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r0-boat · 2 years

Note

Omega Melli part 3, as threatened about a month ago. I may not be punctual but you can't say I'm not horny. Don't think there's any trigger warnings except Melli is kind of an anxious mess at one point but Bitch same. (This was written in my notes app and not read through cause I'm a lazy hoe, hope you enjoy) -♡

You were awoken by soft whines and the sensation of rocking coming from beneath you, acutely aware of something gently rubbing against your thigh. Your brain scrambling to put the pieces together through the thick haze of rut driven lust.

Melli. Your mate.

Blinking your eyes, trying to get them to focus you come face to face with your Omega, his eyes squeezed closed and breathing slow as he tries desperately to get himself off without waking you. His thick cock trapped strategically between his abdomen and the thigh you had left wrapped around him in your slumber. It seemed that in his desperation he hadn't sensed you wake, taking the opportunity to see your new mate so vulnerable you comtinued to stay quiet and as still as you could for as long as your body would allow. Growing hotter and wetter by the second, you knew you had very little time you would have before he noticed. The scent of your arousal getting stronger the longer you basked in his.

"Please" A sharp whine hit your ears as Melli caught on to you. Bucking his hips harder now you already knew what he was doing, seemingly unashamed at his wanton state. "Please help me. I need you."

"Good morning, Dearest." You said with a chuckle before moving your thigh away from him, much to his displeasure. The hopeless sound that left his lips as a result of rutting against thin air made his pout all the sweeter to witness.

Pressing a brief but hard kiss to his lips smirking at his resulting moan, you began moving your way down his body, leaving little kisses along his neck. Stopping to pay extra attention to his collar bone after he inhaled sharply at the sensation, nipping at the skin lightly then laving your tongue over the little red marks left by your teeth. You could feel the heat radiating from your lover's skin further adding to your own. Continuing your tormentingly slow decent down to where he wanted you, you regarded some tiny bruises left by your previous nips at the skin on his hips with a strange feeling. Part sadness at having bitten hard enough for bruises to form, part pride at having marked your lover as your own and a strong lust at the memory. Arriving at your destination, you kiss the skin in between the markings, just above where his cock rested against him, your breath ghosting over his tip.

From your new position you were able to assess the source of his issue. In both of your's exhaustion at your previous activities, your lover and yourself had fallen asleep with your toy still lodged inside him. It must barely kiss his spot when he thrusts. No wonder he's so riled, you thought as you grasped the glass toy and began to move it slightly, in a bid to see how it moved. More lube, you decided at hearing your partner's faint groan and seeing how much of it had gotten onto the sheets.

"Be patient for me, Darling. I promise I will help." You advised Melli as you removed yourself from him entirely to see where you had left the vial.

It took longer to find than either of you liked, seemingly rolling under the bed during the night. Finally you returned to your earlier spot on the bed, kneeling between his legs you find he had shifted, propping himself up on his elbows so as to get a better view of your actions. Showing him the vial, you notice him swallow thickly. You hesitate at his change in demeanour, knowing him well enough to understand that his insecurities were hightened during heats, you resolve to do anything he asked, hating to see him so anxious.

"Are you alright, Love?" you comfort him. Lifting yourself away from your current task to brushthe stray hairs away from his face. Feeling him inhale, and tremble against your touch, you decide to give him a moment, trying to help steady his nerves.

"You're shaking, Love. Do you want water before we carry on?"

At his nod, you get off the bed once again to fetch you both a cup of water before sitting by his side. Brushing more of his hair back into place as you feel him lean on you slightly, trying to get his head straight. After a few more minutes you feel him start to perk up.

"We can stop if you want to. My rut isn't so bad that I can't manage it. If you'd prefer to stay like this we can." You began, taking to just petting his head now that his hair was borderline presentable.

"I'd like to carry on. If thats ok? Maybe start again slowly?"

"Of course" you advise, taking his cup and setting it down with your own.

Bringing a hand up to cup his face, you press your lips to his gently, moving your other hand to hold his. You stay like this for a while, softly exchanging kisses and rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb, before he pulls away to lie down again. His eyes betray his feelings as he stares up at you with doe eyes, he's not scared of having more sex with you but rather he's overthinking what it means for you both.

Leaning over to press a soft his to his forehead, you lean back up to meet his gaze.

"I love you, Melli." You smile at him and bring the hand you are holding up to kiss, entwining your fingers together. "Always have and always will. You are my heart."

His expression relaxes into a peaceful one as he pulls you down to lie on top of him. Letting out a soft snort as you feign being surprised at the sudden change in position. You share another soft kiss, smiling against each others lips, letting your hand cup his face once more.

Eventually, you find yourself straddling your mate as his hands begin to roam your body. Down your arms and your sides. Pushing themselves under your tunic, to grab at the flesh and caress your skin, pullimg the fabric over your head leaving you bare. One hand settling on your hip and another grabbing your thigh as your kisses grow deeper. Tongues exploring each others mouths, moving against each other like the tide. Hips rocking in tandem trying to create much needed friction.

Pulling back from each other, pupils wide, you check for consent from each other silently, both giving it easily. You begin to move back to your earlier position before he stops you again, lifting your hips he guides you up, re-arranging your positions so you are hovering over his face. He smiles with lovesick gaze as he pulls you down, slowly lapping at your sex. Dragging his tongue all over your folds before moving on to slow and gentle kitten licks to your clit. Building up the pace gradually, he sucks at your little nub before moving againas he begins to tongue fuck your hole greedily. His groans mix with lewd wet sounds as your hips grind against his face, his tongue pushing past your entrance trying to lick up your juices as fast as you are leaking them. Your hips begin to stutter as his movements become harsher as he grows hornier, desperate to taste you, to feel your cum rush down his face and tongue. Pushing his tongue inside you as deep as he can a few more times before a well timed suck to your clit has you coming undone for him. Your hands fisted in his hair as you ride his face through your orgasm. Still lapping gently as you come down from your high, only stopping when you tumble down onto the bed beside him, trying to catch your breath.

Looking into his eyes as he smirks mischeviously, you decide to repay the favour. Keeping eye contact you slide yourself down to his cock, grabbing the vial of oil. Moving your hand to your cunt you coat your fingers in your slick before grasping his cock, pumping it a few times until Melli's breathing hitched, abandoning it in favour of prepping other areas. Tipping more oil as needed, you return to moving the glass slightly, intending to remove it fully before he stopped you.

"Wait. As its already in, do you think you could use it again? Please?"

It was your turn to smirk as you obliged with your partners wishes. Re-adjusting your position to take the tip of his cock into you, licking off the little bit of pre leaking from it before taking in inch by inch, each time fucking the dildo a little deeper. By the time Melli had bottomed out in you, you had pushed the toy in as far as you safely could and the sounds Melli was making was music to your ears. You began to move in opposition, pulling off Melli's cock before sucking it back in but removing the toy. Continuing in this rhythm, and picking up speed you abused his prostate never once taking your eyes off his face, until the pressure building inside him burst, cum coating the inside of your mouth. You fuck him through his high as he did you and only once you recatch his eyes do you flash the cum on your tongue and swallow, flashing again your empty mouth as he whines once more head hitting the pillow as he flops down onto the bed. Being sure to pull out the toy this time you laugh as he groans at the sensation and the little pop sound as you pull the bulbed head out of his hole.

Moving up to lie next to your mate, you pull him into your arms, kissing the top of his head as he rests against your chest. He was a little bit of a hot mess, but Arceus he was yours and you wouldn't have it any other way.

BARKBARKBARK

❤ anon you bring us the good shit

Onega melli is going to live in my head rent free

#ro.chatting #smut #omegaverse #melli.thirst #ro.submission

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illusionsofdreaming · 3 years

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would it be okay to request headcanons with the main trio from TCF who aren't in a relationship with the (fem) reader yet but they like each other, the guys get hurt or something and the reader is so scared of losing them or was so anxious that she ended up kissing them? You can edit a few parts if you'd prefer! thank you, i know you have a lot of requests but you're the only one who writes x reader for them-

Notes: It took forever+forever but I finally gave up trying to perfect it- y'all just going to have to deal with these half baked potatos as I sob in the corner for my lack of functioning writing braincells.

+ 'nonny I know you asked for Fem reader but I'm just so used to writing gender neutral nowadays I actually forgot to write Fem reader in. Uh. I mean it's gender neutral so it should work regardless?? I'msorrypleaseforgivemeforthisblunder

Ft: Cale, Alberu, Choi Han

Cale Henituse

He’s covered in blood.

Again.

He glanced down at his shirt, once white, now completely soaked and rapidly losing warmth. The icky feeling of sticky cloth stuck on skin caused goosebumps to break out all over his arms. The lethargy that weighed on him was hard to ignore, but expected after using his ancient powers-

“Cale!”

He turned just as the full force of you barrelled into him and he staggered, unbalanced and would’ve fallen had you not pulled him back. He barely had time to protest at your rough greeting when you began frantically patting him down as if scouring him for weapons.

“There’s so much- where are you hurt?” you demanded harshly, your tone pitched higher than normal. “Raon call for Saint Jack and the others, medics- anyone that can help!”

“Y-yes! I-I will! Weak hu-human you better not die or I will destroy the kingdom!”

“Wai-“ his protests were ignored as the dragon flew off, leaving Cale dumbfounded with his jaw hanging down in disbelief. “Wait you don’t have to find the others, I’m fi-“

“Cale Henituse, if I hear you say ‘I’m fine’ I’m going to sock you to kingdom fucking come.“ you seethed. His lips snapped shut obediently, swallowing the aforementioned phrase down as a foreboding chill crept down his spine.

But I am..?

“How could you..” your voice shook even as you clung onto his soaked shirt so tightly your knuckles turned white. “You’re always doing stupid things like this…”

Cale frowned, feeling a bit indignant. Sure his plans weren’t the most thought out at times, but to call them stupid…

“If you waited for us to come, then you wouldn’t have to- why do you keep sacrificing yourself like this?”

That triggered an alarm in his head. What strange things were you talking about? The act of sacrifice were done by martyrs and selfless heroes and Cale Henituse was neither of those. He wanted to correct your misunderstanding but you were worked up and hysterical and it was with horror that he realised you were crying.

“________-“

“Don’t talk! Please, just conserve your energy- I won’t let you die, I promised the kids and the others- I won’t let you-”

The alarm bells in his head rang even louder and he fought to be heard over your rambling, “_________- no one’s dying, I’m fine-” it felt as if his heart had leapt to his throat as he stopped your fist before it could make contact. You really weren’t joking when you said you’d punch him. He tightened his hold on your wrist when you tried to twist out of his grip and swallowed nervously. “I’m not hurt _________,“ he emphasised, willing you to meet his eyes.

“Stop bullshitting me Cale- how much of a fucking idiot do you take me for? How can anyone be fine after losing this much blood-“

“It’s not mine.”

You stilled in his grasp.

“…W-what?”

He frowned. Was it really that hard to believe his words? “The blood’s not mine.” he repeated and made sure to meet your disbelieving gaze head on so that you could verify the truth in his words. “They were cut down before they could harm me. None of this blood is mine. I was not hurt.“ It was a partial lie. He did cough out some blood after instinctively activating the shield for protection but he felt that that was knowledge you’d be better off not knowing.

The coiled tension in you leaked out and Cale slowly released his grip on your hand and took a cautious step back - just in case. It was a good thing he managed to deescalate the situation before the others arrived. Just convincing one person was hassle enough and from experience alone, he knew the others weren’t as merciful when it came to learning about his injuries, regardless of severity or his protests otherwise. Cale shuddered. He really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Ron’s cold smile again. He glanced up and saw Raon’s flying figure and he waved lazily to the dragon hoping the young one would understand that the healers were no longer necessary, it had only been a false alarm.

“..ot.”

“Hm?” He looked down, hearing you mumble but didn’t quite catch what you’d said.

He was not prepared to be yanked forward and for your lips to mash against his. There was a brief sting where your teeth had caught on his lip and the uncomfortable sensation of having your teeth clack against each other, noses in the way. He froze, like a deer caught in headlights, thoughts reeling but before he could think of acting, to push or pull you in even closer-

You let him go just as abruptly and he staggered, breath stolen, mind in absolute disarray.

Then you slapped him. Which definitely cleared his thoughts. “You idiot!”

Stupefied, he watched as you stormed off, stuck in a daze as he cradled his face where his cheek and lips tingled for different reasons.

“…What..?”

Choi Han

Choi Han didn’t know what Cale saw in you back then, a complete stranger whom they saved by chance and nursed back to health with utmost care. You, who Cale insisted was the final key to their masterplan and then asked Choi Han to act as your escort.

There were many things Choi Han didn’t understand when it came to Cale-nim’s decisions. But that wasn’t so unusual and he’d never made it a habit to question Cale’s reasoning, having learned to be patient, knowing the pieces would eventually slot together in the grand picture. So although initially wary he was of your unclear history and affiliation, he stayed by your side and did his duty without question.

And perhaps after weeks of accompanying you, he’s beginning to see what Cale saw. Though powerless and weak, you were righteous and passionate, holding true to your belief even in the face of adversaries. You were the perfect replacement for the tyrannical ruler of the country, someone capable of salvaging the crumbling system of a neglected, abused society and lifting it to new heights and glory.

With the flames of revolution ignited, everything hinged on getting you safely to Cale on the final stage. While the revolutionaries fought and acted as distractions above ground, he escorted you through the abandoned waterways.

The undergrounds were dark and cramped, incredibly disadvantageous to a swordsman such as himself. When assassins leaped out in an ambush; Choi Han didn’t hesitate. Without time nor space to draw his sword, he pushed you behind him and raised his arm to block the strike.

As the momentum of the assassin’s blade stopped, it became simple matter to quickly disarm and finish them. Having checked and affirmed that there’s no forthcoming attacks, he urged you to hurry, now worried as they weren’t expected to be discovered so soon.

Something must’ve happened, we should hurry to Cale-nim’s side-

He was halted with a firm grip on his other hand and was pulled back as he was met with your stern, unwavering gaze and declaration that you will not move another step from this spot until his arm got treated first.

Which was a ridiculous request considering they were running on a tight schedule. He frowned and his fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword as you pulled him to the side.

When none of his objections were being heard, he tried reasoning with you. The wound may look horrible, but he’d assured you he’d angled his arm just so that the blade would’ve caught on his bone rather than tendons. It was a strategic move that not only blocked momentum but also kept damage to his non-dominant arm at the minimum. He would not have bled to death nor would he be crippled from it, something that barely needed the emergency care you insisted on.

“It’s not necessary, we need to get to the tower room first.”

“The room is not moving anywhere, I’d rather not risk having you develop an infection because you neglected to care for your wound.“

He flinched when alcohol was poured on the cut and Choi Han breathed out slowly, his frustration mounting as precious seconds passed. Something in his chest stirred uncomfortably. He’s not accustomed to having others care for his wounds, having spent so many years caring for them himself whilst hiding his weaknesses from monsters in the Forest of Darkness.

“I will attend to it after I’ve brought you to Master Cale’s side, we must-“

Your eyes flashed with anger as your grip tightened painfully around his arm. “So many things have been lost to reach this stage, I’d rather not lose more on the way there.”

“Cale-“

Perhaps you’ve had enough as well as the next thing he knew, your fingers dug into his arm and he found himself yanked forward and you pressing a hard, determined kiss that stole whatever he was going to say from his lips.

“Cale Henituse,” you said sternly when you parted and picked up a roll of bandages, “can afford to wait a bit longer.” you glared at him as if daring him to argue otherwise.

Not that it was necessary, considering he’d doubt he’d have the coherency to answer anything with the way all the blood in his body was rushing to his face.

Alberu Crossman

He didn’t feel anything upon the moment of impact. Only the shocking cold of metal being slid into his side and the vicious gaze of the perpetrator pressed up to his front.

The pain ripped through a moment later and he gritted his teeth, red spilling down his lips. It hurts.

Activity bursted around him, screams of fear echoed through the ballroom as guards rushed to his side. However one voice in particular caught his attention and he looked up to catch your horrified expression, lips parted in a desperate cry.

His forehead furrowed as a strange sense of guilt washed over him- he didn’t want you to see this- but he didn’t have time to explore the feeling as his hand latched firmly on the hand which still held the weapon in his side, preventing their escape.

His smile was red, “Caught you now, rat.”

═════☩══♛══☩═════

He tousled his hair dry with a towel as he read through the reports in his hand.

Alberu was exhausted, the fight to rid his side of his enemies’ spies had always been an ongoing and tedious project. His enemies were cunning and always played things safe however their impatience this time would cost them. Now that one of their own has fallen into his hands, they can start pulling in the net.

A knock sounded on his door and he didn’t bother looking up from his reports as he gave permission. “Come in.”

“Did you manage to find any new information from them?” he asked immediately as the door opened. Anything gleaned from the assassin would be beneficial to his cause. Not that he truly expected any confessions to be given this night. Any hired killer worth their salt would know not to betray the mastermind behind a hit. But there were more than one way to find credible information aside from words torn directly from the lips of a captive.

When no answer came, he looked up and immediately dropped the papers he was reading.

“___________…”

In the aftermath of the attack and the capture of the assassin he’d been immediately escorted to the healers for first aid. With the bare minimum done he’d left quickly to take control of the situation, calming the aristocrats and giving orders to assign all guests to be escorted to a room in the palace to rest from the unexpected development - the smarter ones would know this was just a way to keep all suspects in one place, stalling for time so that his trusted aides may work to narrow down the most likely suspects. He had been meaning to find you and explain once everything settled but this time you took matters into your own hands.

Your eyes glanced at the documents he dropped. “Am I disturbing your work?”

“No,” he replied instantly, fighting back the urge to shuffle the papers behind him. “No, you’re not.”

The room lapsed into silence once more as neither of you seemed keen to address the elephant in the room.

“About tonight…” he started slowly, “they had to believe I had my guards lowered.”

The truth was, though he believed you would not have been behind the attack, you had to be tested all the same. Should it be known you’ve been partial to this plan, it would’ve given the real culprits leverage to use.

You approached him and he wished you would say something. He noted the redness in your eyes and felt a stab of guilt lodge in his chest. “It had to be believable.”

You didn’t meet his eyes and your hand hovered over where his wound had been.

He lifted the edge of his shirt up to reveal the pink scar tissue underneath. It was ugly and badly healed due to the rush he had been in. “I wasn’t in any real danger.” he said softly, staying still and resisting the urge to shiver when your fingers traced the scar.

“You’re picking up bad habits from Cale.” You said so softly he would’ve missed it had he not been paying attention.

“The padded shirt under prevented the blade from going too deep.” he explained, hoping you’d understand that he hadn’t been reckless. Everything had been planned carefully. He slowly tucked his shirt back in as you withdrew your hand, already missing the warmth you brought to his skin just moments ago.

“__________…”

You leaned in and placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t do that again.” you whispered against his cheek.

He could only watch in astonishment as you turned away and exited his room.

“..Okay..” he said hoarsely to the empty room.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #imagines #tcf x reader #cale henituse #alberu crossman #choi han #kiss #pre relationship #confession..?#i honestly don't have enough brain power to tag things rn #i also have not proofread this much so #it's A MESS #i'll come back to edit this when I'm more awake or something #ngl the whole time while i was struggling with this #i was thinking how ridiculous that i've spent so long agonising over writing with words #but consuming it would only take less than a minute LOL #now im back at 0 and im feeling a bit sad

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disturbedbydesign · 3 years

Text

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: This is canon-adjacent in that I just decided to pick and choose who I wanted to write for and what parts of canon I wanted to use. Best not to think too hard about where it falls on the timeline because the canon is a mess and we all kind of hate it anyway.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter One

You’ve been tracking him for days, not that it was hard. His patrol schedule is always the same, as is his after-hours routine: drinks at the Irish pub on Reade Street with the other boys in blue. It’s a cop bar but you waltz right in, looking lost even though you know the name, rank, and various misdeeds of every guy in the place. He looks at you, because of course he does—his wife assured you that he has a wandering eye, among his other sins.

You take a seat at the bar. “Double vodka rocks, please.”

The bartender pours you your drink and you take a deep pull, savoring the burn of it. Then you wait, but it doesn’t take long—it never does. Sergeant Thompson sidles up to the barstool next to you.

“Hey darlin,” he says, his breath reeking of cheap beer. “You lost?”

You turn to him with an innocent smile. “Evening, officer.”

“It’s Sergeant,” he says, tapping his badge, “but I won’t hold that against you. So, what’s a pretty young thing doing in a dive bar with a bunch of old men?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner but she bailed on me. Figured I’d grab a drink before I head home.”

“And where is home?” he asks, not that it’s any of his business, but cops think they deserve answers to any questions they feel like asking.

“Williamsburg,” you lie.

“You’re pretty far from home, then,” he replies, even though you both know that you aren’t. He takes a sip of his beer and the foam leaves a trace like a mustache before he licks it clean. “It’s late. Why don’t you let me drive you? Wouldn’t want you on the subway this time of night.”

“It’s only 8:30,” you say. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “Well, I really shouldn’t be telling you this—open investigation and all that—but we’ve been on the lookout for a guy in the area, serial rapist, real nasty piece of work.”

That’s one thing the two of you have in common at least.

“I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me take you home, darlin.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” you admit. “Can’t get much safer than the NYPD, right?”

He laughs and so do you, knowing that nothing is farther from the truth—especially when it comes to this guy.

Sergeant Thompson speeds across the Williamsburg Bridge with his flashers on, headed toward the address you gave him. Of course, that’s not actually your address—you don’t have a home anymore—it’s just one of many rundown warehouses in the neighborhood, variously used for impromptu raves and as drug dens and, in your case, a private place in which you can take care of business without fear of being interrupted.

“This is me,” you say, waiting for him to let you out of the back of the cruiser where he insisted you ride—caged in like a helpless animal, or so he thinks.

“This place?” he asks. “Looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“You’d be surprised what they can do to these places on the inside—gentrification and what have you. My rent is astronomical.”

“Still,” he says, “I’d like to walk you up. Looks a bit unsavory.”

“If you insist, Sergeant.”

The second you get up the stairs to the top floor, you inject him with the etorphine, straight into the jugular, and down he goes. It never gets old—how easy it is, when they think that they are the predator and you are the prey. You drag him into the loft where you’re already set up for a long night’s work.

When he comes to, he’s fixed to the chair with (among other things) his own handcuffs, mouth taped shut and a rag shoved in for good measure. You don’t want to hear him talk; it’s time for him to listen. His day of reckoning has come. He starts to squirm but between the cuffs and the duct tape and the sedative still coursing through his veins, he’s not going anywhere. Even if he did get free, you could take him down easy. It’s what you were trained for. It’s what you were born for.

“Welcome back, Sergeant,” you say, and he screams something unintelligible through the rag which, if you had to guess, would be some combination of “cunt” or “bitch” or any of the other choice words he likes to use on his women.

The tarps are laid meticulously around the room, placed strategically to catch any and all evidence of what you’re about to do. When he notices them, he goes still, because he knows. Part of him knows.

“So,” you say, pulling out the Thompson file, “this is quite the impressive resume you’ve got here, Sarge. Lots of civilian brutality complaints, including a few choice allegations from female prisoners. Oh, and then there’s the domestic violence and marital rape. You’re a real charmer, huh?”

There’s more muffled screaming but you ignore it—the last gasps of a dying man.

“Here’s the thing, Sarge. I know you think that you’re above the law, because you are the law, but you aren’t. Your wife is real tired of your shit, and me? Well, let’s just say that my motto is protect and serve.” You lean in close enough to smell the salty sweat on his brow. “And unlike you, I actually mean it.”

You pull your favorite knife from your thigh holster and slit him from ear to ear. “See you in hell, Sergeant.”

You sit on the edge of the table, swinging your legs and watching him bleed out. It doesn’t take long. The actual disposal is the real work. You set about chopping him into manageable pieces and you find yourself missing the days when you didn’t have to cover your tracks alone, when there was a clean-up team to take care of it for you.

But you’re freelance now. You’re not a Widow anymore. She made sure of that.

Sometimes—like right now, when you’re dripping sweat and every muscle in your body is screaming its exertion as you saw through bone after bone—you hate Natasha Romanoff. You know why she did what she did; you understand that, objectively, it was the right thing to do. But did she ever stop to consider the repercussions of her actions? She got out early and found a new family and became one of the Good Guys. But you? You entered the Red Room with nothing and you left with nothing.

They always said you were born to be a killer. It’s all you’ve ever known. So what exactly did she expect you to do? You may be free of the mind control, but you never had the chance to develop a mind of your own. Killing is all you know. At least now you get to pick your own targets.

Once you’ve got Sergeant Thompson all squared away, you pack him up in the trunk of his cruiser and drive upstate, listening to the 80s station you like. It occurs to you that most people have heard these songs a thousand times—so many times that they know the lyrics instinctively, can sing them without even having to think about it. It’s all new to you, though. You can’t decide whether it makes you sad to think about all you’ve missed or whether you’re lucky that you get to experience for the first time what everyone else is already tired of.

When you get to the farm, you dump Thompson in the holes you’ve already backhoed, then you hop on the Cat and fill them all in. You shoot a text to Mrs. Thompson from your burner—just a thumbs-up emoji—and she replies with a smiley face. It was only so long before he would have killed her; she knows it as well as you do. The only people that will grieve the dearly departed Sergeant Thompson are a bunch of assholes who are one false move from ending up in your web.

You didn’t charge Mrs. Thompson your usual rate—just what she could afford without drawing the attention and ire of the Mister. Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, you even work pro bono. After all, you only kill people for money who you would happily kill for free. You consider it a service, something for the greater good of society. You’ll take money, sure—you need it to live and to continue your work—but not from people who can’t easily spare it.

You have standards. You have a code. That’s the difference between the you that served as a mindless weapon wielded by others and the you that decides for yourself how to use the gifts you’ve been given. No women. No children. No collateral damage. Only Very Bad Men who’ve done Very Bad Things. You don’t see the harm in it, not really, and as you settle into bed you come back to the thought you often have before a fitful night of sleep: who’s the real avenger, Natasha?

*****

Natasha wipes her brow and throws the rag down on the mat, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging half of it before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Bucky has barely broken a sweat from their morning sparring session, and he doesn’t even try to fake it. He’s in an especially grumpy mood.

“This is a bad idea, Natasha.”

“To some people, maybe,” she says, “but I want to bring her in anyway. I don’t understand how you of all people are against me on this, Bucky.”

“Uh, for starters, she’s a serial killer.”

“That’s a bit of a harsh assessment, considering the circumstances. And do I really need to remind you that the same could be said about the two of us? That a lot of people still say that about us?”

Bucky sighs, because he knows she’s right, but this is different—you are different. “It’s not the same,” he grumbles, but he’s not entirely sure it isn’t, and that’s what’s really bothering him.

“Look,” Nat says, taking a step toward Bucky, “I need to try, ok? I know what she’s going through because I went through it, except she’s completely alone out there with nothing and no one. You and I… we had people behind us, helping us.”

“And what if she says no?” Bucky asks. “Are you just gonna let her go on doing what she’s doing? She’s killed… how many is it now?”

Natasha mutters something under her breath and Bucky looks at her expectantly. “What was that, Tasha?”

“25 people in the last 6 months,” she states, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Exactly,” he says.

“I would like to point out that they were all very bad people. So...”

“Tasha,” he says, and he puts his hand up to silence her. “I can’t help you on this. I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “You know what, Barnes? You’re real high and mighty for a guy who–”

Natasha stops herself when she sees the ice-cold look in Bucky’s eyes. “Go on. For a guy who what?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’ll go on my own.”

“Well, good luck to you. Hope you don’t get your throat slit.”

Bucky stomps off and Natasha is left wondering if she’s about to make a huge mistake. She knows you’re volatile, that a part of you must resent her, but she needs to make it right. At the very least, she needs to try.

Natasha grabs her tablet and scrolls through the latest intel on your whereabouts. She’s just missed you in New York, but she thinks she’s got a jump on your next target: some coke dealer down in Miami with a predilection for underage girls. Just a brief glance at this guy’s file is enough to make Natasha’s blood run cold. She knows why you do what you do. If she’s honest, it doesn’t bother her one bit that you’re doing it. It’s the thought of you out there on your own, filled with hate and anger and thirsty for bloody vengeance, that frightens her. Because maybe one day—left to your own devices, lost in the chaos of your troubled mind—getting the Bad Guys won’t be enough for you. Maybe you’ll decide that some of the Good Guys aren’t so good after all. Maybe you’ll even be right.

She contemplates being honest with Steve and telling him where she’s headed but decides against it. Steve isn’t on board with her plan. Natasha doesn’t fault him for it—he doesn’t understand, he couldn’t. Bucky, though... that’s a disappointment, and it surprises her. If anyone knows what it feels like to spend your life as someone else’s weapon, it’s Bucky Barnes.

Natasha waits until nightfall to “borrow” the Quinjet, and she finds Bucky waiting for her when she gets to the hangar.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, “but only as back-up. She’s dangerous, Natasha.”

“Maybe so,” Natasha replies, “but only because she’s afraid.”

*****

You knew that she’d be coming for you sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. Your little stilt cabin on the outskirts of the Everglades isn’t quite set up for company but at least it’s tucked away and difficult to access. You’re surprised she brought him, though—that was a mistake. You and she could have a nice long conversation, but you have nothing to say to the Soldat.

You climb up the tree to your lookout platform and hoist your sniper rifle onto your shoulder, following their slow but steady progress through the knee-deep swamp water, trying to line up a decent shot as they weave in between the bald cypress trees. When you see your chance, you take it, and you put one about an inch from where the Soldat’s metal arm meets the flesh of his shoulder. It ricochets off, as intended, and he jumps forward to shield Natasha. You hear her laugh through your earpiece.

“Relax, Barnes. It was a warning shot. If she wanted to hit you, she would have.”

“She did hit me,” he snaps.

You smile as you descend from the tree to meet them.

“Well well well,” you say. “If it isn’t the Murder Twins. To what do I owe this unwanted visit?”

“You know why I’m here,” Natasha says.

“Yes,” you reply, “but why is he here?”

The man she calls Barnes looks at you with disdain and you give it right back to him. You can tell that shot in the arm really pissed him off and it pleases you to no end.

“He’s just watching my back,” she says. “That’s what happens when you’re on a team.”

“Right, The Avengers. How adorable.”

“Listen,” Natasha begins, but you stop her.

“Let me save you the trouble of whatever little speech you have prepared. I’m not coming with you. I’m not going to Widow rehab and joining your ragtag group of misfits. And I’m not going to stop doing my work just because you come here and bat your eyes and smile pretty at me.”

“Your work?” spits the Soldat. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Bucky, don’t-”

“Let him talk, Romanoff,” you say. “He obviously has some… opinions. Now that he’s got the mask off, he can finally speak for himself.” You take a step towards him, your rifle in hand but not pointed at him. “So speak, Soldat.”

He looks flustered and not a little bit angry. You can tell he doesn’t like to be called by that name. “Killing people isn’t work,” he says.

You huff out a laugh. “And what is it that the two of you do, exactly? Run a coffee shop?”

“We are not the same,” he says, and you smile because you know that he doesn’t actually believe that—how could he after everything he’s done?

“I think we are exactly the same, Soldat, with one huge exception: you’re still letting other people tell you what to do, and I’m done with all that.”

“This is pointless,” he says.

“Now that is something you and I actually agree on.” You turn to Natasha. “You should go while you still can. I have work to do.”

But Natasha just won’t let it go. “I should never have left you alone,” she says. “This is my fault. Let me fix it.”

“I don’t need to be fixed,” you snap, and you raise your rifle and point it directly at her head. “Leave, Natasha. And take your little pet with you.”

The Soldat grabs her arm gently. “Let’s go, Tasha. She’s hopeless.”

You feel a pang of something then—some indescribable form of melancholy. You try to keep it off your face but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he sees it. A minute tremble of your lip, the quick double blink—it gives you away, and now you’re really pissed off.

“Leave. Now,” you yell, and it pierces through the sweltering darkness. “I’ll make you sorry if you don’t.”

You watch Natasha and the bionic man make their way out of the swamp. You don’t turn your back on them, not that you think they’ll try to take you by force. That would be unwise and Natasha knows it. Once you’re satisfied that they’re gone, you return to the cabin. The bloodied man in the linen suit lays strapped to the bed where you left him, squirming and shouting around the gag in his mouth.

You have to stop yourself from making this a messy affair, but the anger you feel—at her, at him, at everything—is making it difficult to temper your darker urges. You’re not one for torture, even though this man absolutely deserves it for the horrible things he’s done. You almost give in, but you remind yourself that this is a job—it is work, despite what the Soldat may think—and you have to remain professional.

You grab the man’s file off the desk and pull a chair up next to the bed. “So, Mr. Garcia, where were we?”

CHAPTER TWO >>>

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #dark!fic #dark!reader #the widow and the wolf

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youbloodymadgenius · 3 years

Text

Too Late (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my entry to @fuchsiagrasshopper's 200 Followers Writing Challenge. Congratulations again, love 💝

This is a variation on Ivar's death. Consider yourself warned. And... sorry 😔

The prompt, from the song Too Late, by Ashes Divides, is in bold and italics.

@zuxiezendler - Thank you for reassuring me (I needed it) and for beta reading this for me 🌺

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: Ivar is about to go to war against Alfred. His eyes are very blue, though.

Warnings: major character death; mention of blood and fatal wound (nothing graphic).

Words: 1815

When a hand lingers on his forehead, Ivar slowly opens his eyes before shifting in the makeshift bed and eventually sitting upright, allowing you to take a seat next to him. Looking at him with concern, you tilt your head to the side, one of your hands resting lightly on his chest while the other grazes his thigh.

Studying him, you bite your lower lip. "Your eyes have turned deep blue, Ivar. You know what that means, remember?" Ivar snorts and then rolls his eyes, visibly annoyed. You don't stop, though. "Hvitserk told me. Your brothers used to watch over you. They knew that when your eyes turned blue that you were in great danger of breaking your bones. And they would say 'Not today, Ivar. Not today.'"

Knitting his brow, your lover wearily rubs a filthy hand over his face, his eyes never leaving yours. "I remember." He finally nods, a half-smile curling his lips. "I know."

"You could let Hvitserk take command, Ivar. You'd stay behind, for once. I could even stay with you." You know you're walking on eggshells, but when Ivar answers, there's surprisingly no anger in his voice. Though the calm determination in his gaze tells you that arguing is pointless.

"No, Y/N." He shakes his head and grabs your hand, playing absently with your fingers. "No," he repeats, "Hvitserk must lead the back-up troops, it has to be someone I trust. As for you, I need you on the battlefield. You're our best shieldmaiden, and you know that. And...", he tilts his head, lightly shrugging, "I don't think we can defeat Alfred if I'm not there too... You know..." He taps his forehead with his pointer finger and you know exactly what he means. He's right. His men are fearsome warriors, but they sometimes – most of the time – need guidance when fighting, and who else could do that better than Ivar, with his cunning and extraordinary strategic mind?

No. He won't change his mind.

For the briefest moment, you think you should tell him. But no. It wouldn't change anything. You're not deluding yourself, he'd still go. And he'd demand that you stay behind. And that's not happening. It's an option you refuse to even consider. If he goes, you go. That's who you are. Both of you. A king – a warrior – and a shieldmaiden.

You'll tell him afterwards. Once it's all over. Once Alfred is defeated.

"Okay, then." Leaning in, you give him a peck on the lips before standing up. "Promise you'll be careful."

Flashing you a reassuring yet tired smile, he nods. "I always am."

The battle rages for hours now and you know you should feel it in your bones. The pain. The exhaustion. But you don't. Unharmed and powerful, a shield in your left hand, it's like you're flying, dodging blow after blow, slicing throat after throat, driving your trustworthy sword into chests or guts, as you slash your way through the enemies. Exhilarated, you shout war cries and you know that if they are cathartic to you, they scare the Saxon soldiers. The thought makes you laugh – and indeed a crazy laugh escapes your throat as you run forward, swinging your blade from side to side, momentarily crouching down as an axe flies over your head.

Attacking a Saxon with your shield, you beat him savagely with repeated blows to his skull before skewering him with your sword. As he falls to the ground, already dead, you look up to the sky for a second, and silently thank the gods, a beaming smile adorning your face. You love that. You're never more alive than on the battlefield. As you lower your gaze, eager to slaughter more and more Christians, your eyes catch something on the left.

And it's like the world stops spinning.

Like your heart stops beating.

And you stop breathing.

Petrified, you can't comprehend what you're seeing. It doesn't make sense. It can't make sense. Why is this Saxon stabbing Ivar? How can it be? Why isn't your lover fighting back? Why is he bleeding? Your shield and sword slipping out of your hands, the ringing in your ears is suddenly deafening, and for a fleeting second, you think you might throw up. But you won't. Because that can't be real. You're hallucinating, for sure. It can't be happening. It doesn't make sense. It can't. It simply can't.

A sudden cry of pain and the distinctive and all too familiar sound of a broken bone snap you out of your stupor and you rush over to your lover – 'Not today, Ivar, not today, no' – dropping to the ground next to him, your hand grazing his cheek. As you see the state he's in – his left leg unnaturally bent at the knee with exposed bone; his stomach covered with blood – a shiver runs down your spine and you gasp, filled with horror. You want to cry, and scream, and shout but instead you inhale deeply, blinking several times before locking eyes with his bloodied ones. Your man needs you.

"I'm here, Ivar, I'm here." As you carefully place his head on your lap, his hand grabs your arm, squeezing it. His eyelids flutter as he tries to focus his gaze on you. Weakly raising his free hand, he fails to touch your face and something between a sob and a whine escapes his lips. Gently intertwining his fingers with yours, you can't help but repeat yourself. "I'm here, my love, I'm here."

A faint shake of his head and then he speaks, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper. "You... You should leave... Leave, Y/N.." He swallows painfully, and a sob chokes in your throat as you see blood running out of his mouth. You shake your head, not trusting your voice, but Ivar, your stubborn lover, keeps speaking, mustering all his strength. "Leave, my love, you're... not safe... here..." He then lets out a shuddering breath, loosening his grip on your arm.

Raising your head and looking around, you see that your fellow warriors are gone. Someone, Haakon probably – you always saw Ivar's second in command as a coward – must have sounded the retreat, now that their king is down. You don't have time to dwell on it though as you realize that the two of you are now surrounded by Saxon soldiers, their swords pointed at you. You coldly glare at them for a few brief seconds before meeting King Alfred's gaze. The Saxon commander seems shocked as he looks with wide open eyes at the man lying in front of you.

"Lower your weapons!" You barely hear Alfred's order, your mind taken with other thoughts, and you don't bother to see if his soldiers obey. The truth is, Alfred and his men are the least of your concerns right now. No matter what happens, no matter what they do, you're not going anywhere.

Once more, giving your undivided attention to your lover, you shake your head, speaking with conviction and determination. "I'm not leaving your side, my love."

Ivar frowns and winces. "I want you to... be safe..." He mutters with great effort, clearly in terrible pain. "It makes... no difference if... if you stay. I'm..." He squeezes his eyes shut, and you're suddenly aware of how pale he is, his hand on your arm now ice cold. He eventually speaks again, his breathing ragged and shallow. "I'm going to... die anyway. Y/N," his voice is choked, and your eyes are full of tears, "I'm...dying."

He's right. He's dying. There's no denying it. As heartbreaking as this thought may be, it is no less true. You've been in enough battles, seen enough fatal injuries to not delude yourself. With a wound that bad, there's no chance of survival. Absolutely none. You know it won't take long.

But it doesn't change a single thing. How could you leave him here, in this foreign land, surrounded by strangers – by enemies? How could you? You don't want to be safe, you want to be with him, as long as you can.

You may not be able to save him, but you can be there. You want to be there.

I will not lose you to a world that doesn't care

To the monsters that would have you.

Your hand cups his face as you swallow thickly, blinking back tears. "And I want to be here. I won't leave you alone." The pain in your heart is such that you can hardly speak. Taking the deepest breath you can, you then bite your inner cheek so hard that you can taste the blood in your mouth. "You're not alone, my love. You don't have to face this alone."

Ivar's eyes are closed, and for a moment, you're not sure he heard you. If you're being honest, you're not sure he's still there with you, even if he's still breathing.

But then, his eyelids flutter open, revealing glassy eyes. There's no more light in them; no more fight. "Not today..." He mumbles, despair clear in his voice. And suddenly his face crumples and his eyes are full of tears and you can almost physically feel the panic coursing through his battered body. When he speaks, sobbing very hard, it's to say what you never thought you'd hear him say, his voice as shaky as your hand on his face.

"I'm afraid."

It rips your heart out.

"I'm afraid."

It tears you to pieces.

"I'm afraid."

It destroys you.

You hiccup, a hand moving to cover your mouth. You want to take his pain away, you want to die and let him live. Your head is spinning, you're dying from the inside, you're not sure you can do it, but you have to. You know you have to.

So, gathering the courage you thought you didn't have, you nod. With tears rolling down your face, you swallow hard and say, "I won't tell anyone." Shaking with long, racking sobs, you try to smile. "No one will ever forget Ivar the Boneless. And I will never forget you, my love."

The fear in his haunted eyes almost unbearable, you can just soothe him, a reassuring hand on his cheek. Your tears join his, splashing on his face as you whisper again and again. "You're not alone, my love... I'm right here, next to you... You're not alone..." Sliding your arm under his head, you clumsily lie down next to him, curling your limbs around his body, cradling him.

Never surrender you, I always be there

I will be there to wrap myself around you.

And then, with a last gasp, your lover stops breathing.

And your whole world just shatters around you over and over and over...

Time loses all meaning.

You can't move.

Can't think.

Can't cry.

Can't feel.

He's gone.

And you realize you never had a chance to tell him...

He's gone.

Tagging: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @fuchsiagrasshopper

#fuchsiagrasshopper200 #ivar #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar fic #ivar imagine #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #vikings imagine

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gohyuck · 3 years

Text

pairing: head knight!jeno x monarch!reader (reader has genitals attributed to those considered biologically female but no pronouns are actually used)

genre: fluff, mild angst (they discuss an oncoming battle they must prepare for), smut (it’s mostly smut)

word count: 6.5k

warnings & notes (nonsexual): mentions of war/battle, mentions of injuries retained from past skirmishes, jeno is as tall as you need him to be in order to rest your head against his chest without leaning down, it’s kind of cheesy tbh they are disgustingly head-over-heels in love with each other, also a peryton is a fantasy creature that’s essentially a stag + a bird, also i know y’all must be tired of royalty aus but i swear this is almost pwp (except there’s context so there’s plot) so give it a chance (if you’re legal) i guess

warnings & notes (sexual): oral (giving and receiving for both parties), fingering (reader receives), spit kink (lmao sorry), general messiness honestly, mild knife kink (no blood drawn, he just uses a dagger to tear apart clothing), gratuitous usage of the name ‘lionheart’, jeno has a big dick because i cannot stop myself from doing that to y’all for some reason, some choking

special thanks to @moonlit-jeno @domjaehyun @waithyuck for reading parts of it/all of it beforehand!

the soft hours of twilight have their holds on you, chilling you to your bones even as you pull the heavy fur cape tighter around your body. you should’ve pulled something over your thin nightgown, you suppose, something to act as a middle layer between silk and skin and peryton fur, but it’s too late for that. you’re already out on your private balcony, overlooking a kingdom you’d do anything to see the sun rise on day after day.

far, far past the outskirts of your humble realm, barely visible to your own eye, an unsettlingly large camp of soldiers is finishing setting up camp for the night. you watch as tiny, tiny orange pinpricks - no doubt the fires they’d set to make food, to alert you of their presence - begin to get snuffed out. finally, they sleep.

if you were any worse of a person, of a ruler, you would send your army after them now, hours before the battle is set. perhaps, if you were any less selfish, you would do so regardless of keeping your status as a good and just monarch. if you were any less selfish, you would shake awake the love of your life and hand him his cape after shedding it from your shoulders. you would tell him to rouse his men and women, to arm them to their teeth, and to fight for what is right using means that are entirely wrong.

as if privy to your thoughts, your head knight stirs in the too-large bed behind you. you turn just in time to see him sit up and twist his body left, right, left as he stretches to rid himself of sleep. it’s too late - or maybe too early - for either of you to be awake. maybe you should have stayed within his warm embrace rather than gotten out of bed to size up the army of the kingdom of crithage.

even now, you can’t help but strategize, at least on a basic level. crithagians are unused to the cold of your beautiful - but often frigid - ekoria. they won’t expect your people to fall upon them from the icy cliffs that surround their camp, nor will they be able to see over the oncoming blizzard your royal sky-reader has predicted. she has not been incorrect in many, many years. ekorians have, over the years, grown accustomed to heavy snows, among other weather phenomenon, so your army’s visual acuity is not to be questioned.

that, and your troops are in the hands of the best warrior ekoria has ever had.

jeno. your jeno. your lionheart. you rein your thoughts in just as he pulls open the balcony door, closing it behind him with a soft click as he steps over the threshold separating in from out and warm from cold. goosebumps rise across his bare flesh the moment his skin meets air, and you don’t hesitate to slide his cape off and thrust it towards him, knowing full well that his arms will provide more than enough heat for you. he fastens it with ease, seeming slightly amused at how you’d been using it as a blanket, and gently grabs ahold of your wrist before pulling you into his chest and wrapping an arm around your waist. with his other hand, he takes a corner of his cape and wraps it around you, leaving you enveloped in both his hot-to-touch skin and the comforting fur.

“they’re out in the valley, aren’t they?” he finally murmurs, leaning to place his mouth against your ear. jeno’s voice is thick and sleep-ridden, still raspy in a way that settles around you, inside you, within you. you lean back slightly, raising a cold hand to rest against the tattoo of a lion that adorns his left pectoral, mane stretching up to his collarbone and encroaching on his bicep. the lion has a scar on its right cheek. you pull away more, eyes landing on the thin discolored line underneath your lover’s same eye.

it had been a longsword, meant to slash across your throat. jeno, with the speed of a star falling from grace and enough adrenaline to fuel a hundred men, had leapt across you in order to take it across the face. for crown and for country, bard’s songs later regaled of him. for you, he’d whispered to you that same night as you’d stitched him up, using the threading tactics you’d learned from the castle medic as a child. for you. always for you.

“my love?” jeno prods, and you realize you haven’t given his rhetorical question any acknowledgement. you hum, meeting his eyes with your own, and watch as he allows one corner of his mouth to turn up.

“they only just put out their fires.” you finally respond, moving to be against his chest again. you rest your head against the intricate ink against jeno’s skin, finally letting out a breath of what one might consider worry. the air that leaves your lungs manifests into wisps out in the cold world that surrounds you. your lionheart pulls you ever closer.

“you need not stress.” he says simply, and an outsider to your relationship would see no cohesion between your statement and his. still, you know precisely what jeno means, why he’s said what he’s said. you turn, pressing your lips against the lion’s forehead. above you, your own lion brushes his lips against your temple.

“i have an army, a kingdom, even, to worry about, and yet i only fear tomorrow for whatever outcome befalls one man.” you whisper, and even you are surprised to find tears catching in your throat. you do not cry easily, not when you know firsthand how cruel the world can be.

you only reign because your parents no longer breathe.

tomorrow’s battle could easily bleed into next year’s war, and while your kingdom is prepared for such a thing, your heart may not be. your people are not belligerent, and neither are you. crithage had been the one to throw the first stone, had sent word that if you refused to relinquish your throne and bow your head, they would aim the first arrow, draw the first blood. no tears had been shed then, not even when you’d paced around your bedchambers, reading and rereading the note signed with blood red ink until jeno had physically pulled it out of your tight grasp. you hadn’t cried, not even when he’d said that he was willing to die if it meant keeping crithage out of ekoria, out of the kingdom you’d both built from ground up after the war that had taken your parents, out of the home you’d created together.

“wherever you take us, i will follow. wherever you need me, i will lead.” he’d murmured the words against the lobe of your ear, standing beside and slightly behind your throne as you’d written out your reply to crithage in a room full of your advisors. nobody else had moved a muscle then, not even as you closed the envelope with hot wax and the royal seal.

you’d sent back a much, much shorter letter than their own in response.

a time and date for battle. nothing more and nothing less.

that had been so many months ago, so far away that the concept of time dissipates when you attempt to organize it in your harried mind. with a hostile army on your doorstep, everything suddenly feels far more real than it has before. your people have been evacuated, your troops have been trained. your lionheart is unafraid to the world, standing tall and proud at your side as he always has.

a sigh that starts from deep in jeno’s chest brings you back to the present. tomorrow is it, you’re reminded. crithage has seiged almost every other state between themselves and your beloved ekoria. if they get to you, they’ll have your head, raised high on a stake they’ll erect outside of the gates they’ll install to the place you call home. if they get to you, it means they’ll have gotten through jeno.

you can’t live in a world without him. it’s a dangerous attachment for a ruler to have, you’re well aware. if other kingdoms find out that your weakness is a person, one that lives and breathes, you’re not likely to ever see your love again.

it’s little comfort that jeno can’t live in a world without you, either.

“i worry about not being here, at the castle, to protect you,” he mumbles into your hair. “i know that you are perfectly capable, and that you’ll have your own faction of our knights with you, but i- it feels as if i’m about to open my chest and leave my naked heart unguarded, right there for any arrows to pierce.”

jeno’s confession is simple, beautiful in the way the most ornate of daggers are: that is, you feel as if he’s just dragged a sharp edge down the length of your sternum, taking you apart piece by piece. his words cage you in, force you deeper into your own head in a way you can’t afford, not right now.

“eloquent,” you hum, unable to resist teasing him even as the moment does not call for it. it’s to save yourself from your heavily beating heart. “it isn’t too late to make you my poet laureate, you know. no need to wield a sword tomorrow then.”

“and who would be your head knight then, hm? the current laureate? you want renjun to lead the charge against the crithagians? to be your lionheart?” your lover draws back to ensure that you can see his eyes, glimmering with mirth. renjun is an able man, and one of your best friends, but he is not the warrior jeno is.

nobody is the warrior that jeno is.

“such a foolish thing to say,” you smile up at him, lips folding from joking to earnest within moments. the merriment fades a little from jeno’s eyes at recognizing the change in your expressions. “you’re my only lionheart. always have been and always will be, even when you’re too old and gray and slow to be my head knight.”

“someone seems confident of that happening.” he says quietly, raising the hand at your waist to come up and rest over your own hand that lies against his chest. you swallow, your own spit feeling too heavy for you to stomach, your throat dry and scratchy.

“who else can have confidence of a victory rather than a monarch?” you ask, a smile that isn’t quite sad - but isn’t quite self-assured either - resting on your lips. jeno raises your hand to his lips, pressing one, two, three chaste kisses to the back and then repeating the pattern against your palm. he does not let go.

the two of you stand there for a stolen moment. you lay your head back against his chest, listening to the thundering of his heartbeat below the ink and skin and muscle and bone. he is real, and he is here.

he is real. he is here.

“the monarch’s lionheart, of course,” he murmurs, finally dropping your hand to reach back and push open the balcony door. “we only have four more strokes of time until i must go, my love. is this truly how you want to spend it?”

it’s evident that jeno no longer wants to mull over the what-ifs, not when he prefers living in the present more than anyone you’ve ever known. unsurprising, you suppose, for someone whose livelihood involves strategizing away his own mortality. you allow him to pull you back into your bedroom, immediately more comfortable when the door closes behind you, keeping you in with the body heat of your lover and the warmth of the crackling fire on the hearth in the corner of your room. jeno sheds the cape, draping it over the nearest chair, before bringing you back to his chest by placing his large hands against your waist.

it takes feeling his fingers against your skin through the thin silk of your slip to remember that jeno has nothing on. he’s always preferred to sleep naked, unlike you. though you hardly have any undergarments on, you at least wear a sheer gown most nights.

you’d ridden him passionately before bed, tiring both of you out in order to get any semblance of sleep. as your lionheart pulls you flush against him, though, it’s difficult to avoid the way his cock hardens against your hip once more. you want to quip about how jeno’s insatiable, but he trails a hand up, up over your body to swipe a thumb over one of your hardened nipples, and you can’t help the sigh that escapes through your prettily parted lips.

“will you get on the bed for me, love?” jeno’s voice is smoother now that he’s more awake, though you can’t help but miss the low growl that had come with the earlier rasp. he may be asking you a question, but you know that it’s an order in disguise. wordlessly, you step back, back, back until the wood of your bedframe presses against the soft plushness of the back of your thighs. jeno has not moved, choosing to stay put and appraise you instead. his eyes are hooded now, and as his gaze trails from your neck - he’d marked it up earlier, the kiss-bitten bruises not yet having faded from your skin - down to the curve of your chest, over the expanse of your thighs, he can’t help but reach one hand down to his dick, swiping two fingers over its head to collect his precum on his skin.

jeno says nothing else, makes no other move. it’s to give you an illusion of control, you suppose. not that you need one.

“should i rid myself of this, lionheart?” you ask, the words coming out breathier than intended. the nightgown leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and you’re sure he can even see the slick wetness that’s pooling against your inner thighs. jeno adores seeing your body more than anything, but the gown does not inhibit that.

it’s no surprise, then, when he shakes his head no, instead finally moving to stand at the edge of the bed, slotting himself between your thighs as they naturally move apart to fit him in. his clean hand slides up under your gown, resting just above your cunt, as he raises his other hand to your face.

“lie back, and open.” jeno states, no air of leniency about him anymore. you oblige, and your love leans over you, his dark gaze centered on your parted lips.

he lays his two precum-coated fingertips against your tongue, pressing in and then down and revelling when you don’t gag but instead run your tongue over his fingers, cleaning them off for him. you haven’t gagged in a long time, your reflexes getting used to him in the way the rest of you is. when he withdraws his hand, your mouth stays open, and jeno can’t help himself as he leans over you and, after gathering it in his own mouth for a moment, allows his own spit to fall from his own tongue and onto yours.

your eyes go wide at the action, and you know that he notices it even as he does not acknowledge it. even so, you don’t miss the smirk that crosses his face upon hearing your breath hitch. jeno has you in his palm.

satisfied, he stands, and you close your mouth and swallow a part of him with a part of you. jeno’s no longer looking at your face, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he’s ruching up your nightgown with growing hunger, not when he’s kneeling on the stone ground just to make himself eye-level with your pretty, pretty pussy.

“i took you hardly any time ago,” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin as his mouth nears where you so desperately need him. “and yet here you are, laid open once more, all for me. only for me.”

“always you, jeno, please - ” you can’t get any more words out, the air being pulled out of you as he dives in and circles your clit with his tongue, bringing his two spit-soaked fingers up to press into you with almost no resistance. your reaction is instantaneous, walls clenching like a vice around his fingers as he lays a filthy kiss against your bundle of nerves, hips jumping up only to be kept down by jeno’s other hand, pressing down against the bottom of your stomach.

“patience.” he pulls off of your clit just to growl the word out against the skin of your inner thigh, and the wet heat of his mouth directly against your flesh has you practically gasping out. when jeno sinks his teeth into your thigh as he’s often wont to do, you let out a full-bodied whine, the kind that starts in the back of your throat and rises up through the inner column of your neck, meant only for your lover’s ears. jeno laves his tongue over the marks he’s just created, as if to wash the pleasurable pain from your body.

he does not reattach his mouth to your core, choosing instead to fall back and watch, eyes trained, as he scissors you open. with hardly any warning rather than his gaze jumping up to meet your own momentarily, jeno presses his thumb into your clit, using your slick wetness to eliminate any raw friction as he rubs slow circles against your nerve endings. he’s never failed to bring you to the edge with ease, and now is no different. you’d be embarrassed at how easily you fall apart just from his simple simultaneous motions, in and on you, but it’s jeno, and he knows your body maybe even better than he knows his own.

keening, a loud, gasping wail, falls from your lips only for jeno to rise from his place in between your thighs and swallow your sounds with his open mouth, his clean hand coming up to cage you in against your sheets. the way you raise your arms to loop them around his neck is akin to the way a drowning man would grab on to a lifeline, and once he rises you pull him back into a longer, filthier kiss, where your teeth click against his and his tongue opens up your mouth the same way it feels like his touch opens up your body.

you feel as if you’re being flayed, as if hellfire is the only thing comparable to the heat against your skin. jeno steps closer, just by the tiniest bit, and you feel his hand - the one shining with your arousal - brush past your hip before he uses it to wet his cock with one, two, three firm strokes. copious amounts of precum arise from the tip before being pulled down against his flesh with expert downstrokes. your mouth waters as you watch.

“my mouth, lionheart, please?” you finally gain the courage to ask what is on your mind, sitting up on your elbows as you begin to slowly find your strength. your love raises an eyebrow, and not without reason: jeno is a big man, making even you - a literal monarch - feel small at times, and this does not end with his personality or his person: you have never been able to take all of him into your mouth. the ache borders on painful, frankly, and jeno himself refuses to harm you in that way.

“this, now, is about you.” he responds, and your heart cracks as you register that as a ‘no’. still, you speak again. you need him in your mouth, suddenly. it isn’t just a want. something has to anchor you to the here and now, it may as well be the head of his cock, heavy against your tongue.

“what is about me is about you as well,” you respond, and before he can lay his refusal down out flat, you slide onto the floor - warmer than expected - and tuck your heels behind your bare ass. “i need this. please.”

you’re directly in front of him now, face parallel to his strong thighs. jeno strokes up, squeezes tighter just below his frenulum, and you watch, struck, as precum beads at the tip and then splits into two streams, half sliding down his hard dick and the other slowly-but-surely falling to the ground, hardly a quarter of a step from one of your knees.

“give me your hand, then,” your knight murmurs from above you, drawing your gaze from his leaking cock up past the dainty curve of his lip to his hard eyes. “now.”

when you raise your hand up, you only put it up limply, unsure of what he means to do with the limb he’s asked for. your eyes must be swimming with questions, because jeno gives you a hint of a sweet, reassuring smile before allowing his expression to become stoic again… right before he grasps your given hand and straightens it out, gentler than expected from such a great warrior but harsher than he truly ever treats you.

he’s passionate. this demonstrates it.

before you can react, your body following your hand up off of your heels, though only slightly, as he yanks up your hand, jeno leans down and licks up your hand, from the bottom of your palm to the top, all while maintaining eye contact with you. he lets go, though you keep your hand raised, your gaze obviously dumbfounded.

“a dry hand would rub me raw,” he explains, though the smirk that’s tugging at one corner of his mouth shows that he finds your wide-eyed expression at least mildly amusing. “we do not want that, do we?”

it’s amazing how easily he can get you under his thumb when you give out orders that hold his life in the balance on a day-to-day basis. maybe that’s why he finds taking charge in private so easy. maybe it’s his way of evening your dynamic out. even now, as he asks you an innocent question with no hidden meaning or reaction, you find yourself shaking your head along enthusiastically. no, of course you don’t want to rub him raw. of course you and him don’t want that.

you raise the hand now deemed ‘not dry’ up as jeno watches, finally, finally wrapping your hand around it. your thumb and middle finger do not meet, no matter how tight you squeeze. your lover lets out a fulfilled groan at finally feeling a touch other than his own on his hard cock, and it’s a beautiful sound. you want more of it. you want more of him.

as if mesmerized, you lean closer, darting out your tongue to lick experimentally at his slit. he holds his breath, a large hand coming to rest lightly against the back of your head and base of your skull, waiting. you take this as a sign to stretch your lips wider, engulfing the entire tip of his cock in your hot mouth. his grip tightens in your hair, and, in return, you clench around nothing.

as you struggle to take more of jeno in your mouth, you do your best to stroke the rest of his cock with a tight enough grip to make him feel everything, but not tight to the point where you’re hurting him. regardless of how little you can take on your tongue - not your fault, by any means - jeno seems happy, barely able to stop himself from bucking up into the back of your throat. at this point, you’re essentially just warming his cock, so you pull off with a slick pop to look at him with slightly watery eyes. a string of precum and saliva connects your bottom lip and his tip, and when it breaks, you’re acutely aware of the mixture dripping down your chin and onto your nightgown. it’s no matter.

jeno’s thumb runs over your scalp, just above the bottom of your skull. you close your eyes momentarily to take in a deep breath.

“you can force yourself down my throat, you know,” your voice is raspy when you speak, eyes fluttering open almost drearily. “i’m not too delicate for it.”

there’s something simultaneously raw and pure about the way you speak, and jeno recognizes that your headspace has changed, just a little. your need truly is all-encompassing now. he must tread more delicately than usual.

there’s so much love, so much adoration in your wide-eyed gaze. he only wishes to return it with the same intensity and double the care.

“i know, love,” jeno responds, finally moving his hand in order to place two fingers under your chin. he tilts your face up, taking note of the way your eyes run over his tattoo before looking at his chin, then his jaw, then his nose, then his forehead, until, finally, you land on his eyes. you’re a tad bit unfocused, full of need, but that’s okay. you’ll always come back to him. he continues speaking. “you’re so strong. always so strong for me. that’s why you deserve to be rewarded, yes?”

“rewarded?” you’re confused, to say the least, though you do not dislike the direction jeno is suddenly moving towards. he only smiles, gentle and kind and good and yours. all yours.

“on the bed, (name).” he tilts his own head, jutting his chin towards the bed you’d slid off of earlier. you don’t hesitate to follow, pushing yourself up onto your feet and all but scrambling backwards to be seated against the soft mattress. the blankets are all haphazard and the pillows aren’t straight, but that’s the least of your worries right now. jeno gives no other orders, only stepping closer and, without warning, winding his arms underneath your thighs and propelling you backwards, causing you to land, back flat, in the center of your bed.

it had always felt inescapably large when you’d slept in it alone. now, it feels welcoming. safe.

“you’re ready for me, yes?” the tone of voice jeno uses is soft, even as his rough palms push apart your thighs. you nod, murmuring a small ‘yes’ once you realize he’s waiting for you to verbalize your thoughts. this is all jeno needs to climb onto the bed and move in between your spread legs, settling back on his calves as his hands smooth over your hip bones and waist. it’s evident that he’s bent on taking his time with you tonight, likely under the illusion that that is what you want.

it is not what you want. it is most definitely not what you need.

“i need you within me, lionheart,” one of your hands clutches at the sheets beneath you while you stretch the other towards your lover, imploring. “soon. now. please.”

“absolutely impatient,” jeno only chuckles in return, drawing an indignant whine forth from the base of your throat. he looks over your barely covered body once more before finally - almost in slowed motions as if to tease you further - rising up onto his knees. his hands stop moving against your skin, finally circling around the soft meat of your upper thighs. swiftly and fluidly, jeno pulls your body towards his, wrapping your legs around his own waist. his wet cock lies heavy against your pelvis, leaving slick precum against the apex of your thighs and the bottom of your stomach. he smirks. “is this what you wanted?”

the motion of being pulled into your knight had forced the air from your lungs in a surprised yelp, and the feeling of his warm skin - he’s always supplied so much heat, it baffles you to no end - against your own momentarily blanks your mind. jeno repeats his question twice, cocky grin growing with each utterance, before you nod vigorously and sputter out something vaguely affirmative. yes. yes, this is exactly what you wanted, exactly what you want.

you’ve been growing steadily wetter the longer your foreplay had drawn out, but jeno, ever-caring, still pulls back - his cock sliding against your thigh has you moaning - to slip two thick fingers into you, adding a third when he’s absolutely sure that you can take it. in no time at all, you’re grinding your clit against his rough palm, the friction absolutely heavenly. jeno makes no move to stop you, only gently forcing his fingers in deeper.

a fourth finger is added just as your abused clit can’t take anymore, and you spasm on his hand as you fall past the point of no return. your second orgasm of the night washes over you, and you can’t help the muted but harried gasps you let out as your hips buck up, driving your head back into the mattress. jeno draws his fingers out slowly, licking your essence off of them with practiced ease. once your body has calmed down, you can only let out a small whimper, still basking in the intensity you’ve just experienced.

jeno knows your limit, and knows damn well that you haven’t reached it yet. it’s because of this that, even as your walls are still clenching around nothing due to aftershocks that wrack your body, he places the fat head of his cock against your hole and slowly but surely slides in. the hands on your thighs move up to wrap around the sides of your waist, and his grip is bruising as he pushes deeper and deeper. even as he goes at a snail’s pace, you feel as if you’re being pulled apart only to be pieced back together again. you hold your breath.

jeno is halfway in when he realizes you still aren’t quite wet enough. he shifts slightly, carefully moving one of your legs up just a little bit higher, before swiping over your raw clit with a thumb he’s wetted with his own tongue. a moan flies forth from your mouth immediately, and a gush of wetness coats jeno’s cock anew as he circles over your bud with abandon. he’s finally free to surge forward and bury himself within your warm walls without fear of repercussions on your own body… so he does. the breath you’d been holding in is punched out of you, replaced with an honest-to-god wail. tears bud at the corners of your eyes at the stretch, falling as he pulls out almost entirely and slams into you again.

jeno does everything in his life in order to live up to the name you’ve given him: lionheart. he is just and loyal and thoughtful as an advisor, and analytical and fearsome and ruthless as a warrior. sex is where both sides of him meet. it is where he is not just the kingdom’s bravest knight, or the crown’s right-hand man. it is where he is your lionheart, and yours alone, where your souls intertwine at the place your bodies meet.

he notices how your hands come up to reach for him, leaning down so you can place one hand against his heart - against his tattoo - and throw the other one over his other shoulder. jeno’s nose is almost touching yours, though your bodies shift continuously as he keeps drawing back and driving his hips into yours with force.

he never ceases to make you feel full.

your walls grip his cock tightly, amplifying every movement jeno indulges you in. the slide is slick and wet and perfect, but it is not easy. the head of his dick catches on your clenched walls every time he pulls out just to slam back in, forcing you to feel him with everything you have. it’s exactly what you want.

he slows down his thrusting for a moment as he moves forward slightly, leaning closer still as he places one forearm against your head and raises his other hand to fondle your chest over your sheer clothing. somehow, this is no longer enough for you. jeno’s cock is fully sheathed within you as he swipes a thumb over one of your nipples, and the feeling of his skin pushing the cloth against one of your most sensitive areas has you shuddering in a way that causes you to squeeze even tighter around him. his hips stutter slightly, driving him impossibly deeper into you.

“jeno,” you rasp out, tongue heavy and dry. “my pillow. beneath my pillow.”

his eyes go wide as he processes what you’ve just said, his shallow thrusts slowing down. jeno gulps audibly.

“your- love, your dagger?”

“need you to touch me.” you respond, holding his gaze and watching it clear up from confused to comprehending you entirely. he pushes himself up from his forearm to his hand, sliding out of you in the same movement. you whine sadly at the loss of contact, but jeno mutters a good-natured ‘be quiet’ almost immediately.

“you know,” he starts, voice teasing, even as he pulls your dagger - black steel, quillions and hilt encrusted with blue jewels, black tempered glass at the pommel - out from beneath your pillow using the hand that had been fondling you earlier. he moves back down to his prior position, and your breath hitches as he presses the apex of the knife against the collar of your nightgown. “i’m already touching you.”

“more,” you moan out, the end of your word coming out almost breathlessly. one of your hands slides against his tattoo once more, as if feeling the lion will make it roar to life. “touch me more.”

jeno chuckles, albeit darker than he had been earlier, and digs the dagger into the cloth in front of it without any further ado. you hold your breath willfully this time, not wanting to actually nick yourself on the blade, as he moves down your body, cutting the sheer gown open down its direct center. your lionheart dots his lips against your flesh in a trail in his wake, scraping his teeth against your skin as he sees fit.

he leaves a quick, but filthy, kiss against your clit for good measure, eyes lighting up as you attempt to close your legs around his head on impulse, only to have them pushed apart even farther than before by his strong hands. once he gets to the hem of the slip, he throws your dagger somewhere on the stone floor - neither of you pay any heed to where it clatters - and rips it apart with his bare hands, hardly able to bear not feeling you around him for much longer.

before you can do anything or say anything or even think anything at all, your lover surges forward and presses himself back into you with a grunt that sounds almost like a growl. his hands knead at your thighs as he finds his rhythm with ease, pounding into you with practice as if you’re an art medium and he’s a skilled master. he’s everywhere, all around you and inside of you and in the air and in your skin, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“touching - ha - touching you enough now?” he asks, resolve crumbling bit by bit as he fights to keep himself from tumbling over the cliff’s edge before you do. you can’t dignify him with a response, unable to do anything but claw at his back and pin yourself further against his chest as if it’ll make even more room for you in his heart than there already is. he doesn’t need a response, anyways. jeno already knows.

he knows just how close you are, too. just as close as he is. it’s because of this that jeno moves a hand up to curl around your throat just as he circles your clit with two fingers of the other hand, continuing to fuck into you at the same rate as best he can. with a sharp cry and the arching of your back off the bed, you clench around him for one final time before he comes to a halt, barely holding himself up over you as he releases within you with a shuddering, gasping groan.

moments pass, stretching into longer than they typically are. jeno takes care as he slides out of you, climbing onto the bed and flopping down next to you right after. the feeling of his release, sticky and wet against your inner thighs, is unpleasant at best, but you can’t bring yourself to clean up just yet. instead, you turn your head to your side, your nose immediately brushing against jeno’s sternum as you realize that he’s turned his entire body towards your own. he lets out an airy laugh at the sensation, pushing half of the sliced cloth off of your body in order to run a wide open palm down your naked side.

“good?” he speaks first, asking an arbitrary question. ‘good enough to make you forget?’ is what he means, knowing full well that you could never lose thought of what awaits the two of you. the sentiment is what’s important, though, and you let out an agreeable hum as a reply. the sex itself was great, of course. he’s well aware.

“sleep, lionheart,” you say just as silence attempts to cloak the two of you. “we must be ready soon, as it is.”

jeno gives you no response, and you do not require one from him. instead, he pulls you even closer into his chest as if doing so will protect you from the crithagians across your kingdom. his entire world rests between his arms. you are both tired enough that sleep forces your eyelids closed swifter than expected, and as you fall asleep to your lover’s slowed breathing and muted heartbeat, you can’t help but, just this once, allow your worries to slip off your body as your torn nightgown does.

just before the rise of the sun, jeno will have to get out of bed and clean you up as best he can before donning his clothing, his armor, and his cape. you’ll put his helmet upon his head, pull his visor down over his face after sharing a kiss that could be your last. it is always like this. jeno will rouse the army, you will dress and arm yourself, and meet with your own private troops.

as the sun begins to take its place in the morning sky, luckily opposite your gaze, jeno will lead his people into battle, riding his steed far, far from you. you will watch him go, but he will not look back. doing so is unfortunate luck at best. you’ve ingrained this into his mind.

you do not know whether he will be back or not.

you desperately need him to come back.

all of that will happen in due time, but now, you drift to dreamland, safe in the arms of the man you’ve sworn to be with until the end. he tightens his hold around you, and that is how you spend the night before battle, in total comfort and full of love. no matter what tomorrow brings, at least you have this now. at least you will always have this moment.

the lionheart and his liege. your lionheart and his love.

for now, you are at peace in the calm before the storm.

#first #five #tags #dont #work #jeno #jeno smut #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno x reader #nct jeno #nct smut #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream smut #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream

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tillidontneedfantasy · 3 years

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A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 9th Studio Album: ‘evermore’

“My collaborators and I are proud to announce that my 9th studio album and folklore’s sister record is here. It’s called evermore,” is how Taylor Swift introduces us to this album in its foreword. One might assume a “sister record” would entail b-sides, or tracks that didn’t quite make the cut for folklore, despite Taylor’s explanation that “we just couldn’t stop writing songs.” evermore’s release came at a strange time, upon the heels of the Folklore: Long Pond Studio Sessions film on Disney+, as well as 5 Grammy nominations for folklore. The world still captivated by folklore, it’s understandable why one might not consume evermore as critically. Even as a die-hard fan, I felt some whiplash by this announcement; I am still processing folklore! Hell, I’m still processing reputation!

If this was the Taylor from two years ago, this may have been a big enough fear of hers to hold off on releasing evermore. But as she explained upon folklore’s surprise release, life is too unpredictable now, and there are zero givens or guarantees. So she followed the same path this time (although making sure it fell in line with her birthday weekend). But it’s not just the strategic timing of the release that she’s thrown out the window for now, but also her mindset whilst making records. As she explains in the evermore album foreword,

“I’ve never done this before. In the past I’ve always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore. In making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.”

This is a revelation for Swift, to let the music lead her into artistic freedom, which is what makes evermore such a triumphant return. Truly folklore’s sister record, Taylor wrote evermore with the same creative team: Aaron Dessner of The National (Swift’s favorite band), long-time pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and William Bowery aka Swift’s boyfriend, Joe Alwyn (as officially revealed in the Long Pond Studio Sessions). Additionally, former 1989 tour openers and close friends of Taylor, the HAIM sisters, join the crew, along with Marcus Mumford for some dreamy backup vocals.

The production is just as wistful and mesmerizing as it was on folklore, yet the storytelling on evermore is kicked up a notch, expanding on the topics and worldbuilding established in its sister record, with even sharper lyrics and an effective and elaborate use of alliteration. The best thing about Taylor is that no matter what she does, her masterful lyricism is always at the heart of her art, and somehow, she keeps getting better. Once again, I wanted to explore the rich stories she’s crafted in this woodsy universe. This is how I’ve interpreted the album, but I hope you find your own meaning in the songs as well.

1. willow It is fitting that the opening track to folklore’s sister album, where we wade further into the forest that is Taylor Swift’s imagination and storytelling, would center on the type of tree that is a symbol of hope, belonging, safety, stability, and healing. “willow,” one of the few more obviously autobiographical tracks on the album, is a hymn of gratitude for her man (as she wants you to know, yes, thirteen times), Joe Alwyn, and how the invisible string tethering them together pulled her to him in a time when everyone else was counting her out. Though not as present on many of the other songs later to come on this record, you can feel the lightness in her heart on this song as she embraces the way in which the willow has bent, wrecking her plans, throwing her into the water and leaving her happily lost and afloat in his current. The downward key modulation throughout the last two repetitions of the chorus is beautiful and very fitting for Swift vocally, but also sounds like the feeling of finding your comfort and settling into it, basking it in while you wait for the next place the wind pulls you. Best lyric: “Now this is an open/shut case / I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

2. champagne problems On the second track of the album, Taylor dives back into the fictional worldbuilding she began to explore on folklore. While on folklore high school relationships and dramatics took center-stage, evermore graduates from adolescence to young adulthood, not that it is any easier emotionally on the listener’s heart. “champagne problems” chronicles a rejected marriage proposal between two college sweethearts at their old dorm building. Taylor sings as the narrator, a reflective, self-deprecating young woman who jokes about belonging in a madhouse and dismisses all her turmoil as champagne problems. The term ‘champagne problems’ itself could have various meanings here: their trivial concerns, the fact that their “sister splashed out on the bottle” of champagne that they will not be using to celebrate as they had hoped, or perhaps it could even hint that excessive drinking is a piece of all the ways the narrator is “fucked in the head,” as they said. Although the person she is singing to is the one who got hurt in the story, the hurt in the narrator’s heart is just as palpable and relatable, because you only have yourself to blame when you self-destruct. Best lyric: “’She would’ve made such a lovely bride, / what a shame she’s fucked in the head,’ they said / but you’ll find the real thing instead / she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.”

3. gold rush On her YouTube live chat prior to the album’s release, Taylor explained that this song “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.” The daydream consists of a love story so pure that the town had never seen such a thing; it could only happen in a fantasy for the narrator. How could she possibly have the gall to call them out on their contrarian shit, or end up with her Eagles t-shirt hanging from their door, when they are so coveted by all, and when she cannot withstand the thought of even competing? She sings, “My mind turns your life into folklore / I can’t dare to dream about you anymore,” a sweet little connecting piece to this album’s older sister, effectively convincing herself out of the idea of jumping into the chaos of the gold rush because even inside her own imagination it’s too dangerous. Best lyric: “I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘till the bone crush.”

4. ‘tis the damn season According to Aaron Dessner, Taylor had written the lyrics for “’tis the damn season” in the middle of the night amidst their Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions recording after a long night of chatting and drinking with their co-conspirator, Jack Antonoff. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate the guttural ache the track evokes. It is a tale of two people who always find their way back to one another in their hometown, which acts as the ever-returning fork in the road. The path taken, back to L.A. in pursuit of her dreams, is the one she chose and continues to choose, but whenever she returns home, she takes a ride down the road not taken, just to get a taste of what could have been, even if just for the weekend. What starts off as an icy homecoming always transforms into the warmest intimacy. The success of this track is aligned with the success of Taylor’s entire career; even with such specific details, it feels so deeply personal to the listener. You know the street you’d drive along late at night laughing, the spot you’d park the car, the person who stars in every what-if. You will never really know if the road not taken is as good as it seems, but that might be ok; sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality, anyway. Best lyric: “It’s the kind of cold / fogs up windshield glass, but I felt it when I passed you / There’s an ache in you / put there by the ache in me.”

5. tolerate it Inspired by the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, “tolerate it” is an agonizing track from the perspective of a devoted wife who polishes plates and paints portraits and waits by the door for her husband with a battle hero’s welcome, who at best tolerates all her adoration. There are few things as painful as idolization being met with indifference, when you have all this love to give to someone who just leaves it there untouched. “tolerate it” captures that desperation for the approval you know will never arrive, but you sit and watch, waiting for it just in case you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. Best lyric: “I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life / drawing hearts in the byline”

6. no body, no crime feat. HAIM “no body, no crime,” the one evermore song solo-written by Taylor, has the clearest plot from beginning to end. In the same vein as the female powerhouse country classic “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, Taylor is out for blood to avenge her friend, Este (named for one of the HAIM sisters). The story goes as such: Este’s husband kills her for calling him out on his infidelity, and then Taylor kills the husband and frames his mistress. The HAIM girls, who are long-time friends of Taylor’s and former touring mates, lend their vocals to reinforce the accusation on the husband and to provide Taylor’s alibi. “no body, no crime” is so far the closest we’ve gotten to a return to “country Taylor,” proving that she is still the master of a killer country tune (yes, pun intended, it had to be done I’m sorry). Best lyric: “Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me / (she was with me, dude) / Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

7. happiness Written a week before the album’s release, “happiness” is one of Swift’s strongest and most reflective breakup songs. Although she writes it as though it is recent, there’s a lot of power in knowing that she’s been happily in love for four years, and that she is even better now at doing the thing that has always been best at. She is finally “above the trees,” as she sings, and is able to see it all for what it is, but her character is still in the heat of it all, trying to navigate the stages of grief when a relationship ends. We see the narrator grapple with many of those stages throughout the song. Most striking is the anger displayed in the second verse when she sings: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you / No, I didn’t mean that, / sorry, I can’t see facts through all of my fury.” That section is jarring and feels like one of the most honest moments in a Taylor song, the insanely difficult emotional balancing act when we are grieving a relationship. The devastation of loss can distort our perception, and a part of that is the difficulty of understanding how multiple seemingly opposing things can co-exist in our hearts, such as happiness because of someone and happiness after them. But when you leave it all behind and finally find your place above the trees, you can find happiness after someone and also look back and appreciate the happiness they once provided. Both of these things can be true. Best lyric: “Showed you all of my hiding spots / I was dancing when the music stopped.”

8. dorothea Taylor Swift has the uncanny ability to create such developed and well-rounded characters with such little information, which is what makes her storytelling so compelling. In “dorothea,” we learn much about the title character through the narrator’s eyes, and the relationship they once had. The lyric “skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes” alone tells an entire story in itself. “dorothea” is also the companion song to “’tis the damn season,” just from the other person’s perspective, which helps shine even more light on the story. The narrator of “dorothea” reveres her but wonders if she’s still the same soul in L.A. as she was back in their never-changing town. Whatever the answer, they’re still willing to support her no matter where she is, but she’s always welcome back in Tupelo by her hometown love’s side if she ever just wants to be herself rather than someone known for who they know. Besides, they’re the only soul who can tell which smiles she’s faking. And you can always return to the road not taken. Best lyric: “They all wanna be ya / but are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? / Well, I guess I’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show.”

9. coney island feat. The National What really started the folklore / evermore journey was Taylor’s love for The National. Taylor has cited them as one of her favorite bands for many years, and as we know, this led to her beautiful new collaborative relationship with Aaron Dessner. So it would make sense for the track written with the intention of this duet to be so well executed; you can feel the love and care Taylor put into writing this song. In her press for these sister albums, she has spoken about trying to channel frontman Matt Berninger’s writing style. But what actually happened was she just produced her own signature lyricism at its sharpest. “We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be / the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams / sorry for not winning you an arcade ring over and over,” is a hall of famer Swift-ian lyric. “coney island” explores the confusion, hurt, and self-reflection when a passionate affair burns out fast because you did not prioritize that person. And to top it off, Swift and Berninger’s harmonies are achingly beautiful, transporting you right there in the story, on the bench, wondering, over and over. Best lyric: “Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? / Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

10. ivy Leave it to Taylor Swift to make a song about an affair sound so romantic, and so sympathetic to the narrator, that you’re rooting for adultery. “ivy” tells the tale of a woman in a lifeless marriage, likening her home with him to the tombstone that the widow in town visits each day. I like to think this is the same wife whose husband was out there building other worlds without her in “tolerate it,” because then that means she found someone who celebrates her love, who holds her pain for her, who blooms all over her; they started it, but she’s fighting for it all the way to the end, nonetheless. “ivy” showcases Swift’s gorgeous vocals and her sharp lyrics, with a melody so infectious it is bound to permanently plant its roots in your dreamland. Best lyric: “Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

11. cowboy like me With the beautifully blended backing vocals of Marcus Mumford, “cowboy like me” is an entrancing love story of two con artists who lost at their own game and got conned into forever with each other. She’d gone from swindling old men for their money and fancy cars to falling victim to the danger of dancing with someone who only has eyes full of stars, and she knows she’ll pay for it. “cowboy like me” is one of the most romantic tracks on the record, proving that life never plays out quite as we plan. Best lyric: “Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon / with your boots beneath my bed / Forever is the sweetest con.”

12. long story short One of the more pop-sounding tracks on evermore, “long story short” is pretty much a summary of the long story behind reputation (2017). The song is filled with various metaphors for her reputation crumbling around her, and then finally putting her defenses down to be with her lover, someone as “rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky.” It is a sweet ode to her boyfriend, and a gentle comfort to her past self that it will all work out. But it is also an oddly relatable example of how we shrug off our struggles and minimize them to just a “bad time,” when the time she is singing about was obviously something that deeply affected her (as will be further explored in the title track); but sometimes it actually feels good to just shrug it off as just a blip in your life, because at the end of the day, you survived, and that’s what counts- even if you’re not keeping score anymore. Best lyric: “Pushed from the precipice / clung to the nearest lips / long story short, it was the wrong guy. / Now I’m all about you.”

13. marjorie Whereas track 13 on folklore was a tribute to Swift’s paternal grandfather, evermore’s track 13 is a tribute to her maternal grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who was an opera singer in the 50s, and passed away in 2003 when Taylor was 13 years old. “marjorie” is quite possibly the most touching track Taylor has ever written thus far in her career. Grief is one of the most difficult topics to tackle in a song; the genius of “marjorie” is that it is simple, yet not understated. Swift reflects on the profound lessons she learned from her grandmother, about the difficult balances of kindness and cleverness, and politeness and power. She curses herself for not cherishing the moments she had with her, for complaining rather than understanding in the moment how admirable her spirit was, for all the amber skies she’d love but will never see. The chorus, blunt and hard-hitting, reminds us that someone does not have to be living to be alive, to be all around, to be with us. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing to me now,” Taylor sings towards the end of the song, right before you hear a sample of Finlay’s opera singing in the background, a truly eye-swelling moment. It is clear that Finlay played a pivotal role in Swift’s own ambitions, as she sings, “all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me.” Marjorie knew she was leaving them in good hands. If you haven’t yet, check out the moving lyric video for the song, where you can see photos and video clips of Marjorie, both throughout her career and in her time with Taylor. Best lyric: “Never be so polite you forget your power, / never wield such power you forget to be polite.”

14. closure On the most experimental track musically on the record, Taylor writes off her need for closure from a relationship of some sort, whether it be romantic or platonic or business, all of which can cause hurt of equal intensity. The subject of the song is trying to make nice with Taylor, and she is just not having it, as it is not coming from a genuine place, but rather to ensure that their life remains picture perfect, or to clear their guilty conscience, or to preserve their own ego. This is a deeply relatable sentiment; as valuable as forgiveness can be, sometimes the person who hurt you just doesn’t deserve it, and all you can do is forgive yourself for blocking their number or shredding their letters. Best lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

15. evermore feat. Bon Iver To close out the standard edition of the album, Taylor joins forces once again with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, with whom she collaborated on the Grammy-nominated duet, “exile” for folklore. However, Swift leads most of the track this time, lamenting the difficult time she went through in 2016. The piano and Swift’s vocals are haunting, particularly when she describes this time in her life as “catching my death,” consumed by a pain that she feels will never end. If you’ve ever been depressed, you know what that feels like, and the dark places it leads you. Although she is singing about a time four years prior, it sounds so present, and it is heartbreaking to hear her in such a state. When Bon Iver comes in, the tempo of the song picks up, the piano riff becomes more erratic, like a winter storm hitting you in the face, and he voices all the anxieties of the cost of such a downfall. But through those anxieties, Taylor finds not a cure, but an anchor in love, and then the tempo slows back down. By the end of the song, Taylor has the foresight to understand that although it may not feel like it now, the pain she is experiencing is not permanent (a sentiment my therapist has been trying to instill in me for years). In her Apple Music interview with Zane Lowe, Taylor explained how the lyrics parallel the times we are in currently, and so it feels really special to have the album end with someone who knows how it feels to be imprisoned by your pain gently comfort us with the wisdom that “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.” I hope one day soon, as we leave 2020 far behind, we can all truly believe her. Best lyric: “I was catching my breath / barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death.”

16. right where you left me (bonus track) The first bonus track on evermore, “right where you left me,” captures a moment so earth-crushing, a piece of you is trapped in it forever. In this song specifically, the narrator finds herself stuck in the same corner of a restaurant where she was told by someone she loved that they had met someone else. “Glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on,” she sings in mourning. We have all experienced those moments that we could teleport back to if we just closed our eyes; the scenery, what you wore, the smell and taste of the season, the very point in your body where it felt like your insides were collapsing. Or that one particular person, who is long-gone from your life but seeing them is like time-travelling back to that person you once were, ready to pick up where you left off. But as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, just in case it changes in your favor, the cold reality is that the world stops for no one. Best lyric: “If our love died young, I can’t bear witness / And it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong / I’m right where you left me.”

17. it’s time to go (bonus track) “right where you left me” was Taylor’s cry for help to get out of restaurant, and “it’s time to go” is the answer to the call, as she sings in the first line, “when the dinner gets cold, and the chatter gets old / you ask for the tab.” This song is about gathering the strength to leave situations and relationships behind that no longer serve you. She grieves the betrayal of someone she thought to be a twin from her dreams (almost definitely referring to former friend, Karlie Kloss), acknowledges that keeping a marriage together for the sake of the kids often actually has the opposite intended effect (possibly- but not certainly- something she and her brother experienced), and recounts attempting to bargain with someone consumed by greed, only able to leave with herself (absolutely referring to the end of her fifteen-year long business relationship with Scott Borchetta, her former record-label owner). But as painful as leaving all of those situations was, Taylor has gained the wisdom to understand that walking away sometimes takes as much strength as persevering. You can’t stay at the restaurant, or at the mercy of someone else forever; you have to forge your own path, even if it’s in the opposite direction of what you envisioned for so long. And even with all her past success behind her, as folklore and evermore have proved, there is so much more ahead of her. Best lyric: “That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it’s time to go.”

In a time where we are all trapped in our homes and in our heads, the folklore/evermore experience has been the sweetest escape. If anything, the creation of these wonderful sister records has taught me that our most powerful tool in times of distress is our own imagination. Even just the ability to close my eyes while listening to one of these tracks and feel the character’s story is a gift. The way I’ve always been able to pick up Harry Potter and escape to Hogwarts when I’ve felt alone and friendless, I can listen to folklore and evermore when I feel scared or hopeless and escape into this enchanted forest Taylor has built, where I can climb above the trees and see it all for what it is. I feel so lucky to watch Taylor’s imaginative world unravel around me. I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I would literally die for this bitch.

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wyrmy-fics · 3 years

Text

❃ Drawing Subject ❃

Kaeya X Albedo fic.

Hello again! Finally picking back up with writing after a well deserved hiatus. This was written over the course of a month or two so it’s not entirely consistent and doesn’t have a proper ending to it, but I just wanted to write about these two captains realizing how pretty they are…. 🤲 (will edit this over time probably)

Reblogs and requests are appreciated. :)

Includes: Kaeya, Albedo.

Warnings -> N/A

Type: Character ship fanfic.

Intro -

"What is this?" The tune of the calvary captains voice caught Albedo's attention, causing the latter to set down a pair of vials in response. A sheet of paper hung from between Kaeya's fingertips along with a playful grin stretched out.

"That's..." Albedo started, trying to find the proper explanation in this situation. The paper displayed a doodle with only three strokes etched in; a circle for a head, a long string across the circle... And an eyepatch attached. He cleared his throat before continuing, "Klee had requested it. I hadn't the time or proper reference to do much more."

A quiet hum filled the awkwardness in the room as Kaeya examined over the drawing once more. It left the alchemist wondering how it had come into their conversation, much less Kaeya's possession, but the train of thought was soon interrupted.

"You could have at least added the hair."

"That's your concern—?"

"It's an important detail."

"As I said, I didn't have a proper reference to grab such details. Usually I would work with my subject at hand, but—"

"Oh?" This new information peaked Kaeya's curiosity as if a lightbulb illuminated above his head. Setting the paper down to fold his arms across his chest, the captain strode closer. "Then, if you had your subject with you, would you try it again?"

The question had momentarily silenced Albedo while it processed in his mind. It was common to see such a reaction from the other over the simplest things, mostly resulting in some sort of teasing, but never for his drawings. He turned his body to mirror Kaeya's stance, "I suppose I would."

"Great. I'll be free in my office in the next hour or so. Don't keep me waiting too long, will you?"

"All I have to do is sit here, yes?"

"If you please."

The cavalry office wasn't the biggest room in the Favonius Headquarters, but without much of a cavalry to captain, the space was wide enough for one person to do as they please. Any company was welcome to fill in the empty spots and distract him from the agonizing hours of paperwork. Taking advantage of this, Albedo situated an area for him to work.

It was a sight to see; the couch was strategically positioned away from it's usual place against the wall and right in front stood a tall easle. Any type of work to such length should be handled with care, Albedo thought, much to the surprise of the other.

"I didn't know such a request would have struck something in you, Chief Alchemist. I can't say I'm complaining, though," Kaeya said, stepping in front of the couch into position.

The artist in question hadn't looked up from his preparations just yet. Setting the sketchbook in it's place along with the few charcoal pencils, he replied, "Correct me if I'm wrong, Captain, but there's no harm in taking such a thing seriously."

"Nothing to correct here," An amused huff followed his reply.

Everything was set and ready to begin - however, there was one last adjustment to be made first. Finally looking up from the easle with his chin pinched, Albedo spoke up, "If you don't mind, could you remove your boa?"

Kaeya raised an eyebrow, "You're asking me to undress now? If I had known it was that type of artwork, I would have prepared myself a little more." His teasing only resulted in a head shake of the other.

"No, that's not it... I'd like to remove any distractions from your face. But you're welcome to keep it on if you feel more comfortable that way."

That's what intrigued him the most about Albedo - no matter how much the captain tried, there was no way to completely throw the other off guard. It kept things interesting to find himself at a loss for how to gain back the upper hand. Silently accepting the favor, Kaeya reached up to unclip the feathery boa from his shoulder, bringing his cape along with it.

Without such an accessory shaping his face, it was clear to see there wasn't much else to his design. An approved nod from Albedo set them both back into their previous rhythm now that he could focus on each detail - at least in more than three strokes.

Kaeya sat himself down onto the couch and crossed his legs, draping an arm over the back of the frame to give himself a pose that could show as much as possible. "How is this?"

"That's fine," Albedo replied, turning his view back to the easle, "Make sure not to move too much."

The initial sketching process was the slowest part of this whole ordeal. Albedo's primary focus was placing in the guidelines and rough movements in order to capture the pose Kaeya was placed and work from there. Though the room fell completely quiet aside from the paper, it was comfortable between the two.

And then, it began. Detail by detail began to form over the sketch and the charcoal pencil would flip to the rubber end occasionally, letting Albedo render in what was needed. His eyes would dart back and forth from his subject and the piece so that nothing was left untouched; his gaze falling into a more serious and concentrated stare.

From Kaeya's point of view, it was a sight worth remembering. Not once had he seen the Chief Alchemist so willing, so vulnerable. Every little habit had made it's way to the surface as the captain watched with care. The way Albedo would tap the pencil on his chin while thinking of how to properly execute certain details, or the way he would hum to himself in approval after perfecting it. His mouth would twist and turn in different ways as he lost himself in the process, allowing Kaeya's own to turn upright into a small smile.

On the other hand, Albedo couldn't help but use this opportunity to completely take in the sight of the other. What fascinated him the most about the world was the fact he never properly fit in amongst other humans, since he himself was not one. The alchemists goal was to find answers and construct creations during his time in Mondstat, for the sole purpose of his master and to ease his own curiosity.

However, as anyone could have guessed, Kaeya also does not fit in with the other humans of Mond. He was human at the least, but far different than any of the other captains or civillians. What could possibly be under that eyepatch, Albedo wondered as he filled in the gold designs along the leather covering. What kind of secrets hide behind that smile, what creatures have those gloved hands fought?

And in sync, they both recognized each others beauty enveloped in vulnerability. It was the only time to notice the way their skin contrasted each others from pale to tan, forming over their bones and muscles perfectly. The braided hair that was meticulously cared for with utmost patience somehow matched the long and messy blue draped over the couch.

Was this really a request for an artist, or simply two curious individuals wanting a closer look?

The occasional small talk would happen during their session, but the majority of their time together remained in each others quiet company. As it slowly came to a close, the moments they shared were kept confidential between the two. They weren’t ashamed or forced to stay hushed about the events that took place, but there wasn’t a need to flaunt either.

Though Master Jean tends to ask where the framed drawing on Kaeya's desk came from, to which he simply responds, "It was a gift."

Thank you for reading! Not too happy with the ending and can make a part 2 if requested…? :) 💙

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adorethedistance · 3 years

Text

British. Handsome. Charming. - Harry Styles x Reader Retail!AU

Sorta requested.

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive situations, I say titties like once

Words: 2108

Summary: When your coworker calls out and leaves you alone for a graveyard shift, you unintentionally enlist the help of a certain British, handsome, and charming retail employee from next door.

A/N: Hello this is my piece for @meetmeinfleetwood ‘s “to lovers” fic challenge! I put my ‘to lovers’ trope as Coworkers Harry and Y/n but I’m kind of riffing off of that trope because I wanted to do employees at different stores in the same section of the mall.

“So, Ziva just called out...” I hear my manager Kelly break the news from behind me. A groan threatens to escape my lungs but I fight the urge as best as possible to save face in front of customers. This is the third time Ziva’s called out of her graveyard shift in the past two weeks. Tonight, we were supposed to unpack the new shipment of holiday tees, gag gifts, and decorations. On a normal night, I can handle floor set by myself, but the added challenge of holiday items and displays is a different story.

“If I take another lunch right now, I can stay and help with the floor set.”

“No,” I wave her off, already dreading the exhaustion that is bound to set in, “Go home. You’ve already done your full eight, I can fly solo for tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go before I regret letting you!” Kelly smiles with the tip of her tongue peaking through her teeth. She thanks me for freeing her and I finish straightening the last of the yellow champion hoodies on the rack in front of me.

“The boxes are on the left side in the backroom.” Backroom… got it.

Working at Tilly’s was supposed to be my high school job. At the end of Junior year, I opted for a minimum wage position to earn some extra spending money. If I’d known I would be attending the most local university in this godforsaken town, I would’ve picked a better gig; one that pays more. Or at least one that doesn’t schedule me from 7:30PM to 3AM.

The store closes at ten but the other four ish hours are for rearranging the entire floor layout. I have to redistribute the table full of graphic tees strategically around the store to make room for the holiday items we just received. With someone else’s help I could expect to be finished by 12:30. Maybe 1. Ziva calling out wasn’t part of the plan however, so I don’t expect to be finished early at all. If anything, I might have to rush to finish before my shift ends.

Not to mention I have a prose analysis final draft due tomorrow by midnight. Ziva better have some damn good excuses when she gets back.

Readjusting the waistband of my favorite jeans against my body, I head to the dressing rooms to double check for any stragglers. Upon finding myself alone, I go lock the front doors and flick off the glowing “open” sign in the front window. Hopefully time will fly faster than it has since I got here. I should’ve asked Kelly to grab me a coffee or a coke to get me through the rest of the shift. Maybe I should do some coke to get me through the rest of the shift.

Okay. What did Kelly say?

Backroom... Was that all? I hesitantly prop the storeroom’s door with the small, tan, rubber wedge before trying to take in the overwhelming mess of the backroom. The room has painfully bright overhead LED lights illuminating my path; the brightness is mirrored off the polished concrete floors under my feet. Considering there’s no holiday bullshit directly in front of me, Kelly must have given me more directions than just ‘backroom’. Graphic tees, sunglasses, jewelry. Nothing.

In my most goddamn genius idea yet, I search the top of the self of the storeroom to see the holiday boxes sealed and intact. Lovely. I can graze the surface of the top shelf with my fingertips just enough to get them dusty, but not enough to pull down any boxes.

Fuck.

This is what we have a ladder for, but we lent it out to the Zara next door. I don’t know what time they close but intuition tells me it's soon. Figuring I have nothing to lose, I dash out of the back room and unlock the front door to round the corner into Zara. Right as I exit the store, I run into someone hard enough to lose my balance, but not hard enough to take the other person down, thank god.

“Woahhh, you alright there?” British.

I look up to the face of the person I collided with. Handsome.

“I’m so sorry, I need to get to Zara.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late for that.” The handsome stranger’s statement catches me off guard and the fog of my rushed mindset disappears. Charming.

“What?”

“Jus’ locked up, I’m afraid.” I look at the completely dark storefront, and then back at the stranger. His gleaming green eyes catch mine and, cliché-ly, I’m rendered breathless by the exquisite nature of his face. Employee.

“You work at Zara,” I state dumbly.

“That, I do. And you work…?” Dropping my eyes to my worn work shoes, I’m suddenly overwhelmingly shy about working at Tilly’s.

“Tilly’s, next door. We lent you guys our step ladder and I need it back.”

“Shit,” the man smiles softly, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “I have the key to the store, but I don’t have the key to the supply closet where we kept it.”

“Dammit.” When I pull out my phone to check the time, I groan at the loss of another ten minutes. “By any chance do you guys conveniently have a step ladder that isn’t in an inaccessible closet?” The beautiful man laughs at my question and shakes his head no.

“We don’t, but I am pretty tall, maybe I could help?”

“You’re not that tall.”

“Taller than you.” My teasing is cut short by the man’s quip and I lead him into the store with conviction.

“Basically, I’m supposed to reconfigure the entire floor layout around the table for all the holiday merch, and the shipment came in but someone brilliantly placed them on the top shelf of the back room.”

“Which is why you need the step ladder from the closet that I can’t open. Gotcha.”

“If you could just get those three boxes from the top shelf right there that’d be wonderful.” After clocking the boxes in question, he nods wordlessly, and slips off his nice coat, no doubt a piece from the store next door. Underneath, he’s wearing a grey button up of which he begins rolling up the sleeves to. The action made me stop breathing for a second. His forearms are littered with tattoos of various drawings, one in particular catching my eye.

It’s a two dimensional mermaid figure with no seashell-bra, her skin transitioning into scales only after exposing her pubic bone. In the fluorescent lighting of the store, it’s clear as day that this is quite possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. What’s he doing working at an outlet mall?

Zoning back in, I see he’s already hard at work. With a box no doubt full of gag gifts on his shoulder, he speaks again.

“I’m Harry by the way.”

I return the gesture and he smiles when he hears my name.

“Pretty.”

Returning his attention to the second box, he reaches up to slide the box closer to the edge of the shelf. When he does so, the hem of his grey shirt rides up to reveal a tiny strip of his toned abdomen, where two mirrored stems of fern leaves are tattooed in strikingly black ink.

I blink quickly a few times to redirect my focus, and divert my attention to the floor where he’s set the first box. This leads me to notice the brown suede chelsea boots he’s wearing. Black coat, grey shirt, brown shoes. Interesting.

“Oh shit!” I hear him mutter in a hushed voice. Looking up to the top of the shelf, I see that the last box has already been opened. Harry is balancing it between both limbs, his shoulder, and his head, but any movement would cause the contents of the box to fall out.

I rush forward to help. Moving the flaps of the box back over the top, I reach across Harry’s body to move them. Then, to keep them shut I place one palm on top of the seam, and use the other hand to support the bottom of the box. It isn’t until I stop moving that I notice the position I’ve put us in. I’m reaching up as far as I can to secure the top of the box which has placed the entire front side of my body to the back of his. I’m painfully aware of how my hips are pressed against his ass, and he must be painfully aware of the way my titties are pressed against his upper back.

“I’m gonna move backwards so it’s off the shelf. Just hold the top in place until I have it right side up again, yea?” I nod dumbly in response before realizing he can’t see me.

“Yeah, got it.” And with that he begins to back up little by little, moving at a pace slow enough for me to consistently adjust. The box is almost intact, but I’ve run out of space from standing behind Harry, and I have to maneuver myself around him whilst keeping the box shut. I cringe before doing what I have to do, and shuffling around the side of Harry’s body, my frontside pressed against him the entire time.

Finally, it’s over and we can set the box down on top of the other two. Harry stands up straight again and dusts off his hands. He adjusts his jeans, pulling them back up his hips, and I have to keep myself from staring once more.

“Anythin’ else I can do for you?”

“I don’t think so? That’s pretty much all the heavy lifting I have to do tonight.” He nods understandingly and… dare I say disappointed? I’m probably just projecting.

“Are you alone tonight?”

“Yeah, my coworker called out, but it’s fine. My boss Kelly got most of the work done earlier when she unpacked a lot of the boxes and folded the shirts into piles, so…”

“I could help.”

“You don’t need to do that. You’re already off and I’m sure you’re exhausted and-”

“I want to.” I guess I wasn’t projecting.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. That way you can go home earlier.” His smile is soft and lopsided until we connect eyes, in which case it brightens to reveal his pearly teeth. I fall shy under his gaze and avert my eyes to the concrete floor below us. My cheeks are radiating at about 1000° and I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Thank you,” I say, more flustered than I would have liked. Why am I getting so nervous? He’s just a retail employee at Zara.

A gorgeous employee at Zara.

“I don’t mind staying back... Spending more time with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Since I already know what you do for a living, what are your hobbies?” He ignores my question.

“I don’t have much time for hobbies. I’m only part-time while I’m in uni.”

“No way, what are you studying?”

I proceed to tell Harry all about my major and my career aspirations post-graduation and post-retail. I enjoy telling people about my dreams and yet, Harry’s the first person I’ve met in a long time that’s shown any interest in me and my dreams. The way he nods attentively despite having to fold misconstrued t-shirts and holiday sweaters, ignites a fire in my stomach that warms my heart. They way he asks hyper specific, prompting questions to learn more about my plans contrasts the fire inside me by sending chills down my spine.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are your dreams?” Harry stops folding for a moment and exhales a conflicted sigh.

“I’m not too sure at the moment. I’m content at Zara for the moment, and I haven’t decided what’s next. I do write music though.”

“You do?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“What kind of music?” He stops to think again, a bit less conflicted than before.

“It’s like, indie-folk-pop-rock ish.”

“Indie-folk-pop-rock ish?” I can’t contain the laughter spilling from my lips over the mountain of folded t-shirts.

“Yeah. A good bit of variety, really.”

“Well, it’s nice you have something to be passionate about.”

“Judging by how you talked about your dreams for an hour, I wouldn’t say I’m as passionate as you are about your studies.”

“Passion isn’t a competition. It’s what moves you forward as an individual.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh at me.

“Okay, Gandhi.”

“Hush! I’m allowed to be philosophical.” His laugh draws into a closed-mouth smile, from humor to an adoration of sorts.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” I unintentionally mirror his affectionate smile.

“Promise?”

***

A/N: This was absolutely one of those fics that, the longer I stared at it, the more I hated it and cut it down so here’s what’s remaining before I destroyed the whole thing. It’s def a puff piece and not an in depth fic but nuance is not my friend right now so, sorry about it :(

Taglist: @curlybrownhairedboys @meetmeinfleetwood

#Harry #Harry Styles #Harry Styles fanfiction #Harry Styles fanfic #Harry Styles fic #Harry Styles writing #Harry Styles imagine #Harry Styles oneshot #Harry Styles one shot #Harry Styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #Harry Styles fluff #Harry Styles angst #Harry Styles smut

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w-h-4-t · 3 years

Text

On today's episode of can't help myself

A friendship story with Cole and Cullen because I adore Cole and mans Cullen decided to knock on my brain and say AYE WHAT ABOUT ME HOE??? so there it is. It's been a HOT MIN since i last wrote but I caught the vibes. awww yeee. The story title is from a Gregory Alan Isakov song called Second Chances.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517498/chapters/83834260

A Ghost in the Garden, Scaring the Crows.

It wasn't a familiar song but at times it was fleeting, fully blossoming into haphazard singing or woeful humming. Cole tapped his feet against the walls, mimicking the beat of several bleeding hearts.

And how they bled, all without voices.

For the songs he heard -the singing and humming- was internal, never brought to light nor languished upon.

Everyone's pain was brought to the surface of their mouths, like blood pooling at the top of a wound. Wanting to be free from their broken bodies and blistered bones. At times, Cole held a blade in his fingers -what he thought to be his hands- and flipped its honed edges over and over again.

He wanted to free them.

But it was wrong, wrought with rules of reality he didn't quite grasp.

Cole sat on top of the Garden roof, clicking his heels against the tiles, watching a world that remained blind to the form he filled. The knife was still in his half-gloved hands, giving thought to nothing in particular but the voices that swam around him in circular shapes.

Hurt my hand...

Lost my brother...

Never saw it coming...

How do I...

Where will I...

What do I do?

The many whispers of Skyhold's residents floated past him like errant bubbles on a river's surface; some popped by his ear, letting him listen to their woes.

The scarecrow boy looked off into the Garden, watching Chantry sisters and Elvhen herbalists sharing the land that stitched them together.

And still their turmoil boiled and dived, fluctuating in waves to keep their sanity, for the sky was patched but the world still hovered over their shoulders. A promise of destruction was forever clear, that much Cole noticed from the many minds that flocked to his ear.

Slowly, the Spirit stood, unseen by the people, unknown by the companions as he followed a thought as if reeled in; a faux human fish chasing a lure.

The world blurred around him, passing by in watercolours as he quietly made his way past citizens more real than he could ever feel.

The grass crunched under his boots, the buckles of his tattered garb chuckled in metallic rasps. Everything came alive as he walked and Cole wondered if he'd ever become more than the shell he filled. It was Varric's hope for him and Solas' nightmare.

The scrape of stone touched his shoes; a soft clacking to signal his arrival to the gazebo. Cole turned his head back for a moment, casting a half-moon shadow with his hat as his eyes scanned the garden.

The voices chased him, he could see them coming in invisible waves, swirling past Embrium and Elfroot plants, coiling over stones and praying beetles in lofty trees.

The woes of others would be upon him soon and he would welcome them with compassion even if his blade was forcibly stilled.

Turning back, blue eyes stared at a small table; a Lion and his quiet kingdom, formulated from his mind and captured by his own hand. Cullen's game of chess with himself -a normal affair of solitary wits- carried on as usual.

Castling...but that would leave the knight open.

The last piece of Cullen's thoughts sidled up to Cole and the boy watched with fascination as the Commander plotted a war against himself.

Even in his moments of reprieve, he fought, strategized, conquered.

But there was a sluggishness to his face; a sheen of sweat pooling between the creases of his forehead. The grating nausea and cerulean pollution of a body purging lost Lyrium.

Distractions to keep the monsters at bay.

Cole watched as Cullen reached out a shaky hand to clutch a knight but his fingers betrayed him, knocking over the piece.

The sharp flare of irritation cut Cole's tongue and pierced his chest, bringing him forward; making him seen.

"Maker's Breath!" Cullen exclaimed, his hand flying to his sword hilt in reflex, "Cole...You need to stop doing that."

"I'm sorry." Cole spoke suddenly, stepping forward with his head lowered, "I...I heard the hollow, the craving calling for comfort, cradling broken bottles and digesting dust. I wanted to help."

For above every pain of Skyhold he could not assist, Cole trembled at every tremor the Commander's withdrawal summoned. It was an intensity he could not fathom, a pain that had become so commonplace that above the voices crying for help, Cullen's screamed.

Removing his hand from his sword hilt, Cullen watched Cole with creased brows; his eyes were tired, reddened at the borders and bloodshot at the seams. Soon his brow lifted, resuming his natural stance at the table, focusing back on the fallen knight.

There were no words but a soft whisper of wind to assail the leaves and dance with the bugs. Cole heard it all, even above the bassy thrum of blood in Cullen's ears.

He heard peace at that moment, a small cluster of laughter from nearby, the sound of running, movement and life.

Though Varric was elsewhere, Cole could hear his voice, not his thoughts, but a memory of what he may say in a moment like this.

People are tricky, kid, but get to know them and they become a little less strange. You start to figure out that everyone's pretty weird, it's just a matter of befriending the type of crazy shit they bring to the table.

The Commander brought his hand to cover his mouth in deep thought, already beginning to forget the boy's presence.

Already beginning to have him fade away.

Cole stared back, his drawn face moping further as he found himself disappearing again, and though he normally encouraged it, he enjoyed being around.

He wanted to be seen.

For maybe if he was seen, he could help.

"C-Commander." Cole said suddenly, pulling the fog away from Cullen's eyes, "Can...I sit with you."

The words were odd, then again, the entire rogue boy was odd. Cullen blinked a few times before looking at Cole, gauging his intent and whether he wanted to be bothered.

And thankfully, he did.

"Alright." Cullen finally spoke, carelessly gesturing at the opposite chair, "But keep out of my head. Please."

Hearing the agreement, Cole nodded slowly, his mouth slightly agape even though he wished to smile. He would soon learn to tug his lips upward in time, not now, but in time.

Baby steps.

The many leather and cloth patches of Cole's clothes gave a soft whine as he sat in the chair, and funnily enough, it was the only sound he heard at that moment.

The world was strangely quiet, the river of voices all pleading for help lay idyllic amongst the shaded garden. Cole heard his thoughts rebounding in his skull and questioned each one of them, unknowing it was his own voice, his own words.

That is until he recognized his voice and the body he inhabited.

Reaching out to the board, Cole passed his fingers along the knight piece, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger to right its place.

"I can teach you a simple set of moves, if you wish," Cullen said softly, catching Cole's eyes which reflected the world back at the Commander, "Nothing too difficult, of course."

There was still clear pain in Cullen's face but it was buried as he spoke to Cole, distracted and muted under their conversation.

He was helping, in his own small way and with that realization, came a slight smile on the scarecrow spirit's face.

"Thank you. I want to learn." Cole replied, sitting upright in the chair as the one-man war melted into a mock battle for two.

He saw Cullen smile back at him, before resetting the board. It was the first time he felt like himself in a long while.

As for Cole.

He felt human.

#Cole has got to be my favourite character in the entire series I just think he's neat #the boys got SO MUCH GOING ON #And then theres lion boy who. thanks to some mutuals i know made me appreciate cullens story and lore and general everything a lot more #dragon age cole #dai cole #dragon age cullen #cullen rutherford #dragon age inquisiton #dai #dai fic #dragon age companions

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minkmousesworld · 3 years

Note

Hi! I was scrolling through your blog and oh mah lord its amazing 🥺. May I request a forest!au raccoon dog!Tanjiro x snow leopard!reader where the reader is injured, crying and shaking and Tanjiro is trying to calm them down? It's Oki if you can't! I hope you're staying safe and hydrated! Also, don't forget to take breaks bby 🤍

- 🌌

hello, honeymouse♡ thank you for your request! I wasn't sure exactly how you wanted it done, so I left it to my choice. I hope you like it! thank you so much for being so sweet. don't forget to rest and drink water♡

⌞ʟᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ꜱɴᴏᴡꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ⌝

𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢: forest au

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: UST, comforting, mention of blood (wounds), mention of panic, mention of escape

𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤(𝔰): raccoon dog! Tanjirou Kamado x snow leopard! Reader

writer's note: as I was advised, after I completed the request, I fell asleep... and recently I woke up because of the alarm clock, which I put on "just in case". and I realized that I didn't publish. ouch. also! it's so cute when you use au names(´ ω `♡)

Winter.

In your home, in the mountains, it was almost always winter. Pure snow lay on the mountains, untouched by the hot sun or the footprints of others; except that mountain goats and other snow leopards touched it. And you were comfortable with such a neighborhood.

Down below, it was different. Even the air here wasn't as clean, but it was easier to breathe in. You'd even enjoy it.

If only your lungs weren't burning from running for so long.

When you stepped on the fresh snow with your broad paws, you left shallow, bloody footprints, which the snowfall immediately covered up, covering your tracks. It was hard to move, every step was like stepping on sharp stones, but you tried to get as far away as possible, limping and gasping for breath.

Even if you had no idea where this road would lead you.

The wind began to howl even rougher, driving you forward in icy gusts. The blood flowed more slowly, took on a maroon color and froze on you in thin lines. Even the thick fur didn't help with the cold, which was chilling to the bone.

It seemed that with each breath of frosty, dead air, everything inside you cooled and froze. Trapped in the forest, you had no idea where to go to find shelter.

Running away from one death led you to another. You tried to wipe away the tears that had gathered in your eyes and prevented you from seeing further.

Too much stress.

You snuggled up against the tree and buried your nose in the bark, catching your breath. Memories of the past flashed slowly before your eyes, as if frozen. The moment when you were born, when you lived in a cave; when your mother first took you on a Groundhog hunt; when she said that "a good Snow leopard always knows their snow, and a bad Snow leopard dies in the mud".

When she left and you were alone, surrounded by snow and caves. It wasn't something painful, although at first it was unusual to realize that the only reason you might want to see other snow leopards is "mating season". But soon moving forward, finding a cave to sleep in, and getting food was all you cared about.

While the inhabitants of the forest built burrows, formed pairs and hid from the rains and snows, you ran around the mountains, balanced between cliffs and killed future food, sometimes breaking down from the mountains with prey in your teeth, just to make sure that you would have food.

Until They came.

Wrapping a long tail around your leg, you tried to hide from the wind behind a thick trunk with the last of your strength. They smelled of blood and dead things, and you were running faster than you knew what was happening. That alone saved your life.

"Strangers always bring trouble" — that's what your mother told you. She was a very wise snow leopard. [If you had the strength left, you would hope that They didn't reach her, she deserved more].

You put your arms around your shoulders, hugged your knees to your chest, and hid your face in them. The wind will soon stop, and you will be able to find food for yourself. Then go back... there will be no strangers there. You hope for this and that you will find your way back.

Your eyes were uncomfortably close from crying, and your cheeks ached from the cold. It was morning by your biological clock, the time when it was time for you to fall asleep in a cave, tucked into a strategically advantageous corner.

Your head was spinning — from the other air, from the cold, or from fear, you didn't know. The body that had carried you forward on pure fear and lust for life was now a weak meat that needed to rest. Perhaps a little sleep will help you feel better ... Thick fur will protect you from frostbite, frozen wounds from the cold will not disturb.

The wind became weaker. You were sure that by the time you woke up, there would be no wind at all, or it would be very weak. The spirits of the Mountains are merciful to those who need their mercy.

But you couldn't rest.

The smell (pleasant, tart, a stranger) suddenly came up to you. Following the smell, you heard the soft rasp of snow. Something was creeping up on you.

They. They found you.

You didn't understand when you abruptly got to your feet, one paw gripping the trunk of a tree to keep from falling, and when your body became so weak that the sudden rise made you dizzy. It wasn't important.

Your entire body was focused on the outsider, who, meanwhile, was in no hurry to come out of hiding. It was sitting in a thicket of thin branches, and at first you thought you were imagining it.

Before something jerked their ear and you froze in horror. Your throat is parched from the cold; even if you could speak, what would you do? Purred?

Your fingers ached, and you knew that with claws as broken as yours, you would rather catch on to this creature than scratch it. Run away? But where? What if it gets you faster?

Meanwhile, the creature twitched its ear again and... crawled out. It looked a little like a gopher: round, small ears; intelligent, curious eyes. Only the color of this creature was dark, which made it perfectly hide in the bushes and near the trees, but it looked like a bright spot against the background of snow.

When it came out of hiding, looking timidly at you, you didn't move.

It (he? she? the creature looked androgynous, and you didn't understand what gender it was) looked defenseless and tiny, like a weak herbivore that was attracted by an unfamiliar smell. So it wasn't a threat.

Herbivores do not attack without provocation.

But it began to come closer, coming too aggressively fast in front of the bushes.

"Shhh...", the creature stretched out its arms, "it's fine…"

And you staggered back in horror and fell to the snow. The creature paused, letting you catch your breath a few times before starting to get closer. Tears began to gather in his eyes again, making the creature blurry.

But you didn't even try to wipe away the tears.

"Don't cry... It's okay… Don't be afraid of me…"

The creature stretched out its arms. Checkered clothes, hair in a short ponytail, short stature. If you run now, it might catch up. Better to bite. Poor view to aim at the neck.

Even if the review was good, you wouldn't jump at it. Just running.

But it seems to have understood your intentions.

"Wait! I really---"

You immediately rushed back, but fell due to weakness in your hands.

The tears began to gather in her eyes even faster. Your chest ached even more, and you couldn't stand it anymore, sobbing, shaking, trying to crawl as far away as possible. Your body ached for pain and resentment, for your weakness, but your mind screamed that it would devour you, strangers bring only trouble.

The creature stopped. Then it reached into the bag (which, it turns out, was behind its back), and took out something.

Meat.

"You must be hungry," it said softly. "I just want to feed you. Will you let me?"

You couldn't take your eyes off the meat. Not yet frozen, large… you were sure you could smell it. Your body began to whine about hunger, your mind was silent.

"Here, food… I'll just come over to give, okay? I'll leave right away"

The creature crouched, became even smaller and more defenseless, and slowly began to come closer. When it was at the minimum safe distance, it carefully threw a piece of meat closer to you. And then it went away, as promised; timidly (I think, even with regret) looked at you and... went behind the bushes.

And you were left alone. The meat was softer than you thought, but a little bitter. Maybe it was a little rude to chase the creature away like that. On the other hand, what if it was afraid of your reaction and therefore ran away? You just wanted to protect yourself.

With such thoughts, having been sated and warmed, you fell asleep. And even the wounds seemed to hurt less.

◇◇◇

You didn't know what you were dreaming about. The dreams were vague and frightening, and you couldn't get out of them. The images became more eerie and bloody, the sounds grew louder and higher, and you felt trapped.

The only thing that calmed you down was the gentle melody you heard when things got particularly creepy. It was as if there was no escape. Like everything was fine.

The spirits of the Mountains are merciful to those who endure all trials with fortitude, and send their helpers. Sometimes, in your dreams, that creature appeared — with a gentle smile, which said that everything was fine.

And you believed it.

And then they fell back into oblivion.

◇◇◇

You woke up in a warm place.

Earthy air and little light... it was a hole. And you would have rushed up to find the owner and find out what you were doing here, but your body was too weak and your mind was too exhausted. You took a deep breath and looked up. Definitely a hole.

"Good morning", you heard a gentle whisper nearby. "Are you feeling better?"

And after a couple of seconds, next to you sat... a creature.

There was silence. He (up close you could see that it was a rather cute boy) looked you over tenaciously before he began his monologue again:

"You had serious injuries, so I brought you to my house", he raised his head, looking around as if for the first time, "do you like it? Not as cozy as my family's burrow, but after I became an adult, I tried to recreate the same atmosphere at home..."

The boy turned to you with a sunny smile.

"My name is Tanjirou. I am one of the raccoon dogs, Kie's son. You probably haven't heard of me… But I'm still happy to see new residents in the forest! It is sometimes quite lonely here, especially during heavy snows. It's a great stroke of luck that I managed to find you! You're so inconspicuous in the snow!"

Tanjirou paused, looking at you. You only nodded weakly, supporting the monologue.

"You're not from around here, are you? From somewhere in the mountains? I... ", the boy suddenly fell silent.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter where you're from, I'm glad to see you anyway! You can stay with me as long as you want, but I won't let you leave until your body is healed! It's important to take care of yourself, you know? And take care of each other too! We're all friends!"

He looked at you kindly again.

"You're lucky you were able to come down. When I saw you, your wounds were monstrous… You're very strong… Is that what I was talking about? Oh, yes! In the forest…"

And under his quiet, lulling voice, talking about all sorts of nonsense, you involuntarily fell asleep. Only at the edge of consciousness did you feel a light, soft kiss on the forehead, and a quiet "sweet dreams" before falling asleep.

◇◇◇

Tanjirou kept his promise and nursed you for a long time until you looked like a healthy snow leopard.

He constantly brought you food and water; changed your bandages and smeared your wounds with medicinal herbs; helped you warm up your muscles when you were finally able to get out of bed on your own. He massaged your shoulders and didn't ask what happened. During bouts of fever, he brought down the temperature, sometimes sat with you at night and gently held your hand, even if you convinced him that you could handle it yourself!

Tanjirou just shook his head, refusing, and did not move away.

◇◇◇

"The season of flowers is here", Tanjirou once told you, as you were doing muscle exercises, preparing to get completely out of his care. "The snows are gone. You?.."

You gave him a curious look.

Tanjirou hesitated uncomfortably and looked away.

"Recently… I mean, you don't look like that anymore...", Tanjirou took a deep breath, and continued quietly: "I mean… Are you planning on leaving?"

You didn't even have to turn your heads to know which face he asked it with.

Sometimes Tanjirou looked like a real puppy.

#🐹.🌌#kimetsu no yaiba scenarios #demon slayer scenarios #tanjirou kamado x reader #tanjiro kamado x reader #🍮.forest au #gender neutral reader #🍑.tanjirou kamado #🍭.comfort #🍭.ust

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matthewtkachuk · 4 years

Text

how to be a heartbreaker: introduction - rafe cameron

Rafe Cameron’s privileged upbringing has let him get away with far too much, for far too long. Between his tormenting of the pogues, running his mouth without consequence, and arrogant attitude, it’s time someone knocked him down a peg. Breaking his bones didn’t work, but maybe you can break his heart.

co-authored with my love, freya @rekrappeter

pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader, unrequited!JJ x reader

warnings: angst, starting a relationship under false pretences, drinking and drug use

word count: 1.4k

a/n: here’s the intro!!!! ah we’re so unbelievably excited to share this with you guys, please please let us know what you think!

series masterlist

Your eyes tore away from the magazine you were lazily flipping through as the three boys you've grown up with stumbled through the door of the château. The argument that you've practiced for the last twenty minutes about them always being late and ditching you completely vanished from your mouth as you saw the two dark haired boys hoisting the blonde one through the house.

"What the fuck happened?" you asked, eyes wide as you jumped from the couch to help them.

JJ Maybank, your best friend, had blood seeping down his forehead and two evident black eyes forming. His nose was bloody, and the closer you got to him, you could bet easy money that it was broken. He spat blood on the floor, groaning as his two best friends, John B and Pope, dropped him on the couch. "Bastards," the blonde hissed, holding the area where his ribs were.

You stood in the middle of the living room, your hands on your hips as you waited for one of the boys to say something. You noticed the small gash above Pope's eyebrow, glancing at his knuckles to see them bloody and bruised. John B's fists were similar, his scars more evident, his shirt was ripped open, buttons missing as if it was thorn off him.

"Can someone please tell me what the hell happened," you raised your voice slightly after a hot second of deafening silence around the château.

JJ coughed, blood bubbling from his lips, "what the fuck do you think happened?"

You sighed in annoyance, walking over to your best friend and sitting next to him. You reached under the couch for the first aid kit that was strategically placed, opening it up and getting the familiar disinfecting wipes and dressings to clean the boys up. The blonde looked at you, eyes following your every move. It was something he was used to seeing, you looking after him and he realised he never voiced how grateful he was for it.

"Sit," you snapped at the other two boys standing there dumbfounded, handing two wipes to them to clean themselves up. "This is the third time this week, what the hell is going on?"

"Y/n, you should have heard what they were saying," Pope mumbled, wincing slightly when he rubbed his eyebrow. You rolled your eyes at the thought of what Rafe Cameron and his goons could say to make these boys heat up this bad.

"I hope they look as bad as you do," you directed the comment to JJ, watching him close his eyes as you cleaned the blood from his face. His breathing settled, the pain easing at your touch. "What did they say?" you asked.

Again, you were met with silence.

"It couldnt have been that bad," you muttered, feeling the tension rise around the house. JJ peeked his eyes open, looking at Pope and John B who shrugged their shoulders.

"They were just talking shit about you," JJ muttered, "Trying to get a rise from me."

You raised an eyebrow in his direction, eyes quickly scanning the cuts and bruises on his face and you couldn’t help but chuckle, "Looks like they got exactly what they wanted. JJ, I don’t give a fuck what they say about me, just stop getting into fights over it."

JJ sighed in annoyance, sitting up on his elbows bringing his body closer to yours. The blood drained from your face quickly, your heart hammering against your chest due to the close proximity. Pope swallowed nervously for you, watching your eyes dance around his friend's face. He looked over at John B, who looked between the pair awkwardly before Pope took his attention away from you.

"They can't talk shit about you and get away with it," JJ hissed.

"They've been doing it for years," you mumbled, feeling yourself getting shy. He was the only boy you ever got shy around, despite being your best friend. It all happened three years ago, when he kissed you as a way to get rid of an annoying ex-girlfriend and you realised you had stupidly fell for your gorgeous, dumb best friend. You never told him and you never acted on it, he thanked you for the kiss and skipped off to another touron that same night while you were left gobsmacked.

"Thats the thing! They can't keep doing it, someone has to knock them a few feet down!" JJ said, feeling his blood boil at the memory of the horrific words Rafe said about you.

You hushed him, placing a plaster over his forehead before grabbing the bloody wipes to toss them away. JJ moved to sit comfortably on the couch, watching you walk to the bin. "He keeps talking shit about how he'd fuck you and how he'd have you at the palm of his hand if he tried."

You grimaced at the words, looking at Pope who nodded shamefully. "Honestly y/n, we have to do something about it."

"Like what?" You huffed, throwing your hands down in frustration. "You tried beating them up, and look at you! All of you!"

"W-we thought of something else.." JJ mumbled, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.

Pope groaned, dropping his body on the couch beside JJ, "No, let me rephrase that. JJ and John B had an idea. I want nothing to do with this."

"What is it?" you asked.

John B glanced at JJ before a smirk tugged on his lips, "Rafe talks so much about having you and shit like that, we were thinking, well we can't break his bones... we're tried that... so-"

"So why not break his heart?" JJ piped up, interrupting the brunet.

"Are you sure Rafe Cameron has a heart?" You chuckled, not piecing together what they were indicating at.

"Not a very nice one but what he does have, we think you could break it," John B said. Your eyes widened at his words, suddenly entering into a coughing fit. You bent over, grabbing your stomach.

"Y-you want me-me to do what?" You coughed.

JJ jumped from the couch, despite the pain shooting through his ribs, and he knelt in front of you, grabbing your face in his hands. "Look, it's perfect. You make him fall in love with you and then you break his heart, simple."

Pope rolled his eyes from the other side of the room, "its not that simple."

"Why not, Pope?" John B asked.

Pope looked at you briefly before sighing, "this isn't some teen romance movie, life comes with complications and the big one here is that rafe is an asshole and wont fall in love with y/n."

"Who wouldn't fall in love with y/n? She's perfect," JJ exclaimed, standing up beside you. Your heart fluttered at his words, looking at him hopeful before your eyes found Pope's, who gave you that look you were all too familiar with. The look that read ‘dont think too much into it’. Pope was the only one who knew how you felt about JJ, he caught onto your longing looks and girly giggles; something he never would have connected with you previously.

"You have to do it, y/n, they almost killed JJ tonight.." John B pouted, running his hands through his tousled hair.

"Guys, I-i don't know.."

"We'll be there with you for it all, helping you, guiding you," JJ pouted, "Please, do it for me."

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, thinking of the possibilities. Pretending to like Rafe Cameron, making him fall in love with you, and ultimately breaking his heart. It would be tough, it would be painful, but it could be a way to bring you and JJ closer. "What's in it for me?"

"We'll get rid of the no pogue on pogue making rule," John B smirked, eying at Pope before looking at you and JJ. Your mouth agape, you glanced at Pope who shrugged his shoulders confused. "Come on, I know you have a thing for that Leo guy."

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, relaxing your shoulders before looking around at the boys. JJ's blue eyes were hopeful, urging you to accept the challenge. John B looked as if you already agreed, sitting confidently on the chair. Pope's look was more reluctant and apprehensive, chewing on his inner cheek.

"Fine, I'll do it."

JJ hollered loudly, "Let's make you a heartbreaker."

htbah taglist (link to google form is in the series masterlist!): @solllaris @drewswannabegirl @starrystarkey93 @httpstarkey @sweetlysilent @drewstarkey @dontjinx-it @ultranikilove @spencereidbasis @meaganjm @starlightstarkey @thortheestallion @jiaraendgame @idocarealot @tempestuousjj @pink-meringues @dpaccione @arianabrashierstuff

rodeo rafe babies who said they were interested: @scandalousfemale @outerbankslut @honeyycheek @jellyfishbeansontoast @ilovejjmaybank @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @girlsru1eboysdroo1

diverdcwn everything taglist: @velyssaraptor @danicarosaline @copper-boom @x-lulu @prejudic3 @downbytheouterbanks @bricksatanakinswindow @sunwardsss @rudyypankow @im-a-stranger-thing @alexa-playafricabytoto @combativehood @sortagaysortahigh @socialwriter @bluesiderudy

#rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron #rafe cameron angst #diverdcwn writes #freyby writes

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utterlyhopeful-fics · 3 years

Text

Love on the Line - Part 6

A/N: It’s finally here!!!

MASTERLIST P1 P2 P3 P4 P5

Henry Cavill x Reader

If I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: heartache, language, angst, a pinch of lovey dovey fluff, cliffhanger

*****************************

“Ohhh myy god…it’s official. This is the best burger of my life, hands down.”

What could easily be perceived as orgasmic music delightfully made its way to his ears. Seb chuckled studying the beautiful girl across from him admiring her combination of burger grease, ketchup, and mustard staining her chin. Y/N was too lost in the delicious meal to notice Seb gleefully watching her. In an instant his hand wiped away the condiment catching Y/N by surprise. She smiled bashfully blushing.

“Told you I knew a place.”

She sighed genuinely happy in them moment; “I could die a happy girl tomorrow because of this sweet, juicy perfection of a burger. All thanks to you.”

“What can I say? I have good taste.”

“And how did you run across this wonderous joint? Kinda feels off the beaten path.”

“Well, when you fly as much as me you learn to ask around. I never trust the internet when it comes to what I put in my body. I like to know what and where the locals scavenge for a tasty meal.”

“You continue to surprise me …I admire your style, Seb. Original, classy, and you no doubt just about charm the pants off any person who walks your way.”

“Is it working now?” He flashed his most flirtatious smile devouring another sweet potato fry.

Quick on her feet, she shot back with wit and attitude; “Should it be?”

“I gotta say Y/N, I’ve never been happier to wake someone up on a plane until I met you.”

“Damn, you’re suave, Seb. Fucking suave.”

Her eyes bulged from their sockets at her crude choice of words; “Shit, I’m sorry. Ah, fuck.”

His laugh flew through the air like wind on a crisp fall evening; her cheeks flushed.

“I’m not usually such a sailor. Guess you bring out the best in me.”

“I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I kinda like that I fluster you if I’m being honest.”

“So smooth. Are you sure you’re not from LA? I get the sense that’s a requirement in these parts?”

He shook his head in stark disagreement; “Nope, sorry to disappoint you. Just a common foreigner.”

“And a handsome one at that.”

Shocked at her boldness, Y/N stared down at the remnants of food moving her fries as a distraction from his adorable gaze.

“I haven’t felt this at ease in …well I can’t remember. It’s nice.”

“Couldn’t agree more. I never actually asked what brings you here?”

Seb nervously scratched the back of his head; “Uh, work. Like I said, I travel pretty frequently. Hollywood is a hub of sorts for me. What brings you here?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll take the hint and pry later. Well, I’m a writer and some big exec wants to discuss the rights to my book series. So, yeah.”

“Y/N, that’s amazing! Are you secretly a super hero, part of the Avengers maybe?”

“Hahah, flattery will certainly get you far. No doubts there.”

“You’re too kind, Y/N. I’m definitely far from perfect.”

“Good. Perfection is overrated. Flaws are attractively imperfect. I mean at the end of the day we’re only human.”

“Consider me intrigued. I’ve gotta stop by a bookstore and check you out now!”

“Oh, hush! If you must know, I try to keep a low profile. So, uh, how long are you here for?”

“A couple days. I’ve got a bit of free time after my meeting tomorrow and thinking of hitting some trails while I’m here. Don’t get me wrong, LA is cool and all, but kinda suffocating. I try and maintain my distance if possible.”

“Oh, you’re preaching to the choir. The hustle and bustle of London is the literal definition of overwhelming. Countryside getaways were my one true savior. Sometimes London feels like an overpacked sardine can just waiting to explode.”

“So why did you stay?”

Y/N bit her lip trying to keep quiet. She hadn’t once though of Henry since meeting Seb. The lump in her throat appeared by just the mere mention of her subconscious. A part of her wasn’t ready to reveal the ache left beneath her exterior.

“Friends and family. What else ties a person to one place?”

“Love? A relationship?”

His coyness was flattering. She gave into his curiosity.

“Are you asking if I’m single?” Her feigned expression was enough to send him into a fit of harmonious laughter.

“Maybe, maybe not. Depends on your answer, I guess. Part of me believes you’re too good to be true which usually means taken.”

“HA, no. Relationships and I are not on speaking terms at the moment.”

“Ah, sounds like heartbreak hotel is just around the corner….”

“I recently got out of a long-term relationship. So, to answer your question; Yes, I’m single and so not ready to mingle.”

“Are you assuming I’m hitting on you?” His shocked appearance made her question their entire encounter and if she’d been reading the signs wrong all along.

“Well, good thing I’m only here for the coffee and platonic company, hm?”

Seb raised his mug in salute as her stress magically melted away; “Break-ups suck. But allow for a real opportunity to see who you really are. Pain can be a bitter reminder of sadness and strength.”

“Wow, philosophizing so soon into our newly found friendship? A man after my own heart!”

Y/N playfully placed her hand over her heart, smiling for particular reason.

“How about if you’re interested and only 100% positive you aren’t sick of my company; we do dinner or even drinks? Whichever the lady chooses.”

Seb motioned in jest. Y/N tried to remember the last time she’d felt so carefree unable to pin down an exact memory. For far to long Y/N trapped herself in a fog allowing Henry to rule over her even when he wasn’t physically there. It had to stop, she had to quit placing him on a pedestal if she had any luck of moving on from their failed love affair. One torturous long minute passed as Seb’s nerved ramped up.

“Shit, I’m that weird dude, now. Forget I asked and let’s chalk it up to an amazing afternoon as strangers who leave this diner and head back to our own separate lives without consequence?”

Again, Y/N was speechless contemplating what she truly wanted to do next.

“First things first, stop blubbering, you seriously are ungodly handsome. And on second note, our chance meeting was unexpected but kinda sorta awesome. I’d love to see you again. I can’t recall the last time I’ve felt so free…and don’t even get me started on the belly aches due to your comedic skills.”

“Damn, a woman that speaks her mind. Are you sure you’re not in politics?”

“Nope, never, no thank you. Sooo, it’s a date?”

Seb furrowed his eyebrow in pleasant surprise; “You said it, not me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes; “Yeah, yeah. What do the kids say nowadays…. YOLO?”

“Yes, and please never say that again.”

A napkin holder was placed strategically resting against the window sill. Seb signaled to their middle-aged waitress; “Pardon me, do you have a pen handy?”

“Course, darling. Anything for ya.” She winked dropping the pen on the edge of the checkered table leaving them to privacy. He scribbled his number on the grainy piece of paper and slid it her way.

“I’ll leave the ball in your court and pass the privilege of reaching out to confirm details.”

“Wow, and they say chivalry is dead? Obviously not in Romania.”

“What fine establishment do they have you shacking up in?”

“Chateau Marmont. Long story short, my publisher fully embraces and understands my introverted nature and love of historical hotels. Call me an oddball.”

“Oddball.”

They snickered like school children slowly understanding their time was coming to a close. A power, a force of sorts gravitated Y/N towards him. He felt the same way.

“I happen to think women who especially history buffs are so incredibly magnificent. I haven’t met many as beautiful as you.

Their flirtation skyrocketed like flicks of fire firing between them.

“Knowledge is like your super power…. also, intelligent women are a complete turn on.”

She swatted his arm smiling like a kid in a candy shop.

“Come on, let’s get outta here. I’ll drop you off.”

He offered his hand helping Y/N to her feet. She lingered a second too long. With Seb a couple steps behind her, she missed the clinch of his fists and Seb’s reddened cheeks.

---The Next Day---

No luxury was forgotten as Y/N observed her decadent hotel room, but no matter how comfortable the memory foam or high thread count sheets, Y/N tossed restlessly the whole night. Her anxieties attacking her mind at every possible angle. Worry engulfed her clutching on her own insecurities. Her fear?

That she’d walk into David Fincher’s office and leave very humiliated and very far from home. Henry’s ghost loitered just out of reach. A ghost can be many a thing; a memory, a daydream, a secret, but most times, a wish. Old or new. But that was the past, memories she must let go of.

Y/N stared at the ceiling wishing her bed to open up and swallow her whole finally dozing off to her temporary dreamland. But sunlight painted the walls like a colorful painting. She stretched and moaned at the sensations of her waking bones.

Making her way to the bathroom, Y/N’s phone chimed forcing her to circle back towards the obnoxious device.

Seb: Buna dimineata prietene! (Good Morning, friend)

Y/N: Romanian? So early in the morning. How dare you sir?

Blinking dots ran across the screen as Y/N waited impatiently for his witty response.

Seb: Never too early for greatness. As they say in the theater, break a leg! But not an actual leg because I might be looking forward to our date. Okay, good luck with the meeting!

Y/N: Thanks for the good juju. Same to you! Call you later.

She unconsciously rubbed at the tender swell in her chest, the fluttering in her belly kicking wildly. Butterflies. It’d been ages since she’d been this excited and it surprised Y/N. Maybe she was ready for something more…Y/N shook her head ridding herself of such silly thoughts. She knew better than to rush full steam ahead.

---Later that day---

The fourteenth floor was decorated to architectural perfection. Every space had its purpose and the décor elegantly stylish. There she stood in the presence of cinematic greatness! As Y/N was about to pinch herself, she heard an echo of a name. Looking up, she searched for the unknown voice before landing on an enthusiastic figure waving her direction.

“Y/N! So nice to finally see you in person. I’m Meg.”

“Meg, so glad to put a face to a name. Thank you for having me.”

Both women walked down a hallway lined of glass walls smiling at those who looked up.

“David has talked nonstop about your series. So much so that I ended up devouring your books in three days. You’re freaking brilliant!”

“You really think so? I worked my ass off to get it through any publishing house. I was on the verge of chucking my ideas in the trash and getting an actual job that paid real money if it wasn’t for a last-ditch effort.”

“I’ve blocked off a thirty-minute window before his next meeting begins. He’s booked back-to-back today but by no means feel rushed. He hates when I push him. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Her head bobbed nonchalantly taking notice of the stunning scenery from the 17th level.

“Alright, here goes nothing.”

“Best of luck, Y/N.”

Meg knocked; “Come in!”

“David, this is Y/N.”

“Thanks, Meg. Close the door behind ya, we’ve got loads to discuss.”

David extended his hand towards Y/N’s shaking firmly. Y/N reminded herself to breath and to quickly find her manners.

She stuttered trying to remember common speech causing David to laugh aloud.

“Ms. Y/N, you okay?”

“Yyess—just a tad shell shocked. I mean, I can’t believe I’m standing in a room with the David Fincher. Unbelievable, really. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

“I should be the one thanking you. You wrote one hell of a series that I trust can be transferred stunningly over to the silver screen where it can be fully appreciated. I’ve never seen someone mold together so many genres with such ease yet adding a layer of complexity. You, young lady, kept me guessing every twist and turn. That doesn’t happen too often if you catch my drift.”

“I-I, it’s just nice all those late-night writing sessions and waiting tables paid off. I’ll have you know I was on the verge of giving it all up and going back to school.”

“So, let’s get down to details. My team and I have come up with an offer that is totally open for negotiations.”

David slid a piece of paper into view. Y/N stared at the parchment gob smacked. Her jaw fell open at the written proposal.

“Holy shit.” Her eyes snapped up at her vulgar language; “Shit! I don’t mean to be impolite.”

“Ha, it’s a bit flabbergasting upon first glance but I promise you I want to do everything in my power to make this work for both parties.”

“Am I…am I reading this correctly?”

“Indeed, $10 million for the first two films, advancing to an additional $13, $15, $17 million for the last three. Of course, aiding us in the writer’s room to make sure we bring your story to live through your eyes. This will undoubtfully increase book sales across the board, I’d say upwards of $60 million if all goes accordingly. Also, I didn’t forget about making you an executive producer.”

“You’re kidding me, riight? Am I dreaming?”

“You’re gonna be a big deal once the tabloids get their sticky fingers on this. I mean this is going to skyrocket you to the likes of Stephenie Meyer and Suzanne Collins status. I mean, I had to outbid Peter Jackson just for a chance at directing this masterpiece. Darling, you’re all Hollywood can talk about right now.”

“Wow, I’m, uh, seriously grateful. I guess I’ve been shacking up in London far too long. I don’t really read celeb gossip so needless to say I’ve been in my own bubble.”

“A huge thank you goes out to Henry Cavill for pitching the initial idea. He helped get the recognition you deserve. Nice fellow, that one.”

Momentary shock came over her face, mouth still agape; “He—Henry had a hand in this?”

“Most certainly. He was the one who brought it to my attention. Of course, he mentioned the desire to work with me was motivation enough, but genuinely, he seemed passionate about the project.”

“I-I had no idea.” Switching gears as fast as possible Y/N trotted forth; “So realistically, when can we get the ball rolling?”

“Once the proper documents are signed and stamped, we’re good to go. If negotiations aren’t necessary, I’d say within the next month or so we can start casting calls, booking air fare, figuring out destination shoots, getting a manuscript going. It comes together faster than people think. How about this; you mull it over, call whoever you need, and get back at me in the next couple of days. Sound good?”

“Sounds more than good! I think I’ll be forever be in your debt, Mr. Fincher.”

“Please, call me David. We have a long road ahead of us that has truly stoked a fire in me, all thanks to you.”

Her nerves triumphed pushing Henry to the back of her mind. Y/N had bigger fish to fry.

“May I be frank with you, David?”

“By all means.”

“As you probably know Henry’s my ex-fiancée. Is it true you’re possibly considering him for the lead role?”

David looked around quizzically composing himself.

“I figured we’d have to address the elephant in the office. Yes, I was aware and I didn’t consider him to be malicious. He’s a genius actor and I figured it was worth a chat. But if you’re worried about anything, just say the word.”

“No, no. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize his successes. I agree, he’s an untapped actor full of surprising talent. I’ll be okay.”

“You promise?”

“Yep.”

“Great! Rest assured he isn’t even in the country. Believe he’s still galivanting about London.”

Silently pleading to change the subject, Y/N snapped out of it as quickly as she flew in to.

“This is a dream come true. I’m really looking forward to working with you and bringing my story to life.”

The squeaky hinge of the door alerted her to Meg’s foreboding presence. Taking a cue, Y/N stood up shaking David’s hand beaming like a child on Christmas Eve.

“I’ll be in touch, Y/N. Until then, enjoy your stay. Venture out. You’ll find LA isn’t all plastic and bullshit.”

“Oh, thank god. For a second I was getting nervous.”

“Haha! Meg, next appointment here?”

“Yes, he’s right around the cor--.”

“Y/N?”

She searched for the familiar voice unable to pin it down.

“Seb!? Wha...what are you doing here? I thought you had that big meeting today?”

“Uh, I do. That’s why I’m here.”

Sebastian nervously scratched his neck. Bewildered and thoroughly confused Y/N pushed on; “Wait a minute…. Are you an ...?”

“Actor, yes.”

“Whoa, whoa whoa. Wait.”

“Holy shit. You’re Shirley Lovecraft. Catchy pseudo name. So, you’re the brains behind this witty madness. What an interesting turn of events if I do say so myself, a happy one.”

“Agreed. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. Kinda embarrassing.”

“Don’t. A perfect afternoon with someone who wasn’t using me for fame or money? Did I mention you look breathtaking today?”

Her cheeks fumed with heat stirring her butterflies back to life. Seb’s hand stilled on her waist unwilling to let go as they continued gazing at the other.

“Earth to Seb?

Seb broke eye contact first glancing over at David. Y/N was too busy memorizing the glimmer of his cobalt blue eyes.

“Yes, ah! So rude of me. Hello there, so great of you to squeeze me in. I appreciate it.”

He directed his attention towards Y/N once more leaning close to the shell of her ear; “Still on for drinks later?”

“Definitely.”

His wink sparked a jolt to her core leaving her weak in the knees. Somehow, some way, Y/N mustered enough confidence to walk without tripping. She glowed the whole walk to the elevator. Y/N pressed the button too lost in thought to hear the quiet ding of arrival strolling straight into a hard chest. Enormous hands grasped her shoulders; “Oh! Apologies Ms.”

“No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying atten—oh shit.”

Only one particularly charming British accent that could send a chill down her spine, one very distinguishable voice indeed.

“Y/N?”

Time froze icily still.

“What the fuck? Henry??”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @thedeadhearted @giveusbackourbucky @henry-cavill-obsessed @onlyhenrys @omgkatinka @thereisa8ella @threeminutesoflife @homewreckingwreck @gemini0410 @maan14@bluegalaxyprime @sofiebstar @whyyykitkat @encounterthepast @readermia @ly-canthropewrites @scorpionchild81 @henrythickcavill @snowbellexx @stephartrave @agniavateira @cap-barnes @henryfanfics101 @mary-ann84 @westcoast-nightowl @poledancingdinos @justaboringadult @peakygroupie @nalathefirefly @vikingsbifrost @bloodyinspiredfuck @moderapoppins @cooldiva1234 @icedcoffeeismythang @titty-teetee @summersong69 @kaatelyyynn @missursulacalmet @michelehansel @iloveyouyen @shyshu @star017 @raynosaurus-rex @radkesgirl83 @starrynite7114 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @i-love-scott-mccall @darkbooksarwin @ellieseymour70 @designerwriterchic @studywithrosie01 @dangerouslovefanfic @lebguardians @crazybutconfidentaf @hen-cavill @cavill-sass @oh-for-fic-sake @icedbottles @buckysgoldenheart @brexrif @gryffindorwriter @laketaj24 @foxyjwls007 @lawsofthejungle @henrycavillfanpage @kaboogie21 @fangirl199812 @gothicninibalor @qualitynightkoala @strictlybuckybarnes @toomanyfandomsshreya @hersilencescreams-blog @viking-raider @sesamepancakes @madbaddic7ed @fuckoffbard @funfickgirl22 @inlovewithhisblueeyes @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @hoeforhenry @henrycavills-babe @abschaffer2 @loving-this @one-of-those-fanfiction-blogs @lovelycavills @beck07990 @bokillylovesloki @michelehansel

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry x y/n #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfic #my writing #henry cavill fluff #love on the line #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill oneshot #fanfic

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morkofday · 3 years

Text

some heihua for the soul

so the update for Binding isn’t happening today bc my brain is complete mush after trying to aggressively finish my thesis yesterday and i decided to give my brain two days off bc of that. also, i promised @ashenwren some time to beta read the ending part (which they already did but! now i need some time with it myself) so i am leaving everybody to wait until saturday.

meanwhile, i am offering yall a sneak peek/first look at my heihua fic which is very loosely tied to my pingxie. basically, this is just me playing around with hei xiazi as a character and his and xiao hua’s dynamic’s more... tender side.

i know that @jockvillagersonly and ashen have already read this which has been amazing so thank you for your love ♥ but take this again ^^ also thanks to @cross-d-a for listening to me ramble about heihua and sharing this idea with me. and thank you to @i-am-just-a-kiddo who i’m doing all of this for ♥ you are the best parent-in-law for these two and this fandom!

It’s a bad week for him.

First, it’s the girl he finds while raiding a warehouse full of smuggled weapons and possibly, most likely, drugs. She’s maybe twelve, eyes wide and hair messy, bones poking her skin where Hei Xiazi can see her elbows flashing under her short sleeves. There are bruises around her wrists and burn marks on the inside of her arms. She doesn’t speak but she doesn’t have to, all of her screaming of experiences worthy of a hundred years instead of a dozen.

She presses her face into her hands when Hei Xiazi fires his gun, and he feels something come loose inside of him at the broken, aborted noise she makes that rings louder than the shot itself.

Hei Xiazi carries her kicking and screaming out of the warehouse, leaving behind the slowly ending gun fight and the smell of gasoline. She only goes silent once Hei Xiazi puts her down, flinching bodily away from him but not going far. She hovers, fingers slowly curling around the hem of his long jacket while they wait, shoulders hunching against the cold. Hei Xiazi offers her his jacket with a smile, buys her a sandwich which she then throws up, and helps her into a hospital once they’re safe to leave.

No one else stays behind with her. All the other people they found from that warehouse scattered as soon as the fight began and only she remained, lost in the thought of having to leave the premises that had become her world. She has no family, no house, no money. Hei Xiazi watches her leave with the social workers, bones of her wrists like twigs threatening to snap even after some proper meals and eyes so big they seem to swallow the light around her. She still hasn’t said a word. Hei Xiazi doubts she ever will.

Her pale face looks like a ghost as she turns to give Hei Xiazi one last glance over her shoulder, and that’s what she becomes to him once he goes home and puts that warehouse out of his mind. It’s hard and he feels himself haunted, and whatever it was that got loose in his chest rattles like the tail of a snake.

Then, he hears about Su Wan. Hears about the mission that went south with the three youngsters. Hears about Su Wan getting hurt.

It isn’t anything new in their line of business to get hurt, to even die. When he first met the boy in the desert, he predicted he would find him six feet under after only a day. There was too much softness in Su Wan, too much trust, too much naivete. He had a big brain and clever ideas but his core was gooey, leaking out in way too telling bursts, leaving nothing hidden.

Su Wan had reminded Hei Xiazi of young Wu Xie. Even his floundering with his knife had reminded him of Wu Xie. Even his adaptability had been annoyingly similar to Wu Xie’s, and Hei Xiazi had questioned his taste in students. At least the boy had paid better. At least the boy hadn’t been wishing to die.

He had not expected, after knowing all of that, to experience such fear when he first heard that Su Wan had gotten himself stabbed and had almost bled out in a cave, with only Li Cu and Yang Hao to look after himself and a saving bed of a hospital hours away. His hands had shook, making it impossible to hold anything while trying to breathe, and he had quickly been reminded of the little girl, torn open and going a bit feral just because she didn’t know what to do.

It was a surprisingly new thing to care. As surprising as the fact that he still knew of such things.

“I thought I had taught you better, kid,” he says as he goes to the hospital, in the middle of the night of all things, having to cover Su Wan’s mouth so that he doesn’t scream and wake up the better half of the city. The boy’s eyes are wide and heartbeat rapid under his fingers where he can feel it pulsing against Su Wan’s jaw. Then the boy is scrambling at his fingers to speak from between them. He pulls his hand away.

“Hei-ye!” the boy whispers fervently, like an anchor casted in water. “I thought you were out of the country!”

“I was until yesterday when I heard that you got stabbed,” he explains, voice leaning more towards mockery than any actual care. Su Wan knows what that means. The boy knows more than anyone else has ever known about a person like Hei Xiazi. It’s a strange thing but Hei Xiazi has come to almost like it.

“I’m fine!” the boy chirps, lighting up like a lightbulb. Hei Xiazi helps him sit in his bed, snatching a chair for himself from the corner, and then evaluates the damage. Su Wan is smiling while a thick roll of bandages circle his stomach. There are at least thirty stitches there, curving along his side. Some more adorn his bicep where he tried to evade another blade. A darkening bruise is making his cheek swell, casting an extra shadow under his chin.

Hei Xiazi sighs and closes his eyes when Su Wan starts to tell the story, his voice a soft whisper made even softer with lingering sleep. The beep of the machines tell Hei Xiazi the boy is alive. The painful thrum of his own heart tells him he’s alive too.

Su Wan falls asleep holding onto Hei Xiazi’s sleeve. He cannot remember how the boy got the leather between his fingers but prying his hold away is like bending steel. It feels impossible and burns equal amounts.

Finally, he slips back into the cold night.

He doesn’t go to his apartment, the one he’s currently occupying, his few belongings strewn across the floor and nothing making the place feel like his. Even after years and years and years, some part of him still feels sick at the thought of emptiness. He’s tried his hardest to carve his bones empty and chest clean but after each year spent alone or with someone or wanting, he realizes it’s a battle he cannot win. There’s something terribly strong under his ribs. It refuses to die even before his curse of immortality and the knowledge that goes beyond his comprehension. It refuses to die even when facing the cold, cruel world.

The walls surrounding the Xie Manor are high but not high enough to keep him at bay. If they were, he would’ve never come here. He would’ve never returned, not after he once left.

Climbing up the wall of the manor to the third floor makes his lungs burn, but then he’s pushing the window open already, stepping silently onto the polished floor.

“Xiazi,” a familiar voice says, not even pretending to sound sleepy. “It’s three in the morning. Is it really a suitable time to be visiting the head of Xie family?”

Hei Xiazi smiles, shrugging off his leather jacket and placing it onto the back of a chair beside him. The air in the room feels chilly with the window open but he likes to hear the noises from outside and he likes the line of silver painted onto the floor and across the luxurious double bed. He likes that he can pretend his vision is so clear just because of the moon.

“Hua’er-ye,” he says back, voice like honey because he loves to tease this man and loves how the tone makes his perfect eyebrows pinch. “Are you sure this isn’t a dream?”

“I would dream you naked at least, not dripping mud all over my floors.”

“As you wish,” he says and reaches for his own belt before moving closer to the bed, toeing his shoes off on the first two steps.

Xie Yuchen is warm but firm when Hei Xiazi meets his body, crashing into his lips and then slipping hands down his silk covered spine. He hums, hiding his laugh. He’s always loved the absolute brilliance and practicality and strength of this man but under all that, Xie Yuchen is a little spoiled. A rich family head. A powerful man with more money than Hei Xiazi could possibly imagine. He’s never tried, not really caring. For all his acting, he’s never gone for Xie Yuchen for his money.

He takes care of helping Xie Yuchen out of his expensive pajamas, kissing him wet and shivering after each uncovered piece of skin. There is something beautiful about Xie Yuchen in the stark light of the moon, eyes burning bright and the line of his throat like an invitation. Hei Xiazi wishes he could tell him that, sometimes, but he’s preferred to seal his lips. His poetry would not suit the ears of Xie Yuchen.

He’s never been one for pretty words, crude and almost barbaric instead, tongue made out of barbwire and mind of a strategic plan. Between them, all those edges exist in harmony, and so he’s never felt the need for anything more, enjoying the simplicity of just being.

Ironically, as the sun is already rising, coloring the horizon with its colorless light, he still descends into words. It’s like something is pulling them out of his chest, and when there’s a force outside of his control beneath his ribs, he cannot do anything but unravel upon Xie Yuchen’s white satin sheets.

“There was this girl,” he says, looking into the still remaining dark – or as dark as anything can be for his eyes, that comfort taken from him ages ago. “I saved her from a warehouse a couple of days ago. She didn’t speak, couldn’t eat because she’d been kept hungry for so long. There were burn marks on her arms, probably from cigarettes or a lighter. They told me she was thirteen. She didn’t look like she was thirteen.”

Xie Yuchen’s hands are on his back, brushing lightly against his shoulder blades, drawing something there. His heartbeat is steady under Hei Xiazi’s cheek and his skin burns, burns, burns. He remembers how he had looked at that girl in the eyes and seen himself there.

“I remember,” he says quietly, closing his eyes, “feeling the same burn on my skin. I have no memories of when or why but I know there were cigarettes. I know her pain. I know the scars.”

“Were you a child back then?” Xie Yuchen asks, his body a strong, sturdy thing against him. A rock. A mountain. He never thought he would feel lost in this world but there is something about himself in every child he’s ever saved, in all of their wide, fearful eyes, in all of their screams, their desperate fight, their bared teeth and messy heads of hair. There’s something about him in all of their thrumming, wild panic, like a bird under their skin; in their desperation to get away, to find a place to belong, to find safety and food and trust. To heal a body that has not been their own or has felt like an enemy or a liability or a curse.

He cannot remember the time he was a child, cannot remember the time before he went blind and began to see too much, cannot remember being anything but this eternal man on the outskirts of the world. He cannot remember ever having a family or feeling the absence of it.

But then, there’s this echo in his mind. It rings back from the eyes of every child he’s ever tried to help. He thinks, maybe, he still knows how he lost.

“I only remember being burned,” he says. “I only remember the pain and being afraid. And isn’t that a stupid thing to remember when it could be so many things?” He laughs, as much as it can be a laugh when something twists inside of his chest, bringing tightly together that something that was let loose. He chokes on it, feeling his voice die down. Xie Yuchen turns beside him so that they both lie on their sides, looking at each other. The line of the moon falls over Xie Yuchen’s hips and almost lands on Hei Xiazi’s waiting hand.

“Bad things linger,” Xie Yuchen says with a certainty of a man who knows this to be true. During the years, Hei Xiazi has learned a couple of the bad things that happened to this proud man. “But you are turning them into something good.”

“And how much does it change to save a couple of children?” he huffs, tired of the heart that cannot leave him at peace.

“For them, everything.”

#dmbj #the lost tomb #heihua #hei xiazi #xiao hua #all feedback is appreciated i suppose #just wanted to share this here #expect binding on saturday!#enjoy your weekend everybody!!#also yes i will die #for hxz adopting random kids #cross your brain was so lovely #for providing me with this #my fic

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harmoni-me · 3 years

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Hello! I’m not sure if your requests are still open but, if they are here you go! I wanted to ask if you could write me a request of Nagito Komaeda x a reader who is the ultimate Chess Master? I kinda wanted to imagine him falling in love or already dating his S/O who plays chess as a professional and is more on the kinder side when it comes to him. Good luck! 💖

Ooo! This is such a unique concept, and I absolutely love it! Writing it was an absolute joy! Thank you so much for the amazing request <3

Nagito Komaeda x Ultimate Chess Master Reader!

The ultimate nurse, the ultimate swords-woman, the ultimate photographer…everyone in this class seemed to posses such interesting talents. It made you feel quite jealous, in some sort of way.

Now, of course you never thought of your talent as boring, useless, or unnecessary in the slightest! After all, you were the Ultimate Chess Master. You believed that everyone should try chess at least once before inflicting their nasty opinions on the strategic game. Unfortunately, that was already too late when it came to…basically your entire school life.

In Elementary, you would ask the kids on the playground to play a quick game of speed chess, because you thought it was a fun way to spend time with friends! But all you got in return were child-built insults, saying that chess was stupid and boring. It’s quite ridiculous to admit, but those comments still float around your mind sometimes. Kids were harsh, still are…

In Middle School, you had a few close friends, and when you asked one of them to try playing a game of chess with you, all they did was look at you weirdly, a look that only seemed to scream “uh, are you serious?”. This was when you started to question your liking for chess. Was it that weird? Am I the only one my age that thinks that chess is actually a fun game?

Now, you were sitting in class at Hope’s Peak Academy, a school full of the elite, yet…

This was the first time you felt truly, whole-heartily ashamed about your love for the game of chess.

“Are you kidding me? Chess? You got into this school for an old-people game like CHESS!? Pfft-!” A girl in twin blonde pony tails and an orange kimono let out a shrill of laughter.

“An…old people game….?” You muttered to yourself, steadily becoming a little closed off from the rest of the class.

You’re love for chess was parallel to how you played, which was almost unbeatable on a professional level, yet…

Why were these comments crushing your heart? Why did it make your love for the game waver?

Class continued like normal, just a little lecture to start off the rest of our high school lives. You honestly weren’t paying attention, your focus more attentive to your little chess notebook, filing it with strategies you wanted to try against high-level computer AI.

Though, it would be nice to have even a complete beginner to play with every once and awhile, though, you might be asking for too much.

Thump

Great, more harassment.

You turned around slightly in your seat, and looked down at the ground it see a crumpled piece of notebook paper that had hit you in the back. You picked it up, and looked around to try and figure out a potential culprit, but it seemed as if everyone was acting normal. No dice, then.

Unfolding the messy ball of paper as quietly as possible, you read what seemed to be words written on the inside.

Meet me in the library today after school, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to be seen with trash like me

The wording on the letter was…strange, but that didn’t stop you from feeling a tiny firework of joy in your heart. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel more nervous than joyous due to how the letter was written. It was surely vague, but it really seemed like the writer as quite the low self esteem.

You were suspicious, but honestly, what could go wrong? It had to be someone from the class that you were just introduced to, so at least it’s not like a blind date sort of thing…

The more you thought about it, the more it actually seemed like a blind date. Nice.

Time seemed to move incredibly slow for the whole rest of the school day, but eventually, the bell had rung, and you were out the door in a heartbeat.

After a little while of asking for directions to the school library, you finally reached your desired location: An absolutely humongous cavern of probably any book one could think of.

Only a couple of students were residing in this literal book mansion, and none of which you recognized.

“I guess they’re not here yet…” You mumbled, sitting yourself by a large, lit fireplace. As the warmth from the flames licked your skin, steadily causing you to naturally relax all of the tensed muscles that were stuck to your bones.

You pulled out your phone, and automatically started a game of online chess with a random opponent. The game was done in a mere ten minutes. The other player was no doubt new to the game, but that’s ok, you were there once too.

You suddenly heard a subtle clunk next to you, making your gaze wander to that direction. It was that boy from your class, the lucky boy. You remember him clearly because you thought his hair resembled a fluffy cloud. The two of you made eye contact, his foggy green eyes squinting a bit when he smiled at you, warming your heart a smidge.

“Y/N L/N, correct? I hope you don’t mind my presence, though it’s ok if you do, I would never blame you on something that’s not your fault.” The thin male crouched down to take a seat on the floor with you, sitting cross-legged.

“Yep, that’s me…and I actually kind of appreciate the meeting, honestly. Even if you just came for simple company, I think that’s very nice of you, especially since everyone in the class already thinks my talent is boring and all…Nagito Komaeda, right? I’m happy to meet you.” You shot a warm smile to the boy, causing him to reciprocate.

“You’re too kind to such untalented scum like myself, all I have is the Devil’s luck, after all! I can’t even control any of it! So I’m glad someone like me can be used as a stepping stone for you to be a beacon of hope!” Nagito chuckled, humored by his own self loathing.

You flipped your whole body to face the living incarnate of a four-leaf clover, “Well, um, on a personal note, I don’t think you’re scum. At all. I think your talent is anything but boring…I also think you’re…quite kind, for hanging out with someone like myself.” Fiddling with your uniform sleeves in nervousness. You just want him to feel better about himself.

The boy went quiet, his smile dwindling from your comment. Was he not used to compliments?

After a few moments in silence, Nagito gazed into your eyes, a new type of smile prettily stitched onto his features. It was almost like this expression was more…vulnerable, uncovering itself under layers upon layers of facades. His face almost made you breath out a sigh of relief at how comforting and relieving his genuine expression was.

“I would like to play with you. I-If you would let me, of course.” Nagito gestured his hands downwards to the chess set he had placed onto the ground since the very beginning. And how did you not notice that? It may or may not be the fact that the boy in front of you seemed to be way more intriguing.

You’re eyes widened as sudden happiness started to flow through every vein within your body. The excitement washed over your soul, rejuvenating it’s prior state of melancholy dreariness. Was…he was serious, right?

“Really…?” Was all that you managed to squeak, causing the lucky student to tilt his head in wonder.

“Hm? Well, of course…I don’t really know who else I would be aski-“

“C-Can we please play speed chess!?” You sputtered, the passion and the fireplace flames reflecting off of your eyes to reveal in an enticing glow.

“Speed Chess?” Questioned the frizzy-haired boy, though he did seem quite interested at your sudden burst of energy.

“Yeah! It’s also commonly referred to as Blitz Chess, and it’s like chess, but you have a very short amount of time to make your moves! It’s super duper fun, and if you want even more fun, then we could also play Bullet Chess! It’s even faster, and a game only takes roughly three minutes if you…keep up…the…pace…” Your words started to get quieter and more mumbled. God, you totally forgot the two of you were in a library, how embarrassing….

A hearty laugh spilled out of Nagito’s mouth, the corners of his lips turning upward to the ceiling. You looked down in pathetic nature. That was totally something to laugh at…

“Though I would consider myself a newbie when it come to chess, speed chess sounds lovely.” Nagito smiled, his pointer finger playing and twirling around the queen piece’s crown.

“Ah, a-alright, well, lets get started, shall we?” You stuttered, with joy obviously evident within your voice.

. . .

Unsurprising to you, you had won all three games of speed chess against Nagito, though, it was surprising how close each game was. the more you thought about it, the more you realized his luck most likely aids him whenever he plays. Definitely one of the most interesting opponents you’ve been up against, whether it would be for casual online play, or in-person tournaments.

“Ah, bummer, I guess someone as useless as me shouldn’t even try to come close to beating you!” The boy ruffled his cloud-like locks, laughing at his loss.

“Hey! You had me worried for a few turns there, you were no pushover at all, Nagito!” You proclaimed, frustrated on why he would still think that, even thought the game results were all obviously pretty close.

“Also, please don’t say that your useless…it makes me really sad, because it’s not true at all.” You looked up at him with eyes that reflected something that had never burned so brightly before, and Nagito noticed.

Those eyes, previously clouded from the despair given from others, were now shining with a glimmering hope…and he drew that out from you…by simply playing a mere few games of chess.

For a moment, and only for a moment, he believed your words. Maybe he wasn’t so useless, he helped you find your smile and joy, right? Maybe…maybe…

“Oh yeah!” You shot up, causing Nagito to snap out of his thoughtful daze. You stuck your hand out to him, waiting for reciprocation.

“A handshake, to wish a good game among equals.” You encouraged the boy, wanting for him to fully indulge into what it was like to play the game in a professional, yet somewhat casual setting.

The boy looked at your hand, observing everything. Your nails, your fingertips, your knuckles, all the way down to your wrist. Equals, huh…

Nagito then slowly reached out to your hand, grasping onto it gently, yet it felt like it was the most comfortable fit he could’ve imagined. He wanted the warmth from your soft skin to seep into his cold hands, wanting that heat to slowly fill the rest of his frozen body, all the way up to his thawing heart. Though he didn’t linger any more on the handshake than he needed to, not wanting to make it uncomfortable for you.

But god, did he want to hold on forever.

#danganronpa #danganronpa fanfiction #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa x y/n #danganronpa x s/o #nagito komaeda #Nagito x reader #nagito x s/o #nagito komeada x reader #nagito headcanons

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