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rocorambles · 4 years

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Mending the Cracks

Pairing: Daishou x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Choking, Spitting, DDLG, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation

Summary: Daishuo prides himself on his cool and collected facade, his ability to not let anyone see past his polite and put together appearances unless he wishes them to. But Kuroo has always had a special talent for getting under his skin and now it’s your turn to help mend the cracks the messy haired captain has accidentally created.

Roco once again turns a request that should have been just a rough jealous angry spicy PWP fic into a whole angst/fluff/comfort fic WITH rough jealous angry spice~

Your heart sinks as the referee blows the whistle signifying the end of the game, pride and disappointment swirling in a confusing mixture inside of you as you rush to your feet, already making your way out of the stands and towards the locker rooms. It had been a good game, a great game, one Nohebi should be proud of regardless of the end result, that Daishou should be proud of. Yet, you know that’s the farthest thing from what any of the boys are thinking of as they dejectedly shake hands with Nekoma, another chance of Nationals taken right from underneath their noses, Daishou’s last chance of Nationals gone, just like that.

You should be paying more attention to your surroundings, especially in such a crowded building with masses of spectators and athletes, but you’re too focused on rushing to your boyfriend as fast as you can, barely dodging the crowds and receiving more than a few dirty looks from people you accidentally bump into in your haste. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is comforting your lover, being there for him and reminding him that he’s still the most amazing person you know regardless of how one game went. And determinedly you quickly hook around the corner of the hall, only to yelp when you crash into something firm, the impact making you stagger back.

Mortification rushes through you once your body steadies itself and you fumble for words, stuttering out apologies when you realize what, or more specifically who, you’ve run into, practically diving to pick up the knee pads the other has dropped because of your carelessness. You can barely bring yourself to look up at the other person’s face, already cringing at the look of irritation you know you’ll receive (and frankly, deserve). But it’s the polite thing to do and your eyes slowly travel up and up a long, lean frame, only to blink in surprise when you see the amused smile on a handsome cat-like face as he plucks his knee pads from your hands.

He looks...familiar and you take a second to appraise him, eyes widening in shock when you recognize the Nekoma uniform and, emboldened by his lack of annoyance, you shyly smile, politely congratulate him on his team’s win and earning their ticket to Nationals.

You’re secretly glad your boyfriend is nowhere in sight, already knowing how childishly competitive he can get, especially where Nekoma is concerned. And you know he’d throw a fit if he saw you “consorting with the enemy”. But it’s the least you can do after running the poor guy over. Plus, Daishou really only has an issue with one person on the team and what are the chances that this athlete is…

“Oya? It’s not everyday someone decides to literally run me over. Nice to meet you. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.”

Crap.

You pray to anyone who’s listening that Daishou doesn’t walk in on this scene, can only imagine how bad it would look to be caught chatting with Kuroo Tetsurou of all people only minutes after Nekoma had swiped Nohebi’s chances of Nationals away from them, even before you’ve talked to your own boyfriend.

But when it rains it pours and unknown to you, narrowed eyes scowl at the both of you from down the hallway.

If Daishou’s honest, the outcome of the match isn’t surprising. Nekoma has always been a stronger team than Nohebi, as aggravating as it is to admit. But it doesn’t make the loss any easier and he knows he’s just looking for a reason to pick a fight when annoyance curls inside of him at how quietly and respectfully Kuroo shakes his hand, not a hint of the other’s usual provoking or teasing after the match is over. He knows it’s out of sportsmanship, but he can’t help but believe he sees his own self-pity reflected in those feline eyes. And he storms out before he accidentally makes a scene, mustering every last bit of his snake-like charm to plaster a smile on his face and force out some pleasantries and kind words to his team, all the while wanting nothing more than to rush into your arms and lock himself away as he comes to terms with his dreams being dashed.

So imagine the stomach sinking shock he feels as he rounds the corner in his search of you, only to stare in disbelief as you smile up at literally the only person in this entire building who he’d rather you not ever meet, the person who led the team that had just crushed his team’s hopes, seemingly in no hurry to excuse yourself.

Shock makes way for hot fiery fury fueled by jealousy and insecurity and before he can fully register what he’s doing, he’s storming towards you, startling both of you when he suddenly cuts in between, rigid and stiff with hostility and anger as he shoves his face mere inches away from Kuroo’s surprised one.

It’s startling to say the least to have his view of you suddenly replaced by a larger figure and Kuroo instinctively steps back, uncertainty filling him when he sees heavy shadows of pure unadulterated ill-intent in Daishou’s eyes.

Interactions with the Nohebi captain are always playful, even if the stinging words aren’t always exactly lighthearted and Kuroo enjoys their bantering and rivalry underscored by respect for each other that both captains would die before admitting to. But this...this is different and Kuroo can’t help but think that somehow they’ve accidentally crossed the line to a point of no return, that something terrible is on the verge of happening, jaw instinctively tightening and fists clenching in self-defense.

“Winning wasn’t enough for you, so now you’re trying to rub more salt in my wounds by hitting on my girl?”

Oh. OH.

Kuroo KNEW you looked familiar, unsure where to place you, but it all makes sense as his brain quickly puts the pieces together, frantically working under pressure as the snake in front of him rattles his tail and hisses. You’re the new girlfriend he’s seen in all of Daishou’s social media posts recently. And suddenly it’s his turn to fumble over words as he tries to calm the furious athlete in front of him, desperately trying to find a way to de escalate the situation without having to resort to anything physical, trying to reassure the other captain that it’s not what it looks like, wincing at how cliche that phrase sounds.

You’re frozen as you watch the taller man continue stammering explanations, stunned by the feral aura radiating from your boyfriend, unsure what’s the best way to approach the situation without exacerbating the issue. But when you see Daishou take a step forward, your hands fly to the back of his jersey, harshly tugging at the fabric in a bid to drag him away from Kuroo, to keep him from doing something stupid that he’d regret.

You wonder if you did the right thing as you cower when he whirls around to face you, pinning you down with a practically murderous gaze. But then you see it, underneath the blazing fires of his eyes, the vulnerable insecurities he keeps so deeply hidden within him, that he’d shared about to you in full confidence, raring back to life and tearing him up inside.

Am I not good enough?

The question is unspoken, but you hear it clear as day and you want to scream at him, touch him, anything to wipe away the torment in his gaze. No, you're more than good enough. So much more. And despite the way you feel like a tiny mouse about to be swallowed whole, you easily let him drag you away, mindlessly following him and lacing your fingers with his bone crushing grip.

It's silent as you scramble to keep up with his determined pace, clutching at his arm and pressing against his side in quiet obedient comfort, a reminder that you're with him every step of the way, out of your own desire and love for him. And although his countenance remains stony, your heart swells when he instinctively leans into your touch, the dark fog around him lightening just a bit.

Not a word is said even as he locks his bedroom door behind the two of you, even as he pulls you onto his bed, wrapping his body tightly around you not unlike the creature he's nicknamed after.

And you let him, ignoring the discomfort you feel as he constricts your body too tightly to be comforting, murmuring how amazing he was on the court, what a respected captain he is, how you know there's still so many opportunities for him in life, volleyball, anything he wants even if Nationals wasn't his fate.

But when he remains silent, you nervously take a deep breath, knowing it's time to address the elephant in the room.

"Suguru, you know I love you, right? I only have eyes for you and no one else. Kuroo-"

You squeal in surprise when you're suddenly pinned to the bed by a toned body, gasping when a hand wraps around your throat rendering you silent, whimpering at the venomous look staring down at you.

"Don't say his fucking name, especially when you're in bed with me."

But you need to explain! Need to clear the air! And you desperately claw at his hand digging into your neck, struggling to force words out, only to moan when lips crash down on yours, a tongue slithering inside of your mouth and ravishing you, fangs harshly nipping at your lips in a warning to remain silent and pliant.

You pant for breath when he finally pulls away, trying to reach up and cradle his face in your hands, keep him still as you explain everything to him. But your efforts are futile and you moan when he promptly spits in your mouth the second you try to open your mouth to speak, body instinctively grinding against his when the hand on your throat tightens once again, mind busy trying to obediently keep his saliva in your mouth while simultaneously breathing through your constricted airway.

"Not a single word from you unless it's about me and how good I'm making you feel, understood? Swallow."

Daishou trained you well and you're quick to gulp down the pooled liquid in your mouth, baring your neck in submission as his lips and teeth possessively mark the expanse of your neck, sucking and biting marks you know you'll be proudly wearing for days afterwards, traveling down and down as your clothes are pulled off and haphazardly thrown away.

The room fills with breathy moans and sighs as you let him have you, let him mark every inch of you, relishing in the slight twinges of pain you feel when teeth sink in too deep, when lips suck too hard all over your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, your rib cage. But you wail when he deems you sufficiently marked, a hot wet mouth wrapping around one of your nipples, fingers harshly twisting and pulling the other.

"DADDY!"

Pride soars inside of Daishou at the nickname, a name he knows only he’s lucky enough to hear from your lips, and he pulls away from your aroused bud just long enough to spit out a few choice words.

“That’s right, baby girl. I’m your daddy. I’m the one who takes care of you. I’m the one who makes you feel good. So why the fuck did daddy find his precious girl chatting it up with some other man like a dirty little slut? Daddy not good enough for you anymore?”

Your head swirls from the degrading words, thighs clenching at hearing his endearing terms for you, but tears pricking at your eyes when you hear the trickle of doubt that seeps into his last question. Shame floods through you as you frantically shake your head, salty droplets leaking from your eyes as you begin to sob, desperately clutching Daishou’s sides and trying to pull him closer to you.

“No, Daddy! Never! Only you! You’re my only daddy. I love you. I’m sorry! I’m your good girl. Please let me show you that I’m your good girl?”

Daishou chuckles, warm fondness beginning to take off the frostiest edges of his insecurities as he watches you flail and fight against his hold in your pursuit of making him feel good, your greedy fingers trying to drag him closer to you, your hips grinding and humping his hardening cock like a bitch in heat as you babble and beg to ride him, suck him off, help him cum.

It’s heartwarming in the most depraved way how loyal and dedicated you are to him, how easily you’ll let yourself fall into debauchery just to please him. And in his heart of hearts, he knows deep down that you’d never betray him, that you love him just as much as he loves you. But the heart and the mind aren’t always on the same page and he can’t help the way his eyes narrow and his stomach twists uncomfortably when he replays the scene of Kuroo and you in the hall, even though he knows the chance of you being swept away so easily by someone else is close to null, even though he knows Kuroo is a decent enough man to back off once he knows you’re a taken woman.

“Settle down, little one. I know you’re a desperate slut for daddy, but today you’re going to behave, okay? You’re going to lay there, let daddy thoroughly remind you who you belong to, and thank me for it, understand?”

It’s a rhetorical question and you barely have time to nod your head before Daishou’s blunt cock head is pressing against your already drenched entrance. You claw at the bedsheets when he suddenly slams in balls deep inside of you, your sopping wet folds easily making way for his cock, and your toes curl at the abrupt stretch, eyes already shamelessly rolling to the back of your head from the sensation of finally being stuffed full.

“Daddy, so good, daddy, daddy, daddy” becomes your mantra, barely discernible amidst your wanton moans as he hardly gives you time to adjust before he’s starting up a brutal pace, hips slamming into yours, balls slapping your ass with every thrust. It’s embarrassing how close to the edge you already are, how you nearly came just from his cock stretching you full, but you can’t help it when Daishou knows your body even better than you, when your pussy is practically molded just for him, trained to be his perfect cock sleeve and you wail as you fall to pieces around his cock, body convulsing and mind shattering from the overwhelming pleasure.

But he doesn’t let up, continuing his relentless onslaught, smirking down at how broken you already look, drool and tears staining your wrecked face, incoherent babbling and wails slipping past your lips as overstimulation begins to wash over you, body now shaking uncontrollably as pain and pleasure swirl inside of you.

“That’s it, baby girl. You’re doing so well. Keep on taking it. Fucking take my cock! This is what you were made for. Being daddy’s cock slave that he fucks silly. Going to use you until you can’t even think about anyone or anything else other than daddy’s cock.”

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than in between your legs and he swears he could die happy like this, cock buried deep within your tight pussy, would happily live the rest of his life bottomed out inside of you if he had the chance. But he’s only human after all and he can feel his end approaching, balls tightening and pace becoming wild and erratic when he hungrily devours the sight of your lewd state as you dopily smile, brokenly chanting “I’m daddy’s cock slave”, slurring thank yous over and over again. His hand reaches down to furiously rub your clit and all it takes is your second fall from grace, the sensation of your tight walls clamping and clenching around his cock, milking him of all his cum, to empty his balls inside of you.

It’s silent again save for both your shaky breaths as you come down from your respective highs and Daishou carefully slumps down to the side of you, pulling you to also lay on your side, wrapping you in his arms as your lower bodies remain connected, hooking his chin on top of your head and letting you burrow into his neck and cuddle up beside him.

But despite all his earlier bravado, you can feel his scales shift and skin shed as he reveals his softer, more vulnerable side, can feel him slump and his defenses crumble in the way he clings onto you, and you wriggle out of your comfortable position, ignoring the throbbing between your legs and all over you body as you determinedly reposition yourself until the two of you are face to face, forehead and noses pressed against each other.

“Suguru, I love you. I love you so much. You’ll always be more than enough for me.”

You smile at the love and hope you see reciprocated back at you in your lover’s eyes, giggling when it’s quickly replaced by panic and embarrassment as he holds you at arms length, staring in dismay at all the punishing marks he had left all over your body before frantically nearly crushing you as he pulls you tightly back towards him, apologies spilling from his mouth for being so rough, a stupid stereotypically jealous boyfriend. And you roll your eyes as he suddenly starts raving and ranting about how this is somehow all Kuroo’s fault, shutting him up with a forceful kiss of your own, a playful smirk sitting on your face.

“You told me not to mention his name and yet here you are, going on and on about him right after we’ve had sex. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a little more interested in him than two rival captains should be. Should I be the jealous one?”

You bite back a laugh at the look of pure disgust on Daishou’s face as he stares agape at you, jaw slack and open wide in disbelief at your blasphemous lies, using whatever latent talent you have as an actor to tap a finger to your lips in a parody of an inquisitive thoughtful gesture.

“I’m pretty open minded, Suguru. We can invite him for a threesome if you want. Ooh! Who do you think would top? Kuroo? You’d look so pretty on bottom for once, don’t you think? Or would you prefer to shut him up-”

You squeal in laughter and surprise when you’re suddenly being suffocated and crushed by a heavy weight on top of you, Daishou flipping the two of you over and laying his whole weight on top of you, shoving your face into his chest and grunting at you to shut up as he nuzzles his face into the top of your head and closes his eyes to rest, dragging you to an exhausted slumber with him as his breathing even outs and lulls your own heavy eyelids into shutting.

Somewhere else in Tokyo Kuroo sneezes out of the blue, curiously wondering if someone is talking about him.

#haikyuu smut #daishou x reader #daishou smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #daishou #Daishou Suguru #haikyuu x reader

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rachelsteapot · 3 years

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Rescued: Tommy Shelby x Female!Reader Pt. 2

Here’s part 2 for all you lovely people :) Read part one Here

Just to let you all know, I am aiming to post twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays, but I am currently on Easter break so when I return to 6th Form, that may change. I aim to post at least once a week during term time, but that is to be comfirmed.

Thank you so so much for all the love and support that you have shown me for Rescued. I really wasn’t expecting this much love. You’re all wonderful!

Warnings: None

Tags: @bat-luna-cat , @nothingleftthaticando

That evening, Tommy Shelby returned to Battersea cats and dogs home.

He pushed the front door open and entered the foyer, where he had stood mere hours before. No one was there so he sat in one of the slightly battered looking seats and let himself relax. Today had been long, but by his standards, not overly eventful. He wanted to see his new dog, but also this girl that had caught his eye.

Y/N, on the other hand, was shitting herself.

The Thomas Shelby was here to collect a dog, one of her dogs, and she hadn’t made any considerations. If she’d have known, she would have had all the dogs lined up and ready.

But she hadn’t.

And all that was left to do was pray.

Finally, she hauled herself from her self pity and appeared behind the desk to see the famous Mr Thomas Shelby light a cigarette. His stunning blue eyes met Y/N’s and her heart thudded in her throat.

“Please follow me, Bruce is waiting for you,” Y/N gulped, watching Tommy’s coat sweep as he stood.

Tommy watched as this girl, this woman, gracefully walked across the foyer, opening a different door to earlier. Upon entering, he found her crouched next to Bruce, stroking him gently and whispering. Finally she stood, taking a second to wipe tears from her eyes before she turned to him.

"I hope you love Bruce just as much as I do. He's been at Battersea for a couple of years now and, honestly, he's the best dog ever. I swear, he's got to be part human, he always knows how to comfort you," Almost as if to prove it, Bruce pushed his head into Y/N's hand and whimpered gently.

Tommy felt his heart melt a little more for this woman. It was clear that this dog meant a lot to her. And for a moment, his heart ruled his head.

"You could always come with us."

Y/N shot Tommy a confused look. This was not the Tommy she had heard about, and she was not about to become part of some cruel game.

"What do you mean, come with you? You're adopting a dog, not asking to marry me. At least ask me out to dinner first," Y/N blurted before she could stop herself.

Tommy's eyebrow raised, but so did the corners of his lips. Then, followed a short chuckle.

"The Ritz, 8 PM tonight. Buy yourself a dress, I left an envelope in the donations box."

"But the Ritz doesn't take dogs-"

"They will if it's mine, come on Bruce," and with that, Tommy turned and strode out of the kennel. Y/N hurried after him with the bag of dog food, and found the Shelby brother stood next to a very expensive looking Bentley. Bruce followed obligingly and began sniffing at the wheels of Tommy's car while the two humans loaded his things.

Once the car was loaded, Tommy hoisted Bruce into the passenger seat and shut the door, before settling himself in the drivers side. He turned, leaning out of the window and met Y/N's gaze once again.

"The Ritz, 8 PM, don't be late," and with that, Mr Shelby and his new companion trundled away down the street. Y/N stood there, dazed, desperately trying to process what had happened. Then, she remembered the envelope. Y/N dashed inside and opened up the donations box, removing a pale envelope with her name printed neatly on it, and opening it. Inside was a wad of cash, easily amounting to near £100, although she didn’t care to count it before she stuffed it into her pocket.

The next thing that Y/N’s whizzing brain realised, was that she would need to finish work early today, meaning that she would need to confront her mean, and rather sleazy manager, Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith was a middle aged man who tried to cover his rapidly receding hairline with a badly matched toupee. He seemed to have no inhibitions, and where his hands didn’t wander, his eyes definitely did.

Gulping down bile, Y/N approached his office and knocked on the door. She heard a croak from within and opened the door, stepping into the shroud of cigarette smoke.

“Mr. Smith, it’s Y/N. I’m just letting you know that Bruce has been paid for and collected, and the money is in the strong box under the main desk.” When she heard a grunt of approval, Y/N continued. “Also, Sir, I hope it’s not too much trouble, but I was wondering if Margerie and Alan could close up tonight without me? I have been having a few women’s issues and I feel I would be of more use tomorrow if I could have a few hours off tonight.”

Upon the mention of women’s issues, Mr. Smith began to cough and splutter, nodding and waving his hand through the shroud of smoke.

“Yes, leave, just know it will be deducted from your pay for this week!”

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She thanked Mr. Smith, and dashed from his office, wishing a brief goodbye to her co-workers as she went.

Then, she was running towards the shopping district, once again praying to whatever god may be listening, but this time, in the hope that the shops were still open.

Finally, it was 8 PM. Tommy had arrived at the Ritz not long before eight, and had settled himself and Bruce into a private room. He had ignored the protests of the concierge in regards to Bruce’s presence, and was adamant that it would stay this way. Now, all that was left to do, was wait.

When Y/N finally arrived, she was escorted into the room by a smartly dressed waiter. Tommy had stood from his seat to politely welcome his quest, but when he saw her, his world flipped.

Y/N was wearing a well fitted silver full length evening gown. It had small straps that fed into a plunging back, which Tommy had glimpsed as Y/N had turned to thank her escort. Gone was the ragged, almost street urchin looking girl, and instead in her place stood a young woman who could easily have been mistaken for the daughter of a lord. Y/N held herself differently too. Her posture was relaxed yet elegant, and her hands rested in her lap, holding a small silver bag.

"Mr. Shelby? Is everything okay?" Y/N's query roused Tommy from his unsaintly thoughts as he cleared his throat and met his guest's eyes.

"Yes, please, please sit." He directed, pulling out the chair opposite his for Y/N to sit on. She gracefully sat in the chair, stroking Bruce gently who had laid his head on her lap.

"So, Mr. Shelby,"

"Tommy, call me Tommy."

Y/N gulped, "Tommy, why did you ask me here?"

"Because, Y/N, you intrigue me. I don’t often get to talk to people like you.” Tommy’s voice was calm and measured, a drastic contrast to the storm that was raging in his head. He picked up his glass and took a sip, watching the woman opposite him intently.

“Shall we order some food? I expect you’re hungry.”

The rest of the evening passed slowly, time running like honey. Y/N slowly allowed herself to relax, enjoying the company of a man for the first time in what felt like forever. And he was attractive too.

Towards 10 PM, Tommy moved from the seat opposite Y/N to the seat beside her, their conversation flowing like the alcohol from their glasses.

“Y/N,” Tommy started after a prolonged period of comfortable silence. “How would you feel about coming back to Birmingham with me?”

Y/N was shocked. She had known this man less than twenty four hours and he was already suggesting she uproot her life and move halfway across the country to a completely different city.

“I don’t know if I can, Mr. Shelby- Tommy. The dogs are all here, and so is my job, and my friends. I can’t just leave,” Y/N felt Tommy deflate slightly, only microscopically, but it was enough.

Silence shattered the room. It wasn’t warm and comfortable, but cold, aggressive, heart breaking.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shelby. Thank you for a lovely meal, I hope I may get to see you again. Please take good care of Bruce.”

Y/N stood and turned, only to feel her hand catch on something warm and firm.

Tommy felt his heart break as Y/N rejected his offer. This woman was like nothing he had ever encountered. She was intelligent, quick witted, able to drink just as much as he was, and stunningly beautiful. He was not going to let her get away that easily.

So, Tommy reached out and grabbed her hand as she attempted to leave. He spun her around and pulled the young woman flush against him.

“I can’t let you go just like that. Y/N, you intrigue me. You more than intrigue me. Please, come back to Birmingham for a day. We can see how it goes. I’ll get you a job at my company, you can meet my family, and then you can decide if you want in or out of my life. Please, Y/N. Please.”

Y/N felt Tommy’s hot breath on her neck, warming her heart. She could feel his body through his shirt, she felt the way that they fit. No one had ever felt so right. So she swallowed her pride and ignored the voice of reason.

She was going back to Birmingham with Tommy, and that was final.

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby #john shelby #shelby company limited #dogs #cillian murphy

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now-im-a-belieber · 4 years

Note

Ooh! Can I request some Liebgott with the prompt “of course it meant something”? Pretty please?

prompt: "of course it meant something."

joe liebgott x reader

a/n: thank you kindly for sending somethin' in luv! idfk what this is but, here have it!

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You weren't sure where they'd found all the booze. But it flowed through the night as the sun left the sky. The company's spirits brightened the inky night and you were delighted to have taken part in the celebration.

The promise of home was about to be made. The practice of polishing guns had been forgotten. And there was nothing to do, truly, besides, enjoy the last bit of time you were left with alongside the men with whom you'd made it this far.

One drink down and a bubbly haze coloured your vision as you admired your friends mucking about the parlour of the cottage you'd all been staying in. By morning you'd all up and leave like you gotten so good at doing. Only this time you'd each be going your separate ways... heading wherever home was.

It should've been more exciting. You should've joined in with everyone listing off their big plans, dreaming up dreams to make true. But you didn't want to think about what was next. You couldn't think of what was just ahead. Maybe that was a terrible habit you'd picked up somewhere back in between foxholes. But the same dread settled in your gut as thoughts of the near future came to mind. You swallowed another drink of liquor and cast your gaze to the company laughing together; sitting just on the outskirts to admire the scene.

Malarkey looked happy. Not as carefree as he had at the start of your knowing him. But far less plagued by darkness than he'd appeared not so long ago. His chuckles set your soul at ease, to know they were genuine.

Lipton looked tired. And you couldn't help but smile. He'd been tired for a while. But he was finally relaxed enough to let it show. You leaned closer to the armchair he'd slumped into and suggested he head to bed, saying he deserved rest more than anyone here.

Skip should've been here. Penkala too. You missed everyone who used to decorate spaces with their smiles and pass time with dumb jokes. And then you realized that very soon you'd miss everyone here just as well. Each man you'd come to know since the start of all this was about to become nothing more than a memory.

The thought ambushed your mission to remain steadfast to the moment. You sucked in a breath in hopes of washing away the dread that only seemed to cast darker shadows over your disposition. It was becoming a struggle to remain ever-present in the party that was in full swing by now.

And in a way, it seemed the party was only just beginning. Luz had made his way to stand on the coffee table, raising a glass to make his fourth toast of the hour- this time, to the sight of Martin carrying another set of bottles into the room. Some cheers and claps followed and the sound of collective mirth only served as a reminder that this was all really over.

"Maybe you're the one who needs some rest, huh?" Lipton's voice resonated in your ear as soon as the feeling of his hand on your shoulder did. And you realized your irrational fears had conjured up a sheen of tears you hadn't yet let fall but clouded your gaze evidently enough.

"I'm just gonna miss you guys is all." You shrugged the shoulder where his hand still rested, and his fingers squeezed tighter at your confession, as some kind of condolence. The lieutenant's gentle manner was interrupted then, by someone with a starkly enigmatic mien.

"Are you cryin'?" Joe asked in his usually distinctive tone, words strung together by drink. You couldn't help but chuckle, at the way he'd asked what he'd asked.

Joe abandoned the half-empty bottle in his grasp on a table just near and moved closer to you with a determination that made your heart skip a beat. Drunk or sober, you'd never been able to help the way you'd felt about Joe. Not to say you'd ever let your feelings so obviously show.

Lipton leaned away from you then, pretending to spark up a conversation with someone passing by. While Joe knelt in front of where you sat, biting back your feelings that were beginning to brew into one big dangerous storm of emotion.

You really couldn't afford to have Joe so close, tonight. You couldn't look right in his eyes, like you wanted. You could only stare at the hand he dared to place on your knee; as he cocked his head to try and see your face you attempted to hide away.

"Don't cry." He suggested through a smile, nearly letting a snicker escape too. This was what caused you to finally look up, to search his face in an attempt to place if he was making jest of your plight, or if he was really just that drunk. The latter seemed true, with the way Joe's eyes blinked slow and searched your own past a vitreous sheen.

"Don't cry." He repeated again in a whisper much more assured. The grin on his face dying away as his eyes stayed glued on yours. Funny, how his command did settle something within you, yet made you want to burst into tears all the same. You'd miss him most of all.

A faint few flashes of the days you'd plan your weekend passes together and the nights you shared beds of dirt flickered in the back of your mind, as you suddenly realized how close Joe was to you now. And like he knew you were thinking of broadening the space between the two of you, he closed it.

The press of Joe's lips against yours was a shock to your system. All your dread and fear halted as you processed what was happening. His kiss was brief and quick but not at all void. You knew it came from a place of well-meaning, somehow, but still; it wasn't right.

When he moved away, opening the space that belonged between the pair of you and kneeling further till his eyes met yours again, you were done for. All those feelings that had been halted by Joe's kind gesture flooded back tenfold and you couldn't hide the rush of tears any longer. You brushed away his hand, stood, and bolted for the nearest exit.

You thought you heard Joe ask you to wait up. You nearly ran into Bull on your dash away, and ignored his worried asking what the matter was.

"Okay, no more drinking," You heard Lipton declare, "It’s everybody's bedtime!" You heard a few chuckles and whines following his announcement just before you'd made it to the hall. You kept up your swift hurry with a hand shielding your tears and only let yourself start to lose it when you reached the room that belonged to you.

This wasn't how things were supposed to end. You were supposed to be glad for new beginnings. But everything you couldn't have seemed to suddenly plague you. Everything you'd tell yourself you'd worry about later, in the midst of the mission after mission; came bubbling up. You cried for one dozen reasons and let yourself keep on till your eyes grew heavy. Maybe by morning, you'd be able to move on, because you had to anyway.

///

You awoke early enough to be the first. Glad for the extra time to stroll toward the waterfront, and breath in some of the fresh morning air.

It was a new day. But it felt the same as so many others. You knew there were only hours left to spare in this chapter of your life. Yet you were still plagued by things that had and had not happened. You were still here.

You looked across the still blue lake and the soft green trees and listened to the dock creek under your feet, as it balanced and bobbed in the water. These were the things that calmed you. These were certainties. The colour of the trees and the rising of the sun. But then there were steps sounding on the dock you hadn't expected, and while it obstructed your state of taking in the scenery, you weren't surprised to be interrupted. You'd come to expect the unexpected over these years.

You turned from the end of the doc to find Joe lingering near the boards secured to the land. He looked vastly different from the night before, more put together, less wasted. He took a step closer as you cast your eyes to his feet, unsure of what to say to him, or how to act. Only a week before and you would've been able to trade chatter about your next mission or duty of the day. But now there was none of that sort of conversation to fall back on. There were only questions you'd never dreamed of asking, but one you knew was about to be addressed.

"Look, I'm sorry about last night." Joe started. You hadn't expected him to apologize. You hadn't even really wanted him too. And the fact that he did was the nail in the coffin that housed your trepidation. You bit your lip and turned away, holding back what you really wanted to say.

But Joe noticed your befuddled expression and apparently wasn't keen to let you sulk in silence. He stepped ever closer, the sound of his strides more assured as he asked what the matter was.

"I said sorry, what more can I do, huh? I didn't mean to upset you, you gotta know that-"

"I always wanted you to kiss me." You blurted, not quite facing him. Not quite meaning to expose your feelings either. But the regret that came after you spoke was distant, as a much stronger emptiness filled your gut. Everything was already over. Might as well have gone on confessing... "Only, you were drunk. So it didn't mean anything. And I'm upset because I wish it did...mean something."

You'd never spoken like this to Joe. You'd only ever traded jokes, or jabs or game plans. And now you were an hour from leaving him behind. This was the last of your knowing each other, and a silence followed your statement that brought back to life the regret you'd only just cast away.

Your heart ached and your eyes stung as you turned to face the water once more, the boards of the dock creaked and the sheer thought of Joe walking away was enough to make you break down. But then his voice called, just over your shoulder, stealing away your sorrows like his closeness had only the night before.

"Of course it meant something." Joe's voice demanded, thick with emotion you'd never heard him display.

When you turned your head and then your shoulders to face Joe and cast him a curious glare, the only way you could ask all the questions jammed in your head at once; he leaned in and kissed you again.

His hands held either side of your face as his lips pressed to yours with all the kind tenderness he'd displayed last night, and a new sort of urgent determination. You wised up to kissing Joe back, and thought of nothing but exactly that for what felt like forever.

He was the one to stop, to pull away and meet your eyes. His hands held your face, still, as his brow furrowed, and a small smile bloomed. His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to take in the rest of your face. You stood entirely mesmerized by the man, like you always had been, only finally letting it show. That's when the sound of distant car doors slamming, and engines roaring to life sounded over the hill and past the trees you'd come out to admire one last time.

"Come on." Joe seemed to decide, letting his hands fall away, till one met yours. "Let's go home."

Joe laced his fingers through yours and led you away from the dock, toward the rest of the company starting to leave. And when thoughts of the future you'd soon be heading into started to flash through your mind, you welcomed them.

#band of brothers #joe liebgott x reader #joe liebgott #joe liebgott imagine

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widowsofchaos · 4 years

Text

The Wolf, The Widow, & Their Angel

Writing’s Game created by the baddest, Roo! @darkficsyouneveraskedfor *screams like a feral banshee* tHe BaDDesT BiTcH sHE iS!

~my given prompt~

Pairing: dark!BuckyNat x black!Reader

Summary: You start to dissociate looking through windows, and it concerns your captors.

Warnings: ddlg relationship, forced age regression, mentions of spanking, water sports, and kidnapping, eventual Stockholm syndrome. a dash of yandere behavior.

a/n: hiii, so glad im finally into the swing of writing, and I really wanted to dive into this writing challenge made by Roo! Trope: Snowed In // Item/Location: Windows. Seems really fun, and gives a chance for people to explore different kinks and scenarios given to them! So I hope you enjoy! There has been things changed for sake of the story, like cause fuck canon sometimes, right? Muahaha💋

do not repost my works!

Snowflakes hit against the windows, sounding like tiny BB bullets as the bellowing winds harshly beats against the bullet-proof glass.

Ever-growing thick piles of snow surrounded the Avengers compound, as New York City is under attack by one of the worst snow-storms the city has ever endured in years.

Airports are temporarily shut-down, so are local businesses, the streets deserted with no sign of life. Nature’s cold wrath forces citizens to self-quarantine, and celebrate Christmas indoors, snowed in for perhaps a few weeks.

So much for your grand escape.

Six months you have been held captive, and forced to prance around like a living doll. A toy to satiate your captors’ sexual appetites and deep-rooted needs to protect ‘an innocent angel like yourself.’ As you sit here on the cold floor of the living room, battling boredom, and your solemn thoughts, mindlessly chewing on the pink paci in your mouth, you didn’t hear one of your captors and one of their accomplices walk in.

Fidgeting in your white onesie that had multiple crayon drawn rainbows printed on it, as you try to find some comfort - your buttocks still stung from this morning’s spanking. Your coco-brown buttocks peaking from your onesie, your diaper peaking from the edges, deep purple and yellow bruises painting your skin were apparent. That’s the abuse a metal prosthetic can inflict.

Your bronze skin now shiny with lotion to soothe the burgundy raw welts. You can barely sit still, rocking back and forth to relieve some tension. Sniffling trying to zone out in your mind.

Your hair was in two split curly pigtails, each split of massive hair clipped with two pink bows. Your index finger twirling in your chocolate curls, as the other hand was toying with the fabric of your white booties, with tears in your eyes, trying to imagine time spent with your real family.

Are they okay? Do they miss you? Have they been searching for you?

You can still recall the day you were kidnapped, it was a blur, it was so quick,

As the two perpetrators waltz silently towards you, as your back facing them, suddenly one of them playfully pull on your pigtails.You gasp, your eyes wide as saucers, as your mouth opened, your paci fell on your lap. Your day-dreaming shattered, as if you were high in the clouds then held by the calf and dragged right back to reality.

“Hey baby.” A husky velvety voice spoke against your ear, your heart hammering harshly against your chest. It’s him, the former Winter Soldier, his close companions call him Bucky, but you’re forced to call him daddy.

“Uncle Steve told me that you have been sitting here for hours” he brought his thumb to wipe away a tear you didn’t realize began to fall. You glanced over your shoulder to see Steve standing by the door-way smiling adoringly at the sight of a daddy and his baby, leaning against the door frame, with his strong hands stuffed in his jean pockets.

You felt menacing cerulean blue eyes burn a hole in your skull, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from yours even if he tried. To him, you were perfect. You were a gift from God, an angel sent to ease his burdens along side his wife, Natasha. You couldn’t bare looking into his eyes, too intense, too suffocating. A flash of affection beamed across his eyes.

You whined, shuffling as best as you could away from your captor, “Baby, you dropped your paci.” Bucky plucked your pacificer from the floor, bringing towards your chapped lips, “Now it’s dirty, my sweet baby can’t have a dirty paci ...” he trailed off, the rims of your eyes slightly red, glossy from the forthcoming droplets.

He knows why you’ve been crying, he had to punish you this morning. You were trying to act like a big girl, and refused to be bathed, insisting you can clean yourself as an adult.

A smirk slowly crept on Bucky’s bearded face, he noticed you was leaning forward, preventing any bodily pressure to increase on your sore ass. “Is my baby’s cute ass sore?” His nose brushed against your cheek, a guttural moan vibrated in his throat, inhaling your scent; his hot breath fanning over your tear-stained face.

His pink lips hairs away from yours, growing agitated that you didn’t respond, he gripped one of your pigtails with his flesh hand.

You yelped in pain, your button nose scrunched, brows furrowed deeply; the prickly pins and needles sensation scorching throughout your scalp, as Bucky held your hair in a death clutch. “Answer your daddy! Is my baby’s cute ass sore?!” Bucky snarls like a beast.

You choked back a sob, forced to look into his cerulean blue eyes, clouded by grey storm clouds. His pupils dilated, his nose flared, not to further infuriate the former soldier, “Ye-yes, daddy -” your throat tightened in fear, “my butt is sore.” Satisfied that you answered sweetly, Bucky relinquished his hand, kissing away your tears with feathery pecks, “Don’t cry, my angel.” His voice lowered softly.

His stubble tickled you, but you resisted a chuckle in your throat along with your untamed bile, he shushed you, “Don’t cry, baby. Daddy’s sorry he had to get loud.” Bucky cooed, talking to you like you were a toddler.

Your sobs quieted down, now simmering to hiccups, as he pulled you flushed against his broad chest. Even when he cradled you, his physicality reminded you, that you can’t escape.

Bucky is at least, two hundred pounds lean, built into massive biceps, and sculpted abs. You can’t fight him, nor her. Natasha’s physique is slender, but she’s toned.

Enquiped to defeat any enemy, a master in trickery and slealth, able to disappear within thin air like her husband ... many have fallen for sadly mistaken the Russian for beauty over brains ... don’t underestimate the former assassin. You already learned your lesson.

Your delicate fingers gripped his red Henley shirt, the cotton fiber bunching between your brown fingers, as you whimpered, your cheek squished against his frame.

Bucky sported a smug smirk on his stubbled jaw, glancing to his oldest best friend. A chuckle was breathed out of Steve’s nose, knowing the breaking down method was slowly progressing.

Steve knows that this is what Bucky, and Natasha needs in their life. Something innocent to protect, the couple hasn’t had a pure light in their life for years, so it’s understandable that for the first time they encountered you, they had to have you.

It was fate.

Indeed the meticulous harsh punishments was working. No matter how hard you tried to fight back, and resist the urges to succumb to their sexual pleasures, your mind was betraying you.

There has been moments of your compliance, calling everyone by their designated names. Natasha as your mommy, Bucky as your daddy, and the rest of the Avengers as your uncles and aunt. Letting your uncles and aunt baby you, feed you, play with you, and punish you if needed too.

Let’s just say, the punishments were just as equally barbarous. Wall-seats, harsh spanking, knees on raw rice, gas lighting, slight choking, knees resting on raw rice, electrical nipple clamps as your head will be dunked in water, that’s Bucky’s go-to if his patience runs dry.

And a few slaps here and there if you cuss everybody out.

Natasha’s favorite is clit cream, it causes severe itching on your pussy, you would rub your mound on any solid surface to relieve yourself to the point of your vagina being raw, and irritated.

How does the sadistic couple help the itching and burning stop? Take turns squirting their piss directly on your clit.

Shame and humiliation has become your constant demons.

Bucky’s red shirt had a strong but subtle smell of mint, and oak. You rubbed your nose into the shirt, it’s calming your frightened senses, as numerous flashbacks of pain came flooding your shattered mind.

“Awh my baby, loves holding her daddy.” Bucky spoke into your brushed curls, you didn’t realize you were practically clinging to Bucky like a baby kola. Bucky nuzzled his nose into your curls, his eyes closed, relishing in this rare moment.

Bucky’s strong biceps slithered around your petite waist, you involuntarily clutching your arms around his neck for support. His open palms calmly rubbed circles under your thighs, but close to your painful bruises.

You flinch at the close proximity of his fingertips grazing your abused flesh. It was his reminder of how quickly his temper can switch.

Don’t misbehave.

You prefer to seek his approval, to fall on his good graces.

“D-daddy?” you crooked into his now tear-stained shirt, the dampened spots now a deeper shade of red, you sniffled, scared to look him in the eye, “Yes baby?” Bucky’s smirked.

“I wanna look at the windows more. The snowflakes are pretty.” You hated how your voice was trembling, and trailing into little space.

You’re conversing with Bucky as if you were a toddler. One discovery you stumbled on during this ordeal is that deep inside the crevasse of your mind, there’s a little girl.

Sub-space, or little space ... you knew you had it, which in turn, helped you adapt to your new environment from time to time. Catching yourself enjoying being pampered, no longer being burdened by of the problems that come with being an adult. No longer do you work, you hated your office job. You gracefully fall into a space of hazy clouds.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, a bit befuddled, as his eyes pleaded with Steve’s, who in return shook his head, no.

Steve brought this new found habit of yours up to Bucky and Natasha earlier, whenever you were punished, you hide away to look out the windows.

Steve realized that you were probably dissociating. That worried everybody, it means you were suffering from not accepting your new life, clinging onto your old one, and if you’re in pain, Bucky and Natasha are in pain.

You’re more than their little girl, you’re their missing third. Their companion, their angel, and even if you rebuke it, your best friends. Many occurrences, Nat and Bucky has confided to you about their dark pasts, revealing secrets not even their close team mates are aware of.

To gain your trust, and your sympathy, to show despite their cruel punishments, they are broken humans emotionally dependent on you. In any bond between lovers, that’s your best friend.

Out of love — tough love, but love nonetheless.

Bucky’s lip formed into a thin-line, “No, baby. Uncle Steve told me you do this a lot, you know he’s worried about you? So is everybody else, you haven’t even eaten since this morning” Bucky’s voice got stern, but it was contrast to his facial features softening. His brows now slanted in-ward, demonstrating his distress.

It’s the truth, you’re co-dependent on bullet-proof glass. You can observe the outside world. It helps you escape to your imaginary getaway. Whatever your heart desires, your brain creates unabashed scenarios of being surrounded by your family, and friends.

But more recently, you imagine poppy fields, sleeping in high-end stocks of flowers — but soon the demons roam in search of you, and the sky darkens.

“No, baby. No more windows. Ever again.” Bucky’s eyes squinted, you gasped. You were ready to beg, plead to stay on the floor just a little while longer, “Now it’s lunch time. I can hear my little angel’s tummy growling.” Bucky patted your belly gingerly, with no hesitation, he scooped you in his arms lifting you in the air.

Instinctively you locked your legs around his waist, your eyes never wavered from the frosty chilled windows. Your body began shaking, choking back pitiful sobs, as you ducked your head in Bucky’s neck.

“Maybe she needs a nap, she’s been crying all day.” Steve recalls hearing you sniffle since this morning, after getting a spanking. Bucky’s thumb rubbed circles into your shoulder blades, cooing you to settle down.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Bucky kissed your scalp, “she’ll feel better when she wakes up.” As the two soldiers discussed about you as if you weren’t present, you just went limp, your legs dangling. If it wasn’t for Bucky’s inhuman strength, you would’ve fallen.

What’s the point in fighting anymore? Your body is worn, and your brain is fried. There’s no escape, for years you thought so highly of the Avengers, but you learned that they were not so righteous.

Steve noticed your eyes were dull, it’s blank. Steve subtly caressed your cheek, as he walked by Bucky’s side. A small lopsided smile curved at your lips, but Steve was still worried.

Finally reaching Bucky’s apartment, Steve helped open the door as Bucky was pre-occupied holding you, “Steve, can you wash her pacifier for me?” Steve nodded, taking the pacifier from Bucky.

As Steve reached the kitchenette, to wash the paci in the sink, Bucky went to your bedroom. A custom made state of the art bedroom, the walls covered in white wallpaper with multiple printed teddy bears. Fuzzy pink carpeting, stuffies galore spilling out of the bin, toys ranging from blocks, puzzles, coloring books, barbies -- you name it, they spoiled you.

Bucky cooed in your ear sweetly as he laid you down in your custom crib, the plush mattress welcomed your body. You whined a bit, a few tears falling, “Hush, baby, it’s okay. Uncle Stevie is bringing your paci.” Bucky caressed your arms, and face trying to cal, your nerves.

Your eyes were droopy, mental exhaustion overpowering you, but you were resisting sleep. You started rubbing your eyes, as if you were a restless toddler refusing naptime.

Bucky and Natasha also has been popping sleeping pills, bladder weakening pills and birth control pills in your milk. To set your body on schedule, so you can learn to adapt using a diaper. Fall sleep at proper time during the day.

Steve entered the bedroom, to see Bucky trying to stop you from your agitated state. “She’s fussy.”Steve’s tone was laced with concern, he quickly gave Bucky the paci, and you shut your mouth. “It’s okay, baby. It’s your paci, say ah.” Bucky was trying to persuade you, you hated that you were becoming dependent on it.

You pouted, Bucky sighed. Once again, he had to resort doing it the hard way. Bucky pinched your nose shut, preventing any oxygen, after a few seconds, you had no choice, but to open your mouth for air.

You gasped, and Bucky took advantage, quickly popping the paci in your mouth, shutting your mouth with his palms. You whined, as Bucky kissed your forehead. Bucky tucked you in, “I love you, angel.” With that Bucky and Steve started leaving the room, turning the light switch off, and closed the door behind them.

Darkness and silence looming over you, your eyes drooped shut, drifting into a dreamless slumber.

***

It’s been over an hour of naptime, and finally Natasha returned from training. She entered the apartment to see Bucky sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. “Bucky, what’s wrong?” He lifted his gaze up, and Nat saw tears in his eyes.

Nat dashed to her husband’s aid, sitting next to him on the couch. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Nat was growing increasingly worried, “Our angel hates me.” Bucky croaked, his voice was hoarse. Natasha pulled Bucky into her arms, Bucky sniffled as he sunk himself into her chest.

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s still learning.”

“You didn’t see the fear in her eyes today. Her eyes looked dull, as if she wasn’t there. Even Steve saw it.” Bucky wailed in Nat’s arms. “It’s okay, she’s not broken. It’s not a quick procedure to get our angel. She will realize this is what’s good for her.”

“I just want her to be happy with us.”

“I know, Bucky. Me too.” Natasha kissed his head.

What Natasha didn’t realize was that you heard their conversation, as you awoke from your nap.

***

Was life with these people really that hard? They spoil you to no end. Yes, their choice of punishments aren’t ordeal, but after punishments they soothed you as if you were the most fragile treasure in the world. Can you learn to love them? Perhaps. Do you feel bad for them hurting? A little, and that’s what scares you.

You care, and it’s been bothering you.

For weeks, your hatred towards the Avengers has been simmering down. You did enjoy no longer having responsibilities, enjoying little space, you were slipping into the headspace more and more.

As thoughts were swirling in your mind like angry bees, the door opened, you quickly closed your eyes again. The light turned on, and their footsteps sounded quiet, not wanting to disturb your sleep, towards your massive crib.

Natasha and Bucky were hovering over you, watching you sleep, as if it’s their favorite view. So obsessed with you, vowing to kill anyone who will try to take you away from them.

Both Nat, and Bucky brought their fingers to your face, caressing your tear-stained cheeks. It was like this for a few moments, until they slowly shook you awake. Tenderly they coaxed you awake, your eyelids fluttered open.

“Hey pretty girl, time to wake up.” Natasha softly ruffled your curly ponytails. You don’t know what snapped in you, maybe your brain has given up, or maybe it’s the way these two are affectionately staring down at you.

Beyond the misty darkness that clouds their eyes, is love. Moments of good moments of playtime with them, or how they touched you giving you cummies, your body coming alive to their touch, or how your heart ached at their sadness flashed in your mind.

Maybe you do love them.

“Mommy. Daddy.” You mumbled against your paci, you made grabby hands outward to them. Natasha’s and Bucky’s eyes widened, their breaths hitched in their throats. At last, their little girl wants them - on her accord.

Natasha quickly took you out of the crib, holding you in her arms in an air tight hug. Bucky engulfed both of you in a bear hug.

At last.

***

It’s been a few weeks of you being the perfect angel, and quite frankly, you were happy. Stress of freedom slipped away, you were taken cared off. Adulthood was hard on you until Natasha and Bucky took you. It was unorthodox at first, slipping into your old apartment in the dead of the night, but it was worth it.

You were sitting on Bucky’s lap, as he sat on the couch watching cartoons with you. Your back against his chest, Bucky hugging you in his arms, your arm reaching behind his head, as your hand played with his hair. Bucky melts every-time you do that. You were sucking on your paci, and Natasha was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

The peaceful atmosphere was soon disrupted, as an urgent news broadcast flashed on the screen. You whined, and Bucky started looking for the remote to change the channel.

The broadcast flashed a picture of you, explaining that you were still declared missing, and your family was looking for you. Bucky’s whole body froze, as your silence was making him nervous. Natasha slowly peaked her head out from the kitchen.

You were unfazed, but you’re not dumb. You knew you had to reassure them, “Daddy, change the channel! I want cartoons.” You bounced a bit on his lap, to show your bratty impatience. Bucky picked up the remote, and put cartoon network on.

Both Nat’s, and Bucky’s heart fluttered, you didn’t care about your old life anymore. You took your paci out for a moment, and kissed your daddy. “I love you, daddy.” You put the paci back in your mouth, and watched the cartoons.

Bucky had tears in his eyes, and so did Natasha.

Their angel didn’t hate them, their angel loves them, and they love you.

Extra A/N: sorry that this was trash. This was beyond trash, I’m so sorry! This was rushed, and I’m bothered by it.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #buckynat x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!natasha #dark!natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #natasha romanoff smut #dark marvel #bucky barnes x black!reader #natasha romanoff x black!reader #one shot

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beauty-evermore · 3 years

Text

Which natural disaster is your temper like?

Chloe - Avalanche

Your temper is like an Avalanche! It's crystal clear to us that your usually cool as an ice cube and consistent with your moods. You typically remain calm and collected, until you feel as if you just can't bear the weight of too much responsibility or something is heavy on your conscience. You don't like to be taken advantage of, so when people attempt to walk all over you- that's when you break down. Just like other natural disasters, you cause a severe amount of destruction and tend to be dangerous for those around you, but you're also good at holding yourself together until getting angry or upset is your last resort. Only at this point is it time to let these people know what's up... or should we say, coming down.

Cleo - Earthquake

Your temper is like a great Earthquake! You get upset a little to easily, and your anger can be provoked by a sudden release of energy. When you get upset, you like display the negative onset in which you're affected by and make a lasting impact so the same thing doesn't make you fire off again in the future. An Earthquake actually leaves a large crack or severe displacement of the ground; this means if we are comparing your temper to this specific natural disaster, we can only assume that you like to teach a lesson or leave a serious warning not to be abruptly bothered again.

Claire - Avalanche

Loey - Hurricane

Your temper is here... to rock you like a Hurricane! Ok, fine. That was pretty corny, but you get where we're going with this one. Similar to a hurricane, your temper comes with a center point known as the "eye". Within an actual hurricane, the "eye" is actually coolest, slowest point of the storm; but, if we can compare your temper to this natural disaster, then it's safe to say the "eye" the point of manifestation in which your anger comes from. We're guessing you have a habit of bottling things up inside of you, and the build up explodes into high speed wind, massive thunderstorms, and resulted damage. Just make sure you send out apology notes when you've calmed down!

Tagged By: I stole from the dash games tag!

Tagging: @9th-in-a-line, @ihavenoside, @loyalandroid / @unfeelingandroid, @androidvixen, @jericholeader, @technxlogic, @lavishbylaw, @anderson-residence, and anyone else interested!! (PS: Y’all totally don’t have to do this if you don’t want to! 😌👌❤✨)

#Queue #Dash Games #Chloe Headcanons #Cleo Headcanons #Claire Headcanons #Loey Headcanons

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angelicspaceprince · 4 years

Text

Take Me To Church

Author: Ama

Title: Take Me To Church

Pairing: Zhuk/Reader

Character/s: Zhuk

Word Count: 6, 437 words

Warnings: Smut (18+ only please), cockwarming, tentacles, Priest Kink, sex in a church, Demon Priest, hypnosis, aphrodisiac, stomach bulge, double and triple penetration, sex on an altar

Prompt: You were just trying to keep to yourself and avoid the rain when no one seemed to want to help you after you are left stranded in the middle of nowhere. The thing that lives in this abandoned church seems to have other ideas.

Notes: I set out to destroy myself and managed to take some people down with me. It was.....fun. Many hours of work and putting it off, its finally done. Also. There is a part two in the works so if you want to be tagged in it....send me an ask. Translations for long pieces of Russian is at the bottom of the post in order of appearance. Enjoy.

Buy Me a Coffee

Take Me To Church

You hadn’t meant to get lost at this time of night. It was dark, it was raining, and you were just done with today. Your car broke down in the middle of nowhere, you walked for hours, getting lost and finally finding your way to a near-abandoned town and, once you found someone to actually help you, every door was slammed in your face. Rain turned into a storm, a downpour, and you just wanted somewhere to hide until the rain passed. You saw a rundown looking church when you first walked into the town, and that was only a block away. Perhaps there would do? As far as you knew, churches were open to all in need, and you were in need of not getting sick before finding a phone to call for a mechanic.

You shuffle in and move to sit on one of the pews. It was empty, cold, made of grey stone that seemed to be crumbling in places with stained glass windows, some broken and covered with increasingly dampening cardboard whilst others stayed intact. You weren’t fussy. It’ll do for now. You are dripping with the rainwater, the only sound in the entire church is your laboured breath from running and the drip, drip of water running down your hair and onto the floor. You think for a minute - is it really a good idea to be staying in these wet, cold clothes? You look around, no one else is in the church that you know of. Perhaps you should just slide your coat off.

The desire to at least see how wet your clothes were under your coat proves to be too great as you carefully slide it off and lay it beside you. Your clothes are plastered to your body, saturated from the intense weather. You sigh loudly in defeat, you just couldn’t win today.

The sound of the door opening and closing loudly followed by the gruff voice of the bar patron stirs you from your self-pitying thoughts. Fuck, you said you were going to leave and wait by your car. You couldn’t bear the idea of getting into another argument with the man. You look around for somewhere to hide, eyes flickering to the confessional. Maybe? It was certainly the closest.

You dash in, leaving your jacket behind, and close the door behind you, moving to sit on the surprisingly comfortable seat. You weren’t an expert in these sorts of things, but you thought these to be always uncomfortable and wooden, but this was almost like a cushion that went from the bottom of the seat all the way up above your head. Even if it was lumpy, it was more comfortable than the pews out there.

It was dark, and the only thing you could hear was your laboured breath and the steps of someone investigating the church. You swear he is nearby, you hold your breath and try to keep yourself silent when what you think is him brushes past the confessional.

A low, rumbling voice shocks you as he greets the bar patron, asking if he is well. You can’t quite make out the conversation, except for the newer voice reassuring the man that everything is okay, he has it sorted, and he can go home now. There is a bit more back and forth that slowly fades as the new man leads the bar patron away. You let out a small sigh of relief, sagging back slightly. Now you just have to wait for him to leave before you can get out of here. You don’t feel safe here, you need to get back to your car, weather be damned! You’d rather battle out a horrid respiratory infection than be in some weird cult sacrifice to the village’s local god, or whatever Stephen King-esque thing this town seemed to be into.

You wait quietly, trying to quiet your loud, uneven breaths as your adrenaline slowly starts to wane. Seconds before you go to leave, you feel it. Something cold, slimy, slippery curls its way around your foot. Before you even have a chance to jump or scream, the confessional screen opens, causing you to jolt and the thing to unhook from your ankle. You look down and see nothing. Perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But you still have a problem. The priest now knows you’re here. How were you going to explain that you were hiding from someone like a child, simply because you didn’t want to interact with them?

“Do you have anything you wish to confess?” He finally asks, his heavily accented voice giving you a small shock, having grown tired of the silence that stretches between the two of you.

You wince. “Well, actually, uh-” You trail off, and you can almost feel the amusement rolling off of him in waves.

“Or were you just hiding from Mr MacNamara?” His voice is kind, but also bemused. Even then, it’s calming and draws you in. Just something about it, something tinged within it makes you think there is something he is hiding. You shake it off, what would a priest have to hide?

“Yeah.” You say quietly, guiltily. “I’m sorry si- Father, I’ll go.” It wasn’t really polite or religiously sensitive to hide in what you believed to be a sacred place, at least to the priest.

Your hand barely leaves your side, however, when he speaks. “Never mind the reason you originally came here, my child. You are here now, there must be something you need to get off your chest. Why else would you run and hide into a church and then a confessional, unless you have a guilty conscience or something you need to speak about.” He offers softly, his voice drawing you closer and closer to him as you feel your body relax into the soft booth. You jolt. No. You shouldn’t be here. You are making a mockery of his religion, at least, you feel like you are.

“I’m not Catholic. Or religious.” You state bluntly.

“My confessional is open to all who need to clear their heart and mind.” He doesn’t sound like he’s insisting, rather that he’s just patient. Waiting for you to finally crumble and agree to confess to something. You might as well. Just to let him leave you alone.

“Where do you want me to start?” You sigh dramatically, leaning back and getting comfortable. If he wanted a confession, you were going to waste his time a little.

“Perhaps the one that is weighing you down the most.” He instructs, amusement seeping in his accented voice. What was it? Russian?

You shrug. “Lusted over a married man, that’s a pretty big sin I suppose. Would you consider it a major sin, Father?” You start with the one you are sure he will question the most and then have you move on and leave. The idea of making the priest squirm amuses you, and you’re almost tempted to state that you lusted over a man of God to see what he’d say. Alas, you decide against it. He stays silent for a second.

“Did you tempt him?”

“God yeah.” You try not to act proud. “Worked too. That’s adultery, isn’t it? Or at least, tempting someone into adultery.”

“Did you enjoy it?” He sounds slightly conflicted. Good.

You can feel your body begin to melt and relax into the pew, shifting slightly as you start to grow warm, starting from your ankles, almost like a blanket has been placed over your feet. “Mhm.” Is all you can get out. “It was. Good. We didn’t regret it. It happened a few times, but. Neither of us regretted it.”

“Did the wife know?” You shrug.

“Dunno. Don’t care, to be honest.” Silence begins to tick over you as you wait for your dismissal. But it doesn’t come.

“Anything else you wish to confess before I give you your penance?” His voice is still soft, inviting. You go to groan as he speaks again. “You’re here, you might as well use this time wisely.”

Wisely. Yeah right. Your jaw clicks, taking the challenge as you start to ‘confess’ your many sins. Missing mass, as you’ve never been to mass since after your confirmation, using contraception as every good girl does, being envious of others, having bouts of extreme anger, the times you had sex with another girl, both taking the Lord’s name in vain and being blasphemous, your slightly excessive masturbation habit, every lie you could think of, how you left religion behind a long time ago, your impressive pornography collection. Every little thing becomes pettier and pettier as you try to get him to shut you up and leave, but instead, he just keeps asking question after question, digging deeper as if trying to figure out what to add to your penance. You even stooped so low to start telling him about the time you stole chocolate from your local supermarket when you were a toddler, and every pen, eraser, piece of candy, anything from anyone as a child, be it malicious or by accident. Your eyes look firmly in the space in front of you, a dark nothingness - didn’t they have candles or something to light up this incredibly dark room? -, but better than to see his face and how schooled it must be. That would frustrate you even more. He didn’t get annoyed, or frustrated, or anything. Eventually, however, he decided he didn’t want to play your game anymore. “Y/N, look at me.”

You are so busy with your revenge that you don’t feel your body slowly growing warmer and warmer, relaxing into the soft back of the confessional seat, voice growing softer as your eyes start to close. That one command to look at him has your eyes snapping open as you turn to look him in the eye.

They were glowing.

Wait a minute.

You didn’t tell him your name.

But that’s not the thing that’s concerning you now, your eyes beginning to bulge out of your head when you take in the sight before you.

Bright amber eyes encourage you to relax for him, obey him, trust in him, which didn’t concern you at this moment. No, what concerned you were the mass amount of tentacles that seemed to be coming out of his back, covering his back wall and crawling your way into your small cubicle. You see him smirk faintly at your realisation. “Relax, Y/N. Do not worry about them, malen'kiy. Focus on my voice instead.” He instructs quietly, and it almost works. Were it not for the cold jab in your gut when you realise. Something was moving over you.

You look down and let out a loud gasp of air, your body in so much shock a scream couldn’t form. Every inch of your part of the confessional was crawling with tentacles. They filled the walls, the floor and, to your horror, was the cushion between you and the hard, uncomfortable wood of the confessional chair. “I-”

“Shhh, malyshka, don’t stress yourself. They won’t harm you.” He sounds bemused as you start to squirm, finding your movement restricted. You struggle, and something seems to squeeze you until you stop.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Like a long, black snake, one of the tentacles had slowly wound its way up your legs, waist, hips and was slowly beginning to climb its way up to your torso and shoulders. “Dorogoy, relax.” He reminds you gently, voice inviting, warm. You relax as you feel the tentacle coil around you another time, slowly, gently.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. That was enough for you. You grab the doorframe, ignoring the tentacles now moving to hold you there, and you use it as leverage to pull yourself up and out of his grasp, slime from the one grasping onto you giving you enough leeway to climb out and into the cold of the stone church, tugging back on your hands until they are freed as you land on your back, scurrying back against the rough floor. You are freezing again and, when you look down, you realise that you had been worked out of your clothes, leaving you in just your bra and panties. You move to stand and rush towards the still slightly cracked open door when the other side of the confessional opens, tentacles that were once climbing out of the door you just lept from moving back into the shadows. Your blood turns to ice as you freeze in place as his loud footsteps echo through the room.

He’s huge.

Tall, dressed in the usual black slacks and shirt with the clerical collar that you’d expect all priests to wear, he was intimidating. The scar over one of his still bright and bemused amber eyes doing nothing to settle you as what seemed like countless, black, dripping, slimy tentacles came out from behind him, all constantly moving. You swallow, unable to move or think as you look at him. He couldn’t be human, a demon perhaps? But you thought no demon could ever set foot in a church?

“Ne boysya, ne begi, moy rebenok.” He speaks softly as the tentacles start to climb the floor directly towards your feet.

It was enough to break the spell. You stand up and bolt in the opposite direction, away from the door. Surely there was a back exit? You dash and, somehow, escape every grab attempt he makes at you as he calmly, slowly, follows you. He knows this church like the back of his hand, and he knows there is no escape for you. You trip over nothing, landing flat on the floor as something twists its way up your ankle and calf. Hot adrenaline kicks in and you kick back wildly until you are free and able to make another mad dash towards the back of the church.

Nothing.

Not a door, not even a window. A set of rickety-looking stairs. You look behind you and see his shadow slowly come into the doorway, his tentacles climbing the walls, ceiling, floor, slowly. As if searching for you. Another hot pump of adrenaline hits your body as you instantly run up the stairs, yelping when one gives way under your feet. You hear his chuckle, low and dark as he stands at the bottom of the stairwell, just staring up at you as you pull yourself up to the top stair. “Don’t hurt yourself, Y/N, ya predpochitayu, chtoby moi blyuda ostavalis' tselymi i nevredimymi, poka ya ne poluchu ikh v svoi ruki.” He purrs as his ever-moving appendages stop for a split second before rushing directly towards you.

You can’t help the scream that leaves your lips as you rush past the open door and slam it shut behind you, his loud laugh echoing into the room around you as you see the black, oozy tendrils, smaller than the main tentacles but still just as scary somehow, slowly make their way under the gaps of the door, slowly covering and dissolving the wood with their goo. Fuck. You need to keep running.

Up on the upper floor, there really wasn’t anything. A little nest of coats and blankets, obviously a makeshift bed, and a broken-down organ. You look over the edge as the door starts to shake, already on awful foundations, it won’t take long for it to break down. If you could just get downstairs and hide until he went searching for you, then you can make a run for the door. Your eyes scan what you had around you, knowing that if you jumped you’d probably break your neck on impact. Then you see it. A ladder. It looks old with the wood rotting, but it will suit your needs for now.

You rush over and start climbing down the ladder quickly, hitting the ground underneath the mezzanine just in time to hear the door break. Shit. No way you could make a run for the door now, even then beforehand your chances were slim. You remain well hidden from him as you plaster your back against the wall so as he looks over the church, not an inch of you or your shadow can be seen. He takes in a deep breath through his nose as you look for a hiding spot.

“I can smell your fear, zakuska.” He purrs. “It smells delicious.” You swallow as you continue to search before realising. The altar.

You lift the piece of fabric that reaches all the way to the ground and bite back a cry of success. There is a gap there big enough for you to hide. You smuggle your way in, unseen by the demon as you curl up and try to quieten and control your breathing.

His feet land heavily on the stone floor seconds later as he apparently grows tired of your game and jumps from the upper floor. You jolt when you realise he’s landed on the other side of the altar. Just stay quiet, and wait until he’s gone. Then you can run. Your stomach feels sick with nerves as you wait and listen to the demon’s footsteps as they fill the church. You don’t realise it yet, but he is pacing around the altar, smelling your scent and knowing exactly where you are hiding.

His low chuckle sounds even more ominous as it echoes around the empty church. “You can't hide from me now, roza. I grew up in this church, I know every inch of its cold walls, every shadow, every crack, every stone. Give up now, and I may just go easy on you.” He warns. You stay still. There is no way you are giving in to him, not now. Not ever. You’ll hide until you get the opportunity to run. “No? Alright then. Just remember, little one, you chose your fate.” He sounds tired as he says this and, before you know it, the cloth is pulled back and everything on it clatters to the ground and he is right there in front of you, sharp teeth gleaming as he stares at you. “Hello there roza. It appears that I’ve caught you.” He teases. Before you can even get a chance to move, you are dragged out into the air, warm vines sliding their way around your body and hoisting you into the air as they move to support your legs, arms, torso. Even one is so considerate to support your head. Higher and higher you go, them tightening as you struggle as if to keep you steady. “I wouldn’t continue that if I were you, Y/N.” He warns. “It wouldn’t be a pleasant landing if you do.” The threat is crystal clear. You fall, he won’t be catching you.

You go deadly still and try to bite back a sob. He caught you and now he has you. Suspended in the air in just your underwear, nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. You were his.

You don’t even register the tentacle pressing against your lips until it’s made its way into your mouth, tasting salty yet strangely sweet as it pushes into your mouth and down your throat, causing you to choke slightly. It pulls back to just before where you started to gag and tear up and slowly starts to pump a thick, almost syrupy liquid, causing you to gulp out of fear of drowning in the air. For a hot second, the idea of biting down to hurt him crosses your mind, but his threat rings again in your ear. You could faintly hear the splat of you falling to your death if you did something wrong in the back of your mind. So, you continue to drink whatever it was filling your system, not noticing how your once tense muscles start to relax into the hold of the black, leaking appendages or how your face is becoming flushed, eyes glazed, body slowly beginning to warm despite the cool air. All you can feel is the throb between your legs and just how empty you feel. You whine, the sound quiet with your mouth stretched open as you start to suck, hips beginning to buck against nothing. You need to be full, you need something inside of you. You start to claw at your little clothing, even that’s too much of a barrier. You need to be full, to be touched, to be fucked. You can feel the demon’s amusement under you as he slowly starts to help, tendrils moving to tug down at your panties as others unhook and slide off your bra, leaving you bare as you continue to ride against nothing. You are already wet down to your knees, slick just dripping from your already sopping wet sex just from being given a little dose of….whatever it was he was feeding you.

You don’t even realise you’ve been lowered onto the altar until the cold marble was pressed against your skin, two large, cool hands tugging your knees apart so amber eyes could look down over you. His hair is a dark green mixed with magenta whereas before, you swore it was just green or black with a trick of the light changing its colour. What did that mean?

It didn’t matter now, all that mattered was being full. You whine pitifully as you jerk your hips up, coaxing him to at least slide a finger into you to relieve the pressure. He snickers at your desperate attempts for help before one of the thinner tentacles moves to press against your entrance, entering maybe an inch before withdrawing teasingly before finally, it pushes in slowly, confidently, until it’s pressing against your cervix. You clench around him, moaning softly as he stares down at you, the rims of his eyes slowly turning a matching magenta colour. Was he staring down at you hungrily or adoringly? Fuck it, you don’t care at this moment.

You grind up at him, babbling nonsense from your still full mouth as you try to beg for more. He tuts, taking pity on you as the tentacle inside of you begins to expand, slowly filling and stretching you out as you shudder around him. You felt so full, it felt perfect. All you needed. You rotate your hips, encouraging him to move, goddamnit, letting out a small whine as you feel him slowly pull out only to thrust back in, the movement bouncing you up the altar slightly. Fuck. You are sure nothing has ever felt so good in your entire life. It’s not long before the tentacle down your throat and the one in your pussy start to move in tandem, you being helpless to do anything but just suck and clench and cling on for dear life as you feel yourself go higher and higher, right to the very brink. Like waves crashing against a cliff, so does your orgasm in that moment, wave after wave hitting you as you cry out around the appendage in your mouth, clenching around the one inside of you as you jolt up as white-hot pleasure washes over you again and again.

Your hips twitch lazily as you feel the heat that bubbled over slowly return to its previously itching warmth. That couldn’t be the end of it, right? Surely not. You need more. More, more, more, more.

“Oh, malen'kaya zakuska,” his growl sends shivers up your spine as you feel his nails dig into your skin, leaving large crescent-shaped welts in their wake, “this is far from over.”

You whine as you start to feel the feelers inside of you start to move again, this time more roughly if at all possible. It wasn’t enough, why did you feel so empty? It’s not until you feel something small probe at your ass that you realise what you were missing. Yes.

The tendril pushes in slightly, just the tip slipping inside of you before a small gush of something hot, wet and sticky floods you. Then, slowly, almost gently, it starts to fill you, just enough that you’ll feel completely full once it’s finished. Slowly, it starts to grow and expand, thickening as it stretches you out, sating the heat inside your belly as well as making it erupt into an inferno as your blood boils, eyes rolling back as your ass joins in the brutal fucking. You barely have the energy to move, using what little energy you have left to babble out the words ‘please’ and ‘Father’ over and over, muffled with your mouth full, your arms and legs laying limp, dangling off the altar as your toes curl every time he hits a spot deep inside of you that causes electricity to course through your veins, each time a loud grunt falls from your lips, echoing in the room. You can hear his deep laugh and feel his amusement roll off of him in waves as he continues to fuck you nice and deep, everything moving almost inhumanely fast, your brain barely able to keep up.

Your body still sensitive from your last orgasm, it doesn’t take long for another to wash over you, more powerful than the last, your entire body shaking as you feel your slick slowly slide down your thighs and the ornate table under you before audibly dripping onto the floor right next to the priest’s feet. Your body tenses, it feels like you have been set on fire as your body is engulfed once again in a white-hot blaze as a hoarse scream leaves your throat, hands curling into fists before your body slowly relaxes again, feeling boneless and like you’re made of jelly, you try to catch your breath.

It still wasn’t enough.

The Father’s hands move from your hips to beside your face, caging you in against him, the look in his eyes positively feral as he takes in your fucked out frame, glazed eyes and mindless, dopey smile. He purrs as the tentacle inside your cunt slowly slips out, his grin widening when you protest weakly. “Shh, malen'kiy, I’m not through with you yet.” He growls lowly. You feel the head of his cock brush between your folds, collecting your slick as he prepares himself. He feels huge, like nothing you’ve ever had inside of you before. If you weren’t so high on endorphins and whatever he had pumped into you, you’d be frightened. But now? You crave it.

Your hips tilt upwards slightly for a bare second before slamming back against the stone of the altar. A clear invitation. Fuck me.

Slowly, he pushes inside of you, the mass of tentacles from his back beginning to slide up the sides of the altar and over your body as he does so. It feels like an eternity before he bottoms out, feeling stretched to the absolute limit, as you cry out loudly. Finally. It feels right. You feel absolutely perfect with him inside of you, the Goldilocks Zone, not too big, not too small. Just right. You could finally settle.

Unfortunately, the priest has other plans. It feels like he is waiting for you to adjust, but you feel a smaller, thinner tendril slowly wrap around his cock as he sits inside of you, slowly making it become almost ribbed in texture. At the same time, you feel something else slide into your mouth, another tentacle of the same size as the one currently occupying your throat, twirling with its twin as it does so and yet another, albeit smaller, one probe at your ass, slowly sliding into you without hesitation, ready to join in the fun. You can feel two slowly trail up your stomach and twist around your breasts once, twice, enough to squeeze them roughly as the tips open up to cover over your nipples and start sucking away gently. Finally, one more tendril, smaller than all the rest, moves to flick at your clit, causing your head to slam back as it causes a near painful jolt through your system. The priest chuckles, his hand moving to rub at the back of your head tenderly, making sure you haven’t hurt yourself before it returns to its previous position. “Ready, roza?” He asks softly, eyes watching yours for any notion of approval for him to continue.

You nod, slightly confused by his sudden gentle demeanour. His wicked smile returns, his hips rolling against yours as he groans lowly as he takes in just out tight and warm you are, in comparison to his cool body. “Fuck, malyshka, you take me so well.” He growls as you moan around the appendages stretching out your throat, the tendril around his cock dragging against your walls deliciously. Slowly, but surely, every growth out of his back moves in tandem, the ones in your ass withdrawing when his cock enters you and pushing deep inside you when he pulls out, leaving just the tip inside. Your tits being squeezed and sucked at every time the tentacles in your throat pulls back, only to relax when they advance forward again. The small one on your clit, however, never lets up. Each little flick causes you to buck up as you just try to hold on for the ride, eyes never leaving the priest’s in front of you as he stares down at you possessively, little growls leaving him every so often.

Eventually, every thrust up into you causes loud noises to leave your body, barely able to keep up you just accept what is given to you as your body tenses, ready to be taken over that abyss once more. Your mouth goes slack, drool pooling in your mouth before slowly dripping out, leaving your checks wet in its wake. Something about the sight of you amuses the Father as he laughs his low, rumbly laugh as he looks down at you. “I think I’ll keep you. Kak ugoshcheniye. My own little toy to chase down and play with and fuck. What do you think about that, moya milaya malen'kaya blyad'?” When you don’t answer with words but with a pleading whine, his grin grows to an almost unnatural size, white teeth glinting in the faint light the candles around you provide. “Oh, how could I ever give such a pretty little thing like you up?” He purrs, his face moving down to press small kisses against your neck as you turn your head to the side, baring it openly for him. Something about that he apparently approved of, as suddenly his teeth are pressing down into your skin, a barely audible ‘mine’ vibrating against your skin before he slowly starts to suck, marking you. “Oh, I am definitely going to keep you, little Y/N.” He purrs happily, his thrusts becoming harsher and faster by the second.

It takes a few more flicks of your clit, and you definitely had been right on the brink since your last orgasm, before your entire body almost seizes as the near painful experience of you coming and coming and coming around him begins. A barely-there cry rips from your throat, you only just able to piece together the Father’s loud grunt before he’s spilling inside of you, on you, marking you. You were his. In every way possible.

You don’t so much as come down from your high as slam into darkness for a few seconds as your body twitches as the sensation of overstimulation begins to wrack through you. You are barely able to piece together the sensation of everything slowly pulling out of you and being collected into the priest’s arms, a warmed, too big coat wrapped around as he starts to walk towards the front door slowly. Your ears barely hear his voice, now soft and caring, as he talks to you in a gentle, loving tone. “-ika. Settle now, I've got you.”

You faintly recognise getting into a warmed car and it taking off before you start to fidget and whine loudly. “Empty.” You complain. After what felt like hours of being, if anything, too full to quickly being completely empty? No, no you needed something inside of you.

The priest tries to shush you before a small chuckle falls from his lips when he realises all attempts will end in vain. He carefully repositions you, sliding you down his rehardened cock with ease as it becomes your time to purr, resting your head against the crook of his neck as his hands move to rub your back and sides. “Rest now, moya lyubov'.” He instructs. And it’s an easy command to obey as you fall asleep, sitting in his lap with his cock inside of you as you are driven home.

You wake up to the sensation of someone rubbing some form of oil against your skin, the sound of a heavily accented voice murmuring small praises to you as you slowly regain awareness. You hiss at the feeling of coldness between your thighs, an ice pack having been pressed up against your pussy in order to help with the inevitable swelling that was going to occur after the beating it had been given. Your eyes flutter open and instantly make contact with the concerned amber ones of Zhuk’s. “Hey.” You say, voice a little hoarse from sleep, overuse and the throat fucking it endured.

“Hello, roza.” He says with a small smile, leaning over to grab the glass of water for you as you sit up slightly in order to sip at it. You fall back to the bed with a small grunt when your arms give out.

“Thank you.” You say, your lips quirked up into a small grin.

Several months ago, the two of you had found an abandoned town a few hours away from the manor, including a crumbly, old, haunted-looking church and a very grouchy man who lived in a house on the outskirts of town, the only resident who was determined to stay there until he died. Two weeks later, after you, Bajo and Cia ended up getting a little too into the alcohol, as Zhuk carried your ass to bed, getting everything ready for the inevitable hangover in the morning, you told him about a fantasy you had since pretty much the onset of puberty.

“I want to get fucked in a church.” You stated bluntly, his lips twitching as he tries to hold back the amused look in his face. “I blame Catholic school. I spent too much time in Mass. I wanted there to be a demon priest who could fuck me brainless.” You declared. “With tentacles.” You added as an afterthought, turning to look at your husband with wide eyes. “Snuggles?”

He obliged, placing the asprin and water bottle on your bedside table before sliding into bed behind you, pulling you into his arms as you snuggled up. “What brought this confession on, moya zhena?” He asked, hand moving instantly to play with your hair as you wrap your arms around his chest.

You hummed. “The town we passed when you made the wrong turn.” You yawned, struggling to finish your sentence. “Brought it back to life because the church there looked hella haunted. Like a demon should live there.”

Zhuk went to ask more questions, but your gentle snores made it apparent that anything asked wasn’t going to be answered.

After that, plans were made. Zhuk was all too happy to fulfil your little fantasy, even going so far to offer to hypnotise you in order to make it feel more real and less like a scene. Everything was planned down to a T, with him promising to create a cheat so if you really were in distress and wished for the scene to end, the hypnosis would break and you could safeword out.

And it worked brilliantly.

Zhuk smiles as he looks down at you softly, hand moving to brush your hair back as he constantly scans your body for more bruises, more scratches, more cuts. Anything that needed attending to, and to make sure that he didn’t hurt you too badly. “Anything for you, kotenok.” He says, voice quiet as he slowly picks you up and pulls you into his arms and lap. “You did so well, took everything I had to give and were so beautiful whilst doing it.” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Do you feel alright, little one?” He asks concern still very much apparent in his voice. You nod a little jerkily.

“Just tired.” You say with a fucked out grin. You feel incredible, and you wanted to ride this high for as long as possible. “Hold me?”

“Of course.”

A few seconds tick by as he moves to lay down on the bed, you in his lap as his fingers trace loose patterns on your skin. A thought was hammering his head and it was refusing to move on.

“Roza….” he starts hesitantly, knowing that under the hypnosis he gave you, anything you said had a basis of truth in it, “was I the married man you lusted over?”

You snort a small noise as your eyes flicker up to look at him, your body beginning to slowly relax as it prepares for sleep. “Duh.” You say, amusement sparkling in your eyes.

That does not help the confusion clouding Zhuk’s mind. “I married you, moya zhena.” He reminds as if you could have forgotten.

You nod as if to agree with his statement, secretly enjoying the baffled look on his face as he tries to follow your logic. “I know. I still lusted and lust over you though.” You say, grinning up at him.

His confusion leaks into amusement, a fond look taking over his face. “Y/N, I don’t think it counts if you are married to the person.” He corrects you gently, hands moving from tracing patterns on your skin to rest on your waist.

You shrug. “You never know. Could work like that. Who’s to say?” You tease him, voice playful before you yawn against his chest.

He shakes his head, moving down to press a gentle kiss against your forehead. “Go to sleep, moya lyubov'.”

Even if the fatigue wasn’t seeping into your bones, you wouldn’t be able to help but obey as you slowly fall into a peaceful slumber in your husband’s arms.

Translations (In Order):

Don't be scared, don't run, my child.

I prefer my meals to remain unharmed until I get my hands on them.

As a treat.

-my lovely little fucktoy?

#ama writes #fanfic #fanfiction #beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice/reader #beetlejuice x reader #zhuk #zhuk shoggoth #mafia au #oc based on beetlejuice #zhuk/reader #zhuk x reader #zhuk shoggoth x reader #zhuk shoggoth/reader #reader fanfic #interactive fanfiction #smut #very nsft

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spideywhites · 4 years

Note

If you’re still taking the prompt thing, how about Kakashi x toshiro with Au 12, Sit 1, and Sentence 14? Also I can’t believe I’m late to your tumblr I just took note of it because of ur latest chapter sorry 🙃🙃 BUT WHAT A CHAPTER HOO BOY.

In the mid-morning rain, the colosseum screams. Crisp white walls, inlaid with marks of the wild hunt, tower over an empty, muddy field. Empty of all life but one, a not-quite-man with the blood of a beast, ichor gold and slick across broken skin. Silver hair gleams, limp and plastered to his head, lightning crackling around and around like a halo. Muggy, damp air presses down on the lungs.

Toshiro swallows it.

Clasps his hands tight before his chest, mouth trembling with relief. On his feet he remains, high above the field and the Lightning Beast who stands in a mockery of a battlefield, knee deep in gore and gold. Toshiro’s throat is sore from yelling, just another cry among the millions in the colosseum. They who stamp their feet, hooves and tails and scream to the Great Heavens for more violence, more blood, more death.

The Lightning Beast looks up, so distant that it’s impossible to make out where his mismatched eyes fall. But Toshiro knows, can feel that steady gaze on his flesh as clear as the rain that soaks his clothes. It steals his breath, flushes his sun-kissed skin to shades of rose and summer evenings. Vines creep along his legs, twining and blossoming shimmering petals of deep rouge and electric blue.

“You have fought well, Lightning Beast.” The rumbling voice of the Great Sage booms across the air like cracking thunder, silencing the howls of the crowd. Ringed eyes peer in grandfatherly compassion down at the silver-haired man drenched in rain water and power. “State your prize. Whatever you wish, within the known parameters. As victor, you shall have it.”

Eager eyes press upon the lone man, who walks through the downed monsters he’s gored to approach the walls. Toshiro does not know him. They’d passed on the way in, where Toshiro had been bashfully captivated by smiling eyes and steel-colored hair, wild with static. He’d pressed Sweet William’s into the man’s hands and bounded away, the bundle of small, boldly red-white flowers clashing with the shades of gray and blue the Lightning Beast swathed himself in.

Barring that, Toshiro has never met the man—if he can be called such. A tall, lithe body, two arms and legs; built in a humanoid shape, but radiating the kind of godliness that mortals do not possess. From his soaked, slick hair stands two equally soaked ears befitting a wolf. The mask covering the lower half of his face is intricately carved to replicate the snarl of the very same canine, inlaid with metal and splattered with gold and red blood. He wears his status in the quality of his clothes, the glimmering gems sewn into his overcoat and the beautiful sheen of tempered, ethereal ore his carried weapons are crafted from.

A Hatake. Of the Godly Clan of Wolves that wield lightning as easily as one breathes.

Very few look upon them in battle and live, as proven by the overwhelming victory displayed below.

“The Summer Druid. The one who bears the crest of the Swamp Lands, with eyes the deepest shade of coral rose.” The Hatake says, his voice smooth as a bubbling brook over sanded stones. A clawed hand rises, nails black and dangerous. Gesturing. At Toshiro. “As my bride.”

A gasp at Toshiro’s side, a hand against his arm. Inoka trembles in excitement but does not speak. Cannot, until the Great Sage completes the Gifting. His own tongue is stayed by his shock, by the blooming of lavender roses across his flesh.

“As you wish.” The Great Sage slams his staff upon the carved white stone, standing from his throne. “You there, Summer Druid, descend to the gates.”

Toshiro jolts, movements slow and uncoordinated. Inoka pushes him, urging and eager, her azure gaze wide with delight. To all, this is an honor. To be chosen as a prize. He dashes from the stands at her insistence, bare feet slapping against the rain-slick stone. His summer robe swirls around him, the deepest of reds to the honey-rose hues of sunset, impervious to the drizzle. (He is of the Swamp Lands, used to the damp.) He takes a breath as he descends the stairs, the rejuvenated cries of the crowd at his back, as are the gazes of all who can make him out. The vines and flowers sink back into his skin as he calms himself. In their place, a tangle of thoughts make their home in his head.

Me? Of all the Druids, of all those who attended the Games today. Why me?

He has many suitors, but all within the scope of his home. As a Druid, he means nothing to Godly Creatures of higher standing. He means nothing to a Hatake Wolf, a beast of legend, of war. These skeptic thoughts do not stop the blossoming hope and curiosity, the delicious weight of caramel-sweet desire seeping into every atom of him.

The stairs end. He finds himself before the gate that separates the viewers from the tunnel leading to the colosseum grounds. From the gloom strides the Hatake, the snarling mask glinting in the flare of torch light. It sends shivers down Toshiro’s spine. Rain slides down his cheeks, wets his cherry red mouth.

The Lightning Beast steps through the gate, tall and looming. From him rises the metallic scent of blood, twisted with the honey-salt of godly ichor. As Toshiro noted before, one of the man’s eyes is dark as obsidian, while the other blazes red—pinwheels. The eye of the esteemed Uchiha, children of the Great Sage himself.

“I won, because of you. I won, because I have you by my side, cheering me on and driving me.” The Hatake says, voice mellow and kind, the very opposite of his feral appearance. His cheekbones are soft pink, fingers trembling. “I am Hatake Kakashi, of the Storm Lands. May I know your name?”

Oh, Toshiro thinks, oh.

Across his freckled cheeks bloom the lavender roses he’d thought he’d gained control of. “Aikawa Toshiro, of the Swamp Lands.”

“Will you accept me as your husband?” Kakashi asks, though he need not. Isn’t expected to, rather. For Toshiro is the prize he claimed. “I’m ignorant of the laws of Druid courtship.”

His arm is offered, wet with rain and gore. Armor gleaming under it all, gifted Uzumaki seals painted in lightning blue.

“That’s okay,” Toshiro takes it anyway, and vines curl around their connected limbs, peonies spilling from his flesh. “I shall teach you, husband.”

#MYTHOLOGY AU??? I LOVE TO SEE IT #i kinda made up my own stuff though OOP!!#anyway #thank u for this i had a lot of fun writing it!!!#fic: adad #inbox #slimcedees

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robotsandzombiesarebi · 4 years

Text

Hss class act fanfiction

Looking at the same sky - part 3

(Skye x MC)

[A/N -- If you would like to be tagged in these chapters in the future, let me know and I'll make sure you're on the list.]

Skye read the message and felt a strange mix of relief for being able to talk to Bailey after the conversation she had just had with her mother, and nerves because of the words her girlfriend had used

'Can I call? We need to talk about something 🖤'

Running though several scenarios in her head, Skye threw herself on to her bed and wiped at her dampening eyes. She sent a thumbs up emoji back and waited for the phone to ring. Within seconds, her phone lit up, playing 'Love will tear us apart'. Looking at the screen, Skye saw that it was a video call coming through and quickly hit 'Decline'. Sending a quick message, asking Bailey to wait a few minutes, she dashed to the mirror to check the make-up on her eyes was intact and pulling off the tatty pyjama top she was wearing, covering herself instead with her black bathrobe. Settling back on to her bed, after running her fingers through her long red hair, she opened a video call with Bailey.

Within seconds, Bailey appeared on the screen. Her eyes were heavy and her smile was plainly forced. Skye mirrored her expression, trying to hide the way her last conversation made her feel. Bailey worried about her enough. She didn't need outdated thinking and unveiled homophobia from her family adding to it.

"Hey Bailey." She said softly, clearing her throat after to help her voice. Bailey was clearly checking her own reflection on her camera, subtly wiping at the bottom of her eyes and trying harder to school her smile.

"Hey Skye. I miss you" Her attention was now clearly on Skye who smiled contentedly at her.

"Its hardly been an hour. But I miss you too, especially when you're sweet."

"So always, right?" Bailey let out a small laugh that caught in her throat as she spoke.

"Yeah. You're always cute I guess." Skye smirked. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Well..." Bailey began. As she thought of the best way to approach it, she saw the poorly hidden, scared look on Skye's face. "What's wrong?"

The question startled Skye. Realising she should never have accepted a video call, she gave up trying to keep herself together. A glance at her door showed no shadows in the light under it. It wasn't unusual for one of them to decide to listen in so they stay in control of everything. Skye explained what had happened since they parted. Brian snooping, her mother's critique, her dad's obliviousness to her. By the time she had finished, her cheeks were streaked with charcoal tears. Bailey looked calm, taking in everything Skye was saying, giving her time to finish before reacting, but her eyes betrayed her anger. She was furious. They talked through it. Bailey helping Skye to process what she was feeling while listening to everything her girlfriend needed to get off of her chest.

Skye exhaled slowly, composing herself and ready to move on.

"You never said what you wanted to talk about" She said dryly.

"Oh yeah..." Bailey paused. "I was going to ask..."

"Hmm?"

"Are you wearing anything under that big ol bathrobe?" She giggled.

"Seriously?!" Skye gasped with a deep blush creeping over her face. "No..."

"No?!" Bailey choked out, her blush surpassing Syke's.

"I meant, no, that's not what you wanted to talk about"

"Oh right... yeah, I definitely knew that. It's ok, we'll talk tomorrow. It's nothing to worry about right now anyway."

"You sure?" Concern shook Skye's voice.

"Yeah. Are you ok? The last thing I want is you worrying." Bailey asked, searchingly.

"I am. I think I'm just tired at this point."

"It takes a lot out of you, huh?"

"Sometimes. Talking to you helps. You always know what to say."

Bailey blushed harder than before at the praise. Suddenly feeling a little relieved, knowing she would still always be able to talk to her, she could always be there for her that way.

"I'm here to help." She said with a salute to her camera. "You should get some sleep though. If you wake up, just call me, ok? You're not disturbing me, I promise."

"Okay. I will, if I need to." Skye assured her.

They said a short good night and ended their call, not before Bailey blowing Skye a loud kiss, then waiting expectantly for Skye to catch it, which she did with an eye roll. Skye settled under her covers easily, one hand tucked under her pillow, the other cradling her phone. She scrolled social media for a while, until her phone chimed with a notification from Bailey. Skye opened the picture that was captioned "There's nothing on under this bathrobe either"

When the picture opened, it was of Bailey's dog, Biscuit wearing her purple fluffy gown against his plush white fur. It made her smile, more than she had all night. Bailey could do that. Only Bailey.

'I really love her.' Was the last thought in Skye's mind as her eyelids hung heavy and she drifted in to a peaceful sleep.

--------

The next day, Skye was getting dressed and checking the time constantly. She always met Bailey at 10:45am. It gave her a perfect amount of time to leave her house without issue. Her dad leaves early, so does Brian. Her mother, being a woman of leisure, didn't leave the house until she was good and ready. The bar at the brunch place she met her 'friends' at on the weekends opened at 10:30, so she would leave 15 minutes before, giving Skye 10 minutes to leave her room and get out of the front door before Brian came home from the gym, stinking and overdosed on testosterone. She got out without a problem and took a slow walk in to town. As she got to the arcade, she saw Bailey hitting the side of a crane machine which had a plush toy hanging precariously over the edge of the prize slot.

"Why not just put in another quarter?" Skye commented from behind her, making her jump and knock the machine, causing the plushie to fall within reach.

"Yes! I never lose!" Bailey chuckled turning to Skye and holding out the toy for her. "Here, he's all yours."

"Oh, that's ok. I don't want to take your prize." She mumbled. Looking at the toy, she could see it was clearly a knock-off version of the doppelganger monster from the movie she had shown Bailey on the first (and last) night she had visited her bedroom.

"But I wouldn't have won it if you didn't make me knock in to the machine. Besides...." Bailey held out the little stuffed monster to her again. "...You're my prize."

Skye was use to the corny jokes, the cheesy one liners, the awful attempts at flirting. Her girlfriend was awkward, it was a fact. She usually compensated for this by saying whatever first came to mind so she didn't overthink what she was saying. It made Skye feel more secure, knowing that Bailey meant everything she said without any hidden intent.

"Your prize for what?" She asked shyly, gently taking the toy and fighting her smile back.

"Hmmm... putting up with Ajay. I should definitely be compensated for that."

"Don't forget Danielle." Skye smirked.

"The girl who made me look like I would risk someone's life for a role in a play. I had totally forgotten about her, thank you." She laughed, shoving Skye's shoulder slightly.

The two of them shared a sweet kiss and walked in to the arcade, hand in hand. After playing their usual favourite games they moved over to the cafe area to get some lunch. Skye ordered their food, refusing to let Bailey pay while Bailey tried to get the busted tablet attached to the table to work. Skye sat beside her, sliding her a red basket of fries and a soft drink.

"Any luck?" She asked, nodding at the tablet.

"No, but..." Bailey gestured to the window. "...How about some classic entertainment?"

Outside, Skye saw Brian, flocked by some of his friends, all of them wearing similar gym clothes, surrounding a small group of girls. Brian was the only one speaking by the look of it, until the entire group of girls burst with laughter as walked off practically holding their sides. Brian, who's face now matched his hair perfectly, stormed off in the other direction with his friends trailing behind. Skye and Bailey shared a smile before falling into a fit of loud giggles.

As they are their lunch, Skye began to notice how quiet Bailey had become. She wasn't even eating much, just pushing her food around instead.

"Bailey!" Skye called out.

"What?!"

"You're not this quiet. What's wrong?" She asked as she stared in to Bailey's eyes, trying to find an answer.

"So. Remember I said we needed to talk about something?" She muttered.

"Yeah. Then I dropped all that stuff about my family on you..."

"No. I wanted to know how you were. You didn't drop anything on me, Skye. It's not a burden, ok?" Bailey interrupted.

"Ok. Thank you. Yeah, I remember."

"Well. It's kind of serious. I don't really know what to say." Bailey looked down, avoiding Skye's eyes. "I don't want today to be ruined. I don't want to ruin any day with this, but..." She took a deep breath. "The sooner I say it, the more ready the two of us will be for it."

"Am I supposed to be scared right now? Because I am."

"Skye, I have to move. Away from Cedar Cove. Away from Berry..." Bailey's eyes misted and her breath caught as she spoke. "I'm so sorry"

Suddenly, there was no sound. The arcades went quiet, the sounds of people talking dimmed until they were mute. Bailey was still apologising, but the sound struggled to reach Skye's ears. The whole world seemed as though it was losing its connection and Skye's senses suffered it alone. Midway through what Bailey was trying to get across, Skye grabbed her by the loose green shirt that hung loosely from her and pulled her in to a tight embrace. Bailey's hands rested on Skye's back, drawing small circles against her frame. It was too much. There wasn't anything to say to make this better. It was bad, and no amount of 'sorry' could make it better. It wasn't Bailey's fault, this clearly broke her heart too. After a few minutes of the two of them holding eachother as though they would be pulled apart this second if they dared to let go, Skye spoke up, softly.

"But... I need you. Please... don't." The words were strained in her throat and her arms tightened around the girl who was her only beacon in the dark that surrounded her life.

"Skye. I'm sorry, I didn't want..."

"PLEASE!" Skye screamed without a single thought of who would hear her. "Please...?" She cried.

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

TBC in the next chapter....

#choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #high school story class act #mc x skye #pixelberry #pixelberry fanfiction #skye crandall #skye x mc #skyexmc

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wintersongstress · 5 years

Text

Do Not Touch the Artwork

Summary: Arthur draws you during a stolen moment–one in which he reflects on the feelings he keeps hidden inside in regards to you.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan (High Honor) x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.4k 🙇‍♀️

Tags: Mutual pining. Denial of feelings. Angst? Tending an injury. Stargazing. A dash of hurt/comfort. Some smoking and drinking. No major content warnings apply.

A/N: Its not perfect, but if I proofread this one more time I’m never gonna post it so

Tagging: @obsiidio // @veravia // @hindarsfjall // @deviantramblings // @dicax-asina // @thomasscresswell // @porkchop-ao3 // @sethrine-writes // @alistairsrosa // @a-shakespearean-in-paris // @honest-good // @shethenightwolf // @nordic-breeze // @0ik4wa // @miusmius // @lavenderstages // @mulanisms

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He often woke when the world did.

At the hour in which dreams fade and the cock crows, when the tide of easterly light sweeps away the stars with obligation, Arthur would blink at the receding border of night and allow himself to sit still; a silent witness to each dawn as it was destined to be.

He spent a thousand sunrises this way—pausing with his feet reluctant to touch the cool, damp Earth, and it became a cherished time, one of deep reflection. The brew of the sky offered a clarity for rumination, providing the moments in which he would think to himself about the horizon—the path his life had taken to see a new one each day, and, subliminally, if he would live to see the next.

This tradition never grew old, for no two sunrises were the same. Most days, the sun’s far arrival was a hopeful blush into the dark blue, while others were portent with shades of red that bled into the low, conspiring clouds. Nevertheless, his keen artist’s eyes would gratefully follow the lines of the landscape—the grasses jeweled with dew, drinking the sun’s honey, and the shafts of sunlight striking through the trees—all the while recognizing that the colors beyond were not a wonder to be captured by pencil.

On this day, as the dark came away, a rare and dreamlike shade welcomed him in his matutinal contemplation. A color he was patient for, one that fell his eyes shut in its presence—lightening to a pale in the space of that blink.

The sky was violet.

No dreadful red, no storms to come. Violet, to him, symbolized his deepest dreams of peace. Brief and surreal, yet lingering. Mornings of this color foretold brighter days.

Arthur sits up from his cot, soothing the aches in his neck as the yolk of the sun slides up from the horizon. The wind rises with the gold, rustling the gilded treetops, and within their emerald branches the songbirds awaken and impart their sweet music above to encourage the creatures below.

His consciousness blearily begins to return to him, reminders of his duties creeping back in. The quiet of his mind wanes and he gives one last lingering glance to the fire in the sky as it spreads across the landscape, glowing like the ends of his cigarette, orange and burning.

With a departing flick, he affixes his hat, withdrawing from the shade of his canopy with the comforting weight of his satchel and revolvers beside him.

The girls smile up at Arthur, soap suds caking their arms as they vigorously scrub at the laundry in the wash buckets and their brows sheened with sweat as they work under the sun’s glare. He tips his hat as they bid him good morning, and he continues to exchange polite greetings to the familiar faces that pass him by as he makes his way to the communal coffee percolator.

A flock of geese flies low through the early morning mist that still clings to the water of Flat Iron Lake. Hosea and Dutch stand before the placid surface, hands clasped behind their backs as they discuss something amongst themselves. The dull, rhythmic scrape of Charles’ sharpening his hunting knife drowns out their voices, and his gaze meanders around the perimeter of the camp. Between the cheerful whistles and the curls of wood smoke floating through the air, all is as it should be—the sun beaming bright. However, despite the passing faces, and the flick and swing of horsetails as they grazed, a noticeable absence strikes him and leaves his daily picture incomplete.

It was unlike you.

Most mornings he would listen for the papery scrape of onion skins across a cutting board and find you at Pearson's wagon, knife in hand dicing vegetables for the afternoon stew with precision. With a glance towards the water's edge, he finds the sunlit flaps of your tent undrawn, and his unease abates. He smiles to himself easily as he fixes a cup of coffee, pouring another to bring to you.

Chickens cluck past him as they squabble over scatterings of barley in the trampled grass. For the time being, he knows that this peace is temporary, that the day ahead was sure to be filled with hard riding and gun smoke that would ultimately leave him exhausted. The thought makes him grateful for the bitterness of the brew he swallows. Your presence alongside him would alleviate his doubts about the robbery tip you were both set to investigate—supposedly at first light. And so, he savors the calm of morning during the short walk to your tent; the untouched halcyon surrounding him instilled by the water with its gentle laps against the shore and the ribbit of frogs that dwell along it.

He inevitably reaches the canvas entrance, his eyes cast down to the clover grasses while he collects himself. As he steps inside, the familiarity of the outside world disappears and he is forgetful of all as the flaps close behind him.

The sound of fabric sliding against itself lures his eyes to the waves of your sheets and quilts. Feet glide along legs and he stills as his gaze and the sunlight falls upon the rest of you.

You were dreaming—and perhaps he is, too. Deep in a pleasant sleep, you lay in a nightgown of a feather-white, the gauzy sleeves unconsciously pulled down your shoulders to escape the nascent summer heat. The laces over your collarbone had loosened, and the first instinct he has is to avert his widened gaze at the realization that this is more of your skin than he has any privilege to see.

Arthur was no stranger to your sleeping form. Between the frequency of long journeys and the unavoidable togetherness that followed, the companionship he formed with you was organic; as natural and intrinsic together as the bond between a wolf and the moon.

However, he had another steadfast companion in his life. Uncertainty. The lingering presence of it was one of the reasons why he stole moments for himself to draw what he saw humbly. A desire dwelled within him whenever he observed the natural world around him. One to forget. To appreciate what might be taken for granted. His journal became his sacred place to find his words and to pen the hard truth of present circumstance—a circumstance that left no room for delusions, especially amorous ones. The reflective act highlighted the importance of trust and loyalty, why it mattered most to him in this life, and why family was what he fought for.

The family he surrounded himself with was bonded by something stronger and less accidental than blood—by choice. A choice not influenced by obligation, but by promise and principle. Those of which were no mild oaths to him.

Watching over another sleep—a time when one is most vulnerable—was different when all that existed between Arthur and you was that treasured trust and loyalty. He never anticipated the roots of your bond burgeoning as deep as it has, into something unspeakable, unthinkable—into a feeling far from easy friendship, and laying further in his subconscious than a dream. A dream that a man like Arthur, living the life that he led, was not meant to possess. The sight of you in such a deep sleep unearths a familiar pit of dread over something he thought he long accepted about himself.

Frozen in step, a deliberate breath fills his chest as he considers how awkward it would be to wake you in this state. He should leave. Find an excuse to busy himself with or—

He allows himself to look at you, and he softens at the sight. The honest and innocent nature of your face allays his hesitation into a longing to capture it.

Your honest values he appreciated daily, but he was only reminded of your innocence in quiet, untouchable moments like this one. Because, despite you good intentions and sweet nature, bad luck swept you into this life—as it did to many others, including himself. All of you survived under an irrevocable circumstance, one filled with gambles. You only had the power to change the way you played the hand, not the cards you were dealt. And in the swift game of chance, innocence lost in a cold roll of dice.

Luck seldom favored Arthur. Although, it was the bad kind that lead your paths to cross in the first place. A part of him is thankful for that.

With a resolved twitch in his fingers, he wanders away from this uncharted territory and decides to indulge you in a few more minutes of rest.

Careful not to disturb you, he eases himself onto the crate across from your cot and retrieves the worn leather journal from his satchel. The pages flutter past his thumb, a blur of cursive and penciled drawings—some of you, tucked safe in hidden corners—until his sketches of rare flowers flash by and he pauses.

The petal soft appearance of your eyelids resembles the graceful and soundless bloom of an orchid on the page before him. Deciding that this is where the image of you belongs, he smooths the parchment anew.

He rolls his sleeves past faded scars and a balmy breeze enters the enclosed space, rustling the dark hairs on his forearms. A perfect peace befalls in its wake, whistling through the trees and flapping the laundry on the line outside. Set adrift, he inhales the bliss deeply to fill his lungs, clearing his head before he deems himself ready to begin.

His steadied hand is mindful not to wrinkle the paper as he studies his subject in earnest. His thoughts, the outer dissonance of dishes and pots clattering, and Miss Grimshaw’s subsequent scolding—it all vanishes as he seeks the blessed stillness of his mind. The point of graphite meets the cream page, and the elegance that follows is a contradiction to the weathered hand that guides it.

The drawing begins as all drawings must: with thin, light lines that build off of one another. Through quick glances and sharp attention, the map of your frame comes into existence, and the lines of your proportions follow. It is unrefined at first, only a basic outline, a fact in which he is unconcerned. The time for details would come when he earned them, for the pursuit of art took practice and patience with one’s self, he learned.

The essential shape of you, the curves, the contours, are precisely measured with a hand driven by his concentrated gaze, and the further he draws, the farther he falls into the deeply thoughtful nature of himself he likes to be alone with.

He often found that sacred place when he drew you.

The first time it was a thoughtless sketch; an afterthought rippling in his memory like the creek water beneath your toes on that blistering afternoon.

He remembers it slowly; the noonday smell, the vibrant green stretches of grass spotted with yellow flowers, how the doves had departed from their perch on the power lines as you both rode past. That day had been filled with the radiant sunshine of spring. Butterfly wings had fluttered in the meadows as you crossed through vast fields and wildflowers, riding against the wind carried down from a cloudless sky wheeling with vultures.

The tall grasses had moved gently in the breeze and insects chittered loudly from the wavering stalks. As your steady hoof beats coincided, a trail of dust rose in his wake as you coasted through the Lemoyne countryside together.

His hands sweated into the leather of the reins and he eased up when the sun rose high, the dirt beginning to settle as you slowed your mare to a trot alongside him. She whickered and tossed her head, and you hunched over to console her with reassuring pats and murmurs.

“There looks to be a forest up there, might be a good place to stop and rest the horses for a while.” His announcement broke the comfortable silence between you.

“I had the same idea.” You replied, relief in your tone as you wiped your brow and glanced in the direction where he pointed. He shook his arms loose and followed behind you, rolling his neck and flexing his hand.

Hooves clomped softly in the dirt as you veered off the path and headed into the luxurious shade. The heavy, drooping branches of sumac brushed over your shoulder blades and you ducked low in your saddle, a sight that bemused him as he trampled through the undergrowth behind you.

Arthur remembered overhearing you talking with Kieran one night out by the hitching posts at Horseshoe Overlook. It was after dinner, and the horses toed the crabgrass whilst the moths fluttered around the buttery glow of the lanterns, looking for a place to settle.

You stood beneath the looming pines, fishing a shawl out from your saddlebag when Kieran had come up beside you and nervously asked if your saddle needed polishing. With a kind smile, you accepted his offer, and sat beside him on a log as he worked. Arthur eyed him with distrust from the poker table and lingered on you with a budding curiosity, taking a sip of his beer as a conversation began to flow between the two of you.

Kieran asked you about your horse beneath his hat; a comfortable question for him. You leisurely recalled a time when you were desperate, on the run, and in need of something fast to take you far away when you came across a herd of wild horses roaming through the plains of Dakota. Singling her out and taming her was no easy feat, and when you did, you had named her Nisha. When Kieran asked for the meaning behind her name, you told him it came from an ancient holy language in India, and that it meant “night”.

Arthur supposed it was as good a name as any for a black horse. Although, as time passed, he came to admire your choice more for its uniqueness, and, for a perplexing, unnamable reason, he wished he had been the one to ask you about it first instead of learning by eavesdropping.

Deeper within, a gurgling stream wound throughout the woods. With a click of your tongue you led your faithful mustang to its mossy edge on foot. The water ran pure as quartz, and the mica shimmer of the rocks beneath glinted iridescently, silver and twinkling like starlight in the sun. The horses dipped their heads to drink.

“Thank you for bringing me along with you today. I—“You had passed a brush over Nisha’s oil black coat, pausing your grooming to consider him and the day you spent together. “It was nice to get out for a bit.” You finished shyly, attention fixated on removing a leaf from your horse’s mane. He straightened from refilling his canteen and turned back to you.

“’Course.” He glanced at the prize pelts rolled up behind your sun-bleached saddlebags and gestured to them with his thumb. “You can come along anytime if you keep catching game like that. I ain’t one much for tracking but you sure have a knack for it.” They would fetch a fair price. A surprised hint of pride lightened his voice and your eyes lifted to find his encouraging smile.

“I appreciate that, Arthur. I think I’ll take you up on that offer sometime.”

With a nod, he took his distance to recline against a tree, respecting your privacy as you settled on a rock to tug off your shoes and dip your bare feet in the creek.

Overhead, the sunlight threaded its warmth through the foliage, dappling your skin with the shadows of leaves. Beneath the brim of his hat, he safely marveled at how they drifted over you darkly in the sway of the wind, his hands slowing as he cleaned the brass barrel of his hunting rifle.

With a book in your lap and an apple poised in hand, the hour passed idyllically, and you hummed to yourself as you admired the wild roses that grew along the embankment. The bristled branches stretched over the water, offering their beautiful dark magenta petals to the ripples, where diamonds of droplets beaded the blooms. Little yellow bees buzzed over them.

He decided he liked the sound of your voice, for you sang a song far sweeter than the water’s.

With mesmeric motions, you swilled your feet in the cool brook, mindlessly soaking the cuffed hems of your pants. And when you closed your eyes against the incoming wind, a grateful smile graced your face and Arthur looked away.

Later that night by his lantern’s light, a rigid hand recollected the image of you in the mirror of the water. He tried to capture the bliss on your face and the harmony of the Earth beside and above you, but his sketch was uncharacteristically restrained, as if reluctant to focus, lest he awaken the softer, slumbering animal of his body. Regardless of his ingrained abnegation, a dim flame flickered within thereafter.

Something began to change in him. Something ineffable that ignored the hard lessons he learned and tempered his reluctance to let it lay forgotten as he drew you presently. Light scratching sounds fill the quiet space of your tent as he devotes his focus absolutely, practicing the diligence he savors the occasion for.

The coffee beside him grows colder as the silver pocket watch on your side table ticks by; the only reminders of the passage of time.

Memories and the fondness they collected guide his hand as he begins to add shading to strengthen the realism. The image of you massaging your feet in the water that day lays in the back of his mind as he darkens the arch of your foot and suggests the subtlety of your ankles amidst the sheets.

With a delicate stroke, he follows the smooth curve of your calf before it disappears beneath your skirt.

It was an acquired skill to apply varying pressure to create a shadowed effect, especially in the folds of your clothing as he pronounces the edges of your knees through the material. He thinks on how your knees are a place often caked with dirt, and also a place you tapped nervously when crouched beside him with your rifle. In a brief exchange, your jittery fingers would brush over his whenever he passed his binoculars to you. The passage was smooth and brief, like the feather fletching of an arrow before it releases.

Your hands are relaxed, one against the cotton of your pillow and the other draped lazily over your waist. While he cannot capture their delicate warmth or the assurance they lent, he depicts their gentleness, the nimble curl of your fingers and the poetic spacing between them, and he faintly pencils the crescent tips of your nails. He uses the sides of the graphite instead of the tip to create a lighter, more discrete effect. The folds and creases of your underdress congregate around the curves of your hips and bring an unbidden tightness to his throat. Still, he pursues the soft shapes of you and the curvature of your form honestly.

Although, it is the lines of your arm, the bend of your elbow, the gentle swoop of your collarbone and the following curve of your shoulder that tarries his hand and awakens a deep wellspring of feeling within him. These parts of you stir a more intimate significance within him as he remembers that night.

One where the world’s existence and his responsibilities faded as you slept beside him, and the one in which he first began to lie to himself.

………….

“Hold still.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

“It’s a bite. At least let me look at it.”

With a relenting sigh, he settled back against a driftwood log and you had knelt beside him in the firelight. Aside from the incense of burning wood, the less fond but equally familiar tang of blood filled his nose and sharpened the twilight air.

The blood was his.

The tattered blue fabric of his sleeve came away wet and scarlet as he rolled it up for you, and the sight it unveiled firmed your mouth into a worried line.

Several rings of angry bite marks had scored his arm, and your curious, gentle hands held his wrist in a light hold as you examined the wounds while you sat beside him on the lakeside. Your fire-warmed fingertips traced over his skin, drifting over where his pulse thrummed and lulling his eyes to a close at the residual warmth that followed their dance.

“They don’t look too deep, but they should still be disinfected.” You had concluded after a few moments of study, your tone quieted by concentration. Arthur began to protest, but his words caught in his throat at how the color of your eyes softened with concern before they trailed away with your voice. It became clear to him that you needed something to do in order to get your mind off of what happened. So, he swallowed what he was about to say and agreed to let you get started on dinner and dress his injury.

The cry of coyotes bid the night to fall as they howled in the far off mountains, the pale pink of the sky deepening into rose and further on into a lasting crimson. As the sun slowly sank behind the snow-capped peaks, the teal glass of the lake was painted with the colors of a sanguine sunset, rippling and bleeding with the warmth left by the rays of fading sunlight.

Laps of water soothed the pebble shore and the summer wind had sang through the susurrus of cattails whispering along its edge. While he often drank in nature's tranquil reward for a long day, Arthur's eyes shifted to you, to your clothes—spattered grimly with wolf's blood and torn by claws and teeth, to the blank expression on your face as you basted the meat roasting on the spit over the fire.

You absently added salt to a pot of water set on the iron grill to boil.

It worried him; the slight tremble in your hands before you tucked them under your arms, the sightless look in your eyes as you stared out at nothing, thinking.

You were far, far away from him and this place.

The water pot began to bubble and your gaze cleared. Arthur stayed quiet, lost for the consoling words you needed to hear. He let the crackle of wood devour the absence of conversation.

You returned to him with the pot of cooling water, setting down a roll of gauze on the log behind him while keeping a bundle of clean cloths in your lap. Wordlessly, he held his arm out for you again and you angled it diagonally towards the ground. A tin cup scratched against the bottom of the pan as you dipped it inside.

While he had been in this position as your patient before, you had never been so quiet. You liked to talk while you worked. He tried to think of what he should say, what would take your mind off of everything, but he came up empty and frustrated with himself.

A strange, plaintive call echoed across the water, and another answered it. His curiosity spoke for him.

“You know,” he looked out to the edge of the lake, where the willow trees practiced their art of weeping and the night shadows crept out unseen like the ghosts of the land. “I always wondered what kind of bird makes those sounds.”

At the curve of your lips, he realized with no small amount of relief that he said the right thing, for your slight smile was one of fond remembrance.

“Those are loons. There’s a pair out there.”

Bloody water soaked the rocks as you began to irrigate his wounds, the water stinging about as pleasantly as soap in the eye as you poured the cup. He tensed and flexed his hand as you went on.

“There was a lake near where I grew up. It was one of my favorite places to go, actually.” With your head bowed and your eyes narrowed in concentration, you sensed his discomfort and asked if he was alright or if he needed anything.

“No, I’m fine. Go on.” He mumbled softly beneath your careful touch.

Shaking your head, you laughed through your nose. “More whiskey for me then.”

He pointedly stared into the sapphire heart of the fire as your breath fanned over his skin and you shifted imperceptibly closer, your knees brushing his thigh.

“Anyways.” You cleared your throat and bowed your head once more. “In the summertime, when the day was at its end and the lake water went absolutely still, you would hear them. I used to sit out on the porch and listen while I watched the sun go down and the bats come out. No other time was more peaceful to me.”

When the water began to run clear, you gingerly dabbed the violent edges of the teeth marks with a cloth. Katydids and crickets chattered in the lulls between your pauses and the sky began to darken in earnest.

He eagerly listened, drawn to the happiness recalling a simpler past brought you. More than that, he cherished you sharing this story with him. This was the facet of you that drew him in intractably and seized his heart the most.

The part of you that had so much to say, and no one to say it to.

“One day, I was at the general store and I picked up a field guide. The shopkeeper told me it was his mother’s, a gift from her father after they spent a summer camping together in the Adirondacks. I thought that explained why the pages smelled so wonderful, like oak trees and memories. But from it, I learned that a pair of loons mate for life, and every day before they can return to their nest, they have to find each other again. That’s what that sound is. A beacon to one another. I began to think of it as a call to a lost love,” You mused as you wrapped his forearm in gauze. “And I realized that the reason why it resonated with me so deeply was because it echoes with a fear we all share.”

His surroundings dissipated until all that was left were your words. Each syllable ensnared him, hooked him on their reminiscent edges precariously, and left his complete attention clinging to you. They carried him away from his great reluctance, left him helpless with longing, for he profoundly understood the nostalgia that laced your dulcet voice—regardless if it was for a foreign place to him.

“And what’s that?” He genuinely wondered aloud as he watched the firelight flicker over your face. Thoughtlessly, he leaned into the lovely shadows they cast. Your eyes lifted at his intimate tone, and the golden moment in which they met his open gaze and considered the diminishing distance between, something changed. Irrevocably.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. The same way as when he was caught in a thunderstorm and sensed the imminent crackle of lightning in the air.

Once more, that poignant, lonesome wail rung throughout a land that grew cold and dark beneath the mountains’ shadows, revealing the answer before you did.

“The fear of being alone.”

The tangent of that thought led you back to reality, interrupting your hands as they tied off the gauze for your fingers to curl over his wrist instead. The absence of words spoke more.

It was a strange, heady sensation, to be filled with the sight of each other and watch as eyes fall to lips, a tacit desire blooming to have them touch, each to each.

He realized that you were lost in thought, not him, as your eyes glistened with tears.

“Arthur, if you hadn’t—if you had—“

You closed your eyes against the unthinkable end to that sentence. In the dark of your thoughts of loneliness and death, one of your teardrops fell, gently and silently—as snow did, and Arthur went wordless at the sight.

An urgent wave swept over him, lifting his large, calloused hands to tip your face back into the luminance of the fire. Unimaginable, how soft-hearted his inured hands became as they cupped your cheeks to swipe away your needless tears. His thumbs passed over the pores of your skin to efface your uncharacteristic sadness raptly, concerned with the sad brightness of your downcast gaze.

“Hey,” he shushed you gently, his voice softened by a tone he seldom used. “It weren’t a big deal.”

“I was irrational and you got hurt because of it. I put both our lives in danger.” You argued. “All of this is my fault.” Bitter resentment and shame dipped your chin low and Arthur raised it once more.

“None of that was your fault.”

I’d do it again and again. In a heartbeat. Don’t you know that? Those were the words he meant to say, though he dared not to. They were too soft for his gruff voice, too foolish in their candor. But also, being the kind of man who kept hidden what mattered most to him, a steadfast principle held him back. Their unuttered echoes rippled within him all the same, holding the clear beginnings of a confession, and he lost track of himself as a new fear dawned upon him in their wake.

He was stricken by the cold terror of losing something he would never have.

The truth confined itself, yet his eyes implored you, the roughness of his thumbs caressing over the softness of your tearful skin.

Nothing to be heard and everything to be seen, all that lay unspoken between you was said in another way—with his hands cradling your face lovingly, and yours still curled over his wrists, clinging to him.

As you swayed in his grasp and in your despair, he ached for you. He sought to soothe the pain in your brow; the tips of his fingers trailing over your temple and the back of his knuckles following the curve of your cheekbones thoughtfully. You leaned into his reverent touch completely, and when the apples of your cheeks no longer gleamed with fresh tears, he was left with you and him and the open. Alone. Two forlorn souls holding one another while the stars flowered above.

The watery smile you gave him was true, and the feeling that fluttered within him was the same. It was not the first smile you graced him with, but it was the nearest.

In his careful hands he dispelled your previous sorrows as he had hoped, and an overwhelming gratitude took its place. One he shared. As much as the encounter rattled you, it frightened him far more. How fast it all happened. The distant gunfire. Your screams. Coming across your startled horse on the road and racing through the thicket to find you.

His relief came after you were safe. After he had finished the last of the pack off with a clean shot to the head, he pulled you up from the ground and you splayed a bloody hand over his heart in disbelief. He covered it with his own to keep its place. While you were profusely grateful to him for coming after you, he shushed your frantic apologies and set off to find a place to camp before nightfall.

You had been quiet while following him the rest of the way, troublingly so while you gathered the driftwood along the pebbled shore for the fire.

Your smile began to wane in the bronze glow of the firelight, your expression fading as neither of you intended to let go of one another, this closeness. The endearingly soft expectancy in your eyes drooped somberly as you awaited his decision to pull away. He realized with dismay that you knew he would.

A threshold stood before him.

A lifetime of his mistakes, misfortunes, bad decisions and bad luck blurred past him in an instant like the pages of his journal. Deep down, he knew the ending and where his fate would ultimately lead him. And yet, those hardships shaped him into the man who knelt before you.

An unfathomable sense of unworthiness washed over him at the fact that despite the route his life had taken…it lead him to you. In spite of everything he had done, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps his last chance of finding someplace safe with somebody good had yet to be squandered. The prospect of you sharing this dream loomed before him, and the more he looked, the more he wanted. Senselessly and without abandon.

One final revelation begged its divulgence before this became a pleasant memory to add to the few. He had to find a way to disclose what you meant to him, and not with his meager words.

His thumbs trailed down, paused on your lips—

Your life matters more to me than my own.

—and a man he would never be held his breath.

With a slow, dawning wonder, the seam of your mouth parted and beckoned him, the fan of your lashes lifting slow. All he wanted for you, of you, awakened a thirst for a goodness he would never possess, unfurling in his heart with the same forbiddance of a rose blooming in moonlight.

You blinked once and looked at him anew.

And this.

This was the reason why. This was the moment in time when he knew.

Arthur needed to pull away. He needed to end this before it began.

He was a fool when he bitterly convinced himself that Mary Linton was the type of woman he would never fall out of love with. He never prepared himself for the possibility that one day he would be less wishful of the past and more hopeful for a future that would never come to be. The consequences would cripple him if he was careless. It was better if this secret of himself was kept buried. In his dreams, his drawings, his journal, in all of the places where the unsung desires of his soul echoed.

Although, these truths….he found that they may hide in all except two places. In silence and in reflections.

The silence of fading twilight held it when he drew closer, his eyes unclosing, and the mirror of you held it as your graceful shadow moved to join his upon the Earth.

The tip of his nose brushed along yours.

And all was still.

Beneath the night blue, within the whispers of a breeze, his dreams called to him. The ones forgotten, too impractical to keep—however far in the dark of his sleep. A murmuring slinked through his thoughts, pleaded him to reach forth, aching for nothing be between. He listened, wavering as the leaves in the trees surrounding him did, and he leaned his brow against yours as a final restraint. Over and over again, the wish desperately returned to him each time he shunned it away.

He clung to the last of his hesitations; his sensibilities begging him to turn away and never learn if your mouth was as sunshine warm and honeysuckle sweet as he imagined it to be.

The fleeting space between lessened, filled with the wild leaping of his heart thudding in his ear and the blurred sight of you until his eyes no longer wished to see. He soaked in the moment long enough to realize what he was about to do, what he was about to ruin.

Your name, it burned as he whispered it breathlessly. It was the cold wind that threw open a door long shut in his mind. Thought dead, what lay within the shadows merely slumbered; a heap of ash gray embers protecting a glowing heart, one that the merest breath may stir awake and fan aflame.

At the plea in his voice, your hands fell to his collarbone, seeking the fact of his pulse as they curved along his neck, shyly slipping beneath the buttons undone on his collar.

Soft and divine, the glide of your fingertips found his chin and stilled, a helpless shudder leaving his lungs. You were lingering on his scar, acknowledging with an inquisitive stroke that he had earned it on his unimaginably harsh journey through life. A life lived beneath a merciless sky, yet had taken him down paths that strayed far from sunlight.

The delicate skip of your touch wandered warmly. You coaxed his bottom lip apart, and for an elusive instant, all of his doubts vanished, crumbling like shale and slipping away like sand when you looked at him in a way no one ever had. The caring tenderness you returned lifted the shadows of his doubts, eclipsed them with the luminous glow of your gaze. He believed, in that sliver of absolute peacefulness, that none of this unfolding intimacy had anything to do with worth. Only this once, he told himself. And at last, he relented.

Sharing your quiet sigh of elation, his brows softened, rose with his hopes, and the devotion swelling in his heart became a flood that rises. To be so near the thread of your pulse and the splendor of your eyes, to share your breath and breathe in the faint perfume of lavender enchanting your skin, it was all the closest to heaven he would ever be. Never before had he known such a nearness to another soul.

Lips began to press—

No—

At the last second before delirium claimed him, he rested his forehead against yours like a man seeking respite. He took your hands, each in his own, and tucked them back into your lap as if to deny the truth before him. You had a wide look to your eyes—as if you had done something wrong—as he made the shattering choice to pull away from your warmth.

It was the last thing Arthur wanted to do.

Offering you this hope and to kiss you with all of the promises he wished to make was cruel and unfair of him. He knew better than to indulge this fantasy. For it was the same as gnawing on an old bone with only a trace of meat left; it would only leave him hungrier than before, like all illusions. Especially ones involving you. Dwelling on it gave him the same tender ache as pressing on a bruise.

It was best if the sensation of kissing you would remain known only to a dream. After all, what choice did he have? It was too late for him. But for you…

His voice returned to him in a whisper. “Just don’t go running off by yourself like that again, okay?”

I don’t want to lose you more than I already will.

When all was said and done, you would find your way out from this life. Away from all of the robbing and killing and running. Away from him.

You nodded, tugging your earlobe self-consciously as you fixed your gaze to the ground.

“That scratch might scar, but it should be fine. Just keep it clean.” You mumbled before turning away in a rush.

The intimacy that transpired was lost as you quickly rose to your feet and walked back to the campfire.

After a hard swallow to muster his composure and subdue his guilt, he rolled his sleeves past the neat knots of the gauze you nimbly tied. “Now, didn’t you say something about whiskey?”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his attempt to lighten the mood, followed by a renewed sparkle in your eye from across the fire. After dinner and with a grin around the lip of the bottle, the rest of the evening passed by in a blur.

Arthur rarely spoke much of himself. That changed when he was alone with you.

With you, he told stories he never shared with anyone. Not from a sense of shame or secrecy, but because you asked curious questions that required a deeper part of himself to answer; a part of himself left in the past. You unwittingly unearthed his stories from a time before he knew how to write the happenings of his life plainly for the sake of recollection in his journal. Events that were unimportant to him in the past, yet mattered the moment you smiled and laughed when he recalled them.

He had darker stories, too, and you listened well, letting him find the right words, your expression full of empathy as he talked about his father and the conditions he grew up in. A lump formed in his throat when he reminisced about his mother, and he welcomed the touch you spared to his shoulder when he told you about his son.

As the night continued on, his chest grew warm with something other than liquor as your arm aligned with his and your head rolled onto his shoulder contentedly.

You both looked to the sky, as dreamers often do, and together you admired the galaxy of stars above. Before those jeweled heavens of light, the embers of the fire danced through the eddy of smoke and moths to join the night. Arthur leaned back on the log with you curled up beside him, his jacket tucked underneath your chin.

Your arm reached forth to point out familiar constellations, and you explained to him how the Greeks believed their gods cast images in the stars so that the memory of their people and their mythos would persist for time immemorial. Hercules and Pegasus, Andromeda, the Chained Woman, and Perseus, the Gorgon Slayer. You told him all of their stories, ending with Orion, the Hunter, with his belt of three stars that served as a guide to many heroes on their journey home.

He followed your hand as it connected the imaginary lines between them all and he squinted at their obscurity. A natural wonderment quieted your voice as you observed the boundless magnificence of the sky. For a time, silence stretched. The wood from the fire crackled and you stayed at his side, gazing up above.

Before long, you began to maunder aimless thoughts aloud, signaling your descent into sleep. “I wonder if the stars know how fondly they are looked upon…” you yawned and Arthur watched the path the moonbeams made through the high branches. His inherent cynicism lay forgotten at your innocent rambling, for those words resonated within him the deepest.

He wondered the same as he looked back down to you.

“I’m sorry,” you laughed. “That was…” the fan of your lashes lowered with a smile. He was losing you and your unfinished conversation to exhaustion. “My train of thought seems to have hit a cow.” He withheld his laugh and smiled instead.

With your hand against his ribs and the soft of your cheek pressed over the beat of his heart, you dozed off and he began to follow. As his arms found their place around you, he looked up to a sky still blue despite the loss of light. Through a night so dark, fell a star. He made one wish upon it. To stay. His final, drifting thoughts were of how the moon found her place in the stars, watching over all, oblivious to the light she lent, and how the wolves in the distance still yearned for her brightness.

He rested his head against your crown, filled his lungs with the memory of how you smelled of petals in the night breeze.

Arthur fell into the first untroubled sleep he had known in years.

His dreams were moonlit and of you, as always. In the dawn, he woke with the robins and found your fingers threaded through his. He loosened them. You hummed in your sleep as he tugged off your boots and tucked you into your frayed bedroll, unbuckling your gun belt before he did.

As the sun first came and all was bathed in pink light, he sat before the dying whispers of the fire, his journal in his lap as the mountain wind whistled through the pages.

The calm of the water soothed him with their cold, golden ripples between the pond lily leaves, but the image that caught his eye that morning and guided his pencil was not one from nature.

He drew your hand in his.

………….

The sun has moved higher in the sky.

A ray of brightness warms your face as it slips between the cracks of your tent, interrupted briefly by the swoop of a bird’s wings, and you stir in the light.

Along the journey of his drawing, smudges of gray color Arthur’s hands as they have traveled over the page. A few details still remain. His eyes wander over his work, searching for the aspects he needs to add before he considers his portrayal of you thoroughly complete.

Through deep talks on a dark night, Arthur knows how perfectly the curve of your shoulder fits to his side, and he lightly scratches his pencil backwards and forwards to form a rounded effect. Inside a bed, inside a dream, he would trace the bare lines of your shoulders with his knuckles instead.

In the present, his pencil flicks replicate the ridges of the fabric of your nightshift down your arm, and he uses slight gaps to suggest the highlights of the translucent folds of the material. His shading carefully fades to nothing as he continues along.

The memory of your arms pressed against his, and the bend of your elbow as you leaned back to stargaze rests in the back of his mind and guides his hand, his attention deeply focused.

The bare skin of your collarbone glistens in the humidity, perspiration beading in the wells of your clavicle. He darkens the shallows that lead to the elegance of your neck, and he shadows the fragrant hollow of your throat where he knows the scent of lavender lays. The shell of your ear comes last before he reaches your face. The platonic press of it against his chest as you drifted to sleep is an idle thought he always holds on to.

That night by the lakeside, he memorized every detail of your face. How the moonlight left your softer. How the firelight left you warmer in the cup of his hands.

At the feather light brush of your lashes along his face, his heart stilled. He traced the slope of your nose with his after, and you closed your eyes.

No words captured the profoundness of that intimacy to him. He draws it instead—that softness of your eyelashes against your cheeks as you rest. The dreamlike way the light falls upon you. He draws, and draws, until one aspect of your visage remains. The one of most importance to Arthur, and the one he imagines to be the gentlest part of you.

The vulnerable, soft space between your lips where your breath ebbs and flows with sleep.

His familiarity comes not from the ghostly touch of your mouth against his—so soft, and so hesitant, he may have imagined it after he pulled away from you that night. But rather, he knows your smile. One often rare in genuine nature, given the current predicament of the lifestyle you adopted.

The memory that prompts him to finish the drawing is of the first time you smiled at him.

It was the time of spring when the lilacs were sweet and full of rain—the good kind that washed the bricks anew. As the gang settled in to the new camp, the warm showers the clouds spilled overhead were a welcome change from enduring the cold snow of the mountains for weeks on end.

Church bells rang as Arthur’s steps creaked off of the gunsmith’s porch and into the muddy main street of Valentine. He ran his thumb over the new snake carving on the pearl handle of his pistol, taking a moment to admire the craftsmanship before he tucked it away and looked up to wonder where you were.

You had offered to help him that morning on a supply run in town. The corner of his eyes had crinkled at your eagerness and Arthur agreed to bring Jack along to get him away from his parents’ arguing. Overall, it was an uneventful trip. He helped you load up the wagon with bales of hay and sacks of grain before you headed off to the store with a list Pearson gave you, insisting you would be able to handle everything yourself.

A peal of laughter drew his eyes to the churchyard, and he found you stooping down to meet little Jack Marston’s height in the damp grass. The boy presented you with a handful of flowers, giggling as he tucked a flimsy violet behind your ear. You accepted it graciously as Arthur approached.

At the clink of his spurs, you looked up, the light of thankfulness shining in your eyes as you gingerly touched the bloom. Dandelion seeds floated through the air on a wish-bound journey, and the crescent moon of your smile as it faded demurely plucked his heartstrings.

You were—

Something he was not ready to admit to himself, not yet.

That bundle of violets Jack picked for you lays dry and withered in an embroidered handkerchief on your side table. He stares at them, the pencil in his hand stilled with the shock of completion.

Arthur came to a realization long ago when it came to you; admiring you from afar was like observing art in a museum.

Meant for the eyes, unspoken and at a distance, not the hands. Not to touch, or hold, or keep.

He closes the cover of his journal. Drawing you was a mistake. The leather strap ties and binds everything back inside and he returns to his stoic self, rolling his sleeves back down over the bite mark scars. He leaves all of his thoughts of you behind in your tent as he steps out and searches out Charles to accompany him for the day rather than face this. The thought of spending time with you no longer eases his uncertainties.

He does what he can to survive, always has, and he has to do what is best for you, as well.

And so, Arthur buries his feelings for you with the same metaphorical dirt he used for his mother, hoping it would make everything easier if he stayed far away.

Inside, in that hidden heart of his, he knew the feelings he buried for you were only seeds.

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oatsn-honey · 5 years

Text

fragile

ao3

masterlist

summary:

Zelda just doesn't understand why he can't admit that it's his fault they're in this whole "Calamity Ganon" mess. But, maybe she just wants someone else to blame.

or: Link and Zelda get into a fight, both running off into separate directions. Eventually, Zelda seeks to find him and apologize

notes: i'm rlly hesitant about posting this, just because i worry it won't be well received, but i figure i need to share it at some point.this is a vent-fic, so it is technically me projecting onto a character, so if you have a problem with the sensitivity to the content, i ask that you please simply stop reading instead of coming for me. thank you. for readers who are sensitive, this does contain references to self harm (although none actually occurs).

Turning the fish skewer absently over the open fire, Zelda observed the lake in front of her; Link leaping in and out of the frigid water, still fully clothed. His head bobbed up and down as he swam, dashing towards fish and capturing them in swift motions, securing a hearty lunch.

She would’ve found the sight amusing, had it not been for a single thought plaguing her mind. That, and the fact that not even Link himself was smiling — not even in the slightest. It was annoying. It was annoying that he could look regal and refined when doing something so seemingly foolish (any other person would’ve looked either insane or ridiculous). It was annoying that she could never do that.

“Link! I think we have caught plenty!” She called, eyeing the pile of assorted fish at her feet with disdain — just another reminder of her own incompetence. He nodded, lips still that hard line, rising out of the water, catch in hand. Zelda sighed, turning back to the flames and adjusting her grip on the stick.

She could hear his sloshing steps as he approached, clothing dripping and hair soaked, and feel the splash of water when he sat down. “Here,” She thrust the skewer out to him, giving not the briefest glance upwards, before puncturing another fish. “Take it. After all, you were the one to catch all of them,” She could hardly keep the indifference from her voice.

She had to refrain from rolling her eyes when she received no answer and her arm continued to hang in the air, food still very much held in her fingers. The softest touch met the back of her hand — he wanted her to look up. “What?” She hissed, launching up, the contempt too obvious to miss or cover up.

His hands stopped, suspended in the air, ready to sign, fingers curled back in resignation. His expression remained neutral, flat as ever, but there was a flash of hurt across his ocean eyes. Barely detectable, his shoulders drooped, and his hands went limp.

Zelda ran a hand down her face, harshly blowing air through her lips, before asking more gently, “What?”

He pushed the skewer toward her and began to move his hands slowly, carefully so that she understood, “It’s for you, Princess.” The words were kind, but she felt no different. This was probably just another ploy — a way to make her feel guilty.

She narrowed her eyes at him, yanking the fish away, sinking her teeth into it in a single aggressive bite. “Fine by me,” She growled. And he had the gall to continue on with that straight face. Had she been paying any attention, and she wasn’t, most definitely not, she may have guessed there was a small smile on the corner of his lips.

Link grabbed a sharpened stick of his own, sliding a large Hyrule Bass onto it and roasting it over the fire. Zelda slowed her bites (she reminded herself to remain calm), watching the flames lick the food as Link turned it in his hands. He seemed fairly satisfied when the fish reached a golden brown, taking a mouthful of it.

Zelda finished her own meal, stabbing the skewer into the soft ground. She wiped her hands on her dark trousers (her father would’ve been mortified), shifting to rest her elbows on her knees. The princess placed her chin in her hand, blankly watching her knight — within mere moments, her teeth were already grinding in unfounded anger.

“You know, Link,” she started, voice too innocent and unassuming, “Why does everything come so easily to you?”

She waited for a response, the moment only filled with the sounds of the lake’s water stirring and the creatures flitting about the area. Her patience was wearing thin.

“Well?!” She snapped, face filled with annoyance, “You don’t know how to answer?” She stood up, clenching her fists in rage, “You’ve probably never known what it’s even like to work hard, or to not excel at something! Because you’ve never had to try at anything, right?”

She gave a hysterical laugh of repudiation, “You are the chosen one, after all! It makes sense, you were able to become a knight as a child, no effort, no sweat! You pulled the sword from its pedestal as if was hardly a stretch!”

She turned to fully face him, eyes misty but harboring a deep animosity, “I bet you look at me and laugh, ‘Why is everything so hard for her? Why can’t she just figure out how to unlock her blasted powers? Wasn’t she supposed to be born with them?’”

She gave him no room to argue, her fury passionately forcing his protests back, “I wouldn’t doubt it if you’re sick and tired of waiting around for me. I bet I just slow you down and annoy you to no end!”

“That’s probably why you never talk, right?” Zelda insisted fervently, “Because there’s no way that you could ever say anything to me without insulting and breaking the knight’s code! I’m sure that you say horrid things behind my back.”

Each assumption stung like a poisoned weapon slicing through Link’s skin, but he had already lost the right to fight against her.

“Nothing to say, chosen one?” She sneered. “Well, I’ll have you know, it’s your fault that we’re even in this mess! This mess of Calamity Ganon, this mess of unlocking some accursed sealing powers. If you hadn’t pulled that glorified blade from its resting place, none of this would be happening!” She waved her hands around emphatically, every word stressed by the motions, “That’s right! Maybe you should tame your foolish avarice and realize that not everything is some childish game that can be easily conquered!”

Her final words were accentuated with a sob and flying tears, “This is your fault!”

Zelda heaved, still reeling from her outburst of raw emotion. “Well?” She cried breathlessly, “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Link’s jaw quivered, expression withdrawn and head hung in surrender. His knuckles had grown a bone white from the force of his clamped fists. Silently, he made his way over to discarded weapons — “that glorified blade.”

“Where do you think you’re going?!” She demanded, foot stamping in agitation. He didn’t respond, continuing to sling the sword across his back. There was a quiver in her voice as it bellowed after him, “Link!”

Her response was boots pounding on the ground, drifting farther away.

With an infuriated huff, she turned on her heels, her arms crossed and teeth grinding in agitation. “Fine then-! If he wants to be immature then so be it!” Scooping the discarded Shekiah Slate into her hands, her thoughts escalated, “Just wait until Father here’s of his behavior — he will no longer think so highly of a knight that can’t handle the truth!”

The princess stamped out the remainders of the fire, each stomp in time with a jab at her ‘protector’. With fire burning at her tongue, waiting impatiently to be released, she mounted her steed, urging it forward. A speech of malice was already racing through her mind, only pushing her onward towards the castle. She didn’t even look over her shoulder to ensure that Link’s own horse was following her.

Foreboding clouds formed only 2 minutes into her journey — or perhaps they had been there the whole time, unnoticed and overpowered by her boiling temper. The promise of a storm only served to further damper her mood.

When the first drop splattered across her nose, she wanted to scream, “Well isn’t this just my luck!” Instead, she dug her heels into her horse’s sides. Galloping towards the castle, Zelda anticipated her arrival, her anger coiling painfully in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, when Urbosa hears of this…”

By the time hooves collided with perfect stone slabs, the storm had begun, water flooding Zelda’s vision and thunder peeling through the sky. Without a thought, she leaped from her horse, leaving it to the guards, and took long, heavy strides towards the gates.

Bursting through the door, she dismissed her father’s reprimanding comment, quickly scanning the room for a single person.

“Ah, little bird—“ Her strong voice rang before she caught sight of Zelda’s expression and stiff body language — the girl was nearly boiling over. “Please excuse us, your highness,” Urbosa apologized. The king waved his hand, using the other to rub exasperatedly at his face.

Steps confident, Urbosa followed after Zelda, peridot eyes cold and calculating as she observed the young princess. They ascended several flights of alabaster steps, twisting through familiar corridors, illuminated by flames and adorned with ornate tapestries. When they reached Zelda’s quarters the princess heaved open the unwieldy doors, her lacy top nearly ripping at the shoulders with her impassioned strength. The blonde stomped into the room, furiously tugging her braid from its place. The Gerudo woman followed her, curiously cocking a sharp eyebrow at the girl’s huffing and agitation.

“Ugh, Urbosa!” Zelda groaned, hands tensing as she began furiously pacing the room’s length. “I just can’t believe him -- the audacity!” She turned to her friend, who had taken a seat in Zelda’s plush desk chair. “He’s just so, so,” she stuttered, mind muddled by her fury, “so irresponsible! And disrespectful! I am the princess, I am royalty, he can’t just ignore a question!” She let out a choked scream, “And he has the gal to just leave! How unbelievable!”

Urbosa’s face remained calm as she began to speak, relying on her intuition to fill in the blanks in Zelda’s ranting, “Now, little bird, please take a moment.” Zelda shot her a deceitful glare, but Urbosa simply raised her eyebrows, unintimidated. “I don’t see why royalty matters in this instance. Isn’t your anger caused by the envy you feel towards his ability to discover his foretold destiny when you have yet to?” Zelda stuttered, forming a rebuttal that had no chance to surface, “In that case, shouldn’t you treat him as an equal, and give him the respect that you desire from him? Besides, his whole life has been respecting others, and you are no exception to that.”

“W-Well, I--” Zelda stammered, hands clenched as she hoped to conjure a response.

She wasn’t given a moment to try, “You know, that boy hasn’t quite had an easy life either. There’s no plausible way a child could’ve advanced the ranks to knight without grueling training and a strict upbringing -- I’m sure he has struggled. Being the “Goddess’s Chosen Hero” is certainly less than it is envisioned as, and I doubt it’s what he wanted from his life. Just as you despise being the Goddess Incarnate. Trust me, I’m certain there is more to his silence than timidity and conduct procedures -- he’s probably seen his share of the world’s darkness, just as you and I.” Zela hung her head as Urbosa continued, “We do not possess the knowledge of what plagues his mind and heart, the burdens he carries -- for all of our ignorance, and who’s to assume differently, his lively-hood could be dangling above destruction, and it could easily be caused by what others, or even you or I, say.”

“Urbosa, I apologize, I spoke out of m-” Zelda started, before a harsh glare from Urbosa caused her to teeter out. After a moment, the look softened out.

“Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets.”

“I understand…” Zelda resigned in defeat, hands limply clinging to the sides of her dirty trousers.

Catching her off guard, Urbosa commanded with a thunderous voice, “Now! Go find that boy!”

Nodding determinedly, Zelda snatched a coat on her way from the room, heart beating with the pelts of rain against the castle. She set out on horseback, galloping across the plains and forests of Central Hyrule.

An hour of searching, soaked to the bone by the frigid rain, all to no avail, left her feeling hopeless. Steeling herself, guilt still rampant in her spirit, encouraged her to begin again.

She found herself drawn to the Applean Forest, the small wooded area beckoning her towards its trees. Zelda was certain that he was there. Dismounting from her horse, she hesitantly approached the wood, her clothing and shoes plastered in mud from the wet ground.

After weaving through the trees, a soft sounds piqued her attention, and she sets out to follow it. She rounded a tree carefully, eyes coming to rest on Link (as she had suspected and hoped) huddled up against it, his knees pulled close to his chest and arms cradled between them.

“Link?” She asked ever so quietly, moving so little that she refrained from blinking. He made a muffled, surprised noise, choking on his cries, before backing away from her like a frightened animal, avoiding her eyes.

Then, she saw it. A knife to his side, cast away, glistening with rain water.

“For all of our ignorance, and who’s to assume differently, his lively-hood could be dangling above destruction, and it could easily be caused by what others, or even you or I, say.”

“Oh, Goddess, Link!” She collapsed before him, praying that he didn’t have so much as have a scrape, forcefully grabbing his arms and pulling them forward for her to see. When she threw the dripping sleeves forward, she was met with… smooth skin, untouched.

He gazed up at her, hot tears still trailing down his face, before he looked at the knife. His voice wavered as he spoke, “I couldn’t do it.”

Zelda’s heart swelled with tumultuous relief, “Thank Hylia,” She breathed before dropping her head and lightly kissing his arms in a beholden act.

“I’m sorry,” She heard him mumble, soft voice bubbling with emotion, tears blurring is vision. “You’re right, it is my fault, if only I hadn’t--”

Throwing her arms around him, Zelda refused his admission, “Shut up, you dummy! I’m sorry! What I said was so, so wrong. It’s never been your fault, ever. I’m so sorry, I just wanted someone else to blame, and I never, ever should’ve said that. I was so wrong, I know that life hasn’t been easy for you, either. I never should’ve assumed that. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Link.”

He didn’t return her embrace, but he eased into her hug, his crying slowing to gentle sniffles. She mumbled apologies repeatedly, tears soaking into his uniform.

“Link, can you forgive me?” Zelda pulled away from him, looking into his swollen, but brilliantly blue eyes. The knight nodded softly and she pursed her lips, hoping to hold onto the memory of his voice, for she had never heard it before. Why is he so silent, the princess asked herself.

Shrugging the thought off for later, she stood, extending her hand down towards Link. “We should probably head back now.” He hesitantly accepted her offer, hand cold in her own. “It’s late and you’re shivering quite a bit.” His lips pressed together in embarrassment, a vain attempt to quell the chattering of his teeth.

As she helped him mount her horse, this time the role of guard belonging to her, Zelda felt her stomach knot with apprehension and her senses overwhelmed by a strong bout of protectiveness. She smiled up at him briefly before grabbing ahold of the reigns. As they set out towards the castle, the rain still bombarding the earth, her eyes set with cold conviction. She would come to understand him.

“I am fragile. He is fragile. All of life is fragile.”

sorry >< i know that it's not the best and that it's probably not everyone's favorite topic,,,,

but, since i did mention that this was a vent fic and that i was projecting onto a character, link in this case, i would like to let anyone who is curious know that i have been doing much much better (and that this is from a couple months ago)

thank you sm for reading! i love all of you! please stay strong!

#legend of zelda #legend of zelda: breath of the wild #breath of the wild #zelink #pre-zelink #friendship #angst #zelink angst #tw: self harm #tw: mental health #fights #hurt/comfort #sign language #signing #selectively mute #selective mute link

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cleverbroadwayurl · 5 years

Text

WHEN I WAS OLDER (Jeremy Heere x Reader Pt. 24)

Song: WHEN I WAS OLDER by Billie Eilish

Word Count: 5708

Need to Catch Up? Check my masterlist, Tumblr is dumb!

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long, I have to move and stuff!! But here’s the new part, and I’m hoping for some exciting things that go with this fic soon!

Taglist: @macbookpro-hard-drive @catatonic-kuragin @retrogarden @be-more-heidi-hansen @scarsonthecuffsofyourjeans @stargirl-murphy @heytheredee-lilah

Trigger Warnings: An abusive boyfriend, implications of PTSD, language, mentions of abuse, mentions of previous fic parts, LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED SOMETHING

“I know.” You nod one last time before you finally meet his gaze. For the first time that night, you smile at him, genuinely through the pain and tears as they subside. Your hand reaches out, and he takes it, knowing that for right now, that is all you want, and right now, that is enough.

Amongst his messy room, Jeremy sat on his bed, staring at the wall, reflecting on the evolution of you two; knowing that dating you—something that seemed like climbing Everest before—for a month and a half was a special thing. His fingers danced across his knee, feeling the texture of his jeans, rough and rigid, but causing the right level of softness. His heart flutters as his mind goes over each date, each flutter from before, and every moment in between. His thoughts skated along the warm feelings as daydreams became reality, except without the help and destruction of some artificial intelligence that masked the idea of world domination with sexual tension and manipulation.

Of course, the relationship was kind of kept under tabs while you two still figured some stuff out: everything from feelings to baby steps into publicly revealing that you two were actually dating. He liked the secrecy; it was thrilling with a breath of calm somehow at the climax of it all. With you, it was like everything that came with being wildly secret and yet a moment of calm. Staying in the shadows was rather easy when it was just you two—playing games as the sun set into darkness, shiny stars coming out that would cause a craving to go out and see them within both of you. And it didn’t matter if you didn’t know the real constellations, making them up was just as fun and spectacular.

Although that part was fun, it was odd to not go out to dinner with you and to not have the ability to show you off on social media. It wasn’t that he thought of you like you were an object, or his like he owned you, it was that it might cause a tsunami of trouble that was going to be a rude awakening for the both of you. Staying in the tranquility and excitement of secrecy was worth it with you. That, and being “Facebook Official” had become overrated by the time he actually managed to start dating. It felt like an invasion, and with yours being newly brought back down to not showing your relationship status, a stark difference from what everyone was used to, it just…wasn’t right to betray you like that. Being secret meant saving calm moments for each other; being safe. While he didn’t completely understand why you were seemingly scared of the online world, Jeremy had to admit to himself that he at least had the common sense to respect your wishes—if you didn’t want to post anything because it invaded your sense of security, your comfort, he wouldn’t even suggest it until the two of you felt ready for that step.

With the idea that you didn’t want to go public at first caused Jeremy’s heart to sink, insecurity pulling him under the current and filling his lungs with water. You didn’t enjoy spending time with him—he was an embarrassment. But that wasn’t the case, not with you. At the moment, it was like you’d been scripted, you had known just what to say to him. But after some thought and some mentions of it to his therapist, he took a second to realize that your wishes weren’t about him—well, at least not with your relationship with him—but his safety. It was about keeping him okay for a little while longer.

He couldn’t help being insecure, though. You were just so cute and after months of pining, wishing that you could just be safe with him, it was almost like he was stuck in a dream that he didn’t want to wake up from. It felt like this was just a good dream before the storm comes: the good part in the horror movies before the monster shows up. But you’d reassured him, blush on your face, light in your eyes. You’d kissed his cheek, after asking of course, before looking back at him, explaining that you wished that things were easier. You’d mentioned something under your breath about corrupting him, but Jeremy dismissed that. He’d already been corrupted. If anything, you were going through and restoring him.

With that memory ingrained in his mind, Jeremy gets up from his bed, feet pattering against the floor. It was early enough that wearing a t-shirt seemed too cold. He grabbed a hoodie that he would probably end up regretting, as you two were getting early lunch, followed by walking around a plaza before hitting a Starbucks, or rather, a Pokestop, and heading home, whether together or not he didn’t know quite yet. But the surprise made it all the more wonderful. It was relaxed with you two usually, and with this being the first-ever outing as a couple in public was enough to send shivers down Jeremy’s spine. Just as he was about to grab his phone from the desk, it dings as a text from you popped up:

You: Hey, my mom just asked if we could pick some stuff up so she can make some dinner for tonight. Is it okay if we stop at the organic grocery store around there? I’ll buy your coffee

He smiles, feeling his heart swell within his chest, meeting and filling every millimeter of his chest cavity, red painting his cheeks as if he had been created by someone from the Royal Academy. The grocery store that your mom wanted you two to go to was within the plaza, just at one end, near the Starbucks and Cold Stone. Maybe you’d let him buy you Cold Stone. He shook the thought from his head before typing back, fingers accelerating with every letter he typed:

Jeremy: Sure, we can stop there! And don’t worry about the coffee, I’m just excited to spend some time together

You: You’re very cheesy, but you’ve got yourself a deal, Heere You: I’ll drive

It’s a solid 30 minutes before you pick him up, which of course meant a solid 30 minutes of Jeremy pacing around, double-checking that he looked presentable and that he had everything in his pocket: everything from his wallet to his house keys just in case he came home to an empty house. His phone stayed gripped in his hand, waiting for a text from you to tell you that you were there to pick him up. The minutes pass by slowly, and then faster as he double checked everything once more. A ding comes once again through his phone, and he looks up, seeing your sibling’s car parked in the driveway, still running. He gets up and opens his front door, finally leaving into the public, almost as free as a bird. It’s almost like the scene from Life is Strange: Before the Storm, which Rachel Amber dashing out of class and into Chloe’s pickup, except this was real.

You smile at him as you put your phone down. The door unlocks and Jeremy opens the door, climbing into the seat and buckling his seat belt before smiling at you. Your face reddens as you greet each other, both of you living for the thrill of going out for the first time together. You hand wraps around your phone that was placed in the console, fingers gliding along the smooth glass surface before handing it to Jeremy, aux cord plugged in, but nothing playing. A soft “you choose” escapes you as you flick the car into reverse, contorting to look out the back window as you back out onto the street. It’s in the moment that Jeremy realizes you’ve never driven him, driving never really being part of the experience. The car locks automatically, and there’s a comfort and wonder that washes over him. You two were less than a foot apart, the car is narrow and small enough that he was sure you two would bump shoulders. It was close, not that either of you minded, but it felt like a new kind of intimacy was being established.

Jeremy, of course, had never actually been in your sibling’s car, but he picked the music and the melodies came flowing through the speakers. The trees whizzed past, but your eyes remained on the road, scanning each marking, each sign, each light near and on the street. You had already known the way to go, but it felt so…mechanical. You changed lanes with ease, before you stole at a glance at Jeremy, mouth being painted into a smile. “What are you looking at?” you giggled, eyes still shifting between the road and him.

“Oh,” Jeremy started, flustered as his cheeks became red, ever embarrassed that you’d been staring again. “You.”

You chuckled, leaning forward a little bit as you did so before stopping at a stoplight and looking at Jeremy full on. “You’re really in a cheesy mood today, huh?”

He became redder but still managed to answer somewhat confidently. Speak the truth even if your voice shakes, right? “It’s because you’re cute.”

“Thank you, Jeremy,” you smile at him before your eyes return to the road, the light turning green and the car gliding into motion. “You’re cute too, especially when you blush because you’re being a sap.”

Jeremy can feel his cheeks burn, almost wanting to press his face against the window to prevent any more redness or heat rising to his cheeks and ears. The car turns into a parking lot, the largest part of it being on the left-hand side. Your eyes sneak around the parking lot, searching for a spot in the back, but not too far away from the grocery store that you two needed to go to. You swiftly whipped the wheel around, but not enough to jerk the car or make Jeremy gasp. You pull in, spinning the wheel and letting it relax like it was a dance you’d done many times in the past. Finally, the car stopped, just short of the curb. You pulled the car into park, the parking brake on as you unbuckled your seat belt. You stopped the motion for a second before taking a look at Jeremy who had been mirroring your movements. “Did you maybe want to get food later? I feel like eating first might take a really long time, especially with the wait times and stuff.”

“Sure.”

“Cool.” You continue to gather your stuff before getting out of the car, Jeremy following you just moments behind. Both of you close the doors before you lock them. With a tug on the handle to make sure it was locked, both you and Jeremy stepped out into the plaza.

You two walked close to each other, nearly shoulder to shoulder but not touching one another. Respecting personal space was important to each of you in your own ways; it was an understanding that had been established before and several times. That, and being seen in public with you was already a leap, so as much as he wanted to, Jeremy didn’t dare try and imply anything was happening between you two. Jeremy shortens his step so you don’t have to feel like you’re jogging to keep up. It’s a little awkward at first, but the comfortable silence between you two made up for it. Just being around you was enough for Jeremy.

“Can I hold your hand?” your voice cuts through the silence and white noise of the people around you two, cars driving along the back roads, and dull sounds of restaurants and shops humming in life. You’d stopped, leaving Jeremy still walking in his thoughts. You smile at him, both of you stopped by now. Jeremy can feel his thoughts reeling back into are you crazy? What if someone sees us? Then you’ll be in trouble and I can’t take worrying about—but they stop as your smile widens at him. This moment, here, everything is different now. This isn’t about being friends and only friends, but you were asking because you were dating. This wasn’t as dire as it had once been. Jeremy can feel his face flutter into a wide smile, one to challenge yours before he nods his head. Your face looks a little unsure as Jeremy stands in shock, still nodding.

“Yes,” finally comes from him.

“That’s what I was looking for, Jeremy.”

You meet up with him, now standing side by side again. Your hand fits into his like a jigsaw puzzle. Both of you look away from each other, an attempt to hide the pink that seemed to swirl around you two. And then, just like that, the moment is gone as both of you relax into the contact. It’s a soft hold, one that celebrates the little intimacy, rather than one that grips for dear life. It’s here that Jeremy decides to let his thumb graze along the side of your hand, a soothing gesture he’d learned from Christine’s need to fidget. If he ever felt anxious or the need to move, it was a habit he had adapted into his regular life. That, and it was a comfort for whoever was receiving it. Within a few seconds of staring the action, Jeremy watched as your shoulders relaxed downwards. It was clear to him now that you’d been stressed about this, but things were working out in your favor. As they should.

The plaza stretches for probably half a mile, so after walking along the streets, window shopping and physically going into the store, the two of you end up at the Starbucks that almost seems like a hallway, the long bar counter full of people as they wait for their coffee or sip and multitask. You smile at Jeremy, face now calm and squeezing his hand ever so slightly, “Know what you want?”

“Yeah.”

So, the two of you stand in line, waiting patiently for a barista to take your order. It’s relaxing in the establishment, warm lights and aroma seeping its way into your experience of the place. A soothing tone comes over with the music coming through the speakers. Finally, one opens up and you both step up, telling the barista what you want. Before Jeremy can even pull out his wallet, you can scan your mobile rewards card before the barista smiles at you and you two step along to the end of the bar like counter. Jeremy inhales as you two plant yourself right by the pickup counter, your hand grazing against his. He takes it before looking at you. “I said you didn’t need to buy my coffee,” Jeremy says somewhat seriously, but with a hint of playfulness that expresses he isn’t mad, he’s just surprised that you went and did it anyway after he said he didn’t mind paying for it.

“I know, but I want the points. So now it’s like you’ll buy me a coffee because I was only 10 stars away from my free drink. So technically…”

Jeremy smiles to himself before shaking his head a little. “We both paid for our own coffees.”

“Exactly. It’s in the math, Jeremy.”

He chuckles at your antics, knowing that you’d come up with that reasoning yourself so you could get away with buying him coffee even though he’d said it was totally fine that you two had to run an errand for your mom. Jeremy adjust his sweatshirt with his other hand, playing with the drawstrings.

Pretty soon, your name is called and the coffees are given to you before heading out to the grocery store just across the large parking lot. It doesn’t matter that you two can’t hold hands as you two-handedly sip your drink, blowing into the cup to not burn your tongue. Jeremy stops, feeling stars in his eyes as he admires you sipping, his heart leaping out. You catch up with him a little bit, and Jeremy can’t help but admire how this situation feels so perfect after a year of imperfections making their way into his life, driving stakes into his happiness until it was almost dead; until it almost made him sick.

Within a few minutes, the two of you step into the store. A wind brushes over the two of you from the fans above the door, past the carts. Jeremy feels you tense up, even without the contact. Your arms come up and fold as the cool air from the store remains. You walk into the produce section as you pull up the list on your phone. Jeremy follows curiously, taking a peek at the list and only seeing about 5 items on it. You tense again as Jeremy watches a shiver run down your spine.

“Do you want my jacket?” Jeremy asks, already pulling his arms out of the sleeves of the light grey zip-up he’d been wearing pretty much all day.

“What? No, Jeremy, then you’ll be cold,” you note, observing him taking off his jacket.

“It’s fine, the A/C feels good.” It was a true statement. He’d been a little warm with the sweatshirt, the humidity, and the warm drink that sat in his grasp.

You sigh for a second, realizing that either you won’t going to win this little battle or becoming too cold to hold your pride. Jeremy takes off his sweatshirt and hands it to you. You grab it before giving Jeremy a very serious look, swinging the grey fabric around your shoulders. “Okay, but the second you get cold, I’m giving it back.”

Jeremy chuckles at you again before nodding, a small “yeah” falling from his lips, finally feeling the air conditioning against his own skin. Surprisingly, Jeremy didn’t feel cold for over 15 minutes. With him admiring you, standing on your tippy-toes to reach something on the shelf, switching the basket from arm to arm, before just handing it off to Jeremy so you could focus on what next while he could sit back and let you do your thing. He could feel his heart flutter as you scanned aisles, searching for the correct item, stepping in and out of areas before making a harsh stop and walking back, muttering an “I’m sorry, I don’t live in this area anymore,” to him as you did so. But Jeremy got it. He didn’t feel like the area was home anymore. It felt more like his childhood home. Your eyebrows furrowed on almost every item on the list, Jeremy feeling himself internally swoon as you did so with every passing purchase that was placed into the basket. His arm was starting to fall asleep from the harsh bars on the basket, but he didn’t mind, as long as you were comfortable.

And the trip itself, the one that kept him warm, was all of about 15 minutes. His body was loose and radiated heat as he watched you and dreamed of life years away, thinking about how this could be a regular occurrence. He could picture late nights of running to the store, moments after picking you up from the airport, promising you food as he pulled into the parking lot for late-night ice cream, early morning trips before events, shopping trips during busy times, coming here for you when you got sick or needed literally anything, even if it meant sacrificing his dignity. You turned to look at him, both of you gearing up to go to the checkouts, a smile burning itself into Jeremy’s brain.

“Ugh, I forgot this place has no self-checkouts,” you quietly mentioned, and Jeremy could hear the edge in your voice as you looked back at Jeremy, pulling out your wallet.

The line moved fairly quickly, and Jeremy finally was able to give himself a rest as he placed the green basket on the black belt, letting the technology do the work for him. As the basket moved up, so did you two. Before long, you were smiling at the cashier, a tall man with straight brunette hair. He couldn’t be older than you and Jeremy and was in a chipper mood as you took out a card to insert into the machine. Your eyes gazed around the store before you stiffened again. You were locked onto the windows that looked out into the parking lot, summer decorations covering the bars that held the windows together, a bulletin board stuck on the sides of it, little paper coloring pages covering it. Then you stiffened again, except this time causing your entire body to shake, eyes glazed over as you tried to center yourself back into reality. You started to mess up your words, seemingly unable to focus on anything, even though you’d worked retail for a while and knew exactly what to say to the cashier, you fumbled over each constant, each phrase. Your voice shook as you spoke in low hushed tones. Your face became pale like you were deathly ill in a matter of seconds. Your hands shook as you inserted your card into the reader, seemingly panicked as you did so.

His eyes scanned the decorations again, searching for some answers among the clip art coloring pages, hoping that something would jump out at him, that something would be the missing piece, the missing item to beat the boss. His eyes searched each piece of paper until his eyes fell on one. Your ex-boyfriend’s name was printed on it, marked in different colors with some cheap Microsoft 2007 font. It was on the bottom, near the edge of the window frame, but still there in broad florescent.

Jeremy mirrored your stiffening as denial hit him fast. Your ex-boyfriend had a common name in the area, maybe it was just a coincidence. Your ex-boyfriend also lived miles away from the store, so it wouldn’t make sense that he’d work here, at the store that was overpriced, miles away, and organic—things that Jeremy couldn’t see your ex supporting. It had to mean nothing.

Something tickled at the back of his brain, though. It was similar to the feeling right before you find a spider on the wall; something isn’t quite right. Jeremy tried to discreetly move his head around, finding himself searching for the thing that made him feel like that. It was fluid until he found it; Jeremy’s entire body turning as cold as January in an instant. There, one register away, was your ex-boyfriend bagging groceries and watching both of you out of the corner of his eye. His customer service smile was gone as he placed things in the bag, a stark contrast to the chipper employees that you’d both chosen to be rung up with. Just as your ex-boyfriend started to make full contact at Jeremy—who was definitely staring—the pinpad rang out, pushing out of the vacuum that seemed to be around him. He stole a glance at you, your hands still shaking as you put the card back in your wallet. Your eyes remained forward, your shoulders drooping and oh my god you were wearing Jeremy’s sweatshirt in front of the guy that thought you cheated on him with Jeremy.

Fear for your safety struck Jeremy’s heart as he managed to smile at the workers before picking up the bags himself. He thanked them and grabbed the receipt, putting it into the green plastic bag. You stumbled after him like a newborn giraffe, or a drunk college girl, off-balance and cautious. Jeremy held his other arm out so you could steady yourself as you practically tried to smoosh into him, wishing you were anywhere but there. He pulled you into him before whispering a single question in your ear, making sure that he was being quiet enough to not draw even more suspicion. “Can I wrap my arm around you?”

“Yes,” the word bolted from your mouth quietly, your voice already thick with tears. Jeremy mapped the way you’d have to walk out of the store, acknowledging that you would have to walk right past him if Jeremy had you walk on the right side. Instead of relying on his dominant hand, he wrapped his left arm around you, ensuring that you’d be on the safer side while Jeremy would probably get the worst of it. He kept the pace as you leaned into him, fear screaming from you so loud that Jeremy couldn’t believe more people weren’t rushing to help. For a second, Jeremy’s eyes met your ex-boyfriend’s as you two walked past, Jeremy remaining as stoic as your ex, knowing that the aftermath of this was going to be brutal. Jeremy can feel you shake against his skin, almost begging him to move faster and past this moment.

The second leaves and you two step out of the automatic doors. Your feet push you to be faster than Jeremy; his arm falling from keeping you close to a reassuring touch on your back. You pull the car keys out of your pocket, hands still shaking as you walk faster and faster to your car. With one click, it unlocks and you climb into the driver’s seat, hands white as you grip the keys. Jeremy goes into the passenger seat, leaving the food items on the floor by him while you focused on nothing outside. Your breathing stops being so accelerated, but you can’t bring yourself to even let go of the strong grip on your keys. The air settles for a second, death looming in the car before Jeremy finally speaks again, in an attempt to help you get to safety.

“Maybe I should drive.”

You don’t move or say anything for a second, acting like he isn’t there. Jeremy’s fear hits him—he’s too late, you’ve already gone into a flashback and panic so bad that you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. He’s seen this in himself, he knows how bad it is, but unfortunately, the moment’s before couldn’t be erased. So instead, Jeremy waits. He doesn’t dare move but lets you process every moment, every word, and what to do next. It’s another minute at least before you speak again. “Y-Yeah. You need to drive. I can’t do that right now.”

“Okay.” He stops for a second, letting things settle before he continues. “Do you want to switch seats?”

“I can’t feel anything from my eyes down, Jeremy.”

He nods, trying his hardest not to further disturb you or dig up anything worse than what was going on. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

It’s another 30 seconds at least of pure silence and stillness. The keys jingle first, and Jeremy realizes that you’d gain courage, that something is stirring within you so you can move enough to make the keys jingle. Your hand finds its way to the door handle, caution dripping in every action. The door opens and Jeremy begins to move, quickly going through the motions to meet you on the other side. You’re barely out of the car before Jeremy offers his hand, giving you structure and someone to lean on as he softly guides you to the passenger side. It’s sweet, but the moments of kindness are slipping away quickly—it’s hard to remain soft in such a sharp circumstance. You get situated in the seat after Jeremy opens the door for you, closing the door softly enough so you won’t flinch at the slamming door. He rushes to the other side, opening his own door before sliding in. His hand reaches out once he’s sitting with his seat belt buckled, almost asking for the keys that lay in your grip still, almost like they were the things that were going to keep you safe. There’s another moment of silence before Jeremy has no idea where he’s going. “Do you still want to get dinner?”

You shake your head slightly, still stuck on staring straight ahead. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t…I can’t do that. I’m not hungry. I want to go home.”

Jeremy nods before starting the car as softly as he can. You don’t jump at the startup and relax under the hum the car creates. You’re silent for another second as Jeremy puts the car in gear, handling each moment against the car as smoothly as he can. Caution plagues him as he turns around to pull out of the parking lot. He moves the car slowly before finally putting the car in drive and heading out of the parking lot and back onto the road, back to safety. You sigh for a second, eyes now moving and scanning the trees.

“You know, talking uhh, talking helps. Not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. We can talk.” The words stumble out, but Jeremy almost can’t find something to talk about. His brain attempts to find something safe to talk about, something you’d be interested in enough to partake in the conversation—something that would distract you. His mind finally settles on something that he hadn’t thought about up until a month ago. “Uhh, I guess Christine made a new friend. She posted a photo on Instagram, I’m not really sure what it was about, but I think it’s good she’s making friends at college. That’s important, you know? I was worried that she’d be like…an outsider, being from New Jersey and stuff. She also mentioned to me that she hopes you’re doing well. I forgot to tell you before, but she’s rooting for you. I thought you’d like to know, since you two both kind of went out of state and have a lot in common, I guess.”

“Oh,” comes first, a little color returning to your cheeks. “Tell her thank you and that I hope she’s doing well, too.” Your eyes now trace the trees as they move past, relaxing a little bit into the scene. The seat is stiff as you lean back onto it, fingers beginning to relax. “Do you mind if I uhh pick the music? I don’t completely feel my hands again, but I think I can try that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks.” It’s a slow process, a contemplation before your hand even moves. You decide to put on something soft and sweet, and to Jeremy, it sounds like a song from Waitress. He doesn’t ask about it, leaving the melodies undisturbed as he stops at a stoplight, just happy that you’re feeling more like yourself again. He can hear your breath deepen as your shoulders go down.

The rest of the car ride back to Jeremy’s house is silent, besides the music flooding through the car. It doesn’t feel right to talk, to discuss what happened. Not yet, at least. It feels better to leave everything hanging there among the music, to just let it go as fast as you two can before talking about in detail. And while Jeremy is disappointed about dinner, he’d rather you be safe than force you through something that could put a strain on you and the relationship. He’d once pretty much vowed to himself to keep you safe and happy—forcing you through dinner would be a horrible thing to do.

He pulls into his driveway, the car slowing to a stop as he does so. His eyes glance at you as you gaze at his house for a second longer. You sigh before making eye contact with him. “I’m sorry I ruined—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeremy says. “It’s not like you anticipated him working there and seeing him. Stuff happens sometimes.”

You’re quiet for a second, encoding what Jeremy said into your brain. A small “thank you” comes from you. There’s another beat before you apologize, the words hanging into the air.

“Like I said, life happens. It’s okay,” Jeremy reassures while nodding, his hand on the door handle.

“Oh”—you start grabbing your stuff, including the keys that Jeremy had subconsciously set on the console—“I’ll walk you to your doorstep.” You open your door with a pop, finally feeling a little bit steadier than you had since leaving the grocery store.

Jeremy blushes before meeting you on the pavement of his driveway. You smile somewhat sadly at him, regret influencing some extra lines being formed on your face. Your hand is offered to him, and Jeremy takes it softly, the contact creating a darker blush. “I had fun,” you note, playing with the keys. “Well except for maybe that last part. But I’ll uhh, make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Jeremy. That wasn’t fair to randomly cancel. But thank you for being there.”

“Oh uhh, you’re welcome.”

You nod before continuing with the statement. “I didn’t just mean today. I meant like, all the time. And for, well, blocking me from him.”

“No problem.” He checks the time with his phone before returning your sheepish smile back, giving both of you a chance to be comfortable in this moment for a change. “You should go,” comes from Jeremy suddenly. “Your parents are probably looking for you.”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding at the observation before glancing around Jeremy’s street. You look back at him after glancing, taking in the moment. “I’ll text you. We’ll go out to eat next time. Promise.”

Jeremy chuckles at your antics for a second, the smile he can’t help influencing his actions. “Sounds good.”

“Have a good night, Jeremy,” you smile at him, giving his hand a tight squeeze before you let go of it altogether.

“You too. Text me when you get home.”

You nod before heading back into the car, seemingly okay for now. Jeremy inhaled, praying that it wasn’t just an act, that you weren’t secretly falling apart about this. Even from the beginning, Jeremy had known you were a good actor, easily gliding from day to day and pretending that nothing bothered you—like nothing was wrong. He knew today cut deeper than anything had in a while. He sighed before walking into his house, the lights on, meaning his dad was most likely home.

Jeremy can feel his phone vibrate, expecting a text from you, telling him that you’d made it home okay. He can feel a sense of surprise go across his face at the contact, and even more so at the message. His hands start to sweat as he reads the message over and over again.

Rich: We need to talk.

#Jeremy Heere x reader #Jeremy Heere imagine #Be More Chill imagine #Be More Chill x reader #bmc x reader #bmc imagine

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chisie12 · 5 years

Text

Kisame Week Day 1: Swordsmen

Another mini series just cause it’s fun. A modern AU! @kisamesharkweek

Also I’m late for day 1 but doing everything on the phone is a nightmare. Fun, but a nightmare.

In case it gets confusing, Misty Forest is Yamato here. Kakashi and the rest will eventually make their appearances too :D Akira/Clear Shadow is an OC.

Formatting in the phone also sucks, as usual.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036536/chapters/47446585

~☆~

{Set in the land of Eden, players will control their customizable characters to traverse the vast horizons of magic and wonders, while darkness looms in the distance. Gods, created by the faith of mortals and given the consciences birthed by centuries of belief, began to make their moves. Embroiled in their ploys, players are caught in the eye of the storm as Eden finds its peace.}

Eden had been launched for approximately three months, topping the charts for best-selling game and earning itself the title “Game of the Year 20XX” after an entire year of hyped anticipation. It was the newest creation of Mad Games, the same company that released the popular RPG game “Age of Glory”. Unlike “Age of Glory” that was playable across multiple platforms, Eden was only playable using the VR glasses jointly created by Mad Games and Technivia, the same company that created the popular Game Station consoles. Despite the unrest and opposition from the public at the single platform requirement, it soon turned into excitement. The VR glasses were easy to store and deceptively light, unlike its helmet predecessor that was heavy and bulky, and with its price oddly, relatively affordable, almost everyone that wanted to play the game owned the VR glasses…

Clear Shadow clung onto a piece of driftwood, but even that crumbled at the face of nature’s wrath. Raging waves slammed and pushed her below as the torrential river rushed her forward like a crowd excitedly passing the – unwanted – crowd surfer over their heads. She didn’t struggle against the force, letting it push and pull her away as she maintained her calm in the face of danger. Bubbles of air escaped her nose, mouth clammed shut while she forced to keep her eyes open. Sharp rocks in the river slashed at her body and a string of damage values appeared above her head. Her head throbbed, her lungs constricted. Determination coursed through her veins. Noticing the short clearway in the river and with a forceful kick of her legs, she flipped over to float on her back and greedily gulped in a large mouthful of oxygen. “There she is! Get her!”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted a party of four men rushing along the riverbed, weapons drawn and names coloured red. With a twist of her shoulders, her body was submerged face down into the water once again. “Hurry! Quick!” The Thief taking point cried out to his party members as he activated sprint. His steps increased in speed, dashing up and over the boulders along the riverbank and reaching Clear Shadow’s position within seconds. Tall trees lined the river, protruding roots large and strong along the banks, curling around the moss-covered rocks. The lone mage in the party suddenly halted his run, cloak billowing at the wind brought forth by the remaining two party members sprinting ahead. The brunet raised his wand, lips parting in a murmured chant. Surges of magic gathered around his wand and with the last syllable, he pointed the wand forward as an earthy coloured energy shone within the trees in the riparian zone. The thick roots shuddered, lifting off the rocks like awakened snakes bending their wills to the lull of a snake charmer and lashed out into the river where Clear Shadow’s silhouette hid inside. Demented Earth, a level 25 channelling spell that changes according to the terrain. Danger prickled her senses. In that split second, she decisively reached out her hand, sharp jagged edges of the rock digging into her taut fingers and pulled. Pulled as hard as she could in that one motion. Because in her next breath, a sharp pain jolted from her leg as she barely avoided the cone-shaped tendrils that speared the very spot she was at a moment before. -258! The small damage floated above her head as her health pool finally dipped below half. “You missed, Misty Forest! Fuck, are you even using your eyes!?” One of the remaining two Blade Masters swore at the Earth Elementalist behind them, only to be graced by a serene smile. “Ah! I’m so sorry! I’m still fairly new at the game.” Clicking his tongue, the Blade Masters dashed away after giving Misty Forest another dirty look. With the belittling eyes away from him, the Elementalist lost the calm in his upturned lips, soft brown eyes turning sharp, with steps striding forward in a rhythmic, unhurried manner. With the rapid waves, a lot of the party’s physical attacks couldn’t even reach their target, the force easily sweeping away the shurikens and easily rendering the Blade Masters’ attacks inaccurate. “She can’t stay underwater forever!” And that was the truth. When a character submerges below the water, an oxygen bar will appear below the mana pool, which will start to tick away, and hers was – just like her health – already below half. The Thief readied his shuriken, closely watching the shadowy silhouette while flanked by his pair of Blade Masters, swords at ready. There finally was a slight shift in her calm when she glanced at the mini map; relief and happiness relaxing her mind. She wasn’t too far now. At the end of the river was an estuary and with the currents, she would arrive by the sea in roughly half a minute. She held on strongly, body tilting and turning to minimise the damage from the river, but even she couldn’t deny that any more and she’d be forcefully dead by the system. With a heave of her arms, her head plunged above the surface, gasping for desperate oxygen. Her vision, blurred and dark, a sign that her character was about to drown, immediately cleared. Bright blue water and thinning trees flooded her sight, and she realised that the currents were slowing. A sharp whistling tore through the air. She turned her head, noticing the lone thief fixatedly watching his shurikens flying her way. She hurriedly gulped a lungful of air and ducked back into the river. -16! She ignored the shuriken slicing her cheek and quickly swam towards the estuary. Her arms stretched forward to propel herself forward as her tongue peeked out slightly, tasting the salt mixing with the fresh water. The Blade Masters sneered at the figure swimming quickly, swords poised at ready and patiently awaiting at either sides of the estuary; the right one, Turnip Killer, was at level 30 and the left, Stone King was at level 32. Turnip Killer leapt across the river while his sword lit up with a blinding white radiance. The sword drew a half circle radiance in mid-air as he focused on the silhouette. The blade plunged into the water with a splash, salty droplets pelting his face while his Upwind Slash attack met with a resistance when it successfully connected with Clear Shadow’s body. With a huff, the Blade Master swung upwards, forcing her out of the water and knocking her up into the air. Although its effect was slightly reduced from the water’s drag, the simple level 20 warrior skill’s knock-up effect was successfully activated as Clear Shadow’s body was bent backwards in mid-air from the attack. Stone King bent his knees and jumped, coming level with Clear Shadow as he pulled his arms back, both hands gripping his sword tightly. Equally covered in a white radiance, he cried out and activated Whirlwind Slash. Seeing the falling sword, Clear Shadow hurriedly lifted her own sword and activated Block just as the attack connected, negating the damage, but it wasn’t over. Following his momentum, the Blade Master spun a full turn in a slight vertical manner and once more heavily brought his sword down. With Block on cooldown, Clear Shadow tilted her body back, catching a brief glimpse of a green energy near the riverbank from the corner of her eyes before her eyes refocused on the enemy and activated Upwind Slash. Her upwards strike met with his second attack, with the rebounding force powerful enough to send her splashing into the river again. -547! -25! Clear Shadow quickly downed a small health potion, causing her low health to recover till it was more than half. Despite being higher levelled than the attacking party at level 35, her health and dexterity had taken a hit in stat points as she mainly focused on strength and intellect, with a minor focus on speed. The knockback had sent her deep enough, feet touching the riverbed. She kicked off the ground, a cloud of soil browning the clear water and she shot towards the ocean, swimming with all her might that her muscles screamed and ached at the shoulders. Legs started to tire and refuse to kick, and she unwillingly resurfaced for oxygen. A booming roar shook the skies, followed by a massive crash into the ocean. Her health that was recovered was immediately reduced by the attack. Large, towering waves surfed the water, crashing into Clear Shadow and forced her back underwater just as Misty Forest finished chanting. Standing deep in the water, he was flanked by large rocks that protected him from the currents while also preventing him from getting washed away. Steady on his feet, he waved his staff forward after uttering the last syllable. Clear Shadow, still submerged, watched as the algae growing near the estuary rapidly grew and she hurriedly swam out further when a large figure, bloodied and battered, appeared before her eyes. Its width spanned easily over fifteen meters with a height possibly over fifty meters and its half submerged body, from what she could deduce, was wide at the top that narrowed near the feet. Long tentacles made up its feet, waving and keeping it afloat, and more sharp tentacle tendrils thrashed about in an enraged manner. Her eyes flew open at the sound of something rushing towards her from behind and she twisted her body to the side, thanking heavens that sound travelled a lot faster underwater than it did in the air. The overgrown algae speared through bubbles, missing her entirely and she watched as it continued attacking in its path towards monster. Blood was drawn as the attack landed a critical hit, gaining a damage boost because of the elemental advantage. The monster roared, shaking the seas and earth with its fury, and Clear Shadow was thrown out with a wave of its tentacles, painfully landing on the spit that stretched out near the estuary. -2376! Inwardly swearing at her low health, she scooted a distance away; for fear of stray attacks and splash damage, for fear of dying as her health potion was still on cooldown, and silently observed the situation unfold. The level 45 boss monster Sea Monk had only but a sliver of health remaining. Its eyes were a glaring red as it spun a full circle, tentacle arms sweeping out into an area of effect attack. With the increased strength and speed from its berserk state, its attack gained a wider range as powerful waves crashed onto the pair of Blade Masters and its initial attacker. “The fuck are you guys doing!” A husky voice shouted after he was slammed onto the ground. The snarl was almost animalistic, feral like a beast in the wild. ‘And he certainly looks the part,’ Clear Shadow was slightly taken aback at the sight. Blue, a deep blue like the dark ocean depths, was his skin that peeked out from the armour. Fingers reached towards the fallen broadsword and gripped it tight as he got to his feet upon the same spit she was on. Her eyes followed his movements as they slowly widened alongside his straightening figure, back straight and shoulders square, but fury rolled off him in angry waves. The blue-skinned Blade Master has been thrown too far away, landing just right outside of the boss’ aggro range. He waved his sword around, stretching out his arms, muscles thick and defined rippling with his movements. Generally a player’s appearance is modelled after them in real life with a beautified touch, but players themselves still did retain the option to customise the characters. Yet, although curious at his choice of colour, she chose to remain silent as she inspected his player details. Level 38 Blade Master, Tailless Beast. Tailless Beast looked at the Sea Monk getting further away from him and snarled at Clear Shadow, mouth full of pointy teeth bared like a predator. She looked back inquisitively, an eyebrow raised in slight defiance and slight surprise. Small black eyes narrowed but wordlessly, he turned back to the berserk boss and activated sprint. At the end of the spit, he jumped while his sword gleamed white, and activated Blade Rush. ‘Huh… He’s using an offensive skill as a movement skill,’ Clear Shadow noted in surprise. Steady battle cries to the side caught her attention when the Sea Monk shifted its aggro, she realised, towards the brunet Elementalist. Turnip Killer and Stone King patiently waited at the estuary as Misty Forest chanted another spell with the Thief positioned at ready behind him. They knew a battle in the water would mean certain death. Not only would their skills be reduced, but their movements would be slowed and restricted as well, not to mention they had zero experience in fighting in such a scenario. Sea Monk charged forward instinctively, roaring and lashing its tentacles at everything around it. Planting their feet steady on the ground, they endured the damage from the waves as the Sea Monk neared closer. Fifteen meters. The Sea Monk screeched, activating a sound wave attack that affected the party of four, the tunnel-like sound waves sending water swirling everywhere. Ten meters. The pair of Blade Masters rushed forward to intercept. Sea Monk raised its tentacle arms, each one as thick as a barrel, high above its bleeding head. It snarled at the Blade Masters, round mouth full of many rows of sharp pointy teeth. With a screech, it brought its arms down while its preys hurriedly activated Block, but the skill’s negating effect was cancelled when facing against a berserk boss, instead becoming an effect that reduced the damage by 50%. A tremor shook the earth and skies as its arms slammed upon the swords, causing the ground beneath their feet to cave in. -3296! Seeing their health immediately plummet, they screamed at Misty Forest. “Can’t you help - !” A gust zipped past the Blade Masters cheek, the speed of the object so quick that all they saw was a blurry shadow. Their eyes followed the attack’s trajectory and watched in time as thick roots speared through Sea Monk’s open mouth and exited through the skull. -5476! A critical hit! Misty Forest lowered his wand, now standing back on land. A bright light enveloped him while a notification chimed, indicating that he levelled up. Just as the party of four thought that they were out of harm’s way as they collected the dropped loot, an enraged roar bellowed. Charging from across the water, Tailless Beast landed at the estuary with a glare. “The boss was mine!” “It attacked us!” Stone King retorted and picked up the dropped weapon. “We acted in self defence.” Anger rocked in the pits of Tailless Beast’s stomach, swirling and crashing like waves in a storm, and his snarl curved into a feral grin when they stepped back from fear. He took a step forward, the pressure bearing down onto them. The Sea Monk wouldn’t have attacked them if its aggro wasn’t pulled away, if he wasn’t sent away. He had been here first, training solo and far away from public, and it was peaceful enough until this ragtag bunch appeared. And besides, he was never one for words. “You probably would have died to the boss anyway,” Stone King continued. “You wouldn’t have lasted another – !” He shut his eyes from the sudden gust of wind. A blinding flash of white so familiar appeared and momentarily, he wanted to ignore it, only to have his eyes flying open at the pain sprouting from his gut. Tailless Beast followed up his Upwind Slash with Blade Rush, his sword slicing through Stone King’s side as he travelled a distance forward. Turning at the waist, he swept his arm out and executed a basic slash attack towards the falling neck, sending a fountain of blood to spurt in mid-air and shaving away the last bits of his health, not giving even the slightest bit of chance to recover his health. He glanced from the corner of his eyes and firmly planted his feet on the ground. His body tilted to the side, the Piercing Thrust missing him by an inch, and he returned a tooth for a tooth. Calmly, his arm straightened and he sent his sword thrusting straight out towards Turnip Killer. With no way to dodge or block, he could only receive Tailless Beast’s attack head-on. Even though they were the same attacks, being eight levels higher did have its advantages after all. Blood was drawn when Tailless Beast’s sword pierced the other Blade Master’s shoulder. Both parties instantly distanced themselves as their attacks ended. “Why are you attacking us?” Turnip Killer panted and quickly downed a health potion. “You stole my boss first.” “We’re sorry!” The Blade Master hurriedly jumped back when Tailless Beast swung his sword. “We’ll give you the loot!” The sword was swung again and he ducked in panic. “And some compensation!” As they argued, more sword swinging than words on Tailless Beast’s part, there was a surge of magic and the chilly temperature rose. Sweat started to bead across their foreheads and their armour started to feel warm, only Misty Forest fared better with his cotton robes. In the next instant, a fireball was cast, shooting towards the Thief sneaking around Tailless Beast. Staggering in his steps, the Thief was materialised out of stealth. Shock and disbelief coloured his face. “How did you – !” The moment the Thief spoke, frost had covered the cracked ground in a linear path, rapidly snaking towards him. His words were caught in his throat, movements forced to slow to a stop as icy blue frost crawled up his legs to fully encase his body. A shadow dashed passed Tailless Beast with Blade Rush and she activated Whirlwind Slash when the Thief entered its range. The frozen shell cracked, shattering into pieces like a broken mirror at the first slash, slicing into his body mercilessly before giving way to the second slash to slice his throat. The damage from Frost Spread had been negligible, unlike the damage from the fireball he had eaten head on, but the Whirlwind Slash was enough to fully deplete his full health of a level 28 Thief. Seeing half his party killed, Turnip Killer activated his Return Scroll in a fluster. His eyes watched, frightened, at Clear Shadow turning on her heels to face him with the biggest smirk and a victorious glint in those navy eyes. His breathing grew ragged, mind in a flurry and he prayed, so hard that the three seconds channelling of the scroll would hurry up. His heartbeat thumped with the seconds. One. Hurry up!! Two. A bit more! Relief, he could almost taste the sweetness of the escape. If he died now, he would have dropped a level and an equipment for having died with a red name, an effect from attacking other players first, and he had spent too much time building this character. Escaping now would save him from the dull grinding, escaping now would mean he could save his equipment. The channelling bar was almost full. Just a little… bit… more! At this time, Turnip Killer turned to smirk at Clear Shadow, unbothered that she wasn’t making any last ditch attempts at attacking him because his return scroll would have been interrupted, but he wasn’t going to complain. 97% completion. A broadsword filled his vision, his eyes widening in fear at the growing sight. 99% completion. No!! Tailless Beast ruthlessly stabbed his sword through the torso, blade poking out from the back as the light from the return scroll dimmed, just like the lifeless eyes of the corpse. Blade Rush had just gotten off cooldown when he activated it again, easily closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye and killing the escaping Blade Master. He pulled out his sword and the body fell with a dull thump. “Idiot. Should have used a health potion instead,” he scowled while walking away, having seen the figure of Misty Forest disappearing into the light, successfully returning to the city. Clear Shadow walked up to him, stopping a couple of meters away. “Thanks for saving me.” He leered down at her, his near two meters tall stature towering over her slightly over one and a half meter height. “I wasn’t saving you. Just returning the favour for stealing the boss.” He hefted the large broadsword onto his shoulder and began walking away when a notification popped up. [Clear Shadow sent you a friend request. Accept? Reject?] With the snarl still present, he immediately rejected it and sprinted away. Clear Shadow watched with a smile, unaffected by his rejection. Seeing that his large figure disappeared into the water, she looked at the time and decided to exit the game.

~*~*~

Akira opened her eyes, revealing a pair of soft brown orbs instead of navy hidden beneath the lids. She removed the helmet off her head and the device automatically folded itself to return to its original state with a mechanical whirl. The ends of the helmet folded inwards, turning back into the glasses’ arms. She placed the sleek, black framed glasses onto the bedside table and stood up from the bed. Its lens were wide, which could cover the entire area around her eyes and curved around her temples. She then stepped into her kitchen, flicking the lights on, picked her orange cup from the dishrack and pulled open a drawer for her favourite hot chocolate. Stirring the hot chocolate gently with a spoon, Akira walked towards the living room and drew the curtains open, the crimson colour a clear contrast to her white walls. Small, white crystals dotted the moonless sky. The lights to the room across from her on the other apartment fifteen meters building lit up, catching her attention. A tall, muscular figure appeared by the window, an arm lifted to also coincidentally drink from his cup. Soft laughter rumbled under her breath as she similarly drank her hot chocolate. She double tapped on her sleeping phone and the screen lit up. 3:02 am. Unlocking her phone, she sent a quick text off as a report: [Target found. Contact established.] Her mission had just begun.

#kisameweek2019 #Day1Prompt2 #modern au #302 is also the html code for 'found'#pretty interesting #it's the opposite of error 404 not found

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