot tears slide down his face, but he doesn’t even notice.

With a roar he throws the velvet box across the room, the impact fracturing the drywall. Ghost’s knees go out from under him and he crashes to the floor, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. There would be no repairing this. No amount of time could heal this type of heartbreak.

You were dead.

And as far as Ghost was concerned, Simon Riley died with you.

#y'all I'm so sorry this one HURT #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #simon “ghost” riley x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost riley

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daydreaming-in-letters · 2 months

Text

Feast

07/25/2024

Pairing: Vampire!Hozier x reader

Word Count: 7,286

Warnings: vampire au, language, alcohol, blood, blood sucking, thoughts about unaliving oneself, fingering, light choking, oral (f receiving), penetration (also the reader is female and has hair covering their neck)

Summary: You had heard rumours about the man living in the old mansion down Hollows Lane. Gruesome ones. Enticing ones. Little did you know they were all true.

A/N: I blame hoztwt and my undying vampire kink for this.

Picture found on Pinterest

If you enjoy my story, liking is great, but leaving a comment or reblogging is the stuff that keeps me going. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

There were rumours about the man living down Hollows Lane. Gruesome ones. The first time you had heard them, you had laughed out loud. A simple prank, you had thought, gone by the end of the month. But they just did not stop.

There were also other rumours. Enticing ones. The man was a seducer, they said, a master of his art, and he knew how to have a good time. You had heard women gushing about his talent, about how they had never been satisfied like that before. It was almost too good to be true. Especially since all he wanted in return was a tasty meal.

A small price to pay if the rumours about his unearthly qualities were true. And as soon as the thought had manifested in your mind, your ears picked up the deep roll of thunder in the distance. A warning, maybe. Probably not. Still it was enough to make you trip and stumble a few steps forward. With a deep breath you steadied yourself, pressing the basket of food you carried to your chest. Just one more turn, one more road to walk down. You could already make out the roof of the grand mansion at the far end. There was a whisper, carried on the breeze, as if it was calling you, a ridiculous thought, you chided yourself, but still your feet had picked up their pace again, the determined clicking of your heels on the pavement the only noise in the lamplit street.

Finally you reached the iron gate and its signature creak brought back memories from the first time you had walked up to his doorstep. You had been so nervous, almost dying inside from anticipation and anxiety alike.

You had no idea how this was supposed to work. All you had was some kind of code word you were expected to say to him.

The large door knocker felt heavy and ice cold as you lifted it and brought it down three times. For a long while, almost an eternity, nothing happened, and you were about to turn around and leave when finally the dark wood in front of you moved. And there he was. He was even more beautiful than the women had described and you doubted there were words in any language to do the looks of this man justice.

“Can I help you?”

He just stood there, waiting, glancing down at you as he towered in the doorway, but that was all it took to stun you into complete silence. Your mouth felt utterly dry, your tongue too heavy to move even if the code was short and easy to remember.

“Are you quite well?”

At least you managed to nod and that seemed to please him somehow.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you blurted out, your brain happy to start with something simple.

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

He held out his hand to you and you took it without hesitation. It was soft and warm and his touch almost had you miss out on the moment when he drew in a sharp breath, his upper lip quivering strangely, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared and soon you doubted whether it had been real or just a product of your shell-shocked brain.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Yes! I mean, no. I—” One eyebrow shooting up, he observed you carefully as you stumbled across your own words. “I’m sorry. I am so nervous and I have no idea how this works.”

“I can see that,” he chuckled. “But there is no need to be nervous. Just tell me the words and you’ll be fine.”

His green eyes were so calming as they seemed to stare right into your soul. It should have worried you, should it not, that he seemed to be able to glance at the deepest, most well-hidden parts of you so easily, but instead you felt yourself relax under his gaze.

“Carpe noctem,” you finally managed to pipe up.

“Good girl.”

His voice was low and raspy and you felt your walls tighten around agonising nothingness upon his words. He smirked, knowing full well what he was doing to you already and as much of a warning signal this should have been, it turned you on beyond reason.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” You shook your head. “And the rest of this will be just as easy, I promise. All you need to do is be back here on Saturday, exact same time. Dress to your liking, I want you to feel as comfortable as possible. And bring all the ingredients to your favourite meal.”

You nodded mechanically.

“Are you sure you got it?”

“Got it.”

Gosh, why were you like this? Why could you not just be chill about this? You were embarrassing yourself in front of a man who would supposedly shag the brains out of you this Saturday if one could trust the rumours in this town for once. He on the other hand seemed completely unfazed, maybe even enjoying your flustered state, telling from the satisfied smile on his face.

“Okay, see you on Saturday, then,” you were quick to end this torment, even waving stupidly at him as if you had not already done enough to traumatise yourself. But he was just as quick as he caught your wrist mid-air, a movement too fast for your eyes to catch up and he did not even allow you a second to blink before you found yourself pressed up against his body, one arm slung around the small of your back to keep you in place.

“Goodbye, angel,” he whispered, his breath mingling with yours in the tiny space that was left between your mouths, a space he was keen to erase completely as he leaned in. His kiss was featherlight, making you doubt once more whether this was actually happening or if his lips on yours were just another product of your delusional mind. All you knew was that it made your knees weak and you were very thankful that he was still tightly holding you.

Even more so as a sharp sting shook you from your hazy state. Your lip. And the distinctive metal taste of blood.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed in irritation, two fingers finding your lip and as you pulled them away, the dark red liquid was shimmering in the eerie light of the evening.

“Just a little appetiser.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him off, but once again you found yourself rendered speechless by this man. And he knew how to use your petrified state as a strong hand wrapped around yours, holding the fingers laced with blood in place, and then his mouth opened to take them in, licking them clean as he stared right into your eyes from underneath those impossibly long lashes.

“Can’t wait for Saturday to come.”

You did not know how often you had gone over this scene in your head these past days. It made you shiver, every time, but even more than that, it made you want him, to a point that you started to question your sanity because you knew you would never find peace again if you did not have him. Just once.

And so you had done exactly as he had told you. You had come back, Saturday, same time, wearing your favourite dress and heels, both red like your lipstick. The outfit was not really comfortable as he had suggested, but no other item of clothing in your wardrobe managed to make you feel yourself as much as this. And god knew you could use as much confidence as you were able to muster.

In your hand you carried a basket full of ingredients for your meal, no matter how odd his request still seemed to you. Why would anyone see a self-made meal as a fitting price for…well…for what he was about to give you in return? Living in a home like that, he surely was wealthy enough to afford a cook if he did not want to prepare his own meals. Would that not be much easier and less risky than having to eat a surprise dish from someone who did not know half the time what they were doing? Maybe he had some weird food kink or it got him off to watch other people work for him.

Whatever it was, he left you no time to think about the matter further as the door suddenly swung open. Your hand was still hovering awkwardly mid-air since you had just been reaching for the knocker. And it stayed there for a moment longer, your nervous system sent into overdrive as you took him in.

He was even more radiant in his gloom tonight, if that made any sense at all, but there were no better words to describe the pull he had on you. He was dressed in all black, jeans, denim jacket and shirt, which conveniently was not buttoned up to the collar, thus allowing a fine view of his fluffy chest. Different to your first meeting, he had decided to pull half of his hair back in a ponytail, allowing the rest of his curls to fall freely around his shoulders. He might have trimmed his beard a little as well, but you could not tell for sure, the memory of your last encounter still a bit blurry around the edges.

But all that seemed secondary when he fished your hand out of its weird position and brought it to his lips for a gallant kiss.

“You’re back.” He was beaming, his eyes so full of joy that you almost believed he had doubted you would return. “Come in.”

He still held your hand, making a welcoming gesture with the other, waiting patiently for you to step inside. Another thunder rumbled through the night, louder this time, and you hurried to cross the doorstep. With a heavy thud, the door of the old mansion fell shut behind you, causing a violent shiver to run down your spine. And you could not help but feel like red riding hood in your dress, who had just entered the wolf’s den, fully knowing he would devour her.

“Welcome to my home.”

And what a home it was. Dark wood and old carpets dominated the place, staircases wound their way upwards elegantly, leading to even more rooms that seemed wasted on one inhabitant alone. Oil paintings decorated the walls, portraits as well as landscape scenes of places far and near, and here and there antiques caught the eye, collector’s pieces, possibly, or family memorabilia, passed down from generation to generation. And as if that had not been enough to remind you of those old gothic movies, the whole house seemed to be covered in a sheen of gloomy, flickering light, as if it was solely lit by candles. But of course that was ridiculous, nobody sane would rely on candles today instead of electricity. It must be some of those ultra-realistic LED candles that sat on the chandeliers and candelabras you passed by on your way as he lead you deeper into his lair.

To your great relief his kitchen was up to modern standards, at least far more modern than the rest of the house seemed to be and you thanked the heavens for that. Even the thought of having to cook in a kettle over an open fire doubled your nervousness in an instant.

You did not speak much as you went to work, but you knew you had his full attention. You could feel his eyes on you, observing your every move, following you around as you tried to concentrate so you would not mess up dinner. An impossible task, it seemed, but what could you do? Sending him away was rude and out of the question. This was his home, you had come here of your own free will, knowing full well the terms of this deal, and if you wanted your needs satisfied, you would satisfy his, even it meant to have your every move studied.

“Wine?”

You almost jumped out of your skin. He was so close, his voice coming from right beside your ear. Accompanying his words, he pushed a glass of red wine into your periphery. You hummed in affirmation as you took the drink from his hand. Eagerly you set it to your lips, gulping down a swig and then another as you found it did nothing to end the sudden drought in your throat. And yet you found yourself leaning back against him the moment his hands found you. One was careful to brush away the hair from your shoulder, while the other tenderly glided up and down your arm. You felt his chest move as he inhaled deeply, bringing you even closer, letting the deep vibration of his satisfied hum take hold of you too.

“Mouthwatering,” he concluded, and he was already pulling away, the last you felt of him the brush of his fingertips against your neck.

He must have lied to you, a white lie, but totally unnecessary as he did not seem to intend in the least to eat the meal you had prepared for the both of you. He sat across from you at a table that felt uncomfortably large at a dinner for two, twisting a glass of wine in his hand. Yet he was neither drinking nor touching the food on his plate.

“Are you not hungry?” you inquired, already unable to hide the miffed undertone in your voice.

“I am,” he stated plainly as if your question had been obsolete, as if in fact your question was the confusing bit of this conversation and not his totally antithetic behaviour.

“Is the food not to your liking then?” you refused to let him get away with it this easily. And as you waited for his answer, your fork dashed down to impale an innocent piece of vegetable.

“It looks delicious.”

He sported a smile, totally unfazed by the message of the little stunt you had pulled. If this man intended to seduce you by giving you the full boyfriend experience, even the aggravating and irritating parts, he would be in for a surprise tonight.

“Then why don’t you eat?”

“I will.” He had just finished his statement when lightning stroke, bathing the room in its cold, white light and for a second your heart stopped in your chest. It was only an instant, but the picture of him had been distorted completely, his mouth wide open, a pair of razor-sharp fangs glistening in the eerie light.

You did not dare to blink, and still you must have, as only a moment later, everything was back to normal, he even continued speaking as if nothing had ever happened.

“All in due time, angel.”

Angel. He had called you that before. You had no idea what about you exactly made him think this was a fitting nickname for you. You certainly did not think of yourself as a being of light, and no one else before him ever had. Not that this was a bad thing, on the contrary. But what bothered you about it was the fact that he had already chosen a term of endearment for you, while you did not even know his name.

“Will you at least tell me your name?”

Your voice sounded awfully strange to your own ears, a mixture of pouting and whining. It never sounded like that, not even in your lowest moments. And there had been quite a few of those.

“You can call me Andrew.”

“Andrew,” you repeated, letting his name roll over your tongue as if you were testing the sound, testing what it felt like to form the name with your mouth. It was not intentionally done, but when you looked up from your plate, you found his eyes already glued to you, and the hunger reflecting in those deep green orbs made you shiver in anticipation.

An anticipation you felt now more than ever, and it was threatening to drive you to insanity as you casually flicked through his record collection after dinner, trying very hard not to let your nerves get the best of you. You had moved to the living room now, or was it his music room? You had no idea, but the piano and the record collection let you assume as much.

“This one.”

You pulled the LP from the shelf and handed it to him. Andrew was already waiting by the record player, taking it from you.

“Great choice,” he commented. "Unbelievably talented musician, and an exceptional woman. You would have loved her.”

“You say that as if you knew her personally.”

“I did,” he stated as he found your gaze, and not for a second did you doubt that he was telling the absolute truth, however impossible it seemed.

“How?”

You watched him walk over to you, and you both knew that he would not answer your question. He did not need to. But instead of taking the last way out and run, you took the hand that was already waiting for you and nothing you had done in your life before had ever felt this right.

There was just one question left to ask, you wanted to blurt it out and get it off your chest after it had pestered you for days, but you waited until you had both sat down on the chaise longue by the window.

“So, ehm, how is this gonna go?” You were still holding his hand, your fingers playing with his as you spoke. “Do you want me to tell you what I like?”

“No.” His voice was like velvet. “There is no need to tell me. I will know.”

“Know how?”

He slowly detangled his fingers from yours, and when his eyes found yours again, something about them had changed.

“I can sense it, your desire.” His words had distracted you, allowing his hand to move unseen. It found you, found the sensitive spot of bare skin right above your knee. He did not even have to look and had found his aim still, making you suck in a sharp breath of air as his warmth seeped into your skin, gliding higher and higher up your thigh until his hand had vanished underneath the hem of your dress completely. “I can sense what brings you pleasure.”

Your eyes must have fallen closed under his gentle caress, and yet the touch of his lips did not startle you as they found the outline of your jaw. He moved slowly, placing featherlight kiss after kiss along the path to your ear.

This was the moment. It had come at last. Time to give him his part of the bargain. And so you brushed your hair aside, craning your neck to allow him full access.

“Not yet, angel,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, “not yet.”

Instead of the teeth you had awaited, his palm settled on the most delicate spot you had offered him. He placed it right above your pulse, claiming what was his to take whenever he desired. He could probably feel it, feel the blood rush through you, and the thought was enough to coax a soft sigh from your throat.

But your pulse against his fingertips was not the only thing he could sense. Above it all he heard it, loud and clear, the thunderous drum behind your ribs, as if your heart was waiting for the right moment to break free. That would not be necessary. There were other ways to free you.

You moaned, a sound that warmed his icy heart, and when he let his hand glide up your thigh, your legs fell open for him. He blindly followed the moist heat, his eyes never leaving your beautiful face, watching as you slowly let go. Soon you would be lost to the world, your world, and would become part of his instead. He was just about to tear the last barrier, fisting the exquisite fabric, he gave it a harsh tug and there was nothing left between you and him any more.

You were so soft, softer as the finest silk, and the moan that fell from your lips when his fingers dove in between your silky lips to spread the slick that awaited him was so sinful it almost swayed him to allow himself a little taste of you. But he knew better than that. The wait would only heighten his enjoyment. He would not let his ravenous thirst ruin that for him.

Your head sank back as he slowly slipped inside of you, exposing even more of your neck as another sinful sound broke from your lips. This was impossible, he needed to do something, to silence you for a while until he had gathered enough strength to withstand the urge to sink his teeth into you and suck you dry. And so he pushed his thumb past your lips until he felt your tongue press against it, sucking it in deeper.

Soon he had found the right rhythm, pumping in and out of you, crooking his fingers every now and then to brush along that sensitive spot inside of you. He loved how the stimulation made your breath hitch in your throat, how your eyelids fluttered in that tiny moment of pure pleasure. It drove him wild, to play you like that, and for a second he forgot himself, his thumb gliding out of your mouth to squeeze that frail neck of yours.

He let go immediately when he heard your heart skip a beat, it had startled him, but your whine came instantly, eyes flying open to find his, begging him silently to do it again. And who was he to deny you your pleasure? So he squeezed again, lightly at first, then harder until your hand grabbed the collar of his jacket, your back arching as you pulled yourself closer to him.

You were close, so close, and he wondered…Tilting your head back, he dove into the crook of your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along the prominent vein. He could taste your pulse against his tongue, taste the sweetness of his triumph as he felt your walls clenching down on his fingers. Just one more step, one more ace up his sleeve to drive you over the edge. He knew you could feel it, feel the slight sting as his fangs brushed along your neck, teasing the skin they would soon break, a promise so ardent it left you no choice but to come with a desperate shout.

He held you as you trembled and shook, riding out your high against his fingers. You were enchanting in your rapture and it was in this very moment that he vowed to give you everything you wanted, he would cater to your wants and needs until you felt you could take no more.

He had never understood those who got high on striking fear into the hearts of their blood donors. Fear only staled the taste, while satisfaction heightened it. All those hormones, serotonin, oxytocin, prolactin, dopamine, adrenaline, mixing to form the most delicious concoction.

But there was something more to it. The truth was, he liked giving something back. It made him feel less guilty about what he had to do to survive. He had not really chosen this life, well, he had, but he had been young and in love and full of hope that sharing eternity with her, the one who had turned him, would be worth it. It had not even lasted a decade before she had tired of him. Apparently commitment was not only difficult for beings with a limited lifespan.

But with her gone, everything had seemed pointless in the beginning. All the things he had given up to share this life with her, he missed them terribly. And he loathed the killing, the never ending thirst. He had thought about ending it, numerous times, but he had always found more reason to hold on. And with a few alterations of the rules, he had also found a way to make it work.

He did not kill anymore. There really was no need to. Except for the fact that there were no witnesses if he did. Still, it was possible to survive on smaller portions of blood. He needed to feed more often then, which in turn increased the risk of getting caught. And so he had come up with this transactional system over time.

It was as easy as it was effective: he gave them what they wanted, and in return he could feast. Before he let them go, he made sure to erase certain memories of the shared time, and since he was good at his side of the transaction, they came back freely.

But this right here, you, you were more than a transaction. It had been nothing but a matter of business with the others, sex was just sex, a means to get what he wanted. But for the first time in forever there was something more than hunger he wanted to sate. He wanted you, wanted a taste of what it felt like to be alive, truly alive, not just a slave to the never dying thirst.

It had been a while, and he had been sure he had forgotten by now what it felt like, but with you, so full of life as you writhed with lust in his arms, he remembered everything. And he needed more of it.

You must have sensed it, that he was about to let go, and his punishment came promptly. “Andrew,” you whimpered, as if his absence was pure agony, and he hurried, moving with lightning speed as he disposed of his jacket and made his way down to the floor. He knelt between your legs, pushing up the red fabric to expose his next treat. He was ready to dive in, to devour you, lick you into oblivion, but the gentle touch of your hand as it cupped his cheek held him back.

Your eyes were so soft, full of affection and he felt a sting in his chest as the thought crossed his mind that he did not deserve this. Not at all. He was merely using you and still… His lips pressed to your palm in a tender kiss. The gesture did not even remotely match the endearment your eyes held, but it would have to do, for now.

And then you surprised him again. In the blink of an eye your eyes darkened, your hand moving into his hair, while the other pulled the red fabric even higher. And on your lips, those pillows of sinfully smeared red, formed a smile that would surely bring him to his knees if he was not already kneeling.

Eager for the touch of his lips you pulled him the rest of the way and his mouth found you with a moan, as if you were the most exquisite he had ever tasted. But what did it matter what you were to him? To you, he was the best you had ever had, and he had not promised too much when he had claimed he would know how to please you. He did. Oh god, he did.

Swirling his tongue, he drew small circles around your clit until tiny stars started dancing before your eyes. But he had no intention of ending this so soon, you knew, as his tongue slowly glided all the way down to your wet entrance, teasing you, just to glide back up. He repeated his sweet torture a few times, over and over, until you lost count. And just when you thought he would never stop this torment, his tongue dipped into you. Hooking his arms around your legs he pulled you closer, sinking even deeper into you. You keened, one long, drawn out cry of pure delectation. Both of your hands had vanished into his hair by now, securing him right where he was. Not that you feared he would cease his endeavour, but you needed to feel him, needed to feel that this was real and not just a fever dream, your mind caught in divine delirium.

“Andrew,” you sighed breathlessly and for a second he stilled, dark eyes staring up at you, searching intently for any signs that you wanted him to stop. But you did not. Far from it. And so his eyes dipped back down, his upper lip quivering treacherously before his tongue darted out to lick one long stripe along your crevice. He sighed, eyes falling shut as he inhaled your scent, and you could feel your walls twitch upon the ferocity of his gesture. His forehead creased, nose scrunching as he bared his teeth, the two prominent fangs now unashamedly on display, and like a savage beast he leapt forward, to devour you properly.

“Yes, yes,” you yelped, fingers tightening in his hair and he growled against you. “You’re gonna make me—” But you did not get to finish that sentence before your orgasm washed over you in a mighty wave, drowning out everything but you and him. Completely out of control, your legs wrapped around him, locking him up in the prison of your thighs where he still worked you, fervently, until your body went limp and your legs finally released him.

Your eyes still closed, you could feel him, his kisses on the inside of your thighs, his movement as he left his spot between your legs, slowly crawling up your body while he covered it in more kisses, your hips, your stomach, your cleavage, your neck. You held him there for a while, relishing in the feeling of his mouth right there, right where it belonged, but all too soon for your liking he pulled away.

Your tiny whine made him chuckle, and the most beautiful of smiles still curled his lips as he resurfaced from the crook of your neck.

“Should we take a little break?”

“Never.” Your answer was finite. You did not need a break. In fact it was the last thing you needed. There was something else you needed more than anything, and your fingers had already set out to get you exactly that. Skilfully they worked, opening button after button of his shirt, revealing more of that fuzzy chest. And now it was your turn to taste him, to kiss and lick that milky white skin while you kept on freeing him from his clothes. With a moan he sank against the back rest, one hand vanishing into your hair. He did not do anything, left it all to you, let you take what you wanted in your own sweet time. It was only when you had unfastened his belt and opened his trousers that he helped you shimmy them down his long legs. You had thought he would look more vulnerable once you had completely bared him, but there was nothing vulnerable about him. He was still exuding the same predatory power you had felt the moment you had first laid eyes on him and you knew you were damned for it, but it pulled you to him like a moth to a flame.

“Turn around for me, angel,” he ordered and you did. Kneeling on the chaise longue, back turned to him, you melted into his touch as his fingers found the hidden zipper on your side. He was in no hurry to pull it down, allowing himself to revel in every inch of your skin that came to light, dragging one finger along it, all the way down to your hip, where he gathered the fabric in both of his hands and pulled it above your head.

In an instant his hands were back on you, exploring your body. One arm hooked around his neck, you exposed yourself even further for him, and when he finally cupped your breasts, kneading them tenderly, playing with your hardened buds, you sank back against his chest. Wedged between you, resting right between the cheeks of your behind, you could feel him, all of him. And it was more than apparent that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

Carefully your hand moved through the tiny space between your bodies until you had found him. He hissed as your fingers closed around him, teeth sinking into your shoulder as you moved, slowly, stroking him, worshipping the silky hardness until it was not enough anymore to feel him like that.

You guided him, bending forward until you could feel the gentle press of his head against your entrance. Lazily you dragged him up and down, coating him in the juices he had so expertly coaxed from you.

“Fuck, angel, you are so wet.”

And with that you pushed your hips back, sinking him deep. Your reward was another growl that echoed through the silence. He was quick to pull you up against him, burying his face in your hair. He just held you like that for a while, enjoying your bodies in unity, his hand right above your heart, his breath drifting through your hair and down your neck, covering you in goosebumps.

But then he came to life, his hips moving, slowly at first, then faster, and once he had found his rhythm, you knew you were lost to him. It was perfect, just perfect, the steady rocking of his hips, his hand following the call of your sex, vanishing between your thighs, while his other still held you, trailing up your chest until it had found your throat, gently applying just the right amount of pressure. There was no way you would last long. How could you with the amount of pleasure he coaxed from you, leading you towards your next high as if he had been born for that purpose alone.

His lips found your ear, mouth falling open to lick along the bow it formed. “Come for me, angel. I know you want to.” And while he still whispered the redeeming words, you obeyed him once more.

You would have tumbled and fallen from the might with which your high took hold of you, but he held you tight, mumbling soft words into your ear as you moaned and sighed and mewled like a possessed woman. Softly he pulled you back with him, moving your malleable body around until he had you straddling him, your head resting against his shoulder while his hand drifted soothingly up and down your back.

You had no idea how long the two of you had been sitting like this, your hand on his chest, his heartbeat steady underneath your fingertips, calming you until the fog that had clouded your mind had cleared.

“I always thought vampires did not have a heartbeat,” you rambled as you pushed yourself off of him.

Andrew smiled, like a mushy drunkard, you thought, and for a second the word besotted came to mind. But of course that was just you seeing things that were not there. And he made it so easy for you, this fantasy, even reaching for you to rest his hand against your cheek.

“There is much for you to learn then.”

And when he pulled you in for a kiss, you did not care anymore whether this was a fantasy or reality. Like a drug, his lips drowned it all out, the doubt, the white noise in your head, and made you focus on him alone, his mouth, kissing along your jaw, down your neck, rekindling the flame that had just cooled down to a faint glimmer in a heartbeat.

“Andrew?” He hummed against your pulse, and you had to swallow hard, forcing down a moan, before you could continue. “Will you make me come again?”

He still did not leave his favourite spot, as if you had simply asked him for the time and not to fuck you again. “If that is what you want.”

It was. It was all you wanted, all you could think of right now. And since he made no inclination to give you what you wanted anytime soon, you reached for him. With a gasp you found him, still hard and ready for you. And as you guided him once more to where you needed to feel him, you told him about something else you wanted, something you longed for even more than for your next high.

“I want you to come with me this time.” Your words finally made his mouth still, his head slowly coming back to light as you continued, “I want to feel it, want to feel you, deep inside, pulsing in your rapture.”

A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and there was something about his eyes that made you want to run, something wild, something carnal, something you could taste on his tongue as he pulled you in for another kiss, deep and searing, while he pushed up inside you in one sleek thrust. You pulled away in a gasp, panting heavily as you stared down at him. He had the audacity to smirk, his eyes darkening with every passing second.

“Go on then, angel. Make me come.”

As he spoke, his hands had grabbed your hips. He was guiding you now, the roll of your pelvis against his, just for a while, until he trusted you had overcome your surprise. And when you moved on your own, you could feel his hands wandering up the length of your back. His tenderness was misleading, your suspicion proven right as he dragged them back down harshly, his nails surely leaving trails in their wake. You keened upon the unexpected sensation, your head lulling back. And it seemed this was the moment he had been waiting for all along. Immediately his head dove down to your chest to claim his reward, sucking in your nipple like a starved man.

You felt as if you were falling, tumbling through the air while he kept on ravaging you. In a desperate attempt to save yourself, to grab onto something for dear life, your fingers found his hair again. You pulled and still he did not budge, tormenting your soft flesh until you were betrayed by your own body and he was rewarded with an unhinged twitch around his length.

“It feels so good,” he moaned, and then it seemed you were not the only one who found herself betrayed by her own body when he confessed, “You feel so good.”

And while you were still soaring on his declaration, however insignificant it might have been, he hit that one spot inside of you that made you clench even more violently than before. He moaned again, a low, guttural sound that made you quiver, and when your eyes locked with his, another smirk had found its way onto his lips. Like a bloodhound he had locked onto that spot that made you dizzy with desire, sending those tiny shocks through your body with every hit, they spread and pulsed, crawling along your skin until you could feel the racing beat of your heart underneath the thin layer of skin that covered your neck.

He must have felt it too, one arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, while he used his free hand to brush away every last strand of hair from your shoulder. His gaze found you once more, and now the hunger was more apparent than ever, wafting through the dark pools of green, mixing, until they had lost all colour and you stared into pure darkness.

Giving permission was easier than you had thought, it felt natural to nod, to watch his fangs grow to full size once he knew you did not oppose, to feel him grow inside you at the same time, and just as his teeth broke through your skin, he came, giving you everything he had while he took what he needed in return.

You had feared it would be painful, but all you felt was pure bliss as he feasted on you, as he stilled the craving that he must have felt all night, stilled it on you. And as you gave yourself to him completely, you were carried away by the unexpected momentum of your high. You fell again, spiralling through a tunnel of colours that burst through the darkness around you. You felt light as a feather, but plunged down with the speed of a rock. And yet there was no room for fear. Not even as the colours began to fade and you were left with nothing but darkness.

You were dizzy, almost delirious, fighting so hard to hold on to consciousness, and if you failed, it would be his fault entirely. It was not supposed to end like this, but you had tasted so good, so scrumptious, that your taste had sparked the faint hope he would finally be sated. An illusion, of course. This hunger would never end, but it had made him foolish, had made him take more than he usually did, almost too much. It had taken him everything to pull away, just in time, as it seemed.

A soft sigh came from the place against his chest where your head rested. He was still cradling you, softly rocking you back and forth after he had mumbled his futile apologies. You probably did not even hear them in the state you were in. The state he had put you in.

He cursed himself as he carefully scooped you up into his arms. He usually did not let the donors stay over, never, that rule had not ever been broken before, but he did not care about rules anymore. What he cared about was you, and you needed rest.

Slowly he lowered you onto his bed before he laid down by your side, draping the sheets over you both.

“Sleep, my angel, you deserve to rest.”

You looked so peaceful in your slumber, and he did not even question why his hand reached out for you. Lovingly, he brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen into your face, his fingertips gliding across your brow, your cheek. He wanted to touch your lips as well, but he was afraid he would wake you, and so he kept his distance, his fingers still tracing their form, even if he could not feel their silky touch.

You were different. He had felt it all along, but it was only when he had tasted you, rich and warm on his tongue, that he had known for sure what it was that set you apart from all the others. You were what the likes of him called an old soul. One that had lived many lives and carried the wisdom of the centuries. Maybe that was why you had read him so easily. He was sure you had at least felt it from the beginning, what he was, and the fact that you had chosen to seek him out nonetheless still irritated him.

However odd all of this might seem, he was more than aware that finding an old soul—or being found by one—was a rare thing, especially today, when souls hardly lasted for one full lifetime. Maybe he should keep you, just for a while. To take care of you, your old soul and the body that housed it. Just to make sure the world would not lose another precious being like you.

Metamorphosis (Sequel)

***

taglist:

@rosecentury

@lowkeysimpinloki

@fightmespideyboy

#hozier #vampzier #vampire!hozier #vampire!hozier x you #hozier fanfiction #hozier imagine #hozier fanfic #feast #vampire fiction #gothic fiction

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beomiracles · 4 months

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#serene adds ✎... this will most definitely turn into a longer fic in the near future but I just had to get the idea into words real quick heh

As the youngest son and last in line for the throne, prince Soobin was often over shun by his older brothers. He wasn't bright, nor was he beautiful ─ in fact, Soobin did little to contribute to the kingdom. Thus he was shoved away, hidden amongst the shadows as his elder siblings claimed their place in the family.

Whilst his brothers went to war, studied literature and got married, Soobin remained. The King and Queen had since long given up all hope and as the years went by, so did he.

One day, an elderly woman came to knock at his door. She had traveled far upon receiving word of the youngest prince's misery ─ and she offered Soobin a deal far too tempting to decline.

Beauty.

"I shall make you the most beautiful creature to ever walk this earth." The old woman said as she extended a wrinkly hand toward the young prince.

The price was small, eternal life. For something graced with such beauty shan't be wasted on a mere human's lifespan. To Soobin, this was the offer of a lifetime and so he made the deal.

When he re-entered the kingdom, he was met with much surprise and more importantly, love. Soobin had longed all his life to be loved. The most beautiful man, they said. And he was, he was so beautiful that it almost hurt for the townspeople to look at him.

Word of his beauty spread across the kingdom and soon beautiful princesses were lined up in front of his door. And while his older brothers grew envious, the King and Queen were delighted.

But his newfound happiness would show to be short lived ─ as every princess he courted mysteriously became blind. Soobin could not understand the cause of their sudden condition. It was not until the Queen herself fell ill that realisation washed over the royal family.

Soobin's beauty was blinding.

And thus he was once more, stored away in the shadows. Years went by, and as his family aged, had children and grandchildren, Soobin remained his same beautiful self ─ watching from afar.

Time moved differently when you had forever, and soon his entire family would be gone. Not daring to leave his room, Soobin lingered in the shadows as the world around him evolved. He would continue to linger, cursed to wander the empty castle walls as he lived to regret the deal he had once made.

That was until one night.

Centuries had passed since another human last stepped foot inside the large castle. Until you. A flashlight gripped tightly between your fingers, your footsteps echoed off the stone walls. Soobin's ears perked up at the sound. It had been so long since he'd last seen or heard another living being.

As he watches you from the balcony of his room, he wonders, hopes, that maybe he finally found someone to love.

#txt #txt fanfic #beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ #txt soobin #soobin x reader #choi soobin #txt post

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moon-child-goddess · 8 months

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When we say goodbye Pt 2

Pairings: Druig X LightBender!Eternal!Reader (Fem)

Summary: Reader’s life after Druig left, and when they meet again, the reader is running an illegal operation selling weapons and stuff.

Warnings: MCU Violence, Blood, Fighting, I used Fem pronouns, angst, this is darker than I meant to be. Talks about killing and death.

Author's note: I got carried away again. This is almost 6k words. Part 3 will be shorter and fluff mostly. This is not proofread.

Part One Part Three

After that night in Tenochtitlan the group slowly split up on their own. Y/N had settled in a small town that was used as a trade route. Boats came from all over with fine jewels, linens and food. Half a mile from the pier was these empty stalls people would rent out to sell things for the day. Most people there made a livable profit to provide for their families. It was Y/N’s favorite place to hang out. She liked to check out what new things humans had created, and help the elderly set up shop.

One warmer than normal afternoon she made her way through the stalls smiling at all her favorite neighbors and purchased small things from them to help support their families. A booth of glittering knives and jewelry caught her eye as she passed by. More specifically a dagger of silver with blue stones in the hilt. His eyes were that blue, she thought. Her fingers danced gently over the stones lost in her memories.

“How much?” Y/N asked the small, round in the belly merchant. Her eyes didn’t leave the blade.

“I will give it to you for the piece in your hair.”

It was a pin that Druig had gifted her, a golden butterfly. This was the last thing she had of him. Y/N’s fingers subconsciously touched the cold metal; she had forgotten it was there. It had become such a habit to put it in first thing in the morning since he had given it to her. She never knew where he got it from, and when she asked him he smiled and just murmured her nickname. There was no way she could part with it. It was all she had.

“Umm, let me think about it. Thanks.” With a smile she continued down the stalls. She thought she was over the pain of him leaving but it was still as fresh as the day it happened.

As she passed a fruit stand, she heard a voice that sounded an awful lot like Druig. Her heart picked up a beat. Was It really him after all these years? Out of the corner of her eye she could make out dark hair and he faintly looked about the same size. She took a second to control her breathing before fully facing the man.

It wasn't him, just another human trying to haggle for a deal on the fruit. Her heart hurt a little more than it had at booth with the knives. She longed to see her friend again. She had searched for him but with no luck of finding him. He never cared, did he? Why stay away after all this time if he cared even an ounce? It's been over a hundred years.

Without a second more of hesitation, she ran back to the man with the dagger. Out of breath she yanked the hair piece out. The strands of hair it held fell back to their natural place.

The merchant stared at her as if she grew another head. He had half the mind to up the price since she wanted it that much, but something told him no. She studied the pin one last time. When she handed this to him she had nothing left that tied her to him. This- This was goodbye. Her eyes burned for a second, but she refused to cry anymore. Y/N thought about the time with the butterflies. A time where she was happy and never would have thought he would have left her.

Trading was the smart thing to do. Her powers didn’t seem to work anymore. Every time she tried to shape light after that night it put a strain on her body. She almost passed out every time. The shadows sometimes moved, but she couldn't quite master them yet. Ajak couldn't figure out why they stopped working either. The women had tried healing Y/N on many occasions, but nothing worked. At one point Y/N begged Ajak to take her memories and let her start over. Let her have a reset after 5,000 years. She was exhausted, and her soul hurt immensely. But Ajak said no.

The merchant held his hand open waiting for her to hand it over. Y/N dropped it in his waiting palm with a lone tear falling down her cheek. She took the dagger and turned, missing the flash of golden eyes watching her walk away.

She made her way back to the small place she called home, setting the weapon on the table. Sprite made her way out of her room to bother Y/N about being bored. But stopped any words from coming out once she saw the state Y/N was in and gave her a hug. They stayed like that for quite some time. Sprite extended her visit for a few extra days making sure Y/N was ok before she left to live with Kingo.

-----

Centuries passed slowly for Y/N, but she had stopped clinging to her feelings for Druig and moved on. She started dating humans and some aliens. They kept her company and cared for her the way she yearned for. They came and went throughout the years. She watched some grow old and die. Quite a few were whisked off to wars where they died. Each one of them took a piece of her with them as she loved them fiercely.

Two of them were murdered in cold blood right in front of her. She managed to kill one of the assassins in a fit rage. Before she knew the shadows around her came together forming a monster scarier than the boogieman. It tore the assailant apart making it so no one could identify him. Just as quickly as the monster was created it vanished. Humans continued to become such dark and miserable creatures that enjoyed inflicting pain.

Y/N eventually moved in with Ajak and Sprite soon after losing control of her powers. She didn’t mean to kill the man it had just happened. They moved around a lot because to many people became curious of Sprites appearance. During the years they were together they helped Y/N gain control of the shadows. Sprite often created illusions with her abilities to push Y/N to new extremes.

After an afternoon of fighting Y/N was ready to give up, the shadows were not working, and she wanted a break from learning. She felt like a child. Helpless. Sprite wanted her to actually shape something instead of using ribbons of shadows to do her work. They had done it four times last week.

“This is dumb. I am going to bed.”

“Come on Sunshine. Don’t tell me you can’t fight an imaginary bear.” Sprite teased. She knew the nickname would set her friend off.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” Y/N bit out. Throwing ribbons of jet-black shadows at the bear. She held it in place keeping it from moving an inch. It ripped Sprites creation in half.

“Not what we wanted, but good enough.”

Y/N heaved. She was afraid of the shadows they tended to kill more then anything. IT was an extension to her pain and anger. They were way stronger then the light had been.

----

One particularly stary night she was making her way back home from the market. Y/N wanted to make a nice dinner for Ajak after everything she had done for her. She decided to cut through the forest to get back home faster. A man followed behind her. He waited till they were far enough away to get closer, so no one could hear her scream. Y/N could feel a cold stare on her. She turned and the man took the opportunity to attack holding a knife to her throat.

“Give me your jewels and money.” The girl stared at him like he was stupid.

“Are you deaf? I said give me your money!” He was livid now.

Y/N shot him a cold smirk. This pathetic man thought he could win? With that thought she let out a humorless laugh. The man almost backed away not expecting this response. He thought she would cry and beg for her life. This was a psychotic response.

“No. I won’t hand it over. If you want to live, I would walk away.” The man scoffed and pressed on the blade a little harder. A small trickle of blood ran down her neck.

“I am the one in control. I have the knife.” A spray of his saliva hit Y/N in the face.

Before the man could blink, she had him on his knees bound by shadowy ribbons. He tried to pull his arm out, but he couldn’t move. The darkness swirled behind the girl as she pulled out the knife she always had on her person. The man stopped breathing as he watched the girl walk up to him twirling the blade.

“you-you’re a witch?”

“No, no. I am an eternal. That is a vastly different thing. Now tell me, do you often attack young women in the street?”

She raised a brow waiting for him to answer. She wasn't sure what to do with him yet and his answer would influence her. A panicked look flashed through him, and she knew what the answer was. Biting her lip she kept her anger in check before she ripped the man apart. She promised Ajak no more human death.

Her shadows tightened and he cried out. A sickening crack echoed off the trees. She broke a bone for sure.

“You monster.” He cried out as she ran away.

Two days later Y/N was walking sprite back home when a bunch of villagers surrounded them. Amongst them was the man that tried to attack her.

“That's her. That's the witch.” He pointed a bulbous finger in her face.

“I knew she was to pretty.” On person mumbled to their neighbor.

“Devil worshiper.” Another said.

Sprite looked ready to attack but Y/N pulled her back. Shaking her head. She knelt down hugging sprite.

“Go. Run home I will find you later.”

Sprite had a remark that died on her lips. She wasn’t sure if Y/N would live past this. There were a lot of them, and she promised no more killing. Before Y/N could ask her again she ran. Ajak could help she thought.

When Sprite managed to get Ajak’s help the town square was filled with humans that had been knocked out. Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

-----

Y/N had made her new home Europe after that incident, and she stayed there for centuries. She studied with so many great minds and helped them build institutes and careers. When they died they lived on in the stories Y/N told everyone who would listen.

She settled in London during the women’s suffrage movement. Where she and her now boyfriend fought for women’s rights together. They made their way through the streets hanging posters when a women left out the doors of a pub.

“Y/N?” She straightened up at the voice. Sersi.

Y/N faced her with a smile on her face. It had been a long time since she had seen the girl.

“Oh, it is you. I have missed you.”

“Hello, Sersi. I have missed you too.”

She hugged the black-haired women. Y/N had forgotten how beautiful she was, and truly missed her hugs. Sersi and her had been close once. A rift grew between them when she married Ikaris. Y/N always stood on Druigs side while Sersi stood by her husband.

“Who is this?” Sersi asked looking at the tall guy next to her.

“Alexander. We are courting as one may say. We are also fighting for women’s rights.” Sersi smiled. Y/N was just like Druig wanting humans to stop being so cruel.

“Well, I am glad you are ok, and best of luck to you.”

-----

“I am going to be a nurse in the war. I want to help the men who are fighting.”

It was three years into the World War, and Y/N was tired of watching it happen. Alexander had fallen shortly after it started.

“Y/N please, I can’t protect you out there.” Ajak begged.

“I want to help; I can’t stay here. I will come back, I promise.”

Ajak shook her head not wanting to hear it. Phastos was already way more involved than she liked. Now Y/N wanted to leave and basically be in the front lines? This was her worst nightmare. Two of them may never return to her and she couldn’t bare to part ways with them.

“I just want you safe. You fought your war. The deviants are gone its your time to rest.”

“I have been resting for 1,900 years now. If it becomes too much, I will run.” Y/N put everything in her tone to sound sincere. They stared at one another before Ajak nodded and asked to be written as much as possible.

-----

The war had been over for a year now and Y/N settled in New York. She hung out at a club where her roommate sang nightly at. Everyone who was anyone came there. Gangsters made deals in the back booths, and Senators got their drugs or girls.

Y/N was sitting at the bar playing with her drink, waiting for her friend to take the stage. It was a busier night than usual. There was a man with black hair and ocean blue eyes that kept shooting her looks from his side of the bar. She blushed each time they made eye contact. He shot her a wink before she turned to face the stage where the musicians were changing out.

“Hello Ma’am. My name is Giovanni.” There was an Italian accent when he spoke.

“Y/N” She shook his hand smiling.

It was the start of their love story. They were happy, and Ajak adored him. He made her Y/N truly happy. They spent one weekend a month with Ajak. Family was important to Giovanni, and it was her family. She did tell him about the fact that she would never age, but he didn’t care. He loved Y/N.

“You know who he looks like?” Sprite wiggled her eyebrows. A smirk in her eyes.

“Shut up. That is not why I am with him. He is kind to me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and ruffled Sprites hair. Which annoyed the young girl. She fixed it and glared off to the horizon.

“I heard he asked Ajak for your hand in marriage.”

“He did. And asked me to marry him last night.” That night, he promised he would never leave her during his human existence. Y/N held out her hand, showing off the engagement ring. Sprite studied it before nodding. This was not the wedding she expected to attend for Y/N.

----

Y/N and Giovanni lived a lavish life together. She was utterly happy with their life. Giovanni brought her flowers once a week, never allowing a dead one in her sight. Their maid would pick out the dead ones every morning per his orders. Each Friday, he came home early to take her on a date.

One winter night, they were coming home from the ballet and giggling like two school kids with a secret. Giovanni spun Y/N through the opened front door and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are amore?” he asked, flipping on the light switch.

Before any of them could register the man in the hall to the living room, a gun shot echoed through the room. Y/N’s ears rang. Giovanni landed on the floor with a thud. If the gun wound didn’t kill him, the hit his head took would have. Her vision blurred. Blood rushed to her head. This is all a dream. She repeated it over and over, hoping she would wake up.

Y/N let out a blood-curdling scream when she could see clearly again. Her hand flew to her mouth as tears escaped. She hadn't felt pain like this since Tenochtitlan. Her body was on fire. Like it was turned inside out, and woodland creatures were feeding on her intestines.

She didn’t give the gunman a chance to run. Y/N used the darkness behind him to effortlessly bind him. He lay on the floor staring up at the dark ceiling.

"Amore! Amore! You are going to be fine, please, wake up.” Her white gloves were now crimson. She tried to apply pressure to the wound. But it was too late, he wasn't breathing, and his skin was a grey blue. Her now silent tears fell on his face. She used a shaky hand to close his cold, lifeless eyes. Y/N laid her head on Giovanni’s chest, still hoping that this was a bad dream.

The killer grunted, trying to escape the binds her shadows kept him in. Y/N’s head snapped up, looking right at him. He was going to pay for his sins. She would make sure of it. She didn’t care about the promise she made Ajak.

The man shook in fear as he watched her approach. Her eyes were completely black, with no white or color to be seen. She pulled every ounce of darkness to her, using it to create his own personal nightmares. The monster took on all forms. No one was close enough to hear him scream.

“Please, the Russians sent me. I have a family.” He begged.

Y/N only smiled. It was music to her ears to her him cry. She used the shadows to tear him apart. There was no body left, just blood dripping from her walls.

-------

Ajak watched Y/N throw dead roses on Giovannis' coffin. It was the last bouquet he had bought her. They were the only ones left at the cemetery. His family left as soon as the ceremony was over, going home to grieve alone. Y/N wasn't ready to say goodbye. She still held hope for it all to be a dream.

She called Ajak immediately after she killed the man. Y/N sobbed on the phone begging her to come. Ajak showed up as soon as she could to comfort the girl she thought of as a daughter. They planned the funeral together.

After five minutes of staring down into the hole, she fell to her knees. Weeping as her heart broke again. She was finally happy again, and it was dragged from her in the cruelest way possible. Ajak rested a hand on the girl’s shoulder. They cried together till it got too cold to be outside.

Y/N was tired of feelings. They were overrated anyway. All the light she had left in her soul was gone she was ready to take revenge on evil.

-----

Druig stood as straight as a board with his arms folded together. He listened to his fellow Eternals as they explained to him what Areshim really had planned for them. His eyes kept flickering back to the door. He waited for the only one he cared about to open them and walk in. He missed the smile she always wore. Letting her go was the biggest mistake he made in his 7,000 years. When he had gone to find her, she was happy, and he didn’t want to interrupt her life.

"Where is Y/N?"

No one responded or made a sound. They avoided his question. Druig clenched his jaw. Was she out there alone? His heart stuttered at the thought of it. Sprite refused to make eye contact with him. He was not going to like the answer. There was no easy way to explain that she had become a person he would hate.

“She is in New York, basically running a mafia. It’s been in the American news since the 50’s when she burned a church full of racists down. Ten died that day.” Sprite broke the silence. He needed to know. Druig was going to find out one way or another when they went looking for her. The group didn’t know either. The only other person was Ajak.

Thena and Gilgamesh turned to each other and began to talk in hushed whispers. That seemed a little dark for Y/N. She was the definition of happiness. Killing humans was something she would have never done.

Kauran used the camera to zoom in on everyone's faces as they took in Sprite's words. Sprite had been the only one Y/N talked to after the 50’s. Ajak attempted but never got a response from her. Y/N did not want to listen to lectures about why what she was doing was wrong. She also didn’t want to face the disappointment.

Druig frowned, that couldn’t be right. Sprite sighed.

"Look, Y/N/N went through some dark things in the last two thousand years. I promise this was a path that took its time to claim her.” Sprite paused her words before continuing. “She has recently been put on the CIA’s watch list. After allegedly murdering a senator, I don’t think she will help us.”

Druig was angry that they allowed her to suffer. His sunshine was out there in pain.

“Why didn’t you help her?” He asked, voice raised.

“Us? You left her. Ajak and I stayed with her most of the time. We tried to take care of her, but humans’ man they can be cruel” Sprite hissed.

“I will go talk to her. I will get her to help” Druig said in a final tone.

“If you plan on getting to her, it will not be easy. There is security armed with extremely illegal weapons posted 24/7. They are trained to shoot first and ask later. Plus, the last time I saw her was five years ago, and there was no Y/N left. She is not in there.”

Sersi shook her head. Everyone of them refused to believe what Sprite said. There was another silence as they processed the words.

“I will go. We need her, to pull this off.”

It was mainly selfish reasons for him wanting to go. Druig wanted to confirm that his beautiful sunshine had truly become evil.

“You don't understand. She is not going to help. Y/N doesn't care about anything anymore.” Sprite argued standing up crossing her arms.

“I am going to try. What's the worst that could happen? I can control minds anyway. Her security won’t be anything.”

"She kills you." There was no humor behind her words. Y/N would do it too, no hesitation. She watched the girl gut a man who betrayed her without even blinking. That was the last time she spoke to her.

"Fine with me." Ikaris chimed in. Druig rolled his eyes. Now was not the time to fight with him.

-----

Y/N stood over the traitor. Her slender fingers gripped onto his chin, holding his head in place. That way, he was forced to stare into her colorless eyes. Her rings were pinching his skin as she gripped tighter. He tried to pull out of the shadow ropes that were tying him down.

“What did you tell them?” He blinked then laughed. The sound was borderline maniacal. Y/N landed a swift punch to his nose. A crunching sound could be heard. She smirked; it was broken. Blood pooled out of it and onto her shoe.

Pity. She thought. Her favorite suede over the knee boots were now stained. Y/N yanked a knife out from one of the many on her leg. The light from the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling reflected off the blade as she dragged it up his shirt to his neck. He swallowed, and the blade kicked his skin. Scarlet drops slowly crept out. She bent over, pressing her lips right against his ear. Maybe if he heard them directly and clearly, he would understand.

"What did you tell them?" She asked again, her red lips leaving marks on his skin.

"I'm not saying a word. You may as well use that knife." They spoke and spit in her face. Some blood mixed in landing on her nose. She backed away, tightening the hold the shadows had on him. Her eyes turned completely black again as her blood pressure rose. Light evaporated as she pulled the shadows around them. She smirked when she saw his shudder.

"Very well then." Without another thought, she slid her dagger across his neck, ending it swiftly. The knife cut through like his neck was room temperature butter. She flicked the knife off to the side a few times before taking the black handkerchief her right-hand man held out. While she polished the blade, she let the shadows go.

"Y/N?" A male voice with an accent spoke. Her back stiffened. She hadn't physically heard that voice in many, many years. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn't real. She had heard his voice throughout time in her head, but it stopped after meeting Giovanni. Was she losing it like Thena? All the murders finally catch up to her.

"Clean this up. Regular protocol, and don't forget to burn your clothes this time. Also, remove the tongue so people know what happens when you betray us.” Y/N spoke after a moment. Electing to ignore her illusion.

"Ye-yes ma'am."

Her cohort looked confused while staring at the door behind her. So, he was real. He showed up now? It's a little too late. Y/N was not surprised he got in since he could control minds after all, but how did he find her.

Y/N walked past Druig out the metal doors he held open. Her long ponytail bounced with each step she took, and her heels echoed. She refused to acknowledge him and made her way to her office. She still wasn't entirely convinced it was him. Maybe the shadows created him to give her a consciousness.

Druig followed closely behind her. Slightly appalled at the sight back there. That was not the woman he knew. This person was a shell of who she was.

Her office was pristine and all black. Everything was in the exact place she wanted it in. Y/N poured herself a cup of Burbon, not speaking a word. She faced the window as she chugged it down and filled it back up.

"Can I help you? Or are you here to lecture me?" She finally faced the blue-eyed man. His jaw was still sharp enough to cut through glass. Leaning back on her desk, she crossed one foot in front of the other. Showing off her legs. She was intimidating. A true queen upon her throne.

Druig took in the lack of color in her eyes, and the iris was back. He looked over her swallowing. Knives were adorning her legs. Each dagger was delicately designed and had a blue sapphire in the handle. She looked good. He had to admit that.

Although he was not going to be intimidated by her. He folded his arms, copied her pose, and glared at her. This was not Y/N. He refused to believe that.

"Lecture you for what? Taking a human life? I should because the Y/N I knew would have never done that." Druig shook his head; some black hair falling in to his face.

"He was a traitor. They get punished. Which is none of your business. I stopped being your Y/N when you left me." She bit down on her lip, folding her arms. Druig flinched.

"What about the senator?" Oh, was that why he was here. Mad, I took the trash out of political power. Druig took a step closer, testing the waters.

"He was a bad man. He hurt children. Again, none of your business. Also, if I said anything, you would be an accessory." She was getting annoyed. This was why he showed up after 2,000 years to judge her. She grabbed the cup of bourbon and downed it.

"And killing him is, ok?" Druig watched her eyes flash all black. shadows covered the light in the room. This was new. He thought.

"Once again. None. Of. YOUR. Business. This is my empire." She enunciated every word spitting them out. Then threw her glass at him, missing his head. Druig took another slow step towards her.

"My sunshine, what has happened?" Y/N scoffed at his words. Her eyes went fully back again. He had no right to show up unannounced and tell her how to treat people. No right to use that nickname.

"I haven't manipulated light in 2,000 years, so don't call me that. The shadows... the dark is always there.”

It was true the sunset, the light disappeared. The Sun would cast shadow she could always find the dark. He bent down, putting his hands on the table under her. Effectively, he trapped her in front of him. They were mere inches apart. He took in the scar that was on her right eyebrow. It was on the rawer side telling him it was recent.

"There is always light. You just have to find it. So, tell me what happened."

“I was tired of being the good guy. You walked away, and everything fell apart, Druig. I was alone and hurt. I had Sprite but she couldn’t replace you.”

“I am sorry. I regret leaving you more than you know. I went looking for you once.”

Another laugh escaped red painted lips. How sentimental. Y/N pushed him, so he sat in a chair in front of her desk. It was her turn to make him feel little. Their faces inches apart.

"Pray tell me when did you look?”

“When you sold your pin to the man for the dagger.” His fingers traced the weapon that sat on her upper left thigh. She grabbed his hand and placed it back on the armrest.

“Then you what left?”

“Yes, because you didn’t seem like you wanted anything to do with me. You sold something I gave you.” Druigs voice raised.

“I sold it because I thought I heard you, and I guess I did. But my heart hurt, and I decided I didn’t want anything of yours to remind me you left! You- you ignorant ass hole.” Y/N yelled out. She tried not to hurt him. If it was anyone else, she would have. She moved her head to the side, refusing to look at him.

Druig used a finger to guide her face back to him. Her eyes were glassy as he stared into them. There were no words he could say to make it better.

“Why couldn’t you have been fake? Just another hallucination.” She mumbled, and he barely heard. His brow rose.

“You hallucinated me?”

“Yes, the worst one was during World War 2. My nursing tent I was working in was attacked, and I thought I was dying. You were there. I wanted to die honestly, but I was saved and sent home where Ajak healed me.”

Y/N backed away. Sitting on top of her desk again. She wiped away the stray tears before looking back at him.

“Anyway, why are you here? You don’t care about the senator I allegedly killed.”

"We need your help.”

Druig told her everything Sersi told him. How Ajak and Gilgamesh died, and why being sent here was a lie. Y/N did cry for the fallen. Telling Druig lying wasn’t funny, but he promised he was not lying. This time, he wiped away her tears and stroked her back, soothing her the best he could.

After a moment, he explained the plan to her.

“We need you, Y/N.”

"No. Screw your precious humans, Dru. I hope they all die." He flinched. Sprite was right. This was going to be hard. He sat back down in front of her.

"I'm dealing with shaking the Spiderman and other avengers off my trail. if we all die, so be it."

“Sunshine…”

There was a knock at her door cutting him off.

"Come in.”

The person looked at Druig and hesitated.

"It's ok to speak freely he is not a threat."

"The sparrow's youngest son is here to make a deal."

"Bleh him again. He is just in love with me, you know. What kind of deal?"

" To give you the evidence he has that proves your gun shipment is illegal. In exchange for a hit on his brother."

"I don't get involved with a family business. You know this, Loretta. The evidence he has is useless it proves nothing."

" You may want to talk to him. It's bad."

"Show Druig out. I will meet with our guest."

"No, I will wait. We need to finish talking Y/N."

"You guys are more than capable of doing it yourself. I have a business to run.”

“Please.” Druig’s voice cracked, and Y/N’s heart clenched. He sounded broken.

“I need someone to fill in for my right-hand man as they are busy. Come with me and then we will talk." He still held power over her. She did not want to admit it after all this time.

“Loretta, you can send him in here. Give 3 min to fix myself, and we are good to go.”

Y/N picked up the glass pieces from the floor and wiped any may up streaks off her face. Druigs eyes followed her, not sure what to do anymore.

“Y/N sweetheart. I have missed you." A new voice spoke as they came into the room. She sighed. This was a long night. Druig flinched at the nickname.

“Let me make it short since you are busy. I have your people on the pier with the crates, and I want you to kill my brother so I can take charge. We will not start a war with you.” The man plopped down next to Druig. His eyes never left Y/N.

“Let me think about it and talk to my people before I make decisions, ok?”

“I will give you 4 days before I have the Avengers here.”

Druig squinted at the man who was so brazen to throw threats around. He was tempted to use his powers and throw the man out of the room, but he stopped himself. This was Y/N’s fight. The two exchanged more words before he left.

Y/N sighed and sat back down. She stared at the blue-eyed man in a leather jacket that brought some feeling back to her. She thought of every outcome if she followed him.

Druig stood up and walked so he was in front of her. He took his hand out of his pocket, and she saw a flash of gold. He placed whatever it was in her hair before kissing her forehead and left.

She touched the thing. It was the butterfly pin. Y/N thought it was gone forever. He was truly there that day. Y/n ran down the hallway chasing him.

“Fine I will help.”

#druig imagine #druig x reader #eternals imagine #eternals x reader #marvel imagine

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soulthrifted · 8 months

Text

About - The reader finds themself overwhelmed by their godly parent’s absence and Luke comforts them.

Pairing - Luke Castellan/Reader

Warnings - Hurt/Comfort

A/N - I’m not too happy with this one for I feel like it could be longer, but I hope you enjoy it!! I also didn’t proofread much so I apologize for any mistakes with in the writing.

-[ Made for you ]-

Sometimes being a kid of a godly being isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It can be lonely and tiring. Never knowing what your parents truly want from you. Never knowing what you were truly made made for. That’s what I’m feeling right now as I take my anger, my sadness, out on a practice dummy at the training arena. I slice it over and over as tears stream down my face. Each time I slice at the dummy another sob leaves my throat. It’s late at night, the arenas lights are off and the only thing illuminating me is the soft glow of the moon. Why doesn’t he talk to me? Slice. Why doesn’t he care? Slice. What does he want from me. Slice. Why won’t he talk to me? Slice. Does he even care? I collapse to the ground, my body finally gives out and my arm goes slack. My sword clangs to the ground and I can no longer control my cries, I’m just tired. Tired of not knowing. Tired of begging for attention from my own father. I’m so tired.

I can hear footsteps approaching me, but I don’t stop crying. As much as I want to I can’t. I can’t stop. I don’t stop when I hear my name called out. I don’t stop when the soft footsteps turn heavy, they must be running. I don’t stop when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I don’t stop when I feel the person pull me flush against them. Instead I cry into their shirt. I cry as they hold me tightly. I cry as Luke Castellan’s familiar voice whispers sweet things to me. “It’s okay, (name). I’m here now. It’s okay.” I feel him rub comforting circles on my back. The attempt to calm me down only causes me to cry harder. I try to speak, but all that leaves my throat is another sob.

Luke and I sit like this for what feels like an eternity. He holds me closely until my sobbing stops and silent tears stream down my face. I pull away from the crook of his neck and look at him sadly. I know my face is red and puffy from crying, Luke doesn’t care. He reaches up and wipes the remaining tears from my face. His touch is gentle. He’s always so gentle. “It’s okay.” He whispers again “I’m here.” He flashes me a soft smile. There’s not an ounce of pity in his eyes. He doesn’t pity me, he understands me. He knows why I’m crying. He knows why I’m so hurt. He always knows. I don’t know how he always knows. Maybe it’s the years of friendship we have between us. Maybe it’s his excellent analyzation skills. Whatever it is, I’m greatful for.

In the tapestry of my life, Like stands as the unchanging thread that weaves through every moment. He’s always here giving me unwavering support through both my good moments and my bad. Luke’s consistency is not just a fleeting assurance; it’s a timeless commitment that assures me he will always be there for me.

I rest my forehead against his and place both my hands on either side of his face. I whisper a small ‘thank you’ to him. My voice is raspy and corse from crying, but he doesn’t care.

He squeezes my side in acknowledgment of what I said. “There’s no need to thank me, I’ll always be here for you.” I close my eyes and take in the comfort that Luke provides. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks and I shake my head.

“No. Not at all.” I pull my head away from his and my hands fall onto his shoulders. He nods his head in understanding and his hand reaches up to wipe away the last tears that fell from my face.

“You’re perfect, (name). I want you to know that. Your father is an idiot for not answering you, for not seeing the woman you’ve become.” He pushes a price of my hair behind my ear and I feel as if my skin has been lit aflame. “He doesn’t deserve your tears. He doesn’t deserve you.” his hand falls from my face and captures my hand instead. He pulls it up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to my knuckle. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

I shake my head again. “I don’t want to go back to my cabin.” I say as Luke helps me up from the ground.

“They you can stay with me.” He says as we begin walking towards the Hermès’ Cabin. When we walk inside I take in the familiar walls, the comforting smell and the warmth of the cabin. I spent my first two years at camp in this cabin with Luke. It took me a long time to prove myself to my father. It took a long time for him to claim me. When I was claimed and I moved into my new cabin, it didn’t feel like home. It still doesn’t. For me, home is not a place, but it is a person. Home is wherever Luke Castellan is.

I watch as he pulls back the covers of his bed and lays down in it, patting the spot next to him. This isn’t the first time we’ve shared a bed together for a night, and it likely won’t be the last. When we lived in the same cabin I used to snuggle up next to him when he had a nightmare or was just simply feeling alone. I lay in the bed beside him and his arms immediately wrap themselves around me. I snuggle close to him, enjoying the warmth his body provides.

I fall asleep finally knowing what I was made for. I was made for Luke Castellan as he was made for me.

#luke castellan #percy jackon and the olympians #oneshots #writing #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan oneshot #hurt/comfort #Spotify

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

Note

i saw ur vamp!isagi and it made me blush the whole day HSJDNCSJAJAN now i wanna see possessive vamp!nagi or rin !! i love ur words sm <3

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up, suggestive, mentions of blood, drinking blood, vampires, possession, pining, some nagireo if you squint, vampire!nagi, fem!reader.

vampire!nagi is a little different to the others in their clan. i think he’s a bit more lazy than possessive.

i feel as though he wouldn’t have as much of the trauma that older vampires like isagi and kunigami might do. he doesn’t find being one as much as a burden or a hassle other fledglings like rin might do either. nagi was mostly turned because reo liked to feed on him, liked his company and wanted to keep nagi as his treasure for the rest of eternity.

for nagi, his undead life as a vampire is easy. he never has to sleep, as those of his kind don’t get tired. he can game all day and all night with no consequences of sluggishness the next morning. there’s no need for him to train or exercise — his reflexes are sharp and fast, sometimes they make him dizzy. how new and improved his senses are. but again, it’s a small price to pay in order to live forever.

the only thing that truly irritates vampire!nagi is his change in appetite. eating before was a hassle, but now the desire quench his thirst with a cherry red elixir known as blood is even worse. magi’s fangs ache from their place protruding out of his pink gums — especially when he forgets that feeding is absolutely necessary for him to survive even in this modern day life.

“your laziness will be the death of you, nagi,” his sire, reo, warns with twisted affection — letting the fleshing feed eagerly off of his wrist. “my blood alone can’t keep your appetite at bay for long. especially since you’re a newborn. isagi won’t be happy if you die.” the elder reminds him like it’s a threat. it’s not unnoticeable how much vampire!nagi admires the head of their clan, his power is something to behold.

blood bags end up being the solution for the white haired vampire too lazy to go out hunting with the others. he sips on them and whenever hunger causes his stomach to cave in, he doesn’t have to move to snack on them. to run after his prey and force himself into a game of cat and mouse for food.

when isagi brings you home for the first time, the clan sees a switch in the younger vampire as soon as your scent wafts through the manor. nagi can’t bare the sting of his protruding fangs cutting up the insides of his cheeks, the blood lust that pours through him and darkens the soft grey of his eyes. everywhere vampire!nagi goes; he can taste the wisps of you, hear the sound of your heart thumping in its place lodged on the left side of your chest.

throughout your days, you notice nagi staring with his tongue between his teeth and his Adam’s apple bobbing but he never makes a move on you to feed. not because he’s scared like rin, or wants you to beg for him like yoichi…but because there’s too much effort in feeding. he doesn’t know if you’re worth the hassle.

vampire!nagi wouldn’t know how to deal with prey that screams, that cries and begs for mercy. he’s heard from the other boys that you’re an easy feed with someone you trust — but he doesn’t have the time nor the effort to build a connection with you (even if he’ll be alive for all of eternity). you start to feel as though seishiro doesn’t desire you in the ways that others do. not that it should matter to you, being held against your will and forced to feed monsters with your very life essence.

but it does, in a twisted way, it does matter that the white haired vampire likes you. you wonder if it’s the way you smell, you know that if you’re too sweet on some days it puts some of the boys off. is it the way you dress? is your heartbeat muffled by the cashmere sweaters you drown in after dealing with a messy tangle in the sheets (mostly isagi’s fault), do you need to wear something lighter for nagi’s attention?

you express all of this to reo during one of his late night sessions with you, his mouth cool against your bare shoulder as you sit with your back to his chest in his quarters. vampire!nagi’s cluelessness with girls seems to have carried over from his human life into the after life. it seems he needs a little help. and reo ever the gossip, blabs about your little crush on his fledgling to the man himself.

“i do want you,” vampire!nagi breaths against your lips, looming over you despite having to bend down to your height. he easily corners you on a day when the manor is empty and you’re left to tend to household chores. the rest of the clan are out hunting. “you’re a distraction, pretty thing. can’t focus on my games when you walk through the house and smell that good.”

you won’t deny that he makes you dopamine rush through you, makes you dizzy at the very sight of his fangs just resting on the swell of his bottom lip. nagi is a pretty vampire, you won’t deny that — and his sudden attention has your world spinning.

he pushes you back against the door with one arm resting on the wood above your head , and you find his sudden effort attractive — making you want to give it all up for him. “then why won’t you feed from me?” your voice is shaky, not fearful and it sends seishiro’s instincts into overdrive.

“i want to do that too,” vampire!nagi reiterates quietly, suppressing the growl that so annoyingly interrupts his words. “but i didn’t wan’ it to be a hassle. i don’t know how t’hunt like the others. i’ve never…captured my own prey b’fore.” the way you shake underneath nagi’s crimson gaze only serves to turn on his instincts. he wants to drain you dry, wants to see you fall apart and piece you back together. he understands the drive and the hunger of his counterparts… and why they like a sweet thing like you so much. “pretty thing i—“

“let me make this easy for you then,” you whisper breathily, so quietly that you almost don’t hear yourself speak. nagi does, his eyes flickering to your lips and then down to every part of you that’s exposed — leaving you up to his greedy scrutiny. you offer your wrist, just like reo does, your scent strong and divine.

vampire!nagi’s pupils dilate and the black consumed the colour shift in his eyes as he matches into your wrist, tongue lapping over the puncture marks from his fangs as your saccharine blood pours into his mouth. internally, nagi chides himself for his own laziness for you taste so much better than the bags of blood he’s rewarded with by his sire.

you’re so much more decadent and your squirms against his tall, leaner and cold frame are completely worth it. it causes a pitiful lecherousness to crawl up his spine and curl around the heart that lays still in his chest (though if he were alive nagi is sure that it would beat for you and only you). he sucks and swallows and moans around whatever you give him eagerly, right up until you fall limp in his arms and he has to press you to him to keep you up.

you’re only set free from vampire!nagi’s clutched when your darling whimpers start to die down and you go quiet from the blood loss. when he pulls away, however, you instantly search for his lips — preening when seishiro kisses you with a passion neither of you knew he was capable of. you taste yourself on his tongue, and he lavishes himself in the scent you leave on his mouth and his lips as he licks against your own.

“from now on, you’ll come to me when i call,” he grunts against your cheek, allowing you to catch your breath impatiently. he forgets that humans need to breathe where vampires don’t. what a hassle. “i won’t need to hunt you, right, angel?”

“never.” you promise, smiling in satisfaction and running a hand through the very white locks that tickle your cheek. “you won’t need to catch me when you already have me.”

from then on, around the manor you’re mostly tossed between the fledglings (and isagi, who practically owns you when they’re not around). rin and seishiro get into immature little brawls over you which the taller, white haired vampire usually wins because his desire for you turns him into some kind of monster that the clan can’t handle.

vampire!nagi hisses and snarls, claws at anyone who dares to touch you when he’s in the mood for a feed. but when he isn’t, you’re sleeping in his quarters with your head in his lap as he games the night away. because maybe vampire!nagiis a little more possessive than he once was. he likes having your scent on him, and his on you too.na

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #nagi x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #nagi x you #nagi thirst #nagi fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro x you #seishiro nagi x reader #seishiro nagi x you #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki#✧ ₊˚✉️੭ — new notification #✧ ₊˚💬੭ — unknown messenger #⋆｡°✩🕯️ — vampire verse

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rascal-xo · 1 year

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Hi :) first of all, I already made a request for you a month ago. And I was very happy with the outcome of it. So if you are bored sometime in the future, here is another request:

Its Holidays (You can choose which, I believe spring would be cool because it would probably rain) and the whole 141 are by their family members. So since Ghost got none, he stays at the military. Since the reader is new in the crew she doesn't know that he always stays at there.

You came home late from a mission which took longer than expected. You go to bed and can't sleep so you decide to make tea and you are surprised the you meet Simon there. You tell him that you don't have a family too and it gets kind of angsty. From then on you could decide how the story goes on...

Are they just sleeping together on the couch or is it going to continue in a more smutty way? Who knows?

Thanks in advance 🪸

When It Rains, It Pours | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader |

Chapter Summary: You and Simon happen to be the only two on base during spring break.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, mentions of loss, trauma, a bit of sexual undertones.

Word Count: 1.6K

A/N: I’m so happy you liked the last request I wrote for!! I hope you enjoy this one too :)) Might do a pt.2 so lmk 🫶🏼

PT. 2 HERE

You had just returned from a 2 week long grueling mission, and the rain was pouring down on you as you stepped off of the plane, and onto base.

It was almost night, and the sky was gloomy and dark. You're were still wearing your gear, and the weight of it had been pressing down on your tired muscles, making them ache even more.

Your head was pounding, and you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. You let yourself look up at the sky and let the rain wash over you, feeling the cold drops soaking through the layer of your clothes that weren’t covered by the vest, and let it seep onto your skin.

You were exhausted and sore, but you knew that you had done your duty and completed the mission. Despite the rain and the fatigue, you felt a sense of satisfaction that came from knowing that you had gone through with your orders successfully.

Laswell had a lot of hope on the line with you as the new Marine recruit for the 141. Herself and Captain Price had picked your file from the dozens of qualified soldiers.

As you stepped inside the familiar lodging’s building, you were met with a silence. You dropped your duffel bag, then remembering you would the only one here.

The team had all been given time off for the spring holidays, to go to their respective homes and find some rest. You on the other hand had taken on more work instead, not having the ‘luxury’ of something to go back to.

It was better that way. You would be far more comfortable here where you had a sense of security on base, even if you were alone.

You made your way to your room, shedding off your gear and leaving it in a neat pile by the door. You could feel your muscles relaxing just from the act of removing the weight from your body.

You decided to take a warm shower to ease your sore muscles, hoping it would also help to clear your head. You turned the faucet on and stepped into the warm stream, feeling the hot water wash away the grime and dirt from your skin.

Taking your time in the shower, not wanting to rush the experience, you washed your hair, feeling the suds massage your scalp and the warm water rinse it away. You ran your hands over your body, feeling every inch of your skin, enjoying the sensation of finally being clean.

After what felt like an eternity, you reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. You walked over to your small closet and grabbed a random Marine labeled t-shirt that you had around from your BMT trainee days. You slipped it on and felt the familiar comfort of the cotton against your skin.

Despite the warm shower, you found yourself unable to sleep. You tossed and turned in your bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but nothing seemed to work. You couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in your chest, and the sound of heavy rain hitting the roof only added to your restlessness.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally gave up and sat up in bed, letting out a frustrated sigh. You rubbed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion weighing heavy on your body, but your mind refused to let you rest.

You decided to get up and make yourself some tea, hoping the warm drink would help soothe your nerves somehow. As you made your way to the kitchen area, you were lost in your thoughts, trying to gather your uneasiness.

You didn't notice another person hunched over, sitting on the couch until you were only a few feet away. Startled, you let out a gasp, and Simon looked up at you, his knives in his hands.

"You scare easily, Sergeant." He spoke, teasing yet absolutely serious in his tone.

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone else was here." You answered softly, before going to find any sort of tea you could make. Unbeknownst to you, Simon watched you going about your business, trying not to let yourself make eye contact with him.

As you busied yourself with making tea, Simon remained silent, observing you with a keen eye. He had been on a mission as well, but he had managed to complete it earlier and had returned to base before you, staying true to his callsign.

After a few moments, he stood up and walked over to you, his knives left on the coffee table where he had been cleaning them off. "Why aren't you home, Sergeant." His voice was deep, but his eyes held a glint of curiosity.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to open up to someone, but something in his demeanor made you feel like you could trust him. "There's no home to be at." you admitted, taking a sip of the hot tea a little too quickly before it had cooled, making you bite back a hiss. "What about you?"

Simon took a moment to consider your question, his expression unreadable. "I stick around here, Sergeant." he finally replied, not going any further into detail. "Can't sleep?" You leaned back against the edge of the counter, a couple of feet in front of the Lt.

His demeanor was a bit more relaxed than you were accustomed to seeing him. His heavy camo and skull mask were replaced with sweats and a plain black balaclava, only revealing his deep brown eyes. For the first time you could clearly see his tattoos, with his sleeves pushed up to his forearms.

"Can't catch much of it these days." You spoke, letting the hot mug rest in your hands. You could feel his piercing gaze on you, while you tried not to meet his eyes.

Simon remained silent for a moment, taking in your words. "Doesn't get much better if you're always this tense, I'm afraid." He might not have been joking, but you found humor in his blatant honesty.

"I'm not the tense one." You claimed back, a small tired smile playing at your lips. It was strange yet comforting to have someone else here, especially that someone you had never really spoken to before. outside of a professional setting.

He suddenly walked up closer to you, taking the mug from your hands and placing it on the counter. "Turn around." He asserted. You wondered if his field voice was just his all-the-time voice, but nonetheless you followed his direction.

He wasn't completely what had gotten into him so suddenly, seeing you in the kitchen barefaced and vulnerable to your surroundings. He had taken a keen liking to having you on the team, but even more having you to himself.

His hands found themselves on your upper shoulders, causing you to jerk a little. He immediately felt how tense you were, but being under his touch didn't exactly lighten that sensation.

Simon began to knead your shoulders, you felt the tension melting away. He worked his way to your arms, his strong hands working out the knots and kinks in your muscles. You couldn't help but let out a contented sigh as you leaned back against him, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours. It felt wrong, letting your Lieutenant touch you like that, but it felt too good to stop.

"You don't have to, Lt-"

"Simon." His voice was low this time, soft, but he didn't stop. You suddenly felt self conscious, realizing you had failed to put on any pants under your t shirt that was coming down your upper thighs.

Your heart started racing a bit as you tried to subtly pull your shirt down, hoping to cover more of your legs. Simon must have noticed your movement, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he continued massaging your arms, his touch firm yet gentle.

His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone so strong, and you found yourself relaxing into it despite your initial reservations. As the tension in your body continued to melt away, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Simon's unexpected gesture.

After a few minutes, his hands gradually slowed down and eventually came to a stop. You turned around to face him, feeling a little bit awkward but also strangely comforted by his presence. You weren't sure what had just happened, but you knew it was something you couldn't ignore.

Your tea had gone cold, being the last thing you could think about in the moment. You stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. The air between you heavy with unspoken words, and for a moment it felt like he was seeing right through you.

You finally broke the silence, "Si-" Which was suddenly cut off by his mouth coming down onto yours.

Your mind went blank for a moment as you felt Simon's lips pressing against yours. The sensation was both familiar and foreign at the same time. You had never imagined that anything like this could happen between the two of you, but now that it was happening, it felt almost inevitable.

You tentatively kissed him back, your arms wrapping around his neck as he deepened the kiss. It was like a floodgate had been opened, all the pent-up desire and attraction suddenly spilling out between you.

As you pulled away, gasping for air, you both looked at each other with a mix of surprise and intensity. This was new territory for both of you, and you weren't quite sure what to do next.

Who knew something so wrong could feel so right.

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 1 year

Text

Cod Sex Bot Au (Pt 2)

Requested: YES. So so many times. [Hello! 😁😁😁 Could you please write a PT2 of Cod Men as Sex Robots Au with Price?] + [Can we get more of Sex robot cod characters Please? Please] + [We need daddy price 😭😭😭] + [I need a price version of this, pleaseee 😮‍💨😮‍💨] + [Hi love, Absolutely looove your writing! You so cool 😭☺️ Seriously craving Price, Gaz and Rudy in the sex bot au! No pressure thank you!! ❤️]

Warnings: Suggestive

A/N: GAHHHHH. I’m super worried about how this came out. Price was probably the easiest since I already had a mild-ish interest in him, Rudy too, but they were still a bit hard to write. Also, I’ve read other fanfics where they have Roach as partially mute and I really liked that so I implemented it here.

Price

Price looks down at you with a quirked brow, wordlessly helping you to your feet. “You’re a clumsy one, huh?” He murmurs, taking a drag off of the fake cigar he came with. Completely non toxic, wouldn’t stain your walls, and made smoke that smelled oddly like French vanilla. Though it could be changed for a different scent.

You watch him, he watches you, eyes narrowed as he reaches out to play with the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up, his palm warm as it slides along your skin.

“Pretty thing too.” He hums, tossing his cigar somewhere, making you eternally grateful that it is not an actual fire based object. Seeing that your attention isn’t on him anymore, he snaps his fingers. “Over here, Love. Eyes on me.” He says, cupping your cheeks in his big hands. “That’s it. So good for me.”

Gaz

Gaz smiles at you warmly as he helps you back up to your feet, his hands lingering on you once you’re upright. “Hello! He says, touching your cheek. “Are you okay? Could’ve been a nasty fall there if I hadn’t caught you.” He says, subtly checking you over for injuries, eyes glowing a faint gold.

He kneels, touching your ankles to check for sprains, seemingly happy when he finds none. He stays kneeling for a moment, his fingers lingering by your thighs before he stands back up.

“It’s nice to meet you. I hope we can get to…..know each other very well soon.” He says, voice practically a purr as he leans in closer to your face, a small smirk on his lips.

Roach

Roach smiles at you, helping you back up and wordlessly putting his mask back in place before he starts speaking softly at you, taking it slow, like it hurts him to speak. “Are you okay?” He asks, head tilted cutely.

He seems relieved when you nod, giving a nod in return, as if confirming to himself that you are, indeed, okay. He then carefully reaches out to take your hand in his, holding your palm up so he could trace letters into it.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He traces into your skin, fingers lingering at your wrist, stroking at the veins for a moment before going back to his ‘talking’. “I can’t wait to learn more about you.”

Rudy

“That could’ve ended badly.” Rudy says, tilting his head with a small smile. He didn’t bother helping you up yet, his arms gently holding you back against him. He was already liking the feel of your body on his.

He leaned his head down, practically eye to eye with you, his breathing mechanisms on pause, too focused on the beauty of you.

“*Podría verte a los ojos por siempre.” He whispers, his wiring going a bit screwy when you blink at him and seem to get flustered. Whether it was because you understood him or because you were getting fidgety from the eye contact, he didn’t know. “It’s nice to meet you.” Was all he ended up saying after that.

*Podría verte a los ojos por siempre = I could look into your eyes forever

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loveindefinitely · 10 months

Text

00. prologue

༊*·˚ ALWAYS HAVE, ALWAYS WILL — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, slow burn, friends to lovers, drama, action, hurt/comfort, mystery, polyamory, angst, mental health issues, minor character death, angst w a happy ending

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

You’ve been to more funerals than you can count on your blood-stained hands.

Family, friends, teammates, superiors – at the end of the day, you’ve always found yourself staring at a casket being lowered into the earth. Or an urn.

Sometimes, there’s not enough of the body to bury, or burn. Just an arm, a jawbone, a blood splatter with a trace of ripped hair. Even then, the ceremonies are similar – morose and stagnant with the tension that only comes with grieving humans, merely waiting for the moment that their hourglass will fully tip. For when, they too, will be grieved. Lowered into the ground. Cremated.

If there is such a thing as an afterlife, you’re not too sure that you’ll want to endure more living, when the end goal is such a cruel one.

To love, to cherish, and then to wither away into nothing.

A fucked up joke.

The muddy ground squelches as you take a step back, hands tightly clasped together in front of your chest. Not a prayer, but a gesture similar enough to the patrons around you that you won’t be given a second glance.

Rain falls in thick sheets, but there’s no wind, and most of the people around you are underneath the dark grey marquee set up in front of the ceremony.

You aren’t. There’s something familiar about the clothes soaking your body, your body trembling just slightly from the chill, the dampness. A small punishment for your actions, small enough to not be noticed, but enough to repent just a thousandth of what you owe.

The Funeral Director gives his speech. Some religious nonsense, you’re sure, and the words wash over you like the torrents of rain.

You almost wish they could wash the guilt off of your mind, wash the blood that still feels sticky in your hands.

When you look down, they're pure and clean.

There’s crying. You’re not sure who from, how many, where. All that you register is the sound of gut wrenching heartbreak in the most raw, most physical of forms.

You swallow, once, your throat dry and tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.

Needles, drugs, passing out, cells, torture –

“Sergeant.”

Even years of military training doesn’t keep you from flinching at the title. Turning your head, you’re greeted by a man that’s never failed to make your blood run cold.

His grey hair sticks to his forehead, his wrinkles highlighted by the dreary, bleak sky.

“General,” you incline your head respectfully. He stands to your right, arms folded behind his back. He’s suited in full black, and your stomach roils at the idea of this man grieving.

“You have been assigned a new unit,” he states, as one would discuss last night’s game over morning tea. “You’re set to leave at eighteen-hundred.”

You nod.

What else is there to do? Get down to your knees and beg for some time off, when you know that’ll leave you rotting in your bed for two weeks? Ask for him to be kind in his placement, because you’re not sure you can handle more of the emotional torment you’ve dealt with over the past three years?

Instead, no words fall from your cold-bitten lips, and your legs don’t buckle.

General Shepherd walks away without a simple ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. You’re sure that even if he had said as such, the words would’ve held no earnesty, no warmth.

It’s perhaps better this way.

So, you stand, and the rain hits your body in a relentless rhythm. So different to the torture of waterboarding, the cruelty of drowning.

Although, you can’t say that the mental whirlwind you’re stuck in the eye of is any less impactful. If you open your mouth, you’re sure that water will flood every crevice, leaving you to scream soundlessly for eternity, death sweeping you in with the turn of the waves.

You wonder, for a single moment, how many grievers would attend your ceremony.

By the time the rain stops, if only for a short period, everyone has left. The marquee’s been taken down, and there’s only you and your guilt left behind to stare at the stone. It takes everything in you to walk to it, your legs almost as weak as your will.

The headstone and rectangle of dirt dedicated to the fallen are both covered in flowers.

Bending down to your knees, you softly place a single blue hyacinth at the base. You allow yourself just a moment to close your eyes, deeply exhale, and revel in your guilt.

When you stand once more, it’s with a renewed strength.

Your Captain would have been proud.

The other seven fallen men – the ones that were under your care to heal – would’ve laughed in your face. You would’ve let them.

Now, you can only hope that their bodies will be found soon, so that they too, can be put to rest beside your Captain.

a/n. jus a VERY short prologue/teaser. this is by far my fav piece i've been writing yet. each chapter will be about 7-9k words long, so it'll take much longer to update, but i'm SO excited for it!! i hope u all will enjoy this journey as much as me :)

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deathbyhertouch · 4 months

Text

Chance of Fate

Julien Baker x f!reader

warnings: smut (minors dni), fingering, oral (reader receiving), trapped in small spaces, corruption kink if you squint, bad cliche, softdom!Julien, swearing, general cuteness, choking if you squint

word count: 2.2k

AN: hello! this is my inaugural post. I hope you like it!! please send me requests for more if you like my work :)

Your day started off like any other, it was a warm day in downtown Nashville, and you had a bunch of adulting to do with absolutely zero motivation. You had already gotten your dentist appointment as well as your haircut out of the way. All that was left was to drop off some stuff at your friend's apartment complex. She lived in a high rise building right off the corner from your favorite coffee place. As you made the trek towards her building, you noticed how the breeze picked up, flowing through your hair, and bringing a slight smile to your face. You made your way up the stairs to the front entrance and pressed the buzzer for her apartment.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Kacey’s voice rang out to you. “Hey girlie, just dropping off those books you wanted to borrow.” you replied. “Sounds good, come on up.”

You heard the door click open and you made your way to the elevator. How she ever managed to find this place for a decent price you’ll never know, she had always had the best luck when it came to stuff like this. You pushed the call button for the elevator and waited for the doors to open. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the doors creaked open and you waltzed on in.

“Hey wait! Hold the lift!” You turned to see the sweet sounding voice belonging to a shorter girl covered in tattoos. You stuck your arm out to halt the elevator from leaving her behind. You looked her up and down as she walked in with you, noticing her big brown eyes, and taking in her scent. She smelled like coffee and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Thanks! I owe you one.” She beamed up at you, now noticing she was shorter than yourself. You smiled back at her and told her; “No problem, happy to do it.” You smiled back at her. She pushed the floor two above the one Kacey lived on. You noticed the intricate ink and how slender her fingers were. You could feel the blush creeping up your neck as you were lost in your own thoughts.

“Like what you see?” Oh fuck. She caught you staring at her hands. Way to go, creep. Scare off this absolute dreamboat. “ Y-yeah, I like your tattoos, they suit you well.” Your voice cracked and your breath quickened. She smirked at you and muttered a thank you.

A sudden jolt made you lose your balance. “ Oh shit.” Your mystery girl looked at you with wide eyes and the sudden realization made you groan. “Seriously? This fucking sucks.” You sucked your lip between your teeth in frustration. Of all the things to happen, the old elevator breaking down on you, trapping you inside with a total stranger, albeit a drop dead gorgeous stranger, was not on your list of things you wanted to happen today.

“Well this is just great, not like I had anywhere to be or anything.” You quipped under your breath. She chuckled and moved to the door of the elevator, trying to squeeze her fingers in the crack to try and pry it open. “Sorry, hun. I guess we are stuck here until further notice.” You gazed at her and gave her a bleak smile. “Awesome.” You slid down the wall and took a seat on the floor and pulled out your phone to see if you could get a signal. No service. You huffed and looked at her and smiled. “ No signal here, you?” She pulled out her phone and flashed it to you, also no signal.

“I’m Julien, by the way.” she spoke softly. You accepted her outreached hand into your own, taking note of how soft her hands were. “Y/N. Do you live here?” You were curious to know more about her, seeing as you didn’t have much of a choice right now. What a shame, trapped in a small elevator with the hottest girl in Tennessee.

“ No, I’m cat-sitting for my bandmate.” She said, now joining your side on the hard floor. “You’re in a band, huh? That’s pretty cool.” You spoke, looking into her eyes. “ I am pretty cool, thank you for noticing.” She chuckled while replying to you. You blushed hard again, noticing how close you were, thighs touching.

“So what are you doing here? I’ve never seen you before, I would’ve remembered someone as gorgeous as yourself.” She smirked slightly, not so subtly eyeing your lips. Fuck me. “Oh I’d like to, babe.” “I-I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I’m so-” she cut you off, smashing her lips to yours in a heavy kiss.

You moaned into her mouth, your hands snaking their way up to her brown locks, tangling themselves in her long hair. She smiled into the kiss and licked your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter your mouth. Your lips parted for hers and her hands found their way to your waist, holding you in place, afraid you’ll slip away from her. You moaned at the feeling of her tongue on yours. She tasted so good, you didn’t want to ever stop kissing her.

“Julien, I need you.” You breathed into her mouth. She broke the kiss and winked at you. “All in good time, sugar.” she whispered, moving her mouth down to your neck. You gasped as she began to place her lips to your neck. Her hand moved down from your waist to your thigh, agonizingly close to your clothed pussy. You could feel the heat pooling in your lower stomach and you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together, aching for some type of friction.

“Mmm baby, tell me how badly you need me. I wanna hear that pretty mouth beg.” She said, nipping lightly at your neck. You whined and gripped her arm out of frustration. “Please Jules, I want you so bad. I want you to f-fuck touch me. I want to feel your mouth on me.” You whispered, panting heavily as you could feel your arousal start to seep through your panties. “Yeah? Does my pretty girl want me to fuck her in an elevator? What a whore. Are you my little whore? Just can’t wait for me to ruin her?” You could hear the grin in her words, and you moaned at her words. Her hands migrating to your heat, fingers ghosting over you through your shorts.

You whined, more needy than ever, and she brought her lips back to yours. Her fingers pulled at the drawstring before they dipped under the waistband. You gasped and she took the opportunity to stick her tongue back in your mouth. Her fingers traveled further down and barely made contact with your swollen clit but it was enough for you as your hips bucked into her hand.

“Is this what my pretty girl wants? My fingers on her pretty pussy?” She whispered into your mouth, absolutely loving the way she had your wrapped around her fingers. You moaned again and nodded pathetically. “Yes please. I want you to make me cum around your fingers. I want you to make me yours.” You breathed into her mouth.

Without warning, she removed her fingers from your pussy and your eyes shot open to give her an annoyed look. “Tease.” you muttered under your breath. Her eyes lit up with cockiness and she grabbed your throat, not hard enough to hurt but it definitely was enough to let you know who was in control.

“ Y’know, good girls get to cum, not mouthy ones.” She was looking deep into your eyes now with that same smirk on her face. “I-I’m sorry baby, it won’t h-happen again.” You replied looking down at her lips. The way she was looking at you was sending electricity straight to your center. You were so utterly turned on by this woman, you would’ve done any number of things if she asked. She smiled back at you and let out a light giggle.

“Good girl. Now open that pretty mouth of yours.” She spoke in a softer, but very serious tone. You obliged and she smiled before spitting into your mouth. You just about burst from the pure sex appeal of her. You wanted her to do awful, filthy things to you. You moaned and swallowed her spit, like it was the best thing to ever touch your tongue.

She moved her hands to your stomach under your shirt. She slowly began to pull your top above your head, exposing your bare chest to her. Your cheeks began to run warm with blush, and your nipples began to harden under her gaze. “No bra? My my, what a naughty thing you are.” She told you while taking one of your breasts into her hand, fingers pinching your nipple. You yelped at the sudden touch and she chuckled. Her mouth leaned down, taking the other nipple between her lips. You threw your head back, letting a moan slip out. You looked back down at her and found her doe eyes looking back to yours.

You wanted to freeze this moment, she looked so good, good enough to be in a museum. Her tongue swirled around the hard bud and your eyes screwed shut. She flicked her tongue against it and came off the nipple with a small pop before quickly capturing your lips in hers again. She hummed into your mouth and you decided to slip your hands under her shirt. She squeaked out a small moan, making you smile against her soft lips. You broke the kiss to lift her shirt over her head before bringing her mouth back to yours. You pawed lightly at her chest over her sports bra and could feel her nipples start to harden.

She broke the kiss, much to your discontent. You whined, chasing after her mouth. “I know baby, but I want to make you feel good.” She chuckled at you. You huffed lightly at her, but you understood. Her fingers hooked your shorts and began to slide them down. You lifted your hips to help her out and she made quick work of it, throwing them behind her. She spread your legs with her hands and smiled at you.

“My goodness, what do we have here? I wonder who made you this wet?” Her words dripping with desire as she eyed your panty-covered pussy. You knew you were soaked, how could you not be. You blushed hard at the comment, feeling bashful. “You, Jules. You did this. I need you so bad.” You whined out at her. She shifted her body so that her face was inches from where you needed her most. You could feel her warm breath on your arousal, and the wait was agonizing.

Her finger hooked your panties and pulled them to the side, finally revealing your wet folds to her. She looked up at you and you gave her a slight nod to continue. She hummed and pressed her thumb to your clit once more, your hips bucking into her hand and you gasped at the contact. Your eyes closed and your head leaned back as you reveled in the pleasure. Her tongue fell flat as she licked a stripe through your folds.

“Fuck baby, you taste so good.” She told you as she placed a kiss on your clit. Her fingers gathered your slick and she pushed one into you, sliding in with ease. You let out a soft moan and weaved your fingers into her hair once more. Her finger began to pump into you and her mouth sucked hard around your clit. You were panting and your chest was heaving. She seemed to enjoy how much you were getting off because of her. She added a second finger and you could feel your stomach start to build a knot.

“Jules please, go faster.” you whined and she obliged happily. Her fingers began to move in and out of you at a fast pace, her tongue flicking your bud faster as well. You could feel yourself coming undone at her doing. Your grip on her hair tightened, nails grazing her scalp. She moaned into you, the vibrations sending shock waves across your whole body. You let out a moan at the sensation and she chuckled against your clit.

You could feel your orgasm building and your hips began to buck up into her. She used her free hand to hold you steady. Your whines were becoming louder and more frequent and she added a third finger. “Fuck Julien, don’t stop, I’m so close.” You spoke, looking at her eating your pussy like she was starving. She kept at a fast pace and began humming more into your pussy.

“C’mon pretty girl, you feel so good around my fingers. Let me taste you. Cum f’me.” She whispered, only egging you on. You let out a loud moan as your orgasm began to come to a head. She smirked and pumped her fingers a bit slower, helping you ride out your orgasm. You came hard, dripping down her fingers onto the floor. She pulled out of you and came up to kiss you, her chin glistening with your juices and a shit-eating grin plastered to her face.

She kissed you feverishly and you moaned into the kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue. She moved your panties back in place for you and then brought her hand to your boob. You couldn’t get enough of how good you felt because of her. You broke the kiss and pressed your forehead to hers.

“Wow.” you breathed, smiling widely and looking deep into her eyes. “You are so hot, how did you get so good at that?” She let out a laugh at that, taken aback by your blunt honesty. “Well, I wanted to be prepared in case this exact scenario happened.” She quipped at you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You hummed and gave her a peck on the lips.

“ After we escape this elevator, can I treat you to dinner, as a thank you?” You asked, wanting to see her again after this chance encounter. She smiled and nodded and kissed your cheek.

“You must be high if you think you’re getting away from me this easily.”

#julien baker smut #boygenius #boygenius smut #boygenius x reader #julien baker x reader

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ashthemadwriter-archived · 2 years

Text

Let's tease the BSD boys!

Fandom: Bungou stray dogs

Pairings: Dazai, Fyodor, Nikolai, Ranpo, Chuuya X Fem!Reader

Genre: Crack, Humor, Fluff

Format: Drabble

Warnings: Maybe a bit ooc? That's it ig

Word Count: 1.8K

A/n: Some of them deserve it and some of them don't but what can we do <3

↳Osamu Dazai

"Osamu! I got you a present!"

Your Boyfriend looked up at you from his book, face brightening up as he saw the big red box in your hands. You were clearly struggling to hold it up, so he assumed there was something big and heavy inside. Not that he cared about that though; he was always delighted by the gesture, then the present itself.

"Awww baby! You didn't have t- What the hell?!!"

You let out an innocent chuckle, raising the small puppy you took out of the box as you took a step closer to Dazai who was staring at the poor animal with pure disgust and panic in his widened eyes.

"Oh c'mon 'Samu! Look at him! Isn't he the cutest? Look at how fluffy he is! Wanna give this little guy a hug?" "No! I want you to get this- this evil beast out of here!"

"Beast? Oh c'mon don't be like that big guy! You've always wanted a dog haven't you? Isn't that why you always refer to Chuuya as your dog?" "No? I call him that because I hate dogs and I hate him!"

The sight of Dazai actually being terrified was something so rare and oh, so satisfying. You wish you were recording this and you knew that Kunikida would thank you later on for it.

The dog took his tongue out, causing the bandaged man to let out a snort out of nausea, taking steps rearward to be as distant as he could be with his eternal enemy. What he didn't expect was feeling the wall behind him as his back stuck to it, letting him know he had nowhere else to run to.

"Osamu? Don't you wanna hug him? I went all the way to the pet store to get him for you! You're breaking my heart acting like this! If you don't hug him yourself, then I guess I'll have no choice but to throw him on you" You shrugged your shoulders, trying to hide the smug look on your face; but it was hard because of your huge evil smile.

"Y/n?" "Yes?" "If you do that I'll scream"

Well, who wouldn't want to hear the great Osamu Dazai screaming?

↳Fyodor Dostoevsky

"Dos-kun Dos-kun! Look at what I found at the store!" Nikolai smiled as he placed the small toy mouse on the floor, pointing at it with both of his hands.

"Ta da! See? It's you! Even his skin has the same color as your hair!"

"Is that so?" Fyodor stared at the toy with a blank expression, then looked back to his co-worker with his eyebrows raised. "And how much did this thing cost you?"

"Doesn't matter! Was worse every penny! Look! It can move around too!"

Nikolai bent to wind the toy up, clapping his hands together with joy as it started roving around on the floor, making annoying noises.

"Look! Dos-kun is running away! Dos-kun is speeding up! Awww Dos-kun is moving toward Y/n-"

Bam!

A big hammer landed on the toy mouse, causing it to break apart, pieces scattering on the floor in front of your feet. Both men gasped at your sudden arrival, taken aback by what you just did.

"Wha-" "Oh I'm sorry! Was it yours Nikolai?" You smiled with fake shame as you placed a hand on your mouth. "Oops! Sorry! It's just that... I hate rats! I loath them so much! I can't stand any form of them, not even the artificial ones! I-"

Wizzzzz!

Bam! Bam!

You chuckled while pressing the hammer in your hand, making a gesture to look like a pro. "That should be enough to devastate it. Anyway~ Sorry for that Nikolai. I'll pay you its price though! Just send me the number!"

The men watched you walking away with widened eyes, and one of them put his hand on the other one's shoulder. "Dos-kun?" "...Yes?" "You should sleep with your eyes open at night"

↳Nikolai Gogol

"Kolya~? Where are you~?"

Nikolai's heart was filled with happiness when he heard your voice coming from behind. He turned around and opened his arms to greet you by giving you a tight hug, but immediately withdrew because it was dangerous, due to the scissor you were holding in your hand.

"Dove...? What is that thing doing in your hand?"

"Oh, this?" The innocent smile on your face was hard not to fall for, but somehow it made him feel terror instead of adoration. "I'm going to cut your hair for you! I just saw a video on youtube about haircuts, and one of them looked very nice in the end. I wish I could do it on my own hair, but I cant do it properly even with a mirror, and you have the nicest hair, So here I am!" You winked at him while moving the scissor in the air. "C'mon Kolya! Let's go to the bath room! Promise I'll be gentle~ Promise I'll make you look good in the end~ So, let me cut that pretty hair of yours!"

"Like... How long?" His expression had changed from cheerful to reserved, with hints of fear in his eyes; and this made you feel like you were on cloud nine, since you were the one who always got teased by him. "I'll cut it short baby, very short! Like any other guy's hair style these days! And I wanna keep your beautiful braid too! Maybe we can even sell it! I heard they pay well for fluffy long hair and make wigs out of them!"

"Is that so?" "Yes. That is it"

Nikolai smiled, took one last look at your hand holding the scissor, and then ran for his life.

"Hey- Nikolai where are you going! Come back! I wanna cut your hair!" "Get away from me you crazy woman! I won't ever let you touch my precious hair again!"

Of course he was, since he couldn't get a day without you running your fingers through his hair, but you didn't need to know that for now.

↳Ranpo Adogawa

You smiled at the sight of your boyfriend enjoying himself, tasting the tray full of macaroons you made for him. It made your heart drop at how he closed his eyes every time he took a bite from the pastry, licking his lips afterwards as he stuffed his hand with another one. You hadn't even tasted them, brought them to him to brighten his mood which was ruined due to not having any interesting cases to solve today. You knew he had a sweet tooth, and you knew just the perfect way to cheer him up.

"Do you like them?" You placed a hand under your chin and watched him picking another one, leaving just one last heart shaped macaroon on the tray.

"Mhm! They taste really good! Almost as good as the one I bought from the bakery last week!" "I'm glad you like them then"

He smiled endearingly back at you, which made you feel butterflies in your stomach. You were overwhelmed with how cute he looked at the moment, and how proud he was at his talented girlfriend. Maybe it was the reason why you became stupid enough to think you can have the last macaroon, as you reached to grab it.

Smash!

Suddenly both of you froze, him looking at his hand, and you looking at your hand which was decorated with his fingerprints, with your eyes widened.

He... just slapped your hand away?

After all you've done for him? Really? So he can't even give up on one stupid macaroon either?

Ungrateful little shit.

Looking around while sulking, you're eyes was suddenly met with the perfect person, and the perfect idea popped into your head.

"Fukuzawa-san! Please come here for a bit!"

Ranpo immediately saw through your evil plan and tried to snatch the macaroon from the tray, but it was too late; Fukuzawa was walking toward you, with his eyes fixated on the pastry.

Ranpo felt like he wanted to die.

"I made these macaroons and Ranpo enjoyed them so much! He was so impressed with my cooking skills that he suggested I should bring some to you! As you can see, he couldn't hold himself back from eating them, so there's just one left. But he really wants you to enjoy it as well because you were having a really busy schedule these days!"

Fukuzawa observed the macaroon before looking at the detective. "Is that true Ranpo?"

Well, how could he say no? When he looked so delighted by the lie fact that he cared about him?

"Yes... I... Yes..."

"Well then, I won't turn your offer down."

When he put the macaroon in his mouth, you could clearly see Ranpo's hands shaking. You watched the president going to his office after thanking you, and chuckled evilly.

"Yeah, that's what you get for treasuring sweets more than m- Oh my god Ranpo are you actually crying?"

Well he was going to, until you make him dozens of macaroons to make up for your evil doings.

↳Chuuya Nakahara

You stood in front of your boyfriend as you proudly presented the little wine bottles filled with roses. He knew that he was supposed to praise you, call you a genius with so much passion about art and shit, but he just couldn't. All he could care about was how the bottles were not carrying wine instead of those stupid flowers.

"Babe...?" "Yes honey?" "They look... really nice... but-" "I know right? We can put them in the balcony! I'm sure it would look amazing!" "Right... but... What happened to the wine?"

"What?" You looked at him pretending to be dumbfounded, feeling a teeny tiny bit guilty from how you were messing with him. The wine was all in a barrel hidden in the closet, and you could cheer him up by showing it to him afterwards; so why not have a little fun now?

"The wine, babe" He was trying hard, Really hard to keep his cool; and it was hard, Really hard. "The bottles were filled with wine before I head off to work. They- They were really old- they were expensive- They were- I- Where is the wine Y/n?"

"Oh the wine you mean? Well I had to empty the bottles to be able to use them, so..." "You threw them away?" He cut you off as he prayed to god the answer won't be yes, but...

"Yes baby. I threw them away to fill them with red roses. Intelligent, right?"

Yes. You were very intelligent, since you found the perfect way to give the strongest ability user a heart attack.

"I- You- What the- Why- I need a dri- No, I need a smoke" He gripped his cheek as he tried not to snap out, going to the bloody balcony as he left you with the satisfaction of being able to successfully prank him.

Reblogs are wildly appreciated! :)))

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