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need-a-fugue · 3 years

Text

Trustworthy (Chapter 3)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Does fluff warrant a warning? Well, before we get into the gritty mission, here be some fluffy fluff. Oh, and language. Because I speak that shit.

Thursday came sooner than anticipated, and with it came that awful rush of dread that enveloped you each and every time you set foot in an airport. You’d think you’d be over this by now, your job shuttling you off to the far corners of the Earth, making it so that the only way you could ever get to where you needed to be – Bogota, Juarez, Islamabad, home – was by plane. But… no. The fear of plummeting to an inevitably fiery death inside a giant can filled with the recycled breath of dozens – even hundreds – of strangers was one you were simply never going to get over.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding,” Benny barks out amid a thunderous laugh as he watches you down another pill and chase it with a tiny bottle of vodka. “Is it even safe to take Xanax with alcohol?” he asks, his face screwing up in confusion, a hint of concern breaking through the amusement. “Are you so scared of flying that you’re willing to risk an OD?”

“Seems strange, given your profession,” Tom mutters as he sidesteps Ben to slide into the row of seats behind you.

You offer no reply, instead blinking your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the awful activity of preparing for takeoff. The doors haven’t even closed yet, people still steadily boarding the plane, your new teammates still stowing bags and chatting merrily around you, and yet you’ve already buckled in, pulled the lap belt as tight as it will go, and downed your second Xanax in an hour.

“She’ll be alright,” you hear from above. You crack open a single eye and look up to see Santiago looming over the back of your seat. “Fish,” he calls out, tossing a quick glance at the man still struggling with fitting everything into the overhead compartment. “You sit with her. Tell her about all the times you’ve flown. Keep her calm.”

“I’m calm,” you mumble under your breath.

He looks down at you and raises a brow, gaze holding yours even as he tells his friend, “And don’t let her pop any more pills.”

“No shit,” Ben chuckles as he steps out into the aisle, relinquishing his seat just as Frankie finally slams shut the door on the overhead bin. “We’ll have to scrape her off the floor otherwise.”

Frankie slides in next to you, the tiny armrest barely allowing for any space between you and the scorching heat radiating off of him. Normally you might be okay with that, it certainly felt good in the chilly parking lot the other night. But right now you’re feeling flush and hot and on the verge of possible combustion, the odd suck and click sound of the plane’s door shutting and sealing you in causing a bead of sweat to begin sliding down your temple.

“Truth be told, I’m not too wild about being on flights where I’m not the pilot,” he says, his soft voice pitched perfectly to sound just over the hum of the plane, the new buzzing in your ears, and the sudden woosh of air from the vent that he reaches over to switch on above you.

“Comforting,” you mutter, shutting your eyes against the harsh, dry air blowing down on you, but inclining your head back into the steady, cooling stream just the same.

“Just don’t tell her about how many times you’ve crashed, Fish,” Ben laughs from across the aisle. You bolt upright and crane your neck around the man beside you so as to stare the giggly child down, wide eyes gleaming with a very real threat that actually causes his smirk to break and a subtle, “sorry,” to slip past his lips.

Frankie takes your hand, pries it away from the armrest that you’d been holding in a death grip, and he gives you a little nudge with his elbow, encouraging you to lean back in your seat. “I’ve never crashed,” he corrects, shooting Benny a swift, reprimanding glare before turning back to you. “I’ve just… had a couple of rough landings. But each time everyone walked away fine.”

“Yeah?” you question, critical brow cranking high. “And how often do people walk away from rough landings on a commercial airplane?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Not often,” he admits. “But they also don’t go down often, so there’s that.”

Your eyes blow wide, slight gasp catching in your throat as you eke out, “Are you trying to jinx us?”

He twists in his seat to look at you, his fingers wrapping just a little bit tighter around your hand as you inadvertently shake in his grasp. “Trust me, princesa, this is the least dangerous thing we’re gonna do this week.”

The heady bolt of fear subsides a bit, quickly replaced by a tinge of confusion – princesa? – and a hint of irritation. Your face twists into an overdone pout – “Don’t call me that.” – but you can’t deny that his words do, somehow, put you at ease. Or perhaps the Xanax is just kicking in. Either way, you find yourself settling back into the seat, body and mind both suddenly sluggish and heavy. You twist towards him, away from the window and the blinding glare of the early morning sun as it reflects off the stark white wing of the plane, and you let out a small disgruntled grunt as the too-tight lap belt digs into your hip.

Frankie easily contorts himself in his seat so that he’s able to face you bodily, smiling – perhaps teasing – eyes never disconnecting from yours as he too settles in and reclines his head to the headrest. “Gotta have some kind of callsign over the radio,” he states, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a coy, crooked smile. “You don’t like princesa… how about loquita?”

“Fuck you,” you bark out amid a snort of a laugh, the offended pitch to your voice and wide-eyed stare setting him to very nearly vibrate with stifled giggles.

He takes a moment to swallow down his obvious amusement, holding your gaze all the while. Then he clears his throat and pulls his features into a stern set. “Don’t take it personally. I’d call anyone who hates to fly crazy.”

You issue out a short, incredulous scoff. “Maybe if I were the pilot, I’d like it. If I were in control.”

“Yeah,” he admits with a nod and a sigh. “That helps.”

But the truth is, you don’t actually think it would help that much. Because, well… “What person in their right mind thinks, you know what I’d like to do? I’d like to ignore the fact that God gave me legs instead of wings and I’d like to leave the ground. I mean… the ground is the safe place, man. What are you thinking?”

He smiles over at you, a soft, tender expression that sets off a flutter deep in your core. “What kind of person wants to stay on the ground with everybody else when they can climb into the heavens and move through the clouds?”

You bite back the grin that begs to break out and instead flatten your face in the most deadpan expression you can muster. “Are you fucking with me right now?” He merely shoots a wink in response, the light from outside your window reflecting in his deep brown eyes as they pierce into you. You roll your own eyes, but can just barely hold back the quirk to your lips as you say simply, “You’re the crazy one.”

He lets loose with a soft chuckle and shifts further in his seat so that he’s entirely facing you. “You never wanted to play in the clouds?” he asks, grin pulling wider. You feel a new heat – a welcome and comforting one, not the panicky, dizzying burn from before – blossom inside of you as you notice a single dimple cave in on the side of his stubble-dusted face.

A long sigh escapes you. “I mean, I did watch a lot of Care Bears growing up,” you offer, working to keep your expression still and set. But his smile simply grows and it’s just a breath of a moment before you break and let loose with a beam of your own. “God,” you nearly whine as an airy chuckle spills out of you. “Play in the clouds? You’re so cheesy.”

“Hey, I happen to really like cheese.” He raises a rather serious brow as he asks, tone low and sincere, “Can you imagine what the world would be like without cheese?”

You force a stoic glare, bite back a smile. “It’d be terrible. No nachos or pizza…”

He shakes his head slowly, sadly. “All the macaroni would be naked.”

You release a soft sigh. “One third of those popcorn tins would be empty.”

“Or filled with, I dunno, kale-dusted popcorn or something.”

You snort out a laugh, nose wrinkling in disgust. “What would we eat with tomato soup? Grilled eggplant?”

He shrugs. “What would Green Bay fans wear to the game?”

And again, you laugh, this one full and buoyant. “Poor Wisconsin, their entire economy would collapse.”

“What about the French?” he asks.

And it’s your turn to offer up a shrug. “They’ve still got wine.”

He stares at you for a lingering moment before his eyes flicker just past and out the window. “Maybe it sounds a little cheesy,” he begins, ticking his chin towards you, towards the tiny airplane window behind you. “But look out there and tell me there isn’t a part of you that wants to climb out there right now and bounce through those fluffy little bastards.”

Your brows pull tightly together, a quick flicker of pure shock shooting through you and causing you to whip around so fast that a crack sounds from your spine. Outside the window are, in fact, hordes of white puffy clouds peppering the bright blue sky. “What…?” you choke out, utter confusion lacing the word.

When had you taken off? When had you reached altitude? How had he managed to distract you so effectively as you climbed thousands of miles into the sky in this deathtrap tube?

You stare out the window for a long moment, giving yourself time to breathe, to comprehend. Allowing your fingers – which had just clamped painfully down on Frankie’s hand yet again – to slowly relax and loosen their terrified hold. No, there’s no part of you that wants to go out there and bounce around in the damn clouds. No. Way. In. Hell. But there is a part of you that begins to get lost in the soft, subtle beauty stretching out all around you. It’s still scary as hell. But it’s also… amazing.

Frankie watches as you continue to gaze out at the sprawling sky, bright blue on this beautiful day, a day he’d like nothing more in this world than to be out in, flying through the wide-open sky. Your hand remains wrapped around his, even if the intense grip has slackened. And your shoulders are still nearly pressed to you ears, so tense and taut. But there’s a sort of wonder wrapping about you now too, a look of, if not joy, at least appreciation.

“Los cielos,” he mutters from behind, seemingly to himself, his tone dreamy and airy and full of something like… wonder. You toss a glance over your shoulder and catch the way the sun lights his face as he stares just past you, his eyes fixated on the world beyond. You stare for perhaps a beat too long, not realizing until his gaze slowly shifts from the window to you, catching you in the act. The dimple caves again, wide smile pulling once more as he locks onto your eyes, light laughter bubbling out of him as your gaze pings away in a swift moment of embarrassment. He squeezes your hand, tightening his grip on your fingers for a single, quick, perfect millisecond before he utters, honeyed voice once again carrying more than a hint of teasing, “Cielo.”

Confused, you look back up at him, your brow twisting. But you let out a groan the moment he tenders another wink, the moment you realize that he’s just offered up another ridiculous callsign suggestion. You roll you eyes again, but make no move to pull out of his hold nor turn from his heated gaze. “So much cheese…”

He laughs again, his grin pulling tight as he watches you settle back into your seat with an exhausted sigh. You raise a brow in question, in challenge. And the smirk fades to a stony façade as he gives a single, definitive nod and declares, as though all has been settled, “Cielo.”

000

The flight knocks you for a loop. Less than an hour in, you’re passed out, snoring away on Frankie’s shoulder. You wake at one point to discover a pool of drool leaking from your gaping mouth and soaking through the shoulder of his button down, but you don’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed, nor the grace to apologize. Instead, you lazily swipe at the mess and turn with an incoherent mumble before dropping your heavy head against the cool glass of the window. You’re pretty sure you hear the tinkling of laughter coming from across the aisle – pretty sure that’s the sound that woke you from your drug-induced slumber to begin with – and you can definitely discern the throaty whispers of shut the hell up and you’re an asshole, Ben coming from the man by your side. But you’re too laden with sleep to really process or care.

For the next however many hours, you dream. Dream of bouncing through clouds in a bright blue sky. Dream of slinking through the jungle with strange men by your side. Dream of falling and floating and somehow rising to fly. You sleep and dream – and snore and drool – until an all-too familiar laugh sounds from above, a barking command of, “Hey, get your ass up, agent,” echoing in Santi’s exasperated – yet amused – tone. You blink open your eyes, tilt back your head, and see both him and Tom glaring down at you as they stand – bent awkwardly from the low ceiling of the plane – in the row behind. “Everybody else is already lone gone, bonita. Get your ass off the plane.”

Your brow furrows and your middle finger rises steadily upward, but somehow the rest of your body feels too heavy to move and it takes a kindhearted gentleman in a tattered old ballcap to ease you to your feet and out into the aisle.

“The second one was a mistake,” you mutter wearily as you nearly faceplant into Frankie’s chest.

“Yeah,” comes from behind in an annoyed scoff as Santiago reaches over to collect your bag from beneath the seat. “I’m confiscating your Xanax.”

The ride to the run-down inn and resort – far from the city and cheap as all hell – passes in a blur. But by the time you arrive and check into your little bungalow, you’re feeling, if not refreshed, at least awake.

Everyone agrees to meet up at the tiny restaurant at the edge of the grounds in about twenty minutes, just long enough for a quick rinse and wardrobe change. And somehow you manage to be the first one there, allowing you the opportunity to have a quick chat with the bartender – which results in a free, giant fruity concoction – before settling into a table in the corner. You let out a relaxed sigh and breathe back in the humid jungle air, realizing only in this very moment that a part of you actually missed this place. That a part of you might just think of the Amazon as home. You glance around, take note of your surroundings – as you always do, always have done, even before your law enforcement training – and begin to watch the rather handsy young couple at the bar as they giggle and swoon.

It isn’t long before Benny jogs up behind you and drops into the seat on your right. He sets down a fruity drink that looks suspiciously like yours, making you wonder if the bartender treats all tourists to a free, sugar-fueled beverage and perhaps your flirting earned you nothing at all. But as the others meander in and join you, all with mere sweating bottles of beer in their hands, you decide instead that you and Ben must just be the most special of the bunch.

Of course, that notion begins to chafe once Benny turns to you with a wicked look in his eye and pulls his phone from his pocket, nonchalantly swiping though a parade of terrible photos with an all-too delighted smile. The first few show you passed out on Frankie on the plane, mouth gaping wide as you spill drool into his shirt. “Oh, God!” you gasp, only just now recalling the brief moment of near lucidity from earlier in the day. “You took pictures?!”

You give him a quick slap and try to grab the cell from his hand only to have him rear back and laugh out, “Wait, wait, these are my favorites,” before scrolling through the next dozen or so, each picture showing a steady progression of your drowsy head falling from Will’s shoulder down to his lap as the two of you sat in the back on the drive in from the airport.

“You talk in your sleep,” Will states plainly from across the table, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

You cock your head suspiciously at him, gaze narrowing. “Liar,” you accuse despite knowing full well that it’s true.

The corner of his mouth quirks into a crooked grin. “Something about… sliding down rainbows?”

“Ooooh,” you drawl out, nodding your head. “Yeah, that makes sense. Frankie kept talking to me about Care Bears on the flight in.”

The man to your left takes a steady gulp from his beer, a swallow so huge it makes you think he’d been navigating the desert all day, desperate for a drink. “You were barely conscious for more than five minutes on that flight. You don’t have a clue what I talked to you about.”

“Better not have been anything dirty,” Santiago interjects pointedly.

You turn and pin Frankie down with an intent yet amused stare. “I definitely remember something about playing in the clouds.”

“Naked?” Ben asks as he jostles your other side with his elbow.

“Ahora, eso seria realmente el cielo,” Frankie mutters softly, ducking further beneath the bill of his hat and trying desperately not to laugh as you level him with an astounded glare.

By the time the food comes, your table has managed to outdo the small group of college students in the corner in terms of noise, filling the only partially walled-in establishment with a relaxed sort of banter and the occasional booming laughter. Benny continues his jokes and playful ribbing, eagerly pulling you in to blend with his tightknit group. Will and Frankie both remain mostly quiet, despite their comfortable-looking grins and occasional bursts of laughter.

Tom’s demeanor is similar, perhaps a bit less relaxed, a bit more guarded. Even after claiming to be cool with your presence on this little escapade, he’s anything but warm and welcoming to you. It doesn’t escape your notice that he continues to pull Santi aside to whisper what you can only assume are either covert sweet nothings or – far more likely – mission-related thoughts and plans that he still doesn’t quite trust you with. You shrug it off… it’s fine, really. You’ve had to slip into other cliques and clusters before, wedge yourself into a special operations task force or try to integrate in with local police to gain access to intel. This wasn’t your first rodeo. And frankly, compared to the Federales in Juarez, all of these guys had welcomed you into the fold with wide-open arms.

It isn’t long – or it doesn’t feel like long, anyway – before Santi rises and tells everyone that he’s heading to bed. A shit-eating grin passes over his face as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, familiar looking pill bottle. He shakes the remaining Xanax around and states simply, “For once, I’m actually gonna sleep great.”

Tom follows hot on his heels after issuing out – in a tone equal parts dad and captain – “We’re up at 0500 and I don’t want any of you to be dragging ass.” Everyone nods their assent, but the moment he and Santi are out the door, Ben promptly buys another round and the four of you who remain settle into a new rhythm that lasts until the tiny restaurant and bar finally shoos you out so they can close for the night.

The lot of you wander the grounds of the inn for a bit after that, indulging in the cool breeze after hours of sweltering heat, and continuing to laugh and talk. But as you make it back to the bungalows, the brothers break away, Ben disappearing into his room without so much as a grunt of goodbye, and Will raising a pointed finger high and telling you and Frankie both to, “Get the hell away from these mosquitos and go get some sleep. Otherwise, Redfly’ll be raining down shit on everyone in the morning.”

But you’re now more awake than you’ve been all day, sated from a too-large dinner and positively sloshing with alcohol, well-rested after your many-hours-long nap during your travels, and you just can’t seem to make yourself shut up, not even once you arrive at your door.

And Frankie seems to welcome it, listening intently as you babble on, filling the gaps with assertions of his own. Now that Ben’s no longer around to monopolize the conversation, you and Frankie develop an easy back and forth, the dialog taking on a soft, steady, even cadence. You talk about everything, the two of you. About Mexico, because you spent nearly four years in different parts of the country, and he still has family in a few of those areas. And you talk about all the places you’ve been, you with your sprawling career and general lust for travel – Road trips are more my thing though… and camping, hiking… Have you ever been through Bryce Cannon? God’s country. – and Frankie with his time in the military and more recent contract work – Yeah, nature’s great and all, but have you walked through the bazars in Marrakesh? Unbelievable. Though I wouldn’t say no to a day of fishing off the Gulf.

You talk about Santiago, each sharing stories of the man who had only just become a trusted colleague and friend for you over these last few years, but had been one of Frankie’s most beloved people for well over a decade. And that leads you into asking about the other guys too, each of whom you find yourself getting to know better and better from even just the few stories he shares as you two recline back into the railing of the bungalow’s small porch. He even manages to get you comfortable enough to share some stories about your own comrades over the years, the good, the bad, and the ugly… and the long-time partner who bled out in your arms following a bust outside of Albuquerque. Though you don’t spend much time on that, eager to move on almost the moment that your partner’s name passes through your lips.

The look on his face, though – as you share those sparse details from that most awful day – tells you immediately that Frankie understands exactly what it’s like to lose a partner, a brother in arms. And while that isn’t a surprise in the least – he had just gotten through telling you that he spent fifteen years in the special forces after all – that knowledge does cause you to feel a whole new pull. It makes you scoot a bit closer, makes you drop your hand easily atop his, your sweaty palm gliding along his warm skin before he reciprocates by slowly turning in your grasp and twining his fingers with yours.

“So,” he breathes out after a moment. “You’ve been out here for… three years?”

You nod, a soft smile blooming as you think about this bizarre and stunning corner of the world. “About that.”

His gaze travels out into the lush jungle located just beyond the row of bungalows, small porchlights illuminating just enough of the canopy to remind you both of where you are. “What’s the city like?” he asks after a beat.

“It’s nice,” you rush out. “Small, relaxed…” Your lips purse together as you think on what to say, how to describe this place that has been your home for three years now. “Lot more tourists than you might think. It’s funny, even the people who live here – in the city at least – a lot of them are transplants from Bogota.” You give a nonchalant shrug – “The streets flood a lot. That’s not always fun.” – and relish the deep chuckle emanating from the man by your side. “There’s a legend about how it got its name,” you say suddenly. “I’ve never really gotten any details about it, but supposedly a Colombian soldier fell in love with an Amerindian woman…”

“Leticia,” he supplies, the name slipping from his tongue in a perfectly accented drawl, falling out into the dark night in a soft, low rumble.

You nod. “And he named the city after her.”

Frankie huffs out a small laugh, a light and airy rumble. His gaze continues to wander, dark eyes shifting along the barely perceivable horizon. “Must’ve been a hell of a lady,” he mutters absently, giving your fingers a squeeze.

You watch him closely, his features soft and relaxed in the low light, the slightest hint of a smile still riding his lips. “Yeah. Must’ve been.”

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x you #santiago pope garcia #benny miller #will ironhead miller

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xxtraord1nary · 3 years

Text

POV

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x f!mc (Charlotte West)

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Constructive criticism is always welcome! No hate please and thank you for reading reblog and comment if you enjoyed.

Summary: A very naughty and heavily pregnant Charlotte much prefers her handsome lovers point of view.

Warnings: Strong Language, Fellatio, Sex, and a tad of dark humor. If that makes you uncomfortable please exit stage left because you’ve been warned. Overall vulgar.

Tag list: @katkart122 @missmiimiie @openheartfanfics

“Tobias, I am not playing with you get that damn camera out of my face! It's way too early for your shit.” Charlotte snapped whilst swatting at the pest she called a husband as he continued to record his very moody wife with his old camera he found a couple a months ago when Char ordered him with a broom in hand to go “clean that damn garage” or he could sleep on the couch for a month, so that being all the motivation he needed Tobias got to it with vigor.

“You're really good at this whole black mama thing Charlie.” he teases with a shit eating grin plastered on his stupidly perfect face. “Keep it up and I’ll be a single black mama if you don’t quit.” she grunted while taking down her plaited kinky tendrils that in the morning tended to have a mind of their own.

“Now why would you say that?”

“Because I’m going to kill you” she said whilst continuing to grumpily apply toothpaste to her electric toothbrush.

“Really talking like that when I’m recording, then the police will immediately know who to be held responsible in the case of my untimely demise, Charlie.” he further ribbed while shaking his head playfully behind the lens.

“Screw you and the police Carrick.” she spat.

“Babe, you know all you have to do is corporate and let me get my daily picture of you and our little Tiny Tia. So get with the program.” he chided with a small but genuine smile as he further gazed at the love of his life and their little one growing inside her very pregnant belly.

“Alright two things: that name is super cute and I’m surprised you came up with that yourself.”

“I’m good for something, see?” to which she answered with a ‘meh’ and shrug of her shoulders.

“I’m offended.” and again another answer in the form of shrugged shoulders and a hard roll of the eyes.

“Now for two, why on earth do you need a picture every day?” she whined with tired eyes.

“This is our first child out of many, I need to capture every moment. Now lift up your shirt!” he confidently proclaimed.

She didn’t want to burst his little bubble but if he thought for a second she was pushing another of his big headed babies out of her lady parts he was sorely mistaken. ‘What the hell is “out of many” anyways?’ she pondered with a perplexed expression. “Absolutely not, I look like a gross ragamuffin.”

He sighed, “Charlie lift up your shirt or I’m gonna hold out.” he asservated pleased with her shocked expression. “Oh yeah, hold out what exactly?” she challenged with raised eyebrows. He knew the denial of sex would be the thing to do it for her. Already she had an insatiable sexual appetite hence here they were here six months pregnant, but pregnancy hormones only amplified that. “You really don’t wanna play those games with me Tobias, or you’ll find yourself handcuffed to bed and taken by force.” she lightheartedly fired back. “I’m quite intrigued as long as I can return the favor.” he huskily dropped an octave and whispered to her. She shivered and scoffed “You a silly little freak.” with a laugh.

“Honestly Charlie, all this is unnecessary as all I wanted was my pictures and could have been going about my business by now but someone refused to get along with the picture. Pun heavily intended.” he sighed.

“Okay I’ll bite, but what are you even doing with these pictures?”

“Well, if you must know. I take your picture or video then I pleasure myself.” he sexily drawled “then upload it online to make a virtual scrapbook.” he happily finished. “Why am I not surprised?” she chuckled as she shoved his laughing form. “Wait, you still masturabte?” she inquisitively questioned.

“Well, yeah sometimes you're in a horrifying mood and I’d rather work with what I’ve got than you ripping my head off, do you?”

“Actually no, not since I met you at least.” she truthfully noted, as her hands just didn’t do the job since Dr. Tobias Carrick waltzed into her life with his devilishly handsome face and rocked her world.

“I’m doing my job right then.” he pressed with a smirk. “Mhm, too right if you ask me.” she quipped pointing to her very round and beautiful stomach adorned with barely visible glittery stretch marks that only magnified her beauty and strength. “What’s on your mind now?” he pried while she poked at her bump in the mirror. “Me and Sienna, Aurora, and Jackie are going out to Carson Beach and I can’t decide whether to wear a two or one piece.”

“Two pieces of course so I can enjoy the fruits of my labor.” he smiled proudly.

“Four minutes hardly constitutes at “labor” she mocked with air quotes. He smacked his teeth in annoyance, “If you loved me you’d do this for me.” he pleaded. And now it was her turn to kiss her teeth, “Fine!” she huffed. “But leave my face out of it, I look icky in the mornings.” to which he eagerly disagreed and pecked her lips but not before muttering something along the lines of “stunning”.

“Alright, I’ll give you your little video but you have to do something for me.” she suggestively proposed. To which he readily agreed as he loved her ‘just been fucked’ afterglow. He then turned off the old camcorder and attempted to put it away but she fingered the loops of his jeans “Uh uh turn it back on.”

He was sure his eyes were completely bulging out of his skull and managed to mutter a “Charlie a-are you serious?” in his daze. She nodded and sunk down to her knees as she slowly tugged down his boxers and elicited a low groan from him.

In the lens of the camera she expertly handled his member with care and tenderly began to stroke him giggling at his floored expression. “You ready for me, Tobias?” she tantalizingly asked not ceasing her stroking. Receiving an eager nod and thumbs up from the camera she smirked at her success in making the talkative bastard speechless. Expertly she teased his large in girth and lengthy member with the tip of her tongue before guiding him into her mouth as she had done tons of times before sucking her mans dick like a woman starved.

“Oh god, slow down baby.” Tobias pitifully groaned while screwing his mind down as the love of his life expertly worked him. “You wanna be inside me, baby?” she whispered in a sultry tone against the head of his member cursing a pleasant shiver to rack his body. He didn’t answer but instead made a gesture behind the camera for me to turn around. He thanked the heavens above for the easy access and the fact that she was wearing one of his shirts and abandoned underwear long ago. She hissed as his large strong hand cam crashing down on her bare ass, and soothed the pleasant sting with a soft rub. “Perfect.” he murmured as he continued his caressing of her more than generous backside. “How’s the view?” she asked with a wink through the mirror.

And with a quick and brutal thrust he was inside leaving her panting mess on the cold surface of the bathroom countertop as she moaned slowly.

“Amazing.” he quickly answered before he began his unrelenting deep thrust. “Deeper” she moaned out in the air. Resting on her palms and easing away from the countertop she made eye contact with a chipper Tobias as he violently thrust into her and she had to brace herself. “Where are you going Char?” Tobias teased as she stood on her tiptoes desperately in an unsuccessful attempt of creating space between them.

“Damn I know I told him deeper, but now he's just showing out for the camera.” she thought while groaning as he hit a spot inside her making let out a loud guttural moan. He made the most out of his opportunity reaching to rub her clit. Moaning even louder he soon used one hand to grip her shoulder as he angled the camcorder downwards to catch sight of his pelvis meeting her dripping cunt. Closing her eyes for some reprieve she opened them to meet Tobias’s eyes in the mirror to find him damn near gnawing through his lip to hold back his loud groans.

Her release soon crep up on her and she moaned loudly, “Baby, I-” to which he cut her off as he sped up his tireless thrust, “Me too. Don’t wait for me.” and with that she came harder than ever and fell back on the counter, a panting mess and sweating bullets and winced as he pulled out of her. She mistakenly thought he was going to clean her only for him to zoom in the camera to get a close up of her used pussy with his milky cum dripping out of her.

Once he caught his breath he chuckled “That was amazing and it wasn’t even my birthday.” to which she rolled her eyes with a dazed expression and a small smile on her face since enjoying the after effects of their morning activities.

“Yeah yeah you better delete that.” she warned turning on the shower.

“Uh-Uh Charlie we just made a porno, I’m downloading this to my USB and keeping it in my safe.” he remarked while being transfixed at the camcorder in his hands causing her to snort with laughter.

“Whatever, if it gets leaked I better get paid for it.” she declared while leaving to her shower leaving Tobias in a cheerful fit of post orgasmic laughter.

Fin.

A/N: That was nasty and you read it so you’re nasty too.

#tobias carrick #open heart #tobias carrick x oc #PB #choices #one shot #tobias carrick fic #tobias #carrick #poc #black woman #black lead #bwbm #spotify #f!mc

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untaemedqueen · 4 years

Text

The Lions Den

Mafia!Yoongi x Wife!Hyunah

Genre: Mafia!AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Chapter 12.

Warnings: Smut, Blood, Guns, Knives, Excessive Cursing, Excessive Alcohol Intake, Smoking (Cigarettes and Cigars), Mental Health Issues

Warnings In This Chapter: Sub!Yoongi, Dom!Hyunah, Mistress Kink, Pain Kink, Degradation, Cigarette Ashing, Begging, Use Of A Cock Ring, Edging, Mentions Of A Safeword, Fellatio, Riding, Dry Orgasm, Impreg Kink (Sorta), Multiple Orgasms, Blood, Gorey Descriptions, Cut Body Parts

A/N: Shout out to @xjoonchildx and @ladyartemesia for beta-ing this and rooting me on

TagList- @ayyyocee, @mysugabear03, @wisebtsgot7prune, @imaforeigner, @yeonkiminnie, @stories1907, @ppersonna, @brilee64, @gooplibrary, @vivpurple7, @xjoonchildx, @brightwingr5, @yaniposts22, @rjsmochii, @taeslittletiger, @pjmcth, @bts-chub, @kpoppingthempills, @kim-ji-hyeons-world, @jikooksgirl19, @yoong-i, @ruinsofangels, @absolutefantrash, @chiminies-noona, @eclectically-esoteric, @simplybree

Sequel to The Bird Cage

Mirrors are a good way of reflecting. A good way to stare deep inside yourself and see who you really are. See what has made you become the person you are.

Yoongi stares at the mirror for hours at a time. Just like today.

His fingers traipse up and down the long scar on his face as he stares at his reflection.

He can barely remember how he got it, he feels like he's had it for as long as he can remember.

He can barely feel through the gnarled skin as he touches it. It's been a long time since he's seen his unmarred face. When this happened to him he was still living in Daegu with Taehyung by his side.

They roamed the street. The worst of their kind. When Jimin found them it seemed to just make sense. For Yoongi, anyway.

A brotherhood. A family. God, he had gone his whole life without knowing what that was. He used to believe he was the devil incarnate. Thinking everything he had done was due to something wrong inside of him.

But Jimin helped him. Helped him to change his anger into something more constructive.

He had been given responsibilities then. The heavy load of moving illegal guns and shipments all on him. And, he found pride in that. He was worth something because of Jimin. He owed him his everything.

He found camaraderie. He found his place in a world so dark that it no longer begged the question when would light ever come?

Finding himself meant finding his heart. Somewhere along the lines they became blurred. He had countless bodies drifting in and out of the large mansion he once lived in with his brothers.

As he touches his scar, he lets out a gentle snort. He remembers when he saw Y/N for the first time. He had been sleeping with Hyunah every so often even back then but Y/N now she was something new.

He can remember how appealing he found her. He wanted her. He wondered if he could ask Jimin for her, quite like Taehyung did with Hyejin. But, it wasn't in the cards. Literally.

He and Hyunah were together one night and she read him his fortune. Y/N was not for him, but Hyunah was.

There lied the problem then. This gorgeously fierce married woman was his destiny and he had to patiently wait for her husband to die. It was harrowing.

Gut wrenching even. But, in the end he had her. And oh, how he adores her.

Truly destiny was shining upon him.

She taught him and continues to teach him.

Teaches him to free himself from all of his burdens. All of his chains. And, his own mind.

Lighting a cigarette his fingers trail to the back of his neck. Inhaling deeply, his eyes flutter shut as he feels the scarred skin. He can feel the olive branches and the incredible detail.

Exhaling the toxic smoke, he can hear the sound of heels behind him. The noise was once off putting but now it turns his bones to jello.

"Yoongi?" Hyunah's voice is gentle as her hands wrap around his bare torso.

Her lips glide over his scar and he lets out a small sigh at the feeling.

"Hmm." He whispers as a hand trails lower. She gropes his crotch roughly earning a groan from him as his cigarette dangles from his lips.

"Do you need to be distracted? Are you caught up in your demons again?" Her voice is filled with taunting notions riddling him useless.

He gives a small nod with a whine, his head lolling back onto her shoulder. Taking the cigarette from his lips, she puts it in her own parted lips before squeezing his balls harder.

“Let me hear you say it, darling. Let me hear it.”

His body goes stiff as his mouth opens. Adoring the painful pleasure his wife gives to him so freely.

“Yes, Mistress. I need it. I need to be distracted, please.”

She hums into his ear, tugging him by the belt towards their large bed. Dripping with power and allure, he finds his cock hardening at the thought of being dominated by his wife.

It takes a big man to admit he needs distracting. And, it takes an even bigger man to give his pride away in times of sexual need to his woman who transports him onto a different plane.

She steps in front of him. His eyes on her low cut gown before being shoved backwards onto the bed. Hitting the pillows, he watches her inhale from his cigarette. His mouth opens slightly as she narrows her eyes down at him.

God, she was so good at making him feel feeble and small. So good at taking away his thoughts and bringing him to a state of complete need.

She starts to undress in front of him. Slowly dragging down the expensive fabric of her gown and he finds himself enraptured by the sections of skin she begins to show. His hand reaches up to touch her and the sharp breath she takes between her teeth has him recoiling in seconds.

“Did I say you could touch?” The sharpness of her voice makes it difficult for him to swallow.

“No, Mistress. I’m sorry. I’ll behave.” She scoffs at his words gently before raising her heeled foot and pressing it into his chest.

Groaning at the sharp twinge of pain as her pointed heel digs into his sternum, he can’t help but feel his cock twitch and grow with need in his briefs.

“Looks like you, young man, need to learn some manners.” She whispers before discarding her dress from her body.

The black lace bodice she adorns hugs her body perfectly, thrusting her large breasts up to the heavens as she ashes her cigarette on the floor.

“Yes. Fuck yes.” Yoongi gasps as she digs her heel deeper into his chest.

Laying back fully he submits himself willingly to her. Anything and everything she wants, he would more than happily provide.

“What should I do for you today? Hmm? Should I make you ravage me till you’re crying to cum? Should I fuck your tight little hole until you beg for release?” She teases before ashing on his briefs.

His eyes roll back as she replaces her foot on his chest with her hand. She gives soothing strokes before burning out the cigarette on the floor.

“Anything Mistress. Please.” Yoongi can barely recognize his own voice, so needy and whimpering. But, that’s when he’s the best. When he no longer feels like himself.

She turns her nose up at his words before walking away and he can feel his need for her growing as he stares at the globes of her ass as they jiggle. She leans against the bureau of bedroom treasures before opening the double doors wide.

“I think you need some good old fashioned edging.” She says as she grabs the tightest cock ring from the loop on the wall.

He would normally protest but with all this Im business lately, all this stress, he wants to be so frustrated.

Licking his lips, he nods to her as he leans up on his elbows. She watches him stew and fester for a few minutes, letting his eyes roam over her body. She feels powerful off of his love. If there was one thing about Lee Hyunah, she loves the human body and the power you can have by taking others' power away.

She prowls over slowly, relishing in the way he palms at his fully erect cock. She relishes in the whine he gives as she straddles him.

“Baby.” She whispers in his ear and his eyes are trained on her breasts as she bends down.

“Y-Yes Mistress.” He mewls as she tugs his hair roughly.

“Mistress loves you.” He sighs gratefully, eyes squeezing shut at the pain as his tongue licks at his lips.

“Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for loving me. I don’t deserve it.” He mumbles as she kisses down his face. Stopping at the gnarled scar before licking it.

He shivers beneath her, hands gripping at the bedsheets knowing better than to touch without being told to.

“Down, baby.” She instructs and his elbows cave in on the mattress within seconds of her instruction.

She kisses down his chest, taking it slow where his cigarette burns and his large scar is that Y/N so dutifully stitched up many years ago. His gasps and groans make her smirk against his skin.

It’s powerful, isn’t it? The bond between two people when you truly just let things be. He trusts her completely, and in turn she is his biggest failsafe.

“Tell me your safeword and we can play.” She says as she hooks two fingers into the band of his briefs.

He clears his throat, ripping his eyes away from her breasts to look at her.

“Feather.” He whispers.

Snapping the band back to him, he grits his teeth as her lips explore his lower half. Her teeth nip gently at the skin above his underwear and he finds it difficult to keep his ass planted on the bed.

She tugs down his briefs roughly, raising an eyebrow at how angry red the mushroom tip is today. He must really need to be distracted.

His cock is bigger than her late husband, slightly curved with pretty rose veins that litter the long length. He was the perfect thickness. He was perfect, in all truthfulness. Everything about him was made for her. Destiny smiled upon them in this lifetime.

She kisses down his long length earnings gasps and whimpers. His eyes fall shut once more, adoring her plush lips against his heated member.

“Thank you Mistress. Thank you for touching me.” He gasps out as her sharp nails dig into the taut skin of his thighs.

Precum beads mercilessly at the bulbous tip, Hyunah watches with patient eyes as it slowly begins to glide down the considerable length.

“Look at how much of a fucking baby you are. I haven’t even really touched you and you’re begging to release.” Her finger picks up the precum before entering the single digit into her mouth.

Yoongi’s hips thrust upward at her sensual action, watching how her tongue swirls around her finger with precision.

“Jesus. Please, Mistress. I’m so fucking hard. Please touch me more.” She clicks her teeth at his words before grasping his face in her hand. Smushing his cheeks as her nails dig into his skin.

“You get what I give and you’ll appreciate it. Do you understand me?” With a feeble whimper he nods to her.

She was painfully good at the long game. She has gone hours with him, teasing and turning his cock purple before even letting him orgasm once. And, if he kept it up today, it would be a repeat if he didn’t get his head on straight.

Sliding the cock ring on, he takes in a sharp breath at the tightness. She strokes his cock once, twice, three times just to hear her name tumble from his perfect lips before stopping.

“You had bad thoughts today, didn’t you Yoongi? That’s why you want to be punished?” His wife asks as she points to the headboard.

Scrambling up to the top of the bed, he curses beneath his breath. Of course, she would know.

“Yes.” He admits as he situates himself as she wants.

“And what did you think of that got you in this mournful mood?” She asks, straddling his thigh.

In the short amount of time it took for him to get to the top of the bed, her pussy was already unsheathed from her lace panties. Gleaming wet in the daylit master bedroom. She begins to ride his thigh, bottom lip purchasing between her teeth.

God, she’s a fucking masterpiece. He can feel his cock throbbing harsher with the cock ring. Begging to be touched, to find any relief at all.

“I saw Y/N this morning.” He whispers nervously.

She hums to him as she brushes her hair over her shoulders. His eyes fall to her arousal on his thigh and he flexes his muscles just to hear a wanton gasp of approval from his wife.

“You did?” She asks as she closes her eyes, losing herself in the pleasure.

“Yeah. She had on that nightgown. The one I like. With the- fuck.” He groans out as his wife strips himself of her corset.

Her breasts bounce out, free from the leather and he whines as her nipples begin to harden in the chilly air of their home.

“Mistress, may I? Please? Your tits are so beautiful.” He begs her, his eyes turning as big as saucers as he looks up at her.

“Go ahead, baby.”

His arms wrap around her back quickly, tugging her roughly to his body. Snaking his tongue out, he runs circles around her areola before encasing her stiff peaked nipple with his lips. He groans loudly as his hands grip at her flesh.

Her scent is vanilla and lavender and it brings him comfort smelling it. She was his home and he knew it all too well.

“Good boy.” She moans gently as he abandons one breast for the other. She rocks quicker against his thigh, chasing her own high as his cock leaks more precum in its forsaken state. Her nails run down his chest, leaving bright red lines in their wake.

“You’re so gorgeous Mistress. Thank you for using me.” He whispers out.

“Why am I using you, baby? Tell Mistress.”

“Because I don’t deserve to be touched or pleased. I don’t deserve to feel your beautiful cunt around me for having such thoughts today.” He chokes out as she shoves him back against the headboard. His mouth gives an audible pop as he is ripped away from her breast.

He curses gently as he watches her reach the peak of her pleasure. Adoring the small simpers and whines she gives out before her hips stutter. He pulls her hips roughly, earning a loud moan as she orgasms. Her body undulates in his grasp as she rides out her pleasure.

He grits his teeth as his cock throbs. The pain becoming almost unbearable.

“So you saw Y/N today.” Hyunah says as she hops off of his thigh and he sighs.

He was always truthful with his wife. He didn’t love Y/N, of course. His wife had his heart and more, but yet there was still this pressing attraction to the woman who he has known for years.

“Yes. And she was wearing that nightgown.” Hyunah hums as she inhales from her cigarette.

“So your prick got hard because the pretty girl was wearing a nice dress? Hmm?” She mocks and his cheeks blush pink at her degradation.

“I’m sorry Mistress.” He murmurs as she spits on his cock.

“It’s because you love power. You love a woman that can hold their own and you’re just a simpering little man that needs to be punished. Isn’t that right?” He nods fervently to his wife as she presses the cigarette to his lips.

She lets the cigarette dangle as she bows down. Her tongue licks a circle around the head of his cock and his back smacks into the headboard at her action.

“Oh, fuck. You suck my cock so well. Thank you Mistress.” He whines before inhaling.

“Tell me why you like to see the powerful woman you work for.” She taunts as she bows her head down on him. Working assiduously on his cock, she smacks his inner thigh as he finds it difficult to concentrate on any words.

“She just...fuck, baby.” He whines as he cards his fingers through her long hair.

Smacking his hand away from her head, he closes his eyes before pulling the cigarette from his lips. Her mouth was so wet and warm on him, tears pool in her eyes as she deepthroats his large cock.

“You know me. You know I only love you baby.” He murmurs and he knows it’s the wrong answer as she pulls off of him. He groans loudly in frustration as his pleasure is ebbed away.

“I know you do. I don’t want those words. Tell me or I’ll leave you here like this.” He scoffs gently before nodding as his wife bends back down.

“She just looked pretty and soft in the nightgown. She’s pregnant again and I-” Hyunah lets her teeth graze the long length of his cock and he shivers mid sentence.

Pulling off of him, she straddles him fully before slowly sliding down on his cock. “God, your pussy feels so fucking good Mistress. Thank you for fucking me.” He groans out as she stills on top of him.

“That's what it is? You like to see your boss all pregnant and still so powerful?” His cock throbs within her and she raises her eyebrows impressed.

“Can we stop talking about it? You know I’m faithful to you and only you. I’m sorry I had those thoughts… I need to be punished, baby.” He whines out as he ashes out the cigarette. His hands find their place on her hips as she begins to bounce on his cock.

He watches her breasts sway with each bounce. Watching how her mouth opens at the pleasure of being filled so nicely with his large cock.

He could feel his pleasure coming too. Feeling his cock thickening and throbbing as he throws his head back with a loud moan.

“I know you’re faithful, baby. Or else you wouldn't have a cock or balls left. But, you shouldn’t be ashamed of finding your boss attractive. The human body is so beautiful. Like now, I’m going to make you cum and you’re going to cry. And, it's going to be beautiful. ” She whispers in his ear as she presses her breasts to his chest.

His fingers grip harder at her skin as she rides his cock. His eyes wander to the place where they’re joined and he bites his bottom lip at how much of his wifes arousal is on his cock. How slick and messy she was for him. His neck veins jut out as he swallows thicky, savoring this pleasurable pain.

His cock was so relentlessly hard, begging to cum. She nips at the skin of his neck, adoring the way he holds her closer as he moans her name. He becomes lost in the sensual act, forgetting his role as submissive and just teetering on the edge of pleasure.

“I’m going to cum. Fuck. Baby, please let me. I’m dying.” He begs of her and she pulls off of him. He sobs loudly at the loss, his head tilting and eyes shutting as his orgasm slips away from him.

“You find her so attractive when she’s pregnant because you can’t help but think about how Jimin drilled that child into her cunt, don’t you? You would love to have the balls to be that confident.” He wipes at his cheeks before clearing his throat.

It’s true. He knows it. His wife certainly knows it.

She slaps his cock, earning his eyes on hers as he stares into her black irises.

“Yes.” He whispers.

“But you're not that confident. What are you?” She asks as she slides back down on his cock.

With a stunted gasp, his hands reach up for her breasts and she allows it. She coos gently as she wipes his cheeks as more tears fall.

“I’m just your weak baby. Just want my Mistress to fuck me good and make me beg for it.” He whispers and she hums to him.

Kissing him hard, she begins to bounce on his cock again. Their tongues sliding over one anothers and he can taste alcohol on her tongue. Biting his bottom lip harshly, she whimpers as he pinches and rolls her nipples between his fingertips.

“You’re such a good boy. Your cock fills me so nicely.” She moans out as her head lolls back.

His hips lift meeting her every bounce and he takes pleasure in the way her thighs quiver. She was close to her next orgasm and he wants nothing but to please her. He fucks up into her faster, adoring her gasps and hearing his name from her lips.

“Please Mistress, please say my name again. Let me hear you say my name.” He begs as he pulls her close. Her arms wrap around his neck and his cock shudders within her as her ragged breath fans over his ear.

“Yoongi.” She whispers before biting down on his earlobe.

Without warning he orgasms. Groaning loudly in her ear as his hips still. It doesn’t confuse him anymore but it still hurts. Dry orgasms were his worst form of punishment and his eyes well up with tears as the short pleasure turns into sharp shooting pain.

“Fuck. Your cock is so amazing. Just a pretty little toy for your Mistress to get off on.”

“Y-Yes Mistress. Just your little sextoy.” He chokes out as tears streak over his cheeks.

Rolling her hips, his cock fills every part of her and she sighs wantonly as her pleasure builds. Even in his pain, he adores her. Adores how her chest heaves towards him as she lets out small squeaks and moans.

“I’m going to cum on your big cock, baby. Wouldn’t that be so nice? To have your Mistress cum all over you?” He nods fervently as she tugs at his hair.

“Yes. Please, please cum on my cock. Show me how much you love your toy.”

“Such a good boy.” She praises and his heart swells at the compliment.

She orgasms again, her cunt tightening and milking his cock as she whines out his name.

She caresses his face as she goes through her pleasure. Ears ringing with white noise as she watches him bite down on his bottom lip.

“Would you let me give you a baby, Mistress? Would you?” He asks as she hops off of him.

Taking off the cock ring, he chokes on a gasp as the blood rushes back into his cock. He preens as she strokes him, the sensitivity almost making him scream out his safeword.

“Of course I would, baby.” They both knew that Hyunah couldn’t- and wouldn’t have anymore kids. But it wasn’t about really wanting a baby for Yoongi. It was about “wanting to be man enough to do it.” He envied Jimin sometimes. He always found it easy to get what he wants and being man enough to take it.

Although his persona was one to be rivaled with, Yoongi was just feeble. Needing to be controlled and begging to be distracted.

“You know your Mistress would let you put a baby inside of her. Let you get me knocked up and rely on you to take care of me.” He nods at her words as she lays back. Her legs spread for him and he jumps at the chance to situate himself inside them.

He prods at her entrance, tongue licking over her neck as he inched his way inside. He gasps at her tightness, burying his face in her neck as he bucks into her with all of his strength.

“Yeah? You’d let me get you real big with my baby and make me take care of you? I’d wait on you hand and foot. Make you know how great of a man I am.” He mumbles through gritted teeth.

Her nails rake down his back as she moans his name. He fucks her with force, almost sending her body down the bed if he didn’t have a good grasp on her.

“I’m your little bitch with a big, fat cock but if I got you pregnant you’d need me to take care of you. You’d beg me to help you.” He seethes out and she screams in pleasure as he presses her knees to her chest.

“You let my cock get so hard that it’s painful Mistress. Fuck, your pussy feels so good!” He whines as she kisses over his scar.

“You’re such a good boy for me, you deserve to cum a big load in my pussy.”

“Yeah, shit. I love pleasing you, Mistress. I love being so good for you.” His cock thickens and throbs with each thrust and he finds himself sobbing again. He pleases her? If that’s the case it’s tenfold for him.

His body wracks with pleasure. White hot and nerve tingling pleasure courses through him as he finds himself close to his release.

“Hyunah. Fuck. I love you. I love you so much baby. Christ!” He sobs out as he feels his balls tighten.

“I love you too, baby.” She whispers before running her fingers through his hair.

With a loud groan, he orgasms. He hugs her tightly to his body as ropes of cum paint her inner walls.

“Yes.” He whines loudly before sighing. It seems to be never ending, the amount of cum he lets out.

Finally, he lifts off of his wife before pulling out of her gently. With a hum, she closes her legs and he smirks at her as she grabs two cigarettes off of the bedside table.

He lights them for them before leaning back against the headboard. “Thanks, baby. I needed that.” He murmurs as he slings his arm over her shoulder. Her fingers glide over the large scar on his stomach and he looks down before putting his head back.

“You know how much I love you, right?” He asks as his thumb rubs comforting circles on her shoulder. She smiles before nodding and pressing her bare body into his side.

“I know. I love you too.” He closes his eyes as he pulls from his cigarette.

“You’ve been having a rough week. With all of the Im stuff and everything and I know you need to be distracted.” His wife says as she ties her hair up into a bun.

He clears his throat before looking out the large windows of their shared home.

“Something is looming around here. A dark spirit. An aura black as coal. And, we need to be ready when it wants to come and shroud us all.” Hyunah whispers as she stares off into the distance. Her voice was her own and yet completely disembodied.

He’s gotten used to it by now. Everything that she predicts, everything she sees always rings true. With a sigh, he buries his face into her neck.

“Something is coming.” She whispers.

He wasn’t sure when he drifted off to sleep. When he awoke from his nap, he was groggy and more tired than when he fell out. His wife wasn’t in the bed with him and it was dark outside already.

“Mr. Min, sir.” That voice, the voice of death.

Rolling his eyes, he leans across the bed before grabbing a cigarette and packing it against the table.

“What Jeeves?” He mocks Hyunah’s loyal butler.

“It’s Ohshin, sir.” He always has to tell Yoongi his real name as if he hasn’t learned it by now. He was too old and decrepit to understand his humor, or so he thinks.

“Yeah. I’m aware. What do you want?” He asks, lighting his cigarette and watching the white smoke lazily rise towards the ceiling.

“You have a package. Someone left it on the doorstep for you. No return to sender.” The old man says and Yoongi nods before waving him out of the room.

Entering the grand kitchen, he takes in his older wife as she stares at the large box on the granite countertop.

“What’s the matter, babe?” He questions before yawning loudly.

She doesn’t acknowledge him as she stares at the white cardboard.

“This box is filled with pain and misery. I can hear...screaming, can feel blood splattering.” He takes in her shaking hand as she lifts it to pull from her cigarette.

“Hey...Hey.” He whispers comfortingly as he walks around the counter to hold her.

“I can feel the sorrow. The confusion. Something horrible is in this box.” She seethes through her teeth and Yoongi can sense her nerves.

He rubs comforting circles on her bare back as he kisses her cheek. He can feel her body trembling. His eyes flit to the box before tilting his head.

“Jeeves!” He calls loudly to the empty kitchen and he waits patiently as he coddles his wife to his side.

“Sir.”

“Get my wife a glass of wine and bring it out to the patio.” He says before kissing her temple. She looks over at him as her eyes become glassy.

“I can feel the pain.” She whispers, tapering off and broken at the end.

“Okay, baby… Alright.” He whispers gently.

Taking her hand, he leads her to the back patio before opening the door. “Just smoke a cigarette. Drink the wine and relax. Alright? I’ll get rid of the box.” He tells her before pecking her lips gently.

She gives a shell shocked nod. Her legs are trembling as she takes small steps to the chaise lounge beneath the beige canopy. He waits for her butler to hand her the glass of wine and he nods to Ohshin to stay outside with her.

He shoves the box, pulling his gun out from the back of his waistband. It makes no movement. There’s no smell. It’s just a white cardboard box.

He lights a cigarette before opening the flaps of the box. He shivers in the eerie quietness of the house before peaking into the box.

“Oh Christ!” He yells as he backs up.

A hand with no fingers and a scalp of hair sit prettily inside the box.

Yoongi’s stomach rolls and he closes the box quickly. Pressing both of his hands to the counter, his body heaves forward. He tucks his head between his arms as he takes a deep breath.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He mumbles before cracking his neck.

“What is it?” He hears from the patio. His head lifts quickly before grabbing the box off of the counter and angling his face away from it.

“Just stay inside and don’t go out. Do you hear me?” He asks his wife as he takes off towards the entryway of their home.

“Baby?” His wife calls confused.

“I have to speak with Jimin. Stay inside, babe.” He repeats before ripping open the door and heading towards the other mansion.

#the lions den #btscreatorscorner #thebtswritersclub #btswritingcafe #mafia!au #bts smut #mafia!yoongi #mafia!jimin

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xaphrin · 4 years

Text

A Dragon’s Hoard

I just really wanted to have more of Raven’s perspective. This chapter isn’t quite finished yet, but it’s halfway there. So it’s also kind of a sneak-peek.

- - -

Raven woke up to the sound of a pencil scratching on heavy paper, barely interrupting the gentle breeze that rocked the silver leaves of the birch tree she was lying under.The mid-morning air felt surprisingly cool for the season, but they had already climbed so far this morning, so the altitude was likely playing a part. They would return to her den before nightfall, which was better than she hoped. Staying human for this long allowed her many advantages, but speed and efficient travel was certainly not one of them.

She lifted her arms above her head and stretched, feeling the wound along her back tug sharply with the movement. Wincing, Raven set her arms back down and assessed the pain she was feeling. It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first night she dragged Damian into her den. In fact, it was healing far faster than she had anticipated, and it wouldn’t be much longer before she was completely healed.

Which only meant one more thing - their inevitable rematch.

Her heart sank at that thought. All those weeks ago, she had been so sure of herself and her decision to keep him. Damian was simply a curiosity, a passing fancy that she could easily destroy once she was well enough to transform again. She thought she could keep her hands to herself, and keep her eyes from wandering - he was only human, after all. Not a powerful sorcerer, or sharp-witted fae, or a strong changeling, like the others who had tried to court her. But… she was wrong. So very, very wrong.

Raven tried to ignore the subtle burn of their mating that simmered just under her skin. The mark she would bear until her dying breath. Which, given the circumstances, would be very soon.

With a soft sigh, she finally opened her eyes, looking up at the lace patterns of the leaves above her, sunlight filtering down onto her naked skin. She glanced around at the weather-worn, moss-covered stones of the ruins around her - a testament to the old gods that this world had forgotten. She imagined her mother walking these stone floors, singing her prayers, innocent and unaware of the horrors Arellla would be subjected to. And, for once in all of Raven’s life, the ruins of the temple felt… peaceful. Before, when she had visited, they seemed haunting, like whispers of ghosts meant to pin her to her past. But now…

She couldn’t stop a small smile from tugging at her lips as she thought about the pleasures Damian had given her here. His mouth was a gift, and one she fully intended on enjoying at every possible moment. He banished those ghosts from her past, and drowned her in the rich headiness of the present. Raven moved to sit up, pushing at her hair.

“Lay back down, I’m not finished yet.”

Her eyes fluttered, and Raven turned to see Damian watching her from under his too-thick lashes. He was perched on the edge of what would have been an altar three hundred years ago, a leather bound book in one hand, and an old, charcoal pencil in another. Well. He was full of surprises and mysteries, wasn’t he? She watched him for just a moment before laying back down on the wool blanket, looking up at the sky. A soft flush worked its way down her neck, and she swallowed.

It was one thing to be seen like this by Damian and trapped in his memories, but it felt different to have it be recorded on paper. She shifted her hips, feeling warmth flood just below her navel. There was something exciting about it - about being viewed as something worthy of art. It excited her. She clenched her thighs without thinking, and Damian clicked his tongue at the movement.

“I’m not done yet.” He paused and glanced up at her for a moment before returning to the sketch in his hand. “Don’t even think about touching yourself.”

It was a command, and one she desperately wanted to defy, but she also knew if she played along, he’d reward her later. Raven felt a smirk pull at her lips, trying to decide what was more intriguing to her - his punishment or reward?

She wet her lips and sighed. “How long was I asleep?”

“Barely half an hour.” The sound of his charcoal on the paper filled the space between them. “I didn’t know your constitution was so weak, dragon.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice, but Raven didn’t dare look at him, or he might view it as a weakness. Damian hummed and returned to the sketch. “Passing out after I devoured you seems like something an innocent virgin would do, not a wanton dragon who reads filthy pastoral poetry. I was simply enjoying something sweet after our lunch.”

She snorted, her mind suddenly filled with the memories of his mouth buried between her thighs. He hadn’t stopped when she came, his tongue and fingers relentless, and brought her to the highest heavens at least two more times. Her body had been weak with pleasure, her energy drained, of course she was going to fall asleep. She needed time to gather her wits after what he’d done to her. What she wanted him to do again.

Raven’s legs clenched again and she rubbed her ankles together. “Your tastes seem insatiable.”

“And yet you continue to give into them.” He chuckled and glanced at her, the shadows in his verdant eyes darkening with something akin to a warning. “I would be careful, dragon. If you give too much, I might mistake it as though you are falling in love with me.”

“Never.” Lies. She knew where her heart stood already, and she had accepted her fate.

“You are my possession, knight.”

Hardly. She was clearly possessed by him, and she would give him the world if he asked her.

“I intend on using you until I see fit.”

She could give herself to him freely until there was nothing left.

“Mm…” He rubbed his thumb along the paper, creating a soft shadow somewhere on her form. He glanced at her before turning the page to a fresh one. “Spread your legs, dragon.”

Carefully, she did, knowing he could see every inch of her from where he sat.

“Touch yourself.”

Raven barely contained the soft, needy sigh that danced on her lips. She never looked away from him as her hands slid between her legs. She was wet, and willing, and eager. Her hips shifted and she took time to explore herself, sliding her fingers up and down her, barely dipping inside, before circling her clit. With a soft gasp, she closed her eyes and rubbed her clit with slow, hard circles, feeling electricity snap up and down her spine. She heard Damian move off the edge of the altar, the heavy sound of his boots coming closer.

He knelt down next to her and hummed in her ear, the vibration alone nearly making her orgasm. His teeth caught her earlobe for just a moment before he released her, sitting back to watch. “I want to draw that look of pleasure when you come.”

Which, given the current state of her, would be very soon. Raven’s teeth sunk into her lower lip and she let go of a strained cry as her hips shifted restlessly. She brought her other hand down and speared two fingers inside herself, the added friction making it feel like she was losing her mind. Next to her she could hear Damian’s heavy breathing and frantic sketching, as if he was afraid he might lose her in the moment. She could hear his heavy breathing and smell the scent of his own lust in the air. Her back arched and she thrust her fingers deep inside herself, hearing his pencil pause for just a moment before he continued to try and finish the picture.

She groaned and shifted again. “My knight.”

“I’m recording the moment.” His voice was low, strained, as if this was his own brand of delicious torture. His charcoal was a blur, and his eyes flicked between her and the page in front of him. “If you fall - so be it, dragon.”

Raven didn’t need another command, and her head tipped back as she felt her body start to soar. She let go of a cry that echoed the thunder of the night before, and felt her muscles clench on her fingers, pulling her deeper. Everything felt heavy and still, and she let herself lose her breath and her mind for a few blissful seconds before falling back down to the rough, wool blanket beneath her.

“Put it away.”

He lifted an eyebrow, as if surprised that she dared to give him an order.

Raven reached over and plucked the sketch book from his hand, smirking. She slid her hand up the front of his breeches, finding his erection heavy and thick. It would feel wonderful was he was buried inside her. Her lashes fluttered and she let go of a low sigh, stroking him through the thick fabric. She had just come, but she was ready again - ready for him to drown her in something hotter than dragonfire. “Put it away and put your cock inside me, Jewel of my Hoard.”

He groaned and Raven knew she won this battle. Her hand pressed harder against his erection, her pace increasing as her other hand flicked open the catches on his belt. Damian growled and pushed her back onto the blanket, crawling over her, but not removing a single item of clothing. The scabbard of his sword slid up the outside of her leg, and the sensation of metal and leather over her skin seemed to drive her wild. Her fingers moved to the catch on his cloak, desperate to remove it.

Damian pulled her hands off him, trailing his fingertips over her shoulders, over her chest, between her breasts, and ended circling her navel. His smile turned malicious, and he dipped his thumb in between her thighs, simply pressing it against her clit. It was torture when Raven wanted friction between them.

He leaned back and stood up, adjusting his clothes and ignoring the blatant erection ragin between his thighs. “Maybe I’ll let you suffer a little longer.”

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving Raven smoldering as she lay on the moss-covered stone of the temple ruins. A small smirk pulled at her lips and she closed her eyes, letting the burn of need fuel her seemingly endless desire for later. Although she was going to die by his hand in the next few months, there was no doubting that he would make their time together… interesting.

#damirae #demonbirds #adult nonsense ahead #dragon shifter au #xaphrin's birthday queue 2020

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

The Monsters Witch

Pairing: female reader x Sheol monsters x Choi Youngjae (ft. some of Got7)

World: King of Demons

Genre: demon au / witch au / fluff mostly

Warnings: set in hell, dark entities, death

A/N: Happy birthday to @smooshdelia ! I am so grateful that you and I became friends over King of Demons, and that you wrote the original Youngjae story in this world. However, I know how much you adore Smoosh and came up with this idea for you. I hope you enjoy it.

Word count: 4138

King of Demons series: Havoc // King of Demons // Unfathomable // Sacrifice // King of Demons: The Return // In The Night // Identity // Prophecy // Someone // The Devil Contained

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Jackson confirmed, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re the only one suitable for the job.”

“How do you know?” you wondered, glancing at his right-hand woman hesitantly before directing your focus to the commander in front of you.

“You were once a witch, were you not?” he reminded and you shrugged.

His partner held your file and she began to read out your accolades and what saw of your fall to Sheol. Burned at the stake by the humans above after saving so many of them with your pure magic, you had arrived in a blind rage, wanting to do nothing for anyone ever again.

Yet with your time here, you found yourself unable to sit still. You had helped an ogre with a nasty fungal condition and had tended to an outbreak of the plague with some difficulty. You listened to the world around you and healed it from the wounds inflicted by the entities with no remorse for their actions.

You stood in front of monsters far larger than yourself and placated them from causing havoc and yet equally led a revolution asking for better rights for those who were placed in Sheol simply because the Gods above wouldn’t allow them in.

You, in every sense of the word, were still a witch.

A very good one, indeed.

Still, you didn’t go around announcing that of your powers. Which was why you were perplexed by Jackson’s request.

“The Devil signed off on this himself,” he continued, leaning back in his chair. “We need you to go to the fields. The animals are out of control without their master present.”

“When will he return?” you asked, and the pair merely stared at one another. You frowned. “Is Youngjae gone for good?”

“He’s playing hooky up above.”

“Earthside?” you questioned ignorantly, having never heard of a demon going beyond that before. Jackson smirked and pointed higher. You gasped. “How… wait, a demon can go to heaven and yet someone who did so much good cannot?!”

“It’s a messed up system,” the fellow female in the room mentioned and Jackson nodded grimly. “Don’t try and question it, you’ll never be able to understand that of the Gods’ will.”

“I decline,” you answered, stepping back from the desk between you and the Purgatory keepers. “I’m happy here.”

Leaning forward with surprise, Jackson then eyed you cautiously. “You won’t work with the animals?”

“No. I don’t have any interest in keeping animals.”

“But as a witch-”

“Am I?” you challenged, uncaring of what the file stated. This was precisely what you disliked about labels and expectations. You had given up the status of a witch when you were burned at the stake. The power remained within and you might have used it during your time here. But it was your own, not theirs to request use of as it pleased them.

You suddenly craved solidarity.

Somehow, you knew you could receive just that in the fields. No one dared enter there unless their master was present who kept the creatures mostly calm and harmonious. And even then, no one just boldly stepped foot into the grassy terrain. Creatures of Sheol weren’t all visible to the naked eye. The amount of grass snakes that had attacked the one-eyed beasts in the past had given sufficient warning to all to tread with caution.

Everyone was scared of the fields even the demon lords of this realm.

It was tempting to head there and avoid all expectations.

That would be stepping into what had been requested of you though. It was a double-edged sword and either way you would fall trap to something. Your annoyance of knowing where Youngjae had gone to turned you away from calming the spirits of the animals. It was unjust and frankly, downright abominable. You had no desire to make it to heaven yourself, having been punished by the very Gods for practising in good faith of healing the world that humans destroyed. Yet, you couldn’t agree with being punished either.

There was no place that fitted what you deserved in this realm.

But being away from other humans, entities and demons, well, that could at least be a start. You groaned, your mind had convinced your annoyance to simmer down.

“I will work with the animals,” you announced, receiving smiles from both of them. “However, once their master returns, I shall not be expected to come back here or work with anything else unless I choose to.”

“I can agree to that,” Jackson replied, holding out his hand. “May you find peace within the fields.”

It was anything than peaceful when you arrived in Youngjae’s domain. The stables were in an uproar of noise and damage. Those who had yet to break free were working loudly on doing so, kicking at their stall doors angrily. Others roamed around and got into everything. Feed was sprawled across the aisle with strewn buckets and equipment leading to the other end, where a dark demon horse was pawing at the ground and snorting wildly.

Of course, you leapt into immediate action. You asked the homunculus in the form of a shaggy wolf to lend you its paw, closing your eyes to heal it from the pain of attacking a stall to release the chandelier horned deer. You moved onto the next area, opening doors so the agitated animals could be free. And you continued until you reached the spirited demon horse, lifting your hand to its neck.

“Calm down, my friend.”

It whinnied nervously, trying to rear up in front of you to scare you off. You smiled softly. “It’s okay. I know, your master was wrong for leaving you here. How can you all cope without him?”

Another spirited snort left the beast, though it kept its feet upon the ground. You patted its neck gently, nodding in answer. “I’m here. Please, be calm now.”

Within two days you managed to have the distressed animals listening to you at least. And by the end of a week, you had tidied most of the stables and that of your housing. Youngjae had evidently left in a hurry, even the morning dishes from his last meal were left unattended in the sink. You wondered what was so special about his trip to heaven with a grumble as you tackled the mess.

Although you hadn’t met the Monster Keeper, you certainly had heard enough about him. Some said the boom of noise that filtered down from the mountains of Purgatory were that of his laughter. Others depicted him as the kindest demon here yet there were the group of entities who were adamant that he was wickeder than any of the ruling demons of this place. You hadn’t chosen what to believe in until now. You decided anyone who could leave his creatures to struggle as badly as they had were either extremely cruel or given no choice. Either way, his belongings left a sour taste in your mouth and every time a creature wailed for his return, it added to your resolve that you wouldn’t ever like the man.

After six months of treating the animals, they were mostly harmonious. There was an elephant who would sometimes scream and stampede through the freshly planted vegetable garden you had made or trod down the wildflowers you had willed to grow to bring warmth to the fields. A griffin would also swoop down, pick you up and carry you far away just to drop you off in strange places that you had to trudge all the way back to the stables.

And today, that had happened again. “Seriously! Must we go on these adventures so often now?!”

The mythical creature merely cried victoriously as he flew through the skies, diving through the forest that edged the fields for the first time. You gasped, seeing so many hidden spots to cultivate your potions in that the monsters couldn’t disturb. And then, just as the griffin went to turn around, you spotted something unmistakably white and rare. Struggling in the hold upon your shoulders, the creature whined and let you go, much higher up than usual. The speed in which you fell at was also faster and you struggled to use your magic to land neatly, crumpling onto the forest floor with a thud.

Disorientated, you rubbed at your aches from your undesirable landing before remembering why you had fussed about. Springing up, you dashed through the scrub and trees towards the area you had seen from above.

Much as you hadn’t met the Monster Keeper, you had yet to lay your eyes on the large, hairy, white monster that was always talked about at his side. Slowing when you reached the spot you had seen him in, you guarded yourself as you climbed up to the ledge he was resting upon. The creature was asleep and you didn’t dare step into his space. Up close he was much larger than you had anticipated from in the skies. He didn’t look all that friendly either.

Still, you cleared your throat and the beast stirred awake, glowing blue eyes watching you carefully. “Smoosh?”

He growled loudly, climbing up from his slumbering position and glared at you. You sensed his grief produced the anger displayed and nodded, standing your ground. “It’s okay, I won’t come any closer.”

Smoosh huffed and flopped back down, however, he kept his eyes on you. Sitting down, you stretched your legs out in front of yourself. “Oh, the tree snagged at my skin.”

Placing a hand over your wound, you closed your eyes and relied on your powers to heal it. Smoosh was entirely fascinated by your gift and you giggled when you were finished which startled him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you. You’re really cute, you know.” Smoosh grumbled and turned away from you petulantly. Laughing, you leaned back on your elbows. “Do you not like being called cute? I heard that there was a prophecy that one day a human would call Lucifer himself adorable. Can you imagine that?! Our leader would shrivel up and smite her I’m sure. Or maybe he’ll fall in love. We really can’t count on knowing what will happen, right? Just like with Youngjae leaving. I bet you weren’t expecting that.”

Smoosh glanced over his shoulder and then dropped his head miserably. “I bet he misses you too, wherever he is. I’m sure he’ll come back for you. Why don’t you come and wait with me up in the fields? I’m sure you’re hungry too. There’s nothing apart from trees in here.”

For a moment, you thought Smoosh was going to get up. Instead, he curled up further, ignoring your offer as he cried himself back to sleep.

Smoosh continued to ignore your offers for an entire year. Still, you made the effort to go and see him often, taking food with you for him as well. At first, the trek was made difficult. However, you had befriended the demon horse, who graciously allow you to ride her into the forest for you to deliver the food.

Time soon grew irrelevant. Most of the animals now looked to you as their leader and you felt as if you had gained many friends within this part of Sheol. You woke in the mornings with vigour, chatting with all the stabled monsters as you fed them breakfast. And then you went about your day, harvesting your magically grown fruits, vegetables and potions. And when you were done with your chores, you would climb aboard Mystic, as you had named her, and gallop into the forest with the food you had cultivated especially for Smoosh.

Although he was still reluctant to leave the forest, he was always waiting for your arrival, this stumpy tail wagging excitedly. You thanked Mystic for the ride and offered her an apple before climbing up to where Smoosh was bouncing around animatedly.

You giggled. “Careful! If you’re too loud, you’ll cause another sonic boom.”

He tried his best to calm down, though the oversized monster couldn’t quite manage it either, bounding up to you as soon as you were on the ledge and licking your left side happily.

“Good to see you too!” you mentioned, reaching into your bag for the food you had transported. You then held up a hand and gave Smoosh a warning look. He rolled his eyes and stamped his front foot before plomping his butt down. “Well done. Now let me just size this up for you.”

With an incantation chanted whilst your hands hovered over the food, you watched as it tripled in size, a perfect feast for someone the size of Smoosh. He barely waited for you to step back before diving in, making a mess everywhere.

You loved that he was this messy and free.

And when he was done, you curled up in his fur, taking a nap with him until the night arrived. Staring up at the moon, you sighed.

“I was a child of the moon. Until moving here, I hadn’t seen night or day once in Purgatory. Sheol is very special, don’t you think? Every part of this place is different from the next.”

Smoosh hummed in response, lethargic after his dinner. You held up your hand to the sky and made a circle around the moon with your index finger and thumb. Smiling after capturing it in your grasp, you then buried yourself into Smoosh.

“I know you still miss him. I wish you would come down to the house with me. You’d be happier there.”

The monster snorted and you patted his fur. “Seriously. Everyone loves me.”

Mystic let out a long-winded whinny and Smoosh chuckled. You sat up and looked between the two creatures. “Don’t lie! So Griffin still wants to get rid of me and Phantom trod on my cornfield but listen! We’re all happy, are we not?! Who needs a Monster Keeper when you have me, a Great Witch!”

A gush of wind enveloped you then, and you blinked at how it picked you up, levitating you in the air. Mystic grew nervous and Smoosh tried to swat you back down. You laughed then, rolling around in the air.

“Did you hear me, Smoosh?! I’m a witch!” you exclaimed, the wind spiralling you around until you were laughing with enjoyment. “Mystic, let’s race!”

You controlled the wind and dove down towards the ground, flying through the forest. You grinned when you heard energetic hooves thundering along behind you. Dashing out into the fields, you laughed victoriously when Mystic arrived after you, her annoyance displayed in a large playful rear. Flying around her, you played with her some more until you saw a tree fall down.

Smoosh running towards you both. “Smoosh!”

Colliding into his fur fondly, you were filled with joy at his first venture away from the forest. “I’m so happy for you, you adorable giant polar bear!”

Smoosh growled and stamped his foot at your affection, though his tail was moving too fast to hide his satisfaction.

And then Mystic’s distress call ended all the happiness within you.

Looking at the stables in the distance, you sensed it as well.

Your monsters, they were falling ill.

One by one.

“I demand a meeting with the Devil.”

The Gatekeeper looked you over and then groaned. “You’re not here for me?”

“Why would I come for someone I’ve never met?” you answered curtly and the demon shrugged.

“Love at first sight is a thing. Haven’t you heard of the human that caused chaos upon our Leader’s heart?”

You groaned impatiently, forming fists with your hands. “Do I have time to talk about humans right now?! The monsters are dying!”

When you had arrived back the stables, you had already found the chandelier deer down and laboured with breathing. She passed first, and no matter what you tried, you couldn’t revive her.

When the sun rose the following morning, you were fighting to keep three newly fallen monsters alive. They passed by the end of the day.

And when you found Griffin unable to fly the following morning, you had entrusted the care of the monsters to Smoosh and Mystic before flying to the Gatekeeper.

“The monsters are dying?” he repeated, his smile of daggers erasing. “But why?!”

“I don’t know and so I must talk with the Devil! Surely he can help them!”

“I cannot,” a new voice announced and you spun around to find your Overlord standing beside you both. He glanced at the fellow demon and nodded. “Allow her in, BamBam.”

Once taken up to the Devil’s office, you leaned forward with haste. “What do you mean you cannot do anything?! This is your realm!”

“It’s my fault,” he started, rubbing at his face. “I was greedy and now the Gods are punishing this world.”

“For what?!”

“For loving someone I shouldn’t,” he answered sadly, looking towards a portrait of a woman on his wall. He then turned back to you. “It’s not just one part of Sheol that’s affected. My love did too much good for this place. As have you. Which is why I believe the monsters were the first to be affected.”

“This is absolutely absurd! They’ve done nothing wrong! What is wrong with all of you? And where is Youngjae?!”

“He will return soon. The havoc being caused up above will filter down here rather quickly. Please feel assured by this.”

“I won’t feel anything until the animals I care for are back to full health.” Getting up, you glared at the ceiling of the ornate room. “If another single monster falls ill or dies, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I will do something major.”

“Please take this, Witch.”

You glanced at the large vial of indigo liquid. He smiled gently. “It is my blood. If this does not work to save those who have fallen, I have no ideas left.”

Thanking him for the offering, you hurried back to the fields, where Griffin was barely holding on. Taking up a spoon, you poured the glistening purple blood onto it before guiding it into Griffin’s mouth.

Calling upon your inner magic, you summoned your best source of protection and layered it around him.

And then you waited.

You awoke to a shove and a whine from Smoosh. Blearily glancing around, you looked to where Griffin had been resting. The straw bed was empty and you leapt up, searching the stables for him.

A swoosh of air from above when you stepped outside alerted you to look up. Tears ran down your cheeks. “Griffin! You’re alive!”

The mythical creature landed gracefully, raising a talon towards you as he roared cheerfully. Diving into his feathered chest, you cried with relief.

“The Demon King will save you all!”

It was an exhausting period, but the monsters soon stopped dying off. With your powers and the blood gifted to you by the Devil, you managed to endure the hardships thrust upon you all.

You felt as if you would need a long vacation when all this was over.

Before you could settle back into any routine you once held, however, the fields were shaken once again.

You knew a demon was walking into these lands before you even left the house. By the time you had thrown your shawl around your nightgown and stepped outside, you could see the figure was close enough to see you. He paused, though that could be due to the way the homunculus wolf ran to him and howled at his reappearance. The animals, one by one ventured towards the return of their Almighty and you couldn’t help but smile with how bright the field became with light.

You knew you were only a substitute for their true master.

However, Mystic and Smoosh remained at your side, not rushing forward like the rest of them. You glanced at them both and laugh. “Go on! You’ve missed him too!”

Smoosh shook his head and grew broody, turning back for the stables. And Mystic merely snorted before following her close friend.

The demon stopped before you and bowed. “I hear you are the witch who cared for my animals.”

“Well someone had to mend all their broken hearts,” you answered without much thought, the demon growing perplexed for a moment.

And then his laughter boomed around the area. “They told me to be wary of you.”

“How so?”

“A feisty, strong and righteous witch wandered into my fields and strengthened my monsters.”

“I’d hardly say I wandered in.”

“And yet my monsters are stronger.”

“Perhaps that is because of the food I’ve cultivated for them.”

The demon nodded. “They glisten. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied with some surprise laced within your tone.

You blinked. When he first spoke to you, you felt nothing but contempt towards the entity. And now, with his honest compliment, you were easing in mind and heart.

He cleared his throat. “I am saddened that my Smoosh has yet to greet me. What have you done to him?”

Your annoyance instantly returned. “Why, I’ve done nothing but show him appreciation! He was the most broken-spirited of them all with you gone.”

“He’s a tough boy. I bet he was playing you.”

“Honestly!” you exclaimed, marching after the demon now heading into the stables. Mystic stood in the aisle eyeing you both before stomping her hooves impatiently. The demon raced down to the stall where Smoosh was and let out a wail.

“What is wrong with you, my boy?!”

“Absolutely nothing is-” Your sentence cut short when you found Smoosh labouring his breath. For a second, you panicked and gasped when you realised you were out of the Devil’s blood supply. And then you looked at the hairy creature, narrowing your gaze.

“I cannot believe you, Smoosh!” you cried, stepping into the stall and placing your hands on your hips. “Get up now.”

Smoosh let out a dramatic wail and the demon pushed you aside. “Get away!”

“He is playing you, can you not sense it?!” you told him exasperatedly though he ignored you and began to examine his friend. “Youngjae!”

“Dearest Witch, we are not on a first-name basis as of yet. Especially if there is something wrong here.”

You stared at both males incredulously, turning to Mystic who you were certain shrugged in response. Letting out a loud scoff, and twirling your finger in the air to prove the game at hand, you then stormed out of the stables.

Mystic followed you out into the middle of the field and nudged you softly. “Men! They’re awful! He barely thanks me before blaming me for hurting his beloved overgrown snowball! And then Smoosh! Ohhhh I could kill them both!”

Mystic whinnied in agreement, pacing alongside you. Glancing at your equine friend, you nodded determinedly. “You’ll be at my side no matter what, won’t you Mystic? Let’s set up our own place here in the fields away from the others. Just you and me and whoever wants to enjoy our company. What do you say?!”

“I’d be gravely disappointed if you did that,” a voice interjected and you spun to see the demon standing there, shooting a look at the guilty monster trailing behind him. “I’m Youngjae and you are?”

“A witch!”

“The finest witch I’ve ever met.”

“Yes, well, I tried my best. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have plans.”

“To come back with us, I hope. I can tell Smoosh is very fond of you.”

“Not fond enough to not play dirty tactics as soon as his master is home, apparently.” Smoosh whined apologetically at your answer and you let out a huff of air.

Youngjae stepped closer. “Please, a name.”

“Why?”

“Well, I must know of the person who will be spending her existence here with me and my animals, after all. I was instructed by Jackson that he must keep his word in allowing you permanent residence here.”

A small smile crossed your lips at the honourable commander’s mentioning. “And will you allow it?”

“I have no choice otherwise,” Youngjae admitted. “You see, even if I were to say no, I can tell more than half the animals would cause an outcry. Especially these two.”

Both Mystic and Smoosh nodded in agreement.

“I can stay?”

“If you will give me your name. It’s all I ask of you.”

“Just a name?” you echoed and Youngjae nodded.

“Oh, and that of your tales. It’s been some decades since I was here. So much has changed. Flowers growing everywhere!”

You grinned.

Although you were happy to have no humans or entities trouble you within these fields, you were strangely excited for the return of Youngjae. You realised there was a whole series of tales you could tell him.

And before you launched into your first one, you smiled up at the demon before you and uttered out your name.

_________________

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junie-bugg · 4 years

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The Heartrender - Chapter One: Ashes

Hey everyone! Here’s my latest Enemies to Lovers Everlark fic. It’s a fantasy AU inspired by Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows duology, more specifically Nina Zenik and Matthias Helvar. You don’t need to have read Six of Crows to understand this story since I took ideas from Bardugo’s world and then made it my own. It doesn’t take place in the Grishaverse but is heavily influenced by it. I came up with countries, parts of a new language, and backstories for my witch!Katniss and witch-hunter!Peeta.

All four chapters have been written and I plan on uploading every Friday:)

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary:

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Chapter One: Ashes

Peeta had imagined his death many times. A slit throat or an ax in the chest. Perhaps run through with a sword and thrown from a cliff. A warrior’s death, a man’s death, as was expected of him in his service to Sjorkden. Never did he think he’d pass bloodlessly and without a foe to fight. Yet here he was.

Drowning.

The frigid water wrapped around his body like a salt casing, water-logging his shoes and pulling at the cloth of his uniform. He imagined clammy hands latching onto his limbs, dragging him down, down, down. In the harrowing moments before he ran out of air, he watched dreamy streams of moonlight filter towards the black bottoming out of oblivion that was the ocean floor. Below him gaped miles and miles of seawater, and he would be lost to it.

He prepared himself for what was to come, slowly counting down the seconds to when he would snort salt water into his lungs and end it. No use in prolonging the inevitable, though his dreams lay like air pockets in his stomach, lifting him to hope there was still time for him to change things. To achieve something with the life he would have had if not for this stroke of bad luck.

Water pressed at his lips like an unwelcome guest. He was truly out of air now and the suffocating vacuum in his chest was enough to burst him apart from the inside out. The tips of his fingers began to tingle painfully, oxygen deprivation or the effects of cold, he couldn’t tell.

His last thoughts before he lost consciousness were of the countdown to drowning himself.

Three… two…

And then nothing.

Peeta awoke to an embrace. Thin arms twined about his ribcage, hoisting him above the frothy crests of waves.

His people believed in Gratka, the valley of heaven, the holy place of worshippers, warriors, and the most pious of women. A divine world spun from light and cloud, flowing with rivers of honey wine and heavy with the scent of eternal orchards. Peeta was not sure if he had been worthy of Gratka, but surely the chasms of hell would have been hotter than this.

He jerked his head about, trying to get his bearings back. His lips dripped with saltwater and his lungs burned with every ragged inhale.

He and his companion were bobbing on the frigid waves. The sky wheeling above was full of black, ominous storm clouds and the ship, The Bloody Rose, was on fire.

He hadn’t meant to, but he must have let out a cry because suddenly the arms tightened around him and a pair of lips pressed against his ear.

“You can’t save them. Just help me swim.” Then a strangled grunt and a: “Gods, you’re heavy. What do they feed you? Horses?” The words were choked, spoken in the voice of someone who had swallowed too much seawater and was struggling against the current. She spoke in Krellian, a sharp language of hissing consonants and hard breaks, only punctuated by the occasional swooping vowel. He twisted to face her, his lip curling in disgust when he saw those flashing silver eyes.

The witch.

How had she gotten out of her cell?

Her eyes bulged in panic as he kicked away, ripping himself from the circle of her arms.

“No!” she screamed as she grabbed at him, but without her there to buoy him, his head quickly slipped beneath the waves once more. His arms felt sluggish and he realized with a paralyzing rush of cold that she had been keeping his blood warm with her magic.

He struggled to break the surface, coughing up a mouthful of seawater and thrashing about as he tried to find her once more in the dark. “Witch?” he sputtered, ashamed of the sharp edge of fear in his voice. They reached out for one another, barely holding on by their fingertips as a wave crashed overhead, but then it passed and they were righted once more. He didn’t try to get away this time, afraid of his dipping heart rate and the hazy rush of dizziness that quickly abated with her touch. He didn’t feel warm, but the numb ache in his limbs lessened. He pulled her to his chest, locking her body within his arms like a vice.

“We can make it to shore, but I need you to kick. I can’t swim and keep both our hearts beating.”

He blinked the water from his stinging eyes, already exhausted.

She pressed the back of her head into his shoulder in frustration. “Jųlaik, ” she begged.

Please.

He grunted in reply and then started swimming. In return, she kept their hearts beating despite the cold. They weren’t sure which way the shore was. For all they knew, Peeta could be bringing them further out to sea, but with every passing minute the blazing ship they’d escaped from grew smaller and smaller until it collapsed in on itself, a charred heap dipping below the waves.

Not only had Peeta’s brothers in arms been on that ship, but Peeta’s future had been on that ship. Seventeen witches, four of which he had captured and that he could claim, all dead, except for one.

In his service as a witcher, he had brought forty-six witches to court and he had witnessed them all, his bounties, burn at the stake. The sweet stink of smoke and the way that charred flesh falls away from bone were all too familiar. This was his country’s way. This was justice. Four more would have won him his freedom, his manhood, his honor. Four more witches and he would have held the world in his palm like a flowering bud ready for plucking. All the blood and sweat and sleepless nights spent scouring the wastelands of countries far from home would have been worth it.

Hours passed. The storm clouds released their last torrents of icy rain and then cleared to reveal a bright purple smattering of stars above, carving their ancient celestial paths across the sky. The only sounds were his labored breathing and the sloshing of waves. Peeta’s legs felt as if they were going to fall off, both burning from the physical exertion and freezing in the arctic water. His nerves didn’t know what sensation to succumb to, retreating into numbness. He felt as if he were kicking around two logs.

The witch hadn’t spoken since the ship disappeared, but Peeta could tell by the way she was gritting her teeth that it was taking everything in her to keep them from freezing to death. He almost laughed at the irony of the situation. The witch and the witch hunter. Not a pair destined for groundbreaking teamwork.

So why had she saved him?

Dawn peeked over the horizon, pulling it’s smoldering pinks and oranges upwards until the stars faded and the moon was just a paling ghost of its nighttime brilliance.

“There,” the witch whispered through chattering teeth, her voice weak with exhaustion. Peeta turned his head to see what she had gestured to.

A coastline with tall cliffs crusted in ice and snow, and there at the shore, a black stretch of beach. Peeta swam on against the surf, the waves pushing them back out as if the ocean wasn’t quite ready to let them go. Finally, Peeta touched bottom and they crawled to land, collapsing on the sand with water lapping at their ankles. The two were heaving and freezing and giddy with the fact that they were alive, against all odds they had survived, though the silent celebration didn’t last long. The air was bitter and their wet skin puckered beneath its needle-sharp caress. They needed to find shelter, and fast, or the witch’s magic wouldn’t be enough to keep them alive.

Movement was hard. Peeta’s body felt as stiff as a piece of plywood and each attempt to stand left him trembling under his own weight. He looked back at the witch lying prone in the sand. Her hair was a tangled mess and clung to her face in dark, wet clumps. He almost thought she wouldn’t make it, that she’d just stay collapsed and never get up again. But she managed to rise onto her hands and knees, and then slowly to her feet.

They didn’t talk as they climbed a narrow pass up the cliffside. The rock was black and smooth, flowing magma that had cooled, dotted here and there with the greenish-brown blooms of lichen. Perhaps the land had once been volcanic, but that must have been a very long time ago.

As they reached the top of the cliffside, they found themselves marooned in a land of winter. Sharp white mountains jutted up in the misty distance and the foothills that spread out before them were dotted with boulders and stretches of snow and the shrubby, paling vegetation that hinted at a short growing season. It was a harsh land where only the most adaptable species could survive, and Peeta knew if they didn’t find a cave or some sort of outcropping to huddle in soon, they’d be done for.

Luckily, they stumbled across a cluster of circular lodges at the top of the cliff. The witch, shuddering so violently Peeta almost thought she could be seizing, disappeared past the thick curtain that acted as a door, shuddered one final time, and then collapsed onto a pile of discarded furs.

Peeta limped inside and scanned the den. It had been constructed and then abandoned by a whaling expedition, which were common this far north, though whaling was only done in the spring. The walls were layers of tanned animal skin and were held up by thin ashwood beams running from floor to curved ceiling. They looked like the bones of a rib cage bleached chalk-white in the sun. A thick column stood sentinel at the structure’s center so the roof wouldn’t sag and beneath it lay a small fire pit with a few half charred logs. The lodge was designed to house upwards of fifteen people, whalers with thick cloaks and packs full of food and supplies, but now just sheltered two shivering, salt-crusted water rats with nothing. The whole place smelled of wet fur and welcomed Peeta with open, shadowy arms.

“We should start a fire,” Peeta croaked, his throat ravaged by salt and exertion. He nudged the witch with the toe of his boot when she didn’t respond. “Are you dead?” A part of him wanted her to be. He hated owing her for his life, a debt he knew he would have to repay before this horrible nightmare was over. But if the swim had killed her, he wouldn’t have felt a shred of guilt.

As he circled around he saw that she was in fact very alive. Her eyes were propped open, wide and glassy, as if she didn’t have eyelids, shot through with red where there should have been white. She was chanting he realized. Praying perhaps.

It scared him.

“Hey!” He kicked her shoulder and the witch’s eyes cleared as if they were rising above a cloud line. “Stop that, it’s freaking me out.”

She glared up at him. “Never disrupt me again.”

“Why?" he sneered. "So you can curse me? Blind me or make me impotent? Cast a horrible death upon me and all my descendants?” Witches were known for curses. Pregnant women whose unborn babes had offered strong kicks days before, born bright blue and as limp as dead worms. Men cursed to wander the forests until they clawed out their own eyes and died of blood loss. Children swallowed up by thick mountain mists, never to be seen again. Death. Woe. Suffering. All at the hands of a wretched few.

“I have not cursed you. Your allegiance to a false god has done that.”

“And yet, we’re in the same predicament. Seems your gods have doomed you as well.”

This struck a nerve. Perhaps the same thought had been pressing on her mind. She narrowed her eyes, bunching her fists in the fur she lay atop of. “If I had the strength I would burn that blackened heart of yours right out of your chest.”

“Should I be worried about tomorrow then?”

“Very.” She rose to face him, hatred pouring forth from her eyes and twining about her head like a poisonous snake baring its fangs. He met it with a hardened look of his own.

“I’m still waiting on a ‘thank you’ for dragging you out of the ocean,” he said.

“And I’m waiting on a ‘thank you’ for keeping your tiny heart from shriveling up. Trust me, it was no easy task.”

He smiled coldly. “My, you have a big mouth for someone so small.”

“And you have a big head for someone with such little brains.”

He almost laughed, but they had been through a lot and Peeta was tired of arguing. He crossed to the fire pit and ignored the eyes boring into the back of his head.

“What? No response?” she goaded bitterly, but Peeta didn’t rise to her bait, focusing instead on starting a fire. After scraping two jagged rocks together, there was a spark. Thankfully the kindling was dry and after a few harsh blows and a prayer, Peeta was successful. The fire was delicious, like a tiny heart slowly beating life back into his frozen fingers.

He realized that this was the first time in weeks that he and the witch hadn’t been separated by iron bars.

As if in response to the shameful flush of heat that had radiated through his body at the thought, he heard a muffled sound, like a bird’s wings rubbing together, and turned his head.

The witch’s dress was off, her body bared to him. Her small, rounded breasts and jutting hips shone like caramel in the soft light.

Peeta’s cheeks flamed, afraid that he had been caught staring. “What are you doing?” he sputtered as he moved to shield his eyes.

She turned to pick her dress up off the floor and shot a look over her shoulder. Her very bare shoulder. “You don’t seriously think I’m going to spend the night in a wet dress, do you?”

“But you’re naked!” He winced at how petulant he sounded, how very much like a child he still was in some ways.

She rolled her eyes at him, but he was too focused on avoiding the very sight of her that he didn’t notice. “You’ll get naked too if you have any sense. No use in wearing wet clothes when you can let them dry.”

“You’re perverted.”

“I’m being practical.” She twisted the seawater out of her dress and then snapped the damp fabric at his back. “Now strip.”

He had to admit, shucking off his wet uniform and wrapping his body in a pelt had made him feel much better, though he was careful to cover the flesh between his legs when he did.

“Aw, you’re blushing,” she laughed. The sound set Peeta’s nerves on edge. The witch lounged near the fire pit on a nest of pelts she had constructed, wrapped in a glossy black fur that reflected threads of reddish-gold in the firelight. As she sat, the weak glow of the flames cast her features into warm relief, deepening the shadows under her cheekbones and darkening her lashes. Her salt tangled hair was as ebony black as a night sky with no stars and her skin was flawless, the color of water beaten clay beds.

“Come here,” she beckoned.

Instead, Peeta took a step back. “I do not take orders from witches. Even naked ones.”

“It’s like you don’t want to survive the night,” she scoffed. “See this?” Her furs shifted as she reached out a hand, allowing a dark sliver of her inner thigh to catch the light.

Peeta tried not to stare.

She pointed a finger towards the dwindling fire. “We barely have any wood left, and when the fire dies while we’re sleeping, the only thing keeping us warm will be each other. Now get over here. I don’t plan on freezing to death when I have a big lump of muscle to keep me toasty.”

She made a good point, but still, Peeta hesitated. What if this was just a trick? A lure to get him close enough so she could pounce and gouge his eyes out. Or maybe she’d wait to finish him off when he fell asleep, his beating heart ripped from his chest while he cradled her against him.

In the end, he decided there was little chance of them surviving out here with no food and only three measly logs to keep a fire going. If he was going to die, he’d rather die warm. Besides, having his heart ripped from his chest would be over faster than starvation.

He moved towards the nest, and only after he had discarded his pelt and shimmied under hers did she speak.

“Closer, lieutenant,” she urged in a singsong voice.

He growled in response.

“Seriously, you’re acting like a blushing schoolboy.”

“I do not wish to lay with a witch.”

“This is not laying. This is surviving. If you had any experience pleasuring a woman you’d know the difference.”

Peeta’s body stiffened behind her.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed by it,” she chuckled meanly. “I thought the whole point of your pious Order was that you prided yourselves on being virgins. That and murderers.”

He ignored the word murderers. Only a witch would consider what the Order did murder. Everyone else considered it justice. Shearing the rot riddled branches off the tree that was the human race. Magic was a disease, nobody should have that kind of power over another. It was unnatural and the world was better off absent of her kind, but he didn’t expect her to understand.

Monsters were always blind to their own evils.

So instead he addressed her derisive use of virgin. “We marry only when we’ve proven ourselves worthy to the Order.”

“Shouldn’t you only have to prove yourself to your wife?”

What a silly notion, Peeta thought. “A man does not have to prove himself to a woman. He has responsibility over her. Nothing more.”

“How romantic.”

“Do not mock me, slum scum.”

“I think I like ‘witch’ better,” she quipped. She was infuriatingly quick-witted and Peeta seethed in silence, unsure that he could contend with such a sharp tongue.

“Whatever,” she said after the silence grew too long. “Just know that there’s nothing to worry about. Even if I wanted to, I would never defile my body with the likes of you.”

“That’s reassuring,” he muttered.

Despite her declaration, the witch drew nearer. The goose flesh of her back felt clammy against his chest, but soon their body heat melded and all he felt was radiating warmth prickling against the chill that had settled into his bones.

“Why did you save me?” he asked lowly, unable to quiet his racing thoughts. A part of him wanted to keep her talking so he wouldn’t have to close his eyes and picture Yasser’s bloated body lost at sea.

“Because you’re a human being,” she murmured, her voice saturated with drowsiness. “And because I knew if you survived I’d have someone to cuddle with at night.” Suddenly, and with a rustle of fur, she turned to face him. He scooted back. “Relax, lieutenant. This isn’t where I have my way with you. I just prefer to sleep with my back to the fire.”

“Are you always so lewd?” he asked, the disapproval in his voice as clear as a church bell ringing across a courtyard.

“If you knew me you’d know the answer to that is yes.”

“I do not wish to know you, witch.”

“Good. You don’t deserve to.”

With these terse versions of “good night” exchanged, they settled against one another, though Peeta was careful to avoid the brush of her breasts. She smelled of sea and sweat and the musk of fur, but something sweet lay underneath all that. Lavender milk. A chamomile bath. Medicinal salves. Jasmine blossoms suspended in freshwater. Long tumbles downhill.

The smells soothed him, until he remembered she’d been locked in the brig for a month and shouldn’t smell anything but horrible. A spell then. He was surprised. He thought all Krellian magic was blood rituals and sacrifices, not a spell in place of perfume.

Despite himself, his eyelids grew heavy. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was of slinging an arm around her waist.

#everlark fanfiction #everlark fanfic #everlark smut #witch!Katniss #witch-hunter!Peeta #Fantasy AU #I finally got around to editing #posted on AO3 #enemies to lovers #The Heartrender

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valhallasubstitute · 4 years

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That One

TLKFanFicFest

Based on the prompt: Enemies to Lovers, smut should definitely take place. They have been on opposite sides for years until one day changes everything forever.

@tlkfanficfest - I hope ya’ll enjoy it :)

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+, bondage, rough sex, oral (F receiving), mentions of injury, mentions of violence, unprotected sex - it’s the ninth century, they have an excuse, you don’t

Wc: 1993, super long soz

The ground beneath your feet had already converted to mud, coating your boots and the bottom of your shield as it dug into the earth. You could practically taste the battle to come, the violence, the bloodshed, your Lord’s desperate need for victory. You would not voice it but you did not have much hope for victory, but you were loyal so you stayed.

Unlike the man you had locked eyes on across the field.

You had first met Sihtric years ago, he had walked into your camp and gained your lords trust with reports of the Dane Slayer. Then he had betrayed him, killed him with Uhtred like his time with you had meant nothing. Had the two of you not been friends? Had you not cared for him?

After that each time your paths cross the hostility between you continued to grow, glares had turned into snide comments, insults had turned to the two of you being pulled apart to keep the peace.

A tiny scar on the right side of your neck a constant reminder of your last encounter. Amongst the hot rage you felt towards Sihtric you could still feel the cold press of his dagger against your throat. Your only satisfaction was that a dagger of your own had nicked his arm, deep enough you hoped to leave a matching mark.

‘Which one will you take first Y/N? I think I will have ugly one with the crooked nose.’ You snorted a little, you had fought in many battles and before each Sigrud was by your side, asking you to choose which man was yours to send to Valhalla.

You choice today was simple. Obvious to the others in the way your eyes burned and your voice dripped with venom.

‘That one.’

The path your sword carved was clear, the tip pointing directly at Sihtric.

He had not seen you yet, but he would.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You could not see the ground for bodies, bodies of men and women you knew as well as horses and Saxons. All were dead or dying, sent to their heaven or hell.

Or to Valhalla – the thought was almost welcomed. You were tried and defeat seemed inevitable, your lord would not be long for this world. The Dane Slayer may be a man of honour but you knew of men’s kindness, their mercy.

Despite the ache in your bones the sight of Sihtric on the ground, axe hurtling towards him and fear on his face, had you sprinting. He wasn’t meant to die by that oaf’s axe, he was yours.

With a fierce kick the man above him was sent sprawling to the clearing floor.

‘HE IS MINE!’ You spat the words from your mouth like arrows from a bow and your message hit its target, the warrior eyed you but did not protest – he would take another’s life instead, let the she-wolf have her way with the rat, he thought.

Sihtric scrambled from the ground, axe in hand and teeth bared. There was confusion in his wide eyes. You readjusted the grip on your blade, heart hammering as you stepped towards him. Each time the two of you had fought you had been evenly matched. But this wasn’t a alehouse brawl nor a swapping of sharp words – he was yours in this moment and your sword felt impossibly heavy.

You were so caught in the moment, the rush and the fear you almost missed the way his eyes flicked to your left and the raise of his weapon. Your eyes left his as your sword met Saxon steel, another blow following it, and another and the fight you were about to have with Sihtric was over before it begun.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You did not see Sihtric again until you were paraded through the courtyard, chains around your ankles and your sword stripped from you along with any sense of dignity you had left.

Your lord’s demise had been laughable, you had heard through taunts that he had fought with as much fire in his belly as a priest. He had been weak in his last moments and the shame would be felt by you and his other warriors until you found a new lord, that is, if you were allowed to live.

The look in Sihtric’s eyes told you that living wasn’t a likely outcome.

They bound you to the wall by your wrists, your hands going numb as the blood rushed from your strung up arms. The room they kept you in was dark and separate from the others.

After what felt like hours you finally heard footsteps coming your way, and despite whatever implications you were desperate for human interaction. That was until Sihtric opened the door.

‘Are you hungry?’ You watched him drink you in, eyes languidly following your form from the shackles that bound you to your boots that barely scraped the floor. At your silence he scoffed and closed the door behind him. It felt wrong to be shut in with him, no one to hold you apart, no one to temper the desire to tear each other apart.

‘Do you need to piss then? Answer me-

‘Or what? What will you do Kjartanson hmm? You’re nothing but the Dane Slayers dog, a lost little puppy.’ The hurt you felt, the memory of his betrayal sharpened your tongue.

‘I am a warrior!’

‘Is that why I found you on your back in the middle of battle, what a threat you must be.’ You knew the mocking would rile him and you smiled with satisfaction as he strode towards you.

‘If I am no threat then why did you spare me, what sort of warrior does that make you?’

‘Release me from these chains and find out.’ His face was inches from yours, hot puffs of breath fanning your face as his eyes bore into yours. There was anger there, danger and challenge. You couldn’t help the way your eyes flicked to his lips, half curled in a snarl but no less inviting.

The desire in your eyes must have been obvious, Sihtric didn’t hesitate to smash his lips into yours. As your tongues danced you fought against your chains, the desire to touch him was overwhelming. His hands where everywhere, gripping, pulling, making life pulse through your veins when hours ago you had been so certain of death.

You pushed your body flush against Sihtric’s and took pleasure in the way he moaned. Despite your restraints you could feel his arousal staining against his breeches. With his hands on your breasts you rubbed yourself against him, groaning against his mouth at the friction.

It was not enough and Sihtric seemed to sense it, his touch becoming more demanding, tugging at your belts . You whined at the loss of his lips and gasped as he yanked your trousers down to your ankles, exposing the part of you that craved him most.

You watched with bated breath as he dropped to his knees, half growling as he pressed his face between your thighs. His hands pushed your legs apart and his tongue lapped at your core as if he was a man starved. The curses that fell from your lips only seemed to spur him on and once he found your clit the only thing that kept you up right were the shackles that chained you to the wall. You could feel your climax building, coming closer and closer with each swipe of Sihtric’s tongue.

He pulled away abruptly and you flailed your arms in protest, the sound of rattling metal merging with a frustrated whine.

He stood before you, chest heaving and eyes set ablaze. As he hands trailed over your exposed skin the question in his look became obvious. The heat and passion and hate melted away and for a moment you could see that it was not hate at all.

But you were still in chains and while you could cry with want, you would not back down from any battle with Sihtric.

‘I would have you beg for it.’ The words were whispered but heavy.

You watched his lips curl into a snarl once more. His eyes darted from your flushed face to his belts as he undid them in haste and then he was picking up and slamming you onto his cock. He filled you completely, stretching you, pushing in and out, giving you no time to adjust.

You wrapped your legs around Sihtric’s waist, digging your heels into his lower back as he gripped your arse. Each time he pounded into you it was like the anger you felt towards each other came to a head, each threat, each insult all leading to this moment.

You were fighting each other once more, using pleasure as your weapon. The prize was to watch the other fall apart.

His head rested on your shoulder as yours was thrown back, his teeth scraped against your skin and you could feel the coil in your stomach begin to tighten once more. You clenched around him and he …stopped? You groaned and slammed your head against his shoulder, trying your hardest to drag yourself along his length.

You could feel him smile against your neck, his lips coming to brush against your ear.

‘Beg for it…’ He nipped at the shell of your ear before trailing his lips back to yours for a bruising kiss. When you broke apart you were wanton. ‘Beg. For. Me.’ He emphasized each word with a deep thrust.

And you did, as his pace resumed his name fell from your lips like a Saxon prayer. You came undone with a blinding orgasm, the call of Sihtric’s name echoed off the walls and your legs felt weak. Your whole body felt drained and all you needed was to see Sihtric come before you could allow yourself to embrace the bliss.

His face twisted in pleasure, you dared not close your eyes for fear of missing a second of it. He slipped out of you with a sigh, his forehead resting against yours.

‘What happens tomorrow?’ He brought his lips to yours briefly, softly.

‘I don’t know, Uhtred hasn’t said what he plans to do with the prisoners.’ He must have seen your face fall, you hadn’t meant for your fear to show but after feeling so alive, so liberated from the fight and the violence and your own hurt, to die now would be beyond cruel. Even for the Gods. ‘He is a good man.’

‘You know that for sure?’ He smiled at you then, pulling up your breeches and re-lacing them.

‘I do.’

He left then, his gaze lingering before he closed the door.

*-*-*-*-*-*

You slept until morning and at first light your arms were released and your ankles bound once more.

Uhtred and his men stood on one side of the courtyard, they stopped talking as the last of you arrived. You found Sihtric in the crowd, your body still fresh with the memory of him and your heart aching with something you’d never felt before.

Uhtred stepped forward then, his voice demanding every mans attention.

‘Your Lord is dead. He died a coward and a fool…Lucky for you the rest of you fought with bravery and for that I offer you a second chance. Some of you have skill and that makes you valuable. Join me, pledge yourself loyal to Uhtred of Bebbanburg. Your past will be forgiven, your lords shame forgotten and you will be welcomed. All you need to do is step forward.’

He smiled as he finished talking but the tension was heavy and you could feel your men’s eyes falling to you. You were respected, skilled and sound of mind. The weight of their expectation would have crushed a lesser warrior.

It didn’t matter. None of that mattered.

Your eyes had found Sihtric’s and everything else seemed to melt away.

You stepped forward without a second thought.

#tlkfff2020 #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom fanfic #sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartanson #sihtric #sihtric kjartanson x reader #inga writes

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aliynavenus · 4 years

Text

‘A Little Adjustment’ a damirae fanfic

|| 4K+ || CHAPTER 1 ||

click to read the prologue

A year didn’t seem long at all since he left, yet here he was in Jon’s car who unexpectedly showed up to pick him up from the airport and insisted Damian to sleep over. And for some reason he agreed not wanting the first thing he heard were the scorching voices of his brothers at the manor.

Though he had to say, the city looked the same. To say it almost felt nostalgic passing through the city at sunset. The modern colored skyscrapers towering over one after the other, watching the citizens go on with their normal lives as if nothing bad can happen. Hell, even banners of heroes and his father’s business were still plastered at every corner of the street. It was all the same. They even passed the academy, yet Damian didn’t feel reluctant towards it, knowing ever since he attended there he’s been wanting to get the hell out. Except the last day, where he felt hesitant to leave, because of her.

After informing Jon about Raven’s powers and their encounter prior from his departure, that was the last time he ever spoke about her, to anyone really so he could forget her

Damian turned his forearm that was covered by his long black sleeve shirt, he never made any improvement of what the hell the writing is considering it’s in a language not existing to this world. Not just the writing but something else

After he got to Tokyo, he felt like something in his head--no his mind was raiding him. It felt like his mindset could sense something. He couldn’t put it into words; it was distant and vague but it was like feeling doubt or contentment in the back of his mind that he knew wasn’t his. It was odd to say what it was. But it felt familiar.

“Holy shit I can’t believe you’re finally back. It's been so boring without you dude. But before we talk about anything, we need to talk about the important part first, the girls!” Yup everything was the same even Jon. “What were Tokyo girls like? Are they really as cute as they say they are in person,” Jon scrambled not even paying attention to the road, “Oh, please tell me you had sex at least, and don’t gimme that ‘I’m Damian Wayne I don’t have hormones bullshit.” he mocked in Damian’s deep tone voice that sounded nothing like him.

Damian scoffed, he had to admit after the countless calls Jon gave him every night back in Tokyo. He did miss his best friend and his enthusiastic personality.“First of all I sound nothing like that. Second, that is not your business to know.”

“So you’re really going to let me believe that you’re still a virgin after the 17 brooding years of your life.” Jon eyed him slyly.

Got him there. “I did have….a few encounters with the women there.”

“No way!” Jon hit the brakes so hard as they entered his driveway that Damian could feel the whiplash breaking his head, “The Damian Wayne actually was a playboy in Tokyo. And here I thought you’d never get to experience the making of love.” Jon playfully lightened his voice like he was speaking about heaven itself.

Love? Now there was a ridiculous word, Damian never thought about especially in sex, “Relax Jon, I’m not an animal like you. Nonetheless I wouldn't even call it ‘making love.’ They were merely assets to please my own needs. Don’t act like I don’t have my own desires to fulfill.” his words snapped perfectly as he closed the trunk of Jon’s car to get his luggage out.

Although it was true, it wasn’t like he was an animal feasting off any girl that he came across but he did wants that needed to be pleased. Of course he felt nothing for those women, they all just looked at the surface of him, attractive features, countless bags of money attached to his name, he almost felt shameful sleeping with those women, it made him feel like Jason. Gross.

“Dude! You were basically Bruce Wayne over there then, you do realize that. ” Jon laughed hysterically, sliding his finger under his eye, pretending like he was wiping away a tear.

Tsk it was a crowl of bitterness being referred to his father’s poor masked persona to the public. Jon was right before though, Damian could get any woman he desired, all except one. Her. Sure he had to forget her but every dip and curve she had on her body especially those amethyst gems, gods they left a mark on his mind that he couldn’t erase.

Before Jon could even open the door he turned around to Damian placing a hand up, “Wait before you come in there’s someone in there I didn’t tell you about.”

“What? It is one of your weird Midwestern cousins.”

“Hey they’re not weird! But no, I've kept it hidden since you always say I’m bad at keeping secrets, so I kept this hidden for a few months now,” Jon snapped his fingers with a cheery grin, “So Ha! Who’s the best secret keeper now.”

Damian snorted, rolling his eyes, reaching for the door knob, unpleased by Jon’s unimportance accomplishments, “Oh yea, and what’s this big surprise that you kept.” he said, entering Jon’s-- replica of a farmhouse home. Damn Kents with their midwestern taste.

‘Well do you remember Rav--”

“Jon, are you home? Lois and Clark said they’ll be home late so we can order food--oh, I thought I heard someone else.”

Holy shit. This had to be a dream, of course that was the only explanation. Right?

“Surprise!” Jon interrupted, jumping estactly in front of Damian, “I got a step sister! You remember Raven, right Damian? She transferred before you left.”

Oh he remembered. He remembered well. He also remembered a beating Jon was going to get for keeping this hidden from him.

Raven Roth, the only woman that left his mind a mess. Damian was trying to wrap his thoughts around that Raven was here. Here in front of his eyes, her hair has gotten longer passing her shoulders resting right above her breasts. Her chromatic eyes that were still breathtaking at the sight. And yet she looked somewhat vibrant. Seeing her in a beige straight mini skirt combined with a dark red sweater. She looked sinless. Gods this was like a whole new version of Raven that his eyes were feasting off from. It was like a painting that was displaced in front of him that was meant to be admired.

He felt rather awkward now appealing that he was just staring at her appearance not yet having said a word.

“Right. I remember you, Raven. It’s been some time, you look different” different? Out of all his vocabulary he chose that one, the most typical one. He was making a fool out of himself. Urging to change the subject just as quick to avoid his embarrassment. “So I presume the Kents adopted you then. Jon made no input in that. How did this happen.”

Raven glanced towards Jon like she was waiting for him to answer for her but he only nudged his head towards Damian. “You can trust him Raven, believe me nothing will break him.” Damian watched her play with her fingertips looking like she was trying to find the proper words, and fuck did she look precious doing that.

“After the Bane attack last year Jon came up to me saying Clark knew people that can help me control my powers. Superman and Constantine helped me surpass my father's demands and helped me trap my father in this sacred crystal that makes him less powerful.” She grasped her necklace lifting it to his view, “And along the way I became very fond of this family that Clark wanted to take me in or adopt like Jon says.” Raven’s eyes lit up as if this was her favorite thing in the world to talk about.

Who would have thought being adopted by The Kents would ever please anyone. Not only has the most intriguing woman he’s ever met is one of the most powerful sorcerers who’s half demon but is now dreadfully part of the Kent Family. It was like chills were sent through his spine comprehending that.

“It must have been appealing to you knowing that Clark is super--”

Before another word could come out, Jon’s palm covered Damian’s mouth that it made a loud smack. “A super epic reporter! That’s how he has all these amazing inside stories about superman! Right Damian!”

The hell is he doing? “Well Raven if you could go back upstairs. Me and Dami here have so much to talk about. You can talk to him later. Now go and meditate or read one of those weird things.”

"Books Jon, they're called books.” She sounded like she was tired of Jon but yet who can blame her. As they watched her go back upstairs hearing the small shut of the door. Jon exhales, releasing his hand away from Damian’s mouth. “What was that for--”

“I gotta explain fast, look long story short, Raven doesn’t know who the “The Kents” actually are.” Jon gave a look to Damian like it was supposed to tell the whole story. Yet that only made him more puzzled about this situation, “Raven doesn’t know Clark Kent is Superman neither does she know that I’m superboy or that your robin. She has no idea who we actually are even though she’s an empath she can control her powers now. She trusts us, so not once has she ever had to feel our emotions. To her she thinks we’re just a normal family who have no sort of connection to metas or any type of weird shit that can’t be explained.”

Damian had to admit not a lot of things shocked him but this -- this was like a sitcom from a damn show that was brought into reality. “Your saying she’s completely oblivious that she’s living in a house full of kryptonians, wouldn't it be better if she did know.”

“My dad was going to tell her everything right away but Raven felt so happy that she finally met people who were ‘normal.’ She said that all her life she felt like a freak. She loved knowing that a “regular” family took her in and actually took the time to help her. My dad thought if she were to find out who we actually are she’ll feel overwhelmed that the only people who wanted to take her in, were people that can’t be explained just like her. He said she’s going to feel like a freak all over again, so we all agreed that we try our best to make her feel like a regular teenager and not a spawn to her dad.”

It did make sense. No average family would ever give in to take care of a powerful half demon knowing the consequences. If she did find out it’ll only appeal to her as freaks taking in a freak, but she wasn't one. It felt a blade in his chest knowing she considers herself like that. If anything he was the strange one. Despite their similar backgrounds he felt filthy compared to her. She was pure, something so fragile that he didn’t want to bathe her in his dirty, damaging past.

“Okay look, I can go along with this charade but I need answers to this writing and to these damn things I’m sensing from my head after she healed me.”

Jon’s eyes widen, “You still haven’t found out what the hell it is?!”

“No!” Damian's strident voice hollered, slapping the back of Jon’s head causing him to wince, “In case you haven’t noticed whatever the hell it is, isn’t from earth. So of course this planet wouldn’t have an idea of what it is,”

“You know that really hurt.” Jon whimpered as if he never has gotten hit by a plane before, which he has. “Well, we can’t tell her that you're Robin.”

Oh gods, if Jon was going to continue giving him dead ends he was going to end his kryptonian life right then and there. “I know that, Jon. I need to think how to ask her without revealing anything.”

“I might have an idea.” a sly smirk appeared on his lips as he leaned back on his heels, “Raven!” he yelled “I called the Tai place you like, they said they don’t do deliveries today! Wouldn’t want Damian to feel hungry or lonely if I go!”

At this point Damian really should’ve just considered staying at Dick’s place afterall.

Steps were heard bouncing off the floor, watching that damn skirt inch up from Raven's thighs, her skin looked like silk that he wanted to--no..! What was he thinking?

“You don’t have to scream you know. I’ll go get it,” Raven’s heel turned towards Damian having their eyes meet, “Besides you’re the guest at the house. It’s the least I can do. I hope Tai is okay. It's no fancy dinner though since you’re probably used to those kinds of things.” a timid chuckle cautiously escaped her lips, as if hoping her little joke wasn’t too much.

What did she have to be nervous about? If anything it felt like she had him under some kind of spell making him vulnerable whenever she was close to him.

He cleared his throat trying to ignore whatever he was feeling, “I assure you, it’s one of my favorites, thank you.” cutting back a curse, hating how his voice was masked with the typical Damian Wayne business tone, his father had him adjust to when attending business meetings. This made him feel like a utter fool

Though she didn’t seem fazed by it and simply nodded with a small smile, “I’ll be back, then.”

Damian jerked his head towards Jon after she shut the door behind her, almost forgetting he was still here, “Now what about this plan.”

“Get your suit.”

-----------------------

Raven had no idea he was coming back. Jon was always overly excited talking about Damian’s arrival to her, he just never mentioned it was going to be today. It made her feel nervous when she spoke to him, knowing all the spiraled rumors. It felt like everyday she always heard about him, not just from Jon but from every person at the academy. The son of a rich billionaire playboy who got everyone's attention with his attractive features and mysterious persona yet decided to play the outcast. She had to say she did notice him every once in a while back then, it wasn’t hard considering the countless rumors that would come through her ears.

Damian Wayne was known to be arrogant, egocentric, a heart breaker even. Rumors flooded about how he would leave every girl crying after going on a date with them. Yet that was Jon’s best friend. Though she trusted Jon and if Damian was worthy to know about her powers then so be it. In fact he didn’t even look fazed when he found she had powers, it was strange, but warming.

It was grim walking home in dim lighted streets after picking up the Tai food for them. The streets were empty, the sounds of crickets chirping echoing in the vast narrow night. It all seemed calming though it was quiet, too quiet even. Something felt off--no something felt familiar. It couldn’t be, could it?

“You know young girls shouldn’t be walking at night alone. But you’re not like the other girls are you, Rachel or should I say Raven.”

It was familiar. It was Robin. She hadn’t seen him for almost a year now, after she healed him she tried looking for him. To explain what she did. Now he was here, here in the alley being dimly streaked with the light from the light pole as he wore the darkness of the shadows in the alley. Her breath felt cut looking at him, he looked different, a good different, he looked sculptural in a way that whatever he did in that year really paid off. But why did he come to her now?

“You really know how to make an entrance. It’s been a year and now you come to me? I’ve tried looking for you, you’re not the easiest person to find.”

A soft chuckle came from his lips, “I’ve had a busy schedule.” she watched as he narrowed his masked eyes at her, “Listen Raven, I didn’t just drop by to hello. I came to get answers.”

Raven knew what he was referring to but she didn’t know if he knew all that he was referring to. She wondered if he knew all of it, everything that she’s mistakenly done.

“If it’s what I think you’re referring to I can explain.” Raven stepped forward hearing her voice soften.

“Then explain, explain everything Raven. The writing on my arm that appeared after you healed me and these things I sense in my mind. Explain it all.” They were merely feet away but she could hear his frustration clearly through his masked voice.

This was it, she had to explain every mistake she did, every little thing she connected them with.

She felt her heart become heavy as she chewed at her lower lip, uncomfortably shifting as what she was about to expose what her powers really did that day. Or more so what it unleashed, “For starters, the writing…..it’s a connection to lust.”

“What?” He sounded bewildered at her answer. Oh gods, he really didn’t know what she did.

Damian wasn’t sure what came over him after she spoke, feeling a turmoil of emotions of confusion yet desire swirled into one. Why did she always look so damn desirous to him? Why now? Watching her beige skirt hike up her thighs as he pressed his body forward causing her to lean against the cool brick wall in the alley as he placed his hands on either side of her head. Her face seemed stunned at his actions yet that only made him feel sensuous as he noticed a flush of red across her cheeks. He couldn’t dare look away from her amethyst eyes, it felt they were burning right through his mask. He hasn’t even placed one finger on her yet he felt his body aching to touch her skin. She looked too damn irresistible. What the hell was his body doing?

“What the hell did you do?”

Instantly Raven felt her throat feel dry, feeling her heart pick up speed at his words. She hoped he couldn’t hear it as it beat loudly against her ears. Swallowing between her small breaths trying to regain confidence continuing to look at his masked eyes that held so much mystery.

“When I healed you I wasn’t in full control of my powers I accidentally connected us, our entire bodies to one of the 7 deadly sins, lust. Meaning we can feel when one of us,” she looks away avoiding his hard stare, “is having sex” Every word that came out made her feel like she could fall apart right under him. They were so close that the fabric of her sweater seemed to cling to his suit, it felt like a rush of heat was being consumed within her. She was sure he saw how tense her body was under him.

Silence stretched between them, as if this wasn’t torture enough for her having to explain this, “When one of us has sex we feel the guilty pleasure from it but the other will feel the consequences of the sin, overwhelming agonizing pleasurable pain rush into our skin...It’s not as pleasant as it sounds,” Her words were low at the end, seemingly remembering that pain, that agony she would get randomly during the past year. That agony was the consequences of Robin having sex.

Robin's expression changed, clearly taken aback, who could blame him not like he ever felt this pain before considering she never felt that pleasure. Though she was sensing something, something hazy but she could feel it, regretment. Why did he feel that? If anything he’s living his life more than she is.

All at once Raven felt Robin press his head against hers. That touch was a simple thing that was gentle yet felt so burning in her flesh. “You were in pain whenever I had intimacy?”

Her eyes trailed off, hoping to regain control of her breaths, “Yes.” pause, “I’m assuming that reason you had many intimacy moments was because of the sin. The sin is a bittersweet thing that leaves you aching for more.” gods she really was pathetic with her words.

“You seem as if this connection to lust had no desires to raid your body.”

“Lust seems to have a stronger advantage when it’s involved in males. And since I can control my powers now, I can also control how I feel towards those sins better than you can.”

Robin shook his head slowly biting the inside of his cheek giving a distraught smile that had no humor behind it, “So your declaring this lustful sin only affects me.”

“I’m not quite sure, this sin could explain if you ever feel sexually frustrated.” Raven winced at herself at her lame excuse of this situation she put them in. Though it could be the reason he was acting like this towards her right now. Why else would this tension he put them in be happening. Right?

“What about these damn things I’m sensing in my mind.”

This was killing her, she hasn’t even explained that part to him yet.

“The things you’re sensing,” Raven took a moment as if she was nervous to speak, “they’re my emotions. You can feel them as I can for you, only when we’re feeling strongly about something, like right now you’re feeling frustrated.”

He growled, gnashing his teeth like an animal, “You’re saying you can feel my emotions. You set-- whatever the hell it is pry into my mind to feast information on me this whole damn time!”

Raven blinked at his rash tone. He wasn’t just angry, he was furious. Something told her, he didn’t like sharing his emotions.

Instantly she felt her throat feel dry, “I didn’t mean to do this on purpose, any of it!” Her words felt like it could break at how wobbly they were, “When I healed you, your wound was so close to your mind I accidentally created a mind-link. None of this should’ve happened. I don’t know why it did.” She should have known better if she knew healing him a year would've caused this much trouble. It was questionable why her powers did this all on their own, especially to them.

He looked away slightly, mumbling something in another language that she didn’t know but he scoffed when he brought his vision back to her. “Then you must know who I really am behind this mask if we’re linked.” Her breath hitched feeling his fingertips just barely touch her cheek, they felt almost uncertain as if he was hesitant.

Though all she managed to do was shake her head lightly, “This mind link is still a confusing thing, but since I set it as you being “Robin.” I can only sense those emotions, think of it as I can only sense half of you. Since I don't know who you are behind the mask I can’t sense any emotions if I’m ever around your real identity. So there’s the bright side, your secret is still safe.” she felt lame at how she was trying to at least lighten this subject. Though she saw his fingers lift away from her cheek, falling back to his side. “But since you know my real identity and my earth persona you can feel all of me--my emotions I mean” her voice rose abruptly embarrassed at her poor choice of words.

For a second it looks like he was about to pull away, but he just lifted his body ever so slightly to come into full view of her, “Tsk. How do we get rid of this? All of this”

“I’m not quite sure.”

He grinded his teeth together. “You set these things, can’t you take these damn things away.”

Gods, he really needed to control his temper like she said before she didn’t plan this, “Setting all these things that I mistakenly did is something I didn’t even know I was able to do.” Raven chewed on her lower lip, “But let me help, at least help figure out how we can get rid of all of it. I won’t make another mistake again, please Robin. I want to help.”

The moment between them after she spoke was filled with the chirps of crickets, it was making her eager to know if he was going to allow her request. Soon after a breath came from him who looked like he was gathering his thoughts, and finally he lifted his hands away from the brick wall that were beside her head. She heard a low curse before he spoke, “Fine, just do whatever you need to do to erase everything. I don’t want to keep feeling like this.”

Raven didn’t quite know if he was referring to the deadly sin or the mind link part, it was all too much that she did. Either way he probably wanted both. “I’ll try to find as much information as I can by this week.”

He didn’t respond to her, and just turned away, annihilated his grappling hook to the top of the building leaving her isolated in the dim shadows.

Hearing the plastic of the bag against the wind, gods she completely forgot he stopped her from a food errand, the food must’ve gotten cold already. Jon and Damian must be wondering where the hell she was.

---------------------------

if you made it to here lemme just say omg finally this was the hardest thing I’ve ever written because i was trying hard to explain this whole situation without them having to be too yk. cuz hellooo it is only the first chapter but ik this chapter a little like ehhh idk if it is or not but I had to shove like everything that needed to get out of the way first, so we can finally be introduced to the fluff and angst and soon smut in the upcoming chapters. so ya hope this chap was somewhat enjoyable

#damirae #demonbirds #arghhhhh my 3 am mind does wondersss #damian x raven #raven x damian #damian and raven #raven and damian #rachel roth #damian wayne #fanfiction #dc fanfiction #writing #dc #teen titans #a little adjustment fanfic

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years

Text

Forging Paths PT. 2

Batsis Story!

A/N: Seriously tho, who decided I should write this??? -Thorne <3

Wayne Manor was no doubt a symbol of Gotham City. Ask anyone who lived in Gotham, "What are the most important pieces in Gotham City?" The response usually involved: Wayne Enterprises, Arkham Asylum, anything and everything dedicated to Thomas and Martha Wayne, and Wayne Manor. Old didn't even begin to describe the mansion; the thing was ancient. Located just on the outskirts of Gotham City, it stood tall and proud, despite the melancholy air that surrounded it. (Y/N) stood in front of the door wrestling with her desire to flee, and her promise to stay for Jason. Reluctantly, she slipped the key into the lock, turned it, pushed open the massive wooden door, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her. Dark. She thought. Why is it always so damn dark in this place? I know he has electricity. Why can't he use it? Her eyes strained to see in the darkness but eventually fitted to it. She tried to force her feet to move forward, but the feelings inside her tied her in place. Anger, sadness, frustration, hope, shame, pity, contempt, rage. They all swirled inside her as she began to remember why she never came ho-... no, this was not home. This hadn't been home for almost a decade; home was wherever the hell she could get away from the name 'Wayne'. Memories played in her mind on a loop, starting with the earliest she could remember.

Three, and being carried off to bed waiting for daddy to come home and read to her.

Five, and trying to show daddy a picture she drew, but being told that he was in the middle of a 'very important conversation, daddy will look later'.

Seven, and finally daddy is spending some time with her; they're going to the circus!

Ten, and she stands beside her brother as they are berated for putting themselves in danger while on patrol.

Thirteen, and standing outside the dance hall in the brand new dress she bought, waiting for dad to come to the Father/ Daughter Dance; he never showed.

Fourteen and has already learned how to put a face on for the socialites; "Yes, my daddy is the best there is, I love him so much!"

Sixteen, and beginning to resent the uniform she put on each night; it only symbolized how dad cared more about a vow made at eight years old, than his own children.

Eighteen, and laughing her ass off at this thirteen-year-old kid who's hauling ass away from her dad after stealing the wheels off the Batmobile; she likes this kid, he's going to fit right in.

Twenty-one, and blood-curdling screams and heart-wrenching sobs fill the cave as she holds onto her dead brother for dear life; this is his fault, his mission caused this.

Twenty-Three, and standing outside L.A.; this is the first time she's been on her own.

Twenty-Four, and she's already made a name for herself; The Sentinel, taking out criminals her way, not his.

Twenty-Five, and hearing reports of a new vigilante in Gotham, The Red Hood; sneaking back into the city and meeting her baby brother all over again.

Twenty-Six, and taking a break from hunting for a night to watch movies with Jason, telling all about the falling out between her and him, and letting him in to all she's been storing; if you look hard enough, it's almost like he never died.

Twenty-Seven, and you'd think with all the time she spent away she'd be over it, but she isn't. She still hates this God-forsaken house and the man who owns it; she hates her inability to let go of everything that ties her here, but years of neglect and despondence are not so easily forgotten. Inhaling sharply, (Y/N) willed her feet to move and she stepped carefully through foyer towards the study. The door was nudged open and she could hear china clinking. Alfred's making tea then. She thought. Slipping through, she propped herself against the bookshelf and spoke quietly. "If you're making tea, mind pouring me a cup Alfred?" Alfred dropped the cup he'd been holding in alarm and raised up quickly, turning to face her. "Ms. (Y/N)! Good Heavens, y-you're actually here! When Master Jason mentioned he was going to try and get you, I confess I hadn't believed you'd actually come!" The corner of (Y/N)'s mouth raised ever so slightly as she responded. "Yes, I'm here." Her face dropped as she mumbled, "Not that I really want to be here." She shook her head and walked over, kneeling to pick up the broken china that lie scattered around Alfred's feet. "No, no, Ms. (Y/N), let me." (Y/N) waved him off and gathered the pieces in her hand, placing them back on the tray. She stood back up and they stared at each other for a moment before Alfred pulled her in to a tight hug. "I have missed you Ms. (Y/N)." His voice laced with unshed tears, as her arms wound themselves around Alfred's back. They stayed for a few seconds before pulling away, Alfred taking her face between his hands and observing her. "You have grown in the last four years." She smiled at him. "How much have I grown, Alfie?" He released her face and stepped back. "Quite a lot in fact. You've certainly grown taller dear, but that's not what I mean. You look so mature for your age. Your eyes look bright, but they're tired and cautious, and your shoulders held back with pride, look like they're being crushed under the weight of worlds." She lowered her head; face morphing into a look of apprehension, Jason could only get so much out of (Y/N). But Alfred? Alfred could get everything. Quickly as it came, it was gone. She raised her head back up and squared her shoulders. "Yeah well, life changes people. Speaking of people, what's the gangling quartet of Bat-brats up to?" She turned her head towards the direction of the kitchen, as sounds of clanging occurred, followed by sounds of shouts and thrown hands and feet. Alfred slid a hand down his face and sighed deeply, (Y/N) snorting at the mental image. "If you will follow me Ms. (Y.N), we will find out exactly what the 'gangling quartet of Bat-brats' are 'up to'." Picking up the tray he hurried towards the kitchen; (Y/N) stayed for a moment and listened as Alfred began berating the rowdy boys in the kitchen. Inhaling, she moved towards the door, but stopped and turned towards the fireplace. Her eyes trained themselves on the portrait resting high above her. The entire 'new' family, Jason and she excluded. She stared at him for a few seconds, matching steel blue eyes locked in a silent fight. She huffed a mirthless laugh and left the study, heart heavy and bitter taste in her mouth. She reached the kitchen in a matter of seconds and paused before opening the door. Carefully, she placed all the feelings back into the box and slapped a smirk on her face. Opening the door, she strode in; three faces expectant, two completely surprised. She stood in front of them and crossed her arms, becoming the very image of the HBIC (Head-Bitch-In-Charge). "How's it hanging Bat-freaks? Got room for one more?"

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

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The Truth At Last (1981)

*A One In A Million AU fic*

Summary: After 40 years together the truth of Rose's identity comes out at last.

Word Count: 1.7k

Author’s Note: Thank you to the lovely reader who asked about if/ when Rose tells the guys she's actually from the future. I know I gave a mini head canon in my answer but the more I thought about it the more the plot bunnies hopped around and this little fic was born.

The Truth At Last (1981)

“Come on lazy bones, let’s go!” Bucky shouts up the stairs. You place a hand on your husband's arm, settling him in his excitement. Even at the ripe old age of sixty-three, Bucky still gets overly excited at new things like a child. He gives your youngest grandchild a run for her money at times and she’s only four.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Steve grumbles as he descends the stairs to join you in the foyer. He’s fumbling with the buttons of his favorite blue shirt, unable to get the buttons through the holes as quickly as he’d like. His arthritis is flaring up again, it’s been doing that more and more lately.

You push past the pang of sadness at seeing your husband struggle and pull him close when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, “Come here, love. I’ve got it.” you tell him, fixing the buttons of his shirt with quick efficiency.

Steve checks his hair in the mirror by the door; the blonde is shot through with white and silver, though the cut is the same as when you met him. Even at sixty-two he’s quite striking. Bucky and you make sure to remind him of that regularly too. “You look great, Stevie.” Bucky assures him, pressing a quick kiss to the other man’s cheek before you head out the door.

The walk to the new cafe is only four blocks from your old brownstone but the three of you take your time. There’s no need to hurry anymore. Now that you’re all retired, you can spend your days together doing whatever piques your interest at your own pace. Bucky had retired at fifty-five after an accident at the docks; his foot healed quickly but he realized he was getting too old for that type of work. Steve had been doing commissions only since the kids were born, taking jobs here and there as needed. It had helped tremendously when the kids were young. The last two years though, his arthritis had worsened and he’d stopped taking jobs. He claimed he wanted to create for himself while he still could. You were the last to retire, finally giving your notice the year before, and leaving your beloved library after almost forty years of service. You still go in once a week to lead story time for the children but you left the heavy mantle of Library Director behind.

The cafe is a little brick shop with a lavender awning and wide glass windows. It’s cheery looking and definitely fits in with newer shops that have come into the neighborhood in recent years. Bucky holds the door open causing a little bell to chime up above and the scent of coffee hits your nose. It smells like heaven.

Bucky insists on ordering for all three of you, so you and Steve take a table by the window while Bucky hurries over to the counter. You sit quietly looking around, letting a gentle melancholy sink into your bones. You miss the days of setting up shop in a Starbucks to work on your college papers, sipping an endless stream of lattes and staying right up until they closed for the night. Being back in a cafe like this dredges up those fond memories and you wish you could share them with the guys. You’d always meant to tell them, but even after forty years together, the timing never seemed quite right. And the longer it went, the more impossible it seemed.

“Here we go!” Bucky interrupts your reverie, placing a tray with three steaming cups and a plate of treats on your table. He slides into his seat and snatches a lemon scone with a wide grin, his sweet tooth just as wild as ever.

You reach for the cup immediately after recognizing it as a latte; eager to devour it despite the steam flowing freely from the foam. The first sip is overwhelming, the taste of espresso and steamed milk hitting your tongue for the first time in four decades.

“It’s called a cafe au lait.” Bucky explains, “This is the only place in the city that serves them and they’re just the best.”

You’re lost in your own little world, practically on the verge of tears as your taste buds welcome the familiar flavor. “God,” you murmur to yourself, “I missed this.”

“What, doll?” Bucky asks, his nose wrinkling in confusion.

You look up to see two pairs of blue eyes staring at you in confusion.

“Nothing,” you assure them quickly, “It’s nothing.”

“You said you missed this? Did you come here without us? They just opened last week.” Steve chimes in. He’s like a damned dog with a bone.

You’re overwhelmed by the memories the latte has drug up and the guys are pestering you in unison with increasingly teasing questions as to what you meant and how you could have had one before in order to miss it.

Steve is chuckling at Bucky’s last guess, “If she’s able to climb out a window at 2am-”

“Because I have had them before! Okay?!” you snap, cutting him off. “Hundreds of them. I practically lived off them while I was studying for my masters!” You huff out an exasperated breath, your pulse racing with frustration.

“Your what?” Steve chokes out in confusion.

“Oh hell.” You mutter, now you’ve done it. The conversation you’ve been avoiding for two thirds of your life is upon you and somehow you’re still not ready.

“I think this is an at home type of conversation.” Bucky suggests. “Let’s just finish this up and we can head home.”

The three of you drink your lattes quickly and Bucky asks for a paper sack to take your treats home in. None of you are willing to eat anything with the nervous energy buzzing around. You feel like you’re going to vibrate out of your bones between the caffeine and the terror of what you’re about to reveal to your husbands. You can’t even imagine what this will do to your marriage. To your family. The happy plans you had for your retired lives together are turning to ashes in your mind.

You and Bucky take your usual seats on opposite ends of the sofa leaving Steve to opt for the middle seat opposed to his favored recliner. You barely know where to start but the guys are waiting patiently for you to begin. “I know things are going to change after this, but please, please know how much I love you. How much I’ve always loved you.” You choke back a sob before continuing, “I didn’t move to New York in 1941. I’d lived there since college in 2028….” Slowly, and through a sea of tears, the whole truth comes out. It takes almost an hour and you feel like your insides have been scraped raw between your memories and the quiet tears freely flowing from all three of you. By the time you’ve finished you’re convinced they’ll ask you to leave. They haven’t said a word, just gripped each other’s hands desperately and sniffled at the occasional stray tear.

“We always suspected you had an interesting past.” Steve chuckles wetly, “But I never saw that coming.”

Bucky huffs a teary laugh which brings one of your own up and just like that the tension that’s been brewing for the past hour spills. Steve scoots forward to take you in his arms, peppering you with kisses while Bucky moves in to hug you overtop Steve.

They have questions, lots of them, but you expected they would. The guys take turns; Steve asking about your life growing up and Bucky mostly wanting to know about more “cool future shit” as he’s calling it. You’re discussing the challenges you faced trying to adjust to life in their time after knowing how much better it was for women in the future when Steve gets himself so worked up in self righteous fury that he has an asthma attack. You hold the inhaler patiently to his lips, pressing the cylinder to release his medication for him since his hands still ache. When his breathing evens out enough that you and Bucky are no longer concerned, Bucky starts teasing Steve about trying to be the center of attention despite this being about you.

You spend the full day on that old olive green sofa together. Things you haven’t thought of in ages coming to mind, and you happily share the memories with them. You’re all stiff-muscled and sore by dinner time when you finally get up to rummage through your kitchen for food. The heaviness in the air is gone now, a subdued feeling of relief in its place. You all agree the children won’t be told. It’s better just keeping it between you three. The guys seem to truly understand your reasoning in not telling them and aren’t holding it against you. All in all, they took the news remarkably well. You should have known though. The love you share is the love of a lifetime and something that strong doesn’t just flicker out.

You’re putting three little frozen chicken pot pies in the oven when you hear the guys shouting in outrage over the sound of the television in the living room. You head towards the sound of their discontent.

“Rose!” Steve calls to you, “The MLB just went on strike! Can you believe it?! They’re cancelling 23 games!”

“Oh my god.” you gasp, surprised that the league took such drastic action. Baseball was the only sport watched in your house, both of the guys completely obsessed from July through October every year. It’s going to be odd seeing how this strike plays out and you’re sure the guys will be complaining about it well past when the season ends.

“But you probably already knew that, right?” Bucky teases you lightly.

You stare at him in shock for a moment before swatting him with your dish towel. “Jerk.”

Steve snorts in his effort not to laugh, but Bucky laughs with his whole body, amused by his own self.

“Funny.” you chastise him, “Really funny, guys.”

They settle but are still wearing twin grins of amusement. Throwing an eye roll their way, you head back to the kitchen to start on the salad. After everything, a little teasing is a small price for years of hiding, and one you’re more than willing to pay.

#One In A Million #reader inspired fic #stucky #stucky x reader #reader insert #stucky fanfic #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #female reader insert #captain america fanfic #marvel fanfic

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house-arya · 5 years

Text

he’ll always be yours (ii)

-- marry me, now

“Might I fetch you another slice of bread, miss?” The boy had dark green eyes that glowed with mischief, his lips twitching upwards. Arya studied him for a moment, before nodding her head. He turned around the table and dashed behind the counter, vanishing into the kitchen. Arya swallowed the last remnants of her eggs and glanced sullenly about the room.

It was warm -- and brightly lit -- unlike the last time she was here with the Hound. It was strange to be back, and stranger still that Gendry of all people was here. She had last seen him just before the Red Wedding, right when she had been kidnapped.

After that day, she vowed never to be taken again. And so she trained and worked herself bloody to learn the skills of the Faceless Men. She had arrived at Braavos a child and left a warrior.

She thought it amusing that she should end up at the same place Gendry settled at. Ironic, but still a cruel joke by the Many-Faced God. She spent years trying to forget that face. Desperately trying to forget that stupid smile and stupid laugh. The entire situation was utterly and ridiculously stupid.

Maybe she hadn’t left Braavos after all. Maybe she was on a fool’s errand to come back and save the remainder of her family. But was Gendry part of her pack still?

Was he ever part of your pack? A voice inside sneered at her, taunting and unmerciful as ever. Shut up, she replied.

She spent the rest of the morning exploring the area, poking around the High Road. Arya hadn’t accounted for finding Gendry here, or anywhere, for that matter. She just needed a place to stay for the night to wait out that brutal storm. Had Gendry not been here, she would’ve been on her way the moment the storm let up. She needed to reach the Wall as quickly as possible, and yet she wasted half a day nonetheless.

She might be too late by the time she actually made it there.

Thoughts of Gendry and home and the horrible truth she had realized in Essos plagued her mind for the whole day. She should’ve saddled her horse and rode off, but she couldn’t leave him. Could she?

Somehow, Arya found her way to the forge by early evening, just as the sun began to dip behind the surrounding trees. She watched him stare intently at the helm before him for several minutes as he pounded away. He let out a yelp when he accidentally struck his thumb, dancing away from his workstation.

“Careful. Don’t want to lose those hands of yours,” she said, trying not to laugh. “‘M fine,” he grumbled, shaking his thumb lightly. Arya could only snort; she learned that lesson with steel the hard way.

“No, you’re not. It’s open and you’ve been working with metal. You need to clean that.” He huffed unhappily, but stretched out his palm nevertheless as she drew near him. She retrieved her vial of firemilk and took great care to dab it gently, remembering how the potion seemed to burn her own wounds worse than any actual injury she ever sustained.

Arya saw him clench his other fist to keep from squirming. She admired the brave face he put on. The first time she used it, tears stung her eyes. It did not take long to apply, but the feeling of his hand in hers was almost too good to let go of.

Gendry was not just a blacksmith. (And even if he was, he was her blacksmith, just like Mikken at Winterfell had been.) But Gendry was so very different than Mikken. Gendry was warmth and sturdiness. He was a certain kind of strength, and the lingering smell of grease and smoke felt like home.

With a start, Arya realized she was still holding his hand. She stepped away, intending to release it at once, but he pulled her close to him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Her breath hitched, but she recovered almost instantaneously and twirled away from him. His eyes were stormy, just as it had been the previous night. Then she remembered what she had come here for in the first place.

“I have a proposition for you,” she began. “Why don’t we run away?” Gendry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m traveling North. I could use someone on the road with me.” He continued to stare. “Just to watch my back,” she hastily added.

“Arya, I…” Gendry screwed his eyes shut, struggling to respond. “They need me here, Arya. I can’t just leave.” She nodded sympathetically, biting the inside of her cheek before taking a step back.

You wouldn’t be my family.

“No, it’s fine. I get it,” she said. “I’ve stayed here too long. I’ll be leaving in the morning.” Or in the middle of the night, when you won’t be there to change my mind. Gendry avoided her gaze and stared at his feet before looking up to her, just like Bran used to. That didn’t matter though. All that mattered was that she reached the Wall before it was too late.

He finally looked up to her and gestured to the helmet before him. “Well, I should… get back to work, I guess,” he said. Arya dipped her head, but hesitated: “Why are you making a Lannister helmet?”

Gendry ran his non-injured hand through his coarse, black hair and sighed. “I’ve been making helmets for every house I could think of. For protection. Just in case some noble passes by and wants some declaration of loyalty or some gift… I would have something to give them.”

Arya peered around him and saw in the corner a helm with great, bronze antlers that reached towards the heavens, as well as a second that bore the snarling mouth of a wolf and glassy, hardened eyes. Her breath caught as she recognized its likeness, her house sigil. Great, beautiful, and dangerous were the Stark children’s direwolves. Arya could almost feel the sensation of wind ruffling in her fur.

Gendry must’ve noticed that her attention fell on the helmet, so he retrieved it for her and practically thrust it into her hands. She gently grasped it, running her hands over the smooth grey metal. In its carved eyes, she saw Grey Wind and Robb, Lady and Sansa, Summer and Bran, Shaggydog and Rickon. But most of all, she saw Ghost and Jon.

Gods above, she missed them all.

Arya swallowed thickly and handed the helmet back to Gendry, turning her back to him and leaving the forge without another word.

She had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

Arya had officially gotten a room once one opened up. It was small, but it would work well enough. She peeled off her exterior coat and flung it across the room, marching towards her satchel. Tucked inside was her proof that the dead were walking. She opened up the parchment, just to see that it was still there.

She eventually slunk downstairs, hoping to snag a small piece of bread before dinner. She flitted from corner to corner, willing herself to remain unseen. Just for practice, she told herself. It wasn’t that she intended to eavesdrop on Jeyne and Gendry, but that’s exactly what happened, anyway.

“...needs to leave, Gendry.” “We can’t just...” “Yes, we can.”

There was a moment of silence, and for every moment that dragged on, her heart seemed to beat faster.

“Will you marry me?”

Her heartbeat skipped. There was no answer. Please, please say no, Gendry. Say no.

The silence persisted, and Arya’s heart was screaming for her to interrupt, to drag Gendry away from this place where he had to live in fear, away from Jeyne and her husband-and-wife fantasy, away from a life without Arya in it.

I lost you once Gendry, I don’t know if I could lose you again.

“We’ve...we’ve been over this before. You know I can’t.” “You mean you won’t. You want to abandon us all for that girl.” “For fuck's sake, Jeyne, I just...Gods!”

Arya heard shuffling coming her way and immediately darted off, dashing out of the kitchen and into the yard. She checked on her horse, trying to plot the rest of her journey up north. She would most likely have to stop near Moat Cailin, but it would still be best if she veered east of The Kingsroad. There would be too many eyes watching the road.

Her concentration broke when she heard Gendry calling out her name. She stepped out from the makeshift stable, boots crunching on the dried hay. His face was red, but his eyes carried a gleam of determination that she hadn’t seen from him before.

“I’ll come with you. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

I will be your family.

“Good,” she said, putting a hand on the hilt of Needle, “The world’s about to end.” If the news she bore hadn’t been so grim, she would have laughed at the mere look on his face.

#PART TWO Y'ALL #a lil late #he'll always be yours #axgweek #arya x gendry #gendrya #housearya post #arya stark #gendry #asoiaf

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mbavholidayexchange · 4 years

Photo

To @demonicbutterflies, from @pixiepaintt

Title: Piecewise Equations & The Inner Turmoil of a Mathlete

Rating: T

Summary: It was a day of completely no consequence. Small and tiny against the mass of the calendar; itty-bitty in the grand scheme of chronological order. It was no holiday nor commemoration. It was a Tuesday unlike any other Tuesday to have ever been invented, but to Benny Weir, grand amateur spellcaster and goof, it was the most important day of his life.

It was the day he was going to confess to Ethan fucking Morgan.

Ao3 Link: Link

Content

It was a day of completely no consequence. Small and tiny against the mass of the calendar; itty-bitty in the grand scheme of chronological order. It was no holiday nor commemoration. It was a Tuesday unlike any other Tuesday to have ever been invented, but to Benny Weir, grand amateur spellcaster and goof, it was the most important day of his life.

It was the day he was going to confess to Ethan fucking Morgan. AKA the smartest guy in the whole world. AKA an angel disguised as a human. AKA the person that Benny has been pining over for three years.

In Freshman year, he was just figuring out that he was even into dudes-- he spent most of the year pondering if he liked Ethan as a friend or liked him like that . In Sophomore year, he fawned over Ethan and decided that there was no way the feeling was mutual, especially not with Sarah around. In Junior year, he started out thinking the same, but then-- then Sarah confessed to Erica, and she apparently didn’t like dudes, and Ethan seemed relieved, and he felt like maybe, just maybe, this was his chance. So Benny convinced himself to confess.

The days couldn’t have passed any quicker; he had set a date to confess right after he learned he had a speck of hope (a week ago). Then he blinked, and it was the morning of his confession.

He forced himself to confess before lunch.

That failed.

He forced himself to confess during his last period English class.

That failed.

English class had just been dismissed by the bell, there were no hours left in the school day now, Ethan was still oblivious, and Benny was freaking out. If he didn’t do it now, he knew for a fact he’d back out and hide in his feelings for the rest of his lonely life. He’d done that for two years already; he didn’t want to go back now. Not when he had an opportunity in front of him.

“B? You coming?” Ethan asked, hefting his shoulder bag over his body and ambling to the door. He was probably excited to go home and play the new update of Zombies: Brains, Brains, and More! Benny wished all of his troubles were a zombie apocalypse; that would be infinitesimally easier than what he was going through now.

“Uh-- I--” Benny half-responded, still sitting in his desk. His feet wouldn’t move.

“Benny?” Ethan asked, lifting up a worried smile. He paused momentarily on his journey to the exit.

“You-- I don’t--” Benny managed, pointing a hand to the door. He was shaking.

“Let me just grab my stuff out my locker and we can walk home together?” Ethan promised, walking back towards the door.

“Wait!” Benny yelled, regaining his footing finally, “E, wait.”

“Yeah?”

Benny held his pointing hand straighter, flailing for the right words. He couldn’t think of any Latin with this state of a frazzled mind, so he settled for a simple English spell. Under his breath, sweating with nerves, he muttered:

“ Fire deflection, passionate perfection, grant the door unyielding connection !”

“Did you say something?” Ethan asked. Luckily he didn’t have super-hearing to go with his seer abilities.

“Uh.”

“I’m going to get the nurse. B, you’re worrying me.”

Ethan tried for the door’s handle. He tried again. It gave no budge at all-- not even a sliver of movement in any direction. Benny hesitantly smiled; at least his spell had worked. That was the only thing working for him in the moment; everything else was disorganized mayhem. Just call him Dr. Homo Doom, because his teenage life was descending into a frenzy of unrequited love!

Ethan kicked the door. Immediately after, he scowled tightly and rubbed his foot.

“The door is jammed.”

“Yeah,” Benny nervously responded. Oh God, was he too obvious? Was his plan failing? Was Ethan onto him?

“Are you,” Ethan dithered, choosing his words carefully as he checked Benny up and down, “better now?”

“Yeah. Swell as an Orc in the Highlands of Manoria!”

Ethan tried to suppress a grin at the mention of their favorite fantasy MMORPG. They always made fun of the janky 3D mechanics together.

“Valiant Orc, I shall slay you with my enchanted Ice Protection III Sword of Elysia!”

“Oh heavens above, not the enchanted Ice Protection III Sword of Elysia!” Benny yelled, clutching his chest. He made a pained ‘gh’ sound and collapsed onto his desk, twitching dramatically and trying to hide his giggles.

“Didn’t a new mob just get released?”

“Bro, yes, ah-- spear goblins, I think. Definitely OP. I wanted to play during last class but stupid Ms. Wallon won’t let us bring our phones in the room.”

“Some of us are trying to learn,” Ethan teased, smiling with his eyes, and god did that make Benny’s heart clench .

“And some of us are trying to learn strategy techs for the new meta!” Benny quickly responded. He regarded competitive gaming very seriously.

Ethan sighed. Although he, too, was heavily invested in gaming, he preferred singular player free roaming modes, or, at the very most, campaign modes. Competitive and ranked games gave him too much anxiety. He loved to watch Benny play rankings and rage at smurfs, though.

“Anyway, we should head home. We can play ZBBM?” Ethan pointedly looked at the door, “Can you, uh, do your thing?” He wiggled his fingers, and Benny snorted.

“That’s the issue. See,” he took a deep breath (it was now or never!), “I’ve been wanting to tell you something really kinda important.”

“Okay?” Ethan answered, and that confirmation sent Benny spiraling. This was really, really happening. It wasn’t just in his imagination anymore.

Benny’s breathing quickened, and he briefly considered backing out. Ethan certainly didn’t feel the same way. If he confessed now, he’d lose his best friend. Benny gulped and backtracked.

“Eh, I just--”

And then the door started hissing. And shaking. And glowing.

Ethan gasped. Benny cursed.

“Shit, Grandma always told me English spells were more tricky,” Benny muttered. He flexed his fingers. Something wasn’t right-- he may not be the most proficient spellcaster, but a simple spell like that certainly shouldn’t cause the door to rumble like a giant was full-throttle rattling it.

English spells often had a looser sense of interpretation; something about the translation from the original latin being lost in the magic altered them. He had pronounced the spell with all of the right intentions, but--

But the door was still shaking like an earthquake.

Benny blanched.

“Water pyre, built from needs dire, extinguish this door’s mental fire!”

Nothing.

“Succulent wind, in which all, uh, things end, to my cause a hand you should lend!”

Zero effect.

“Powers from earth, strengthened by girth, to a peaceful door you should give birth!”

Still, no response.

Ethan looked to Benny with wide deer eyes. He had the pinched inner brow expression that meant only one thing: he had been thinking through a problem, and reached a conclusion.

“Did you spell the door earlier?” He accused.

“Uh, heh… the thing is--”

“Benny!” Ethan whined, fretting a hand through his hair.

“I know, I know, I’m trying to find a reversal spell.”

“Because that’s going so smoothly,” Ethan snarked, then paled, “Sorry. I’m just-- agh, I don’t know what’s going on.”

Benny nodded. He didn’t either.

To be fair, he didn’t deserve all the blame. He’d only glanced over the spell once in a decades-old book with more dust than ink-- and then amateurly attempted it. At least it wasn’t a reanimated animal this time.

He could handle a door. Right?

“Let’s just calm down and think about this rationally,” Ethan suggested. He pulled out a chair and sat next to Benny.

Somehow, just Ethan’s very presence soothed Benny’s worries. When Ethan was near him, it was similar to a feeling of… indestructibility. Like nothing could stop them. Benny didn’t know how to feel about that.

Ethan smiled worriedly, always trying to stay lucid in tough situations, and Benny smiled in response. With Ethan by his side, he had no doubt that they could fix this.

“What spell did you use?”

“Well… uh… fire something, made the door lock.”

“Which spell, though?”

Benny grimaced.

“E, you know I have less than one brain cell. I don’t remember. It was pretty simple, though.”

“...Okay.” Ethan sighed, “Then why did you lock it?”

“Oh.” Benny sucked in a breath and froze.

“B?” Ethan asked, scooting closer.

“I-- I wanted to talk.” Benny settled on. Hopefully that was vague enough.

His hands were shaking, so Ethan settled put a hand on his shoulder.

“We can talk. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just-- nervous,” Benny replied, uncharacteristically grave.

And suddenly the door stilled.

It was clattering viciously, intent on nearly breaking, until it abruptly suspended all movement. It was… quiet. The room seemed to shrink without the raucous noise. Benny and Ethan both stared at the quasi-normal door. There was not even a hint of a glow anymore; no sign of any previous activity.

Benny was the first to crush the silence.

“What… happened?”

“Touch my arm.”

Benny shrilly laughed. It seemed too ironic to be true. Ethan asking for physical contact? At a time like this? Right after Benny had chickened out from his confession? He couldn’t tell if it was bad or good luck, but fate was certainly poking fun at him. There was an irregular bit of hope stirring in the pit of his chest.

“Wha-- Why?” Benny choked out, chuckling.

“Vision,” Ethan said impatiently, holding out his hand.

Oh.

A vision. Not because he actually wanted to touch Benny or anything. Okay. Benny shrugged and touched Ethan’s hand hesitantly. Not that he was paying attention, but it was quite warm.

Benny was snapped out of it when Ethan shook his head.

“Nothing happened,” he frowned. He took back his arm and pursed his lips.

“Okay,” Benny simply responded.

“At least the door’s stopped, though. Maybe it opened?” Ethan got up to check. He paused before wrapping a hand around the handle, taking a deep breath.

He shook it, and the handle didn’t move.

Benny couldn’t help but chuckle deprecatingly. Oh, how the tables had turned on him. He had trapped himself in a room with the boy he was infatuated with, stuck in a crappy school building past dismissal time. It seemed destiny was pulling his leg, and he had no choice in the matter.

Ethan raised an eyebrow at the laughing.

“Nothing,” Benny quickly assured, “Just… We couldn’t even get stuck in a cool classroom like biology.”

“And we don’t have our phones,” Ethan noted, his eyebrows furrowed in thought, “No possible way of contacting others.”

Benny nodded. He didn’t know what to tag on; it was his fault they were stuck, anyway. He didn’t want to worsen it and make Ethan despise him even more .

“I… just give me a minute to think about the situation,” stressed Ethan. Benny nodded again.

Ethan sat back down and tapped his fingers on his desk. A minute passed. Benny watched him think, so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice Benny’s stares. A few more minutes passed, and the crease in Ethan’s brows was only deepening. Benny wanted to help him so badly, but he’d already messed everything up. Not only did his confession go haywire, but he botched a simple spell and trapped Ethan.

He had never regretted a spell more. Not even when he had accidentally hexed Erica’s hair green and she threatened to sacrifice him to the council for weeks. Not even when he spelled Mr. G to give him an A, and his grandma found out. Not even when he tried magicking some of Sarah’s fake blood to taste like soda and tasted it himself. Nothing could be worse than this-- this cacophony of confusion and guilt. God, he really shouldn’t dwell in his thoughts, but he couldn’t help it. Ethan looked so utterly pensive, and Benny just knew that he was the root cause of it.

His worst fears were being realized, and he didn’t have a clue about how to amend it. His relationship with Ethan was the most important thing in his life, and like everything else he touched, he ruined it.

By this time, they would have both been beyond home, probably settling in for dinner and video games.

Benny waited for Ethan to say something-- anything-- because the silence was nearly killing him, but he didn’t. Ethan just kept tapping his fingers. The desk reverberated back at him. Benny was out of the loop.

Time streamed by them fruitlessly; it stole the light from the windows and the confidence that they had. It was on a different, faster river; Benny was left to run after it.

Eventually, Ethan sighed and broke away from his thoughtful silence. He grabbed a water bottle out of his nearby bag and drank from it. He paused and held it out to Benny as an afterthought.

“You thirsty?”

In more ways than one.

Benny nodded, and snatched the bottle from Ethan’s loose grip. He chugged it, small rivulets of water catching his cheek and strolling down. He pulled away after a second and grinned, garbling through a mouth full of water.

“Imdirect kiff.”

Ethan flushed red. His ears turned a rosy shade, and he tugged some hair forward to cover them.

“Huh?” He asked, voice airy with an odd mixture of confusion and hope.

Benny didn’t reply. He was too busy gulping back the water and despairing in self-negative thoughts. He had no clue why he had done that.

Ethan was still staring at him.

Benny looked away, willing his cheeks to stop burning. They didn’t comply. And hindsight was truly a bitch. He refused to meet Ethan’s inquisitive gaze; he stared at the floor and picked at his short nails instead. Somehow, among this entire mess, he had managed to do something completely ridiculous and irrational again . In his peripheral vision, he saw Ethan twine his fingers together tightly, to the point of whiteness (one of his nervous tics). Benny’s heart stuttered.

Neither of them moved or made a sound for several minutes. There was only the combined noise of their breathing: Benny’s stilted and Ethan’s indecisively heavy.

God, nothing had ever been this awkward between them. It was so unusual-- so innately deafening for Benny to not be completely comfortable around Ethan. He was abruptly dunked in a pit of ice water, and he was left to flail in the bitterness. He was so accustomed to the warmth, and a fire was near, but-- he hadn’t the courage to pursue it. So he was silent.

It took everything in his limited willpower to not crack open a half-assed joke about being about as straight as 2 radians (because that was equal to a circle, and Ethan would love a math reference) but he didn’t. He couldn’t let himself ruin their relationship even further. Well-- if they still had a relationship and Ethan didn’t completely despise him by this point.

But then the object of his worries spoke.

“Unless… it didn’t have to be indirect?” Ethan’s voice wavered, pitchy and breaking on every other word, but Benny had never heard anything so beautiful .

Benny sputtered for a second, then managed to choke out a few words.

“Not indirect-- wait, what--”

He didn’t have the chance to finish, because Ethan was promptly burrowing under his desk and tucking his limbs away from view, husking himself into a neat shell. When he wanted to be, he could be very flexible. His shoulders folded between his knees, his head ducked into his chest, and his feet slipped underneath his body. He was nearly cornered into a fetal position, if it weren’t for the tremor in his chest and wild, watering eyes. Benny was all too familiar with these symptoms; Ethan was extremely anxious.

“E, it’s okay,” Benny soothed, forgetting all of his stressors in lieu of seeing his best friend hurting. That possessed the utmost priority.

Ethan didn’t respond, so Benny took a little step forward and continued to talk.

“I promise everything’s fine.”

“Just-- Just forget I said anything,” Ethan pleaded, lifting his head just enough to meet Benny’s eyes.

Benny didn’t know quite how to respond to that. How could he simply forget the most suggestive thing his crush has said to him in the history of their friendship? That moment was already ingrained into his memory, and he doubted it would ever leave. But instead of telling Ethan that, he simply extended a hand.

Ethan paused and took a couple of deep breaths, steadying himself. He took the hand, and Benny gently hauled him up. And then, in the same motion, pulled Ethan into his chest.

“Wh--” Ethan began to squeak, but was quickly muffled by Benny’s classically striped shirt. He relaxed into the hug after a few awkward moments, tentatively wrapping his arms around Benny in reciprocation.

They had hugged before, sure, but it was never truly intimate. Usually it was a quick pull and release, or a light half-hug in pictures. They friendship was never very physically close; that was largely a result of the stigmatic culture that they grew up in. Besides, playing video games together was much more fun than have tickle-fights. This time, though, this hug was different-- it was a mental connection as well as physical.

Benny sighed into the hug; it was such a simple gesture, but it seemed that all of his chaotic fretting was vanquished as soon as he was pressed against Ethan. The naturally subduing aura of Ethan was only amplified through physical contact.

Idly, he noticed that more than a few seconds had passed. Was this too long of a hug? Was he making this awkward? Benny grimaced and pulled back, suddenly feeling bad, but--

Ethan didn’t let him get far at all, tugging him back into the hug with a strength neither of them knew he possessed.

“Stay,” mumbled Ethan.

“Okay.” Benny surprisedly breathed out in response. The things he would do for this boy .

“I’m sorry,” said Ethan, ever-apologetic, and Benny couldn’t help but shaking his head against Ethan’s hair.

“Don’t be sorry. I-- uh-- I wanted to talk to you about-- stuff. Actually.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah.”

Benny failed to elaborate. Ethan lifted his head just enough to stare Benny directly in his eyes, maintaining fierce eye contact. He wasn’t joking around.

“Stuff?” Ethan repeated. He raised a hand, almost as if he were to tuck back the hair falling in front of Benny’s eyes, but then changed his mind and dropped it.

Benny averted his eyes, opting to stare at the door. The moment was finally here. Ethan was asking him so directly, so intently that he couldn’t bring himself to lie. It was actually happening; he was going to confess his undying love for Ethan Morgan. Where he had been previously anxious, Ethan’s “indirect” comment was fueling him. He was on top of the world with adrenaline.

“Uh, well, there aren’t any cherry blossoms falling around us like, uh, all successful anime confessions go, but-- but yeah. So basically I’m in lo-- I love you.” Benny nervously chuckled. He studied Ethan’s face very closely, noting all of the emotions that cycled through it: first confusion, then surprise, then contemplation, a bit of sadness, and then contentedness. Or what Benny hoped was some form of contentedness. Ethan’s face settled on that last emotion, holding it for a time akin to forever; neither of them moved in fear of… so many things. The unknown, rejection, loss of each other-- But it didn’t happen.

After several long moments, Ethan’s thin smile cracked into a wide grin.

“I love you too, dork.”

“So…” Benny prompted, lopsidedly grinning just as wide as Ethan now.

Ethan quirked his brows as a silent question.

“Maybe we could get started on making it not indirect--”

And then the door shuddered, trembled, and rounded it all off with a clicking noise. It wasn’t glowing or moaning anymore, just… still.

Ethan, who had been curled against Benny’s chest, pulled away and hesitantly stepped toward the door. He watched it carefully for a few seconds, before deciding something in his head and walking up to it. Benny almost called out to him, was on the verge of warning him to not mess with fickle magic or he might get hurt, but Ethan had his hand wrapped around the handle before he could. With a subtle but effective flick of the wrist, he turned the knob, and the door… opened. It hinged into the classroom, revealing the empty hallways behind it, inanimate and soundless as ever. It was so normal .

The next thing Benny registered, Ethan was doubled over laughing.

“E…?” He asked, confused beyond belief.

“I-- It--” Ethan laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Benny didn’t understand at all.

“I had a hunch. It-- Your spell was fire-based, right? Fire is connected to passion, and draws power from intensity and enthusiasm. When you cast it, it… Latched onto your conflicted feelings, and created a warped version of a piecewise equation.”

“E, I don’t get how algebra messed up my magic.”

“Imagine it like this: if you still had unexpressed feelings, the door would be shut, and if you had expressed feelings, the door would open.”

“Bruh,” Benny said, at a loss for words. His magic spell had held him hostage in an attempt to get him to disclose his crush? Shit. He would have to ask his Grandma about that later (if she didn’t kill him for his stunt in the first place). Magic backfiring against him was a lot more worrisome than him merely messing up a spell (which he had assumed he had done).

“It’s okay,” Ethan assured him, “It’s all better now. Just… be careful with your powers, okay?”

“Thanks, Mom,” Benny bit back without any real anger. He was more upset with himself for letting this happen.

“B,” called Ethan affectionately, “Come on. Let’s go home, play some new meta, and forget this ever happened.”

Benny looked up from his inner turmoil like a possum caught in headlights.

“Forget… all of it?” Benny asked.

“No. Not all of it. Forget your worries.”

“Hakuna matata,” Benny weakly responded.

“Forget the feeling that you’d ever have to be scared of me,” Ethan clarified. He stepped away from the unlocked door and returned to Benny’s side. He held a hand up and finally brushed that piece of hair out of Benny’s face-- this time, without any hesitancy.

“I--” Benny started, but then Ethan was getting closer, so close, and--

Well, with the way that their lips connected like two halves forming a whole, and the way Ethan’s arms slid seamlessly behind Benny’s neck, and the way time slowed for their benefit--

There was no way it was indirect.

#bethan #mbav #my babysitter's a vampire #mbavholidayexchange #mbav holiday exchange

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xaphrin · 4 years

Text

An anon asked about how I felt about smut and cake.

Okay, but hear me out. Smut and wedding cake.

- - -

Her feet were killing her.

Raven was practically limping as she stumbled over the threshold of their flat, pushing at her hair that was held in place by no less than four thousand pins. At least one thousand of them were digging into her scalp, and she grumbled under her breath as she started taking them out, putting them in a pile on the counter. Damian stepped into their flat behind her, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion as he placed what was left of their wedding cake on the counter.

“For trying to be a small affair, my family did make a damn day of it.” Damian sighed, the sound rattling in his chest like he carried the weight of the world, and pulled out a bottle of champagne from the fridge. He started peeling off the foil around the neck, and glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “They didn’t bother you too much, did they?”

“You know I love your family. I have since I first met them - even Jason.”

Damian snorted, but there was a start of a small smile against the corner of his mouth.

Raven watched him for a moment before she pulled herself up on the counter, her feet glad to not be supporting her weight any more. She sat there and let the soft, comfortable silence settle between them. Oh. But wait. There was still cake left. With wide, excited eyes, she reached for the deceptively plain cake box, flicking open the lid. Her smile brightened. There were real perks to marrying the most powerful civilian in the city - including getting a wedding cake from the most exclusive bakery in Gotham. She ran her finger through an iced decoration, bringing it to her lips.

A pop from the champagne bottle made her look up, and saw Damian lifting an eyebrow. His eyes roamed her face as a smirk playing along his lips. He poured her a glass of champagne and handed it to her.

“Do you need a fork?”

“Mm. No.” Raven sucked on her finger, licking off the icing before taking a sip of the champagne. With a teasing smile, she dipped her finger back into the beautifully iced cake, holding out a dollop of icing to Damian. “Want some?”

He looked from her finger to her mouth and back again, bending his head down to suck gentle on her hand, and… oh. Raven’s heart skipped beats as he lifted his deep, green eyes to her own, sucking the sweet treat from her hand without breaking away his stare. Breath caught in her lungs, and she suddenly realized how much trouble she was in now. This. She was married to this. The muscles in her thighs tightened, and she licked her lips, tasting icing still clinging to them. He could be so serious sometimes, that she forgot how sensual he could be too. Damian sucked her finger deeper into his mouth, tapping up every last bit of icing before releasing her hand.

Damian set his glass down and slammed his hands on either side of her hips, leaning up into her face. He smelled of his spiced soap and the expensive scotch he’d been drinking at dinner. He smelled like… like home. “I know you’re wearing them.”

Oh. He wanted to play did he? Raven let one shoe drop to the floor, her eyes soft as she met his stare. “Mm?”

“Show them to me, minx.”

Right. Don’t poke the bear. Heat filled her stomach and she shivered, letting her other shoe drop to the floor with a loud clatter. She was playing with fire, and they both knew it. Damian only called her minx when she was about to be fucked so hard she wouldn’t walk straight for a week. Her thighs clenched together and she realized she probably should have worn real underwear, instead of this useless scrap of a lace thong.

“Show them to me.” Damian’s voice was a demanding growl and he dipped two fingers into the icing on the cake.

Slowly, almost as if she was performing a show for him, Raven lifted the hem of her dress - one scant inch at a time. It did nothing to cool her down, and whatever sense of control she thought she had would be dissolved the moment he put his hands on her. Gods. She was so desperate right now - so hot that if Damian even looked at her, she was going to come. The hem of her dress finally reached just above her knees, and she leaned back on the black marble of their counters, looking at him through half-closed eyes. It was an invitation, and he knew it.

Raven took her foot and slid it up the inside of his thigh, her toes just barely brushing the underside of what seemed to be a very painful erection. A part of her wondered how long he’d been trying to keep that under control. Probably since this morning, when she had kicked him out of their bedroom to get dressed for the ceremony.

Damian cursed in no less than three languages before he grabbed the hem of her skirt, and shoved it the rest of the way up to her waist. It was almost comforting to know that he was just as far gone as she was, and that he was going to shatter in the same way. Raven shifted and spread her legs wide, showing the white lace underwear, decorated with little, pale-blue bows. A soft blush darkened her cheeks, hoping he didn’t notice. She was utterly soaked, and it would have been embarrassing, except Damian was licking his lips as though he had caught prey he was about to devour.

Oh, heavens.

His fingers, still coated with the most delicious icing on the east coast, slid along the inside of her thigh, leaving a pale-white smear against her skin. He lifted his eyes to her own, and his other hand slid down the back of her thigh, teasing at the seam of her stockings.

“Did you wear them for a special occasion?” He snapped the lace nylon against her thigh and leaned down to lap up a streak of white icing, humming in appreciation. “You know how I feel about these in particular.”

“I would say getting married to the love of my life counts as a special occasion.” Raven was embarrassed at how weak her voice sounded, but the second pass of his tongue along her thigh made her bury her shame. This felt too good to even think about her fears. He was going to set her whole body on fire, and there would be nothing left but ashes. But… it would be worth it.

“The love of your life?” He pushed the heavy fabric of her dress out of the way and looked into her eyes. His expression softened for a moment, and he nuzzled the crease of her hip, whispering something like a prayer into her skin. “Good to know.”

Damian kissed back down to her underwear catching the delicate lace in his teeth and pulling, letting it snap back against her skin. Another wave of heat filled her body, and Raven whimpered, her head falling back against the marble with a soft sigh. It already felt like she was primed to go off in a show of fireworks, and she spread her legs even wider in invitation. He probably got the hint, but he was drawing out the anticipation until she submitted to his every whim.

“Ah… habibti.”

Raven moaned, her back arching off the counter as her breaths threatened to rip the seams from her dress. She felt the heat of his breath through the wet satin of her underwear and shifted her hips, needing something to get her somewhere.

“Damian…” Her voice was nothing less than a whine. “Please.”

He smirked and leaned back, dipping a finger back into the icing of their wedding cake. “Open up.” He held his fingertip up to her mouth, and Raven ran the tip of her tongue along the length of his hand, dipping into the crease of his palm before sucking on his fingertip. The sweetness of the icing mixed with a flavor that was distinctly Damian exploded over her tongue, and she barely contained a moan as she drew his finger deeper into her mouth. She curled her tongue around him, and without realizing what she was doing, her own hand crept between her legs, pushing her panties to the side.

“Oh?” Damian pulled his finger from her mouth and dipped two of them back into the icing again.

Raven lapped her tongue against his fingers, her eyes closing as her own fingers circled her clit. Ah. Yes. She drew a finger into her mouth, moaning with every pass of her own hand against her clit.

“You’re a mess, my love.” Damian’s voice was a rough whisper, rumbling against her skin like a promise of sin. “You should see your pretty little pussy. Soaking, dripping.” He leaned over her and licked up her neck, nibbling along her throat. He caught the thin gold chain of her necklace between his teeth and pulled at it. “You look more delicious than our cake.”

She could feel her orgasm start just under her belly button, and she sucked harder on Damian’s fingers, practically riding her own hand. Damian sucked hard on her neck, likely leaving a mark, before he muttered low encouraging phrases into her ear.

“Yes, my love. Come. Come hard. All over your hands. Let me lick you clean. Taste you.”

Raven was shuddering, her mouth falling open as-

“Ah. Yes, my wife.”

She was ashamed to admit that Damian calling her his wife was what tipped her over the edge. Raven’s fingers were a blur as she finished herself off, letting the orgasm slip into her veins and consume her with warm, gentle fire. Her back arched off the counter again and she let go of a whine, muffled by Damian’s fingers held tight with her teeth. He groaned against her neck, and Raven could feel him give a few halfhearted thrusts against her thigh, as if he was trying to stave off his own desires. It was too much, and somehow not enough, and she just let herself float as wave after wave of please drowned her.

Damian waited until her breath stilled and her heart returned to normal before speaking again. “I wasn’t expecting a show on our wedding night.”

She sighed, letting the pleasant aftershocks ease through her whole body. A few moments passed in silence before she finally opened her eyes again, looking up into Damian’s curious expression. He let go of a low chuckle and stepped back, looking far too smug and far handsome in his suit. He stood there and watched her for a moment, until Raven wiggled off the counter. The moment her feet hit the floor she began unfastening the row of buttons running down her spine. With a quiet whoosh, the dress fell around her ankles, and she stood in their kitchen in nothing more than white lace, and those very specific stockings.

Damian watched her, looking like his own control was barely holding on by a thread. A tense silence settled over them, and he grabbed the cake box, shoving the bottle of champagne in her hands.

“Bedroom.”

Raven sauntered ahead of him, letting her hips sway just a little as she felt his stare trace the outline of her practically bare ass. She glanced over her shoulder, offering a coquettish smile.

“Now, my wife.”

#damirae #demonbirds #adult nonsense #I meant to do like three smallish pieces #but this consumed my evening #Is it what I should be working on? no #is it what I decided to do with my time? yes #do I regret it? surprisingly no #this is post-Misunderstanding #because that is like the only AU I allow myself full unadulterated domestic bliss

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peridot-gladioli · 5 years

Note

41 for the Drabble Challenge! :)

41. “Sorry isn’tgoing to help when I kick your ass”

Another future scene from this. 2927 words.

When Matt gets home, he can smell beef casserole cooking inthe oven and hear-feel-smell-sense Foggy and Evan sitting side-by-side on the couch playingsome computer game. He just stands there in the entry-way, out of sight—if notout of Evan’s sense range—and soaks in the feelings of home and family andhappy and blessed. His heart does something weird, biologically andanatomically improbable in his chest at the sheer domesticity. It’s everythinghe ever dreamed about when he was younger and never thought he’d have. Andalthough in an ideal world Elektra would be here too, he knows that even withher something would be missing without Foggy.

Also, Foggy and Evan both have the same approach togame-play: talking to their characters and moving the controllers and even theirwhole bodies as though playing on a Wii instead of Foggy’s ancient Nintendoconsole; leaning forward and sideways into moves so Matt fancies he can almostimagine what’s happening on-screen, as though anything they do other than button-mashingwill have an effect.

(Foggy takes the same approach to bowling, waving his armaround as though he can redirect the ball after he’s released it. Which remindsMatt they have to take Evan—and maybe a friend from school—bowling some timesoon. They’ve never done it: which means Evan’s never been, since—activity afteractivity—the Chaste apparently never took him out of the complex. And that’sjust criminal. Matt wants to prosecute. Or put Stick through a wall. Eitherwould do, but neither will happen.)

He sighs and goes in to the apartment proper, dropping hisbriefcase by the wall and stripping himself of suit-jacket and tie.

“Hey Dad!” Evan calls without moving his head from its fixturetowards the screen.

And there goes Matt’s heart again. He still isn’t sureexactly how acute Evans senses are because he never wants to test him the waysStick tested him, but he wonders ifEvan actually knows what it does to him every single time he hears thatappellation applied to him. “Hi guys. How were your days?

A grunt and a murmur answer him and Foggy mutters at Evan, “Ohno you don’t, you young scamp!”

“Is all your homework done, Ev?”

No answer.

“Evander?”

“Jeez Dad! Not now! Can’t you tell I’m busy? Yes! Busy beating Uncle Foggy!”

“Uh. No! No, no!” Keys mash and the game beeps wildly. “Ah-HA!There we go! Take THAT! Yes, Matt, all Evan’s homework is done, checked, and Itested him on his spellings and one of us can do it again when he goes to bed.How was your day?”

“Long.” Matt rubs at the tension at the back of his neck. “CanI go over some stuff with you after dinner?”

“What? Oh, yeah, sure. The Cheng restaurant case?”

“That and Jessica brought me photos for the bodega fire they’retrying to say was an insurance scam.”

“Jones brought you photographicevidence?”

“I think she thinks she’s being ironic.”

“Instead of just ableist.”

“YES!” Evan fist-pumps and the computer plays a tinnyvictory tune.

“Oh! Not fair! Your dad was distracting me.”

“Sor-ry!” Evan sing-songs, voice dripping insincerity. “Yousnooze you lose!”

“Sorry isn’t going to help when I kick your ass, you cheating-cheater-McCheaterson,”Foggy says, dropping his controller on the coffee table with a clatter andlunging at Evan, who does not try very hard to dodge. Matt senses the man grabthe boy and—if Evan’s shriek of laughter is anything to go by—flexes hisfingers in the twin ticklish spots just above Evans waist. The ones he shareswith Matt.

Even as he tries to hide his own laughter, Matt’s heart doesthe improbable thing again, as he remembers when Evan first moved in—God, wasit really just a couple of months ago?—and hadn’t known what a tickle-fight was,let alone the play-wrestling and rough-housing that were even familiar andautomatic to Matt from his dad, nomatter how normal had been recalibrated by the nuns and kids unsure how tointeract with the blind boy. Matt represses a shudder at the memory of histen-year-old self kinda sorta wanting Stick to adopt him. Apparently with theChaste every fight—even a child sparring—had been deadly serious. Almostliterally deadly, given Evans actual scars and the long list of stitches,broken bones and concussions recorded in the secret medical file Elektra hadkept.

“Dad! Help me! I’m being attacked!” The plea is underminedby Evan laughing almost too hard to talk.

Matt hides his own grin and says, as calmly as he can, “I’llgo and put the potatoes on, then, shall I?”

“Oh, yes please,” Foggy sounds pretty out-of-breath from hiscontinuing tussles with the squirming nine-year-old, “And maybe give somethought to broccoli, beans, or peas and do the veggies?”

“Will do.”

“Not broccoli!” Evan calls from somewhere under Foggy.

“Broccoli? Okay.”

“NOT broccoli! Please, Dad! Uncle Foggy, stop?”

Foggy immediately ceases and desists. Being who he is, there’sa safeword for play-fights. And being who he is, it’s uncle, to quote Foggy, “Like in West Side Story when best-buddiesRiff and Tony play-wrestle and “When he’s hollered, ‘Uncle,’ we’ll tear up thetown!” in the Jets song.” God, Matt lovesthis man.

Evan sits up, panting and rubbing his face, which is ahot-spot to Matt’s senses. Matt just wishes he could see his son’s red face and no-doubt impressively messy hair. (Thickfloofy hair which is a constant struggle to tame is another thing Evan seems tohave inherited from Matt.) Odd things that he just wants to see once so he canremember them—the sky, Elektra, Karen, Foggy—aside, Matt thought he hadlong-since accepted his blindness, but every day there are ten things aboutEvan he wishes he could see. If there’s one thing he wants from Heaven—doubtfulas it is he’ll ever get there—he hopes that somehow in the place where theblind will see he’ll be able to know all the faces and expressions and ages ofhis boy.

“Dad, please not broccoli.”

“It’s good for you.”

“It’s gross.”

Matt snorts. His dad had persuaded him to eat—and like—broccoli bysaying it was miniature trees and he could pretend to be a giant eating big ones.But tricks that worked on a pre-schooler cut no ice with a nine-year-old withsuper-senses. “Beans AND peas, then. Deal?” Given that there are tomatoes, mushrooms,onions, celery and carrots cooked in the casserole with the beef, side-vegetablesaren’t a big deal, but it’s the principle of Evan eating something green.

“Deal. IF Uncle Foggy does the mashed potatoes. Yes?”

Which means half-and-half and pretty much a whole stick ofbutter. Matt grimaces.

“No butter on the greens and I’ll keep some potatoes justplain boiled for you, Mr Murdock. Acceptable compromise all round?” Foggy holdshis hand out, palm down.

Matt laughs and slaps his hand on top. “Acceptable, Mr Nelson.Mr Matthews do you concur?”

Evan piles his hand on. “Deal.”

“Good.” Matt takes his hand back and heads towards thekitchen. “Wine, Foggy?”

“Mid-week?”

“Like I said, it’s been a long day.” He knows Foggy willread in both that Matt wants a drink and that he doesn’t plan on going outlater. Given the crime-spike at weekends—all those easily-targetable people onthe streets from theatres, restaurants and bars—in some ways it’s easier forMatt to have a drink and put his feet up on a weeknight.

“Can I have some?”

He turns back towards the living room.

One thing Matt finds himself missing about sight that henever thought about Before is the ability for two co-parents to communicatesilently. Foggy can see Matt’s pursed lips and raised eyebrows, but Foggy’sfacial expressions are a blank—senses or no—unless he narrates them. Or Matt istouching his face.

“We could let him have a sip from one of ours.”

Matt thinks about his dad allowing him—encouraging him—to takea swig of scotch to steady his nerves and hands. He thinks about trying to takea gulp from the Communion chalice. “We could.”

He worries. Is normalising alcohol detrimental for Evan; or,if he sees that it’s okay at home and not a Big Deal, will it not be thisforbidden temptation in a couple of years when the peer pressure starts? Matt’shad middle-schoolers whose voices had not even broken try to persuade the blindman they forgot their ID so could he take their crumpled dollar bills and coinsand get them a six-pack of beer, please. “A couple of sips.”

“Cool”

“Don’t tell Ms Milla or Ms Walters. You’ll get us introuble,” Foggy half-jokes.

“More trouble or less than if I told them Dad’s Daredevil?”Evan’s totally joking.

But it still makes Matt’s belly go cold with fear. Evan’snot his, not yet, not legally andirrevocably. His social worker, guardian ad litem and Family Court still standbetween them and permanency, thanks to Matt not knowing about Evan until afterElektra’s death, thanks to the Chaste putting forward people to dispute hisguardianship and custody claim. Matt himself has complicated matters by goingfor full parental and custodial rights instead of the mere guardianship inElektra’s will. He was revelling in his family a moment ago, but he can stillfuck this up. He can lose Evan a hell of a lot easier than if he were alreadyMatt’s legal child. Hell, even Foggy isn’t really his. Not to keep. To have andto hold. He knows Foggy would never just abandon Evan, but he might still meetsomeone with whom he wants permanency and marriage and his own kids.

“Hey now. Joking! Don’t go getting all broody on us Matty,or I’ll have to kick your ass.”

“I’d like to see you try.” His voice comes out all wrong.

“One—you can’t see jack-shit. Two,” Foggy holds up his handsand dramatically wiggles his fingers in the air, “I know Daredevil’s one trueweakness!”

“Dad!” Evan suddenly throws himself at Matt and wraps hisarms around Matt’s waist.

Matt hugs back; holds him tight.

“Dad I would never. I wouldn’t. I’m not going to jeopardise,”he says the word carefully, “things with the case. I want to stay here, withyou and Uncle Foggy, and I don’t want to go back there or end up in an orphanage. I’m not gonna be stupid and ruineverything.”

Shit. He’s made Evan anxious. Matt knows Stick’s most recentvisit—all threats and vague prophecies of doom—is still vivid in both, all,their minds. And the trouble with living with someone else with senses like hisis Evan is hypersensitive to mood and emotions. He soaks up other people’sfeelings from the chemicals their sweat releases in the air. Stupid of him tostress—panic—when Evan is around. “Sorry. I know. I know you wouldn’t. And wewouldn’t let it happen, kiddo.”

“Ms Walters says it’s her job to represent me and myinterests—and that means she tells people what I want. And I’ve told her. WhatI want is to live with you and Uncle Foggy and become a Murdock as soon as you’remy dad on paper as well as really. You know you’ll be allowed to change my namethen, right?”

“What?” That… that was new. “A Murdock? You want to changeyour name to Murdock?”

“Of course! Everyone I know has one of their parent’s last-namesor both. Mine’s random. I know it’s your first name and my mom did it becauseshe wasn’t really a Natchios and she had enemies and stuff. But it’s not afamily name. A belonging name. So… so I thought…” Evan is starting to lose the enthusiasmwith which he started and sounding increasingly unsure. “There was only you andyour dad and it’s not Uncle Foggy with the thousands of Nelsons. So I thoughtit would be… cool, I guess. Become a Murdock. Like you. Show I belong. Youknow? Is that… would that be okay?”

He… Evan, his kid, his son,actually sounds worried. Like there’s a chance Matt might say it isn’t okay.Which is bad. Worse, Matt can’t say anything.His throat has closed up and his eyes are pricking and burning with tears andhe has to take one hand off Evan and bring it up to hide his wobbling mouth andtrembling chin.

“Dad?”

Foggy comes over to them, puts one hand on Evan’s shoulderand the other on Matt’s and shakes Matt a little. “It’s okay buddy. It’s morethan okay that you want to be a Murdock. You’ve just made your dad happy-cry, that’show okay it is. You know what a great big softie he is.”

“But not a pussy. ‘Cause being soft doesn’t stop you beingtough. Right?”

“You said it kid.” The reassuring hand on his shouldershakes Matt again. “Now, I thought we were in the process of getting dinner ontrack so we can eat before Ev’s bedtime?”

Matt sniffs hard and manages to swallow. “Sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it when I kick your ass, Dad. I’m starving and you’re not feeding me.Pretty sure that’s a dad-crime.”

Matt sneezes-laughs-coughs against the tears tickling theback of his nose and the emotion-choked throat, and takes off his glasses towipe away the tears. Then he pokes Evan in one of his ticklish spots. “I’mpretty sure you’re spending too much time with your Uncle Foggy. You’re indanger of turning into a brat. I thought we were having a moment.”

“We were but it’s over and I’m hungry.”

Matt crouches down until his head is level with his son’sand does his best to “look” him in the face. “Seriously, Evander Matthews,”(heignores the groan at the full-name-usage) “I love you and would be honoured tomake you a Murdock. The very second it’s legal, if that’s what you want. Butyour last-name doesn’t matter, Ev. Nothing can make you any more my son thanyou already are. Not even the court and the judge and the paperwork. You knowthat, right?”

“Well, duh. Though if we’re talking about it… I know EvanderHolyfield isn’t the boxer you would’ve named me after. Don’t know why Mom didit. If you’d named me? I’d be Jack, right? Like your dad? So I was thinking… Idon’t have a middle name.”

(Matt hears Foggy quietly slip past them to the kitchen.Just as well. They’ll never get dinner if Evan just keeps killing Matt likethis.) “God. Kid. I… Every time I think I love you as I much as I possibly can,you go and do something which doubles it.”

“That’s ‘cause love’s infinite.”

“Evan. God. You’re pretty damn amazing, you know that?”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” (He’s nine. He has to have gotthat expression from Foggy. It sure as hell wasn’t from Stick.) “And Dad? I love you too. I know I don’t… Like Uncle Foggysays love stuff all the time and I like it, but when I try to say it, itsounds stupid in my head and I can hearStick making fun of me. And I get embarrassed. But I do. Love you. Lots. Tons.Infinity.”

God. This kid, hiskid. He’s gonna kill him. Here lies Matthew Michael Murdock, died when hisheart exploded because his son is just that wonderful. Matt hugs Evan tohim, holds him as tight as he can, so tightly he’s worried he’ll hurt him, buthe can’t. He can’t let go. Thank you,God. Thank you that in spite of my sins, You have allowed me to have this. Ibeg you, don’t let me screw this up. Holy Mary, Mother of God, help me to beone half the parent this boy deserves. Mary, how did You feel when You foundout Who Your Son was? How did You have the grace to cope, because this humanboy makes me feel so unworthy. Help me.

“Okay, you two. I think that’s quite enough emotional crisesfor one evening.” Foggy is beside them and puts his arm around Matt’sshoulders. Matt stands, leaning into his friend, abruptly afraid that he’sgoing to end up on his butt.

“Uncle Foggy, I love you, too, you know.”

“And I love you.” He squeezes Matt’s shoulders and kisses the top of Evan’s head.

“I know. You’re always saying. Infinity, right?”

“Infinity and beyond”

Matt muffles his wet chuckle in Foggy’s shoulder. More thanever he needs that glass of wine.

Evan holds out one hand, thumb and pointer finger touchingto make a circle, like an okay-sign or zero. Foggy laughs and links his ownfinger-loop with it. It takes Matt a moment, but paired with the words, interconnecting circles, or loops. Matt knows that one. The infinity symbol.

Half-shy, afraid it might be just an Evan-and-Foggy thing, Matt holdsout his own finger loop. Both Foggyand Evan try to loop theirs with it. And Matt is swallowing tears. Again.

Foggy presses a kiss to Matt’s temple. “Love you too,Murdock. Though I’m gonna have to stop calling you that if there’s two of you.Could get confusing.”

“You can call us Murdock and Murdock Junior.” Evan pullsaway, leaving Matt and Foggy holding hands, and heads for the unit that holdsall their DVDs and Blu-Ray disks. “And now I wanna watch Toy Story again. Okay?”

#matt murdock #foggy nelson #mattfoggy #fan-fiction #daredevil #evander chronicles #my writing #pomegranate-belle #answered asks

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avelera · 5 years

Note

If it's not to late, I'd love to see your take on the soft prompt “You haven’t laughed in a long time, and I guess I was staring ‘cause I forgot how that looked like.”

To the shock of absolutely no one, this got longer than I expected. I hope you enjoy!

Edit: I actually posted this on the wrong prompt, mea culpa!

You can find the full series that goes with this fic here.

Ship: Newt/Hermann

Fandom: Pacific Rim (post-Uprising)

Words: 3,150

—

Stay

The final days of the infection were brutal. The Precursors had lost their hold over Newt bit by bit as the time stretched since his last Drift with the hive mind, but that only seemed to make them more desperate.

At times, Hermann truly feared they’d shake Newton apart, or simply kill him out of spite as they struggled and clawed after their waining control. No one dared let Newt out of his cell even as his lucid moments stretched, in case they chose that moment to come roaring back. The effort of will to force them back down again often left Newton trembling and bathed in sweat.

It had been three months since his last incident when the PPDC dared to let him out of the quarantine to walk under his own power to the medical bay for the final scans. The first scans upon his capture had shown a storm of activity in his cerebrum, it was a wonder Newt hadn’t had a stroke from the level of chaos of two consciousnesses fighting for control of his body. Hermann’s knuckles were white from gripping his cane as he waited for the results, watching the doctors as they consulted the images while Newt sat in the locked holding room, looking down at his folded hands.

He was quieter these days than Hermann ever remembered, one might even say subdued. The Newton he had known could never sit still for ten minutes, much less an hour, without jiggling his leg, interjecting some comment, doodling, or tapping out a melody with his fingers. Perhaps it was one mark of his ordeal, a scar, that he had learned silence.

Hermann was Newton’s designated caretaker, had been officially since Newt’s first lucid moment when he’d squeaked out an affirmative from beneath the weight of their control, enough to count as consent. The doctors came to Hermann first now, and he struggled to his feet, as ungainly as a turtle rolling off its shell in the rush to see the scans. Newt watched him, he could feel his eyes through the glass, a twitch of apprehension in the tightening of his jaw.

“The scans are clear, for the most part,” said the doctor, a Dr. Abadi, a distinguished woman a few years older than Hermann. She gestured to a cloud of activity on the scan. “When Jaeger pilots who have lost their partner exhibit this level of activity, we generally consider them out of the woods with regards to suicide risk or other dangerous behavior. Most described the echo of their partner as manageable at that point, an intrusive thought rather than a controlling impulse. Dr. Geiszler’s situation is unusual but, combined with observation, I would consider this grounds to recommend his return to civilian life. Albeit with regular check-ins and light observation, which you would be qualified to carry out, Dr. Gottlieb.”

Hermann exhaled slowly to try to control the spike of his heartbeat, the leap of hope. “When would that be?”

“We could release him into your custody now if you keep to your residence on the base,” Abadi said. “Going beyond these grounds however would require further clearance from the PPDC.”

At those words, Hermann felt suddenly dizzy. He muttered his way through the rest of the paperwork, guides, and assurances by the doctor, but could not stop stealing glances at Newton in the next room. It felt like an eternity before the door was unlocked and he was left alone with Newton.

“So, what’s the damage?” Newt said lightly but his shoulders tensed. They were always dancing around each other, careful not to delve too deeply into what existed between them. Things like the fact that Hermann knew the only time Newton cried the day of the attacks was when his fingers were wrapped around Hermann’s throat. That Newton knew Hermann had moved heaven and earth to ensure Newton was captured and not killed, and had spent every waking moment since working towards his treatment and eventual freedom. That Newton had put himself entirely into Hermann’s hands without hesitation. That in the end, when Newton was finally cleared, they would both…

Hermann cleared his throat. “We can go home now.”

“… Home?” Newt’s eyebrows furrowed in question, as if he hadn’t heard right.

“You’ve been cleared. Do you need anything from your… from your old quarters?”

“From my cell? No! Wait, are you kidding me?” Newt jumped to his feet. Once, Hermann might have expected him to punch the air, whooping or dancing at the news but he stopped there, a grin threatening his lips. Composure. Newt never had that before, either. “I’m never going the fuck back there again. Burn it. I’ll just wear your clothes. Uh… can I borrow some of your clothes? And there’s not gonna be, like, a line painted down the middle of your place, right?”

Hermann snorted, an excellent cover for the sudden lump in his throat. “I’ll happily sacrifice a portion of my wardrobe if it means never seeing that dreadful prison getup again. Which is to say, ah… what’s mine is yours.” He stuttered over the last. Newton met his eye and he knew it clearly as if Newton had spoken that this was it, the moment where they had to finally come to a decision on what they were to one another. It was one thing to tend a friend and colleague through a time of crisis, another to open up his home to that man while he got back on his feet…

But for the first time ever they’d have privacy. There’d be no cameras, no recording devices. No risk that Hermann offering a kind word could be used to wrest Newton’s custody away from him for fear that he couldn’t offer impartiality. For the first time since… since he couldn’t remember how long, perhaps a few moments in the dreadful lead up days to the attack when he still dwelled in ignorance, perhaps when Newton’s hand was wrapped around his throat, they would truly be alone together in a room.

Hermann offered his hand. A stiff, awkward gesture that he half-wished he could pass of as a muscle twitch if Newton didn’t take it. What were they to each other? What could they be?

Newton regarded the hand for a moment before his fingertips slide over Hermann’s palm to take it. Hermann wasn’t sure if he should be surprised that he did.

—

Hermann stood silently by after they entered the flat, to give Newt time to acclimate to the new surroundings, sparse as they were. Living alone, Hermann hadn’t seen much point in bedecking his living quarters. They were simple, functional, containing mostly books and work papers, furniture to accommodate his disability, and one of the Kaiju figurines Newton had left behind when he left for Shao Industries, perched on the corner of a bookshelf beside his desk. It was single level and so could become cramped before long with two grown men who were not, strictly speaking, together in any way that Hermann might secretly hope. They weren’t there yet. They might never be. Newton might just take the time to get on his feet before seeking out new accommodations and privacy. The thought shouldn’t squirm in Hermann’s chest the way it did.

Finally, Newt sat on the bed and stretched his arms above his head luxuriously. “Fuck it’s good to get a change of scenery. Are you hungry? We could order a pizza. God, I would murder for a pizza.”

Hermann snorted despite himself and took a seat beside Newton on the bed. Newt doesn’t move away which is, in itself, a comfort. “It is a military base, but there are some alternatives to the cafeteria, yes.”

Silence lapsed between them, and he could tell by the fidgeting of Newt’s fingers and the pursing of his lips that it’s one where he would like to say something but can’t find the words. Hermann found himself in very much the same situation. He felt as if he were floating above the full impact of having Newt here, beside him in his home, with a clean bill of health that means that to the best of Earths’s abilities, he’s been determined to be clear, finally, of the Precursors influence. After ten years. Ten years of whatever torments they subjected him to, ten years of isolation, ten years of Hermann’s shameful neglect.

“Newton, I’m so sorry—”

“I’m so fucking proud of you, you know that?” Newt said simultaneously, and both broke off, staring at one another.

“What.”

“What?”

“The hell do you have to be sorry for, man?” Newt gaped. “Uh, in case you hadn’t noticed, I would have been completely shit-outta-luck if you hadn’t been there to pull me out at the end. Like, imprisoned for life or more likely just fucking dead. You saved my life. Again. I seriously, seriously owe you for everything you’ve done since… since, y’know, the attacks. And thanks to those jackasses I haven’t been able to say it.”

Hermann’s mouth worked. “But I abandoned you. I didn’t figure out sooner what had happened. I was too late, a step behind…”

Newt barked a sharp laugh. “What? What are you even talking about, man? You think I… ok wait, wait a minute back it up.” Newt held up a hand before pointing at Hermann. “You think I’m mad at you for not figuring out that I was possessed by aliens who wanted to destroy the world?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Hermann’s lips twisted. “In a word, yes. And for not discovering their plan sooner.”

Some of the levity fell from Newt’s posture and the corner of his lips twisted down as he shook his head as if weighing Hermann’s words. “Ok, that one was a little on you. I figured once Obsidian Fury turned up with a Kaiju nervous system I’d have a good chance of someone figuring it out, but it’s still on like… the entire PPDC for not figuring out two plus two on that one. I mean, who the fuck else besides the Kaiju expert at Shao could have figured out how to put evil Kaiju parts into an evil Jaeger?” Newt shrieked, annoyance flicking over his face in what looked like a very old and oft-repeated frustration. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “But before that? Dude, as far as you knew, I told you on no uncertain terms to fuck off because I had a hot new life and a hot new wife, what else were you supposed to do? Stalk me? Frankly, I’m just lucky you wanted to talk to me after all that.”

Hermann cleared his throat, flushing a little at the reference to stalking, the thought might have crossed his mind more than once. “Was any of that you, when I spoke to you, before the attacks? Or was it all… them?”

Newt puffed out a thoughtful sigh and scratched the back of his neck. “A little of both? They had this way of… I dunno, twisting my words. Like, I did want you to come over, but I sure as fuck didn’t want you to ‘meet’ Alice. I missed saving the world together but I’m not that much of a douche as to make it sound like you just helped me, get it? It was like, I’d start to say something to you and then they’d add some dickish twist to it so it was an insult. Sometimes… sometimes I wasn’t mad about it though. You were always ragging on my research, it felt good to rain on your parade, just a little, just to get back and to keep you from giving those fuckers ideas like fucking Kaiju blood for rocket fuel. But even once they were gone I felt like I had to be careful. I didn’t want the PPDC to hear in case they got the wrong idea or thought you were complicit with me or some shit.”

“Hear what?” Hermann said breathlessly. Even with the months spent at Newton’s bedside, or rather just outside his cell, they’d not had the chance to speak candidly. There was, as Newton said, always an audience. His head was spinning.

Newt offered him a crooked smile. “That I’m proud of you, man! Like, holy shit. Kaiju blood for rocket fuel? Becoming a one-man PPDC K-Science lab, saving the fucking world? You cannot tell me those dumbass Jaeger pilots figured out a way to get from Moyulan all the way up to fucking Tokyo in less time than it took for the Precursors to hop in a fucking charter plane, no way. That had to be you, which means you saved the world. Again. You’re a fucking rock star!”

“I… well, that is, I didn’t… it was nothing…” Hermann stuttered.

“Shut up, you totally are!” Newt’s eyes are shining and he has grabbed Hermann’s hand in his enthusiasm, the gesture so familiar to a time gone by that tears prickle in Hermann’s eyes as his gaze jerks up to Newt’s face. “Do you know how pissed off the Precursors were about you, do you? They were fucking livid, you scared them shitless. They wanted you dead!”

“Oh, well that’s terribly comforting,” Hermann said faintly. Newt laughed.

“Are you kidding? Man, I can’t think of a higher compliment. The genocidal bastards that wanted to wipe out our planet almost pissed themselves on the tarmac when they saw you were here too! I thought they were going to faint when you showed up at Shao that night, it was fucking gorgeous.”

“They needn’t have worried,” Hermann muttered, but felt a blush rising inexorably to his cheeks and ears. “I did nothing to prevent the attack.”

“You countered every single weapon they threw at you!” Newt exploded, throwing up his hands. “And it took them ten years to put those together. You did it, man. I thought… I mean, I’m gonna level with you, I hoped there would be someone on the outside smart enough to catch on, even when catching on would have been batshit insane, like come on, who just guesses that a fucking war hero like yours-truly is a sock puppet for aliens? That’s nuts, right? That’s the only reason no one could have figured it out.” There’s a fragility to Newt’s levity, as if he’s repeating a rote lesson he’s said to himself over and over, to reassure himself it was true. His voice cracked over the words, but he forged on. “I hoped there’d be someone. I hoped it would be you, honestly, and I was right. I was right because I had the best lab partner in the fucking world.”

At the words lab partner, Hermann jerked back and looked away. The space between them had been closing, Newt’s enthusiasm was infectious. He had caught himself wanting to close the distance, staring at Newton’s lips. But that was all they’d ever been on paper. Lab partners.

“Well, there were others involved,” Hermann said. “I can’t take all the credit. But it is… kind of you to say, Newton. Thank you. I had no idea you held me in such esteem.”

“Always, man,” Newt said. His voice was faint, and when Hermann glanced back his expression was soft. “Since the first. You never could have pissed me off as much as you did if not.”

“Where will you go next?” Hermann said breathlessly, if only to change the subject so the blush rising up his throat wouldn’t consume him. “That is, I want to help you get back on your feet. You’re not beholden to me, and I don’t want you to feel as if you’ve swapped one prison for another, no matter what the PPDC might say on the matter. Your actions were clearly under duress and we will prove it, if necessary.”

“Next?” Newt said, as if he hadn’t heard any of the rest. He looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time, and then to Hermann. “I, uh, hadn’t got that far, really? I guess I’m chill to hang out here for a bit, not get tangled up in all that paperwork that comes with leaving or…”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I can’t do this. I don’t have any plans. The thought of going back out into the world? Scares the ever-loving shit out of me. What if they’re not really gone? What if they’re just waiting, y’know, hiding, and I’m gonna wake up at the helm of another evil corporation in a couple years? I’m right where I want to be, with a fucking army to keep an eye out in case they come back, and the person I… I trust most in the whole goddamn world to keep an eye on me. Hermann,” Newt squeaked, “I haven’t been totally honest and, fuck, you might throw me out for this, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now. I’ve been thinking about you… about seeing you again for a fucking decade. I was hoping… look, you’re the only person that keeps me right, ok? I’m not sure where we stand but if you’re not gonna punch me in the face just for asking I was kinda hoping I could take you out sometime? There’s gotta be a restaurant around here somewhere, right? Or I could, I dunno, cook something for you and we could watch a movie, a real house-arrest style date.” Newt’s eyes grew wild at Hermann’s continued, gaping silence, and his voice rose in pitch. “Or I could be totally off base and I’ll start looking for places of my own right away! Fuck, I shouldn’t have even brought it up, fuck me and my stupid mouth, I could have at least waited a few days but nooo, had to make it weird. Look, I’m sorry, I…”

Newt began to rise to his feet, scrambling away from Hermann, and it sent a jolt through Hermann that jarred him out of the haze that had swallowed his brain. Hermann panicked, and did the only thing he could think of, the only thing to keep Newt from pulling away.

He seized Newton by the shoulders and kissed him with all his might.

It was a messy, unglamorous affair. Their teeth clacked. Hermann’s face was so twisted with warring emotions he probably looked ridiculous. Newton seized up under his hands for a moment, and when Hermann dared open his eyes he saw Newt staring.

“Oh…” Newt breathed, and just before Hermann could break away, babbling his own apologies, he continued, “fuck yes.” And Newt was gripping him in return, pushing Hermann back onto the bed so they were lying flat, kissing one another breathless.

“Stay with me,” Hermann muttered between kisses. “No more lines, no more separation. We’ll figure this out together. Stay.”

“What’s there to figure out?” Newt grinned against his lips. “I’ve got everything I was hoping for, right here.”

#newmann #pacific rim #my writing #it's so fluffy i'm gonna die #i'm embarrassed how fluffy this is #bon-pon

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