#i made it when i was stoned and thought it was hysterical

[embrosegraves]

𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕀𝕥 𝔹𝕖 𝕆𝕜𝕒𝕪?

Arthur Leclerc x Reader In which after the reader has an unwanted interaction, Reader’s 6-year-old daughter has a serious talk with Arthur “Would it be okay if I called you dad?”

Warnings/Notes: Google Translated French and Italian. unnamed ex-boyfriend.

You had never imagined ever becoming a teen mum. You hadn’t given any thought to getting pregnant with your boyfriend. There was no need to think about stuff like that, the two of you were only 16. That’s why you were so shocked to find out a month before you turned 17, that you would be having your first child. 

Of course, after you eventually got over the shock, you immediately told your boyfriend. H was less than pleased with the situation. He didn’t outright say that he didn’t want it, but the way he treated you afterwards made that pretty clear to you. He was not going to help you. You had sat him down the night before your birthday to talk about what you were going to do. That night, he said that didn’t want to be a parent. That he didn’t want to be your boyfriend any longer. 

Most people would become hysterical. Most people would start crying and begging for their partner to stay with them. That they could make it work. But not you. Your response to his words had stunned him. 

“If you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine. If you don’t want to be a father, that’s fine too. After today I don’t want you near me or my baby, so once they’re born I want you to sign your rights away.” You were stone-faced with anger when you spoke to him. “No matter what you say or do from here on out, I will have full custody of my child and you will have nothing to do with them. Am I clear?”

He looked almost angry at your words, but he gritted his teeth and agreed to your demands. That was the last night you ever saw him. Either his family had moved away, or he had suddenly stopped frequenting the places you used to go together but whatever the reason you were strangely satisfied that you never ran into him for the remainder of your surprise pregnancy. 

Your parents were your biggest supporters throughout the whole ordeal. You could still remember the day your parents found out you were pregnant. It was the day you yourself had found out. Your father had found you in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet lid in shock with tears streaming down your face. He rushed to you, worried out of his mind. Your father’s arms had wrapped around you protectively and your crying got louder as you tried to explain the news to him. 

Your mother had come up the stairs when she heard you sobbing hysterically, only to find you clutching to your father as if he had told you he was dying tomorrow. He never loosened his hold on you as he explained to your mother what the issue was. She was equal parts worried and elated. Your mother took no time to join you and your father in the embrace. It had taken you almost an hour to come to terms with what you were about to go through, but knowing that you had your parents’ support and assistance made it all that much easier to deal with. 

7 and a half months later, you had given birth to a daughter. That was the first and last day that your ex-boyfriend saw your daughter. You had texted him to come to hospital as you had the paperwork he needed to sign so that he could give his rights away. Being in no state to follow him and make sure that he signed what was necessary, your father had followed and stood opposite to him so he could make sure he wasn’t going to rip up the paperwork. 

At some point in your pregnancy, you had expressed to your parents that while he had agreed to sign them away, you were worried that he would try something when the day came. Your father said that he would need a witness in order for the papers to be legal anyway, so he would be there to make sure your ex couldn’t try anything nefarious. 

Despite countless nights sat with your parents on the couch in your living room, you still hadn’t come up with a name for your daughter. Your mother’s family hailed from France and your father’s family hailed from Italy, so you wanted something that had both ethnic backgrounds. 

As soon as you laid eyes on your baby, after hours of labour, you knew instantly what her name would be. 

Colette Vincenza L/n

You were always thankful that she was a well behaved baby, she had only really started acting like the stories you’d heard when she was teething. But once she had all her teeth, she was a kindhearted angel for you and your parents. That’s how she was, even as she continued growing. 

When Colette was just over a year old, you had met someone while going about your day in the French markets. The stroller was in front of you as you browsed the stalls. You had been so absorbed in your daughter that you had failed to notice someone walking the opposite direction and had accidentally bumped into them. Because of the impact, the man had spilled some of his hot drink in front of him, and consequently onto your daughter’s stroller. You quickly grabbed Colette out and started to sooth her, as she had been shocked and started to cry. Amidst you trying to sooth your daughter and double check that none of the hot liquid had fallen on her, the man had started apologising profusely. 

“It’s alright, really. I should have been more aware of the surroundings.” As you continued to rock Colette, you finally looked up at whoever you had bumped into. He was very handsome, looked to be around your age, and was clearly worried that he had unknowingly hurt the small baby with you. 

“No no, it’s my fault as well. I wasn’t paying attention at all. Please let me repay you, I would never forgive myself if I didn’t help you somehow.” He sounded so sincere you couldn’t help but take a bit of pity on him. 

“I promise you, you don’t need to do anything. But if it would make you feel better, and if you don’t have anywhere to be right now, you could tag along with me while I finish my shopping.” He didn’t hesitate to agree, feeling bad enough as it was. 

Noticing that Colette had calmed down now, you ran your hand down the back of her head and spoke to her as you put her back in the stroller. 

“Tu vas bien maintenant Lette, Maman t'a eu.” (You’re okay now, Lette. Mummy’s got you.)

“Tu parles français?”  (You speak French?)

You looked at him as you resumed walking through the markets. “Oui. En plus de l'italien et de l'anglais, j'ai parlé français toute ma vie.” (Yes. Along with Italian and English, I have spoken French all my life)

“Abbiamo già due cose in comune.” His smile when he spoke in his mother tongue was gorgeous, but it had nothing on his smile when he spoke Italian. You couldn’t help but grin back at him. (We already have two things in common)

You continued talking with each other and by the end of the day you had learnt two very important things about him. His name was Arthur Leclerc and he was a Formula 2 racing driver for Ferarri’s Driver Academy. Eventually you had noticed it was getting late so you exchanged phone numbers to keep in touch and went back home. 

That was almost five years ago and since then, Arthur had taken you on many dates, some alone and some with your daughter. He was there for almost all of her firsts. Her first words, first steps and even her first loose tooth. Eventually he asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend and, though you had hesitated at first, you had become official with him. 

Arthur was over at your place playing with Colette when you heard someone knock on your door. You looked at each other confused as you weren’t expecting anyone tonight, your parents would’ve called ahead if they were going to come by. Getting up from your seat, you gave Arthur a kiss and kissed Colette’s head before going to answer your door. 

The person standing behind it was very impatient as they kept knocking on the hardwood door. 

“Arrivo subito, calmati.” You called as you unlocked the door and opened it. Seeing who it was, you almost closed it straight away if he hadn’t put his foot in the way to stop it. (I’ll be right there, calm down.)

“Cosa stai facendo qui?” You tried to keep your anger in check as you looked at him expectantly. (What are you doing here?)

“You know I don’t speak Spanish.” 

“C'était italien, connard. What do you want?” Your patience was wearing thin. (That was Italian, asshole)

“I think you already know.” The bastard had the nerve to smirk when he spoke to you. 

“You have no right to her. You signed those damn papers. Even if you hadn’t, you had six years to see her. Why now?” 

“I was in the area. Thought I’d stop by.” 

“Well, you stopped. Now you can go.” You kicked his foot none too gently and closed the door before he could continue. Locking the door, you turned and walked back to where your boyfriend and daughter were still playing. Taking note of the time, you gently ushered Colette to bed before you and Arthur also began getting ready to sleep. 

There was no need to tell Arthur who was at your door, as your house was very open plan so he could hear the entire conversation from the living room. As you both laid down, he held you close and comforted you until you both fell asleep. 

The next morning, you woke up before Arthur, seeing as you had to begin working. You were glad that you had started a home business because it meant that you didn’t need to make the commute to work through morning traffic. All you had to do was get dressed and sit down in your home office so you could start answering emails from customers about their packages arriving damaged. 

Arthur had slept in a little that morning meaning that he was awoken by Colette climbing into your bed to lay next to him. When she saw he was awake, she nuzzled her face into his neck and he wrapped his arms around her gently.

“Can I talk to you?” She asked him. “Without Maman?” 

Arthur was a little worried about what she wanted to talk about, as she hadn’t ever come to speak with him alone. 

“But of course, Petit, what’s wrong?” 

“I heard Maman talking to that man yesterday, and I know I’m still little and that Maman doesn’t talk about my Papa, but I know that was him.” 

Arthur felt entirely out of his depth. He knew Colette was smart, he praised her constantly for it, but he hadn’t expected her to understand what happened the night before. 

“Did it bother you that he came here?” Arthur was ready to hunt him down and tell him to never even think about you or Colette ever again. 

“Not really. I know he helped Maman make me, but he’s not my real papa. It just made me think about something.” 

“And what did you think about, Petit?” 

“Would it be okay if I called you Papa? Je vois comment Grand-père rend Grand-mère heureuse, et tu rends Maman heureuse, alors je voulais te demander.” (I see how Grandpa makes Grandma happy, and you make Mummy happy, so I wanted to ask.)

Because the walls inside your home were very thin, you could hear the entire conversation between your daughter and your boyfriend. You were a little shocked at what she said but your heart swelled with more love than you thought possible when Arthur replied. 

“I would be honoured for you to call me Papa.”

hehehehehehe I love this so much

The poll was VERY clear that people wanted this asap so here it is!

I hope you enjoyed reading!

likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[boozenboze]

Can I ask for a really stoic reader (rbf, looks like he's glaring all the time when in reality he thinks about dinner)that smiles for the first time with 141 boys and Alejandro if that's okay?

Why so Serious?

Summary:M/n was never seen with a happy expression.He always looked dull and it looked like he was on the verge of killing someone.That was until one of the new recruits made him smile.

Females She/Her and She/They DNI

Who seemed the most serious out of 141.If you said Ghost you aren’t completely wrong but at least the man attempts to make jokes.Unlike a certain h/c haired males who seemed to have only one expression.Out of all the time 141 has known him he has never smiled.Soap always says something that is downright hilarious and yet the male never cracked.This disheartens the scot but he never gives up.

“Hey M/n!”Soap said while approaching the male who was currently cooking.

“What McTavish?”M/n responded in annoyance,wincing when he felt the onions fumes go in his eyes.

“Why dont the dinosaurs talk?”The scottish man asked as M/n hummed in response,telling him to continue.

“They can’t because their dead.”Soap laughed out while slapping his knee.The man who was in hysterics stopped laughing when he saw the h/c haired male just staring at him as if he was stupid.

“I don’t find you funny.”M/n said with a deadpanned expression.The scot looked genuinely hurt by the males comment and walked away without saying a word.The h/c haired male plated his meal before exiting the kitchen.

A few days passed after that incident, Gaz and Soap had been trying to make the stone faced male crack a smile.The two went as far as to making themselves trip and fall.EVERYBODY LAUGHS WHEN SOMEBODY FALLS OVER THE AIR SO WHY HAVEN’T YOU LAUGHED?!

Ghost found the situation amusing.Sure he could joke around here snd there but you were a completely different story.You always looked like you were ready to off someone and he actually developed a small fear of you.Price made a lot of dad jokes so as you can probably guess you never laughed at his jokes.

When Alejandro would come and visit he would always tease the male in spanish.He would also poke at the males cheek in attempts to make him crack a smile.It doesn’t work,snd M/n’s glare didn’t help.The h/c haired male had always been quite blunt but he never meant to come across that way.He’s always been like that and he has laughed at the jokes Soap made,but it’s always been in his head.

One of those days M/n had been wondering what he should eat for lunch.His face was so serious that other’s thought that he was upset when he was just deep in tought.Gaz was the one guy he had to explain it to.

A few weeks later a few new recruits had came to the base.One of them thst went by the name Andre,was put under M/n’s care.They talked very often and had really funny conversations that made M/n laugh.Thats how we get to the current situation.

Soap was once again trying his best to make M/n laugh.He noticed the male let out small chuckles st his words which let him know what he was doing was working.Soap had ran up the Gaz happily informing him of his accomplishment of making the Brit laugh.Ghost hummed in amusement and Alejandro let out a deep chuckle as well as Price.

Soap had turned around and saw Andre approaching.The male was talking to M/n and even pat his shoulder.Price tilted his head when the male began doing weird hand movements.Their eyes widened as they saw M/n’s cheeks rise with a smile adorning his features.The h/c haired male began laughing hysterically and the groups eyes softened.His laugh was so angelic,it was like music to their ears.When the male finally calmed down Andre walked passed him and bid his goodbyes before going to his room.Alejandro was about to speak but was cut of by Soaps yelling.

“Were you just laughing?!”Soap yelled out as he ran towards the h/c haired man who looked startled.

“Uh yeah I did,it’s not like im incapable of laughing mate.”M/n said chuckling as Soap looked amazed.

“What does he do to make you laugh.”Gaz asked curiously and M/n responded shortly.

“He’s just funny.”

“WHATS THAT SUPPOSE TO MEAN”

[bloodycassian]

Damsel in distress - reader x Rhysand oneshot

Reader is rescued from torture by Rhysand. Short.

Warnings - things you'd expect in a torture scene.

Okay, maybe going on a solo mission during the Starfall party wasn’t the most educated decision. And maybe not telling anyone but Azriel where you were, and swearing him to secrecy wasn’t the strongest idea. Because now Rhysand, the shadowsinger and Cassian were likely all walking straight into a trap.

“That High Lord has trained you well.” The King’s own personal torturer muttered in his thick accent, his scarred throat bobbing with the words. He had the look and sound of a male who’d spent a lot of time screaming, and learning the secrets of what made others do the same. 

Even through the blood dribbling in your eyes you could see how he took pleasure in this torture. His every slice into your flesh had him gleeful, you could smell a hint of arousal in it when your nose wasn’t blocked up. He’d suspended you upside down, making all the blood he’s spilled roll onto your neck then to your face. Your hair was coated and stiff with it, like a animal’s fur. Soon, you suspected they may be gutting you just the same. 

the bindings at your wrists and ankles burning with every slight movement. The way his mind slammed into your mental walls was relentless and unending as the tides. The darkness of his thoughts would roll back, collect then slam into you over and over, testing for any weak spot to creep into. Your mind was a ship slowly losing buoyancy. 

“Tell me where to find The Library and you’ll be allowed to live.” He repeated, his tone as clear and neutral as if you were having a brunch together.

You’d spit if you had the courage to do it. Truthfully, this male was terrifying. The daemati abilities alone would have been enough to best anyone not trained directly from Rhys. That and his pleasure for inflicting pain created a deadly combination. 

A loud thud sounded in the hallway, the wooden door rattling on it’s hinges. The male stiffened, straightening and setting the carving knife aside in favor for the sword at his back. 

The door did not open or slam against the wall, it simply shattered. The wooden splinters of it shredding into the room, some of them embedding into your skin. The pain of it is nothing compared to the long cuts from the knife. 

The male takes in a long breath, and smiles. “Even better than I expected.” He muttered, then rushed to the door.

The sounds were all that told you there was someone there to rescue you. Azriel’s sharp hiss of pain, and the clash of steel as they fought. You couldn’t move, could barely open your eyes with the sweat that burned them. Surely it wasn’t just Azriel here to rescue you? 

The clatter of a sword against the stone floor, then silence filled the air. Your ears strained for something, anything to indicate that Azriel had survived. Tension had your muscles aching, your bruised body struggling for relief.

Near silent footsteps ghosted over the floor, approaching slowly. You cracked an eye, and blue light shed over the dark walls. A sob escaped you.

Then there was shouting. Echoing, frantic shouting and someone was at your side, cradling you in the air while Azriel worked on your restraints. The sobs wracked your body, shaking you hard. Someone, a familiar scent and sound comforted you. 

“I’m here. Dammit, I’m here.” Rhysand. Rhysand- Your sobs turned hysterical, and you pawed at his chest, pulling him as close as you could possibly be. This scent, this male was your home, your everything. 

“Dont ever pull this kind of stunt again.” He growled in your ear, and you nodded fervently in agreement. He said something to Azriel, and another, likely Cassian. 

“It was supposed to be a trap…” You sniffed, lifting your head, then letting it fall back to Rhys’s chest. The dizziness was overwhelming, and your limbs ached with every movement. “for all three of you, how-”

“There’s not a force on this planet that could keep me from you.” Rhys said low in your ear. Your stomach flipped and your cheeks heated, though you knew now just how true the words were.

“Seven dead generals and two guardsmen, not bad for something out together so quickly.” Cassian said admiringly, nudging Azriel with an elbow. 

“It wouldn’t have had to been so quick had someone not sworn me to secrecy.” Azriel shot you a dirty look, and guilt washed over you. If Rhys had shamed his brother at all you’d-

“If someone hadn’t tried to turn vigilante, you mean.” Rhys corrected, but squeezed you tighter in his arms. He started out of the cage you’d been trapped in, stepping over the body of the male who’d bled you for days.

“I mean it, don't ever do this to me again. Promise me that.” Rhys said, and you nodded against his chest, unconsciousness finding you swiftly in his arms.

[anadiasmount]

expect the unexpected - ruben dias.

an: i decided to remake and edit the first part of this fic series i did for ruben! i hope you all enjoy! <3 this is slightly based off the book of the spanish love deception! ❣ link to OG!

quick sum: fairly new to your job at the club Manchester City, you find yourself in some trouble. ruben overhears you talking to john stones about having to travel for a wedding with no date. he’s willing to do the extreme even though you two are closer than expected…

wc: 2.8k

It had been an issue you wanted to avoid, but lately, it’s been hard to push it away. You had less than 3 days to figure out what and how you were going to resolve it. You had it all planned out of course, but that was before finding out your boyfriend of six months cheated on you with your best friend.

Of course, you were devested, losing two people at once wasn’t quite ideal. Your family in Spain looked forward to meeting him, as you spoke so highly of him. How were you supposed to prove that if he wasn’t in your life anymore? You can’t lie because it was clear you were going as a pair, a couple like you had told them. He even helped you pick out the black satin gown for the night. An elegant gown by the way…

During your short fifteen-minute break your thoughts distracted you once again. It was an unnecessary cycle that made your heart race. You slowly took sips of your warm coffee mug, looking over last-minute paperwork. “You don’t look so good Y/n,” A voice too familiar said, you peered up from the white paper sheet to blue eyes. “Jeez thanks, John,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he defended raising his arms in a surrounder way. “What’s up? You can talk to me you know?” you sighed and slumped back into your chair. Dragging your fingers across your forehead to the bridge of your nose. “So you know how I’m leaving soon?” John nodded taking a seat in front of you.

“I kinda-, well, so basically-” you rambled fidgeting with your rings. “I told my mom Jace would be attending the wedding. But due to what happened I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do now. Everyone, I mean everyone is ready to meet him. My own mother gave us the guest house to stay in while there! It’s driving me crazy-” You let out. John’s eyes slightly widened as you spoke louder, but he knew it was your frustration.

“First of all breathe. Have you tried to talk to her about what things happened?” he questioned. “She doesn’t let me. She puts this pressure on me, saying how everyone is ready to meet this man. That she’ll be disappointed if things go wrong. That she is extremely happy I found someone. That I shouldn't let this man go” you groaned. “I leave in less than three days and I’m going to show up alone…” Silence took over the room no one knowing what to say.

You begin to laugh hysterically, your stomach cleansing as you throw your head back. John cocks his head to the side smiling and chuckling confused. “Of course, this would happen to me.”

Ruben stood outside the small break room listening to the conversation. Due to being injured, he was doing slight therapy and recovery work to get back in shape. He and you were close, to some people, it looked like you were a couple. He had no idea about the wedding making him rethink a couple of things.

He was there during your breakup which was over a month ago. He let you sleep in his arms, have movie nights, eat ice cream, and take walks around Manchester. He was developing these unknown feelings that scared him a lot. He cared for you too much and John saw that. You were slowly becoming one of the most important people in his life.

He was still so confused why he didn’t know. You had known for a while he figured, how come he was never aware? So many late nights where you talked about everything, so many opportunities where you could’ve told him. But what held you back? He had his shoulder propped against the wall, smiling and shaking his head when he heard you laugh.

He knew you too well, you did this when nervous, faking something, or like right now, panicking. Something inside him to just go for it, be that person. Your eyes drifted off to him as he leaned against the doorway. You too felt bubbly inside whenever you saw him, you couldn’t get enough of him. His personality, big brown eyes, the way his forehead would crinkle when talking to you.

Part of you felt something for Ruben, something you never got to experience in past relationships. “I’ll be your date,” he said so effortlessly, not even questioning the outcome of it. John decided at that moment to stand up and leave, saying goodbye of course, “I'll see you two around.” he smirked.

Ruben strode over to the chair John once sat in, making your heart race as you noticed him. He was a bit sweaty, wearing a tight Nike training shirt, with his shorts running dangerously high. “Ruben. As much as I would love that, I can’t let you do that.” You shook your head acknowledging what he finally had said to you. His eyebrows furrowed, “Why y/n? You desperately looking for a solution, there’s nothing bad about it. Think of it as going as friends! Just a couple of nights then boom, back to normal.”

How do you tell your best friend you are unsure of how it would affect you? How you see him more than a friend? “But Ruben you have your job here, you need to get better before the international break,” you tried coming up with more excuses. “I need a break from that right now, the physio said I’m recovering and soon can start training with the team. Just agree, I have a suit ready. Plus I’ve wanted to visit Madrid, this would be the time.”

He stared into your eyes, looking at the uncertainty, the overthinking. Ruben knew because a small vein on your temple popped out. He knew you couldn’t disagree at this point, it was true you were desperate but with this offer on the table… it will change things. “It’s a week we’re staying there. We’d have to act like a couple, a couple who are deeply in love. Are you sure you want to do this? My family expects high expectations for no reason, I don’t want to make you feel pressured or uncomfortable.”

Ruben knew how your family was. He didn’t understand why you of all people would get mistreated. You had provided for them, took care of them, and even did abnormal things no one would even think of, yet you were unappreciated. They were ungrateful he thought, but never said aloud, he thought you deserved better. “I’m a thousand percent sure, I’m sure I can manage.”

He was up for the challenge, he wanted to be there for you. Who knows maybe this trip could change things between you? You stood up and went over to his side, he looked up at you standing up as well. You hugged him tightly wrapping your arms around his broad body and setting your head on his chest. You swore his heartbeat began to beat faster. Hesitantly he wrapped his arms around you as well, setting his chin under your head.

“Thank you, Ruben, you don’t know how much this means to me! I will make it up to you I swear,” you promised. “You don’t have to make anything up, take this as a favor for helping me while injured,” he muttered, you felt the vibrations of his voice when he spoke. You pulled away going back to work. He as well as he went to talk to Pep for the week off. His thoughts lingered a bit more, now more than ever determined to find out why you did not say anything about the wedding.

Later that evening, you and Ruben had agreed to go out for dinner, a small unknown Italian place that was hidden, your favorite spot. You ordered a small pizza since you were in the mood for it, along with some white wine to relax the nerves still present. You didn’t dress up fancy, something casual and similar to what Ruben wore.

“Can I ask you something?” you nodded taking a sip of the crystal wine glass, Ruben's brown eyes became soft, his outer corners slightly wrinkling. “Don’t take this the wrong way, or that I'm going to get upset, Well I kind of am but it's okay if you had a reason… how come you never told me about the wedding?” he said confused and slightly conflicted, that accent you adore so much coming out, his voice weaker rather than the deep voice he had.

You drop your eyes down to the empty plate, not knowing what exactly to say to him. Ruben had done so much for you the past month the last thing you wanted was to become a burden for him. You hated feeling like that, people feeling like they’re forced to like you, it's the last thing you wanted Ruben to feel since he had a lot on his plate as well. You also didn’t want to tell him for this reason, him being insistent to accompany you.

“I was going to eventually, right before you got injured but I didn’t say anything because you've been there for me. Way too many times, I guess I didn’t want this to be in that pile… It's not because I didn’t want to I did, but this would just be added to the plate of stress you have going on,” you rambled. But Ruben shook his head letting out a small scoff in disbelief, your gut dropping.

“How many times have I told you, that you can come to me for absolutely anything? I think by this point we've established that we're always there for each other no matter what,” he emphasized. “You’ve helped me through my recovery process physically and mentally, and I couldn't be more than grateful for that. This would've not been stressful to me, I care for you, and I wish you could see that more often,” his voice now gentler than when he was ranting.

“Yes, I know that, and I care for you that's why I didn't say anything. It wasn't that big of a deal until just recently when I began to stress about it more,” you say. The waiter comes by with your plates of food, him being in a cheery mood unaware of the tension that you and Ruben were having. “Am I missing anything?” to which you both shook your head no, “Great, call if you need anything else.”

“Sorry, I was just kinda upset and confused you didn't tell me, since we tell each other everything. We’ve known each other for little time but i’ve grown to trust you so much Y/n, it's a feeling I can’t explain. I feel at home with you…” Ruben soughed, becoming tense at the thought of you not feeling the same way and him oversharing.

“Since we're being honest, when I'm with you I can just be me. Not the girl who I was forced to grow up as or the professional Y/n at the training grounds. The Y/n you know and those around me whom I trust. Ive never also felt like this, the feeling of being at home, it's only been you who released that feeling, not even Jace made me feel that way” you say, bringing him out his worries and fear, the reassurance he was looking for, but you take notice at the way his jaw clenches at Jace’s name.

Ruben hated him. He hated the way he made you feel, the way he treated you after you remained loyal and loving through your relationship. How can someone do that to a pure and innocent perfect? With your best friend too? Anytime you mentioned or cried over him he saw red, he hurt you and the only thing he desired was to beat the shit out of him. But Jace didn’t have you anymore, you were Ruben’s, and only his now.

To cheer the mood up you change the subject, not wanting to talk about the wedding or the feelings the two of you confessed out loud. Hell, you weren’t in Spain yet, but the air between you shifted a lot…

“Madrid is gorgeous you’ll love it. We will be staying outside of Madrid for the first three days and then go explore the city. We can visit the plaza and buy reservoirs, go to the royal palace, go to museums, and do some hiking near this camp. And we will for sure that the late night walks through the city, just like we have been doing…”

Ruben finally smiles, the frown no longer there. You were best at that, bringing the good and not strict professional Ruben was. The man with routine as he claimed to be. You let him be loose and worry-free. “Can we visit the Bernabeu or is that too soon?” he joked. Your mouth opened wide at his comment, referring to winning the semi-final this year, and the UCL. But also to when City lost last year.

“You sure you can handle seeing the great success of Real Madrid and their fourteen Champions League trophies?” you teased, to which Ruben let out a loud laugh. “Will that be Madrid’s fanbase comeback and excuse when we call them out or attempt to humble them?” he says, continuing the banter. You shrug your shoulders and lean back, taking a sip of your wine once again, “I don’t know… Guess you’ll find out once we're in Madrid…”

The once harsh tension that was there before was now long gone. The two of you enjoy a peaceful dinner like planned, continuing joking and tease each other about the teams, but also rejoicing and sharing the favorite memories from your earlier childhood. Ruben laughed as you told him about a time you faked being sick so you wouldn't have to attend a ballet dance recital and the times when you snuck out to get drunk with friends at a nearby park. He drove you home after walking through Manchester and sharing a cup of ice cream, kissing your cheek goodnight, promising to always be there for you.

Three days later you found yourself waiting for Ruben to pick you up to go to the airport. You insisted on Uber but he wouldn’t take your ‘No’ for an answer. You had your suitcase ready, along with your carry-on, filled with your electronics, blanket, and some of your and Ruben’s favorite snacks. Your mother had called the night before making sure once again to remind you about your boyfriend.

Ruben honked outside distracting you from your deep thinking. The night before you couldn’t sleep, you had admitted you were pretty scared of this. You knew what you felt for Ruben wasn’t going to go away. You hoped maybe someday he would feel the same. He as well couldn’t sleep, his thoughts drifting of how you two were going to pull it off.

You greeted a good morning, hearing his deep and slumber voice as he greeted back. “Ready?” he asked then laughed when you shook your head. “Never, but here goes nothing.” The drive was filled with both of you singing to the playlist you created, somewhere between that you intertwined hands, feeling your skin burn at his touch.

After parking in the reserved area, you two made your way inside, checking in bags and getting your boarding passes. “Just to let you know, I brought your favorite snacks so you wouldn’t have to buy them…” you said as you sat down in the lounge. Ruben felt his heart warm up as you thought of him, smiling when pulling out the Scooby-Doo graham cracker cookies and the rainbow goldfish cheesy snacks. He had tried them during his pre-season tour with Benfica in America years ago, and he quickly loved the snacks.

“Thank you… Girlfriend.” You giggled at his words, blushing at the thought as well. He intertwined your hands once again as you made yourself inside the plane. He looked better than ever, wearing a white shirt underneath his black hoodie, a baseball cap, and sweats. “Just to let you know I’m super tired, so I may fall asleep right here,” You raised his brows at his choice of words, quickly understanding after.

He leaned over placing his head on your right shoulder, crossing his arms across his chest. You chuckled enjoying the feeling of being close again. “In that case, I’m falling asleep here,” you leaned over placing your head on top of his, covering your bodies with the blanket. He sighed comfortably soon drifting off to sleep.

Ruben couldn’t stop staring out as you guys landed in Madrid, he fell in love with the city so quickly, even more so as you reached your destination. Before he got out you stopped him, “Wait! Listen my family isn't… so kind at times. If they say something I deeply apologize, they can be a handful.” Testing the water a bit he leaned over pecking your temple letting his lips linger on there for a bit before reassuring you.

“As long as you’re here, that matters most.”

[topperscumslut]

Flip the Script (NSFW)

Summary: Bill punishes you after you make him break character during a sketch

Time: roughly sometime from 2008-2010

Content/warning: smut, porn with a plot, unedited stoned writing, fingering, oral (fem receiving), spanking, vaginal sex, protected sex, choking, breast worshipping, brat kink, praise kink, begging kink, male moaning, public sex

Word Count: 1.8k

It was your favorite night of the week - Saturday night. It wasn’t that you had a crazy party to go to, well, not until after work at least. It was that you had the best job in the world, working for Saturday Night Live with your steady boyfriend Bill and your castmates who were like family to you. Tonight, you and John had something special planned.

Mulaney was always making Hader laugh by switching his lines in Weekend Update with Stefon, but this time John had let you take the reigns. You were newer to writing but he coached you through it, and with a little help from Andy Samberg, you had a sketch that was sure to send your boyfriend into hysterics.

You felt a little bad at first, you didn’t want to upset or embarrass Bill, but John reassured you he did it all the time and he wasn’t upset. He was right, you thought, and what should I be scared about? Even if Bill was mad, he would never hurt me… unless I wanted him to.

Now, it was finally the night of the show and you, John, and Andy, couldn’t contain your giggles about the switched lines you were unexpectedly springing onto Bill later tonight. You made your way over to your boyfriend’s makeup chair where he was getting ready for the show, already in his game show host character suit, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, love bug!” he wrapped you up in his arm, “I’m so excited to be performing the first sketch you’ve ever written tonight! That’s huge!”

You giggled at how enthusiastic Bill got over you, you really were extremely lucky. “I gotta admit, I do have a few little surprises planned…”

Bill’s eyes widen.

“You better not make me break up there!”

“Aww, whatcha gonna do about it Hader, punish me?”

This makes his eyes widen even more, before he collects himself and pulls you in closer, whispering in your ear.

“That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

You attempt to control the arousal now pooling between your legs from the rasp in his voice, and see how much you can get away with teasing him.

“Oh noooo, I’m so scared!” you chuckled, giving your lover a snarky wink.

“You’re scared? I have no idea what I’m gonna have to say out there!”

You roll your eyes with affection and place your hand on his neck, “babe, it’s not that bad, I swear. I love you, and I know you’re going to crush it.”

Bill plants a kiss on your cheek. “I love you too.”

The two of you pull yourselves together from the dishevel of the sexual tension, and continue getting ready for the night before exchanging a quick peck right before the start of the show.

After opening with one of your skits with Amy, Bill is up. John flashes you a mischievous grin and you feel your stomach churn from adrenaline.

Only a few seconds in, you’re getting the tiniest smile out of Bill, him shooting you a look as he sees his opening line is changed. By two minutes in, he can hardly keep it together as his lips grow into a goofy smile and he’s nearly doubling over with laughter.

You lock eyes with him as he starts to calm down from his laughing fit, mouthing “good boy,” which causes him to squirm in an attempt to fight back both the laughter and the sudden tent growing in his pants.

By the end of the sketch, you and John are laughing your asses off and Bill is red as a tomato, playfully flipping the two of you off as he walks backstage.

He takes you into his arms and places a chaste kiss on your lips, pinning your hands behind your back when you try to hold his face. “I don't know whether to be more proud of you for your writing or annoyed at you for embarrassing me.”

You kiss him back with a small laugh. “I’d stick with proud.”

He leans down and whispers in your ear, “let’s just hope you decide it’s worth it after tonight.”

Chills run down your spine in lust and anticipation as Bill kisses your cheek and walks away. The rest of the night goes by smoothly, act after act, just as planned. At the end of the show, you and the rest of the crew all join the stage to say your goodbyes, before gathering together to clock out and head to the cast after party.

Bill’s already teasing you in the back of the taxi, kissing your neck with his fingers in your hair, and rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.Your purple cocktail dress barely covers you, and your beloved boyfriend can’t keep his eyes off of your body.

When you make it to the nice Mexican restaurant the party is at, you greet the cast, hugging an already tipsy Kristen and fist bumping Andy. You and Bill go sit down with Seth and Jason and make small talk while waiting for your food after ordering. In the middle of the conversation, you feel Bill feel his way up your leg, making his way from your knee nearly to where your legs meet. He pretends to nod along to something Jason said, but then turns and nods to you to ask for consent, to which you nod back.

Before you know, Bill has his right hand in your panties, massaging your clit while you fight to hold back your moans.

“You doing ok, (Y/N)?” Seth asks.

“Y-yeah, just, a little, um buzzed.”

Bill laughs, shaking his head with affection, “my little lightweight.” He shoots you a devilish glance, knowing damn well the real reason isn’t the alcohol in your system.

Right as you start to speak up again, Bill gently sticks one finger inside of you, causing you to gasp. You collect yourself as quickly as possible, trying not to let on to what was happening under the table.

Bill suddenly stops, abruptly stepping up from the table, announcing he’s going to use the restroom, leaving you with the guys to pretend like nothing had happened. Within five minutes, the three of you had diverged, still waiting for your food, splitting apart and joking with your coworkers when you get a text from Bill.

Meet me in the closet by the kitchen.

You bite your cheek, exhilaration flooding your body. No one will notice if both of you are gone for a couple minutes, right? You excuse yourself, walking to the hallway and right past the bathrooms, over to a large closet across from the kitchen.

You open the door and Bill beckons you in, shirt already unbuttoned, before pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

“Did you think it was funny making me break out there, doll?” he asks, fingers brushing your chin. He kisses you again before you can answer.

Between heavy breaths, you try to talk some reason into things. “Bill, we can’t do this here, someone could catch us. What if our friends-“

“What? What if our friends what? You can make me break character on live television, but are scared of all our friends knowing what a good little slut you are for me?”

Your breath catches in your throat, unable to speak. Bill starts to kiss up and down your body and you surrender to the sensation as he engulfs his face in your breasts, slipping off your dress to expose you to his touch and sucking and licking them while praising you. Telling you what a good girl you are, what beautiful tits you have for him. He leaves dozens of hickeys on your chest before making his way down to your bikini line.

Bill starts to kiss around the bottom of your pelvis, making you whine and beg for him. He finally gives in, holding you up against the wall before removing your lacy panties and sticking his face between your legs. Your knees start to give out as you moan and gasp his name, Bill licking up and down your folds and sucking teasingly on your clit. He inserts two fingers into you, curling them around your g spot, before pulling out as he feels you start to clench.

“Damnit Bill!”

He chuckles a little and looks you up and down, “told you there’d be consequences.”

Bill starts to undress, throwing his clothes recklessly onto the floor. He pulls out and slides on a condom, before lifting you up onto the wall again and making you beg before sliding into you. He steadies himself by placing his hands above your head before starting to pump into you as a familiar Arctic Monkeys tune plays through the restaurant stereo.

“Holy fuck, Bill! Harder!”

At this point, you don’t really care who hears. All you care about is your desperate need to cum. Most of the cast is probably enjoying their dinner anyway, none the wiser to you and Bill being gone.

You gasp in pleasure and pain as Bill raises his hand and spanks you while thrusting in you. “Such a good little fucking brat. Taking it so well.”

You start to feel him throb inside of you and his dominant demeanor falls from his face as his head tilts back and his eyes roll back in pleasure, lip quivering. You can tell he’s getting close and clench your walls on him, eliciting a deep groan.

Bill’s speed increases as he muffles his moans into your neck, so close to release. You feel your orgasm approaching as well and dig your nails into his back as he pumps into you. You throw your head back, nearly hitting the wall before Bill’s hand secures you, as he fills you completely and the tingling pleasure overtakes your whole body. You swear you see stars as Bill pushes you over the edge, hand wrapped gently but firmly around your throat.

Bill reaches his high at the same time, pulling you into him for an intimate kiss, hands fondling your body. He pulls out of you before planting a kiss on the top of your head and helping you get dressed, adjusting the collar of his shirt as the two of you make your way back to the party.

“You did such a good job, babygirl,” he whispers to you with a kiss as you join the rest of the guests.

“(Y/N)!” Kristen calls to you. “Where the hell have you been? Your quesadilla is getting cold!” She gasps in surprise and amusement as her eyes draw to your neck and chest, noticing your hickeys.

“Damn, why do I never get that treatment when I make you break?” John chuckles.

Bill turns beet red again, laughing awkwardly with the group while helping you to your chair. After a long night of laughs, food, and drinks, you and Bill finally make it home, changing into your pajamas and holding each other until morning, excited to spend your day off together repeating the night before.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Five

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, angst, strong language, mentions of pregnancy. Word count: ~2k

Chapter summary: Daemon deals with the fallout of Melessa's discovery. Series summary here.

Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Header by the insanely talented @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The thought tempts Daemon to go after Melessa, pull her to him and demand that she forgive him. However, it is Rhaenyra’s coronation and it has been shrouded in enough uncertainty and controversy, without her uncle chasing his weeping wife through the Red Keep. The very last thing the beginning of his niece’s reign needed was more gossip.

He sighs, only realising when he looks over his shoulder that the serving girl he’d pulled from the feast is still in the alcove, pressed against the wall, wide eyed and disheveled. Pathetic. He is unsure whether it is a thought he directs towards himself or her.

“Fuck off,” he hisses, not bothering to watch as she smooths her skirts and scurries away.

Leaning against the cool stone of the corridor, Daemon sighs. He does not know how to put this right, apologies have never been his strong suit. He can put together battle strategies for entire armies, cleave his enemies in twain, and rain dragonfire down upon those who oppose him, but his problem solving does extend as far as opening his heart and admitting to his own wrongdoing.

The very thought of going to Melessa and placing himself at her mercy by pleading for her forgiveness terrifies him more than any battle ever could. He owes it to her, though; she has given up so much in his pursuit of her, even more so since they were wed, and in a single misjudged act of foolishness he has made it all seem worthless.

His footsteps feel heavy as he trudges his way up towards their shared quarters, turning over and over in his mind what he might say to her.

I’m sorry.

It was a mistake.

It won’t happen again.

None of it feels good enough. Daemon swallows thickly, his heart pounding, as he pushes open the door, preparing himself to be greeted by the sight of his wife’s mournful hysterics.

He is taken aback when he finds her seated by the window, staring out of it. She’d appear almost serene were it not for the fact that her eyes are rimmed red from crying. She doesn’t even acknowledge his presence.

Daemon shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, clasping his hands firmly behind his back. He bows his head, taking a breath, before looking up at Melessa and uttering the first thought that springs to mind.

“Forgive me,” he says softly, looking at her with genuine remorse.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she says flatly, her voice listless. “It was silly of me to assume our marriage was anything more than a political tool for you to ensure Rhaenyra’s place as Queen.”

A pit forms in Daemon’s stomach upon hearing this. He had expected her to scream at him, to be met with heartbroken tears and burning anger, he would have welcomed that. This beaten-down resignation is more than he can handle; surely she does not believe the things she says? He stands there silently, brow furrowed in disbelief.

“You’ve gotten what you needed from our union, and it is childish folly for me to expect you to not want to bed other women,” she continues. “But now you have gotten what you want, I wish to return to Highgarden.”

Bile rises in Daemon’s throat at her admission. He fights the urge to grab her, to shake her and demand that she be angry with him. He doesn’t recognise the broken husk of a woman seated before him. She is lacking in the spirited brightness he has come to adore from his wife. Had his carelessness really snuffed that out?

He opens his mouth to speak, but finds the words won’t come. She beats him to it, dull and monotonous sounding.

“Don’t let me keep you. We can make the necessary arrangements tomorrow. Go back to the celebrations. Give the Queen my apologies for my absence; I am not feeling especially jovial this evening.”

Not knowing what else to do, wordlessly Daemon turns and leaves. His mind races, fear swirling in his gut at how withdrawn Melessa is, unsure of how to coax her back out of the shell she’d retreated into. 

Irritation prickles at him as he strides through Maegor’s Holdfast, back towards the festivities. The very notion of playing at being Hand of the Queen for a feasting hall full of slack jawed halfwits, while his wife slips away from him, seems ridiculous. His jaw clenches as with every step the sounds of merriment get louder.

“There you are,” Rhaenyra calls out to him from across the courtyard.

“Shouldn’t you be entertaining your loyal subjects?” Daemon asks, walking to meet her.

“I needed some fresh air,” she says matter-of-factly. “Finished with that poor girl you dragged away earlier?”

Daemon pinches the bridge of his nose, huffing in agitation. “You saw that?”

“You’d sat at the table like a petulant child for the entire feast. It was the first time I’d seen you move all evening.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Of course I saw.”

Daemon rolls his eyes. “Well, so did my wife.”

“Oh?” Rhaenyra raises her eyebrows at this.

“She wants to go back to Highgarden.”

“And you’re going to let her?”

“What choice do I have?” Daemon asks irritably. “I can’t very well chain her up and force her to stay here.”

“You fought so hard to get her. Is she not worth fighting to keep?”

“Of course she is!” he spits, temper flaring at the absurdity of such a question.

“Then show her that,” Rhaenyra responds softly. “Fight for her.”

“Your coronation feast—” he begins.

“—Is almost over,” she interrupts. “I need my Hand’s mind to not be preoccupied while fulfilling his duties. Fix this, so I may have your full attention tomorrow.”

Daemon nods gratefully, walking away with a renewed determination to win back the affections of Melessa.

She has moved from her seat by the window when Daemon returns. He spots her standing at the foot of the bed, folding dresses into a trunk and he cannot help the white hot fury that boils under his skin at the sight of it. She really means to leave him. He cannot bear the thought.

Storming through the apartment, he snatches a gown from her grasp, the fabric tearing audibly as he does so.

It is the first time all day—since she caught him with the serving girl, that is—that her face has shown any visible emotion. Her eyes widen in shock, quickly morphing to anger as she scowls.

“What are you doing?” she cries in an accusatory manner. 

“I could ask the same of you,” Daemon says darkly. “You aren’t going anywhere. Stop behaving like a child!”

“It is not me who is cavorting in hallways with servants. You cannot keep me here as your prisoner!” she shoots back. 

He can tell from the way her voice wobbles that she is about to cry again and his heart aches at the sound, immediately regretting how he has handled the situation.

“Petal,” he pleads, his voice softening, still holding her now ruined dress in his hands. “You are not my prisoner—you are my wife.”

She shakes her head sadly, eyes closing as tears fall from her waterline and roll heavily down her cheeks. “I was an infatuation for you, one that you have grown tired of. Just let me go. Please.”

“You aren’t; I haven’t; I can’t,” he implores desperately, letting the garment he holds drop to the floor to reach for her.

She backs away, sniffling. “You know,” she begins, voice thick and watery. “It is not the utter humiliation of what you did to me that hurts most. It is that I have spent the past half a year trying to be the perfect wife for you and still I am not enough.”

Daemon hates this. Why will she not allow him to touch her? He cannot comfort her, cannot mend the broken pieces if he can’t hold her. He aches to pull her to him, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides as stares at her filled with shame and regret.

“You are enough,” he whispers. “More than I deserve.”

“You never say it back,” Melessa croaks. “Do you love me?”

Daemon balks at this, opening his mouth before clamping it shut again. He’d never uttered those words to anyone, wasn’t even sure he knew what such an emotion was. All he knows is that over the last six months something has grown within him, something dark and urgent that drives him to be with her, as though an invisible string tied his heart to hers. To be by her side was a need, not a mere passing fancy. If that was what love was, then he did indeed feel that.

But he has no idea of how to articulate that to her, how to make her understand that in his own unique way all of his heart belongs to her. So he says nothing, watching as she hiccups a sob before walking to the opposite bedchamber, the one that has remained unoccupied since they arrived back in King’s Landing, and closes the door behind her.

The anger builds quickly in Daemon, his patience threadbare at his inability to speak his feelings coupled with frustration at having made no progress in earning his wife’s forgiveness. With a snarl of fury, he picks up a small wooden stool that has been left discarded by the bed and launches it towards the nearest wall. It breaks apart on impact, clattering noisily to the flagstone floor.

“Fuck!” he shouts, before dropping heavily onto the bed, placing his hands over his face in frustration.

The smell of her clings to the sheets, almond oil and rosewater, maddeningly sweet. For a moment he considers barging into the bedchamber she now occupies and simply taking her by force. She’d have no doubt of his want or love for her if he felt how passionately he needed her. He thinks better of it. If she didn’t wish for him to even take her by the hand, it is doubtful she’d appreciate him rutting into her like an untamed beast.

He sighs. He has everything he has ever wanted, and yet has managed to ruin it. He could never allow himself to just be happy. It reminds him of when he and Viserys were children. They had had family visiting from across the continent who’d brought each of the boys a gift. Daemon had received a wheeled wooden horse, which he’d taken great delight in dragging around the gardens. Viserys had been given a model of a castle. To Daemon, it had appeared that Viserys was having more fun playing with his castle than he was playing with his horse. He’d taken it upon himself to destroy both toys. If he couldn’t achieve that level of happiness, then no one else deserved to have it either. Is that what he’d done to his marriage? Shame wells fiery and acrid within him at the idea.

He doesn’t realise he has fallen asleep, exhausted by the events of the day, until he is awoken by the creaking of Melessa’s chamber door. He sits bolt upright, anticipating the sight of her exiting through the door, but is disappointed and surprised to see it is Maester Orwyle instead.

Daemon stands, blinking back sleep, and stalks towards him. “Why the fuck are you creeping out of my wife’s bedchamber in the middle of the night?” he growls irritably.

Orwyle bows his head apologetically, a hint of fear in his eyes as he regards Daemon, glowering and tightly wound. “Forgive me, your Highness—your lady wife was having trouble sleeping. She requested milk of the poppy to help soothe her. You need not worry; I kept the dosage small, considering her condition.”

“Her condition?” Daemon questions suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

Shrinking backwards with a gulp, visibly uncomfortable, Orwyle nods his head. “Y-yes, your Highness. She is with child.”

Daemon feels as though his heart skips a beat, a combination of shock and anger flashing through him in an instant that has him yanking the maester up by his robes. “She’s what?”

[pipi-un-kaki-in-pipi-land]

when tempations collide

summary: you steal Wednesday’s nail polish as a risky dare from your friends but it leads to something even more unimaginable

You screamed internally until your brain hurt as your friends laughed hysterically at the dare that was just presented to you. No, a big fat no. Stealing one of Wednesday Addams’ belongings in exchange for a dish of truffle fries that you had longed crave but couldn’t afford, on the house?

How could you possibly refuse?

Your thoughts conflicted in your mind. Surely you couldn’t turn down the irresistible, juicy, aromatic offer of truffle fries, but you had to remember that Wednesday wasn’t just your friend – she was your crush. And doing something like this could put you into big trouble with her, but you just couldn’t make up your mind.

-

You carefully peeked around the corridors of Ophelia Hall, looking out for anyone that could possibly rat you out and get you into trouble – especially since you were skipping class just for a stupid deal. You gently pushed the door open, glancing around to see if Enid or Wednesday was there, but you heaved a sigh of relief when you saw no one.

You slowly crept to Wednesday’s table, in which she had her typewriter on, and carefully rummaged through her things, hoping to find something that meant the least to her and something that she’d probably forget about soon enough. You face beamed in a smile from your protruding sweat when you found her nail polish – not like she would care anywa-

The restroom opened in a blink, and your unremarkable instincts could only run to the door like it was your only escape from your death. As fast as your unprepared legs could carry you, you made a sloppy run to the stairs as you heard light footsteps barely inches away from you.

You were incredibly foolish. What were you thinking, stealing in broad daylight?

One thing led to another, and now you found yourself panting and screaming internally in the forest with the same pair of footsteps trailing behind you, not losing pace. You continued to sprint as fast as you could, but you couldn’t see the tiny stone that jutted out of the ground that ended your fate right here and right now.

You crashed to the ground with a thud as the auburn leaves fluttered below you, but you felt something heavy as you tried to get up.

It was Wednesday, who had also crashed, but did it on top of you. Some specks of dirt dusted her array of freckles as the both of you locked eye contact in confusion.

‘I-It’s my fault- my friends dared me to do this,” You tried to shrug it off as you placed the nail polish on the side, but the ravenette wasn’t just letting you go like this. She pinned your hand to the ground that you wanted to try to pinch your nose with to stop it from bleeding from the level of hotness Wednesday was giving out right now, but it just flowed out so simply.

“Why are you bleeding, y/n?” Her eyebrows furrowed as she brushed the thick drop of blood from your nose; and she looked like she didn’t give a single care in the world about the nail polish anymore.

“When I look at you- I,” Your breath halted shakily as the both of your hands inched closer to comfort. Your insides were churning with adrenaline from her hand that was placed on your face, but Wednesday probably hated to admit it that she was feeling the same way too. 

“What? I didn’t quite hear that well,” Wednesday said as she leaned her ear closer to your face, her hand rubbing your nape gently. “Don’t need to hear anything,” you softly muttered under your breath but the ravenette clearly heard it. Your lips inched closer to her ear before whispering the lamest confession ever and pecking a kiss on her flustered earlobe, and heaving your back off the ground so you could get a better view of her flawless face.

Wednesday cupped her hands around your jaw. Oh god, the tension between the two of you was sending sparks up your spine and you felt like you would combust if you didn’t kiss her right now.

“I know the temptation is killing you,” The ravenette slightly smirked as she pulled you to her lips.

You gave in with no fail, because who were you to refuse?

[flordeamatista]

qué voy a hacer con mi amor

comfort with ari🥺

Hold Me

pairing: boyfriend!Ari Levinson x reader

concept: Hold me like you can’t let go. 

word count: 900

warnings: Soft Ari, poetic fluff, poetic kisses, You just want to snuggle with him during the cold days

a/n: @treatbuckywkisses I'm always in awe with all of your moodboards and thank you for making this one of my husband. I absolutely adore you.

This is for my entry for @jadedvibes Falling in Love Writing Challenge. Adore you!

Beta by the lovely @writing-for-marvel

Masterlist

Hold me like you can’t let go. 

There are flutters of color in the air, ranging from the brightest crimson to the deepest earth tone. Savoring this moment in slow motion, he watches the petals fall from the branches. He can savor this for as long as he wants as though nature had done it for him.

The end of summer is shrouds in golden hues and golden dreams.

Autumn is the year's crowning achievement, its fruit, and the lilting melody of love. She is a hug for chillier days and a love letter for winter, warming hearts as the seasons turn. 

Now, you rule as queen. 

You've got the season's most gorgeous ensemble on, with a plaid skirt, white sweater, white tights, and knee high boots. 

A single leaf falls from the tree as a tribute to his queen. A way to every corner of the globe for the deserving.  Ari thought you were the most gorgeous woman on the planet.

Since you always present yourself with such poise, it is easy to tell that you are a good person at heart. To put it plainly, you are flawless. You are always one to appreciate the little things in life, and now you can do so while basking in the fall weather and hearing the world around you speak to you through its changing colors and sounds. 

The wind carries your laughter and grin as you close your eyes in the crisp outdoor air. The breezes of autumn bring to light a secret that should be common knowledge. 

However, Ari is in on the secret. 

You. 

His pulse quickens as he realizes the truth: when you find art, you revere its lines. 

After hearing your hum and watching you begin to sway in the midst of the park with the leaves, Ari's face lights  up with joy. He sprints over and snatches you up in his strong arms. Ari can't help but feel an overwhelming urge to hug you and never let go. 

You giggle as you call his name. 

He presses his lips against yours and successfully silences you, even for a moment. "You're so beautiful. Why can't I hold what's mine?"

Everything feels right to him as a crisp breeze blows in and leaves flutter down all about you. 

He is counting on you to protect his heart, to love and cherish him as much as he loves and cherishes you in return. Everything in the world, all he wants to do is walk with you and hold your hand. 

Kiss me like you don’t need air. 

Ari and you are snuggling up by the fire, blankets drapes over your bodies, and you're munching on cookies you made together.  Your body melting into Ari's soulmate stones, linked by time. Scents of their sweetness and coziness permeate the space. 

The first time Ari kissed you, his heart did not burst. In place of fire, there was a sense of calm. 

To be in love, two people should feel safe, secure, and connected to universal peace, able to let go of their fears. 

You have soft, inviting lips, and he can't wait to taste them and brand his lips against them.

You take a nibble and mutter, "Want a bite," as you relish the cookie's sweet flavor. "What?" you blink in confusion.  "What's the matter?”  Ari insists, grin firmly on his face, "Nothing. You've got cookie crumbs on your face." 

Raising your hand, you delicately brushes your mouth. You laugh hysterically and say, "I probably look like a disaster." He brushes the crumbs from your face with the palm of his hand. "Don't worry," he shakes his head.

“Let me clean my mess." A soft whisper escapes his lips. His lips are muffled by your last words as he presses his over yours.

He kisses you, and your hands cradle his jaw as he caresses your mouth and his hands slip down to your butt. He breathes in the scent of your kiss, and he feels your fingers cradling his jaw.

The man is teasing you, and you know it. His soft beard hair tickles your bare lips, causing you to giggle with anticipation.

A kiss might seem ordinary enough on the surface. A season is born when two hearts fall in love with each other.

Ari bites you on the bottom lip. You let out a startling sound that sends chills down his spine. Ari wants to give you the same feeling of warmth that he experiences when he touches you. You are everything he breathes and everything he feels.

His kisses and touches will be the warmth you experience in every grin, every laugh, and every embrace, no matter how chilly it gets or how much dew there is on the ground or how many dead leaves you step on.

Like fire, his love is boundless, and you make it new and without limits. It does not matter how many years pass, your charm remains a magnet for him every season of the year.

Love me as you’d die without me.

[romanoffsbish]

A Fools Errand

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Warnings: Vormir(But trust me, not the usual…), Death, Grief, Manipulation, Devastation. Ill Attempted Dark Humor

A/N: I apologize, but for April Fools I was challenged by my dear friend: @dirtyvulture to create a fic I normally wouldn’t, one that starts Fluffy, and ends Angsty. For the sake of plot, I won’t include the other challenges, and I do hope you enjoy this pain.

"Good morning beautiful.," the redhead smiled shyly before burying her face in the pillow to hide her blush., "Don't hide from me baby."

"I'm not hiding—I'm sleeping.," she whispered, then obnoxiously loud, faux snores followed her words causing you to laugh at her antics.

A knock on your door interrupted your peace, and Steve entered with his hand over his eyes, causing you to roll your own. "We're decent Rogers, what's up?," his hand dropped, and eyes full of hope met yours., "Tony's done."

———

"When are we going then?"

"He wants to send one of us on a test trip, and if they can bring something back he said he will be comfortable with us getting the stones."

Natasha's head peaked out of the blanket now, face unreadable as a million thoughts run through her, she was about to offer herself up, but Steve cut her off., "Clint offered to do it."

Steve left the room, and you took the moment alone with Natasha as a chance to cuddle, and though she was deep in thought she easily embraced you, soft breathes leaving her as her hand ran through your hair, detangling knots.

"How you feeling?," your voice was muffled, but she heard you., "Nervous, but excited."

"I understand that, I miss my family too."

Natasha hummed, too deep in her thoughts to delve into the depths of pain Thanos caused.

It's been five rough years for the both of you after he altered your life's entire trajectory's. Natasha was hysterical when you met her, you flew down to Earth with Carol after she got a call on a pager, and for some reason you ended up staying. Everyone you cared about on your planet had turned to dust, so you thought you might be able to help the people here since they came face to face with the genocidal tyrant.

What you never expected was to fall in love with the gorgeous redhead, she was guarded at first, but you slowly wore her down with your sunny disposition, and now here you lay, safe in her arms, well loved, and happier than ever.

“If you like, while they do the trial run, I’ll make us breakfast while you pose as my sous chef, but really just sit pretty on the counter.,” Natasha chuckled, the rumblings felt by you as you snuggled into her chest, proudly beaming at the happiness you were able to elicit here.

“Sounds delightful honey, I’m in.,” she lightly kissed your lips as she rolled you onto your back, then she slipped out of bed., “Coming?”

You smirked., “I could be.,” she scrunched her nose in faux disgust, and threw a pair of pants at you before leaving the room with a smirk of her own and tantalizing sway to her hips.

Natasha was patiently waiting for you on the counter, eating straight from the blueberry container, and her hips danced joyously as she saw you reaching for the waffle maker., “Yay.”

A soft chuckle left you at her excitement, and you made quick work of mixing the batter so you could continue to bring her said joy. Natasha watched you move around the kitchen, her stomach grumbling in clear anticipation, and just as you were about to pour the batter into the mold she shrieked., “Darling wait!”

The ladle in your hand nearly fell at the fright, but you managed to catch it just in time to prevent a splattered mess of batter, “What?”

Natasha jumped down from the counter, she waltzed right on over to you, kissing your lips rather passionately, catching you off guard, all while her deceptive hands poured a half bag of chocolate chips into your batter, she pulled away with an accomplished smirk.. “Done.”

She giggled as you gasped., “You monster.”

“I think you meant savior.,” she winked, then ladled a healthy portion of the batter into the mold for you before settling herself back in your hold as you both listened to the sizzling.

Natasha set the table up after a moment of snuggling, setting down the cutlery, and the various toppings like whipped cream and fruit. Then shortly after you waltzed on over with a bowl of scrambled eggs, plates with waffles, and bacon, and a container of maple syrup.

Breakfast was relatively silent, except for the moans of a grateful redhead, and the scraping of cutlery. Your minds were preoccupied with the mission of the day to bring half of the world back, and the pressure that came with that was daunting to say the least. So silence it was.

Until Clint came into the kitchen., “It worked!,” the two of you jumped to your fit with wide smiles, and within no time you were stood on the platform with the entire team of misfits.

—

Natasha was perplexed to find Clint parting ways, and leaving with Rhodey and Nebula, but with one smile from you she found herself not really caring., “Don’t do anything reckless old man, you’re on your last life.,” she teased her best friend who pulled her in for a hug, then playfully jabbed her in the ribs., “You say that, but I can still outrun you on the racetrack.”

“I let you win, don’t wanna bruise your ego.”

“Mhm, sure thing Romanoff.,” he smirks, then turns to you a bit more seriously., “Keep her safe for me, will ya?,” you nodded, and Nat grabbed your hand to silently express thanks.

The flight to Vormir was short, and sweet. The trek up the mountains not so much, you were chuckling as Natasha grumbled the whole way up., “Baby, it’s not that bad.,” she glared., “I bet you the stupid raccoon didn’t have to do this.”

Before you could reply though an odd looking cloaked figure emerged from the shadows.

“Natasha Romanoff, Daughter of Ivan.,” he looked to her, then to you., “Y/N Y/L/N, Daughter of Rio,” you both raise your weapons, but the figure remains completely unfazed.

“Who are you?”

“Consider me a guide. To you, and to all who seek the Soul Stone."

"Oh, good. You tell us where it is. Then we'll be on our way.,” Natasha grits, while her finger still hovers over the trigger of her pistol.

"Ah, liebchen. If only it were that easy.,” you both cringe at the unsavory hidden messaging.

“What you seek lies in front of you, as does what you fear.,” he relays with an air of mystery, you frown and watch as Natasha tries to decode it., “The stone is down there."

"For one of you. For the other... In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love.,” he pauses, for what you only assume to be dramatic effect. “An everlasting exchange.”

She stares at him stumped., “A soul, for a soul.”

Natasha looks to you, but instead of fear in your eyes she sees a wave of clarity., “No.,” she shakes her head., “D-did you already know?”

“Nebula suspected.,” you bow your head, hand scratching your neck, but you don’t have much time to live in your anxiety., “So after she told me I made sure that Steve let it be me instead.”

“What about this makes any sense to you?”

“Well, Clint has a family, and you would beat him in no time, and if I made too much of an uproar to have you booted then you would’ve been suspicious, so this made the most sense.”

“Who’s to say I won’t win now, hm?,” she spat, and you shrugged, but with a firm hand you pulled her into your chest, she was stiff for a moment before accepting the familiar embrace.

“It has to be me Y/N/N.,” she whispered into you., “You’re too good, it wouldn’t be fair to let you do this, your family is going to need you.”

“So is yours Natasha, mine will understand.”

“No…,” her forehead now leaned against yours as the two of you shared a silent moment., “This isn’t fair Y/N/N, please don’t do this.”

“I love you Natasha.,” she sniffled, then she slammed her lips to yours in lieu of words, you pressed back just as firmly, reveling in what would be the final kiss of your life., “It’s okay.”

Natasha‘s eye flew open as she understood, you smiled at her just as she heard rocks shifting. She hadn’t been thinking straight, she was two seconds away from using her widow bites on you, but she was too late, the you before her fizzled out just as the loud thudding of your body could be heard reverberating off the mountains, and she crumbled to her knees.

Red Skull peers down, seeing your corpse, he’s perplexed by the lack of whooshing bright light theatrics., "Normally that fall does the trick."

“Oh dear.," the reality of the situation dawns on him after seeing the look of despondency on the redhead., "You know if you were only using her, you should've said so before she leaped."

“I-I.,” she went to deny his words, because in the moment it didn’t feel like she was, but if she’s honest she knew it was the damn truth.

"Honey, that was fucked up, in all my eons I have never...," she glanced up at the man, with a look of disbelief., "You're a fucking Nazi."

"Yeah, fair point, but I've never made someone think I loved them when I didn't.," he said with an indifferent shrug., "The bones crunch was satisfactory, but your lying, not so much"

Natasha pressed the button on her suit, she knew it wouldn’t be any better back home, but she wasn’t about to listen to a fucking Nazi berating her over some misaligned morals.

“Natasha, where’s Y/N?,” Bruce ask’s instantly, everyone else’s cheering dies down, and a wave of uncertainty fills the entire room.

“Dead.,” she replied monotonously, eyes void of life themselves., “Sacrificed herself for a rock that came with conditions I failed to meet.”

“What conditions?,” Steve asked perplexed, and the redhead looked to him with a scowl., “In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. A soul for a soul.,” she repeats the floating figure’s ominous words, and the archer looks at her like she’s lost her mind.

"We have to go back, it had to have been a cosmic fluke then, how couldn’t you meet those conditions?," Clint despaired, looking down at his best friend who only looked to him with so much pain, and remorse in her eyes., "No."

"What do you mean no?"

"No Clint! It wasn’t some fluke, it was a mistake. Y/N vormoosed, and for what?"

"Because she loved you.," she grimaced., "Yeah, and she thought I loved her too, but I didn't."

“Natasha, that can’t be true.,” Tony spoke up., “You two were inseparable, and you clung to her like she was your lifeline; you’re crazy.”

“It was a lie I whispered in the dead of night because I was lonely, and she was there...," she admitted., "My heart could never be hers, it was always going to belong to another, and for that very damn reason I'll never get her back."

Everyone in the room froze at her brutal truth, they'd all grown to care for you over the last few years, and no one expected this of Nat.

"What about Y/N?" Clint asked bitterly, even if he hadn't known you for more than a week, he knew at the very least you were a good person., "She'll never get her life back Natasha, she gave it up in the hopes that you'll be okay, and all you care about is Wanda? The same woman who was in love with Vision as she dusted?”

"I-I.," she couldn't help how she felt, but to have the twisted truth thrown back at her only deepened the ache in her chest., "I didn't ask for this, if I could've loved Y/N, I would've!"

"You were so selfish, and now Y/N's family will never get to be back, and I'll never get mine.," Clint mercilessly berates the already breaking woman., "I guess it's true what they've all said: you can take the girl out of the Red Room, but the evil bred there still lies somewhere within."

"Thanks for nothing Natasha.," everyone filed out of the room, each with a look of confusion as they passed the woman they once viewed as family, but no longer recognized her as such.

Natasha took off in a sprint to the only place that has truly brought her comfort over the last five years—Wanda's room; it smelled faintly of roses, and the redhead sobbed as memories of the young witch encompassed her mind, then she picked up a more prominent scent as she fell into the dusty mattress—lilacs, and pine.

A sudden wave of nausea hits her as she sees a letter on the witches bed with your beautiful cursive handwriting on it addressed to Wanda. With shaking hands she rips the letter out.

"Take care of her for me please, I always knew our time together was fleeting, and that's ok.

She cared for me, I know she did, but she'll never be able look at me like the way she did whenever you were brought up in a simple conversation. I love her enough to let her go.

To love is to know sacrifice, and today I'll be taking Clint's place to make the biggest of all. Bringing you back to Natasha, Clint's family back to him, and allowing mine to return. There’s nothing more right then this decision, to die for the ones I love is a worthy choice.

I am sad I never got to meet you though, you seem rather lovely Wanda.

With all my best wishes— Y/N Y/L/N. <3”

"Oh God.," Natasha cries out, her stomach lurches and she rushes to the bathroom to throw up this morning's breakfast, the one she happily shared with you, smiling and laughing all the while imagining it was Wanda who was in your place., "What have I fucking done?"

When she closes her eyes she sees Yelena's half smirk, and her body starts to shake., "Moya mladshaya sestra, pozhaluysta, prosti menya."

(My little sister, please, forgive me)

Wanda's soft smile floods her mind next, and her heart shatters, tears slippin down her face., "Moya nastoyashchaya lyubov', prosti."

(My true love, I’m sorry)

After she blinks she only sobs harder, your bright smile takes the witches place, the same one that kept her from the edge of insanity for the last five years., "Oh Y/N, I am so sorry."

While staring aimlessly at the marble walls she wills herself to understand why the hell she couldn't have just loved you, you were so easy to be around, and you loved her so fiercely. Even if it was only a fraction of the way she felt for Wanda, if she just let that wall fall instead of pretending, then this mess wouldn't be.

Either she would've won the sacrificial game, or your death wouldn’t be in vain, because as she sits here she's not sure if she'll be able to go on knowing she let you die for her love, and left billions of people in a state of nothingness.

The rickety carousel that is life will keep turning for all who remain unblipped, but for Natasha, well, all she has is her gushing ledger and at this point it will never stop dripping.

——

2,582 Words

Natasha choosing Wanda over the R was another stipulation, and no Happy Ending.

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags - Part 4: Long Cool Woman In a Black Dress

AN: I won my battle with writer's block! (Thank you, @tinytotontheoversizedpony!)

It's a little self-fulling to use this song as a fic title, but hey, it fits the vibe.

I think you're going to like this one 👀💛

______________________________________________________________

❗️18+, strong language, alcohol mentions, sexual themes, godmother reader/original female character, Original child character.

#4.7K Words

Part 3 | Masterlist | Part 5

Fridays seemed to be the worst day of the week. That was your current mood as you smoothed down the corners of your dress and straightened your leather jacket, making your way up the steps of the Child Protective Services building. 

They told you they wanted to meet to review some information, whatever the hell that meant. With the paperwork, or there was a stipulation in Ridley’s Will or worse, someone wanted to take her away from you. The nerves in the pit of your stomach were on fire with the idea something was wrong.  

And you received the request on one of the few days you could actually pick Sadie up from school. The minute you hung up your phone and pressed the edge of it to your forehead, you thumped lightly against your skin, thinking it would will away the uneasiness settling in your stomach. 

“Ah, pity, I was hoping Bradley was picking Sadie up today.” 

‘Oh, please tell me you didn’t, Bradley, ’ you thought upon hearing that voice. Forcing a smile, which you were sure looked more like a grimace, you turned to face what you believed to be the Regina George of all elementary school moms. 

“Hello, Courtney.” 

Courtney Slack, the one mom in the school who made it her business to know everyone’s business. A blonde bombshell always dressed to the nines, who always had a comment, a thing or a statement to say about everyone and everything thing. The leader of the PTA association and the mom of the girl who bullied Sadie on her first day of school. 

You’d be having words with Bradley the next time you saw him. 

“Still single, I see?” she snarked. “Shame Sadie doesn’t have a strong father figure to look up to.” 

Oh, you’d already be thrashing her into the pavement if you were a violent person. You were about to make a remark about Sadie’s numerous Uncles who literally risked their lives to make sure someone like her could live out her days being a bitch, before someone came up beside you. 

“Still sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Courtney?” Alyssa suddenly pipped up next to you. Alyssa, a single mother of a boy named Will around Sadie’s age, was one of the first people to introduce herself when Sadie first arrived at the school. Sadie instantly took a liking to Will, and you liked Alyssa the second you met her. 

She was uncaring of what people thought of her, pulling up in punky Doc Martins and patched-up jean jackets to student-teacher conferences and school events. She saved you from what you both liked to call Courtney’s group, the “Vanderpump Vulture Moms,” on your first school bake sale, Bob and Nat helping you stay up late one night to frost the hell out of a few dozen cupcakes. 

“Can’t I take an interest in who my children go to school with?” 

“Well, it looks like you need to go collect your spawn,” She coughed, “I mean, child from the playground. I believe he’s interested in shoving a stone up a kid’s nose.” 

Failing miserably to hold in your snickers at the look on Courtney’s face, you watched as she turned frantically to find her son before calling his name and running off in hysterics. Alyssa gave in first, barely hanging on to her resolve and toppling over in laughter. You couldn’t help but join her, lulling your nerves for a moment with being able to laugh. 

After a few seconds, she touched your shoulder, “I heard your phone call. I’m sure it’s nothing, maybe a follow-up to ensure everything is okay.” 

You shook your head, looking at the kids exiting the recess doors. 

“I just got her. It could be anything from a check-in to a notice of whatever they want to do with her. Rarely do they care about the kids.” 

You spied Sadie’s lime green backpack amongst the crowd. Will was not far behind as they searched for the pair of you. They liked to race each other out the door to see who could get to you first. When she did reach you, she almost always knocked you flat onto the pavement, hugging you. You eagerly returned her hug but frowned when she kept burying her head into your stomach when you went to pull back.

“What’s wrong, Bug?” 

“We have a surprise project due on Monday,” Will sighed next to you. Sadie pulled back, nodding at him, clearly upset at the thought she might have to do homework over a weekend. 

“We’re going to miss our last hike, Aunt Liz,” She pouted. 

This weekend was your last chance for a hike until the Spring. While Miramar didn’t really see snow, the weather had started turning slightly cooler. Soon enough, the bugs wouldn’t be out for Sadie to find. With the unexpected visit to CPS, she would no doubt have to miss it. 

“And my hockey game,” Will echoed, dropping his head with a frown.  

Alyssa ruffled Will’s hair, smiling down at Sadie. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow after school? You can set up at the dining table and do your project with pizza.” 

You gave Alyssa a grateful look, mouthing ‘Thank you’ as Sadie and Will excitedly started planning how they would tackle their assignment so they could do their respective activities. 

Alyssa shrugged, waving her hand. “Go figure out what they want, and don’t worry about her. We’ll ensure that assignment gets done for your hike and Will’s Hockey Game.”

So, while Sadie worked over at Will and Alyssa’s to finish her project, you tried to calm your nerves as you waited at the reception desk to check in for the appointment. 

They made you wait for what you thought was hours, but it couldn’t have been more than 15 minutes. You did everything from bouncing your leg to circling your thumbs to scrolling aimlessly on your phone until they finally called your name.

You were ushered into a stuffy office room, papers hazardously placed in manila file folders strung across the room. An older woman, Mrs. Kirkland, from her nameplate, had several precariously stacked on top of one another on her desk. She reminded you of your old high school librarian, peering at you over the top rim of her glasses when you coughed under your breath to get her attention. 

“Ms. Beck,” she gestured to the fold-out chair in front of her. You quickly removed your jacket, hooking it on the back of the chair before sitting down.  

She smiled at you before glancing at her laptop, asking, “How’s Sadie doing?” 

“Better. She’s adjusting well to her new school and seems to love science.” 

“That’s wonderful,” She didn’t bother looking up as she spoke, typing something away at her computer. You watched her type, suddenly meeting her eyes as she peered up at you, looking up and down your body before inquiring, “And yourself?” 

“It’s been hard without my sister, but my friends have supported me.” 

“Hmm,” she replied. “No man in your life?” 

Ugh, why did every older woman you meet like to comment on the fact that you were still single? 

“Just the two of us, I’m afraid,” you smiled politely. “What is it you wanted to speak about?” 

“Right,” she said, reaching down into her file cabinet to pull out a small folder. “A request was made to look into Sadie’s file.” 

The ball forming in your throat for the past twenty-four hours dropped into your stomach. “What does that mean?” 

“Well, our review process covers everything from the legitimacy of her birth mother’s Will to the handover of her guardianship. We have no complaints against you as her guardian, and we have on record you cared for Sadie greatly while you lived with your sister.” 

You swallowed hard. “Yes, that’s correct.” 

“So, this is just to ensure everything is in order and nothing was missed. Generally, the process takes a few weeks, but upon looking at this, I suspect our auditors won’t find anything out of place.” 

“Why would someone request this? Is it something internal you guys do?” 

Ms. Kirkland shuffled a few papers in her hand, reading what was on the page before replying, “I’m afraid this was external. Your sister was very thorough with her paperwork, so we did not need to do an internal review.” 

Everything about this was odd. You had no family left. What was the point of making sure her paperwork was in order? Ridley always wanted Sadie with you and nobody at the time, and after her death, wanted to challenge it. 

“I’m assuming you cannot tell me who requested you look into her file?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say who, only that the request came in two weeks ago.” 

Ridley’s townhouse sold two weeks ago, you thought. This was screaming more was going on than just a simple review. 

“As we have no more concerns, you are free to go. We just needed to inform you of the request.” 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you dug your nails into your legs instead, reaching to grab your bag off the floor. “And you couldn’t have explained this over a phone call?” 

“I’m afraid it’s our policy to do these things in person to avoid miscommunication.” 

You sighed, standing up and grabbing your jacket from the back of your chair. “Can you let me know when this is resolved?” 

“Of course.” 

You resisted the urge to slam the door as you exited the office and the building. While you knew deep down they wouldn’t find anything wrong with the paperwork or Ridley’s Will, you were still worried about who exactly put in the request.

Even with the anxiety racing through your veins as you raced back down the front steps to your car, eager to escape the miserable place, you couldn’t help but grumble out, “Policy, my ass.”

_______

Seeing you at the Hard Deck outside of work, unless you were with one of the Daggers, was unusual. But your nerves were on fire, you were dying for a drink, and you desperately wanted to confide in Penny. 

It wasn’t as busy as it should have been for a Friday after four, but the music playing from the Jukebox did wonders for the atmosphere.  You spied Jake and Coyote at the back by the dartboard in their service khakis as soon as you walked in, Coyote attempting to throw a few darts while Jake was off to the side chatting with a brunette in just too tight of a light blue dress.

You couldn’t fault her for the blush staining her cheeks as she peered up at him. Jake used his looks to his advantage to get what he wanted. Arms flexed, cocky smirk, getting up and close into her personal space. She was buying it, given how close she angled herself toward him. 

Women really did fall into the palm of his hand, you thought.  

She embodied everything you figured you weren’t. The type to have it all figured out, not juggling school events, sports games, and pick-up times. She didn’t have long nights closing at the bar or trying to find someone to watch Sadie every week. Not that you would trade it for anything in the world. 

She was the type you’d imagine someone like Jake would finally end up with. Even if he was chatting her up to be the next name on his bedpost, you struggled to force out the idea that they looked good standing next to each other. Hot people went out with hot people, right?

You didn’t know whether you wanted to roll your eyes or pay attention to the ache in your chest. 

Penny smiled as you sat down but frowned upon seeing your face. 

“Can I get a glass of Whiskey, Penny? Neat, please.” 

She eyed you concerned, reaching down to grab a bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass. “You're not one to pop by for a drink?” 

“Somebody requested Sadie’s file to be looked into at CPS.” You threaded your fingers through your hair, locking them behind your head as you rest your elbows on the bar. 

Penny widened her eyes, placing the glass down in front of you. “Please tell me she’s staying with you?” 

You looked up and nodded. “I’m fine. They needed to notify me it happened.” 

“Can they tell you who?” 

“Nope,” you replied curtly before reaching for the glass and bringing it to your lips. The liquid burned, and you resisted the urge to cough. 

“I bet it's the school. Or one of the parents at the school.” 

Courtney’s face briefly popped into your head at Penny’s words, but you quickly shot it down. While she might be horrible, she wasn’t capable or invested in causing trouble. You shrugged. 

“Or Sadie’s bio Dad?” 

You frowned. Ridley always admitted getting involved with Tyler was a terrible idea, save for gifting her Sadie. He was, for all pretense, a dick. You had yet to meet someone who was his equal. From the stories you heard about how he was before they became a permanent team, not even Jake could top this guy’s attitude on a bad day. Tyler was pure malice. 

He wanted nothing to do with Sadie the moment Ridley found out. She had ensured you were listed as Sadie’s guardian the moment she was born, Tyler and his family written out of any responsibility or entitlements. You wouldn’t be surprised to learn if they tried to buy her off to save Tyler’s chances of making a career in Football, not that he really had any. 

“He wanted nothing to do with her when Ridley was pregnant, and I doubt Cathy and Dean want to be caring grandparents this late in the game.” 

They were some of the worst people in the world. You could gratefully count the number of times you had to deal with them on one hand. Sadie would never have to, not if you had your way. 

“Either way, I don’t think he’d get anywhere near Sadie if he wanted to.” 

Penny smiled fondly. “Bradley would be first in line to throw a punch.” 

You shook your head. “Don’t forget about Nat.” 

“I think Pete might try to get one in too.” 

You giggled with Penny at the thought. Mav would go to bat for Sadie in a heartbeat. 

“Lizzie!” 

You turned around on your bar stool to see Coyote waving you over, the leggy brunette gone, and Jake taking Javy’s place throwing darts. 

“Be careful with those two,” Penny said with a smirk, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Resisting the urge to frown, you simply picked up your drink while standing up, throwing over your shoulder, “You know I can take care of myself.”

________

“Yo, there’s Lizzie,” Coyote said, tapping Jake’s arm while watching you enter the Hard Deck and walk towards an empty stool. Jake turned his head in the middle of his conversation at the mention of your name, catching the side of your face as you greeted Penny.

The two of you had finished the dishes discussing your shared taste in music that night. You credited Ridley as the one who got you into 80s music - telling him the Jean Jacket had been hers, sharing how the three of you got lost coming home from a hike while she was visiting with Sadie, stumbling into that thrift store hoping for directions. He could recall you laughing when you told him she freaked out so hard in the store the owner practically gave it to her for free. 

While he’d never get the chance to, he wished he could thank Ridley for finding that Jacket. You didn’t judge him for his call-sign story as he suspected you would. Instead, you listened. You emphasized. You gave him credit for trying. And as everyone went to leave, you didn’t protest hugging him goodbye like everyone else. 

Deep down, a part of him was grateful you gave him a clean state. 

When the woman he had been talking to realized his attention had been drawn elsewhere, she scoffed and quickly returned to her friends after he didn't continue the conversation. He didn’t seem to care, wandering over to where Javy had resumed his stance.  

“What’s she doing here on her day off?” Coyote placed the darts into Jake’s hand, not removing his eyes from you. 

“She doesn’t normally come here on a day off?” Jake asked, starting to line up a shot. 

“Not unless she’s with one of us. Maybe she has a date.” 

Coyote took a swig of his beer, missing the way Jake dropped his hand and spun his head, eyes tracking the bar to see if anyone was joining you. But you were bowing your head, on the verge of pulling out your hair, staring at the top of the bar before replying to whatever Penny asked.

“What did you guys talk about that night?” 

Jake turned back to Coyote, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head while he raised his hand again. “Nothing I haven’t told you before.” 

Jake let the dart go, watching as it landed just above the center mark. “She thanked me for the flowers, for helping Sadie, and then we did the dishes.” 

“Just like that?” Javy questioned. “So you didn’t pull any of your insensitive shit around her?” 

“I wasn’t going to make her call me out twice. Not since you left me to deal with Phoneix and Rooster chewing out my ass.” He threw another dart, this one striking just above the last one. 

Coyote ignored the dig, watching him throw two more before asking, “So the flowers were..” 

“An apology, nothing more.” 

Javy eyed Jake skeptically, “And why do you suddenly care about saying sorry to someone you hardly know?” 

“Hey, I happen to like Sadie and Liz. And if the Daggers are spending Saturday nights over there, I’d like to improve my chances of being invited back.” 

Javy went to collect the darts from the board before turning around to stand in front of Jake, proceeding to square him up. 

“Be careful with her, Jake,” he said, placing the darts into his hand. “I’m not like the others, but you cannot fuck with Lizzie. She might put on a big show, but she’s more fragile than she looks. And Sadie’s a part of the equation too.” 

Jake regarded him briefly, thinking about the note Sadie gave him that he tucked into his wallet, before finally answering, “She told me she wasn’t interested in that.”

“Interested in a tumble in the sheets or being your friend?” 

“Shut up. I just want to be there for her and Sadie.” 

“Oh, so you wouldn’t mind if I called her over here to join us then?” 

“Javy!” Jake reached for Coyote’s arm, failing to stop him from lifting his hand. 

“Lizzie!” 

Jake grimaced as Coyote waved at you, quickly reaching up to throw another dart, this time half in frustration. It landed next to the metal circle encasing the center dot. 

You called out to greet them, and Jake couldn’t help but take note of how your dress lightly swayed as you maneuvered yourself between pulled-out chairs to get to them, leather jacket zipper straps swinging as you walked, and a pair of brown aviators dangling from where you had hooked them between your breasts.

He caught a glimpse of Penny’s glaring stare from behind you, and his conversation with her the week before meeting you played in his head. 

“She’s off limits, Hangman.” She had said as she thumped his beer bottle onto the bar. “You don’t go anywhere near this one, and I don’t care how many people you’ve helped throw out of this bar. I’ll never welcome you back, so help me. Not her.” 

The second it appeared you would look back up, he turned to throw another dart, this time Coyote holding up his hand to block his view. You watched Jake land the dart directly in the middle, slightly impressed. 

“So, this is your party trick?” you announced with a grin.

Coyote wolf-whistled as he approached you, holding out his hand to spin you in a circle, your dress swirling as you laughed. “You clean up nice, Lizzie. You meeting some special?”

Jake’s hand wobbled as he threw another dart, this time hitting the outer rim. 

“What? Oh no, I had a meeting with CPS.” 

Jake’s ears picked up at the statement, dropping his hand heavily to face you. “Is she okay? Are they threatening to take her away from you?” 

You shook your head, warmth spreading in your chest at his concern.  “It was harmless. They just wanted to pass along some information.” 

Jake turned to Coyote as you suddenly stepped towards the dartboard, seemingly interested in his score and leaving no room to continue the conversation.  Coyote looked at you with concern before glancing back at Jake, shaking his head. 

“You know how to throw?” Jake asked, not taking his eyes off Javy and tilting his head toward Penny. Javy nodded, quickly approaching the bar to see if Penny knew anything. 

“Oh, believe me, sharp objects and I do not mix,” you remarked, looking at his score before passing him as he went to collect the darts. You lent against the nearby pillar, pressing your glass to your chest. 

“You can’t be that bad,” he glanced over his shoulder, pulling the last dart from the board. 

“You’ve clearly never seen me on a good day. I’m a natural klutz,” you said, sipping your drink. Jake moved away from the board only to stop in front of you, holding out the darts in his hand.

 “Prove it.” 

You looked down, apprehensive of grabbing them. You accidentally drew blood the last time you threw a dart in Penny’s bar. You still felt horrible thinking about it, managing to skim a General’s forehead. To this day, you swore you’d never touch the things again. 

But then you took in Jake’s face, amused and assured, as if you were just being modest about being a bad shot. He clearly wasn’t going to let it go, shoving his hand out again to emphasize he was dead serious.

“I warned you,” you offered, placing your glass next to his bottle on a side table, shedding your jacket and glasses before grabbing a dart from his hand. 

You attempted to line yourself up with the center of the dartboard. At first, you stood sideways, cocking your arm back several times in an attempt to let the dart go. The angle felt too awkward, and your hand started to cramp from how long you took. Then you completely turned to face it, fiddling with your grip while trying to fix your eyes between either the dart or the board. 

You managed to fake out three throws before deciding to give up.

Sighing, you dropped your hand, “Jake, I’m going to hurt someone if I throw this damn thing.” 

Jake tried to hold in his laughter, watching you struggle while leaning against the same pillar. He pushed himself off, uncrossing his arms before gently reaching for your wrist.

You looked at him, unsure, taking a step back,  “What are you doing?” 

Jake shook his head, reaching out again for your wrist. “Just trust me.”

You let Jake bring your hand up. His whole hand, warm and rough, engulfed yours as he positioned it where he wanted. You sucked in a breath through your teeth when you felt his fingers, barely grasping at your hip bone, pull you closer to him.

“Loosen your hand,” he squeezed, forcing you to attempt to calm the tension in your wrist. It was hard when you could only concentrate on the feeling of his chest lightly bumping your back. With each touch, you could feel yourself resisting the urge to lurch forward with a shiver racing up your spine. 

“Relax your shoulders.” He spoke, before tapping the heel of your boot with the top of his, making you take a step forward a bit. You gulped when you heard him say, “Widen your legs.” 

You breathed in through your mouth, forcing the exhale to drag your shoulders down. It was a few seconds before he murmured, “Close your eyes.” 

“Jake,” you warned. 

“There’s nobody around. I won’t let you hurt someone.” 

You sighed, closing your eyes and dropping your head slightly. Jake moved your hand again, softly squeezing once more. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you felt the heat of his breath travelling towards the left side of your jaw. 

“Throw it,’ he rasped into your ear. 

Jake loosened his hold on your wrist, feeling his calloused fingers trailing down your arm before lifting them off. The second his hand left your skin, you flicked your wrist forward as if his touch burned you. You refused to open your eyes, scared you might have hit someone or something old and well past its years on the wall. 

“Look.” 

You sharply breathed through your nose before opening your eyes to glance at the board. 

The dart had managed to hit the center. You couldn’t help but smile. 

“How’s that?” he squeezed your hip. “Not as bad as you thought.” 

“No blood is a first,” you said, proud of yourself. 

Turning around to thank him, the words died on your lips as you felt his breath warm your face. Jake had yet to let you go, his hand still clutching your waist and his nose a few inches from grazing yours. 

The decision you made, standing in your front yard last Saturday while face to face with Jake, about never putting yourself in a position where he could break your heart, was far from your mind. You took in everything about him. His sandy hair, his jawline, his eyes which then met yours. 

Jake’s stare brought you back to standing with him in your kitchen, washing dishes, and seeing his soft smile for the first time. Facing off in your backyard to guess music, him twirling one of Sadie’s pencils in his hand while helping her with homework, handing her the yellow tulip in your hallway. 

Jake could no longer hear the chants of Penny and the rest of the Daggers saying to leave you alone in his head. They were being replaced with the pump of his heart, a feeling he only experienced while pulling Gs. And then your eyes, wide and bright, drew him in. 

They were kind and soft. The type to have experienced laughter and the type of smiles that would make someone’s face hurt. You were looking at him like he was more than the metal wings pinned to his shirt. More than the good-looking pilot from Texas. More than just Hangman. 

His eyes dropped to your lips, feeling your warm breath on his and noticing the subtle scent of the Whiskey you had slipped prior. Could he still taste it, he thought, if he just tilted his head a little further down? 

And then the barbell rang. 

Three times. 

Jake immediately stepped back, head turning towards the bar with the healthy fear Penny had rung the bell for getting too close to you. But she and Coyote were standing off with some unlucky guy whose face had turned beat red at the bar. He had no cell phone, so either he disrespected the Navy or a lady and was not pleased about buying a round. 

He squeezed your waist, winking at you with a grin, before letting go to join Coyote at the bar. You bit your lip, watching him pat the man on his shoulder before hooking his arm under his, easily carrying him off to the side door with Javy. 

“You okay, Liz?” Penny called out, your eyes snapping to her as she raised an eyebrow.

Despite not knowing what the frick just happened, you called back, “Yeah, I think so,” while gripping the corner of the pillar with one hand. 

If she asked you why your legs were wobbling, you'd blame the whiskey.

Tags:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233 @emorychase @ereardon

@dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby @phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447

@fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower

Please let me know if I missed you or if you want to be added!

Might be a little bit before Part 5, as I suddenly got swarmed with work stuff before my work conference at the end of March, but I will try my best!

Wickett ;)

[yourlazykitkat]

azris wip

“I can’t,” Azriel fumed, disgust settling over his body like dust in a forgotten home, “I can’t leave you alone.”

Good, Eris thinks hysterically, I’ve never wanted to be alone. “That hardly seems like my problem.”

And then, because Eris Vanserra is a selfish creature, he touches the skin- too cold- below Azriel’s left ear, fascinated by the shiver that follows. Icy repulsion is etched in the shadowsinger's stone face, similar to when the youngest Acheron sister had anxiously fretted over his wounds, when the Ilyrian’s sworn brothers had held him for warmth. But unlike them, there was no sudden uproar to try scare Eris away, no aggressive physicality to draw a line between them. Perhaps the shadowsinger already understood that if there were such a line, Eris would’ve pushed and pulled and pushed till he owned every space which Azriel left behind, left untouched. 

Why the man had surrendered to his touch and his alone- the thought made Eris giddy. Undeserving. Eris swallows inexplicable emotion as the wretched sight of Azriel, ashened and queasy, makes him let go.

A desperate whimper and suddenly, the shadowsinger is too close. His face is riddled with horror and shame, eyes wide as if he hadn’t understood what he had just done or why.

The Autumn Prince’s lips stretch wickedly and his hands return to their sanctum. There's a tightening ache in his own chest, “Are you brave enough to tell me why you want this? Is it simply solace from the cold?”

“Eris-”

And then, because Eris Vanserra is a cruel creature, he casts his fingertips alight with flame as he presses them into frozen skin like snubbing a cigar into an ash-tray. Azriel gasps, pain taut in his beautiful eyes. He shakes in anger but for all his protest and drama, he stays exactly where Eris can hurt him. 

“Good boy,” He coos, mean laughter escaping him when the trembling man glares at him- spiteful, humiliated, piercing. In mockery of an apology, Eris blows hot air on the pink blisters with his other hand on Azriel’s waist- locking the other in place. He shudders when the Ilyrian moans. Eris is tempted to kiss the skin a breath below his lips, deliberating between sadism, in which he wishes to see Azriel’s pained face when he’s kissed, and mercy- a dull knife to put a messy end to the shadowsinger's conundrum. Inexplicable emotion rises in his throat like bile.

“Put some ointment on those,” Eris says, stepping back. His fingertips are cold and sore now and he smirks before turning away, “Or don’t.”

[dez78]

Anti-Hero

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

Fandom: Skyrim

Pairings: Taliesin x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Hurt to comfort

Summary: You have conflicting feelings and confide in your traveling partner, Taliesin.

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

Taliesin was worried sick about you, he woke up and you were gone. You'd be traveling together for months now and you two had grown close.

Taliesin searched restlessly on the Lakeview Manor property. You were nowhere to be found. He hurried down to the lake, he knew that was one of your favorite places to be alone.

Masser and Secunda lit his way through the thick trees. He pushed branches out of the way, no sounds, but his ragged breathing and fast paced heartbeat.

He finally made it down to the lake, the moons reflected off the still water. Making it shine. The water made soft reverberations as light waves brushed the shore. Taliesin walked along the water, searching for any sign of you.

Finally, Taliesin spotted you, he sighed a breath of relief. You were sitting out of sight under the Lady Stone. He made his way across the makeshift bridge; you had made months ago.

The Altmer sat with you in the tall, lush grass. You picked at the vibrant flowers. Seemingly, not noticing his presence. He was quiet for a while, just watching you.

The air around you felt off, he felt a wave of something unfamiliar looming off your person.

"I'm no hero." You finally spoke to him. He cocked his brow perplexed.

"What do you mean?" He questioned, clearly caught off guard.

"Of course, you are, you've helped countless people. You've done things no one else would have done." Taliesin explained calmly. You shook your head.

"It's exhausting Tally. I'm an anti-hero. I'm struggling with my own problems. I only help people because it benefits me. I know it's a terrible way to feel, but it's who I am." You replied with a dry mouth.

"How long until you abandon me because you're tired of my shit?" You asked, looking at Taliesin, really looking at him. Searching his face for a response.

"Never, I'm with you always. We may not have seen eye to eye when we met, but I've definitely come to care about you. I would never abandon you. I promise you that." Taliesin answered, honestly.

"I fear that you'll leave me one day. I'll have no control over it as you walk away from me because you're exhausted." You tried defending your reasons and consulted.

"I can't be left alone." You were starting to get hysterical now. Tears started to rush from your beautiful eyes. Taliesin inhaled sharply.

"Honestly, I have a fear of abandonment too. Growing up, I always feared my father would toss me in the streets and leave me behind. In a way, the Thalmor abandon me too. Even though I left, they wanted me to die for their bidding." Taliesin started. You only listened to him.

"When we first started traveling together, I thought you'd leave me behind after a week, but you surprised me. Now we've known each other for four months and I like to think we're friends. Nothing scares me more now than to lose you." Taliesin finally poured his feelings out to you.

Hearing his fears, made you realize, you had more in common than you thought.

"If you don't believe me, then believe me when I say. I care about you, Y/N, I have for months now. I promise, no matter what happens, you're stuck with me. I will never abandon you. You're not a bad person and even if you don't think you are a hero, you are to me and a lot of the people of Skyrim." Taliesin explained. He rested his hand on your leg.

You looked up at him, he was smiling softly at you. That genuine, kind smile, that he only wore for you. You felt your cheeks heat up and your heart raced.

Suddenly, you felt a pull. You let it happen and realized, Taliesin was pulling you into a hug. You melted into his arms and let it happen naturally. You smiled widely and nuzzled into his clothes. His scent brought you comfort.

The grip of his arms was just right, it wasn't making you feel suffocated, but safe. It was comfortable and it felt so good. You never got hugs and now that you have them, you never want to go without them ever again, so long as Taliesin was the one providing them.

You completely relaxed in his arms and let yourself go. You ended up falling asleep across Taliesin's lap and he let you. Brushing your hair from your face and watching your chest rise and fall softly.

When it was time, Taliesin carried you back to Lakeview Manor and laid you in bed, cuddling you for the rest of the night.

[deadlymistletoe]

Ranger At Heart

Pairing: Thorin x Dunedain f!reader

Request: @futuristicyouthvoid asked: Could you write something about Thorin and the female Dúnedain reader? After the battle of the five armies, the reader remains on the mountain for a while, especially to heal Thorin.  In this process, Thorin shows his feelings for her and asks the reader to stay with him, but the reader has duties in her own land.  The reader may even be Aragorn's older sister (if appropriate, not necessarily)

A/N: I hope this turned out to your liking! It's implied that Aragorn's the reader's younger brother, although his name is not explicitly stated.

Genre: Angst

Description: You and Thorin grew closer than anyone thought possible as he healed, but deep down your heart will always belong to the wild.

Warnings: Non graphic mentions of blood, injuries and death.

Word count: 1314

Before he met you, Thorin had only ever had a few dealings with rangers, and even then they didn’t talk much and revealed next to nothing about themselves.

So when Elrond had let them know a ranger would be joining them to eat, Thorin had expected much the same. Only you’d come out instead, wearing an elvish-made dress that complimented your figure, a smile on your face as you greeted Elrond and Gandalf, giving Thorin a friendly smile as you introduced yourself.

And as he took your hand, placing a kiss to the back (so unlike the gruff greeting he’d planned), he knew that he wouldn’t be the same again after meeting you.

When Gandalf suggested you join the company, Thorin accepted your presence without a single snide comment, ignoring the surprised looks from his kin as he welcomed a human into the fold.

Later, when you sat down next to Thorin in Beorn’s house, holding out a mug of hot chocolate, he found out you were a Dunedain, gifted with a long life, and that you had a younger brother who was also a ranger.

In return, Thorin opened up to you about things he’d kept locked up for years, finding a confidant in you and you in him.

By the time you arrived at Erebor, it was safe to say that the two of you were friends of sorts, at least until the dragon-sickness took effect.

So when Thorin lay dying on the ice, each breath harder to take, Bilbo, hysterical beside him, he had no hope of ever seeing you again, his last memory of you was an image of you beside the Elvenking and Bard, an emotionless, stone cold expression on your face as you faced the doors of Erebor.

But then he heard Bilbo call your name, tears in his voice. “Y/N! He needs help! He’s…”

And then Bilbo moved aside and his vision was replaced with your face as you leant over him, cloak torn and bloodstained, a single cut over your eyebrow. Beautiful, he thought.

At some point he passed out, your hands still working to save his life, and when he woke up there you were beside him once more, a damp cloth in your hand as you wiped blood from his skin.

Your hand froze, hovering over him and you gave him a slight smile. “It’s good to see you awake. You’ve had the whole place in an uproar.”

“Y/N.” He rasped, coughing as the words seemed to get stuck in his throat.

“Don’t talk yet.” You murmured, resuming the movement of the cool cloth and stroking his hair from his face. “Rest.” And Thorin once again drifted off, this time to the soothing feel of the cloth.

Days passed with Thorin waking up to find you beside him, telling him to rest, and slowly, as time went on Thorin was able to walk without risk of tearing the wound open again or feeling dizzy, the wound in his foot all but a scar. 

Now, Thorin was healed, only scars left as reminders of the almost tragic fight on Ravenhill. The dwarves had settled into Erebor once more and Dain and his people had gone back to the Iron Hills once the rest of those from the Blue Mountains arrived.

You had stayed as well, continuing to support Thorin’s journey back to full health as much as you could. And yet… things had changed.

Maybe because when Thorin had lain on the ice, sure he was going to die despite your best efforts, only to wake up with you hovering over him, he’d realised that his feelings had since moved beyond friendship and companionship and become something more.

Something romantic.

It wasn’t a secret that Thorin held these feelings towards you, but neither of you said anything, both aware of the many differences of your races and lifestyles.

Your own feelings were complicated. You couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t feel anything romantic towards the dwarf, because you did. But unlike Thorin who finally had a secure life, stable home, you didn’t. Oh, you knew that Thorin would give you anything you needed, give you a place to live, take care of you, but that wasn’t you. You couldn’t give up your life as a ranger for a life of love and comfort; a life of relying on someone else.

And your brother needed you.

Both of you knew that your time in Erebor was coming to an end when you knocked on Thorin’s door, accepting his silent offer to come in.

Both of you stood in silence for a while, your back to the dwarf, before you spoke, turning around to face him. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

A dismayed expression crossed his face before he pushed it away. “So soon?” Yes, he’d expected you to bring up the topic of leaving, but he didn’t think it would be so sudden.

“I’ve already lingered too long.” You replied, trying not to let his disappointment affect you, because in the end, it wouldn’t change anything.

You watched as the king swallowed, an unreadable expression crossing his face, and you realised that this was the first time you’d seen him look so unsure.

As the silence began to stretch out, you turned, making your way back towards the door, but his voice stopped you.

“Stay.”

“What?” Your hand paused on the door handle.

“Stay with me. You don’t have to leave. You know how I feel about you, we can be together.”

You took a shaky breath. This was what you’d been afraid of. This was why you’d considered leaving in the night without a word - a clean break, no attempts to convince you to stay that would only hurt you both further when you couldn’t agree.

“Humans don’t belong among dwarves, Thorin, you know that. Your kin wouldn’t accept it.”

“I’m the king, it doesn’t matter what they think. I didn’t think you cared what they thought either.”

You turned around, and immediately wished you hadn’t upon seeing the pleading look in his eyes.

“I don’t.” You whispered. “But Thorin, I don’t belong here, I belong in the wild, with my brother. He needs my help. I helped you get your home back, now let me help him.”

As you looked at each other, you could see the resignation appear in Thorin’s eyes. You wouldn’t stay no matter what he said. And he couldn’t bring himself to be mad, not when once upon a time, he would have done the same. He would have put duty over a chance at love, just like you were now. He couldn’t fault you for that.

You sighed, moving back towards the dwarf and bending down slightly to kiss his cheek, your lips lingering against his skin before you pulled back. “I’m sorry, Thorin, I really am. Maybe in another life we could have been happy…”

“But in this one you need to leave.” He sighed, finishing off your words. “I understand. Take care of yourself, Y/N.” He murmured.

You swallowed. “Goodbye, Thorin.”

You turned your back on the dwarf for the final time, and it was only when you were safely back in your own room, your packed bags surrounding you, that you let the tears fall.

You were doing what was best for you in the long run, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, and you knew that the bittersweet sting of heartache would follow you on your journey, a reminder of what you could have had.

Maybe in another life.

As you took the final steps away from Erebor, stepping into the familiar wild, a feeling of freedom rushed through you, and you knew that no matter how much it hurt, you had done the right thing. You had made the right choice.

You would always be a ranger at heart.

A/N: Okay, but I can totally imagine Gimli hearing about how the reader helped save Thorin from Gloin all the time and then he goes to Rivendell for the quest and gets to meet her, and he mentions Thorin and she just gives him this sad smile and he knows that a small part of her still has feelings for the dwarf king.

Taglist:

@fizzyxcustard @bookworm-with-coffee

[piinfeathers]

the scars we bare

it's a mid-january miracle, i actually wrote something. after threatening to finally start writing captain swan fics, i actually did it. thank you to all my beautiful friends on discord who encouraged me and to @dykelilypage i'm so glad you liked your gift <333 this is chapter 1 of 2, second one should be up tomorrow probably maybe who knows? :)))

summary: emma swan came to the underworld with one purpose; to rescue the man she loved from hades' grip. and she would do anything, sacrifice everything in order to that happen. when hades offers her a deal, a test of their true love, she takes it. in the end though, the bargain might just take more for them than they have to give. S5B canon divergence

tw: minor moments of gore and torture, also pregnancy and child birth

✨ ao3 link ✨

***

Emma had made plenty of bad decisions in her life. Big, catastrophic decisions, she could admit that. If she were to rank them though, willingly letting herself fall under a sleeping curse to rescue the man she loved from hell, probably would have ended up pretty high on the list.

She stared at him, across the wide airy field of middlemist flowers that wasn’t actually there, but felt nearly as real as she remembered, and wondered if he would feel the same.

“Swan.” Her name sounded like a prayer, rasped from his too-dry throat.

She was running then, or maybe she had started running before, she wasn’t sure. Her arms circled him when they met, his own grip nearly crushing as he lifted her off her feet. Frantic kisses and searching hands probed each other as incomplete pleas stuttered out of each of them. 

“You alright?”

“-m fine. You can’t be here-”

“-made a deal. Hades, he had a deal.”

“-have to go back. Please, you have to go back.”

“I can’t.” 

The last two words dropped like a stone between them and Killian jerked back. His face was the same as it had been when she’d last seen him alive. It was no longer the swollen mess of throbbing bruises Hades had left it in, when he’d shown Emma her lover’s broken body that was being torn and burnt and flayed apart until she had screamed to make it stop. Killian’s hand, the fingers still intact and no longer snapped and broken, cupped her face. He was trembling. Or maybe that was her. It was hard to tell at this point.

“Emma,” her name came out as a whisper. “Emma, where are we?”

She smiled as something huge and terrifying in her chest threatened to burst open.

“Somewhere... Somewhere in my mind. I think? Maybe,” she glanced around again, trying to focus. “A memory. He kept saying something about memories. Our memories.”

“Love, you aren’t making any sense.”

She laughed and it sounded like a watery hiccup. “Hades. Hades and I made a deal.”

The hand on her face tensed as she watched his expression grow brittle. “Emma-” his throat bobbed. “Emma. What kind of deal? What did you promise him?”

She held up her right hand, her index finger raised. A small droplet of blood welled up in the sensitive pad of flesh at the tip where she had pricked it only moments earlier.

“Sleeping curse,” she tried to keep her voice calm as she risked another glance at him. His face was ghost white, completely drained of colour. “I think he thought he was being funny. Something about “the old Charming family tradition.””

Killian’s head was shaking, his eyes darting away from her as he scanned the edges of the tree line behind them, looking for a way out. “We have to wake you up. Emma you don’t understand, Hades he-”

She watched his gaze go unfocused, the nerve in his jaw popping.

“Hey,” she said quickly, her hand curling around his neck, pulling him back to her. “He can’t get you, not here. Not unless he feels like breaking our deal.”

His eyes were still nervy, and she could feel his pulse jumping beneath her palm, but he focused on her again. God she had missed him. Missed the way he smelled, the way his scruffed jaw felt when she held it. It suddenly seemed so hysterically unfair that they’d only had a few months together. They deserved a lifetime. 

“This deal,” he rasped after a moment. “Tell me exactly what he asked of you.”

“He wanted…” she trailed off, trying to remember what he had said. “He said he wanted to test us. To see if what we shared was true love or not. That we needed to really see every part of each other before we made our decision.”

Killian was holding very, very still, his expression unreadable. “And for us to do this test, you needed to be cursed, is that right? Am I cursed as well? Is that how I’m standing here with you?” His voice sounded calm, almost reasonable, as if they were discussing the rules to a complicated board game. But Emma could still feel his panic, could see it starting to edge into the corners of his eyes, turning them glassy. Another one of her huge, catastrophically bad decisions alright. 

“No. No you aren’t under a sleeping curse,” she tried to make her voice comforting, but doubted it had much effect. “He said that souls without a living body don’t need curses to be moved to the dream realm, as long as they’re tethered to someone alive they just sort of- “hitch a ride,” or something.”

A smile started to spread across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “So I’m tethered to you then?”

“Seems that way,” she said, her heart feeling like a dead weight in her chest. “I’m not exactly sure about the next parts, he was talking about memory magic, about old wounds needing to be opened up. He said the dream realm made the magic more…” she waved her hand. “Potent or something. Made it easier to find old memories.”

Killian’s hand dropped to her shoulder, his hook resting against her hip. “Why does he want us to explore old memories? Which memories? What does he gain from that?”

“I have no idea, I’m pretty sure he was just talking to hear himself speak at some point.”

“I don’t like this. Hades wouldn’t make a deal unless it was to punish or to trap you here. Emma, please,” his tone was growing frantic and it was making her own nerves start to fray. “Try and remember exactly what he said. Every word. If he’s trapped you here-”

“I don’t remember all the specifics! I was a little distracted watching you get tortured. Hades didn’t exactly have my undivided attention.”

Killian’s eyes shuttered and Emma could feel the slight tremor in his hand as it fell from her shoulder. She wished she hadn’t mentioned the torture. The second she had, she’d seen his face go blank. When this was over, she would kill Hades. She wasn’t sure how exactly, but she would get creative. Somehow she would figure out a way to make the god of death hurt in the same way he had made Killian hurt. 

“Look,” she said, her voice thick. “All you need to know is that he can’t hurt us. I made him swear it. He can’t touch you here, and he can’t kill me. Everything that happens now is up to us.”

He looked up, staring at something far away from them, like he was remembering something he’d rather forget. “And if we fail? What then? Does he get both of us to torture for eternity?”

“We won’t fail,” she told him. They wouldn’t. She couldn’t let that happen. Even if it killed her, she would never let Hades touch Killian Jones again. “I got down here didn’t I? And I found you. The hard part’s already done.”

He huffed out a laugh that sounded wrong to her ears. “Your confidence is admirable, Swan. But you don’t know what Hades is capable of. What he does to you once he has you.”

She could feel him slipping from her, could feel the despair coming off him in waves, and it killed her. “There’s a fail safe,” she told him quickly. “I can call off the deal at any time.” 

He jerked his attention back to her, suddenly alert. 

“But Killian, if I call it off, if I choose to end this, you go right back where I found you. Back to Hades,” she said, a world of meaning in her words. 

“But you’ll be safe?”

She looked at him. She should tell him. Tell him the entire truth. Tell him exactly what she had promised to keep him safe, to bring him back home. What she had signed away. But if she told him, if he knew everything, he would never agree to it. He would refuse and send her back and all this would be for nothing. He would go back to the endless, screaming pain that Hades had cleaved into him until there was nothing of him left. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll be fine. But you won’t. Please Killian. Please just let us try this first. We have to.”

He blew a breath out of his nose, looking down when she grabbed his hand in both of hers and squeezed. “Alright,” he said. “Alright, we'll try.”

She grinned as she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him, holding him. His hand moved up to her hair, cradling her head, his forehead coming to rest against hers. 

“So. How exactly does this trial work? What do we have to do?”

There was a quick burst of magic to the left of them, and a door twisted into existence a few feet away. The carved wood groaned slightly as it seemed to sway towards them, rocking on its frame, before coming to a stop. They both stared at it. 

“Well. Guess that answers that,” she said.

“Indeed,” he sighed, turning back to look at her. She saw a question, huge and all consuming in his stare that went unasked. Right, this was her deal. Her curse. He would follow her lead. Like he always did. Whatever happened, no matter how much it took from her, she would do whatever it took to make sure he got out of this. 

“C’mon,” she nodded towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

He grimaced as they walked towards it, reaching down to grip the brass handle and opening it for her. “Any idea what’s awaiting us on the other side?”

She squeezed his hand, raising her brows. “Nope.” 

They walked through. And the ground beneath their feet vanished.

***

She was falling. Her hair was whipping around her head while the wind rushed up and made her eyes water. Images and noise strobed past like flickering television screens as she plummeted down towards a huge, white nothingness. If she focused she thought she could make out faces, blurred and half formed, but they streaked past her, faster than her eyes could follow. She tried to reach out, tried to find something to grab a hold of, something to slow her fall, but it was like falling through light and sound and a great vast emptiness eager to swallow her whole.

Was this it? Was this what Hades had planned all along? No harm to her physical body sure, but trapping them in some fucked liminal space for eternity? Well. That was a different story.

She tried to look up, or whatever passed for up in this space and suddenly felt something grab her arm. Killian, his grip tight on her, was falling beside her. His mouth was open, mouthing something she couldn’t hear over the roar of noise and wind and her own frantic heartbeat. She tried to reach for him, her fingers outstretched-

When everything slammed to a sudden stop.

Her mind lurched, feeling like the contents of a car with its brakes hit too hard. The tunnel of noise, whatever it had been, was gone, and a blindingly blue sky stretched out in front of her. She tried to blink and turn her head, but her body was locked in place, no longer listening to her.

Only…only it wasn’t her body. 

She heard someone call for her, but it wasn’t her name she heard, it was Killian’s. She twisted and when her mouth opened it wasn’t her voice that boomed forth, but a man’s, low and accented, and oh-so familiar to her. 

She’d dealt with memory magic before, had stayed up long, magic-drunk nights as the dark one weaving dream catchers together in order to snare memories. She’d been expecting something closer to that, where memories played like snippets of old tv reruns. This was something completely different. She wasn’t just watching Killian's memories, she was living them. In his head.

“What news do you bring me then?” he called.

He sounded happy, and Emma could feel it then, he was excited about something. Somehow, inside his head, she could feel thoughts, could almost reach out and touch them.

He stood on the top deck, near the massive helm. Below him, near the rigging of the sails, a woman with dark hair and seafoam eyes grinned at him. Even before Emma felt the sudden rush of love and recognition, she knew exactly who she was looking at. Milah. 

“No news that can safely be shared among mixed company, captain ,” Milah called with a wink. She had Henry’s smile, Emma realized distantly.

The crew around Milah laughed uproariously, and her wide grin was a twin to the one stretching across Killian’s as he swung round the deck to go meet her.

Just as Emma was greedily drinking in the image of the image of the woman who had her son’s grin and Killian's heart, the world suddenly melted and shifted around her. It was as if the memory smeared, all the unimportant bits forgotten and discarded. She moved through short, foggy glimpses of old points in time. Moments alone with Milah, the sound of her laugh, the feeling of her eyes watching him, her laugh lines fanning out from the corners. At the core of it, his love for her was like a warm, even glow in his chest. Emma was suddenly sad that she would never get to meet this woman. This woman with the sharp wit and an easy laugh. She thought she would have liked her.

She kept floating through memories until they solidified all at once into sharp focus. Killian was back on the deck. Only he couldn’t move, something tight twisted around his chest and pinned him down. In front of him, Milah was on her knees. A man stood before her. His hand was buried into her chest. 

Emma recognized Rumpelstiltskin as blind, frantic panic tore through Killian, choking her. Killian had never told her explicitly how Milah had died, only that Gold had killed her. But she knew this moment. She knew what happened next. 

Rumpelstiltskin's hand tore free, Milah’s beating heart in his grip. He stared at it almost hungrily. Emma heard Killian shout, felt him pull himself free from the ropes binding him and dive for Milah as she slumped back. He caught her, begging, pleading words stumbling from his lips. She felt so light in his arms, a hollow empty shell. They shared a look, Milah’s gaze full of an unspoken farewell. 

She heard, rather than saw the crunch of the heart as Rumpelstiltskin crushed it. Milah gasped, dead even before the ashes crumbled and fell to the deck. 

Rage built in Killian, blinding and useless. It pushed him to his feet, surged him forward. He cursed Rumpelstiltskin, his hands in fists, desperate to drive them into the scaled skin and rotting teeth of the man who took his love. Rumpelstiltskin's grin was sharp. A blade flashed. Men shouted. A horrible, exquisite pain erupted from Killian’s left wrist and drove him to his knees. Emma wanted to scream.

Everything started moving too fast. The memory grew blurry again, every part of it dulled by the all consuming pain and rage boiling in Killian. He was screaming, driving a hook into Rumpelstiltskin's chest, mocking laughter meeting his ears. Then hands were grabbing him, pulling him back. Pain. Oh god there was just so much pain. Emma felt herself being dragged down with it, Killian’s vision growing black. But even in the darkness she felt the agony, unable to escape it. All alone in his head, she ached. 

The memories came and went. Bright flashes of faces crowding into his vision, frantic voices and bloody rags. Blood. There was so much blood. She could smell it, the sharp, copper tang of it. It felt like it coated his tongue, filled his nostrils and tried to drown him. He was being moved, every bump and bounce he felt sending jolts of pain through his system and forcing him back into blank unconsciousness.

Then heat. It was so sudden and sharp it brought him back to bleeding, screaming life. The world around him was thrown into abrupt focus as molten heat was pressed against the agonizing, throbbing stump of his wrist. He looked at the white hot blade being forced against his skin, watched as it melted his flesh and made it bubble around the edges, cauterizing it. He was screaming. It filled his head, an endless bellow of animalistic pain that crashed into Emma like a blow. 

When the darkness came for him again, Emma welcomed it with a sob.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when he started to wake again. She didn’t care. Every part of his body was one, long, endless agony. She couldn’t breathe from the force of it. Above him, it grew dark, then light, then dark again. Time moving on with or without him.

A noise woke him at some point. She blinked the grit from his burning eyes, trying to look at where Killian's hand had been severed. His wrist was an angry, mottled thing, the skin around it too pink, too tight. Thick blisters, fat and stretched taunt, seemed too shiny in the pale light below the deck of the ship where they had left him.

Her head lolled, their shared vision turning syrupy around the edges as the pain rose up again and smothered her in burning heat. 

She could hear voices, pitched low, all whispering with a panicked edge.

“Fever.”  

“ Infection…”

“The amount of blood he lost-” 

“No one could survive that.”

Emma writhed inside the shell of the memory. Killian , she sobbed, unsure if he could hear her. Was he in here with her? Was he reliving this too and she just couldn’t feel him? Or had Hades taken him away from her again? It was so quiet now. Killian. Killian. She repeated it again and again, his fever touching her own mind, choking the air from her lungs. How could he bear this? How could anyone bear this?

Fresh pain shot from his wrist and Emma threw her head back and screamed. Tears rolled down her cheeks when it was Killian’s voice, Killian’s pain she heard echoing endlessly in her head as she was pitched sidewise into another memory.

He was vomiting, heat and misery burning him, leaving him feeling feverish and delirious. He was fading in and out of consciousness, through the days, maybe weeks, he could no longer tell. Food and water had to be forcibly shoved into his mouth until he swallowed it, all the while he cursed at them for daring to try and keep him alive in his grief.

Emma watched it all, helpless inside his head. Killian had been right. Hades had found a way to torture them after all. Because this? Watching Killian break apart, unable to help, was agony. She wanted to fight, wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. But she could do neither. She could only sit and witness it all.

More memories faded in and out. In his rare moments of lucidity, the image of Milah, her heart torn from her chest, burned across his brain. His heart felt empty, like a hollow burden, sinking his body down deeper. His love for her burned itself away, twisted and malformed from grief. In its place, only one thought remained. Revenge. 

The word repeated itself, over and over, until it became a mantra. As his body healed, as the scar tissue on both his wrist and his heart thickened, he swore it to himself, again and again. He would have his revenge. No matter the cost. 

Trapped inside his tortured mind, Emma mourned for him.

***

Killian woke in agony. Pain snaked around his spine and sank into his bones, leaving him too weary to move. For one, terrifying moment, he thought he was back in the underworld. That all this had been a ruse. Emma had never come for him, Hades had simply split open his head and planted the idea of her, giving him hope and then taking it. Yet again.

But this place didn’t feel like his hell. There were voices around him, low murmuring, distinctly human voices.

He tried to open his eyes, but they stayed stubbornly shut. Another wave of pain twisted inside him, washing over him as his back arched and a low, sobbing moan filled his head. Emma. That was Emma’s voice.

“You’re doing great Emma, just a little longer now,” a strange voice near his feet comforted.

He felt her then, Emma. She was scared and exhausted and so, so heartbreakingly sad that it nearly swallowed her. 

He wasn’t here, he realized as her emotions buffeted him and surrounded him from all sides. This was Emma’s body. Her memory.

Her eyes opened and Killian looked across the room through tear blurred eyes. She was on her back, doctors and nurses standing around her, their faces hidden with masks and hair coverings. Blinding, overhead lights seemed to beat down on her, making her even more uncomfortable. She tried to move and Killian felt something tug on her wrist.

She let out a small sob of annoyance and pain, looking down at the silver cuff that chained her to the bed. They’d restrained her. She was in pain, she needed help, and they’d restrained her.

Fury raced through him, though he couldn’t tell if it was his or hers he felt, or a combination of the two. She felt so small in the bed, and so completely alone.

Another rush of pain, this one stronger than the first two, sent stars across their shared vision and Emma fell back.

“Okay Emma, you’re ready. It’s time to push, alright?”

She was shaking her head, and Killian felt her panic and his own bleed together. She was giving birth. He was about to witness her giving birth inside her own mind. For some reason the complete invasion of it flooded his brain, made him want to climb out of her head and simply hold her. This was her memory. Hers. He had no right to witness this and Hades certainly had no right to take that choice from her.

But he was here. There was no taking back what had been started. So he sat in the mind of the woman he loved and felt her body tear itself apart.

She was screaming, her body bearing down, the act of giving birth overwhelming her rational brain and simply taking over, trying to push. Sweat poured down her face as she strained, her pain now just a constant steady stream of misery. She wanted it to end. She needed it to end. She just wanted to lay back and sleep and never wake up. She’d fought so hard her whole life and now she had no fight left. She was done.

“You've got this Emma,” a nurse soothed from her left side, her gloved hand rubbing circles on her back. Emma liked her, Killian could feel it. This was a kind person, the only person who treated her like a patient and not a prisoner. A good person, a decent person. Someone who would make an amazing parent. Unlike her.

“Emma, I need you to work with us,” the doctor positioned between her legs called. “You need to keep pushing, your baby is ready to come out.”

Her baby. Killian felt a spark of something light inside her. Emma was too scared to give the feeling a name, but Killian recognized it instantly. Love.

Oh how she loved this little baby. She adored it. She sang it songs in her head and read to it in the bed of her prison cell when everyone else was asleep. She would give anything to her baby if it asked.

So she pushed. She pushed even as she felt like she was tearing in half, when the pain grew knife-sharp and carved her open. Voices blurred around her, all speaking over each other, telling her to take deep breaths, that she was almost there, that it was almost over. She gripped the sides of the bed, shoving forward and pushed until she thought her bones would crack and she would break apart until there was nothing of her left.

“Big push now Emma! Big push!”

She screamed and it was like the ozone in the room ignited, the lights in the room glowing white hot and shattering. Killian felt a punch of raw, primal magic explode from within her and then-

A baby’s cry, small but strong, broke through the silence. Henry. He was here. Killian wanted to look at him, wanted to see the boy's face, the feeling nearly overwhelming him. But Emma didn’t turn to look. She squeezed her eyes shut, and sank into the mattress.

“It’s a boy Emma,” the doctor said, a smile in his voice.

A boy. She had a son. A beautiful, perfect son. He cried out, and Killian felt it drive into Emma's heart like a knife. Every part of her wanted to turn, wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, to soothe his cries and protect him from every bad scary thing in this world like it was her only job in this life.

But…she couldn’t. She loved him more than anything. She would give him anything to make him happy, to keep him safe. And because of that she knew that meant he had to go away. As far away from her as possible. He deserved so much, he deserved the whole world. And she couldn’t afford to give it to him. All she had to give him was a chance. A chance at a better start. Without her. She couldn’t be a mother, couldn’t be his mother. She would ruin him. Taint him somehow. She wouldn’t do that to him.

Killian felt the decision form in her mind, felt her shake her head and grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as tears spilled down her face. He heard the doctor tell her that she could change her mind, that it wasn’t too late. But he knew. He knew what happened next. He wanted to beg her to change her mind, to see that she already was a mother, he wanted to be there and tell her over and over until she believed it. But he couldn’t change the past. He could only watch it.

“No. I can't be a mother,” her voice was so small, it broke him.

He felt her heart tear itself in two. When the doctors carried her baby away from her, when Henry’s small, searching cries faded down the hall into silence, Killian felt as a piece of Emma’s heart went with him. Heartbreak didn’t come close to describing this feeling. It was as if a huge, yawning emptiness split open in her chest where her heart had once sat and consumed her.

***

Killian woke with a start, jerking up and dragging air desperately into his lungs. Beside him, Emma shot up, panting, eyes darting until she saw him. Her face was pale, her hair damp from sweat and sticking to her face. She opened her mouth, her eyes rapidly moving over his face, before flinching away from him and vomiting into the tall grass. He shot forward.

“Emma, breathe. It’s alright, it’s over. What did you-?”

“Probably a good idea to give her a minute,” a taunting voice called from behind them. “She had a hell of a ride in there.”

Killian’s head spun, white hot rage spilling into his blood. Behind them, Hades sat back in a plastic lawn chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, grinning.

“You bloody bastard,” Killian was on his feet, his hand clenched. The overwhelming urge to stomp the heel of his boot into Hades’ cold, dead smile, nearly blinded him.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Hades warned, a single finger raising in the air. “We wouldn’t want to do anything rash now, would we Emma?” He leaned over, calling to her. From her kneeling position, she shoved her middle finger over her shoulder without turning and spat in the grass.

“Hades if you’ve hurt her-”

“Me? Oh no, I didn’t do anything,” he said with mock innocence. “All I did was show her your memory.”

Killian felt his blood run cold. What memory could he have shown her for her to react like that? He knelt back down when Emma moaned, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. 

“Ignore him,” she rasped. “I’m alright. It was-it was just intense.”

“Emma love, call off the deal. I won’t have you in pain like this, I can’t-”

“No!” her eyes burned as she reached up to grip him. “Killian, no, I can handle it. Please. I promise.”

Killian blew a sharp breath from his nose, trying to keep his composure. “Emma,” he tried to make his voice gentle but it still carried an edge. “Love, what memory did he show you?”

Her eyes went distant for a moment, and Killian felt his stomach tighten. He had lived centuries, had done countless brutal things. Any of them were enough to have her react like this. The question was, which one had Hades chosen?

“It was Milah,” she said after a pause. “The moment Rumpelstiltskin killed her, and took your hand.”

Killian went still, staring at her. Hades had shown her that moment? Milah’s face, frozen in fear, floated in front of his eyes, there and gone in seconds. A phantom twinge of pain jolted from his wrist reflexively.

“How much-” he swallowed. “How much did he show you?”

“Oh, I showed her everything, don't worry!” Hades's cheery voice called. “No gory detail left out. Gave her the full surround sound experience, didn’t I Emma?”

Beside him, Emma's face turned pale, her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. Killian remembered the pain he had felt trapped inside her memory of Henry’s birth, the agony she had gone through, and felt dread turn his skin cold. She had experienced him losing his hand. Even in his most lucid recollections of that day, Killian had never managed to remember that pain in anything other than hazy, blurred-over recollections. He had pushed it so far from his mind to protect himself from reliving that brutal torment.

And Hades had just made her experience it in full, merciless detail.

“You bastard Hades, there was no bloody need to show her-”

“Show her what? The moment you decided to dedicate your life to avenging your one true love?” Hades asked, his eyes growing wide with mock innocence. He turned to Emma and grinned. “No offense of course. No shame in being the runner up.”

Killian surged to his feet, blood pumping, hook raised. He would bloody end him. Here and now.

“Don’t let him get to you.” Emma said, pushing herself up on shaky legs, to grip his arm. “He's not worth it.”

Killian spared her a glance. “He doesn't have the bloody right. He doesn’t have the right to reach into our heads and pull out our pain just to torture us with it.”

“Oh I’m pretty sure I do though. After all,” Hades steepled his hands together, his gaze locking on Emma. “We made a deal.”

“The deal was to test our true love, not whatever twisted game you’re playing at Hades,” Killian snapped.

“And that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Hades said, his tone taking on an edge of false sincerity. “True love isn’t just some cheap card trick, it’s the most powerful magic that exists. To have it you need to love so fully and completely that it’s like second nature. And you can’t have love like that when you don’t really know a person, now can you?”

The god of death gestured with both hands, like a demented talk show host. “Seriously this is a once in a lifetime opportunity here! I really wouldn’t pass this up if I were you. You,” he pointed to Killian. “Get to finally see inside the head of the saviour, finally learn what makes her tick. And you,” his hand swung to Emma. “Get to learn what kind of man Killian Jones really is.”

His words felt ominous. A promise and a curse all at once. 

“Ignore him,” Emma said. “I already tried to tell him earlier that this whole test was pointless.” She turned to look at him, her mouth turning up at the corners as a fire lit behind her eyes. “I already know exactly what type of man you are.”

“Mmmm, do ya though?” Hades asked with a hiss of breath, tilting his head to the side. “See, I'm not so sure about that. I mean you two have known each other, what, a few months at most? He’s got a whole three centuries worth of history before meeting you. Entire lifetimes lived before you were even born.”

His gaze sharpened, the edge of his smile growing pointed. “Are you really sure he’s even worth it?”

“Yes.” 

Killian sucked in a sharp breath at her sudden certainty. She turned and looked at him, her eyes holding promise. “Yes, I know he’s worth it.”

“Touching,” Hades said dryly. “Really. And for your sake, I hope you’re right. We’ve got a hell of show left to get through.”

Killian could feel the magic starting again, could feel the rush of it start to build, and shook his head. He still didn’t trust this, any of this. He knew how Hades made deals, and he knew there was no way he would give either of them up so easily.

“Emma said you agreed on a fail safe, a way out for her if she needs it. How do we know you’ll honor that?” He asked, stopping the god from conjuring another door.

Hades turned to give them a bored look, as if the question was barely worth his time. “Emma isn’t dead, not yet anyway. I don’t have any way of keeping her bound in the underworld with me. She has the ability to leave whenever she wants.”

“Yeah sure…one small problem though,” Emma glanced between the two of them. “I can’t exactly get up and walk out while I’m stuck in a sleeping curse, can I?”

Hades’s smile turned wolffish, his eyes lighting as if she’d finally said something interesting. “Well now, how funny you bring that up. I was wondering when you would.” 

When they both only stared at him, the god’s face fell. 

“Hello? Sleeping curse?” he said, gesturing to Emma with a flicking hand. “True love’s kiss? Big flashy light show? Thought this was all sort of obvious? Gods you two really are slow. Here.” he jumped to his feet, hands tucking into the pockets of his pants, and stalked towards them. 

“Let me break this down for you. You have two options, one; you see my test through to the end and test the strength of your love, or two;” he held up two fingers on his left hand. “If at any point you want the trial to end, all you have to do is kiss her. She goes back home, no hard feelings, thanks for playing, and you,” he turned to Killian, his grin predatory. “Stay here with me. And we go back to our fun little games.”

They were still for a moment, Emma hand in his squeezing tight. They could. They could just end this now. He could end this now, and save her. He turned to her, caught her tortured gaze. Her head gave one, barely noticeable shake, no.

“Unless, of course,” Hades continued, taking a step towards them. “You’re worried it won’t work?”

Killian blinked. An old, nearly buried dread rising in him like ocean water in a sinking ship. That old fear that Hades was right. That it wasn’t true love at all. 

Oh he loved her of course. He had never loved anyone the way he loved Emma Swan. Even the way he had loved Milah had been different. Not any worse or any less but…different. Loving Emma Swan was like loving the sun. It came as natural to him as breathing.

But in his weakest, most torturous moments of doubt he wondered. He wondered if she ever felt the same. She loved him, of course, in her own quiet way. And he had taken that love and cherished it, held it closely to his heart and lived off it, satisfied with all she gave him.

But. True love? In the depths of her heart was it really true love? The uncertainty of it killed him. And he knew that Hades was perfectly aware of that fact. He had practically split Killian’s head open, torn out chunks of him. Every fear, every doubt, every agonizing thought that Killian had ever felt, Hades knew. And now he planned to torture both of them with it.

“We’ll keep going with the trial.” Emma said, breaking Killian’s thoughts apart and scattering them.  “But we need real memories this time, not whatever sadistic thing you find in our pasts that you feel like torturing us with.”

“Ugh. Fine then, since you two want to be boring, we’ll do this your way! Let’s start at the beginning.” He flicked a hand through the air and another door appeared before them. “No more skipping to all the fun bits first. Off you go!”

They stared at it for a moment. It seemed to pulse with magic, threatening and inviting all at once. In his hand, her fingers were cold, the knuckles white where they gripped him tightly. He shifted, lifting his hook and brushing a lock of hair from her shoulder. Her eyes found his and locked on, a question in her eyes. He waited.

“What memory did he show you?” Emma asked finally, glancing up at him. “I’m guessing it was one of mine. Which one?” 

Killian debated not telling her. Did she really need to know how Hades had stolen that moment from her? But her face was resolute, her gaze steady. There was no point withholding this from her.

“You were in the hospital,” he said, watching her face. “Giving birth to Henry.”

“Oh.” she said, so quietly he barely caught it. Pain flashed across her face, fast and sharp, before her walls went up again and her expression grew blank. 

They both turned to look at the door as it swung open, the hinges squeaking slightly. He gripped her hand tighter, felt her hesitation before she squeezed back. Side by side, they walked through together. 

[eldritch-spouse]

GIMMIE THE ANGST IT FEELS TO WARM AND FUZZY AROUND HERE

 (I -I really like like your characters Pinnie)

When Adrul takes full control of Perdition that means most, if not all, of the Ring’s inhabitants respect and fear him. As his partner nobody would dare to harm us -we’re mostly safe, but not completely. 

There has to be some radical group somewhere that believes a half human demigod doesn’t deserve to rule. 

So what would happen if, on a day Adrul had some important business with his parents at the clergy, his beloved was attacked and succumbed to her wounds before Adrul could return? Despite all the protection placed around them and the highest medical care, they still died. Adrul wasn’t quick enough. He wasn’t prepared. He miscalculated. He wasn’t as in control as he thought he was -and that cost him his heart.

What are Belo, Admin, Miara, and Krulu’s thoughts about this?

What does Adelo think of him now that he’s finally failed at something?

How much of Krulu’s callous apathy did Adrul inherit?

[Hellow and thenk you!- I'll humor the scenario, but know that it is out of character, Adrul is far too cautious to leave you, supervised or not, in any part of Hell while he's in the surface.]

TW: Death; Gore; Torture; Suicidal ideation.

For as much as his Lord-Father wishes he take command of Hell, sometimes Adrul has to agree with his celestial father. Demons are the scum of this planet. They're the lowest of the low, the most disgusting lifeforms to ever enter the planes of existence. Made out of spite, made to spite-

Belo had always been right. Perdition doesn't need to be ruled over, it needs to be decimated. Torn asunder, rent to a crisp. And its verminous inhabitants should be hunted down to the very last curly-tailed imp...

But alas, orders are orders, and Adrul's fate had been spun long before his mother birthed him. So Hell still stands, mocking the universe.

Sometimes, now more than ever, Adrul feels that he's a clown. A fool made to lord himself over degenerates. It's a sinking feeling that curls in his gut like poison, and now, he has no means of escaping it.

See, demons, in their endlessly abundant mental stunting, fail to grasp that Adrul is not some half-human nitwit. He's less than a tenth human, if he had to guess... Father weaved his power into both his and Adelo's development during pregnancy, there is absolutely no way he would have allowed a half-lesser child. They both know this, and truthfully, are also grateful for such.

But again, demons are just brainless. They're hardly even people, in Adrul's eyes. So it's no wonder they can't put two and two together, it's no shock groups of overconfident scumfucks gather to plot against the King of Perdition on a daily basis.

Adrul simply... Underestimated them.

It's something harrowingly painful to admit.

Because it implies he's getting out of touch, he's lowering his guard too much, getting tired maybe. It means he's succumbing to something, that his thought process is deteriorating, that he's not as competent as his parents trained him to be, that he's a let-down, useless- He makes mistakes because he is a mistake, they're all extensions of him.

And his biggest mistake, was letting his heart die.

Carelessly tossing you to a brutal end, the details of which gruesome enough that Adrul can't bare to recall lest he fly into another soul-shattering meltdown. His most selfish action, marking the day he lost everything.

Adrul's reaction to your death was stone cold.

He's never been good with displaying emotion. Never been very facially expressive, strayed from hysteric tones, hardly laughed and hardly cried. Though, in that moment, he felt that he didn't react because he simply couldn't. Reacting would have killed him. It would have broken his mind beyond saving.

The servants didn't know what to do, rushing back and forth, too afraid to direct any words at him, everyone hovering around the scene of the crime, trying not to touch what's left of your body or the mess that spattered the rest of the area.

Adrul collected your butchered remains silently, slowly following the trail of blood leading to other divisions, indicating you had put up a valiant fight. The constant dripping off your torn body echoed through the walls, reminding him that it was over. That you were gone, that he would never get to hold you again, or hear your voice, feel your touch. He would never love again. He would never want again, he would never live again.

Hell burns. But Adrul is cold.

You were handed over to people he knew could never betray him, ordering them to fix your form as perfectly as they could- Because their lives depended on it. And while that happened, the prince crowned King went hunting for the animals that did this, the insects who couldn't even fathom the horrors they'd face.

It wasn't hard. Adrul knows how to manipulate crowds. Turn them against each other. All he had to do was identify the culprits, offer compensation, and allow the entirety of demonkind to turn against each other, a slaughter the likes of which not even Kalymir could dream of. The Icons themselves are involved in this search, which means whatever rebellious sect initiated this had less than days to get their shit kicked in.

Most of them were brought to him captured, alive. Others dragged in dead. Some stragglers who made it to the surface in hopes of escaping were severely wounded but there nonetheless. Adrul kept the leaders to himself.

And then, he loaded the rest into a transportation device, preparing to visit the surface, and bring the news to his family...

Adrul hadn't shed a tear yet.

Admin was devastated. She could not imagine a fate more disturbing for the human Adrul favored, for the one her, Belo and Krulu approved of. A lesser truly worthy of uniting with her son... She was the first to offer Adrul solace and comfort, and the first to see him react minimally, face twitching erratically, silent tears flowing down his face. She understood Adrul is just like his Father, that he doesn't show what he's really feeling most of the time, that she shouldn't expect him to bear his heart to her in this time- But she wouldn't be a good mom if she didn't make it very clear that Adrul needs to process things and mourn you properly. Easier said than done. She couldn't imagine the grief it would cause if either one of her partners died, if she died.

Adelo, for once, took something seriously. Adrul had spared him a venomous look upon first sight, as if expecting the angel hybrid to crack a tasteless joke, and it genuinely wounded him to know his brother thought that little of Adelo. He's always been bad with wording things, so the older brother merely offered his condolences and volunteered any sort of necessary help. He could tell Adrul was dead inside the moment he glanced upon his brother, having learned to read the monster quite well. It was hard to witness, and he figured he ought to keep his distance for a while.

Belo was equally stunned. That's always been the problem with lessers, hasn't it? They're endlessly fragile, they need constant surveillance, constant protection- A herculean task. Like Admin, he cried for his son, he joined in her comforting efforts, using his properties as a celestial to offer calm, and did his best to guide poor Adrul into calm mindsets. Belo knows what it's like to want to drown one's sorrow in work, productivity is oftentimes a coping mechanism, so he urged his son to work and help around as he visited, keeping him safe from his thoughts, gentle silence shared.

Krulu's gaze is hard. Adrul did fail, he said to his own son's face. That was failure, there's no escaping it. And before Adrul's soul could shatter deeper, the siadar proclaimed that Adrul didn't have the luxury of following you. Adrul is bigger than you and he serves a purpose that precedes your involvement in his life. You were a marvelous lesser, and he recognizes his son loved you more than anything- For his eyes blazed with the same intensity around you as his do towards Admin. Although it may have felt that way, Krulu reminds his inwardly grieving, breaking son that not all was lost. That he couldn't let himself fail further.

Miara deflated like a balloon at the news. She was looking forward to seeing you and him become a big, happy family. Adrul was hastily invited into her main lands, and after some bickering with both Krulu and Belo, Miara convinced the stubborn bulls that their son needed rest, distraction, care. Not pain, not being around people who remind him of his responsibilities. Adrul needed healing of the highest degree, he seemed to attract misery and those who covet it like moths to a flame. To see wraiths hover around his vicinity like vultures was infuriating and extremely disappointing. She had wisdom to impart on the demi-siadar, and more than enough nurture to spare, as well as guidance for Admin in how to care for her wounded son.

The rebellious demons who had been transported to the surface were handed to none other than his Lord-Father.

Adrul knew that, no matter how creative he got, Krulu would always be able to unleash torture the likes of which he can't even conceive of. Seeing the mind-shattering terror on the demons' faces as they got swept into the bowels of The Clergy's Eye, taken into the depths of it by his Father, it was something truly marvelous.

Krulu used these demons for just about everything, spending most of his free time delighting in their meticulous torture. For once, his chosen and his dove were invited to see the process, to aid in it. Not Adrul, Adrul was still too shattered to glimpse into those instances and Krulu knew that. Although, his son does get a couple of "finished pieces" sent back to his residence in Perdition, with a message from the higher suggesting that he should display them where all could see. Beautiful omens born out of pointless lives. Adrul did like them, enough to show them to the mangled leaders of the resistance.

They don't get to die, naturally.

After all, Adrul didn't get to die either. To this day, he's not afforded that luxury. He has to drag himself onwards with his many legs, pretending to feel any sort of drive for anything, pretending he doesn't just want to loiter around the garden the two of you made, now a burial ground of unimaginable beauty, and curl up next to your headstone for the rest of time.

Adrul was merciless and blind to morals when he hunted down the families of those leading demons. He forced them to stay by his side, bound and gagged and screaming, because they knew exactly what was going to happen when the King ordered his most loyal warriors to bludgeon and massacre and do anything they wanted to those innocent lives. Wives, parents, sons and daughters- Adrul smiled, grinned, it was the first time he laughed ever since you were taken from him.

The demi-siadar almost wished he was a wraith, just so he could savor the pain his prisoners felt as they froze, or erupted into hysterical babbling, screaming at the top of their lungs until their throats tore.

Adelo and Adrul are sons of Protector Saudramar, of Plaguemaster, of Lord-Master Krulu.

Sure, they may also be born of Admin and Belo, elements that keep them minimally grounded, bearable. Still, it would be foolish to assume they couldn't choose their Father's path when poked just right.

The King of Hell became something uncontrollably evil.

Adrul is now consumed by a rage not too distant from that of Krulu's. Having his most important element in life mauled to an untimely end, then forced to rule over the cretins that did it, forced to think in their best interests and keep them safe, keep the comfortable.

As if they fucking deserve the bare minimum consideration.

He can't take it.

He can't fucking take it anymore.

That's why Adrul seizes any opportunity he has to slaughter hundreds for the smallest of misdeeds. A trail of bodies follows Adrul wherever he ventures in his own domain, the streets cleared for him. If he could, he'd wipe out the entire population of all rings. Even if he knows it wouldn't fix him. It would be just.

It would be fair.

Sometimes, he comes back home showered in blood, letting droplets taint the flowers of your garden as he lays on the ground and speaks to you.

Begs you to take him with you.

To forgive him.

He failed you. He failed the person who was there for him through thick and thin, through his anxieties of wanting to live up to his role and getting caught up in tornados of endless conflict. He conquered Hell for you, in the end, because of you.

And now... It means nothing to him. Everything Adrul spent his youth training for, attaining, means absolutely fucking nothing to him.

He just wishes he could die, anything would be better than this joke of an existence.

And maybe, it's that desire to shed his husk and his life, that brings Dorem to Hell.

Granted, the ruler of Limbo isn't there for small talk or a pat on the back. No words are spoken between Adrul and the soulkeeper when Dorem produces an intricate container of what appears to be (but definitely isn't) glass. Inside it dances an extremely bright light, molding into all shapes and states as if agitated.

Then, once passed onto his dark hands, it calms immediately. The entity flattens against the glass, drawn to him, emitting a comforting warmth he could never mistake.

Dorem fades with the shadows.

It's you.

It's the essence of you.

Adrul sobs so hard he chokes on his own screams.