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taschamonnii · 3 years

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Imagine This - As The World Caves In

You x Jane Banner (Wind River - Elizabeth Olsen)

Angst/Fluff

Summary: You are pregnant and it's the end of the world and you just want your wife Jane Banner.

TW: Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Light mentions of an Eating Disorder.

Here is the title song: As The World Caves In by Sarah Cothran

Read on Ao3

AN: This was also originally a story I wrote for my Fictional writing Class that I have changed for your enjoyment. I hope you like it.

Word Count: 3,771

Imagine This:

Heavy rain pelted the old brick house that sat on the corner lot of the old established neighborhood where you and Jane had grown up. The rain matched your mood and cast the house in darkness. Lightning crashed and thunder boomed making you shudder and shake on the floor of the kitchen. Three messed up attempts at dinner were the final straw. Hot tears streamed down your delicate face. You had hoped every year that your increasing age would bring your fear of thunder to an end but here you were crying on the floor like you had all your life.

Your skin was flushed red from the tears. Your full lips quivered as the sobs left you. You leaned your head back against the cupboard, your gaze caught the colorful beads of the rosary that hung on the wall above the prayer candles that once belonged to your mother. Memories of singing and dancing in the kitchen with your mom flooded your mind. You took a shaky breath and rubbed your extended belly.

“How am I supposed to do this without you mom?” you whispered to yourself.

You felt a fresh wave of tears escape you as your phone lit up with a reminder to take your nighttime medications.

How was it already ten pm? You thought to yourself. Jane was supposed to be home four hours ago. A loud clap of thunder shook the old windows making you yelp. Jane hadn’t responded to any of your messages or calls since lunch. The hormones running rampant through the pregnant woman filled you with more anxiety than your Astraphobia. Your mind ran over every worst-case scenario for what had kept your wife out so late. Crumpled metal, shattered glass, blood coating Jane’s porcelain skin. You couldn’t stop the images that filled your mind as panic set in your bones making your body stiffen. Your heart sped up and each breath felt more difficult. You were so lost you never heard the front door.

Jane sighed as she placed her briefcase and jacket by the door. Loud sobs reached her ears as she kicked off her wet shoes.

“Y/N? Honey, I’m home.”

This was nothing new. As of six months ago, Jane often came home to find her wife crying. She wanted to put all the blame on pregnancy and the state of the world, but still, she was filled with guilt.

“Y/N?”

She turned around the corner and a pile of dirty dishes came into her view. The counters were a mess and the smell of burnt lasagna lingered in the air. There in the corner frizzy hair poked out from a green hoodie.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Is it the baby? Why are you on the floor?”

You were lost in your panic and couldn’t seem to get any oxygen in your lungs every breath burned.

Jane got on her knees in front of you and pulled your chin up lightly. Her heart dropped as her gaze fell to empty colored eyes, flooded with tears. Her hands moved to gently hold your face.

“Y/N, hey. You’re okay you’re safe. I’m here, I got you. Y/N? Y/N?”

You blinked a few times as your name echoed in your ears. Your vision was blurry, and your body was tense, but your breathing was becoming easier. The familiar scent of vanilla and soft hands. Your vision cleared and all you could see was green.

“Jane?” She croaked

Another sob escaped you as you leaped into Jane’s arms.

“I thought. You didn’t answer your phone. I thought.” You cried.

Jane squeezed you in her arms gently. “Shh, I got you,” Jane whispered, rubbing circles on your back.

The familiar sour sting rose in the back of Jane’s throat as her thoughts consumed her. This was her fault she was to blame yet again. It was always her fault. She felt sick to her stomach. The woman in her arms deserved so much better. Jane took a deep breath, she couldn’t make this about herself, she wouldn’t. She pushed her thoughts down.

“Y/N, I’m sorry I was so late my phone died and I was stuck in meetings.”

You looked up taking in the features of your exhausted love. Her eyes were more grey than green, her skin was so pale that the bags under them looked as though she had been punched. Her cheeks were lacking all their normal rosy color. Her cheekbones were more prominent than they had been in years. Her dirty blonde hair was a frizzy mess escaping the tight ponytail in every direction.

“Four hours. Jane, you’re four hours late.”

Jane averted your gaze; she couldn’t handle this right now. She let her arms fall away from you, “I didn’t mean to,” Jane paused fidgeting with her fingers, “I’m sorry.”

You pulled at the sleeves of your hoodie, an old habit. You felt helpless and alone. This was supposed to be the happiest time of your lives together. You quickly got up off the floor, your body fighting off the heavy exhaustion that was deeper than anything physical. You looked down at her, a few tears falling to the floor, “you’re always sorry,” You paused, “I’m tired of sorry.”

Jane stood up and lightly grabbed at your wrist, “I’m sorry,” she shook her head, “I don’t know what else to say.”

You pulled away, “don’t say anything. Do something. We’re supposed to be in this together.” You ran your fingers over your wedding ring focusing on the gold heart at the center of it. You felt helpless. Jane was falling into old patterns and hardly talking to you. She was distant and definitely not eating enough. You sad attempts at Jane’s favorite dinner mocked you from the counter. You knew that even if you had managed to make a beautiful dinner there would be an excuse to not eat it from Jane. She couldn’t ignore the signs any longer.

“Please don’t shut me out, Jane.” you whispered.

The acid burned in the back of Jane’s throat. She felt like they were fourteen again. They had this argument as teenagers. She never thought she would be alive in her twenties let alone married and happy. The both of you had been happy, but six months of the world being on fire and she couldn’t remember what happiness felt like. Only eight months ago she was celebrating the news that the bone marrow insemination had worked, and that you were finally pregnant. She felt like there had to be some greater force at work that was making your lives so difficult.

Jane wrapped her arms around her own stomach tight as she closed her eyes. A sharp pain shot through her empty stomach as she tried to take a deep breath. The smell of the burnt food only made the vile rise in her throat. She ran out of the kitchen, down the hall to the bathroom, and barely made it to the toilet as her stomach wretched. A sheen of sweat coated her pale skin as her body continued to heave, even with nothing left in her. Hot tears tracked down her cheeks, her head was pounding against her skull and the pain in her stomach turned to an ache, her abs sore from the efforts of emptying her stomach for the fourth time today. Her body slumped to the floor. She barely registered the cool rag against the back of her neck.

You felt helpless, your assumptions were right and it killed you. They grew up together and you knew all the signs. You knew better than anyone else exactly how Jane would act. You had been hoping to be wrong but watching your wife sink to the floor of the bathroom confirmed everything. You both had been on many bathroom floors in a similar position, You holding Jane tightly to your chest as you both cried.

Jane sat back against the tub as she gained control of her body, “I’m sorry, Y/N, I,” she paused. She couldn’t say it out loud. It had been ten years since they had been in a situation like this.

You moved in front of Jane, taking both her hands and squeezing them lightly, “Jane, please talk to me.”

Jane felt the hot tears run down her face but didn’t realize she was sobbing until her own loud sob left her lips in a shuddering breath and rang in her own ears. She had been holding everything hoping things would get better. She should have known better; life had never been so kind to her. She fiercely palmed her face desperate to clear it of tears, “Y/N, I don’t know enough yet and I don’t want to stress you out.”

You took both of Jane’s hands in your own, “I’m already stressed, Jane. Your eating disorder is dangerous and apparently, it’s worse than I thought because you just threw up nothing.”

Jane shook her head and squeezed your hands. “No, I’ve only been really struggling this week. I have still been eating, I just can’t keep anything down. I’m stressed. I’m not doing it on purpose I swear.” Jane said.

You searched green eyes for any hint of dishonesty and let out a breath when you only found the truth. You nodded your head to let Jane know you believed her. Your thumbs ran over smooth skin, “please, tell me what’s going on. Is this like the end of days?”

Green averted your colored eyes. Pale hands slipped out of yours and moved to rub the hem of a black button-up. Jane lightly bit her bottom lip, “things are bad,” she paused, “I mean the entire federal emergency management agency is absolute chaos. The head of climatology is talking about an Ice Age due to Global Warming and the head of my department is basically the only one who wants to try and do anything about it.”

The things she was saying made no sense. You moved to lean against the wall, “what the fuck Jane,” you took a deep breath, “six months of this crazy weather and the government bullshit and you kept telling me everything was going to be fine. Shit Jane, an Ice Age is not fine. I don’t understand.” You ran your hands over your frizzy hair, “Jesus, what are we going to do? How bad is it, Jane?”

A sigh left Jane as she tried to keep her composure before she spoke.

“Y/N, please, you have to stay calm, the doctor ordered no stress. We will figure this out. We always do. There is talk of evacuating all the northern states to the south.”

You wanted to laugh but it came out as more of a snort, “Are you kidding me? Jane, you’ve been shutting me out for months. I knew, I fucking knew it was getting bad. How the fuck am I supposed to stay calm when my wife is spiraling and won’t even talk to me? Not to mention the catastrophe we are currently in!”

Jane rubbed the hem of her shirt between her fingers the guilt from before rising up in her body like more vile wanted out. She knew she was stressing you out but how was she supposed to purposely stress you out even more by telling you the world may be ending?

(Sure, the world had been ending since before they were even born, one catastrophe after another. They survived the Covid-19 pandemic. They survived the riots that turned into the second Civil War. The War that took their fathers and the illness that took their mothers. They grew up fast, but they always had each other, neighbors turned to best friends and then to lovers. They had seen each other at their very worst and they had helped each other through it all.)

Jane tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and moved to sit closer.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stress you out. I just,” Jane paused, “it was me who wanted to start a family. It was me that said that there was never going to be a right time. I thought things were finally getting better in the world. I was so happy when you told me you were pregnant. Everything we went through was finally worth it. All the money we spent on the bone marrow insemination. The months of hormone treatments we both suffered through. Only two months of bliss about our little family growing and life had to go and ruin it. I couldn’t ruin it for you too.”

You let your tears freely fall as Jane rambled. You spun the gold band around your ring finger.

“You didn’t force me to get pregnant. Sure, I’m scared but I’ve always wanted this, but Jane I wanted it with you.”

Jane ran her fingers over her own wedding ring.

“I know, for worse or for better. I’m sorry.” She said keeping her gaze locked on your hands.

You sighed, your back hurt and you were exhausted.

“I know you’re sorry, just promise me we’re in this together, Jane. I need to hear it.”

Greenlocked with your colored eyes, “I promise.”

Jane moved forward to sit next to you against the wall.

A loud crack of thunder boomed rattling the old house. You flinched as the sound of hail hitting the roof echoed through the silence. A cramp moved from your back to your lower abdomen making your wince.

Jane moved to wrap her arms around you “Y/N? Are you okay?”

Your hands clutched at the black fabric of Jane’s shirt, “fuck” your voice shook you hardly recognized it “Jane?”

The pain sharpened, making you lean forward into her embrace, as you spoke through gritted teeth, “shit this can’t be happening now.”

Jane’s eyes widened, “this is why I didn’t want to tell you. The doctor said no stress. Do you think it’s really happening this time?”

“Jesus Jane, it’s a little late for no stress. Fuck! Oh, it’s happening!” You blurted out.

Jane moved to help you off the floor. You held onto her with a death grip as you gritted your teeth. Jane moved forward, almost tripping both of you as she rushed towards the front door. The both of you hurried to slip on shoes and jackets. Jane grabbed the bag that had been sitting by the door for the last month. When she opened the door both of you shuddered at the cold. The rain and hail had turned to a slurry of snow. A loud clap of thunder boomed as the dark sky lit up in a flash making you jump closer to Jane.

Jane wanted to cry; life was flipping her off with the thunder-snow. She turned to make you look at your, “hey breathe,” she took a deep breath to illustrate, “we are going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

***

Twelve hours later nurses are shuffling around the room as the doctor orders an emergency cesarean. You are beyond exhausted. Sweat has curled your hair that clings to your face. Jane can see the panic in your flushed face; this was never the plan. 100% natural was what You wanted and you both had planned for, not surgery.

Jane felt the panic too, an emergency surgery had risks. She had read enough statistics to know that she could lose you or the baby or both of you. Her heart raced as she tried to keep her composure for both of you. She brushed the hair back away from your face. Her gaze fell to your eyes, she loved you and your eyes beyond words, “everything is going to be okay it has to be,” she squeezed your hand, “you are so strong you can do this, do you hear me?”

You let your tears freely fall at your words, “I’m so scared, Jane.”

Jane couldn’t hold back her own tears as she whispered, “me too.”

You squeezed each other's hands as the doctor worked. Everything was a blur. Jane couldn't focus on anything but your eyes that had been her home for most of your life. She thought about how you had been fighting before this. About how she had been stressing you out for months. She had been so distant. All because another catastrophe was headed your way. Life for you both had always been one catastrophe after another but it was your life together. Everything had always been worth it because you both made sure to live life and not dwell. You both always had hope. Jane had lost sight of that hope buried under her new job and all the pressure that came with it.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry I lost sight of all hope and shut you out. I love you beyond."

You nodded as you squeezed Jane’s hand tighter.

"I love you beyond, Jane."

You were pulled out of your bubble as a nurse said.

“Get ready.”

The doctor looked up at you as he held your baby up, “it’s a girl.”

You both couldn’t take your eyes off the tiny miracle in the doctors’ hands. A loud cry left the baby and Jane turned to you smiling through happy tears. Your smile faded as you blinked slowly and your grip on Jane’s hand fell and then you passed out.

A machine beeped and your heart dropped.

“No! Y/N? What’s happening?” Jane demanded.

A nurse grabbed her and began to pull her towards the door. She flailed her arms.

“No! Y/N!”

The nurse was stronger and quickly forced a frantic Jane out into the hall.

“Ma’am calm down, the doctor needs to close your wife up, she's lost a lot of blood.”

Jane shook her head.

“I can’t lose her. I have to be in there with her. She didn’t even get to hold our baby yet.”

The nurse nodded and she understood how the new mother was feeling.

“You can’t go in there, I’m sorry. You have to let the doctor work.”

The door opened as the neonatal nurse stepped out with the baby.

“Jan, Dr. Hawn needs you back in there. I got these two.”

Jan stepped away from Jane.

“Thanks, Mary.”

Jane wobbled where she stood as she watched the door close. She had never been one for praying, that was your thing, but she prayed with every fiber of her being that the love of her life would be okay, you just had to be okay.

Mary moved closer to Jane.

“Mrs. Banner, would you like to follow me to the nursery so we can make sure your daughter’s vitals are all good and get her weighed and measured?”

Jane ran her hands over her face trying to clear it of tears. She had to be strong for all three of you now. She took a step closer to the nurse and her gaze fell to the bundled baby, her baby, her daughter. You had both known you were having a girl that was the only possible outcome with the bone marrow insemination. Nothing had prepared Jane for this though, seeing a mix of both of you in such a small bundle.

The nurse smiled as she watched the new mother.

“Come on then let’s get her taken care of so you can hold her.”

***

Six pounds and nine ounces of perfection lay asleep in Jane’s arms as she sat in the chair next to you. You were asleep in the recovery room bed. Jane couldn’t pull her gaze away from the miracle in her arms. She was enthralled as she hummed softly. She had hope in her heart once again.

You could hear humming as she blinked a few times clearing your hazy vision from the bright lights and white ceiling. Your gaze traveled to the sound and landed on messy blonde hair half hiding Jane’s porcelain face as she looked down at a sleeping baby. Your baby.

“Jane?”

Your voice was rough and quiet, but Jane instantly looked up.

“Y/N. You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

You went to sit up slightly but winced, “sore,” you adjusted slowly, “can I see her?”

Jane stood up.

“Take it easy, you have stitches and lost a lot of blood. Use the remote to bring the bed up a bit.” She said as she gestured to the remote with a head nod.

The bed rose slowly allowing you to be more sat up. You pulled down the hospital gown slightly as Jane unwrapped the blanket around your daughter leaving her in just her diaper. She helped you adjust so the baby could lay skin to skin on your chest. A sigh of relief left you as you finally held your baby girl.

Jane brushed stray hair away from your face. She finally had both her girls and they were both okay.

You glanced up at Jane.

“She's perfect,” tears tracked down your face, “our little girl is perfect.”

Jane nodded; her own tears silently fell as she leaned down to kiss you. She pulled away only slightly to touch her forehead to yours.

“I thought I was going to lose you, but she gave me hope.” She whispered.

“You’ll never lose me. I’m always with you.” You captured Jane’s lips in a chaste kiss and sighed content when you both pulled apart.

Sure, life is crazy right now and you both would probably have to move out of the only state you had ever known, to survive the changing climate of the world but you would survive it. You had each other. You had hope.

“We never did decide on a name, what about Hope?” You asked.

Jane smiled down at the sleeping baby.

“Hope.”

A soft sound and then bright green eyes looked up at you both. You gasped.

“She has your eyes, Jane. I think she likes Hope.”

Jane smiled.

“Hi Hope, this is your incredibly strong momma.”

Jane watched as you smiled through your happy tears.

“Hi Hope, thanks for taking care of mommy while I rested.”

AN: Yes this was a college assignment. Yes, I turned it in for not only my professor to read but my entire class. And Yes there was a few queer folks who really loved it as the original was written with the fake characters Josephine and Natalie. Sorry if any spots read weird as I had to change a lot to change the POV and get rid of the old character names and change detail to match Jane. Anyway, I hope you like it!

#Elizabeth Olsen #Jane Banner #Wind River #Female Reader X Jane Banner #angst #fluff #as the world caves in #sarah cothran

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writing-in-april · 3 years

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Converging Parallels

Spencer Reid x Female Single Mom Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Summary: Spencer goes to a support group Penelope suggested after the death of Maeve. He quickly connects with a single mom who’s experiences have been similar to Spencer’s.

A/N: I’m prefacing this by saying I know shit about math and am horrible at it lol 😂 so my math analogies might be horribly off 😂 This is my fifth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- this one was requested by @samuel-de-champagne-problems- this is the request- (go check out there fics too!!) I tweaked it a little bit so I hope you enjoy it 🥺 a lot of it is confined to Spencer grappling with his thoughts- but there is dialogue I promise lol 😂I had a good time writing it ☺️Thanks for all the love recently and if you want to drop me an ask for any reason you can do so here- I’m always looking for some new friends on here (I promise I don’t bite lol) Thanks again and hope y’all enjoy 🥰

Warnings: Angst with a hopeful ending, General dealings surrounding death and grief, Mentions of Maeve’s death, Reader’s a widow, Guilt about moving on, Reader’s child is a daughter

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.6k

Parallel lines were never supposed to meet, they were set on a strict path following in a similar direction with no hope of ever converging. At least that’s what was the widely accepted definition by anyone with any authority in the field of mathematics.

My own math degree was being contested by a set of two lines set on a collision course with each other, though they were not supposed to. Logically I knew that the two lines were not beholden to any mathematical equation as I was referring to two human lives.

We were set on a similar course, only slight differences that seemingly were leading us to different destinations, or at least I tried to convince myself that. I tried every night to convince myself that she was only a friend, that it wasn’t what she wanted and I was desecrating the memory of the person I still claimed to be the only person I loved.

Logically I knew that by forcing where I wanted our relationship to go, what I thought the universe wanted to happen wasn’t what I truly wanted. The reason I had boxed us in so vehemently was only because I was scared and guilty, I knew it too. I wanted us to converge, but logic doesn’t always win out when dealing with guilt.

It had all started with Garcia mentioning that I should consider going to a grief support group after the death of Maeve. Every action I took was being weighed down by her death, whether I cared to admit it or not.

Garcia had good intentions when she suggested going to this meeting to me, of that I was sure. It isn’t that I saw no reason to go to the support group, I just knew that it would dreg up all the unwanted feelings that bombarded me enough already.

The flier in my hands felt heavy even though it was made of paper it weighed my hands down enough where I almost dropped it. I could have let it go then to have it fly away, being taken by the wind, that would let me forget about it. But, I knew it would have only made me forget for a short while, I’d inevitably get questions from Garcia and my own mind wouldn’t let me forget the reality of what had happened. And, logically I knew that it would most likely help. So instead of letting the wind take it away, I crumpled the paper slightly in my hands out of frustration, moving my feet forward one step at a time to enter the building.

That’s where I had first met her. When I first walked in I didn’t immediately lock eyes with her or anything, my eyes were too fixated on the ground for that to happen.

I only noticed her when she was invited to tell her story. Her strength instantly captivated me, almost making me feel like a failure at first. Her story of how she lost her husband was eerily similar in some aspects, especially the cause of his death. The feeling of failure on my part to be strong swirled in my gut as she recounted her struggles that were so starkly similar to mine. She even had a young daughter to take care of as well, she often spoke of her whenever she told her story, almost neglecting herself sometimes- which she admitted she knew she needed to work on.

However, when she came up to me to talk after the meeting was concluded my opinion switched to view her as inspiring. We began getting coffee after each meeting, sometimes talking for hours, sometimes sitting in silence. Whatever I needed she was there to give it to me, whenever she needed help I wanted to be there too.

To see our almost parallel lives begin to converge at first felt like someone had driven a car into traffic about to collide straight into my path. My mind would not stop arguing about whether or not I should pull away from her or not, like guilt was on shoulder and my potential happiness was on the other.

—-

Guilt was eating away at me from the inside out slowly, that part of my mind would not stop clawing away any good aspect of my relationship with Y/N. The relationship between us had shifted in recent weeks, tension invading what had once been a simply platonic connection formed through our shared experiences. When it became clear to me what our lingering stares and touches were leading to, guilt had reared its ugly head to burrow its way down deep and take root.

It had disrupted my sleep even more than usual, nightmares ranging from Maeve guilting me to the visuals of her death. The images of Maeve and any time I had shared with her invaded my brain at all hours of the night, haunting me. I scrunched my eyes up tight, maybe that would banish the images from my brain. That only made the guilt worse it seemed as I now felt double the guilt for wanting to banish the thoughts about a person I still claimed to love.

My hand hit the pillow in frustration, then grabbing it and throwing it to some unknown location across the room. Sitting up, no longer being able to tolerate laying down knowing that sleep would never come, made my exhausted joints beg me to lay back down. I leaned forward to put my head in my hands, also tangling my curls with my fingers. I tried to think about what Y/N had said to me at one of the first meetings I had attended, my normally impeccable memory struggled as the memory of Maeve’s bloodied face would not leave. Screaming internally was the only thing that seemed to work to push the words I was looking for forward,

“I try to think about something my therapist told me- Although it's difficult today to see beyond the sorrow, May looking back in memory help comfort you tomorrow.”

The quote wasn’t something groundbreaking or new, though the origins were unknown. But, the words still struck me deep everytime I forced my memory to call back on them.

The words she had spoken in the meeting when talking about her husband made me want to try too. She inspired me whenever she told snippets of her story to me or the rest of the group, her story had been similar to mine- with the added element of having a daughter to raise on her own.

Her strength was what had drawn me to her initially, like a moth to flame. Our relationship wasn’t even a friendship at first, just two people sharing advice (more her giving it to me) about how to deal with crippling grief.

What had blossomed since then from death and decay had thrown me for a loop. I hadn’t been expecting for this to happen, I never even thought romance would be an option for me again. I thought that I would have one great love and that our time in the sun had ended along with any option for romantic interests in the future.

Then she came along and spun my thinking upside down, not that I blamed her at all for it. She originally had just reached out to help me, not to pursue any romantic connection purposefully while I was vulnerable.

She continued to stay with me to help despite my urge to push her away even though that’s not what I wanted. I tried hard to convince myself that our lives were never meant to connect, that we were destined to remain apart.

It took many more sleepless nights for me to realize what I hadn’t seen for so long, even with Y/N reassuring me at every turn. Maeve would want me to be happy, I was sure of it. So I’d try to let myself, no longer letting myself get hindered by my own swirling thoughts of guilt that Maeve wouldn’t have wanted me to feel.

—-

Asking her out on a date had been surprisingly easy once I had let go a little of my guilt. We had chosen to go somewhere different than a coffee shop, since we already did that often. I took her out to more of an upscale restaurant than she was used to, which may be too fancy for some for a first date, but she deserved it. She worked so hard to take care of her daughter and even me to some extent.

At the end of the night we were both standing outside her door ready to go in to relieve the babysitter for the night. I had already given her a chaste kiss for the night, even though my nerves kept trying to talk me out of it. I was about to say goodbye when she grabbed my wrist to hold in her hands. She looked afraid at first, almost like she wondered if I wouldn’t like her touching me. Touch may bother me with most people, but she wasn’t most people, I’d happily share germs with her. When I did not pull away relief was evident in her eyes, then taking a big breath before speaking,

“Would you like to meet my daughter?” Her voice was shaky, understandably full of worry.

“Of course.” In the past hesitation would have littered my voice if she had asked me the same question. But, my thoughts had been slowly shifting to want our lines to converge fully and with no fear. Sure, Maeve would always capture a place in my heart, but I was ready for our lives to collide. Our parallel lives converged into one line, with a set path forward. It may get derailed from its intended path, but we would be stronger together than apart.

Ask me anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith (damn tumblr just let me tag them)

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #mgg #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid fanfic #30 fics in 30 days

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jadelynlace · 3 years

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When You’re Unmatched Art / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

[you can find the reference for the tattoo Ivar did here. He thought he was being slick, but he most certainly was not. Ivar, your feelings are showing!]

catch up on the porno, I mean series, here.

requested by: @quantumlocked310 ♡

author’s note: thanks to this post, you’ll all be subjected to the written requests. brief mentions of smut under the cut, and love sick Ivar.

synopsis: Ivar finally figures out how to design your first tattoo.

✎

For this to be Ivar’s passion—his mortal life’s calling—he could not, for all of the seconds in the year, figure out how to design your tattoo. There had never, in his professional life, been a client that had given him complete and utter reign. No simple idea, no nudge in a specific direction, hint of any realm no where on the forefront. You told him to design you a tattoo to take up space on your thigh. And that was it. Even after he declined, saying there must be some idea you had, you shook your head and give him control. Total, and utter control. And it was almost too good to be true.

Ivar knew he was screwed, when an entire sketchbook’s worth of pages went torn, crumpled and tossed into the garbage can with failed ideas. Even Sigurd offered no help—not that he was the artistic hand Ivar needed, he was the needle pusher and piercer. Music selector and unruly greeter. Floki only offered his normal words of wisdom, a way of not answering the question but instead making Ivar look deep within himself. “Don’t think about it much, Ivar. Just let your heart and your mind run freely together.” Great. No help. Both of them were caged in a muddled pile of muck and mud and dead leaves and Ivar couldn’t pull them out.

Through every outing the band of brothers went on, you in tow more often than not, Ivar would be at the receiving end of your questions—how he was coming along with it. You had no deadline, you understood his craft took time, but you were far too excited to see. Then came the first hook up—Ivar driving you home because you were too many martinis in, you inviting him up but he declined because it “wasn’t a good idea, princess” and you told him you “weren’t his fucking princess” and he drove around the block twice before finally knocking on your door. Weight against the frame with his temple kissing it, apologizing playfully for his nickname and you invited him in. A game of truth or dare later, Ivar asked you how drunk you were when it was his turn. And you told him you were sober enough to make decisions, clear ones, and then he dared you to kiss him. You felt like a high schooler again. When it was your turn to ask him and he had picked truth, your one question was the end of the game:

“If I asked you to fuck me right now, would you?”

“In a god damn heart beat.”

He was more than screwed when you wouldn’t leave his mind, after you rocked his world and he used your name on his tongue to get himself off the next time his left hand was needed. And then he texted you, asking how your day was, that was it. And after a conversation, playful but real, he was over at your apartment with take out and beer and you two watched true crime and Ivar told you he had seen this one and tried to have you guess before the show told you. When you were right he said you were smart, when he silently figured out an equation in his head, how many liters to grams to degrees, or whatever the hell it was, you almost dropped your beer. He wrote it out for you to show you, a near different language across the page through algebra, and you told him he was smart. The tattoo idea clicked then. The minute Ivar realized he caught feelings, the tattoo idea became so visible he drew it in almost an hour.

There was never a nervousness with him when it came to the day of appointments, even with the most picky of his clientele, Ivar took it as it was gifted because he loved his craft too much to have these types of petty things take up hatred in his heart. But you walked through the shop, shortest of shorts on, a pair of flowing pants in your bag for the event that session went longer and nipped off into the chilling night time air, and both a coffee for yourself and a Red Bull for Ivar. He nearly wanted to throw the ink onto the floor because he was scared that once you saw the design, you’d laugh, you’d call him something pathetic and walk out, and it would be the last he’d see of you. Instead he handed you the artwork, and your eyes scanned the image for almost five minutes, mouth agape and holding it as if it were a map to the unknown, hiding gold and jewels and you asked him if you could keep the sketch. Even with it forever on your skin you nearly begged him for the original artwork, saying something about how you wanted to frame it. You’d never seen Ivar blush before, but you were sure he did when you said that.

The session wasn’t short—it was almost his full day’s work of hourly long needle dabs, buzzing and brotherly bickering between him and Sigurd. Intensive talks between you and him, explain to him the less than glamorous parts of your job, the funnier parts and the teenage humor of the men you worked with. Hvitserk’s track record for receiving the majority of patient vomit on every call and you watched Ivar laugh, smile more than you had known him too and you wondered if it was because of the machine in his gloved hand or if it was you.

Sigurd ducked out right before lunch, picking up with the three of you had ordered and your skin received the welcome break from the on-going buzz. You were quick to kiss Ivar once, lingering lips on his to thank him and he looked shocked for a moment, worrisome that his brother would see before he tossed the fear aside, shoving his tongue down your throat. When it was all said and done, dawned with the artwork on your flesh you couldn’t stop the smile. Neither could Ivar. He’d promised the sketch after he photocopied it for his portfolio and you went home with the sore leg but a full heart. He showed up late, just shy of midnight after cleaning up the day’s worth of work, buying a frame and bringing dinner for the two of you to eat. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of it, even in its red and swollen, tender state, you loved this tattoo, and Ivar took his time treating it for you. Even after his head spent time between your thighs, one hand plastered on the bare skin and the other holding yours. Even after you rode him, artwork in his line of sight and it made him finish quickly; watching the piece on your skin, your palms on his chest as he moved your hips for you. Your head tossed back as you moaned his name when you came, the heavenly sight and you were forever marked with his skill. The after care from the sex went beyond the closeness, holding you as the television played in the background; he spread the lotion over it, his entire hand nearly able to cup your thigh as he made sure to leave no line un-slathered.

“You know I’m going to want another one before this one even heals,” You said to him, craning your neck up to look at him.

“Yeah?” Ivar asked, his hand in your hair. “Where do you think you want your next one to go?”

“On my arm, so I can see it all the time,” You replied, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Who knows, maybe I’ll just cover myself like you do,” You giggled.

“You’re perfect already,” Ivar said through a yawn, his eyes closing, head drooping against yours. “You tell me where you want ‘em, and I’ll do it—but you’re perfect already,”

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inkedtae · 4 years

Text

golden gills ⇾ jjk. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ goldfish!hybrid jungkook x bratty!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒 ⇾ e2l, smut with a sprinkle of fluff and a waterfall of filth

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ Reader taunts Jungkook for being the new Teacher’s Assistant for her history class. She simply can’t stand a teacher’s pet. Jungkook can’t help but make her one.

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 7k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ a shit ton of flith, hate-love sex, office sex, super bratty reader, thigh riding, hair pulling, spit play, pube play, panty sniffing, a tad bit of edging, oral (f. receiving), dom!jk, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), lots of spanking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pet names, a dash of puns here and there, lowkey crack, probs gonna need some (un)holy water.

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ extremely unedited. please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission. currently on a kookie kick so get ready for some filthy (and occasionally fluffy) kookie content. if you have any request, please send them my way (i might consider another member). enjoy!

><> le playlist

He strut into class, a little notebook clutched in his large hands. You couldn’t help but notice how his veins popped out. Was he flexing or was that just simply always the state of his hands. His sharp nails, tips tinged orange, dug into the leather binding of the notebook while he spoke with your professor. You glared at him from your seat at the front. He must’ve felt the heat of your gaze as he rubbed the nape of his, looking over at you.

There, right there was the reason why you hate that man so much. That shit-eating smirk tugged on his pink lips, brownish-yellow eyes flickering between you and the professor. An annoyed sigh escaped you. He was too cocky for his own good. He may have radiated golden rays wherever he went. The yellowish-orange tint of his hair layered with strands of pink was undeniably eye-catching. You figured that if he was full fish and not just a hybrid, then that might be the colour of his scales. But, when that golden image was paired with his arrogant personality, you reminded yourself as your eyes bounced up and down his frame, he was insufferable.

Despite the golden hues of his species, Jungkook felt most comfortable in black. It was a trend you noticed immediately on him. His flowy, golden fin would stick out his shirt, lined along his spine, and tiny golden gills would rest in the hollows of his cheeks but he would only wear black. You hated how you knew that he only liked to wear loose fitted clothing because it looked great on him. It was all he wore so how could you not notice it, you tried to reason. That fact didn’t soothe your rage one bit, however, since it meant that you indirectly admitted to yourself that he always looked good.

That man is dangerous, you thought to yourself before turning back to your notes. You didn’t have much to write just yet, but you weren’t going to waste your last moments before class staring at Jeon Jungkook. You opted for doodling, gently scratching your orange pen within the margins.

“How come whenever I walk in I always catch you staring?” He asked, sitting a couple of seats to your right.

“Glaring,” you correct, not bothering to look up.

He chuckles to himself, the breathy sound confusing your heart and stunting your rage for a minute. “You’re giving me your attention either way, hun,” he replied. “And I barely had to do a thing.”

You stopped mid-stroke, looking up at him with that same glare before your eyes scanned across the classroom. You noticed empty seats peppered between others who were lucky enough to enjoy some peace before the lesson began. “There are other seats,” you muttered, turning back to your notebook.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, tossing his notebook down on the table with a light thud. “I like this one,” he sighed as he pulled out a black pen from his pants. “I can see everything from here, and everyone can see me.”

You furrowed your brows at his words. What a cocky little shit; always needing to be the center of attention. “You’re an idiot,” you hissed, making the mistake of looking up at him again.

He met your annoyed gaze with a playful glint in his eyes. He had his tongue poking at his cheek, and a single brow raised as if asking if you truly meant that, as if warning you to try again. “Am I?” he challenged. “Or are you too busy concerned with me to realize how wrong that statement was?”

Your face scrunched with confusion as you tried your best to decipher his words.Why did he have to be so cryptic? Why couldn’t he just tell you what the hell he meant? Giving up, you were about to tell him how stupid he sounded when the professor began his lecture.

He welcomed the class, introduced himself and went over the course syllabus before turning to look at Jungkook. “And, if you have any other questions, please feel free to contact me or my TA this semester, Jungkook.” He then gestured for Jungkook to stand.

Fuck no.

Your face fell as he rose from his seat. Before he could even catch a glimpse of your pure shock and devastation, you schooled your features and looked back towards your professor. It all began to click now, why he spoke with the professor before class and why he sat at the front. He even tried to warn you, in his own stupid, idiotic, cryptic way. Did you really insult your TA? He was going to be grading your work for the next four months. You wanted to believe Jungkook wasn’t a total asshole but with the way he taunted you with that look in his eyes before the lecture started gave you pause.

Your face must’ve been revealing bits and pieces of your panic, despite your efforts, because you soon heard little breathy chuckles to your right. “Relax, hun. I won’t let it affect your final grade,” he whispered as the professor dived into his lecture. “This time.”

That little shit.

You had written your essay two weeks prior to the due date, which is a lot coming from you since you’re more of a pull an all-nighter the night before kind of girl. You had researched thoroughly about the topic provided, giving your own analysis on the wars and political practises of the West. You even quoted Karl Marx a few times, and this little shit only just passed you? You had an average to maintain and you knew your paper was not merely worth a passing grade. You even had your best friend, Namjoon, read it over and approve of the analysis, citations and writing style.

So the moment his office hours were available you made your way over. They were running during another one of your classes but fuck him if he thought you were going to let this slide. You weren’t sure what he was thinking but if this was all some power play, you were about to show him who the fuck was in charge.

“Jeon, you motherfucker,” you huffed in a way of greeting as you walked into his office.

Jungkook peeked up at you from his bowl, noodles hanging out of mouth. His eyes were a bit wider, cheeks puffed all too cutely as they were filled with food. He finished slurping his noodles as you shut the door. Though still completely furious, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop staring at his mouth. Something about those pouty, spice stained lips lit up your core and caused arousal to pool into your panties.

You let out a shaky breath, seating yourself across his desk as he pushed his meal away, directing his full attention on you. He sat back in his seat, that stupid smirk over taking his features.

“Yes?” He practically purred his response causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat.

You tossed your graded paper on his desk, eyes unforgivingly boring into his. “What the fuck is this?” You asked in a calmer voice, but the anger was still ponet in your tone.

“You’re crappy paper I had the misfortune of reading,” he answered casually, like you just asked him about his day.

The original fire in your eyes, you somehow were able to maintain since entering this office, dimmed into disappointment. Was it really that bad? But, you worked on it relentlessly. You had at least hoped it would pique his interest. Even Namjoon told you the approach you took was unique and well-thought out. For Jungkook to say it was a misfortune to read wasn’t just a shot at your grade but a blow to your intelligence, your pride.

He must’ve noticed your change in demeanor as he sat up and sighed. He picked it up to look over it once again, but you ripped it out of his hand, crumpling it with, what you hated to recognize as, shame. “Don’t do me any favours, Jeon,” you all but warned through gritted teeth. “The grade speaks for itself. I can’t believe I thought someone as stupid as you would be able to understand something as layered and complex as this paper. The only thing crappy about any of this is the fact that I have a useless TA.”

Jungkook watched you with an unwavering gaze. “Watch your tone,” he grumbled, voice carrying more edge than those words ever did.

You’ll admit, it stunted you for a moment, but the pain still lingered. You released the creased assignment on his desk lazily, treating it like the afterthought he believed it was. “Or what?” You taunted, tilting your head slightly. “You’ll fail me?” Your voice dipped in and out of feigned sadness, sarcasm dripping with every word. “You’ll go tell your precious professor? Hmm, little pet?”

Jungkook shifted in his seat, inhaling sharply from his nose before standing up. Even from across the desk, he towered over you. “Behave, (Y/N),” he warned, poking at his cheek with his tongue.

His words meant nothing. You ignored the inner voice that reminded you that your behaviour was only getting this bad because his words actually meant more than you even wanted to acknowledge.

“You’re just a useless pet, a stupid little goldfish trying so desperately to look tough in those all black clothes,” you pressed on, gesturing to his shirt that sat atop his chest and biceps all too well. He circled around the desk as you continued, “you can’t even get me to treat you with respect. Better yet, I bet you can’t even get me off. You’re that fucking useless.”

How or why that sexual sentence slipped in was beyond you. You didn’t really have much time to think about anything, your mouth running on its own and leaving your mind to catch up. All you could see is him, him and those orange hues that lit around his muscular frame like a halo. You noticed him avoiding your gaze and you couldn’t help the teasing giggle that left your lips.

A brow quirked up as he looked at you through his lashes. You only just realized that they were tipped with bits of gold. “There’s nothing you can do,” you said, standing up for the sole purpose of leaning in and whispering, “little pet.”

Those two words triggered something dark inside him. He groaned out, in frustration or excitement - you weren’t sure, and crashed his lips into yours. You wished you could say you resisted at first, but you were melting into his touch immediately. All logic left you and the only thing you can recall from that moment was another rush of lust and desire soaking your panties. You knew you lost your better judgement when you shamelessly moaned into the kiss at the fact that his lips tasted like freshwater and whatever flavour of spicy noodles he was previously eating.

A rough hand tangled in your hair, tugging on it to pull you off his lips. You whined at the lost contact, surprising even yourself. You only caught a glimpse of his hooded eyes before he latched his lips onto your neck, setting fire to every inch of skin his mouth graced. Those eyes of his held a degree of rage and lusty fury all while little flicks of orange and gold swam within them. Had they always been like that? You never really got time to think about it before Jungkook bit at your flesh, unforgivingly nibbling and tugging only to slobber sweet kisses to soothe the sting.

Your hands clutched onto his shirt, desperate to recompose even an ounce of your dignity. As if he knew what you were up to, his chuckled, warm breath fanning your skin, prickling you all over with goosebumps. Your thighs pressed together tightly at the sensation, and you were thankful you opted for a skirt rather than jeans this morning, knowing very well that there would’ve been a wet stain near your crotch.

Jungkook inhaled deeply, parting from your neck to lick the shell of your ear. “You always smell so fucking sexy when you’re horny for me,” he raved.

“I’m never horny for you,” your pride answered all too quickly. You wanted to add that he was mediocre at best right now, no matter how big of a lie that was too, but couldn’t find the courage after he bit harshly on your collar bone then lapped his tongue over the sting.

“Don’t lie, pet,” he warned, smugly throwing your word back at you.

“I’m not your pe- shit!” You gasped when his lips landed on the shallow hollow of your collar bone. You tugged on his shirt once more, tilting your head back as he began to attack it. His kisses were absolutely sinful and you found yourself wanting them all over you as you rolled your hips into his.

Once he was satisfied with the dark mark he left, he slightly pulled back. He opted for moving you around by the grip he had on your hair. It earned him little blissful whines from you that he couldn’t help but laugh at. He yanked your body closer to his chest, your hands now resting on his shoulders as you somehow positioned your crotch over one of his thighs and quickly, shamelessly moved against it. Your actions surprised you as well; you didn’t realize you were this hot for him.

“What were you saying before, my precious pet?” He teased, hovering his pouty lips over yours. His free hand rested upon your ass, gripping and kneading the flesh like he was coaxing the answer out of you.

You bit your lip in denial of making a single sound. The notion wasn’t lost on him and he used his grip on your ass to halt your movements on his thigh. While you struggled to defy his silent orders, he held your body flush against his, keeping your clothed pussy trapped over his thigh with a single hand. You could feel his semi-hard against your lower belly as he smirked down at you. Had you not been in his grasp or too stubborn, you would’ve smacked that smirk off… with your lips.

Jungkook yanked at your hair so that you were looking up at him with lips slightly parted and eyes undoubtedly desperate. That was the thing with your eyes; you could never hide your true feelings from them.

His hot breath fanned over your chin as he muttered, “What happened to those cute little sounds, pet?” It took the last ounce of self control left in you to not to moan at his words. He continued to stare at you for a moment, admiring how, though you’re trying so hard not to show it, needy you were.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he cooed.

His voice was gentle enough for you to immediately comply. You parted your lips, looking up at him innocently. Though you knew what was coming next, your pussy clenching around nothing out of mere excitement, you did not pull away. In fact, you stuck your tongue out as he hovered his lips over yours and spat a stringy dollop of saliva into your mouth. It didn’t taste fishy at all, but simply, what you recognized as, him. You gazed into his eyes with lust-charged hate as you swallowed it without a second though.

He smiled, satisfied, and released your hair to let his hand slide down to your other asscheeks, moving both hands under your skirt now. A little hiss left him as he felt your wetness reach the back of your panties too. “You really are this horny for me, aren’t you, baby?” He questioned as he guided your clothed pusssy against his thigh once more.

“N-none of this is for you,” you stuttered. You tried to sound annoyed but the little moan in your tone hinted otherwise.

He nudged his nose on yours, mannerisms shockingly softer than his grips on your ass. “Want another?” He raised a brow.

When you remained silent, not wanting to admit that you most definitely wanted another wad of his spit in your mouth, he laughed. The corner of his wondrous eyes crinkled and he threw his head back, laughing at your silence. When his gaze met yours again, he bit his lip to subside the rest of his laughter, taking note of your furrowed brows and pouty lips.

Jungkook seemed to like the challenges you were offering. He slightly tilted his head, eyes suddenly seeming unreadable. It wasn’t like you were paying much attention to his logic anyway, yours long gone by now. No, you were focused on the pleasure, the built up arousal twisting in your lower belly just desperate to be released. You knew your pussy wasn’t usually that sensitive, sometimes finding that you needed to tug on your skin to really get yourself off. But, holy fuck-

“Jungkook!” You whined all too loudly as he flexed his thigh beneath you.

“Hmm,” he hummed, tone reaching dangerously cocky levels. You loved it.

Meek moans and whines poured out of your lips, like his name was the damn that held them back. Your grip on his shirt was sure to leave creases now, as you looked up at him, holding his gaze while you got yourself. You were passed pride now, ready to admit to yourself that you wanted to stare into those golden-brown eyes because, fuck, the simple sight was enough to make you cum.

Jungkook knew it. He knew you were close and squeezed your ass to let you know that. “Does my pretty pet wanna cum?” He lazily asked. The indifference in his tone was strangely enough to make you a slut for him; as if you weren’t already.

You couldn’t give him the satisfaction, however. You were far too stubborn for that. Breaking your gaze, you threw your head back and shut your eyes. The pleasure was all you wanted to focus on as you got so fucking clo-

“No!” The cry tore from your throat, breaking as it fell from your lips. He took advantage of the grip he had on your ass once more, trapping your pussy on his flexed, muscular thigh.

“Open,” he ordered.

You glared at him, sticking your tongue out with a huff. He spat another wad in your mouth, smacking your ass as you swallowed. The force jolted your body closer against his, now completely flush against his chest. Fuck, that chest. So strong and firm. You ran your hands up and down his pecs as he spoke.

“You close your eyes again, and I’ll have you on your knees,” he threatened. You moaned at his words, earned a quirk of his brow. “Fuck, baby, you’re such a slut for me.”

“When are you going to tell off that shirt?” You asked, the helplessness in your voice surprising you.

“When you ask nicely,” he teased, bringing his hand back down on your ass.

You leaned back just enough to tug on the hem of the loose shirt. He looked at you expectedly, actually believing you’d ask. A smirk found its way on your lips as your hands snuck beneath the cotton to rub up and down his skin. His breath hitched a bit at the contact, making you silently giggle to yourself. It was nice to know you weren’t the only one coming undone to soft touches.

He kept your hips locked in place, but began to move his thigh under you. You gasped feeling the pleasure build itself back up in your lower belly. Digging your nails gently into his skin, you scratched at his nipples. It seemed you were both rewarding the other for a tease well done as he returned the blissful gesture by quickening the pace of his thigh.

“J-Jungkook,” you whined, slowly bringing his shirt up higher and higher. His hands left your ass long enough for you to pull his shirt off and you took it as a sign to also be allowed to move again.

Giddy giggles left you as you got what you wanted and more, and you barely had to play nice at all. He was too consumed with getting you off to care, or so you thought. His hands came down on your ass with a force your pussy couldn’t ignore and you were sent into your first orgasm of the hour.

Jungkook chuckled to himself, watching your jaw clench as high-pitched squeals escaped you and your pussy released all over his pants. The wet mess emitted filthy, slouchy sounds, further imprinting the fabric and filling the space between you two wonderfully. You held his gaze all the same, riding out your high as your nails dug into his pecs. He hissed at the sensation but did nothing to stop it.

Your rapid rolls over his thigh stuttered against the friction, the pleasure starting to become too much for you. You halted your movement and quivered the last bits of our orgasm out. He peppered your face with little kisses all throughout, and you let him, whimpering for more.

Jungkook pulled back at your sounds just to flash you a smug smile. He helped you off him, standing you up again. You bit your lip to keep from whining at the loss of contact. Though you did get your release, you were hoping for more. Your eyes, too obviously, flickered between his abs and the bulge in his pants.

“If you want more, little pet, you’re going to have to strip for me,” he informed you. Jungkook held your fucked out gaze as he swiped a finger over the drenched spot of his pants to scoop up some of your release. You swallowed thickly at the action, watching as he sucked your cum off his finger.

“You’re going to have to ask nicely,” you all but whine as his adam’s apple bobbed.

His once playful teasing eyes seemed to be getting annoyed. The softness within them switched into something a bit darker. He was done with playing, and it only made you want to play with him even more.

“I’m waitin- ah,” you gasped as he ripped the buttons off your thin, tight sweater off, exposing that yellow bra of yours that cupped your tits all too well.

Jungkook towered his slender frame over you. “I don’t have to do anything,” he whispered, hovering his lips over yours. “Strip, little pet.”

You pulled your sweater off. A part of you wanted to reach up and just kiss him again. He was so close you could feel his breath against your parted lips. But, you knew better than to fully challenge that dangerous look in his eye. Your skirt was pushed down next, but you kept your panties on, slightly too embarrassed by the fact that they were sticking to your pussy. Reaching back behind you, you fumbled to unclasp your bra. Jungkook remained silent as he reached a single hand back there and undid it easily.

You thought it must have regained his composure, the thought slightly pissing you off since you were becoming more and more of a mess by the second. But, the moment your bra fell, he attacked your breasts, burying his face between them. His lips latched onto one of your nipples, tonguing, biting, sucking away at it. One of his hands rested on your hip to keep you steady, while his other gripped at your other tit, massaging the fuck out of it.

Your hands were lost somewhere in his orange-yellow hair, tugging at the long strands. You moaned his name repeatedly. Shameless and horny, you were loving his attention. “Oh, god, just fuck me,” you sighed.

He hummed against your nipple. “In a minute, babe,” he muttered between alternating tits, now latching his lips onto your other nipple.

From his slightly bent over position, you could see his fin lined along his spine. You wondered how it looked in the water, if it flowed within the waves like it did out of them. A hand reached over, gently grazing the ripped, but soft fin with the tips of your fingers. He shuddered against your touch, rolling his shoulders back but didn’t stop his tongue’s attack on your tits.

You whimpered against him, lightly scratching his scalp with one hand and rubbed up his fin with the other. “Jungkook,” you breathed. You were desperate, needy and in total need of another orgasm. And that was what you kept telling yourself as you stuttered, “p-please, kookie.”

Jungkook froze, mid-suck and looked up at you slowly. “My, my,” he smirked, abandoning your tits and straightening up to his full height once again. Your hand on his fin slid up to his shoulder once more, an action that disappointed him too, his eyes flashing something too needy to be masked by his cocky demeanor. “Begging already, baby?”

You pressed your thighs together, granting yourself the smidgen of friction he was hell-bent on denying you. “That was barely a beg,” you scoffed.

He shook his head at your words. “Shall we change that?” He lifted your hips before you could even respond and placed you on his desk. You were surprised he could lift you being that you were a grown ass woman and all.

He spread your legs, groaning quietly to himself at the sight of your cum slick thighs and sticky panties clinging to your folds. Placing a hand to his forehead, he lowered his head and took a deep breath.

You hated the sudden fear and panic of insecurity that shot through you. However, you couldn’t help but weakly ask, “s-something the matter?”

He nodded, meeting your gaze once more. “Yeah,” he sighed. You felt your heart drop, ready to close your legs when he continued, “those ruined panties haven’t come off yet.” A sigh of relief left you, your momentary panic bringing down all your walls with it as a blush tinted your cheeks.

Jungkook must’ve liked that sight too because he was proudly smiling to himself. “Let me help you with that, little pet.” He dipped his head between your legs, lapping up the cum that stained your inner thighs too, not too bothered by the slight discolouration of them.

Your legs were already trembling at the warmth of his mouth. He hooked his arms under both your legs, pulling your pussy closer to his face. Nudging his nose against your clothed clit, he inhaled your sinful scent. “God, this must be a fucking dream,” he muttered more to himself than to you in particular. “You smell even sexier when you fucking cum, babygirl.”

A whimper trickled out of your lips at his words as you gripped onto the edge of the desk. Little did you know that was merely the start of his filth. His mouth engulfed your clothed pussy in a single motion, licking and sucking the cum out of your panties. The hungry groans he made against your heat were boarderline pronographic. You were living for them, rolling your hips into his face relentlessly chasing after your next high.

Jungkook tsked against your panties as if warning you to behave again, then sunk his teeth into them, catching a bit of your folds too. You cried out his name, your nails scratching at the dark wood beneath you. He watched you intently as he pulled those ruined panties off. You lifted your ass for him a bit and brought your legs together as he leaned back.

He stood over you once they were off, the piece of clothing still locked in his jaw. Taking them out, he sniffed at them again. You pressed your thighs together once more, mesmerized by the sight before you. “Beautiful,” he rasped. Then he stuffed the wet, balled up panties in his pocket. “Mine now,” he explained, noticing the shock in your eyes. “Just like this pussy.”

Grabbing your ankles, he pulled you closer to the edge of the desk and spread your legs apart once more. A little blush crept up his neck as the mess before him. He moaned to himself, getting on his knees. You never knew you needed to see a shirtless Jungkook on his knees before. He looked heavenly but his tongue was hellish, licking a clean strip up your folds. You threw your head back as he sucked on your clit.

“Kookie,” you whimpered, having a lazy hand get lost in his hair again. You weren’t sure how or why you fell into that nickname, but you did and you weren’t planning on stopping.

He hummed up at you, also accepting the nickname like you’ve been calling him that forever. His tongue swirled around your entrance, teasing - always fucking teasing you. He’d poke the tip of his tongue in only to watch you shudder and immediately clench your walls. His mouth traveled a bit higher halfway through another assault on your clit.

“Can’t help it,” he muttered before licking at the short hairs a top your pussy. You blushed deeply at his actions. You had hoped he didn’t notice, but now seeing him practically lose himself over it, you felt a bit of pride swell in your chest.

Jungkook bit at the flesh, tugging the hair with him as he pulled back. He spat on your pubes just to lick it up against the hair again. You gasped, looking down at his filthy actions with pure lust in your eyes. He repeated this action a couple of times, noting how excited it made you then returned to the wetness between your folds.

“That really turned you on, huh baby?” He questioned watching as more of your wetness pooled out of your entrance. Diving right back in, he lapped up all the new arousal repeating the same flicks of his tongue over and over again. You couldn’t really grasp what the pattern was at first, but then it hit you all at once, forcing you to cry out in approval. He was licking his name against your entrance in Korean and English, poking his tongue into you with the dots of his js.

“M-marking your territory?” you questioned, trying to sound as confident and composed as he did but your moans kept getting in the way.

“I’d be drowning in it too if I wasn’t part fish,” he chuckled, fanning his warm breath against you. “Why don’t you prove me wrong, little pet?” His tone hinted that it was more of a suggestion rather than a challenge. “Cum for me.”

You were up for it either way, rolling your hips into his face. Nothing felt as sexy as when the little gills in the hollows of his cheeks brushed up against your inner thighs, slightly quivering at the contact. That unexpected sensation and the way Jungkook began to devour your pussy was enough to shock you into your second orgasm.

“Oh, fuck yes,” you cried out, moans tumbling out of you endlessly. Your eyes rolled back, head falling back with them as you quivered against his face. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you squealed as you rode your release to the end.

Jungkook flattened his tongue, letting you get yourself off on him. Once he was sure you finished spasming on his tongue, noting how your thighs started to squeeze his face as they came together, he flicked his tongue back into action. He lapped up your cum, swallowing every ounce of what you’d given him.

Sensitive and gasping for air, you attempted to weakly push his face off of you. It was an impossible task. He was too strong and too consumed with the task at hand, slurping your juices, unfazed and unbothered.

“Kookie… I… fuck,” you squealed, closing your legs around his face. He was practically suffocating against your pussy as he drank you up.

He suddenly, and very easily, pushed your legs apart as if you hadn’t just been using all your strength to close them. He got up, face glistening with a mixture of his saliva and your cum. He looked like a fucking goldfish god with his hair all tossel from your grip and face all smeared of your cunt. You wanted to clean it all up for him, but he wouldn’t give you a chance yet.

His thumbs slid into his waistband about to push his pants down when he caught a glimpse of you. You were looking all fucked out, trembling from the remnants of your last orgasm, legs curled up into your chest. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he whispered, all hints of playfulness and teasing threats gone from his tone. He almost sounded sincere, almost sounded like he actually meant all those things he said, like it wasn’t all just words thrown in the heat of the moment.

You were panting quietly, not exactly sure what to say to that. You felt like you were saved by the exposure of his cock (on many levels) and pushed all thoughts away until you were back to your normal, rational state of mind.

His cock was huge, veiny, and leaking precum, desperate for some contact. You shakily slid off the desk, fully prepared to get on your knees for him and give his heavenly cock the attention it deserved. But Jungkook tsked at you, nodding his head back to the desk.

“Back on the desk, babygirl,” he grunted as he began to pump himself using the precum collected on his pink tip.

You leaned against the edge of the desk for some stability, swallowing thickly at the sight of his veiny hand around his veiny cock. Licking your lips, you met his gaze shyly as if silently asking him to reconsider.

Jungkook smirked, slightly buckling his hips into his hand. He gave himself a couple more pumps then set his hands on your hips to lift you back up on the desk again. “Be a good girl and I might consider letting you wrap that pretty mouth of yours around my cock next time,” he promised with a smile all too sweet for you to challenge.

“Next time?” You meekly questioned.

He positioned himself between your legs, that giddy smile still etched on his lips. He slapped his cock against your wet pussy a couple of times, making you whimper his name, before replying, “just behave, little pet, and you can have my cock down your throat anytime you want.” He then, without much further warning, sunk his cock into your entrance, hissing at the tightness.

“J-Jungkook,” you sighed, only now just realizing how fucking badly you really needed him to fill you up. Tears pricked your eyes at the pure blissful sensation of his cock stretching you out so fucking good.

Noticing your tears, he halted all movement. “Am I hurting you?” He asked, concern laced in his tone.

You shook your head immediately, all but begging, “keep going, please. Fuck, please kookie.”

He let out a sigh of relief and continued to sink into you until he bottomed out. You gasped, holding his gaze while your nails dug into his shoulders. He flashed you a golden smile before pulling out and ramming back into you at a sinful pace.

“S-so b-ig,” you choked out between harsh thrusts.

His face was contoured with pleasure, nose scrunched and brows furrowed in too cute of a way that you would’ve never even guessed he liked it this rough. “Ah-yah,” he gasped, overtaken by the clench of your cunt’s walls. “Tightest cunt I’ve had.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He complied with little complaints and you leaned your forehead against his. Noses brushing, breath exchanging, Jungkook fucked you into the desk with such force, he jolted it back a bit with each thrust. You tilted your head enough to kiss his gills and whine against them. A smile graced his lips at the contact and he tightened his grip on your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. You peppered each gill with kitten licks, then soft kisses despite how rough he was fucking you.

Your arms moved around his back, practically hugging him. Shaky hands found his fin again and tightly gripped onto it. He buried his face in your hair, evading his senses with the floral scent of your hair, and groaned out little praises in your ear. You bit at his shoulder, subsiding your moans into his skin. You knew you weren’t exactly behaving, leaving little marks on his shoulder, but you also knew Jungkook was too engrossed with how your cunt gripped on his cock to care too much.

All rough kisses and bites on his shoulder came to a crashing halt, however, when he hit that spot deep within you. “Jungkook!” You shreeched, throwing your head back. He hit it again and again. Each time he hit it harder and rougher, coaxing you closer and closer to your release.

You rested your forehead against his again, wanting to stare into his eyes when you came all over his cock this time. “There, there,” you encouraged, moving your hips up to meet his. The entire room returned the quick slaps of skin on skin in faint echoes, reminding you just how filthy this was.

“Your close, aren’t you, little pet?” Jungkook asked as your cunt tightened around him. “Wanna cum, babygirl?”

You nodded your head eagerly, toes curling as that knot in your lower abdomen twisted in ways you weren’t completely familiar with.

“Beg.”

“W-what?”

He chuckled and smacked your ass. You gasped, gawking at him in disbelief. “Beg.” he ordered. “I won’t repeat myself again.”

You squealed in frustration. “P-please Jungkook,” you started. “Your cock is so big… just wanna cum all over it. I- ah, I need to cum. Please, just please let me cum, kookie. Please!”

“Cream on this cock, babygirl,” he growled in approval.

You unraveled all you had to give him, cumming on his cock as he continued to ram into you in an unforgiving pace. You held his gaze all the while, shrieking moans and trembling whines escaping you. Your eyes slightly rolled back, mouth hung open as you tried your best to maintain eye contact.

“Ah, fuck! You- you’re so fucking sexy when you cum, baby.” He gasped, thrusts getting sloppier.

Though you were being overstimulated once again and felt the blissful burning of your after-high start to creep up on you, you still talked Jungkook into his orgasm. “Please fill me up, kookie,” you started, but never really got to finish as that was all it took for him to release ropes of white within you.

You ground your hips into his as he buried himself deep in you. His brows knitted together, eyes just as needy as yours, cumming deep inside you. You knew he was cumming a lot just from how full you felt, but his cock was so huge, fitting your cunt just right, that it plugged all his cum in you, no remove for leaks.

You circled your hips into his as he gasped for air, panting his hot breath over your face. “You’re so handsome when you cum,” you whispered, filter completely gone by now.

Jungkook huffed a little smirk. He nudged his nose against yours before placing a gentle kiss against your lips. It was all over, the heat of the moment, the need for a release. Still, you kissed him back like it was a normal pastime. His tongue played with yours and you let him. It was like you two already had a routine of rough sex and intimate aftercare. And, shockingly enough, you didn’t find that off-putting at all. In fact, you realized you could actually get used to this, used to him like this.

He pulled away, gasping once again. You joined him this time, slowly untangling yourself from him. You hadn’t even felt him soften inside you, practically just as big as when he was hard. You both gazed down at his cock, watching as he pulled it out to find it coated in a mixture of your cum, completely creamed. The cum plugged within your cunt came pouring out in thick glopes all over your graded paper.

“Shit,” you whispered, watching your paper being ruined. “Now, that’s never going to the professor,” you huffed, looking up at him again.

He bit his lip and scratched the back of his neck. “About that,” he began. “That’s actually not your real grade.”

A mixture of confusion and rage clouded your once sex-blown gaze. “What?”

“I may have given you another copy of your paper with a crappy grade just to get under your skin,” he confessed. He rested his hands on your thighs, rubbing them gently as if trying to calm you down.

It worked.

You raised a brow up at him. “Were you trying to get me naked?”

Jungkook blushed, softly chuckling. “That was just as wonderful a surprise to me as it was to you.”

You held his gaze for a moment, finding comfort in the silence and his cute smile. “It was wonderful,” you muttered.

“No one has touched my fin or gills like that,” he suddenly said, a blush tinting the tips of his ears.

“Like this?” You asked as you leaned in to stroke his fin and kiss his gills once more.

His hands found their place on your bruised hips and he hummed, “mhm,” before peppering your neck with sloppy kisses again. “Now get that pretty ass of yours off my desk.” He lifted you up only for you to wrap your legs around his waist. He laughed at your childish antics, holding you up by a newfound grip on your ass. “Come on, (Y/N),” he chuckled.

You pulled back only a bit with a pouty smile playing on your lips. “Make me,” you whined.

Jungkook smirked. “As you wish, little pet.”

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years

Text

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 1

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

Chapter 1

1993

Professor Liam Beyer was born a decade after the deaths of the last soldiers to fight in the US Civil War. Thus, he was not expecting to meet a Union Army veteran in his 4 o’clock symposium on the Battle of Antietam.

Liam noticed the man as soon as he walked in, and not just because it was odd for a member of the public to show up for a faculty lecture at the university. No, the man caught Liam’s attention because he was distractingly handsome. Literally, Liam was distracted enough to drop his pen onto the overhead projector, causing a giant shadow to loom over the map of Maryland on the screen behind him, as if a third army had materialized there in a dense offensive line.

The man was of average height, with a slender build. He had dark hair in a short, modern cut and wore a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with a faded label. He looked like he might be thirty, which was about the age Liam was, and so Liam did not immediately assume that the man had seen action in the Civil War. But there was something faintly strange about him, just in the way that he walked, light on his feet like a dancer, but stepping firmly, without a dancer’s well-practiced grace.

“General Lee,” Liam continued, in a slightly strangled voice, “of the Confederate Army, was, of course, outnumbered, but the battle was Union General McClellan’s to lose. Had he understood how superior his force was, had he taken more risks, he might have been able to deal a decisive blow to Lee’s army as it retreated. In fact, McClellan’s performance at Antietam was part of the reason that President Lincoln later removed him from duty.”

Liam put up a transparency of a white church with peeling paint, standing alone on a grassy rise. “On September 17, 1862, 7,650 soldiers died at Antietam, making it the bloodiest day for Americans in history. Two days later, a man named Alexander Gardner took some of the first widely-seen battlefield photographs of dead soldiers. Some were awaiting burial, and some were still lying where they fell. It was very difficult at the time to take photographs of battles themselves, as the technology involved careful treatment of glass negatives, and that was nearly impossible under battlefield conditions. But the dead do not move, and these photographs were so clear that when displayed in New York, family members recognized their fallen sons.”

Liam put up a transparency of one of Gardner’s photographs, young men lying on the ground in an oddly perfect line. The unknown man looked away.

oOo

Liam had grading to do after his symposium, but he walked to the campus union to grab a sandwich first. He was definitely not expecting Handsome Unknown Lecture Man to appear out of the crowd and drop into the seat opposite him. Liam was very proud that he did not choke on his bite of ham and swiss.

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the man. “I enjoyed your lecture. My name is Kurt.”

Liam put his hand out to shake. Kurt’s touch was faintly cold. “Liam,” he said.

Kurt cocked his head slightly to the side, as if assessing him. “I know. Liam Beyer, 27, assistant professor of history, specializing in battles. Is Antietam your favorite?”

“Um— one of them. I did my dissertation on it. On McClellan, specifically.” Liam felt slightly odd about the fact that this stranger knew who he was, but of course, it was all publicly accessible information. “Are you a Civil War buff?”

“Somewhat.” Kurt leaned back in his chair. “Antietam, god. I remember Bloody Lane— that’s what they called it after. The road was sunken in because so many wagons had gone by over the years. It was like trying to fight your way out of your own grave trench.” Kurt spoke with a faint accent that Liam could not place, something that seemed to shift from one place to another.

“You talk like you were there,” Liam said, smiling. “Are you a reenactor?”

Kurt gave a sharp laugh. “No. You?”

“I’ve been a technical advisor. It’s nice to meet other people who share my strange obsession.”

“Those pictures you showed,” Kurt said. “Photography is such a bewitching art. Those boys are long gone, but remain ever present in death.”

“You know, the war helped make Spiritualism popular,” Liam said. “It was so hard on the families back home to lose contact with their soldiers, not knowing what happened to them, or when, or where. They couldn’t bear it, and turned to mediums.”

Kurt smiled, and it made his bright green eyes sparkle with amusement. “Have you ever been to a seance?” he asked. Liam shook his head. “Most I’ve been to were quite boring,” Kurt said. “But every once in awhile—”

“That sounds like a good story.”

“I’ll tell you sometime.” Liam’s brain was already far too occupied with how attractive he found this poor man, and that was probably why the sentence sounded more like a salacious promise than it really was.

“So what do you do?” Liam asked faintly, crumpling his empty sandwich wrapper. “Are you a student?”

“Not at the moment. Just a fan of history. Of battles, actually.” Kurt leaned forward a little. “Liam, would you mind if I came to your office tomorrow to talk more? I have some questions and I think you might be the one to help me answer them.”

“I— of course.” Liam told himself that he agreed solely because he liked to talk about history with people, and that it didn’t matter whether or not said people were ridiculously attractive.

Kurt smiled at him again. “Until tomorrow then.”

On his way out of the dining hall, Liam was stopped by a student with a question about an assignment on Gettysburg. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner,” she said.

“Oh, it would have been fine,” Liam told her. “We were talking about the Civil War ourselves.”

The student gave him a confused look. “Dr. Beyer— weren’t you eating alone?”

oOo

In the end, Liam decided that as he’d never dreamed up a handsome man in quite so much detail before, that the student had been mistaken and simply had not noticed Kurt’s presence at Liam’s table.

And yet. There really was something very strange about the man. Liam couldn’t quite pin it down, just that there was a disconnect between what Liam was seeing and what he was feeling about him. For example, Kurt appeared to be thirty, but Liam would swear he was older. Kurt had looked perfectly natural at dinner, but it had also seemed like he didn’t quite fit in with his surroundings. Like if you’d taken a photograph of him at the table, he would have been slightly too bright, out of focus, or without a shadow.

Kurt’s knock on Liam’s office door finally came around eleven, and Liam was, he realized, far too happy to see him again. At first, nothing about the visit seemed terribly odd. They discussed Antietam again, then traveled forward to the Somme, and then much farther back, Megiddo and Kadesh. Kurt seemed to know less about those battles, Liam noted, but he was quite familiar with things taking place after Thermopylae in the 5th century BC.

It was easy to talk to Kurt, especially about interests they had in common, and as the conversation went on, Kurt seemed to relax a bit, which made Liam do the same. The day before, Liam had thought Kurt moved without grace, but that wasn’t exactly right. Kurt had a different kind of grace, a fluidity of small movements instead of large ones, an artistry shown in the fluttering of fingers while the rest of the man kept entirely still. The emphasis on such small motions seemed to draw Liam in, narrowing his focus away from his surroundings and onto his visitor. But at the same time, Kurt had such an air of other about him, that it was almost like Liam was looking at him through beveled glass, never quite getting the whole image at once.

However, Liam’s sense of ease around Kurt vanished entirely when another student knocked on Liam’s door with a question about an assignment. That in itself was perfectly normal, but during the whole time that the student was in Liam’s office, she didn’t speak to Kurt or apologize for interrupting their conversation. She didn’t give a single look to the chair that Kurt occupied beside Liam’s desk.

When the student had left, Liam leaned back in his chair, trying to fake the calmness that he no longer felt. “All right,” he said, watching his visitor carefully. “You want to tell me why I’m the only person who can see you?”

********

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

#Dannye writes #original fiction #serial fiction #tollense #vampires #romance

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years

Text

Men who I think would be soft for their baby for no other reasons than because I want them to be, in no particular order but still numbered ten to one because I like countdowns...

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Part two —> part one here

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This one’s for you @activist-af, no Finn and Kol erasure here Lottie

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10. Raleigh Becket

A really good man who is a little too impulsive at times and has pretty much no sense of self preservation and always seems to get himself into worsening situations

Is so fucking soft for his baby that it’s insanity

His baby is in no way the same kind of super soldier he is, she’s literally the softest baby in the world, and he’s just so careful with her

Like he follows her around the compound and just makes sure she’s okay

Eats every meal with her, shares a room with her, literally does pretty much everything with her just in awe

So many cuddles before and after a mission, lots of reassurance, kisses her entire face everywhere at least twice and has to get practically dragged away

Endures so much teasing from his partner

I don’t care if his character is suited for a dominant female you can’t change my mind on this one this man is soft as fuck

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9. Ambrose Spellman

A reformed radical warlock who has been locked in one house for a hundred years and is itching to go on a self-destructive bender after cleaning up his family’s messes for years

In absolutely no position to be in a committed relationship but I don’t give a single fuck

He would follow his baby around like a damn puppy when finally free of the Spellman residence

Oh she wants to go to witch school? He’s tagging along

She wants to go travel? Lead the way

The park, carnival, movie theatre, cafe, literally endless places he would follow her

Would read to her as she falls asleep and tell her all his little bits of knowledge on things that he collected during his time stuck in the house

A soft man that is final

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8. Richard O’Connell

Cannot survive a normal, mundane life because it’s “too boring” for a man like him and would risk it all for a mummy invasion even if it means that he dies in the process

But by god he is so fucking soft I just know it

Keeps her safe at all costs even when she pouts at him and makes him take her with him when he travels

Refuses to leave her side when they go abroad because his track record with ancient curses is not great and there’s no way he’s letting some gross ass mummy hurt her

*dramatic gasp* HE ACTUALLY REFUSES SOME DANGEROUS MISSIONS FOR HER???

Does the thing where he leans into her hand when she touches his face and like kisses her palm

Definitely sleeps curled around his baby and wakes up at the slightest noise ready to hurt any intruders

I would literally do anything for this level of soft

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7. Finn Mikaelson

A one thousand year+ original vampire who has absolutely zero sense of self preservation and actively seeks death because of how much he hates himself and would gladly bring his family down with him because mommy said so

Doesn’t quite fit the full dominant image but I don’t care he fits the soft part 1000%

Would bring her with him when he goes to see his family and is always wrapped around her the whole time

Endures all the teasing that would come with that for her because she’s?? Just?? So?? Cute and perfect???

Literally a thousand years old and would still absolutely crumple for his baby in SECONDS

If she cried it would literally be game over

There would be two people crying

He would be crying MORE than her

Epic date night planner, meticulously detailed, would pay so much attention to the things she likes and picks up on even the smallest clues

God he’s so soft I want one

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6. Clint Barton

Largely pushed aside Avenger who has been evil in the past and appears at times to miss the evil a little too much

This one doesn’t even need an explanation, I’m literally right and this one has proved himself countless times

This man is the love of my life so yes: I am biased

Badass, sarcastic, cold archer Avenger by day; soft, caring, gentle man by night

Goes home, soaked with blood and sweat, and pulls his baby into the shower and just sags into her arms

Lives for her fingers in his hair after a long day

And bubble baths with her

Has gotten in trouble countless times for skipping important meetings but does not give a single fuck about it

Teaches her archery and doesn’t yell once (which is a feat pointing to his softness because once he tried to teach Nat and they yelled at each other the entire time)

HE IS SOFT, CASE CLOSED

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5. Bellamy Blake

Incited a radical uprising in a highly dangerous and sensitive situation for really no reason at all other than the fact that he wanted to be the de facto leader of something

As per usual, I don’t care about canon characteristics this is my world I can do whatever I want

Every bone in this man’s body is a protective one

Yes, every single one (No, I’m not sorry about this)

Does not take shit from anyone about her, has definitely shut an entire group of people up for talking about her badly

Gets so nervous when she does anything even remotely dangerous and when she does he’s stuck to her side like glue

He’s so touchy and talks so quietly to her, not because he doesn’t want anyone to hear him call her his baby but because he just literally can’t bring himself to raise his voice he’s that soft for her

Does everything in his power to make sure she’s comfortable which is by no means easy in the slightest

So many forehead kisses that it’s almost barf worthy but he doesn’t care because she loves it and that’s all that matters

The radical leader is a fucking puddle of softness for his baby and that’s final

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4. Loki

A trickster god who always teeters precariously on the edge of good and evil and no one ever knows which side he’ll favour at any given moment

Except when it comes to his baby then he’s good duh

Tiptoes around her because he would definitely be the type to go for a baby who jumps easily and he’s loud and kind of clunky so he’s always just slow and gentle

So much gentle teasing and giggling like oh god it’s tooth rotting sweetness

He takes her hands and just puts them on him, like his chest and cheeks and jaw and arms

Anywhere he just wants her touching him all the time

He rests his chin on her shoulder or head and reads whatever she’s reading or watches her go about her hobbies, kissing her cheek in between

This girl would never work a day in her life she would be ridiculously well taken care of

Would burn down a city for her with little provoking

As soft as butter for his baby

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3. Kai Parker

Bringing back the “needs a therapist, not a girl” but sprinkle in a touch of volatile daddy issues that has created a man so hyper reactive to every negative situation whose only solution is to lash out because he figures no one loves him anyway

But sweep all that aside because fuck it, I don’t like it

He would worship his baby 110%

Is the type of man to let her do his nails and put as many face masks as she wants on him

Can’t sleep without her literally on top of him

He so clingy and touchy, loves when she grabs his hand, internally screams whenever it happens

Has for sure killed for her that isn’t even a question it’s just a fact

“He didn’t do anything” “he looked at you” “but Kai” “but baby”

Would do it again

I DON’T CARE: HE’S SOFT FOR HIS BABY

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2. Jasper Hale

A literal once upon a time confederate soldier who made child soldiers for his dom-vamp girlfriend because he was “in love”

This man has ripped so many heads off so many bodies but I don’t give a single fuck I know he goes home to his baby and just picks her up and does not put her down

Face it, his family is rich, he doesn’t have to do anything, naps are definitely a big part of his routine and he’s always just snoozing with her on the couch, pulling her onto his lap and pulling a blanket off the back and they’re just asleep

Goes out for dinner with her, makes it through maybe twenty minutes, the entire time he’s waiting for it and then boom, the puppy eyes, game over, they’re home in minutes

Has skipped so many family functions

Will make any excuse to just go the fuck home

Sometimes he doesn’t even make an excuse he just fucking leaves

He’s touchy too I just know it look at that face the man lives for contact

The verdict is in-- 100/10 SOFT

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1. Kol Mikaelson

Perhaps the angriest, most volatile, I-hate-the-world-and-everyone-in-it, thousand year old+ original vampire who has been stomped on so much and died so many times that he has no true sense of the world, trust, and love left

Oh GOD this man, this FUCKING MAN

THE SOFTEST MAN HOLY SHIT

I don’t even care what y’all think about this one Kol is so damn soft

This man is the inventor of cuddling

And he doesn’t give one single fuck about where and when I just know it

Family dinner? The witch market? CHURCH??

It doesn’t matter, he’s pressed against her

Oh god this man is protective

Maybe a little possessive too

I don’t care

His family calls him unpredictable so hey he may as well live up to it and burn down a bar or two or twenty for his baby

Shows her all of his witch things and rambles about them all

Is always pulling one of his shirts or hoodies over her head

AGAIN BUBBLE BATHS I JUST KNOW IT

He likes washing her back and just getting to be alone with her

He likes it even more when she washes his hair like he just sinks to his knees and closes his eyes and gives into it

GOD MY HEART IS BEATING SO FAST FOR HOW SOFT KOL IS

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#Kol mikaelson #loki #kai parker #bellamy blake #jasper hale #ambrose spellman #finn mikaelson #clint barton #hawkeye #raleigh becket #rick o'connell #the originals #the vampire diaries #the avengers #twilight #pacific rim #the mummy #the 100 #the chilling adventures of sabrina

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jamiemackenziefraser · 4 years

Text

All That Was Fair

Chapter 15: The Woman of Balnain

Summary: Jamie finally sits down with a certain book.

Read on AO3

Read chp 15 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, masterlist, next

They spent the afternoon in lazy bliss. Together, they’d gone into the kitchen where Jamie had shown her how to whip up a burrito. Although most of it clearly went over her head, she had such a good time that she asked to make something else directly after he finished eating.

After a brief explanation on how humans get full after eating, he gave in and offered to show her how to make cookies.

Jamie felt distantly like his life had turned into a romcom as they baked cookies together. When Claire bumped him teasingly on the side, he grabbed a handful of flour and chucked it straight at Claire. Her mouth fell open in mock dismay before an impish gleam shone in her eye. Jamie learned that afternoon the true reason the word “impish” had originated to describe the fair folk.

Claire was mischievous and exuberant in her retaliations. Handful after handful of baking supplies had been lobbed in his direction, shoved down his clothing, mussed into his hair, and even discreetly snuck into his pockets when he was later occupied with sticking the baking sheets of cookies in the oven. Long after their initial food fight had ended, Claire continued their little game.

Later that afternoon while they sat together on the couch (the faerie’s legs draped over his, Jamie’s hands shoved under his own legs in order to keep from caressing her soft skin that was right there), Claire had produced a handful of oats from nowhere and shoved them down his collar. He’d flung her legs off, grabbed her waist, and threw her over his shoulder without a second thought as she squealed and thrashed. Stalking to the kitchen like a caveman with his prize draped over him, he unceremoniously plopped her down and then dumped an entire bowl of excess flour over her head.

“I give up,” she screeched, smacking blindly at his chest with her flour-caked face still screwed up, puffs of powder exploding from her lips.

“Promise? No more surprise attacks when I let down my guard?” he asked guardedly, trying to keep his grin out of his voice.

“You have my word,” she promised. She gave him a grave, floury nod.

Feeling quite magnanimous now that he’d won, Jamie grabbed a dishtowel, wet it, and then approached Claire.

He cupped the back of her head, feeling her curls tangling between his fingers, and gently wiped the flour from her face. Once her eyelids had been cleaned, she opened them and stared up at him with a soft look. His bones felt like they had been turned to water to be receiving such a look, and he struggled to focus on the task at hand as he tenderly dabbed at the spots of flour still left on her face. She stayed quiet, just looking at him and allowing him to clean up the mess he’d made.

How he loved her.

When the moment finally broke, their gazes tearing apart, Jamie inspected her hair.

“No way I’m gettin’ this out of these curls. Do ye want a shower, a nighean?”

“I would never say no to a shower,” she beamed.

So, he’d graciously turned it on for her and then explained that he was going to get some work done. Leaving her to it knowing full well that she’d be in there for a long time, he headed for his office.

But it wasn’t work he had in mind.

There was another matter tickling at his brain. One he’d been itching at for far too long. He’d barely had time to breathe, let alone sit down and address it, until just this minute.

He needed to read the book that the eccentric bookstore owner had shoved into his hands.

Unsure how to explain the strange interaction to Claire and disinclined to possibly worry her over nothing, Jamie still hadn’t mentioned anything about it. He’d been waiting to read it until he had a moment alone.

Settling into his office chair, Jamie stared down at the cover of the mysterious book. He was motionless for a few seconds, feeling a strange uneasiness.

The title was The Woman of Balnain. It was short, perhaps a novella, and the description on the back said that it was about a time-traveling lass. Why would the mysterious Geillis give this to him?

He was just about to start into reading, but as he opened the book, several sheets of paper suddenly fluttered out and onto his lap. Warily, he picked them up, turning them over to see what appeared to be hastily scrawled notes.

The words at the top made him draw a sharp breath.

“The Standing Stones of Craigh na Dun.”

The following notes seemed like a jumble to Jamie, the words swimming together in his mind in his haste to take them all in. He began to read so fast that several times he had to pause and reread. Geillis— at least he assumed that she was the author of these notes— wrote about planes of reality, magnetic fields, magical properties of the standing stones...

And below that was another section that was entitled “traveling.”

Gemstones. One could travel from this plane to another— through the stones— by use of gemstones. According to this, only some people (or fae, he supposed) could travel. But those who could had discovered that gemstones ensured their safety.

His hand was shaking so hard that he dropped the papers entirely. He brought his trembling hands up to bury his face into them. The gravity of the situation sat heavy on his shoulders as the realization descended.

If this was true, he’d just been handed the way to get Claire back home.

What followed was perhaps an hour of frantic, mind-bending sorting of thoughts. He read and re-read over and over, trying to ensure that he truly had understood the implications of the document. But no matter how many times he reviewed the words on the page, the meaning was clear: If Claire had a gemstone, she could safely use the stones to return to her plane. To her people and her life. Away from him.

But then he spiraled into doubt. How did he know he could trust this mysterious Geillis and her instructions? But as much as he wanted to deny it— to dismiss the entry as garbage and all thoughts of Claire leaving along with it— he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his wame that this was the truth any more than he could refute the fact that Claire deserved a shot at returning home. Besides, something about Geillis had seemed odd… mystical perhaps. Not in the same way Claire did, but he certainly believed that whoever (or whatever) the bookkeeper was, she knew a hell of a lot more about this stuff than he did. And she’d known about Claire. So in the end, while he wasn’t certain that she was a friend per se, he thought it likely she was at least an ally— and he believed what was written on the page was the truth.

Once Jamie had addressed comprehension and credibility, he moved on to his sorrow.

Grief over the thought of losing Claire.

He was no longer lying to himself about the extent of his feelings. He was in love with her, plain and simple. Infatuated, enamored— all those things— but it went deeper than that. She’d walked her way straight into his heart and burrowed in there as sure as she did when she nestled against him in his bed. And now that she’d filled that empty space in his life, he couldn’t even imagine going back to the hollow loneliness of existence without her.

Every part of him longed not to tell her. He could crumple up the page and throw it away, or better yet, he could burn it up without a trace, and she’d be none the wiser.

But his mind swirled with images, memories eating at him that he couldn’t quite ignore. Claire crying against him only a few days ago, weeping for all she’s lost. Her trepidation as she’d faced the terrifying unknown of the city. The sheen of tears in her eyes that she’d fought back as she admitted Jenny had made her scared…

As he thought about all she’d been through since being ripped from her home, he knew that taking away the chance to return would be unfair. He wanted to be selfish— God, help him, he burned with it…

But he loved her enough to let her go.

A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye— scalding as it dripped down his cheek. He sat motionless in his office chair, his hand squeezing his opposite arm so tightly that the nails made deep red indents in his flesh, but he knew what he had to do.

He’d tell her.

Decision made, Jamie stood from his desk. His feet felt like they were encased with lead, and he was light-headed, as if all that thinking and agonizing had sucked his brain out with a straw. As horrible as he felt, he was resolved, and he made his way sluggishly downstairs.

The scene in the living room nearly shattered that decision.

Claire was asleep on his couch, all curled up and shoulders hunched under the fuzzy throw blanket she had clutched around her. Her bonny pink lips were parted just slightly and tiny whooshes of air tickled a single curl that had fallen over her face.

He ached to see her like this for the rest of his life.

Just as he was about to turn on his heel and leave her to her rest (this was not the time for such a heavy revelation), she stirred. His stubborn feet anchored him in place as he watched her shift, head lifting a bit, and her eyes blinked open.

“Hi, Jamie,” she breathed sleepily.

While giving him a fond but drowsy smile, her head nestled back down onto the throw pillow. She looked up at him with eyes that always reminded him of a fawn’s.

“Havin’ a wee rest?” He asked tenderly.

“Yes,” she breathed. She glanced him up and down appraisingly and then said, “maybe you should too. You seem tired.”

Jamie was tired. He felt like he’d been put through a meat grinder several times over. Still, he knew there was no way he’d actually sleep even if he could tear his eyes away from her long enough to close them.

But if Claire wanted a nap, and was hinting for him to join him, who was he to deny her?

He indulged his selfish desires for a moment and approached the couch so he could bend down and run a hand over Claire’s hair.

She smiled drowsily and leaned into his touch. Her eyes blinked slowly as she gazed up at him.

God, she was beautiful.

“Let’s go upstairs, mo nighean donn,” he suggested quietly.

His sleepy faerie did not seem inclined to get up. Her eyes had fallen closed again, but her hand blindly reached out for him. She caught his cheek, her fingers tracing over the stubble on his jaw.

Then, suddenly, her eyes popped open.

“Are you alright, Jamie?” she asked, her whisky gaze swimming with concern.

Her abruptness startled him, but he quickly snapped himself out of it and put on his brave face.

“I’m fine, Sassenach. Do ye want to stay on the couch or go up to bed?” he softly asked.

Her brows furrowed, disbelieving, but she firmly answered, “with you.”

He felt bad that he’d upset her but couldn’t seem to drag himself out of the cloud of depression that had wrapped around him the moment he’d decided to take her home.

But he’d have this one last time with her, and he wouldn’t ruin it with dark thoughts.

“Alright. Let’s go, mo nighean donn.”

She sat up, eyes fixed on him all the while, and then took his hand. The way she was looking at him, soft and searching, made his heart skip a few beats. He hardened himself to the overwhelming desire to pour out his heart to her, lay all the cards on the table, and beg her to stay. But he knew in his bones that this wasn’t the time.

Her thumb was tracing lightly over his knuckles, patient as he struggled inside himself.

A part of him wanted to bury his face in her neck and let her stroke his hair— she would do it, he knew. All it would take was him to make the motion, take the comfort from her.

But that wouldn’t be fair. If she saw his distress, she would feel guilty about leaving him. He loved her too much to put that burden on her.

His puir heart was breaking, but he managed to wrap it up in a thin layer of composure, scoop up his scrambled thoughts, and put himself back together. He gave her a brave smile, feigning nonchalance.

Breaking the silence, he said, “let’s go, mo calman geal.”

He took her upstairs by the hand. She was still sleepy, but not inclined to let that stop her from caring for him— even if she had no idea what was going on. He could feel her hovering anxiously by his side, trying to figure out what was wrong.

As they sat down on the bed, Claire tried to tug him down to cuddle with her, but he shook his head. Settling against the headboard instead, he guided her down to lay her head in his lap.

He wanted to watch her. Just this one last time.

Sleepy as she was, but probably even more so because she wanted to do whatever was best for him, she complied. She snuggled down into his lap and settled herself so she was comfortable.

As he carded his fingers through her hair in gentle strokes, Claire began to relax. It wasn’t long before she drifted back into sleep. The lines on her face smoothed, and she seemed to melt into him impossibly further.

His hands still moving soothingly against her, Jamie returned to his thoughts. A terrible weight rested on his shoulders as he came to a realization.

He wouldn’t be strong enough to tell her here— in his home that had become their home (at least he felt that it was theirs)— and still manage to make the drive to the stones. It was selfish to keep this from her, but he simply wouldn’t be able do it. There were limits to his goodness, and he prayed God would forgive him for this one.

So, with his mind made up, a plan began to form.

He would tell her tomorrow that they were going for a hike. They’d drive out to the stones, and he would explain once they got there. His Grandfather’s ruby ring laid on his dresser— that would be what he’d give her to ensure safe passage. And then… then, she’d go home.

And that was that.

This was his last night with her.

He looked down and studied her face for a long time, trying to memorize every tiny detail. He knew it would be the remembrance of her that would warm him on the cold, lonely days that would surely follow. He traced her face reverently, first with his eyes, and then as his selfish, breaking heart took over, with soft touches of his fingertips.

All that was left was to pray that tomorrow he would have the strength to send her away.

***

A/n: I believe now is the time for me to hide 😳

#oh boy #all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #claire/jamie #fae claire

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silvermoonflowers · 3 years

Text

Swan Act II

Bucky x reader

Summary: A return to the lake gives Y/N a surprise.

Inspired by Swan Lake

Warnings: angst

Act I

Darkness greeted Y/N when she woke up. That was enough to tell her that it was still nighttime.

For a while, she sat there in bed, tossing and turning once in a while. Despite the warmth and comfort of the pillows and sheets, it did nothing to soothe her uneasiness. She hadn’t even noticed that she was crying until she felt a wetness on her cheeks. With a shaky breath, Y/N wiped the tears away before closing her eyes. Her hand clamped down on the sheets as she tried to remember the eerie dream that she had just seen.

In her dream, she remembered approaching the giant weeping willow tree only for a man to suddenly appear from behind it. A man so handsome that Y/N thought he stepped right out of a fairytale. Just the sight of his vivid blue eyes and strong build made her face heat up. It was almost surreal though; Y/N just saw the man in her dream and already she was crushing on him big time. She shook her head in embarrassment.

But despite the princely young man making her feel warm on the inside, Y/N remembered something that caught her eyes the most; his sorrowful expression and his missing arm. Whatever happened to him made her heart break for him. She wanted to rush over and comfort him as much as she could. And yet, she couldn’t. For all she ever saw him was in a dream. So he couldn’t possibly be real...could he?

Her eyebrows furrowed as the image of the white swan that she saw yesterday suddenly flashed into her mind.

There was something peculiar about that swan. It wasn’t just the crumpled left wing that she noticed, it was the way the swan acted too. When Y/N first saw the swan, she panicked a little, because she remembered her father warning her that swans can attack people if angered. However, the swan acted gentle, even seeking the comfort of her.

With a huff, Y/N shoved the blankets aside and sat up. The chilled atmosphere of the room settled onto her skin, but she ignored it as she stared into the darkness.

Y/N wasn’t sure, but she had the feeling that the man from her dream and the swan had a connection to each other. But the only way to make sure was to return back to the lake. And she was very reluctant to go out in the middle of the night. Even though Siegfried had told her before that the area they were in was very safe, Y/N still had shivers whenever she peeked out of her window during the nighttime.

A frown etched on Y/N’s lips. Okay, what she thought about it really did sound surreal. But the image of the man calling out to her for help haunted her. She had to check out the lake.

Using what little moonlight that peeked through the heavy curtains, Y/N put on her slippers and got up to make her way around the dark room. Once in a while, her slipper-covered feet would touch an object and she had to stop herself from accidentally knocking it over. She certainly didn’t want to wake anyone in the mansion up. When she finally reached the wall on the other side of the room, her hand felt the soft cloth of her sweater that hung from a coat rack. Snatching it, she put it on before quickly approaching the bedroom door. Her hand hovered over the doorknob as she took a deep breath.

She definitely needed answers.

As soon as Y/N turned the doorknob, the door swung silently open, much to her relief. She then made her way down the long, dark hallway. She was thankful that her room was on the first floor and not on the second floor. It would be a pain to carry her luggage up all those stairs. But despite trying her best not to make any noise, Y/N would occasionally step on a really old floorboard, causing it to creak. And every time that happened, Y/N would stay still to see if the noise awoke anyone. Though so far, nobody seemed to stir from the sound.

After what seemed like forever, Y/N finally reached the kitchen that also led to the backdoor. Her sandals were still where she originally left them after the events from yesterday. She slipped into them before looking back at the darkened hallway that she came out of. Gathering her confidence, Y/N opened the door and went out.

It was a little bit more chilly when she stepped outside. She shuddered as she quietly closed the door behind her. The only thing that gave her comfort was the moon. That and she reassured herself that the journey to the lake was rather short. Or was it? The more Y/N walked onto the forested path, the longer the journey felt.

However her uneasiness faded away when the giant weeping willow came into view. But she wasn’t sure enough what she was expecting, so she slowed down.

“Why don’t you leave me?”

Y/N froze in mid step at the sound of a male’s deep voice that resonated in the air. She would’ve stayed like that if not for the sudden obnoxious laugh that followed after. It was so sudden, that Y/N quickly scrambled to the weeping willow tree and hid behind it. Her mind was blank, except for one thought; she wasn’t alone. There were two other people at the lake and she was sure one of them was the man that she saw in her dream.

“Shut up!” The man snarled. “Haven’t you caused enough damage already?! Leave me the hell alone!”

“Really James,” the woman replied in an eerie voice, causing shivers to run down Y/N’s spine. “Don’t speak to your stepmother like that. I simply came to check up on you.”

Hoping that neither one of them saw her, Y/N poked her head out a little. Her breath hitched in her throat as she saw a familiar figure standing a few feet away from the weeping willow.

The man from her dream.

Under the moonlight, Y/N could see he looked exactly the same from the dream, with his long dark hair, sharp cheekbones, strong build, and elegant clothes. Her eyes followed to his left side and she swallowed when she saw the left sleeve of his dress shirt hanging limp, indicating his missing arm. What could’ve happened to him?

She flinched when an eerie figure dressed in a cloak suddenly appeared in front of James. How did she appear just like that? The figure came even closer to the man, as if trying to intimidate him. But he didn’t seem fazed by it. He just continued to stand there, glaring hatefully at the figure.

“...Well James, since you’re going to be like that, I’m just going to leave this basket of food for you. But I expect you to return to my house when morning arrives.”

The man rolled his eyes in reply as the basket was rudely shoved into his arm while the eerie figure slinked away into the shadows. When she disappeared, he scoffed before abruptly dropping the basket onto the ground.

“I don’t want to eat your food either, you witch. I just want my life back!”

His statement came out quiet, but Y/N could hear the despair in his voice. His shoulders began to shake and Y/N’s heart clenched at the sight of him. She needed to comfort him. Without hesitation, she stepped out from the tree...only to step on a stick, which cracked loudly in the quiet air.

The man became stiff at the sound. Then he slowly turned around. The hatred and despair in his blue eyes faded away when he saw her. For a few minutes, the two stood there, staring at each other in shock.

“I-it’s you…” the man said as he took a step forward. “You’re the girl from yesterday…”

Y/N clasped a hand to her chest as she continued to stare at him. She knew that what she was about to say would sound silly to anyone but him. “And...you’re the...swan, right?”

The man gave her a sad smile as he nodded. Y/N stayed rooted in her spot while the man came up to her. He completely towered over her, but she wasn’t intimidated by him at all. She instead returned the man’s smile and gently touched his stubbled cheek. His arm came up and wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. Her cheeks heated up when she realized the gravity of the situation. Here she was, still in her nightgown and out wandering in the middle of the night due to a strange dream. She had just witnessed what could only be described as a frightening confrontation and now she was in the embrace of a handsome man. That was a lot to take in.

After a while the man pulled away slightly to look at her and said in a soft voice, “I’m sorry...I’m just…”

Y/N quickly shook her head. “No, it’s okay...it...felt nice.”

Her face flared up even more when she realized what she had just said. But the man didn’t seem to notice as he gazed at her sorrowfully.

“...I suppose you have some questions for me...right?”

Y/N didn’t reply at first. Although she was curious, there were some things that were too painful to talk about. And this man seemed to have suffered enough. But when she looked up, she could see something hopeful in his eyes, as if he wanted her to hear his story. When she gave a reluctant nod, he squeezed her shoulder gently before taking a step back.

“Alright…”

“But wait,” Y/N interrupted. She glanced back at the forested path that led back to Siegfried’s mansion. Then she looked at the lake. The scenery didn’t become quite so scary during the nighttime. But Y/N was still a little fearful, because now there seemed to be a wicked witch hiding somewhere. “...While we talk about this...let's go back to the mansion. Are you cold?”

The man frowned. “I’m fine...and I’m not so sure about that…”

He stopped when both of Y/N’s hands suddenly clasped into his.

“It’s about Benno, isn’t it? I’m really sorry about that. He means well, but he tends to do things recklessly.”

She remembered poor Benno continuing to look at her with regret on their way back to the mansion. Even Siegfried’s usual cheerfulness had washed away when he noticed how moody his cousin had suddenly become. Truth be told, Y/N was still reeling over the fact that the swan had acted very human and she didn’t know what to make of it at that time. She made a promise to herself to speak to both of them when morning arrives.

“Well,” He said as he scratched the back of his head. “The boy did give me quite a scare yesterday so I hid behind the weeping willow.”

“Oh...I thought you actually disappeared. But after seeing all of this and the knowledge of you being a swan, the act of disappearing doesn’t seem impossible as one might think, right?” Y/N scowled at herself. She didn’t mean to joke like that, especially in a situation like this. But after she just witnessed whatever happened at the lake, she couldn’t help but say it anyway.

The man, however, gave her a smile so beautiful that Y/N suddenly felt shy around him. “Ahaha, you’re probably right about that. Very well, I’ll go with you to your cousin’s mansion. I’m James, but most people who are close to me call me Bucky.”

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

“Pleasure to meet you too, Y/N.” He slid his hand into hers and together the two of them disappeared into the forested path.

“Bucky...who was that..?”

“That witch?” Through the bits of moonlight peeking through the trees, Y/N could see Bucky smiling bitterly, causing her to shiver. He looked almost eerie with that expression. “That witch is my stepmother unfortunately. And she’s the reason why I become a swan every morning.

“...But why?”

When they reached the mansion’s courtyard, Bucky stopped so suddenly and turned to Y/N. His hand came up to her shoulder and Y/N couldn’t stop herself from flinching. He then leaned ever so closer to her, his forehead nearly touching Y/N’s.

“Y/N…” His voice became a whisper. “Whatever I say to you, you must keep it yourself. I know you want to help me. But I don’t think you can. My stepmother might hurt you or your family. And I don’t want that to happen.”

“But I - !”

He gently pressed a finger to her lips. “Please listen, alright?”

Y/N blinked before silently nodding. The backdoor came into her line of sight and she motioned to it. But Bucky shook his head and instead pointed at the patio swing that stood next to it. Y/N frowned slightly, but didn’t say anything as she and Bucky sat down on.

“My mother died when I was very young. My father didn’t remarry until I became 17 years old. Then he met a woman at a market. After a while of them meeting each other daily, my father and her decided to marry each other. Little did he know that his “wife” was actually a witch. I was the one who stumbled upon her dark secret.”

Y/N watched as Bucky’s eyes became clouded with anger and despair.

“It was so surreal though, because I didn’t think that magic could exist. And yet...magic does exist. When that witch noticed that I discovered her secret, she got so angry that…”

He closed his eyes as if he was in agony. His shoulders began to shake again and Y/N quickly held his hand. A sob left his throat as he leaned onto Y/N for support. If anyone had awoken at the sound, Y/N no longer cared. All that mattered now was trying her best to comfort this sad, broken man.

“She used her magic on me and cut my left arm off as punishment. I still remember the awful pain...then she transformed me into a swan. That witch told me she never loved my father. That she only married him so she can get his fortune. And that she had originally a plan to get my father’s fortune. But apparently I “ruined” her plan and now she took me far away from where I live. I cannot go back to where I live. For there are hunters there and I could be killed by one of them. I’ve been a swan for a year now.”

Y/N became infuriated. How dare this witch ruin the wonderful lives of a father and his son? If that witch ever returned, Y/N would make sure that she would give her a humiliating defeat. There was no way Y/N was going to let Bucky suffer in silence anymore after all this.

“At the time, I didn’t know if that witch even got my father’s fortune or not. But one day, she told me that she had yet to get the fortune. Apparently father was too steeped into despair to give her the fortune. She wasn’t to let me go however. She was still going to use me in a way that would make father hand her the fortune...everything seemed hopeless...until I met you.”

Y/N was so still angry that she nearly missed what Bucky said.

“Eh..?”

Bucky smiled at her as he reached over and gently brushed aside a strand of her hair. Y/N flushed at the gentle contact and she looked down at her lap rather bashfully.

“One day, I wanted to stay away from the witch as far as possible. So I flew, until I found this lake. But even being at a such a beautiful area brought me no peace. I...needed comfort from someone. Because other than that witch, I was essentially...lonely. “

His fingers slipped under Y/N’s chin and she found herself looking into Bucky’s beautiful eyes again.

“As I swam along in the lake, I saw someone. It was you, wearing a lovely dresses and reading a book underneath the giant weeping willow tree. I couldn’t help myself, so I came to you. And when I laid my head against you, it felt like like all my pain has gone away. You were so warm and inviting, unlike that awful witch.”

Y/N froze when Bucky leaned towards her and buried his face into her hair. He let out a sigh of relief as his hand ran down the length of her arm.

“I want to say this; Y/N, thank you so much for giving me comfort.”

#bucky x fem reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes x female reader #writings

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bxdbxdboy · 3 years

Text

Character Development

BASICS

Full Name: Luz Noceda

Alias: Apprentice

Nicknames: Bad Boy, (Luz Squad) B.Boy, (herself) Soft Boy, (Cottage) Baby Boy, (Eda) Nice Boy, (Sunny) Sweetheart (Bee)

Sex / Gender: Female, Nonbinary (she/her/hers, he/him/his, they/them/theirs ) .

Right or Left: Left

Age: 16.

Height: 5'6″.

Eye Color: dark brown

Hair Color: Dark brown

Distinguishing Marks: She has a raven tattoo over her scar she received trying to stop her villain in her timeline. She’s shaved her left eyebrow in the middle to match her friend’s scar.

Paragraph Of Physical Traits: She’s got a rather strong build which means she has no weak nerd arms and a significant amount of muscle to her arm. Her hair is slicked back like a wave and it’s always been like that it just has always naturally curled and folded over in that direction. When she sleeps it gets wavy or spikey sticking up like a parrot.

FAMILY / RELIGION

Parents / Guardians: Camilla Noceda

Siblings: n/a adopted Brother King.

Marital Status: Not married.

Significant Other(s): Bee (Amity-Bee), Blushy (Amity in her timeline)

Children: N/A.

Other Relatives: Many Many cousins, aunts and uncles and cousins on both sides of the family.

Pets: Bunga, (familiar, honey badger) Saturn, (familiar magical Owl) Calypso. (palisman Sable)

Friends: Cottage, Sunny, Iris, Bee, Lucky, Otter, Puppy, Gus, Willow.

Enemies: Emperor Belos.

Ethnicity: Latina

Religion: None.

Beliefs: N/A

Superstitions: black cats, broken mirrors. KARMA!

Languages: English. Spanish.

Diction / Accent: Spanish

SCHOOL / WORK / HOME

Education: Public School / High scool leverl/ Hexside

Degree(s): Not yet.

Occupation: Local Power washer for her boiling isles, Food delivery, Potion distributor.

Own or Rent: Neither.

Living Space: Eda’s home in the owl house, Her home in the human realm, and Magic Treehouse bedroom.

Work Space: N/A.

Main Mode of Transport: Skateboarding, Walking, running, or flying. Can drive, will learn, will drive without license.

PSYCHOLOGY

Fears: Being replaced / abandoned, her anger issues, her home getting concurred, loosing her friends, venomous snakes, possessed creatures, dark mimics. spiders, The deepest depths of the Ocean, Slender Man, Siren Head.

Secrets: A big softie just doesn’t want many who meet her to realize it.

IQ: Was never formally tested, but she may not be as intellectually gifted as the other Luz’s There’s a big jock mentally mindset to her as a whole.

Eating Habits: Ravenous Appetite, no matter how much she eats she’s always asking for more. She can put some food away if someone has something they’re saving it’s too late she’s already gotten to it.

Food Preferences: She enjoys Hot Wings they are her most favorite food besides Pizza coming around at a close second She likes a lot of junk food candy, cookies, chips of all kinds. On occasion she will eat something green though like some lettuce with taco meat or a green pepper. She’ll eat it all everything under the sun and even be adventurous eating a wide margin of other foods. She almost always has hot sauce on her there isn’t a single kind of meal she doesn’t love covered in the hot stuff.

Sleeping Habits: She sleeps well, for the most part, when she isn’t attempting to be a night owl she falls asleep relatively quick, even rivaling some of the younger Luz’s with how early she can fall asleep. It’s likely she has sleep apnea as she has tendency to snore so very loud and wakes up during the night in cold sweat, when she stops breathing from night terrors. She will oversleep until almost 2:00 in the afternoon if not monitored.

Book Preferences: She’s not a big egg-head book reader like the rest of the squad is the most Bad Boy read in school was “Animal Farm”, and The “Lord of the Flies”, in high school two books that peaked her interest a little bit. She also enjoys listening to Cottage read some horror books it’s the most she’ll really listen rather than use her eyes to read, in fact, one would say she struggles to read efficiently.

Music Preferences: Hip Hop, Rap, Dubstep, 80′s music, The Weekend, Various artists.

Leader or Follower: She likes to be the boss, but will occasionally follow if she doesn’t have to do much.

Planner or Spontaneous: Spontaneous! All of her ideas are never planned out she definitely does not look before she leaps. Her leaps are full of optimism and happy stupidity. The only time she tends to plan is when Bee holds her hand and forces her to take a step back.

Journal: Nope

Hobbies: Dancing, listening to music, training, watching videos / shows, exercising, roasting members of the Luz squad, doing dangerous stunts, skateboarding, basketball, baseball, (more so the batting range) Surfing (Prior), Deep woods exploring, practicing her magic, teaching her familiars, (Saturn and Bunga) Listening to music, Swooning Bee, Video games, Baking Pizza, Breakdancing, Beat Boxing, Collecting Hats, Serenading, Dancing, Snuggling King.

How Do They Relax: By listening to some calming beats privately, counting to 10, or at any point stroked by Bee she curls and becomes softer.

What Excites Them: Competitions, Wild magic, Magical Creatures, Parkour, Plane Crash videos, Unus Annus, Dogs! Kitties, Being in charge, Buffalo sauce, Food!, Flirting,

What Stresses Them: Bossy individuals, Strict Parents, Rude people, Being inside the Emperor Castle, Being the butt of the joke, Tests, Explosives. Needles.

Pet Peeves: Vegan food, Whining, losing games, Being accused of being a perv, mocking, people stealing her hat, Lucky sending her cursed images.

Prejudices: high horse, pretends not to be a trouble maker to stay in good graces, struggling to not be hostile towards her doppelgängers,

Attitudes: Closed off, Laid back, Aggressive, or chill and cool depending on who you are. Bad Boy appears to be the “scary” anger issues Luz that is liable to explode at any moment and when she does her face and ears can get as red as Bee’s. You’re either in good graces with her or your not, she’s not always easy to approach unless you have a good sense of humor than she cracks up with you about stupid jokes.

Obsessions: Her shoes and hats, her favorite music, lids, BEE

Addictions: Does addiction to sugary cereal count? because oh my god-!!

Ambitions: Defeat Belos in her timeline, find a way to get adopted as a sibling by Cottage Core, Have her own identity outside of Cottage and the Luz squad. Become a powerful witch, Make her mom proud.

ASTROLOGY / PHISIOLOGY

Birth Date: November 26, 2005.

Sign: Sagittarius

Traits Associated with Western Sign: loyal, smart, assertive, and compassionate personality

Chinese Zodiac Sign: The rooster

Traits Associated with Chinese Sign: active, amusing, and popular within a crowd. Roosters are talkative, outspoken, frank, open, honest, and loyal individuals. They like to be the center of attention and always appear attractive and beautiful.

Handwriting: It’s okay…; fairly sloppy.

Sexual History: N/A.

General Health: She takes pretty good care of herself as far as hygiene and having a good confident attitude. experiencing some struggles with her adhd, bad posture leaves her with some back pain.

Mental Disabilities: PTSD, ADHD, depression,

Allergies: Seasonal.

OBJECTS KEPT IN

Purse / Bag: Wallet, towel, water bottle, Treehouse keys key chain,

Wallet: Photo ID, Gold, Cash, rings, Brass knuckle,

Fridge: Chalked full of between meal and frozen pizza.

Medicine Cabinet: Bandages, Healing Potions, Icey-hot muscle rub,

Glove Compartment: Parking tickets, Trespassing tickets, concert tickets.

Junk Drawer: fidget spinners, gum, pens, sharpies, stress balls.

Backpack: Hats, Snacks, Mints, hair gel, Extra clothes, socks, pepper spray, hand sanitizer, suntan lotion, hair brush

Desk: Doodles, Paper Airplanes, Crumpled up Paper.

Clothes Pockets: Phone, Hot Sauce packets, hand warmers, stress ball.

OTHER

Halloween Costumes: A zombie, the cementary is hiring.

Talents: break dancing, beat boxing, fighting in close quarters, self defense, making Luz squad question their sanity, making jokes, flipping her hat. being annoying.

Politics: Nah.

Flaws: stand offish, moody, blunt and direct, vain, doesn’t like to be on the losing side indecisive, selfish,

Strengths: Her optimism, strong sense of personal integrity, avoiding the status quo, free spirited, confidence level, good sense of humor.

Drugs / Alcohol: N/A. No who invited?

Passwords: The most random shit.

Prized Possessions: Her hat passed down by her oldest cousin, her unus annus sweatshirt, a small wolf plushy named Akela

Time and Place: Currently, at the Treehouse interviewing new members of the Luz squad. She just got back from a trip and she has jet lag.

Special Places: The treehouse, her original house, The owl house, the forest where she goes to meet Blushy, The cliff by the Grom tree, the beach.

Special Memories: Meeting Eda and King then running into Cottage and Bee, Becoming friends with Cottage Core learning magic from them, Teasing Belos and Hunter with Cottage Core, Dancing with Bee at her Grom, becoming a polyamorous couple with Bee and Cottage. Being accepted into the Luz Squad.

Tagged by: Stole it from @witchesborn

Tagging: You, if you want to do it.

#hcs #the bad boy #;Bad Boy #long post #info dump #about b.boy

10 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

runaways | mafia!void

word count; 12,365

summary; mob-boss Stiles Stilinski owns the neighbourhood, and the city, and he knows it. but, someone new moves in across the street to his building, and flips his world upside down, with her own secrets to hide.

notes; oddly romantic for void, but still definitely a lot darker than normal stiles would be.

warnings; violence, death, injury, gore, drug dealing, torture, murder, reference to abuse, reference to animal abuse.

With a frantic breath, nails digging into his chest as he jumped awake, Stiles tried to focus on where he was. There was clammy sweat covering his palms, fists clenched tightly with marks from his nails on the skin, and his forehead was shining and wet too. He felt uneasy, crawling in his own skin as he adjusted in the uncomfortable chair, blinking himself back to consciousness.

He didn’t feel at all well-rested, or relaxed, but he only seemed more on edge. The flashes of your injury were playing like a loop in his mind, the sounds of your screams, the horrid images of your blood staining the wool in handprints and the pool of it you’d been lying in when he found you. It all felt like slow-motion, reliving the events in his mind.

In his nightmare, though, he’d been slower. Feeling like he was moving through tar as he’d tried to get to you, every second dragging out in a painfully long time that made every second feel like hours, like he’d never reach you in time to save you. As he settled down, his heart rate calmed, no longer threatening to beat so hard that it would burst right from his chest, and he lifted the hand closest to him in both of his own.

Smoothing his thumbs over the back of your skin, he let out a ragged cry. Shuffling the chair loser to your bedside, he gave a weak attempt at comforting himself, pressing your palm over his cheek in a way you had done so many times to him before. Your hand was limp this time, though, and cooler, and he hated that tears were lining his eyes.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t how he acted or behaved, and he hated himself for it. Part of him hated that he’d ever let you in at all. Falling for the woman who had run away, seeking shade in his shadow that would hide you from the world, all the trouble it had caused him, but he didn’t regret even a second of it.

If there was one thing that Stiles was absolutely positive, it was that he loved you with everything he had. You’d stepped into his life, angering him at first as you moved into the building across the street, buying up property he wished to own. Quickly, though, you’d won him over. Every hello as you passed on the street, every sweet with a smile that had made something within him clench, every flirty comment and skim of your hand when you touched him that made him feel like he was on fire.

When he needed you most, you’d walked into his life and changed everything. You’d accepted him for who he was, a lifestyle you were no stranger to, but your innocence remained. Every blush and shy stutter he drew from you made him feel empowered, every time you’d squeal a little when he swept you off of your feet, and every shocked look you’d give him when he’d let his hand fall low rough to your ass in public.

Somehow, at a time he couldn't place, he’d let go of his ‘never sleep over’ rule. The morning when he’d wake up beside you, whoever’s side of the street it was that you stayed on, were the best mornings of all. The sleepy smiles you’d give him, the way you were just a little more clingy before your morning coffee. Your hands would smooth down his front, always waking up later than he did and finding him in the kitchen or working. Your arms wrapping around him from behind, a kiss placed between his bare shoulder blades, tracing his moles with soft lips until he let out the kind of breathy laugh he’d never let anyone else hear from him.

This was all wrong. Your hair didn’t flutter around you on the pillow like it did when you were at home. There was almost a frown on your face, wrinkles formed around it instead of the tranquil look you held when it was just the two of you. Your skin was colder, your hands never reached out lazily to find him when he sat close to you, and there were no giggles that told him you were awake when he leaned over to kiss your cheek.

The constant and droning beep of the heart machine was steady beside the bed. Stiles had one hand squeezing your own, the other lifting up to his mouth, and he chewed on the nail of his thumb as he looked over you. Letting out a ragged sigh, he stood from the chair again, unable to even keep still. Brushing stray hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear carefully, he let out a low sigh, hand trembling as he ran the backs of his fingers along your cheek.

The blip of the machine didn’t falter in the slightest, and he pulled the chair back up behind himself, collapsing down into the seat. He wasn’t sure how he got here, how he got in this state, but he was still covered in your dried blood, his clothes ruined and hair messy from having a hand constantly running through it.

“Baby, I know I said some things, but I need you to wake up and yell at me for them now, okay?” His voice trembled as he spoke, the sound of his own angry voice in his head making him wince. He could barely even remember now why he’d been so angry, because, in retrospect, it wasn’t all that big of a surprise. He’d done a background check on you, and nothing about the lifestyle you led had been normal. Long before he’d fallen in love with you, Stiles had realised that you were no stranger to a gang lifestyle. “Please, darling. I don’t care if you hate me, if you scream and yell, I don’t even care if you never want to see me again. I just need to see those pretty eyes again, and know that you’re gonna’ be alright.”

He blamed himself. Every second of it was like torment in his mind, like scars on his body that would never properly heal. The surprise of finding out just who you’d been on the run from, all that time ago when you’d originally sought freedom within his territory, and it had sent him into a full-blown rage. Red vision blacked out of his feelings, he’d said things he didn’t mean, and the idea of never getting to apologise to you now was eating him alive.

“I’ll make it up to you, baby, I promise.” He didn’t know how he was going to keep that promise, but he was determined to. He’d do whatever it took, he would protect you, or avenge you, or set you free somewhere that he knew you’d be safer than by his side, but no matter what, he knew that he would never let you get hurt like this again.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door open, nor the sound of it clicking shut, and he jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder.

He gripped it at the wrist, spinning around with a scowl and bracing himself as he prepared for a fight, and Scott stood before him, wide eyes and a panicked look on his face. Lowering down the fist he had on the offensive, he released Scott, and his tanned best friend took a step closer, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder once again.

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“S’ not your fault.” He whispered, voice hoarse from his screaming and shouting the night before, demanding the best doctors and medical care for you as he watched you be rushed away into surgery, hands still smeared with blood.

“It is. It was my ID that was used to get in, if I had jus-”

“Dude, how were you supposed to know? I’m the one that let a fucking traitor into the building, into our lives. If it’s on anyone, it’s on me.” His friend fixed him with a pitiful look, the pair falling into silence, and he made his way across the room, pouring himself a cup of freshly filtered water, a smirk of vague satisfaction flicked at his lips as he looked around the private room that you had been set up in. Clearly, his idle threats and aggressive shouting in the waiting room had achieved something.

He wandered back across the room, collapsing into his seat and sipping the water, his foot tapping agitatedly against the floor, twice as fast as the rhythmic beating of the heart monitor beside your bed. He took up a glare at the machine once again, the same glare he’d had all night. It wasn’t long before the cup was empty, and he shook his head, fingers tightening around the plastic cup as it crumpled and cracked in his hand.

He did the best he could to fend off a yawn, but it wasn’t working, the exhaustion of having been up all night watching over you was finally catching up to him, and he shook himself down, blinking rapidly as he did his best to stay awake.

“You should go home.”

“And leave her here alone?” Stiles scoffed at his best friend, rolling his eyes at the suggestion and the tanned boy chose to ignore the snappy attitude of his best friend. “Yeah, because that went so well the last time.” He laughed emptily, but tears were lining his eyes, the tapping of his foot only getting faster, and he reached for your hand again. Your fingertips were a little cold, the lack of movement meaning your circulation had reduced, and he folded your fingers under to be able to press a timid kiss to your knuckles.

“She won’t be alone, I’ll stay. You should go home and shower, you look like you committed a murder.” The two shared a small chuckle at the irony, and sat up to pull the shirt away from himself, the pale blue material ruined with deep stains of your blood. He’d washed them since, but there was still blood up on his forearms, and in all honesty, he was utterly exhausted. “If she wakes up, I’ll call you. Go and get some rest, and I’ll stay and watch over. Nothing will happen to her.”

“Everything already did happen, Scott.”

“Nothing else will happen to her.” Scott fixed him with a stern glare, and Stiles caved, getting up from the seat and rubbing a hand over his face. Picking up Scott’s discarded jacket, he pulled it over his shoulders, zipping it up securely around his own body.

“I’m taking this.”

His friend merely waved him off, and he made his way down to the front desk after a lingering look at you over his shoulder, making sure that everything had been taken care of. He signed his name at the bottom of the statements, getting a copy of all of his receipts, before fishing for his keys in his back pocket. It was with a deep sigh that he realised he hadn't driven here, he’d gotten in the ambulance with you when the paramedics had arrived. He was about three seconds away from breaking down, when he caught sight of a familiar head of curly hair and a ridiculous scarf, despite the heat.

“Need a ride?”

Stiles shook his head fondly, wandering over to his friend and watching as he shifted from leaning on the car to the driver’s seat, and Stiles fastened himself into the passenger seat, his head lolling onto the comfortable leather. The drive felt shorter than it had been last night, but perhaps that was because every second that Stiles had watched on helplessly, it had felt like an hour, and so he didn’t have any real grasp on how long the trip had been.

He didn’t normally estimate the trip to the hospital. When he hurt someone, they were always dead before paramedics even arrived, just how he wanted it. This time, though, he’d been grateful that hadn't been the case.

When the car finally came to a stop, Stiles peered up at the tall building he owned, swallowing thickly and purposefully avoiding looking at your own across the street, but dragging himself from the car on tired limbs instead. Making their way inside, Isaac pressed the button for both his floor and Stiles’. The numbers clicked up, Stiles’ hand gripping the edge of the elevator to steady himself, and wishing his friend well as he stepped out on his floor. He yawned again, the stress of keeping his eyes open and his body upright was beginning to show, but his mind was still wired.

He needed coffee.

He needed food.

He needed a hot shower.

He needed you.

It was a painful reminder when he stepped into his apartment of just what had happened. His laptop was still open, blinking with the low-power warning and he trudged over to it, toeing off the pair of old trainers he’d pulled on in the race to find you after watching the shot go off. He could still see the flash in his mind, still hear your cries of pain each time he pressed down on the wound, could still feel the weak press of your hand over his as you tried to hold onto your consciousness.

Closing the laptop lid and plugging it in to charge, his phone following as it had long since run out of battery. It had died somewhere around 3am, when he’d been instructing Kira and Allison onto a manhunt for Malia and Theo, to track them down, Derek going with them as Lydia stayed behind.

The redhead had spent the entire night instructing a team to clean up your apartment. She’d sent him pictures to confirm once the blood was scrubbed from the floors, the sheets on the bed swapped out, and the broken door taken down from its hinges. Placing an espresso mug under the spout of the sleek coffee machine he had never before been so grateful for, the familiar clicking of heels on the hardwood floors of the penthouse suite he called home echoed out.

“Lydia?”

“The one and only.” She sighed, appearing around the wall with a dazzling grin, looking far better after an entire night of being awake than he did, and he cocked a brow at her. Pushing the green ‘go’ button on the machine as he set it off, the dull churning sound of beans and the drip of string coffee started up. “Her place is clean, the door is totalled, a real joiner or carpenter will have to fix that.”

“Not to be ungrateful, because I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done tonight, but why are you here?”

He couldn't hide the slightly snippy tone to his voice, and the woman before him cocked a brow, but smirked knowingly at him anyway as she sauntered on past to take her coat from the hook she had put them on. He felt almost stupid for not noticing it when he’d stumbled through the door. “I was unpacking, of course.”

“Unpacking what, exactly?”

She looked at him like he was some kind of idiot, pulling her perfect curls loose from under the collar as she pulled on her coat, tying the belt around her waist a second later. “Some of your girl’s belongings. I assumed you’d want her within your sights when she was discharged, I wasn’t thinking you’d want her going home to a place with no front door and the fresh memories of almost being murdered in her sleep?”

He winced at how bluntly she spoke of the accident, but nodded his head. He hadn't even thought about that, he was so preoccupied with just making sure you were alive that he hadn't even processed what would happen after you got out. She teetered over to him on very tall heels, leaning up enough to press a friendly kiss to his cheek, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders loosely, pressing a kiss to her temple in return as he hugged her. “You’re an angel, Lydia. Thank you.”

“Hey, what can I say? Just make sure I get a decent payout on our next job.” She winked at him cheekily, and he rolled his eyes, knowing she was already up in the highest figures he gave out. She was soon leaving, pulling her phone from her pocket and immediately texting, never looking up as she stepped into the elevator and disappeared. The beep from the little device beside him broke his reverie from staring at the closed silver doors, and he picked up the little porcelain mug. Sipping the bitter liquid within and cringing at the heat, he choked it all down in a single mouthful, nonetheless.

A sound of satisfaction left him, and he trudged through to his bedroom, his lips flicking up at the sight of two pairs of pyjamas sitting out on his bed, rather than only his own. Little things that didn't belong to him but matched surprisingly well with his decor were scattered around.

A hairbrush on his dresser, makeup brushes and a makeup bag, a suitcase tucked away in the corner of the room from where Lydia had brought over your belongings, and he stripped himself down, dumping his clothes in the laundry hamper and wandering through to the bathroom.

The hot water had never felt so relieving, and he let out a deep sigh, tipping his head down and bracing himself with an arm against the wall, watching as bloodied water ran away into the drain. He reached around blindly for the soap and sponge, scrubbing at his skin until it was red, raw and stinging, but clean.

Blood had never bothered him before, especially not in his lifestyle, but this felt different. It was your blood staining his skin. It didn’t bother him when it was someone else’s life in his hands, when he got to make the decision on whether they lived or died, but he didn’t get to choose with you. With you, he had been powerless. Every title, every kill, every notch on his belt and dollar in his bank hadn't mattered, because when you’d been dying in his arms, even with all of his power, he’d not been able to do a single thing to help you. To save you.

His fist swung back, an angry cry leaving him as he powered his hand at the tile before him, his knuckles letting out a sick crack and his skin tearing as he punched at the wall. Despite the pain, he did it again and again, until blood was dripping along his wrist and the only thing he could picture would be your face as you looked at him, telling him to stop before offering to patch him up.

His hands were already battered and bruised, this time yesterday he’d been spattering his crisp white shirt with the blood of a dealer who hadn't yet paid up, a life he had control over, and had ended without remorse. He’d been in a bad mood, having lost a lot of money as well as a reputable dealer when. His hands had been stinging, head pounding from where the boy had tried to make a run for it after hitting him across the back of the head, and he blamed himself for everything that had happened afterwards.

The cuts on his hand made him hiss from pain when hot water and the suds of shampoo washed through them, but he deserved that, it was his fault for letting his temper get out of control. He closed his eyes, head tipping up toward where the spray of water was coming from, letting the water wash over his body and soothing the tension he held.

It melted away, skin flaring at the heat and turning bright red, the steam getting thicker and thicker in the room until it was hard to even breathe, and he finally stepped out from the water. He was swaying, the warm water having cleared his mind, and now that his thoughts were no longer rattling his brain, tiredness was beginning to crash in. Ruffling his hair with a fluffy towel, he merely let it fall away to the floor, tugging a pair of boxers onto his legs and collapsing face-first into his pillow as soon as his knees met the edge of his bed.

Your pyjamas were sitting out on the pillow beside him, his fingers reaching out, pads running over the soft and silky material of the pale purple night set you wore. His eyes were closing, and instead of letting the guilt sweep away at him once more, he chose instead to let his mind drift, to imagine you were laying by his side instead. He hugged the pillow with your sleepwear on closer to his chest, nose dipping to bury in the silk top, and the smell of you comforted him more than anything else had yet.

Stiles awoke with a jerky startle, his back aching from the hospital seat he was sitting in, and he rubbed his eyes with a groan. It was nothing new. That first night of good sleep he had gained sleeping beside the smell of you had quickly passed. Now, that fading smell of flowers and spices had become haunting, reminding him every night through painful nights of fitful and paralysing nightmares of his failures.

The week you’d been in the hospital had been much the same. Sleeping by your bedside in the hospital when he’d visit, only ever getting the chance to relax when he could rest his head beside your hand on the itchy blankets of the hospital bed.

On the second night alone is when his nightmares started. That night, Stiles saw your first date. He could taste the ice cream on his tongue, the flavour you’d chosen for him when you’d let him come with you to see one of the small businesses you used as a cover, he could still feel the chill of the brain freeze he’d gotten that day. It started out as it truly had, his hand wrapped in yours, slightly pink cheeks when you introduced him to the older woman behind the counter as ‘the man trying to win your heart’, and the feel of wrinkled leather on the booth you both sat in. Except, in this version of his dream, it didn’t end with kisses that tasted of cherry sorbet and vanilla ice cream. This time, it ended with your eyes lifeless as he tried to save your life, windows shattered and glass in your sternum from a robbery gone wrong that had never happened.

He woke up clutching his shoulder that time, feeling along his skin for the ghosts of wounds that were never real.

The third night he was alone, he saw a twisted ending to the first time you’d stayed at his place, and on the fourth night, he was shaking when he forced himself out of his dreams, a conjuring of your death once again in his mind, another date gone wrong, another treasured memory ruined. Some dreams came to repeat themselves as the days plodded on, and some days just brought the torture of reliving the nightmares that made him wake up in tears.

Last night, he dreamt of your first meeting. It was comforting at first, and he eased himself through a morning shower to wash away his tears and sweat by thinking of the real events. In his nightmare, it had ended by his own hand, your sweet face flashing behind his eyes, his mind screaming at himself as he watched a vision of himself take your life. He woke up in a shock of screaming cries, reaching out to your side of the bed only to remember that he was alone. Tears on his face, voice hoarse, and the chilling aftershock of what his mind had conjured up with his guilt left him trembling and unsteady.

He’d been too scared by that vision to even try going back to sleep. Rather, he’d showered down, ice-cold water stinging as it beat down against his skin, waking him up enough to shake off the pain of it. He’d pulled on some clothes, his car keys and his phone being all he needed, working on autopilot as he had driven to the hospital. Stars were still in the sky, visiting hours were far from opening for the morning as the sun hadn't even risen, but he knew there was a nurse that was taking pity on him behind the desk.

Or perhaps, it was fear?

No matter what made her do it, she always opened up your room for him, guiding him through the halls on a path he knew well, until he could slump down by your side. His breakfast continued whatever he could fish out of the vending machines, spare change from his pockets or the card from his wallet. He was certain that at this point, they were refilling the machines just for him.

The last decent meal he’d had was the night before your argument. Happy, full of life, a recipe you’d learned when you were young as you shared it with him. Now, it was just whatever he could fish out of his freezer to point in the microwave, when Scott, Isaac or even Derek had forced him to go home and rest, as if that was even an option. The only decent sleep he got was in naps, when he got home after driving the city for hours or busying himself with business, only to get a few hours of solace in his unconsciousness with a dead sleep that contained no dreams.

It was during one of these times that he got the call from his best friend, your tenth day in hospital recovery that you woke back up. He’d been showering at the time, having just missed the call as he’d stepped under the water. Emerging from the spray thirty minutes later and finding a series of missed calls from the hospital, Stiles felt like his heart may actually have stopped in his chest with fear.

It had taken only two rings for Scott to pick up, and Stiles was already pulling shoes onto his feet as he fished around for his car keys, insisting he was on his way back, when his friend told him to stay home.

“Dude, relax, she’s totally fine.”

“She was shot, Scott.” He couldn't help the bitter tone in his voice, his friend laughing down the line, shuffling as his voice faded for a second. He was talking to someone on the other end, and Stiles could make out the many different voices of nurses, doctors and patients around him. There was the scratching of a pen on paper, and a gentle ‘thank you’ from his friend, and Stiles was waiting anxiously for the whole time. “Scott, what is going on? I’m freaking the fuck out over here. You know what, I’m coming to the hospital-”

“She woke up. About forty-five minutes ago.”

“She did? Holy shit.” He let out a breathless chuckle, wiping a hand over his face as his shoulders sagged, tension leaving his body like a sudden rush of bliss, just hearing that you were awake.

“Yeah. She’s good, she had some water, my mom’s checking her over, I just signed her discharge papers. I’m going to bring her home, alright? She’s a little bit groggy, and quite grumpy.”

His friend was teasing you, and Stiles didn’t even have it in him to argue, instead, Stiles looked around, making a mental note of everything that he needed to tidy up and clean before you got here.

“We’ll be there in about half an hour, alright? Try to contain yourself between now and then.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, I can sense your shaking with anticipation through the phone, buddy. See you soon.”

He scowled as his friend hung up on him, but his hands were shaking, he couldn't deny that. Rather than thinking too hard about it, he chose to toe-off his unlaced shoes, placing them neatly on the rack and rubbing sweaty palms on the sides of his sweats, glancing around at the room.

That half an hour passed him by quicker than he would’ve liked. He had put away all the crap that was filling the room, tucking away every wire, and on a few occasions he’d almost felt like he was baby-proofing his apartment, but he wasn’t willing to let anything else hurt you. He’d moved everything from the highest and lowest shelves up to a middle level, easily reachable, and pushed the furniture slightly further apart to make sure you had plenty of room to move around.

Your pyjamas were laid out neatly on the bed, waiting for you for when you arrived, ready to change out of the dingy hospital gown you had been in for the last ten days since your accident. He’d laid out a skin sensitive, wound friendly soap and shampoo set on the edge of the bath, ones that he’d had to dig out from the back of the cabinet, assuming you’d want to soak, or at least have a shower.

He felt almost nauseous with worry when the elevator opened up, silence filling the room as Scott pushed the rented wheelchair along, a pair of crutches balanced across your lap and held loosely by your hand. Before he could drop to his knees to see you, Scott was holding a hand out, a lopsided smirk on his face as he shook his head.

“She fell asleep on the ride over here, she’s out cold.”

He laughed weakly, kneeling beside you quietly and brushing your hair back behind your ears, delicate breaths leaving you as your head tipped to the side. “She fell asleep? She was unconscious for ten days! Somehow, that seems completely on brand, though..” It was spoken fondly, one of his palms brushing gently over your hair as he smoothed it across the back of your head.

“She was in some pain when she woke up. My mom gave her some pretty heavy painkillers, she got a bit loopy, and then crashed.” Stiles stood to his full height, nodding as he took in the information, before taking the crutches and standing them in the corner beside the coat hooks. A large paper bag of instructions and different medicines was handed over to him, and he glanced inside quickly at the various medications. “Different ones, for any discomfort she gets, some to fight off infections, all that. Mom wrote a list of instructions for you, so you can read those.”

“Thank you, Scott.” Scott shrugged, brushing off the gesture, but Stiles didn’t want that. “No, man, I mean it. Thank you. I would have gone insane without you there to boss me around.”

“Well, someone had to do it, since the normal owner of that position was out cold.” Scott teased, rubbing a hand over your shoulder as you slumped in the wheelchair, and Stiles glanced back to you fondly. “She should wake up in an hour or so, be ready, she may be moody still.”

His best friend shot him a smile, the two sharing a quick hug, heavy pats on the backs and a quick squeeze before parting. The tanned male was soon disappearing into the elevator, leaving him alone with you once again.

Wheeling you through to the bedroom, he lifted you from the chair, the robe he’d left for you being a struggle to get off, and he undid the ties on the loose hospital gown, before trying to ease you into a soft set of pyjamas, fresh from the ones he’d spent the week sleeping beside. He left you above the covers, the heat of the mid-day hour undesirable to be tucked away, your hair fanned out around you as he let you lie down, adjusting you and propping a pillow up under your feet.

Pushing the wheelchair into the corner, he couldn’t help the relief that was filling him as he finally had you back, safe in his arms where he could properly protect you. Sitting beside you on the bed, he pushed up the edge of your shirt just enough to reveal the bandages on your torso, regret and guilt filling him as the pads of his fingers brushed over the wrapping.

“I’m so sorry I let this happen to you, baby.”

His words fell on deaf ears, but he’d been waiting too long to apologise, and he needed to speak the words to you, now that he had you home and within his grasp once again, the place where you should always be. His lips pressed to your forehead, a lingering kiss placed there before he swiped his thumb over the skin. He stayed a moment longer, before hauling himself to his feet and heading for the exit of the room. As he went, he flicked the lights out and drew the curtains, darkness filling the room as he left you to sleep, pulling the door shut but leaving it open enough to be able to hear you if you were to need him.

His first call was to sort through all your medicines. Unstacking each bottle methodically and reading over them, he checked them against the notes Melissa had left for him, reading up on each one before tucking them all into the first drawer on the island in the centre of the kitchen. Alongside them were the instructions, in case he forgot any, or you wanted to check yourself. He then took his laptop to the couch, collapsing across the plush leather seats and balancing the device half on his lap, half on his stomach, propped up with his head laying on the armrest.

He had been doing his best to keep your businesses in order for you, he’d kept up with any work he knew of that you did, and he’d made a conscious effort to visit each and every store during those ten days, to check that everything was going well with them. Despite it all, over these past few days, he had become progressively more impressed with your ability to contain them all. Never did a full thirty minutes go by without someone from somewhere needing something from you, emails and concerns regarding the businesses, and trying to keep track of all of the figures was dizzying.

There was a reason he had Lydia running the books.

“Do you have eggs and bacon?” He’d been so caught up in sending a passive-aggressive email to the boss running your Brooklyn coffee shop, that when your voice came, it had shocked him so thoroughly that he almost fell from the couch.

“You’re not allowed!” His words had only confused you, and he jumped up from his seat, placing his laptop down on the kitchen counter as he made his way over to you. You shuffled further into the room as he watched, leaning against the wall for support as you went. His feet slipped and skidded on the floors to get to you, his hands hovering over your hips as you raised your brows at him.

“I’m not allowed eggs and bacon?”

“You’re not allowed to be out of bed!” He retorted, hands on your forearms as you grasped him in the same way, and he tried to make you walk back to the room, but you held your ground. Walking him backwards and into the open plan kitchen, he let out a sigh as he gave in to what you wanted. “Please go back to bed, I’ll make you any food you want, if you just go and rest.”

“I’ve been resting for a week and a half, I want something to eat.” You grouched, and he sighed reluctantly at your stubbornness, scooping you up underneath your legs and placing you into one of the tall seats at the kitchen island.

He pulled eggs and bacon from the fridge, alongside everything else he needed to make you a breakfast fry-up, a small smile pulling on his lips, back turned to you. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as you tugged his laptop toward you, fingers swiftly typing in the password as the black screen lit up, and he didn’t even bother questioning or trying to stop you. Your eyes were moving quickly over the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you contemplated his email draft. He waited for your response, heating oil in the pan and waiting for it to begin sizzling, while he prepared a tray of food for the oven in silence.

“You’ve been managing my businesses while I was out?”

“Of course.” His back was still turned to you, and you closed down the draft, only humming in reply, but choosing to log into your account and checking through the notifications there. Your stomach rumbled loudly as the smell of food drifted into the air, plates clattering and eggs sizzling as he cracked them on the edge of the pan, tipping them into the hot oil. “I did most of the paperwork, too. You’ll probably want to check over it, but I did the best I could.”

“I’m sure you did fine. It’s all good.”

Silence fell between you both again, something that was tense and uncomfortable on his end because he had no idea how to interpret it.

It felt like he was choking on the air, the sounds of your fingers on the keyboard, the occasional sizzle or pop from the food as he worked breaking the quiet. He turned, pushing a plate of steaming food toward you as soon as it was ready, and you gasped happily. Taking it from him, Stiles pulled out the seat opposite to you, poking at his meal as you dug in quickly.

You had finished half of your food before you broke the silence again, clearing your throat and forcing him to look up to you.

“Why are you pouting so much?”

“I’m not pouting. I don’t pout.” He scoffed, and you simply watched him, his body deflating under your stare. He scooped up a mouthful of food onto his fork, chewing it and letting his eyes leave yours for a second, swallowing audibly and looking back at you. “It’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

Your voice was light and chirpy, and you happily sliced off another large chunk of bacon and hash-brown, his head shaking as he twirled his knife between two fingers, the tip of the cutlery pressed to the plate. “That you got shot.”

Your cutlery clattered against the plate, and he jumped at the sound, his eyes snapping to you. You were scowling at him, somehow still managing to look sympathetic and sweet as you watched him, but there was anger laced underneath. “That is such bullshit!”

“No, it’s not.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you shifted in your seat, rubbing your fingers over your stomach gently as you waited for him to try and find his words. “I care about you, so much. I was so angry that I left you there, and I’m the one who told Malia I wasn’t going back, when I saw her in the elevator, and now she’s gone. I told her you would be all alone, I left you after shouting at you. I shouldn’t have.. have-”

“Have what, Stiles?” You reached out across the table, and he choked back his feelings as you placed your hand over the top of his, tips of your fingers tracing each knuckle and veins on his hand. The simple touch was calming him more than he would care to admit, simply because it was you. “She would have just come back another day, when I was alone. This was a planned attack, and you can’t blame yourself. She would have just waited, they would have just waited. I don’t blame you, and I forgive you for what you said that night.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. How could I not?” You glanced down at yourself, a ghost of amusement beginning to manifest on your face, tempting him into the same. “You put me in my favourite pyjamas, and made me breakfast even though it’s mid-afternoon.” You gave a wry smile, and he shook his head, but the expression was soon dropping as he watched your face curl into a frown.

“What, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?” He was up from his seat in seconds, the half-eaten meal left abandoned as he rounded the marble countertop to get to your side, and you shook your head, anger stitched onto your features, instead.

“Nothing, it’s just that.. I’m pretty sure Theo stole my cat.”

“What?”

“Scott said Lydia told him that he was nowhere to be seen when she got there. I think he stole my cat.” You mumbled, finishing up your food, and running a hand through your hair, cringing when you pulled it away from your greasy tresses, all while he stared at you incredulously. “What are you staring at?”

“You know, he probably just ran away.”

“My cat isn’t the runaway type, okay? I’m absolutely sure he took him.” You were insisting, trying to hop down from the seat. Stiles leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before scooping you up into his arms delicately, ignoring your protest about his actions. You gave in, your arms wrapping around his neck, the plates abandoned on the island to be cleared away later, your head falling to rest on his shoulder. “I want a bath, or in the very least a shower. I feel gross.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Shut up, I’m greasy.” You growled, but he laughed at your words, trying to keep you steady in his arms as he made his way toward the bathroom. Placing you down on the counter, he ran the taps for you, plugging the bottom of the tub, before turning back to you once the water was gathering.

You lifted your shirt up and over your head, wincing as it fell free and stretched out your core just enough for you to feel the pinch at the hole on your side. You lifted your hips, getting to the floor and wiggling your shorts free from your body, before turning to the mirror.

“You have spare bandages and wrapping, right?”

“I get shot at for a living, of course, I do.”

“Right, ‘course.” You muttered, peeling back the tape holding the patch over your stomach and dropping the slightly bloody pack into the bin, before examining your wound in the mirror. Red flesh was surrounding it, your veins standing out, and you twisted to get a better look at the injury. It was somewhat scabbed over, the patch dark red and purple, and you ran your fingers delicately around the area. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

He stood behind you, letting you lean back into him for support as he wrapped an arm around your hips, hand resting on your side as he avoided going near the spot. “It’s going to leave a badass scar. I think it’ll be pretty sexy.” He pressed a kiss to your neck, smirking when he heard you chuckle, before he was pulling away, swirling his hand in the water to test the temperature as the tub filled quickly with several inches of water. “We need to try and keep it dry, okay? So, I’ll tip water over you, and you can cover it with your hand, alright?”

You didn’t respond, simply turning around in his arms, and his hands moved to sit against your lower back instead. His eyes were wide on yours, a sweet gaze that made your heart flutter. Leaning in, you cupped his cheeks in your hands, pulling his face up until you could brush your nose with his. His lips puckered, barely brushing your own as he groaned needily under his breath when you snapped away suddenly.

“Why be such a tease, doll?”

“I wanted to kiss you.�� You mumbled, breaking free from his hold to root through the cupboards, picking up your toothbrush from the sink, a huff leaving him as you soaked the end of your toothbrush.

“And yet, you didn’t.”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth in almost two weeks.” You muttered, sticking the brush into your mouth, relishing in the minty taste that covered your senses, and scrubbing at your teeth as he chuckled.

“I wouldn’t have cared.”

“I wou’ haf’.” Your words were distorted as you spoke, and you continued to clean until you finally felt satisfied. Spitting into the sink and rinsing your mouth out, you rinsed off your brush and placed it back in the stand beside his. When you turned again, he was standing behind you, towering over you once again as his hands cupped your face, brows raised.

“Now?”

“Now.”

His lips descended onto your own, a moan leaving his lips as your smooth lips worked against his chapped ones, dragging together in a sweet gesture that he had missed so much since the last time he’d had the chance to kiss you. He pressed further into you, pulling you closer softly, your front meeting his as he tried not to push against your wound. A gasp left you when his hands slipped down from your face to wrap around your waist, and he took the chance, his tongue dipping into your mouth to find your own.

The muscles tangled together, your hands bunching the material of his shirt under your palms as he took control of the kiss, and your body loosened under his touch. Your heads were tipping to the sides, breathy moans leaving the both of you, and he dominated the kiss, every part of him covering every part of you. It was different from other kisses, it was slow and passionate but there was something more. Something that tasted like love on your tongue as he worked your mouths together, your nails digging into his chest.

It was full of lust and need, but also want and care and everything within you melted. The scruffy stubble on his jaw that had gone unshaven was scratching at your skin in the most delicious way, his fingers spreading out over your back and tips digging into your body as he tried to pull you impossibly closer. The two of you were trying to wrap yourselves up in one another, for all you were worth, until the burn for oxygen was just too much for you to handle.

When you pulled back, he ran a finger over your lips, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes still closed as the two of you panted for breath. “I missed the taste of your mouth. God, I missed you so much. Ten days of pure fucking torture.”

You grinned, tipping your head enough to press a scattering of small kisses to his cheek and jaw, burying your face in his neck. “You’ve never kissed me like that before.” He pulled back, grinning at you, before sweeping you off of your feet as he lifted you up and over the edge of the tub. Your toes tingled as warm water lapped over your feet, up to the bottom of your calves.

The water only went up to just over your thighs when you sat down, and he tugged his shirt off over his head, kneeling on the floor beside you as you took a sponge and soap. Lathering yourself up and dipping it under the water, his larger hand closing over your own as he took it from you, cleaning your skin as you covered your bullet wound.

He helped you wash your hair, and your face, pressing another short kiss to your lips every time he had the chance to do so, before he was lifting you out of the tub, standing you up and patting you dry with a fluffy towel.

Once you were redressed, he situated you on the couch. The small argument you both shared as he once again tried to convince you to go back to bed and rest was short-lived, your lips on his cutting him off and he quickly gave in. walking you slowly to the couch, making sure your legs were propped up on a cushion to reduce the swelling, and that you were wrapped up comfortably in a blanket.

Before he could settle beside you, though, his phone was ringing, and he searched around for it. It was located on the table nearby, and he swiped it up, answering it quickly while walking a few steps away from you. You watched as his jaw hardened, his eyes narrowing and body stiffening, flicking to you for a split second as he hummed. You watched on curiously, before moving your attention to finding the TV remotes when the line went silent as he listened to the half of the conversation that you couldn't hear. You found them at the other end of the coffee table, rolling yourself awkwardly toward them, shuffling down the couch until you could reach them, clasping them in your hands, and an arm under your waist was lifting you back up to a sitting position.

He rolled his eyes at you, his lips flicking up at the edges as you waved the devices at him, His free hand came to sit on your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he stood back to his full height, and continued to take in the information he was getting. When he had finished, he pulled away, staring down at the device in his hands for a good minute after hanging up, before turning to you.

“They found Theo?”

“You’re awfully intuitive.” He mumbled, nodding, a deep sigh on his lips as he turned to face you. “I have to go now. I’m going to rip his fucking throat out. I want to make sure he feels every ounce of your pain and every bit of mine, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, because the last time I left you went so well.” He poked a finger to your ribs through the blankets, and you barely felt it, but you slapped his hand away anyway with a small scowl, turning on the television. He paced away from you, disappearing into his bedroom to gather himself.

You had found a film by the time he had returned, and you heard him clattering about in the kitchen, before he reappeared in front of you. A pint of ice cream with a label you recognised was in his hand, a spoon too, and he held them out to you. Taking them quickly, you peeled the lid back, pushing the spoon into the top to retrieve a mouthful, you gave out a small moan as the icy flavours hit your tongue. You took in his appearance, black skinny jeans clad on his legs, a pair of dirty trainers and a black henley, rolled up on his forearms messily; a look you definitely approved of.

“I picked that up a few days ago when I went to check on your store in Manhattan.” You beamed at him, taking another spoonful of it and offering it out to him. He leaned down, taking the bite of the cold treat you offered him, before he was moving past the spoon, and leaving a long kiss on your lips. Your hand smoothed down his back, brushing the gun that was tucked into the back of his pants, a grin on your lips as you slapped his ass lightly as he pulled away. “I’ll be back soon.”

Your lips pressed to his again, and he sounded something between a grunt and a moan, one of his knees resting on the edge of the couch beside your legs, mumbling indiscernible nonsense into your mouth.

“I really have to go. We can definitely do more of that when I get back, though.”

He parted from you, finally, storming his way across the room to the elevator, and you watched him go. A smirk rose on his lips as his eyes connected with yours before the doors closed, leaving you alone in a silent room.

Stiles’ foot tapped agitatedly against the floor of the elevator as he watched the numbers overhead count down to the bottom floor, his team already assembled as they waited for him. Isaac was chewing gum, standing protectively by Allison's side as she sharpened her favourite knives while lounging in a chair. Lydia was avidly setting up comms with them all, passing them around as Derek and Scott fussed over one another’s vests, checking the straps and harnesses, and Kira, was quietly mumbling small prayers to herself, and spinning the first set of car keys on her finger. Isaac held the other set, and Stiles didn’t bother to speak to any of them as he swiped his protective vest from the side, pulling it over his head as he went.

The car he found himself in was being driven by the same man who drove him home for the hospital, sitting beside him upfront as Kira climbed into the back, a large bag of guns on her side.

Scott, Derek and Allison took the other, Lydia’s voice crackling in his ears as she tested all of their comm systems, and he rolled his shoulders, settling into his seat as stretching his legs out before him as he relaxed into the leather. There was nothing about this assignment he had to be nervous about, nothing he was worrying over, because there were no debates in this scenario. There were no ‘maybes’ and possibilities.

He was going to kill Theo Raeken, the man’s fate already set in stone.

He cranked up the radio as soon as the car hit the freeway, tapping his fingers against his leg to the tune, and he heard the sharpening of Kira’s sword in the backseat pause, Isaac’s gaze flicking over to him. He tipped his head to the side to face his friend, a grin on his lips.

“We’re listening to music on the way to a job now?”

“Yes, we are. Because today is a good day.” He mumbled, kicking his feet up on the dashboard and leaning even further into his chair, making Kira huff as she shuffled to it in the middle seat instead. Isaac squirmed in his seat, thoroughly unsettled by how calm and casual he was about what they were about to do. “Do you know why today is a good day, Isaac?”

“Because we’re going for Theo?”

“Correct! We are going to kill him, and it’s going to feel fantastic.” Stiles sighed, the journey seeming to melt away around them. The classic jazz coming from the station helped the journey to pass by, urban city scenes passing by in blurs as they turned to green trees. The other cars were left behind, the smooth tarmac pathways becoming dirt and gravel, bumpy as the car rolled across them, and Stiles at up further.

The car came rolling to a stop outside of a collection of large, recently redesigned warehouses, on the outskirts of Westhampton. “Is this it?”

“This is it.” Lydia’s voice rang in his ears, and he hummed, peering up at it.

“Lydia, I want to buy it once we’re finished here. He’s already done the buildings up, all nice for me, how considerate.” Getting out of the car, he stretched himself out, the second vehicle rolling up beside them as multiple doors slammed. Lydia was talking in his ear about their best approach, the intel she’d gathered online and from the camera’s internally that she had hacked, in order to guide them through the building best. Stiles was antsy, and he was already on his way up to the door.

Rapping his knuckles against the thick wood, he leaned on the wall, hand tucked into the back of his pants casually as he waited, and he could hear the rest of the team panicking as they tried to work out what to do. When the door finally opened, he was met with a face he didn’t recognise, a scar across their cheek as they sneered at him, demanding to know what he wanted, and his head tipped to the side with a chilling grin.

Pulling the gun from its place hidden in the back of his jeans, he pressed it up to his forehead, pulling the safety before his opposition even had a chance to react, the bullet cracking through his skull and straight through the other side. Chunks of skull, muscle and greymatter splattering against the walls inside, his body crumpling, and Stiles stepped out of the way as he fell to the floor.

Stepping over his body, he moved past the blood-stained walls and further inside, dull music echoing from the higher floors as he looked around. Lydia was grumbling into his ear as he ruined her inconspicuous plan, the others flocking around him.

“Spread out, kill everyone you see, I don’t give a shit. But Theo’s mine.” He heard everyone leave, and he wandered towards the bottom of a set of stairs, peering at the level above. Climbing the metal stairs slowly, the sounds of pained screams came from below the balcony and down the corridors he couldn't see, boots running against grated metal floors and gunshots going off.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out where Theo was, hearing the music of the top floor switching off, muffled shouting taking over and he headed in that direction, searching for the next set of stairs.

Nothing but sick anticipation filled his system as he caught sight of the blonde rushing down the stairs towards him, unaware of his presence at the bottom. He swerved to the side, covered by the shadows, and as she took off in a run, he gripped her by the neck. Her feet leaving the floor as he tossed her backwards with ease, her back and head slamming into the ground. Kneeling by her side as she blinked her vision clear, hand coming up to grip at her head, Stiles’ hand tightened around her neck, knees shifting to press into her bicep on each side and keeping her pinned to the floor. A cry left her loudly, agonising pain as the muscles twisted under his leg.

“Hello again, Malia.”

Her eyes widened, and she flexed under his hold, his eyes and face going red as she struggled; thrashing legs, body jolting, but the movements were of no use.

“Struggling to breathe there, Mal? That’s a real shame.” He tutted, tightening his fingers around her throat as the raspy gasps for breath were cut off altogether, her face turning almost purple. “Do you know who else struggled to breathe, Malia? The answer is; the girl I love, as she choked on her own blood after you shot her. Do you remember that?”

She nodded as best she could, and he loosened his hold, letting her suck in frantic breaths, spluttering and coughing for air as she heaved. Tears were in her eyes, leaking out onto the floor as she writhed, desperately. Just before she could catch her breath, he was tightening his hand once again, glaring down at her, his jaw clenching. His knee pushed down on her arms even more harshly, and she screamed out in pain, the veins in her neck and forehead bulging from the pressure.

“How does it feel? I can bring you to the verge of death, and then let you go, only to bring you right back. Tell me, Malia, was it worth it? Was betraying me worth your life? Because that is what it’s going to cost you.” He reached for the nearest rope, wrapping it tightly around her ankles, securing it there as she tried to regain her breath, red marks on the skin around her neck, slipping in and out of focus. “Luckily for you, your life isn’t my call to make. There is one person whom you betrayed even more deeply than me, and so he can choose your fate. There’s only one person on my personal hit-list tonight.”

He dragged her across to the edge of the platform, tying the other end of the rope to the metal barricades, her eyes wide as she looked up at him and he waggled his fingers in a wave, smiling falsely before using his foot to kick her over the edge. The rope quickly diminished, the sickening pop of a joint coming out of place sounding out and he smiled in satisfaction, continuing his way on to the place he wanted to be.

“Everyone meets at the office on the top floor. And, Scott? There’s a little present for you hanging out on the second level. Do with it as you will.”

He could already see the man storming about on the other side of a glass door. Nudging the door open with his foot, Stiles leaned on the doorframe, waiting to be seen.

Upon being noticed, Theo scoffed, lunging for the gun on his desk. Stiles sighed, firing off a single round, the bullet bouncing off of the desk and deterring his foe from reaching for the weapon once again.

“Hi there, Theo. Heard a lot about you.”

“Stilinski. Do you know what you’ve started by coming here?” His words were growled out, and Stiles only shook his head, standing to his full height as he clicked his tongue.

“I didn’t start anything, I’m simply finishing what you started.” He hooked his foot around the wheels of a desk chair, kicking it towards the man as he picked up the other gun, tucking it into his belt securely and spinning his own around his finger, before using it to point to the seat; “Why don’t you sit down, hm?”

“I don’t want to sit.” Stiles’ eyebrows rose, and his lips formed a silent ‘oh’, and he grinned, tightening his fist and smashing it forward into Theo’s face. The man's head flew back, a mixture of spit and blood flying from his mouth, and he brought a hand up to clutch at his face, eyes wide as the first physical blow between the two was thrown. “What the fuck do you want?”

Blood was running down his face, and Stiles shrugged, pacing slightly as he pulled the chair back to himself, sitting down in it and spreading his legs out before himself. “I want you to feel every bit of the pain you caused.”

“What? You’re angry because I shot the bitch who ran away?” Theo offered a smirk with bloody teeth, trying to stand his ground. “You should be thanking me. Don’t tell me you were attached to the sloppy seconds who came crawling to you?” Theo licked over his lower lip as he considered his words. “Oh, you were? Such a shame, she was rather good in bed. Did you get a chance to fuck her, before I killed her?”

“Oh, you think you killed her? How sweet.” He stood, eye to eye with the man before him, stepping into his space, so close he could smell the coppery scent of the blood trickling from his broken nose. He moved, the weapon between them, the barrel of the edge of his gun pressing to Theo’s stomach. “Would you like to know how it felt when you tried to take her life?”

Before Theo could react, Stiles had pulled the trigger, a bullet tearing through his skin and into his guts, and Theo screamed out as he fell to his hands and knees. One hand came up to clutch as his middle, and Stiles pressed a foot to his shoulder, kicking him over onto his back, before crouching beside the blond man. Scratching at his jaw, he stared off into the distance, contemplating his words.

“Does it hurt, Theo?” He only received a grunt in response, blood pouring and staining the pale t-shirt his nemesis had been wearing, and Stiles’ hand curled into a fist, one finger sticking up. “She tried to get to her gun, she hit the floor harder than you did, she was alone. That probably felt more like this.”

He pushed his finger into the hole, blood spurting out as Theo squirmed and screamed, choked sounds of pain leaving him as he jerked under Stiles’ touch. Pulling his finger back, he wiped it clean of blood on Theo’s shirt, standing enough to retract the flip-knife from his pocket. The blade popped out, and he ran the tip of his finger over the sharp edge.

“Now you know how she felt, but would you like to know how I felt?” Theo sputtered, coughing on his blood and mumbling aggressive curses under his breath, all of which went ignored by Stiles. He waved his hand, flipping the knife in his hand and forming a fist around it as he gripped it firmly. Placing it over the man's heart, he pressed it down just enough to break the skin over the left side of his chest, tipping Theo’s face to look at him, ensuring that Stiles’ face would be the last thing he saw. Pulling his hand back, he plunged the knife straight in, twisting it roughly as he tore apart his heart from the inside, leaving the blade wedged in his body. “It felt like that.”

The life faded from his eyes, and once he was satisfied with the dead man before himself, Stiles removed the knife, wiping it on his pants before putting the blade away and tucking it into his pocket again. He could hear multiple sets of footsteps falling on their journey toward his location. The loud sounds of anarchy in the building had fallen silent, and he smirked, before looking down when he felt something bump solidly against his leg, shoving at his ankles.

A furry little skull head-butted his leg, a tail wrapping around his calf as a small cat weaved between his legs, and he let out a disbelieving laugh at the sight. “Son of a bitch. He took the fucking cat.” Leaning down, Stiles scooped up the animal into his arms, flipping him over to hold him delicately. He was lighter than he had been, fur not as glossy and body skinnier, but it was definitely the same animal, his paws curling around Stiles’ hand as he held the cat tenderly, claws digging into his hand. “Don’t fucking claw me. I’m saving your life. I could leave you here.”

The cat only meow-ed at him, somehow managing to sound snarky, as though calling his bluff, and Stiles rolled his eyes. Fishing around the room, he wrapped the trembling creature in the soft material, his team gathering in the doorway. He didn’t bother to explain the cat to them, he didn’t bother to ask Scott about what he’d chosen to do with Malia, he didn’t care for any of it. All he cared about was getting home, to where he belonged, with you.

The credits of your movie were just beginning to roll on the screen, and you kicked the blanket away from your legs carefully, trying to push yourself up from the couch, using the armrest for support as not to strain yourself. Grabbing the empty carton of ice cream, you took the spoon too, moving through to the attached kitchen to clear up after yourself.

Pulling open the dishwasher, you used your foot to lower it to the ground, pulling out the racks and clearing away the plates from your earlier meal too, trying not to over-exert yourself as you felt the slight stinging in your abdomen beginning to start. Once it was set off with cleaning the dishes, you searched through the drawers and cupboards for medications, knowing a bag had been sent home with you, handed over to Scott before you’d passed out in the car on the way home.

You finally found them, shakily filling a glass of water and reading over the instructions, not wanting to take something that would make you sleepy, you wanted to be awake when Stiles came home. Popping the correct dosage of pills, you swallowed them down, followed by a few sips of water, letting out a sigh as you waited for the pain to ease.

Only a few minutes later, the achy throbbing had dulled back to numb bliss, and you let out a happy sigh, just as the shrill tone of the elevator opening sounded out. Cracking your eyes open, you watched as a slightly sweaty, dirty, and fairly tired Stiles walked in, a bundle of cloth clutched in his arms.

“Hey, baby.” His voice was hoarse and tired, and you smiled, padding across the floors towards him. “I have a surprise for you.”

You lifted a finger, tugging down the edge of the blanket to reveal what lay inside, and a gasp left you at the squirming ball of fur within. A loud meow sounded out, and Stiles moved the blanket, holding the cat for you so that you could pet him, knowing that you wouldn't be able to support the weight. Your eyes lining with tears as you were reunited with the pet you so deeply adored. Scratching behind its ears, he let out a soft purr, and you leaned down closer to his face. “You’re so thin! What did he do to you, little guy?”

You sounded broken-hearted, watching as Stiles’ jaw clenched. He’d never gotten along with your cat, the two seemed to have some kind of unspoken tension that had always made you giggle, but that didn’t mean Stiles didn’t love him. There had been days when you’d woken up, finding Stiles making breakfast in your kitchen and feeding tuna to the cat, or sitting with him on your couch and waiting for you to shower. Sometimes, Stiles would even show up with a bag of treats for the fur-ball. “I’ll take him to the vets tomorrow, he’ll be happy and healthy again in no time, I promise.”

He put the animal down, watching as it scampered away to begin sniffling about the home, exploring all of the rooms, and disappearing from sight down the corridor as you watched it go. When you turned back to Stiles, he was already looking at you, watching you dutifully. You lifted your hands, cupping his face as you let out a watery laugh of sheer joy. “I love you so much.”

He didn’t have a chance to reply, you pulled his face down until you could press your lips to his, and he hummed happily against you. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest and holding you close as he returned the kiss eagerly. One of his hands trailed down up to your cheek, fingers weaving into your hair as yours came down to hold around his torso, hooked under his arms to hold him close. Parting your lips, the kiss became messier, the smacking of your wet lips sounding out, noses bumping as your heads tipped in opposite ways to get deeper into one another's mouths, and his tongue poked out to tangle with your own.

The wet articles had barely met before he was pulling back, panting slightly and licking over his swollen lips, before leaning in to press his forehead to yours, grinning madly.

“Did you just say you love me?”

“Yeah. Problem?” You were still breathless, equally panting against his mouth and leaning up, stealing another kiss from his lips, and he returned it happily.

“God, no. I love you too.” He dipped down, kissing along your jaw and up to your temple, before leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. “I love you so much.”

“How’s your pain?” Stiles mumbled, his arms smoothing round you a little further until he was tugging you into his chest. Clearly seeking comfort, as his nose buried in the hair at the top of your head, and he let out a sigh.

“Fine, I took some of my meds earlier.”

“And how does the wound feel? Did you do much while I was out?” He hugged you closer, tightening the hug when your arms came up to wrap around him, and you realised you were seeking just as much comfort from him as he was searching for from you, right now.

“I watched my movie, and I put away the dishes from earlier. That’s it.”

His fingers tangled in your hair, brushing through the clean but tangled locks, his lips brushing your forehead. Your heart was thumping steadily, pressed up to him as he held you close, and you snuggled into his shoulder.

“You know, I’m going to have to go home at some point. There’s no litter tray here. I’m pretty sure you don’t want the cat to pee on your fancy suits.” You both felt and heard the groan he let out, his cheek still pressed to the top of your head but he eventually pulled back from the embrace.

“You are home. I’ll send someone to fetch the litter tray.” His words were spoken tiredly, suppressing a yawn, and you reached up to brush stray hair out of his eyes, a smirk forming on your lips.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I kind of already did move you in, I’d be pretty put out if you said no.” He joked, and you rolled your eyes at him, but the smile you wore only grew fonder. “Is that a yes?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer as your cat came running in, a loud meow being made as he charged at the couches. You watched him go, jumping up onto the plush leather, and moving around in circles before he settled down against a cushion. His claws flexed, kneading the sift filling and his eyes closed, a loud purr taking over. “I think that’s a yes from us both.”

The cat let out another small mew, and you giggled in response. Stiles’ hands dropped down to your own, lifting them up to his face so that he could press a kiss to each of your knuckles, eyes mixed on yours as he waited for your answer. “Okay, I’ll move in, but you have to change the litter trays half of the time.”

“Deal.”

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