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sabraeal · 11 months

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All Pain Will Turn to Medicine, Chapter 8

[Read on AO3]

Written for the birthday of our favorite Australian, @meibemeibelline! It has been over a year since I have gotten a chapter of this one out (after being SO sure I was going to finish it in 2023 ha. ha. ha.) and after worrying that I might not have enough of a first draft to cover the whole content of this chapter...went and had to cut it in half again to keep this chapter from growing out of control 🤣

Herr Kruger’s inn towers over the other buildings in the quarter; three full stories stacked one atop the other like layers on a cake, its peaked roof jutting higher still. Half-timbered, like all the stores on the square, but not just the simple cross-hatched frames used to shore up the plaster. No, these were all arches and stars and clovers, as prettily patterned as the gingerbread houses in the pastry shop.

“There’s four floors,” Herr Kruger corrects, stairs creaking beneath his feet. “A fifth, too, if you don’t mind the rafters squeezing in on you. Pavo kept his room there for a while, before he nearly put his head through the roof.”

Anda may snort, but it’s not some fatherly boast. He’d broken skin— enough to have his mother sobbing, thinking his brains might be next, but it’d barely been more than a scratch, not deep enough to need stitching. Shirayuki had been the one to ruffle the plaster from his hair, giving a soothing cluck when he bleated out, don’t tell Herr Anda. She rubbed some salve into it, and with a firm recommendation to stick to higher ceilings, let it close up all on its own.

“The old building here has a half dozen rooms,” Herr Kruger presses on, leading them out onto the landing. “It’s the original inn, back from when my opa built it. But the new extension’s got twice that. Bigger ones, too.”

New extension, Oma would huff at the very whisper of the words. That old thing has been squatting here since before you were a twinkle in your father’s eye. Had the quarter split right down over the middle over it, when they put it up— half of them could hardly wait to tap a new keg to celebrate, and the other stood out on that very street and cursed the name Kruger down to its cornerstone. Your grandfather right at the head of them, of course.

A misty look would roll over her then, a wistful smile curling up at the corner of her mouth. Some days I used to wonder if they’d settle it the whole business with their fists. But it never quite came down to that. Pity, really.

“Bigger?” Anda cranes his neck around a jamb to give the room a cursory look. “Seems fine enough to me.”

Herr Kruger hooks his hands on his hips, a sigh blustering out from between his lips. “Most custom that stops in now has a man or two with them. For safety, mind you. A servant sometimes, or a guard, maybe both. Want ‘em to be as close as a good yell.”

It’s hardly the first time Shirayuki’s shuffled down the extension’s spine— they’d play here in the slow season, her and Pavo and a handful of the other children around their age, racing down the runner and pretending they were trapped inside some great cat, all curled up right against the street. But it’s never been so empty, so quiet that every footstep echoes down the hall, announcing her approach as gustily as a herald might a king.

The staccato taps of Anda’s cane burst like firecrackers into the silence, pop-pop-pop, too loud as he lingers at a threshold, his brows bent over a bemused hum. Already she can see the protest brewing behind his rumpled mouth, frustration fomenting before reason can react. Too many floors. Too many rooms. We’d be on our feet more often than we’d be off them.

Shirayuki sidles up beside him, peering over— or rather, around his shoulder. Anda may have stooped and she might have grew, but he still stood a head taller, able to see eye-to-eye with Obi while all she managed was an aching neck. “I suppose we wouldn’t have to worry about beds.”

He startles, annoyance hissing out between his teeth. “Beds, ha. This thing keeps on like it has and we’ll be adding them. Might even be best to put a few pallets in each room to start, keep down on the pacing. In the field hospitals, they’d have them laid out in one big room, a dozen rows deep, so all you had to do was look out and know where you were needed. Never more than a few steps from one beside to another…”

“’And the flux and flu could stretch their legs just as easily as we could.’” Shirayuki smiles up into his scowl. “That’s what you would always tell me, isn’t it, Meister?”

“I suppose I did.” He grunts, blowing a breath through thinned lips. “All right, Herr Kruger. You said there’s a back stair, isn’t there? Let’s see if it’s any more convenient than that death trap you had leading up.”

There’s a little knot beneath her breast as she watches him hobble off, putting force behind each tap of his cane. The hunch of his shoulders tells her she’s pinched his pride, and his sour stamp says he wants her to know it, to feel bad for the old man whose honor she’s impugned. She doesn’t, of course— he’s a petty little porcupine of a man, Seyha would tell her whenever she could settle long enough to bend her ear, it’s best not to give in to his sulks— but the light catches more gray the brown these days, and she’s come to suspect that cane has become more crutch than affectation, and--

And her fondness chokes her, right there in the door.

“Are you coming, girl?” he calls out, the clacking of his cane more cross by the word. “I didn’t bring you to test out the beds, too!”

Shirayuki smothers her smile. “In just a minute! I was…”

Her gaze drops to her skirt as she turns, trying to make sure she doesn’t catch herself on the doorway— she’s done that more than once here, the jambs always set a little too high or the latches reaching out just a little too far— but a ripple on the wall distracts her. Paper peels back from the plaster, and beneath it lay a pock-marked scar, a divot poorly patched.

The crater sits smooth beneath her fingertips, a little wider than two of them pressed together. It’s impossible to resist the twitch at the corner of her lips, to keep it from slanting into the softest smile. That had fit her whole hand once, fingers spread as wide as starfish as she marveled at the dint Pavo had made with just the top of his head. She’d been smaller then, and the wound freshly made; Pavo had cried thinking of the way his mother would scold them for sliding down the runners, trying to see how far they could go before either the carpet or their knees gave out. Neither of them expected the wall to give first. She couldn’t have been more than eight summers then, maybe nine, Pavo just a year older, and Obi—

She blinks. Obi hadn’t been there. It’d be years yet before he came, undersized and underfed, bleeding buckets on Herr Anda’s table. Those small hands hadn’t yet sewn flesh, hadn’t yet learned how to coax a reluctant cat of a boy into a bath, hadn’t yet become hers, with all the nicks and calluses and scrapes that made her Shirayuki.

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? It seems impossible that Obi wasn’t beside her then, because for as long as she’s been Shirayuki, there’s been an Obi just a few steps behind, a taunt poised at the tip of his tongue. In her memory, he's at her shoulder, helping Pavo to his feet and chuckling at the way he stumbled. She can see it so clearly; that same face just at the cusp adolescence, fat clinging to his cheeks even as the bones beneath tried to angle themselves into sharper planes. The odd stretch to his long bones, despite being the smallest in his year, like they were coiled for the growth spurt that would shoot him to a man’s height, just another summer or two away.

If he wasn’t with her then, then that means they were once separated. A tea cup without its saucer, a right hand without a left. And if they were once…

Then that means they could be again.

“Shirayuki.”

Her breath catches, fingers snapping away from the plaster. It’s too late, a polished cane lingers between her toes; when she looks up, there is Anda, far too much understanding in his dark eyes.

“Meister!” she gasp, gripping her skirt in both hands. “I…sorry. I’m coming…”

His palm lifts up, halting her where she stands. “No need, girl; the deed is done. Probably walk across the city twice each day all put together running ourselves ragged down these halls, but this old pile will do for our purposes.” His shoulders shrug, more agitated than resigned. “Not likely to get a better offer anyway. And we can’t pack them all in the apothecary like cord wood, now can we?”

“Ah…” Her mouth falls open, just a bit, before she catches it. “I suppose not.”

“That’s right.” His cane rattles in his hand, knocking against the floorboards. “Which means we’ve got to have the stocks to treat them. Last I checked we were running low on mallow and sweet flag. Certainly not enough to treat the whole quarter if they come begging at our door.”

“Ah…?” Her eyelashes flutter, gaze tracking from one end of the hall to the other. “But don’t you need help relocating what we have? The drawers—?”

“Kruger’s young buck will do me well enough, and some of the stablehands besides. Not like they’ve got much else to be doing.” He huffs, blustering in his usual way. “You’ll serve me much better out in those reeds, doing the things an apprentice is meant to do.”

“But, Herr…”

“Shirayuki.” His dark eyes rest on her, concerned and contrite all rolled into one. “Am I a gentle man? A generous employer?”

The answer to both is yes. Anda might be an exacting one, not given to coddling or comfort, but in the six years she’s been his apprentice, she’s never worked a single festival. When her hours began to stretch deeper into the night, he made a bed for her, a second home to keep her from needing to walk dark streets to her door. He might snipe at Obi when he lingers, but he’s never shooed him either, simply finding jobs that needs a young man’s strength and putting him to work.

There’s a hundred other small kindnesses that come to mind— her afternoons off, when the weather is fine; how he’s always peckish when the bakery’s at a lull and she can grab more than just a pie and few words at the counter— but she’s learned: in this and this alone, Anda prefers the expected over the earnest.

“No.” This lie is as poorly done as all her others, but this, at least, is one he wants to hear. “Of course not, Meister.”

“Then go take your afternoon already,” he grumbles, shoulders hunched around his ears. “Before I change my mind and make you count sprigs.”

This early in autumn, the trees cling to their summer plumage, the nights not yet cold enough to gild green to gold, and for gold to ignite into fiery reds and orange. At yet, when she arrives at the water’s edge, struggling through some stubborn tall grass overgrown from the late summer rains, it’s not green and gray that ripples across its surface. No, the vibrant blooms of marsh chestnut clinging to their rafts of spade-shaped leaves. They float at the deepest parts, bobbling like the candles children send across it at Samhain; it’s no river to guide wayward souls, but they make due. Shirayuki, for her part, has never heard a soul complain.

She’s tempted to, however, taking in the pond’s height. For as much as the heat lingered these past few weeks, it hasn’t done much to the waterline. A good thing for the mill, she supposes, but a pain for the girl that’s been sent out to wade in its shallows.

With a sigh, she toes off one boot. No point in putting off the inevitable. Her stocking bunches under her hands as she works it down from knee to ankle, slipping off her foot with far more ease than it took to put them on. Her bare toes land on damp grass, and it’s cold too, clammy. But with a stiffening of her resolve— and her spine— she lets another boot and stocking join the pile.

The soil is moist enough to stick to her feet, shedding from her soles with even the slightest shift in weight. As a child she would revel in it, sinking her toes deep into the ground until dirt embedded itself so deep it’d take a week’s worth of baths to get it all out. Now her teeth simply clench, contemplating whether her skirt or the waterline is higher.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” she murmurs, hiking it from knee-length to somewhere around mid-thigh. Her pale skin blazes like a beacon in the overcast light, visible from the far shore, but there’s no one around her to see her, none of Oma’s old friends present to cluck and scold and sniff at her over what sort of behavior a good girl was meant to show. The kind that married young and popped out a half dozen children before she could have second thoughts.

Like that Suki Bauer, they’d say, proud of themselves for thinking of it. Two girls already and a boy probably already on the way.

If only they knew how high her hemline had to go to get Gen to jump the broom, Obi would tell her, grin as slanted as his stare, they might suggest you wear yours up around your ears.

She’s been behind the counter then, a pair of elder ladies eyeing them from where they browsed the shelves, and she’d clamped her teeth tight over her lip to muffle her laugh down to a snort. Bad enough that he said those sorts of things where anyone could hear, the last thing he needed was encouragement.

But now her fingers flex, a strange itch burrowing beneath her skin. There’s a heat there, just under the surface, one that radiates out from the molten place in her belly and— and she shivers without touching the water at all. Wonder what you could do with someone who wanted you, then?

Her breath catches, throat so tight it nearly chokes her, and ah, she’ll take her chance with the mud and the leeches, as long as she can be free from… from this, whatever it is.

Shirayuki doesn’t so much step as slide down the shore, hands flying out to keep steady. The muck sucks at her toes, chilly and unpleasant, soft enough that some of it even clouds up around her feet. It’s the slimiest pair of slippers she’s ever had the misfortune of wearing. A small school of pucker-mouthed guppies crowd her as she gains her bearings, gumming at the bubbles caught on the downy hairs dotting her shins— better company than leeches to be sure, but it tickles, sending the smallest shivers beneath her skin.

“Ah…” Her teeth grit tight as she wades through the muck, bracing her against the chill of the water. “Well, there’s no point to standing around!”

On a warmer day she might kneel, letting the water cool her as long blades and gnarled roots piled high in the basket floating beside her. But today each shift in the waterline brings a gasp, that run of warm weather all but leeched from the pond’s memory. So she bends instead of bathes, questing fingers digging deep beneath the soaked soil, feeling for the hard rootstalks hidden beneath the murk and muck. Sweet flag— calamus, its tag reads, once it was boiled down and turned to oil or dried powder— wasn’t the sort of the plant that rooted deep, entrenching itself the way that the oaks and the willows did just up on shore. Instead it runs parallel between plants, a dozen little knotty shoots tangling around each other to keep each sprout from toppling.

A practiced tug pulls three of them out together; they all share the same rootstalk, the first plant showing the most robust rats’ nest of pale shoots and the third only a handful of spindly ones. A fair specimen, for her first go. And she’d need a dozen more like it to even scratch the surface of what they need to replenish their stores.

It’s hardly difficult work; her first year as an apprentice, Anda had brought her out here in the dead heat of summer and showed her how to feel for the thickest rootstalks, plucking only the most hearty plants to boil down. She’d been down to her chemise, fingers and toes so pruned it’d taken her a day to lose the wrinkles. Her whole body had singed to a light pink after all those hours in the sun, but she’d plucked enough to keep them stocked for nearly a year. The motion comes to her easy as breathing now, her fingers slipping along stalks and roots, wiggling when she things she’s found a good clot.

There’s one that gets stubborn— a big, chunky knot of a thing, holding what has to be five plants together. The roots are so gnarled beneath it she has to work her palm under and around to get a good grip. A grip she does, hauling on it until roots snap like stitches under her hands, toes curling in the mud to brace her. And she’s got it, she really does, the whole thing pulled like a tooth, but—

“You know, half-pint,” a familiar voice drawls from the shore, “if you were just gonna splash around in the water, you should have told me.”

It surprises her. Enough that she tugs too quick, too strong, and— and Shirayuki isn’t clumsy, no matter how Obi likes to tease, but with that knotty clump of roots and long grass in her grip, center of gravity shifted to yank rather than hold, it’s no surprise she tumbles. Topples really, like a tower of dishes stacked askew, sweet flag flying from her hands and basket sent skittering. When she falls, bottom-first, there's only water to catch her.

Which would be fine enough all on its own. With the soft silt lining the pond’s floor, there’d be no injury save to her pride. Wet skirts wouldn’t be pleasant, but she’d suffered worse under Anda’s exacting tutelage. The day might not be as hot as the ones before, but she’d dry quick enough picking mallow from the dryer parts of the marsh.

Or at least, that’s how it should have been, save for the fact that she’s waded right to where the shore drops off, knee-height to one side and waist-high on the other. When she tips over, there’s no clacking of teeth as her tailbone hits the bottom, but instead—

Instead a splash, murky water closing over her head as her fall slows to a float.

It only takes her a moment to find her feet— a breath, really, one that leaves her sputtering as she breaks the surface, glaring up at the grinning mouth on the shore.

“Obi,” she gasps, trying for stern but only managing sopping. “What were you—?”

“Sorry there, Miss.” He hardly sounds it as he slips down the shore after her, hand held out like an olive branch. “Didn’t mean to spook you. Just saw you splashing around in the shallows there and thought you might ask me to join.”

“Splashing?” Her hand grips onto his, a cascade of pond water dripping down her arm for the effort. “I wasn’t trying to just play around in here, Obi! I was—”

As firm as Obi holds her, his strong fingers latched around her wrist like a vise, she slips. Not all at once, oh no, but just enough to catch her breath, and when he goes to fix his grip—

Water closes over her once more, seeping through to her already soaked skin, and oh, she’s had quite enough of this.

“That was an accident, Miss!” he swears, hands waving overhead. “Really, the water went and made you all slippery, and I, er…”

She surges up, gripping him right below his elbows, and pulls.

Obi surfaces with a squawk, pond water running in rivulets down the sharp angles of his face. “Miss,” he huffs, finding his feet. “That was dirty—”

“You dropped me!” she reminds him, chin held high. “It was only fair.”

“Fair?” He wades toward her with a purpose, mischief dancing in his eyes like the townsfolk swore lights did over the pond. “Oh, I’ll drop you all right. I’ll drop you right—”

His arm snakes out, cinching around her waist before she can do much more than flounder, lifting her up off her feet. There’s a moment where he holds her, her back pressed tight against his front, heat radiating off of him even soaked to the bone, and her breath catches, heat flushing her cheeks, and—

And with a grunt, he throws her, cold water enveloping her as she struggles back to the surface. “Obi!”

There’s no need to call for him, not when he’s already trudging toward her mouth curled towards mischief.

“No!” she shrieks, a laugh bubbling out beneath it. “Don’t you dare!”

Her hand barely skims the water, but somehow a bucket’s worth flies up from it, slapping him like a wave does the shore. It stops him, at least for a moment, but then he’s on her again and she— she yelps, springing back, cupping her hands now to splash him, breathless as his grasping hands reach for her, as relentless as his grin—

And she slips. It’s a rock’s fault, mossy with algae and right where she needs her foot to brace for the next splash. But it goes out from under her instead, and she expects to fall, expects to end up once more beneath the surface, this time without any of Obi’s assistance, but instead—

Instead he grabs her, one hand on either hip, and drags her to him. It’s enough to startle a shriek out of her, bubbling into a giggle as her hands brace against his chest. She struggles in his hold, his body unbearably hot even through the dampness of his shirt.

“Let me go!” she gasps, not meaning a single word. Her fingers knot at his shoulders, wet fabric squishing beneath her fingers. “You’re keeping me from my work!”

Her knees find his hips; a more solid place to steady herself than the shifting silt beneath her feet. Obi coughs out a pained, “Miss.”

But it’s no use, she’s too busy trying to squirm herself away, laughter warring with her words as she blurts out, “Herr Anda told me to collect some calamus! You’re going to have to explain to him why—”

“Shirayuki.” He shakes her shoulders, but that’s hardly what get her attention, not when his mouth wraps so seriously around the syllable of her name. His voice lowers as he says it, dragging it across the gravel in his throat until it leaves her as scoured as the sounds themselves, a hot sting scraping over her skin.

Their eyes meet— too close, now that she’s noticed, their noses a finger’s breadth from brushing. His breath fans out over her, catching on a cheekbone before it ruffles the small, wispy hairs by her ears. It’s…intimate, too much and not enough all at once, and she wishes she could understand why her palms itch to grab him, to bring him closer still—

“I’m leaving,” he grounds out. Her fingers spring open in shock, and only his grip around her waist moors her. “Seyha is taking me to Port City.”

Her lips are too numb to mumble out more than a, “When?”

“A day.” He shrugs, like it hardly matters, but his eyes slip away, fixing somewhere past her elbows, not daring to look at her face. “Maybe two. I don’t know.”

Her feet skim down to the silt, holding her steady, the way they always have, all on their own. Obi watches her, eyes darting across her face over and over, as if she’s a book he can’t quite make out the words on, hoping that an extra read or two might make her meaning clear.

“She’s eager to get going,” he says. There’s a gulf between them now, water rushing to fill it. “Never could be tied down long, could she? Even as big as she is. We could leave now and in two days, maybe she’d finally waddle to the gate.”

She wants to laugh, to scold, to give into the usual ebb and flow of their banter and let it pull her under, make her forget that there’s anything to worry about at all, but—

But it’s a lie. One that splits around the shape of his meaning, sounding out its edges while never quite getting to the truth: it’s not safe for Seyha to be here among all this sickness. And it’s not safe for her to go alone, not carrying a child so close to term.

It will have to be Obi that goes with her. That will have to leave her, right when…when…

His smile fades, mouth finally reflecting the desperation in his eyes. “I didn’t know until last night. After you…”

The gears turn then; she can see it behind his eyes, his too-clever mind puzzling out the arrangement of bodies in the bakery last night, of what sort of conversation could be heard through the stockroom walls. “Did you…?”

“Come on.” Her hands slips from his grip, and she tries on a smile that hardly fits. “If you’re going to soak me to the bone, you might at least help me finish.”

His stare fixes on his empty hand, a strange smirk slanting up one side of his mouth. “That’s right.” His hand curls shut. “What’s a little back breaking labor between friends?”

One glance at the pattern of drips she leaves on the apothecary floor and Anda gives a great harrumph, telling her to leave her bounty of shoots and stalks on the county before she heads home.

“I can come back,” she offers, less confident and far more helpless than she’d like. “It won’t take long for me to change clothes, and then I can help with—”

His hand waves, the politest dismissal Anda can ever bear to give. “And then have you sick when I need you most? Go, girl. There’s nothing to do here that I can’t handle myself.”

“I’m nearly dry.” A statement that isn’t as factual as she’d hoped it would be, even after spending a hour on shore collecting mallow. Too little sun, too little heat, and she’d only managed damp instead of soaked. “If we’re going to set up the inn, then I should really—”

“Get a good night’s rest.” Anda’s forehead rucks up like his mouth, impatience and frustration leaving gouges in his skin. “Herr Kruger’s boy is handling most of it. Obi too, if Shou’s finally got a collar on him.”

“But I can—!”

“Catch your death, that’s what you’re going to do if you keep loitering in my shop like this,” he huffs, giving the floor a rap for good measure. “Go home. It might be a while yet before you get to do it again.”

Shirayuki lets out a sigh. “That’s what you said last night.”

“And I’m going to keep saying it.” His brows knit the same as his jaw, stubborn all over. “Things like this, they don’t stay contained. Illness spreads, the gates come down, and people panic. Enjoy this last bit of sanity while you can, girl. Because once it stops…”

He gazes out the window, knuckles white where he grips his cane. “We’ll see what’s left.”

Anda might pretend to be an exacting employer, the sort that expected odd hours and long nights with little thanks in return, but the truth of it was he was merely a prickly personality with a rather permissive policy when it came to the actual hours she worked. Some days she labored into the wee hours; mostly when a patient was in labor herself, though there’d been more than a handful of brows that needed mopping and stubborn fevers that refuse to break that kept her worn thin for weeks as they raced through the quarter.

But there had been more where Anda shooed her out the door, telling her the weather was too hot to have more than one body in the shop, or that there was no need for her to hike all the way back to gossip with him once she was done with her rounds. Enough that habit has her reach for an apron as she steps into the pub, ready to lend a hand before the regulars stomped in, eager to unwind from their wearying work.

But the taproom is silent, not a soul in it besides Oma, wiping a cloth over a counter so clean it nearly gleams. Her hands drop to her sides, stomaching rolling over to follow.

“Shirayuki!” There’s a warmth in Oma’s smile that thins before it can make it to her eyes. “You’re back so soon! And here I was, just thinking what I might put on for dinner. I think there’s a roast…”

“Ah!” She shakes her head, a palm flying up between them. “I don’t really think I could…I mean, thank you, but it’s been a long day. I think I might just grab something light to tide me over. We still have some of that cheese, don’t we? The one Seyha’s friend sent in from Clarines? If you don’t have any plans for it…?”

“I don’t,” Oma sighs, the wrinkles deepening at the corner of her eyes. “So, it’s the both of you today is it? Careful, spurn a woman’s cooking too often and she might find insult in it.”

“Nothing could keep me from one of your meals if I thought I could stay awake long enough to eat it.” Shirayuki offers a weary smile. “Is Opa feeling all right? Usually he’s first in line for your roast.”

“Oh, you know how he is. Got a bit of a head cold and suddenly nothing’s quite right.” She shakes her head, fond. “He’s just got to sulk about it for a bit, then he’ll come around. Maybe if he smells it cooking.”

If he’s got enough of a cold to complain about how his food tastes, Shirayuki doubts he’ll be smelling much of anything. But she knows better than to say anything but, “Maybe.”

“Well, off with you then.” Oma waves at her, imperious as a queen on her throne. “Go scrounge up what you’re planning to stomach. But wake up hungry, would you? If I don’t feed you something I’m afraid Anda will run you so thin you’ll slip through the floor boards.”

“I will,” she says, hoping this knot in her stomach doesn’t make a liar out of her. “I promise.”

Shirayuki may eat light, but it does nothing to settle her stomach-- or the pit of dread nestled at the center of it. It had been easy to ignore it as she waded in the reeds, too busy trying to keep herself steady in the shallows to think of the inn’s echoing halls, or the quiet of the pub’s taproom, or even the brittle parchment of Goro Bauer’s skin. No space to think of the halo of blonde waves spread over Maki Fischer’s pillow or her mother trying to stifle her sobs in the pantry, not when her ankles itch in the tall grass, hunting for mallow.

But it comes to her now as the minutes tick right over midnight, the hours inching closer and closer to the dawn. Every body twisted in its bed, sweating out a sickness too stubborn to relinquish its dominion; every face peering around the sickroom door, strained with worry. She’s responsible for all of them, every soul in this quarter, and the longer this drags on, days turning to weeks turning to more—

She’s failing them.

The glass rattles in its casement— from the wind maybe, or simply the pub settling on its old bones. Laying here, she can’t know which; there’s no tree to give away a breeze with its swaying, the same way there had never been one to give an easy answer to Obi’s entrance. She’d never discovered how he’d done it either; for all that he’d though getting Shou a wife would grant him more free hours, he’d come away with less. What time he did spend with her tended to be either between batches, when he could steal across the street to bother her, or when Oma put dinner on the table— and in either case, he used the door.

And now she would never know, because she— because he—

He was leaving. And she…

She wishes that it was warm enough to leave the window open. That he might see it, however he used to, and know that she wanted him to come, to lay down beside her the way he used to when everything felt right in her world.

That’s the thing about growing up, she thinks, the quarter bleary as her eyes drift shut. Once things start feeling wrong, they just never feel right again.

She must sleep at some point. There's a vague memory of her mattress slipping dipping beneath the weight of a shadow, of a too-warm body holding her close. But when she’s awoken, the sky still heavy with night, there’s no one beside he. Only Oma, grip hard on her shoulder as she shakes her awake.

“Shirayuki,” she gasps, hushed. “Get up, please.”

Shirayuki blinks blearily, trying to find some hint of the sun on the horizon. “What time is it?”

“Please,” Oma says, so dire she’s awake all at once. “It’s your grandfather.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #All Pain Will Turn to Medicine #neighbors au #my fic #ans #i swear i always think i'm gonna run out of content before the end of the chapter #and then the BITTIEST things become this huge scene #i added in the whole thing at the inn and it just SWALLOWED up the fic #and once i got to the planned scene of obi and shirayuki at the pond i was like #oh god i'm gonna have the space to MAYBE wrap up this day #not get Obi to the gate #WELL NEXT TIME I GUESS

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mortemoppetere · 1 year

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TIMING: current / evening LOCATION: wormwoods PARTIES: @sofiedupont & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: while on a walk in the woods, sofie runs into someone she hoped she wouldn't see again... and then they both run into something worse. CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of child abuse

She had gone out for an evening stroll.

Of course, the woods in the late spring evening probably weren’t the best idea, but it wasn’t as though Sofie had a great deal of options in regards to time. She rather liked not being burnt by the sun, even if she did miss the warmth of it’s rays on her skin some days.

But lighting wasn’t her current issue.

The issue was that she was fairly certain that she was being followed.

The vampire had picked up her pace, heading out of the woods, She’d get out of the woods, head to the Masque, and then go home with two red eyes. It’s fine Sofie, stop being so skittish…

A branch snapped behind her.

Sofie choked back a scream and whirled around, expecting to see a monster. Instead, she saw a man.

A man that she had seen before.

“You,” She said, immediately taking three steps back, her hand searching for the small knife Cassius had given to her to carry. “I’m not bothering anyone, and I’ve already told you as much as I know. Please, just let me go home.” ______

Why did people still go into the woods in this town? How many ‘missing’ posters would it take to finally dissuade hikers from wandering out among the trees, becoming one with nature or whatever it was they liked to do out here? It was stupid. There was no fucking point to any of it.

But it paid the bills, anyway. Emilio had had a few clients come to him recently with missing loved ones who’d last been seen in this part of the woods, and while he had little hope of finding any of them alive, he figured if he could find out what was killing them he could stop it from killing anyone else.

When he spotted another person wandering in the woods ahead of him, he was entirely prepared to tell them to get the hell out before they wound up something’s dinner. But then he got closer, and that familiar shiver went down his spine. Undead. Suddenly, he couldn’t help but wonder if this stranger was the one responsible for the disappearances.

Deciding to follow to make sure, he stayed a ways behind her. But then —

A branch broke. She turned around, and familiarity flooded through him. Shit. “I’m not looking to —” Wait. A branch broke. Emilio faltered. That wasn’t him.

It was the only thought he could form before a hulking mass appeared from the woods to their right, letting out a low chortle. It was a hodgepodge of different things, one of the ugliest goddamn chimeras he’d ever seen. And it clearly wasn’t just animals, either; Emilio spotted a face in the midsection, one of the ones that had been staring up at him from a file on his desk for days now. Shit.

“Maybe you should go home now,” he said dryly, turning to the vampire with a frustrated glare. “Before you get in my way.”

—

He started talking, saying something about not looking to do something. Given her recent track record, Sofie wasn’t so sure she believed that. She looked confused as he cut himself off. Then she understood why.

Sofie wasn’t sure what it was exactly. She did know that it was massive, and that it was perhaps the single most horrifying thing she had ever set her eyes on. A startled shriek rang through the trees as she took several steps back on instinct. Faces and limbs that jutted out at strange angles- everything in her told her to run.

Her gaze pivoted to the slayer, who was glaring at her?! Why was he glaring at her? She’d done nothing wrong! “Believe me, I don’t want to be in your way.” She said, taking a few slow steps backward, her eyes back on the creature in horror. One of its faces swiveled and locked onto Sofie. And much to her dismay, it decided it was more interested in her than it was in the slayer. It started for her.

She hissed, spinning on her heel to run, fishing her knife from her pocket. “I think it’s a bit late for that now, though!”

_____

It was clear that she didn’t believe him, though Emilio couldn’t bring himself to care. She might not have been involved in the massacre that killed his daughter, but she’d still broken bread with the people who were. She’d still stayed in their homes, still made small talk with them around the house. Guilty by association might not be enough to justify him putting a stake through a heart, but it was certainly enough for him not to care if she thought he was a threat to her.

Mostly, he wanted her to go. Seeing her here felt like a reminder of a thousand things he’d rather not remember, the grief and the rage swelling up in his chest all at once. Sometimes, he let himself forget all the things he’d lost. He closed his eyes to it, he pretended it was nothing. But in moments like this? With someone who knew, even if he’d only said the words in a fit of anger? That became much harder.

In a way, the chimera was almost a relief. At least it gave him something else to focus on, some other beast to fight. He’d always done so much better with things like this; when the monster only existed inside his head, slaying it became an impossible task.

But, of course, things still couldn’t be easy. If things were easy, the vampire would have run. And maybe she’d been about to, before the chimera started her way. Emilio would have been lying if he said there wasn’t a part of him that, for a moment, considered just letting the beast tire itself out killing the vampire. For a moment. But the moment didn’t last as long as it would have a few years ago, because they never did anymore. He hadn’t been cold since Flora was born, even if he’d tried to earn that coldness back after her death. He couldn’t let the goddamn vampire die, even if he was supposed to. Even if it was what his mother would have expected.

So he surged forward, kicking its tail and grabbing its spine to jerk it back away from the vampire and towards him instead. It turned one of its terrible heads, and he found himself looking into the eyes of that girl whose picture was still on his desk. At least he could probably get her family something to bury, depending on how he played his cards here. “Lo siento,” he told the head quietly. It opened its mouth and let out a screech that sounded half human, half animal. Emilio ducked the swing of one of its many arms. “You might need more than a small knife if you’re going to stay. El fuego es bueno, for these things.”

______

He grabbed the beast so she could… run? She blinked rapidly as she thoughts raced to catch up with the present situation. Sofie was no fool. She knew the man probably wouldn’t care if she was killed by the thing in front of them. But then why was he helping her? Maybe he wasn’t trying to help at all and was just going for the kill. But he’d pulled it’s attention away from her. She couldn’t just leave him there.

She glanced down at the knife and then back up at the beast. He probably had a point regarding the size of the knife. “Kurwa mać,” Sofie hissed before digging through her bag. She knew she had a lighter somewhere- she’d taken to carrying one in the twenties and never broken the habit. She cursed until her hand met metal in the depths of the bag.

In her distraction she wandered too close, narrowly missing a well aimed swipe by the… whatever the hell the damned thing was. Cursing with a renewed vigor, she searched for something to light on fire. “ogień,” she muttered to herself over and over, half distraction, half plea for something flammable. Her eyes fell on a large stick. That would work. She hastily tore fabric from the bottom of her shirt and wrapped it around the end of the stick. Moments later, it was ablaze. “Now what?!”

———

He was a little surprised that the vampire didn’t turn tail and run the moment she had an opportunity. Just as Emilio had no reason to care if she lived or died, she owed nothing to him. If she were smart, he thought, she’d already be halfway back to town by now, leaving both man and beast behind her. Maybe this meant nothing beyond the fact that she simply wasn’t very smart, then.

He continued to wrestle with the chimera as she rummaged through her purse, grunting as it sunk teeth into his arm. It was the teeth from the human mouth, at least; there was an alligator mouth attached to another part of the body that would have done far worse damage than the duller teeth of a human girl, not designed for ripping flesh.

The light of the fire seemed unnaturally bright, perhaps due to the slayer’s night vision. Emilio, with the chimera’s teeth still locked around his arm, looked up to the vampire with an expression of disbelief. “Now what?” He repeated the question, with a shake of his head. “Fucking kill it, that’s now what. Find a part that looks like it’ll burn and burn it.” He yanked his arm free at last, taking a few teeth along with him when the beast refused to let go. Were teeth an acceptable piece of remains to deliver to a next of kin? They might be the only thing of the girl that was salvageable when this was finished.

—

She had just looked up from her bag when teeth sank into flesh. She let out a yelp, and moved faster. He was fine. Probably. He was a slayer, he probably dealt with worse things than giant horrifying amalgamations of dead people and animals biting into his arm all the time, right? Sofie didn’t quite buy that lie. He may have been terrifying, but he didn’t deserve to die a horrific death.

But then he was yelling at her in disbelief. The vampire scowled back at him. “Excuse me if it’s my first time fighting a fucking monster!” She hissed as she sized up the monster, looking for a section that seemed flammable. Sofie didn’t want to think about it too much. She got as close as she dared, and held the flames to a particularly hairy patch of the beast, hoping the flames would catch.

It let out an animalistic howl of pain before lashing out, catching Sofie in the chest and sending her flying back onto the forest floor. She wheezed, looking back at the make-shift torch. It was still burning. She scrambled to her feet and moved to try again, tossing the lighter in the direction of the slayer. “It’ll go faster if it’s burning in more than one spot.”

_____

“How the fuck is this your first time fighting a monster?” How old was she? Did it matter? Even if she was only as old as she looked — something Emilio doubted, given her demeanor — she was more than old enough to have experience with this sort of thing. The first time he’d fought a ‘monster’ in the vaguest sense, he’d barely been old enough to stand. He didn’t even remember what it had been.

(He remembered being afraid, though. He remembered winning the fight, but being punished anyway. And he’d deserved that. Slayers weren’t supposed to be afraid. He’d known that, even then.)

Someone had failed her, at some point, if she’d made it this far without learning to fight something like this. Especially in this town, as often as things like this popped up. Someone had failed her, but that was hardly important now. What was important now was killing this son of a bitch before it killed him, because dying in the woods in front of someone who had broken bread and made small talk with his daughter’s murderers didn’t sound nearly as tempting as going home and getting a drink. (There were days when it would have. He knew that.)

He caught the lighter as she threw it to him, deciding not to mention that he had one of his own in his pocket. He fumbled for a branch, ripping off his shirt and wrapping it around the wood before setting it ablaze. “Two directions, then,” he told her, shooting her a glare through the smoke and the flames. “You from your end, me from mine. Hit it until it stops moving, and don’t burn the fucking forest down. You can handle this?”

—

“What do you mean ‘how is it my first time’?!” She hissed, dodging out of the way of a rather sharp pair of claws that looked like they may have belonged to a bear at one point. “Chyba sobie kurwa żartujesz,” Sofie muttered, shaking her head. “This has more limbs than the monsters I’m used to!” The monsters that held stakes and knives and crosses, the monsters that looked like him.

He caught the lighter as Sofie dodged the blows the monster tried to hit her with. Being faster than a human helper in these scenarios, she decided. Otherwise, she’d be half eaten by that crocodile head by now.

“Two directions,” she echoed. She could worry about whether or not he would just kill her after he killed the more imminent threat later. For now, they just had to survive the next few minutes and burn this thing without burning themselves to crisps alongside it. “I can handle it.”

Slipping closer with preternatural speed, she held the flames to it once more, not daring to stay in one spot longer than a few moments. Horrible screams echoed into the night as the flames started to catch. “It’s working!”

_______

“I mean, how is it your first time?’” Emilio repeated the phrase with a grunt, ducking to avoid another swipe of claws. Was that arm from a bear? Jesus. He made a note to check up on Nora, even if it was a ridiculous notion. He knew she was fine, just like he knew the arm on the chimera’s body wasn’t from a bugbear. Something in him ached anyway. “You have to be, what, a hundred? And you’ve never fought a monster like this? Ay, this is kid stuff.”

Kid stuff that kept coming dangerously close to getting those reptilian jaws around him. And that sweeping tail was unfamiliar — something supernatural? That was worrying. There was no telling what kind of hidden abilities this thing might be packing. Their best hope at making it out of this shit was to kill this monster as soon as they could.

Which, he could begrudgingly admit, was easier done when coming at it from two directions was a possibility. The vampire (Christ, he didn’t even know her name) moved in with her torch, and Emilio moved in with his. Burnt flesh of various kinds sizzled, the scent filling the air. As disgusting as it was to think so, it almost smelled like barbecue.

“Don’t let up,” he barked the order at the vampire, holding his own torch in closer. The chimera screamed and writhed, swiping at them both, but it was too far gone to do anything. Already mostly on fire, already too late to be saved. That wouldn’t stop it from going down fighting, though. That bear arm, now aflame, swiped towards him again, claws sinking into his side. Emilio let out a grunt as they tore themselves free, stumbling a little. Ah, shit. Blood dripped onto the ground, and the chimera kept on swiping. Dodging was getting more difficult. “I need to back out,” he yelled, perhaps an octave too high. “I’m — Shit. If you don’t keep on it, it’ll probably kill me.” It wasn’t a request, wasn’t a question. It was almost like he was offering her a choice — keep on it, or let him die. Keep carrying that risk, or run away. He honestly wasn’t sure which option she’d go with.

—

“Just turned three hundred-fifteen, but who’s counting.” She shot back, with something vaguely resembling a smile. “I’m scared to ask what you’d consider ‘grown up stuff’.” It wasn’t really the time for jokes, but they could both be eaten by the thing writhing and lashing out in the clearing in the next few minutes. So it seemed as good a time as any.

A human hand lashed out, blunt nails scrabbling to grab purchase before Sofie yanked her arm away, batting the limb off with the torch. The smell of the smoke was wretched. Each new burn on the beast was a reminder of how flammable she was. And just how bad it would be if she didn’t get out of there when the beast was finally nothing but an ember in the woods.

Her eyes went wide as claws tore into the man’s side. That was very bad. The scent of blood caught her nose. She was too focused on not getting murdered to keep her eyes from shifting hue. Red eyes stayed focused on the flaming, writhing mass in front of her. “Go on, I’ve got this.”

Sofie wasn’t certain if it was a lie or not. What she did know was that if he stood there, bleeding out and wounded while he tried to dodge blows, he wouldn’t survive the next few minutes. And she’d already died once before. And perhaps, in whatever small way, helping him might help to absolve her of the sin she hadn’t known she’d committed.

She could do this. she could last a few more minutes.

Sofie dove out of the way of a set of teeth she couldn’t waste time to identify, whacking the head with the torch. She lit up a tree branch, ripping the branch from the limb as the leaves crackled and sparked. The beast let out a frustrated screech as it continued to be engulfed in flames. She took the branch and jabbed it at one of the heads, trying to get its eyes. The howl she heard served as confirmation that it worked. The flames grew higher and higher, and as the vampire dodged she noticed its attacks slow until it collapsed in a firey heap, unmoving.

She ripped her sweater off, she followed her nose to find where the slayer had gone. She moved cautiously, as though she were approaching a wounded animal. Sofie held out her sweater. “To staunch the bleeding.”

____

“It’s not scary if you’re a grown up,” he snorted, half a joke. Most people didn’t find his humor particularly funny, but he still did. Maybe it was okay, sometimes, if you were the only person laughing at your jokes. Target audience and all that.

He saw the familiar shift in her expression when the smell of his blood hit the air, though he’d learned not to worry about such things. A slayer’s blood wasn’t exactly what a vampire would consider a tasty snack, given the way it burned going down. Emilio had weaponized his more than once. Something told him he wouldn’t have to do so today, though. For all that he disliked her, he didn’t consider her a threat. Not anymore.

And, in any case, he was in no state to fight. He stumbled back without really waiting for her to confirm that she’d keep the fight going. Whether she did or didn’t, there wasn’t much he could do about it on his end. Either she’d run and he’d die, or she’d stay and he’d live. It was entirely out of his control.

It seemed she’d chosen the latter, though. Emilio forced himself to stay on his feet despite how badly his legs wanted to give way underneath him, watching her finish off the chimera with gritted teeth. When she turned to move towards him, he made an attempt to wave her off with a bloody arm. “I’m fine,” he snapped, letting his uninjured arm fall down to cradle his side. With his shirt already removed to make his torch, the wound was fully exposed. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it certainly wasn’t good. She had a point about needing to stop the bleeding.

Emilio glanced around, eyes falling on the burning corpse. Cauterizing it would be better than holding a sweater against it. He yanked out a knife, marching passed the vampire to hold the blade to the flames, stubbornly avoiding the alternative she was offering in the form of her sweater.

—

Sofie raised an eyebrow. “No, you very clearly are not.” She said stubbornly. “You were just slashed up by whatever that was- the bear paw, if I’m not mistaken?” Despite the blood, she managed to get her eyes closer to brown than they had been moments before. Thank goodness she wasn’t particularly hungry… and she’d had a few centuries to have a modicum of self control.

Alarm bells rang in her head as he moved toward the fire. She was no medical expert, but that would definitely hurt. And would still need bandaging. “Please just let me help you- I understand that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, but just take the sweater. So that the smell of you cooking doesn’t send more of it’s friends our way.

The vampire held it out, her eyes pleading. It was worth a shot. “Besides, you should go to the hospital. If that wound goes deeper than you can cauterize, what are you going to do then? You’ll still bleed to death, even if you’re not leaving a trail. You can use this as a tourniquet.”

__________

“Sí, sí,” Emilio confirmed, “a bear paw. It’s a chimera. The…” He waved a hand at the smoldering corpse. If she’d killed it, she at least ought to know what it was, right? And besides, the conversation seemed to be shifting her back from her hunger pangs. Even if his blood wouldn’t taste great, he wasn’t looking to lose any to her hungry teeth. He was losing enough to the ground as it was.

He stared at the fire and the knife turning red as she spoke, gritting his teeth against both the physical pain of the injury and the irritation in her concern. She wasn’t supposed to be worried about him. What was with the undead in this town? Her, the vampire nurse who kept trying to help him… Couldn’t any of them leave well enough alone?

He laughed sharply at her suggestion of a hospital. “That isn’t going to happen.” Even if he wanted to go to a hospital, they’d ask questions he didn’t want to answer. Hospitals asked for things like insurance and social security numbers… neither of which Emilio had. After all the shit he’d been through, he wasn’t going to let something as silly as deportation be what sent him back to the country where everything wanted to be the thing to kill him. He continued holding the knife over the fire, but turned to shoot the vampire a quick glare. “If I take your sweater, you won’t mention the hospital again? I’m not going. And I don’t need to go. I’ve had worse than this on my own.”

—

A chimera. The image of a beast with the head of a lion, a serpent for a tail, and a body that of a goat floated through her mind. A thing of myth from ancient times. Sofie looked back at the smoldering heap of limbs and faces that twisted into a hulking mass. None of it matched, and that was perhaps the only thing that reminded her of the old myths. So she supposed the name fit.

She watched as the flame made the metal blade glow. Her frown grew by the second as he stood there, bleeding, and determined to fix it by causing himself more pain. There were better ways to fix it.

She blinked, not expecting the final question. It seemed he was relenting. “I will stop talking about hospitals if you use the sweater as a tourniquet instead of burning yourself, yes.” Sofie lifted the soft fabric once more, holding it out as though it were a peace offering. “Here.”

_____

The fact that she was still here at all was something of a surprise. Making sure he didn’t die was one thing — strange, sure, but not entirely incomprehensible — but staying to chat afterwards? He’d made it pretty clear he didn’t care for her, and he was confident the feeling was a mutual one. So why was she watching him prepare to cauterize his wound with such concern? Why was she urging him to go to a hospital? Why was she handing him her damn sweater?

His nostrils flared in quiet frustration as he dropped the knife to his side, taking the metal away from the heat and letting the Maine air cool it again. “Fine,” he grumbled, removing the hand that was clasped over the wound to snatch the sweater from her. He pressed it against his bloody side with enough pressure to make him see stars, vision graying out for a moment before finding a new equilibrium. Emilio grunted, jaw tightly clenched. He refused to let the pain show on his face, though the way he’d paled certainly betrayed some discomfort.

Looking up at the vampire, he gestured to the sweater soaking up blood on his side as best he could without displacing it. “There. Happy? I’m ruining your pinche sweater for you.”

—

For as uneasy as she was around hunters, she was fairly confident that this man was not about to plunge a stake into her chest. The poor thing had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that a bear claw had torn into him. He paled as he pressed the sweater into his wound and Sofie watched him carefully. She wasn’t about to leave the man in the woods for dead. She wondered how difficult it would be to get the man back into town by her own in case he went down… perhaps Zane would be able to help with the man’s reluctance to go to the hospital. And Sofie certainly couldn’t blame him for that- if she went to a hospital, she’d turn into a walking experiment.

“It is just a sweater.” She said calmly. “I can get a new one. It’s better to lose a sweater than it is for you to die. Do you think you can make it back to town, or shall I call for help?” It was a strange sort of calm. The sort that creeps in during emergencies, or times of uncertainty. But Sofie would gladly take calm over fear.

———

At the thought of her calling for help — one of her contacts, most likely, since he doubted she’d trust any of his — Emilio’s heart kicked up a beat in a way he hated. Paranoia tore through his chest, whispering warnings in his ears. Trap. That’s a trap. She’ll call someone to finish the job so she can keep her hands clean. It was a nonsensical fear; if she wanted him dead, she would have just run and let the chimera do it. He reminded himself of as much, even if it was hard to do around his screaming mind.

“I can make it back,” he ground out, still pressing that sweater to his side. “Don’t call anyone.” He didn’t comment on the rest of her statement — that she’d rather lose her sweater than watch him die. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand a lot of things, these days. It was easier when the world was something black and white. There were times when Emilio still missed it.

—

She realized she still didn’t know the man’s name. He was bleeding in the woods since he had to contend with another person being present for a chimera attack. But then, maybe it was a good thing that someone else had been there. He’d gotten hurt, after all. If he hadn’t had backup, he might have died. Sofie took a step back, nodding.

“I won’t call anyone… do you need a phone to call someone you know?” Of course he didn’t trust her, even if she hadn’t made a move to harm him. But she could still try to help. “I’m Sofie…” she wasn’t sure if a name would work. If an introduction would do something to humanize her. It was worth a shot…

_______

“I have a phone,” though he wasn’t sure who to call. Rhett, probably, though he was likely to complain even as he stitched Emilio up. Things with his brother still felt tense, uneasy. He couldn’t help but remember their fight in Mexico, when Rhett left and Emilio let him. Maybe Owen would be a better bet, or even Nora. Both were likely to mock him, but it would feel better than the stifling nature of Rhett’s concern, the kind of worry that could only come from someone who knew you a little too well.

In all likelihood, he knew, he’d call no one at all. He’d go home and deal with his injuries the same way he always did, and they’d heal into messy scars a little slower than they might if he knew how to care for them properly. In any case, he didn’t want the vampire — didn’t want Sofie wasting either of their time with her concern. “Emilio,” he grunted in response. “I don’t think I’m giving you your sweater back.” There was no way all this blood was coming off, and it’d be a cruel trick to give her something covered in his blood when his blood would hurt her. Especially if she really was just trying to help. “Stay out of the woods,” he advised. “There are things out here scarier than you. They’ll kill you if you don’t know how to fight.”

—

“Alright,” she’d really done all she could. Especially since he’d reject all of her offers, save the sweater. At least he’d taken that much. It made her feel like she’d helped him at least a little.

Sofie looked at the blood soaked fabric with a little shake of her head. “Like I said, it is just a sweater. It isn’t important. Throw it away. Keep it. Use it the next time you need a makeshift torch. It doesn’t matter. Life is more important than a sweater.”

She was less afraid of him, now that he wasn’t a nameless shade stalking her on the streets at night. He had a name now. And a face. “That doesn’t surprise me… I am not so scary, I don’t think.” It was an attempt at a joke. The barest hint of a smile flickered on her face. “Do you want me to walk with you out of the woods? In case something catches the scent…” Sofie gestured to his side. He wasn’t in much of a shape to keep fighting. He could use someone to watch his back.

________

She wasn’t scary. That was the problem. People could stay in a house with men who would rip a toddler to shreds days later, could tell jokes with them and chat around the breakfast table, and they could do it all while being harmless. Emilio thought of Lucio, who’d never directly hurt anyone he loved but was responsible for all their deaths anyway. He thought of himself, not harmless by any stretch of the imagination, not even towards the people he’d never wanted to harm at all.

He closed his eyes at her offer, feeling just as nauseous at the idea of walking alone as he did with the idea of being with someone. The options warred in his mind for a moment until he shook his head, letting his eyes slide open again. “No,” he replied. “I’m fine on my own.” If something caught the scent of his blood, it would kill him. But most days, Emilio felt dead already. What was the risk? “You should go.” She should have gone a while ago, before the chimera found them at all. She never should have been here to begin with.

—

She knew she should stay, but he wouldn’t want the help of a vampire. Sofie knew as much. She wouldn’t be trusting of a slayer holding out their hand and promising aid either. She nodded, taking a few steps back. “Be safe, Emilio.” There was no sarcasm, no ill will.

Sofie disappeared into the woods, but she stayed nearby. Close enough that she could watch him as he made his way out of the woods. Close enough to intervene if he needed help. He might not accept her aid, but she couldn’t leave him wounded to fend for himself. It wouldn’t sit right with her conscience. She He hadn’t left her to fend for herself with the chimera, so she owed him that much.

——

He couldn’t tell her the same, couldn’t tell her to be safe when he still wasn’t sure how much he’d mean it. Emilio didn’t particularly like lying, even to people he disliked. So he only nodded, ducking his head and walking away.

He could feel her following him, but it didn’t feel like a threat. More of a precaution; an attempt to make sure he’d actually get back to his apartment without getting himself killed in the meantime. It was a little irritating — he was fine, he didn’t need anyone, he was doing fine — but he knew she meant well. He paused when he finally stepped out of the woods and back to the edge of town, glancing behind him as if to prove some great accomplishment, as if to say I told you so. But wherever she was, she was out of sight. So Emilio sighed, still holding that bloodied sweater against his side, and trudged on.

If nothing else, he’d go home and have a drink. Just to prove that he could.

#sofiedupont #sofie: flame to please #wickedswriting #s1 writing #season 1

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katyasrussianaccent · 3 years

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symptom of your touch (natasha romanoff x reader)

Author's note: This is my first natasha smut fic, been writing it in my head for so long. Hopefully you enjoy this piece of self-indulgent smut!

Summary: You're Tony's personal assistant with a crush on Black Widow. Could it be possible that she might feel the same?

Warnings: Bathroom sex, bottom! Nat.

The first time you met Natasha was in the meeting room at Stark tower. You’d been working as Tony’s personal assistant for about two months now; a job that was both unexpected but incredibly appreciated - the daily bills through your letterbox were getting more and more threatening, red words in large letters demanding money you didn’t have.

You were a friend of Sam’s; you used to jog together before you were replaced by Captain America. You didn’t mind, not really, because well, it was Captain America. You couldn’t compete with that ass. And while you didn’t jog as much, Sam always made sure you were okay.

Like most people; you were a fan of the Avengers. If you had to pick a favourite, it would have been Black Widow. Maybe it was because she was the only woman, but there was something about her that you just really liked. And it wasn’t just because she’s really fucking hot and you’re really gay.

You had walked into the meeting room; your hands full with various drinks. For superheroes, the Avengers were really particular about their drink orders; for instance Thor gets really annoyed if they forget the whipped cream on his hot chocolate. You walked round the room, handing each drink out and trying to not look so obvious as you eavesdropped. You handed Clint his drink and turned towards Natasha. You assumed she had been away on a mission, because she hadn’t been around until now. You swallowed a little; the object of your affections was literally sitting right in front of you.

“Agent Romanoff,” you said, holding out her drink; a matcha green tea latte. She looked at you for a second, a thoughtful look on her face as she cocked her head towards Tony.

“What happened to…..?” Natasha trailed off, looking at Tony expectantly.

“Shannon. Pregnant,” Tony answered, putting his hands out over his abdomen to mimic a pregnant stomach. “She was two seconds away from turning the floor into a slip and slide.”

Natasha scrunched her nose up before looking back at you. She took the drink from your hand, a small smile on her face before she turned back to the team. And it was in that brief moment, that you knew that she was going to be a big problem for you.

It’s a while before you see Natasha again; not that you were keeping check. You’re in the meeting room cleaning up; humming a song as you pick up pieces of paper. The door opens and you look behind to see Natasha standing in the doorway.

“Oh. Good afternoon Agent Romanoff,” you say, smiling. She was in her civilian clothes; a simple tank top and dark jeans. The jeans are practically molded to her shape, and it takes every ounce of willpower to not stare at her ass as she passes behind you. You aren’t sure how someone could make such a simple outfit look so amazing. “Did you need something?”

“Clint, he forgot his phone,” she replies, walking behind you and grabbing the cell phone that lay on the table. “I swear he would forget his head if it wasn’t attached.”

“Good thing he has you to keep him in check.”

She smiles politely in reply but doesn’t respond as she walks towards the door. Your mouth opens slightly to say something, anything, to make her stay just a little bit longer. You fail to do so in time, and you sigh as the door closes and the room is empty again. You aren’t sure what makes Natasha so fascinating, you’ve spoken to her literally twice, but there’s just something about her that makes her so enigmatic. Though you suppose it’s literally her job to be like that, and you briefly think of the people that have fallen under her spell.

It’s strange, how although she’s incredibly dangerous, she feels just like a normal person, a person that could kill you in one move, but a normal person nonetheless.

You’re chopping tomatoes in the kitchen, your mind starting to zone out as you watch the knife slice through with ease. It’s been a long day; while working for Tony has been a lifeline that you desperately needed, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so tired. The fridge door beside you closes, and you startle at the sudden noise, the knife moves from the tomato to your finger, the pain sharp as blood begins to pool in the cut.

“Fuck,” you say, hissing as you press you other hand against the cut, moving to the sink to run it under water.

“I am so sorry,” a voice says behind you, and you turn your head to see Natasha at your side. “Are you okay?”

You sigh a little, “I’m fine, but the tomatoes are ruined.”

Natasha moves nearer to you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from her body and any previous pain you felt has suddenly disappeared at the mere proximity of her. “It’s okay, Stark can afford a few tomatoes.”

You giggle before reaching over to get a paper towel, but Natasha beats you to it, pressing the towel onto your wound wordlessly.

“Baby,” she mutters as you wince and you look at her, mouth agape in shock. She ignores you, and you take this opportunity to look at her as she tends to the small cut on your finger. She must have been somewhere hot on her last mission; from this close you can see the slight colour on her nose and cheekbones where she’s caught the sun. As she moves out of your personal space, the scent of her invades your nostrils and you’re surprised that she smells so delicate and floral.

“I think you’ll live” she says, jutting her chin out to point to the small band aid on your finger.

“Have you ever thought about being a doctor?”

“Why? My bedside manner not appealing to you?” she asks, and you look down to hide the blush on your face as you think briefly about what Natasha’s bedside manner could entail.

“Uh, not at all, it’s very appealing. I mean, not very appealing -”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” she says as she leaves the kitchen, leaving you with a bandaid on your finger and a warmth between your thighs.

The first thing you notice about the party is how loud it is. It’s Tony’s birthday, so Stark tower has been transformed into a full on party tower. The room is crammed with people, and you take a moment to look around to see if you can find someone you know to attach yourself to. It wasn’t that you disliked parties, you just weren’t the type to spark a conversation with strangers. You can see Thor in the middle of the room, holding a keg as Steve is on the floor chugging from it. Guess even Captain America needs to let loose sometimes.

You bite your lip as you scan the people near you, your eyes zeroing in Natasha. You take the opportunity to watch her briefly from a distance. She looks amazing, a simple black dress that has a slit to the upper thigh that shows a delicious amount of leg when she moves. You haven’t spoken since she called you cute, and the more you thought about it, the more confused you were. While cute was a compliment, you weren’t sure if she meant it in a puppy kind of way. Sexy wasn’t the first thing you thought about yourself, but you kind of wish that she had picked a better word. Maybe you were just imagining tension that wasn’t there because you hoped it was there.

You exhale any nervousness and plaster a smile on your face as you walk towards her. She raises an eyebrow in greeting and you wave at her, immediately regretting it.

“Hi,” you greet and she smiles a little.

“You look nice,” she says, her eyes roaming over your body. Okay, maybe you weren’t imagining things.

You blush, your face feeling warm as you mutter a quiet thanks. “It has pockets,” you respond lamely, putting your hands in them and pulling the dress out, like she needs to be shown what pockets were.

“Drink?” Natasha asks, cocking her head towards the bar. You shake your head. “You don’t drink?”

“I do, just not here. I don’t want to make an idiot of myself in front of my boss,” you answer. You don’t have a problem with alcohol per se, you just never know when to call it quits. And while drunk you is fun, you really want to make a good impression.

Natasha nods in understanding but walks off towards the bar anyway, and you stand there for a second confused before following.

“Two virgin daiquiris,” you hear her say as you get to her. You can see the bartender pull a face at the request, but it quickly disappears when he sees who’s ordering.

“Coming up,” he mumbles, his eyes glued to anywhere but Natasha as he moves with haste.

“I think you scared him,” you comment and Natasha smiles a little, a smug smile that shouldn’t be so sexy, but it really is.

“I get that a lot,” she replies and you hum in acknowledgement. “Do I scare you?”

The question takes you aback and you ponder a moment before answering. “Do you want me to be scared of you?”

“Answer the question,” she says, a little firm in her tone.

“No. No you don’t scare me.”

She purses her lips. “I think you might be one of the only ones not scared of me.”

“Is that a bad thing?” you ask and she closes her eyes for a second, sighing.

“Fear is a very powerful thing. I like the way it feels,” she says, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen her look so vulnerable.

“There are other powerful emotions other than fear,” you reply. You aren’t sure how to respond to her, serious conversation was not your strong suit.

“Like?”

“Lust. Love. Anger.”

There’s a beat of silence between you as you look at each other, your eyes reading over her unreadable face, nothing on her features to give away what she's thinking.

“So you aren’t scared of me. What emotion do you feel?” Natasha asks, causing you to splutter as you take a sip of you drink and you’re suddenly wishing your drink had alcohol in it.

“Out of the three I just gave?” you ask and she nods. “Uh well, I hadn’t um really thought about it.”

It’s stupid of you, to lie to a literal spy and you know for a fact she know’s you’re lying.

“That’s not true,” she replies and you take a sideways glance at her. “You think I haven’t noticed you looking at me?”

Your heartbeat quickens and you start to stammer an apology. “I - “

“I know, because I’ve been looking at you too.”

“Wait what?” you ask incredulously. “Are you sure there’s no booze in this drink?”

Natasha laughs and you smile at the sight of her. “Very sure. You’re very cute, did you know that?”

“I did not, but now I do. I’ll be honest, this doesn’t happen to me a lot, so I’m not really sure what to say or do.”

She slides closer to you, a smirk on her face as she leans close, her breath warm on your cheek. “Well there’s a bathroom over there.”

It takes a minute for you to register what she means, and you can see her wait patiently as you look at the bathroom door across the room and then back at her. The blood is rushing in your ears as you grab her hand and pull her across the room, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

The bathroom is luckily empty when you both enter, and your hands don’t leave hers as you push her into the stall furthest away from the door. You open your mouth to speak but it’s interrupted as she surges forward, her lips on yours. She tastes like strawberries with a slight hint of booze, and you wonder how many drinks she’s had before you arrived. You find yourself not really caring as her hands move to your neck, yours follow down to her hips, your fingertips ghosting her back.

You’ve kissed before, but this is different, like fireworks and gunpowder in a small room; every nerve in your body alight with hot, searing fire. You switch her round so her back is against the door, your hands roaming ever inch of her body, tight muscle beneath your fingertips. Part of you wants to take your time, explore every part of her, but the greedy part of your brain wins out and it’s not long before you’ve got one hand moving in between her thighs.

Your mouth is on her neck, licking and sucking at the hollow of her collarbone, a small moan falling from her lips and you want to hear that sound again and again. She opens her legs and you cup her above her panties before going underneath them, your fingers moving past soft curls and into the warm, wetness of her pussy.

You curl your fingers up, and she gasps, her breath hot and fast against your skin. You move them inside her, pumping in and out slowly as her hand grips at your hip. It feels powerful; to have the great Black Widow fucking herself on your fingers in an act of desperation.

“Please,” she whispers as you continue to slowly move.

“Please what?” you ask, stopping completely causing a small whine to escape her lips.

“Please fuck me,” Natasha replies, rolling her hips against your fingers.

“Okay,” you say simply. You press a kiss to her cheek before sinking to your knees. A brief thought about gross bathroom floors crosses your mind, but you push it away as her hand strokes your hair. She takes the hint and pulls her dress up around her hips. Your hands move up her thighs, nudging them apart so you can pull down the lacy underwear she wears; shoving them into your bag. Pressing kisses up her thigh, her breath hitches as your mouth ghosts against her clit. She sighs as your tongue swipes at her once before moving in to circle at her clit with your tongue.

She moans, a low, quiet moan that ends quickly as you both hear the bathroom door open, the chatter of two women filling the once silent room. You look up at her, raising an eyebrow in question. Natasha looks down at you, a slight flush on her cheeks as she nods. You place a finger to your lips, before moving back between her thighs. She tastes sweet, sweeter than you imagined, but there’s something there, a slight tang that makes your tongue tingle. Of course she would taste fucking perfect; everything about her is perfect, and you can’t stop yourself from tasting her more and more, drinking her in.

Your fingers join your mouth and she’s warm as she clenches with every movement inside her. She’s jutting her hips against your mouth, and you can feel your wrist start to cramp as you fuck her roughly, but you know she’s close, the grip in your hair getting harder. It’s starting to get uncomfortable, your knees are starting to hurt, but you want to make her come undone, to fall apart.

You hook her leg over your shoulder to get deeper, never stopping the pace as you fuck her. Her body begins to shudder, and you look up to see her shove a fist in her mouth at the exact moment the toilet next to you flushes. A moan escapes her but neither of you seem to care as she rides the wave of her orgasm. Her chest has a sheen of sweat, and you want to run your tongue over it, taste the salt of her skin. But that’s for another time.

Natasha looks down at you as she tries to catch her breath, and you get to your feet ungracefully, wincing as your knees twinge. There’s uncertainty in your stomach as you look at her. What does this mean, does it mean anything to her? You had just made her cum in a bathroom stall, but maybe that was normal. It wasn’t to you, but normality was subjective.

“This party’s kind of boring, do you want to get something to eat?” Natasha asks, breaking you from your inner turmoil. You blink at her as your brain registers what she’s saying. The once uncertain voice in your head is screaming at you to say yes.

“Sure,” you reply simply.

“Cool,” she says, nodding, her face still slightly flushed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say she felt a little awkward.

“I’m not getting those panties back am I?” she asks as you walk towards the bathroom door and head back into the party.

“Nope,” you say, patting your bag for good measure. “Besides, you might not need them.”

#my fic #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #black widow fanfiction #black widow #black widow x you #avengers fanfiction #black widow x y/n #black widow x female reader #natasha romanov x you #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff imagine

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cinebration · 3 years

Text

The Turncloak and the Spy (Cassian Andor x Reader) [One-shot]

Premise: You demand to go on a mission that Cassian objects to.

HAPPY MAY THE FOURTH!

Warnings: blaster fire

Gif Source: guillermodltoro

“I’ll do it. I’ll go.”

The whole room turned to you. You stood your ground under the onslaught of incredulous gazes, refusing to let yourself falter.

“You can’t.” Cassian’s voice sliced through your confidence. “The risk is too high.”

“I can,” you insisted, avoiding his stare. You focused on Mon Mothma. “I know the layout better than anyone, and I know exactly how to get the files.”

“No, she can’t.”

At last, you met Cassian’s gaze. “Yes. I. Can.”

The crowd around the table shifted uneasily.

“Why do you think she can’t, Cassian?” Mothma asked.

“She’s just my contact. She hasn’t been trained. She shouldn’t even be here!”

“You recruited her, Andor,” another senator pointed out.

“Yes, to provide intelligence, not to run a mission.”

Your hands clenched into fists by your side, concealed by the table. Exhaling heavily through your nose, you returned your attention to Mon Mothma. “Regardless of whom you send on this mission, you need me.”

“She can walk us through it. We don’t—”

Mon Mothma raised a hand, silencing Cassian. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I am the most qualified.”

“Andor raises a point. You have no training,” someone said.

“I have the only training that matters. I’m an Imperial. No one will look at me twice.”

A fraught silence settled over the group. Few had forgotten that you were an Imperial turncloak, a double agent deep enough in their ranks not to garner any suspicion. No one would ever suspect that one of Thrawn’s own had switched sides.

Cassian had merely been the agent they had sent to make contact with you when you had communicated your intentions to defect. He had also been the one to convince you to remain undercover to exploit the system from within. The Alliance had so few agents inside that they had been desperate enough to warily trust you.

“If you betray us…” Senator Jebel began.

You fixed your cold stare on him. “I have had every opportunity to crush your rebellion with one word.” The crowd shifted uneasily. “Yet here you all still stand. Betrayal isn’t on the table.”

“You’re betraying the Empire.”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“All I’m saying is it’s easy to turn cloak again once you’ve done it once.”

“Believe what you will,” you said through gritted teeth. Addressing Mon Mothma once more, you stated crisply, “I will do this alone. This will mitigate any danger to your other agents.”

“If you’re caught, how do we know you won’t sell us out to save yourself?” Jebel cried. A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

“You either trust me or you don’t.”

Jebel pleaded with Mothma. “She’s a creature of Thrawn.”

“And we have been creatures of a corrupt Senate,” Bail Organa countered. His voice silenced the entire room. “I trust her. We have no other choice.”

You nodded curtly and swept from the room without waiting for an official confirmation.

Cassian dogged your heels, intercepted you in an empty corner. “What are you doing?”

“My job.”

“If you get caught—”

“I won’t.”

He hesitated, dark eyes scrutinizing you. You weren’t sure when you had fallen in love with his tragic eyes, but any time you looked at them, you felt your hard exterior form another crack.

That’s why you had to do this. You had to prove to yourself that you were still the hardass, Thrawn’s perfect soldier. No one could see the cracks in your façade. Not even Cassian.

But he did. He grabbed you by the elbow as you tried to turn away, forcing you to stay. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What is this really about?”

“If one of you walk through those doors, you will get caught, and everyone will know. You told me yourself, they’ll never expect it right under their nose from someone they trust.”

“That was a mistake.”

You blinked in surprise, your brow furrowing. “The great spy Cassian Andor, making a mistake?”

“I have made plenty,” he hissed. The sudden vehemence stilled you. “I won’t let you make this one.”

You pried his fingers from your arm. “You can’t stop me.”

His face hardened.

Straightening your uniform—the white top, black pants of the Imperial Security Bureau—you left your office and took the lift down to the security archives at the base of the building. Few people knew that the archives were housed there, the room cleverly marked as reserved for statistical analysis. Otherwise the Rebels would have tried to hit it earlier.

Striding through the double doors that blocked the entrance, you glanced at the desk where the archivist acted as sentinel.

It was empty.

Alarm coursed through you. Hurrying around the desk, you found the woman sprawled face down on the floor, a bruise forming on her temple. You checked her pulse: steady.

Cursing, you drew the blaster pistol she kept hidden beneath the edge of her desk and keyed shut the double doors behind you. You approached the inner door to the archives slowly, the blaster held down but at the ready in your hands.

A figure hunched over the console, trying to decipher the buttons on the panel. You inched forward and whistled low.

Cassian spun, pistol raised. Seeing you, he dropped the blaster, his face hard. “What are you doing?”

“My job,” you hissed. “Why are you here?”

“I’m getting the intelligence.”

You wanted to strangle him. “You are jeopardizing the whole mission!”

“I couldn’t risk it,” he muttered, turning back to the console.

“In other words, you didn’t trust me,” you snapped. Hip-checking him away from the console, you quickly keyed in the right call information. You jabbed a portable information disk into a slot on the console and began downloading.

You glanced over your shoulder, checking the doors. “You can’t just steal the actual disk itself. That would set off all kinds of alarms.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that?”

“Because it was my mission. I would get it done.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Stop it. I don’t have time for your ego.”

“My ego?”

“Did I stutter?” Your mind raced as the information downloaded, trying to solve the problem of the unconscious archivist. The blaster caught your attention.

Cassian seized your elbow, spinning you to face him. Something unfamiliar clouded his soft features. “This isn’t about my ego.”

“That’s news to me.” You tried to pull away, but his hand tightened on you.

The intensity of his gaze burned. You forced yourself to meet it defiantly, your chin jutting up.

The console beeped: Download complete.

“Take it,” you told him.

He reached over and grabbed it, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned a fraction closer, his breath ghosting over your face. “I couldn’t risk you.”

You snorted. “My cover will be fine as long as you shoot me.”

He frowned, beautiful face creasing. “What? That’s not what I was saying.”

“Take your blaster and shoot me here.” You pointed to your right shoulder, just under the collarbone. “Then run.”

“I can’t.”

You pulled the blaster from his belt and pressed it into his hands, pushing your chest against the barrel. “It’s the only way to explain the archivist. You came in here while I was completing my scheduled job, and you shot me to get the information.”

“I did this so you wouldn’t get hurt.”

“If you had trusted me—”

“I do. I do trust you.”

Frowning, you stared into his face, trying to read the expression there. Swallowing thickly, you repeated, “Shoot me. I’ll be okay.”

A conflicted look passed over his face, but he held the blaster in place as you let go.

Then his lips were on yours, hard and insistent. Startled, you found yourself reacting to him. The kiss burned, as intense as his stare. Cassian clung to you like you were the only thing in the world, danger a million miles away.

When he pulled away, you both were panting. You looked up at him in confusion as he pressed his forehead to yours, breathing your name.

Pain tore through your shoulder, the blaster sounding off. You cried out as Cassian held you tight and eased you to the floor.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, pressing a hard kiss to your forehead.

Then he was gone.

As you gasped through the pain, giving him a minute before you sounded the alarm, you at last understood now why he hadn’t wanted you to do the mission.

#Cassian Andor x Reader #Cassian Andor #Cassian Andor imagine #Diego Luna x Reader #Diego Luna #Diego Luna imagine #Rogue One #Star Wars #May the Fourth #May the 4th

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all-things-fic · 4 years

Text

Spoilin’ for a Fight

A/N: Happy Sunday loves! Hope you’ve all had a lovely and restful weekend. No, your eyes aren’t deceiving you... I have indeed (finally) posted another piece of writing. Here’s 6.7k of Harry riling up his partner all because of a bloody vest.

Thank you as always for all the love and patience everyone has given me. Especially @waitingfortwilight, @haute-romance-quotidienne and @harryfeatgaga. Hopefully this lives up to any hype the sneak peek created! I’m going to disappear again .x

***

You rolled your lips into your mouth as you watched him walk his way around your master bedroom. His movements were confidently familiar as he tucked his vest into the waistband of his white boxer-briefs and kept his eyes down to the dress shirt and trousers he had laid out across your bedspread, sitting next to choice accessories.

He was running late. Both you and he knew it. Yet the leisurely motions he undertook would never have told you that if you didn’t already know. The way he had taken longer in the shower, carelessly stepped out of the towel (and stepped over it too, meaning the item was now damp and in a bunched up pile closer to Harry’s side of the bed waiting for someone to put it in the laundry basket) and meandered his way through getting ready.

Boxers first, then black ankle socks. Then the bloody vest.

You exhaled through your nose, trying not to release a breath that would catch his attention and let him know that you were becoming slightly vexed by how lackadaisical he was choosing to be.

The vest had to go.

Not even in a sexual way either.

And it wasn’t the fact that it just wasn’t doing it for you - on the contrary it was quite the opposite, the tight item clearly letting you ogle and appreciate the fine specimen you were proud to call your partner - but it was just how much of grandad-move it was.

You understood how having some sort of undershirt kept his actual shirt looking pristine acting as a defensive layer between his body and his clothing.

But, the vest had to go.

It just had to.

Blindly reaching down to your dresser for your tube of mascara, you unscrewed the gold lid and coated the wand with product.

Mouth slightly fallen, you washed your lashes with the High Density Black mascara and quickly made the switch to the other eye making sure to get your bottom lashes too.

Looking at Harry through the mirror, you wondered what he could be debating as he stood silently in the middle of the room. A soft frown traced his brow, his eyes looking down at the bed. His hands were digging into his waist, as his lips jutted slightly in thought.

Your conclusion was that he was debating his outfit choice for the evening.

Lid gently screwed back on, you placed your mascara into your cosmetic vanity, before then reaching out for your brow gel. A quick brush through each side and you were done with that step.

You happened to quite like his outfit choice. It was a little less formal than usual for one of your dinners. Classic houndstooth patterned trousers and smart black shirt. The kind of material that made a scratching noise which was music to your ears as you clawed at your man, wanting him closer. Whether that was in the booth of a restaurant, on the car ride home while you were sat at a red traffic light, or when he had you pinned against the locked door for your house.

Eyes dropping, you watched as your hands - with freshly lacquered nails - gently drew the opening of your silky-satin dressing gown together as it started to gape.

From your fidgeting, Harry’s attention was stolen by the movement he had seen in his peripherals and when you next looked up at him in the mirror you were met by his already awaiting gaze.

His face looked worn, as his still slightly damp hair fell across his forehead. Lines lingered in his skin from the way his head was tilted and his arms were bent as his hands faffed around with what appeared to be a trinket box. He must’ve reached for it at some point while you were otherwise occupied.

Gold cross dipping underneath the neckline of the vest, the width of his chest seemed to be getting wider the longer you kept your eyes on his reflection. In moments like this you always became hyper aware of the amount of tattoos that were scattered across his body - arms, shoulders and chest. If you were able to let your eyes drop lower, you were sure the ones of his legs would be just as vivid.

But while everything else about him just seemed content in the moment, his eyes were different. They were strong as they held yours. Waiting for something.

And you knew you couldn’t keep his gaze as you let your words leave your throat, albeit with less conviction than you originally thought them.

If you were after a bicker before dinner then he was absolutely going to bite and give you what you wanted. You just knew it.

“You’re not going out in that, are you?”

“‘S there a problem ‘f I am?”

A charged pause.

Harry’s remark was shot out instantly, on yours as fast as a predator was on their prey.

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you looked back at him through the mirror. A slant to his lips as he waited once more.

Gentle raise of his eyebrows. Faint but definitely there. Goading. Knowing you would be so aware of every moment, every twitch with your eye for detail. His eyes shone in a way that he was daring you.

Oh, he was spoiling for a fight. Most definitely.

See, this wasn’t new territory for you and Harry. He knew that it sometimes got on your last nerve in how he opted for a vest to cover his top half as an undershirt but especially when he only wore that as the item of choice and simply slung a suit jacket over the top to complete the outfit.

Like that one time when he attended The Store X The Vinyl Factory's Transformer exhibition and swung by your then rented London townhouse after said event in the small hours only for you to chastise him on the doorstep for how he hadn’t even put on a proper shirt for the evening.

That night he had teased you - “‘least let me in the door before you start dressing me down, darling. Especially considering ‘m halfway there with not putting on a clean shirt an’ everythin’” - in that slow draw that maddeningly managed to warm you through even when you were irritated with it’s orator.

Blinking, you knew you needed to respond but you weren’t sure which route you wanted to take with your tact.

“Not a problem, ‘s just not my favourite.”

“Didn’t realise we’d become tha’ sorta couple,” he paused, his sentence obviously not finished. When your eyes met his again, he continued, “The kind that tells the other what they can and can’t wear, can and can’t do.”

Sighing, you fiddled with your diamond earrings and spoke, “Forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” he spoke clearly, ringless hands rising in defeat. “You don’t like the vest, ‘s fine. Allowed an opinion.”

“Nice to know.”

A suppressed laugh spluttered from Harry’s lips as he pressed them together.

Looking at him again, you watched him wrinkle his nose up at you through the mirror. By now your gaze was flat and you were far from impressed with his taunting.

“Come on,” he encouraged, eyes alight. “‘S have a row.”

“I’d rather not.”

“‘S healthy to tell me to piss off every once in a while, y’know tha’?”

“So, piss off.”

“Ouch,” he dragged the word, playing offended. “Could say it wi’a bit less conviction next time.”

“That’s if we make it to a next time,” you muttered, seeing his smirk. “‘M not doing this.”

He watched the way you snatched at your other earring, your hands quick to try and place it gently to your lobe but in your haste you fell foul of losing the item.

“Shit,” you hissed when the dainty jewellery slipped from your grip and to the wooden floor below with a dull clink.

“Hang on-“

“It’s fine,” you rebutted any chance of his offering to help, swiping for the earring and managing to make good the second time around.

There was tension in the air now as Harry remained quiet while you continued busying yourself, ignoring the bubble of annoyance and unexplained upset simmering within you.

Gently scooping at your necklace next, you fiddled with the clasp of the fine chain and tilted your neck down as you raised your hands and arms to place the necklace onto yourself.

From behind you, Harry nervously chewed at his bottom lip. He knew the outcome wasn’t going to go well as he looked on at your slightly shaking hands struggling to successfully bring the two sides together.

Rather than point out the possibility of ruining the nails that you had endlessly chewed his ear about all afternoon and constantly stuck under his nose to show off; he waited with baited breath, more than willing to step in if required.

It was when he heard the small and soft growl omit from your mouth with sheer frustration that he decided to change tact.

Gone was the trinket box, tossed aimlessly back onto the bed with a soft bounce. His hands gently placed to rest against taut shoulders, Harry leaned down to press his lips to the top of your head. Nose tickled by your hair he muttered into the silky strands, “Let me, darling.”

You froze as you sat in your seat, eyes still slightly lowered from the way you had dropped your head. Frantically blinking as you mulled over how you were going to play your next move.

Harry hummed, noticing that you had gone quiet on him, knowing you wouldn’t want to engage with him just yet considering how soon he had previously provoked. He just had to wait it out a little more.

A slump came to your shoulders at his words, partially irked at how he had been the one to coil your spring - pushing and pressing and prodding - and now he thought he could be the one to so easily offer you release.

“Let me just-,” he spoke more so to himself, cutting himself off, as he scooped your hair into his hands and mumbled soft apologies considering he knew you had spent some time on styling.

When he was happy that your neck was open enough and there wasn’t going to be anything to hinder him with your tresses over one shoulder, he reached for the item.

Harry’s right hand met yours first, his thumb and forefinger easily pinching at the delicate chain that he knew so well having been the person to pick and purchase the item.

Surprised at how easily you gave up the treasure, Harry darted his eyes to your left side and reached for the other side of the fine chain.

“Have you got it?” You were reluctant to let the one side of the necklace go, in fear of losing the pendant that was currently bouncing against your chest from the way you held the jewellery item.

Again, a throaty hum vibrated through Harry’s chest.

“Which idiot chose the finicky clasp?”

“You did,” you outright answered him.

He chuckled in concentration, eyes zoned in on the way his thumbnail pressed at the clasp to hold it down, and his left hand fed itself to the right. “‘S right, I did. Fucking big idiot over ‘ere.”

You then felt the chain gently tickle the back of your neck as Harry let the item go. “But he’s only gone an’ bloody done it.”

Lightly sighing, you pressed your hand to your chest and felt the necklace sitting cooly against your hotter than usual skin. A soft smile at Harry’s choice of words to let you know he had successfully put on the necklace.

Slightly inside your own head as you raised it to sit up straight, you quickly busied yourself with returning items that you had been using to get ready, to their rightful spots.

Behind you, you heard Harry chuckle as he gently dropped himself down to sit on the edge of your side of the bed. He was clearly amused at how you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Ignoring me now? Not even gonna gi’me a thank you?”

If you hadn’t been so stubborn, and focused on the task at hand you would have heard his question and thanked him. However, given your own bloody-mindedness, you never stood a chance.

Learning forward, Harry’s hand reached down to one of the four legs that made up your dressing table pouffe - the one closest to him - and swiftly pulled.

Of course, you squealed. The quick change in motion was enough to cause anyone to omit a noise fit only to dogs hearing due to its pitch.

“‘Ve got yer,” he spoke around a chuckle, enlightened by your reaction as the chair scraped against the flooring and made it so you were virtually sat in his lap. “If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed...”

Sharply, you turned to look at him and pushed at his shoulder. “Hope you’re not implying-“

“Wha’,” his expression was boyishly cheeky as he cut you off with his question, his hand keeping hold of yours that had pushed his shoulder. “What am I implying?”

Nostrils flared as you looked at him, feeling your arm slowly wrap around his neck as he tried to pull you closer once more on the chair. Legs man spread, he managed to slot you in between his thighs and enjoyed the way your soft knees squashed into his inner thigh from how close you now were.

“I’m implying what the proverb is implying,” he smarmily responded, forever having an answer for everything.

“Is that so?”

“It is,” he turned, noting the way your arm was still draped around his neck.

“Shame that,” you commented. “Cause if you were alluding to the other thing then you would’ve really gotten the fight you were looking for.”

Harry’s eyes cut to you from the corner of his vision, his lips now pressed gently against your forearm. “Would I? If that’s the case, I take it back.”

Again your nostrils flared, as you mumbled a veiled threat of, “Swear to god, Harry.”

“So, so easy to wind up-“

Harry’s voice was abruptly cut off when your fingers came into contact with the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled as hard as you could. His only response was to gently graze his teeth to the skin of your arm and the silk of the gown in the tiniest of nips as he ascended to your neck.

“D’yeh know how much I love fighting with you?” He mumbled against your skin, “How much I love doing anything and everything with you?”

“Have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” you swallowed around your dry response, feeling his lips quirk against the shoulder of your silk gown as he gently brushed your hair away once more.

With it falling down your back, you became all too aware of the gape to your coverup, revealing your clavicle and the top of your breast, as Harry’s lips rubbed against where your neck and shoulder met.

Growl-like hum heard from your suitor, you gently pushed your finger through his drying hair. Forcing it in haphazard directions before bringing it back and smoothing it down.

When he showered you with affection like he was currently doing, it was hard to stay mad at him. Which is why you found the direction of conversation so intriguing. What was he trying to achieve here? Whatever it was, he really was going the wrong way about it.

“Know why I love fighting?” He felt you shake your head lightly as he brought you back to him with the question. The rustle of your hair against his was heard prominently in your ears as he now lightly rested his forehead to your temple. “Yea’, you do,” he disagreed with your non-verbal response, tone gritty as he tried to rouse once more.

“‘S cause I love shagging when we’re angry,” he heavily pressed his nose into your cheek, knowing you were watching him through the hooded eyelids regardless of how you wouldn’t fully let your gaze meet his long enough to be suckered in. “How you really dig your nails into my back an’ shoulders when I properly get going - not to mention my arse cheeks - and how it feels when I step under the shower the next morning and wince like a little wuss.”

You laughed breathily, stopping your feelings of joy by biting down on your bottom lip. Laughter however played on your lips, lingering in a soft smile that danced along and up the corners of your mouth.

“Fight me, darling.”

Amused didn’t even cover it as you pulled your head back in a slightly uncomfortable way to look at him. The smoulder of his dilated eyes that were clearly set on what he wanted, they jarred so evidently against his messy hair that looked fit for a toddler who had woken from a heavy nap.

He seemed awfully whiny for a man who was confident with what he wanted. Supposed to be the instigator of an exchange of diverging or opposite views, creating most likely a heated happening. Then again, maybe he was onto something.

Soft frown set in the middle of his brows, his eyes dropped so brazenly down to your lips. A quick swipe of your tongue had them glistening enticingly for him as saliva lingered and caused his groan to get caught in his throat.

Hand against the back of your head, he tilted your face down to his once more and let his mouth sit at the corner of your lips. Your breathing and his had started to become staccato, as anticipation bubbled within you both from your shared close proximity.

“‘M waiting,” you challenged knowing he would rise up to the provocation, as his hand turned you face a tiny amount more so when he stuck his nose against yours, so they would slot perfectly together.

Harry’s vision blurred as he felt your warm breath bounce against his face, licking his own lips now and rolling them into his mouth to take away any dryness.

Hand drawing you to him and mouth about to take your bottom lip, he felt the soft draw back of your head causing his lips to tweak as his breathy laugh mixed within his short and sharp exhalations.

“‘S tha’ how it’s gonna be?“

You fought the way your hooded eyes wanted to close at the gruff tone that laced his question, wanting to marvel in the glow that had started to coat the skin of his face.

“Said you wanted a fight.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth were his lips abruptly upon yours. His hand spread across your entire cheek as your free hand reached for his wrist and tightly gripped. Noses squashed from the force; desperate to have each other.

Harry's lips were fierce and bruising, his body feeling heavier against yours as he rested his other hand against your chair and gave you more of his weight.

For him your smell was everywhere, as your other arm wrapped around his neck and clawed at the fabric of that bloody vest. The sweet of your hair care juxtaposed against the woody florals of your perfume that sensually drew and tied him to you.

Knees knocking together, you felt the way his hand stumbled as it peeled away from the chair and clawed at the silky fabric of your gown. Fingers quickly became frantic as his concentration moved to his hands that lifted fabric and slipped underneath craving the feel of your warm, soft skin.

With his mouth slightly slower and fallen as he was pulled elsewhere, you tried to take the lead as his hands wandered and he explored.

His hands were softer than usual, time away from music and instruments meaning the callouses had faded. Short nails were dull as they clawed, fingertips dancing against your plush thighs as they flattened to the seat and then upwards along your hip, scooping around your back and confidently spreading out just shy of the top of your bum.

God, he loved knowing you were completely naked underneath. How with a quick and sharp tug of his hand, he would have you bare to him.

Small press against your lower back had Harry silently asking you to raise and fall into his lap. You ignored him at first, far too wrapped up in the way he gave you his tongue around his quivering lips that were trying not to smile at the way the two of you were shamelessly necking on and he was managing to get his own way.

Pressing your toes into the patterned antique Persian rug which sat underneath your bed, your body created a break between your thighs and their seat. Harry took advantage of the space without any need for a nudge, his hands curling against the clammier, warm skin as he urged you once more to come to him.

Your knees hit the side of your mattress first, lifting and mounting Harry’s lap and he moaned as he enjoyed your full weight against him. Fingers digging into the skin of your thighs, you felt him squeeze as he started to lower himself down to the bed.

Body laying atop an outfit priced easily in the early thousands, Harry hummed clearly letting you know how pleased he was with himself. This was only solidified by the crack of his hand, as it slapped against you bare bum cheek now on show.

“Can’t believe you’ve got your arse in the air like this,” he rasped, head lifted so he could leave lingering kisses to the hinge of your jaw.

Mouth slightly dropped, you could feel the way his right hand danced against the curve of your cheek and the way it dipped as it met the back of your thigh.

His eyes were on your face, chin soft as he tilted his head down to his chest. You admired him, somehow able to find a stillness woven within a intoxicated, sensual love between the lewdish comments and suggestive wandering hands.

Lips melding to the skin of your cheek, he asked, “Who’re you showing it off to?”

“You, ‘f you want it like that.”

The coolness of the room hit your bare skin even more as Harry roughly pushed up the fabric of your gown up as he palmed your cheeks once more, skin massaged and squeezed between his digits.

Raw groan, he found his voice, “Turn over for me.”

Harry slid himself closer to the side of bed, hands making light work of his socks and his briefs before he turned to throw you a glance over his shoulder.

You had removed your gown, item somewhere now on the floor revealing yourself to him proudly.

As you lay gently on your stomach, the expanse of your bare back on show for him. He greedily let his eyes wander, the curvature of your shoulders and the indentation of your spine line.

The way your right leg was slightly bent creating a crease to your hip and your left leg a little straighter. You certainly gave him plenty to devour with his sight.

He didn’t give it much thought when he joined you back on the bed, his hands pressing into the mattress closer to your head.

Bare fingers caught your attention as you watched his hands scrunch around his expensive dress shirt, the familiar scratching sound music to your ears as it caught against his nails and not yours for once while he threw it to the floor at the bottom end of the bed.

“Doesn’t look like we’re going to make it to tha’ dinner,” he spoke, his words not really warranting an answer. Beside your hips, you could feel his knees as he leaned for the trousers on the other side of you and pushed them out of the way too.

He continued with, “Already late. ‘S no point.”

From the way he spoke you wondered if this was what he had been aiming for all along. To scrap dinner and have his way with you. It wouldn’t have been the first time and definitely not the last.

Eyes already heavy from the deep lull of Harry’s voice, they closed when you felt his lips hit your back, making light work of inhaling you in. His mouth was wet as he reacquainted his lips with your skin, suckling the lower he got.

Nose gently sweeping down, you found yourself dropping your forehead to your forearm giggling from the light tickle, only to sharply cry out as his teeth sunk into the top of your cheek and your head lifted once more.

Your hand reached behind you pressing against his forehead, “Don’t you dare leave a love bite on my bum.”

His lips twitched at your squealed but breathy chastise, tongue laving against the startings of a mark. “Always begrudging me of eating, darling.”

A devilish grin laced his features as you dared to look over your shoulder at him and take in his gaze that owlishly looked at you from behind your curved hip. All you could see were his eyes as your hand gently pushed his head while he pulled your hips upwards with him, lips skimming the backs of your thighs.

“Mm,” he started. “Not everything though, ‘s tha’ right?”

The man simply didn’t want to part from his meal.

“You always did like dessert better.”

There was nothing more Harry loved than when you let him put his face between your legs. But when you let him do it from behind, he couldn’t even explain the difference yet there was one.

Maybe it was the way he could grab and smack your arse, fingers digging into your hips as he got to pull you onto his face when things started to get hot and heavy. That animalistic grab to your hip bone, loins pulled onto his face as he went to town.

Even better when you would push back against him. So caught up in the way he felt that you couldn’t wait any longer. He could talk to you easier this way too, really coax you not only with the feel of his tongue but the words that dripped off it too.

And then there was the possible anticipation of assplay. Tongue always ready and willing to stimulate if it were desired and communicated.

The way his hands massaged you, softly pulling apart your rounded cheeks and opening you to the cool air of your bedroom almost stunned. Your body quickly gathered itself with a warm moan when you felt his warm salvia drip messily down onto your ass and your middle.

Then he was leaning forward - lapping at your skin - lapping you up. Tongue greedy at your cheeks and folds, building his own desires before he actually ate.

This was his starter.

The most feminine gasp exited your open mouth when you felt his mouth land where you needed him the most, somewhat too cautiously for your liking at first but you knew he sometimes liked to play this game. You found yourself wiggling back, Harry’s hands wrapping around and squeezing into your thick thighs welcomingly when he knew you’d caught on.

He hummed, pleased that you had fallen from his meek offerings and gave you more of his mouth.

“There’s my girl.”

“H,” you panted, pressing your forehead onto your forearm.

“Fuck,” he muttered against you, enjoying how you were letting him have a taste. Your sweetness quenching his starved fancy.

You were wet, but he wanted you wetter. Just wet enough so that you were tacky when he tapped himself against you teasingly.

With his eyes closed, Harry opened his mouth wider as he pulled your hips back to his lips. His nails dig into your skin as your hands clenched into the sheets beneath.

He worked slowly against you, tongue licking at your wetness and saliva mixing with your early arousal. Nose buried inside of you as he devoured you in a way that had you thinking he had been wanting you this way for weeks. A little bit rougher, grabbing you to him and not in the way that quickies usually brought. In a way that sex selfishly commanded sometimes.

“God, baby-“ how was it always so- gratifying?

With his eyes closed now as he tried to focus, Harry felt your body shuffle and his own limbs followed after you without restraint. Your bum became slightly raised as you pressed your arms deeper into the mattress due to the way you began to play with yourself.

Your fingers swiped upwards in gentle pulls against your clit, Harry’s mouth barely letting up. He must’ve figured out what you were doing though from your slight change in position as he hummed against your heat, light mutterings that you couldn’t make out.

“‘S tha’ feel good?” he asked, voice hot as he pulled back to bring his focus onto the glide of your fingers against your wet and neglected clit. “Couldn’t wait, wanted to play.”

You knew you were slick, you could feel it but rather than feel embarrassed you found yourself without a care as you pushed yourself back again. His chuckle made you feel on fire, “Not done with me? Still need some more?”

His lips and tongue dove straight back in rather than wait for a verbal answer, feeling the way your legs widened further when he licked in a particular way. The smell and taste of you was everywhere, gleaming against him with a tackiness that was the perfect piece of free memorabilia.

Breathing heavier, you both listened to every small gasp and light moan that was drawn from you. The sound of his lips pulling at you making a heat spread across your chest and down to your core.

Harry knew your reactions like the back of his hand, and was waiting for that one sound that was so sweet and enough to get him to cheekily pull away.

The thought alone had his lips curving into a smile against you, as he felt you starting to clench against his tongue from your joint efforts of pleasure.

“Harry,” you whispered, rushed. The slow burning feeling starting to form in the pit of your stomach as your fingers began to move with that little bit more fervour. “Want you.”

His mouth was away from you and against the skin of your bum cheek not long after, lips messily wiping as he moved them up your back leaving a trail of arousal in his wake as you felt yourself fall flat to the mattress as he mounted you.

Hands pinched into the skin of your back, Harry pressed his pelvis against you.

Feeling him nestled between the cheeks of your bum, caused your eyes to close. He was so full and hard for you, you couldn’t contain the throaty moan that accompanied his grind into the dip of your bum.

“‘M gonna fuck you,” he panted, hands sweeping your hair to one shoulder so his lips can find your skin again. “Want that, hm?”

Your fingers wove into the hair at the nape of his neck, as he craned his head to look at you. His left hand pressed into the bed, holding his entire weight as his right hand reached down for his leaking cock.

“‘S this what you want- how you want it?” He goaded in question again, gently tapping himself against the skin of your bum before he slid himself down and watched as you slightly raised your own hips for him and started to reach behind you to encourage him to press his weight on top of you.

Harry lined himself up, pushing forward and shifting his eyes from his sinking cock and up your back to see your head dipping forward to fall between your shoulders. He knew he’d never grow tired of the welcomed blissful moan of ‘yes’ that always left your lips when he finally gave it to you.

Humming deeply, Harry bit around his smile as he started with shallow, teasing thrusts. A series of strokes that you found frustratingly sexy but knew as ones he wouldn’t be able to keep up due to his own insatiable desires.

He swore, in the least teenage boy way possible, you were always tighter to him like this. Especially if you crossed your legs at your ankles behind him while he pushed into you.

It was usually the position you adopted when you’d let him take you this way, however in the dusk evening he could feel that you had lifted your legs up so your calves were resting against his bum and holding him to you; cutting his shallow thrusting short to press and hold him deeper inside.

As his pelvis flattened against your bum, he gritted his teeth and released a deep noise from the very back of his throat. The sound had you giggling, slightly wiggling your hips from beneath him, the moment quickly halted by one of his hands cupping at your skin.

“Darling, steady,” he warned.

“Come on,” you wiggled again. “Fuck me then.”

Pulling back, Harry nudged forward just as smooth, the intent behind his thrust obvious. Eyes dropped down he enjoyed the bounce of your cheeks from the force of his pelvis.

A content hum left your smiling lips as you jolted from each push of his hips; his grunts of exertion delightfully pleasurable as his hands pressed into the mattress next to your waist.

Thrust measured - slow, hard and deep - knowing what they wanted and needed. How to get it too. Undulating and determined.

Harry’s eyes closed as he felt you squeeze him, your legs dropping away from the cheeks of his clenching arse and down to the bed with a soft bounce. You moved again and he followed, legs opening wider against the mattress beneath you both.

The way your face was now half buried into the sheets, muffling your moans that were usually hot against his ear and coaxing him to places he was still dumbfounded he was able reach let alone find.

Teeth gritted once more, he could feel the tightness in his limbs and lower back. The work of his hips was unyielding but you were opening up to him, only making him want to continue the steady rhythm. To push and pull. To chase.

And it was enough. It was nice. Simmering. And if you opened your legs just that little bit wider you could rub yourself against the sheets but you wanted to give as good as you could get. Being engulfed wasn’t going to give you that.

“Give it to me,” you requested, “Harder, baby.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Really need it, don’t yer?”

He pulled you upwards, hands at the curve of your waist so his fingers indented and left lighter marks against your skin from the pressure.

Now on your knees he could really have his way with you.

Soon the sound of your skin slapping together only started to add to the growing fire in the pit of his stomach and yours. The sound of it so obscene but so welcomed to both your ears.

Harry’s eyes raked over your naked body, the pert cheeks of your arse bouncing enticingly against his hips, to the tops of your fingers that were fisting tightly into your bedsheets. Knuckles so prominent due to the unrelenting grip.

He had noticed that your body was on its way to folding in on itself, arms stretching above your head and hands finding purchase on your plush bed pillows closer to the top of the bed that had been reached and pulled for by your own lack of knowing what to do with your hands.

“D’ya love me?”

His question was so gritty. Throat dry from his heavy breathing. You found yourself collapsing again.

Your body, in its lethargy, started to curl up into itself with hands pressed down and your legs bent as your arse begins to bob more against him rather than thrust itself back.

“Said d’ya love me.”

He was sharp with his thrust.

“So much-“

It was wet and it was gasped. Low moan as he cracked his hand against your cheek.

“‘S tha’ the sex talkin’,” he heaved goadingly, and you knew he was smiling. It wasn’t the sex talking, but it could be. Both so taken by the waves of pleasure that could easily sway even the most sound of minds.

You whined into your arm from his smarmy laugh, a writhe to your hips as Harry licked at his thumb and pressed it enticing against your arse. Gentle rubs had you gasping his name and pressing back, as his thumb slid down to collect your arousal that was sat coating your outer walls and his cock each time he retreated.

As you became more excited, his thumb pressed against you with a bit more pressure, gently popping inside and sitting there.

“Harry,” you whined, the loudest you could around biting your lips, a soft frown forming against your brow at the pleasurable intrusion.

“You fuckin’ love it,” he growled, watching as you pushed back against his next thrust. “You dirty mare.”

Heavy frown against your brow, you dropped your head onto your forearm once more and felt yourself start to clench around him. “Yea’,” he muttered to himself, “You’re coming.”

Nodding your head against your forearm, you felt his free hand rest onto yours that was pushed above your head. He pressed down, fingers slotting through yours as he grunted in time with his harder thrusts into you.

With shaking thighs and aching knees, you feel your mouth fall as his teeth grazed over your ear and his heavy pants warmed your already perspiring cheeks.

“Don’t fight me,” he pleaded. “‘S nice to give in.”

His head was heavy against your temple, your hair messily in your face. You felt your expression fall as you teetered, starting to lean slightly more to one side. He was nodding, you didn’t know who to but you knew what about and you found yourself craving his narration of whispered ‘yeses’ but instead you were both overcome and the best he can do was huskily groan to encourage you.

Suddenly it tipped and your limbs started to shake as you pressed back against him both in want of more but more so to ground yourself so you didn’t collapse. He stuttered from your vigour but held you there, feeling you helplessly writhe and mercilessly squeeze around him. His cock grinding and dipping into you, drawing out each tremor, desperately seeking its own sexual gratification.

Your other hand was wrapped around his face, fingers digging into the back of his neck and whispering begs for him to come inside of you. Pleas of how you want him to give it to you. Fill you up.

And you were lewd because sometimes that was how he liked it.

Such a pretty face and pretty mouth - yours - speaking to him in such a way. Admonishment was forgotten. Who needed or cared for it when his balls were pulling up tight with each slap against you.

And then he collapsed against you. His thighs roughly spread you as he clenched and groaned deeply - guttural - giving you everything he had.

Blood rushed around his ears as he shuddered and shook, the force of his orgasm causing his hips to continue with little pushes just to be sure he was done. Lost to himself, the silence and his sensitivity.

He roused to your dirty snicker, one of disbelief. Right hand wrapping behind to feel for his arse cheek and digging your nails there, wanting to keep him deep inside, or just behind you for long enough to feel him pressed flaccid and wet against your cheeks.

The filthy reminder caused you to flush, as Harry shuffled behind you, lips seeking out your clammy skin.

“Make you mad more often, ‘f tha’s my private penance.”

His words were muffled, spoken into your shoulder as his hands soothed and massaged over your joints in preparation for the aching reminders tomorrow.

And the vest was still on.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry fluff #harry x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry fic #my writing

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roger-that-cap · 4 years

Text

cardigan

natasha romanoff x f!reader

word count: 8.9k (haha)

warnings: swearing, cheating!natasha, sad!reader, uhm this is angsty for me, asshole!natasha, sort of asshole!team, more angst, sort of happy ending sort of, secrets™️

this is inspired by taylor swift’s cardigan. folklore and evermore are really getting me through this i swear

obviously i do not own this song, picture, or any of the warped lyrics that i attempted to slide in as creatively possible :) this is also my first one shot and my first reader insert ever- i tried to not go into any physical details about miss y/n but i hope y’all like it!

No editor. All mistakes are 100% mine!

You couldn’t have been any more excited to see Natasha. She had been gone for what felt like forever on a mission with Steve, Bucky, and some agent that was on her first big mission, a girl that you recalled to be named Abigail. Regardless of what her name was, they were all heading home today after so long, nearly two months.

There was no telling how much you were ready for the return of your fiancée. The two of you had promised to get married nine months ago, and you were already deep into planning. You were going to your dress appointment at Kleinfeld’s (your literal childhood wish) in two days. You had the venue picked, the table accessories done, the seating chart already filled out and sitting pretty in laminated sheets in a binder. The day was going to be perfect, and it was what you and Natasha deserved after so long. Especially Natasha, after every single thing that she had been through just to save the world and to help those who weren’t able to help themselves.

Natasha was your angel.

Your heart was racing in your chest as you waited for the quinjet to land, the ring feeling light on your left finger as you rolled back and forth on your feet. You couldn’t hold back a toothy grin as you waited for them to fly back in, and to hug Natasha again. That was the most important part. To have her back in your arms so that you could do things like stay in together for the weekend and stay holed up in their room just doing innocent things, like counting each other’s heartbeats.

You stood with your hands clasped in front of your body as they landed, a dopey grin on your face and the same nervous glint in your eye that was there every time that you waited for your fiancée to come back home. You knew that Natasha would always find her way back to you, but there was no telling what condition she would be in.

The moment the doors opened, Abigail ran through them, and down the ramps nearly knocking you over. You reached your arms out to steady the other girl, who looked like she was about to burst into tears at any second. As much as you wanted to just hug Natasha and go home after you ate and sleep in bed with her, you couldn’t leave a girl in tears like that without checking on her. “Woah, are you okay, sweetie?”

The girl’s bottom lip jutted out, like she was about to cry just because of you asking the question. She didn’t say anything, but she was obviously falling apart from the inside, and it made you more than mildly concerned. You didn’t like to see anyone cry, let alone a girl who had just come back from her first big mission. “I’m fine.” Her voice cracked.

“Are you sure?” You were no medic or super soldier or even assassin-spy, but you were nothing if not rational and sympathetic. You were so in tune to the poor girl that you didn’t feel the palpable awkwardness of everyone else who walked off of the quinjet, almost all of them cringing. “Do you need to talk to someone?”

“I- I’m sorry,” Abigail said, and she was running away from you faster than you had ever seen anyone run before.

You frowned as you watched her run. “I hope she’s alright, poor thing. I can’t imagine how a first mission feels,” you murmured, turning around and seeing the slightly spooked eyes of the rest of the team. You smiled at them cautiously and walked over to Natasha, arms already raised as you went to embrace her tightly. You breathed in and put your face in her neck, nearly crying tears of joy as you smelled her shampoo, a rich scent that meant the safety and comfort of them both. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

You were so happy to hold your fiancée again that you almost didn’t notice how standoffish she was being, and her lack of enthusiasm. She had never been not enthusiastic to see you, especially after going so long without seeing each other. After too long of her not reacting to your warm embrace by kissing your hair or murmuring her usual missed you, princessa, you pulled away and looked at her, a questioning look on your face. “Are you okay, my love?”

Natasha stepped back, not looking you in the eyes and choosing to just smooth out the sleeves of her combat attire, eyes on the floor. That was very unlike her. Something must have gone terribly wrong. “I just want to get home.”

Your vibe visibly deteriorated. It was obvious that Natasha had just popped your bubble and left it as an empty shell, but you were still smiling anyway. Like you always did. “Okay, Nat. We can do that.” You reached out for Natasha’s hand and grabbed it after waving goodbye to the other team members, who all looked either extremely displeased or like they had been caught doing something very awkward.

You walked back to your part of the tower together in silence that wasn’t characteristic of the two of you. You were a known chatterbox, happy and always starting meaningful conversations, but also one of the best listeners to ever grace the earth. Natasha liked to listen, too, and she had the best words and the best voice to listen to. One of them was always talking. The silence between them was almost haunting.

Natasha went straight into the shower. She didn’t offer for you to go in with her, which was what the two of you always did after a mission. You got to see Natasha at her most vulnerable, and Natasha was finally allowed to let down the shroud of strength that only lasted for so long without being damaging. It was the thing that kept you close and often the action that got Natasha to open up about what happened and how she truly felt. Natasha skipping out on that time hurt you and made you expect the worst.

She turned the lights off the minute that she was out of the shower, not speaking to you or even offering any physical assurance, which was something that Natasha knew that you needed after she came home.

You just prayed that she would be ready to talk in the morning.

§§§

Natasha wasn’t there when you woke up. You frowned and patted the empty spot in the bed beside you even though you knew that she was probably at the gym or running around doing errands. You sighed and crawled out of bed, doing the daily routine that you usually did with Natasha, and leaving the room to go make some breakfast.

There were whispers that hissed like snakes when you came around the corner, and they came to a screeching halt when you bounced into the room. You grinned at everyone sitting or standing in the kitchen, ignoring their deer-in-headlights looks and searching for the woman you were set to get married to. You frowned a bit when there was no sign of her.

“Good morning!” You hummed out anyways, going towards the pantry once you saw that no one had made food yet. Because you were staying there and you had no other skills, you had been the one to take up personal chef for the entire team just to pull some weight, even though they insisted that you didn’t need to do a thing. As long as you “kept Nat happy”, they said.

It took a second for any of them to respond. “Good morning,” Steve said, his voice oddly clinical for the way he usual greeted you. He was the morning person of the bunch, and probably your closest friend other than Wanda.

You took the supplies out of the pantry with a thoughtful look on your face. “I’m not trying to pry,” you started softly, back still towards them as you started with the pancake mix. “But, was the mission bad?” No one spoke for a few heavy moments.

“We succeeded,” Bucky finally stated vaguely, his voice floating through the room.

You never the type to spill all of your personal business to people, but these people weren’t just anyone. These were your closest friends, the people who were going to be in the wedding, either in one bridal party or the other’s. “Nat’s not talking to me,” you sighed out, and turned around to see all of them stiff as boards. “Was it hard for her?”

No one said anything.

You pursed your lips and turned your back to them again, looking away from them to gathered your thoughts for a second. You took in a deep breath and told yourself not to pry, not to think about what Natasha would surely tell you when she was ready. You turned your head and gave them your trademark grin. “Who wants blueberries in their pancakes?”

§§§

You sat in your shared room after a full day of Natasha blatantly ignoring and avoiding you. You were patient, because that was what you had to be to date an Avenger, but Natasha had never straight up ignored you before. You learned very quickly that it called for a different type of patience than the one you were used to.

In the kitchen when she was forced to be present after you cooked a huge welcome home meal, she didn’t hug on you or kiss your cheek or even look you in the eyes. It wasn’t like her. You came to the tough conclusion that it wasn’t because of the mission, because she had never done that before, not even after the one where the children were caught in the crossfire. You were always the one that she talked to, no matter what.

The lamp light was the only light on in the room, because you knew that Natasha liked it better that way. Maybe less light would make her open up a bit, and the two of you would finally see eye to eye after the annoying stalemate that felt eternal.

You didn’t know how long Natasha would take come back and speak, but you knew that it wouldn’t be too long. Natasha liked to talk, and she had said multiple times that she liked to talk to you the most. It would be any time, right? That’s what you thought until the hours crept by, and you saw and heard no sign of anything. Not even the ding of an elevator or the shutting of a door, or her soft footsteps that she made on purpose because her natural steps were so quiet that she scared you when she appeared.

When Natasha finally came in, it was late in the night, morning time. Three in the morning, to be exact. You shook off your nerves and smiled at her, and the smile wasn’t returned as much as it should have been. “Hi,” you said, almost a little star struck by finally seeing her. It brought you back to the time you didn’t truly know her.

You had always admired Natasha. Not even because of her being Black Widow, but because she was Natasha Romanoff, an enemy spy and assassin turned good. And it brought you pure joy knowing that you would soon be taking on her last name, which you secretly thought of as your greatest achievement. Natasha was the one you wanted with for life, and you were steps closer.

You waited to hear Natasha’s voice. You waited in anticipation for her to run to you and start to spill immediately. You were waiting to wipe her tears and assure her that it wasn’t her fault, and that she couldn’t have done anything differently. “Hi.”

You frowned. Confusion flooded your senses at the short greeting. “Huh?”

“Why are you up?” Her tone sounded almost accusatory, like she had caught you doing something that you weren’t supposed to do, like you were intruding on her time. The frown on your face turned into a slight scowl, and then you reminded yourself that patience was key with Natasha.

“I’m allowed to wait up for my future wife,” you teased, but the look in your eye was serious. You could see how the red head lingered at the doorway, like she was trying to decide whether to bolt or leave with grace. You weren’t going to give her enough time to make the decision. Come sit, please.” When Natasha didn’t move an inch, your facial expression fell. “Please.”

Natasha walked over to the bed slowly, like she was being forced to move or die. You shook your head side to side, eyeing her up and down like the answer to the problem that you didn’t know yet was written on her body somewhere. “I’m here,” she said quietly, like a distant whisper.

“Are you really?” You asked quietly, and it felt like your voice echoed like the beating of drums in the nearly silent room. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing happened.”

You knew that you shouldn’t pry. You both hated prying, but you were also both naturally transparent. You two had never truly had to pry with each other before. The truth was, you didn’t know how far you could push until she snapped on you. “Are you sure?”

Like someone had flipped a switch, a small smile lit up on Natasha’s face. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to sate you for a while. “Yes, princessa. I’m very sure. I’m tired.”

That was all it took. All it took was Natasha muttering the sweet nickname to you, and it was all as good as talked about. You could rest for a moment.

“Then we can go to bed, my love.” You reached out to touch Natasha’s face, loving the familiar feeling of her soft skin. “You know, you don’t ever have to be afraid to tell me anything, Nattie.”

You stared at Natasha for a while, just admiring her face and everything about it, almost missing the way that she didn’t do it back. This was something that you two did nearly every night before going to sleep- you just watched each other. A slow, dopey grin slid onto your face, and then you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her nose, then her cheek, and then to her pink lips in a soft yet passionate kiss, as soft as rose petals.

You pulled away and smiled at her with your eyes closed, nuzzling your face into her neck. You took in a deep breath, inhaling her sweet smell and feeling the comfort was over you like waves in the ocean. You could have told her a thousand things in that instant, but they all revolves around one master idea. “I love you so much, Natasha.”

You brushed a red strand of hair out of her face before reaching up to kiss her forehead, and then you were back in her neck, trying to sleep.

There was no response, just Natasha’s arm’s getting tighter around you and squeezing three times, each harder and shakier than the last. That was all it took for you to fall asleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you recalled having a dream that featured a woman crying, the sound distant yet close.

§§§

You had a feeling that Natasha was going to do the exact same thing that she did the first time, and you assumed correctly. You took it in stride this time and went to the flower store to pick out your bouquet that you would walk with, and probably throw. It was something that you wanted to do on your own, anyway. Like most brides, you didn’t want your future spouse seeing anything that you were going to be wearing until the big day. Not even the veil or the flowers that you would be carrying.

“That’s gorgeous!” You grinned at the employee, who mirrored your excited look. “That’s perfect, she’ll love it.”

While you gushed about your flowers, you also wondered if Natasha was doing a bouquet, too. You hoped that she had someone that would help her out with it, maybe Sharon or Wanda. Natasha wasn’t really big on the planning of the wedding. In fact, she wanted it much smaller than it was going to be, but you had convinced her to do it your way. Maybe it was your natural charm that helped you swindle the spy, or perhaps it was because she just secretely wanted the same thing.

As you walked away from the flower shop after placing the order, you walked by the busy donut shop that Natasha loved going to. Usually, it would be Natasha that stopped by and brought you some donuts, but maybe the other way around would be enough to make the red headed woman smile a bit. You stopped for a second and then didn’t hesitate to go in, pulling out a couple dollars for a tip, too.

Natasha loved chocolate donuts, even though she tried to resist eating them. You liked glazed better, but it was alright. You’d buy chocolate for her. You had hope that they would get Natasha to open up just a little, as dumb as it sounded. But a bribe never went wrong, and what was the harm in donuts?

“Thank you, Sarah,” you said after you got the box of donuts, walking out of the sweet smelling shop and down the street towards the tower.

When you got back, it was loud. It usually was pretty loud, with everyone and everything going on, but this was a different type of loud. It wasn’t the tinkering of metal in the lab or the sounds of sparring or elevators going up and down. It was shouting. A full on shouting match that was loud enough to be heard from floors down was happening. You nearly dropped the box of donuts as you hurriedly pressed the level that you and Natasha stayed on, hoping to find her in the room and out of the fight. The ride up the elevator was almost too full of anticipation as you waited in what would have been silence, if not for the yelling.

“No, because you can’t control yourself!” The voice was now obviously Steve’s. You were shocked. You had never heard Steve so riled up, ever. It was out of character for him to be so angry at someone, even if that particular someone fucked up royally. “You did something stupid, and now you’ll own up to it. Simple.”

“I fucking can’t!” You frowned. That was without a doubt Natasha. “I can’t, not right now. So fuck off.”

“I can’t fuck off after you’ve done something like this, Romanoff.” You winced as the elevator doors opened. Steve didn’t use Natasha’s last name anymore, not since they got close. And he certainly didn’t use the f-bomb much. “This is… it’s beyond-”

“What happened?” You shoved the donuts into Sam’s waiting hands, which were open for business when he saw you coming out of the elevator. “What’s all the yelling for?”

Everyone was staring at you like you were a ghost that wasn’t supposed to show up even though they had called on you. No one had an immediate answer, and so you put your hands on your hips. “Is everything okay?”

Tony looked at Natasha with sharp eyes and took a step back, raising his palms. “On you.”

It took a second for Natasha to say anything to you, and it was clear that everyone was waiting for something. It was even more clear that everyone was equally pissed at Natasha, for whatever reason.

“Everything is just fine, princessa.” Natasha’s voice carried over to your ears, smooth as honey, even though she wasn’t looking up into your eyes. “Don’t worry.”

You didn’t really believe it. How could you? She wasn’t talking to you, she wasn’t lying with you, she wasn’t counting your heartbeats like you did with her. There was something wrong, something had to be for Steve to be yelling like that, in front of everyone else. You eyed Natasha for a few extra seconds and then took the donuts back, muttering a thanks to Sam.

“Alright.” As if seeing the box made you remember why you went out in the first place, your trademark grin was back. “I ordered my bouquet today,” you hummed, walking up to Natasha and planting a kiss on her lips. When you pulled away, you murmured the customary I love you under your breath, like you two did every time you kissed. The one who initiated the kiss would say it first, and it would be answered by a quick “always”.

“A-always. Oh?” You realized that Natasha’s voice fluttered when she said it.

“Yeah, you can’t see which one, though.” You winked at her playfully, trying to ignore the way that the others looked mildly uncomfortable. You were used to uncomfortable looks, but never from them. You knew that it wasn’t homophobia, because they were never that way. So their behavior ran deeper than that. What the fuck happened? “My dress appointment is tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

You were too busy getting a donut from the box to see the looks that everyone else shared when you spoke again. “How’s the girl who went on the mission with you? She seemed a little upset when you guys came back.”

Natasha’s hair nearly bounced with how high she shot up, her body going straight at the mention of the other girl. She looked away from your eyes for a split second, and then back. “Fine.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes on Natasha. “Is she good with fashion? Maybe seeing dresses and all that would make her feel a little better.”

Natasha looked horrified as she realized what you were insinuating. “No. No, she’s fine. She doesn’t need to be invited anywhere.”

“It’s just to sit and watch me try on dresses. Wanda, Sharon, and Pepper are going, right?” You looked towards Tony to confirm, and he nodded his head firmly before looking at Natasha again, a serious look in his eyes. “Maybe Abigail can go.”

“No. She’s not going.” There was something in Natasha’s tone that sounded so final, so adamant, that you knew in your heart to just drop it. It saved you both in that moment.

That didn’t mean that you weren’t allowed to make a face of disapproval. “That’s not nice at all, Nattie. I hope you weren’t the reason she was crying. You’re known to be a little mean.”

Natasha looked away from you, taking a step back. Her eyebrow was twitching, a sign of stress that you picked up on like it was your own. “I have to go.”

“Wait, I got these for-” Natasha left in a hurry, so fast that you barely even registered that she had left. She left awkwardness in her absence. “Well, she can eat them later. Feel free to have some, guys, just save one or two for her, okay?”

They were all quiet for a few seconds, like they were in the midst of a special moment where they were all feeling the same thing, everyone in the room except for you. Finally, Wanda spoke. “Okay, Y/N.” You smiled at them, gave them all sweet hugs, and left.

§§§

You were bursting at the seams at being seen for a dress appointment at Kleinfeld’s. Wanda was with you, and so were Sharon and Pepper. They were excited for you, but no one matched your energy.

You were a girl finally getting what she had been dreaming of her whole life; to get married in a beautiful dress to the person she loved. You would soon be walking down the isle to see Natasha waiting for you, flanked by everyone else that was ever important to them.

You must have been the luckiest woman in the world.

“You’re really excited,” Sharon mused, but it was more of an observation than a statement.

“I’m so excited,” you confirmed. “I’m marrying the love of my life in what’s going to be my dream dress, I know it.” You grinned as the four of you watched people bustling around the shop. There was a bride near tears, just like on the TV episodes, and you watched fondly. Seeing people get what they wanted made you happy.

The search for the perfect dress went nothing less than perfectly. Within the first two sweeps, you managed to get into a dress that everyone thought was perfect for you, and you loved it, too. It even brought the three out of the haze that they were in, out of focus and minds so far gone that your excited squeals were all that broke them out of their thoughts.

“It’s gorgeous, Y/N.” Pepper said, her voice soft and cautious as they walked up to pay. It was silent as you waited for an attendant to come to the counter and check you out.

“I- I think there’s something you should know.” The other girls’ head whipped Pepper’s way, and she gave them a look that told them that she wasn’t going to back down from whatever she had to say.

You had what felt like a permanent grin on your face as you thought about the dress. It was a dramatic ball gown, blush pink and flowy. You were almost as in love with it as you were with Natasha, and the matching heels that you got and the gorgeous veil that matched topped it all off. You and your soon to be bridal party walked out into the crisp air, and you turned your head towards Pepper. “Sure, what is it?”

There were a few beats of silence. “Let’s go sit in the car,” Pepper insisted, and so they walked back to the car that Happy was driving for them, where he was sitting with the partition rolled down. He gave them a half assed greeting before they all piled in. “Can I start off with saying that… I’m sorry if you feel like any of us betrayed you.”

You trusted them all with your life, but that didn’t stop your heart from starting to race at the words Pepper said. Whatever this announcement was, it wasn’t good at all. “What?” When no one said anything, you laughed a little. “What, is the dress actually ugly and you didn’t say anything while we were in there? Do I need to go back?”

“No, the dress is beautiful.” The other girls nodded, and then you were sure of yourself and your taste again. “It’s just… Abigail.”

You frowned a bit, immediately thinking of the tragic scene where the girl rushed out of the quintet, breaking down by the second. “Oh, poor thing. Is she not doing as well as they say she is? I know a first big mission can be tough.”

There was a thick silence before Sharon blurted it out. “I am so, so sorry.” You leaned forward, heart skipping a few beats while Sharon took in a deep breath. You knew that some kind of blow was coming just by her apology, and you were bracing for it. “Natasha and Abigail had an affair on the mission.”

In the movies, it was like an instant shattering of the heart when news was broken like that. Immediate tears, automatic screaming and cursing and wanting to call up the other person to threaten them. There was lashing out, the breaking of glass, all the cinematic things that made actors on screen look better and less awkward when they broke down. You always thought that they were overreacting.

Now you knew that they weren’t. You felt that way on the inside. Your mind was raging like a hurricane and a tornado all at once, one disaster coming from the east and the other from the west. Your anger was the tornado, whipping around and threatening to destroy everything in your path and lash out at every single damn person in that car. But just like a tornado, you wore out and disbanded, all in your head. All that was left was the hurricane. The sadness. The disappointment. The heartbreak.

You had never even entertained the thought of how you would be after getting betrayed by her, but if you had, you probably would have imagined that the tornado would have acted first. But it didn’t. Unlike in the movies, all you did was tilt your head to the side and ask for the words to be repeated, even though you didn’t even listen for a second. You couldn’t believe it. Not Natasha. Not your Natasha. Not your angel.

“Natasha and Abigail slept with each other on multiple occasions on the mission, by word of Steve,” Sharon pointed out, her voice similar to the way a doctor sounded while delivering bad news, only a little shakier. “Abigail ran out crying because she fell in love with Natasha and knew that it would never really happen, not because she ruined the mission.”

Not only had Natasha slept with another person, but she had somehow convinced the girl that they were going to be together. Natasha didn’t have a ring, and the girl was new. There was no way she would have known that you two were together unless someone explicitly told her, and there were better things to do on a mission. It wasn’t her fault. Even if she had known, it wasn’t Abigail’s fault. Natasha Romanoff knew better. She knew a thousand times better.

“I don’t think either of them meant for it to happen,” Pepper said, immediately trying to calm you down, even though you hadn’t even spoken an angry word yet, and you looked like you weren’t even close to shouting.

The distinct sound of the partition rolling up was what brought you back to the present.

“But it did happen,” you said slowly, not even realizing that your teeth were gritted. “It happened.”

You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t want to, you wanted to believe it was a lie and calmly confront Natasha, but Steve was the one who had said it, and Steve didn’t lie. Why hadn’t he told you before?

Now that you knew what went on during the mission, you could see that everyone was acting weird. Everyone knew, there was no question about it. Which meant that everyone knew, and no one told you. They didn’t even hint toward anything, and they knew that you were supposed to be marrying the woman who went behind your back and did the unforgivable multiple times.

“We- we’re supposed to be getting married.” The pitiful sentence was all that you could string together in a thought as you looked out of the window at the traffic. You wished that the cars would just go, fly around so that you could cry by yourself. “I don’t even know what to say.” There were a million things happening in your mind at once, and trying not to cry in front of everyone was the biggest effort.

“I’m sorry,” Sharon’s voice said, and she really did sound apologetic. But it wasn’t enough in the moment. You wanted to hear Natasha say it, if all was true. But you knew it was. “We’re all sorry. We were waiting for Romanoff to own up to what she did.” Sharon said, obviously trying not to feel the wrath of you that was surely bubbling beneath the surface.

You could have been angry towards them. You knew that you felt betrayed, by everyone that knew and chose not to speak, that was a no-brainer. You could have been a lot of things at the moment, but there were bigger fish to fry. You clenched your fists and looked at the window, blinking rapidly as you grappled for composure. “Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t think you-”

“I get it. It’s alright. I just prefer not to speak right now, ‘s all.” And conversation ended. But that was when the turmoil in your head and heart started to crank up the energy.

Your first instinct was to bust in there and look for the Black Widow herself, to yell until you lost your voice. Your first instinct was to cause a scene and embarrass her as much as Natasha did to you. You couldn’t believe she had gotten everyone to lie for her. You couldn’t believe that she had an obvious affair with a new agent. You couldn’t believe that you walked around thinking that nothing was wrong while everyone else pitied you behind your back.

Unfortunately, you were quite used to not being enough. Not enough to make it into ivy leagues, not enough to make the track team, not having enough to afford to buy all of your clothes without cringing and thinking about putting some items back. But you were never going to be used to not being enough for Natasha Romanov.

The drive back was the most awkward drive that the four of them had ever been on, without question. You had tears streaming down your face but you were still as silent as the night, just like everyone else. You hardly ever cried. You were always the ray of sunshine and rationality in the tower, and now everything positive had been blown out by the darkness that Natasha created.

When everyone got out of the car, it was sluggishly. Everyone knew what was bound to happen, but it was questionable whether or not the end of the blow out was going to result in settlement or people storming and and leaving. You already knew how it would end.

The second that the elevator landed on you and Natasha’s floor, you shakily thanked the girls for their honesty and walked right out, knowing that it was probably the last time that you would ever be going up in Stark Tower. In your angry fantasy about confronting your fiancée, you imagined storming in and shouting her name, getting her attention and then breaking her down into pieces like the words did to you in the car.

But once you were in your room, you found that the fantasies were just that, and you couldn’t say a word or do a thing but find your suitcase and pack, all the fire leaving your body the second that you saw your room.

You were halfway through gathering everything that was yours in the room that you and Natasha shared, tears streaming down steadily, when you registered that it was real. Natasha had really done the unimaginable, and there was no turning back. A small sob escaped your throat when you saw the sweater you had gotten Natasha hanging up in the closet, the same one that she wore when she got down on one knee for you. Did that mean nothing, too? Was the meaning and emotion of that and everything that led up to it blown to smithereens by something as trivial as two months?

The door flung open. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t talk to me.” You blurted, turning your head to not look at Natasha, trying to avoid her blue gaze. If you looked, you had no doubts that you would turn to stone, and that you would never find the strength to leave the woman who you loved the most and hurt you the most, all within three minutes.

Natasha looked bewildered by the suitcase on the bed. “Are you- are you leaving?”

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?” The temper that was kept just below simmering in the car was finally starting to boil over. “I can’t believe you, Natasha!”

“I-” She sputtered, and you gave her a pointed look in response. “Who told you?”

The question brought fire into your veins. She knew that you knew, because she knew that it was the one secret that had the power to make you so emotional. You two kept no secrets, and for this to be the first? That was painful.

You knew that Natasha would sense your lie about who told you and who didn’t, but you told it anyway. There was no use in causing a riff between the team because they wanted to help you. “I figured it out myself. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Natasha held her hands out in front of her body, and the gesture was so similar to the way that she used to hold her hands out in a silent ask for you to hold them. You hated the way that your heart lurched, and the way that you craved the feeling of her hands even more. “It was an accident.”

An accident? A two month escapade with another woman was an accident?

“After that long ass ride home on the quinjet, you could have at least come up with a better lie.”

“Princessa-”

“I- fuck you.” Your voice cracked in the middle of the explicative, tears falling into the suitcase pitifully. It made your raging temper even worse. “Fuck you.”

“My love-”

“I don’t understand why!” You couldn’t contain the waves of emotion you felt anymore as you slammed the top of the unfinished suitcase closed. “I give you everything I have every single day. Every day. I love you with all of my heart and I do everything I can to make you happy and you give me this? I tried so hard to make sure that we were both happy together, and we were. So, why?”

The look on Natasha’s face wasn’t unfamiliar to you. You knew it well, but it had never been used on you before. It was the look of a spy who didn’t want to say a damn word, silent resistance that you knew would be unbroken. That’s when you knew that you may never know the real reason. And it broke you. “There isn’t a reason.”

You crumbled faster than you ever had before “Natasha, we were- how could you do this to me?” You collapsed into sobs, falling onto the bed and putting your face into your hands. You didn’t know how long you cried for until you felt a hand on your shoulder, very hesitant to even attempt at being comforting. You didn’t have the energy to tell her to fuck off.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha cooed, and for a second, it felt like something was right again. Natasha being gentle was a regular occurrence, a side to the famous ex assassin that only you saw. It was your biggest safety blanket in life. But when she opened her mouth again, you were brought back to why you two were even doing this in the first place. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

You shook your head out of anger. The fact that the lie was shitty made it worse, made it hurt more. She didn’t even want to come up with a lie that would make you stay?

“Somehow you convinced that poor girl that you were going to be with her. How did you manage to do that on accident? How did you sleep with her multiple times on accident? You lead her on emotionally.”

“No.”

“Yes.” You pushed her hand off of your shoulder. “You told her some pretty little words and she fell for them as most do, right? Like I did, I guess. Just tell me the truth.”

“I didn’t-”

You remembered the way the girl was so distraught. You remembered the amount of tears that she had. You remembered the way that she avoided looking in your eyes, the way that she looked completely heart broken. Just like how you looked. You scoffed. “She told you she loved you, didn’t she?”

Natasha’s light blue eyes were boring into yours as she was silent. For the first time in a while, there was no telling of what Natasha was thinking in your mind. You were disconnected. “Yes.”

The words hurt to get out, but you had to know the answer to them. At any cost. Even at the cost of your own heart and sanity. “And you told her the same.”

There was a thick silence that spanned across multiple frantic heartbeats. “Yes.”

The next words were automatic. “I’m done.” You opened the suitcase again. The tears were coming harder than ever, warping your voice so much that your not Natasha hardly recognized it. “Done.”

“You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can!” You whipped around, eyes nailing Natasha right in her place. “Unless you can give me a good reason for what the hell you did, I’m done.”

Excruciating silence. It struck like lightning on the last tree in a struck down forest.

You turned on your heel, but then, words bubbled up in your throat, and you couldn’t shove them down. “When you miss me after you’re done, don’t come back to me.” Your voice cracked in the middle, but you kept pushing. “When you stop and think about what we could have been, do not come and find me. Because you’ll figure it out one day, and it’ll get through that thick skull.”

Natasha’s eyes were slightly watery as she looked on, taking a few steps forward with on outstretched arm, looking to latch on to you. “Love, please.”

You scoffed and ran out of the door, with nothing but a suitcase and a bag in your hands. You cried all the way to the elevator, ignoring the fact that Wanda and Vision’s room was right there across the hall, and how they without a doubt heard everything. Hell, everyone had heard everything. The argument weren’t exactly quiet.

You cried even harder when the doors of the elevator closed. Your hands shook as you brought them up to your face, remembering far too late that Tony Stark sometimes watched the tapes, especially elevator ones. You couldn’t even bring yourself to care. You turned into yourself and sobbed as your body and head shook, trying to rid herself of everything that happened. You cried more when you realized that you hadn’t meant a word of what you said to Natasha.

Deep down, through all of the emotions, you wanted her to seek you out when she learned her lesson. You didn’t know why, and you knew that you didn’t want it any time soon, but you knew that you wanted it.

It was supposed to be a magical day. The day you got the dress was the day it all became real, the day that solidified the fact that you would be getting married to the woman that you loved. You were heart broken. The familiar sound of the elevator stopping and the doors opening barely snapped you out of your well deserved pity party.

You only took one look at the new arrival, and that was when it was decided that the universe, was indeed, very unkind.

Abigail stood there like a deer in head lights, swallowing and looking with wide eyes, certainly unsure about whether or not she should just leave or apologize and hop in and pretend like she didn’t know what was going on. She looked like she expected confrontation.

Your wobbly smile shocked her. “You don’t have to be scared. Come in.” Your voice was just as shaky as the smile you offered, stepping to the side a bit and giving the other woman enough room.

You felt bad. Abigail was young, even younger than you. There was no way that she knew. No one really resisted the charms of Natasha Romanoff, anyway, and you knew it. Especially not a wide eyed newbie who was desperate to please on her first mission with the big guys, some of the original Avengers. There was no doubt that she felt terrible based on the way that she didn’t look you in the eye, and how she avoided everyone. There was only one person in the wrong, and it wasn’t this poor girl.

The doors dinged as they reached the bottom, and right before they opened, you smiled at her. “It’s okay,” your voice was a strong whisper. “It’s not your fault.” You gave her one look as you wheeled your suitcase out of the elevator, taking long strides to reach the huge front door of the tower, praying for no more interruptions.

“Y/N!”

You didn’t want to stop at all. You knew who’s commanding voice it was, and stopping to talk didn’t seem like an option. You preferred not to talk to anyone on the team, especially not one of the people who went on the mission. You wiped your cheeks and turned around anyway. “Yes?”

Steve stood before you, a sincere expression on his face as he looked you up and down, your obvious and inevitable departure making him wince. “I’m sorry.”

There was nothing that you could really say to him. He wasn’t the point of your anger and he was a friend, even if he had kept something from you. “You’re not the one who did it.”

“I could have told you.”

“No, she should have, a long time before someone else did. You didn’t do anything wrong.” The story of infidelity that happened was Natasha’s story to tell. While you still felt a little more than bitter about being an idiot in the dark about the whole thing, you would have preferred to hear it from her, one hundred percent. “I’m just pissed I found out after buying the perfect dress and veil and all of it. I was so ready.” You felt like a fool.

“I don’t know why she-”

“I don’t know why, either.” You admitted, shaking your head slowly. “But one day, maybe I’ll figure it out.”

“You’re leaving.” Steve saw it as a closed chapter now that you were storming out. Anyone would, but you knew better. You knew how Natasha worked, you knew how you worked, but most importantly, you knew how you two worked together. “You and Natasha- you and Nat are special. I’ve never seen anything like what you two have in my life, no one has. That’s why we’re all so mad. She ruined the one relationship that everyone obviously knows is true love, for no reason.”

“I know.”

He looked guilty for even saying the words. “You’re not going to try and work it out?”

“Don’t you think that I know what we have is special?” You asked him, new tears welling up in your eyes as you spoke. “I’m leaving this to her because I trust her with it. I don’t forgive her, and maybe I never will, but this is for her to decide.”

“What makes you think that she’ll decide right? Or what she’ll even decide at all?”

“She’ll come back.” You stated with certainty, and these were the first words that hadn’t had a crack or wobble in them since you started talking to the red head. “She’ll miss me and she’ll be over the thrill of whatever happened on the mission, and she’ll find me, wherever I decide to go. She’ll come back to me, just like I would come back to her. It could take weeks or years, but she will. That’s how we work.”

Steve was momentarily stunned, but after a few short moments, you knew that you had convinced him. “And you’re willing to wait for her? However long it takes?”

You lifted your lips at him, even more tears building up in your eyes as your answer flew up to your lips without even thinking. “She’ll come and find out.”

You walked away with heavy steps, already feeling her lingering on your skin, and the haunting memories of the two of you as happy as could be swirling around in your head.

You were well aware that removing Natasha from your life would hurt. But you never could have anticipated how much it would hurt.

Natasha was the safety net you never knew you needed. She was the one person on earth who made you feel truly wanted, needed even. She knew everything that you required to feel loved and you knew her just the same, and you both did those things. And that’s what made you two different.

You had been cheated on before. That was how Natasha had met you, actually. Your last boyfriend had cheated on you like the dirty dog he was with nearly every woman he was cute enough to be with for a night, and Natasha met you while you were getting hammered at a bar because you found out. Natasha met you at your lowest point and raised you up with all her might, and still had energy to love you. You felt useless and discarded, thrown under the bed and tossed to the side of the road, but she found you and made you something new. She made you her favorite.

Natasha was everywhere.

She was in the way that you made your coffee, because you hated it before you met her, and she introduced you to a kind that you liked. You got as addicted to it as you were to her.

She was in the way that you walked around the park at night instead of in the morning like you did before you met her, because she liked looking at the stars together.

She was in the way that you searched for her next to you in your sleep and when you first woke up. She was in the ring you still had. She was in the way you wrote your letter ‘n’ now, because you wrote her notes for years and always made the ‘n’ fancy just for her. It stuck. She was somehow related to every show and every movie and every brand of ice cream, and from the second week of suffering without her, you knew that she would linger on you like a faded tattoo.

During the third week, you swore that you could smell her perfume, though it made no sense. You had done laundry many times, and all of a sudden the smell popped up, like she was dropping in to spray the perfume and then leaving as soon as she came. The rich smell was something that you would never forget, and it hung around like thick smoke in your mind. You wanted it to leave.

You cursed her name all throughout the fourth week of being alone in your small apartment in Brooklyn. Everything was her fault. The washer broke, Natasha somehow did it. If you woke up with makeup still on your face from the past night, Natasha was at fault.

You went shopping during the sixth week, and you swore you saw flashes of her red hair in the grocery line, pitifully walking faster with your cart to both flee and go towards it. A part of you knew that she would never shop this far out, but you couldn’t help it. You missed her. You missed her a lot.

But that didn’t change that it stung so, so badly.

It was disgustingly close to what the wedding date would have been when you were lying in bed with a stray cat that you had managed to nurse back to health and call your own about two weeks prior. In a way, it was freeing. Natasha hated animals. They were a responsibility in her mind, nothing more. You loved the cat quickly, and named him Henry.

There were three sharp knocks on the door that you would have taken for strokes of thunder if they weren’t so close. You frowned and stood up, walking to the window to peak outside and see that there was a thunderstorm rolling through, the wind higher than usual and the rain coming down sideways.

You walked to the door with the small cat trailing behind you like a loyal companion. You cracked a smile when he meowed, and you looked through the peep hole, the bright porch light shocking your eye for a second, and then you saw.

Natasha Romanoff was standing there, soaking wet with her arms hanging at her sides, trembling from the cold.

You took two steps back that startled Henry, causing him to meow louder this time. You breathed in, trying to be quiet, but you knew that she knew you were there. She was so trained that you knew she heard you approaching, and when you took your steps away from the door. You both knew each other were there.

You had indirectly told her to seek you out when she was ready, and here she was.

Were you ready?

Like you were a child trying to eavesdrop, you held your breath as you leaned into the door, putting your ear on it as you struggled to hear something, anything, from her. She wasn’t talking. You looked up into the peephole again, and she was looking at her feet, waiting for something to happen. She knew that you were deciding.

You had spent time looking for her in places you knew she would never be, running to and from things that looked like or reminded you of her, and now the real thing stood in your porch light in the rain. She came back to you.

She came back, but that didn’t erase everything that happened. Not at all. Her two months of fun and new experiences acted as the eraser, painting over everything that they had ever done in black paint. The joy of dancing with her under street lights and kissing in Tony’s limos and her hand under your sweatshirt didn’t amount to the pain it felt when she ripped herself from you.

But why did it hurt so much if they weren’t the same amount of emotion, if not more? If you looked at it with a rational mind, was the joy not worth more than the pain?

The pain weighed like bricks. There was one big brick that weighed half a ton on one scale, nearly tipping the other side.

But the joy? It weighed like clouds, because that’s what joy was. It was the feeling of being above the clouds. And you found that every moment of joy that you had Natasha, even though it was the weight of clouds, still outweighed the fat brick.

But were all of the cloud moments enough to possibly take another brick?

Your hand moved before you knew it, and you were undoing the chain and unlocking the door, yanking it open roughly and staring her down.

She was shocked. Her eyes were wide as she stared at you without any barriers, automatic tears welling up. Had she come all that way to not even know whether or not you would answer? Hell, you had done all of that while in limbo with yourself.

But now, without even knowing how Natasha truly felt, without even hearing one word from her mouth, you knew something changed.

“I knew you’d come back.”

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel fanfiction #fem reader #lgbtq #natasha x reader #natasha x you #marvel imagines #my fics

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rayofsunas · 4 years

Text

chasm | albedo

A/n: hi everyone! I hope you’re all doing well and staying safe <33 as you can see, I’m back on my albedo bs, so I decided to write this out finally 🥺🥺 and omg let me just say, I love this so much! . thank you to my very special anon “🌱” you know who you are, for requesting this! ❤️ I’ve decided the reader is female, but if anyone would like a male or gender neutral version, let me know! I also kinda did my own take on this since it’s not explained what Albedo’s “darker side” is. enjoy everyone!! ❤️

Summary: albedo has been gone for an awfully long time, somewhere in Dragonspine. you’re worried about him, naturally, so you go look for him. he’s refusing help for some odd reason, and you find that he’s having trouble. you let him know you’d never even think of leaving his side, no matter what.

Parings: Albedo/Fem! Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff

Word count: 2.2k

The ashy blonde hadn’t been down from Dragonspine in weeks, nearly a full four months. And you couldn’t lie, you were growing worried.

It wasn’t unusual, pretty typical behavior for the genius alchemist actually. But, by now he would’ve sent a letter of some sort, clueing somebody in on his whereabouts, if he needed more supplies, etc. He hadn’t done that yet. And you were afraid he probably wouldn’t.

Sucrose was the last to speak to him, which happened to be two months ago when he sent her down the mountains, back to Mondstadt. She had told you that he was fine when she left, busy dissecting some strange specimen he’d found. Typical Albedo entranced and focused on everything the mysteries the world had to offer.

You didn’t mean nor want to rain on his parade, but you would have to make the journey to Dragonspine and check on him. You couldn’t just sit here, as his friend and lover.

It was a surprise after the third month that Jean hadn’t sent a team to check on him, but then it all made sense when she explained her reasoning. The only thing stopping her from sending a team up to check on him was the fact that all of the able soldiers were either injured or off on missions; Kaeya was off on some personal business away from Mondstadt, Varka and his team were still on their long strenuous mission, the Honorary Knight was still in Liyue, and Hertha wasn’t authorized to travel outside of Mondstadt.

It was a relief you were the captain of the exploration team, tasked with exploring Teyvat, bringing back information for maps to be drawn, possible paths to be made, and finding new lands. You, on the other hand, were authorized. It was just a matter of getting permission from the Acting Grand Master.

“Jean, may I please have the authorization to take a small team with me to Dragonspine?” You asked the blonde who seemed to be busy filling out paperwork. Most likely configuring new formations and teams, since the majority of the soldiers were unable to travel right now.

“All able soldiers are unavailable,” She reminded you, eye’s briefly lifting from the wordy documents, before glancing back down to write something. “If you wait a few days, I can send a team up with you to find Albedo.”

A few days. You had a feeling she would tell you that. That wouldn’t work...

You rocked back and forth on your heels, “Excuse my impatience, but I’d prefer to leave now.”

She stared at you, eyes empty for a while, thinking, though a brief smile shaped her lips. “Do you believe you can make the trip by yourself?”

Sure, the cold was something you weren’t accustomed to, but you’d do anything for Albedo. Even travel aimlessly through a snowstorm. You nodded eagerly.

“If you’re not back within three days' time, I will send a few soldiers after you.” She explained.

“Thank you.” She bowed her head.

“Good luck, Knight.”

Thankfully, you remembered the general location of Albedo’s hideout in Dragonspine. You could thank your excellent memory - having trained your brain for years mesmerizing back roads and maps - visiting more than once also made it much easier as well.

You reached Dragonspine within a few hours and made the trek up to Albedo’s hideout in less than two hours. The sky was greying the higher you got and the snow only seemed to fall quicker and land on your exposed cheeks like sharp pellets. A snowstorm was approaching, you noted, you better hurry.

Venturing deeper into the medium-sized jut out in the mountain, you could see a single small flame, lighting up the back end, but other than that, the cave was encompassed in darkness.

“Albedo?” You called out to your lover, noticing an onslaught of shrewd books, some open, some with pages ripped and torn, only a few had the luck of not being tarnished. “Are you here?” You asked again, the only response was the echo the cave shot back.

Though, in a heap on the floor by the fire, you found exactly what you were looking for. As you approached, the flames became more visible and now you could see more of Albedo. He was oddly on his side, leaning against the back of the rocky cave wall, legs loosely curled into his chest. More of those books he adored so much were shrewd around him, along with his own notebooks, filled with scribbled words.

“Albedo!” He didn’t appear to be moving, only when you practically flung yourself at him was when you saw shallow breaths, chest moving faintly. Furthering your inspection, you gripped his arms and leaned down to his chest, putting your ear right to where his heart is.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You sighed, forehead lowering onto his chest out of relief. He was alive, thank goodness.

You still couldn’t see his face though. Ashy blonde hair shielding it, soft bangs hiding his eyes. The only thing your eyes saw was the shape of his lips and the bridge of his nose.

“What’re you doing here like this?” You asked, hoping he would just look at you. His uncharacteristically odd positioning and the fact that he hadn’t even uttered a word yet were enough to leave you concerned.

Maybe his time in the icy mountains, in solitude, was not beneficial to him like originally thought...

“Can you speak?” You asked, confused as to what was going on. Maybe he was too cold to speak. You noted from gripping his arms earlier, that they were ice cold, goosebumps on usually unmarred, soft skin. The small fire was doing nothing to keep him warm and you weren’t sure if he had any warming bottles or Goulash left... Presumably not, hence the reason he was as cold as ice. The real question was, why was he still here, suffering like this, in the cold? Despite popular belief, he knew when to leave dangerous environments when they were a threat to him; all knowledge, research, and experiments aside. No, this was something different... Something was terribly wrong.

“I have a few warming bottles,” You explained, reaching into your cloak pocket, slender fingers enclosing around the small bottom, taking it out of your pocket. “I know these things aren’t entirely useful, but it'll help warm you up for a little while.”

“No, don’t waste them on me, please,” He whispered. Hissing in pain, reaching for his head. “You need them to get back down the mountain.” The alchemist said lastly.

“Waste them?” You whispered to yourself, ignoring your questions when you heard him hiss. “You’re in pain,” You stated, eyes narrowing to search for any sign of blood or wound. None from what you could see. “I’m not going down the mountain without you.”

Were his wounds internal? His head seemed to be hurting. You weren't a doctor, but maybe it was from the cold, that was plausible. A headache of sorts, a symptom of hypothermia, though you hoped that weren’t the case...

He needed to be warmer, as soon as possible. “Would you like my cloak? Here.” You were already shrugging your cloak off and draping it over his shoulders before you even got a reply.

“Please,” He started, sluggishly easing the article of clothing off of him. “Put that back on, you’ll freeze to death, love.”

Archons, why did he have to be selfless? He was already in a much, much, worse state than you, and he was still worried about your wellbeing. You frowned, eyebrows knitting together. “You’re already beating me to it and I won’t allow that.” You said, refusing the cloak. More heat, you needed more heat.

You gripped his shoulders, letting him know you were still here. “I’m going to start some more fires, stay put, okay?” With that, you stood and took out some matches. A few small piles of dead leaves and twigs were already around the cave, they’d long ago burnout, but you would take it. You were thankful you didn’t have to leave the cave, leave Albedo.

As you lit each of the dead piles of nature, Albedo muttered, “You need to leave me here,” He then paused, you heard shifting and rustling. With a quick worried glance back, you saw him trying to stand, your cloak falling to the ground. “Get the-” Another pause. It seemed another headache washed over him. “Honorary Knight...” Forgetting the last pile, you rushed towards him, grabbing his lower arms gently, hoping to steady him.

“Lumine,” You said, “She’s in Liyue, I’m afraid she’ll be there for a while.” You usually would’ve sent a sassy retort back his way, playfully of course. But the seriousness of this situation stopped you. Good choice, Y/n.

He repeated, “Leave me here.” Your head shook. You weren’t leaving without him, you just wouldn’t. You had this awful gut feeling that if you left, he wouldn’t be here when you returned.

“No, I’m here to bring you home.” You explained.

His eyes still weren’t visible. “Home? No, not to Mondstadt. You can’t take me there.”

“I wouldn’t take you anywhere else, other than there,” This wasn’t making sense... Why won’t he look at you? What is he hiding? Does he have an injury on his face? Taking him in your arms, you allowed yourself to hug him, hoping he’d open up and share his concerns. “Please, Albedo, let me see your face.”

His head shook profusely, trying to push you away, though failing. “I’m terribly afraid I can’t show you. It’s already happening- In less than an hour, you’re going to be in danger... You’re already in danger now.”

“Please don’t make me ask you to leave again.” His voice sounded weak, distraught, saddened.

“You don’t have to, just tell me what I can do.”

A long pause. He was fighting with himself, it was obvious to you now. He sounded as if he was begging you to stay, his words were saying otherwise. But why?

“Leave...” He pleaded.

“No,” You refused stubbornly. “I’ll do anything for you, leaving is not one of them.”

He hissed again, this time successfully managing to push you away, shuffling further back into the cave.

“You’re not making any sense, Albedo,” You said softly, following after him. “You’ve kept too many secrets. Not anymore, you can tell me.” Your lover fell to the ground again, this time landing on his back. You gasped, rushing over to him.

As you stood over him, you could see his bangs were pushed off his sweaty forehead, his left arm splaying across his eyes; shielding them from you once again. But underneath it, you could see a faint glow. Red...

His teal, cerulean eyes were no longer present. Now a deep shade of red, alike to that of scarlet quartz, took over. Was this the fault of an experiment gone wrong? Had he been poisoned? A curse even?

Crouching down beside the alchemist, you wondered. “What’s hurting you...” A slender and delicate hand reached out to remove his arm. He fought back with all his strength to keep you from removing his arm, but eventually, you managed to succeed.

Now with his hand at his side, you were left staring at what he’d tried so hard to conceal. You were shocked to be staring at what you were, though not entirely scared. Any ounce of fear was towards the fact that whatever this was, was visibly and prominently hurting him, evident by the odd ways he hissed in pain and coddled his head. You weren’t afraid he’d harm you as he assumed. He never resorted to violence and he wouldn’t at a time like this; you trusted him entirely.

Albedo stayed quiet for some time and if it weren’t for the deep, unsteady breaths, you would have assumed he’d passed out from the fall. It sounded like complete and utter pain and suffering, but he was alive.

It was obvious all of the pain was a result of the glowing coming from his now, mysterious pair of eyes, you realized that now.

“I can see the glow...” You said, he momentarily stopped breathing deeply. Ashamed, disgusted, afraid. “I’m not afraid, I’m more worried about your wellbeing.”

The blonde smiled weakly, eyes glistening with tears. Relief? Sadness? Anger? You weren’t sure, probably all three and much more than he could ever say. “Wrongfully, selfless in this moment.”

“I could say the same about you, love.” You chuckled, remembering minutes ago how badly he’d been trying to save and protect you.

Albedo weakly sat up, carefully scooting to lean his back against the stone wall, staring up at the cavern's ceiling. You followed him, reaching over to grab his hand, head laying on his shoulder. You could feel his hand trembling. Whether it be from fear, the cold, or the fact that something was overcoming him, you weren’t sure...

“I’m going to stay here with you, through whatever this is,” You admitted. “You’re not going through this without me.”

He nodded, eyes lulling shut.

Stay awake for me please, I know it hurts but please.

“I love you.” He whispered, head falling on yours, breaths finally shallowing to a comfortable pace. He was steadying, at least for now.

“I love you, too.”

Of course, you meant what you said. You’d always mean it and you would never retract that statement. But, if you managed to survive this and not die from hypothermia, Albedo’s screams of pain and pleads for you to end him, would haunt you for the rest of your existence.

2.22.21, rayofsunas

#rayofsunas #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines #albedo #albedo x reader #poor albedo yall we gotta do whatever we can to protect him

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3rensgf · 3 years

Text

rent a gf - two eren yeager x reader

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of sex, talks about "getting bitches", eren is an idiot, fuckboy!eren implied, tatbilb mention, uhh fluff idk theres not much to warn abt in here, not beta read

notes: chapter two is out! i'm really glad a lot of people are enjoying rent a gf. it really means a lot! i see some people commented on the previous chapter, and i would love to reply to them, but i'm not familiar with tumblrs commenting system D: if you wanna leave a comment for me to just read, that's fine you can still keep commenting here on tumblr. but if you would like me to reply to it, you can comment on ao3, and i will reply! happy reading :) p.s, waffles w whipped cream r so much better

[ read on ao3 ]

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In the early hours of Saturday morning, you felt a hand shaking your shoulder to wake you. Groaning and mumbling, you sleepily swatted the hand away and pulled the covers over your head. No one should be forced to wake up early on the weekends. It was Saturday, for fucks sake. Not to mention your hangover due to last nights mistakes was making your head throb.

The hand rested on your shoulder once more, shaking you gently. “(Y/N),” Mikasa said softly. “Your alarm has been going off for the past 10 minutes. Wake up. I have water and Advil.”

“Nooooo,” you moaned, snuggling deeper into your bed. “Don’ wanna.”

Mikasa stopped bothering you for a moment, and you let your guard down. Finally you could sleep. When it was time to wake up, you’d wake up.

Right as you were about to pass out again, your blanket was roughly tugged off of you. “Mikasaaa!” you whined, covering your face with your hands. “What was that for? I was trying to sleep.”

“Get up. You have to shower and get ready for lunch with Eren today. Breakfast is almost finished,” she explained, setting down the pills and water on your bedside table. “Go brush your teeth and wash your face so you can eat. Now,” she instructed sternly, moving to your window to open the curtains. The bright sunlight hit your still half-asleep face, making you hiss quietly.

She left the room moments after, probably to check up on breakfast. Honestly, you didn’t know how she could function this early in the morning despite having partied all night last night. Curse her and her inability to get hungover.

Grumbling to yourself, you adjusted your sleep clothes that had gotten disheveled overnight to make sure you looked decent. Your sleepy gaze wandered over to your nightstand to see two Advils on a napkin beside a glass of cold water. Thanking every higher power for sending Mikasa to you, you downed both pills and the glass of water. Even though you might bitch and moan to her constantly, you really weren’t lying when you said you’d die without Mikasa.

After sitting down at the edge of your bed for a few moments, you eventually shuffled into the bathroom to brush your teeth and do your morning routine. It took longer than usual thanks to your sluggish and tired movements, but you got done nevertheless.

A wonderful aroma came from the kitchen when you left, stomach grumbling in anticipation for the wonderful food you were about to scarf down. Mikasa was in the process of setting down both your breakfasts on the island, sitting down on the stools when you walked in. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” she greeted, resting her chin on her hands.

“Morning, sweet angel,” you replied, sitting at the stool beside her. In front of you was a plate of Funfetti pancakes with whipped cream instead of maple syrup (syrup was for pancakes only). There were a couple of cut up fruits beside them, too. “Where did you get these?” you asked, picking up your fork to take a bite of your breakfast.

Mikasa dug into her own breakfast of oatmeal as soon as you started eating. “Went grocery shopping and saw the mix in the baking aisle. I thought you’d like it,” she explained, taking a bite of her food. “Good?”

Your response was a moan, tilting your head back as you chewed. “Insanely,” you said, cutting up another bite. You stabbed the piece with your fork and guided it to Mikasa, keeping your hand under it to catch anything if it dropped.

She finished her bite and leaned in to take the bite, humming in satisfaction at the taste. “Good,” she nodded.

“They put like crack ‘n this shit,” you said through a full mouth, shoveling forkful after forkful into your mouth.

You could feel Mikasa's judging gaze for eating like a pig, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was eating these crack laced waffles as greedily as possible. “What time are you supposed to meet Eren today?” she asked to make conversation.

You remember drunkenly slurring to her that Eren was supposed to take you out for lunch today while she was trying to put you to bed. All she did was nod and dodge your flailing limbs while she tried to change you into your night clothes.

“Uhhh,” you trailed off, “I dunno actually. I think he’s gonna text me when.” The familiar notification from your phone indicated you had a text from Eren. “Right now.”

ren ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ - 9:04 AM picking u up at 12 dont be late

you - 9:04 AM k

ren ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ - 9:05 AM dont use k with me that makes me sad :(

you - 9:05 AM k

“He says 12,” you told Mikasa, setting your phone back down on the table. You went to go take another bite of your waffles, only to be met with stray bits of whipped cream and waffle crumbs. How disappointing.

“You have time to get ready then,” she said, finishing up the last bit of her own breakfast. Holding her plate, she got up to go put it in the sink, taking your plate for you as well. Literally an angel.

Suddenly, she leaned in to sniff you like the weird English professor you had your freshman year and cringed. “You’re gonna need all the time you can get. You stink.”

Never mind, not an angel.

Grumbling and cursing under your breath, you got off the stool to go take a shower. “And here I was about to offer to get you something for lunch while I was out.”

“A burger from the joint I like would be nice. So would a Coke and side of onion rings.”

“Size?”

“Medium for both.”

You would’ve caved in and bought her something, anyways. Might as well know what she wanted in the first place.

Showering took longer than expected. Most of your time got wasted by you standing under the shower stream and soaking in all the warmth. It wasn’t until Mikasa knocked on the door asking you not to use up all the hot water that made you actually start going through your routine.

The clock read 10:09 when you got out. You still had more time to kill until Eren came, so you elected to sit on your bed in your towel to scroll through social media. At 10:45, you started to get ready for real now.

Your makeup was just enough to cover any imperfections on your face, and your outfit cute enough for a lunch outing with your friend-fuckbuddy.

At 11:50, you stepped out into the living room with your belongings in hand to lounge around while you waited for Eren. You would’ve gone to bug Mikasa, but she had just stepped into the shower minutes prior.

12 on the dot, a rhythmic knocking was rapped on your door, meaning Eren was finally here. Skipping over to the door, you opened it to reveal him while slipping on your shoes.

“Hey,” he grinned when the door opened. He leaned in to give you a kiss on the lips after you’d straightened up from putting on your shoes.

A grin found its way on your lips during the kiss. It only lasted a couple of seconds, ending with you pulling away with a quiet smack. “Hi,” you greeted back.

“Ready to go?” he asked, one hand leaving his jacket pocket to jut his thumb down the hallway towards the elevators.

“Yup, ready,” you said. Over your shoulder, you yelled into the apartment to say goodbye to Mikasa and locking the door once you closed. “Okay, ready for real now.”

There was a new hot pot restaurant near campus, Eren told you, that he so desperately wanted to try. He overheard some people talking about the place in his Stats class, and he’s been wanting to go ever since.

“So, about what I told you last night,” he said, leaning on the table close to you after giving your orders to the waitress. “You said you would help me get Mina.”

“I said it was a bad idea,” you countered, taking a sip of your drink.

“But you said you would help me. For a price.”

“That I… did say,” you sighed. “What’s your plan?”

Smiling, he opened up his jacket and dug into the inner pockets, getting out a small notepad and a pen. Your eyebrows raised at the sight of them. “Okay,” he started, flipping through his notepad. “So I was thinking about it this morning, and this is what I have down so far.”

Sliding it towards you, he waited impatiently for you to read what he had.

Your lips pursed to prevent giggled from leaving your lips. Well, it was a plan, alright. Written in Eren’s chicken scratch of handwriting were a few very simple steps.

eren yaegers fool proof plan to get bitches get mina aka operation rent a gf by eren yaeger 1. talk to mina to get her interested in you ✓ 2. get hot girl ((Y/N)) to pretend to be your gf and show you can be a good bf 3. get mina jealous so she wants you even more and not poopy thomas wanker 4. “break up” with (Y/N) and pretend to be sad 5. get mina to comfort you 6. get bitches make mina your gf 7. pay (Y/N) for her services 8. ta-da!

When you looked up from the notepad, you saw Eren waiting for your answer. “Well? What do you think? Is it any good?” he asked.

“Were you high when you wrote this?” was the first thing you asked him. Eren shook his head innocently. “You’re 100% serious?” He nodded.

You bit your lip, deep in thought about Eren’s supposedly fool proof plan. “What makes you think it’s gonna work?”

“I know girls and how they act. If Paradis University let me major in women -- don’t get smart with me I don’t mean Women Studies -- I would be passing all my classes with flying colors. I know it’ll work, trust me,” he said cockily, leaning back in his chair.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do. I know you. I know everything about you, (Y/N). I even know how to make you scream my name in--”

“Okay!” you cut him off, not wanting the strangers around you to know the intimate details of your sex life with Eren. “Okay.”

“I knew you were gonna do that. See, I do know women.”

A moment or two passed, both of you staring at each other. You with a deadpan expression, and him with a proud one. You were the first one to break the silence with a heavy sigh. “Okay, say I agree to this. What do I get in return?”

“Anything you want,” he said. “Within reason, of course. Please don’t ask me to like, hide a body or something.”

Ignoring his last comment, you continued speaking, “You’re not allowed to back out of whatever I ask you to, right? If this plan fails or succeeds, you still owe me whatever you promised.”

Eren nodded. “Of course. I swear on it.” He shifted a little so his elbow was on the table, holding out a pinky. Instinctively, you held out your pinky as well and intertwined the both of them. Pinky promises were something you and Eren had been doing for years now. It meant that the other was dead serious on their promise.

The waitress came back with your broth and dipping ingredients, setting them on the table for you right when your pinkes left each other. Thanking the waitress, the two of you talked some more while you waited for the broth to heat up.

“We should make it official. With a contract and set of rules,” he said. “Like that one movie you forced me to watch with you. The Boys I Loved or some shit like that.”

“To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before,” you corrected.

“Yeah, that. They’re kinda doing something like us, yeah?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged, picking up your chopsticks and a sice of pork belly when the broth started to boil. “After we eat though.”

Idle chatter was shared between the two of you as you ate. Even though you saw each other nearly every day, you never ran out of things to talk to. You could be talking about complete nonsense or how quantum physics made no sense, and you would still have the best time of your life.

By now, the broth had been drunk up and the table had been cleared out to be replaced with banana milk and ice cream. Eren brought out his notepad again to write down the set of rules for your fake relationship while enjoying your desserts.

Good progress had been written so far on the notepad. Both of you had given input and criticism on each rule made. In the end, you finally had a good set of rules written down.

(Y/N) and erens contract and rules for eren yaegers fool proof plan to get mina aka operation rent a gf by eren yaeger 1. act normally. eren and (Y/N) act like a couple already. just double the pda a little more 2. don’t tell anyone about the deal. the more people who believe in the relationship, the more likely it is for the plan to work 3. post each other on ig a lot. maybe add names and a date to bios to make it more believable 4. date night every saturday (go out or just hang out) 5. go to parties together 6. walk each other to class if you can 7. call each other cute pet names 8. after breaking up, the couple act has to stop including the sex 9. DON’T SLIP UP

payment for (Y/N):

Eren tapped a beat on the notepad, reading “payment” over and over again. Eventually he looked up at you, deep in thought. “Have you thought of anything so far?” he asked, clicking the pen to write what you wanted.

This was a tough decision. Eren was ready to give you anything to help him get Mina. You had to be wise and pick something big to take advantage of him. Something you were sure you wouldn’t ever regret getting.

“How about,” you started, trailing off, “you do my laundry for the rest of our time at ParadisU, buy me lunch every Wednesday even after we break up, recommend that godsend of a tutor you keep gatekeeping to help me too, and…”

“And?” Eren asked, looking up from his writing, waiting for your next words.

“All the orgasms I want during our relationship,” you finished, satisfied with what you chose.

“Is that all?” he asked, writing down the last of your words. “That’s a lot.”

“How about I let you know if I wanna add more,” you said. Eren nodded in response. His head hung to look at the notepad again, writing something down. Once he was done, he plaed the pen on the pad and slid it to you.

“Sign it so it’s official,” he instructed.

There were two lines beside each other, one already with Eren’s signature. Without hesitation, you signed your name neatly on the paper, giving the items back to Eren once you were done.

payment for (Y/N): eren has to do the (Y/N)’s laundry for the rest of university, buy her lunch ever wednesday, get tutor to help her and give her as many orgasms as she wants during the course of the relationship

signed x eren yaeger x (y/n) (l/n)

The two of you shook hands when Eren put away his things, to seal the deal again. The waitress came by again to give you the bill and collect your dirty dishes. Eren set down the cash needed to pay along with a tip in the check presenter before the two of you left.

You walked hand in hand back to Erens car before you realized you missed something. “Wait. What do we tell people when they ask how we got together?” you asked, pausing in your tracks.

Eren stopped with you, turning to look at you. “Um, you can say I confessed after lunch, and that this is technically our first date,” he suggested, tugging your hand to walk back to the car.

“Huh. Okay. That works,” you nodded.

The two of you got into the car a little bit past 2:30 in the afternoon, ready to go home. “Wait,” you said again, making Eren pause. “Mikasa wanted a burger from that one joint near our apartment. Could you take me there first?”

Eren smiled and nodded, starting the car. “Of course. Burger with medium Coke and onion rings?”

“How did you know?”

“She always gets that when we go there.”

“Huh… I guess you’re right.”

“When am I not?”

"Always."

taglist - @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag , @lazalee , @countthemoons , @se-va-muriendo-mialma , @liaxxx109 , @prxttyguardian , @jeansbabycake

italic names, it wouldn't let me tag you!

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pens-swords-stuff · 3 years

Text

Fictober 2021 // Day 2

"Everyone's hiding something. Even us. Especially us."

➸ Prompt number 2 // “You have no proof” ➸ Original fiction // Always the Bridesmaid ➸ Rating // All audiences ➸ Warnings // N/A ➸ Word count // 704 ➸ For more information, check out #atb at @pens-swords-stuff ➸ If you’re interested in being on the taglist, please follow my WIP sideblog @always-the-bridesmaid-wip and turn on notifications for that blog.

A cold gaze pierced through Victoria, pinning her in place. Rather than shrink back in fear, she met it with a stubborn jut of her jaw. Silence stretched between them. It would’ve been an awkward, dreadful silence if it wasn’t for the discontent sparking between them like electricity.

“You can’t be serious.” It was Nathan who broke the silence first, crossing his arms. The slight tilt of his head couldn’t have been curiosity — it was a challenge.

“Why not? The staff at the venue is suspicious too — especially Harding. He’s overseeing everything that goes on during a wedding because he’s in charge. That gives him plenty of opportunity to meet the bridesmaids and even get some of their information.”

“All of the weddings that the victims were a part of had different venues,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “You did read the case files right? Or have you already forgotten?”

“Yes, I know,” Victoria replied, rolling her eyes. Was she surprised that he just assumed she didn’t know any of the details of the case? No, not at all. He always assumed the worst of her because he was a stuck up, arrogant bastard. “But I think he’s hiding something; we should look into it.”

“Why do you think he’s so suspicious?”

“Intuition. He was acting shifty when we interviewed him last week.”

Nathan let out a huff of derisive laughter. “So basically, what you’re saying is… You have no proof.”

“That’s why we’re going to investigate. You know, to look for proof…?” Victoria raised an eyebrow and spelled it out slowly for him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And it was — aside from maybe basic math and colors.

“And how many times has your ‘intuition’ and ‘gut instinct’ ended up being completely wrong?” he challenged.

“It’s been right plenty of times!”

“How many times have you been wrong? What’s the success ratio?”

“And how are we ever going to find proof of anything and find the killer if we just wait for proof to fall into our laps?” she countered, conveniently ignoring his question. “What are you waiting for? They’re never going to drop a letter into our mailbox saying ‘yes I am the killer’. They don’t even know we’re investigating them.”

“I’m waiting for reasonable suspicion,” Nathan answered evenly. His hard stare and tone didn’t waver one bit. “Something a bit more concrete than ‘I feel like he could possibly, maybe be guilty’.”

“We’ll never know if we don’t investigate!” Victoria hissed, leaning forward across the table. “And if he turns out to be innocent, fine. That’s one suspect down.”

“So you’re willing to waste time chasing down a person who is most likely not connected to the murders, instead of doing some actual investigation that would get us closer to finding the real killer?”

“It’s not wasted time! I think he’s hiding something.”

“Everyone’s hiding something. Even us. Especially us.”

“I think he’s hiding something big! Important! Relevant to the case!”

“Give me some sort of proof then — something that shows me that this isn’t a waste of my time.”

“You’re not my boss.”

“But I am your partner.” Disdain stained his tone, spitting it out like it was gristle.

“I thought that as my fiance, you were supposed to make me happy?”

“I’d rather get this done as efficiently as possible so we can drop this whole charade,” he said dismissively. “The longer that we waste time, the longer I have to put up with this whole fake engagement nonsense. Neither of us want that.”

“This isn’t nothing,” Victoria protested. Her fingers curled into a fist, and her nails bit into her palms. “I think he knows something.”

“As your fiance, it’s my job to keep you from making ridiculous mistakes and embarrassing yourself by accusing someone without proof,” Nathan said, sounding as pleased as he always did when he mentioned their faux engagement — which was not at all.

Victoria ground her teeth together. If he wouldn’t fulfil his job as her partner and work with her on this, then she’d have to do it herself. Harding was hiding something, and she wasn’t just going to let that slide.

#writing #writeblr #fictober21 #original writing #creative writing #my wips #always the bridesmaid #undine writes stuff #atb #fictober #victoria price #nathan howard

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autisticdindjarin · 3 years

Text

Sleep It Off

(AO3)

Summary: “You’re a kriffing mess,” Boba declared. Mando’s eyes opened again at that, all wide and teary, brow crumpled. Rating: T Pairings: Din Djarin x Boba Fett Warnings: Drunkeness, Vomiting Notes: For Bobadin Week 2021, Day 3- Protectiveness/Caretaking I ended up getting a new job and it's been exhausting so this isn't edited as well as I wanted it to be but. Heh. Better than nothing, yeah?

(Masterlist)

↪

Boba cursed under his breath as he eyed the tipsy Mandalorian, being held up halfway with his own feet, and halfway with Fennec’s help. He reached forwards immediately, taking the brunt of the weight from his partner.

“Where did you find him?” Boba shook his head, grimacing as Mando leaned into his hold. Fennec sighed, wiping her hands on the tops of her thighs, looking unimpressed with everything as usual.

“Cantina in Mos Eisley. Trading stories with some mechanic. Don’t know how much he’s had.”

“Helmet?” Boba asked, and Fennec handed it over. It was strange, seeing Mando without it most of the time now. The man seemed to be avoiding it, yet he took it everywhere, in hand.

Mando remained silent where he leaned against Boba, though one hand was strangely running across his shoulder, almost admiringly. Fennec looked between the two of them and shrugged.

“I’ll let you handle this one,” she said with a slight smile, and Boba didn’t have the time to respond before he was facing a closed door. He grumbled under his breath, then turned his attention to Mando.

The man was a sorry sight, one that tugged at heartstrings. Boba guided him gently to the bed, keeping Mando from falling over when he attempted to sit down. He plopped on the bed instead, feet flat on the floor and back flat on the mattress, arms sprawled out. His dark eyes were slightly unfocused, but they didn’t leave Boba’s form.

“I’m getting you some water,” Boba groused, shaking his head. He was startled when Mando’s hand clutched at his, the grip strong.

“No, I can’t …. Stay?”

Boba looked back at him. Mando’s bottom lip was jutted out, his eyes big and shining, looking like he was about to cry.

Fuck, but this was pathetic. Boba let out a huff, but was gentle when he extracted Mando’s hand from his wrist.

“I’ll be right back. You really need water, or you’re going to be cursing yourself out even more tomorrow. I’ll be right back,” he said again as a reminder. Mando seemed to consider it, then nodded, a curl of hair falling into his face. Boba hesitated before reaching over, brushing it back, and Force be damned, those pleading eyes were going to be the death of him if he kept looking.

So he turned away, intent on his task of finding water for the intoxicated Mandalorian awkwardly situated on his bed.

He was back within minutes, and was surprised that Mando hadn’t passed out on him; Instead he had sat up and crossed his legs underneath him, making a pretty picture where he was perched on the mattress. Boba raised a brow as he sat beside him, and handed him the glass, hoping but also kind of not hoping that he wouldn’t need assistance.

Mando gulped down the water too fast.

Boba cursed as it came back up immediately on his floor, barely getting his foot out of the way in time. The glass dropped onto the bed and Boba reached over, his hand cupping the back of Mando’s neck and holding him steady as he got sick all over Boba’s rug.

Boba didn’t care much for the rug anyway.

When he was done, Mando’s eyes met Boba’s. They were watery and red, dark bags beneath them, his skin clammy to the touch and ashen. Boba sighed, running his hand over Mando’s forehead. Mando made a strange little sound, almost something like longing, and closed his eyes, leaning into Boba’s hand that now cupped his jaw.

“You’re a kriffing mess,” Boba declared. Mando’s eyes opened again at that, all wide and teary, brow crumpled.

“‘M sorry ….” Mando said, on the verge of tears. Boba hissed, shaking his head and rubbing a hand over his neck, fingers massaging gently at the base of Mando’s skull.

“No better place to be a mess than here. You’re safe,” Boba assured, hoping to get that point across at least. Mando relaxed under his hand, his shoulders slumping forwards. Boba took a breath, just watching him for a long moment.

“We should get you out of that armor, Mando, get a bit more comfortable,” he squeezed gently at Mando’s neck. Mando glanced over at him, and reached a hand that found its way to Boba’s kneecap.

“Name’s Din,” he said, his voice nearly whispered. Boba’s brow furrowed.

“Right. We’ll see if you remember this tomorrow. If not, I’ll pretend to have forgotten it.”

This seemed to immediately distress Mando … Din … who lurched forwards, his grip tightening on Boba’s knee.

“No. No - I want you to know. Want you to know me,” he said, his proximity close enough that it would make Boba uncomfortable with anyone else. Instead Boba clicked his tongue, patting Din on the shoulder.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow … Din,” he added his name with a small smile on his lips, and Din smiled back at him, eyes that had previously looked so sad now sparkling over at him.

“Okay,” Din said, in an almost dreamy tone. Boba shook his head at him.

“If I get you more water, will you drink slow and keep it down?” he asked, leaning forwards to get better eye contact from him. Din nodded at that, very seriously.

“Right. I’ll be right back … again,” Boba snorted, making sure Din was in a position where he’d less likely risk falling off the bed.

He made his way to the fresher, grabbing a towel to clean up Din’s mess, and filled another glass with water. As an afterthought, he rooted around in a drawer, grabbing a spare ultrasound cleaner for teeth.

When he returned, Din was right where he left him, watching him walk back in intently. Boba hid a smile, sitting down beside him again. This time, he held the glass of water while he encouraged Din to drink, making sure he went with sips instead of gulping the whole damn thing down. Satisfied with half a glass, he put it to the side, handing Din over the pseudo-toothbrush.

“Think you can handle this? It’s a spare. Didn’t figure you’d wanna wake up with aftertaste. I always hated that.”

Din nodded at him, and Boba chuckled. A man of few words. He started on cleaning his teeth while Boba cleaned the mess off the floor - good enough until morning, at least. He’d have one of the cleaning droids give the room a shine while he worked.

Din finished with his teeth before he was done, and the ultrasound cleaner found its place on the nightstand alongside the half empty glass of water.

“Right. Now, you wanna get that armor off for the night, or do you enjoy sleeping in metal?” he asked, approaching Din again, who was looking more and more like he was about to pass out as time passed. Boba would like to get the beskar off of him before that happened, ideally.

“Yeah,” Din rasped out in that gravelly voice of his, his stare intent on Boba. Boba faltered just slightly before he reached over, helping to begin the process, starting with the pauldrons. By the time they were finished, Din was slipping into sleep. Boba smiled and got the armor tucked away safely underneath the bed, well guarded between the two of them. He reached over to brush the curl that had fallen over Din’s forehead away again. Din’s eyes snapped open, and their gazes were drawn together for a long moment.

“Stay,” Din breathed out, sitting up again, his hand reaching for Boba’s. Flustered, Boba chuckled, turning his head away.

“I’m fine, don’t worry-” he cut himself off as he found Din’s face inches from his. Gulping, he looked into Din’s eyes, which were pointed towards his lips. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his lips were covered with Din’s, his jaw cupped by a calloused hand. In shock, Boba immediately responded by kissing back, his hand moving to curl into the back of Din’s hair. But he was snapped out of it soon enough when Din pressed closer, trying to wriggle his way into Boba’s lap. Boba pulled away, pressing a hand against Din’s chest as his own heaved.

“Steady - I-” his own voice was tangled up and hoarse now as he tried to collect all the thoughts rushing through his head. “You’re drunk, Mandalorian. Let’s … save this for tomorrow, yeah? If you even remember,” Boba sighed, just gazing at the man in front of him, drinking in the sight of his mussed hair, heaving chest, and flushed face.

Din blinked at him a few times, then nodded slowly, eyes falling shut with a goofy grin on his face. Boba near giggled at that, his hands soothing the mussed hair back as he guided Din back on the bed, tugging the sheets over him.

“Sleep it off,” he added again, not unkindly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

As he turned the lights off and settled down onto the nearby couch for the night, Boba slowly ran his fingers over his lips.

@bobadinweek

#bobadin #bobadinweek2021 #boba fett #bobin #din djarin #the mandalorian #myfic #mine

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writethelifeyouwant · 3 years

Text

Told You So

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Jack Kline

Rating: 18+

Tags: sex toys, dom/sub, wrist restraints, coming untouched, dirty talk, slut shaming, choking, cum eating

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Jack doesn’t believe that Sam can make him come without touching his dick.

Created for: @winklinebingo - Sex Toys | @spnrareshipbingo - Jack / Sam | @spnkinkbingo - Coming Untouched

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Jack shivers as Sam’s fingers trail over his shoulder, tracing down his arm, the feeling somehow amplified through the cotton of his jacket catching on the hairs standing up from his skin.

“How you feeling, kid?” Dean asks through a gulp of beer. “You look a little–” he waves his hand around in front of his face, indicating that he’s noticed the flushed, far off look Jack must have going on right about now.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Jack swallows, aiming for a grin but only achieving a grimace, and jumping slightly when Sam’s fingers connect with his under the war-table.

“Dean’s right, Jack,” Sam cuts in, leaning forward under the pretense of looking closer at Jack to check he’s alright, but actually creeping his hand further up the boy’s thigh. “You sure you’re okay, you do look a little…” Sam trails off, smirking when he sees Dean isn’t looking at them, “worked up.”

Jack wants to scoff in Sam’s face, but that would be impolite. Of course, he’s fucking worked up right now. He’s had a small remote control toy buzzing against his prostate for the past twenty minutes. It had felt so unbelievable at first, like he could have come in about 30 seconds if Sam had told him he was allowed to, but then Sam had dropped the speed down to its lowest setting, and the unrelenting buzz had dulled into just about manageable — just about ignorable — unless he shifts even an inch, and then the pleasure pulses through his limbs and send even more blood rushing to his crotch. Honestly, he’s surprised there’s enough blood left in the top half of his body for his face to be blushing at all. It feels like every drop of blood in his body has pushed itself into his cock, it feels so hard and full, and like it could burst at any second.

“I’m fine, S–” Jack squeaks when Sam’s long, sinful fingers curl around the bulge in his pants and the speed of the vibrator jumps up a notch simultaneously.

“No, I think you should go lay down.” Sam’s face is the picture of fatherly concern and sage advice, the dickhead. “You don’t want to get caught with your pants down during a hunt if you’re coming over with something.”

“I’ll be coming over something,” Jack mumbles to himself, hating Sam and his fucking teasing.

“Huhm?” Dean grunts, only half paying attention on the other side of the table, where his burger is much more interesting than Jack maybe having a cold.

“I am going to go lay down,” Jack announces as he springs out of his chair abruptly, disguising the gasp he’d just let slip when Sam turned the toy up another notch, with the sound of the chair grating against the concrete floors as he pushed out of his seat. He carefully angles his body behind Sam’s chair, so as not to display his hard on and the wet spot he’d been steadily growing on the front of his jeans for the past half hour.

“I’ll come check on you in a bit, buddy,” Sam squeezes Jack’s bicep, pressing right over a bruise he’d left there the night before, knowing he was tormenting Jack even more by reminding him of the claiming mark he’d bitten into his skin. Reminding him ‘you’re mine, you and your body and your pleasure— They. Are. Mine.’

Jack could barely choke down his whimper at Sam’s touch, the soreness of his bruise recalling the delicious soreness he still felt between his legs – an ache that was being accentuated by the now rhythmic vibrating of the small toy inside of him. The pattern beat against the nerves inside him maddeningly. Just as the vibrations grew to a strength that might be able to tip him over the edge into relief they disappeared, leaving the toy still and silent for a moment before starting the torture over again.

Inside his room, Jack collapsed to his knees at the foot of the bed, relishing in the moan he could finally let loose now he was alone. The toy inside him pressed just below the sweet spot inside of him in this position, and he let himself relax and settle into it. He knew that Sam would make him wait for a bit, make him sweat and squirm. Sometimes this was the best part. When he was all alone, only kept company by his own desperate thoughts – this was when Jack realised just how much of a slut he really was.

Sure, Sam told him he was all the time. When he was on his knees with Sam’s cock down his throat, or when Sam pressed him against the back of the Impala and made him grind against that thick, muscular, hunter’s thigh until he came in his pants, or when Sam caught him jerking off in the shower only a few hours after Sam had fucked him into the mattress, or when Sam noticed his inappropriate boner during a case and told him to go wait for him in the police station bathroom, where Sam promptly handcuffed him and ate him out until he came without being touched. Jack was most definitely a slut, and he knew it. But here, in the cold fluorescent light of his bunker bedroom, knees going numb on the concrete beneath him, and sweat dripping beneath the collar of his t-shirt – this is where he felt the humiliation most keenly.

The fact that Jack wasn’t just a slut for Sam, wasn’t just doing all those dirty things because he was being told to, but would sit here and torture himself willingly, was the thing that made Jack feel the dirtiest he ever did. Of course, Sam knew what Jack was thinking, that he loved his time alone spent contemplating just how much of a fucking whore he really was, and Sam loved how desperate it made Jack when he did finally join him again.

“There’s a good boy,” Jack hears Sam murmur as he steps into the room, the vibrations in the plug jumping down to its lowest, thrumming level. Jack lets out a shaky sigh, but keeps his position on his knees, back straight, waiting for Sam to give him his instructions. Sam brushes his hand over the back of the boy’s head as he moves around his kneeling form to sit on the foot of the bed, carefully placing the toy’s remote control on the blanket next to him. He reaches out a hand to rest on Jack’s cheek, the big fingers nearly engulfing his face, and Jack has to fight his instincts to sit straight instead of leaning into the touch. “How you doing?” Sam asks, voice heavy with sympathy.

“Good,” Jack pants, hoping he sounds convincing, but knowing Sam will see through him in a heartbeat.

“You still look pretty flushed to me,” Sam muses, brushing a stray hair off Jack’s forehead. “Maybe you should lay down, get yourself out of these clothes into something more… comfortable.” Jack closes his eyes and whimpers, nodding, he wants that so badly. “Okay, if I let you lay down, the vibrations on your toy are gonna go back up again. Can you handle that?”

Jack nods again, furiously. “Yes, Sam, please.”

“Okay, c’mon, up you get.” Sam pulls Jack up by his wrists and starts to peel the boy’s jacket off. Jack lets Sam manipulate him out of his clothes, shivering in the cool of the air as the layers are dropped by his feet. When he’s been stripped bare, Sam pulls him onto the bed, guiding his hands to the restraints they keep attached to each corner of the headboard and buckles him in. The bruises on Jack’s arms and shoulders stand out against his pale skin, which is shimmering with the sweat of his earlier exertions. Sam’s fingers trace over the marks and down Jack’s chest, around each pink nipple, standing erect in the cool air of the bedroom, down his stomach to the soft trail of hair below his belly button, avoiding the angry pink cock currently twitching against the sharp jut of his hip bone. Jack had done so well keeping quiet while Sam laid him out the way he wanted him, but under the man’s taunting touch, he can’t keep his whines in his throat any more.

“Please, Sam,” Jack mewls, bucking his hips into the air, hoping to push Sam’s fingers against his cock where he wants them.

“Tch, tch, tch,” Sam tuts, unimpressed. “I told you, baby boy, no one is going to be touching that cock tonight.” Sam’s smirk is infuriating.

“Sam,” Jack whines again, “I really need to cum. Please. I’ll –” he pants, grasping for words “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, just let me cum. Please, Sam, please.”

“I didn’t tell you you couldn’t cum baby,” Sam sits on the bed, picking up the remote and turning up the pace, like he’d threatened. “You can cum whenever you want to. I just said you can’t touch yourself to make it happen.” Jack whines petulantly, making Sam laugh, and he switches the pattern of the vibrations in the boy’s plug again.

“But I’ll never cum like this Sam,” Jack complains, struggling against his restraints, and Sam is glad he had the foresight to lock him down.

“Oh, really?” Sam ups the intensity of the vibrations and Jack arches off the bed, moaning. “You don’t think a little slut like you can cum just from a little toy up their ass? Don’t think you’re desperate enough?” He changes the pattern to something quicker - sharper - and Jack hisses. “If you were a good little whore, you wouldn’t need anyone to touch that little cock, you’d cum when I tell you to, heh? But…” Sam stands, twirling the remote in his palm, “if you don’t think you can, I’ll just –” he clicks the ‘off’ button on the plug, and Jack lets out the most pathetic whimper yet, instantly missing the pleasure that had been coursing through him for the past hour.

“No! Sam, no, I’m sorry, please. Please let me cum,” Jack begs, squirming in his restraints.

“I told you, I wasn’t stopping you,” Sam smirks wickedly.

“Please,” Jack is almost crying, Sam can see the tears shimmering in his eyes.

“If I turn this back on, are you going to be a good boy, and do what I tell you?”

“Yes, I promise, please, Sam, please, turn it back on. I need to cum, please.” Sam walks back to the bed, stroking Jack’s cheek tenderly, victory glowing in his eyes.

“So pretty when you beg, baby boy,” Sam coos, and Jack nuzzles into his touch. When Sam turns the toy back on, Jack jumps, twisting his head to whimper into his pillow. “Nope, don’t you dare,” Sam grins and yanks on Jack’s hair, pulling his face up. “Don’t hide those noises from me, baby. Wanna hear how much of a little slut you are for me. Want you to get as loud as you can for me, let Dean hear how desperate you are, yeah? You my needy little whore, baby?”

“Yes!” Jack whines, the intensity of the toy ratcheting up, the increased speed pressing it harder against the spot inside of him that is starting to burn.

“Want to hear you say it,” Sam’s voice has hardened, and he drags his hand down Jack’s face to his throat, his fingers easily wrapping most of the way around.

“I’m a slut, a needy little slut, fuck, just need to cum, Sam, please,” Jack groans desperately.

“Yeah? Needy little slut needs to cum?” Sam teases, squeezing against the veins on either side of the boy’s neck, working to make him light-headed, while also turning the toy up another setting. “Why don’t you do it then, baby boy? Cum for me real loud, want you screamin’,” Sam is panting now too, his own arousal barely being held in check as he torments Jack – it will be his turn soon.

“Please,” Jack is crying now, hips humping down into nothing, looking for resistance that won’t come. He looks pathetic, and Sam loves it.

“I told you” —Sam’s chest heaves and he turns the toy up to its highest setting, leaning over Jack’s face and squeezing around his fragile little throat— “to cum, you little slut.” He spits into Jack’s mouth, which is frozen open in pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, God, ah–” Jack’s words trail off into unintelligible noises as his hips launch off the bed and he cums in sharp bursts, the shiny white liquid splashing up his chest, onto his face and lips, and Sam’s hand. Sam is panting nearly as hard as Jack as he watches the boy spurt cum all over himself, he’s always loved when he can make Jack lose control this completely.

“That’s a good boy,” Sam huffs, trying to get himself under control long enough to finish taking care of Jack. “Told you so, didn’t I?” he smirks. Jack whimpers in acknowledgement, but he isn’t quite recovered enough for words yet. Sam lets go of his throat and examines the cum shining on his knuckles. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack whimpers tiredly, slumping back against his pillows.

“You believe me now?” Sam checks, and Jack doesn’t see the mischievous glint in Sam’s eyes because his own are still closed while he nods. Sam runs his fingers along Jack’s chest to collect the cum still glistening against the creamy, pale skin, pushing the dirty fingers between Jack’s lips when they’ve gathered everything they can. Jack’s eyes open wide in shock, but he sucks Sam down eagerly, confused – but still craving his approval. “In case you needed proof,” Sam chuckles, letting Jack suckle on his fingers and clean every last drop of his own cum from Sam’s skin.

“I still get to touch you though, right?” Jack checks anxiously, looking at the impressive bulge that Sam has started to free from his jeans.

“You fuckin’ better,” Sam growls, shedding his jeans and briefs and climbing onto the bed to straddle Jack’s chest. “Open up, baby.”

Tags: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @whoreforackles @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @sonofslaanesh69 @stoneyggirl

#winklinebingo #spnrareshipbingo #spnkinkbingo #winkline #sam x jack #supernatural smut #sam winchester smut #sam smut #jack kline smut #jack smut #sam winchester #jack kline

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thecrenellations · 3 years

Photo

Queen’s Thief Appreciation, Day 11: Favorite Outfit* - A study of Helen

Please come along with me and @storieswelove on a chronological journey through six of Helen’s outfits as they evolve ... from the sheepskin coat she wears as a nine-year-old (the first character we meet in the timeline of the series!) to clothes chosen by others with various motivations and clothes she chooses herself.

I drew the Helens, and Margaux came up with this concept, wrote the accompanying gems of missing scenes, and (along with Maggie) has infused my mind with fashion references over the past few months, in the best way, while encouraging my art always.

crossposted here on AO3

*ok, we did pick more than one outfit

“Eddis” Hunting Jacket

“High up in the mountains there was still quite a bit of snow, and she shivered even in her sheepskin jacket.” - “Eddis” (reference)

“There you are, my dear,” Xanthe said as she buttoned Helen’s new coat. The little girl had grown since the fall, when the weather was last warm enough for a coat that only came to her knees. “Look how nice you look.”

Helen stuck out her arms and looked at the coat. It was all right, she thought. The blue and white trim was pretty, but that just meant her mother or her aunts or Xanthe would chastise her when she inevitably got it dirty. She almost sighed. If they would just let her wear plain clothes maybe they wouldn’t fuss so much when they got dirty. But Xanthe was smiling at her expectantly, so Helen smiled back and, fibbing, said, “It’s a lovely coat.”

If she didn’t care for the coat, she would be happy to have its warm mass when she snuck off with Nestor to go explore the temple soon. She had been planning all winter, and she was nearly ready to go…

Miserable Dress

“In her five-year reign she’d won the loyalty and love of her subjects. They thought she was beautiful, I told her, and they would be just as happy to see her in a a sack as in the elaborate costumes her dressers liked to bully her into.” - The Thief (reference, a beautiful dress but very not Helen)

Gen laughed in her face. “Why are you wearing that?”

"What a lovely way to speak to your queen,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him.

Gen pulled a face of mock solemnity, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching. “My queen,” he said gravely, “why are you wearing that?”

Rolling her eyes, she walked past him, doing her best to push down her discomfort. She hated this dress.

As she walked away, her Thief called after her. “No one cares what you wear!”

War Trousers

“Eugenides wondered when she’d started wearing trousers again. Thinking about it, he couldn’t recall seeing her in a dress except at the formal dinners.” - The Queen of Attolia

Helen stood, ready to be dressed by her attendants as they fluttered around her. She would be in meetings from the moment she left her rooms until evening. As she thought of the day ahead of her, hearing reports from her officers and making decision after decision that could alter the lives of her people, Helen began to wonder how much more she could take. She eyed the orange dress with ruffled sleeves that Selene had just brought out from her closet, and Helen realized she had found her limit.

Holding up a hand to her attendant, she said wearily, “Trousers today. I need a break.”

Engagement Dress

“Her dress was of linen as fine as [Sounis’s] own. It had an overdress decorated in knotted cord and a waist of satin covered in tiny beads in the same pattern as the knots.” - A Conspiracy of Kings (reference)

“Are you ready?” Gen said, legs swinging from atop her dresser as Eddis’s attendants twisted the last of the pins into her short hair and wordlessly drifted back to the antechamber, leaving the cousins alone.

Helen smiled tightly. “I hope so.”

“Helen,” Gen said softly, “he is going to understand.”

Helen changed the subject. “Thank you for the dress,” she said. It was worlds better than anything her attendants would have chosen, and Helen always made sure to thank Gen for his gifts of clothes. She knew it mattered to him.

“It’s an important day. You deserved to be free of their fussing.”

Helen snorted. Her attendants had fussed anyway, of course. “I could have done without the gold in my hair though,” she said, idly fingering her curls and looking at the gold dust on her hand.

Gen grinned and jumped down from the dresser, coming over to kiss her forehead before he left. “It’s for luck.”

“I’ll show you luck,” Helen said, and wiped the gold powder onto his sleeve as he hissed.

Wedding Costume

“I had been sent to the palace in time to be an eyesore at the wedding of Sounis and Eddis. Instead I had been ill and slept through it.” - Return of the Thief (reference) (another reference)

“Gods, I cannot wait to change,” Helen murmured so only Irene could hear. The sovereigns and their retinues were tucked away in an antechamber off of the dining hall, resting briefly between the temple ceremony and the feast. In the next room, heaping platters of fish and lamb, sugared almonds and honey cakes awaited them.

“Your dress looks more comfortable than what I wore for my wedding,” Irene observed, turning in her chair to face her cousin beside her.

Helen smiled. “There’s that, at least.” The day was hot, but not nearly as hot as it had been when Gen and Irene had married the summer before. Irene’s dress, all red and gold, had been made from layers of heavy fabrics. It must have been miserable. “It’s not the dress I mind,” Helen said. All things considered, the dress wasn’t bad. It was more ornate than most of her dresses, but that was to be expected for her wedding. It was a nod to traditional Eddisian wedding outfits but cut more to her liking, carefully chosen both for her personal comfort and to reinforce that she was still Eddis. And, neither her attendants nor her aunt had been involved in its selection. That had been the real blessing. “It’s these damned laurels,” she said, barely touching one of the delicate leaves jutting out from the floral wedding crown. “They itch, and if I scratch them I ruin my hair and my attendants will be after my head.”

“Here,” Irene said, and leaned over to delicately adjust the worst offending leaves and flower stems to keep them from poking Helen’s head. Two attendants moved hurriedly over to help, but Attolia waved them off. “I know how to adjust a crown,” she mumbled to herself. Helen laughed.

Eddisian Uniform

“She was dressed in trousers and low boots, her over-tunic identical to her officers’ but embroidered in gold.” - The Queen of Attolia (with reference to Emily B. Martin’s official art and frogged tunics!)

She watched as Sophos blushed. She grinned. She knew that look. “Surely you have seen me in uniform before?”

He shook his head. “I have not,” he said, stepping toward her and fingering the ornate gold closures of her military tunic. He smiled slyly. “How easy are these frogs to undo?”

---

Thank you for reading! You can read it again here on AO3

#qtappreciationweek #the queen's thief #eddis helen #return of the thief #HELLO HERE WE ARE WITH SOME HELENS #and helen feelings #:0 #:)#mwt #qt art #something i #collaboration

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serendipityjxmn · 3 years

Text

Mr. President

Chapter 16

TW: Rape attempt

Words Count: 1.6k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 17

You wake up feeling thirsty that night. Jimin isn’t in bed, as he’d been the past few days. You briefly wonder if he’s sleeping in some other room. You don’t glance at the clock but figured that it’s around 2 or 3AM.

You reach the teapot on your bedside to pour some water into a glass but none of it comes out. You’ve forgotten to refill it before you head to sleep. Too sleepy to curse at yourself, you stand up albeit groggily.

You make your way downstairs and only after gulping down two glasses of water do you feel sated of your thirst.

You’re about to head back upstairs when you heard some noise. You freeze in your steps, unsure of the source. Did someone break into your house? Though you don’t think the securities in this house is that amateur.

Taking another step, you hear the noise again and it takes you a moment to realize it’s your husband’s voice. Unknowingly, you walk towards the source of the noise and your husband’s voice that leads you to the house backyard.

Your husband is shouting at someone. There’s probably about 8 or 9 people including your husband, you couldn’t be sure. Someone is brought to kneel in front of him.

“Why the fuck would you bring him here?” He hisses.

“Sorry sir- I thought-“

“I don’t give a fuck about what you thought- my wife’s here-“ he runs a hand through his hair, speaking in harsh hushed tone. “Fuck it, just do it quick, give me the silencer-“

Someone thrusts a gun into your husband’s hand.

He cocks the gun and-

A piercing scream breaks out and suddenly everyone turns towards you. You realize the sound comes out from you. You’re screaming hysterically, eyes wide as soon as you see the man that was kneeling in front of your husband few seconds ago is now lying on the floor, no longer breathing.

Hands clasping your mouth, you swing around and starts running, too shell shocked to even cry.

You’re freaked out, you don’t even know your destination until you see the room at the end of hallway, the small room that had been your safe space and without thinking, you run towards it.

As soon as you lock the door, you find yourself sinking to the floor. Your body trembles and you feel hard to breath and then you start crying. You cry and simply cry for hours until your body’s too exhausted to cry anymore. You’re still trembling, lips pale from the traumatic scene that you just witnessed.

Jimin did come, knocking on the door and frantically shouts your name. But eventually he stopped. And you fall asleep, body still shivering.

When you finally find the strength to stand the next morning, Jimin has already gone out. He didn’t come home again that night.

You know your husband is a dangerous man. You’d seen it firsthand when he beats your brother half dead when you first saw him, and he’s never failed to remind you how dangerous he is.

From his cold demeanor, his reflex when someone is too close to him, how his footsteps are so silent, how he expertly handles the gun like he’s been doing it all his life, you know Jimin’s way more dangerous than he lets on to you.

He’d done a perfect job in hiding that dark part of his life, you’d give that to him.

And now that you know, you guess Jimin assumes it’s more dangerous as he levels up the security for you. Taeseok had kindly introduces you to them all, which by the way are four of them including Taeseok himself and informs you that you’re not allowed out unless there’s security with you. This is all by Jimin’s orders which he tells through Taeseok since he doesn’t come home for days now.

For someone who thinks you’re nothing, he sure is taking your security too seriously.

You’re angry with him. You really are. But when he doesn’t come home for the next whole week, you end up pacing back and forth in the foyer.

From prying and constantly pestering your poor new bodyguard, you’ve finally confirmed your suspicion that Jimin’s in a mafia gang. But that doesn’t surprise you. It is the fact that Jimin is actually the head of the mafia gang called BTS, and is the most notorious and influential as they hold most of the areas in Seoul. You couldn’t even bring yourself to ask the specifics of his underground business. Having a thug brother, you perfectly know well that there would be drugs and gamblings involved, or women.

You should be worried about that fact. The fact that your husband is a mafia leader. Your level of worry each night he doesn’t come home has increased on a significant level. You don’t really know if he’s gonna come home in one piece.

You find yourself staring blankly around the house because it feels even more empty than usual. There’s a strange hollow that follows it. And that’s how you find yourself sleeping again on the bed that the two of you share in the master bedroom. With his shirt.

You’ve always loved his smell. His vanilla scent that smells soft to your nose yet manly at the same time, his smell. So you pick one of his white shirt and sleeps hugging it.

The fact that you found out your husband’s a killer.. and yet you’re still worried about him.. what level of twisted is this?

It’s about at 3AM, you think, that you heard a sound, waking you up from slumber and you’re immediately aware of every sense, eyes shot open.

“Fuck-“ it’s Jimin’s voice that makes you sit up immediately. You can barely see him in the dark of the room with very little light illuminating.

“Y/N?”

You fumble to switch the bedside lamp on and scramble to your feet immediately and approaches him in the speed of light.

“Sorry didn’t mean to wake you-“

You’re about to throw your hands around him, to just hug him tight but stops short when you take in his disheveled appearance. He’s in his white shirt, his blazer and tie already discarded. But something feels wrong.

You reach out and almost jerks away when you feel a wet patch on his shirt. It takes you a few moments to realize it’s blood. The thick smell of copper filling your noise instantly.

Your eyes widen and you gasp aloud, “Oh God Jimin, are you okay? What’s this?” You ask frantically.

“I’m fine-“

“No Jimin, let me see-“ your hands are trembling, flashes of images of him killing the person few nights ago that still traumatises you filling your mind, you frantically unbutton his shirt, desperate to check if he’s okay and he just lets you.

Your hands are everywhere on the expanse of his chest and his chiseled abs and then you realize he’s perfectly fine and it isn’t his blood. Your whole body visibly relaxes and you let out a relieved sigh.

And then it suddenly dawns to you that you just unbuttoned him all the way down and now he’s half naked.

You fumble to take a step back but he catches your wrist immediately, startling you.

“What’s wrong, kitten?”

Kit.. kitten? “N- nothing.”

He juts his jaw towards the bed. “What’s my shirt doing on the bed?”

Your whole body goes rigid. You don’t even know how to explain everything.

“Did you miss me..?” He whispers, voice close to your ear making you shudder.

You stand frozen in his grip, shaking your head slowly. He only stares at you as you look down.

Thankfully, he releases you, perhaps taking pity after your shock. “I’m gonna shower.” He says then just leaves for the bathroom.

Flushing red, you sprint towards the bed to fetch his shirt back and chuck it into his drawer. You climb back onto bed, heart still beating fast. Where had he been? You were wondering if he would even tell you if you ask or if that’s stepping over the line or boundaries.

You’re lost in your own thought, eyes about to flutter shut when suddenly you feel a hand firmly placed on your waist.

Your hearbeat picks up again.

You turn around, lying on your back now to see Jimin, hovering above you and hands now all over you. Your stomach, your chest, your breasts-

You start to panic. “J-Jimin what are y-you doing?”

His hands are quick to hold your wrist firmly when you start to squirm, trying to escape. He leans down, lips dangerously close to your face.

“You are mine. To kiss anywhere I want.. To touch wherever I want.. and to kill.. whenever I want. Do not forget that.”

His left hand remains on your wrist, gripping it tight above your head while his other hand goes to the strap of your nightgown. You swallow thickly when he slides them down your arm. His hand brushes your half exposed breast very slightly and your entire body go still in shock.

You feel his tongue nipping at your neck as his fingers move daintily from your jaw to your neck, your shoulder and then your breast.

He moves and you gasp when you feel his hardened crotch against you and you’ve never felt so terrified.

You like him. No, you love your husband.

And what you would give for him to touch you intimately.

But you don’t want to give it to him like this, in this state. No emotions, no feelings, no love.

His head dips down to kiss you but you’re quicker to turn your head and avoids him.

“Jimin stop!” You yell.

And all his actions ceased.

Hot tears roll all over your cheeks. Clutching onto your tattered nightgown, trying hard to prevent the silk material from further slipping, you get up from the bed and leaves the room.

Link to Chapter 17

Posted on 210517 9:00PM

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnmrpresident #mrpresident #mr president #bts fic #bts au #bts smut #jimin au #park jimin #parkjimin #kpop fic #jimin smut #jimin ceo #jimin mafia #bts mafia #jimin x reader

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a-is-for-abel · 3 years

Text

"“I’m moving.” He froze, glancing up at his friend. The other boy’s eyes were gleaming with suppressed sobs, breath hitching and jaw clenched. “Mom got a job in another state and we’re moving in a month.”

Inspired by this prompt by @givethispromptatry

Sand and shells crunched under the belly of the kayak as it ran aground. With a wobble and a curse he tumbled into the water, paddle floating away from him and kayak shooting off in the opposite direction.

"Fuck."

He scrambled to collect both, tossing the paddle up onto the beach and grabbing the handle at the bow of the kayak to tow it onto shore.

"You're late."

He rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to see Warren in all his cut-offs and sandals glory. "And you're early."

Warren crossed his arms. "I'm literally the most on time, dude."

"Whatever, just-- Help me grab the stuff."

He popped open the watertight chamber in front of the seat and reached into the belly of the kayak, all while Warren struggled to pull the backpack out from under the cage of bungee cords at the front.

"Just unhook them, dude," he said, his cellphone and two unopened cream sodas finally in hand.

"Don't tell me how to do it."

"It's not going to--"

"Shit!" Warren yelped, recoiling and clutching his hand.

"Told you."

Warren flicked him off, but turned to do what he said anyway.

"Come on, suns gonna start setting soon." He grabbed his backpack from Warren and stuffed the drinks and his phone inside.

"What? Afraid of some gators?"

"No," he said. "Rather a gator than my dad."

Warren grimaced. "He still got you on that curfew?"

"Yup."

He picked his way through the mangrove thicket that cut the beach off from the rest of the spoil island. The roots of the black mangroves jutted up like fingers through the sand and the stilts of the red mangroves tried their best to snag his feet as he ducked under the sprawling web of an orb weaver hidden in their midst. Thankfully, it cleared out past the initial wall of foliage, becoming more barren with only the occasional thicket.

He remembered when his dad had led them through here the first time and explained that the mangroves kept the spoil islands standing. That when hurricanes and storms threatened to wash them away, their roots would act like a little army, keeping off any barrage and harboring whatever took up shelter under them.

He frowned. His dad and him hadn't come out here since--

"Fuck, fuck, fu--" Warren sputtered behind him, high-pitched.

"Web?" he asked, glancing back to see Warren flinching away from a tree.

"Yeah, fuck--" Warren brushed his arms off frantically and patted at his hair. "Fucking spiders all over the fucking place, man. They call it Mosquito Lagoon, but it really should be spider god damn la-- Fuck!"

"Nice one, ‘spider god damn la-fuck’ really has a special sort of ring to it."

Warren shot him a glare and dusted off his shoulders and the front of his shirt with quick flicks. "You owe me for psychological damages..."

"Come on, we used to come out here all the time."

"When I was like ten! And with your dad!" Warren cowered away from another web that sprawled from a lone tree. "And I didn't have as much free real estate for a spider to like, you know-- Crawl all over me or whatever."

"Free real estate?"

"Yeah, you know the whole--" Warren gestured vaguely. "The meme."

"God, please stop," he groaned. "That shits like, what, twenty-seventeen? That's like ancient history, man."

"It's a classic."

"Sure," he muttered. "A classic."

"Whatever, man, you're just not cultured."

He scoffed. "That's definitely it."

The other end of the island unfolded into a drop-off, all coquina and shells packed tightly together and built up into a mound that cut off abruptly into nothing. It was the highest point of the island-- of most of the spoils out here honestly-- even though it's small cliff had been eaten away and eroded over time, shrinking and shifting as the island shrank with the waves.

Dropping his backpack, he sat and dangled his legs over the edge, shoes knocking back against the coquina with a scratchy rasp. Warren plopped down beside him, keeping his legs folded and away from the plunge. Not that it was much of a sheer cliff. Only about eight feet down at the most, but enough that it felt like a lot. Compared to the average of three feet below sea level for the rest of the mainland; eight feet felt pretty fucking huge.

The tide lapped at the base of the island, the water hissing and coiling, writhing and alive where it squirmed through the holes bored through the coquina face and back out with a soft crackle. Crabs, tiny and mottled, darted in and around the rocks and he could see finger mullet, their scales flashing as they turned and twisted with the waves.

"You tied up your kayak, right?" Warren asked.

"Naw, but it should be fine. I pulled it up pretty far."

"I'm not sharing if you get stuck out here."

He frowned, shooting Warren his best puppy dog eyes. "You'd leave me out here?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "Fair."

Seagulls drifted in lazy circles far overhead, the occasional cry working its way down to them as the birds banked with the wind, following the gusts up to where they could catch a glimpse of a meal beneath the water. One wheeled down in a sudden arc, wings folded close to its side as it plummeted, beak first, into the water with a snap and then back out with a spray.

"Man, tough luck..." Warren said. "Hate whenever they miss. Makes me feel kinda bad."

"They're just gonna go do what the rest do and steal some fries at the jetty once they realize it's easier than doing this."

"Yeah, but it's like-- I don't know, man. Just wish he'd get a win."

"You don't even know him!"

"I feel like we have a connection." Warren pointed at where the seagull had gone back to patrolling the waters. "Me and seagull number one thousand and three, we're like this--" He crossed his fingers.

"Shut up," he snorted.

They watched the seagull try again and fail.

Warren started up a running commentary after the third attempt, cupping a hand over his mouth to imitate the slight grain of a sports announcer's microphone as he dramatized the whole thing. When the seagull finally managed to snag a fish Warren cheered, arms thrown up in a touchdown motion that he copied with a grin.

"Hell yeah, dude!" Warren high-fived him.

"Where's all that enthusiasm for when you're at my games?" he asked.

"Come on, dude, you know I always cheer the loudest. You're just too far out on the field to hear me."

"I'm sure that's what it is."

"Whatever, man-- What'd you bring anyway?" Warren grabbed his backpack and began rummaging through it. "Oh shit! Gummy bears, dude! And the good kind, hell yeah!"

"Yeah, grabbed them before I came here. That's why I was late, idiot."

Warren tore open the package. "Crimes forgiven, man. This is worth it."

"Give me that--" He pulled his backpack out of Warren's lap. "I also got some soda, but I guess all you care about is your precious little bears."

"Naw, naw-- Hand that over."

"Rude much?"

"What? You want me to kiss you on the lips for it first, bro?"

He laughed. "Now, that would be the polite thing to do."

Warren puckered his lips at him and then snatched the soda. "Fuck off."

"Not even a little kiss?" he teased.

"You dragged me out to spider-fuck-nowhere, while it's ass fucking hot out and where it smells like rotting fish taint-- Just to watch the fucking sunset, when we could have sat on my roof and done the exact same thing-- You expect a kiss for that?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. Bro code."

Warren snorted. "Hand me a bottle opener, dip shit."

He popped open his own bottle and passed it over to Warren, who struggled for a moment before finally getting it with a triumphant 'whoop'. The mixture of saccharine flavored soda and the slight rotting stench of algae, and whatever else the lagoon had to offer, wasn't exactly pleasant, but it wasn't terrible. It was familiar.

It was homely in it's off kilter sort of way.

"So, why'd you bring me out here anyways?" Warren asked.

He sighed and kicked his heel back against the coquina. "I’m moving.”

Warren sucked in sharply and he glanced over at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the water below his feet. "Dad got a job in another state and we’re moving in a month.”

"Dude…"

"I didn't know how to tell you. I just--"

"Is that why you decided it'd be a good idea to sneak out and go to that dumb party with me?" Warren asked, frowning.

"I figured it would be one of the last chances I had to do something fun, you know. Here. Before I just-- Leave all this shit forever. I mean, we're moving to fucking Ohio, man. Where the fuck am I gonna find a party on an island out there?"

"Right…"

"And look, fuck my dad--"

"Jake--"

"No, fuck him-- He didn't even--" he huffed. "Things were looking up, man. Varsity lacrosse in sophomore year, that's huge, dude. And I wasn't just the fucking loser kid in the back of class anymore and he just--"

"Works rough here, dude..." Warren cut him off, sighing. "Space programs taking a shit. Whole island's taking a shit, really. Plenty of people left the first time NASA tanked, remember? It's just… it happens, man."

"So, you're just fine with it then?" he asked, brows furrowing. "We're never going-- I'm never going to see you again and you're just okay with that?"

"It's not forever!" Warren said, throwing out his hands. "There's planes, man! It's the twenty first fucking century. We got phones, dude. We'll stay in touch."

He grit his teeth and looked down.

"Jake, bro. C'mon-- Look at me."

He met Warren's eyes.

"It's gonna be okay, dude." Warren said, smile wide, and he could see the little falter at the edges, but he didn't call him on it. "Look--" Warren held up his bottle. "We'll cheers on it."

"Cheers on what?"

"To staying in touch, to meeting up in the future. To staying friends and all that, I don't know."

"To you finally getting a boyfriend?"

"Actually, you know what, I'm not going to miss you at all."

"Come on--" he grinned, nudging Warren with his shoulder. "You'll miss me."

"Yeah," Warren chuckled, looking down with a small smile. "I will..."

His fingers tightened around the glass bottle in his hand, bottom lip threatening to worry between his teeth. "Look, let's do your dumb cheers thing before it gets too sentimental or whatever."

Warren sighed, seeming to shake himself off before raising his soda bottle above his head and towards the slowly setting sun. "To us."

"To us?" He wrinkled his nose. "Isn't that kinda cheesy?"

"Just shut up and do it."

"Fine..." he grumbled with a grin, raising his bottle to clink against Warren's. "To us."

//photo credit// me and my phone c. 2020 //

#writeblr #writing community #creative writing #fiction #prompt fill #prose #writers on tumblr #short story #writing #my writing #original work #sorry for the cursing #miss the spoil islands and the lagoon #Florida

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