#weeping holding myself crying rolling around on the floor sobbing

[viewfinder-chernobyl]

2023 vs 2024

same character, same artist, just a bit under a year later on the "first" and last pages of my sketchbook.

[zentraex]

Chapter 3 - Payment

->Masterlist

"Oh? You are awake?" I ask surprised, as I left my bedroom and am greeted with the sight of a half naked Tomura. He has a well built body: something I will remember in case, I get in a fight with him.

All the blankets and pillows are thrown to the ground, just like the pajama I gave him.

"It's impossible to sleep under all this stuff! Do you know how hot it is!? Just that ugly rag gets me all sweaty! Do you treat a guest like that?" he curses. His angry look meets my disappointed one.

I just wanted to be hospitable...

"Stop weeping! It's unbearable with you. Always crying! You are getting on my nerves!"

"I know, I just wanted to make it cozy for you. I am sorry. I didn't know you hate it so much.." I quietly mumble to myself, as tears run down my cheek. Before I enter my bathroom, I explain myself on last time. "Maybe the events from yesterday are still affecting me so much."

After showering, I quickly come to the conclusion, that I don't have anything to wear. All my clothes are still in my bedroom. I wrap my body in a towel and carefully stick my head out of the door - no Tomura in sight.

I tiptoe to my room, just to realize that my door, which I closed, stands open. Slowly but surely, I peak around the corner to see nothing.

"What are you doing there?" I hear my guest behind me. I can feel warmth spreading across my face immediately. I look at him clueless.

How am I supposed to talk my way out of here?

"The five minutes kicked...I guess..."

The men before me eyes my face until he stares at my body.

"Do you present yourself like this to every stranger? Yesterday the mini rock, toady naked in a towel."

"That's my home. Usually, I don't need to make sure that nobody sees me naked." I say annoyed.  It seems that Tomura doesn't like my tone at all, as he looks pissed as well and takes a step in my direction.

"Watch your mouth!" he threats me silently and gives me a warning look. My eyes narrow and the urge to snap back at him is high.

Calm down, Reader. He'll leave today anyway.

"Of course. My fault," I yield and close the door behind me to get dressed in peace. When I enter the living room, I see my guest, laying on the couch. My eyes widen a bit at the sight of the now tidy place. The blankets, which he tossed on the floor, are now below him and the pillows are stacked at the end of the couch. The pajama lies on a armrest.

"Your couch is uncomfortable. It is unbearable without the blankets," he complains.

Of course! What else? Why should he feel bad for trampling all over my kindness?

"You can use the shower, while I'm preparing breakfast," I tell him with a smile on my lips.

"You are making breakfast already?"

"Yes, I need to go out."

"Where?"

"To a lecture. But before my lecture starts, I meet up with Megan-",

Ah, right...

The smile and the good mood I had until now falls. My gaze becomes sad, and without another word, I turn my attention to the kitchen.

Then a sob escapes me, as I think about the events from yesterday. My sobs are getting louder when I hear Tomura turning the shower on. I'm not even trying to hold back the fat tears, but try desperately to wish them of.

Since I spend most of the time crying, I decide to just fry some toast. It doesn't take long before my guest leaves the bathroom, and sits down at the dining table.

"You are still not done, even though, I took extra long," he notes. Since he faces my back, he isn't able to see my watery eyes.

"It took me long to decide what I should prepare. It's been a while since somebody visited me."

My voice trembles, no matter how hard I try to sound composedly.

"I see why nobody comes near your home."

I roll my eyes at the comment.

He should become restaurant critic.

Nevertheless, my mood lightens up a bit, and a small smile creeps on my face.

"What happened yesterday?" he asks and I need to swallow a big dumpling in my throat.

"I got kicked out of a hangover. It was a friend group I used to be in, but, apparently, nobody really liked me there. They showed me this clearly, as I stated my opinion about something. If I'm being honest, I should have known it. The signs were so obvious! I was mostly excluded from the group activities or were the last choice. Maybe I just didn't care, because I wanted to be one of them so badly," I explain. "I made a lot of effort to fit in, like taking two side jobs for example. Otherwise, I could have never afford all the concerts or the expensive food. In the end, it was pointless since they rarely invited me anyway."

My voice breaks at the end a bit. So, I decide to change the topic quickly.

"How many toasts do you want?"

"Three," he answers. I'm thankful that he's not digging further into the topic. There would probably have been a comment about how stupid I was or what a loser I am.

Following, I serve him a selection of sliced and cheese, and sit down.

"About the repayment...do you have anything in mind by now?" I ask. Tomura's eyes dart from his plate to mine. I have a hard time interpreting his emotions or knowing if I said something wrong.

"Do you want to get rid of me?"

"No, but I have to go soon and I would reluctantly let you leave here alone in my home..." I tell him.

"I want a second key," he explains and I feel how he analyses me precisely after his demand.

A second key?

My eyes widen in shock and I notice, how I need a moment to gather myself.

"Wether I know you, nor do you know me. Are you sure? I mean, I don't know if I can agree to that," I tell him unsure and still totally bewildered. The atmosphere in the room changes abruptly, as he starts scratching at his throat again and his facial features contort in anger.

"Huh? Don't you stick to your words? I hate liars!" he says and sits up. I hold my hands protectively in front of me out of total panic, but he still grabs my neck and squeezes - only a little bit of pressure, so I have the chance to breathe. I can feel my eyes watering again.

What is wrong with me? Why am I crying so much?

"I never said 'no'! It was just my honest thought, Shigaraki."

"So, you give me your second key?"

After a short time of hesitating, I nod finally, and he releases my throat. His angry look switches to a satisfied grin, as he sits back.

[earlgreydream]

leather gloves.

| zemo x reader | smut | fluff |

anon requested. p,, please,, can you write something w Zemo spanking the reader,, I’m so parched

dom!Zemo getting frightened when he learns you’ve put yourself in danger

“You put yourself in danger! How could you have been so careless with your safety!?” Bucky screamed at you.

You fell back against the wall and slid down it, covering your head with your arms and weeping into your knees. Bucky punched the wall above your head, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

You sobbed violently, frightened and anxious. Bucky was seething with fury, and Sam slapped the table on the other side of the room. You trembled, trying to curl up into a smaller ball, wanting to sink into the floor and disappear. 

“You’re untrained! You said you were going to the bodega for fucking tea! And what were you doing instead, on some kind of mission to kill Karli? Did you seriously think you had a chance?! You lied, put yourself in danger, went on a death mission... you’re lucky that you’re alive! You wouldn’t be if we hadn’t gotten there!” Bucky’s voice thundered through the room, jarring you.

“I just wanted-”

“You wanted what?!” Sam shouted angrily.

“I didn’t... want to run anymore,” your voice was raw and meek.

Ice-cold terror shot down your spine as footsteps echoed into the room. You didn’t dare look up, not wanting to face the source of the noise.

“Leave us,” the Sokovian spoke.

The doors slammed behind Bucky and Sam, trapping you alone with Zemo. He crossed the room and knelt in front of you, brown eyes boring into you. The tension was thick, your sobs the only noise.

“Are you harmed?” Zemo asked finally.

“N-no sir,” you forced out.

His hand grasped your jaw, tilting your face up to force you to look at him. You were shaking as your body wracked with sobs, and you wanted to sink back away from him.

“Do not ever lie to me again.”

Zemo struggled to control the anger and fear in his voice. Mostly, he was thankful that you were unharmed, that Bucky and Sam had found you before the rogue soldiers could kill you. Zemo had been gone on a private affair, and you’d convinced Bucky to let you go down to the bodega for some tea. He’d made you call Zemo, and you’d sweetly asked for permission from your boyfriend. He’d granted it, believing your lie. Really, you’d snuck down an alley, armed with a handgun, going after your enemy.

Panic had surged through him when he was informed of the situation. It was replaced by fury when he found out you were fine, but had lied to him and broken his rules. Zemo was strict with you, to protect your safety. You knew this, you knew exactly what risks you were taking by disobeying him. Killing your enemy who’d sent the four of you on the run would be worth whatever consequence and discipline Zemo administered, but you’d failed. Now, you were at the mercy of his wrath for nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you wept, tears pouring down your cheeks as you looked up at Zemo, unable to free your jaw from his grip.

“You will be. I’ll give you a reason to cry.”

You closed your eyes as another sob bubbled up in your throat at his words. You knew it wasn’t a threat, but a promise. Your head dropped when he let go of your jaw, and he laid his hand on your back.

You were covered in dirt and blood, thankfully not your own. He fought off the emotion that washed through him, and the desire to cradle you. He wouldn’t discipline you when his anger and fear were still raw and driving his emotions, and he decided it best to clean you up first.

“Come with me,” Zemo commanded.

You took his hand, letting him help you to your feet. You kept your eyes trained on the floor as he pulled you from the safe house kitchen, leading you back to the master suite you’d been sharing over the last few weeks.

Your throat ached from crying, and misery settled over you as the doors closed behind Zemo. You felt like you could be sick from anxiety, and his hand went to your lower back, pushing you toward the tub in the middle of the room. He turned on the water before unzipping what was left of your torn suit.

“You’re not injured?” He looked to be sure, not wanting to hurt you.

“No sir.”

“Get in,” Zemo lifted you into the tub and you inhaled sharply as your skin came into contact with the icy cold water. You knew better than to complain, and Zemo helped you clean up as you continued to cry.

You gasped as he took the faucet and sprayed the cold water over your body, washing away the blood and dirt, leaving you shivering. You sighed in relief when he shut off the faucet, helping you out and wrapping you in a towel.

“Please forgive me. I’ll never lie to you again, I’ll never put myself in danger, I’m so sorry,” you stammered out, looking him in the eyes as you trembled before him.

Zemo pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and cradling your body against his.

“You frightened me, I was worried. I know you won’t do it again. I’m no longer angry, my dear.”

You clung to him tightly, hiding your face in his chest. He held you, thankful to feel your heartbeat against his body. Zemo gently led you to the bed, sitting on the edge and positioning you to stand between his legs.

“You gotta breathe,” Zemo’s leather glove clad hands held yours against his chest, calming you down from your ragged breathing.

“I’m sorry-”

“You don’t need to be frightened of me.”

You knew that. You knew you couldn’t escape your fate, and panicking and crying was only prolonging your own misery, and Zemo’s too.

You weren’t afraid of being punished, you just hated the disappointment and anger that preceded it. You tried to calm down for him, but your mind was racing.

“Please do not make me put this off until the morning. I don’t want to do this to you, but I can’t just let you lie to me and break the rules,” Zemo’s tone was eerily calm, granted, he had a lot of practice. You rarely behaved— but being screamed at by Bucky had kept you in line, as it was almost worse than anything Zemo would ever do to you. That’s what had started your meltdown.

You exhaled softly as Zemo kissed you. It calmed your spinning mind, and you let him pull you over his lap. He tossed your towel aside, and you tensed as you felt leather smooth up the back of your thighs.

“Tell me your safe word.”

“Draga,” you answered, letting the top half of your body rest on the mattress.

You jolted forward at the first sharp impact. The leather gloves increased the pain, and you were biting back whimpers almost immediately. Zemo’s force and strength never wavered, even when your self control gave way to crying. He spanked you roughly, watching as arousal smeared on the inside of your thighs. 

Your skin was glowing red with heat, and you couldn’t keep yourself from squirming, trying to wince away from his touch. Zemo scourged you severely, and as much as you hated it, it ignited warmth deep inside of your belly. 

“Please-” you whimpered pathetically as he slipped his belt off, the muscles of his arms flexing under the white button down that was rolled up to his elbows. 

“My dear, I will give you five more for every word that isn’t draga,” Zemo’s belt cracked against your already burning skin, a sharp sting shooting up your spine. It ripped a scream from you, and you gasped as leather fingers slipped through your folds, feeling how soaked you were from the punishment. 

Zemo’s black Louis Vuitton belt bit into your skin as he whipped you nine more times, his other hand gently holding your back down as you tried to writhe away from him. 

“It’s alright, you’re done,” he said softly, pulling you up and being careful not to brush your painful skin. 

“I’m sorry, Zemo,” you hiccuped softly, and he shook his head.

“No, my dear, it’s over. Don’t apologize, it’s forgotten.” 

Zemo kissed you, calming your leftover anxieties. Your arms went around his neck and you clung to him. He softened, pulling off the leather gloves and rubbing your back. When you pulled away, the brushed the tears off of your face, kissing your cheeks sweetly. 

“Lay on the bed, let me clean you up,” his voice was much softer, and you did as he asked. His touch was tender and soothing, easing the pain he’d inflicted earlier. 

“Are you going to let me hold you?” Zemo asked, kissing up your spine. You turned your head, accepting the kiss that was planted to your lips. Zemo worried you’d push him away after what he’d just put you through, but you pushed up onto shaky knees and hugged him.

“Of course.”

He got up and put the jar of salve away before stripping down and climbing into bed with you. You winced a bit as the cool sheets settled over you. Zemo murmured an apology against your lips before pulling your leg over his. He laid you on his chest, positioning you so he could roll his hips into yours, slowly filling you up. You moaned as your intense sexual frustration was satiated, feeling him gently fuck up into you. Your gently tugged at his blond hair, moaning into his neck. You pressed heavy kisses to his throat, and he murmured quiet praises in Sokovian. You let yourself melt into the lazy sex, all of the fear, agitation, and anxiety vanishing with the slow thrusts. 

“May I?” you asked breathlessly.

“Whenever you’d like,” Zemo kissed you, groaning as he felt your walls pulse around him before heavy waves of sleepy euphoria rolled over you. Almost immediately after orgasming, you drifted off on his chest, falling into a sedated sleep. 

Zemo looked over as you rolled onto your back, immediately waking up from the pressure. You moved onto your side and rubbed your eyes, a small yawn leaving your lips. 

“Good morning, my dear.”

“Morning,” you hummed, your voice raspy from your sore throat. He frowned at the sound, leaning over and kissing your eyelids, making your lips turn into a smile. 

“Let me see,” He gently pulled you toward him, inspecting your raw skin. He grabbed the jar from the bedside, putting another layer of its contents on your backside. You jerked, whining a complaint as Zemo touched you. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. 

“You’re not still mad?”

“No, my dear, never with you. However, I do expect you to apologize to James and Sam.”

You got up and brushed your teeth, tying your hair onto your head. He sat on the bed, watching you move, able to tell you were sore. 

“Yes, sir.”

He pulled a loose white eyelet dress over your head, trying to spare you from further discomfort. He tossed on joggers and a t-shirt, walking to the kitchen with you and immediately going to make you some jasmine tea for your throat. 

“Y/N?” Zemo prompted you.

You looked up at Bucky and Sam, both men still looking displeased with you. When you didn’t speak, Zemo swatted you. You gasped and grabbed the edge of the counter at the small reminder to be good. 

“I’m sorry. James, Sam, I should never have lied to you or sent you out to look for me. Please forgive me. It won’t happen again,” you apologized.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Sam finally relented, and Bucky nodded.

“I’m glad you’re safe. You really frightened me.” Bucky squeezed your arms gently. You mouthed a small thank you, and Zemo put steaming tea in your hands. 

“James?” Zemo asked, catching the brunette’s attention. 

“If you ever yell at Y/N like that again, you will wish that I killed you. Got it?” Zemo threatened, startling him.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Can I ask something like: reader being engaged to someone of the Zen'in clan (not willingly) and discovering that she is pregnant with Getou's child, which she's having a secret relationship. So this would lead to a huge conflict. Feel free to add smut or change anything if you don't feel confortable writing it! Thanks for your work. Lots of love <3<3<3

SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER (who happens to be me)

Arrangements: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.9k

tw: nsfw, angst, mentions of abuse

The priceless china teacup - the only one of its kind in the set of four - drops from your hand and to the dining room floor, where it shatters into a million pieces.

"No."

Your father looks at you with concern, as if you had just spoken some foreign language.

"No," you repeat, this time with much more emphasis. Didn't he understand the meaning of the word? Or was "no" not a part of his vocabulary?

"Unfortunately, you don't have a choice, y/n. You and Naoya have been paired together since birth, and it's now time for you to--"

"I said no!" You stand from the table and walk past your father to exit the dining room, pushing the door open with fury. As you stalk away from the arranged marriage to a Zen'in and your father, you feel tears well up in your eyes.

You scrub them away as you push past your bodyguard and into your room, where you lock the door. But the tears come faster than you expect, and you can't help but weep. It isn't until the sun goes down that you stand from your seated position and move to your desk, where the picture of you and your best friend sits, his black eyes glaring at the camera as you pinch his cheeks, smiling at him with glee. You were only five then, but if you knew then what would happen to you fifteen years later, you would have begged to run away with him much sooner.

The 'plink' of a pebble smashing into your window calls you out of your daydream, and you place the picture back down before moving to open your windowpane.

"You really could just knock," you advise Suguru Geto, who stands at your window with a silly grin on his face. "It'd be a lot less annoying."

"But what's the fun in that?" he wonders, climbing inside easily. "Plus, it gives me an excuse to find pebbles around the grounds. You know how I like rocks." You roll your eyes as he leans in, placing a deep kiss on your lips and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Mmm," Suguru hums. "You've been crying. What's new?"

"Nothing," you lie, but he tilts your chin up, examining your face.

"Looks like you've been crying for a while... Did your father say something to you at tea time?" You hold in a sob, lips quivering. "Perhaps a spat over something he sees as trivial, per usual?"

"Stop," you beg, pushing his hand away. "I don't want to talk about it."

Suguru steps back, rifling around in his pockets for something. When he produces the black stone, he hands it to you, letting your fingers drift over the polished texture as you consider opening up to the only man you love. "Here's one of my worry stones. You can rub at it and it'll take the negative feelings away."

You hold it in your hand, making a note to save it with the other pretty things Suguru has given you over the years in the box under your bed. You sit on your bed and he follows suit, laying beside you and sighing.

"Have you ever thought about running away?" you wonder, and Geto bites his lower lip thoughtfully.

"Sometimes. But then I remember that I can't run away from all of my problems, and I'd be leaving you behind."

"Maybe we should run away together." At your proposal, Geto puts his hands underneath his head, staring at the spinning fan.

"I can't condone that. You'd be running away from your problems, y/n."

"And? What does it matter if I only have you? Is that enough?"

"It matters a lot," Suguru mumbles, and you sigh. "I can't ask you to give up your life for one of hardship. I've been working on saving a bit of money, though. When I get enough, I'll buy a ring, come to your dad, and ask him for permission to marry you. Just wait a little while."

"We don't have a little while," you blurt, and he frowns. "My father wants to marry me off to some Zen'in, and--"

"What?" Suguru sits up, black hair falling down his back. "Say that again."

"My father wants to marry me off to some Zen'in," you repeat, and Suguru's eyes widen immensely before squinting.

"No, no, no... that can't be right," he breathes, and you shake your head.

"That's why I've been crying." Shock gives way to a blank look and he stands, running a hand through his hair.

"I have to go."

"Wait!" you cry out, but Suguru is out of your window in a flash, walking across your lawn without turning back.

_____________________________________________________________

The look Naoya Zen'in gives you is revolting.

When he strides into the room, your insides melt to nothingness and apprehension takes over. He circles you like prey, smiling at your shape and making lewd comments about your child-rearing abilities.

"Looks like you have a set of hips that are perfect for---"

"Naoya," your father chides, and the man slides his eyes to your father's face.

"Right, well..." the man clears his throat. "I would like to see what she's like by herself if you don't mind." Your father gives you a look that says 'behave' and you plead with him in your head to remain in the room. But he leaves you two alone, and that's when Naoya's face drops its smirk.

"Alright, let's be frank with each other." He leans forward on the table between you, lacing his fingers together. "I'm not in the business of making you feel good about yourself. You have to do that on your own. I'm going to tell you what I need when I need it. If you can't provide it, then you should seriously consider emptying that little head of yours of the idea that I won't remind you of your place."

You recoil at his words, lips curling up in disgust.

"And don't even think about replying with some smart-ass remark. I'm not the Chief of Hei for nothing." Bile rises up in your mouth at the thought of this swine being your betrothed, but you force it down, swallowing hard.

"I understand."

"Good. Now, let me see you turn around and walk out. I want to watch your hips as you walk away."

_____________________________________________________________

You rush into your bathroom and lean over the toilet, all of your consumed food coming back up. You vomit until nothing is left in your stomach, and dry heave for the rest of the time you're perched at the toilet bowl.

When it's all said and done, you wipe your mouth and flush, face redder than it was before you started feeling ill.

'Plink'.

Your head swivels to the window, and you rush to open it, coming face-to-face with Suguru.

"Babe..." he whispers, face flushed. "I brought you something." When he comes inside and sits on your bed, you consider telling him about the encounter with Naoya, but when he opens a small box, you're stopped in your tracks.

"Su!" You eye the small moonstone ring with curiosity, a smile creeping across your face. "Su, this is gorgeous."

"Solid rose gold and moonstone; your favorite." You slide the ring onto your ring finger and hold it up to the light.

"I love it... I love you." Suguru stands and brings you close to him, holding onto your head carefully.

"I'm going to take it to your father right now and--"

"I really wouldn't recommend you do that," a voice calls out from your doorway and both of you pull apart, startled by Naoya's sudden presence. "I had a feeling you'd be otherwise occupied." Naoya closes the door as he enters, smirking. "I should tell Mr. L/N myself that I've discovered this little tryst, but I think I'll let this poor man off the hook just this once." He turns to Suguru and gives him a deadly glare, crossing the space between them. "Leave. Don't come back here. I don't care how you feel or what you've done. But she's my property now, and no one other than me touches my things." Geto bristles at the threat, eye twitching.

"Make me, you piece of dogshit."

It's apparent that Naoya isn't quick to anger, but his fists clench in defiance. "I see," he breathes, letting go of his fists and running a hair through his light-colored hair. "You'll regret those words." And he leaves you two in the room, closing the door behind him carefully.

_____________________________________________________________

You stare at the little bump protruding from your belly in disbelief, fingers quivering over the skin. You try to recall the last time you and Suguru had unprotected sex and realize it was over a month ago, right before Naoya had appeared in your life.

The heavy onyx ring sits on your finger, reminding you of your engagement and the despicable man who had chased your lover away on that dreadful night.

Footsteps approach your room, and you quickly dress in your loose-fitting cotton shift dress, concealing any signs of pregnancy. Naoya throws open your doors and strides in, eyes looking about the room. "I have a little surprise for you, doll," he smiles, holding his hand out for you to take. Without hesitation, you grip it, knowing any delay could mean a swift backhand or a bruised wrist. "You'll enjoy this. I think I'll consider it my wedding present to you."

Naoya half-drags, half-walks you to the courtyard, where many of the townspeople have gathered, their faces somber and uneasy.

And chained to a post at the front is Suguru, his shirt torn and scrapes dragging across his skin.

"Just in time," Naoya chirps, pushing through the crowd and making you stand at the front, where Suguru could see you. His eyes widen, and he mouths something to you, but you shake your head, hands trembling.

"This man has been accused of stealing from the town's jeweler," Naoya calls out, circling around Suguru carefully. "And in his possession, we found a valuable piece of evidence." The accuser holds up a moonstone ring - your moonstone ring - showing it to the crowd proudly. "The punishment for theft is usually loss of a hand. But I feel that he should be delivered a much less barbaric punishment." Your heart leaps out of your chest, and you bite your tongue to keep from crying out.

Nothing Naoya would do would be less than barbaric.

"Fifty lashes are appropriate for the crime," he announces, and a man comes out of the crowd with a whip, standing behind Suguru with authority. Your eyes sting with tears, and you try your best to hold in a scream when the first lash lands across Suguru's back.

His black eyes are trained on you for the first fifteen strikes, but when the sixteenth lash rings out in the crowd, they begin to roll back, and he cries out in pain, voice echoing across the courtyard. Naoya sidles up beside you, gripping your wrist.

"See what happens when you sleep around with thieves?" he hisses, and you begin to weep, your vision blurring with tears. He chuckles and you hide your face behind your hands, sobbing furiously.

By the fortieth lash, you're all cried out, and Suguru's lost consciousness. His eyes are closed and his head lolls forward, hair drooping across his face. And when the man finishes, Suguru is left on the post, his blood and sweat mixing together across his back. You can hear ragged breathing after a minute of waiting, and Naoya goes up to Suguru's body, pulling his head back by his hair.

"Learned not to mess with my things?" he grins, and Suguru drags himself from the edge of consciousness to whisper,

"For y/n? I'd do it all over again."

The look of pure, unadulterated shock on Naoya's face is enough to haunt you every day afterward.

[oh-for-fic-sake]

What is August going to do if his little decides to play with his forbidden knife collection? :3

Omg so this took a while and i'm sorry but im sooo happy with this! It got a little long so im hidig it under a cut but i hope you enjoy! @littlefreya @viking-raider

August swore vehemently looking around for the blades he'd sharpened specifically for his next assignment.

This needed to be silent and precise, he'd sharpened each blade twice! Not once but twice!

He wouldnt even attempt his 'arm hair' shave test this time knowing he may have gone over board with the sharpening.

But he couldnt help it, he found it therapeutic running his hands over the blades again and again, it was like medatation for him.

But they were no where to be seen! Hed placed them each delicatly in the rolled travelling leather holster, useing the small poppers to lock each dangerous blade in place and then hid it in the small safe in the wardrobe.

"Baby girl! LITTLE ONE HAVE YOU BEEN IN THE SAFE?!" He shouted down the stairs only not to get an answer, the radio on the kitchen drowning him out.

You were baking, well 'bakeing' he had bought a 'unicorn gingerbread box kit' for you both to make today.

It was a small treat he would spend the day with you doing anything your little heart desires befor setting off onto his week long mission.

You were currently rolling out the gingrbread and he had decided to sneak his weapons into his bag while you were preoccupied.

August never liked rubbing innhis occupation with you, never liked faceing the awkward questions, he wont lie to you but in being truthfull he can sometimes frighten you.

In the bedroom he was as ruthless and rough and demanding as he was at work.

But like this when you were little, you drew out a softer side. Well as soft as he was capable of, he was a stern man in everything he did, even in daddying you.

August huffed and zipped his case violently stressing out he needed to go down and pversee ou before you did something foolish, like tried to put the gingerbread in the oven.

Your panicked hyperventilating and bitten 9ff screams drew his attention immediatly!

He bolted down the stairs as fast as he could, so panicked by the cries and screams from the kitchen he raced through the housestomping and crashing with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

Oh hell.

He froze, face paling mouth agape as he took in the scene.

Then he roared in a way you'd never heard.

You cowered holding your hand tightly as it bled profusely red life blood poured all over the white counter ruining the sheet pan dusted with what was once pure white flour.

The blood was also over the rolled out gingerbread, along with a very familiar knife.

You cried and staggered over you august holding your wound tightly tripping over your feet to him, wandering blindly unable to see much through your tears. Or hear past your frantic crying and yelps of "daddy!?"

August quickly decended on you grasping a teatowel from the laundry basket on the counter and tookover holding your offered wounded hand whislts snappjng at you in worry fueled anger.

"What the fuck are you dojng with that!? They are daddies special knives! You know not to touch thwm you silly little girl!"

"I'm s-so-rry! OUCH, NO-OO DAD-DY IT HURTS!" You cried out complaining as he dabbed the wound inspecting it.

It wasnt to deep just long, across the whole of your palm. He could tell your slipped and probably didnt evwn notice youd cut yourself untill it'd sliced fully across.

He'd sharpened them that much.

"You will be! By god little lady you will ne so very very sorry when im done woth you!"

"Come on sit down before you pass out and bleed all over the kitchen" he said tying a knot in two corners ot the teatowle making a triangle like a sling and looped it around your palm then fetched a wooden spoon slotting it in the large opening and began twisting it tight making a tourniquet.

You hissed as he pulled the clother thighter and tighter then slipped the wooden spoon into your fingers holding the teatowel still, before raising your hand high letting gravityhelp slow the bleeding.

"Now hold that there, dont you move, w need to stop the bleeding so i can mend it" he snipped grunting to himself. He wasnt worried as such, it looked worse than it was he had tended to worse on himself.

"Y-you can fix it da-ddy?" You sobbed tryi g to be brave but you were shaking like a leaf, youd never bled that much before.

"Yes daddy can fix it poppet, daddy can always fix it" he said quickly pulling out his... vast medic kit that was fully stocked to deal with everything from burns and cuts to bullet woulds and decapitated fingers. Because ou never know.

"A-are you mad da-addy?!" You whined eyes wide as he huffed and sighed dragging his hands through hos hair irritated

"Im not angry im very very disappointed. And you can bet your little ass is gonna be meeting that spoon shortly!" He said vehemently trying to calm himself and remind himself it wasnt too serious and he could deal with this cut.

You didnt even argue just looked down, dropping your watery eyes to the floor like a kicked puppy, and it wasnt even to soften him either.

"Why were you touching daddies private things?" He spoke tyring to take both his and your mind off your wound as he located everything he needed from the box.

"A'cos i wa-nted to see...they were shiney after you were polishin'em" you explained hicupping slowly weeping still as the pain and throbbing set in.

"I was sharpening them poppet, not polishing" he uttered quickly with a sigh trying to find a quaze big enough to wrap in a bandage.

"I just wanted to see... Never gon' touch" you sobbed bijng your lip eyes flickingnup the the now red teatowel, your figers were going a ittle numb from the tight tourniquet.

"And then?" He asked quirking a brow as you before waling to the kitchen sink washing and rinsing the washing up bowl thoroughly befpre filling with fresh warm water and a new clean cloth.

"Then the box said cut round the unicorns with a knife... And I already got it out to look at" you said shrugging a little as he moveed down your hand. Luckily the bleedig had stopped.

"I also says let and adult do it" your daddy chided as he slowly and gwntly unwrapped your hand making our fingers sting a little at the renewed bloodflow

"Im an-adult" you argued weakly then hissed as he begancleani g the wound dabbig it ever so lightly knowig he had to use clean water instead of antiseptic that could slow the healing of the delicate skin.

"Your a baby" he said with a roll of his eyes 'a spoilt baby' he added as an after thought to himself.

"...but im carful never cut myself with my big girl knives!" You agrued then gasped giving a small 'uh oh' you mouth had run away with you again.

"You mean the kitchen knives?" August asked quickly coming down on the new information like a... well hammer on a land mine.

"No... my saftey knives daddy" you uttered under your breath hissing as he moved on to the next stage of tending to your wound pressing the gauze to it.

"What do you mean your safety onives little one?" He said paying close attention to the bandages he was unravling over your hand trying to keep it firm but comfortable.

"My safety knives... i-in my purse?... Incase of baddies" you whispered slowly praying he wouldnt hear you. But his fingers paused for a second before quickly tying off the bandage in a knot and gave you a fierce look.

"You have knives in your?- wait hold-" august frowned and held a hand up singnalling you to stay then left the kitchen.

He returned moments later and emptied your pjrse only to growl shaking his had as a plethora of 'cute' weapons fell out. Hello kitty switch blades, rainbow blades, pink pocket knives and suspicious looking comb, key knives, pen knives you name it! There was even a ... cat keyring obviously meant to be some sort of pointy eared knuckle duster.

"Really poppet? Knives and... knuckle dusters- these are" he began scolding you but you cut him off

"I know i know daddy im sorry-" your apology was halted as your daddy spoke over you in a warning to e, he didnt like being interrupted.

"No where near good enough! These are all close range! If your close enough to use these then your already fucked! No you need pepperspray and a tazer!" He growled quickly picking up the feeble knives that had no grip to them, and wasnt ever sharp!

"T-tazer?" You stuttered tiltinnyour head cradling your injured hand to your chest.

"Yes, they are close range but will stop any attacker in their tracks! You can get away whilst your attacker is convulsing and laying in a pool of his own piss!" August growled becoming more and more aggravated as he realised you had now real way of protecting yourself when he wasnt around, big or little!

"Im getting you a tazer- today! Before i leave" he decided nodding to himself as he binned the now soiled teatowel and wash cloth.

"...can i have a pink one daddy?" You asked not being the slightest bit against having a tazer, it would make you feel alot safer then a knife.

Knives needed a proper opening and some brute force to protect you and could really really hurt someone!

A tazer was just a button and could work nomatter where ou hit the baddy and would kill them just make em gall over and pee.

"You can have a pink one princess... or a lipstick one or a tampon one?" Auguast suggested trying to thinl of the best one for you... he was sure a smaller discreet one whould be better than a law enforcement grade.

"That sounds uncomfortable daddy..." you uttered shuddering at the thought of that... being mistaken.

"Its not really a- fuck it... Right come on lets get in the living room you can go pick a tazer online" he said beginni g to pack up the first aid kitpillig everthing neatly into the box.

"O-okay... but no spankies daddy... I'm hurt" you warned cautiously waving your bandaged hand

"Yes spankies! Absolutly spankies! You take this spoon with you and you can pop it on the table as a reminder!" He ordered holding you with a level gaze blue eyes warning you to do as you were told.

"But my hand-" you said sniffling cradling it.

"Will be the least of your problems when I'm tanning your naughty butt! Now go or else" he threataned clipping the first aid box shut still watching you, staring unblinkingly.

"Or else what-" you started but your daddy was havig none of it and cut you off again.

"There is a silicone butter icing spreader in this kitchen that will be much worse than thw wooden spoon! Now get in the living room befpre i make you find it" he growled not about to let you throw a paddy about getting your ass blistered after the stunt you pulled.

Your lower lip wobbled but yu nodded giving up, plucking the wooden spoon and turning around leaing the kitchen in a walk of shame muttering a tiny 'yes daddy, sorry daddy'

Auguast watched with a stern face, before turning his attention to the bloody kitchen he will clean before coming to deal with you.

A good fifteen mineut wait will let you have time to reflect before he comes in and tans you hide.

[paper-n-ashes]

Here

Characters: Dan Jones x Reader

Words: 1.9k

Warnings/Tags: Explicit (18+), mentions of sadness/depression, PIV sex, otherwise it’s the fluffiest fluffy fluff

Author’s Note: The last repost. A piece I wrote to work through my own issues at the time. A reminder to anyone, if you feel down, unhappy, or even just a bit flat, feel free to reach out to me. I will always make time for you as an ear to listen or a distraction with Oscar or Adam gifs 🥰

It had been a long and draining day. Not unusual really. Every evening Dan trudged up the stairs to your shared apartment, he felt much the same way.

Tired. More emotionally than physically. The things he read, the truths he was unravelling… It was truly soul-sucking work. Yet just the image of you, patiently waiting for his return home after another late night, provided a stark light in the darkness he found himself momentarily falling into as his muffled footsteps echoed down the hall.

He knew he was lucky. Lucky you were so patient. So understanding. Always waiting on him. Spending more time apart than together. The cancelled dinner dates, the events you’d had to attend alone, the weekends away you never got to plan, believing his work was more important.

There wasn’t a single time you complained. Always giving him the same loving smile, one he wasn’t sure how he deserved.

It wasn’t on your face when he slipped through the door. Curled up on the couch, knees hugged to your chest, you looked… sad.

Noticing his entrance, your expression quickly changed, beaming as your eyes locked with his. “Dan,” you breathed, a relieved edge to the name, releasing yourself from the tense ball and rushing to join him at the entryway.

The room was dim, air filled with silence as you slinked your arms under the jacket of his suit and around his torso, squeezing tight.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You don’t need to say that every night,” you urged, words muffled into his chest.

“I know.” He still would, no matter how much you protested. Stroking a palm over your hair, Dan touched his lips to your forehead. For a moment, he simply breathed you in. Relishing the flowered perfume still lingering on your skin that would forever remind him of you.

It was such an unexplainable phenomenon. How you eased his stress with a single warm embrace. He hoped he could do the same for you.

“Is everything alright?” he asked softly.

“Absolutely,” you lied, nodding against his crisp, collared shirt. “You’re home now. Everything is just fine.”

Dan couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness of your response. But he also wasn’t stupid. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You shifted your head to look up at him. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

There was a redness around your eyes that became glaringly clear. Crying. You’d definitely been crying.

A thumb traced the line under your lower lid. “Please don’t lie. I have to deal with enough of those every day.”

Your mouth twisted, feeling your throat tighten. Unknowingly, he’d illustrated exactly why you tried to hide your sadness in the first place. He didn’t need your burden. He already had enough weighing on his shoulders.

But you also knew he wouldn’t let this go. The man was a bloodhound for seeking the truth, and the way he was looking at you now, features filled with heartbreaking concern, your resolve weakened.

Taking a deep breath, you were honest. “I’ve just been feeling a little… sad lately. Not a big deal. It’ll pass.”

Dan’s eyebrows drew together, heart already aching at your admission. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

You shrugged, pupils darting to the floor. “A few days. As I said, not a big deal. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Two palms quickly found their way to your cheeks, forcing your stares to lock. He looked almost panicked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve got other things that need your attention-”

“You think your sadness is not worth my attention?” he cut off, positively stunned at how casually you’d spoken your answer.

It’s what he’s always feared. This. Shielding him from the troubles in your own life while you joined in fighting his. Being his remedy, his source of comfort, while you struggled alone.

“It’s okay,” you attempted to soothe. “I can handle it myself, really.”

He shook his head. “No. No. You shouldn’t have to.”

Your fingers grazed lightly over the clean-shaven line of his jaw. “You’re so busy-”

The sentence couldn’t be finished, pulled into a squeezing embrace, hands cradling around you. “I will never be too busy when you really need me. Ever.” Breaths began to waft over your hair, Dan’s voice riddled with a gentle urgency. “And I’m here right now. Tell me how to make this better. Please.”

His caring hold had your resilience failing, unable to camouflage the misery you’d been feeling any longer. “I don’t even know h-how… What I need…” you quivered, voice starting to break. A sniffle escaped, barely able to suppress the urge to cry.

Dan wasn’t ever particularly good at solving problems. He knew that. Finding them, providing the support others needed to take action, that was his sweet spot. What he was good at. So that’s what he would do now.

The pressure around your body vanished, only for Dan to dip down and pluck you into in his arms, bridal style, carrying your body effortlessly to the bedroom.

His movements were cautious, making sure to place you delicately into the mattress. Without removing a single piece of clothing, shoes still on, he laid down, making your shape curl into his.

“We’re going to lay here for a while, okay? However long you want. You don’t have to talk. You can just… be sad.” Another kiss landed on the top of your head. “If you need me to do something, if you figure out what might help, I’ll be here. I’ll be right here.”

That did it. The wall you had been forcing to remain standing, now a crumbling pile of rocks, leaving you exposed. Vulnerable.

You began to cry.

At first, it was a soft weeping, tears wiped away by your own shaky fingers. Yet restraint withered into nothing, succumbing to the gloom that had haunted you for days.

Your breaths were harsh through heaving sobs, first clutching into Dan’s shirt, salted droplets staining the white fabric.

He couldn’t deny, it was painful to see you like this. To hear the whimpers of your distress. A slight wetness appeared at his corner of his eyes, clutching you closer. It was all he could do. Remind you of his presence, stroking your back as you let your emotions spill over.

As minutes passed into the next, your crying slowed, yet the quietness that followed was never broken. You both remained muted in the darkness, a tangle of limbs, your face nestled into Dan’s neck, his cheek resting over your hair.

Soon, without intention, the two of you fell asleep.

*

It was close to 3am when you woke again. Blinking through the haze of slumber, Dan rustled next to you, still fully dressed in his work attire.

Recent memories came surging through, the way he’d given you everything you needed, by doing nearly nothing at all.

Illuminated only by the light streaming through a set of half open blinds, your eyes wandered over his peaceful, dreaming face.

You didn’t get to see it as often as you liked. But when you did, you were infinitely grateful. Every long absence kept you savouring the time together more deeply. Quality over quantity.

A crackled snore suddenly broke through, having you fighting back a laugh. Dan shifted, still unconscious, turning closer into you, draping an arm over your waist. With a humming sound, you noticed a tiny smile curl his lips.

Oh, how you loved him.

You wanted to show him that, right now.

Carefully, you wriggled upwards, enough that you could press a dainty kiss just above the bridge of his nose. When he didn’t respond, you repeated the action, bringing your fingertips to his hairline, nails skimming over the inky strands.

You watched as his eyes fluttered, a sigh leaking from his throat. Before he could enter back into reality again, your lips landed on his, rolling over the supple pillows of flesh.

His reaction was sluggish, still gripped by a fog of fatigue, although soon his fingers were reaching into your hair, pulling your face even closer to strengthen your adoring kiss.

Words weren’t needed, Dan realised this as you began to unfasten the knot of his tie.

You’d figured out something he could do. Funnily enough, it was what he needed too. To make sure you knew exactly how much he loved you.

You’d done this dance many times, peeling off each other’s clothes. Yet this time felt… different. There was no rushing, no impatience. You both took your time, uncovering each portion of skin without reckless abandon.

With more exposure, Dan had more parts of you to kiss. So he did. Trailing them down your arms, your legs, his touch skating over your skin with such tenderness it made you shiver.

Eventually, the last piece of clothing that remained was your panties. Usually, being so desperate to fuck you after days going without, they’d be ripped off, sometimes even pulled to the side in his hastiness to fill you.

This time their removal was unhurried, restrained, Dan gliding the flimsy material down your legs with a calm poise.

Below, you noticed his touch disappear, looking up to see his stare roaming over your bareness.

So beautiful, he thought. Your body bathed in moonlight. While he wanted to speak it out loud, there was something poignant about the way the silence had continued to linger. He didn’t want to disturb it.

Instead, Dan covered your figure with his, skin to skin, scooping hands under you jaw. Another collision of your lips ensued, the exchange unabashedly passionate and filled an emotion too intricate to name.

Within an unspoken moment of harmony, Dan moved, lining himself to your entrance between your opened legs.

You’d been taken by him many times. In the bathroom stall on your first date. Over tables. On chairs. Floors. Kitchen counters. Countless times in this very bedroom. On this very mattress.

None of those scenes produced the same sense of satisfaction you felt as he sunk into you now. Not from the sensation itself, but the meaning behind it.

Words were fickle. They could be misconstrued. Altered by tone. Changed by moods and attitudes.

The way Dan began to thrust, steady yet severe, bruises being made from his grip at your back, kiss consuming your mouth and every facet of your thoughts…

There was no differing interpretation. No miscommunication. The definition explained merely by the feeling invoked from every action each of you made.

Two people. Expressing love in the most basal way in existence.

For a long time, longer than previous encounters, Dan worked himself in and out, relishing the feeling of your silky wetness, the whimpers he heard with each drag of his length.

Although, the feel of you clenching around him, when your thighs wrapped around his hips to to force his pelvis into yours with increasing intensity, soon had Dan struggling to stave off his release.

He didn’t ask to let it overtake him. Somehow, he knew didn’t need to.

Hurdling into a decadent climax, Dan drove hard into you, painting the deepest parts of your centre, filling you with everything he could give.

Slumping into your form, his nose burrowed into the curve between neck and shoulder. “I know I’m not always here,” he murmured. “But I’ll always be here. For you. Please remember that.”

Fingers swept over his messed hair. “I don’t think you’ll let me forget.”

One final kiss brushed over your throat. “Never again.”

*

@tlcwrites @roanniom @maryforyou @mariesackler @sacklerscumrag @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @mylifeisactuallyamess @hopeamarsu @foxilayde @goddesstonythetiger @caillea @direnightshade @blackberries45

[duuhrayliegh]

watch your six - part four

pairing: eventual bucky x reader (still a slow burn but it’s getting closer)

warnings: some violence but not really, men being creepy, language (one f bomb), also badly written speaking while crying, aaand i think that’s it

word count: a little over 2300

a/n: aaaah it’s part four babes!!!! the response to this has been so positive i’m in love with y’all!!! <3 <3 <3 i’m still way behind on my classwork and going through a terrible break up but we’re pushing through here

p.s.: my requests are still open if y’all want me to write yall something! aaalso, there’s a bucky short coming tomorrow ;)) <3

series m.list

ray’s m.list

********************************** 

This strange man’s hand was still caressing my hair as he smirked down at me. Running has hands up to the root and then yanking my head upwards to face him directly. “When I speak to you, you look me in the eye, little one.” Not one to show my fear, at least not to men like him, I scoffed. Thick brows shot towards his hairline and a twitch in his jaw as he clenched it. The hold he had in my hair gave him leverage over me. I winced as he lifted his arm to bring my face closer to his. A small whimper escaped the back of my throat, saliva gathering in my mouth. “Don’t test me, little one.” I sneered then spat in his face, the wet substance sticking to his face across his nose and cheek.

Bringing a hand up to his face to swipe the thick liquid from his skin, he glowered as he pulled his palm away. Then several things happened at once. The man forced a harsh breath out and then I was facing the ground with a sting on my left cheek. A gasp left my lips, he just slapped me. Who the hell does he think he is? I shook my head and then leveled my gaze with the man’s. I’m almost positive that my cheek is sporting a bright red handprint that does nothing for my complexion.

“What the hell man? What was that for?” I groaned while attempting to soothe my throbbing cheek on my shoulder. I mean, was it kind of justified? I did just spit in this man's face. No, he totally deserved that. After releasing his grip on my hair, he transferred his hands to the sides of the chair I was chained to. The metal scraping along the concrete floor caused a loud screech to reverberate through the small room.

“I said not to test me, bitch.” the man growled out as he pushed my chair onto the back two legs. I’m starting to think that this is a bit more serious than I originally thought. “Now, you’re going to sit here like a good little bitch and tell me what I want to know.” He retreated only to grab the chair that Suits used. Slamming against the pavement he straddled the chair with his forearms resting on the back.

“How many missions did you participate in?” I released a groan and rotated my head, leaning my head back.

“I already told your friend,” I tilted my head to speak directly to the absolute jerk-wad of a man in front of me, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man quirked an eyebrow and clenched his jaw. He rolled his neck, causing the bones in it to crack and then stood. He walked to the other side of the metal table that sat in the middle of the room. The sound of a zipper caused me to snap my head to where he was standing. The tactical vest he was wearing dropped to the metal surface allowing for a loud thunk to flow through the room. He stretched out his shoulders and swung his arms out in front as if he was trying to increase the blood flow. I’m the one who’s literally tied to a freaking chair, what does he need blood flow for? My breathing quickened,  calm down, don’t show any fear. He popped the knuckles of his hands and approached me.

“I’m not a patient man.” He bent at the knees and leaned his face closer to mine. Exhaling into my face, he maintained eye contact with me. “And you’re not acting like the good little girl we both know you oh-so-desperately want to be.” I rolled my eyes at that, apparently that was the wrong thing to do in this man’s face. His left eye twitched as he stared at me.

“Do you think you could back up? Your breath reeks, man.” I have no concern for my own well-being do I? The man’s head tilted to the side and then he wolfed out a gruff laugh. He shifted his weight to land on the heels of his feet and threw his body into the laugh. It was a bit disconcerting to see this man laughing so wholeheartedly in a situation that didn’t feel funny to me. Another blow to the side of my face was issued, however this time he didn’t stop. Several open handed hits were delivered, all the while he was resetting my head back by grasping my chin. My breathing was becoming labored, my chest heaving up and down in a frenzy. He gripped my chin and jerked it upwards so he could stand at his full height to tower over me.

“How many missions did they send you on?” He demanded, increasing his hold on my face surely leaving sickening bruises that would match his fingers perfectly. At some point, tears began running down my red cheeks.

“I don’t kno-ow what you’re talking ab-about!” Tears streaming down my swollen face, “I s-swear to god, I don’t know wh-what you mean!” Choked sobs were preventing me from breathing correctly. The man grabbed my shoulders and shook my body.

“Calm the fuck down and speak clearly.” Small hiccups were escaping my mouth without permission. Why am I letting this guy get to me? What the hell is happening? “How many missions did they send you on?” I broke down again, fat tears leaking out of my eyes.

“I ju-just want to go h-h-home. I s-swear I don’t kno-ow anything!” I shouted in his face. He glowered at me and lifted his hand from my shoulder. My whole body tensed as I readied myself to the impact.

“Johnson.” The door burst open, stopping Johnson from landing another hit. “This is not what you were supposed to be doing.” Suits walked back in the room. Johnson backed down, lowering his hand and turning to the new member in the room. “Sir, I was told to interrogate the prisoner.”

“Yes, Johnson, interrogate her. Not beat her to a pulp.” He gestured wildly with his hand. “If the boss found out you were doing this, he’d have your head on a platter.” Suits took steps closer toward us and Johnson shrunk into himself. “Get out of here before I call him about this.” Johnson nodded quickly and left the room quickly, leaving his tactical vest on the table.

I was still quietly crying while strapped to the metal frame of the chair. Suits approached me while pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. He raised it to my face and I jolted backwards away from his touch. “Easy now, I’m only here to help.” Is he seriously pulling a good cop, bad cop routine on me right now? He wiped my cheeks of the salty remnants, “Now, how can I help you besides that?”

“You co-could let me go h-home.” I tried to say without stuttering, clearly unsuccessful. I didn’t want to show my emotions but really at this point, could it get worse?

“Awe, girly. You know I can’t do that until you tell me what I want to know.” He began to drag the chair next to me, back to the opposite side of the table. This created an obstacle between the two of us, which made me slightly more comfortable knowing he wouldn’t be able to reach me as quickly.

I heaved a sigh, “but I don’t know anything.” My weeping had come to a definite end, making way for frustration. My face heated for a different reason than being struck several times.

“See, this is where we disagree because I know that you’re lying to me.” He shook his finger in my face and I scrunched my brows together, flicking my eyes between his finger and face.

“You’re kidding me. I told you I don’t know about any missions.”

“Oh really? Then who’s Gemini?” He reclined in his chair, looking smug. “Actually, you know more importantly, who is Libra? The whole thing is just fascinating to me.”

“I don’t know what any of that is. I swear to whatever you want me to.”

“Then why do I have this that says you do.” He held up the manila folder that he first walked in with. I shrugged my shoulders.

“Whatever is in there is lying to you.” He cocked his head to the side and flipped the folder open. He removed a photograph from the folder and placed it on the table in front of me. Staring back at me, was a slightly younger version of myself with shorter hair. A large X was drawn across the whole picture and underneath it read the words ‘Agent Libra.’

My eyes widened, “I have never seen that before, in my life.” Suits sighed heavily and then began flipping through the rest of the papers.

“So what is the Svengali?” He threw out another paper and I glanced down at it. It looked like a typed report of some kind. Much of it redacted by thick black lines. The words Libra, Gemini, and Svengali were visible amidst the sea of dark ink.

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

A ping sounded throughout the room causing the screen of the phone to illuminate. A metal hand reached for the thin device.

New mission alert. You’re needed. Meet at the compound.

Great, this is just what Bucky needed to keep him distracted. Sleep never came easy to him so he was spending copious amounts of time trying to catch up on what he missed out on. Steve told him to make a list and Sam kept rambling on about some gay Marvin man? Bucky much prefered to do things on his own. He hasn’t had help for over ninety years, why should he need it now?

Throwing on his leather jacket as he began to leave his apartment, he checked the pockets for the keys to his motorcycle. He also made sure to grab his gloves. Even though T’Challa and Shuri were good enough to give him a new vibranium arm, Bucky still wasn’t too keen on being stared at in public. It was better for everyone if he just kept the arm tucked away as much as he could while around strangers.

He did one last once over of his apartment before locking the door behind him. He jogged down the stairs towards his bike. It definitely was his pride and joy, it was the first thing that he bought with his own money since 1943. His apartment was courtesy of Pepper Potts, no thanks to Tony’s complaining. Tony and Bucky had eventually worked out their differences, to say the least. Tony still hadn’t fully forgiven the Winter Soldier for killing his parents, and neither had Bucky so they were agreeing to disagree.

The ride to the compound from Brooklyn wasn’t a hard one. It gave Bucky time to appreciate the scenery around him. Slowing to a stop at a four way stop just outside of the compound, Bucky dropped his feet to the tarmac below, stabilizing the bike between his legs. He tilted his head back and felt the warm rays of the sun on his face. Warm was something that Bucky was still getting used to, it was easier in Wakanda. He had his own hut, voluntary therapy sessions, and easy-going check ups with Shuri in her lab.

Everything was simpler in Wakanda, but what Bucky missed most from Wakanda was the stability. He didn’t have to worry about missions, or keeping up with Steve, or the crushing guilt that he felt whenever he saw Tony. After parking his bike at the facility, Bucky made his way to the meeting room. Dark wooden tables in an L-shape appeared in his view. Steve and Sam were standing in front of the large monitor that was displaying images of an unknown, yet familiar looking woman.

“Tony, we don’t know if she knows anything.” Natasha said, apparently trying to rationalize with someone else in the room.

“Natasha, we don’t know that she doesn’t not know anything.” Tony shot back, Sam turned slowly and opened his mouth with a confused expression on his face.

“Tony, we aren’t in an episode of FRIENDS. This is serious. We need to decide if this is worth pursuing or not.”

“Wilson, that’s all well and good but we have to acknowledge that this woman could get us our first real break in our search.” Tony explained while taking deep breaths.

“What are we deciding?” Bucky interrupted as he plopped into one of the chairs. Now that Bucky has been given his freedom back, he’s able to display a difference between his mission self and his regular self.

“This woman here,” Steve gestured to the woman on the screen, “is a member of the Virago. It’s an international branch of SHIELD that was believed to be infiltrated by HYRDA years ago.”

“This is the agent code named Libra. Her last mission was with another agent code named Gemini. The mission report has since been lost to us. All we know is that Libra and Gemini were instructed to watch a Svengali safehouse. Apparently something went wrong and only Libra made it out alive.” Tony added, “Which is why we need to find her and see what she knows.” “Tony! There’s no guarantee that she has any knowledge of this mission.” The redhead stressed as she leaned over the table towards the man she was speaking to.

“I think we should find her.” The words left Bucky’s mouth before he could stop them. All motion in the room stopped.

“Um, did the Manchurian Candidate just agree with me?” Tony questioned as the rest of the room remained quiet.

“Look, I’m not necessarily agreeing with you.” Bucky started.

“Nope, can’t take it back.” Tony mused, “Already said it.” Bucky sighed and shook his head.

“Why do you think we should go after her Buck?” Steve inquired. Bucky’s brows furrowed and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I think I know her from somewhere.”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (22) (org.) || atz

trigger warnings: gunshots, blood, injury, whipping

You freeze.

Every muscle in your body goes taut, a cold shiver running down your spine. The arm around your waist is firm, strong and from the almost unbreakable grip he has on you, he doesn’t intend on letting you go any soon.

“I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” The man behind you purrs, his breath ghosting over the sensitive shell of your ear. A squeak escapes you as the barrel of the musket digs into your temple. You might be terrified to the point of near unconsciousness, but part of your mind registers that this isn’t the same lieutenant that you had seen yesterday. “The rest of you, show yourselves.”

Your heart sinks in your chest as the rest of your crew come into sight.

Most of them are tied up in groups with rope, their heads hanging low as Navy soldiers kick and push them out of the cargo hold, where they had been hidden from sight. So that was why the ship had been so strangely silent when you and Wooyoung had returned to the Treasure.

They had been captured.

“Hello, hello, hello, my two dear pirates.” The man behind you locks one arm around your neck, dragging you up the gangplank with him and you choke, your fingers scrabbling fruitlessly against his arm. His well polished boots click smartly on the deck of the Treasure as he addresses all of the pirates on board. “Now, we’re finally all here together. I’ve been waiting for this the whole night.”

There’s poison in his voice, sweet as honey and as dangerous as snake venom. You don’t dare to struggle against him for fear of being shot point blank in the head, but his hold on you is making you panic and he’s crushing your windpipe, making every breath an arduous effort.

Before you, you see Jongho on the ground, arms in heavy iron shackles used only for slaves, beaten and bloodied black and blue by the Navy soldiers. Your eyes widen in horror at the sight of him. Glancing around more desperately, you try to spot your master, Yunho, Yeosang, the captain.

“Ahh, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m head of port investigation, Leon Bastiville. I heard two of you had a fun trip to the governor’s last night.” The officer behind you yanks your head back by the hair and you let out a muffled whimper, tears trailing down your cheeks as he twists the musket playfully against your temple. “Did you enjoy yourselves? I heard one of you got shot by my men… Was it you, sweet one?”

Every alarm, every warning bell, every danger alert you have in your instinct is screaming in your head at full volume, telling you to get the hell away from this man and put an entire ocean between the two of you, but you’re too terrified to move an inch. Something seems off about him, as if you can feel the sheer madness radiating from him like some sort of black miasma. You’re scared. You don’t want to die.

Leon suddenly rams the musket against your temple hard enough to bruise and your face snaps to the side from the force, fresh tears springing from your eyes at the pain. “Answer me!”

“Yes…” You choke out, voice trembling beyond your control. Behind you, Wooyoung snarls and yanks against his bonds, but his two guards are too strong for him to do anything.

“Since you replied so nicely, let me tell you what you missed last night.” The officer sighs, stroking your hair gently. You’re so used to the same action being done to you by San and Wooyoung, but this man’s touch feels corrosive against you and you try your best to flinch away from him.

“Stay still.” Leon’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper, silken and dark. “I don’t want my finger to slip.”

Terror, cold as frost, spreads through your entire body. You can’t move.

“While the two of you were off causing your little commotion back there at the official’s building,” The officer drawls, playfully resting his chin on your shoulder as he addresses the crew, “one of my men ran back to the harbor to report it to me. My colleague that saw to you yesterday, Yoongi, was already suspicious of you. He smelled gunpowder on your ship, but your little de facto captain told us that you hadn’t been fired on.”

Every movement he makes, you can feel.

“So when I heard about the events of last night, I decided to check the ship out for myself.” His cheeks press against yours when he smiles. “And lo and behold, what did I find? The Pirate King himself, with his one green eye and his Treasure.”

Something cold wraps around your throat.

It was your fault.

You remember everything. The book, the guards, the delay because of your injury.

Captain.

“Bring him out.” Leon clicks his tongue and you see your captain shoved forward, head bowed and hands bound in front of him. Part of you desperately wants to run to the man who named you, to insist he never incline his head to someone he doesn’t respect, but you are completely powerless now. He looks so small, so defeated that you want to cry. Your captain’s head is bowed, and it’s all your fault.

“So, I wonder what you were trying to achieve by coming to Nassau.” The officer sighs, rolling the question on his tongue. Captain simply remains silent, not saying a word as he averts his eyes to the deck. You can feel Leon’s mood darkening at your captain’s refusal to speak.

“Bring me the cat.”

Cat? Why would this officer call for a cat, of all things?

Your question is answered when a young soldier steps forward, holding a thin, dark shape in his hand. Dread fills you when you realise what it is.

“I hope you can bear the claws of a cat o’ nine tails, milord.” Leon smiles, looking rather amused. Disgust and loathing rises in you at how sick in the mind this man is. He jerks a thumb at your captain. “Flog him till he talks.”

Your heart drops in your chest.

“Or stops moving.”

Your head jerks up before you can stop it.

No.

The members of the crew have similar reactions, all of them screaming some protest or another, but they are quickly silenced by their guards with some sort of blow or slap. Yunho gets backhanded so hard across the face that he collapses to the ground, blood trickling from his mouth. You see Yeosang at your right, face pale as a sheet and tears silently streaming down his cheeks.

Before your eyes, your captain is stripped of his shirt. He doesn’t make a sound, only stares forward, and you can feel the irritation pricking at Leon’s skin when he doesn’t react the way he wants him to.

An officer raises a whip to your captain’s bare back and brings it down.

You flinch at the sight and your eyes close instinctively against it, you can’t bear to watch. You hear the whistling of the cat o’ nine tails as it comes down against your captain’s back, the sharp stinging sound it makes against his skin, the soft cry it tears from Yeosang’s mouth. Then the sound repeats, again and again and again, till you lose count and tears rolls down your cheeks, your chest heaving with silent sobs.

Leon’s hand comes up to grip your chin, forcing your eyes open. “Watch, or your captain dies.”

You’re weeping openly now. Hongjoong’s back is a mutilated, bloody mess of raw flesh and shredded skin, crimson streaming from several open wounds. Your captain is on his knees, face pressed against the floor, body trembling. You can’t even begin to imagine what absolute agony he must be in, your musket wound was nothing compared to this. But your captain remains silent, teeth gritted against the torment brought on with each swing of the whip.

He doesn’t make a sound.

Why? Why doesn’t he try to fight back? Why isn’t he trying to escape?

The whip comes down.

A muffled scream leaves your captain’s mouth, it tears at your heart like claws.

The whip comes down.

You can barely see any untouched skin, your captain’s back is nothing more than a raw, bloody piece of flesh.

The whip comes down.

Your captain’s arms give out from under him, and he collapses to the ground, choking from trying to gasp for air and stifle the cries that fight to leave his mouth at the same time.

“Not willing to talk, huh?” Leon breathes, but you can hear the barely restrained fury in his voice. He must not be used to having people resist him like this. The musket digs deeper into your temple, but honestly you don’t care anymore, at this point, you’d rather he just shoot you and spare you the pain of watching your captain get flogged. “Should we move on to another victim?”

The officer’s eyes search the trembling crew for his next victim, but a soft groan from your captain stops him.

“Are you tired already?” Leon turns back in shock, only to see Hongjoong forcing himself back into a kneeling position, arms shaking against the pain as he looks at the Naval officer with a chuckle. “Maybe you’re not training your men hard enough.”

You want to slap your captain for the sheer stupidity of his words. His back is completely torn and ravaged, and if they continue whipping him they’ll be cutting into raw flesh or worse, his spine. And even if he does survive the whipping, the size of this wound is so huge that there’s no way it’ll be able to heal without him getting some sort of major infection.

If the whipping doesn’t kill him, the infection will.

What is your captain doing?

The young guard administering the lashes looks every bit as uncomfortable as you feel, glancing at his superior officer in worry. “Sir, I’ve already administered fifty lashes, but he might die if I continue-”

“Carry on.” Leon spits, voice rising in vindictive glee. But before the young guard can protest or carry out his orders, the officer pauses. “Wait.”

Silence drags across the deck as the commanding officer seems to be contemplating something. Then he turns to look at you, in his arms.

A terrifying smile looms on his face and for a second, your heart stops beating.

Leon turns back to address your captain.

“If you’re not willing to talk when being whipped…” He pauses for a short moment, glancing over at your captain. “... I wonder if your tongue will loosen if I do it to one of your crew, then?”

The question sinks in.

“No!” You hear San, Yeosang and Wooyoung scream simultaneously at once, but you can’t register the words that Leon has just said. They’re going to whip you, probably flog you to death, just to get captain to talk...

Your eyes meet your captain’s, blood roaring through your ears. And ever since the whipping started, your captain looks afraid.

“No-” Hongjoong begins to say, but then Leon’s fingers are at the front of your shirt, pulling at the clasp.

Your eyes fly wide in realisation. Your bindings!

This may seem like the worst time to think about this, but you can’t have your gender revealed now. Not when the rest of the crew already had begun to trust you so deeply as one of their own, not when Wooyoung had confessed to you the some of the deepest, darkest secrets of his heart.

Uncaring of the gun at your head, you flail and thrash against him, to no avail.

Leon growls, fury vibrating through him. “Stop struggling!” With that, he shoves you to the ground, the sound of cloth tearing filling the air as you crash to the deck next to your captain.

There’s a sudden silence as everyone takes you in. You can see every emotion in Hongjoong’s green eye, shock, pain, realisation, then betrayal.

“A woman…” Leon steps over to you, sheer wonderment and interest in his voice. You don’t like where this is going. He yanks you to your feet by the hair and you scream in pain as every nerve ending on your head floods you with a sharp agony. The smile on his face is something you’ll see in nightmares for days to come. “She’s coming back with us. I hope you’re pure for sale, my sweet, but I suppose that may be difficult when you’re on the same ship as so many men.”

Terror swallows you whole.

He wants to sell you as a-

Hongjoong lunges to his feet faster than you can blink. You gasp at the sight of your captain, who’s somehow standing despite the fact that he should be physically in too much pain to do so. His green eye is burning with fire, an uncontrollable fire that ravages everything in its path and burns the world around it to cinders.

The look in his eyes alone lets you understand why he was named the Pirate King. Nobody could ever match the sheer determination and will that burns in his very soul, a roaring blaze that even the ocean cannot put out.

For a moment, he’s as blinding as the sun.

“Wooyoung!” Hongjoong shouts, and immediately the head gunner bursts into action, his ropes falling from his wrists as he tosses three smoke bombs you know were hidden in his shirt to the ground. The deck explodes into a smoky mixture of ash, fine sand and ground glass that San had concocted a long time ago, sending the Navy officers into a panic as they scatter, eyes watering from the blinding powder. The crew of the Treasure, already long familiar with this ever since Yeosang started experimenting with these smoke bombs, turn away from the wind and keep their eyes and noses shut tight against it.

Wooyoung takes this opportunity to use a knife hidden in his boot to cut through the bonds of Jongho and Yunho, who roar into battle like two furious lions. You watch as Jongho tears the sword of a officer off him with his bare hands, before picking the unfortunate man up and tossing him into the sea mercilessly, before smashing through anyone in his way like a one man battering ram.

Yunho rips a spear from the hands of a younger soldier, kicking him to the side before tearing through the deck, freeing as many of his crew mates as possible, all of who join in the fight, armed or not.

In a single second, the tides have shifted.

Leon hisses in rage as the battle happens before him, dragging you back with him as he moves towards the gangplank. The gun has long left your head, Leon using it to sweep the area for any potential intruders.

“You’re coming with me.” He growls, yanking you back. You try to fight back, but he simply smacks you so hard that you feel like you’ve been knocked silly for a moment, head swimming as you try to get your bearings. “I need to call for reinforcements, so-”

Hongjoong raises a short piece of rope with two knots done on it. For some reason, you immediately know what it is, the power thrumming through it too immense to be that of any human.

“Pulling the first knot could yield a gentle, southeasterly wind, while pulling two could generate a strong northerly wind, but the third knot would unleash a hurricane. Hongjoong-hyung has one of these, but he’s used the first knot already.”

But you’re already on the gangplank, and if Hongjoong pulls the second knot now, you’ll be left at the harbor alone, never to see them again. Your eyes meet your captain’s, and for a second, you see them falter.

Suddenly, he flies out of nowhere, lunging for your captor. Leon snarls and tries to kick him away, but then he raises a short knife and buries it in Leon’s arm. The man holding you stumbles back onto the gangplank, falling onto the ground and your saviour takes your hand.

“Let’s go!” He shouts, yanking you with him as the two of you sprint for the ship. Seeing this, Hongjoong raises a hand to undo the second knot on the rope.

You glance back, only to see your captor’s face twisted into one of hatred, the loaded musket pointed straight at your backs.

Hongjoong pulls free the second knot on the rope.

The hand holding yours yanks you in front of him and into his chest, shielding you with himself.

The sound of successive gunshots fill the air.

You feel his body jerk once. Twice. Thrice.

The wind picks up in speed, and all of a sudden the Treasure is speeding away from Nassau, leaving the port island a mere speck in the distance.

“Chin... Hae…” You hear him gasp out through ragged breaths. His chest is heaving against you. You can’t breathe. You can’t think.

Like an insect trapped in amber, you watch, frozen in time, as the arms holding you close slacken, falling from your shoulders. Then he crumples to his knees, crashing to the ground, and that is when you see the blood pouring from three different holes in his back.

Your mouth opens in a scream of his name.

[bloodypapercut]

something missing (g.w. x reader)

request from @lilyydfg : Hey! Can you please write about reader trying to make george (her boyfriend) feel better and get out of depression after Fred's death? :)

tw: this is heavily centred around feelings of being numb, dejected and hopeless.there are mentions of death and slight mentions of the battle (blood and injuries but not much). please don’t read this if it’ll dampen your mood and if you do read please do so with caution. <3 stay safe lovebugs 

(requests are open)

word count : 2.1k 

    It had been months, but the initial shock never seemed to fade away. It plagued both of them horrifically, but George never fully recovered. The memories repeated themselves in his head, while he slept, worked, ate, laughed, cried, drank, and walked. They were intrusive, relentless, vivid, and unforgiving, they consumed every second of his life, so much so that guilt clawed at the back of his throat. The thought that he got to experience all the things they had promised to do together without his other half left him overwhelmed with grief. Why was it that he got to see the business they had worked so hard for thrive, why did he get to be in a relationship with plans for the future, why did he get to hug his mother and father at the burrow, why did he get to laugh alongside his siblings while Fred was gone, buried in the ground? It didn’t sit right with him, it wasn’t fair.

-----

   After the hours of screaming, crumbling walls, peril, the bodies of those they loved limp and battered on the stone floors, bloody hands, and frantic running they returned home. The silence smothered them, it was inevitable. They were shattered. They couldn’t process what had really happened, surely none of it was real. Fred was just missing, it was the wrong body they saw laying there with a lazy smile still etched on his face, Fred was just playing a cruel prank. They told themselves anything but the truth because deluding yourself feels better than facing what’s really in front of you. It wasn’t until they had finished getting ready for bed that it struck them. They followed the routine that they’d had for years on instinct, brush their teeth, wash their faces, get changed, rush to Fred’s room to say goodnight, but when they found his room empty and undisturbed it became clear that he was really gone. Fred, the loving, goofy, sometimes obnoxious but always kind redhead, the reliable older brother, the loyal best friend, the free-spirited stranger was gone, forever. There would be no more shared birthdays, family photos with his cheerful grin, knitted jumpers with a large golden F laying around, ear-piercing singing, and raucous laughter followed by rushed footsteps. It was all gone, in a matter of a few hours. It was there where George broke the silence, more like shattered it. His sobs were violent and agonizing, his pain was palpable. As he sunk to his knees he hugged Y/N’s legs, clinging onto anything that would ground him. His body shook against her calves and his tears were pooling on the hardwood floor, leaving a puddle where his reflection stared back at him. He aguishly looked back at himself, he hated what he saw, it was just a reminder of what was missing.

“I’m sorry, I need to be alone right now.” He made haste to rush to his office and lock the door. She rushed after him, trailing behind his footsteps but as the door shut in her face and the smashing of frames, ripping of paper, and choked sobs resonated through the door it was clear that that’s what he really needed.  

-----

For months George kept to himself, he seldom spoke of anything that he didn’t need to. He was reserved and feeble, avoiding interacting with people and finishing what he needed to do before heading straight to bed. It was unusual, to say the least, in his mind, there was no George without Fred. A part of him died that day, and it will never come back. He was numb, devoid of any genuine emotions. At any mention of Fred, he’d freeze up and immediately leave the room, if he saw something that reminded him of his older brother he’d snatch it and throw it into a box that he kept hidden under the bed. It was heartbreaking to see someone so vivid and bright suddenly solemn and burnt out. It was shattering to see George force himself to forget about the existence of his best friend to avoid the harsh sting of reality.

    He dealt with all of the pain alone. Whenever he’d wake up in a cold sweat he’d rush out of the room, refusing to look Y/N in the eye. Every nightmare was kept to himself, only to fester in his subconscious. At any offer of consolation or guidance he’d simply shake his head and walk away or offer a hopeless “no,” “I don’t care,” “what difference does it make,” or “I don’t want your help” as he kept his head down. No one knew what he was thinking, no one knew how he was. He remained stoic, afraid that once he confronts his fears that it will all become too real.

    It wasn’t until one night when one of his nightmares felt a little too hostile. It was the kind that plucked at any sense of security you thought you had and left you bare and vulnerable. His chest was weighed down and his breathing was labored. The erratic rise and fall sent the bed into light vibrations.

“Georgie, are you okay?” He remained silent and stared vacantly at the illuminated lamp resting on the vanity across the room. The tears in his eyes and remnants from where they rolled off his cheeks glimmered in the dull glow. She took his silence as a sign that he needed to be alone like he always wanted to be. An ache grew in her chest but she knew he wanted to be alone. She shrugged the blanket off of her legs and kissed his cheek lightly while stroking rogue tendrils of hair off his forehead.

“Do you wanna be alone, love?” She smiled warmly and wrapped her robe around her shoulders, preparing herself to leave the room.

“Stay, please, I can’t do this alone anymore.” The grip on her wrist was relieving and her heart swelled at the thought that George was taking the next step, ready to face what had been haunting him for so long. He continued to cry leaning into her embrace and letting his arms wrap around her waist. His head was against her chest, and she felt his tears soaking through her jumper. Her hand danced up and down the expanse of his back, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that she was there and always will be.

“Let it out Georgie, it’s okay, you’re so strong. Just let it out.” The hold around her waist got tighter and he released all the emotions he had been holding in for so long. His sobs were haunting and lingered in the air. After a couple of minutes, his weeping decrescendoed but didn’t seize. He looked up into her eyes, worried that he was unloading too much onto her by divulging all the feelings he tried to keep so secure.

“Tell me whatever you’re comfortable telling me, it’s okay. I’m here George, you’re not alone.”

“Before the battle, we were sitting in the garden. The gnomes were running around, they didn’t bother nipping at our ankles like they always do, even they knew how horrible things had become. We were against the fence and he told me,” George paused abruptly and swallowed forcefully, “he told me that it was unlikely that both of us would make it out. I remember laughing and throwing grass at him, but Y/N he knew, we both knew, I was just too scared to admit it. We promised each other that no matter what, we’d seize the days that followed, even if one of us didn’t survive, but how could I go on without him? He died that day for me, he saved me. And even though he made me promise, I just couldn't. I felt so guilty. Every time I find myself smiling or laughing or even being happy in the smallest ways it always reminds me that Fred would never experience it with me. He will never see his first gray hair, or see his children run around the yard, or see how many people loved the things he invented. It’s so crazy to think that when we drank that aging potion in year 6, that that was the only time I’d ever get to see him all old and wrinkly.”

    He became silent as she traced shapes on the expanse of his back and dragged her fingertips along his forearms. Tears slowly welled in his eyes once more with the same urgency streamed down his face. Gently Y/N lifted his head and held it tenderly in her hands, his tears were kissed away by her cushiony lips.

“I really miss him. Not a day goes by where I’m not tortured by his absence. I feel horrible that I’m doing the very thing I swore I wouldn't do, but memories of him haunt me...and I’m letting them. Every time I hear his name or see anything that reminds me of him, it makes me so,” he paused, his hands rubbing at his red eyes in a frantic state, “so fucking angry, so mad and scared and confused and hurt and sick. I feel everything that he always managed to rid me of, but now that he’s gone it’s just so different. I just wish that he’d barge in like he always used to, but he’s gone, and I can’t accept that, I don’t want to.” His sobs echoed throughout the room once again, the unabating raw emotion seeping through every cough and gasp for air. His grip on the ends of Y/N’s jumper was fervent and desperate.

“You don’t have to forget about him.”

“I don’t want to, but it hurts so much because all I’m reminded of is what’s missing when he isn’t around,” he paused and as he did an ignominious expression painted over his face, “Merlin, Y/N I’m so sorry for dragging you into all of this, I’m being so selfish. I must be such a burden.”

“What? Angel, no no please don’t think that. I’m here because I love you, and I care for you. Never apologize for having feelings, you’re allowed to and it’s not something to be ashamed of. I’m not here because I have to be, I’m here because I want to, and because you deserve every ounce of love this world has to offer. Okay? Look, I know it’s easier said than done but you truly don’t have to forget him if you don’t want to, you just have to learn to understand what you’re feeling and to act accordingly. I’m here to help you with whatever you think is best. That’s all I want for you, that’s what Fred would want too. So tell me what you want help with, and I’ll be there every single step of the way. Anything to help you, you’re not alone.”

    The room seemed a little less daunting from George’s point of view. Upon hearing the words she uttered so softly and so passionately he felt at ease, and for the first time in a long time without guilt. A new cloak of warmth draped over his shoulders, he didn’t know what to make of it but as he looked up at Y/N and around the cozy room he realized it was acceptance and relief. He quickly summoned the box he kept as his contemptible secret for months. It sat comfortably in front of him on the duvet, it’s presence was overt and consuming, but for once George was okay with that. For once he let the box serve as a reminder of his brother’s presence, not as something to smother it.

    They spent the next hours slowly inspecting each piece in the box, smiling and reminiscing on the memories. It felt like Fred’s presence was flooding back, bringing more color and liveliness to their seemingly dull world. After hours of sitting close together, George let out a yawn and ruffled his hair.

“I’ll run a bath and then we can sleep, okay?” He nodded and Y/N headed to the bathroom, and within minutes she beckoned George to come in. Gingerly he rid himself of his clothes and sat down in the bath, leaning his head against Y/N’s warm chest. She soaked a sponge in the water and slowly dragged it across his tense shoulders, the water cascading down his ridged and freckled back. The sound of the water falling back into the bath and their steady breathing created a peaceful symphony in the room.

“I love you, angel, thank you.”

“I love you too Georgie, I know you’d do the same for me.”

[justletmeplayminecraft]

I love reading all your stories and always find myself coming back to them. I think my favs are prob the ones from the Space Outlaw AU, especially the Ex & Zed one, it always makes me smile. That kinda brings me to this request; I'd love to see a followup to that story where Zed is reunited with Tango & Impulse on the ship and what happens a bit afterwards. ^_^

aaa my gosh, thank you so much. it means a lot to hear that and honestly i wouldn't have had the courage to do it without @martuzzio creating this amazing au & encouraging me !!

as for the request, it's actually a scene ive avoided writing in the past, because everyone kinda has their own idea of how it goes? so i wanna say, just because i've written it, it doesn't mean other people can't write it their way!! even i have other ideas of how it could go!! additionally, if you want more of zit's early days after reuniting, it's a side focus in this fic! i realised it was missing from my masterpost so thought i'd mention it gjgfs

alright, on with the fic:

"And this is one of our secondary testing labs," Xisuma introduces, holding his hand out as they step inside. Seeing the current occupant, he turns that hand into a wave. "Afternoon, Impulse." Zedaph perks up at the name, bright eyes focused on the goggled man in front of him.

"Hey, X." Impulse doesn't look up from his current project, carefully soldering two pieces of wire together. "We got our new recruit?" Zedaph's jaw is falling open as Impulse speaks. Any further and it might unhinge.

"We have!" X glances at Zedaph, his smile becoming a soft look of concern. "This is Zedaph, he may not be joining us permanently but-" Impulse looked up the second Xisuma said 'Zedaph'.

"Zed?" Impulse breathes the name like it's sacred, with the same reverence of a god's. Zedaph stares at him with wide eyes, a noise escaping before he can attempt a word. He raises his hands, tears gathering.

"Impulse?" Zed's gasp is wet, grabbing the strap of his bag. "Is that- Am I dreaming? I must be- I-" Impulse barely remembers to turn off his solderer before he's running forward.

The two meet in the middle. Impulse grabs Zed's face, rubbing his fingers over his cheeks. All Zed can do is reach up and hold Impulse's hands tight. They're rough and dirty and Impulse's face is dirty and he's wearing goggles but that's Impulse. That's Impulse, who's wiping away the tears rolling down Zedaph's face.

"Hold on, hold on- Let me-" Impulse pulls away to snap his goggles onto his forehead. "It's you- I can't- It's really you." Zedaph sobs softly, falling forward and pressing the sides of their faces together. He reaches for Impulse's hair, burying his fingers into the strands. Together, they sway in place, legs shaking so much it's hard to stay up. "I don't- Zed-"

Zedaph laughs, high-pitched and hysterical, "I must be dreaming, I must be." Impulse joins his laughter, grip on Zedaph tightening enough to leave white marks on his skin. There's barely an inch of space left between them.

"If you're dreaming then so am I." Impulse sounds breathless. Zedaph squeezes him, tears dampening both of their cheeks.

"I don't want it to end," he whispers, a hint of fear in his voice at the thought. If he could, he'd cling to this moment forever. His heart singing in his chest, Impulse's solid weight in his hands. Neither of them want to wake up.

"You're not dreaming," Xisuma says. They jump apart as they remember he's there. Zedaph wipes the tears from his cheeks. His other hand stays in Impulse's. Their knuckles are pale in each other's grip. "I can finish this tour later, give you some time together." Zedaph feels like he should protest Xisuma's kindness, but the only sound he could make would be broken noise. Impulse continues looking at him like he's the most precious of gems, or a project he's spent months on and finally finished.

"I'll let you know when we're finished with him," Impulse replies. Zedaph stares at him, taking in how he's aged. They've lost so much time. "Do you mind if it's in a month or so? Maybe a year?" Xisuma chuckles, smiling fondly.

"As much time as you need." He tells them, with a polite nod. Impulse just manages to nod back before Xisuma leaves the pair in the empty lab. They stare at each other, barely breathing. Zedaph traces one of the wrinkles that he swears weren't there before. Laugh lines. Worry lines.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm an old man." Zedaph laughs, pulling Impulse's goggles off so he can press their foreheads together. The bright lights of the lab catch their eyes, leaving them sparkling with tears. They fall into a comfortable silence. Together, in their own world - blind to the bright lights and deaf to the quiet hum of electricity. Focused on the other alone. Zedaph finally pulls away when he processes an earlier sentence, face scrunched in confusion.

"We're finished with him?" He questions. There's a swell of hope in his chest that he doesn't want to believe. He wants to cling to it, doesn't want it to be crushed. Impulse nods, ever so slightly.

"Tango. He's here too. He's- Zed, he missed you so much." The swell spills over. Impulse clutches him tight as Zed sobs, entire body shaking with the force. He falls into Impulse's chest, firm hands keeping him upright. Eventually, the sobs quiet into shaking breaths and Impulse moves his hands to cup Zedaph's cheeks, looking into blue eyes. "Zed would- do you want to see him?" Zedaph nods, nails digging into the strap of his rucksack.

"Does- Would he want to see me?" Impulse smiles, nodding in return. He swipes his thumbs across Zed's cheeks, disrupting the tear tracks left there.

"Zed, he'd want nothing more. Both of us have wanted nothing more than to see you since- since-" Zedaph cries again at the thought. It's been so, so long.

"Yeah-" He agrees, "Yeah, me too."

It takes them several minutes until they can separate enough to walk. Impulse leads the way through the ship. Their pace is close to running, Impulse navigating the way to the lower decks on pure instinct. Between them, their hands stay clasped together, never loosening. Zedaph's other hand rests on his bag strap. The Hermits they pass don't interrupt. A few watch with knowing smiles.

"Tango!" Impulse calls as they grow closer to the engine bays. Zedaph's pace slows and Impulse smiles in encouragement, nudging their shoulders together. He tries to smile back, air caught in his throat, tears ready to spill again. His emotions are haywire: anxiety, excitement, fear, elation. He's feeling so much.

"Impulse!" Tango's voice echoes from deeper into the bays. Impulse leads Zed in, watching his wide eyes focus at the voice. Zedaph feels like his body is giving out beneath him. He's going to shake apart. "What brings you here?"

"I'm- Not here for me, actually." Tango pulls himself out from under one of the cables. He stretches, eyes closed and a wrench in his hand. He's wearing a simple dress, the heat in the bays comfortable enough for him without his suit. Then he opens his eyes and freezes with his arms still above his head. Zedaph steps a little further behind Impulse, both of his hands tensing. Impulse squeezes back.

"Impulse?" Tango asks, looking between them both. His red eyes are wide, arms lowering awkwardly. "Is that- Are you?" Impulse nods, turning to Zed.

"Yeah, yeah, it really is." Impulse squeezes Zedaph's hand again, gently encouraging him forward. Zedaph's already crying. He seems to be doing a lot of that.

"Tango," he whispers. Tango can't hold back any longer, running forward so he can hold Zedaph's face in his hands. The wrench clatters to the floor as Tango wipes across Zedaph's cheeks. He looks into those blue eyes and knows his are just as teary. Zedaph allows Impulse to take the rucksack from his back, lower it to the floor.

"Zed." Tango rubs along Zedaph's hairline. The way he leans into the touch is so familiar Tango can only cry. "Nether, it's- I can't believe-" Zed nods, holding him desperately.

"I can't either," he agrees with a wobbling voice. Impulse wraps his arms around Zedaph's chest, resting his head on Zed's warm shoulder. They all cling to each other with no intention of letting go.

"Did you know?" Tango asks, looking between Impulse and Zed. And he can look between them. They're both here, in front of him. All three of them in one place, safe and- He used to dream about this, he never thought it could be a reality.

"No," Impulse tells him, "I had no idea. None at all."

"I didn't-" Zed agrees, "I- I really didn't- I never even guessed." He reaches back for Impulse's hand, legs finally giving up. He makes a soft noise as he drops, the two quick to support him and lower them to the ground. The trio continue hugging each other on the hot floor of the bay. There's no way of telling where each of them start and end, limbs tangled into a pile.

Impulse buries his face against Zedaph's back, Tango weeping openly. The sound of their cries echo in the bay. None of them care. Why think about the world around them when they can focus on each other? How they feel in each other's arms, the heat of Tango's hair, Zedaph's fingers twitching in Impulse's hand and Tango's dress. Convincing themselves they're not dreaming. This is real.

"Wait, wait, wait-" Zed leans back from them both, reaching for his bag. He digs around his shawl until he pulls out a small band of twisted woollen threads, thinned and snapped. "I- I kept it. It's broken but I kept it-" Tango draws Zed back into their hold with a hand on his cheek. His other hand wipes away tears.

"Oh, Zed." Tango's voice is so soft. "You- How do you never fail to surprise us?" Impulse laughs, settling his chin on Zedaph's shoulder. Their heads automatically lean towards each other.

"I'm so glad you do," Impulse says, squeezing Zed's hand. "This is the best surprise I could ever ask for." Zedaph breathes out, words completely lost to him.

"Hey," Tango smiles at them, bottomless love in his eyes. "You can make us new ones now." Zedaph gasps through tears, nodding eagerly.

"Yeah," he agrees, rubbing his eyes on Tango's hand, "I can."

-

They end up in one of the sleeping dens. Zedaph is curled between them, feeling more relaxed than he has in years. Tango is in front of him, an arm around him whilst Impulse's hand rubs his cheek. Zed nudges comfortably into their holds, enjoying the longed for contact with his herd. Tango's hair is secured in a fireproof wrap. Zedaph knows from experience that it's hot but he has the urge to poke it anyway. For old times sake. Thankfully, Impulse notices, grabbing Zedaph's hand and pulling it down. Zed twists to see him, smiling cheekily as Impulse shakes his head.

"What are you two doing?" Tango questions, peering at them with gentle eyes. Impulse turns to Zedaph again, both of them breaking into smiles. Zed brings a hand up to stifle his giggles.

"He was going to touch your wrap," Impulse answers. Zedaph's laughter grows in volume as he curls into Tango, hiding his face.

"Zed!" Tango cries, "I know it's been awhile, man, but-"

"You shut your mouth!" Zed's voice is muffled, cheeks red and sore from smiling. Tango digs his fingers into Zedaph's woollen curls, laughing as a few fall loose. Oh, how he's missed that texture. Impulse sighs, pulling Zed closer to his chest unconsciously. Tango moves with him.

"It's been way too long," Impulse says, voice quiet as he speaks. "Gods, Zed, we just- we just didn't know. We thought you were-" Tango hums, cutting off Impulse's sentence. But Zedaph only nods, face poking up again. His head rolls to the side, expression turning sad, even if it's briefly.

"I- I thought so too. I-" He freezes. On unsteady hands, he tries to push himself up. "Skizz." The word is urgent in his mouth. "Is he okay? Was he safe?" Impulse lowers him back onto Tango by brushing his fingers across Zed's hairline.

"He's fine," he tells him. "We talk often, he's been doing great for himself. Oh, he's- he's going to be so happy we've found you. None of us could, we looked so hard." Zedaph nudges until he's comfortable again, letting the words sink in. Skizz is safe. They're all safe. It's a dream come true.

"I searched too," he says, "I really did." Tango rubs his fingers across Zed's cheek. His skin is warm against Zed's. It always is.

"We know," Tango replies. Impulse hums, nodding against his head. They're not going to talk about Tango and Impulse. Zed- He doesn't need to know the arguments between them. How Tango gave up on this moment. It's not something he needs to worry about. Right now, they're together. They're holding Zedaph in their arms and it doesn't even feel real.

"I don't want to lose you guys again." Zedaph's voice breaks, lost hands clutching at them. "I feel like I'm going to wake up and-"

"You're not," Impulse promises. "We're going to be right here."

"You're not getting rid of us." Tango wipes away the dampness on Zed's eyelashes before it can spill over once more. "Like, you're going to wish you could get rid of us kinda 'not getting rid of us'." That gets Zed to laugh again and they both smile at the sound. Zed closes his eyes with a gentle sigh.

"I'm so lucky," he decides. "I can't believe it."

"So are we!" Tango exclaims. "I mean- Look at you! Cuddled up between us!"

"Mm, lucky to have me." Zed finishes the sentence with a yawn. Impulse scratches along his hairline again with soft, tired eyes.

"Yeah, we are," he murmurs, sinking down into the cuddle. "Get some sleep, yeah?" Zed hums. He's out like a light. Tango watches him, taking in every change on Zedaph's face. The length of his hair, small scars on his skin. But, much to their delight, he still makes those quiet noises in his sleep. His fingers still twitch. He still seeks out their warmth.

It's only once Tango's certain Zed's sleeping that he looks up, finding Impulse's gaze. Impulse sleepily tilts his head in question. Tango has to think before he speaks, tracing circles into Zed's arm.

"I'm- I'm really sorry, Impulse." Impulse's face opens up in shock.

"Hey, no," he quickly rebuts. "You have nothing to apologise for, Tango." He falls silent for a few seconds and Tango can see him searching for words. He waits for Impulse to speak again. "You did what you had to do to move on. I get it. As much as I wanted to believe, I- I never really expected this day to come, either."

"I guess we were both fools." Impulse laughs, so quiet in their little den.

"Well-" He smiles, the expression natural to them both, "-Nothing's changed then, has it?"

"I guess not." Tango rubs Zedaph's cheek once more, finally able to relax into the hold. There will be time in the future.

They've got so much more time than they thought they did.

[nitannichionne]

LUNA IV Chapter 5: Roles  (Henry Cavill Syverson Fan Fic)

Chapter 5

“We need to talk.”

You shake your head as you work on the garden. He gave it to you as a project to do. You liked it instantly because it was something you did for fun before your life changed. There were certain things your father liked to do with you at home when he wasn’t on a mission, and this was one of them. You like the feel of earth in your hands, and how you could pound it and shift it, and make something grow from it. You had great talks in the garden while planting it, watering it, and finally walking it or harvesting it. It was becoming your little world away from the one you got dropped in.

You must stay away from him, no matter how much you want him, you tell yourself everyday while you’re there. The plan is to get away from him, not curl into his arms, not to succumb to his kisses, even if he is compassionate, even if he feels good, even if his voice lulls you in the night when you wake up. It had happened again last night, and you fight the memory:

You awaken with a cry, shaking with tears streaming down your face. The dream-the flashback-had happened again:

Marette was coming at you in your own home, telling you that you were his. You tell him you’re not. He tells you it’s the law. You tell him fuck the law, and your father left you your fortune. He laughs and comes at you, telling you that he is going teach you a lesson that you father didn’t. The fight ensues, and he underestimates your abilities, all your father taught you. The room becomes a war zone, and everything is a weapon as far as you’re concerned. You throw things at him to keep him at bay, and he laughs. He lunges for you and you get out of the way. You pick up a chair and he grabs the other end, but your struggle gets you closer the weapons cabinet. He wrenches it away from you and takes your body to the floor. You feel your clothes rip and you clap his ears. You back away, scrambling for the cabinet. He catches your leg, and you fight, but he’s strong, pulling you to him. You feel him on your back and he squeezes your breast so hard you scream in pain. You roll him over and head butt him, using the moment his grip on you loosens to roll and scramble to your feet. You dive over the couch, away from the weapons cabinet to your father’s desk. You jump over it, and open the drawer. He always had a weapon there. You grab it just as you feel Marette’s body take you to the ground again. You struggle as he tries to disarm you, your fingers fumbling between you for the gun. BANG!

His body is heavy on yours. You push him off, see his expressionless face. You back away from him as if he may spring back to life any moment. You bump into the wall and one of your father’s military jackets fall over you. Your life is over and you know it. You curl yourself in it, still holding the gun, and cry.

In the darkness you awaken from the memory, weeping and trembling. Then you feel a warm embrace, you feel a hand at your back rubbing you. You curl into these arms, and then freeze, realizing this could be no one you know. You look up and see Syverson’s face.

Your mind’s eye closes and you see Syverson standing over you with that same look on his face.

“What?”

“Whatever happened to you, I’m sorry,” Sy ground out. “I feel as if there is so much more to your story—”

Your eyes fly to his. “There is more to everyone’s story, here.”

“There is?”

“Yes, like Gabrielle,” you say her name. “She’s here because she stole food, because she was hungry.”

“I got that feeling when I saw her,” Sy says softly. “I swear to you she is in gentle hands.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” you hiss angrily, and go back to turning the soil with your hands.

“Have I done something to you?”

You say nothing, because he has done nothing. A pattern had been established. You have been trying not to enjoy Sy’s smiles and comments about your cooking and cleaning, which usually surpassed his expectations. And in return--

His fingers and mouth brought you great relief and ecstasy. He knew you intimately, but you hadn't felt his hot hardness inside you since your first night. He comforted you when you had the nightmares, but sometimes you found herself wanting more. He would stroke your limbs every night, and you got used to it, even had trouble sleeping when he had to go if a crime occurred. You were on edge, starving for him, and he knew it, despite the cuffs he had attached to the bed that he adjusted to your size. After that, you’d been keeping conversation to a minimum and even that was killing you. His eyes silently asked you to talk, and so you stopped looking. But your body was a traitor. This morning you awakened with your arm and leg draped over him his muscular frame, your head over his heart. You even sniffed his neck as you awakened. He looked down at you and you got out of bed as fast as you could.

“Why aren’t you at work?” you ask, still tilling the soil.

“I’m working from home today.”

You sigh. So much for time to strengthen your reserve. “I could start lunch early.” You rise and assume an at ease position, deciding that he was not going to let her garden.

His eyes travel you. "I would like to take you to town today," he says quickly. "You should go every week for supplies." He watched you nod in understanding.

You avert your eyes, visibly bracing. "May I finish here?"

"You may not have enough time, it is best to go before the sun is too high." he nods, watching your eyes lower. "I will help you."

Alarms go off within you. "You don't have to—"

"Tend my own garden?" he smiles. "I haven't had time to do it, but I assure you, I know how. We can finish quickly, and still get to town before the sun is high." He is outwardly calm, but you sense tension and don’t know why. You both kneel side by side and get to work, loosening the soil and planting more seeds. "You know a great deal about running a household."

"Yes."

He takes a breath. "I am at a loss. I know why are you are here, but I don't know...why you are here."

You take a deep breath and exhale, "I don't belong here."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

You stab a hole it the shifted earth. "I killed a man—" you make eye contact with him. "In self defense."

"Go on."

"My father was very wealthy, very affluent," you decide to go back to work while you talk. "I was to be married in a year, and had just met my fiancée."

"An arranged marriage."

"He was a nice man," You defend. "I knew no one as kind as Kieran, except my father."

"Kieran?" Sy repeats, frowning. "Kieran Feloni?"

You nod.

His eyes widen with recognition. "Then that would make you—"

"Daughter of General Andari."

He stopped working. "Your father was one of the most admired and decorated warriors in the Luna System." His whole demeanor shows great respect. “I was saddened about his loss, I truly was. Good man.”

"Thank you," you nod, feeling his sincerity. "Don't know much about me, do you?"

"No, not really," he shook his head, feeling guilty. "Your stories were in the society section, I don't read that."

You nod in understanding. "Yes, that is how they did it." You tensed, still concentrating on the work before you. "They took everything."

"Who?"

"Luna III," you nod. "Women can't have anything, remember?"

"They only ask you have a guardian—"

"I don't need one!" your anger flares, eyes sparking at his. "My father raised me to take care of myself. I was fine!"

"I heard that he died in a—"

"They died," Your voice wavers, and you go back to concentrating on the planting. You realize you have finished planting the seedling in front of you, and shift quickly before he can touch you. "They took everything away from me...in trust till I found a new guardian." You pause, starting a new row. "One was picked for me. I didn't want him. He tried to take over—take me—it was me or him."

"And?"

"I am my father's daughter." You smirk darkly at him, vigorously stabbing the earth and dropping seeds in each hole, creating a rhythm. "Female I am, but my father taught me how to fight. Marette was stupid to think I'd let him—I warned him, told him to leave me...alone." You find your vision is blurring, your breath is heaving, and you stop.

"You'd never killed anyone."

You stab the ground so hard the hoe stands straight up in the soil. "I never had to!" She raised her eyes to him, her breath racing.

"Enough gardening today." He rises to his feet.

You stiffen. "Yes, I'm sure you've had enough digging around today." You lift your face to him defiantly as you rise to your feet even though your tears still fell.

"Time for a bath." Before you could say anything, he picks you up. He keeps a gentle but firm grip on you, anticipating resistance, but there was none, though she was stiff in his arms. He sets you down in the bathroom, turns on the water, and undresses you slowly. You say nothing. He undresses and pulls you in against him.

You put your palms on his chest, trying to keep some distance. "I can't wash this way." You don’t want to look at him.

He smiles gently. "It's alright. Let the water do some of the work, wash it away." You go rigid and he starts wetting your hair, smoothing the water over your head. "Close your eyes, relax..." He gently massages your scalp until you relax. He puts your head on his chest. "See?"

Your vision completely blurs as you try to hold in sniffs and sobs. He holds you closer as he takes a sponge from a small wall shelf and strokes your back, saying nothing. You hide your tears in the flow of water. You had not cried since the day law enforcement took you, the last time you held your father’s jacket. You realize he is too quiet and he is caressing more than bathing you. Does he know you’re crying? You hesitantly pull away.

Given access to the front of your body, he rakes your hair back gently, pulling it to tilt your head to his. He lowers his lips to yours, pressing gently. He withdraws, but only to wash your breasts and stomach, then kneels to wash your legs as well.But then, his mouth opens against the apex of your legs, his warm breath providing only a second's notice before his tongue slides between your lovelips, and you exhale in a half cry, half moan. You lean against the shower wall. His strokes are slow and deliberate, coaxing your legs to open more. He guides your hands to his head, and you massage his scalp as you pant under the flow of water, lost again in passion. He moans as drinks from you and then rises to his feet to pin you against the wall and lift you effortlessly onto his hips, his muscles exerting great care as he lowers her onto his erection. Your both moan, the sounds blending with the sound of flowing water as he lifts and lowers you again…and again…

Passion strips away roles as the water rinses you clean. You wrap your legs around him in surrender as he gently thrust into you, the movements becoming more urgent. You flex around him as he draws moans from you, your fingers digging into his shoulders and intensifying his release.

For moments after he holds you to him, he keeps you pinned against the shower wall as he strokes your arms and legs. He kisses your shoulder and you realize you have been rubbing the back of his head almost absently, naturally, your legs still wrapped around him. It was as if you aren't prisoner and warden at all.

"We are going to market?" you ask softly.

He draws back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. "Yes. I want the people in town to know you are with me and whatever you buy is on my account." He kisses your nose, and smiles at your confusion. His words do not sound like that of a warden. "Get dressed, alright?" He sets you down on your feet, and you wash quickly and get dressed.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know if you wish to be tagged, and comments are WELCOME. Please feel free to also check out other stories on my page.

Thanks @fckdeusername​ and @maan24 ! I thought no one was interested in this story!

[nrth-wind-a]

So I took a couple Romance Drabble Prompts on special request and uh... this spawned. A sort of companion piece to Cantus In Memoriam! Takes place right after Douxie explodes the Fortress in ep10 of Wizards. // @flamekeeperbellroc 1. I’m sorry 2. I hope you (and others!) enjoy! <3 --

Skrael can count on one hand the times he has been defeated in a magic battle, over the course of billions of years. So the very idea that it happens at all is… metallic in his throat.

Or, it will be.

He cannot feel it, yet. He cannot taste it, yet. He cannot feel—taste—anything. Yet.

Because at that exact moment, he is hurtling through the air, feet over head, end over end, and he is not awake to witness it.

A stuttered gasp as wind steals their breath—and it is not by the usual suspect, and that is already enough to push their panic up higher, into their closed throat—and as the air makes their eyes water, makes their stomach drop, rips at their feathers and their hair, Bellroc, Keeper of the Eternal Flame is the one to witness the North Wind at the mercy of his own domain, instead.

That cannot do.

They have to fix it.

They have to fix it, and they have to save- and they have to get- they have to- they have-

Their thoughts, their feelings, their—everything is flying. Too fast, too quick. Anything they feel, think, is merely half-formed as it is torn from them by their fall.

Instinct is a funny thing.

It can be cruel, and it can take from rationality. It can force terrible acts, and it can paralyze and freeze and grip. It can call from deep within.

But sometimes, like the Universe Herself, Instinct can be merciful.

And it is indeed by Mercy’s guidance alone, that Instinct takes hold of Bellroc in the right way. The way that slides itself into their arms, their hands, their body, and moves.

And it moves fast.

They collide into Skrael, and the trees are getting closer.

He is terrifyingly… not, warm, but—his cold does not hurt to touch, so it is warm to him, or will be, when—if?—stop that—he wakes—he will be uncomfortable—

They do not have time to think on this.

Clutching him to their chest, the only thing that comforts them is the weight of their staff in their hand—and there is warmth—and the way they point it downwards, and the way flame jets from it, and the way it slows their descent. It does not stop them, and they do not rise, but they slow—and—and their mind is slow, foggy, and this, even this, is effort they cannot afford to expend, but they pay it anyway, and will always pay it, because—

They will not let something as graceless… as… distant to them, as gravity, be Skrael’s undoing. The North Wind will not be a victim of his own expertise.

As the forest floor approaches too soon—still, too soon, even with their magic and the first prayers they’ve spoken in eons—they drop their staff, meters from the ground, and rotate, hitting back-first the soft, wet grass.

Skrael does not wake, even on the rough impact which sends them sliding, as they curl around him, doing all that they can not to roll, despite the scrapes they take because of it.

As they finally halt, they are still for just long enough to assess… to process—they swallow hard, working to draw in weak puffs of air.

And then they unfurl, lie him gently in the dirt—it is cold, so maybe—maybe it will—maybe he will—

His eyes remain closed.

For so long, all they’ve wanted for him is peace, but—

Not Like This.

Their voice breaks with their mind, and they cannot tell the bounds of either—whether or not their sobs are real or imagined, a product of the spiral their thoughts funnel down as easily as water through a drain—and—and—

Their voice, desperate, filters to their ears, as though there is cotton in them.

“You can’t die.” They are kneeling over him, hands on his chest, and it feels like begging at an altar, and they should hesitate in their next words, for what place could something so undutiful have at the feet of the restless gods? But they say it anyway, because their home is—their fortress, rather, is falling, engulfed in flame. Their Home, though, their real Home, has already fallen, and they cannot parse the meaning of that, here, in this moment because words have multiple meanings and emphases, and they cannot tell if he has fallen, or—capital f, Fallen. And if he has, then—they should have said it sooner, place and time be damned, so they don’t hesitate, as they finally breathe life into the words, “I love you.” 

They burst in their chest like an explosion, an exothermic reaction, which they pay for in their rapidly heating eyes, “So if you die—” They swallow, ignore the undignified, nasal noise they don’t even mean to make, “I’m going to—to find you, in the afterlife, and—and revive you myself,” their voice quivers and they do all that they can to keep magma from dripping onto him, “And then… scold you like hell—” they cannot bear to threaten worse, “So come back to me, Skrael. I will—” they gasp, “—will never forgive you if you follow Merlin, and not…” their voice goes soft, “not… me.” It breaks.

They hold their breath.

He does not stir.

A sob reaches them belatedly, barely freeing itself from their throat, which feels as though a vice has looped around it and pulled taught, and they—they want to do something, hit something, shake Skrael to life, kill Hisirdoux Casperan, cry to the heavens so loudly, they’d put Achilles to shame—they cannot deny how… real that story feels, in that exact moment, and they must remember to grieve with Homer in the After, because to write something of a demigod’s grief reaching the feet of the gods, his family, in the far off heavens above must beget a deep understanding of a loss like this—of a cry like that, which shakes realms, upseats goddesses, calls on the Universe and makes Her weep, too, demands She join in the tragedy She has allowed—

A weakened, dry laugh slices their heart in twain. “The very idea that I’d follow Merlin anywhere is truly insulting, my flame. I have half a mind to disobey you, if I thought you wouldn’t make good on your promise.”

Wooden eyes cannot widen, but a gasp can be sucked in, and when it is, it nearly chokes them.

“Skrael.” They breathe, and before he can fully sit up, ashen arms are thrown around his neck, and a hand is on the back of his head, pressing it into their shoulder, and they are warm, and so is he, but he can’t even mind, because he can feel them, and they are no longer weeping.

A second laugh whispers across their skin, for them to feel him this time, as they hear him say, “I—apologize for taking so long. On the subject of that bastard, I… had to give him one last rude gesture on my way out. It would have been utterly remiss of me not—”

Two hands grip his hood and tug him close as lips meet his—meeting his, in relief. It is a salve. For the both of them. One that proves life, proves safety.

Heated lips can feel the cold ones beneath them grow colder, and there is a smile somewhere between them, but they aren’t sure whose it is.

Later, they will find it in themself to care of his nonchalance, but for now, as he draws back, pulls their head to his shoulder, traces his hands up their back, across their shoulders, their biceps, the only thing they can even begin to give a care for, is that Skrael is alive. They are alive. The both of them are—alive.

The castle crashes a mile away, and it should bother them, but it only feels the way his touch does in the pit of their stomach, in the gooseflesh across their skin. The electricity of his cold. The knowledge that he’s survived.

And the knowledge that he loves them, too. Which they do know.

Because the breath he uses to say it ruffles their hair, and the shiver down their spine that it causes, is—release—perfect.

[futurewriter2000]

If we are not this, than what are we?

- pt. 1- 

A/N: I got inspired by tik tok for this and let me tell you, I’m so glad I did write this. I’m probably gonna do a part 2 because I couldn’t put all the request in and I have to. It didn’t fit all together and Imma finish it in part two I gues??? Idk. Just school is in my head right now so it’s hard to think.

REQUEST: Can I request a James PotterxSlytherin!Reader where they were neighbours and bestfriends as kids and when she got sorted in slytherin, james was an arse to her. When they are older (6th/7th year) they spend time and realise they like each other but all their family and friends are against it.

XX

James Potter.

An asshole.

A true, unpredictable asshole.

"GIVE IT BACK, JAMES!" you shouted, stretching your arm to get the journal in his hand.

You didn't know how he got a hold of it. It has always been under your pillow, sometimes under the cushions or the bed but never in reach for someone to grab.

He threw the journal to Sirius, who was laughing a few feet behind him. James wrapped his arm around your neck and stood behind you. You grabbed his strong arm that was tightening your neck and causing your head to be in an uncomfortable position. "YOU'RE HURTING ME! JAMES!" you shouted, feeling tears well up in your eyes as other students started to gather around and watch.

"Hurting you?" he loosened the grip and you pushed yourself away into Sirius' arms, grabbing the journal from his hands and pushing it against your chest. "You know we're always playing, lil Snake." he kept goading you, seeing well clear you were about as close to crying as Sirius was close behind you.

"You're an asshole!" you fumed at him. "A self-observed, narcissistic, prideful, son-of-a-bitch asshole!"

"And you're a slag, (y/n) (y/l/n)."

"Oh, I'M A SLAG?!?" you stepped back, scoffing and laughing forcefully. "Have you looked yourself in the mirror lately, Potter? Or were you too busy playing with Bibby the Bear? You know, coddle him like you did when we were kids? Kiss him a kiss goodnight?" you goaded and saw the colour on his skin turn bright red.

"Hold her, Pads!" he growled and you felt your arms being whisked away from your book.

Sirius was locking your arms behind your back, causing the journal to fall to the floor and being picked up by none other than, James Potter.

You knew there was no way out of this. You knew it and you admit to it but it's your journal and it's all of your feelings on a page.

You've been bullied by him since the first year. He was the one causing you to be anti-social. Because everybody loves James and who James likes, they like but who James doesn't like, they do not like either.

So as he opened the cover with the malicious smirk plastered on his lips, he took one last look at you. "Got any other words to say to me or do you want me to just read it?"

You felt your knees go completely numb and you were might as well hanging in Sirius' grip. "Please, James. Please don't." you pleaded, begged, prayed even... But it was James... And James hates you.

He opened and started to read. He laughed immediately. "Okay, okay. You weirdo." he commented and tears started to trickle down your eyes. "Dear thinking book, May 5th, 1973 - blah blah blah - Oh!" he exclaimed, looking up at you. "You fancied the Perfect Klemmens in your third year? - 'His eyes are so wonderful! Green marbles-"' "he laughed, barely containing it, just as the other students around you. "- sorry. It's just too funny. " he continued to laugh. "- for you to think you ever had a chance with Klemens."

"STOP!" you shouted but he just turned around with his finger in the air.

"I'm just gonna skip 73' since Klemens is all you talked about." he flipped a few pages. "What happened to 74'?"

You don't talk about 1974.

"Oh, here I am!" he beamed. "September 3rd: 'Back here and nothing has changed. Everything is the same, even the infamous Asshole of the Gryffindor tower hasn't grown up a brain.'" he looked at you and touched his heart. "Ouch. To be quite frank with you my brain is evolved just fine. It's yours who need some working." he was up close, watching you and blinded by the wet cheeks.

A tear fell and you felt absolutely defeated. You spat in his face, kicked Sirius in his crotch, and pulled out your wand "Inferno!" you shouted but instead of hitting the journal as you wanted you, you lit up James robe.

At this point, you didn't care.

"Missed!" you heard his mocking laugh but you just ran. You ran outside, you ran out of the castle, you ran so far until you were sobbing at the edge of the lake.

His voice kept repeating in your head as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. You lost your whole energy to that night. You laid on the side, rocks digging in your hips and causing you much more pain but to that pain, you were numb. The real pain was inside of you. You grabbed the grass and pulled it out because you were so furious and so upset. You just wanted to die right there and then.

'He used to be my best friend!' you cried in your head, tears enabling you to open your eyes as a scene of a messy 8-year-old boy, prancing around you and pulling you into the mud with him rolled in your head. 'We used to be best friends.'

---

He walked into the dorm, seeing Remus help Peter with his homework. He stomped proudly, throwing the journal on his bed and taking off his school robe. He pulled up the burnt edge and shrugged. "Oh, well. I'll just write mum to buy me another one." he laid on his bed with his shoes still on.

"Where's your other half?" Remus asked.

"Saw some Tinkerbell down the corridor as we walked. Got distracted."

"Should I ask about the robe?"

"Nah. No, fun without someone else telling the story. We'll have to wait for Sirius."

"Alright."

"Alright." repeated James, looking at the ceiling and thinking of you. It plastered a smile on his face to know you wrote about him in your journal. "I wonder..." he mumbled to himself, laying on his stomach and opening the journal again.

" November 16th, 1975: 'I thought I was over this. I thought I was strong enough! I THOUGHT I WOULDN' T BE TREATED LIKE THIS ANYMORE! I keep repeating the same thing because I know that I still can't get it through my thick head of how he went from my best friend to my enemy. '" James turned the page and kept reading. It was obvious. You were a Slytherin. You betrayed him. Everybody knows Slytherins are the worst."' I can remember us just chasing each other down the big grass. His mother hated me as a child. Both of our parents disapproved of our friendship- his mother hated me because of my parents but I can' t choose which family I was born into. He promised that he doesn't care about what his parents think of me but clearly, he does. Clearly, he thinks I am just as WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!'" he backed his head away from the page, completely shocked by this sudden burst of anger.

What? Why would you think he thinks that?

He furrowed his eyebrows at the page and continued to read. " 'He hates me just like everybody else. He hates me just like his parents hate me. He hates me just like my own parents hate me. He hates me just like the rest of Hogwarts- hell he' s the cause behind all of that in the first place. And you know what's the worst part?! When he bullies me and belittles me in front of everybody- when he makes me cry and weep in the long nights after that - I still can't do it. I still can't bully him back AND I HATE MYSELF BECAUSE OF IT! I'M SO DUMB AND SO STUPID! I CAN' T EVEN STICK UP FOR MY OWN SELF, LET ALONE SOMEONE ELSE!!! - "

Again...that burst of anger but... But what was he feeling currently? What?

What's happening in his head right now? Why does he feel like his world just flipped? Why does he feel like he wants to cry? What's this uncomfortable feeling inside of him that feels like it's eating away his stomach?

" 'I hate myself. I just hate myself so much. I hate everything about me. I can' t even look myself in the mirror anymore. I'm just so bloody ugly and pathetic. Why am I still putting up with this? Why don't I just end it as a normal person would? Why don't I just end it right here and now? "

He read and his eyes were wide and watery. He didn't even know what he was doing until he was outside the castle grounds, breathing heavily.

Merlin?! - he grabbed his head. What if you kill yourself because of him?! What if you- how could he live with himself! - he-

"I can't breathe!" he gasped for air. "I- what's happ-" he tried to grab the air with his hands but then his eyes saw you- you in the far distance. You in your Slytherin robes, looking at the mirror of yourself in the water. You were on your knees, just letting your fingers dip and move along the waves.

His breathing got calmer, the air filled his lungs and for some odd reason, he smiled.

"Thank God!" he breathed out, getting on his feet and moving forwards.

You heard branches snap behind you and you quickly turned around, eyes widening in terror. "Please, James don't hurt me! James, pleas-"

He opened his arms and crashed into you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a hug. "Thank God, you're alive!" he squeezed you tight and you felt the confusion hit your brain cells.

"What?"

He squeezed you harder against him, digging his nose into your neck. "I'm so sorry, (y/n)" he felt a lump form in his throat and he started to choke on it, letting out fat tears. "I'm so sorry (y/n)!" he sobbed and started to cry in your arms.

You were completely shaking. You didn't know whether this was a prank or if he was truly honest with you.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you!" he continued to sob and you felt it. You felt it in your bones. This wasn't you being naive. This was you feeling old James in your arms. "I didn't know! I didn't know- I'm so sorry!" he pulled away with a completely runny nose and puffy red eyes, almost matching yours. His hands rested on your shoulders and he sniffed. "I won't do it again. I promise. I'll leave you alone. I'll do anything to make up to you, I PROMISE! I PROMISE I WON'T HURT YOU- just don't think like that?"

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about, James?" you furrowed your eyebrows at him, putting your own hands on his arms.

He sniffed one more time, pulling up the journal and putting it in your hands.

The realization hit strongly. "Oh.." you took it in your grasp. "So, you uhm-"

"I read sum of it." he let go of it, wiping his cheeks. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Are you joking?" you forced a laugh. "You can't be serious right now? Why didn't I tell you? Because it was obvious-"

"I wasn't that horrible?"

"You were terrorizing, James." you spoke completely serious. His eyes kept watching you in shock. He didn't believe it. "I'm scared of you, don't you get it? I avoided you since the first year and every year it got worse. I didn't come to eat unless I knew you weren't there. I asked my professors to not give me classes with you. I did everything I could to stay away from you because I was scared and terrorized by you. " you removed your hands from him and stepped back.

Why were you even holding him in the first place?

"I was really that bad?"

"Yes, and you still are."

"I made you hate yourself? " he asked, eyes guilty and ashamed, afraid of the answer.

"Yes, you did." you continued to watch him.

You were honest. It felt good saying these things to him.

"You think it's because of my mum?"

"You hate me just as much as she does. It's a clear explanation."

"But it's not true."

"well, whatever the explanation is, it surely wouldn't change anything you did. You're horrible, James." it just kept coming out and at some point, you knew this was dangerous but at the other, you couldn't stop. "You used to be so kind and so sweet when we were kids, neighbors even but I couldn't shake you off. Not home, not here. It was like living with a shadow. You always followed and I was always in such pit of darkness and loneliness because of you. I hated myself because of you. I tried to love me, something, anything but you never let me and this! "you shouted, lifting the journal in your hands." This was my safety. This was my listening ear. My healing. My only trustee but now I don't even have this. So thank you, James. For taking everything away from me. " you threw the journal in the lake and moved passed him. "Thank you for killing me."

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Reinforced - Lee

[Boo-yah babey I’m back]

CW; dislocation, sadistic whumper, contortionism, body horror honestly. This is just a little more intense 

The boy was trembling, holding his elbows. He was still wearing his costume, hair damp from sweat. The sounds of the other circus acts filled small tent with distant music and cheers. His teeth chattered in the humid air.

“Sir, s-sir please. Can- how, how to do I prove to you that I’ll behave? Please give me a chance to prove myself. Please?”

The Ringmaster smiled and straightened his long coat. So eager to please. Perfect. Of course he would be, he would never accept anything else.

The boy had done his act flawlessly again. It was always fascinating to watch him contort his body into something that seemed… inhuman. There were plenty of supernatural in this show, but Lee wasn’t one of them. He was just another human performer with nowhere else to go. Raised here, born before the Ringmaster had bought the company.

The wind blew a bar of music and a rush of the crowd from the big tent. He didn’t have much time before he needed to introduce the next act, but that was part of the game, now wasn’t it? The limited time only made every movement deliberate and sweet.

Just another rush.

“Now Lee, you know what I say about obedience.”

Lee’s eyes fall closed and he shivers. “That, that it has to be re-reinforced.”

Fat, heavy tears roll down his face and the Ringmaster soaked in the sight of them. He would call them crocodile tears, but he knows they’re not.

The crowd cheers and brings him back. Tick tock, the clock is counting down. He takes a deliberate step towards the boy and he shudders. He curls his hands close against his chest, hunching his shoulders a little to protect them.

He knows the game, too.

“It hurts.”

Its barely more than a whisper, but the man hears it. He hears it and allows the shadow of a smile to glaze over his lips. Lee’s eyes are closed, and besides - he knows anyway.

“I know,” says the Ringmaster calmingly, sickeningly, as he takes another step forward. Stalking. “I know it does, but we can’t have you trying to run away again.”

Lee chokes on a sob. How many nights, how many years had it been since he had tried to run? Regardless, he nods. He knows; and god does he regret it. He’s regretted it for years, and his waking nightmare is that he will regret it for years to come.

How long will it take before the Ringmaster tires of this game?  

“Hand.”

The man is standing in front of him know, Lee’s eyes fixed on the man’s shoes. It feels like someone has wrapped a band around his heart and it is squeezing him to death. The terror, the fear never lessens. They never dull.

“Please. Please let me do it,” he whines softly. He can pull the joint out carefully, he can make it hurt so much less. If he’s lucky, maybe not even at all.

There’s no answer. Lee knows there’s a time limit, he knows that the Ringmaster will get rushed and then there will be no comfort, no pauses. Trembling, he offers up his hand.

The Ringmaster grins and takes the hand gently, brushing his fingers down the back. He wraps a hand firmly around Lee’s wrist, and the other around the boy’s thumb. Lee bites his lip, fighting with the fire under his skin that is screaming at him pull your hand away.

The man tugs sharply, and the joint abused from nights and nights of this game gives. Lee gasps harshly, but it’s nothing. Nothing compared to what’s coming. Without prompting he lifts his other hand. The Ringmaster smiles and takes it lovingly.

Lee begged to prove his obedience but doesn’t seem to realize he does every time.

The process is repeated on his other hand, and Lee judders out another gasp. The Ringmaster holds the boy’s hands for a moment, brushing his thumb back and forth to sooth, before squeezing harshly. Lee keens, knees going slack.

The Ringmaster never lets him fall.

“Good job, you’re doing so good tonight, Lee.” The boy sobs, leaning his head to rest in the center of the man’s chest. It hurts, it hurts and it’ll only get worse, but there’s a single moment where at least he can be distracted by the kind words.

A length of rope is brought up and used to tie his hands tightly. Once, one time, he dislocated his thumbs to try and escape the cuffs. One time, but one time was enough for it to be added to the game. A precaution as the Ringmaster calls it.

Lee calls it torture.

His hands throbs and the rope cuts into his wrists as the man pulls him close to his chest. The man lays a hand across the boy’s dark hair and wraps the other around his waist. He breathes deeply, contentedly,  while Lee cries into his woolen coat and ignores the pressure on his poor hands.

The moment is brief, and when the man pulls him away there’s a new look of fire in his eyes. He seizes high on the boy’s arm, just below the shoulder joint, and raises the grip of his arm around Lee’s chest. A violent yank, and Lee cries out through his sobs.

His legs give out completely, and the Ringmaster brings them both down to their knees. He brushes strand of fine hair out of the boy’s eyes, admiring the tears on his face and listening to the pitiful, half spoken pleas.

“Just one more,” he murmurs, feeling the shiver his words produce. “Just one more and you’ll be done. You’ve done well, Lee. Can you do that for me?” Lee’s response is only more cries, but the Ringmaster accepts it just the same.

He only shudders when the hands come again. Another wrench, another sickening pop for deep inside his body, and screams. He can feel his voice grate in his throat. The pain is overwhelming him, oppressing him into a weeping ball on his knees. The hands disappear, and he’s drifting. Drifting and alone and in agony.

A hand cards in his hair and lifts, forcing him to stand. Once he’s on his feet, the hand doesn’t leave. It stays. It stays, and it pulls him backwards. Backwards and down, bending farther and farther until his spine lays atop itself. Only then does the hand slip away.

Lee takes a controlled breath as he takes in the world upside down. The worst part is over, now. It hurts, it hurts more than anything else, but the sharp, terrifying part is over. This stretch is normal for him, dark hair brushing the ground next to his ankles. His shoulders burn and pull and buzz like insects, but he can breathe through the consistent pain. The sharp, anticipated pain is what he fears.

He can find focus in moments like this, and the pain can fade as he focuses on balance and breath.

The Ringmaster’s hand grabs his hair once again, now his bangs, and pulls him through his legs. The world rights itself, and he adjusts, whimpering as he brings his dislocated shoulders around and his hands in front. Tears that were trapped by gravity glide down his face in abundance, but he can’t let himself feel them right now.

The Ringmaster lays a hand on his taunt stomach. “Down.”

Lee folds his knees and lowers his chest down to the floor. Once he’s on the rug, he tucks his legs under his chin and nuzzles his aching hands with his nose. He closes his eyes and listens to his own breathing, counting.  He can’t break down, now, he can’t cry. He needs to focus on breathing, on counting. Feeling small is a comfort to him, always has been. When he’s open, he’s vulnerable. But when he’s folded and compact, he’s safe. Small and safe and unseen. He pulls himself a little tighter together to stifle a sob that would wrack him.

The Ringmaster stands above the twisted form, observing every jerk and spasm. Time is almost up, but Lee is focused now, hiding deeper inside his head.

No matter. It’s just as enjoyable to unfold him slowly after the performance.

He taps the crate with his shoe, reminding Lee of where it is. Lee shudders in his compact form, but inches back towards it. Once inside, the Ringmaster comes around front and pets his cheek gently. Yes, to comfort him, but also to watch the mesmerizing shudder. It’s a sight to behold; a body so contorted shudder.

He closes the lid and straightens his coat. Time has come for him to introduce his next act, and the smile on his face is as genuine as it will ever be. It’s been fed by weeping and fear, thoughts still wandering to little Lee waiting for his return.  

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Cotton-scented Kisses

Characters: Tom Hiddleston x Wife Reader

Summary: Tom wakes up with a bit of a headache after drinking on New Year’s Eve, but he has quite the solution for what ails him.

Warnings: Smut.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I don’t know if I’m back 100% to writing smut, but this one shot demanded to be written. I hope y’all enjoy.

There was only one thing that could make the blaring tone of your forgotten alarm anything close to bearable.

And that was Tom pulling you closer after you had silenced it, his arm hooked around the dip in your waist so that he could bury his face into the soft skin of your neck. You tilted your head to the side to rest your cheek against his, smiling at the rasp of dark stubble that roughened up the sharp edge of his jaw. He smelled like sleep, warm and content and just the hint of his spicy, earthy soaps that clung to his skin.

“Good morning,” you murmured, loosely winding your arms around his bare shoulders to tickle your fingers down his spine. “Happy new year, and all that. How’s your head?”

You hadn’t gotten too wild the night before, but the bottle of champagne that you had split just before turning in might not have been the wisest decision. Judging by the way he shushed you with a finger over your lips, your assumptions were correct.

“You talk too much, Mrs. Hiddleston,” he groaned, nipping lightly at the skin bared by your loose-fitting sleep shirt.

You chuckled warmly and patted his back before lifting one hand to grab the bottle of water you kept on your nightstand. Tom took it and drank from it greedily, never opening his eyes even as he flopped onto his back at your side. Your hand smoothed over the ginger curls brushing against his forehead before scratching lightly at his scalp until he hummed in pleasure and dropped the emptied bottle to the floor.

“Want me to grab you some headache meds?” you asked, moving to climb out of your shared bed.

His hand circled around your wrist and tugged you back down onto the bed so you were flat on your back. You were greeted by his mischevious smile as he leaned over you, boxing you in with his hands on either side of your shoulders and his knees pushing in between your spread legs. “I had a much more enjoyable idea for ridding myself of this headache, if you’re amiable?”

A pleased, teasing smile pulled on your lips and your hands smoothed up his arms to push into his leanly muscled chest. Your fingertips swirled in the bit of chest hair that rested over his rapidly beating heart. “I could be persuaded…”

A truly wicked grin darkened his features to match the lust that blew out the sunshine in his gaze. “Then allow me to show you.”

And then he lowered his body over yours, pressing you into the mattress with the heavy planes and edges that fit perfectly into your soft curves, before capturing your lips in a tender kiss. The coax of his lips against yours awakened the beginnings or your arousal to tighten deep in your core. The tease of his tongue against yours, languid and heated, sent a cascade of pleasure trickling down your body to gather at the apex of your thighs that pressed into his. He shifted onto one arm so that he could gather your shirt into his fist and tug it up and over your head to fall forgotten to the floor.

Your hands curled into the pillows above your head where he had left them to fall. You couldn’t think of what to do with them besides hold on because he had taken advantage of your new state of undress to drop his head to your chest, sucking one of your pebbled nipples into the hot cavern of his mouth. His tongue swirled around the oversensitive bud, pulling quiet mewls from your throat as you arched your back into his greedy hands that held you still.

The light scratch of his beard against your sternum was almost too much for your electrified nerves as he moved down your body, leaving love bites over your curves that he laved with soft strokes of his tongue before continuing onward. You were left a mindless, writhing mess beneath him, your hands flying to his shoulders for purchase when he finally found his destination to swipe his tongue up your weeping sex.

“Tom,” you stuttered out, your legs trying to close against the mind-numbing bliss that the neverending probe and curl of his lips and tongue created. 

But his big, warm hands held a firm grip on your thighs. He kneaded the tensing muscles gently as he held you open for his sensual exploration, even going so far as to humming when you bucked against him at the barest graze of his teeth. It didn’t take long for his attentions to become too much, and you gasped wordlessly against the gentle wave of ecstasy that squeezed your entire body in time with the thudding pulse in between your legs.

He held you through the light tremors that wracked your frame, murmuring words of nonsense against your lower belly as his hands rubbed over your sweat-dampened curves. When your eyes blinked open he crawled back up your body, settling into the cradle of your thighs with his erection heavy and hot in between your bodies.

“Love you,” he whispered, leaving a light kiss on your parted lips before locking his stormy blue eyes with yours.

He held the eye contact as he slowly sheathed himself within you, allowing you to see the absolute rapture that knitted his brows together and pulled his mouth open in a low growl that you felt more than heard from where your chests pressed together. The delicious weight of his body was nothing compared to the absolute fullness that stole your breath away, as if Tom had climbed inside of you and erased everything that once was so that only he and you remained.

His forearms held his weight on either side of you so that his hands could cup your face. His thumbs dragged against your jawline as he began slowly rolling his hips against you in a slow and tantalizing rhythm. Your legs wrapped around his slender waist to help him along with your ankles pushing into the tops of his backside.

It was as if he was staring into your very soul as he languidly thrust into you. You could see the love and affection shining in his eyes just as strongly as you could feel it in the stretch of your body around him. It was unhurried, both of you taking your time to watch and experience the other in the soft, forgiving morning light streaming in through your blinds. You could spend an eternity like this, listening to his quiet grunts born from pleasure taken from your body, watching his mouth twist and eyes tighten as he fought against the release he so desperately craved.

But you weren’t as strong as he in the fact of all-encompassing euphoria. His hand hooked underneath your knee to adjust the angle so that he hit an entirely new spot within you, one that made your hands grip at the long flexing muscles of his back and electricity to sizzle at your oversensitive nerves. Your head tilted back and he nipped at the exposed flesh of your throat that you unwittingly offered him.

“That’s it, love. Fall apart around me. That’s it,” he cooed, the crushed velvet of his low voice ragged with his own withheld satisfaction.

Something snapped within you. Your body shuddered beneath him and you sobbed his name in the white-hot throes of your orgasm. Stars exploded behind your closed eyelids and it was all you could do to remain in the bed with him for the rippling of your muscles.

Only when you were able to take a shaky, harsh breath into your deprived lungs did Tom begin his surging into you once again, still very much in control in your fluttering inner walls.

“You didn’t?” you asked breathlessly, reaching up to wipe your hand over your face before resting it on his flexing bicep.

He rolled you carefully, never losing the connection between you, tugging your thigh over his hip from your new position facing each other on your sides. His hand ghosted up the length of your body, relishing in your soft skin before latching onto your waist.

“I did not,” he replied. His kiss-swollen lips smoothed over yours in a thorough, tender kiss that plucked at the strings wrapping around your pounding heart. “I wanted to feel you.”

You tensed your core around him in a quick move that made his hips falter in their steady thrusts and his hands dig into your pliant flesh. “Now I want to feel you. Take me, Tom.”

That was all it took for him to hook his arm around your shoulders, burying his face into the hollow of your neck as he took from you his pleasure that you so willingly offered. His quiet gasps soon turned into deep moans and then one long, wordless cry that broke with the staccato snap of his pelvis and the warmth of his release deep inside of you.

Your hands skimmed down the warm expanse of his back as you brought his trembling form back to you as he had earlier, the salty sweetness of his skin buzzing on your tongue from your gentle kisses over his shoulders. You kept your limbs tangled as they were, enjoying the connection between you as your chests fought for air against the other. The tickling brush of his chest hair over the hardened peak of your breasts was one you’d never tire of.

“If that is how the new year is to be, I do not have any complaints.” He smiled against your skin and lifted his head so you could more easily see the contentment and mirth lighting up his finely sculpted features.

“You’re something else.” You rolled your eyes good-naturedly and smacked at the curve of his backside, earning a hearty laugh that had him shaking against you in ways you weren’t quite ready to explore yet again.

“You adore me.” His head fell back against his pillow and he reached up to smooth an errant lock of hair away from your flushed forehead. “And my headache is now completely gone.”

Your legs tightened around him, and you allowed your eyes to drift closed against the sated fatigue that weighed your body down into the mattress. “You’re welcome.”

~~~

Tidbit of Tom taglist: @otakumultimuseoc

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @blah666 @brokenthelovely​ @myworddump @polireader​  @wiczer​ @littleredstarfish​ @the-broken-angel-13​ @arch-venus25​ @xxloki81xx​ @jessiejunebug​ @tinchentitri​ @sllooney​ @devilbat​ @vikkleinpaul​ @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses​ @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian​ @toozmanykids​ @claritastantrum @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius​ @sabine-leo​ @lovesmesomehiddles​ @peterman-spideyparker​ @wegingerangelica​ @bluefrenchfries604​ @catsladen

[one-boring-person]

Just A Babysitter. (Part Six.)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: blood imagery, character death

Context: (Y/n) is woken by the sound of voices in the cave, one of which is very familiar.

A/N: I'm sorry that this is so short, but hopefully the next (final) part will be longer and better. 😊😊

Part One , Part Two , Part Three , Part Four , Part Five , Part Seven , Part Eight

For what feels like the hundredth time in a row, I'm woken from my light sleep, conscience coming back to me instantly as I try to figure out what woke me this time. Blinking away the sleep in my eyes, I sit up slowly, cracking my neck, stopping suddenly when I hear something from the outside. I remain as quiet as possible, ears straining to catch whatever it was they heard before, confusion and fear rising in me when I manage to discern the sounds floating in from the main cave. Voices.

Biting my lip, I silently climb out of the bed, my pulse racing as I pull on my boots, my eyes still trying to adjust to the bright sunlight, unused to the change in light around me. Muscles tense, I creep to the entrance of my room, pressing my back to the side which isn't visible to the rest of the sunken hotel, a hand clasped over my mouth as I try to calm my erratic breathing, fear holding me in place as I listen to the rapidly approaching voices, finally able to recognise one as it calls put loudly to the others.

"Don't you touch her! You stay away from her!"

Michael.

Anger flares up in me at this, my body wishing it could reveal itself and confront the brunette, a sense of betrayal accompanying it as the other voices move about, the sound of footsteps echoing around the airy cave sounding along with them. I listen in to what they're saying, horror and panic encroaching on me when I figure it out, my brain trying to figure out what I can do to stop them, mostly coming up blank. Looking around, I take in the surroundings, doing my best to figure something out without being found myself, knowing the boys are only minutes away from being discovered.

As my eyes land on an old metal dustbin, a plan forms in my head.

Swiftly, I throw myself forwards, grabbing hold of the bin and throwing it as best as I can, wincing a bit as it crashes horribly loudly to the floor, continuing to make noise as it rolls to a halt, bouncing over the debris covering the floor. Without a second thought, I duck back into the doorway to my sleeping area, holding my breath as I wait for someone to react, knowing that at least the intruders will have heard the racket.

Nothing happens. For minutes, all is quiet, the only sound being that of someone entering the cave and leaving again a moment later, not giving the bin a second thought. The suspense has me on edge, my leg twitching nervously as it prepares to move, ready to make me sprint away from any trouble.

Eventually, I give in to my worry, emerging quietly from my hiding spot, looking around the hotel briefly before making my way to the entrance of the boys' sleeping area, crawling into it with ease. I navigate my way through out of memory, using the beams to aid my hurried crawl, my lip nearly bleeding with how hard I'm biting it, following the sound of the voices in the darkened space. A sharp cry of fear rents the air, before being cut off, as if someone covered their mouth, the sound spurring me on as I crawl at a faster pace, anxious to get there, hoping with all my heart that the boys heard the noise from the cave. My foot catches on something, slowing me down as I fight to shake it off, growling in frustration when it just gets more tangled; upon reaching down to free myself, I find the item to be an old net hanging off the beams, my foot wrapped tightly in it despite my best efforts to loosen it. Seconds later, I manage to shake it off, continuing on my way with a rising sense of urgency, terrified that I'm too late.

Finally, I emerge into the small, circular clearing they use as they're sleeping area, my eyes instantly finding one of the intruders, a young boy with an odd sense of fashion, a flashlight clasped in his hands, the beam of light facing upwards. As I move to grab him, pushing past my initial surprise, I hear the one thing I hoped I'd never have to hear: a scream of agony from one of the boys.

Looking up, I swiftly locate the shrieking, writhing mess of vampires, the youngest of which is bleeding and crying out in pain, hands clutching at his chest as he falls to the floor, two other boys following. Horror and shock burst into life within me, my knees buckling as I fall to the side of the fallen vampire, the contorted features only too familiar, his yellow eyes becoming dull as the screaming continues, his body tense under my hands as I try to calm him.

Marko. They killed Marko.

Above me, I hear David snarling something at the intruders - the murderers - before he drops to the floor, fangs bared as he chases them back into the tunnel, hissing at them as he goes. I stay with Marko, holding him close to me as he continues to twitch in my arms, his eyes and fangs fading as his conscience starts to leave him, grief and despair welling up in me even as tears start to spill over my cheeks.

"No, no, no, no! You can't die, please, don't die on me, Marko, you mean too much to me! Please! Don't go..." I start to beg, knowing my sobbing is fruitless as I bury my head into his jacket, ignoring the sticky blood that coats his chest, the vampire gasping beneath me.

"(Y-Y/n)..." He manages to murmur, before his eyes turn blank, his muscles going limp underneath my grip, his icy skin as lifeless as ever.

"No! Don't die, you can't die! Please, please...you can't...no..." I cry out, my voice laced with agony and pain as I clutch him closer to me, my body rising and falling erratically as I weep into the frigid chest of the blonde vampire. I don't notice as two others kneel beside me, their faces just as lined with grief as mine, tears already falling down their cheeks as they reach over to me, placing a hand on my back. Together, Dwayne and Paul hold me and their fallen friend, neither of them saying anything as I continue to plead and beg for this to be a dream, the weight of Marko in my arms all too real. At some point, David returns, determination hardening his resolve before it is softened again when he sees the three of us together, the vampire instantly coming over and kneeling in the gap between us, cradling Marko's head in his lap with a tenderness I've never seen him use.

It feels like hours before we speak again, David breaking the silence with a decisive tone.

"It was those kids from the comic shop and Michael's kid brother. They won't survive the night. We won't let them." His voice is low, broken up with emotion, tear tracks staining his cheeks as he looks at each of us in turn, his blue eyes filling with new pain when they lock with mine, his pale hand reaching out to grasp my own shaking one, "I promise."

"So do I." Dwayne agrees, the usually composed vampire openly allowing tears to spill down his cheeks, his dark eyes finding mine as well.

"A-and me." Paul echoes, quietly, the blonde as silent and still as I've ever seen him, his face showing more hurt than any of ours,the grief having numbed his usual cheery demeanor, Marko being his closest friend and confidant, even more so than Dwayne or I.

"Just make them pay for this." I spit out, my hurt giving my words venom.

"Oh trust me," David assures me, squeezing my hand, "We will."

Part Seven