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thedreamwraptwriter · 9 months

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Companions Don't Take Sick Days!

Tenth Doctor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1046

Warnings: none.

Note: [Y/N] = Your Name

A soft humming awoke me from my deep sleep – the comforting sound of the Tardis was a daily occurrence for me now and I couldn’t help but want to snuggle back into bed. The past few days had been hectic; the Doctor had whisked me all around the universe, bouncing between times, and saving worlds. I loved being by his side but sometimes it felt as though he had endless amounts of energy and I, being human, felt as though I’d missed out on a few (hundred) cups of caffeine with the way I was feeling.

“Ergh,” I grumbled aloud, pushing myself groggily out of the warm comforter. The room I stayed in was lit by a soft, warm glow, pulsing along the walls. Squinting, I stumbled toward the door, eyes still adjusting to the lack of light around me. With a push, I opened the door of my room and poked my head out into the main control area. The Doctor was sitting by the console, staring intensely at it with a furrowed brow. His eyes darted back and forth, as though reading something at high speed, and I noticed his leg bouncing with energy. Whatever was making him look like that I wasn’t ready to face and quickly began to withdraw back into my ro-

“Y/N!”

I groaned. Caught.

“Yes Doctor?” I said, voice scratchier than I expected.

He came bounding over to me, trench coat swishing behind him like a majestic bat.

“Dear me, you look terrible,” he said, gently grabbing my face with his hands and looking me over. “You feeling alright?”

I batted his hands away, embarrassed. “We’ve been going nonstop, I think I’m allowed to look a little worse for wear,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “Besides, I’m up now. What’s on the roster for today?”

The Doctor looked at me sternly, his brown eyes drilling into my soul. I hated it when he looked at me like this – it felt as though he could read my mind.

“I can,” he said cheekily, and I felt my entire body heat. “Just kidding – I think I the psychic link bracelets effects are finally wearing off.”

He raised his arm up and jingled the small silver bracelet on his wrist. I groaned, feeling the matching bracelet heavy on my arm. I’d forgotten about those. Alien tech really was something. They’d proven useful in our last adventure, but I was so tired I’d forgotten to remove mine. I hurriedly pulled mine off just in case it broadcasted anything else out to him.

“However, I do not need one of those to see that you are obviously looking really terrible,” said the Doctor, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you go back and lay down?”

I shook his hand off my shoulder, ignoring the pulsing in the back of my head. “Now Doctor, I don’t think that will be necessary. I saw you looking – peeved, at the console so why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

The Doctor crossed his arms, looked over his shoulder at the control room, and back at me.

“No.”

I blinked. “Sorry, what?”

He sighed. “You are not doing anything today. You are taking a sick day.”

“Companions don’t take sick days!” I exclaimed. “This is ridiculous. I’m not even sick.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. Whipping out his sonic screwdriver, he rapidly scanned me.

“Elevated temperature, increased mucous secretions, and a high white blood cell count. Pardon me, Y/N, but I think that would indicate that you are, in fact, ill,” he said, smiling triumphantly. “I’m putting you back to bed.”

Before I could argue, the Doctor scooped me up his arms and strode back into my room. My heart rate spiked and the dizziness I was feeling earlier increased tenfold. What a cunning man.

“That’s better, isn’t it,” the Doctor said cheerfully as he fluffed my pillows and tucked me tightly into bed. “The color is coming back to your cheeks already.”

I turned away from him – the flush in my cheeks was due to something else.

“I suppose,” I mumbled. “But Doctor, what if you need help?”

The Doctor grinned. “I do have other friends in the Universe, you know. Lots of people owe me a favor or two. Though, I have to admit, you are my favorite.”

He winked at me. “Now then, what else can I do to help you feel better? Ah yes.”

With a flurry, he ran out of my room. I heard dishes clanging, the Tardis beeping, and some other odd noises echoing about before he came striding back in, balancing a tray of food in one hand and a cold compress in the other.

“There we are,” he said, carefully placing the tray on my lap and laying the cold compress on my forehead. As much as I wanted to hate his fussing, I found it to be extremely charming (and the cold compress felt quite nice).

I stared at the tray of soup and bread with some confusion. “You were only gone for a few minutes; where did you get this? I know you can’t cook.”

The Doctor chuckled. “I did a quick stop by your hometown – I know what you like! Give me some credit, Y/N.”

I smiled. The Doctor was incredibly thoughtful and he listened more than I thought he did. “I’m being spoiled today, it seems,” I said.

He grinned. “Right then - open up now, Y/N!” he said, picking up some soup and holding the spoon towards me expectantly.

Immediately, my entire body burned with embarrassment. “W-wait a second I can feed myself!”

I went to grab the spoon, but the Doctor smoothly grabbed my wrist and laid it back down on the sheets. His warm hand enveloped mine and it felt as though time and space stood still.

“Y/N, please let me take care of you,” he said softly. I looked into his soft brown eyes, my pulse fluttering. We were so close we could have-

“Yes, sorry,” I murmured, tearing my eyes away from his and allowed the Doctor to care for me. He was so gentle, his touch left fire on my skin, but I did my best to ignore it. He was the loneliest man in the universe, and he wanted to keep it that way…but some days, it seemed to me, he’d rather be anything else.

___

Author’s Note: I’m sick as a dog right now and was watching some Doctor Who to pass the time – decided I might as well write a classic sickfic with some nice fluff. Somehow, though, I managed to make it sad at the very end. Sorry : D

#doctor who fanfiction #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #10th doctor x reader #doctor who #fanfiction #cute fanfic #tenth doctor fanfic #tenth doctor #tenth doctor cute #tenth doctor imagine #10th doctor x you #10th doctor

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high-fidelity1 · 1 year

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Ceilings

Warnings: smut adjacent, day-dreaming

Summary: Sam x reader have grown up together but the reader hopes for more. Is it possible for the reader to finally get what she wants before Sam leaves town for good this time?

Word Count: 5k+

“You do know we’re going to have to find another place to sit and smoke when this dump finally opens to the public, right?” Sam asked. He quirked his eyebrow, tilting his head downwards trying to catch my eyes with his.

“Yeah, but we still have weeks before that happens. Pass the blunt,” I said, though I didn’t bother waiting on the courtesy of him handing it to me, taking it from him instead the moment the words left my lips. I pressed the tip of the filter tightly between my lips before sucking the soul of out the dwindling thing. He chuckled and tucked a wild piece of hair that fell out of the bun behind his ear.

It was fairly dark where we sat - our legs dangling from the second story beam on an under-construction building, the only real light coming from the yellowed streetlamp a block away. There were piles of brick or maybe it was limestone, sitting on the side, and a temporarily abandoned crane parked nearby just waiting for the morning to come around to be put to work once again.

The building had sat deteriorating for the better half of a decade before it was bought out in a biding war. The new owners started renovations not long after the paperwork had been notarized and yet none of these things ever stopped Sam and I from using this as our smoking spot. Soon enough, walls and first story ceilings had been put up, plaster was set to dry.

“You know, I kind of like sitting on the second story better,” he said.

“Not me,” I said, “I wish that stuff down there would dry faster.”

“Really?” He laughed. “But the view is so much better from here. Look, there’s our houses.” He extended his arm, pointing to a miniscule dot between the tree branches.

“No offense Sam, but I really don’t care about seeing our houses from a higher viewpoint than normal,” I laughed causing him to snatch the blunt from out of my hands once again.

“It’s not just that, you can see the stars better from here too,” A frown settled on his face.

I tilted my head back to peer through nonexistent roof, but instead of being met with the soft glow of the stars that I had been expecting, I got nothing but plush, grey storm clouds just waiting on sweet release.

“That would be great Sam, if we could actually see the stars,” I said.

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes, giving me a slight push against my shoulder.

It started in middle school, I think. From the moment that the moving truck pulled into the driveway of the house a few doors down and the gangly-looking boy got out, I knew we were going to be instant friends. And, I was right. We road our bikes as far up the streets as our parents allowed, staying out until the echoes of our names were heard. It was Sam’s idea to sit on the porch of the run-down building, letting me catch up with him one summer night. The two of us out of breath sat for a while, eating snow cones, talking about the trouble and chaos his two older brothers seemed to live in at the time.

It was a tradition that continued until soon enough our time in high school came and snow cones turned into shakily rolled joints, and bikes turned into cars that barely started. But those weren’t the only things that changed. Sammy started dating almost right away. He bounced from girl to girl, dragging me behind them to every basement party some stoner held on an otherwise quiet Friday night. I dated too, occasionally, but nothing ever seemed right or seemed to last and I never understood why.

I didn’t notice it right away. Hell, it took me a lot longer than I’m willing to admit, even to myself, but there was one night – one night that Sam and I sat on that porch, the cool of the concrete scraping against my thighs. Danny was throwing the party, the last big party of our senior year.

I pulled my knees to touch my chest, “Where’s Gracie tonight?”

It was unusual to see him sitting so content. Not when there were plans or girls to attend to, not when his latest interest was in question. That night it was Gracie.

He shrugged his shoulders, “At home, I suppose.”

I hummed, focusing on pushing my cuticles back with my fingernail. “She didn’t want to go to the party tonight?” I asked.

“She’s going to meet us there,” he said nonchalantly.

It was here, when the glow of that damn streetlamp hit the crown of his head, haloing around him, that I realized - Sam wasn’t that gangly little boy I met so long ago.

“Sam?” I asked as softly as I could manage, as if I was scared, he’d actually hear me.

Those doe eyes met mine in acknowledgement, urging me to go on.

“Why didn’t you want to bring Gracie with us tonight?” I bit down on my tongue. The burden of hope pounded in my chest, aching for a specific answer.

His eyes softened, and for a split second, I thought there was a chance the answer I was searching for would be found. “This is our thing,” he gestured to the space around us, “It would be weird to bring someone else, even Danny. Besides, I’m not sure Gracie and I will last much longer.”

I turned my attention back to the tree in the distance, humming once again in response. I tried to fight back the disappointment stinging in my eyes, threatening to spill over. It was silly, anyways, to hold out the hope that your revelation of feelings for my best friend would suddenly awaken a movie-like romance.

I tried to bring it up once or twice throughout the years. Each time was met with my lack of confidence. But here I was, sitting next to Sam, the thick of our thighs brushing against each other, giving me goosebumps on this rather warm midwestern night. The words sitting on the tip of my tongue, the urge to place my hand on his thigh sitting on the tips of my fingers. But I stopped, telling myself once again that it wasn’t the right time or something dumb like that.

“Do you think the stars look down at us in the same wonder as we look at them?” I asked, desperate for something to take my mind off the flex of his jaw with every puff he took. I looked to the sky, straining my eyes to see even the brightest star.

Sam didn’t answer. His melodic laugh rang through the quiet, calling my attention quickly back to him. I could count the little lines on the sides of his eyes with each laugh he took, he was that easy to get lost in. It took a minute, but there had always been something so contagious about hearing him laugh, and soon enough I was joining in with him in disbelief over the cause.

“What?” I asked in a breathy chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

His laughter had quieted down, but the smile remained, and his eyes never left mine. I shifted on the beam under his stare.

“Nothing,” He said, “It’s just, that was kind of cute.”

It was as if my world stopped for a brief moment. Since that night of Danny’s party years ago I had tried to come up with the confidence to tell Sam that I was in love with him. Eventually the hope that he would just magically feel the same way and admit it first to relieve me from my misery disappeared entirely. I could feel the thumping in my throat of a hopeful heartbeat at Sam’s little confession – if you could call it a confession, that is.

I silently thanked the universe for providing such a dark night to cover the redness crawling up my cheeks. Maybe this was my opening, maybe if this was Sam’s way of testing the waters, I should meet him halfway.

If there had been an opportunity to do anything about my feelings, it was now more than ever. Who knows what would’ve happened if those first few raindrops hadn’t landed on the bridge of Sam’s nose? In utter disbelief, he looked up only to be hit again by the rain, only this time it hit him directly in the eye causing him to squint.

I let out a rather disappointed sigh, defeated in what was probably my last attempt to tell Sammy before he and his brothers left town in what seemed like it would be for good this time. The rain now coming down harder than before, leaving scattered dots along the soft of my shirt.

“We should go before it really starts coming down,” I half smiled.

“I guess you’re right, come on,” he said. I took his hand in mine as we both made our way to our feet, balancing on that steel beam.

It was amazing to see Sam effortlessly make his way down to the first floor. He scaled the side of the building where the brick was loose and poked out, jumping off a few feet from the bottom onto the sandy ground. He quickly tucked those wild strands of hair behind his ears and shook the thin flannel out from around his body. Sam looked up at me, beckoning me to come down and join him.

“Will you get down here already?” He shouted, his hands cupping each side of his mouth.

But I stilled. “I don’t know, Sam. It’s a long way down, what if I fall?” I spoke.

He smiled gingerly, “Take the risk.”

For a brief moment I stopped to consider my choices. Stay stuck up here, lonely, cold, and now considerably more wet than what I started with, or take the leap of faith and climb my way down to Sam.

Without giving me a second more, Sam shouted once again, “Besides, if you don’t get your ass down here soon, I’m leaving you to walk home.”

With arms held out on either side, I balance-beamed my way over to the same wall Sam had just climbed down. Clutching the brick for dear life, or until the edges left marks in the palms of my hands, I steadied my footing on the brick. Slowly – painfully so – I made my way down, something that I knew would be killing Sam.

Eventually my foot hit the last of the bricks, leaving my only task to jump down those last few feet. “Come on, just jump,” I whispered to myself.

So, I did.

I landed in a puddle of water that I swear wasn’t there before with a splash that hit up the sides of my calves. If I hadn’t been before, I was now soaked to the brim and freezing cold with each breeze of the storm that hit me.

“And she sticks the landing!” Sam threw his arms into the air. “See, I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

“Except now my shoes are soaked,” I let out a huff. The layers between the sneakers and my toes now full of water, making a painful squishing sound with every move I made.

“You’ll dry. Now, let’s go before we both end up with a cold,” he scolded.

Sam’s beat-up sedan was parked a few blocks down to try and avoid being caught at our building. The two of us ran side by side to the doors of his car. He struggled with the keys, fumbling to find the unlock button leaving us to continue being soaked by the persistent downpour. By the time I hit those pleather seats, my hair was pressed to the sides of my face from the rain, and my shirt was two shades darker than what it started out. Sam turned the heat in the car on full blast, rubbing his hands in front of one of the vents attempting to warm and dry them. I shivered, rubbing my hands up and down my arms to dry and retain warmth, my teeth beginning to chatter as I patiently waited for the air to finally change temperatures.

“If I had known it was going to rain, we could’ve stayed and smoked at the house. Sorry,” he said rather sheepishly.

Without a thought, I placed my hand against his own, “I love the rain,” I said.

“You could’ve fooled me by the way you are shivering over there,” he chuckled. It was then that I realized where my hand had fallen, and still rested. Quickly I removed it.

“I’m fine, Sam,” I said, clearing my throat.

“I guess if I was going to get rained on with anyone, I’m glad it was with you,” he said. Silently, he put the car in drive and began maneuvering the winding road back to our neighborhood.

I wiped the hair still pressed to my face away, “It was kind of lovely, wasn’t it?” I asked.

“Lovely?” He mimicked.

“Yes, it is a word in the English dictionary you know,” Jokingly I pushed the side of his head near the driver’s window, eliciting a quiet laugh from him as he bounced back.

“I know that,” he said, “Just wasn’t sure you did.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be nicer to someone who is probably the only friend you have left in this town. Especially just days before you leave it,” I said.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he said. He paused, sucking in a breath before continuing, “It was lovely, now that I think about it.”

Sam hummed along to whatever song he put on the radio as he pulled into my driveway. The lights were out in the two-story house – the idea of going inside an empty house gave my heart the same feeling. My time with Sam was fleeting, and as chicken as I was, I knew the slot was shrinking if I didn't do something.

He threw the car in park but didn’t make a move to unlock the doors. Instead, he lifted a knee and turned in his seat towards me. Sam reached out to turn the radio into more of a murmur before opening his mouth at the exact time I did to say something.

We giggled, stuttering over words. “Go ahead,” he gave me the leeway.

“I was just going to say that … I’m really going to miss you, Sammy.”

The air in the car took a sudden shift. What was once lighthearted, and fun turned somber and serious. The pitter-patter of the rain and the slow melody from the radio filled the otherwise silent gap surrounding us. It wasn’t my intention to start crying, and if I was any good at hiding it, I could’ve passed it off as raindrops coming from my hair, but Sam was too smart for that. He took the pad of his thumb and swiped it across my cheek, catching it mid-fall.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I’m going to miss you too.”

I leaned my head into the palm of his hand, just letting reality sink in. He was leaving, who knows when I’d see my best friend again.

Maybe it was fate, if that sort of thing even exists, maybe it was the way those down-turned eyes softened the moment my head rested in his hand. Or maybe the universe kindly sent me a slap in the face, either way there wasn’t a force on earth that could’ve stopped me from what I did next – not when Sam’s voice rang in my head, take the risk.

I grabbed his wrist, the one still supporting me, and pulled it away from my face. It was almost comical how fast his eyebrows squeezed together, confused as to why. He started to move away, as if he had done something wrong.

“Wait,” I said, stopping him in his tracks. I reached out to grab the side of his face, “I just want to try something. Hold still,” I whispered.

I shifted my knee underneath me, giving just the sort of lift I needed to reach him. His eyes raked me up and down as I moved in closer. Gently, I brushed my lips against his. Not much of a kiss, if you could even call it that, but enough for the flutters in my stomach to churn and my heart to pound like a kick drum.

I pulled back only an inch or two, just enough to see meet his eyes once again. I couldn’t tell – I couldn’t tell if this had been a mistake if I had just ruined our friendship once and for all. I couldn’t gauge his thoughts or feelings as I had always been able to before.

“I’m – I’m sorry.” I dropped my hands from his face and began to face the humiliating truth. Sam didn’t feel the same as I did. “I shouldn’t have…”

I quickly moved to get away from him, to get out of the car and into my house, when it was me who was stopped this time. Sam grabbed the meat of my arm pulling me back towards him. “Hold on,” he said.

His hands took turns climbing their way up to my cheeks, cupping them and bringing me back to where are foreheads were pressed against one another – still damp from the rain.

“Try again,” he urged.

I watched him lick his lips, mimicking his movements for myself. Slowly, I nodded – my eyes never leaving his as we moved towards each other once again. When our lips brushed this time, it didn’t last long, at least not before the seas parted and we crashed into each other.

Sam’s hand moved to tangle in my hair, my own fisting his flannel. With each press of his pillowy lips against mine, my heart only glowed brighter. It was warm and comforting like the glow of a porch light left on for someone to come home to. It was everything.

Never once breaking, I moved to straddle his lap in the front seat of his car. It wasn’t as if Sam was protesting, in fact his hand pressing my chest flat against his own was enough invitation to do so.

His tongue swiped my bottom lip, asking permission to move further. I couldn’t help but elicit a smile into him, the invitation was more than accepted – this I made sure he knew by gently pressing my teeth against the flesh of his lip. That seemed to be all the confirmation Sam needed to dance his tongue along mine, as if the two muscles were waltzing the night away.

The hand still fisted in my hair now tugged gently, coaxing my head to tilt backward. Sam broke the kiss to instead plant a chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth, and several along my jaw. His lips connected repeatedly down my neck until they reached a sweet spot where the depth of my collarbone curved, causing the smallest noise to escape the back of my throat. I could feel Sam's lips stretch into a smile, satisfied with the part he played.

He reached behind with a free hand to let it travel under my shirt. I tilted back my head further, trying to give Sam more access, trying to feel him a little more when the back of his hand nearing the strap of my bra hit the car horn startling the both of us. We erupted in a fit of giggles after steadying heartbeats, untangling fingers, and arms. Sam pressed his forehead against mine, giving me the strangest sense of Deja-Vu - like I had seen this all before.

His lips pink and swollen, Sam took a breathy laugh. “That was – uh – wow,” he spoke.

“Look who needs a dictionary now,” I smiled, pushing the hair out of his face.

“How long have you been hiding that from me?” he asked.

“Way too long,” I admitted.

It was pure bliss, Sam smiled as he planted a kiss against each of my eyelids, on the tip of my nose, and the corner of my mouth. I let out a content sigh as I pulled his face away so I could finally see it in the light of the streetlamp.

“What a hell of way to say goodbye,” I said. Though it came out with the intent of a joke, it felt far from it the moment the words left my mouth.

The valley between Sam’s eyebrows creased, something I prayed I could be the one to smooth out for eternity. He pushed away from me slightly, the once warm spot now chilled with the space between us.

“Goodbye?” He asked.

“I just meant –“ I began, but Sam cut me off with his thumb against my bottom lip.

“I don’t want to go,” He whispered like it was a secret.

“So, don’t.”

The warm of string lights illuminated the slight mess of my bedroom, but it was just Sam, I reminded myself the moment we entered the empty house, and again after stepping through the tattered door to my bedroom. It was just Sam, my best friend, who comes into my room all the time, who has seen the clothes scattered against the floor, who has seen the messy bed time and time again. But when Sam closed the door behind him, when he shed the flannel he was so fond of to the floor, he no longer existed as just Sam.

Sam slowly padded his way over to me until we were toe to toe, the back of my knees hitting the soft edge of my bed. He grazed his fingertips along my arms, giving the breath in my lungs every reason to quit. I let my head fall into his shoulder for a moment, just basking in the gentleness of his movements.

He pulled back, guiding my eyes to meet his own. “What do you want?” He whispered.

There was a hesitation in my voice, barely able to choke out the word, “You.”

A look in his eye seemed unsure. It was the first time I had ever seen Sammy nervous around me. Then, I remembered, those same three words that led us here in the first place. So, I cupped his jaw in my hands, preparing to rise to my tippy toes to meet him on his level, and spoke lowly, “Take the risk.”

Without another word Sammy came crashing down into me. His lips meeting mine in a feverish rush. Teeth raking down to the base of my neck, his tongue replacing every so often to sooth the reddening area. I reached up to pull the hair tie from around his bun, letting it hang down and tangle within my fingers.

It was a whirlwind, clothes were abandoned left and right, discarded to the floor with the rest of the mess. Goosebumps rose all along my body, something that certainly amused Sam. My heart beat like a kick drunk as our mouths connected again. Sam coaxed me backward until I was laying among the plethora of plush pillows.

I inhaled sharply when Sam’s hand brushed against my lower belly. He moved to pick up my bare leg instead, setting my foot against his chest. He smiled so sweetly down at me before placing the smallest of kisses against the bone of my ankle. I laughed just briefly at the odd but intimate action.

There was a twinkle in his eye. He continued the soft trail of kisses down to my knee pausing to let his eyes wander over my face. He seemed satisfied with the reaction he tore from me, and in turn, he continued on.

There was a moment, as small as it was; a moment where the glow of the lights hit the whites of his eyes, where everything seemed to slow down. A moment I wish I could keep forever. It seemed surreal, but I couldn’t help the words that came out of my mouth.

“I love you.”

A hesitant smile pulled Sam away from his fixation on making his way up from my ankle. He crawled up to meet me nose to nose.

“Say it again,” he softly demanded.

I tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, “I love you.” I said surer of myself this time. Sam’s lips sunk into mine without hesitation. Something told me he felt the same.

I laid with my back against the mattress, a thin sheet barely covering my exposed body. A rustling in the space next to me caused the turning of my head. Sam was there, sprawled out onto his stomach, his hair fanned out to the side, his eyes watching my every move. I shifted, turning to face him completely.

Sam reached out his hand to brush along the round of my cheek bones. He let out a content sigh. “You’re so beautiful,” He hummed.

I smiled, a small sad smile. It was time to face the music, I suppose. Stupidly, I allowed a single tear to flee the safety of my eye. Sam furrowed his brows catching the tear with his thumb.

“You’re sad?” He asked. “Did I do something wrong?” The worry stretched across his face.

I shook my head, hoping to dissipate the sudden tension in the room. “Not at all,” I assured.

“Why are you crying then?”

“It’s just lovely to lay here with you,” I said.

He smirked, huffing a laugh. “There’s that word again. Lovely,” he trailed off.

The bed was warm; Sam served as a human furnace with his bare skin against my own. He was summer in all its glory, he was everything I loved about life. Another tear fell, I wished it could stop but there was no hope. Realty destined to set in the moment we left the solitude of each other’s embrace.

“But why the tears?”

It was fear that the tears were born of. Sam was set to leave with his brothers and while I have no regrets of where my burst of confidence led us, there was a sinking feeling that I couldn’t shake. Something that reminded me that Sam was destined for greater things beyond the abandoned building we frequented. But how could I tell him all of this? How could I stand in the way of the tender moment we shared?

A few more drops escaped, but I was content, I think. It was easier to lie basking in the comfort of his touch than to feel heavy in the chaos of my mind.

“I want you to stay,” I whispered - it was the best I could do.

Sam hesitated. He knew, at least that’s what I told myself in the moment, what I was really asking.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, “Not now.”

“Don’t forget about me when you’re on the road,” I said. Our fingers intertwined lazily with one another.I needed to get out in the open. Something I needed to say before my eyes closed and this was all subject to disappear.

“Forget about you? Never,” he smiled. He tapped his finger against his head. “You, my love, are ingrained in here for eternity.”

I pulled myself closer to him, until our bare chests touched. Sam wrapped his strong arm around my waist, our legs creating an unbreakable knot. I could feel Sam’s breath slow against the top of my head, his limbs growing heavier with each passing moment – sleep already taking over his body and threatening my own.

Just as my eyelids drooped and I snuggled further into him until his amber cologne was all I could smell, I let out a sigh and lazily whispered, “I don’t want this to end.” Though it came out more as a plea than anything.

It was still dark when I awoke the next morning, the clouds still blanketing the sky. It was warm in the bed, Sam’s soft snores creating a white-like noise calming every nerve in my body. Gingerly, I turned back into his embrace shaking him gently awake. He stirred, fighting the thought of opening his puffy, sleep deprived eyes but eventually he lost the battle.

“Morning,” he said into my hair.

I looked up at him. How lucky was I to be here with him? How many times had I daydreamed about this moment, about the two of us together? I was so delirious I almost forgot the looming truth of it all - Sam was leaving soon, and who knows if he wanted to or would come back. It was the same thoughts that plagued me late last night before the two of us fell into the depth of our slumbers, and it was something I cursed being the first thing on my mind on an otherwise joyful morning.

“Good morning,” I said pushing the thought out of my head. I looked up at Sam. The slightest bit of stubble graced his chin and upper lip and for a moment I wondered what he would look like with facial hair. I reached up to let it scratch my hand.

He rubbed his eyes. “I know, I need to shave,” He chuckled stretching his arms behind his head, but I was in no way ready to get up.

“I don’t know,” I said. “You don’t think all those girls you meet would like a little facial hair on you?”

“Don’t tell me you are already getting jealous,” he said with a smile.

I sat up, resting my weight on my elbow and looked down at him now lying flat on his back. “Can’t be jealous of something that isn’t mine, now can I?”

“Oh. Not yours?” He asked. There was a glint in his eye, something that told me he wasn’t worried. Something that caused that flutter to return to my stomach. “If this is your way of asking me whether or not I’m yours, you should just come out and say it.”

Sam guided me by the arms with a slight tug to sit on his hips. I peered down onto his bare chest, using my palms to steady myself. I smiled, “Okay then. Sam, what are we?”

“A jab to my heart, I can’t believe you’d hit me with such a relationship question after the first night,” he said.

Embarrassment in the shade of crimson rose to my cheeks. I was taken back, and that was a severe understatement. I shifted my weight, trying to gather my feet from underneath me to leave. That’s when a smile grew wide along Sam’s cheeks.

“I don’t want anyone but you, silly. Haven’t for a long time,” he said holding my wrists in place. “Never want too again.”

“What took you so long?”

“Couldn’t find the words,” he said.

Without warning, he reached out to poke me in the ribs. In a fit of laughter, I fell down into his chest. Our lips met, soft and sweet, and noses bumped against one another as our tongues begged for entrance.

We spent the next hour or so in bed, acting as if nothing had changed really – except the confession of two lovesick people and touching places we had never ventured too before. But soon enough it was time for him to go. Sam left his flannel with me, buttoned tightly around my body. The collar still smelled like him; I never wanted to wash it.

I walked him down to where his car sat in my driveway. Our time together was fleeting, he was leaving the next morning.

“You’re still coming to the bon voyage party my parents are throwing tonight, aren’t you?” he asked.

He leaned up against the door of his car, pulling me by the edge of his flannel closer to him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I beamed up at him. “Besides, if I didn’t go, you’d be stuck defending yourself to your brothers again.”

“Geez, don’t remind me. I say one thing about liking that stupid pop song all over the radio and they’ll never let me live it down,” he rolled his eyes.

“I mean they do have a point,” I jested.

“Oh no, not you too,” He threw the flat of his hand against his forehead.

“I’m sorry but Royals? Really?”

“It’s a good song,” He defended his choice, pouting slightly.

“I’m sure you are right,” I said.

We laughed, standing on the outside of that car. It was loud, and lighthearted and beautiful. It was something I hoped would last forever, but soon, my laughter died down and all that remained was his. Then suddenly, the world around me disappeared like water down a drain.

The light around us faded, the smell of his flannel stayed but the material no longer clung to my body, and the warmth of his touch, of his embrace left with the blow of the wind. Nightfall surrounded us, and my attention snapped back to reality.

Sam’s laughter still sounded next to me, but there we were, sitting on that metal beam of the two-story building. Confused, I turned to Sam and asked, “What's so funny? How long have we been here?”

“You really don’t remember?” He asked. I shook my head. “You asked if the stars look down at us the way we look at them.”

Oh.

“You are definitely high,” he said. “You zoned out there for a moment, huh? We’ve only been out here fifteen or so.”

It wasn’t real. None of it. Not the drive to my house, not the confession of feelings, not the kiss. Oh god the kiss. I reached my hand up and ran my finger along my lips. I could still feel the tingle from the touch of his on mine, the touch that never exist. In this sobering moment, I couldn’t even recall the last time I had been kissed, it had been that long.

“Yeah, I-I think I’ve had too much. I should get home,” I stuttered.

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line and agreed that it was probably time to go anyway considering the joint was down to the last puff. The two of us got up and scaled our way down the side of the building, heading to his car parked down the block.

“You’re still coming to the party tomorrow night, right? I want you to meet Samantha before I leave town. I think you'll like her,” Sam said. He rambled on, talking about his new girlfriend and the impending trip.

Meanwhile, all I could think about was the Sam I had before. The one that didn’t exist. And somehow, the sadness that bubbled within me felt all too familiar, like something I’d seen before.

#sammy gvf #sam gvf #sammy kiszka #sam kiszka #gretavanfleetpov #greta van fleet #gvf fanfiction

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lupically · 3 years

Text

#FFF8EA | XIAO.

genre | fluff

word count | 2233

warning | mention of falling off a moutain

note | i just have some ideas for xiao...

"the yaksha is fond of you."

madame ping was no stranger to you. the kind old lady roaming around yujing terrace, often seen admiring flowers or brewing a cup of hot tea, was someone you come across every afternoon after school when you head to the censor to make a wish to rex lapis.

the conversation you two have had always been brief, mainly because you were always in a hurry to get to work. she never minded your urgency, blissfully talking about how fast-paced and active young people these days are, and simply being happy that you even stopped to let her hand you some glazed lilies from time to time.

interestingly, though, she stopped giving you glazed lilies after a while and began handing you some pretty qingxin instead.

you never questioned it. it was just flowers. you could live without being gifted only one kind of them for the rest of your life. but after today's incident—after the burning down of your school located just outside the city, as well as what madame ping told you with hearty laughter laced in her voice, you were starting to think the switch to qingxin meant something.

"the yaksha is fond of you."

you tightened your hands around the weak strap of your school bag, made out of bamboo after lots of trials and errors, and you tilted your head with increasingly furrowing brows.

"pardon me, the what is fond of me?"

"the yaksha, my dear."

you stared at her. the corner of your lips was quirking up in confused twitches, and she could see that you were fiddling uncomfortably on your spot because you truly have no idea what she was talking about. it was not because of the history of the yaksha that might have made you feel jittery and out of place, you simply had no idea!

madame ping smiled even harder at your innocent oblivion then. how could you have such ample knowledge of rex lapis and the adepti, but nothing about the yaksha? especially the one with his mark, a jade green glow surrounding you like fireflies, all over your aura?

maybe that was why xiao chose you.

or, at least, it was one of the reasons why he liked you.

it was because you knew nothing of him. you never think about him, you never talk about him, and you would never suspect the string of random good luck and trails of safe travels that have been following you around.

while it must be tearing him down on the inside; the fact that he wasn't being able to approach the one person who made his good deeds a choice rather than an order. it must be plaguing his mind and patience every day.

but, even then, your surprising lack of information about his identity does save him the pressure of being chased down by you.

it saves him the problem of being even further attached to you. it was already pressing on his breaking point when he went out of his way to watch over you, leaving trails of his magic over your mortal soul to keep you safe when he was busy. any further interaction would be disastrous.

logically, he knew he would fall for you, so he was doing preventive measures. he has to keep his chest sealed so his heart wouldn't jump toward you involuntarily; he has to keep his chest sealed so you couldn't see all the mess inside.

"oh, sweet child," madame ping cooed as she walked toward you. she whispered to herself, "you're being protected by an adeptus and you don't even know."

she brought up a qingxin from her pocket, the petals slightly wrinkled from the confined space. she tucked it carefully in the pocket of your shirt before patting the bloomed flower, almost as if she was reminiscing.

"this is his flower," she said.

you hummed, looking down at it. "this is his favorite flower?"

"i'm not sure about his favorite flower, but this is his flower," she replied casually.

you pursed your lips together. well, at least now you knew the qingxin did have something to do with the... yaksha... or whatever.

"madame ping... may i ask–"

"you can find him at qingyun peak," she cut you off calmly. "during the lantern festival. he is always there during the festival. it was for the quiet, he said, that old man."

you shut your mouth, surprised that she knew what you wanted to ask. "uh... qingyun peak... is kind of... a big place..."

"you will find him if he wants to see you," she said. "you can speak his name–xiao. he might not show himself to you, but if you have something to say, he's likely there to listen."

qingyun peak. the lantern festival. the yaksha.

right.

that was how you found yourself bearing the freezing night cold with just a thin shirt and a ragged fabric wrapped and tied around your torso, your hands hurting from grabbing sharp edges and rough rocks, and your anxiety increasing with every jump that not only would the almond tofu in your bag fall, but you would as well.

as opposed to watching xinyan play for the lantern festival, being warm and cozy from the warm city lights and the tasty street food, and maybe even letting go of a lantern yourself after making a wish, you were here. you were alone, climbing mountains for a chance.

all for a random boy madame ping told you about! someone who was supposedly fond of you—if this xiao guy was so fond of you, he would have shown himself the first three times you called his name at the bottom of the mountain!

"fond of me–what a joke," you said through gritted teeth as you hoisted yourself up on a small ledge. "i'm going to kick his ass so hard when i find him."

you let yourself pant for a minute, regaining your stamina as you groggily accessed the higher peaks above you. your eyes squinted in dismay, but something inside you—the curiosity for the truth, as well as the longing for a friend, also the anger for playful revenge—urged you to keep going.

"he better eats the almond tofu i made," you muttered to yourself as you moved closer to the mountain. "i even picked some flowers... for him."

jump after jump, you were close to making it to the second ledge when suddenly, a slime jumped and appeared above you. it looked surprised, mirroring your expression, and as it prepared itself to attack you after seeing your hands move, it stopped when it saw you fumble about in the air before you began to fall further away from itself.

you had let yourself go. out of surprise, and an instinct to grab a weapon, your hands moved away from the edge and you fell.

your mind raced as the wind hit your face, your falling body heavy against the current that desperately tried to take you up from the ledge you just climbed up from. you would surely die from the impact if you drop. even without dropping down to the bottom, you would still suffer from a painful death.

was there something to do? how did this happen, you were doing fine! what should you do, what could you do? you were falling already—what was there to do now? anything, something?

"i–archons–" you heaved with the cold air, your lungs squeezing inside you with fear as tears began to drip out of your eyes.

anything? anybody?

xiao?

"you can speak his name. he might not show himself to you, but if you have something to say, he's likely there to listen."

"xi–" your voice broke for a millisecond when you could see the green grass approaching quickly. you squeezed your eyes shut, and your voice was louder than you have ever allowed it to be.

you called his name, loud and clear.

the first thing you felt was a lightning strike. you opened your eyes at the electric feeling to find a flash of green. it was bright, close and bright, in a way that was blinding. but then the tail broke into gentle fragments as a pair of arms circled your body to catch you from the fall.

one arm went around your waist, the other hand securely tightened itself around the back of your neck to keep it from breaking from the impact of his fast landing.

xiao growled under his breath when his feet struck the ground in a heavy blow. he pushed your head to his shoulder, shielding your face away from the soil that bounced upward as a result.

quietness ensued after a moment of calm. you took the moment to access the situation—you were fine. someone, likely xiao, saved you from the fall. you were fine.

he dropped onto the ground, sitting on the cold grass with your body pressed close to his, when he heard that you began to sob from the accident.

despite feeling awkward and unsure, he kept quiet and let you vent out the post-accident fear so you could slowly bring in the relief that you were still alive. but his quietness was unwelcomed when you suddenly curled your fist and hit him across the shoulder.

"screw you! why didn't you just answer me when i–when i was at the bottom of the moun–mountain! screw you!"

you blamed him and you hit his shoulder repeatedly. your weak fist was nothing compared to the pain he has endured in the past, but your cries cut through him like glass in the most seamless pattern when he realized he was part of the reason why you had to go through that traumatic experience.

if he had just jumped down from the peak when he heard you the first time, this would not have happened.

xiao looked at the empty spot before him. his golden eyes glowed with a softness that has long fallen into the abyss, forever gone and forever abandoned. but he brought it back out now because he cares about you, and he is, ultimately, attached to you, and he loves you.

"you're right," he said, holding you close to him. "i'm sorry."

ever since you discreetly left the almond tofu on the roof of the wangshu inn, your shy figure hunched over in an apologizing manner because you were told that you were giving food to an important, albeit weird, guest, and your blissfully ignorant words of encouragement as you told him to go out and explore the world, to give it a chance so he could find people he would like.

ever since then, he has loved you, in fragile and discreet ways, in unwavering and patient ways, in protective and caring ways.

"i love you, i'm sorry."

you stopped sobbing almost immediately, and he was afraid he might have said the wrong thing.

wasn't it what he was supposed to do? verr told him to speak his mind once. just be truthful with his feelings and nothing could go wrong. was he not supposed to show his affection blatantly, as he would his complaints and opinions?

"that... that is going a little too fast for me, xiao," you joked. "let's settle with appreciating each other for now."

he heard you laugh, causing the weight of his heart to drop, like finding lights in a fog, like seeing the lanterns in the night sky and realizing that there are more people alive with you than you think.

"thank you, for saving me," you said kindly then, your fist long stopped hitting him and was now patting his shoulder.

"always."

“but burning my school down is not the best approach for... whatever it was you were trying to help me with.”

xiao blinked in confusion, then realization hit him. he almost forgot about that! he was, shockingly, dwelling in the prideful fact that because he literally destroyed the building, you would be free of school for the day, and therefore not having to face all the hardships inside the walls he could not venture past. he thought it was the best thing to do, second to beating up everyone, which he politely opposed to.

“i am not sorry about that,” he muttered. “it was what i thought was best.”

he could feel you grin in his embrace. your laughter reverberated in the air, making his magic glow around you both. it was like nothing he has felt before. he wanted to stay like this—in this position where you were engulfed by him, where he could surround you with himself instead of the fireflies of green he has left behind, where he was with you in a way it was entire, in a way he could feel your beating heart against his own.

you are pressing onto his breaking point.

you are going to open him up, see him whole, and renovate his insides to your will. you are going to take his heart from his chest, breaking through his ribcage made feeble from his sheer affection for you, and claim it as your own. you are going to make him love, like sharp knives, like soft breaths, like tragic past, like warm blood, you are going to make him love.

you are pressing onto his breaking point.

and xiao lets you.

because you will be worth the tragedy, you will be worth everything.

#genshin x reader #genshin imagines #xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact imagines #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin xiao #genshin xiao x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #xiao imagines #xiao x you #xiao scenarios #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios

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sweetcathedral · 3 years

Text

Note: Finally back from my break! Lots of things keep happening in my life that I’ve never expected, so I’m busier than usual, but I have queued up some quick stories for the next few weeks. Although this was inspired by the Are You Am I dresses, it’s more centred around Catholicism that I have a love-hate relationship with. Enjoy!

⚠️: 18+, fem! reader, altar sex, raw, church sex, overstimulation, creampie/breeding

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“Cut the act. You’d be fighting me, if you really opposed it,” Sukuna scoffs, admiring the view of your legs spread open—laid on top of the altar. Your ripped stockings, now webs of black thread, running across your thigh, like it’s still trying to keep him from tainting the last bit of innocence you had left. Beams of light fell from the skylight of the church, casting a soft glow on the God that was once loved, but now abandoned and left to be eaten by what he created.

“The hell are you wearing?” Sukuna arched his brow in a grimace expression.

You looked down at your outfit, not seeing what could be wrong with it. It’s your first time wearing something like this; a silk dress with dainty straps and a raw hemming that looks like it’s about to come undone & sheer opaque black stockings. “I don’t see anything wrong with it, does it look bad?” Sukuna strides towards you, analyzing your outfit, even lifting the hem of your dress as if he doesn’t know what’s already there.

“I will never understand the evolution of clothing in this era,” he cocks his head to the side with a placid look in his eyes. Ah, right. He died a long time ago.

“What did people used to wear in your time?”

“Fabrics that actually clothed them,” he tugs at your stockings and wiggles his finger in them, still trying to wrap his head around its function.

“Hey, stop that, it tickles and it feels weird,” you giggled, pushing his hand away.

“I don’t see any point in wearing it. I could rip this off right now.”

“Sukuna, no! This is expensive!” you bicker at him, clinging on to your dress as he tugs at it like a child does when they want their mom’s attention.

“Just ask Gojo to buy you a new one when we’re finished.”

“Finished?” the sound of threads shredding apart startles you.

You scan yourself like a puppy chasing its tail to see if he’d actually ripped your dress apart. Nothing, but something felt off—looking down at your stockings, you see that there was a large slit running down your leg, exposing your thigh.

"Heh, whoops," he flicks the small shred of fabric off his nails, walking you into a corner. The shadow of the room contrasts his face making his eyes glow a deeper crimson. "Don’t look away from me," grabbing your face, his nails dig into your skin as you try to fight off his grip. Lifting you against the wall, he softly drags his nails along your exposed thighs, teasingly drawing circular patterns the higher up he goes.

"Sukuna," you pleaded softly, his hand now on your neck, lifting you ´til you were on your tippy toes & trying to balance yourself so that you wouldn’t fall into complete suffocation.

"Shh, someone might hear you," he whispers in a low octave. You forgot you weren’t in a closed off area. The two of you were originally sent to an abandoned church to investigate a curse user of the Roman Catholic religion, that is until Sukuna took over Yuji’s body.

Your body jolts at Sukuna brushing his knuckles over your clit. The heat of you traces over the length of his finger through the thin fabric of your panties, stifling a moan. "Don’t be shy. It won’t be your first time sinning in front of a God," he cooed in your ears. He told you to be quiet, but he really just wanted to see you hold yourself back as he evokes your temptations & diminishes your composure. He loves seeing you corrupted, especially when it’s in a respectable church built to honour a God who guides herds of blinded sheep.

Only shame & humiliation wash over you as you avert your gaze from looking at the smaller crucifix hanging over the doorway the two of you came from. He turns to look in the same direction you did, a sly grin stretches from ear to ear. “I have a better idea,” his eyes narrow in defiance as he turns to look at the God overseeing the center aisle.

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

You released a deep exhale at the feeling of something soft and wet trailing over your inner thighs—Sukuna. The warm feeling eases the tension all over your body and you can feel the heat of your blood pumping in your ears, his face getting closer and closer to where you want him the most. “Maybe we should find a more private setting,” you try convincing him.

“Now why would I want that? Just look at how wet you are down here,” he bites on your panties and pulls them off, revealing a dripping mess. It was embarrassing, immoral, but there was something about how good it feels to be doing something so wrong. The thrill of it sends a rush of adrenaline through your veins, your heart beating against your ribcage. More. “Tell me what you want.”

Everything, but even that thought wasn’t enough. “I want you . . . to take me to hell,” you whisper to him.

Taken aback by the words that just came out of your mouth, he brings himself back with that same sly grin and a soft look in his eyes. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

From one moment to the next, Sukuna drove your sanity out from you until you could think of nothing, but only him. The bold movement of his tongue reaching in to taste you, his fingers teasing around your clit and fondling your breasts, his lips pressing on every part of your skin, leaving wet splotches that are deep enough in colour to bloom into an aching bruise afterwards.

“Sukuna,” you lift the hem of your dress over as you fold your legs to your chest—revealing your painfully aching cunt, glistening with desire. The syllables of his name roll off the tip of your tongue like nectar. “More.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” he pulls your hips towards him, enough for your cunt to be pressing against the thick bulge fighting the strain of his black jeans. The altar creaked, as if in disappointment, at the sudden weight change.

Mesmerized by the sight of you laid on the altar like an offering, he takes his time to soak in the image, burning it into his mind; the burnished oak altar with the scene of the last supper carved beneath it, a warm glow cascading from the skylight of the church and the large crucified God, looking down at the lustful act unfolding in his house of worship. But then the feeling of your hips impatiently bucking at him interrupts his thoughts. “You know, they say patience is a virtue,” pleased at your eagerness.

“Fuck the virtues.”

“What a bold thing to say in a church,” he softly chuckles, the sound of his zipper perking your ears.

You reach for his belt, but he laces his fingers into yours, pressing your hand down. The tip of him brushes against your soft folds, lubricating itself with your juices. Without a struggle, his cock unfolds you, pushing a welcoming entrance open between your legs. Your walls flutter in excitement, pulling him in, as the creaking floors of the church groaned in disapproval.

“Oh, God,” you gripped at the altar cloth.

“You should moan louder for the angels to hear,” he thrusted into you harder than when he entered, the sound of skin slapping bounces off the walls. “Fuck.”

All righteous thoughts were purged out of you, like a soul being cleansed anew at adoration. Demon. It wasn’t your first time with him and it definitely won’t be your last. You can feel your body getting desperate to finish as you began to buck your hips faster.

“Closer,” you held your breath, arching your back.

The sound of his name falling off your lips sends a painful feeling of the need of wanting more. He wanted to strip away your senses to see a side of you that no one else has ever seen, the first to discover you and explore whatever you hid away from plain sight. That is what drove the King of Curses, Father of All Sins, to greed.

Echoes of your panting and moaning became a choir of sultry tones, replacing the familiar sounds of organs and bells in the church. Even though your legs were trembling from reaching your limits, he kept on going, ignoring your pleas and begging.

“Not yet,” he grunts in your ear.

“Please . . . I can’t take it anymore.”

Tears stream down your face as you grip onto Sukuna’s arms. The feeling in your legs were no longer there and you were having a hard time controlling your tremors. Just when you thought you couldn’t reach another climax, your cunt began pulsating rapidly as your body uncontrollably tensed up again.

When Sukuna pulled out, a waterfall of cum spilled out of you and pooled onto the altar cloth, dripping down the carving of the Last Supper. The two of you pant in exhaustion, he’s laying on top of you with his arms wrapped around your head, his hand firmly holding you close to him.

You brush your fingers through his hair, reciprocating the same affection back. “Tell me you’re finished for today,” you giggled.

“I wanna say ‘no’, but that’d mean you’d be knocking on Shoko’s door again.”

Both of you laughed as you teasingly tugged at his ear.

“Should we clean—!”

As he helped carry you off the altar, you looked back at the aging oak and crumpled cloth that had been perfectly fine and untainted—now dented with deep inhuman scratch marks surrounding the faint imprint of where you laid.

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

End of the line (Santiago Garcia x GN! reader)

@autumnleaves1991-blog runs a fantasic # Writer Wednesday, and this week’s photo prompt sparked a lil idea! Of course I’m a day late, please forgive. The prompt is the photo below, and my response is a rather angsty Triple Frontier one-shot. This is different to my usual takes, so I’m so grateful for the prompt!

Summary: you are reaching the end of the line, and there’s only one person you want to pick up the phone to.

Word count: 2.4k, somehow

Rating: mature for themes of violence (18+ only)

Warnings: theme of reader being pursued / targeted; ongoing mentions of guns / gun violence (not graphic); reader injuries (not graphic); themes of character death; angst; vague mentions of past wrongdoing / implied illicit activities; theme of former lovers.

You run your fingers over your scathed knuckles and the bruises on your hands, flexing and opening your fingers and trying to work out niggles in your wrist that you doubt will ever truly leave you. You wince as the motion tugs on a spot which is particularly stiff, and a pain zips all the way up your forearm.

Your only consolation is that the other guy fared far worse.

Undoing all your attempts to unknot your taut muscles, your fists clench again as you hear the door to the dingy motel bar swing open to your right. Your head whips towards the newly-arrived patron and you tense, your hand twitching against the weapon concealed in your jacket. As it becomes clear the new arrival is an old, inebriated local and not a threat, you relax a shade; though not all the way.

You barely remember the last time you fully relaxed. You wish you could shake this state of hyper-vigilance. Eyes constantly sweeping the perimeter. Clocking every open-carry tucked into a belt, scoping every exit route, monitoring every micro-gesture and expression. But one slip now and it will cost you.

You bounce your leg under the table, filled with an onslaught of sadness that you can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee without the looming fear of retribution. Still, you are safe enough here for now, you assess. For at least one more night. At least, you hope. Certainty is a thing long-dead, just like your old life.

Your eyes flick out through the scummy window, reaching across the lot to the stretch of motel illuminated to your left. Not that there’s much to look at out there -snow and vehicles and the shitty exterior- but you are not looking at those things, after all. Your study is far more careful. You’ve been sat here long enough though to be sure that no-one is casing your room. No suspicious vehicles or individuals; at least - there are plenty of suspicious individuals, but none whom seem to have followed you here.

So, you allow yourself to shed one layer of worry, and you give your gaze permission to wander back to the only other thing you can see out there. The ominous looking phone box, stood directly in the path between your table and the window to your motel room. It glows in the dark like an illuminated angel, though you are not sure whether this signals it is a guardian or a traitor. Angels can be fickle things too.

Either way, the booth taunts you, like some dark harbinger or sentinel from a horror film, and, each time your eyes flick back to it, it seems to loom more prominent - even if that’s only because of the single, related thought which swells to the forefront of your mind.

Call him. It’s time to call him.

You promised yourself you would only call him as a last resort. If you had no other options remaining. If you were at the end of the line.

A nausea rolls in the pit of you when you realise that might be true. After so long on the run, you’ve called in every favour you were owed, exploited every scrap of intel you could, manipulated or paid-off every asset you could find to help you... And now there is no-one else left. No-one else left who owes you a favour. There is only the man who had once promised you he would always have your six. There is only the last person you want to ask for help, and the first person you want to see.

Santiago Garcia.

Your nausea turns to aching despair, and you wrap your hands around your cup of shitty coffee, reaching for some vestige of warmth, however faint. And yet, like everything else, it offers you little comfort. Indeed, you have lived without comfort for so long that you tell yourself you don’t need it, but as soon as memories of him flood you, you ache for the distant comfort of his arms.

Arms which will never encircle you again, you’re sure. Not since you’d been forced to compromise every ideal you’d once shared with the solider. Still, that was back in the days when things seemed a lot more black and white. When you still believed in good people and untarnished souls. When he still believed in you.

Your eyes flick once again to the boxy, mocking angel in the parking lot. Now you are sure it is fallen, and that it has come to drag you to hell.

Still, hell would be a relief, you think, compared to this. Compared to this vestige of a life.

Call him. It’s the end of the line.

You bounce your leg more furiously, your muscles tensing so hard they cramp as you think about the prospect. You used to carry his number on a little slip of paper in your top pocket. You’d long since memorised it, but it was the last thing he gave you - you suppose that’s why you couldn’t throw it away. Why you subconsciously kept it close to your heart.

If you ever needed him, he would be there. You knew it. Maybe you should have called him long ago, when things first went south. When you first pissed off the kinda man it wasn’t desirable to piss off. Maybe you would have, but then one thing after another kept happening, and the slow descent into hell began, one compromise and one mistake at a time. So, you called in every other favour rather than face him. Rather than having to explain how you’d let him down - become someone he could no longer believe in. Like a fallen angel.

Now, years had gone by.

Years on the run. Years of hyper-vigilance. Years that had taken their toll.

Now, you’re out of options. Out of money. Out of favours. You’re even out of burner phones until you can hitch a lift to the next town over.

So, the glowing phone box almost sings to you, as if it’s a siren luring you on to the rocks. As if it’s a magical item in a computer game and if you step into its circle of light you can have a new life. You can reset everything. Return to a prior save point.

You know exactly where you would go, if you could. Back to the last time your remember where you didn’t feel so alone. The last time you felt comfort.

You fumble some over-spilling tears from your cheeks and stand, pushing the chair back across the floor behind you with a harsh scrape. Then, with a soft smile to the barkeep you return your mug to the bar-top, to save her from having to clear up. You wonder then. You can’t help but wonder like you do every time. If she’ll be the last person to see you alive will she at least say, to who ever shows up looking, that you seemed kind?

She gives you a small smile and you hang on to this vestige of warmth too, wishing you could pocket it for later for when you inevitably feel so empty and so cold. If only you could have stored up warmth, you would have more than enough to thaw you. There was a time when you had an abundance, after all. Enough to carry you through the longest of winters.

Your face drops as you tread out, winding your scarf around your neck and your boots puncturing the fresh, powdery snow.

Would anyone who mattered even show up looking? you ponder. Is there anyone left who would remember all the things you were before all this? Before you were a cold, lost thing?

There may be one person left.

Your eyes patrol the lot around you, an automatic sweep for threats, and, seeing nothing of note, you track determinedly towards the phone box, tears near-freezing on your cheeks.

You pick up the receiver and you punch in that number you have memorised, your eyes closing and your other hand bracing itself against the scratched and cigarette-burn puckered surface. You don’t even know if it will ring, or if he will still be at this address, but you do know that your knees will buckle either way. With relief if he does, and hopelessness if he doesn’t.

The line clacks as the number connects, and you grip the receiver hard enough that a day-old wound on your knuckle splits, but you can scarce care. Instead you simply hold your breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times...

Your stomach lurches as the ringing stops.

“Santiago? Santiago Garcia?” you ask, hoarsely, tugging on the coiled phone wire so hard as you wind it around your fingers that you are close to breaking it.

“This is Mrs. Garcia. Can I help you?” a woman’s voice responds.

You want to dry heave. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“You’re his wife?” you ask, the question like a poison barb on your tongue.

“Yes, who’s speaking, please? Can I take a message?”

All this time, you had been the only one alone, it seems. You should be glad for him, but you are too sad for yourself to muster it.

You hesitate. You can’t say who’s calling. You can’t risk it. However, while he may not be at the end of the line, you are. This might be the last chance you get to say your piece.

You have to think on your feet, but that’s become second-nature for you. You haven’t enjoyed the luxury of plans or hopes or dreams for some time now.

You begin. Your voice is choked up.

“Just tell him... Tell him to remember me the way I was in Massachusetts. Tell him I’ve never been happier than then. Tell him not to worry. I won’t cash in that favour, but he’s already done enough.”

He has. He’s given you the strength to make it this far, even if he didn’t know it.

“Who is this?” his wife presses, her tone sharp.

You can’t say, but he’ll know. He’ll know - if he remembers you. Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chest tightens, emotion stealing the air from your lungs.

“Can you just tell him that? Please?” you beg, having been strong for so long and finally collapsing in on yourself, a desperate plea imbuing your voice.

Still, you don’t even wait for an answer before slamming the phone back down on its hook -can’t bear to hear her say no. Instead you surge towards your hotel room, sobs wracking your chest as you realise the cold hard facts. Now, you are truly on the run without any semblance of home to return to, even if you could ever stop. He did not wait for you.

So, you cry, even as you peel off your clothes from your pained body, leaning into the stream of luke-warm water in the motel shower. Water which may rinse the blood and grime from the surface of your skin but has no hope of washing the blood from your hands, or wiping the red from your ledger.

Nothing ever could.

Then, you lie alone in bed, your sleeping bag and liner protecting you from the motel bed covers, at least. You stare up blankly at the ceiling, and, as you often do, you try to pinpoint where it all went wrong. You try to rewrite history. You try to imagine all the ways in which things could have worked out.

As always, with certainty, you can say exactly when and where it all went to shit. And, as always, you wish that you could take it back.

You loll your head against the pillow, watching shadows dance through your curtains as snow falls past the glow of that ugly, beautiful phone box. It was a guardian after all, you think, if Santi got to know that you still think of him. That even now you can’t let him go.

Always. Until the end.

Then, your whole body jolts in shock as the phone begins to ring - a loud, shrill insistent noise sounding out into the night, setting off a dog barking across the way, and a baby crying through the paper thin walls to your left.

It couldn’t be? Could it? It couldn’t be for you?

Still, you have to know, and so, you scramble into your snow boots and dash into the brisk night, grappling to lift the phone from its receiver before it rings out, your breath a white cloud of exertion before you.

And, at the same time that you connect to the caller, you spot the second harbinger. You see the shadowed figure there, approaching you from across the lot. You see the outline of a gun in their hand, and their trench billowing around their shins as they maintain a steady pace towards you.

You have nowhere left to run. This is the end of the line. You know it in the depths of you.

So, you simply flatten your back to the phone box, facing your assailant.

You simply close your eyes, willing everything else to disappear as an unmistakeably familiar voice filters through the speaker into your ear. You grip the receiver tightly with both hands.

Santiago Garcia says your name. Your real name. Not one of many aliases you’ve had to assume, painting lies over your existence. He says your real name -one you haven’t heard spoken in so long- and your bottom lip begins to tremble. “Honey, is that you?”

You smile, tears of joy cascading down your face as his simple words stoke more warmth than you have felt in so long. Even as the cold bites at your skin. Even as you hear the continued crunch of footsteps in the snow. Even as you hear a gun cock, mere feet from your body.

Hearing his voice, you think your knees may buckle in relief regardless.

“Hey, old friend,” you say fondly, through an inexplicable, watery smile. And, despite the situation, you feel happy, for the first time in a long while. Bizarre as it is, you are finally able to relax all the way.

Will he remember me as kind, at least?

You grip the phone even more tightly as Santi’s voice surges, coming at you with a million urgent questions. You let them flow through you, and then they are gone, just as easily. You know you will not be afforded the chance to answer even one. So, you say something else instead.

“Remember me, okay?” you breathe. “Remember how I loved you. And I did, Santiago. Right until the end of the line.”

You hope that he will. You can only hope that when the stories and lies and secrets and compromises come out, that he will remember you the way you were in Massachusetts. Before things started to unravel. Before you went on the run.

And, as your eyes screw themelsleves tightly shut, and you brace yourself for what is inevitably coming, you don’t think of him as he is now. Someone distant. Someone who doesn’t belong to you. Someone at the end of the line. You don’t think of yourself that way either.

You remember him the way he was in Massachusetts.

You hope dearly, that he will think of you that way too.

You finally feel warm.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #angst #writer wednesday #santiago pope garcia

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kuroos-moon · 3 years

Text

≫ Incomplete

pairing: miya atsumu x reader

tags: lovers to exes, fluff to angst

warning/s: cheating, angst

wc: 1.8k

part two: complete

You were always a pair, Atsumu and you; not in the way he and Osamu are, but in the sense wherein the weather didn’t decide for him whether his day would be gloomy or not, for the vibrance of his day solely depended on you.

The sun could shine into every dark nook around him, and yet brightness is only blinding to him if you’re nowhere to be seen in the light. On the other hand, even if heavy rain decided to soak his shoes and clothes, the sky a single color which is a boring gray, the world through his eyes—is nothing but warm, glowing, and euphoric.

And as he stares back at your lit-up eyes through the thick shower of rain, hearing your hearty laughter above the weather’s unforgiving noise, he realized that you are his world after all.

Years later and you’re rooted even deeper from wherever he stood, in fact, you had easily become his home. It mattered none that you still don’t live together, it mattered even less that your relationship was kept secret all for the sake of your privacy. What truly mattered to you both, was the unbreakable trust you had in each other, the very trust that made your love grow and last this long.

“I’ll miss ‘ya, don’t forget to eat on time, okay?” Though hooded, strands of his disarray blonde hair still stuck out cutely, and you busy yourself by pushing back his hair as if it were important right now.

“Y/n,” he sighs, taking both your small, shaky hands in his warm, big ones. This is hard for him too.

He scans your face, having memorized how your brows would furrow above your teary eyes, how your lips would quiver and your hands would shake before you cried—he knew that this parting would involve much of your tears yet again.

“I’m fine, I- I’m not gonna cr-

You couldn’t even finish your sentence, sobs already erupting from your throat as he pulls you into his chest, an arm tight around your waist while his other hand rests behind your head, securing you to himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he softly mumbles, head dipped down beside your ear as he rocks you gently along with him, he always hated having to leave you after such little time spent together.

The bus ride to the hotel four towns away from where you lived was excruciating. You weren’t overdramatic when you cried earlier, he never thought that of you; it’s just that your time for each other had greatly been narrowed down to phone calls and irritatingly short meet ups, he understood why you were so sad.

And whose fault is that? His subconscious asks almost instantly.

Come to think of it, it’s always you who had to alter your life around his. Of course, he didn’t just think of it now, but only right then did it hit him that your relationship had gone too imbalanced for he doesn’t know how long—it made him sick to think that he could ever do that to you.

You were both givers in your relationship, but lately all he’d done was take.

Resting his chin on his palm as he stares out the window, flashbacks of your years together played beautifully in his mind, his eyes closed and a small smile on his lips. Today was a Wednesday.

He’ll be home by Friday if he’d be lucky enough to ditch their manager and the celebratory party he couldn’t really care less for, not compared to you. If not, he’ll see you Saturday morning.

Either way, he knows he has to purchase the ring on Thursday night.

He goes over his plan, excitement rushing through him as he visualizes how happy he’ll make you; and he’ll give all of himself to make up for the tears he caused you when he was too busy to make you feel like you weren’t alone.

For starters, announcing your engagement on Sunday morning after proposing on a Saturday date night, and just to flaunt, he’ll post his favorite picture of you both in his socials. Well that’s assuming you don’t refuse, it’s highly unlikely anyway.

Next, he’ll offer you his undivided attention. No more passing out in bed right after practice and missing the chance to see you, no more relying on the fact that you’ll wake up whatever time he calls or comes over, insensitively disrupting your sleep or plans for the day.

Lastly... moving in has been long overdue. With your engagement out to public, there’s no reason to have separate houses anymore. Just the thought of cradling you whenever he wants to, no longer needing to travel and be cautious, has him almost bouncing on his seat.

He’ll be the best husband, and he knows you’ll be an awesome wife—did I say wife? He’s getting too far ahead of himself. His teammates only look at him weirdly as he covers his face with both hands, an inexplicable muffled scream of fluster leaving his lips.

Plans were beautiful, especially when he meant to fulfill them with all of his heart and with all of his being. Small things lead to big changes though, for better or worse, he just wishes he went home right away that night.

You awoke at dawn on a Saturday to a car pulling up outside your house. Still clueless of the world as you’re fresh from sleep, mindlessly looking through your window, immediately brought to your senses when you see their manager’s car.

Racing down the stairs and past the door, you could almost scream in happiness when you see him get off the car. But something’s weird, he looked out of it from where you stood on your doorstep, and he had an arm around Hinata’s shoulders as the latter supported your boyfriend who couldn’t even walk straight.

“Hey, what happened?” You’re quick to wrap an arm around him as you took Hinata’s place in guiding him to your home.

“Shoyo?” He too, seemed out of it. He looks at you with sad eyes, almost as if he came bearing bad news when in fact you’re so grateful he brought Atsumu to you.

“Something happened, y/n.”

That was all the orange left you with but it didn’t really matter much to you, you’re far too preoccupied with taking care of Atsumu.

“Why did you even drink a lot,” you scoldingly say under your breath, hands cupping both his cheeks so he would finally look at you. “What’s wrong, ‘Tsum?”

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps, swatting your hands away before he stands up and walks past you, shakingly running his hands through his blonde locks in frustration.

“What is it?” You ask, hurt by his rejection and his tone. He wasn’t always the nicest person, but to you, he’d never as much as raise his voice or snap at you like that ever since he matured after highschool.

“I’m sorry,” he turns around, and you only look at him in confusion.

“I- I kissed someone else,” he softly says without warning, as if it were something casual and painless.

“What?”

You never thought that he would be capable of doing that to you, in fact, you understood that he was kissed without him wanting to be kissed—the problem is that he kissed back. He could’ve easily hidden it from you, yet you both knew he couldn’t live with it.

On his knees before you as you sat on the bed, he cries on your lap as you lightly run your fingers through his hair. The world for you both came crashing down, he could already feel you slip through his fingers at every apology he sobbed out, his chest aching so much as he forces himself to wake up from this nightmare.

He never woke up though, because it bitterly wasn’t a dream. Glancing up to look at you through his tears, he knew he had shattered you beyond repair—a single night was all it took—when all of more than five years together, he had spent nurturing you with so much care and affection.

What agonized him the most was the void look in your eyes, he had destroyed what you both had, and deep down he knew that it will take eons if not forever for you to love someone else. If only he could take away your hurt, if only he hadn’t done what he did, if only he went straight home to you.

“What now, ‘Tsum?” You ask him, lost and almost dead inside, but you still had the heart to hold him against you because truth is, this would be your last night together.

“Be happy and go on with your life,” he lowly says. Contrary to how his words held meaning of parting, he hugs you even tighter to himself.

“Without you?”

He almost chokes at the lump on his throat, but he had managed to be firm with his resolve—it’s the least he could do for you.

“Yes. Without me,” he says the words he never wanted to say, kissing your temple when you cry once more into his chest.

You were always a pair, Atsumu and you; not in the way he and Osamu are, but in the sense wherein one could never be without the other.

So what becomes of a torn-apart pair?

What you had was something you both would call shatterproof to an extend beyond bounds, but what you didn’t know was that when shatterproof things do what they aren’t ever expected to do—when they do break, tear, and shatter—everything else crumbles as severely as how strong the ‘unbreakable’ was supposed to be.

You’re just two souls who had become one, now separated and agonizingly partial and incomplete.

You still read two zodiac signs and leave space for him in bed, taking into account years of him suddenly sneaking in your room to sleep beside you and getting up before you even woke. You’re stuck in a cycle of always thinking for two and not only yourself, in every decision you make or thoughts you thought over, at the back of your mind, you’d wonder what he would think about it or what he’d tell you if he were still with you.

And as he stares back at your lit-up eyes through the thick shower of rain, hearing your hearty laughter above the weather’s unforgiving noise, he realized that you are his world after all.

To Atsumu since your parting, his rainy days were just that—rainy. Even in nice weather he could only lock himself alone in his room, praying that you were enjoying the sun unlike him; for every little detail of his life revolted back to the thought of you, like how he’d stare longer at his hand, almost imagining a translucent image of your fingers slipping through the gaps of his.

The ring he had bought? He kept it hidden in his shelf, and for as long as he’s alive he’ll keep it as a painful but much deserved reminder of a life with you that could’ve been.

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#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu!! oneshots #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! headcanons #atsumu miya #haikyuu angst #haikyuu!! x you #haikyuu x you #atsumu miya x reader

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amonrawya · 3 years

Text

The Greatest Gift of All

youtube

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town.

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky.

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning.

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out.

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast.

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief.

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being.

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now?

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life.

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them.

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition.

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her.

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

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lydias--stiles · 3 years

Text

canon juke fluff based on “till forever falls apart” by ashe and finneas

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Raucous laughter disappeared in a snap as the door slammed behind her. Her feet stumbled from the sudden change, finding her balance again and then hopping towards the garden gate. She left a glitter trail in her wake.

Julie turned seventeen today. She knew it’d be special the second she woke up, Carlos blaring ‘Dancing Queen’ like a little shit before her alarm clock went off. It was the most brotherly way he could congratulate her and she loved him for it. (Not after she chased him though - who the hell did that?!)

Flynn came by during breakfast, phasing through Alex without realising as she placed a glittery crown atop Julie’s curls. It was plastic and clunky and the number 17 was pink and glowed in the dark. Luke sat on the kitchen island teasing her for it, Reggie helping Ray make pancakes and yelling he wanted one too. It was barely seven am and her day was the best.

At school, she was showered with birthday wishes and her Instagram flooded with messages of people that confirmed they’d come to her party.

Despite everything, her traitorous thoughts always ended up in the same spot. Luke. He teased her at breakfast, but he didn’t hug her like Alex and Reggie. He didn’t poof beside her as she walked down the driveway to quickly impart a joke or a secret or a lyric, something for her to mull about on the trek to school with Flynn. There was nothing.

On the one hand, it could just be pre-performance jitters. Luke took every gig a hundred percent seriously and got pretty intense if a lot of people were going to be watching. If he didn’t set the stage on fire in one song, he’d feel like he failed. So yeah, Julie allowed herself to think that was the case for his absentmindedness.

If only she didn’t know him so well. She knew it was something else entirely. She knew it had to do with her age; the fact that she aged. It was hard to not let it temper her birthday excitement, but all she wished for (just like when she blew out her candles for her sixteenth birthday) was for them to hide in her daydreams and be together without qualms. That he was hers.

Luke and her have made plenty of mistakes over the two years that they’ve known each other. Falling in love wasn’t one. She couldn’t believe that - even if he’d given her mixed signals since their fated gig at The Orpheum.

The party was a hit. Dad bought a big peanut butter chocolate cake and they played their best set ever, the studio decorated in an explosion of flowers and butterflies and streamers. Julie was in a glittery purple dress, the crown to match, each lyric coming from her lips laced with glee and pink lemonade. That perpetual thrill coursing through her as she danced with Reggie and hyped up Alex and - her favourite part of all - shared the mic with Luke. His aloof behaviour from before was gone then, coming towards her in that greedy way that made her heart stutter out of place.

Julie wondered if anyone ever believed he was a hologram prior to the band ‘moving to America’. How could they, when he’s always looked so alive and real and warm and with his eyes so intently on hers that it felt like he bore through her, straight to her soul.

Pushing through the sensation, she shot him a teasing grin and returned to the piano.

After the set, Flynn put her DJ skills to good use and put on a killer playlist. Julie danced until her feet ached, sang along until her throat hurt, ate cake until she was full. She was happy and seventeen. As the hours went by, more and more classmates trickled away, ending with her family hoarding the kitchen island as they ate the remnants of cake. All except one.

It hurt. Julie knew Luke was brooder - but on her birthday? Because he couldn’t handle it? Tomorrow, she'd be on her way to surpass them. First Reggie, then Alex and then Luke. Was it selfish of her for wanting to spend time with him? For wanting to dance with him? If just once? If Alex and Reggie could, why couldn’t he?

Without a second thought (or third, fourth, fifth - it was always and forever tethered to Luke), she stumbled out the front door towards the garden gate. Glitter stuck to the pavement.

The light was on in the studio, their safe haven surrounded by fallen decorations as if a storm had passed. Her bare foot kicked a balloon, a smile tugging on her lips as the purple thing drifted and bounced against the trees.

She slid the doors open. There he was.

“Luke?”

His back was turned towards her, head bent over the grand piano as he fervently wrote in his trusty songbook. More songs were theirs than just his in there, she knew, and it left her warm.

He perked up, head turning, a gentle smile on his lips. “Hey birthday girl. You look like shit.”

She laughed, coming closer, and watched as more glitter fell to the floor. She must look like a sweaty, exhausted disco ball. Despite this, a sense of calmness washed over her. Luke was here and he was smiling at her and everything made sense again.

“Thanks,” she jabbed. “You look even worse.”

Tensing his muscles, as if she hadn’t seen them before, he smirked. “Please. The sweat makes my arms look better.”

The smile stuck to her cheeks, stupidly enamoured by his silliness, and remembered a time when she didn’t allow herself to feel like this. But that was before the late night sessions in the studio, before he became corporeal, before he placed tender kisses on her forehead before important gigs, as if infusing her with the power to kill it, before he hung out in her room and before he allowed her to know more about 90s-Luke. (There wasn’t much difference. According to his stories, he was just as endearing then.)

Before one frustrated kiss between them, months ago, nearly blew everything up. If the band and their connection wasn’t so tight, she didn’t know what would’ve happened. They never spoke about it. Perhaps the knowledge that it happened, the idea that it could happen again, realising that her daydreams weren’t one-sided - it left her yearning. Who would blame her? She was seventeen.

The kiss had been a mistake, but that ‘stupidly enamoured’ feeling? It was only a natural reaction. She didn’t want anyone else.

Crossing the final distance, Julie tightly wrapped her arms around him. Luke held her close, face burrowed in her neck and letting his waning body spray and her flowery perfume melt together.

“You haven’t given me a hug today,” she whispered.

He nodded. “I know.”

She bit back a sigh. This couldn’t be a mistake too. “Why?”

“Cause you’re seventeen,” he muttered. “I can’t pretend you’re-”

“Younger?”

His palms curled around her, pulling back slightly to look her in the eye. The green, bright yet troubled, flitted across her face. Dejected, it dropped to the ground, as if the sight of her brought him wonder and ache at once. Could she tell him it was mutual? Could she-

“Able to be mine.”

It was uttered so quietly, she almost didn’t catch it. It was as if the world went off its axis, both precariously close to falling off the edge and Julie debating whether that would be a bad thing or not. If it really was that insane if it meant she got to be right here, in his arms.

The feeling coiled in her stomach, pushed itself up her ribcage, straight through her heart and slid past her throat. The words danced on her lips, lively and colourful and devoted.

And then she said it. “I love you.”

His eyes slowly locked with hers, a glint of uncertainty found beneath. The lack of surprise on his part would make her laugh had she not been so terrified to lose him completely, all at once. His fingers pressed into her skin, like she’d be the one backtracking her words and running out. Like he wasn’t the one with the ability to vanish from her grasp.

Luke exhaled and dropped his forehead against hers, gaze unwavering. Her instincts told her to shut her eyes, look away, maybe even bridge the gap, but they were so close to finally becoming something. Whatever that might be.

“Why aren’t you scared?”, he breathed.

Her nervous hands found solace on his cheeks. “I am scared. And it’s despite that. All I wanted today, Luke, was have you be with me.” And then her eyes clenched tight anyway, overwhelmed by the moment. “I’m scared and- and despite everything… I love you.”

Her vulnerability hanging by a thread, she watched as he processed her words. She had no clue if she said or did the right thing, though her hands were frozen in place. Her heart rate picked up when he mirrored her, calloused fingers slipping from her shoulders to her face.

Luke swallowed, hard. “I’m sorry that- that I’ve been distant. But I’m scared and not for the reasons you think. I’m scared cause-” His chuckle was like a candle awakening in a dark cave. “-cause I don’t wanna spend a minute loving anyone else.”

The previous terror washed away, a brilliant smile blooming on her lips at his confession. Her head tilted, allowing her nose to brush his and sigh when he didn’t pull back.

“I was scared cause I thought you didn’t want that,” he finished.

Her voice drowned in reverence. “I do want that. I want you. Until…” Shaking her head, she let out the truth. “Until the universe takes you back.”

The boy laughed, relief sagging his shoulders and pulling so impossibly close, so tightly it should’ve hurt - had euphoria not been bursting in her chest at the simple action. His watery eyes held all she ever wanted to see. Him. Honestly, truly, him.

“I-”, he stuttered, his own anxious smile stopping him. Her thumbs pressed into the lines, urging him to keep going. It softened, in that earnest way only he knew of. “I think I fell back on this earth to be with you, Julie. I think- I know I’m yours.” That incredulous laugh erupted from his chest again, so full, as if it’d been waiting. “I’m so glad I get to hold you.”

There was so much she wanted to say - that she was his, has always been his, that it was insane because they were so young, but what the hell was time anyway? Julie wanted to be with him, forever, until forever disintegrated like smoke between her fingers.

Now, she cradled his cheeks and he was warm. And he told her he loved her, in ways she never expected him to.

Instead of speaking, Julie kissed him. Her lips were sticky from soda and his still held the taste of lovesick words and lyrics, but it was perfect. Their mouths puckered from smiling, that damned kiss from months ago replaced by this one. It felt as if all her wishes, her restless midnight questions, all were granted by one simple touch. By his arms wrapping around her and hers gripping onto his jaw and hair. So tight, so close, as if the tides of Fate would pull the other away right this second.

But nothing happened that second. And the one after that. And again, again, again. They kissed and the universe allowed them to.

Julie didn’t think there was a more beautiful way to fall in love.

With a quiet thrill leading up her spine, she told him. “I think this year might be fun,” the girl grinned against his lips. “The first year of forever of giving my heart to you.”

His tender gaze rested on hers, relaxed hands caressing her back. Love was a good look on him. “Are you gonna say stuff like that now? To fuck with me?”

She giggled, glee bursting at the seams. “You started!”

“Yeah.” Luke trailed off, a dopey smile glittering his eyes. Just as he leaned in for another kiss, he stilled. “Oh! I was writing some stuff for a song!” Nodding at the discarded notebook on the piano, he asked: “Wanna work on it?”

Just like that, they were back to being Luke and Julie. Singers, musicians, writing partners, best friends, each other’s forever.

Propping the glittery crown on his head, she matched his fond expression and went to sit on the piano bench. “Yeah, show me.”

Julie would look back on that moment and smile. Two seventeen year olds, defying Fate and the Universe and everything in between, mocking the stars that yes, Luke and her did belong together. There was strength in knowing their forever was predetermined, that they knew it wouldn’t be eternal, but that that was okay. Every second mattered then. Every laugh became fuller, a kiss more passionate, a smile brighter. They spent a lifetime, counted in quick adolescent years, sharing their hearts.

For a while, Luke was hers. And forevermore would they be together - in the whispers of songs, in memories, in lingering cologne on clothing.

It was the sweetest, most adventurous romance of all.

But that wasn’t important now. Luke sat next to her, held his notebook out, and together they did what they knew best. When the clock struck midnight, all he did was kiss her again.

“You know,” he muttered, lips brushing her ear. “The things we said? Might make for a killer song.”

Julie’s nose scrunched up in delight, thumbing to a fresh page and clicking her pen. Nuzzling into his neck and interlacing their free hands, she swore she felt it. Their tether. It was real - just as real as him loving her and her loving him. It was there. She took a deep breath.

“Let’s do it.”

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@blush-and-books @bluefirewrites @unsaid-emily @willexx @ourstarscollided @constantly-singing @ruzek-halstead

#juke #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms #otp: i think we make each other better #i was supposed to make this when the song came out but i got sidetracked

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

One Can Never Escape Destiny

Shan-Yu x Empress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Murder scene (non-graphic)

Genre: Angst, Romance (one-sided)

Summary: After fulfilling his plan of taking over China Shan-Yu and his army have made it to the palace of Empress Y/L/N Y/N. However, one obstacle the warrior still fails to overcome is swaying the Empress herself, getting in her good graces. Unable to kill her, he is left to do all he can to have her spare him as much as a civil word.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for such and amazing and so different request from what I’m used to. This is my first time writing for a Disney character, a villain even, so I hope to have fulfilled your expectations even with it being so late in posting. Please enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

She refuses to eat or see the light of day. She’s been hidden away in a single room of the palace ever since China fell. She attempted to fight and gave her all when her eyes met his poisonous ones and her sword’s blade collided with his. The fight was a difficult one, he had to admit. She would’ve won had she not had a heart of gold. Putting her right-hand man’s under the sharp dagger in his merciless hand left her no choice. She loved that man, he could see it in her eyes. And he wasn’t going to kill the pathetic excuse for a member of the Empress’ council, but seeing that look of devotion and adoration in her gaze when her eyes met with his drove him in a fit of absolute rage. He couldn’t restrain himself and let the blade slide across the man’s neck only after the Empress had surrendered.

“NOOO!“ She had shrieked in terror and sorrow, all her pain audible in her cry that echoed all throughout the palace, piercing the monstrous warrior’s ears. He couldn’t bare to see her so distraught, over another man on top of all, so her ordered his men to take her to one of the chambers and leave her to collect herself. She still had fight left in her though. She escaped from his men’s grasps and overpowered them both until a third one knocked her out cold with the handle of his dagger. A choice of action that landed him the second dead body to be thrown out of the palace that night.

He specifically instructed the man taking Y/N to her chamber to be gentle and caring with her and to leave the door unlocked, maybe even open a crack. He didn’t want her to feel trapped in her own home.

He sat by one of the windows all through the late dark hours of the night and even met the sunrise at dawn. He contemplated so many things, scolded himself even. He had become the ruler of China and yet he had never felt so low and defeated. He even let his mind wander to the option of killing the Empress for his own peace of mind but he knew he wouldn’t be able to the second he realized he wasn’t even able to picture himself doing it. The very though sickened him to his stomach and he was disgusted with himself to have ever allowed himself to think such a thought.

The main thing troubling him was the fact that he didn’t know where such admiration came from. He had never admired nor respected a woman before but he felt the need to bow before her instead of the other way around. He wanted to be her loyal servant, tending to her every need at the bat of her eyelashes. He could barely believe himself either way - killing her or adoring her, they were both thoughts bordering into insanity, he couldn’t tell which was worse. Of course he could, he just wanted to lie to himself. He knew he could never lay a hand on her.

Shan-Yu had fallen under the spell of the very Empress he was supposed to end in order to fulfill his evil plans.

He should want her dead while he’s prepared to kill whoever dares even wish her harm. Funny how destiny works. Or perhaps this is karma punishing him for his evil ways by putting one bump in the road right in front of him - one so easy to get rid of in theory, but he could never commit to it.

It has been four full days since that fateful night and he hasn’t heard nor seen her. He’s not willing to disturb her peace and earn himself an injury from the infuriated Empress but the hours of overthinking, contemplating and self-battling are weighing heavy on him. His men are beginning to notice, although they’d never say anything - they may be cruel, dumb fools but they respect their lives enough to not put them at a risk like that. Not even a risk, more like certain death. They all obeyed his orders of bringing the Empress food three times a day every day and they all witnessed the defeat and worry that washed over their leader’s face whenever they brought back the dishes untouched hours after they had delivered them.

So, after a lot of self-convincing and doubting, Shan-Yu has bitten the bullet - he is walking the halls to the Empress Y/L/N Y/N’s chamber. He makes it to her door sooner than he’d like, his confidence is not fully built. His composure could easily be shaken. His words are scrambled and even if he could form coherent sentences, he knows they die in his throat.

‘Pull yourself together, you pathetic mutt‘ He scolds himself for the hundredth time in the past hour. Easier said than done, though. She’s a woman of incredible strength, power and character. She was respected by every individual in China, not a single soul looked down upon her. They had already hated him, but now that he has allegedly put their dear Empress in misery, he’d be dead along with his army if they weren’t so strongly feared.

Shan-Yu brings himself to knock on the chamber doors, his voice a faint echo through the massive hallway when he calls out, “Empress, may I enter?”

No answer, as he expected. He is half expecting to not even be there, to have escaped. He knows her better than that though.

Cautiously pushing the door open, he’s met with a dark room only lit by the moonlight seeping in through a small rectangular window directly opposite the door. He sees her silhouette in the windowsill. She’s sitting facing away from him, looking out of the window at the rooftops underneath the clear, starry night sky. She doesn’t bother to turn her head to acknowledge his presence, also as expected.

A small detail he notices sends shivers down his spine - there are metal bars on her window. Why?

“I was a rebellious child. I knew my destiny before even understanding what it meant. All I knew was that I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be Empress. I wanted to be one of those brave souls who were prepared to leave to a front knowing they might not return.“ Her voice rings through the cold, dark space, bouncing off the walls in a haunting manner, enchanting him. “My father knew I would be more than capable of running away so I was frequently spending plenty of time here, locked up. As I am now.“

She is still facing away from him but he still shakes his head as though she could see him. “You are not locked here, Empress Y/N. The door is always open. This palace is still yours.”

“That you are right about.“ Y/N’s head turns finally and his heart drops.

She is pale, eyebags weighing heavy under her tired eyes. Her hair is covering her face but her pale complexion is more than visible even from behind her locks. She looks like she has been crying, not that she’s a woman who cries often. A tear of hers has the same value as a bar of gold.

She continues. “Chu Bao, the man you killed in front of my very eyes, was the only man I’ve ever loved and the only person who saw me as more than my title. I’m not just an Empress! Everyone forgets that!“

He feels hurt by her remark, “Y/N, I know. I know better than anyone. I have overtaken all of China and yet you are my greatest prize...”

She cuts him off, her shaky hands pushing her hair to the side so she can look directly at him, her crystal eyes meeting his menacing yellow ones with such intensity he feels it almost like a physical presence. “I am no prize, you monster! I’m a person who destiny played wrong! I given a role I have never been happy with. But I had to play it to maintain the honor of my family and of China as a whole. It taught me a valuable lesson: No matter the tries, one can never escape destiny. So...” she trails off, her eyes losing their feisty glow as she turns back to the window, “I embraced it and became one with my land, this palace, my title. And I will stay one with them till my death. Now, leave! And don’t bring me food anymore. Don’t check on me. I want it all to end the way it started - in this palace, in this chamber. I want to go out with the last bit of dignity I have. If nothing, I will die without ever bowing to you. I may have surrendered, but consider this me prolonging the fight.” He hears her scoff, a humorless chuckle, “The moment I die will be the moment I win.”

Shan-Yu has never been a man to live to face defeat. He always defeats the defeat, stands up taller than ever whenever he’s been brought down. Now is different, however. His defeat is inevitable. It hasn’t even happened yet, but he knows the battle’s lost. His hands are tied. He would never disobey a wish of Y/N’s nor could he live with her slowly dying. He cannot keep her alive against her will, and he can’t end it all quickly for her either.

She has already won, but she’s not aware.

Empress Y/L/N Y/N has defeated the monstrous, villainous conqueror Shan-Yu twice in her life: once when she had him fall in love with her and again when she chose to put an end to her life, leaving him powerless.

All he can do now is accept his defeat and allow for Y/N to become nothing but a battle scar on his heart.

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btssmutficslovingfan01 · 4 years

Text

Omegaverse Horny

Summary: You’re conveniently left alone with your crush who also happens to be an alpha. What happens when your heat strikes and all you can do is listen to your instincts?

Words: 2.9k

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Producer! Namjoon, Camerawoman! reader, breeding kink, knotting, unprotected sex, Alpha/Omega/Beta Dynamics, Big dick Joon (his cock can grow), Y/n is omega-horny

A/N: Happy belated b-day Joon! 🥳 🥳 🥳 I wrote this on a whim, completely unplanned.

“You’re doing it wrong. You’re supposed to staple it like this.”

“Oh-oh. I’m sorry producer-nim. Today’s shooting was hard. The head cameraman made me redo shots and my arm is all numb from holding it in one place for so long.”

You vent to the dimpled man as he gazes at you with familiar golden eyes. His wolf is calling to you, you can almost hear him from within, playfully tugging at your wolf’s ears. Alphas and omegas are supposed to be the best mates after all.

The newest laws were placed about a year ago, to ensure that Omegas weren’t mistreated, because of your infamous reputation for being weak and just breeding holes for your alphas’ knots.

Werewolves have existed in human culture for hundreds of years now, the two integrating fully in peace since humans were just dormant werewolves, technically. They were what you would call “betas,” and these people do not have a heat or a rut as strong as alphas and omegas possess. Unfortunately, they also cannot help inner wolves with their heat, since their Hydes are in a state of comatose. A dead Hyde means they can never reproduce with a wolf. Which is why most betas stick to other betas.

Alphas and omegas have been pretty equal in numbers as of late, enabling most werewolves to have one mate. Before, in 2010, numbers of omegas were so scarce that some alphas had to latch onto omegas in groups, sharing that poor soul until they all successfully knotted them.

Luckily, this reduced the primal urge to be greedy in alphas and made polyamory much accepted in the werewolf community. Betas turned a blind eye to it since in the eyes of society, it was a sin. Especially for women, since most of the time, omega women were being shared by throngs of alpha males. Alpha women were also sharing omega males and it went on like that for any other combinations.

Now, society has reached a point where breeding is less for reproduction purposes as it is for the thrill of sex. Still, if a werewolf is mated, of course, they’d want to impregnate their partner with pups.

And boy did you have hopes for your crush, Namjoon. He aided you through most of your heats when you were locked in your bedroom alone with just a pile of cock-shaped sex toys.

You were too shy to ask him out on a date, much less ask him to fuck you senseless. You couldn’t even admit that you had a crush on him to his face! You were the weakest omega there ever was.

“Why didn’t he just make you use the crane?” He snaps you back to the real world as you feel a strange liquid pooling down in your pants. You weren’t due for your period, it finished about a week ago. What could this be? The sudden wave of pain in your gut strikes, making you stumble forward and grab onto the desk. “Oh god, are you okay?” Namjoon runs towards you, his sweet scent of pine filling your nose and making your omega whine. His eyes turn a darker shade of yellow, as he peers down at your figure with a frown. “Your scent...why do you smell so sweet little omega?” You bite back a groan as you clutch your stomach, a wave of arousal coursing through your entire body before you turn to look at him.

“M’ sorry alpha. Just didn’t think it would come so soon.”

“On the floor, sweet. I need to breed you.” A carnal rush of adrenaline kicks in, your heart beating erratically quickly as your crush takes dominion of the situation.

“Why do you wanna do that? I haven’t even told you about how I feel yet…” Your words slur as you drop to the floor, kicking off your ankle boots as Namjoon crawls over you with need. He has an unnatural glow as he leans over you, his lips ghosting your neck as he mutters something under his breath.

“I thought it was obvious, little one. I’m sorry but with your scent, I can’t let you walk out of here without at least knotting you first. My wolf won’t allow it.” You understand, your wolf is just screaming “BREED,” but you’re just barely restraining yourself, helplessly listening to your alpha’s commands. It’s just a state of mind that you can’t control, like your period, or breathing, or another natural function that just happens with no explanation.

“What are you waiting for alpha? Aren’t you gonna knot me?” Namjoon curses under his breath as you press your lips against his in a hasty kiss as if he would run away if you didn’t take action. He kisses back just as aggressively, shoving you back into the floor as he tugs at your clothes and they come off with ease. He takes off his shirt in turn, revealing his glorious abs as he glows in the fluorescent light from the studio. You were currently on the set of an idol-based drama, on the interior of a room made to look like a dance practice room. So there were mirrors and barres and the entire set stretched till the ceiling.

No one could interrupt you here, since shooting wrapped up a long time ago and you were supposed to stay back with Namjoon to sort through and pick the final shots for the project. You were too wrapped up in each other to care about your work now, you still had about five hours to go.

“J-Joon!” You moan out his name, scratching his back with your claw-like nails as he sucks your nipples harshly through his teeth. Your lower body is shuddering, arousal coating your clit as Namjoon casts away your skirt and panties.

“Mmm smells so good.” Without hesitation, he laps at your folds, your entire body shuddering with desire and a grin spreading across your face as you bite back a moan.

“Namjoon,” You moan again, as he delivers kitten licks to your core and swirls his tongue around your pearl before coating your hole in spit. He spits on your clit, the cold saliva making you tense up but loosened up your pussy so he could fuck you as he wanted. “Don’t hold back.” Your omega squeaks as Joon pushes himself in with no warning, your entire body thrashing beneath him as you climax all too quickly.

“Ahhhhh, you’re squeezing me. This little omega pussy is taking my cock so well.” Your inner walls clamp down on him as he moves quickly, his speed decreasing in response to your weak body’s reaction. Your body couldn’t simply take a big dick like his so easily if it wasn’t for your heat releasing extra fluids. Thanks to that, Namjoon was able to slide his generous length into your narrow hole. You were so tiny compared to him, the only thing that was “big” about you was your breasts.

Namjoon rips off your shirt next, and then he unhooks your bra and tosses it aside before squeezing your breasts between his warm hands and inhaling your delectable scent. He was wholeheartedly ready to devour you, but his wolf was not going to let him do anything else if he did not fill you with his knot.

You knew the day would come when you turn to an alpha to satisfy your needs and fuck you until you’re pregnant with his pups, but this was happening all too fast. You were unmarried, unhinged, and practically bouncing off the walls. You’ve never even had sex. You were a virgin, so stupid and silly for thinking things would work out for the last 26 years of your pathetic life.

“Joon.” You call out his name, eyes glazed over with lust as he crawls between your legs, and in all his naked glory, he thrusts his unsheathed cock into your sopping hole. Salacious sounds of cock and pussy echo throughout the room, sweat dripping from his forehead as he pushes in and pulls out, his cock covered in your essence, a putrid stench of cum clinging to his perfectly shaped mushroom tip. However, it smells like the best thing in the world to him.

“Take my knot little omega, I’m gonna fuck my knot into you. Just remember, you’ll feel a little bit of pain and once I start I can’t stop so tell me.” You’re in too deep to stop. Your eyes bore into each other as you nod, giving a small “yes,” before allowing Joon to let his wolf take over. “Wanna bite. Smell so good...mmm I bet you’ll look even prettier with your belly swollen with my pups.” You can tell the person speaking isn’t your Joon. It’s his wolf, the one who dictates the more...animalistic decisions for Namjoon. You know it’s him because of the deep rich quality of his voice. Joon doesn’t use a deep voice at all, now that you think about it. You’ve read about it too, the wolf is the only one who can knot you.

“Alpha, your cock is so big..” You trail off, muscles tightening as your core clenches around the exceptionally big dick. Was it always this big or did it just grow? Must be your imagination. Either way, you’re ready to take his knot. At least, every ounce of your wolf is screaming for you to take it. You have a lot more control than your wolf, so luckily it is safer for you to be out while your wolf watches from the sidelines. Mating is something one should not take lightly, and while you may be on your heat, your mind is still clear enough for you to make rational decisions.

It’s just that this time ‘round, you’re horny and your crush just so conveniently happened to be at the same place at the same time. Plus, he seems to be into the whole thing. A man that doesn’t run from you? You weren’t ugly, you weren’t gorgeous. You were just slightly prettier than the average girl. That’s it.

“Stop crying. Your sole purpose is to take my knot, so take it. I know you can, sweet omega. You’re all slicked up for me,” He gathers your slick up with his fingers, before pushing it up your slit and making you buck your hips against his hardening cock as the next wave of arousal pulses through you. His cock is rigid, and all you can do is bite back your screams as your alpha moves slightly. “Shit, at this rate I’m gonna rip you apart.” Namjoon looks down in worry, as he sees that his cock isn’t moving the way he wants it to go. Sometimes men are so humorous as sometimes they are blessed with large assets but they have no clue on how to use it. You loved how he would sometimes take control of his body again, since his wolf was more aggressive and you just really needed reassurance again before he proceeded to fuck his knot into you.

The affection is present in his voice as he apologizes for moving a bit too quickly, as you can feel every inch of him deep in your hole. You didn’t think his dick could reach so many inches, and neither did you have knowledge of your body being able to handle the stretch without a single drop of blood. You were surprised the floor was still clean considering you and Joon had leaked a lot. Whatever didn’t go in your pussy landed on the floor. You were going to have to use a mop..

“I’m okay, just please knot me already so we can get to work. My heat won’t let me off.” Namjoon growls underneath his breath as you shift beneath him, your thighs beginning to ache as the man readjusts your position so that both your thighs were wrapped around his hips.

“I know how you feel. My wolf won’t let me do anything else if I don’t take care of you. It’s my duty, as an alpha,” He groans, sensations of your clenching heat wrapping around his cock overwhelming his alpha hyde. His wolf growls for more, as Namjoon fingers your velvety folds and you watch him through the mirror as he rubs your clit in circles at the same time as he thrusts his cock into you at a relatively fast pace. He’s sped up, since you were keeping up with him. “Oh my god, it’s coming. I’m gonna fill you-” Before he could get another word in, a small squeal leaves your lips.

You were being knotted, truly knotted as his gunky cum gets embedded in your womb, your entrance covered in glistening alpha-slick as he marks you on your neck, biting down on a spot that’s only reserved for mates. Technically, any wolves that do the deed are considered mates, but this mark shows commitment, that you are bound to another wolf by more than just a physical tether.

You knew he liked you more than just a quick fuck. Your omega bows to him, as you quickly get to work on licking his neck too, like the gentle omega you are, you mark his neck too, as softly and painlessly as possible. The golden-eyed alpha smiles at you before covering his retracting penis with his hands. You simply grin at him, too blinded by your affection for him to notice his shrinking penis.

“It’s a normal bodily function. I know how knotting works. Although, I don’t think I’m pregnant. I had a birth control implant placed a year ago in case anything went wrong and I was in danger. You know, small omega, big city.”

Instead of reacting how other alphas normally would, your crush just presses the most gentle, feathery kiss on your forehead. You feel your nipples harden again from the memory of his touch. He lets out a low, sexy chuckle before turning to grab his clothes from the ground.

“Sorry I couldn’t take you out to dinner first. As much as I like wining and dining my women, your heat backed me into a corner. I couldn’t ignore my wolf either, since you were a needy omega who could only be relieved by the help of an alpha.” You blush, as he throws you your clothes as well so you could get changed and finish working.

“Don’t be. Maybe this was supposed to happen one way or another. I mean, how long do you think I would’ve lasted if you continued teasing me so rudely?” Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to be confused. He has no recollection of such a memory, he never intended to tease you with any of his actions in the past.

“Pardon? I don’t understand.” You frown at his feigned innocence. He knew you had a crush on him, so he purposely did all those things.

“Oh, you know what you were doing. “Dropping your papers” so you could pick them up, showing off that nice ass to the entire world. Damn, were you trying to kill me?”

“Actually-”

“And don’t get me started on all those times you raced by my desk so you could get a paperclip. The way you reached up to the top shelf was sinful. With muscles like those, you could do a lot more than carrying boxes, my dear,” He stopped trying to talk in between your rant since you were too busy thirsting over him as he kept his arms folded. “Fuck, I’m getting wet just thinking about how you would sometimes pat your thighs while you worked. It’s so fucking sexy for an alpha to be so built. You’re just a hunk, aren’t you? So hopelessly hot.” After your rant is over, Joon just folds his arms and asks,

“Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“All of those things you mentioned were because of my clumsiness. While you thought I was doing them on purpose, I did drop my papers, and break the paperclips at my desk so I had to get new ones, and the patting thighs thing is a nervous habit. I just don’t get how you made it all sexual in your mind.” You weren’t embarrassed, no. Omegas are sexual creatures, perhaps more sexual than alphas. When you’re horny, it’s a lot more than just getting turned on by a single alpha male. In addition to Joon, the running water from a tap can burst your bundle of nerves, the cameras can make you think about all of the dirty things you could do in front of it, and when you mark up scripts, you can’t help but imagine all kinds of dirty scenarios for the PG-rated scenes you shoot.

“I don’t know, I guess I was just omega-horny.”

“What’s that?” You shrug as he grabs your jacket and you lead him to the PC so you could pick final shots.

“You could guess from the name. Omegas are horny in general. Maybe not all, but I’m one of the ones that get turned on by anything and everything. You better not take advantage of it.” Namjoon smiles sweetly before stealing one last kiss from you.

“Don’t you mean I should take full advantage of it? Use you like my little knothole? Didn’t you say you liked being knotted?” You turn fully red as Namjoon scratches his head in confusion.

“What, did I say something wrong?”

“Nope, I’m just horny.”

#namjoon x reader #bts smut #Smut #namjoon smut #omegaverse #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #alpha joon #omega reader #mature #smutcentralnet #hyunglinenetwork #oneshot

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uwuwriting · 3 years

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This side of paradise (S.Todoroki)

Ask me why my heart's inside my throat

I've never been in love, I've been alone

It was true he had never been in love, in fact he had never felt love. Growing up in that household took away a lot more than just his childhood. But he guesses that it's okay now. He has friends and he can say he is happy with his life despite the hollow feeling in his chest that won’t seem to disappear even after all his growth. Even after he made friends, even after he accepted his father’s side of himself, even after he could freely laugh with others. It was a constant pang, one that kept reminding him of the things that were still left unsaid in his life, of the questions that kept flooding his brain every time he closed his eyes. It was always a painful process, the healing, but he would manage. He had his friends after all now. He also had an angel by his side, what could possibly go wrong?

Feel like I've been living life asleep

Love so strong it makes me feel so weak

At times he really questions himself. He becomes such a coward whenever you are involved. Breath coming out in quick puffs, heart fluttering in his chest, cheeks flushed the same red as his scar, his mind running wild with all your features. Your smile, how your right cheek makes a small dimple every time you laugh, the crinkle of your eyes as you giggle, the strand of hair that keeps falling in front of your eyes that causes him physical pain not to tuck it behind your ear. He swears he becomes brain dead whenever you are involved in any shape or form. For a few moments, that hollowness is filled. His chest felt warm and he swore his soul relaxed. You were his anchor on earth and as much as he didn’t want to admit it he was finally feeling love. Despite not doing anything apart from being a good friend, you were giving him the love he needed.

“Todoroki-kun you comin?” Maybe he wasn’t so lonely after all.

Our fingers dancing when they meet

Training with you was always a pleasure. He loved how in sync the both of you were. When he attacked you dodged, always going for his left side that he tends to leave open only for him to block your attack. It was an endless cycle, neither of you changing your attacks continuing this dance for hours on end. He liked it. You both liked it in fact. Every brush of your fingertips on bare skin sent shivers down your spines, leaving two blushy idiots in their wake as you aimlessly tried to calm your racing heartbeats. To an outsider, or your friends for that matter, it was clear that you both had a thing for each other. Stolen glances, lingering touches and soft smiles, it was a true mystery how you hadn’t noticed. Shoto tackled you to the floor, legs on either side of your torso, his hands grasping yours over your head. Letting out a chuckle, he smirked at you a proud indicator of his victory. It was short lived however as he noticed your position, a crimson blush erupting on his cheeks putting the left side of his hair to shame. Despite your own flustered state you raised your leg, managing to slither it under his own as you pushed yourself off the ground, rolling to the side this time landing on top of him. Your hands went immediately to his wrists, pinning them to the gym floor simultaneously hooking your ankles over his knees, preventing any movement. You both could only pant in unison as your eyes locked. His eyes are out of this world.

“I think I won, Todo-kun.” you smiled down at him, a more tamer version of his smirk from before. I really want to kiss you right now. Your eyes widen for a second before you pull yourself away, playing with your fingers as you thank him. In a flash you were out of the gym, leaving him on the floor. He was utterly confused for the next few hours, completely zoning out as he thought back to the encounter. How you avoided his gaze wasn’t helping either. He was ready to ask you what’s wrong when it hit him. Did he really think that out loud?

You seem so lonely

(Are you lonely?)

You had been avoiding him for about two weeks now and Todoroki was starting to lose his mind. The usually calm and collected fire and ice user was now a jittery mess, his nerves being all over the place as he went about his day. It had reached a point where even his father had asked him if everything was alright. He had tried approaching you but you would always make an excuse to leave, stuttering in the process a habit that you seem to have picked up after his little slip up. He groaned as he laid his forehead on his desk, math homework long forgotten as his mind traveled once again, for the umpteenth time today, to the h/c girl. How could he mess up this badly? How could he lose his main source of light? Part of him said he deserved it. He was a coward and cowards lost their true desires. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like the idea of losing you. No, he hated it. Rain hit his window in rhythmic taps, thunder sounding in the distance and in a flash of pure white lightning, the power went out. Oh the irony. Now he knew that he was truly alone.

I'll be the only dream you seek

It took you approximately 127 steps to reach Todoroki’s dorm room door. Fist raised ready to knock, you began to doubt yourself. He wouldn’t want to see you, you have been ignoring him for two whole weeks. He probably hates you. You ruined it all and for what? Because you got scared? You deserve this pain Y/N. Lost in your own little world, you hadn’t realized the tears rushing down your cheeks until a small sob left your lips. You didn’t want to lose him. You really didn’t. You just got scared, got scared of letting yourself love him, of trusting your heart to another. Yet again, even your stupid avoidance, he kept trying to come closer to you. To talk to you. He doesn’t hate me. Raising your fist again you knocked softly on his door, another crack of thunder echoing through the dark corridor.

So if you're lonely, no need to show me

If you're lonely come be lonely with me

Seeing you at this time in front of him wasn’t something he expected. Another thing he didn’t expect was the tear tracks on your cheeks and you trembling as another booming sound shook the whole building. Without having to utter a word he pulled you inside, making a small flame to provide for some light as he led you to his bed before taking a seat across from you on the floor. The atmosphere was thick with silence, awkwardness filling the cracks as the two weeks of not talking came crashing down on both of you. You both had really messed up this time.

“I’m sorry.” Your voices mixed as you both leaned slightly forward, apologies leaving your lips. Wide eyed you reassured each other that it wasn’t your fault, you excusing his actions and he yours. It was a mess until you both stopped. Gazes still locked you began to giggle, your laughter bouncing off the walls of his room as he slowly joined you and soon enough you were hugging.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.”

“I’m sorry for saying I wanted to kiss you out of the blue.”

Lonely (Are you lonely?)

Passion is crashing as we speak

You seem so lonely

(Are you lonely?)

“You still wanna do it?” You hadn’t left his embrace yet not wanting to lose the comfort it provided. His grip tightened at your words, his head slowly resting on your shoulder as he took a deep breath. At that moment you feared you had overstepped, that you had truly and finally ruined it. Bringing you unbelievably close to his chest, you felt him nod ever so slightly, squeezing you one more time before pushing you gently off of him. Cupping your cheek his eyes met yours in a silent request. A question of permission. When you leaned in closer to him he got the message and placed his lips on yours. Finally, everything felt right.

You're the ground my feet won't reach

So if you're lonely, Darling you're glowing

If you're lonely come be lonely with me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei @dnarez @storage11037 @ezoyscorner @letscheereachotheron @wolfkid22 @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses @threeamwriting @ysatrap @yashinosakura

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house-of-galathynius · 3 years

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Only You- Rowaelin

A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Four ~ Chapter Six

Chapter Five: Fire and Ice

Aelin woke the next morning feeling surprisingly light. Her mind wasn’t weighed down with Sam, or with court politics… or even the fact that her mate was here. No. She woke and was excited for the day.

She bounded out of bed before the maids had arrived in her rooms and quickly washed and dressed herself. She hadn’t bothered with fancy clothes, she had picked out a simple tunic and pants. If she was training with Rowan then she wanted to be practical.

She didn’t waste time with going to the dining hall, Orlon and her parents already seated and sipping their tea. None of them said a word as she sat at the table and piled her plate with pastries. The silence did not last long as her father finally put his tea down and looked towards her.

“We should talk about what happened yesterday, Aelin.” Her mother gave her a smile of apology.

“We already did.” She shrugged, her excitement turning into something that felt a lot like dread.

“We never discussed a way forward. How we will deal with your mating and—“

“I appreciate your concern, but this is something that I need to navigate on my own. I will keep you updated on things you need to know, but let me do this by myself.” Her parents looked to each other, Orlon still chewing on his breakfast. “I am old enough to look after myself.” She smiled softly at her parents, her mother looking like she might cry.

“If it’s any consolation Aelin, I think Rowan Whitethorn would make a delightful King consort.” Orlon grinned, knowing his words would ruffle her.

“On that note, I’m going to the training ground. I will speak with you all later.” She snatched a couple of pastries from her plate and left, stopping to say good morning to a few people as she did.

She had made it all of ten steps when Aedion fell into a walk beside her. “So you have a mate?”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Aedion? Like tormenting Lysandra or dealing with stuffy royals.” She kept walking straight, down the steps and into the crisp morning air.

“I believe stuffy royal duties don’t start for another hour.”

She huffed.

“Are you really not going to talk about it?”

“Theres nothing to talk about.” She spotted the stone archway that led to the training ground, the spot thankfully empty of any prying eyes.

“So I shouldn’t start making banners for your mating ceremony?”

She glared at Aedion who was smiling from ear to ear. He knew exactly how ro rub her the wrong way. “Stay out of it Aedion. When I want to talk about it, I will.”

He put his hands up in surrender, retreating a few steps. “I just want to make sure my cousin is okay; you can’t get angry at me for that.” He turned back towards the palace, his golden hair glowing in the sunlight. “Let me know if I need to have words with him.” She watched as he retreated back into the castle, no doubt to update her parents.

She continued the short walk to the training ground and immediately spotted Rowan on the far side. He was dressed similar to herself, plain white tunic and pants that she couldn’t help but notice hugged his thighs spectacularly. And though neither of them had accepted the bond, she could feel the pull of him. The way her body and soul was drawn to the silver-haired male. She hadn’t even got half away across the grounds when he looked up and gave her a smile that may have affected her more than she wished to admit.

As she approached she got a whiff of his scent and she shivered at the smell. Pine and snow.

The smell of Terrasen.

She struggled to find words as she stopped before him. But she managed a smile and he returned it with his own.

“I didn’t know the extent of your abilities so I thought maybe we could start out simple. Just throw our magic at each other and shield?” She nodded and they took their places in the middle the courtyard. She summoned her flame into her hands and Rowan looked pleasantly surprised as she pushed the flame forward, towards him. It bounced right off his shield and the flame flickered out as he suffocated it with his magic. He sent daggers of ice at her next, she barely had time to summon a shield as they smacked into it and tendrils of steam floated up as they hit the shimmering shield.

Fire and ice. It was poetic in a way, two opposites bound together by fate.

They continued sparring until Aelin could feel the tug of a burnout. It never took much, but she always knew when to stop. Rowan sensed her imminent burnout too and halted his spear of ice. A cool breeze— curtesy of Rowan she realised— blew around the courtyard, cooling the fire in her veins.

“For someone who claims to be trained, your burnout came on fast.” He went to the small fountain and splashed water over his face, the droplets running down his neck, further, she had to turn away before he noticed a shift in her scent. From the subtle cough from Rowan, she knew he had probably already done so. “You have some control over the fire, but you need to be quicker. The shields are too slow to appear and too weak to really defend yourself.”

“Good thing I don’t actually need to defend myself.” She strutted over to the same fountain and copied his movements. Splashing some water on her face and arms. “I only use my fire for practical purposes.” It was Rowan’s turn to turn away she noted with a smug smile. He recovered quickly and looked to her once again.

“You always need to know how to defend yourself.”

“Terrasen hasn’t seen a war in hundreds of years.”

“War isn’t the only time you might need to defend yourself. What if you are attacked whilst out riding, or in the city, or—“

“I get your point.” Aelin perched on the bench and watched as Rowan stretched. “I suppose you’ll have to teach me then.” She had enjoyed their training this morning, it had been easy and almost natural falling into the sparring. Their magic had danced around each other, had sung to the other. And if she was being honest, she had enjoyed his company.

Rowan continued his stretching as he replied. “I’ll be here every morning. We can practice then.”

And they did. For the next week Aelin and Rowan would meet by the archway and they would train for two hours each morning. Neither said much, but it was comfortable. They had slipped into the routine easily. Some mornings Aedion would watch, sometimes Rowan’s cousins would spar alongside them, other times it was just the two of them. It was the only time they had really spent together alone. She had made a point to avoid any chaperoned walks or rides or whatever her father was deeming appropriate. She didn’t need the eyes of guards and her parents watching her every move with Rowan.

On the second day of training they had ended up in the morning room, where they had drunk tea and discussed their lives; they never went too deep, but she liked the way Rowan told stories, she liked hearing his voice and how his eyes would brighten when he talked about his friends in Doranelle. Conversation seemed to flow easy with them. And every day they spent together, the tug she felt got stronger.

Despite their new routine, they had never spent much time outside the palace, or at least anywhere that would allow them to be completely alone. Which is why, when Rowan had knocked on her door that evening asking if she would like to go for a walk, she agreed.

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i-watch-too-many-movies · 3 years

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5 Favorite First Viewings of July 2021

Quick note: Hi everyone, I'm back, things have honestly been getting better for me, and I'm glad to be on this site full of cinephiles, people that are too horny, and cinephiles that are too horny. I'll be more active on here. But anyway, let's talk about some movies.

Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) (dir. Russ Meyer)

CW: Abortion mention

What a picture. What a gorgeous, sexy, horrifying slice of what Hollywood and star life can do to a bunch of bright-eyed young people looking for success. Also is a critique of how macho nature can ruin friendships and romantic relationships with total ease. I was obsessed with the scene transitions, like Pet pouring pancake mix onto a plate after the abortion scene, or Kelly singing after someone screams before their murder in the opening scene.

Great, campy flick with exceptional music too.

Deep Cover (1992) (dir. Bill Duke)

Laurence Fishburne plays Russell Stevens, a Cincinnati police officer who hopes to do well by the community, to make a difference. He’s traumatized by the death of his substance-abusing father, and wants to make sure that he can help the people of his own town. He goes undercover on assignment as a drug dealer, where his boss orders him to take down the kingpin. Stevens realizes the police’s own failings while on assignment. The racist abuse he takes from Agent Carver, and the realization that the police department is protecting drug kingpins like Gallegos and Barbossa. Giving drugs to Black kids and Latinx kids so there will be less of them. The cops are no different than the drug kingpins looking to make filthy amounts of money.

Fishburne’s performance is excellent, as Stevens feels he has to maintain a stone face so he doesn’t get caught by Jason or Barbossa or any of his cronies, but also he maintains a stone face to try and hide his emotion, his trauma. But when he gets pissed, Fishburne acts it beautifully, as is when he has to deliver a funny quip to counter Jason’s douchebaggery. And the production design, holy fuck, the sets and the lighting.

A perfect neo-noir for the HW Bush years, arguably one of the most timeless commentaries on the era, as well as the police as a whole.

Fast Five (2011) (dir. Justin Lin)

I was torn between including this or Furious 7, but I ultimately went with Fast Five because it felt like an important turning point in the series, it's a great heist film, and it reached the same chaotic highs and genuinely excellent filmmaking that I had been waiting for since 2 Fast and Tokyo Drift.

Fast Five opens where Fast & 4ious left off. Dom is hauled away to prison on a bus. Mia and Brian drive in their high-tech cars and knock the bus over, helping Dom escape. The title drops. Fast Five. It’s such an intense yet short action scene, and dropping the title immediately after it lets the viewer know that this movie is not fucking around. It’s arguably gonna be more intense and insane than the previous one.

And it is. The filmmakers made the decision to use a lot more practical stunt work for the film, and as a result, it leads to, so far, the best action in the entire series, since 2 Fast and Tokyo Drift. It’s not just how it’s shot or edited, it’s the geography of the locations, the rooftop chase echoes the rooftop chase of Jackie Chan’s masterwork Police Story, particularly the way each character bounces from top to top.

And of course, there’s the silliest moment in the movie, the one that matches the intensity and kineticism of a film like 2 Fast, which is driving the Reyes’ bank vault throughout the street, getting chased by corrupt cops.

I know we make fun of Vin Diesel for saying “family” all the time in these films, but there’s a reason we remember him saying all of these impassioned monologues. Because he’s unbelievably sincere, and has so much love in his heart for every single person in the room. Anytime he delivers a speech to any of them, it’s genuinely heartwarming.

This is the film that finally shows La Familia in their best environment, which is working together, in a movie genre that allows them to work together, which is a heist film. And a great one at that.

Last Days (2005) (dir. Gus Van Sant)

CW: Mention of suicide

Several films have been made about legendary rock artist Kurt Cobain, and for good reason. He is one of the most tragic figures in rock and roll. A tortured genius who has written and performed classic song after classic song with his band Nirvana. He was called the voice of a generation, and helped change the face of mainstream alternative rock music as we know it. But with that fame, and all of those expectations came a worsening depression and further drug abuse, and his eventual death. But most of the films about Kurt Cobain ask one question which gets under my skin way too much:

“Who REEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLY killed Kurt Cobain?”

It was him. He did. And it’s okay, I’m sad too. Thinking that Kurt Cobain was murdered is completely ignoring the depression that he faced. And despite Last Days being more inspired by the death of Cobain rather than actually about it, it feels much more honest than the conspiracy documentaries on his death, wanting to leech off of his dead body.

This is the last installment of Gus Van Sant’s “Death Trilogy”, the previous two installments being Gerry (2001), and Elephant (2003). While I have not seen Gerry, I have seen Elephant though, and love that film for its minimalist, raw nature, and its boldness for not romanticizing the school shooter or the lives they had taken. Last Days falls into that trap once, as I don’t agree with the shot of Blake’s soul climbing up a ladder, that always struck me as cheesy in a film that is anything but.

Last Days is similar to Elephant in terms of the way it is filmed. Its usage of long takes, and still shots of characters doing various things, such as Blake playing his guitar behind a drum set. The way these moments are shot is similar to a Chantal Akerman film, particularly Jeanne Dielman. Where the acts of the mundane are the stars of the film. Blake wanders around an empty house, and the viewer can feel the pain, not just through Michael Pitt’s acting, but from the house itself. Its decay, its paint peeling from the walls, from the soft glow of the lamp that lights his face.

I say this is the most honest film about Kurt Cobain, because, despite the characters technically being fictional (the main character who looks, walks, and acts like Cobain is named Blake), this film focuses on the mental state of a person before they eventually take their own life. They’re still working, still making music, still trying to talk to friends and bandmates, but the depression lingers on. Not once does this film try to make you believe that someone else killed him, because you can see the signs of his own suicide taking place just through the film’s excellent cinematography by Harris Savides, showing his mental state only growing worse through the production design.

And it’s empathetic with him. There’s no judgement for leaving rehab, there’s no finger-wagging at him or the people he was with, there’s just a silent prayer at the end of the film, hoping that he is in a better place than he was.

Sometimes you don’t need to show every event that led you to where you are, all you can show is the moment, which also makes this better than most biopics as well, as it never feels messy or muddled, just showing one moment of Blake/Kurt’s life.

I really loved this film, and I’ll be writing about it in full soon.

The Village (2004) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan)

The Cracked.com/Channel Awesome audience stuck in 2012 will tell you that this was the beginning of the end for Shyamalan. That this was when people stopped taking him seriously, that this was when he became more of a punchline because of his twist endings.

But why?

The Village was released in 2004, deep in the Bush administration, during the early stages of the Iraq War. The leaders of the time were talking about imaginary boogeymen, terrorists that would attack the civilians if they could. Because of 9/11, politicians could get away with these false ideas with the majority of Americans fully believing them. The boogeymen in The Village are “The People We Don’t Speak Of”, monsters attracted by the color red. Yet we find out that they are all costumes made by the Elders of the land, designed to prevent people from going outside the land. They rule by fear disguised as love. They’ve gone through their own traumas through the deaths of their family members, but they’ve decided to completely abandon the lives that they’ve had and have their children living lies.

9/11 impacted American life by teaching citizens to live primarily by fear, to not trust anyone but their own people. And yet, post-9/11, all that increased was not “coming together”, but hate crimes against South Asian people. The rage white Americans had felt led to conservative politicians pushing fear-mongering agendas, and said white Americans blindly accepted. The outside world was progressing, but too many people were fine with living with further conservative politics only regressing American life further and further back, all for the illusion of safety. Meanwhile, the only threats to them were not the brown citizens outside of America they were so afraid of, but the white elders, the white politicians.

The Village explores these fears so eloquently, all while having a terrifying atmosphere, an enchanting score, and brilliant sound design. I enjoyed this movie very much.

Other viewings I enjoyed:

Beavis and Butt-Head Do America (1996) (dir. Mike Judge) (re-watch)

Blow Out (1981) (dir. Brian de Palma) (re-watch)

Clueless (1995) (dir. Amy Heckerling) (re-watch)

Furious 7 (2015) (dir. James Wan)

The Long Goodbye (1973) (dir. Robert Altman)

Lupin III: The First (2019) (dir. Takashi Yamazaki)

Unbreakable (2000) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan) (re-watch)

Velvet Goldmine (1998) (dir. Todd Haynes)

The Visit (2015) (dir. M. Night Shyamalan)

#favorite first watches #these movies are (chef's kiss)#beyond the valley of the dolls #russ meyer #deep cover #bill duke #fast five #justin lin #last days #gus van sant #the village #m night shyamalan

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willowbird · 4 years

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Congrats!! If you want, how about the first time Ronan sleeps over at St. Agnes? Like the pining!!

Yay! I was SO EXCITED to get a Ronan/Adam ask!! I may have gone a little overboard with the pining, but I hope you still like it <3 <3 This is actually my first Pynch ficlet! I hope you like it! Lemme know if you think I should post it on AO3 ^^; Since it’s my first time actually writing them and I haven’t read the books as many times as I’ve read AFTG I hope it’s okay!

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Ronan bounced the rubber ball against the sloped ceiling from where he lay on Adam’s bed, waiting for the other boy to get out of the shower. He’d been out, just driving around with no discernable purpose or direction, when it came around that time for Parrish to get out of work so he’d swung by and picked him up. There’d been no reason to say no when Adam had asked if he wanted to come up for a while. After all, he and Adam were friends -- no matter how much they seemed to bicker -- and Ronan liked being at St. Agnes. Sometimes, it was honestly more satisfying to be there than it was to be at Monmouth. Nothing beat being at the Barnes, but still -- St. Agness had a particular energy, it always had.

After all, Ronan Lynch was no stranger to St. Agnes. The hours he’d spent in the quiet pews could stack together to build a universe apart from the rest of the world, a separate realm that even the horrors inside his own mind couldn’t touch. And yet, since Adam came to live there, the hallowed halls of that familiar place had developed a completely new,,, feeling that Ronan had no idea how to feel about.

A part of Ronan wanted to be pissed off about it.

A bigger part of Ronan was fascinated in the way that the travelers in his father’s stories had always been fascinated by the glow of will-o’-the-wisps between the branches of the deep woods and frosted bogs. The peace that the church had once given him was spiked with something else now, something that fizzed like pop-rocks under his skin, and as annoying as that was -- he really couldn’t say that he hated it.

Considering he knew that the fizz of... enchantment was most definitely caused by the boy now living in that small, slanted room above the church? No, he really couldn’t say that he hated it at all.

Not to say that Adam I’ll-be-independent-if-it-kills-me Parrish didn’t make him want to punch his fist through a fucking brick wall -- because he absolutely did. But there was also something... undeniably right about the boy taking up residence above the church. After all, the infuriating pest already lived full time inside his head, he might as well sleep in the building that housed Ronan’s soul as well. At least he was fucking consistent.

The shabby door connecting the bedroom to the tiny bathroom creaked open and Ronan caught the ball on its rebound and didn’t throw it again, instead turning his head to look as Adam entered the room.

He did not expect to see Adam walk into the bedroom in nothing but a towel and instantly looked back up at the ceiling, throwing the ball again with a bit more force than necessary. Only his quick reflexes saved him from losing a fucking eye. He tried not to think about the way the other boy’s skin had been flushed pink from the heat of the shower, his hair damp and pushed haphazardly back from his face, exposing cheekbones and eyes that...

Okay, he tried -- that didn’t mean he succeeded.

“Sorry, it’ll just be a minute. I forgot to grab something to change into.” Adam’s voice was soft, lilted with the Henrietta accent in the way that only happened when he was either really emotional or perfectly at ease. Ronan would never tell him how much he loved hearing the edge of gravel and wild country grass around his vowels, not on pain of death, but that didn’t make it any less true.

“Take your time, Parrish. I don’t fucking care.” No one needed to know that the sigh that followed was relief at how nonchalant he had managed to make the words, instead of the dry irritation it sounded like.

Adam huffed a soft laugh and Ronan could feel the eye-roll being directed at him. He didn’t bother to hide his grin, just gave it a bit more teeth as he tossed the ball up and caught it again.

It was only another few minutes before the door creaked open again and Adam came out -- this time fully clothed. Ronan caught the ball and sat up, scooting over so that Adam could come over and sit down, which the other boy did with a flourish and a groan.

“Ugh, I just do not wanna do homework.”

“Then don’t.” Ronan shrugged and bounced the ball on the floor this time, angling it slightly so that when it rebounded it went toward Adam.

Adam caught it easily and bounced it back, timed perfectly with a familiar scoff. “Some of us care about school, you know.” Ronan waited for a beat, but when Adam didn’t follow that up with chastisement or prod for him to start caring about school, he gave a small shrug.

“Sure, but tomorrow is Saturday. It isn’t like you’ve got anything due tomorrow. You just got off work, learn how to fucking relax.” He caught the ball and held it for a moment, tilting his head back as he mimicked a thoughtful expression. “Oh, oh that’s right, you don’t know how to relax.” He gave a deep, mournful sigh and bounced the ball back at him. “Shame, for man so smart to be missing such a vital real-life skill.”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” Adam sniped back, but his words were sharpened more with amusement than irritation.

“Oh, I know. I’m a regular comedy special,” Ronan agreed readily. “But that, actually, was not a joke.” He could press here. He could remind Adam that his whole world didn’t need to be as rigid as he was making it to be. He could tell him that he could afford to take a break every now and then, that he deserved to chill the fuck out. But if he did that he risked sounding too much like Gansey or repeating an argument that neither of them probably felt like jumping into tonight. So instead, he caught the ball and cocked his head, studying the other boy curiously.

Then he asked, “Where would you go? If you could go anywhere in the world with no consequences. What would you do? And not to accomplish anything great or whatever -- I’m talking just for fun.”

Adam held up his hand for the ball and Ronan tossed it to him. His eyes caught on the way he began to roll it between his palms, those long fingers curling around it, bony wrists twisting to pass it from one hand to the other. Ronan had the sudden urge to brush his lips over the prominent bump in each wrist. Not in a kiss -- but just to feel the protrusion against his mouth.

“That’s pretty broad,” Adam said with a hum, oblivious to his distraction. “There’s a lot of places I could go.”

“That’s the point. There’s no consequences, no limits. You could go anywhere.” He dragged his gaze away from those hands but this time they caught on the exposed bit of Adam’s collarbone on the way up to his face. “So pick a place, Parrish. Never known you to be so indecisive.”

Adam’s eyes dropped from where they’d been thoughtfully searching the ceiling, locking onto his as he flashed a sharp smirk. That expression cut him right between the ribs, twisted, and nestled in nice and deep for the winter -- because this, this was the Adam Parrish he couldn’t stop thinking about. Everyone seemed to underestimate him. Everyone thought he was so soft, thought he was so polite and sweet and yeah sure, he was all of those things, but that was only one part of him. It was just the surface setting to the multiverse that was Adam Parrish, and this sharp, biting, cunning side of him was closer to his core. Ronan knew he was one of the only people who knew that side was there, and was probably the only person who truly understood how much a part of him that facet was.

“All right,” he said, his voice smooth and low and Ronan had the distinct certainty that if that sound were a drink it would be a spiked mulled cider, husky and tart in a way that made your head light and your chest warm. “I’ll play. But you go first. Where would you go? Somewhere outside of the States,” he added, before Ronan could say the Barnes -- because he was apparently that predictable.

Ronan rolled his eyes, but shrugged and slipped off the bed, laying on the floor beside the bed and pillowing his hands under his head as he thought. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Adam stretch out on the bed on his stomach, hugging a pillow and using it to prop his head up a bit as he looked down at Ronan. The feel of Adam’s full and undivided attention on him did things to his pulse he didn’t want to think about.

“Probably Ireland,” he finally said after a long moment of thought that was torn up and distributed between flickers of distraction caused by Adam’s silhouette in his peripheral, from the way his damp hair was falling into his eyes now that it was beginning to dry all the way to the slump of his broad shoulders and the sharp jut of his elbows against the cushions. There just really wasn’t any part of Adam Parrish that Ronan didn’t want to look at.

A soft huff of laughter had Ronan turning his head to look at him straight on and the amusement on the other boy’s face told him that he was being predictable again. Ronan frowned -- he didn’t like being predictable.

“Don’t give me that look. Tell me why, Ronan Lynch.” There was a teasing note in Adam’s voice, and if it were anyone else that would have brought Ronan’s back up -- would have made him snap his teeth and snarl. Coming from Adam, he had to give himself a moment so he didn’t trip over his own foolish tongue.

Somehow he managed to avoid that humiliation. Instead, he told Adam about Ireland through his father’s eyes. He told himself he didn’t care about the softening of Adam’s smile, that it did absolutely nothing to him to watch the other boy close his eyes and rest his cheek on the pillow, leaving himself vulnerable as he dipped into his own thoughts. Rather, he focused on the stories he was telling Adam, reliving them as he did his best impression of his father’s cadence and storyteller’s hum. He told him stories about the fair folk, the fey and the night creatures. He told him about the magic of each valley and river and dale. He shared his favorite tales about cheeky brownies and powerful, dangerous sidhe that became captivated by the bright, fleeting magic of a human’s ability to create.

Adam listened to each one, and that smile...? It never faded, not even once.

“It’s your turn,” Ronan finally said, when his heart was full and his lungs tight -- torn between the memories caused by those stories and these newer, more electric feelings caused by the proximity of Adam Parrish’s smile.

“Mm, I think... I think that if I were to go anywhere in the world I’d want to see high mountains. High mountains and dark woods. Deep lakes. Flowers that seem to have their own language between the brightness of their colors and the way they sway toward and away from each other in a wind that affects them and them alone. Butterflies that cast shadows like birds of prey...” As he spoke his words drew further and further apart, his tone drifting as fatigue from the long day dragged him down toward sleep.

Ronan held his breath, almost wanting to prod him for more -- because it was rare to hear Adam talk... well, like a dreamer. Adam was a boy who kept himself grounded so deeply in reality it was sometimes painful for Ronan to be around him. This secret side of him, this side of dreams and hope and wonder... it was a vulnerable side that he knew Adam wouldn’t be indulging in if he weren’t perfectly comfortable and probably way more tired than he’d originally thought he was. It was a side of him that Ronan had always known existed (you couldn’t chase a dead Welsh king without being at least part whimsy, no matter how charismatic Gansey was) but one that Adam kept very close to the chest.

“Mm... Ronan?” Adam’s voice was soft and sleep-slurred, his eyelashes shielding the color of his eyes, he was barely able to keep them open.

“Yeah?” Ronan’s voice was rough, even to his own ears, but Adam didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you think a place like that actually exists?” The question was light, but there was a raw, sweet shard of hope beneath the words that cut Ronan in a tender space below his throat.

“Yes,” Ronan promised with certainty, not even needing to think about it -- not even needing to question it. “I know it does.”

Adam’s eyes dropped all the way closed and he smiled, sighing in relief. That sigh transitioned directly into the deep, slow breaths of sleep.

Ronan knew that he should get up. Sleeping on the floor would give him one hell of a backache, and Adam hadn’t said he could stay over. He should get up and stretch, then drive back to Monmouth, where he should crawl into his own bed for the night -- or maybe stay up longer and bother Gansey, because fuck knew that guy didn’t understand the concept of a regulated sleeping schedule.

Instead, Ronan watched Adam until his own eyes just couldn’t stay open any longer. Then, from the floor of St. Agnes, beside the boy who called to him like a fire-sprite, Ronan dreamed. He dreamed of dark woods and flowers that seemed to have their own language, between their bright colors and the way they swayed in their own self-contained breezes. He dreamed of butterflies that cast shadows like birds of prey. He dreamed of safe places even in the dark woods -- and when Ronan dreamed... well, when Ronan dreamed, reality itself seemed to listen.

#asks #anon #trc #pynch #pynch fic #fanfic #adam parrish #ronan lynch #pining #trc fanfic #adam parrish x ronan lynch #sleepovers!#my writing #100 followers #the raven cycle

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 14

FIRST TIME READER, click here

TWs / Summary: Petrolhead dorks! Just Rich People Things. Car sex with daddy Tony! Poor cop LMAO. Snark snark snark. Unsafe driving - don't drive like that unless you know what you're doing! As for the inspiration for this chapter, thanks to @persephonehemingway and her deliciously filthy fic on AO3. Y'know, the one with Beck and Tony and stuff... 😏

@miscmarvelwritings is a lovely beta. Baby gay 🥺✨

Soft, steady rumbling of the engine; it reminded me of a lion's purr. I could feel it under me, reverberating through the driver's seat, whirring beneath my hand as I put the car in drive. It was such a shame Royce had an automatic transmission. Unlike most people, I actually enjoyed driving stick, the option of controlling the speed one gear by one gear was exhilarating.

My face felt hot. I pulled out of the parking lot evenly, driving through the city streets at a moderate pace, not the speed limit-because in a car like this it would be a crime-but not dashing around madly either. The beast under me was to be savoured and savour I did.

"You're enjoying this," Tony quipped cheekily, having made himself comfortable with his feet on the dash. His sneakers laid in a haphazard heap halfway under his seat. A picture of lavish comfort. "Take a left, go on the highway. We can afford to go a little crazy."

Not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I followed his instructions, accelerating in excitement. A little past ten o'clock, the cars on that particular stretch of road were few and in-between. The streetlights blinked their greetings, the speedometer surely and steadily climbing over the 80MPH mark.

I laughed. I couldn't keep it in even if I tried; with a car of this size, this weight, such a relatively low speed felt twice as exciting.

"Go faster," Tony ordered, sitting up straighter. "Faster."

"Yes, daddy," I snarked, flooring it. The g-force took hold of us briefly, flattening our backs with the seat. I laughed again, adrenaline pumping throughout my body, giving me that extra attention boost. I easily maneuvered around a couple of minivans around the 110 MPH mark. The engine sang and roared. "Wanna see something cool?"

Tony's pupils were blown wide, the amber irises nearly invisible in the sea of black. He was turned on, incredibly so. "Yes, baby girl," He groaned.

I was familiar with the road just enough to pull off a stunt with the barest bit of luck. Karma was on my side that evening, I wasn't going to waste any more time. My blood sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension. Another two miles and I spied the dimly lit exit on my right side; not a soul in sight but Tony's wide-eyed wonder, I went in for the kill.

Tires squealed, obscuring my happy little noise and Tony's shocked exhale as I steered into the narrow opening, missing the railings by a mere few inches. The Royce went into full drift, it's wheels automatically locking, and I had no doubt the tires would need a change after this - but we pulled through, the car evening out just as a straight stretch of road appeared again.

The multiple lights flashing were disregarded by me along with quiet angry beeping, I was overtaken by my own bravado. Not once I hesitated but my hands still shook, tiny little tremors. Tony saw it, too, I noticed - gaze hungry, he eyed my left wrist nonchalantly hanging over the steering wheel. We were still going steadily at 100 MPH.

"Tony?" I asked, proud and happy.

"Princess," He answered, breathless. "Pull over, over there," pointing somewhere to my right.

Confused by his sudden change of attitude, I nonetheless, complied, parking on a small patch of concrete. It looked like an abandoned gas station or some creepy shit.

"Come here," As soon as I shut down the car, I felt myself roughly pulled into his lap.

Tony's hands were everywhere, on my hips, on my tits, under my dress. His own arousal in constraints, he positioned me right on top of it, grinding slowly and desperately into my center. I was right there with him, hungry for the way his mouth immediately attached itself to mine, tongue plunging straight into my throat without finesse.

Agile fingers toyed with my breasts and I raked my nails down his throat in retaliation; neither of us knew who moaned first into the kiss. We swallowed the breathy sound, shared it between us. The smell of adrenaline and arousal seeped into the space between us, thick, foggy.

Fumbling around his pants was, probably, not very sexy, but neither of us cared about the article of clothing after pushing it down his hips. There wasn't much space to work with. We managed just fine, the brief moment of discomfort paying off with the delicious stretch of his cock inside me.

"Oh, fu-u-uck, so-o go-o-od," I was ready to pray to any God, as long as I could keep riding the tidal waves of pleasure.

"Yes, fuck me, Princess," Tony parroted the sentiment. His narrow hips stuttered, blunt rip of his cock brushing inside of me, hitting a sensitive spot. Sparks burst from within, urging me to move.

Bracing my knees on the outside of his thighs, I gripped Tony - his shoulders, his hair - for leverage. He loved the tug of war I played with his locks as evidenced by the immediate groan and the tightening of his hands on my ass. He squeezed the flesh without mercy, pulling, sheathing himself as deep as he could within me.

The grinding, the drag of my clit against the soft happy trail on his tummy did it for me. Uncharacteristically quickly, I was coming, arching my back and pushing my tits right into his face where the wet heat of his mouth sloppily, greedily made a trail of hickeys and left the tender flesh stinging in between whispering dirty praises.

Tony's girth felt that much thicker as my inner muscles spasmed. I began bouncing rapidly, chasing that fleeting feeling that turned me into an incoherent, babbling mess and made my spine feel liquid. The man under me matched the vigour, meeting me halfway, fucking up into me as much as the position allowed him to.

"Fuck, Tony, so big," The angle changed as I bent down to devour his mouth once again. The silky tresses between my fingers became a tangled mess.

One of his arms slid under my dress, holding it up and wrapping around me, pressing me close. Tony was getting under my skin. I felt the slick of him through his shirt. The faint glow and scratch of the arc reactor solidified the experience for me - it was so Tony, the most obvious part of him, perhaps, when he wasn't smiling.

His mouth was occupied with ravenously consuming every noise that left me. I was loud, always have been, and there wasn't a situation where it's been as blatantly on display as then - in a dark car, in the middle of nowhere. We shared those noises like a gourmet meal.

"Baby, baby girl," The tell-tale tightening of his abs was an obvious signal to his incoming orgasm. "Fu-u-uck". He seemed beyond words.

"Tony, please, I'm so close," I begged him to hold on, just a moment more, my own release a glimpse on the horizon. He moaned, deep and low in his chest and I felt it - right there, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

Suddenly, a sharp sting blossomed on my backside. My pace stuttered at the sudden pain; and the following thrill had me increase my pace, pussy squeezing around his cock, clutching at it in hopes of finding release. The need ached.

"Baby girl, come for me," Tony ordered, winded and stuttering, causing me to grip his shoulders, nails digging into taut, tan skin. I was nearly there, the fall approaching inevitably. How did the man manage to sound so cheeky whilst being ridden to near-death, I didn't know, but his next words had me muffling a scream into the pristine, expensive fabric of his blazer. "Come for Daddy."

I wasn't sure of the sound that I made while my body involuntarily obeyed his orders. I shuddered momentarily, following with another curl of my toes as I felt the hot seed of his release spill right into me, curses being muttered in my ear and his arms, his hands, him bodily holding himself as close to me as humanly possible. We stayed like that - maybe it was an hour, or maybe it was just five minutes. It felt heavenly.

"My jeans are FUBAR," Tony suddenly snorted.

"I think one of the straps on my dress is somewhere in the backseat," I parroted him. "Good times."

"Indeed," He stretched under me, gently, as to not dislodge me too much.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the driver's side window. A faint outline of a flashlight shining behind the glass - I was very much grateful for the fact that all the glass on Tony's car was tinted.

Of course, both of us were unprepared: startled, we jumped, spreading the mess from between my thighs all over the place. Groaning, I climbed over the console and rolled down the window a couple of inches, noting how Tony had one of his gauntlets shining - and a police officer's equally shiny badge greeted me. Grumbling, I rolled the window the whole way down.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask your license and regi-whoa, um, I'm- good evening, Mr. Stark," The cop was young and very obviously hadn't slept very well. The words he mumbled on autopilot and stopped only when Tony's face popped up somewhere around my lap.

"Hello, officer," Tony smiled, bright and shiny public smile. "Don't mind us, just enjoying a quiet evening." The engineer's smile was cheeky. His pants weren't even done fully up and I, no doubt, spouted some serious case of sex hair, not mentioning the torn dress. I had to discreetly check if I didn't accidentally flash the poor cop.

"Uh, umm, sorry Mr. Stark," The cop - officer Charles, I checked - nervously stammered, obviously privy to the situation at hand. "Is everything alright here?"

"Absolutely. We were just about to leave."

"Well then. Uh. Can I ask - a picture?"

Really, dude? REALLY??? I was about this much away from just starting the car and driving the fuck off. But Tony was calm.

"Sure," He looked at me mischievously. "Let's swap, I'll drive us home."

His penchant for trouble knew no limits. I rolled my eyes, but it was just for show, really. The littlest worm of malicious compliance had already started squirming in me. My coat lay forgotten in the back seat - I proudly displayed the torn dress strap and the array of lovemarks leading up to my throat as I stepped out of the car. The crisp autumn air barely affected my sex-heated body outside of the warm car, doing only as much as to stiffen my nipples.

The way officer Charles did a double-take, I'm sure he understood my and Tony's previous activities and re-evaluated his own life choices. Let the boy learn a lesson. "Bye-bye, officer," I smiled my biggest, girliest smile and made a point at slowly turning around and sashaying to the other side of the car where Tony stood, discreetly checking his belt.

He met me with a smirk, chivalrously holding the door open and making a show at helping me into the car. We shared a muted chuckle.

"Ugh, I gotta go home, all my school shit is there," I rolled my eyes to the skies. Tony drove. AC/DC sung sultry tunes in the background quietly.

"Pack a bag, I'll wait," The engineer's warm hand found my own. He said what he said without even missing a beat. Such an unexplainable circumstance, all these new feelings I was feeling. It was a lot to process.

And I was cock-drunk. Packing my bag was an absolute ten minute disaster. I was pretty sure my socks didn't match and I had forgotten my make-up, but I triple checked for the most important - homework.

"I'm starving," I announced, hanging off Tony in the elevator. For all purposes, we were a perfectly poised domestic portrait. Disheveled, my coat and Tony's blazer loosely draped over my left arm, my backpack hanging off his right shoulder. He hadn't bothered with putting on his shoes and my neck, face and hair looked like a crime scene.

The elevator doors opened at the same time Tony gathered his wits: "Bye-bye officer? Really?"

A dozen confused eyes stared at us from the common room couch. Surprised for the second time that evening, all we were capable of was owlishly blink in their general direction, words dying before they could have made it to the surface.

I snorted first, towing Tony in the direction of the kitchen. "What was I supposed to do, pray tell? Flash him?"

Behind us, I heard a thud. Then Steve's voice cursing. Then Bucky's.

"You could've. If you wanted to," Tony mused. "You have great tits."

"Aw, thanks. You have a nice dick. It's got a great curve."

"Aren't you the nicest?" Tony kissed my cheek, hiding the upcoming laughter as we both heard more swearing and moaning coming from the living room.

"I need a broom," Bucky appeared in the doorway just as I was pulling out some pizza slices to reheat. The super-soldier made no move for the supply closet, however, instead openly staring at my state of dress. His face bore the tell-tale signs of a person trying to hold in their cackling.

"Did you see a ghost, Elsa?" Tony quirked from the coffee machine.

"Can I flash this one, then?" I suddenly had an Idea. And when I had an Idea, I was unstoppable. "He might not be an officer but technically he's a Sargent, so..."

"Okay," Bucky began to inch backwards, step by step in the direction of the living room, holding his hands up. "Y'all crazy. I'mma head out."

"Good call," Tony saluted Barnes' retreating back. "As for you? You're in so much trouble, Princess," The arm that wasn't occupied by a coffee cup wrapped itself around my waist, grip firm and unyielding. Blindly groping for a moment, it found my boob, squeezing it twice for good measure as Tony slurped his holy bean juice. "Mine."

"Yours," I agreed simply. Meaning it. Then, I leaned backwards to whisper into the shell of his ear with a snicker: "Daddy."

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