#I need to use this brush more drawing this was like free therapy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kisha-myers · 1 year

Text

Author's Note: Ive decided to title this - My Anxious Mouse - I think it fits decently 😅 Also, I will TRY to update 1 chapter a day IF I can help it. I've got 2 kiddos under 6 🥴 they keep me on my toes and need my help often. If you have any questions, whether that be about this fanfiction or me, feel free to comment them below! I'm gonna try my hand at a tag list as well (if you want to be added to that PLEASE let me know). Without further ado, let's get on to the good stuff!

Chapter Three: Broken Memories

You had been placed in the back seat of the humvee, your seat belt secured for you as your brain still tried to catch up to what all was happening. You registered the vibration associated to the ignition being turned over, felt the jerk of it all in motion, but as you looked up towards Ghost and König you weren't fully certain what their intentions were. Your dad had always told you to be mindful of those around you, having been a retired navy seal, he knew people were capable of many horrible things.

"They will use your timidity against you - always be vigilant. Men especially, they'll see you and instinctively see prey." His words echoed repeatedly through your rapidly clearing mind, the events of yesterday and today finally catching up to you. You equated it as your body's own version or shock - you just hadn't fully come out of it yet to register much of anything aside from now being in the back of a vehicle with two complete strangers heading to God knows where.

Fear was the first emotion to crash into you in a rolling tidal wave, it crushed the air from you lungs and had your muscles tensing painfully. You curled in on yourself, drawing your legs up slowly, your arms wrapping around them as you buried your face into your knees. Panic was the next emotion to force its way into your consciousness, burning through your veins like a raging inferno that threatened to burn you alive. It caused your stomach to churn mercilessly and spit to pool in your mouth, threatening catastrophe should the contents of your tummy be spewed all over the sanded beige interiror. You forced yourself to calm down as much as you could, opting to breathe in deeply and focus on your senses.

Grounding techniques hadn't always worked for you in the beginning, there were many times you just had to let the panic attack push you to pass out. Through countless years of therapy and many many many sleepless nights, you had learned how to use the technique to soothe you. You started with the sensation of touch, letting the pads of your fingertips brush along the seam of the fabric seat you currently resided on. It wasn't exactly soft, but it wasn't rough either - it was somewhere in between, designed for functionality over comfort you'd guess. You continued to move your fingertips across the seat slowly, letting yourself become familiar with the texture before moving onto your next sense; hearing.

You tilted your buried face slightly, opting to keep your eyes closed to not dull the other sense. The engine, you noted, purred almost in an animalistic way. You knew little to nothing about cars but you were sure the upkeep on this vehicle was immaculate. You turned your head completely, letting your right ear rest against your knees, you face now facing your door as you eyes remained closed. Rain crashed against the windshield leisurely, the rhythmic pounding a comforting sound. The sound of passing cars made you smile, reminding you that although you were here, you still remained in a public place.

Feeling slightly more relaxed than when you started, you decided to continue on, opting to have the next sense be smell. It was strange, you thought, that the interior of a military vehicle could smell like fresh pine and sandalwood. Perhaps it was due to the week old carfreshener that hung from the review mirror, or maybe it was due to their cologne - you weren't entire sure, but you enjoyed the scent nevertheless. There was a sense of familiarity there, notes you could quite place but knew you had smelt it before. It was slightly sweet but nutty, almost like a pistachio cream filling or vanilla almond milk. It wasn't you, your body wash consisted of fruity scents like orange bliss and tropical punch. Your shampoo wasn't any better as it was watermelon and berry scented. You inhaled deeply, letting the fragrance that left you perplexed relax your tensed muscles. You decided you liked that smell, the notion causing a tender smile to burst forth across your lips.

Your heart had calmed enough that you felt it was safe to open your eyes, effectively moving onto the next stage of the technique. Slowly you lifted your lids, blinking a few times to clear the blurriness from your eyes. The first thing you saw was the window, buildings and cars passing you by as the rain glided down the glass. The yellow hued glow bathing the world around you in a somber essence. Stop lights changed from green to red, reminding you subtly of Christmas for the briefest of moments. You watched the world around you silently, eyes watching the raindrops leave little trails as they slid from their position.

The somber silence was broken by the faint buzzing of a cellular device, effectively bursting your bubble of raindrop appreciation. You lifted your head, turning it just in time to see Ghost pull free his phone and tossing it to König.

"You talk to him, my patience is already thin." He growled, making you nearly jump out of your skin. König shot him an incredulous look, heaving out a sigh and sliding the green phone icon over before placing the phone against his ear.

"Guten Morgen Sergeant." He forced between clenched teeth, shooting another annoyed look at Ghost when he saw the man's eyes crinkle in smugness. Johnny's bark of a laugh filter through the receiver loud enough to be heard by you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth slightly agape - you knew that laugh, had heard it most of your life. Questions started rapidfiring through your cranium as you tried to remember everything Johnny had ever told you about his military career.

You knew he had been assigned to a military task force, Task force 141 his paperwork had said, and that he was under the supervision of a woman named Laswell. You knew his Captain, had even had a few opportunities to talk to him over a cup if tea he had so graciously offered to make you. You recalled he was nice enough, a little blunter than you'd expected, but he cracked a joke or two and helped settle your nerves.

You vaguely remembered meeting a rather rambunctious Gaz, but he had ways been busy running errands for their Captain he had been unable to sit and chat with you. The rest of his team had not been present on base at the time but you remember Johnny talking your ear off about his Lieutenant. He was fond of the man, always speaking highly of him - you'd begun to think he was bi with the way his eyes glazed over and his lips would turn up slightly at the corners in mirth.

"Sergeant, while your banter is usually entertaining, now is not the time. It's been a long night, we'll brief you when we get there oh!" Königs blundering of surprise made you jump again, effectively pulling you from your thoughts once more as you snapped your eyes over to him. He was already looking at you, eyes crinkling in the corners the only thing you had to go on to aid in your assumption he was smiling at you, "We have a civilian with us. She was displaced when our apartment caught fire, she will be staying in my room - would you meet us when we get there to show her where it is?" You looked away from him, eyes going back to your window to watch the scenery change.

Houses got less and less before barb wire fences and pop up buildings painted the signature hunter green took over. You were no military brat by any means, your dad had long since retired from being a seal just a year after you were born. You shake out of your stupor long enough to witness the phone being placed into the await skeletal gloved hand of Ghost, his grumbling of impeccable insults under his breath almost enough to make a giggle slip past your lips. A few you'd put away for a later date, having been too perfect to let them be forgotten.

"So..." You say softly, the way you nibbled on your bottom lip muffled your voice slightly, "You two know Johnny MacTavish I take it?" You tried to sound nonchalant, unbothered, but the vexation from yesterday was still a present smoldering rubble within your chest. You visibly saw Ghost stiffen by your tone, his hands clenching the steering wheel so hard you wondered how it didn't just simply break. König looked back at you, his head tilting just enough to convey his curiosity, making the giant of a man who had to hunch slightly to even fit in the car look like a little puppy.

"Ja, we are all stationed here together." He simply replied although you read the question that lingered on the tip of your tongue. You offered up a bitter smile, your right hand coming up to rub your forehead as you sighed softly.

"Johnny was the guy who stood me up. I've know since I was in diapers - he was friends with my older brother before he died while deployed in Iraq. Waited a whole two fucking hours before he called just to check in. I'm upset by it." You muttered under your breath, tilting your chin down and resting it on your knees. You failed to notice both of them exchanging an ire filed stare, silently communicating with one another to teach the Scotsman on how to properly treat a lady.

"So you two dating or what?" Ghosts blunt question fills the silence, hanging over your head and dousing you like a bucket filled with ice water. You grimaced - you loved Johnny, but he wasn't your type. He was handsome yes, you'd never deny that - you couldn't - but he was far too outgoing for your own personal tastes. He loved to go out and explore things, mingle with anyone and everyone - your anxiety was far too out of control for any of that.

"No. He's like family, and it wasn't a date. He called me two nights ago to let me know he was on a temporary leave and wanted to hang out together and catch up. It's been almost a year since I got to see him and I was really looking forward to it and I wanted-" You stopped yourself from finishing that sentence. You wanted many things, but the number one thing was you wanted you brothers dog tags back. Johnny had offered to take them, keep them safe on him as a way to help you heal. At the time of his death you were just barely eighteen - you had just graduated when you saw them. They wore the standard military issued uniform, faces perfect masks of stern indifference. One made the mistake of meeting your eyes - their eyes, you noted, were filled with unshed tears and that is what broke you. Seeing the devastation in their gaze made you knees give out, you remembered the pain that resonated there, the way the concrete bit harshly into your flesh and the warm viscous liquid that made your dress sticky.

That pain was nothing in comparison to the pain that lacerated through your chest. It was as if a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around you you squeezed with everything it had, your lungs releasing all its contents in a 'whoosh', mouth going dry, all the moisture poured from your eyes like a flooded river down stream. He died a hero they had said, one kneeling in front of you - yoy had recognized him from one of the pictures your brother had sent to you while he was deployed, Declan he'd introduce himself as. His hand had found your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before crushing you to his chest in a hug. His companion - Nathan he said - was busy speaking in a hushed conversation with your dad.

'He died a hero, y/n.' You vaguely remember them saying, telling you that he'd even earned the purple heart of bravery. It was meant to comfort you, knowing be died doing what he was passionate about - but it didn't. It left you feeling hollow, empty, like a piece of your very soul had been ripped from your very being and now the seams of yourself unraveled. It was around that time when your anxiety had begun to rear its ugly head, a wolf in sheep's clothing leading you to the slaughter.

A wayward tear slid past your water line and down your cheek, your jaw clenching tightly as you swiped it away with a sniffle, "I uhm." You cleared your throat loudly, refusing to look at either of them, "Johnny took his dog tags for me. My mom didn't want them, my dad said he didn't deserve them and our little sisters didn't understand their significance so they were supposed to go to me along with his flag. I was drowning in my grief that Johnny offered to hold onto them for me until I was ready to fully process it - said that all I had to do was ask him for them and they'd be mine. I wanted to ask him yesterday but... but he stood me up." Your voice faltered at the end, your lips pressed firmly together in a pensive line to keep your bottom lip from trembling.

The silence that filled the humvee was deafening, Ghost and König were at a loss for how to comfort you. They all knew the risks of war - of the loss it brought. They'd seen countless soldiers be killed in action, each of them having retrieved a few hundred dog tags to be returned to families as a way to offer some semblance of closure. They shared another look, one that declared they were both going to beat the snot out of Johnny when they had the opportunity to.

The rest of the ride remained that way, you lost in your broken memories of your older brother and his endless teasing, and them sharing silent conversations through gestures and looks. You didn't know it right then, but the two peeved males nestled in their seats had come to an agreement. Not only would the kick Johnny's ass, but they'd make sure he'd fix this - that he'd make this right. After all, they couldn't let their little mouse loose herself - not when she had fallen so willingly into their hands.

Your life was going to change drastically... you just were unaware of how much that'd be.

Tag List

@lianyanhongcheng

@kdkj122920

@grizzersmamma

#john soap mactavish #könig x reader #könig x you #könig cod #könig call of duty #ghost x könig x reader #vampire #vampiric #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x konig #male x male #polyamory #captain price

117 notes · View notes

rainieclown · 3 years

Text

DEADLY OBSESSION

michael myers x reader - chapter one: new neighbours

you've been in the haddonfield memorial hospital for what felt like forever with ptsd from a robbery gone wrong when a new patient gets thrown in next to you. he's quiet, perfect company if it weren't for the high security around him.

tags: medication, hospital settings, this is before michael gets out of the hospital, orphan! reader btw, it's spoken about more in detail in the fic, michael being a mute for a while, he does speak in this tho, smut, first times, michael being inexperienced, creampie, biting/marking, big dick michael energy, hymen ripping btw

warnings: ptsd themes, therapy, mentions of murder and depression, eventual smut, loss of virginity, mild blood, slight breeding kink on michael's end

a quick note!

if anything related to the ptsd the reader experiences is incorrect/wrong please let me know so i can correct it and learn! i am researching this so i can to write it with the accuracy it deserves<3

three sharp knocks wake you from your nightmare, you sigh at the sight of the ceiling of your hospital room. bland, the room is so incredibly bland. "y/n, medication time!" the nurse that takes main care for you chirps happily through the door, and you let out a wheeze as you sit up and pull on a shirt. "coming." you say, voice monotone and small. opening the door, you see the nurse with a tray, but what does capture your eye is the guards standing by a door nearby. "miss burnham, what's going on there?" you quirk a brow, taking your sertraline from miss burnham as well as the glass of water. "oh it's just a new patient, don't worry." the nurse brushes your question off with a kind smile as she takes the now empty glass back. "come on, breakfast then art therapy!" she beams, gesturing for you to follow her. you glance at the door again, before leaving with miss burnham.

breakfast is bland too, no sugar in the porridge, no fruit, no juice. it's so distastefully bland that you want to push it away but you don't want to get told off for not eating by mrs finch who was the more strict nurse that worked on supervision in the more social places, most of the time anyway. miss burnham sits across from you, reading over your schedule from her clipboard. "so, after art therapy is your free period, what do you want to do then?" she asks, looking up at you. "can we watch a movie with the others?" you ask softly, and miss burnham's eyes brighten. "you want to socialise today?" she beams and you sigh, taking a sip of water. "sure." you say softly, glancing around the cafeteria. "that's amazing, that will make outstanding progress!" she smiles, resting her cold hand on yours but pulls away when you flinch. "sorry, i forget." she says softly, but you sigh. "it's alright." you say, spotting a scruffy teen who looked to be the same age as you being directed to an empty table.

miss burnham hums and turns to see what you're looking at. "oh, that's mr myers, he's your new neighbour." she says when she turns back to you. "he looks interesting." you say, observing the cuffs on his wrist. myers plops down at the table, ignoring the bowl they put in front of him. "hmm, stay away from him. he seems to be under high security." miss burnham says, turning back to look at myers. the boy's eyes flicker to yours and your breath hitches, a sense of mild panic rising in your throat. "if you're done, we can go to the yellow room to do some painting with doctor piers." burnham says softly, pulling your attention back to her. "sure.." you mumble, and follow her out the door, past myers who watches you the whole way.

doctor piers is a happy man who greets you loudly. you don't like his suffocating energy, so miss burnham sits you down in your quiet corner and gives you your sketchbook. you sit quietly and draw things from your childhood, things that make you happy, all while miss burnham actually colours in a colouring page with the pencils you use. you felt peaceful with her by your side, she was like your big sister considering she was close to your age. "ooh, i like him." miss burnham smiles, tapping her nail next to the rough sketch of snufkin from the moomins. "thanks..." you reply quietly, letting the nurse push the pencils to you so you can colour him in.

for once, you don't feel alone... don't feel isolated with your thoughts and bad memories. miss burnham is your safe place, your new family. "so, y/n. are you interested in anyone in particular that you want to befriend?" miss burnham asks, the scratching of her pencil on paper stopping as she leans forward as if the two of you were gossiping about crushes. "not really... just think it's good to try and ease myself back into being around people other than you." you shrug, putting the green pencil down to pick up a yellow one. "that's still good. do you want to try and finish the drawing of him." she asks, flipping the page carefully to the recreation of that fateful night. your breath hitches as you stare at the charcoal drawing of the man standing over your mother. "what else do you remember, if there's anything else?" burnham asks, watching you carefully.

it comes back in waves, it was supposed to be a robbery, your family was in the wrong place at the wrong time, the blood spatter, the ornament that was used as a weapon dripping with the red substance. tears fill your eyes as you let out a shuddery breath. "no." you say firmly, wanting to push the book away. "are you sure, you haven't drawn any facial features for him.. it will help the investigation a lot." your nurse reminds you, and your hand tightens on the pencil. "i don't want to!" you snap, getting up abruptly, chair screeching back. "okay, okay. deep breaths." burnham stands too, fighting the urge to gently rub your arm soothingly. "i don't want to think about it." you hiss, storming off. nurse burnham calls after you, and doctor piers looks up to see you making a run for it. "y/n, wait!" he tries, but you swerve him and run out the door.

nurse burnham can't keep up in her high heels, and you outrun her easily, making your way to your room after losing her. you're alone again, and you catch sight of myers, sat in his room just as alone as you are. the guard is talking to doctor loomis, a man who gives you the creeps. seeing an opportunity to get past, you slip into your room quickly, once again isolating yourself. in his own room, michael had spotted you through the glass on his door, and he walks up, peering into your room as best he can. "hey! back up, myers." the guard bangs his door, now without loomis's presence, but michael doesn't move. he's unfazed by the guard's aggressive nature. the noise spooked you, you looked like a deer in headlights as you stare back at him.

you seem... disturbed by something, and that upsets michael. the feeling in his chest, to grab you and hide you from the world grows at the look in your eye. michael's hand finds the door, and he yoinks it open once the guard unlocked it in an attempt to push him back into his cell. "hey! what're you-?" he cuts the guard off, knocking the man out easily. his body hits the floor as michael opens your door easily. you gasp, back hitting the corner of your wall as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. "please, don't hurt me! i didn't do anything!" you yell, and michael shakes his head as he closes your door. "leave me alone." you repeat the three words like a prayer, voice quieter as your hands grip your hair with stress. "i'm not going to hurt you." michael rasps painfully, shocked at how deep his voice had gotten in comparison to the last time he spoke.

his words don't seem to get through to you, and he grows mildly annoyed. eventually, michael sits next to you and pulls you into a tight hug, hoping it would help as he had no idea what to do. you yelp in surprise, breathing slowing with confusion as you look up at the brunette with furrowed brows. "i-.. what..?" you stumble for words, but michael doesn't say anything, his empty eyes observing you. "thank you..." you mumble, once you calm down, and michael nods. "what's your name..?" you ask quietly, and michael continues to stare before answering.

"michael." he rasps, pointing at himself. "nice to meet you, michael. i'm y/n." you reply, eyes averting from his anxiously. michael sits with you as you start thinking. more intrusive thoughts break in, and you can't help the small whimper that escapes you as you rub your forehead. michael tilts his head, observing you. "sorry... it's just..." you sigh trying to find an explanation that didn't include what you thought of. "do you ever get intrusive thoughts?" you ask, finally looking at michael. the other teen nods, and you deflate with relief, he'd understand you. "they suck, don't they?" you chuckle half-heartedly, and michael shrugs. "oh, do they not bother you as much?"

he doesn't reply, and you nod slightly. "want me to show you around? i need to take my mind of things." you suggest, getting up and looking at the boy on your floor. michael seems to think for a moment before nodding and following you. you step over the guard carefully, and gesture for michael to follow you. the click-clacking of heels makes you grab the other teen's hand as you pull him around a corner. "shh! they'll be looking for me." you can't help but smile at the make-shift game of cat and mouse. it's been a while since you got to play games. michael blinks at you, letting you lead him around. "this is the rec room, it's the best room here. if you have a free period this is the best place to go. they let you watch anything they have." you smile, creaking the door open carefully.

doctor addison spots you and rushes over. "nurse burnham is looking for you." he whisper yells and you nod. "i'm showing the new guy around so shh!" you say, putting a finger up to your mouth. "it's good to see you getting out of your comfort zone. if i see her i'll tell her you're helping doctor loomis." he winks, and you smile slightly. "thanks addison." you say, pulling michael away from the room. "who's that?" michael's deep voice makes you jump. "oh, doctor addison? he's so cool, he'll give you snacks for after hours." you smile up at him, and michael notes the personality of the doctor. easy target to begin with. "you've seen the cafeteria so let's go to the gardens next." you say, peering around a corner carefully before ducking back, your back bumping into michael's chest. "my nurse is coming, quick, we can hide in here!" you whisper yell, pulling michael into doctor addison's office.

you close the door carefully, and michael observes the room. the decor is very vintage yet comfy, it suits the doctor quite well. you press your ear to the door carefully, listening as miss burnham speaks to doctor addison. you gasp as michael pulls you from the door, hand grasping your wrist. "are you alright?" you ask carefully, looking up at the brunette who didn't seem bothered. he shrugs, simply holding you near to him. your presence stirred something in him, and he didn't know if he should kill you or hold you closer. michael spots a candle stick, and his eyes dart from it to you.

michael lets out a silent breath as he decides on the latter, tugging you into his chest. your breath hitches as you hit his large frame, and your eyes come back to him. craning his head down, michael buries his face into the crook of your neck. you make a small noise, unsure of what to do as he takes in your scent. "uh... michael?" you furrow your brows, hands raised awkwardly as you didn't know where to put them. "shh." he hushes you, hands finding your hips. "what are you-?" your question is cut off by his lips grazing your neck, and it all clicks into place.

your body froze up, michael made a silent note of this. "i- uh.." you stammer as he continues to kiss your neck. "fuck, michael. we shouldn't do this." you say softly, glancing to the door. michael hushes you as his teeth nip your skin, he was testing the waters with you. your knees felt weak as your eyes fluttered shut. it had been so long since you had got to do anything like this, since you got to feel like a teenager. your hand find's michael's fluffy hair as you move his head closer to you.

taking the small success, michael sinks his teeth into your neck fully. the feelings in his chest explode as he finally marks you, suckling the dark bruise onto your skin. you whimper at the feeling, your other hand resting on his chest. eventually, his lips move again, and they find your jaw. you hum, letting him press closer to you as his lips kiss up your your own. when your lips meet, michael's inexperience really shows, he doesn't really know what to do so you take the lead.

eventually, his lips copy your movement as his hands tighten on your hips. you hum into his mouth, fingers gently stroking his scalp as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. it felt right, and you didn't know why. eventually, when michael pulls away, you gaze into his eyes and notice the scar over his right one. "oh, what happened?" you ask, fingertips gently grazing over the scar on his eyes. upon closer look, his iris was paler than the other, and you guessed his vision was poor from the one eye. you're not able to get a closer look as michael kisses you again. you hands cup his face as you melt into him, lips moving against his fluently. michael moves with you, and you gasp as your lower back hits the desk in the room. the other teen's strong hands lift you and plop you down so you're sitting on the hard wood of the table.

your arms wrap around michael's neck to kiss him again, and he's happy that you're slowly beginning to show interest in him. you make a small noise as michael pulls your legs around his waist, standing between them with his pelvis pressing against yours. teasingly, you shuffle your hips against him as you kiss him again. michael growls softly, grinding into you as he grasps your thighs roughly to stop your movements. "i've never done this before." you admit, keeping him close as he hums. "me neither." he shrugs, kissing you again. you feel eased by michael's lack of experience, it felt like the two of you were experimenting together and that comforts you.

eventually, michael's fingers find the waistband of your pants and you whimper as he tugs them down easily. "no underwear?" he chuckles softly, and your cheeks heat up. "some of us don't have that luxury." you mumble, averting his gaze. "it's fine." he shrugs, fingers brushing over your slit. you gasp at the feeling of him spreading you open, and can't help but move your hips against his digits. his middle finger teases your wet hole, and you whine when he collects some of it to bring into his mouth. you feel slightly embarrassed as he suckles your pleasure off his finger with no shame before moving his hand back down to rub his fingers over your slit again.

your smaller hand finds his, and you guide his fingers to your clit with a small moan. catching your meaning, michael's rough fingers start rubbing small circles over your bud. you gasp, back arching into him as his fingertips stimulate you. "fuck, michael!" you whimper, hands grasping his shirt to pull him closer. he hums at your words, moving so his thumb abused your clit whilst his fingers slowly pushed your hole open. you whine as his fingers press into you, your hymen stretching uncomfortably. "michael, please- i need you." you whimper, letting him lay you back on the desk. removing his hand from you, he pulls down his own pants, erection springing free.

you freeze slightly at his size, unsure if he'll fit. michael notes your uneasiness as rubs your outer thighs softly. you smile nervously as his tip rubs against your cunt, your hands grasping his anxiously as he slowly pushes into you. you wail as his cock rips your hymen, and michael smiles as your blood slowly smears his cock. "it hurts!" you whimper, grabbing his arms tightly with discomfort. michael shushes you, and gives you small kisses until you stop whining. once you've settled around the intrusion and your pussy adjusts to his dick, you give him the nod to say that you're ready. michael slowly pushes in so that he's fully sheathed before pulling out half way. you whimper at the feeling, pleasure slowly overtaking the dull pain you still felt.

eventually, michael finds a medium pace in you, smiling as his cock bobs through the skin of your stomach. you whimper, holding michael's arms even tighter as he fucks into you. "oh fuck..!" you yelp as his tip protrudes from your abdomen. "sh." he replies quickly as your back arches off the table. "fuck, michael- oh!" you press your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as he speeds up. eventually, his hand moves and starts rubbing fast circles on your clit. you gasp and keen loudly behind your palm as your thighs tremble around his hips. michael grips the flesh of your outer thighs tightly as he adjusts your legs towards you at an awkward angle. despite the weird position, you moan loudly as his cock pushes deeper into you, his tip kissing your womb.

michael hums at the feeling as his hand gets tired of stimulating you, so as a substitute, he brings his hand down onto your swollen bud harshly. you wail at the sting of his slap, pleasure rolling through your body. taking that as a good sign, michael waits before slapping your clit again harder. unexpectedly, you cum on his cock as you shudder and tremble under him. your cunt squeezes michael's cock tightly, preventing him from moving. the way your gummy walls grip him as you twitch around him is too much, so michael pushes into your womb so his cum filled you up.

you gasp at the feeling of his hot seed spilling into you, and michael seems to be loving it because when you come down from your high and loosen around him slightly, he's fucking his cum into you. you can't help but let out a small noise with every thrust, whimpering when michael stops, satisfied with how deep his cum had gone. your womb drinks up his seed nicely as you let michael grab your hands to pull you up into a sitting position. slumping against him, you nuzzle into his chest, your eyes becoming droopy with exhaustion. he grins at your sated state, pulling your pants up for you. once he is dressed as well, he picks you up carefully to bring you back to your room to rest.

michael ignores the nurses who try to stop him, marching past them as he carries your sleepy form to his room instead. he didn't know much, but he did know that only armed guards as well as doctor loomis were only allowed in his room for safety reasons and it was his best bet of keeping you with him. carefully opening his door, he closes it behind him with his foot and watches as the nurses stand anxiously peering through the window. he puts you down carefully on his bed, letting you settle as he sits down. his eyes find the nurses, one of them had left, probably to get security or doctor loomis. rolling his eyes, michael moves his attention back to you. you had already dozed off, and michael looks down to your stomach. the idea of you being swollen with his child excites him, a true marking. however, his hatred for children conflicts that, and he feels slightly frustrated.

three sharp knocks on the door can be heard, and michael lazily looks back over. doctor loomis is standing there, and he looks furious, but michael will stand his ground for you.

#michael myers x reader #michael myers #halloween resurrection

151 notes · View notes

dameronology · 3 years

Text

it's no use, i just do {bucky barnes}

'if i just wanted someone to hold, then really anyone would do/i'd close my eyes and really try not to turn them into you, but it's no use, i just love you' - no use i just do, hayley williams

(a.k.a: the one where bucky needs a hug, but specifically from you)

eugh more bucky stuff from my drafts? yes. i think so. truth be told, I started writing this like 3 months ago (whenever flowers for vases came out) but it's been sat collecting dust. enjoy :-)

- jazz xx

p.s this is spoiler free!

The nights were always hardest for Bucky Barnes.

The dark always reminded him of the furthest corners of his mind; the ones holding his worst memories, skeletons collecting dust, rotting away until he forgot about them completely or forced them out with intensive therapy. Both were options that he was completely dreading - so he forced them down, forced them to the back and did everything within his power to ignore. It was easy enough during the day, when he was surrounded by his friends, occupied by work and the buzz of New York City.

Then the sun went away, and with the rising of the moon came the echoes and ghosts of Winter Soldier's past. Thanks to the likes of Netflix and YouTube, the modern world was filled with enough things to distract Bucky from the grips of his own mind. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

And tonight was one of the nights where it didn't. Every time he shut his eyes - squeezed them shut and gripped onto his thin blankets like a flimsy anchor to the present - he got flashbacks. Reminders of the things he'd done and the people he'd hurt. They always had the same look in their eyes, whenever they flashed into his mind. He couldn't see it then, but now he could feel again, he knew it was fear. The same look he had in his eyes every time he was clamped into a chair and forced to have the last remaining ounce of his humanity wiped.

Bucky's hold-ups about his feelings for you seemed almost comical compared to the problems he dealt with then. But he could feel more now, which meant his brain was so hyperaware of every little thing he felt for you; love, attachment, fear. All things that were enough to send him into a spiral, even if the feeling of your arms around him and lips meshed against his was the first reminder of his humanity since nineteen-forty-fucking-five.

Distance had felt like the answer. Cutting you out completely and acting like he hadn't fallen into your bed every night for six months seeking comfort. It was kind of a dick move, but it was one you understood. Actually, no, it wasn't, because you didn't understand a single thing the man ever fucking did. That's probably why you'd let him go so easily - people came and went. Maybe he was just supposed to be the latter.

How was it going, you ask? Given that Bucky had elbowed his way into your apartment complex at 3AM and was pacing outside your front door - pretty fucking terribly. Normally, he wasn't that bad at resisting the urge to seek you out, but tonight had been hard. Too hard. His hands were still shaking, shirt still sticking to his back with sweat. The nightmares had been...visual, to say the least. He felt like a monster, and you were the only person he trusted enough to convince him otherwise.

"Hey, dumbass. I have a Ring doorbell - what the fuck are you doing out there?"

Bucky jumped at the sound of your voice. Technology: 1. Barnes: 0.

The front door swung open, revealing a tired-looking you. Your hair was pushed back off your face, large nightshirt swamping your body. He knew you got mad when your beauty sleep was interrupted, but you got even madder when he suffered in silence.

"I..." Bucky trailed off.

"Nightmares. I know." You stepped aside. "Come in."

You didn't push any further, or berate him for his radio silence over the last few weeks. He was grateful for that. You were the only person who didn't ask so many questions all the time. Bucky didn't mind talking, but recounting his entire life story to Sam Wilson whilst they drove to Walmart wasn't his idea of fun.

Your apartment still felt homier than his. The walls were covered in photos of you and your friends and family, and shitty little drawings done by your various, younger relatives. Your fridge had postcards and letters hung on it, and there was clutter all over the kitchen counter. The thousands of pillows piled high on your sofa were practically a safe haven. There was a soft scent of vanilla hanging in the air from all your little diffusers, making him smile slightly.

"You got new curtains?" Bucky helplessly pointed to your window.

"How very observant of you." You placed a hand on his arm as you brushed past him. "What's going on, Buck?"

"With my life, or just tonight?"

"I don't think we have time for the first one." You fell onto the sofa. "Sit."

He took a seat beside you; not on you, but close enough so that your knees were touching. "Every time I close my eyes, I remember."

"That wasn't you." You gently reminded him, reaching out to push his hair back. "Not then and not now."

"I still did it though." He held his hands out in front of him. "These are the hands that killed innocent people. This is the brain that felt no empathy or remorse."

"No." You firmly said. "Those are the hands that fought in Wakanda, for the good fight. This is the brain that comes up with the worst jokes I've ever heard and regularly forgets to buy toilet roll."

His blue eyes wavered from the floor, capturing your gaze. He suddenly fell back against you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head in your chest. Everybody else went out their way to make him seem like a monster or a saint - but you? You just made him seem like a human. There wasn't a single perfect one of those. Steve Rogers probably came close, but he was a fucking terrible driver.

"I..." Bucky trailed off. He knew what he wanted to say. Just didn't have the courage to verbalise it. "I appreciate you."

"I know." You murmured, carding a hand through his hair.

Bucky had gone to therapy. He'd taken up exercise (and boxercise and jazzercise) and yoga. He'd tried those stupid fucking cleansing smoothies that his neighbour had sold him - at the time, he had yet been introduced to the idea of multilevel marketing schemes - and gone to meditation classes. None of it worked. Not for a single second.

Then you came in the picture, and he began to see colour etched into the edges of an otherwise black and white world. Where there had been nightmares and flashbacks, he'd found a peaceful night's sleep and pleasant dreams (normally of you, truth be told). The simplicity of it was what made it so complex - because he didn't understand it. Couldn't get his head around the fact that you actually, genuinely wanted to help him.

And he knew it wasn't just your touch or the softness of your skin against his. He'd tried it - sleeping with strangers and staying around the morning after to cuddle. Anything to find human contact with the emotion and the commitment; the very two components that were the secret ingredients to the two of you working so fucking nicely.

"Thank you." Bucky murmured.

"For what?"

"For just..." He glanced up at you, blue eyes holding an emotion you couldn't quite place, "treating me like everyone else. Like a normal person."

"You are a normal person." You softly smiled. "Maybe with a little more baggage, but to the right person, that won't matter."

"Does it matter to you?"

"That's a trap." You thinned your eyes at him. "But no, it doesn't."

He tightened his grip on you, the fear and anxiety draining from his soul. He knew now more than ever that the comfort didn't come from the way he was being held, or the way he was being spoken to. It was who was holding him, and who was speaking to him. You came out on top, every time.

That was why it worked.

It was you. And there was nothing he could do about it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x gn!reader #bucky barnes fluff #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers imagine #avengers imagines #marvel x y/n #marvel imagine #marvel imagines

509 notes · View notes

cjsinkythoughts · 3 years

Text

FATWS One Shot #4 - Best Girls, Good Guys, Hand Art, Joy Rides

Word Count: 1922

Warnings: Cursing, Implied PTSD, Mention of IED, Motorcycle Ride Without Helmets

Setting/Characters: Captain America: The Winter Soldier in 2014; Reader, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Sam’s therapy group, Lady at the Front Desk, Mentions of Peggy Carter and Riley

A/N: Here’s number 4! Like I said in the previous One Shot, I’m hoping to get TWS One Shots done today and tomorrow. Um, I don’t have a lot to say this time since I unloaded pretty much everything in the last One Shot. So, I guess that’s all!

This isn’t beta’d, as usual, so please excuse any mistakes! Be kind to yourselves and others! Enjoy this part, thank you for reading, and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

(PICTURE DOESN’T REPRESENT READER, JUST WHAT THE ART STEVE DREW LOOKS LIKE!)

“How is she?”

Steve nodded, taking the helmet he insisted on keeping for you in the compartment under his seat out and handing it over. What a hypocrite. “She’s fine. I guess. She…forgot. We were in the middle of a conversation and she…forgot I was alive.”

You gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Alzheimer’s is a scary thing. I’m sorry. It must be hard seeing your best girl go through that.” He froze, his wide eyes scanning you. You ignored his gaze, giving him the helmet back. You really hoped it didn’t come out as sad and spiteful as you meant it. You didn’t want to despise her, you really didn’t. You couldn’t. You had too much respect for her. She did help build the organization you worked for. You just hated the position you found yourself in. “We’re just going to the VA. It’s not too far. I’ll be fine.”

“No, honey. I don’t want you getting hurt-”

“I won’t, Steve.” You pushed back. “I’ve done it before in a lot more dangerous places than the streets of DC. Plus, I trust you. You wouldn’t let me get hurt, would you?”

His lips turned up slightly, his head shaking just enough. “No. No, I wouldn’t. Hop on, then.” He jerked his head to his bike, putting the helmet away before sitting down with you following his lead. You pressed against him, an arm around his waist, thighs squeezing his hips lightly. “Ready?”

“Mhmm.” You hummed, setting your chin on his shoulder.

The bike roared to life underneath you before you took off. You were never worried when Steve drove. Sometimes he liked going fast when you two go for a drive through backroads of Virginia for a weekend, camping underneath the stars. But when you were in DC, he cruised, fast enough that you could get pulled over for doing ten over, but slow enough that you didn’t have to shout over the rush of the wind combing through your hair.

He usually talked to you while driving, but he was quiet this time. You turned your head to study him. His jaw ticked ever so often, his eyebrows furrowed and those pink lips turned down.

You didn’t want to distract him, but you couldn’t help but lift your free hand, tracing his jaw from his chin to his ear before pressing soft circles into the hinge of his jaw with your thumb. “Are you okay? Did I upset you?”

“No. No, you’re perfect, honey.” He reassured quickly, moving around a car, side eyeing you for just a second. “I’ve just…there’s a lot on my mind. A lot I need to figure out.”

You nodded. “If you ever need me. I’m here.”

He grinned, taking your hand in one of his to press a kiss to the knuckles, eyes not leaving the road. “I know.”

“Tell me more about this Sam Wilson guy.”

Steve chuckled before telling you about his run the day prior and how he lapped Wilson a few times and their conversation afterwards. He was just finishing up when he parked in the parking garage of the VA, “and then Natasha drove up saying she was looking for a fossil she was supposed to pick up.”

“A fossil.” You snorted. “I’m gonna have to use that.”

He gave you a playful glare as you swung your leg around and stood up. Catching your jaw between his fingers, he chuckled when he squished your cheeks together. “Call me a fossil, honey, and I’ll tell Fury the only way I’m doing missions is if you don’t.”

You gasped, shaking your head. “You ‘ouldn’!” You slurred out, trying to talk with your lips pursed.

He gave a little giggle, gently making your head move up and down in a nod. “Oh yes I would.” He pecked your nose, letting go of your cheeks. “C’mon, dame.” You blinked after him as he started towards the elevators with long strides.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

He smirked at you over his shoulder as you jogged to catch up, holding his hand out behind him. “C’mon. You know I’d never do that to ya.”

Narrowing your eyes, you snatched his hand and huffed. “Well…yeah. But still.”

Another chuckle left his lips, pulling you closer to his side as you pressed the button for the elevator, leaving a kiss on your head. You fell into comfortable silence after that, Steve’s thumb tracing patterns on your hand while you waited for the elevator to ding.

When it finally did, Steve had a pen pulled out and, as you entered the elevator, he pulled your hand up closer to his face, lifting the writing utensil to the back of your palm.

You didn’t say anything, merely looking around the elevator after pushing the level you were going to. It was something you found that calmed Steve; drawing. So whenever he was bored or anxious, you let him draw on your hand. He used to ask, but he stopped after you told him you’d never say no.

The elevator dinged and the doors open, causing Steve to stop inking up your skin and drop your still linked hands down to your sides, shoving his pen in his pocket. You looked down at the partial flower and leaves wrapping around your wrist, smiling affectionately. He really was a good artist.

The lady at the front desk told you where to go when you asked for Sam Wilson, which Steve did rather eagerly, making you laugh. He had told you about Sam’s want to impress her when he came in. Apparently he was with a group, but she said it was okay for you to go in as long as you didn’t disrupt anything. Steve thanked her, before following her directions down the hall and around the corner.

You heard them before you saw them. A woman was talking, telling a story of how she got pulled over the previous week. Steve leaned against a column to the side of the room, out of the way, putting his hands in his pockets. You let his hand go to allow him to do so, linking your arm with his and holding his wrist with your free hand.

“I swerved…to miss a plastic bag. I thought it was an IED.”

You watched Steve’s reactions through the rest of the session. It wasn’t much longer - maybe ten minutes - before it ended. You had tried to convince him to go to one of these when he first got out of the ice, but he refused.

“I’ve already got you, honey. That’s all I need.”

And, yes, he did have you; your assignment was literally helping him with that stuff. But you still thought he’d benefit from it. Especially now since you had started going back on your own assignments. Maybe he’d start going to Wilson’s.

After the meeting, you and Steve walked up to the veteran who had just finished his farewells and started cleaning up the table at the front with brochures and things. “Look who it is. The running man. And who’s this pretty lady?”

You smiled, sticking out your hand, your name leaving your lips in an introduction. “Sam Wilson.” He shook your hand with a grin of his own. “Nice to meet you, cher.”

“You too, Sam.”

“We caught the last few minutes.” Steve stated, leaning on the wall again, keeping his arm linked with yours. “It’s pretty intense.”

You listened sadly as Sam told you two about his wingman, Riley, but you didn’t pity him. You knew what it was like to lose people and you hated the pity you received from others. You were glad to see he wasn’t beating himself up over it, even allowing himself to smile as the conversation shifted to his retirement. Steve was right; he did seem like a good guy.

“Are you thinking about getting out?”

You glanced up at Steve as he answered “no.” You saw the hesitation in his eyes that flickered to you, before he met Sam’s again. “I don’t know.” Hearing Steve admit that he didn’t know what he wanted made your heartache. You wanted him to be happy, and the fact that he didn’t know what made him happy caused you to grip his arm tighter.

You, Sam, and Steve talked a bit longer, getting to know each other a little better. You even did the unthinkable and told him you worked for SHIELD when he asked how you two knew each other. Steve raised an amused eyebrow as your eyes widened, your hand slapping over your mouth.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe I just told you that. You can’t tell anyone.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

You finally said bye when Sam mentioned needing to get back to work. Walking back towards the elevators, Steve chuckled and nudged you. “You warmed up to him quickly.”

“Ha ha.” You rolled your eyes, your face landing in your hands. “Oh my God. I’ve never told anyone that. Ever.”

“I told you. He’s a good person. Easy to talk to.”

“Yeah…speaking of,” you tilted your head up to him as you stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind you. “Do you want to get out?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly. “That’s not what I said. I just…I don’t really know…what to do.”

You pouted a little, tilting your head. “What would you’ve done in the 40’s? After the war?”

“I dunno.” He shuffled on his feet. “Be a lab rat.”

“Steven-”

“Forget it. Forget I said anything.” Your frown deepened, your arms crossing over your chest. “Please don’t.” He said softly, hands coming up to cup your cheeks, one thumb smoothing out your forehead while the other ran over your pouty lips. “Don’t be upset.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I’m not. I, just…worry.”

He placed his lips to your forehead, hands slipping to your waist to pull you closer. “Well don’t.”

Your hands mimicked his previous position, holding his face, thumb brushing under his eyes. Your eyes caught sight of the barely started design on your hand, and your lips pursed thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Drawing makes you happy.” He blinked at your words, confusion in those ocean eyes of his. “You said you don’t know what makes you happy. Drawing does. And you’re really good at it. You could be an artist or something. Like a tattoo artist. I’d go to you. I mean, look at this!” You showed him your hand. “It’s not even halfway done and you did it with a crappy dollar store pen”

He gave you a small smile. “I appreciate that, honey, but I don’t think I could do that day in and day out.”

“Even with new customers coming in every day, asking for different designs in different places?”

Giving a chuckle, he leaned into your palm, kissing it. “You really want me to think about this don’t you?”

You scoffed. “Duh!”

He shook his head, ducking down to press his lips to your cheek, before laying his forehead on your shoulder. “I’m okay right now.”

“Are you?”

“Mhmm.” He hummed, arms wrapping around you. “Because I have you. And you make me happy, honey.”

You hugged him back, face pressing into his neck. You were glad you made him happy. And as long as you made him happy, you’d keep this relationship the way it was. Even if that meant you’d never be his best girl. “You make me happy too, bubs.”

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

All Works Taglist (Open):

@happygoreading @bibliophilewednesday

#cjswriting #fatws series oneshots #falcon and the winter soldier series oneshots #fatws series oneshot 4 #fatws series #best girls good guys hand art joy rides oneshot #steve rogers x reader #kinda #💛🧭#❤🐦💙🦾⏪

264 notes · View notes

wardenannie · 3 years

Note

heyy! saw you were taking prompts so i thought i'd send you onee.

could you write a spicy levihan oneshot based on levi and hanji reuniting after a long time being apart? it can be canonverse or a modern au, whatever youd'd like!

love love love your writinggg <333

Love this prompt. I'm writing this as a modern AU where Levi and Hange met in the military and fell in love. Later on Levi is injured and is honorably discharged but Hange remains active duty. 💚

Boomers having seggs under the cut ;)

Eight months. He hasn't seen his wife in eight, long months.

He drives to the airport in a car modified to accommodate his disability. His right leg has never worked the same since the bullet. He rolls through the terminal in his wheelchair. People look down on him, the little man in the little chair, but he doesn't care.

Levi is going to see Hange. His Hange. They fell in love on the field of war, and as far as he knows there is no stronger bond. He misses her touch, her kiss, the low ramble of her voice.

He misses his Hange.

The circumstances of her return are less than ideal. An IED has left her missing an eye and badly burned. They had to airlift her to Germany where she recovered without him. She hadn't wanted him there. Hadn't wanted him to see her so broken.

It still broke his heart.

Now he waits by the baggage claim, watching the arrivals. Frankfurt 8:20 am, on schedule.

Levi checks his watch; its 7. He has some time to kill. But all he can do is wait, staring at the arrivals. His good leg jiggles with anxiety. His good eye never wavers from that screen.

The hour passes like molasses, the final twenty minutes like cement, but finally a familiar head of russet hair rounds the corner. She's on crutches still, and she wears a patch over one eye. Most of her is covered by her military greens, but he can see the burn scars on her left hand and cheek.

She has never looked more beautiful to him.

He wheels over to her as fast as he can, breathless, grinning.

Hange meets him, leaning over to pull him into a tight hug. Her warmth is rejuvenating, he has not felt so whole in a long time.

The first thing she says to him, breathless in his ear, is a joke; "Between the two of us we've got one working set of eyes, smalls."

"I'll watch your left if you watch my right," Levi replies, then he pulls back from the hug to kiss her deeply, not caring who sees.

A few people, seeing Hange's uniform and Levi's chair, begin to clap for them.

Levi just wants them to shut the fuck up.

They make it back to their apartment in record time, both of them grinning like idiots as they pass over the threshold.

Hange drops her single duffel bag in the entry way and inhales deeply. Then she sighs, eyes becoming sad, "Assimilation back into civilian life is going to be hard, isn't it? Especially now that I look like the crypt keeper."

"I'll be here to help you," Levi stands up, folding his chair. He limps over to her, leans on her, kisses scarred jaw. "You're beautiful."

Hange shakes her head and helps him into the living room. They sit on the couch, hands clutching at one another, loath to lose such a precious thing as touch after so many months.

"You can't see the worst of it, it's under the uniform," she explains. "I honestly think it'll make you sick."

"Hange," Levi leans forward to kiss her, bit she avoided him.

"I lost my left nipple, you know? Burned clean off. My tits are lopsided now," she cups them, dropping his hand. He can't tell anything through the uniform. "God Levi I feel like such a monster."

"No," Levi snaps, drawing her into his arms. "I almost lost you, four-eyes. They told me you had a fifty-fifty shot. I thought I was going going lose you. Now that I finally have you back I won't listen to this shit. You're my wife. I love you so much it fucking hurts, burns or no."

Hange sniffs, peeking out between her fingers.

Levi leans forward to kiss her forhead, "I missed you so much. Everyday I wasn't with you killed me a little bit, Hange. Knowing I wasn't there to protect you."

Hange inclines her head to kiss his lips. Chastely at first, but Levi deepens it, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her closer to him by her waist.

His tongue traces along her lower lip and she grants him entrance. She tastes like the mints she always sucks on when she flies. Hange moans softly into his mouth, one hand cupping his scarred cheek.

They part by a few inches, and Levi asks softly, "Are you ready for sex? Does it still hurt?"

"Sometimes I can still feel the fire in my skin," Hange shivers, then she kisses his jaw. "I want you to take it away."

"Hange..."

She takes his hands. Both of them are shaking slightly, "Make love to me, Levi. I want to feel whole again."

In the past he would have lifted her and carried her to their bedroom. But now his leg will not allow for that, so he hoists her up with an arm around her waist, lips working at very neck and jaw as he guides her to their marriage bed.

It's the same as when she left. Black duvet, white sheets, all neatly laid out and folded by her husband.

He lays her down on the duvet and crawls over top of her, beginning to work at the buttons of her uniform. Her hands caress down his chest to the hem of his shirt, which she tugs at lightly.

Levi finishes the last button, then sits up to remove his crew neck before gently pushing Hange's top off of her shoulders.

"You've been staying in shape," she marvels softly, caressing her hands over the scarred marble of his skin.

He shrugs, eyeing her breast bindings hungrily, "Physical therapy got me on an exercise kick."

"I've gone a little soft," Hange sighs, "So many weeks in hospital, you know?"

Levi begins to undo her breast bindings, deft fingers pulling them away strip by strip. When she is bared to him he marvels at the mottled pattern of her skin; olive and red, silver and purple. Like she said, she is missing a nipple, but he hardly notices for the joy of being with his wife again.

"You're beautiful," he breaths softly, and he leans over to lavish her branded skin with sensual kisses.

Hange moans softly, fingers curling into his hair as his tongue traces along sensitive scar tissue.

"Levi," she moans. Eyes fluttering shut.

He begins to descend, following the line of scarring that divides her body in two. His tongue traces along her navel, and when he reaches her waistband, he looks up to her with hooded grey eyes, begging permission.

Biting her lip, Hange nods frantically, "I want your mouth on me, it's been so long."

Levi hums in agreement, peeling her trousers and simple cotton panties down her thighs in a single movement. It has been far too long.

Her cunt glistens wetly in the low light of the bedroom. Here she is the same, here the fire has not touched her, so when Levi lowers his tongue to lick a hot stripe up her folds, he knows just how to make her twitch.

His lips seal over her clit, feeling it harden and swell under his assault. His fingers find her entrance and press inside, curling backwards in a familiar pattern, pads brushing up against her g-spot.

"Oh shit, Levi," she throws a burned arm over her eyes, cunt already beginning to twitch and tighten around his fingers.

"Come," he commands softly, low voice vibrating against her clit. "Come for me, Hange."

She does, thighs shivering as she falls apart on his fingers. She makes a high, keening sound that makes Levi smile as he pulls his wet mouth away from her pussy. He presses a kiss over her mound then stands, undoing his belt and shucking his pants.

His cock bounces free, heavy, swollen and beaded with precum at the tip. Now they are both naked save for the wedding bands they wear on chains around their necks.

Hange smiles at him, scooting up the bed and beckoning with a pink, scarred finger. All of her bashfulness over her wounds has melted away, "It's been awhile, Captain. I needed the warm up."

He crawls over top over her, kissing her breasts before kissing her lips tenderly. Missionary is his favorite position, so he can look into her eyes while they make love.

He reaches between their bodies, lining up the head of his cock with her entrance.

"Ready?" He whispers against her parted lips, holding her stare. Their is fire in both of their eyes, a love like none other. Slate holds to wine as she nods and he slides into her, smooth and easy.

Entering Hange is like coming home. Levi shuts his eyes and let's the sensation surround him, swallowing him up. He tucks his face into the crook of her shoulder, moaning softly as he begins to thrust, slow and steady.

"Levi," she whispers his name. "Levi, Levi, Levi."

Her fingers caress down the switching muscles of his sides and she clutches at the globes of his ass, urging him to go harder, faster.

The feel of her cunt is sublime, tight and wet and hot around his dick. She kisses his temple as he makes love to her, then her hands rake up from his ass to cup the back of his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss.

Levi snaps his hips as hers roll to meet his. His fingers trace delicately over her scars as his tongue curves along the back of her teeth.

When they part, panting and flushed, he exhales against her lips, "I missed you so much."

Hange nods, fingers curling into her shoulders as her cunt begins to tighten around him. There are tears in her eyes, tears of deep seated emotion still unspoken. Tears of a wounded soldier. Tears of lovers reunited at last.

Levi's hips begin to stutter, cock swelling, balls tightening to his body.

"Come in me," Hange implores, holding his gaze. Her eyes plead, "inside, please."

Then her body goes tense under him, and she makes soft panting sounds as her orgasm takes her in waves.

Levi's lips part, eyes hooding as his thighs and groin go alight and he finishes inside of his lover.

He gives a few, final thrusts, working himself deep before he collapses on top of her. They both pant, sharing gentle kisses in the sweetness of the afterglow.

Levi holds Hange to his chest, fingers tracing along her scars.

"You're so beautiful, Hange," he breaths, emotions rising in his chest. "You have no idea."

Hange kisses the corner of his mouth, eyes hooded and lazy. Mixed fluids drip between her thighs, "So are you, Levi."

Her fingers catch on his chain, following it down to his ring. It mirrors her own, a simple golden band.

"I love you," she says. "And I'm never leaving you like that ever again."

Levi nods, "Likewise, and I love you, too."

Reunited at last, they sleep.

#levihan #my writing

62 notes · View notes

harrywritingsbyme · 4 years

Note

So I’m a dark skin girl and I always wonder is Harry gets involved with women that are not white skinny tall blonde model like all his exes. Can u write something about that? Maybe they are friends but reader is into him but keeps us to herself cause she is sure he only date the same type of girls.

Feelings

A/N: I really needed and wanted to write this one. I feel like us chocolate girlies can be a bit left out some times, and it sucks. So I want to do/write more things that are specifically tailored to us black girls because we need to see and read more of it. Also, I don’t want this to be a thing where it’s putting anyone down or being melodramatic towards things that are at the end of the day out of our control. But this is just the way that some people (including myself at times) feel, and everyone should be aware of this. I did made sure that there is something in here that everyone can relate to in some way. So I hope you guys enjoy🙃

4.5k Words

You rarely opened up. Most of your relationships were surface level, and you never fully expressed yourself the way that one would normally. For the longest time, even since you were a child, you never fully opened up to anyone. You would just go about your normal routine as if everything were fine, and bottle up everything you were feeling. Even when you were going through some of the worst times of your life, you still managed to keep face and put on a display of being okay, even though you were on the verge of dying inside. Still, you were able to get through most of your life like this and you were fine with things being the way they were. That is, until a certain someone fell into your life.

When you first met Harry, it was like a breath of fresh air. Even though you still had your wall up and didn’t feel the urge to fully express yourself, you still felt like you could come to him with everything if you wanted to. He was just like the other people you’d met in the past who were nice and willing to get close to you. But at the same time, he still managed to be different than anyone you’d met in the past. You felt a sense of closeness to him that you couldn’t readily explain and that was unlike anyone you’d met before. He made you want to express yourself and release all of the emotions you had pent up inside of you for what felt like forever. It was like he was the person that you needed in your life who could draw out these things out of you. And after a period of time, he was in fact able to do this.

At first, you were beyond anxious to be open and honest to someone about your feelings. But over time, the wall you’d built began to come down and you just allowed yourself to be vulnerable with Harry. And he was able to do the same. You both were able to lower your guards around each other and actually be free. The two of you were able to create a strong and solid friendship that would span across almost 3 years. Whenever something happened in each others lives, you both were each others first call. It was a friendship that neither of you wanted to take for granted. And you both, especially you, made sure to appreciate every moment and each other.

Your appreciation for Harry went a bit deeper though.

You guys’ overall dynamic in the past year hadn’t changed at all. You two still did just about everything together and had a great time in each others company. It was your personal flow that had undergone a drastic change. You began to develop feelings that had gone far beyond the boundary of being platonic. They’d grown to be something beyond the scope of a simple camaraderie. You started to develop romantic feelings for your best friend. It wasn’t uncommon for this to happen, it was normal for someone to develop these feelings towards a person they spent a lot of time with and are close to. It was just that the success rate for transitioning out of a loving, close, and healthy friendship to a loving, romantic, and healthy relationship was slim to none. And for you and particular, you felt like your chances were in the negatives.

It’s already a rough thing to deal with when you find out that the person you have feelings for doesn’t feel the same way towards you. But these pangs of rejection are on a completely different level when you realize that you’re not even their type. Now you didn’t know for a fact what Harry’s “type” was. You’d asked him on separate occasions and his answer was always the same. He’d simply tell you that “if somethings there, then it’s worth a shot”. And you’d always respond with a “that makes sense”, deciding to not go there all together. Even though he said that he didn’t have a type, you knew that in his subconscious, he did in fact have one. There were things about you that didn’t at all align with his exes as a whole. If you had to be blunt, you weren’t skinny, tall, blonde, and white. You were a thick, average in height, dark haired, dark skinned, black woman. The differences between the two were uncanny and that was perfectly fine. You welcomed and celebrated everyones differences. And so did Harry; when it wasn’t his love life.

He just didn’t venture out into other things when it came to his love and personal life. You could honestly say that this was true because you watched it all from the sidelines. You were a bystander and sounding board to Harry during his most recent relationship, and just in general. You recognized the pattern in the women he’d choose to pursue. You’ve even seen in the magazines and on the internet, the people he’d been involved with in the past. And they all were extremely similar.

Seeing all of this made you think that something was wrong with you. What made them so special? You just wanted him to look at you the same way he looked at them. Developing all of these newfound feelings caused you to begin to slip back into your old ways. You began holding in and internalizing everything when it came to this. You’d put on a brave face and act as if everything was okay. You were putting all of your energy into making Harry believe that you were fine. And you successfully did that. He had no clue as to what and how you were feeling, and you wanted to keep it that way. The last thing you wanted to do was lose the person who not only you cared deeply about, but the person who cared deeply about you. You couldn’t lose your best friend.

This endless cycle went on for months. You kept these feelings to yourself and you just kept things going. You hated doing this, but it was what you thought was the best for you. You hated the thought of losing Harry over this. But at the end of the day, you could only take but so much. You could relate this entire thing to a sponge. It takes in all the water it possibly can and eventually, little drops will begin to spill out when it’s reached its maximum capacity for water. You were the sponge. You had been internalizing or harboring all of these feelings for such a long period of time that eventually you were going to reach your tipping point. It was going to get to a place where you’d have to release all of it and tell Harry how you truly felt. And you really wanted to do that. In the past, talking about your feelings was something that you tried, and eventually swore you’d never do. You even tried therapy, but it just wouldn’t work for you. But with Harry, you wanted to talk to him and tell him how you felt. So keeping this inside for so long after not holding it all in for a little over two years was a definite struggle.

In all of this though, you had no idea that the struggle you faced in holding everything inside was nowhere near the level of struggle you faced when you finally let it all out.

The end of the week had finally came which meant that it was you and Harry’s night to hang out and talk about you guys’ week…even though you two talked just about everyday. This just gave you two an excuse to hang out. After you two made and ate dinner, you two decided to head outside and sit by the pool to enjoy Harry’s view and watch the sunset. The conversation between the two of you seamlessly bounced from subject to subject, and it managed to bounce all the way to relationships.

“Any hot dates comin’ up?” Harry asks beside you, taking another swig from his glass of wine.

“No. None that I know of at least. You?” You reply, redirecting the question back to him.

“Me neither, but I have been talking to someone for the past couple of days.” Harry replies.

“And you haven’t told me this?! As your best friend, I feel offended.” You joke with him, sitting up from the chair to get a better look at him.

“Don’t be offended, you’ll always be my number one.” Harry coos with a laugh. “It’s nothing major or serious I guess.” He continues.

“Got a picture?” You ask. Asking him this was a big mistake.

“I think so.” Harry replies, pulling his phone out of his pocket. After a few seconds, he hands the phone over to you and there it was. A girl who looked exactly like everyone else he’s dated.

“Oh, she looks just like everyone else you’ve dated.” You hum amusedly, handing the phone back to him. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have said that. But you had a pretty good buzz going from the drinks Harry made, and the glass of wine you were currently working with. So your lips were a little bit looser than normal.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asks with a very confused tone.

“No offense, but she looks like most of your exes.” You repeat, thinking back to the picture Harry just showed you.

“No she does not.” Harry says adamantly, brushing off your comment.

“It’s okay Harry, we all know that you have a type.” You softly laugh. You were only teasing him...right?

“I do not have a type Y/n! Where is this coming from?” You could hear in his voice that he was genuinely confused.

“This is coming from your best friend who’s seen you in a relationship with someone who not only looks like the girl you just showed me, but also girls before her.” You explain.

“Well tell me these similarities because I’m still not following.”

“Tall, skinny, blonde, and-“ You didn’t even think about the last and final one before saying it. “white.” You finish, listing off every last similarity.

“No they’re no-“ Harry couldn’t even finish his own sentence. He realized that it was in fact true. He didn’t know why he’d never seen the pattern before. He also couldn’t wrap his head around why you were so up and arms about it. When he looked at you, he could tell that you weren’t feeling the best about this conversation. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or him just being really bad at comprehension. He just wanted to make sense of it all and where it was coming from.

“Can you honestly say that I, or anyone that looks like me for that matter would have an equal shot at being with you?”

There it was. The crazy thing about it all was that the question you just asked him, wasn’t even the bulk of what you really wanted to tell him. You weren’t even expecting to talk to him about this at all. You thought that you’d have a little bit more time to collect your thoughts, but all of this came completely out of left field.

Asking Harry that question, along with the entire conversation in general was like stabbing yourself in the heart. It wasn’t even a full conversation and you were already dying inside. Every second of silence from Harry that went by was like a twist to the knife that was already buried inside you. You wanted to blame Harry for the horrible way you were feeling, but you couldn’t. You wanted to blame yourself for even bringing it up, but you couldn’t do that either. All you could do was sit there and try your best to muster up the tiniest bit of strength to pick yourself up and leave. Your body felt extremely heavy and you just wanted to get out of there.

Without uttering a single word to Harry, you finally pick yourself up and you walk away from him and the entire situation. Harry was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that he did in fact have a type, but seeing you walk away from him like that crushed him. He felt like you were not only walking away from him, you were also walking out of his life. He felt absolutely crushed and completely helpless. He was all alone. He had so many thoughts and feelings running around in his head that he couldn’t even chase after you to help him figure them out. And by the time he would finally build up the strength and courage to go after you, you would’ve already been gone.

When you walked back into the house, you didn’t waste any time gathering your belongings that you’d brought with you before leaving out the front door. Since you were drinking, you decided to just call an Uber and just come back to get your car in the morning. For the next 5 minuets, you just stood outside Harry’s home. Staring blankly at whatever was around, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes, and trying to take your mind off of everything.

You were so glad that the driver wasn’t trying to engage in a conversation with you because you weren’t in the mood at all. You just wanted complete silence. If you were to talk, you were going to burst into tears. And the last thing you wanted to do was permanently scar your Uber driver, so you decided to just stay silent.

When you finally got to your building, you rushed out a quick thank you to the driver and you sprinted through the building and up to your apartment. The moment you stepped foot inside was the first time you breathed in the past two hours. As soon as you shut your front door you just collapsed into a heaping pile of tears. You were pretty much sobbing against your front door. This was the worst you’d ever felt in a really long time. You felt a mixture of anger, sadness, and pain. This was one of the sole reasons why you hated letting people in. Bringing those walls down meant that you were exposed and vulnerable. You had no defense what so ever. You tore those walls down just to have someone tear you apart, and leave you to pick up the pieces. You were torn apart by the person you needed the most.

While you were at home bawling your eyes out, Harry was still wrapping his mind around what you said and what he didn’t say. The buzz he once had going was now gone, and his mind was all over the place. He didn’t even move from where he was sitting. He just sat outside and thought about it all. Harry realized that he not only had a type, but you had feelings for him. He thought that you only considered him to be a close friend and nothing more. But when you said “I, or anyone who looks like me…” he was able to read in between the lines to understand that you were mainly talking about yourself. It crushed Harry even more when he thought about the possibility of you not thinking that you were good enough for him. Simply because of his “preferences”, that were unbeknownst to him from the past. The fact that he made you feel this way was beyond gut wrenching and he just wanted to go back in time and tell you that the only type he has is you. That was one of the reasons that he clung to you the way he did. He looked to you as the model of what he could ever want in a partner. He always looked to you for your opinions and guidance because you were one of the best people that had ever came into his life. But instead of saying all of this, what he truly felt deep down, he didn’t say anything at all. He let you slip out of his grasp, and he didn’t know how to get you back. He didn’t even know if he was going to get you back. In that moment, he realized that his love for you went way beyond the general scope of being best friends. It wasn’t until 2 am that Harry was able to pick himself up from the lounge chair outside and go upstairs to bed. And even then, he still felt horrible. He was numb. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t end up going to bed until 5 am because he couldn’t stop crying and worrying. What made him completely break down was the fact that he couldn’t even call you. He couldn’t talk to the one person that always helped him through his dark times and picked him up. He knew what it was like to hit rock bottom, but this was an all-time low for Harry.

That night was officially at top of the list for the worst nights of you and Harry’s lives.

The next day was just as bad, if not worse than the last. You ended up falling asleep on the couch, and Harry couldn’t even get out of bed. The both of you were a mess and you didn’t know what to do. You avoided any type of communication with each other. The only time you and Harry interacted was to tell him that you were using the gate code to get your car from his driveway. After that, there was radio silence. The simple thought of each other could bring you both to tears. This entire ordeal didn’t last for just a day or two. It lasted for almost a week. The both of you were too emotional and broken to even function. You were using the time you saved up on your job to sulk around at home and stay inside your bubble sadness and heartbreak. And Harry was neglecting all of the things that he needed to do so that he could stay in bed and try to take his mind off of you. But after what was going on to be day 5, Harry couldn’t take anymore of this. It wasn’t because he was feeling horrible. It was because Harry knew that he broke your heart. He had the clearest picture of you at home, completely broken up because of him. He could almost feel your pain and he hated it. He needed to tell you his true feelings and beg you to forgive him. He couldn’t sit around anymore and not talk to you. You were not only his best friend, you were also the woman that he loved. In the days of him sitting at home and thinking, he realized that he didn’t give it a shot. He didn’t give you a shot. He was constantly chasing after something that was already his and right in front of him.

After a long much needed shower, Harry got himself dressed and ready to go over to your place. On the way over, Harry made a stop to the florist that was in your direction and picked up the biggest bouquet of sunflowers he could possibly buy. Not only were they your favorite flower, but you always seemed to gravitate towards the yellows because “they make my skin tone pop.” And they certainly did. Even remembering those little things could make Harry want to just burst into tears. For the rest of the drive to your apartment, Harry practiced all of the points he wanted to make out loud. He made sure that he remembered every last thing he wanted to say…and there was a lot. He was also preparing for the moment where you’d tell him that you didn’t want to talk to him ever again. Even though it may have seemed a bit extreme, he could understand why. He hurt you, and that’s the consequence that he’d have to pay. As he got closer and closer to your building, Harry could feel the butterflies in his stomach intensify and his lunch slowly make it’s way back up. He wasn’t feeling good at all, but he couldn’t turn his back on you and not try at all to redeem himself.

Between the time Harry got out of his car to when he was finally standing at your door was rough. As he got closer, his body got weaker. He was feeling a combination of embarrassment, sadness, anger, and worry. These feelings were so strong that he had to take two minuets before knocking on your door to stop himself from either throwing up or crying. Eventually he was able to get himself somewhat together and finally knock on your door.

When you hear the knock, you were sitting on your couch with your fluffy bathrobe on (that just so happened to be the one Harry brought you during one of his trips to Italy) with a pint of ice cream in hand, watching whatever was on the tv at the moment. You wanted to ignore the knock all together and just focus on your ice cream and the tv but you didn’t want to leave the person at the door hanging. So you reluctantly sit the cup down and you drag yourself to the door. When you look out through the peephole, your anxiety in that moment skyrockets. What in the world was Harry doing at your front door?! Even though you looked like an absolute mess and you didn’t want to talk to him in that moment, you still open the door for him.

When the door swings open and he sees you the waterworks begin all over again. He could see how puffy your face was from crying and how disheveled you looked and he hated it. He could feel the warm tears bubbling up in his eyes, but he was trying to do his best to keep them back. The two of you just stand there before Harry decides to talk.

“M’so sorry Y/n.” That’s all he could say. He wasn’t just apologizing for what he said or didn’t say. He was also trying to say that he was a sorry person. It took him losing you for what felt like an eternity to really see how amazing you are and how much you contributed to his life.

“Wanna come in?” You ask him, stepping to the side to let him into your apartment. In that moment Harry just wanted to scoop you up into his arms and never let you go. He wanted to feel your warm and happy disposition that was now being clouded because of him. He wanted his Y/n back. When he walks inside, he quickly kicks his shoes off at the door and follows you into the kitchen.

“I got these for you.” He whispers, sitting the large bouquet on the counter and sitting on the other side.

“Thanks.” You whisper back to him, sending a soft smile his way. You wanted to almost to reassure Harry that you weren’t mad at him anymore. You were just sad and heartbroken. You never had feelings like these in such a large magnitude before. And because of this, you weren’t expecting any of what happened.

You silently turn away from him to grab the two vases you had in the cabinet and you sit them down on the counter in front of Harry.

“I’m sorry if I overreacted on Friday. I just…” you mumble, beginning to unwrap the pretty flowers that were laying on the counter. You were trying to get your thoughts together but it was so hard.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It was all my fault for not saying anything or acknowledging you.” When he says that, your breaths become shakier and a tear slips from your eye. You continue to keep your focus on the flowers as you try to compose your next sentence in your head. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even notice Harry coming around to your side of the counter. He softly pulls your hands away from the flowers and he pulls you into his body.

That was the moment you needed. You thought your release was over the past few days but they were only building up to this. Feeling his arms securely wrapped around you was the only thing you wanted or needed from him. Feeling and hearing your cries only made Harry cry too. The both of you just stood there in your kitchen holding each other as you both poured your hearts out to each other through your tears. This time, not saying anything was saying everything. The both of you could feel what the other was feeling and wanted to say. It was like a large weight was lifted off of you both. After a few more moments of crying and being in your arms, Harry needed to get one thing off of his chest. When he pulls away from you he cups both of your cheeks in his hands and he looks right into your eyes. He wanted to make sure that you knew that he meant every last word that was coming out of his mouth.

“I can’t even explain how sorry I am Y/n. You mean the world to me and I can’t even fathom the idea of not having you in my life. Seeing you completely broken the other night haunts me everyday and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that. After not having your in my life, even if it was only a few days, I realized that I can’t live without you. I’ve spent so much time and energy looking for my match when I didn’t even bother to look right in front of me. The only type that I have is you. You’re absolutely stunning, inside and out. I feel like a proper dick for making you feel like you weren’t good enough for me. It’s me who’s not good enough. I let you down and I’ll never forget that. You’ve never left my side in the past 3 years and I couldn’t even give you a simple answer. I love you so much and I’ll never stop.” When Harry says this, the knife that was once burrowed in your heart was gone and the wound is patched up as if it never happened. Sure it’ll take time for it all to completely go away, but this was a hell of a good start.

“I love you so much.” You whimper, feeling another heavy round of hot tears cascade down your face. Harry then pulls your head towards his and presses a long, warm kiss right onto your forehead. That, along with his previous words got rid of the clouds. You were happy again. Your once full sponge was now empty. This meant that you could fill it up again, only this time with feelings of love and happiness. You could finally retire from building walls around yourself and continue experiencing the good that came from being vulnerable.

Masterlist

#Harry Styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x woc #harry styles woc imagines #harry styles writing #my harry writing #concepts of h #harrywritingsbyme

684 notes · View notes

nim-lock · 3 years

Note

I was wondering what tablet you use? I'm trying to get back into drawing but I have zero clue what tablet to use

[Updated 2022] I'll ramble about what I have, and a few reasons why I use each one, and maybe that'll inform your decision a lil better.

short answer: get something that fits your budget, use it for a while, get a second one if you realize the first isn’t very ergonomic for your needs.

Very Long Answer under the cut, because tumblr enables me quite splendidly

Tablet with Display. Drawing purposes. For me that’s the Cintiq Companion 2 but since they are no longer in production, feel free to look up your preferred specs within the cintiq line, or purchase a Huion/other company display tablet for less; brand doesn’t matter as long as it works. Pros of being able to see what you’re doing: more confident putting down strokes, more intuitive. Cons: depending on setup your head/arms may be at a strange angle

One small no-display tablet ($60). A staple. Mine in particular is a Wacom CTH 470 I got in... 2011? I've shoved at least 15k hours on this. Would absolutely go into a period of mourning if this ever went out on me. ANYWAY the reason I like this is because it pairs really well with a monitor setup for optimal ergonomic sitting. Your head can stay level as you work. Having a no-display tablet also works well for my vectoring work in adobe illustrator. I have touch sensors deactivated so it only tracks my pen; this is very helpful for making sure the program doesn't make errant marks. I have hand issues (developed last year, after multiple years of drawing all the time) that put me in a lot of pain if I am at a Bad Angle for long enough. I would absolutely rec setting up at least one workspace with Optimal Ergonomics to preemptively not have to go through the crisis of "what if my body can't do my livelihood" and the physical therapy and so on. Doesn't have to be this one; just whatever works for your body. Downside for non-screen tablets is that the learning curve is steeper initially.

iPad Versatility and size. Can be used for many things/good for travel. It’s very light and the procreate default brushes are VERY GOOD at simulating traditional media. People can use it as their main computer depending on the requirements of what they do. Definitely a thing many artists use; I have not bc I got used to photoshop & PCs; when I travel I go with a laptop & a sketchbook.

Cheers, have fun, there goes the info

#reference #about tablets

31 notes · View notes

akillysheel · 2 years

Text

❝ Well, That’s on You. ❞ ( 3/75 )

Summary: Kip learns what is meant by “a rotten assignment”. Characters: Kip, Jagger, Basil. Prompt: ❝ Well, that’s on you. ❞ Warnings: Drugs ( fictional ).

A/N: A direct continuation of the previous chapter because uhhhh I said so.

“Wakey wakey.”

Kip stirs when Jagger nudges her shoulder with a gloved hand. He’s fully dressed, excluding his coat, and is clearly already prepared for the day ahead. Hung over his arm are her freshly washed clothes, offered to her with an unexpectedly cordial patience.

"Okay," she mumbles, not knowing whether to thank him or not. She may have just woken up, but she recalls how that had panned out yesterday. Her poor forehead. "Um–"

"You've got twenty minutes to make yourself…" He pauses, looking her over, his mouth curling into a spiteful sneer. With evident disdain: "... vaguely presentable."

Kip squints before kicking her blanket aside and standing up. She snatches her clothes from him with a sour scowl before trawling off to the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. If there’s one thing she can’t understand above all else, it’s why some people make the conscious choice to be unpleasant. Jagger must have one hell of a reputation to protect. After how they’d met, that wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest.

The second that the cold water hits her face, Kip breathes out a sigh of relief. She’s never been a morning person, but she can always count on that icy jolt to kick start her day. She washes as efficiently as she can without a designated flannel or sponge, and after hunting in a couple of cabinets for a toothbrush and subsequently feeling bad about it, draws a stripe of toothpaste across her finger and attempts to brush as best she can. By the time she’s finished, hands washed and hair arranged as neatly as she’ll get it without the use of a hairbrush, she feels semi-confident.

With gusto, Kip points at her reflection, a determined look flashing across her face like lightning. “Today’s a new day,” she tells herself with a smirk. “And you’re not going to let Jagger ruin it. You’ll keep your cool, and you’ll kill him with kindness.” Her smirk becomes a sheepish smile then, shoulders sagging a little. “... well, maybe don’t kill him.”

Not even in a hyperbolic sense can she imagine hurting somebody that bad.

With pep in her step, Kip leaves the bathroom and, after stopping to slip her boots on, descends the stairs.

“Just in time.” She turns her head to see Jagger watering one of his house plants, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Against her better judgement, she feels the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. “What?”

“Nothing!” Her hands wave defensively as she looks away from him. It’s not her fault; the image of a ruthless drug lord sparing time to water his house plants every morning is just a little too adorable to fly under her radar. She shouldn’t be swayed by such normal tendencies, but she certainly doesn’t expect them from someone like him. Just like the candles and the soft blankets, it feels so out of left-field that it’s almost laughable.

He puts down the spray bottle with more force than necessary and bridges the distance between them. “Share with the class.”

“What’s his name?”

Jagger’s eyebrows raise. “... huh?”

“The plant’s,” Kip elaborates, arms tucked behind her back as she beams wide.

“What’re you talking about? It’s a plant.”

“I name my stuffed animals,” she replies with a shrug, and her smile widens until she’s positively glowing. Jagger backs away, looking a little disturbed. “It’s only the same.”

“We’re not the same,” he states bluntly, nose wrinkling with displeasure. “What are you, ten?”

Kip clenches her fists tight, sharp fangs pinching her tongue until she feels the urge to insult him back pass her by. Not once does her smile falter. “Try naming them. It’s free therapy.”

“Don’t need therapy.” His voice is uncharacteristically light as he sticks out his foot and kicks a rug aside, revealing a trapdoor beneath it. "Need money."

Kip stares wide-eyed at the secret entrance, suddenly feeling light-headed. They can talk about house plants and gratitude all night long, but come the end of things, Jagger is a man she knows little about. If his occupation is anything to go by– which it most certainly is when she's face to face with a hidden door in a house that he uses only to lay low in– then she can only imagine that there's something nefarious going on down there.

Her eyes follow the broad sweep of his arm as he unhooks a latch and opens the door, eventually settling on that black hole in the floor. Humid air reaches them like the breath of a beast, a faint hint of something spicy reaching her nose. The longer she stares, the darker it seems to become, until it's so black that she thinks it can be nothing other than a gateway to hell. She’s trying so hard not to let him get under her skin, but she won’t lie: this makes her nervous.

If he has anything to say in response to her apprehension, he doesn't make it known. Instead, he drops to a crouch and finds the first prong of the ladder that'll take him down into the basement.

"Come. And pull the door shut behind you," is all he says before vanishing into the dusty depths.

Her options are limited. She gets the feeling that if she climbs down that ladder and enters that room, there’s a good chance she won’t come out of it the same, but what else can she do? The last thing she wants to do is upset the man who has already proven that he’ll do some nasty things to the people that inconvenience him. She doesn’t want to land herself in any more trouble, nor does she want to put Basil on Jagger’s map.

I’ve got a truly rotten assignment for you tomorrow.

Begrudgingly, Kip lowers herself down into the dark, her knees feeling wobbly and weak.

A soft squeak of shock leaves her as the place is suddenly awash with ugly fluorescent light. Its sickly yellow glow illuminates the basement, and Kip gets her first real taste of anxiety. It comes not from something abjectly horrifying, rather the knowledge that she’s been exposed to something that she otherwise would never have seen; a side of life that she was content to know of only from newspaper clippings and crime novels.

Packages. Packages, packages, packages. No matter where she looks, head turning this way and that, the basement is little more than a bunker full of these hand-wrapped bundles. There’s nothing in the room excluding the table they sit on, and hot blazing lamps arranged in a row along the brick wall. In comparison to the house above, the basement is a hole; a bleak, stuffy, vacant void that smells overwhelmingly of pepper, smoke and ash. Kip’s nose wrinkles, creases forming beneath her eyes as she fights back stinging tears. They find Jagger at the far end of the room.

He’s smirking wide, looking the most excited she’s ever seen him look. “Beautiful, ain’t it?”

“It stinks!” she exclaims, watching as he pats one of the bundles with a surprisingly hearty laugh.

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it. And you will be getting used to it. 40,000 paals is a lot to owe, little lady.”

She grits her teeth, refusing to bite. In as neutral a tone as she can: “This won’t cover it? How can eight tiny tabs be worth more than a basement full of stock?”

The look he gives her is one he might give a sulking child. There’s a genuine inkling of pity there. “Y’know, I was still on the fence about you being a massive cheat, but you really don’t know squat about the business, do you?”

“I told you I don’t!” Suddenly, she remembers her mirror pep-talk and how determined she was to have a good day. The contents of this room may be testing her, but she isn’t about to let it break her that easily. Her smile is forced, corners twitching at the grim nature of it all, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “... but I can learn.”

He’s watching her intently, so intently that she feels a little scared to move beneath such a watchful gaze. A gloved forefinger and thumb rub gently together, as if he’s calculating something unseen to her, before he breaks the tense silence with a thump of his palm against the closest package.

“No need!” he exclaims, disarming her with a good-natured grin. She’s never seen him quite this happy, and she can’t decide whether it’s endearing or unnerving. “At least, not yet. All I want you to do is move this stock for me.”

Kip blinks. Of all the things he could have said, this hadn’t even made the list. Slowly, her brow furrows. “Sooo, that super spooky job you said you had for me… this is it?”

“I believe the word I used was rotten,” Jagger replies, stroking his chin as if deep in thought. The light stubble there makes a quiet, scratching sound, and Kip feels momentarily mesmerised. “And yes. This is it.” He picks up one of the many parcels and hands it to her. “How’s that feel? Is it heavy?”

Kip raises an eyebrow at him before tossing the package upwards a short way. It’s as light as can be, hardly a problem, even for a girl her size. “You’re kidding, right?”

Jagger lets out a low chuckle before placing a second one on top. She may not be able to toss it anymore, but they sit comfortably in her hand, weighing no more than the average phone. He repeats the process until she begins to struggle; she can hold about fifteen of them in both arms before it becomes uncomfortable.

“Well, now you need to go upstairs.”

Kip’s smile dims a little. “Huh?”

“Mhmm.” He’s barely holding back a smile of his own. Contrary to what she thinks, Jagger doesn’t hate her. He doesn’t want to cause her unnecessary strife, if only because he has deadlines to meet - but he does feel as if he’s being challenged. This new-found positivity she’s wielding like a weapon only makes him more keen to take her down a peg or two. “I have a van parked out front. It’s painted like a mail truck. You can’t miss it. That’s where they need to go.”

He watches the wheels in her head turn, the full extent of what he’s asking her to do dawning on her like daybreak. Petulantly, Jagger glances at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket.

“It’s just gone five-ten. I need this moved by, ohhh… six?”

“A-All of it?!” Kip exclaims, feeling the life drain from her body. She has no idea how she’s going to lug all of this up and down the ladder in fifty minutes. There's an ungodly number of these things sitting around. Thousands upon thousands of them, if she had to guess.

Jagger says nothing for a moment before mercifully shaking his head. "No. The van won't be able to carry all this in one trip - and it's not all going to the same place anyway. I need two-hundred and fifty of them to go."

“But how am I supposed to move that many on my own?”

“Well, that’s on you to figure out.”

"Okay." Kip breathes in deep through her nose before nodding, a mix of trepidation and determination filling her face as she tries to work out the best way to proceed. To her astonishment, Jagger offers some support.

"You're holding fifteen there. Shed however many you can't carry under one arm and we'll start from there. I will count them."

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t trust you to do it right.”

Kip deflates noticeably. It’s the first outward chink in her armour today.

After much trial and error, she finds that if she tucks seven under her arm and two in her jacket pockets, she can move about nine at a time.

The first trip is a breeze. She wriggles her way up that ladder and out of his front door with hardly a pause. This emboldens her - which makes her steady spiral into exhaustion that much more painful. By the twelfth trip, she comes to fear that ladder. She’s a healthy young woman; she was a track runner in college and has lived a life full of secret bases in trees and leaping over rivers as opposed to taking their respective bridges. She still skates with her brother on most evenings and she runs to every gig she gets. Even so, that awkward, one-handed shimmy up the steep ladder leaves her lungs burning and her gut clenching. By the time she’s clearing the last of it out, her legs resemble jelly and she’s trying not to pant for air too obviously.

“H–Here’s… the last of it…”

Jagger is leaning against the side of the van with a yoghurt in his hands. He regards her shaky legs with the ghost of smirk on his face before feeding himself a complimentary spoonful of strawberry, tiny plastic utensil lingering against his lips long after he’s finished. She’s undoubtedly tired (and he knew she would be), but she managed. Despite their contentious relationship, he’s impressed.

“Good job, little lady. And here I thought you’d pass out.” He turns, tossing his now-empty yoghurt cup over her head and into his general waste bin. “What did I tell you? A rotten assignment.”

Kip gives him a smile that reminds him of a switchblade. After a big, stubborn inhale: “That’s the second time you’ve underestimated me, Jagger. You ought to start learning I can take it.”

“Well damn,” he replies, eyebrows raised high. “Check out the attitude on this one. One job strong and feelin’ fine.” He can’t say it isn’t earned though. He really has put her through the ringer already, and the sun has barely risen. He’ll allow her an ounce of victory.

An arm reaches through the rolled-down window of the door nearest before it withdraws with a second yoghurt cup in tow. “Here.”

Kip blinks at it, as if she’s never seen one before in her life. He must not have taken it out of the fridge long ago for it’s cool to the touch. She all but snatches it from him, only realising in that moment how hungry she is. The pink carton is about the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“Now get in,” he orders, patting the door with a gloved hand before circling the van and climbing into the driver’s seat. She obeys him without question, already halfway through tearing the foil lid from her snack. The passenger seat has quite the incline, but she’s more focused on trying to pull her seatbelt on with one hand as the other feeds her plastic spoon into her mouth. If Basil was here, he’d be criticising her lack of patience something fierce.

“Where’re we going?” Kip asks as the engine hums to life. Daylight is beginning to paint Leylan in its usual golden glow. Soon enough, the early risers will be starting their morning routines, readying themselves for a day of work. Given the type of goods Jagger is moving, it makes sense why he'd want to minimise his chances of being seen.

"I'm taking you home," he answers as he pulls out of the side street and onto the main path. Leylan's roads are narrow and not entirely clear, far better equipped for bikes and skateboards, and the idea of a van this heavily loaded making some of the turns to her house has a knot forming in her stomach. "Tell me your address."

It's pointless, but she still holds her tongue for a moment. Her place of residence feels like the last personal thing she has left. Sacrificing it means letting him into all aspects of her life, and she isn't keen to have that layer of separation broken.

"I can walk it…!"

Jagger glances at her out of the corner of his eye as he fiddles with the radio dial. A smooth, thumping bass line fills the space between them.

"I don't want to trouble you! I–I made it here on foot, I can–"

"Just tell me your fucking address," he interrupts tersely, and Kip stops talking. It seems that no matter how she tries to play it, she's going to have to capitulate. She does so with a heavy heart, settling on finishing her yoghurt in silence. She needs to find a way to explain to Basil exactly where she's been without letting him know about Jagger. If he finds out about the steaming pile of shit she's found herself in, he'll worry himself to death– or worse yet, attempt to save her from it. He means well, but Basil has never been a fighter; she can only imagine the kind of mess that Jagger will make out of him if he tries to play the hero. He'd almost broken her arm without so much as flinching. She dreads to think what he'll do to someone who swings first.

The roads gradually become more and more familiar as time rolls on, and Kip finds herself soaking in the feeling of a car ride with just a little too much willingness. She's never ridden in a vehicle like this before. It differs a lot from a monorail ride, and even more so from rollerblading. There's something intimate about sharing the passenger seat of a van being driven by somebody else; a display of trust she's really quite conflicted about, given her less-than-stellar opinion of the man sitting beside her. As usual, she tries to put a positive spin on it, tries to tell herself that she's not in danger. He might be a little prickly, but he hasn't done anything grievous to her beyond their first meeting. In fact, he hasn't so much as laid a finger on her again since their unfortunate meeting. He could've left her for dead last night but he didn't. He could've let her go hungry but he didn't. He could've physically forced her to do any number of tasks for him at this point, but he hasn’t. No matter how sour he's been with her, there's some good in his heart. She believes in that, if nothing else.

Eventually, her house comes into view. It's a tiny one-story building nestled between two others identical to it on a hill.

"Hold on," Jagger says as she unbuckles her seatbelt, and she pauses obediently. His hand dips into his pocket before offering her her phone. Her eyes widen immediately.

"Oh shoot!" Hurriedly, she accepts it, unable to believe she forgot about it completely. It's definitely seen better days. The screen is cracked and the stickers on the back are fading, but it still works fine. "Thanks… I didn't even think about–"

"Hey. How old are you, Kip?"

The shift in tone all but gives her whiplash. After fumbling over her words for several seconds, she stammers out a confused, "Th–Three thirty…? Why?"

Jagger taps his fingers against the steering wheel, the sound of leather squeaking quietly as he sucks in a breath through his teeth. She looks adult to him, but definitely too young to be caught in the crosshairs of criminality like this. She’s supposed to be full of promise; studying something convoluted that didn’t exist when he was a boy. He can’t understand why a young woman like her, so bright and full of life, is hovering on dirty street corners, robbing people and getting herself into trouble. He can’t just let it slide, not when she’s cost him so much money, but part of him wishes he could.

“You’re too young to be caught up in this shit-storm,” he admits, giving her a sober look. “I’m gonna get you out of this mess as quickly as I can. I don’t want you caught up in this scene for too long.”

The words take her aback. There’s that consideration he keeps denying he has. It reaches into her core, elicits a form of gratitude that she’s never felt before.

“I’m okay. It was an accident, but… it was still my fault.”

“Still. I don’t want you to start liking this life.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like it, Jagger.”

“You’d be surprised. That’s what we all say,” he says with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. It disturbs the gelled back strands enough to leave some loose, and she looks away as if she’s walked in on him naked. It’s just too strange, seeing him as anything other than the perfectly composed businessman. With a smile that could just as well be a grimace: “Just, be prepared to work your ass off for a couple of months. Then we can wash our hands of each other, deal?”

“Deal,” she replies, returning the half-hearted smile.

“Good. Now go on. Ske-daddle. Get the hell outta my van.”

Kip exits the vehicle, yoghurt cup and all, and stands on the white pavement that leads to her house as the van roars to life once more.

“I’ll be in touch,” Jagger calls over the purr of its engine, almost looking devious against the glare of sunlight that pours in through his window. “I don’t ask for permission. I call, you answer. It’s that simple.”

“Got it.” It’s said through her teeth, pinched and tight, but with a smile that could absolutely class as agreeable. In spite of his tone, he’s made it evident that he’s at least sympathetic to her circumstances. The best she can hope for is that he’s telling the truth– that he really will find her enough work to absolve her of this bothersome life as soon as possible. Her eyes follow the vehicle until it rounds the corner and disappears from sight.

With a sigh, Kip drags herself up the hill and to her front door, unlocking it and shuffling inside.

“Basil?” she calls as she walks into the cramped living room, all too aware of the time. She can’t imagine that he’s left for work yet, but when she pokes her head into his room she discovers that it’s empty. With a frown, she makes her way to her own and plugs her charger into her dead phone. The moment it sparks to life, she discovers that she has seven missed calls and fifteen unread texts from her brother.

Hey, where are you? Kip, it’s getting late. Are you coming home soon? I’m at the platform and the last tram just left. You weren’t on it. Where are you?!

She lets out a groan and dims the screen with a click of the power button, guilt washing over her in waves. Her brother may be an anxious mess by nature, but it’s hardly an over exaggeration to be worried about her not coming home. In her heart, she knows that he won’t have done anything foolish-- that he won’t have attempted to brave nightfall-- but she can’t imagine how sick to his stomach he must have been. It’ll be a wonder if he’d slept at all.

The latest message is a haphazard string of capital letters; incredibly out of character, for he’s a stickler for grammar.

KIP. IF YOU DON’T REPLY BY TOMORROW AFTERNOON I’M CALLING THE POLICE! CALL ME.

“Damn iiiit…”

His last call was at 5:34AM. Her phone must have already been dead, because she absolutely would’ve picked it up otherwise, whether Jagger had been breathing down her neck or not.

Quickly, she hits the speed dial and brings the phone to her ear. It barely rings once before it’s picked up. “Hey, Basil–”

“Where were you?! I’ve been worried sick!”

“I know, I’m sorry, I…” She pauses, feeling overwhelmed by guilt and grief and anger. As much as she wants to blame Jagger for this entire fiasco, she knows that she’s the one that landed herself in it. This is what she gets for being a thief. It was always only a matter of time before she got more than she bargained for. “Um… I… lost track of time with my set. Ended up staying over in the bar I played in. My phone died. I’m okay!”

She hears him tut, pacing so viciously that she can almost envision a trail of fire being left behind him.

“I’m sorry, Basil! Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, I’m–” His words abruptly stop, and she hears the muffled voice of his boss barking orders at him. Her brother mutters a timid “sorry, sir…” before he comes back to the phone. “We’ll talk later, okay? I have to go. I’m glad you’re safe. I love you.”

“I love you too, Bas.”

When the line goes dead, she only feels marginally better. With a defeated huff, she puts her phone beneath her pillow before laying face-first on her bed. She’s been awake for no longer than three hours and she already wants to go back to sleep.

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #drabble challenge #oc story #original cast #fandomless oc story #drabble #writing ;#drabble challenge ;#kip ;#terrence ;#basil ;#tomorrow ;

3 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

The Queen of Underland: Izzy

CW: Panic attack, child of recovering adult whumpee, anger as trauma response, referenced noncon kissing and touching (nonsexual), childhood bullying, referenced past domestic and child abuse, some gendered and ableist insults (kid to kid and nothing too intense - just fair warning)

Izzy, at nine years old, has been free with her family for almost five years now, and her mother has been in prison on a life sentence for two. With attention, affection, and therapy, she has blossomed into a quiet kid who nearly always has her nose in a book.

When two classmates try to put her in the center of a storm, Izzy finds something inside herself that she has pushed down for so long she had nearly forgotten she ever had it.

Izzy finds her father’s anger.

Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission.

---

Izzy sits at her desk, perfectly still, reading a book while the teacher’s out of the room speaking with another teacher in low voices, just in the hallway. The sun shines in the windows that line the wall, lighting the pages of her book, and one of Izzy’s hands rubs repeatedly over the seam down the side of her uniform skirt, the only movement she makes beyond her eyes.

Around her, the others are whispering, passing notes and giggling (except for Noah, who has his own book open, and Jack, who is drawing his story about giant killer robots in a notebook, and Sarah, Jack’s twin sister who is trying to build a tower of pencils and paper), but Izzy barely notices them.

When the teacher comes back in, Izzy will not be whispering, or giggling, or doing anything that might bother her. When the teacher comes back, Izzy will be quiet, and good, and put her book back into her desk and look up with her hands in her lap. She’s the quietest kid in class, she heard the teacher say so.

At home, she’s not always quiet anymore, but at school she still holds a balance, protecting herself and keeping herself safe in the best and truest way she knows - by simply being exactly what the adults need her to be, and keeping all her real feelings and thoughts inside her head.

Still, while the teacher’s out of the room, she takes a few minutes to read while she has the chance. Her heart beats cold and heavy in her chest as she scans over the words on the page, biting down on her lower lip, worrying at a bit of chapped skin. Her left hand settles over the soft texture of pages nearly yellowed with time spent in the school library being held by hundreds of small hands. The fingers on her right hand feel over the seam of her skirt, right along the outside of her leg, again and again.

Fierce anxiety, and a little fear, swirl inside her for the characters that exist only in ink and her imagination.

Two Earthmen entered, but instead of advancing into the room, they placed themselves one on each side of the door, and bowed deeply. They were followed immediately by the last person whom anyone had expected or wished to see: the Lady of the Green Kirtle, the Queen of Underland. She stood dead still in the doorway, and they could see her eyes moving as she took in the whole situation—the three strangers, the silver chair destroyed, and the Prince free, with his sword in his hand.

“I think I like Karissa,” Henry Fitzgerald, who sits at her left, says to his best friend Kevin Magden - not to be confused with Kevin Michaelson, and didn’t the teacher sigh over that sometimes. He has to speak over and around Izzy’s head.

“Like, like like her?” Kevin Magden asks, sounding half-horrified, half-fascinated. Izzy fights not to roll her eyes, and tries to focus back on her book, on the entrance of the Queen, on the Prince freed but faced with great danger.

The Queen of the Underland, the lady who held the Prince in the dark for ten whole years, that’s older than Izzy even is. Coming into the room to find the children and the Prince, and her having no control any longer.

She turned very white; but Jill thought it was the sort of whiteness that comes over some people's faces not when they are frightened but when they are angry. For a moment the Witch fixed her eyes on the Prince, and there was murder in them. Then she seemed to change her mind.

“Run,” Izzy whispers, to the children, to Puddleglum the strange marsh creature, to the freed Prince. “Don’t talk to her, just run. Don’t listen to whatever she says, don’t.”

“What are you even saying, Izzy?” Kevin Magden says.

“She’s all in her book like always,” Henry Fitzgerald says, shrugging. He makes some sort of gesture - Izzy doesn’t look up to see it - and the two of them laugh. She doesn’t care about that. The story is far, far more important than they are anyway. “Anyway, Kev, I like-... yeah, I think I like like her. I’m gonna tell her at break.”

“Gross,” Kevin says, but he sounds fascinated. “What if she says she doesn’t like-like you back?”

Henry shrugs again - Izzy can see the movement from the corner of her eye. “Dunno. Maybe kiss her.”

“Gross,” Kevin repeats, much more emphatically.

Izzy tries to keep her mind on the page, but shifts uncomfortably in her chair. She closes her eyes briefly, thinking of the Queen of the Underland, standing in the doorway. She imagines her with very white skin and dark, long fingernails, wearing a long dress that brushes the earthen floor, making a soft swish-swish sound as she walks. In her mind, the Queen of the Underland has very bright blue eyes and lots of curly, dark brown hair that is threaded with silver down her back, wild and uncontrolled, like it can reach out and grab you and drag you into the dark with her.

She feels like the Queen is not a stranger to her, and not hard to picture at all. Try as she might, she can’t make the Queen in her imagination look like the description of the Queen in the book. She only ever looks one way - beautiful and wicked, deceptively soft, eyes brilliant and shining too bright when the Prince is in pain.

Will she hurt him, while the children have to stand and watch and can’t save him at all?

"Leave us," she said to the two Earthmen. "And let none disturb us till I call, on pain of death." The gnomes padded away obediently, and the Witch-queen shut and locked the door.

"How now, my lord Prince," she said. "Has your nightly fit not yet come upon you, or is it over so soon? Why stand you here unbound? Who are these aliens? And is it they who have destroyed the chair which was your only safety?"

Izzy can hear the Queen’s voice, musical lilt, simpering sweet and dangerous. Why are you leaving me? How dare you. Come back here, Jax, you can’t leave, you’re mine.

Kevin and Henry are still talking, but Izzy doesn’t hear them any longer. She’s lost in the panic rising inside of her. Run, she thinks, in a scream, a shout in her mind. It isn’t that she doesn’t understand it’s just a book, but that she is still scared, frightened for the prince whose father had grown older while he was gone, whose family must have missed him so much. She is frightened for the children who do not understand the witch or how to fight her. She’s frightened even for Puddleglum, who only wants to help, to do the right thing. Don’t talk to her, don’t give her the chance, just run. She’ll make you hers again. She swallows - it feels like her heart beats itself right up into her throat, like she is swallowing around it - and keeps reading.

Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke to him. And no wonder: it is not easy to throw off in half an hour an enchantment which has made one a slave for ten years. Then, speaking with a great effort, he said:

“I’ll kiss her even if she doesn’t like me back, anyway.”

Izzy’s breath catches, and she blinks, feeling like she has been pulled out of a spell herself. She looks up, glancing sidelong at Henry, who isn’t looking at her at all, just talking to Kevin. “Hen-... Henry-... what did you say?”

“None of your business,” Henry replies, voice harsh and loud enough to get some of the others to look over at them, and Izzy’s shoulders creep up towards her chin, face burning red. She hates when everyone looks at her, hates it more than anything. Henry looks back at Kevin. “At break, I will. I’ll tell her, and I’ll kiss her, whether she wants to or not.”

Izzy looks back down, but the words on the page run together, she can’t see them any longer, they’re just squiggles, meaningless little lines. What I want just matters more, whispers a nightmare she can never quite feel woken up from. She tries, she really does, to focus again on the book but she sees secondly, she took out a musical instrument-

Izzy slams the little paperback shut, sticks it back in her desk, and says in a thin voice, “You can’t do that if someone doesn’t want you to, it’s wrong.”

“It’s not a big deal, Izzy, geez.” Kevin on her other side speaks up now, and between them she feels like she’s being battered, tossed on a sea, shoved down, locked in the dark. Izzy stares down at her desk, then, letting her eyes lose focus on the wavy colors in the polished wood. Light brown, almost auburn, and darker brown, almost a chocolate color, very like the hair on Izzy’s own head, clipped short and spiky.

Very very like the wavy, thick curls that ran down her mother’s back, that smothered Izzy in the smell of her shampoo and perfume.

“It is a big deal,” Izzy whispers. “It’s wrong, to make someone kiss you. It’s wrong. It-... it hurts them. It matters what they want, too.”

“Ugh. It's just a kiss. You’re bonkers, you know that?" Henry leans over, almost in her space, and Izzy sits back as far as she can until she presses her back hard into her chair, enough to hurt. “Absolutely mad.”

“No, I’m not,” Izzy mumbles, but panic twists even worse inside her. Is she? Her mom is. Isn’t she? Don’t you have to be, to be evil? Dr. Marty says no, that those two things are totally separate and people are just bad at understanding that people can be really, really, really bad and still be sane - that bad people almost always are - and Dr. Marty knows everything about crazy and not-crazy, that’s his whole job, and she’s not like her mother anyway, she’s not.

“Are so,” Henry taunts, falling easily into the familiar cadence of mockery, and Izzy’s face burns brighter and hotter as the room begins to fall quiet, other conversations falling away as the others realize there might be some entertainment now. Her breath comes faster, and she closes her hands into fists at her side, fighting to control the way the fear and a new rise of anger start to twist around inside her stomach, making it flip, making her feel sick. “You’re bonkers for sure, Izzy Gallagher.”

“I-I’m not. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not! It’s not right to kiss people who you don’t know if they want to or not! It’s not!”

The room feels suddenly too small, and too big - she can’t escape Henry’s bean-breath and she can’t run far enough to get to the door, she can’t run at all. Some small voice inside her demands she stay still, shut her mouth, never talk again. She should have just finished her book, seen how the Prince would escape the Queen of the Underland, seen if the children help him or just weigh him down, one more bit of stone tying him to Underland and maybe he wishes he could just leave them behind, if they bother him, if they’re no good-

“Ewwwww, who would want to kiss Izzy?” A girl near her wrinkles her nose - Lindsey Smith, Izzy’s brain supplies, in an airless dizzy spin of details that aren’t important but she can’t stop circling around. “She looks like a boy.”

“Hey, back off.” Izzy, surprised, glances over her shoulder to find Noah Hawkins looking up from his own book, eyes narrowed. “Izzy’s hair is cool, and it’s cooler than yours anyway, Lindsey-kins. You just wish you looked as good as she does.”

“Shut up! You just say that because you’re a boy, of course you think boy hair looks cool.” Lindsey sticks her tongue out, crossing her arms in front of herself. She has big poofy hair like Izzy’s would be if she didn’t have her dad cut it so short, held back with a clip. Hers is red, though.

“There’s no such thing,” Sarah says from over by the window. “As boy or girl hair, I mean. There’s no such thing. It’s all just hair. Izzy’s hair does look cool. You all should leave it alone, Mrs. Brent is going to be back inside any second and we’ll all get in trouble if there’s fighting.”

“Yeah, Izzy,” Henry hisses at her, leaning in close. Too close. She forgets how to breathe. “Stop causing trouble, Izzy.”

“I’m not,” Izzy whispers. Her face feels like it might light on fire. Her fingernails dig into her palms, until she feels flashes of pain, creating crescents that could take hours to fully fade if she did it hard enough. “I was-... I was just-”

“Just butting in where you don’t belong,” Henry finishes for her. “It’s not your business.”

“It’s-... but, but I just-” Her voice is fading fast, airy and breathless, barely a whisper. Quiet little Izzy Gallagher, who never stands up for herself, who lets everyone talk to her like this, who never says a word she isn’t asked to say. Her fear batters her with wings inside her chest, but beneath it is something else entirely, trying to rise up and take over her mind and mouth. Anger. She and Dr. Marty had talked about it, about how it was a normal feeling to feel, but every swell of it within her was met by the rising tide of fear in response.

She never lets herself be angry. That would make her like her mother, who was angry so much, and she’s not like that, she’s not.

She doesn’t think, in the moment, that her mother isn’t the only parent who knows how to be angry.

The thoughts are not conscious. They aren’t driven by any kind of logic, they loop and swirl around each other. They flash bright like light in the back of her mind. She thinks about the story, the book inside her desk, the way the Prince fell upon the silver chair, how he swung his sword in dim light.

She thinks about the prince walking out the hotel doors with a baby in one arm and a little girl on his hip, a backpack heavy against his back, into the sunlight outside. She can remember the way he breathed quick and shallow against her hair, the racing of his heart as he asked her to be very quiet, and very brave. She didn’t know he was scared, he didn’t say it, he was just the Prince, shining in the sunlight, asking for directions to the train station and going in a suit to court later and the silver gave way before the sword’s edge like string, and in a moment a few twisted fragments, shining on the floor, were all that was left of the chair.

“But-but-but-but, I just-” Henry is still going, and Izzy’s eyes burn as hot as her face, lips pulling back from her teeth in a grimace like a snarl. “Just shut up, Izzy Gallagher, nobody cares what you think.”

“Don’t be a dick, I care,” Noah says, from the back of the room, his voice getting louder, now. Other students whoop and go ooooh, Noah likes Izzy, but Noah ignores them, and he doesn’t turn even a little bit red. “Izzy hasn’t done anything wrong to you.” She barely knows Noah, he’s in her class but they don’t talk or anything. This is the first time he’s done more than help her with a math problem, this is the first time she’s heard him even talk in class without the teacher calling on him.

But it feels good to have somebody else stand up for her.

“She’s butting in!” Henry protests, hands up like he’s the innocent one. “Kevin and I were just talking-”

“About kissing Karissa Bellweather!” Izzy half-shouts. “From the other class! You were talking about kissing someone even if she doesn’t want to! You said you would even if she said no! That’s not right!”

“Ew,” Someone says, Izzy doesn’t know who. Her blood is rushing in her ears almost too loud to hear. “Do you like-like Karissa Bellweather, Henry?”

“No! I don’t!” Henry looks stricken. He hadn’t expected her to just say it out loud like that to everybody. “Gallagher’s lying! She’s a liar!”

“I’m not! I’m not a fucking liar!” Her voice is too loud and she claps her hands over her mouth. Don’t cry, she thinks to herself, and her own thought-voice twists into her mother’s sharper edges. Her palms ache and she wonders if her nails have broken skin, but the wonder is faint, and faded. She feels a hand pressed against the back of her neck, the Queen of the Underland’s voice beside her ear. Don’t cry, Bella. You’re so ugly when you cry. Jax, get her out of my sight.

“Fuck off,” Izzy says, voice trembling. She isn’t really talking to Henry, not anymore. “Leave-... leave me alone.”

“Oooh, what’re you gonna do, huh? Gonna throw some punches?” Kevin is too close on the other side, now. They’re both too close. Izzy’s heart beats all out of time, and when she goes to breathe, it… it doesn’t work. Her breath is stuck in her throat, halfway down. The air just… sits there, and she can’t hitch it in or exhale it. It feels like her throat is closing up, she’ll choke on nothing, black out and fall down. “Bonkers Izzy Gallagher, gonna fight us, are you?”

“I-I could-” Her voice is a whimper, and Izzy closes her eyes.

“Could not,” Henry mocks, from his side of her. “You’re weak as a puppy. What are you gonna do?”

“Stop-... stop you from talking anymore,” Izzy says, and pushes her chair back with a loud scrape, getting to her feet. She should tell Dr. Marty about the book, she thinks, about the Queen of the Underland. She should tell her father about the Prince tied to the chair, and how he chopped the chair to bits, and she should tell them all about it, nice and safe and quiet at home, and not do what she’s afraid she’s going to do instead.

“How, gonna use something you learned from your mam in prison?” Henry asks, and Izzy remembers, all at once, how to breathe - but it’s all poison. She gulps in air, fear sparking up, her nerves feel like a hundred thousand tiny lightning strikes. She wants to run but she’s at school and there isn’t anywhere to go.

“Wh-what?”

“My dad says your mam’s famous in the States for being in prison,” Henry says, leaping on this new tactic as the blood drains from Izzy’s face. He’s like animals on the nature shows that James likes to watch at home with their snack, circling a calf all alone. She’s a wounded baby calf, she’s weighing the herd down, she’s not strong or brave enough, she never was. “Did she teach you how to prison-fight? Ooooh, did she show you how to make a-” He jabs at the air, fist closed empty around an imaginary knife. “A prison-blade?”

“Shiv,” Kevin supplies helpfully.

“Right, that. Did your mam show you how to shank someone?”

“I don’t-... I don’t talk to my mom,” Izzy says, half-strangled by her own words. Her head is spinning. Her backpack is so far away. “We don’t-... we don’t have contact-... she doesn’t talk to me, isn’t allowed-”

“Oh, ew.” Henry sits back, and his face lights up with the simple cruelty of wounding someone who looks unable to fight back, of regaining his own stability and distracting everyone from his embarrassment by bringing up Izzy’s shame instead. “Are you so awful even your mam doesn’t want to talk to you?”

No. She doesn’t. Izzy’s lip trembles. She can’t bring herself to try and respond. She doesn’t, she doesn’t want to know anything about me at all. The last thing my mom ever said to me was yelling at me not to look so scared all the time and Dad said she never asked about me when he talked to her during the trial she never asked she never-

“Hey, Henry,” Someone says. “This is super gross stuff to say, isn’t it?” Izzy can’t see anything but Henry’s face, everything else is white noise and his words ringing through her, settling too deeply inside, meeting her own thoughts that match them, sometimes, on hard days. She never asked about me, she doesn’t even care that I hate her. Your mam is supposed to care if you hate her. You’re so awful your mom doesn’t even care about you. Your mam is supposed to-

“Yeah, Henry. That’s too far, that’s really mean.”

“She can’t help who her mam is, Hen.”

“Yeah, it’s not like she went to the mam shop and picked a rubbish one.”

“My dad was away for a while, Iz, I get it. My mam says it doesn’t say anything about us. People make bad choices is all.”

“I haven’t even seen my dad since I was five, Izzy, it’s okay, don’t be sad.”

“Yeah, it’s okay, Izzy, don’t be sad, Henry’s just being awful.”

“Hey, she was awful first!”

“Go run up a pole, Henry. I like you, Izzy,” Sarah says, from the window, and moves in her direction. “Henry’s being a jerk, don’t listen to him. Don’t be sad. It’s okay.”

“I like you, too, you’re fun at break, you always have good ideas for games.” That’s Amira, using that certain kind of tone you use when you are trying to comfort an upset person, and Izzy feels some of the ice closing around her heart starting to warm up, to melt, to crack apart.

Even Lindsey says, almost grudging, “Don’t be sad because of Henry, Izzy. He’s really mean sometimes.”

“I think you’re really cool,” Noah says, in a quieter voice. “Please don’t be sad. Want to play monsters at break?”

They don’t all hate her, they don’t. Someone puts a hand at her back, and she flinches, and they pull the hand away, but they don’t hate her for pulling away, they don’t hate her voice or her hair and they don’t hate her for speaking up, they don’t.

Henry hasn’t given up, not yet. “Your mam’s in prison for being a shit to your dad, isn’t she?”

Izzy doesn’t look at him, leaning down to pull the book out of her desk, trying to think. She can pull her backpack out and go the nurse, say she’s feeling sick, and maybe her dad will come get her and take her home. They can call Dr. Marty and she can tell him what happened and Dr. Marty will know what to tell her and her dad to work on for the next time. She can tell him that there were good things, too, like that Noah said he thinks she’s cool, and Amira likes her game ideas, and not everybody hates her because she has the wrong mom, and it’s going to be okay.

It’s going to be okay.

“Henry, stop it,” She says, in a half-whisper. “Please stop.”

She can go to the nurse. Say she’s sick, it’s not a lie, her stomach is all twisted up in knots. It’ll be true, she’s not going to feel better. She has sweat on her forehead drying cold, making her shiver a little. It’s not a lie, being scared makes her sick, it’s a real sick, it’s not a lie. She gets sick a lot from being scared, Dr. Marty says it’s normal for kids who have anxiety, she has exercises to do, she can picture all her hurting thoughts and move them away, and…

“That’s what my dad said.” Henry’s voice cuts in. “He said your mam’s a piece of fucking work and probably made your dad one, too-”

“Don’t talk about my dad!” She rounds on him, then, book clutched to her chest. “Don’t you dare, you don’t-... you don’t have any right! You don’t know what happened, you don’t know us, you don’t know anything! My dad is better than yours ever could be! And, and stronger, and braver, too!”

Izzy Gallagher, quiet as a mouse, teacher’s pet from sheer terrified inaction, who always sits still and listens carefully and takes direction so well and is just an absolute pleasure to have in class, Mr. Gallagher, an absolute pleasure, is shouting and doesn’t realize it until the words have left her mouth.

She should stop, some part of her brain begs her to stop, but the anger is suddenly larger than the fear and she is a little girl with a sword. Where they came from, and what she and her father and her little brother have survived, is a silver chair she will hack to bits until all that’s left shines like jewelry when held up to the light.

Henry’s eyes widen, they are big saucers, and they are very bright and very blue.

“My dad is amazing.” She can’t stop shouting. She’s not even trying to stop any longer. “He lived through really bad stuff and he still got us away from it! Even though it would have been easier to go by himself and leave us, he didn’t, and my mom is evil, and I’m not, because you don’t have to be what your mom is and I’m not ever going to be like that, but you are evil, Henry Fitzgerald, and you don’t even have an excuse! You’re-... you’re mean for no reason, and I hope Karissa spits in your face and kicks you between your legs as hard as she fucking can! You are an asshole, Henry Fitzgerald, and you can go fuck yourself all the way home!”

“Isabella Gallagher!” Mrs. Brent’s voice is shocked, and the words die in Izzy’s throat, as she slowly turns to see the teacher standing in the doorway, staring at her like she’d grown three heads and all of them have fangs.

Izzy feels like she has fangs, too. And claws, like she is a monster herself. She should be scared, or sad, or ashamed of herself, but all she feels is anger burning bright and hot and good in her veins, louder than fear. Angry feels safer than scared. She feels proud of herself, a feeling so unfamiliar it seems like it must be someone else’s. Sarah, close to her now, whispers, go Izzy, in a soft impressed voice, and Izzy feels her eyes burn again, more than before, but for a different reason.

They don’t hate her, and Henry isn’t saying bad things about her dad any longer, because of her. They don’t hate her.

“You might be even cooler now,” Amira says, and the teacher shushes all of them and points Izzy out, telling her to go see the Head Teacher. Any other Izzy would slink out with her shoulders hunched, full of fear, but this Izzy feels the buzz of standing up for herself running through her and warming all the cold, chasing the heavy hand on her neck away. This Izzy walks with her chin up and her shoulders back.

Some of the warm feeling goes away when the Head Teacher calls her dad to come get her, and says in her stern hard voice that Izzy was yelling and cursing at another student. The Head Teacher doesn’t say that she had a reason, and makes it sound like Izzy just stood up and started cursing for no reason at all. That’s… that’s not fair. Grown-ups always do that, make it seem like kids just go off for no reason, and Izzy can’t hear what her dad says back to the Head Teacher, but a lot of the warm feeling goes away, then. Her heart feels cold and scared again.

What if he’s mad at her?

What if she can’t be sorry enough to fix it?

Izzy sits in a hard wooden chair that is shaped all wrong for kids and makes her legs hurt after a while, waiting for him to come get her with a racing heart, her book open in her lap.

There’s some brown-y red smeared on the cover, drying. She made her palms bleed when she was scared and didn’t even notice. She’ll ask her dad to buy the school library a new one. She wants to keep this one for herself.

"I have come," said a deep voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared with him. And in less time than it takes to breathe Jill forgot about the dead King of Narnia and remembered only how she had made Eustace fall over the cliff, and how she had helped to muff nearly all the signs, and about all the snappings and quarrellings. And she wanted to say "I'm sorry" but she could not speak. Then the Lion drew them towards him with his eyes, and bent down and touched their pale faces with his tongue, and said:

"Think of that no more. I will not always be scolding. You have done the work for which I sent you into Narnia."

"Please, Aslan," said Jill, "may we go home now?"

"Yes. I have come to bring you Home," said Aslan.

A flash of gray, worn jeans in her vision brings her slowly into awareness of the world around her, but it’s the voice that breaks her completely from the story’s spell.

“Talk to me, kiddo.”

Izzy looks up to meet her father’s eyes, surprised - she hadn’t even heard him come up. But they’re quiet movers, the Gallaghers - except for Jamie, who never had to learn to move so quiet she couldn’t hear him, who never had to push down all his sounds so deep inside himself he could go whole days without making any at all.

Her dad drops into a crouch in front of her, and his knees crack a little, but if it bothers him he doesn’t show it. He looks up at her, from this angle, and he doesn’t look mad.

He almost never looks mad at her.

“I got a call that you were fighting in class.” He looks like he’s trying not to twitch a smile at the corner of his mouth. “And using some pretty creative language.”

“Can’t imagine where I learned to curse,” Izzy says gravely, and there - that was definitely a smile on his face that he has to hide as fast as it shows. She lives for her father’s smile. Still, she closes her book, and folds her hands on top of the stain on the cover so he won’t see it. “I only yelled a little. Henry Fitzgerald was mean to me, and he was going to-... he was going to kiss a girl who didn’t want him to kiss her, even if she didn’t want him to. He said it didn’t matter if she wanted to or not.”

“Ah.” It’s all he says, at first. His face doesn’t show much, now. Her nervous heart starts to beat fast again.

“It’s, that was, um, that was before he got mean. He got mean when I told him that it’s wrong to do that and… I kind of… told everybody in class he was going to.”

Her father’s eyebrows raise, a little. “You did, did you?”

“Yes. Then he said his dad told him my mom’s in prison and that-” She stops herself, closing her hands tightly over the book, before her voice can start to shake again. She takes deep breaths, strong ones, fills her whole lungs up. Her dad waits for her, he always waits for Izzy when she needs him to. “He said, it was just, it was a stupid thing, but it made me really angry.”

Her dad’s face hasn’t changed, but Izzy knows when emotions change in a room, even without anyone’s face moving at all. She can feel that something has shifted inside him, something he’s not showing her. “What did he say?”

“That I must be awful if my mom doesn’t even want to talk to me.” She says it flat, like it doesn’t bother her at all to hear it. No big deal, it’s normal to have a mother who hates you for stealing your father even though it didn’t happen that way. “Then he said mean stuff about you, and… I was already upset, so… I kind of went off on him. I’m sorry you got called and had to come get me.”

“But you’re not sorry you did it,” He says, and it’s not a question.

She presses her lips tightly together, and shakes her head. “I’m… I’m not. He needed to be yelled at. I’m not sorry, Dad. I mean, I am sorry that you have to do anything, but, I’m not-... sorry for calling him all those names and I will put my money from my birthday in the swear jar if you want, I’ll skip tea for a week and put all my chocolates in there, but I still won’t be sorry for yelling when he was mean about you.”

He huffs a sound like quiet laughter and offers her his hands. “Izzy… I don’t care what a year three kid - or his dad - says about me. But clearly it was important to you. Let me go in there and talk to the Head Teacher about it, and we’ll talk out what happens next on our way home. Okay?”

No anger, or threatening punishments, no mention of discipline ever leaves his slightly smiling lips. Izzy is never taught through making her afraid, not anymore. But he waits, seriously, for her to acknowledge what he’s said.

“Okay, Dad. We’ll talk about what I need to do. And-... can we call Dr. Marty when we get home? I-... want to talk to Dr. Marty about what happened.”

He looks surprised, but not unhappy about it, and nods. “Yeah, kiddo. Good plan. I’ll be back out in just a bit.” When he turns to walk into the Head Teacher’s office, she thinks that even with everything, he looks very like a grown-up prince, and the rings in his ears look like shredded silver.

She lifts a hand to touch the shell of her own ear, on her left side.

Izzy opens her book, to the murmur of their voices as they talk about her. She decides to finish it later, and instead she flips back to read again the bit where the prince takes his sword to the chair that kept him under the spell and tells the evil Queen of Underland that he isn’t hers any longer.

He will go home, to his family, to be freed of her entirely, even if she still shows up in bad dreams… bad dreams are the only place she can come to, now. He’ll wake up and someone will tell him that she’s gone and she can’t come back, and it will be true. They’ll tell him, again and again, until he believes it.

Izzy will tell her dad, until he believes it.

Jax will tell her, until she believes it, too.

But first…

"Madam, there will be no more need of that chair. And you, who have told me a hundred times how deeply you pitied me for the sorceries by which I was bound, will doubtless hear with joy that they are now ended for ever. There was, it seems, some small error in your Ladyship's way of treating them. These, my true friends, have delivered me. I am now in my right mind, and there are two things I will say to you…”

“Go fuck yourself,” Izzy whispers with a smile on her face and the thrill of forbidden words up her spine. She isn’t talking to Henry Fitzgerald this time, either. She never really was. “And I’m not sorry you’re not Queen anymore at all.”

---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

99 notes · View notes

plaidbooks · 3 years

Text

A Solo Act part 2

A/N: Yay backstory! And obligatory masquerade ball! Shoutout to Becca for helping with the clothes ❤ This will most likely have a third part--I have it outlined, so let’s see if I’ll write it 😅

This covers the Masquerade square in @adarafaelbarba moodboard bingo!

Part 1 here

Tags: poison, branding (like with a hot metal), talks of death, injuries (one character is beaten)

Words: 2973

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @berniesilvas

It had been almost a year of you living in the city. You and Nick had a few more run-ins, and your relationship stayed very much the same. He annoyed you as much as you annoyed him, and you fought constantly, almost always on sight. But you were both pretty equal in terms of skill. The only time either of you got the upper hand was when you got the element of surprise.

And, of course, your showboating started to turn into flirting. There was a heavy sexual tension between you two, and you didn’t know what would happen when it finally snapped. But for now, you enjoyed riling him up.

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

You looked yourself over in the mirror, taking in your gown. It was a deep shade of emerald, with silver embroidery that added to its elegance. You were gorgeous in it, the way the bodice hugged your form, your cleavage on full display—that was one of the reasons you bought it. Men scrambled on hands and knees for a beautiful woman, and it would help distract them from the dagger in your hand. The skirts of the gown bloomed out, giving your legs room to move.

Grabbing the simple mask of matching green and silver, you got into the waiting carriage outside your place, heading for the Duke’s palace. It wasn’t hard gaining an invitation to the biggest masquerade ball of the season, just as you were sure it wouldn’t be hard to take the Duke out.

You affixed the mask to your face just as the carriage rolled to a stop. While you disliked having your peripherals blocked, you did appreciate the disguise. No one would look at your body in that dress and think assassin, and the mask would help during your escape. You just had to make sure to be out of the palace before the Duke fell.

The ballroom was expansive, filled with the rich and noble. Couples danced while others sat and talked about nothing, or stuffed their faces while those in the streets starved. You felt you blood boil; you hated these rich bastards.

You glanced around until you found the Duke; masked or not, he stuck out like a sore thumb. His doublet was a bright gold, the sleeves slashed to show the lining inside, and the light seemed drawn to the material, making him glow. From what you could see of his cheeks, which were rosy, he was already drunk. You rolled your eyes, then headed for him, hoping to earn a dance. Before you made it more than a few steps, however, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You fought the urge to break whoever’s fingers it was as you turned to look at the offender.

“May I have a dance, Miss?” Nick asked, voice velvet. He was incredibly handsome in his black doublet, the gold embroidery subtle, but effective.

You glared at him, “I thought I told you to never touch me.”

“That’s not a no.” He smirked, and you wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face. Before you could deny him, he took your hand, dragging you to the dancefloor. His free hand dropped to your hip, and he started moving. You missed a step in your annoyance, then caught up, to not cause a scene.

“What are you doing here, Nick?” you asked. His hand was warm on your skin, cocooning your hand in warmth. And his cologne was intoxicating; you found yourself leaning closer, trying to catch a whiff before you noticed and pulled away to a respectable distance once more.

But he had noticed, grinning cheekily at you. “Same thing you are, I’m sure. The Duke.” He spun you, then dipped you as the song ended. Your heart fluttered as he brought you back up, pulling you close against his chest.

“D—don’t you dare get in my way,” you stuttered, trying to regain your composure.

Nick’s grin widened as another song started, and he swayed with you once more. “Oh, don’t worry; I won’t.” He leaned in closer, his mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. “He’s about to make a toast, and I’ve already poisoned his goblet.”

You leaned back to look at him, shocked. “When did you—”

“You might want to get out of here before he makes his toast. Once he goes down, the guards will start unmasking guests,” Nick quickly explained. Sure enough, the band stopped playing when there was a clinking. Turning to look, the Duke was standing, goblet in his hand, a spoon in the other that he had used to call attention. When you looked back, Nick was gone.

Every eye was on the Duke, and you slowly started making your way towards the exit. His voice rang out as he gave a short speech—more like a sentence—and he sipped his drink. Almost instantly, he started to choke, his face turning purple, then blue. You were close enough to the exit that you turned and walked quickly out into the hallway, trying to fight the urge to run; that would only draw attention.

“Hey! Stop!” you heard from behind you, and you ran towards freedom, attention be damned. Two guards appeared in the doorway in front of you, and you braced yourself, crashing into one. But before you could take him out, you felt a sharp pain in the back of your head, and everything went dark.

***

Nick was still smug the next day; the look on your face after he told you he had poisoned the Duke would be forever imprinted on his mind. As would the image of you in that dress, your body warm against his. And when he dipped down to your ear, he had caught a whiff of the perfume in your hair, and he swooned.

Pushing that from his mind, he swiped a newspaper from a stand. But he stopped in his tracks as he saw the headline:

MYSTERIOUS WOMAN CAUGHT AT BALL WHERE DUKE POISONED

It couldn’t be you, right? As much as Nick hated you, you were skilled, almost on the same level as him. There was no way you were captured. But he had heard the Duke’s speech as he left, knew he had less time than he had predicted. He had been distracted, though, seeing you in that gown, dancing with you so close, seeing the pure lust in your eyes as you gazed at him after the dip. He had been so tempted to kiss you last night, so tempted to—

No, you were enemies, and he hated you. Even so, you were connected under the assassin’s code. Sure, you weren’t in the same guild—or any guild, really—but it was hard for Nick to leave you to your fate, whatever that would be. Though, he had a pretty good idea what it would be. A branding and an execution; the same thing that awaited every assassin captured.

The thought of someone pressing the scalding metal to your skin filled Nick with a white-hot rage. He made up his mind then and there; he wasn’t going to let that happen to you.

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

Guards were perhaps the easiest people in the world to bribe…well, depending on the guard. Personal bodyguards? Not really. But guards of a prison, where they’re spit at, shit thrown at them? Absolutely.

Nick gained easy access to the jail’s interior. This would be the harder part; the guards in these sections were mostly likely dedicated to the crown. He was able to ambush a lone guard carrying food, stealing his clothes. The man was bigger in the torso than Nick, so he had to tuck in the tunic and hope no one would really notice.

As he was pulling on a glove, however, a piercing scream rang throughout the jail. The hair on Nick’s neck and arms stood up straight, and his heartbeat tripled. It was the worst sound Nick had ever heard in his life, and it seemed to go on forever. Finally, it stopped, but in the silence, it could still be heard, echoing throughout the jail.

He finished pulling on the guard outfit, picked up the food tray, and hurried in the direction of the sound. Three other guards were coming towards him, and he tried to act nonchalant.

“She’s not going to want to eat after that,” one of them said to Nick, and the other two laughed. He ignored them, heading towards the cell they had just vacated, praying you weren’t the one in there.

He stopped a few feet away, as soon as a limp body was visible in the cell. You were trembling, sobbing softly, curled on your side. The smell of burning flesh permeated the room, and Nick struggled to not gag. Slowly, he moved closer. But he scuffed his boot on the ground, and you flinched.

“G—go away! I’ll—I’ll kill you!” you shouted, your voice hoarse and laced with fear. Nick said nothing as he came right to the cell, unlocking it with the key he stole. He opened the door and made his way over to you, until he stood over you. You curled in tighter on yourself as he crouched next to you. The burned and blistered skin on your forearm made him see red, and he wanted nothing more to kill the bastards that did this. But there was only so much time, and he needed to get you out of there.

He gently touched your shoulder, and you flinched away from him. He reached for you again, this time rolling you over to look at him. You blinked in surprise to find Nick crouching over you, but his face was set in stone. Wave after wave of rage pulsed through him as he saw your face, your body; you had been heavily beaten. The guards probably had fun hitting you around, and he clenched his teeth.

“Nick?” you asked, voice soft. That one word said in a voice so terrified was enough to drag him from his dark thoughts, calming the rushing in his ears.

He grabbed your non-branded arm, hauling you to your feet. “We don’t have much time; let’s go.” But the moment you stood, your eyes rolled back, and you lost consciousness. Your body went limp, and Nick caught you against his chest. He let out a low curse before throwing your body over his shoulder and leaving the cell.

***

You were in so much pain when you awoke, especially your arm. You remembered the guards attacking you, calling you names and threatening worse if you fought back. You also remembered two of them holding you down, your body pinned on the ground, while a third heated up the blackened metal until it was glowing red. You had struggled as he got closer and closer, but it was no use. You had tried to brace yourself for it, but the moment the metal touched your skin, you couldn’t stop the scream that tore from your throat. You barely registered the men’s laughter as you felt like you would surely die from the pain alone.

You knew what happened next, that you’d be executed; the brand was just in case you got away or survived…and as a marker for the afterlife about your sins in this life. As you grew more conscious, though, you realized you weren’t on the ground, the sparce straw not even fit for a pillow scratching your skin. No, you were in a comfortable bed.

Your eyelids slowly fluttered open, and you found yourself in a foreign room. What the hell is this? you thought, confused. You grit your teeth against the pain as you struggled to sit up. Just then, the door opened, revealing Nick in his normal tunic and slacks, carrying a bucket of water, bandages, and washcloths.

“Hey! Don’t move, just lay back and relax,” he said, hurrying over to you. He placed the bucket and supplies on the floor, then gently, but firmly, pushed your shoulders back down on the bed.

You let him guide you down, your eyes scanning his face. “What’s going on here?”

“You are heavily injured and shouldn’t be moving,” he explained.

You rolled your eyes. “How’d I get here? Why are you helping me?”

“I broke you out of jail. Now just lay there and shut up; I don’t need you asking all these questions while I change your bandages, okay?”

You huffed, relaxing back on the bed as he pulled the sheets off you. You couldn’t stop the heat from flooding your cheeks as he examined your body, the injuries. He had taken you out of your dress, leaving you in your undergarments—at least they covered you. But he didn’t look at you with hunger like most men; his eyes were tender. Your arm was the worst injury of the bunch, and he started there. His hands were so soft, so gentle against you as he unraveled the old bandage.

When the bandage fell away, you finally tore your eyes from his face, looking at the brand. Your skin was shiny and red, the blisters and burned skin cleared away, leaving the mark in the shape of a dagger on your forearm. You felt tears; with this, you were forever branded as an assassin. There was no hiding it—besides with long sleeves—no going to a normal, retired life later. Everyone would know who and what you were, what you are.

Nick dunked a cloth in the bucket, wrung it out, then started washing the wound. You winced in pain as he worked, his fingers gentle. It was silent in the room outside of the water when he rewet the cloth: him intent on washing your open wounds and binding the internal ones, and you intent on his soft touch.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Why did you save me? Why are you helping me now?”

He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge that you had spoken. He just continued working. You were about to ask again when he said, “you needed the help.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Nick. We’re not friends, don’t even like each other. I need a better reason,” you replied harshly.

He continued wrapping a cut on your leg without looking at your face. Once done, he sat in silence, looking at the ground. Sighing, he slowly pulled the tunic over his head and off, revealing an undershirt. Your eyes widened at the white scars littering his broad, muscular body. But what caught your eye was the imprint of a dagger, burned into his right bicep. Your jaw dropped in surprise, and you tore your eyes from the brand to his face, finding him staring at you.

“I helped you because I knew what it felt like…and because I didn’t want to relive the mistakes I’ve already made,” he muttered.

That explained why your wound had looked so clean; he knew how to take care of it from experience. “Wh—what mistakes?”

“You really want my whole life story? When I’m not even sure you won’t try to kill me once you’re healed enough?”

He didn’t really believe that, you could tell. Plus, assassins didn’t kill each other, not unless absolutely necessary…or the assassin goes rogue. But you didn’t know how to pry him—well, that wasn’t true. You took a deep breath, looking at your hands in your lap.

“I’m not in a guild because my parents warned me to never join one,” you said softly. “They were in different guilds and yet…they fell in love. But they weren’t allowed to be together; their guild master forbade them. So, they did the only thing they could; they left their guilds. Once their masters found out, they tracked them down, and—and branded them. Twice. One was the mark of the assassin—” you glanced at the bandage that hid your own mark— “the second was the mark of the deserter. They were then banished, and no guild would take them, not after the mark was on them.”

Nick sat in silence while you talked. You wanted him to understand, understand why you worked alone, why you didn’t trust anyone. He gently reached out, taking your hand in his. You glanced up at him, but his eyes were locked on your joined hands.

“I was in a guild when I was younger; they’re still around, actually. But I, uh…” he closed his eyes, taking a breath. “I left.”

“Why’d you leave?”

His eyes opened and you noticed the tears. “It was a routine contract. Me and a rookie; I was showing him the ropes. What I didn’t expect was that it would end in the rookie dying and me rotting in a jailcell.” You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. “I let my guard down, and he was killed right in front of me. I should’ve saved him or died in that cell.”

“How’d you get away?” you asked, voice hushed.

Nick chuckled humorlessly. “My guild broke me out. I was the one that was saved, even after I had failed. And I just…I couldn’t be there anymore, couldn’t ever experience that pain again. So, I chose to work alone, never let anyone close.”

You felt terrible for him, to go through that. Sure, your parents passed away, but it was natural causes, not murdered. It was always a fear of the job, but it still hurt to see those you knew and loved taken from you.

Nick stood, stretching and rolling his neck. “Well, your bandages have been applied. I’m going to make supper; you should rest. I’ll bring you a plate.”

You watched him walk away, mumbling a quiet, “thank you,” as he went. But he made no indication that he had heard you.

#nick amaro x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing #adarafaelbarbaseptmeberbingo

14 notes · View notes

kittyspring-creates · 3 years

Text

Suprise endhawks headcanon #7 i think

It became notiable to everyone hawks was suffering from depression. Mostly noticed by rumi and endevour who noted his lack of energy and desprite need to keep going at all times.

As a result a few heros pushed for therapy work to be done to help build seratonine and moral. Jeanist found a new passion in shoe making, but hawks lost intrest quick after making some led shoes, hotwheels desinged wheelies, and endevour inspired sneakers.

Next toshinori, all might, tried to inspire baking. Finding hawks tought him more then the other way around and instead of helping hawks find a passion, all might found a new form of pride after being shown how to make a tart from scratch.

Rumi tried her hand at helping, using exorcise to keep her friends body moving. Which turned into her being shown how to plant herbs and when to harvest bushes good for her body. she couldnt even remeber getting here but now shes found a nurturing side if herself that helped with her iwn growing depression.

Mt lady reveiled she likes to blog and write in her free time. Which wasnt much of a suprise. But hawks gave it a shot. Creating a short story that captivated and left the woman trying to figure out her own reality again. He confessed he writes sometimes but mostly sex stories or poems but that it was to investive he coukdnt make time for it. Or just ened up staring off into space for hours.

Endevour stepped in. Instead if sharing his iwn hobby which he had next to non he asked what hawks felt like doing or trying. So the two got into knitting but hawks got board fast, then tried kimo and making drwam catchers. Again he got board. He got into drawing though became rather fusterated with paportions. Though endevour rather liked the details of drawing backgrounds with no people in them.

They took up pottery but hawks became board and didnt like how his wings got in the way then got dirty. The spinning tabke also made him nervous but he woukd never admit it.

One quiet afternoon he took up painting while endevour worked in his office. It was just a whim but hawks got obsorbed in the strokes of the brush, the layering, the color mixes and painting over mistakes. His first picture was of a large moon reflecting off the night water of a beach. He shrugged it off but endevour quickly became obsessed with the painting. The mixing blues and glowing moon. The slight sand that could be seen at the edge. He could almost hear the waves, coukd feel the cold wind on his skin. He hung it in his office at home almost feeling it was a represintation of his own lonelyness in his empty home.

After that he bought hawks everything hed need for a painting hobby. Despite the teasing hawks rather enjoyed watching his brush against the canvas and often lost himself in it on his days off

#long #head canon #might actually write this some time #cute #bnha #endhawks

14 notes · View notes

chaoticallysapphic · 4 years

Text

the great divide part one

summary: Who knew that eight words would be your undoing. If you had known then what you know now you wouldn’t have signed up for Suyin’s dance troupe, you probably would have left Zaofu just to be safe. But you didn’t and fate had branded you with a path that chained you to someone who would break your heart.

a/n: so uh just a few things to note, I came up with this idea before watching the last three episodes of lok (which I feel like really show who Kuvira truly is) and it’s not a healthy relationship. Please note that no one should treat you like this, and if so either ditch them or go to therapy with them (altho I’d advise you ditch them). Also a massive thanks to @medeliadracon the first chapter was rough because I wrote it at like 3 am and they helped me work out the kinks by being my beta reader.

word count: 4k

“Would you mind helping me memorize the routine?” You ask one of the dancers that Suyin had pointed you to. You recently joined and unfortunately, they were already in the middle of rehearsing a routine they’d been perfecting for weeks. Usually, Suyin would help you after class but with Avatar Korra visiting she was too busy. Thankfully she had pointed out one of your fellow dancers, a woman named Kuvira. “Suyin usually helps me but she said you would probably be happy to take her place."

Kuvira stands in shock as she stares you down, you’d just said those eight magical words that she used to dream about when she was little and you seemed to have no clue what you’d just done. You’re staring at her expectantly and as time lapses on you start to look a little nervous under her gaze.

“It would bring me great pleasure” Kuvira replies and takes a step closer, your eyes widen in shock, a flush dusting your cheeks as she replies with your six magic words. Kuvira toys with a strand of your hair as she looks deep into your eyes. Her voice is deep and traps you like honey. “We should begin.”

After that day, Kuvira always volunteered to help teach you after class, neither of you spoke about the elephant in the room as she’d place her hands on your body to correct your position and brush herself against you any chance she got. You’d leave every session a flustered mess who’d go home to flop onto your bed with a massive grin on your face

In the last session before the big performance, you were dancing in sync with one another. You were each on a metal flower petal directly across from the other and were meant to be the final act. With the class, you had performed the whole thing and aced it but alone you could only practice half the routine as the ending needed other metal benders to move the petals for you.

So instead you and Kuvira practiced the aerial portion of the routine that would take place directly before the petals would move. With just the two of you instead of the whole class, you spun closer together and once you were within reach Kuvira grabbed your waist with her free hand and pulled you in close so she could lock you in a passionate kiss.

You widen your eyes in shock, staying still for a moment as you process this overwhelming moment before pressing your lips against hers in return. You both gently land on the floor but Kuvira doesn’t let you go, instead, her other hand grabs the back of your neck to steady you as she hungrily kisses you like you might just disappear any moment and it takes your breath away.

Slowly, Kuvira pulls away from your lips but keeps you pulled close to her body, she stares deeply into your eyes as if searching for something, maybe disapproval? She won’t find any though because you want to stay here in her arms forever.

Her hand that was originally holding the back of your neck pulls away and bends the petals of the flowers upwards so they surround you both and offer cover from the outside world. “Do you want to stop?” She leans down to nibble on your earlobe and whispers those words to you. Her hand that was on your waist and traveling up your body, skimming the underside of your breasts as she waits for your answers. “Well?”

“N-No, Kuvira please” you beg, something inside her is unleashed at your words and she pulls you back into a crushing kiss while she slides a hand under your shirt to feel your bare skin.

“Lay down,” she says in a commanding tone that leaves no room for argument, you happily oblige and immediately pull away from her. The chill of the metal against your warm skin sends goosebumps down your arms and the look Kuvira is giving you from above makes you feel even hotter.

She straddles your hips and slides both of her hands underneath your waist, running them up to your sides and under your breasts before pulling them away to pull your shirt off, you lean up off the metal to make it easier for her and she flings somewhere behind her. Kuvira puts both her hands on your shoulders and gently pushes you back down so your bareback and shoulders are against the cold metal.

She threads her fingers through your hair and scratches at your scalp as she leans back down to kiss you once more. You moan at the blissful feeling of her warm body against your own and her nails on your scalp, giving her perfect access to your open mouth. You’ve never felt anything like this before, you’d decided to wait for your soulmate to share your first kiss, your first time and the wait was entirely worth it.

You give yourself to each other in the dance studio that night, whilst Kuvira doesn’t coddle you she does gently guide you and give you praise when you do something right. You feel so in tune with her now as you curl your naked body against her own. She wraps an arm around your waist to tug you closer as you both try to catch your breath from the mind-blowing activity you just partook in.

You’re about to tell her how much you like her, how excited you are to discover more about her when she beats you to the punch, “I think we should keep this to ourselves for now.” You sharply pull away from her, your brows pinched together in confusion. Your heart feels the first pinprick of heartache Kuvira will give you. “What? But we’re soulmates, why should we keep this a secret?”

Kuvira rolls her eyes and sits up to face you. “I just want us to be able to cherish this thing between us as it grows. If we tell everyone suddenly we’ll be bombarded with questions that will only stress us out.”

Your shoulders sag as you think about it, you don’t want to keep this a secret. All your life you dreamed of the day you’d meet your soulmate, the day you could have someone to hold hands with in public and go on dates with, maybe even kiss in the botanical gardens.

“I guess…” you gulp, “if it’s only for a while then I guess it can remain a secret.”

Oh, how you wish you could take that back after everything that is about to happen.

———————————————————————————————————–

A few weeks later is the grand opening (which had to be postponed whilst Suyin and her army were gone to help Avatar Korra) of the dance troupes performance, you feel like you might vomit and suddenly the last thing you want to do is go up there just so you can mess it up. Especially since you and Kuvira are the final act, twisting your legs together in the air as you each balance on your other foot so the flower can unfold around you.

That flower has caused you so much trouble since that night with Kuvira, throughout the dress rehearsal the night before you kept messing up anytime you so much as touched the metal because your thoughts became consumed by her and what you both had done.

You hadn’t had many moments alone since but in the locker room after the dress rehearsal, Kuvira had let her hand brush against your naked back as you changed into clean clothes after your shower and suddenly you were set alight with that same fire she ignited the other night.

You must look like you’re unwell because Suyin comes into view and she places her hands on your shoulders to give them a reassuring squeeze. “You can do this y/n, I believe you,” she says in an encouraging tone.

“I wish you didn’t, what if I mess up?”

“People mess up sometimes, all you have to do is pick yourself back up and try again. You can’t be too hard on yourself y/n, I’ve seen how you’ve really changed these last few practices. Those private lessons with Kuvira must have helped” she drops her hands from your shoulders and gives you a bright smile before rushing off, claiming she has to check on the lights.

You flush at her words, Kuvira’s lessons did help… sort of. One of the stagehands calls out that it’s time and you walk over to the stage entrance. On the other side of the stage stands Kuvira with half of the dancers behind her. She simply holds your gaze for a minute before the curtain draws and the dance must begin. You force down any thoughts you get of that night as you perform the routine and it’s going so well, when it gets to the part where the flower closes around you guys you suddenly feel too exposed and scandalized. Despite your thoughts Kuvira still hooks her foot with your own, she sends a small smile your way that calms you just a bit as the flower begins to bloom once more.

The crowd erupts into applause and whistles as flowers are thrown onto the stage, you and Kuvira unhook your feet and bow with the rest of the troupe before exiting the stage for the next talent to take the stage, it was some new instrument a student had metal bent, something called a harp.

Everyone begins to hug one another and congratulate them, Suyin pulls you into a quick side hug and softly says “I told you that you could do it.” It feels good to have her say that, to know that she’s right and despite being new to this you did well enough to not humiliate yourself. Other people begin to crowd the backstage as dancers’ family members and friends come to congratulate them and offer them bouquets.

Your parents rush up to pull you into a tight hug that knocks the wind out of you, they shower you in praises and your mom kisses the top of your head before pulling away. “You did amazing, y/n. We’re both so proud of you” your dad says as he hands you a bouquet of lotuses. You’re about to call over Kuvira to introduce her as a friend and to tell your parents about how much she helped you but the sight in front of you kills the words that were on the tip of your tongue.

Baatar Jr. has his arm wrapped around Kuvira’s waist as he offers her a bouquet and gives her this wide smile. “Junior, why didn’t you tell us?” You hear Suyin say in a betrayed tone. Baatar Sr. has a hand on Suyin’s shoulder as he looks disapprovingly at the couple in front of him.

“I knew you guys would overreact! Kuvira and I are in love. I hope you both realize how important she is to me.” Baatar Jr. spits out, Kuvira places a hand on his chest to settle him down and flashes the two parents a smile.

“I was hoping you both would approve of us.” You can’t stand there and watch anymore as she flaunts her relationship in front of you like you don’t matter.

“I’m a bit tired from the performance, I think I’m gonna head home,” you tell your parents, trying not to let them know how badly you’re hurting.

“Oh well, we wanted to take you out to dinne-”

“Maybe tomorrow, I think I just wanna take a shower and go to sleep,” you say before walking off. Your parents share a look of concern as they watch your retreating figure. In a matter of seconds, your once overjoyed demeanor turned to something melancholic.

Once out of the building you walk to the botanical gardens knowing that at this time of night no one is there, your parents will probably return home soon and you don’t want to worry them with your crying. You find a spot tucked away from sight behind a bunch of sunflowers and lean your back against the tree.

You’re so confused, she’s your soulmate and yet she’s with someone else. Baatar Jr. said they were in love which must mean they’ve been together for some time. She never mentioned him to you. Suddenly the desire to keep your relationship a secret makes sense and you feel stupid for playing along.

At least an hour passes as you cry out all your emotions until you’re just sitting there numbly trying to figure out what to do next. A crunch of a leaf can be heard from in front of you and your head snaps up and away from your lap. Kuvira is standing there, she’s changed out of her dancing clothes and is in a casual outfit now, you look away from her, unable to look at her first without crying again.

“He wasn’t meant to tell them tonight,” she confesses and you scoff. Is that supposed to make you feel better?

“What are you doing Kuvira? W-We’re soulmates and yet you’re with this guy despite telling me I had to keep us a secret.” You stand from your spot and your muscles ache from sitting in that uncomfortable position for so long, you try to ignore her as you go to walk away but she grabs your forearm as you go to pass her.

“I don’t love him,” she admits “but I need him for something and the only way he’ll do it is if he thinks I do.” You rear your head back in shock, what in the world is going on.

“What could you possibly want from him? A seat at the Beifong family table!?” You shout and Kuvira aggressively shushes you. You rip your arm out of her grasp but stay still as you wait to hear what she’ll say next.

“After the earth queen’s death the earth kingdom is in disarray and Suyin won’t step up to help those who are suffering. Junior has inventions that can help us rebuild these impoverished towns and cities so we can bring them back to their former glory.” Kuvira sighs, her palm going to rub at her forehead “he won’t go against his mother unless we’re together, I can’t let those people have their homes ransacked by raiders and be left to starve when we can make a difference.”

“So you’re… manipulating him” you murmur, Kuvira’s eyes narrow a bit at your words and she takes a step closer to you, you stumble back until your back hits the tree behind you and Kuvira keeps walking until she’s against you. Her hands go to rest above your head as she looks into your eyes.

“I’m pushing him in the right direction. I want to leave soon to start and I want you to come with,” she moves one of her hands to grasp your chin when you try to look away from her and says “we all have to make sacrifices for this cause, y/n. Mine is playing pretend with him and yours is having to keep us a secret.”

Your eyes water at the idea, you don’t want to leave Zaofu behind. Your parents are here and you think you might want to pursue a career in dancing. Kuvira grips your chin just a fraction tighter and brings her lips to yours. It’s a deep, slow kiss and suddenly you’re consumed with her just like the other day in the dance studio. You moan as she lightly tugs at your bottom lip as she pulls away from you, she lets go of it and you can feel it swell a bit from her actions. You slowly open your eyes back up and she’s giving you this intense look that has your knees weak.

“Please, I want you there with me,” she says in a husky tone that has you nodding in agreement, she grins before pulling you back into a kiss, this one is far more heated than the last.

You wish you’d said no.

———————————————————————————————————–

“I think we should keep this to ourselves for now.”

For now turned into a year, once the train tracks were built Bolin along with Varrick and Zhu Li joined your cause. In front of everyone, Kuvira played the role of not only being the compassionate leader but also the love of Baatar’s life. Yeah, he no longer went by Baatar Jr. Kuvira convinced him to drop the honorific.

Behind closed doors, late at night when everyone was asleep Kuvira would come and visit you, most times you guys would passionately make love as she took charge but sometimes, and these times were your favorite, she’d lay in bed beside you and talk about all you guys would do once your mission was over. “We could get married,” you whispered one night and Kuvira pulled you in a slow, sweet kiss before murmuring against your lips “you’d look good in white.”

Right now those sweet moments are far from your mind though as Baatar hands Kuvira a file in the main cabin of the train where meetings are held, he places a hand on her waist and you look away as you try to push down the anger bubbling within you. You were about to stop in a rather large town that had fallen on hard times, as all had. And if all goes well you might need to take a moment for yourself. This train was starting to feel suffocating and you were this close to metal bending the roof open.

The train lurches to a stop, sending Bolin almost off the couch opposite you, he grips the back of it to keep from falling flat on his face and you grab the armrest to your right. As always, Kuvira is the only one who seems to remain unaffected, she stumbles back two steps before regaining her balance and squaring her shoulders.

“We’re here,” she says in her normal calm voice before heading to the door to step outside. The town is surrounded by lush greenery and towering trees. The buildings tower to three stories and market stalls are lining the streets. It looks like it was once a hub, maybe a stopping point for travelers, but now there are holes in some of the buildings from raiders and the market stalls have been torn apart. All of the citizens are waiting for them at the entrance of the city and you note how tired and thin they look.

“Woah, looks like we are definitely needed here” Bolin mutters beside you. As Kuvira talks to the mayor in private, you all begin to load up carts and trucks with crates of food, they always give into her eventually so there wasn’t much point in waiting. The meeting between the two takes an hour and a half, when the mayor walks off the train he wears a look of defeat and Kuvira saunters out with that same air of confidence that makes you wonder if she was born with it.

She walks over to you and signals for the men beside you to start giving out the crates of food and supplies. “Another small victory,” she mutters.

“If anything I’d say it’s a big one, this is a large province and this town is the only one in it. Not only that but it’s a hub for trading and travelers, having this under our belt is helpful.” You look into her eyes and notice that same dissatisfied look she gets any time someone praises her. “This is good, Vira.”

“I told you not to call me that in public,” her tone is scolding and she looks away so she doesn’t have to see the disappointment in your eyes. Whilst everyone thought you two were close friends she was still worried about someone figuring it out and telling Baatar. He was too oblivious to figure it out himself but quite a few times she caught Zhu Li looking between the two of you when you’re deep in conversation. “Besides, I won’t be happy until we’ve united the entire earth kingdom. “

You bite your lip as another one of those oh too familiar aches in your heart. It feels like someone has gotten a needle and aggressively stabbed at the center of it. “I’m going to go help,” you say before walking away, she doesn’t call after you or even say goodbye

Later, once all the supplies are given out, the townspeople decide to celebrate in the main square, live music is being played as everyone dances and laughs. Kuvira usually makes a short appearance to things like this just to make everyone happy before heading back to the train. Usually, you trail behind her along with Baatar while Bolin and Varrick tend to stay for an extra hour or two. Most of the time they stumble in drunk and loudly shush one another.

“C’mon y/n, just stay a while longer!” Bolin shouts over the music, he gives you another cup of alcohol, a part of you doesn’t want to. You’ve never stayed behind to celebrate after Kuvira heads back and you wonder if that means she won’t show up in your room as per usual. But it’s just one extra hour…

You take the cup from Bolin’s hand and down it, causing him to cheer. The alcohol burns down your throat and you cough from taking it all at once. Varrick saddles up beside him and slaps his hand on the young earth bender’s shoulder. “What are we getting excited about?”

“Y/n’s actually gonna stay and party!” Bolin shouts, you fill the cup back up and take a sip. You haven’t been drunk since Zaofu, you deserve this break. “Wait, you’re telling me y/n isn’t a stick in the mud? Well, that’s the shock of the century!” Varrick replies you roll your eyes at his comment, trying to not let it bother you. You could be fun, you were fun before everything happened.

“Let’s dance!” You shout and finish up your drink before setting it on the table to head to the designated area for dancing. You thought of the studio back in Zaofu, how freeing it felt, and how you had felt like you’d finally found your calling. Bolin cheers you on as he dances beside you and Varrick keeps making ridiculous comments about the parties he used to throw back in republic city. You make out the words platypus bear and skiing at one point but decide to not ask him to explain what the hell he’s talking about.

An hour passes, maybe two, before the three of you are stumbling back to the train. You haven’t had this much fun in so long and your cheeks hurt from laughing. You’re warm from the alcohol despite the cool breeze brushing up against your skin and at some point, you took your jacket off to keep from sweating. You weren’t meant to be out of uniform when out of your room but it was late at night and you didn’t think much of it.

When you guys climbed up the steps to the train and entered the main compartment Bolin began to loudly talk about how much he missed his soulmate, Opal. Suddenly your bright mood dimmed at the fact that you couldn’t talk about your soulmate to anyone, but your mood was truly ruined when Bolin said, “y’know one-day y/n, you’re gonna meet your soulmate and it’s gonna feel amazing just you wait!”

You forced out a chuckle before softly bidding them goodnight and walking off to your room, you heard Bolin ask Varrick if he said something wrong but you were too far away to hear his reply. When you opened your door a part of you hoped Kuvira would be inside, but she wasn’t. Your shoulders slumped as you kicked off your boots before falling into bed. You didn’t bother with undoing your updo or changing into proper sleeping clothes.

When you wake up you are alone, usually, Kuvira would wake up before the sun rose and leave but not before kissing your forehead and whispering that she loved you. It was always a great way to start your day but today you were alone. You got dressed and fixed your mess of hair before exiting your room to head down towards the dining cart.

Your room was right beside Kuvira’s which was beside Zhu Li’s and then it was Baatars, Bolin’s was on the other side of your room. Thankfully the walls were thick though so you didn’t have to worry about him hearing you and Kuvira late at night.

The door to Baatar’s room opens, but instead of the young engineer walking out, Kuvira does, she’s in her uniform from yesterday which you can tell because there’s a few wrinkles and her hair is down. She makes eye contact with you before heading to her room and without thinking you follow after her. Technically you aren’t allowed in her room for appearance reasons but your heart is racing and you need her to reassure you that what you just saw wasn’t what you thought it was.

You close the door after you, trying not to slam it but you desperately want to. “What were you doing in there?” you ask and part of you internally cringes at how you sound. It’s obvious in your tone how hurt you are, how confused. Kuvira simply begins to undress from her old clothes and takes her time formulating a reply.

“He was getting suspicious of my lack of affection for him,” is her reply. You back up until your knees hit the edge of her bed and fall into a sitting position. “So you…” you gulp, “slept with him?”

“I did what needed to be done. Besides, you weren’t here last night,” she spits out. By now she’s in her underwear which would usually cause you to flush but right now your vision is blurring from tears and you feel bile rising from your throat but it’s not due to last night. “So what, it was some kind of way to get back at me for letting loose for once?!”

Kuvira whirls around to glare at you, she has a pair of pants on now and she stalks over to you like you’re her prey until she’s between your legs. She roughly grabs your chin to make sure you keep eye contact with her and she says “so me fucking you senseless isn’t enough to alleviate the stress from the day before?”

Your heart races, “Vira…” You aren’t sure if you like this part of her, in a fucked up way it’s kind of hot but it’s also terrifying and you feel so small. “If you disobey me or humiliate me again you’ll be punished the same way you were last night. If you are to one day become my wife you’ll need to start working on your image and getting drunk in public isn’t a good look.”

She lets go of your chin and swiftly walks back over to her closet to finish getting dressed. “You may leave.” Her tone doesn’t leave any room for argument so you blink away the tears threatening to spill from your eyes before promptly leaving your lover’s room. Suddenly you’ve lost your appetite so you head back to your room where you plan on spending the rest of your day, As you go to open your door, Bolin sluggishly opens his own and walks into the bright hallway with a groan.

You look away from him but not in time as he notices your red eyes and the tears threatening to spill, he steps forward, a look of concern taking over his features but you quickly enter your room and slam the door shut behind you.

You miss home.

#kuvira #the great uniter #lok #legend of korra #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #angst #drama #soulmate au #bolin #varrick #zhu li #baatar jr #can you tell i hate baatar jr?

231 notes · View notes

softyoongiionly · 4 years

Text

NSFW A-Z List (Mama Mia! Jungkook)

***This contains smut, 18+ only please***

“Aqua told me you all had some questions for me so, I had my assistant fax me the prompt and, I’m really hoping she didn’t read it because, these are filthy ha. I hope you all enjoy yourselves.”

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex):

“It kind of depends on the situation but, if I just had sex, I’m in a good mood. If Y/N and I are in the bed, I make sure I change the sheets and, I make sure she’s cleaned up and, feeling good too. Sometimes we like to talk about it. A bit of pillow talk is always great. PILLOWW TALK! Do you guys remember that song by that one dude in one direction? Great song. It’s like he left one direction and, immediately needed to say the word fuck and sing about sex.”

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

“This is a weird question. I like my abs? I guess? I mean I spent like a million hours in the gym trying to tone up and stuff so, it’s definitely the only thing that stands out.”

“Y/N is the by far the most beautiful woman on the planet so, it’s a little hard to pin point one specific part of her I like the most. If I had to choose, I would say her eyes. Sometimes she looks at me and, I suddenly forget all three languages I speak. She takes my breath away. Literally, who is she looking at like that? Me? Does she value my life at all? Is she trying to kill me? Probably. I love her :-)”

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person):

“Cum...I don’t really know what I’m supposed to talk about in this section so, I’m just gonna say- yes?? Is that the right answer?”

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

“One time, when Y/N was away on business, I jerked off so much in one day, I sprained my hand. I guess that isn’t dirty but, it is embarrassing. I’d probably do it again though, I’m so spoiled that I forgot what’s its like to go without sex.”

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?):

“Yikes this question is a little hard for me to answer. Before meeting Y/N, I had a lot of different partners. After finding out my half-brother tried to steal my recipe, I got really down on myself. I felt really empty and, I spent a lot of time partying and, hooking up with random people. I don’t really know how many if I’m being honest. It was a lot though. After awhile I kind of snapped out of it and, realized I needed to deal with my issues head on so, after a bit of therapy, I was doing a lot better. Sexually, I’ve had a lot of experience but, intimacy? That’s a lot newer for me. And let me tell you my dudes, nothing is sexier than being with someone who truly loves and cares for you. I don’t make the rules.”

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual):

“Missionary. Listen, I know it’s a boring answer but, I’m a sucker for passion what can I say? I like watching her face and, seeing all the little expressions she makes, especially right when I first push inside of her. Also, it’s the best position for her to scratch up my back and, I really love when she does that.”

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc):

“I don’t really find a lot of things to laugh about during sex but, I’m sure it’s happened at some point. Sex is kind of a serious thing for me now but, I wouldn’t stay serious if something funny happened because, sometimes funny things do happen. When they do, we laugh but, then I’m right back in the moment again. Y/N and I mess around a lot in our daily lives so, I like to use sex as a way to show her how serious I am about her and, our relationship.”

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.):

“I got laser hair removal like 3 years ago. Yes, it’s possible to get it done in sensitive areas but, it’s crazy expensive. Or so I’ve heard, I’m not gonna lie to you, my idea of expensive and, other people’s idea of expensive are probably a little different. But yeah, I got it all lasered off so, it doesn’t really grow there anymore. I keep my face shaved too but, my arms and legs are free to grow all the hair they want.”

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…):

“With Y/N, I’m a little bit of a hopeless romantic, I can’t lie. I love all of that cheesy shit. Rose petals on the bed? Yes. Wine and chocolate on the shores of our private beach? At least twice a week. Leaving Y/N little post it notes all over our villa that contain all the things I love about her? Duh. I AM A SAP. I AM A MESS. I can’t help myself. My father collects first edition classic novels and, for Valentine’s Day, I had him send me the contact of his distributor so, I could buy Y/N the first edition of The Princess Bride. It’s one of her favorites. It was only $1,400 so, I definitely got a good deal. I also had a custom gown imported from France and, a prince-like outfit made for me. What do princes even wear? What is that called? Tights? I don’t know but, I looked like a goddamn Disney prince by the time I was done getting ready. I rented a different villa out for the weekend and, my interior designer decorated it like a medieval castle. We spent the weekend playing prince and princess and, it was probably one of the best weekends of my life. So to answer your question: Yes, I am romantic.”

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon):

“I only really touch myself when Y/N is away. Her and I have a pretty consistent sex life so, we have sex almost every day, sometimes multiple times a day. I don’t really have a need for it anymore and, it doesn’t feel nearly as good as sex with Y/N.”

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks):

“I have a few. I’m really sensitive to smells so, if Y/N smells good, I can’t keep my hands off of her. She has this one perfume from Gucci that I love so much. I can get hard just from the smell; it’s kind of pathetic honestly. I love having sex outside too. It’s a good thing we have a private strip of the beach because, if we had neighbors nearby, they would hate us ha. I have a cashmere picnic blanket that we take down there a few times a week and, we always end up making love on it. Yes, I said making love. Get over it. Oh and, if Y/N says anything about my muscles or how strong I am? Instant turn on. I think I have a praise kink? Is that what it’s called? I love Y/N’s panties too. Lace, silk, cotton, clean or dirty; I don’t discriminate, just put them in my mouth. Lol, this is getting dirty…sorry Aqua.”

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do):

“I already kind of answered this but, sex on the beach or sex on our balcony are probably my top two.”

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going):

“I feel like I answered this one too because, I just talked about my kinks but, I would say my motivation is to get my girl off right? I get off easily. I have a beautiful woman all over me, saying dirty things in my ear… I mean, my orgasm is guaranteed. Y/N doesn’t take a long time to cum anymore because; I know how to please my woman but, I still want her to feel good. I want to see her let go and, let someone else take care of her for a change. She works so hard. I want to show her what a good woman she is. I want to show her how much I love her.”

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

“Threesomes, anal and, I’m pretty sure this is everyone’s answer but, bodily fluids belong in the toilet.”

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc):

“Yes.”

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.):

“Both. Sometimes I want to draw it out and, let her feel every inch of me but, sometimes I want to fuck so hard we are both sore the next day. It’s all amazing either way.”

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.):

“I love quickies. They are great in the afternoon when she and I have things to do but, we still want each other. They would get old after a while though so, we usually do both. It’s very rare that we just have a quickie and, nothing else but, sometimes it happens. Ever since we moved to Greece, we try to always make time for each other but, we both get busy from time to time.”

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.):

“I’m game to experiment a little bit but, Y/N and I have been together awhile. We’ve tried a few different things but, sex with her is so amazing, I don’t feel the need to experiment that much anymore.”

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…):

“I can last forever if I need to. Like I said, my orgasm is an easy thing to obtain with a woman like Y/N so, my focus is making sure she’s feeling it too. I can go for multiple rounds too, I mean it’s hard not to. Have you seen her? We have sex all night sometimes. I hope she finishes her conference call soon, I’m really starting to miss her…”

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?):

“Y/N owns a very tasteful collection of dildos made out of rose quartz and jade. I use them on her sometimes between rounds but, I don’t know how often she uses them beyond that. I don’t own any toys but, I do spend quite a bit of money on new lingerie for Y/N. She has an entire armoire for all of her outfits. Oh, we have gold handcuffs too. We take turns using them on each other.”

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

“Y/N has a really sensitive spot on her neck and, she’s really tender around her waist so, sometimes I come up beyond her and, brush my lips against her throat and, tickle her. She’s told me it turns her on immediately so, I like to play with her a little bit. We both tease each other a lot though, especially during phone meetings. One time, I was on a 4 way call with my investors and, she sucked my dick through the entire thing. I thought I was gonna have a heart attack but, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t cum a little harder that time. Maybe that’s another kink of mine…”

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make):

“We live on a private piece of land so; we can be as loud as we want. I’m only loud when things are getting intense but, even still I’m not screaming at the top of my lungs. She isn’t crazy loud either but, I do try my hardest to get her to scream my name every now and again. Just for fun.”

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice):

“Y/N and I are in the process of buying an island in the Caribbean and, sometimes I get turned on when she talks about how much money we both have. I’m sorry, I know it’s a dick move but, it’s the truth. I donate millions to charity every year, I swear.”

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words):

“I’m like 7 inches I think? When I’m hard it’s probably like 8 or 9. I’m not sharing any more than that ha.”

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?):

“Pretty high. Unless I’m really sick or really busy.”

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

“If we’ve been going for multiple rounds, I’m pretty exhausted by the end of it but, I don’t just fall asleep. I don’t want to leave the bed afterwards though. I just want to cuddle with Y/N until we both pass out. If it’s during the day and, we’ve only gone once or twice, I’m not tired at all.”

“Aqua wanted me to dedicate this to @gldnrecs and, @bulletproofbirdy. She says you guys are the best and, apparently you have a sweet spot for me. So, I guess I’ll dedicate this to you too ha. I hope you liked it.”

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook #bts jungkook #mama mia!#A-Z: Mama Mia! Jungkook #smutcentralnet #bts scenarios #bts reactions

732 notes · View notes

strange-lace · 3 years

Text

Did you think I was joking when I said my Monkie Kid, Nagi, becomes a pseudo therapist for the team? FOOLISH, SHAPESHIFTING MEANS FREE THERAPY! But I have no idea what this is, I just started writing for some hurt/comfort (I think) post episode 9 and wanted to post it without editing because why not? Plus I just wanted to do some more with Nagi since it’s been a hot minute since I talked about her.

Enjoy and hopefully you get some chuckle worthy mental images like it did for me!

It was an odd sensation to Nagi, shapeshifting that is.

The closest way she could describe it is like that of her body becoming clay, free to be morphed into anything that she desired as long as she had a clear image in her head and enough practice. Hair length, color, height, weight, vocal cords, all were free for her to change and allow herself to fit into any setting like a chameleon. Or more accurately, like a snake camouflaged into its surroundings, waiting for the perfect moment to strike at its prey.

The sensation of always feeling like she was hiding among others was one Nagi had felt since birth.

It had only gotten worse with the sacrifices forced on her that made her shapeshifting even stronger.

Some days, she felt like her ability to become anyone was more trouble than it was worth.

But this was certainly not one of those days.

“Are you sure about this kiddo? Remember, the moment it becomes too much for you, all you gotta do is say something and I’ll shift into something else. This is meant to help you above all else, got it?” Nagi lectured for what felt like the third time, wanting to hammer in the point to MK before they began. When the little guy had entered her cave at the crack of dawn asking for a favor, this was certainly not what she was expecting.

Then again, Nagi was still a sluggish mess when MK had shaken her from her slumber in a frantic desperation.

“Uhhh, what’s goin’ on kid? What time is it?” She slurred, noting the faint rays of blue, pink, and orange barely providing a break from the darkness in her cave. The last traces of sleep snapped away from her eyes once she took notice of MK who, to put it bluntly, was an absolute mess.

Dark rings circled his eyes, hair a tousled mess without his signature headband, and clothes rumpled as if he had slept in them. Though Nagi genuinely questioned if he had even slept throughout the night. Wait, were those bruises?

“Nagi can you… can you shift into someone you’ve never met before?” MK asked, completely ignoring her questions. He seemed almost tense as he stood at the edge of Nagi’s nest, a giant cluster of pillows that she had collected over the years.

“That depends bud. If you give me a detailed enough picture, then sure. No guarantee I’ll have the voice right, but it can be done. Why do you ask? You need my help with something?” She pulled herself out of her nest, letting out a groan as her stiff bones cracked yet kept her eyes on MK. He seemed almost relieved at this answer, heavy shoulders relaxing the slightest bit before pulling out one of his many sketchbooks from his jacket. Pages were flipped through with frantic speed before he found what he was looking for, practically shoving the book in Nagi’s face.

At first she had thought it was a drawing of Sun Wukong until she took notice of the dark fur and, more importantly, the almost sadistic smirk on his face. He was surrounded by shadows that seemed to sprout from the ground at his feet, all with matching grins and empty purple eyes. Overall, it was certainly an ominous picture of an individual that Nagi hoped to never have the misfortune of meeting.

But evidently, MK did.

“Would that work?” Okay, now MK was starting to make her worried.

“Uhhh… sure, yeah. And not that this isn’t a wonderful art, but you mind telling me who this guy is? A friend of Sun Wukong’s perhaps?” Nagi asked and internally winced when he seemed to flinch at the question. MK was silent for a moment, as if debating with himself whether to tell her, before simply giving a sigh.

“That’s Macaque. I… I’ll tell you more later, I promise. I just need you to do this important favor for me.” She was starting to not like where this was going. But the demon could never say no to the kid, the heavens help her.

“Alright, you already know I’m willing to kill for you so out with it bud.”

“I need you to shift into Macaque and just… I don’t know, whatever with me. I just want to not be afraid of his face anymore,” MK mumbled, his knuckles white at how tight he was holding on to his sketchbook. All sorts of alarm bells were going off in Nagi’s head at this and a part of her wanted to push for more information now, so she can find this Macaque and skin him alive. But that wasn’t going to help MK right now, so she pushed that heat in her chest down.

“Alright, that I think I can do bud. Let me go get my rollerblades and KO!”

And that led to where they were now, at the outskirts of the city with Nagi wanting nothing more to ensure that MK was comfortable.

“I know, I know Nagi! Just… do it before I chicken out, please?”

“Alright, alright, as long as you’re sure.” With that, Nagi closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She focused on the image MK had given her and felt her very being soften like clay to be molded. Her hair morphed into thick, black fur which spread over her body, clothes shifted to match the armored garments in the drawing, and she gained a familiar tail and large ears. It felt none too different to when she shifts into the Monkey King himself if she were to be honest.

Yet the look of uneasiness and fear Nagi was met with when she opened her eyes made her want nothing more to shift into anybody else.

“You still with me MK?” She asked tentatively, remaining perfectly still despite her wanting to scoop him up in a hug. MK gave another flinch, this time at hearing Nagi’s squeaky, hissy voice coming out of what looked like Macaque yet at the same time he couldn’t help but chuckle at the bizarre contrast. It quickly became a full on laugh as Nagi gave him an expression of exaggerated offense, the demon quickly catching on to the best idea on how to make this face less terrifying.

“I’m- I’m sorry, but hearing your voice come out of Macaque’s mouth is too funny!” He stuttered and the ache in her heart started to lighten up, just relieved to see the young man not as tense.

“I’ll have you know I have the voice of a goddess, young man!” Nagi said with an over-the-top huff, hands on her hips and a pout on her face. That only caused another bout of uncontrollable giggles from MK and she couldn’t help the smile on her face before taking the opportunity to put on her rollerblades. She was completely aware of how ridiculous she looked since said rollerblades were bright pink and decorated with numerous stickers courtesy of Mei.

Oh, Nagi was going to have so much fun ruining this Macaque’s reputation, whoever he was.

“Now, do me a favor and push me. I’m gonna skate down this entire hill backwards!”

“Isn’t that, I don’t know, kind of dangerous?”

“Oh it is, which is why I’m doing it and not you.”

Despite the look of skepticism on his face, that was enough for MK as he gave her a hearty shove. Nagi didn’t bother to hold back the scream of both terror and joy as gravity pulled her down the hill, frantic giggles punctuating the air. MK merely watched the spectacle with amusement as Nagi continued on into the city streets. She practically flew past confused pedestrians at the speed she was going, a number of those did double takes to be sure of what they saw.

The sound of a crash caused him to wince and quickly use the staff to pole vault over to where the demon had come to an unfortunate stop.

“You okay?!” Despite being covered in trash and hit a dumpster hard enough to make a dent in the metal, Nagi looked giddy as a child.

“I’m all good bud, thankfully I didn’t break my spine so it was totally worth it!” She said, prying herself out of her dumpster crater and happily brushed herself off. Seeing such a toothy but genuine smile combined with Macaque’s face was strange to MK, but he managed to not flinch as Nagi rose to her full height so it was a start. “Want to hit the arcade next? Or are you too afraid of your big sister beating you at all your favorite games?”

That certainly perked him up.

“Oh you’re so on!”

“That’s the spirit! Race you!” And like that, Nagi was off again though at a much more controlled speed and MK wasn’t too far behind.

“Hey that’s not fair, you’re on rollerblades!”

Up above the streets on his nimbus, Sun Wukong watched the two with an unidentifiable expression.

“No way, you absolutely cheated!” MK repeated for the third time, being carried on piggyback by Nagi as the demon skated down to Pigsy’s Noodles. It was now dusk and the both of them were still riding the high of spending a whole day goofing off for therapeutic purposes.

“I don’t know, that sounds like sore loser talk to me. But… did you have a good time bud? How are you feeling?” Nagi asked, tone turning completely serious. MK was quiet a moment, tightening his grip around her shoulders the slightest bit before speaking.

“Yeah, yeah I had a great time. I feel… weird. Because a part of me knows that I spent the day with you, not… him. But at the same time, I’m gonna remember you crashing into a dumpster if I ever see his face again and possibly die from laughing.”

“Then it sounds like my work here is done, ruining reputations is my forte after all!” She came to stop in front of the noodle shop, ears downturned in disappointment. Yet the demon still put MK down, knowing that Pigsy would have her head if she kept the kid out after dark when he had work the next day. “But I’m glad I could help you out kiddo. You get some good rest, alright? I’ll be around to bother you and Pigsy tomorrow.”

And Nagi thought that would be that, until she found herself pulled into a tight hug by MK.

“Thank you.”

She returned the hug without hesitation.

“Don’t mention it.”

Nagi stayed put until she was sure MK made it inside his apartment safely before turning around to return to her cave. After such a busy day, she was ready to curl up in her nest and finish that book Tang had loaned her weeks ago. Maybe brew some tea while she was at it.

Or that was the plan, until she caught the scent of peaches and mischief on her serpentine tongue as she stopped at the entrance of her cave.

“Oh no, not him,” Nagi groaned, secretly hoping that was just the remnants of MK’s scent. Unfortunately that was not the case as she walked inside to find the Monkey King lounging about her home like he owned the place and eating her apples. Resisting the urge to lose it for that alone, the demon took a deep breath and forced a smile that was all teeth.

“Sun Wukong, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She said as if it were anything but a pleasure to be around him. Despite the venom in her tone, the Monkey King continued to lazily chomp on an apple as he finally faced her. Her displeasure quickly evaporated once she noticed how tense he seemed despite the forced nonchalance.

“Hey Nag, took you forever to get here! Saw you hanging out with the kid today.” And despite his attempt to sound serious, Nagi could only blame hanging out with Mei and MK for what she said next.

“R-Rebecca it’s not what you think!”

“I won’t hesitate bitch!” Seems the Monkey King has been around the kids too long too.

They were both silent for a moment in an attempt to process what happened before the tension broke as they both giggled.

“I don’t know what to tell you man. He just woke me up this morning, asked me if I could shift into this guy called Macaque, and we just did dumb, fun stuff all day. Went out of my way to make the kid laugh until I was sure he’d lose a lung. But he never did tell me why he was so afraid of this face…” Tea. She really needed tea right now. So tea she began to make, not even realizing she had grabbed two cups and was making peach tea until it was too late.

“Oh he didn’t, huh?” Nagi gave him a silent nod, tail twitching in agitation as silence took over again.

“What did this guy do to the kid Wukong? What happened?”

“It’s a long story but let me say you don’t need to hunt him down because we beat him up plenty, it was mainly the kid though.” His pride in MK was infectious as she found herself smiling at that, handing Sun Wukong a mug of warm peach tea as she sat down next to him.

“Good, saves me the effort of doing it myself. I won’t push if either of you don’t want to tell me. But… listen, I’m not just here to help the kid and the others. You annoy the hell out of me but I’m here for you too Wukong. That’s what family does, right?”

The Monkey King was silent at that yet leaned in when Nagi wrapped her tail around his shoulders to gently pull him closer.

“Thanks Nag.”

“You’re welcome.”

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #mk #sun wukong #monkie kid oc #nagi #fanfiction #my writing

39 notes · View notes

imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years

Text

Dangerous Love (Pt. 05 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Word count: 2.5K

Summary: You're Harley Quinn's sister, Havoc, one of the many villain's of Gotham. But you've been caught, and has been tortured constantly for an year in Belle Reve. But when your think your life can't be anything else than the nightmare you find yourself into, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, takes you in for a project. He has a program to rehabilitate villains, and you're his lab rat. But soon enough confusing feelings start getting in the way. You know falling for Bruce is stupid. But can you keep your heart under control?

<- Previous part (04)

Next part (06)->

{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

You just finished the book. Four days must be a world record. So you put it down on the nightstand, going to the window. Your heart starts beating fast when you see Bruce down there. He told you he'd have a busy day today, so Alfred will be bringing the meals. Bruce looks good, suit and tie. A small group of people is with him, with cameras and microphones. Another interview.

Dreams Are Better Than Reality

He suddenly looks up, straight at you. The smile that comes to your lips can't be controlled. And... There's a small smile on his lips too. Hesitantly, you wave at him, placing your hand on the glass. He nods, slightly. But his attention is claimed by a woman. She comes walking, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. She's beautiful, blonde hair and a dark red dress.

There's a knot on your stomach, and you quickly step away, closing the curtains. A man like Bruce is never alone. He can have anyone he wants, and many women want him, you're sure. It's stupid to feel this way. Bruce is a free man and you... You're a criminal.

Deciding not to think about it, you take the book, reading some parts again. Hours later, after dinner, when you're curled up in bed, you take the drawing you made of Bruce. It's hard to see the details in the darkness, but you already memorized his features. But you force yourself to put it away, back inside the book. Closing your eyes, you try to get a little bit of sleep.

• Bruce's POV •

The reporters follow me, and I tell them to choose a place for the interview. Today had been a hectic day, and it's far from over yet. Guiding them through the gardens, I look down at my feet. Did she eat something already? Did Alfred remind her that I won't be able to visit today?

“By the pool seems like a good place.”

“Maybe over there.”

Nodding, I don't pay attention to the chattering. I suddenly realize I'm by her room, and something makes me look up, at her window. My heart starts beating faster when I see her face, looking down at me. (Y/N) seems so different from when she got here, more innocent. Even though the distance, I take in her beautiful eyes, and her lips, breaking into a smile. I'm smiling back before I can notice, admiring her delicate face. She waves, her hand laying on the glass.

“Bruce.” Angela, today's interviewer, gets my attention. Our long term friendship gives her the opening to hug me, and place a kiss on my cheek. But as I loosely return her embrace, I'm aware of (Y/N), looking at me. At Angela and I. What will she think of it?

“Angela. I hope you're having a good day.” I tell her, my eyes quickly going back at the window when she pulls away. But the curtains are closed. She's gone.

The interview is the same as many others. I smile politely, answering the same generic questions. Hours later, I'm at the gala I'm forced to attend. The music, the people, nothing makes me stop thinking about her.

My mind starts wandering, and I picture her here, with me, in a beautiful dress, with her hair rolling down her shoulders. I would have her by my arm all night, show her around this place. Something tells me she would like it.

I can't think of (Y/N) like that. I've been telling myself over and over again, but it doesn't seem to work. I even considered the possibility of stop visiting her for a while again, but I couldn't. I have to see her.

It's past midnight when I'm back home, after leaving the gala earlier than usual. I go straight to my room to shower and check Gotham streets before deciding if I should go out today. But on my way to the cave, I walk by her room. Stopping on my tracks, I look at the closed door. Maybe she's awake.

Careful not to make any noises in case she's asleep, I unlock the door. (Y/N) is lied down, curled up. Slowly, I walk in. Her book is opened beside her, and a piece of paper is coming out from among the pages. Walking closer to the bed, I bend over to take it. The paper is from the book, folded. Opening it, I hold my breath to see a drawing of my face. She's talented. But why is she drawing me?

Putting the paper back where I found it, I walk around the bed so I can see her face. She's not peaceful. It looks like she's in pain. The nightmares. (Y/N) must be having another one. Carefully, I sit on the bed, trying not to move the mattress too much. I need to give her something for a dreamless sleep. She furrows her eyebrows, clenching her fist. She's scared.

I want to tell her I'm here, that whatever is happening in her head, it can't hurt her. What haunts her? And how can I chase it away? Reaching out my hand, I touch her cheek, softly. Her skin feels so delicate under my touch, so fragile. It kills me to imagine everything they did to her. The image of Belle Reve's guards beating her is too much to handle. Rubbing my thumb on her chin, a smile comes to my lips. I was right. (Y/N) is improving, and I meant what I said when I promised I'd never let her go back to that prison.

My eyes wander through her face. The roots of her hair, and all the rest, in a light shade of lilac. Her eyebrows, nose, and lips. When I look at her eyes, I find them open, innocently looking at me. I freeze, unable to move my hand away from her face.

• (Y/N's) POV •

In your sleep, you're drowning in darkness. You're struggling to breathe, but suddenly, you feel something. Whatever it is, it brings you back, slowly returning into consciousness. You feel something on your face, so softly, that it can only be a dream. It must be a good dream this time because when you open your eyes, it's Bruce you see.

Not Joker, or Harley, or some of the guards... Bruce. You're finally having a good dream. His touch feels so delicate, like it's not even there. Smiling, you take his hand.

“Bruce,” you say, pulling him. “Stay with me.”

He doesn't resist, so you keep pulling him until he's lying down, your head on his chest. You know this may turn into a nightmare any time soon, but for now, you can enjoy it. It feels so good... So peaceful. You hold onto him as if you could force the good dream to remain for a while longer.

“If you stay here I won't have nightmares,” you mutter, taking in his scent. You love his cologne, it's familiar. You wish it was real. You're listening to his heartbeat, feeling his chest moving as he breaths. You wish it was real, that this was really him. But it's ok. At least in your dreams, you can have him this close.

“I think I could fall in love with you.” It comes out, as you close your eyes again, bracing yourself for whatever may happen next.

“Me too.” His illusion answers and you giggle.

You really wish this could be real.

•••

You're happy. Beyond happy. Maybe, whatever Bruce is doing is actually working. Brushing your hair, you need to tell him about last night. He will be happy, right? To know his project is going well. You hear the door opening and run out of the bathroom, as fast as you can despite the pain, smiling to see Bruce.

“Hi.”

“Good morning, (Y/N). How do you feel?”

“Good.” Taking the cup of juice from the tray he's carrying, you take a sip.

“We need to talk about something.” He sounds serious, and whatever is it, it might just ruin the mood.

“Sure. But I need to tell you something first.” You sit on the bed crossing your legs. “Yesterday, I had a good dream. A really good dream.” Of course, you would never tell him what it was about. How you held on to him, your head on his chest... That he can never know. “It started bad but... It changed and then it was good. I can't even remember the last time I actually had a nice dream.”

Bruce seems confused, thinking. You watch as the puts the tray on the nightstand, as usual. He doesn't seem so serious anymore, just... Different. “That's very good to know.”

“What is it that you wanna talk about?”

“Nothing. Let's begin with your therapy session, as you like to call. Eat.”

Weird to say the least. Shrugging your shoulders, you eat the sandwich before sitting on the armchair before him.

“Alfred told me you went to a party yesterday. How was it?” You take a blanket with you, wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Boring, as usual. But the place was beautiful, I think you would like it. The Hall had high walls, with a huge crystal chandelier and its light reflected through the place as if starts had fallen to Earth.”

The image fills your heart and you smile. It sounds amazing, but... The people there would make you nervous, you're sure. “Did you dance?” You ask him, and the memory of that woman comes back to your mind. How she hugged and kissed him. “With that friend.”

“I didn't dance at all. I had a lot in my head. By the way, I'll be hosting a gala next Saturday. So Alfred will be the one to bring you dinner.”

“Alright... So... Batman does know how to dance. That's impressive.” Smirking, you tease him.

“You must be a great dancer too, to speak like that.” A smile crosses his face.

“Not really. Someone like me doesn't get the chance to go to parties like that... All we have are the night clubs. And I never enjoyed night clubs.” Every passing day, you take less pleasure in remembering your life. Before coming here, before Belle Reve. The adrenaline of some moments still get to you sometimes, and you find yourself missing it. But sometimes... You feel embarrassed to tell Bruce those things. You're starting to see that what you used to do wasn't right. But then again, how were you supposed to have anything in life? You're supposed to be graduated from college, and maybe be in a good job. But the truth is that you don't have anything but the money you stole. Being a villain is the only thing you know how to do.

“You're different from the others. It gets more clear every day.”

“Then you must be proud of yourself for choosing me.”

“No, I'm proud of you. When I first got in touch with the direction of Belle Reve and exposed what I wanted to do and who I wanted to try it on, they told me I'd fail.” Bruce's stare is intense, like fire. Not the type that burns, but the type that keeps people warm... Or maybe you're just cold today. “That you fight and run, constantly, never allowing any human being but those you command to approach. Never would open up, because they think there's nothing in you.”

“Maybe they're right.” Looking down, you pull your legs up, hugging your knees. “When nobody believes in you, you stop believing too. So that's what I did. They treated me like an animal, so I became an animal.”

“I believe in you.”

Your eyes meet his again, and you can't control the smile that comes to your lips. “I did give you a hard time, didn't I? In the beginning.”

“You definitely did. But I'm glad I didn't give up on you. It would be a huge mistake.”

Nervously, you run a hand through your hair. It's hard to admit, even to yourself, that you're glad too. “Well, Bruce Wayne. What is it we'll talk about today?”

“Harley.” He simply says.

“My dear sister. Is she still out there?”

“Yes, but I'm closing in. How's your relationship with her?”

You wanna tell him about the dream... The last thing you want now is to talk about Harley. What the hell is happening to you? Why did you dream of Bruce in that way in the first place? Was it because you got jealous of that woman? A beautiful, normal, mentally healthy woman Bruce could fall for? Wait, were you jealous? Is that what jealousy feels like? Like you want to punch that woman in the face until she's bleeding mess? No, you shouldn't do that. How do normal people deal with jealousy?

It doesn't really matter because you can't feel this way towards Bruce. It's like emotional suicide. Focus on Harley, focus on the therapy. “Harley cares about me. In her own way. She just cares more about herself. We...” Closing your eyes, you can't shake the image off my head.

Bruce's fingers caressing your cheek, so delicately. Your head on his chest, his arms holding you. It felt like... Home. How can someone feel like home? It's illogical.

“(Y/N)?” Bruce's voice gets your attention and you open your eyes again. “What are you thinking about?”

“The dream, I... It was good to have a nice dream, that's all.” His expression softens as if he's remembering something too. Maybe he remembered a good dream he had. “Harley and I were close when she started taking me out with her. As I learned things for my own, we eventually parted ways. It didn't help that I was in constant war with her beloved Joker.”

“Don't you have anyone who's a friend? Someone you would trust?”

“Boomy is like my best friend, I guess.”

“Boomy?”

“Captain Boomerang. We're rarely in touch, but whenever we bump into each other, I know he'll have my back.” You smile to remember him. He's a nice guy. At least to you. “Deadshot too. He's the one you look for when you need some actual advice.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Yeah, a little...” Why is he asking that? “It-It doesn't mean I want to go back–”

“You're not going back to Belle Reve,” Bruce reassures you, reaching out his hand, which you're quick to take. “Never doubt that.”

His touch is warm, and it burns like pure electricity. You don't know why he doesn't let go, his fingers caressing the back on your hand. “Thank you for... For not believing them. For... Everything. Everything you did for me, I... I never thought anyone would be this kind to me.”

“You deserve it. You deserve more than being treated like...”

“It's ok. I get it.” Smiling, your eyes fall on your hands, still together.

You have to be careful not to misread the signs. Careful not to confuse gentleness with something else... Bruce would never look at you differently. He needs a woman like the one you saw. Elegant, beautiful... Normal. You're too much of a trouble, and you always will be.

@redwolf-7 @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony @chipster-21 @agustdpeach @yaakimoon2 @chloe-skywalker

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #imagine bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #imagine batman #batman imagine #ben affleck batman #batman x reader #batman x you

82 notes · View notes