#desire picks up a CHAIR and hurls it back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

geddy-leesbian · 1 month

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a while back @highball66 made a post about Leon being a nerd that would probably play MTG, and apparently the concept got lodged in my brain so here's a drabble of Leon and Luis meeting at an MTG prerelease because those two are def nerds like that

I had their twink era RE2 era in mind when writing this, but not sure how much it actually matters

Leon had been apprehensive about coming here, expecting the crowd to be the stereotypical basement dwellers with noticeably bad hygiene. But he still came, because he's brand new to this city and didn't know anyone, or have any other ideas for how to meet people. Well, that's not entirely true. He knows some people, his coworkers. The problem is just that his naive belief that cops are morally upstanding folks that help people has been shattered beyond repair, and he has zero desire to spend any time with them outside of work. (He doesn't want to go to work with them either, but he has to, until he gets another job lined up.)

So it wasn't like Leon had anything to lose coming here, just a faint possibility to gain something.

There were a few of the basement dwellers Leon expected, but there was also something he absolutely did not expect: A very gorgeous man with tan skin, soft gray eyes, and a smile that's just about blinding. He's sitting across the room, and Leon keeps stealing glances at him. He’s clearly very experienced, with how fast he sorts his cards into his piles. Leon looks down at his own cards to sort and when he looks back up the man is already done with his own deck, counting to make sure he had the right amount, quickly sleeving it, and then scooping up the cards he wasn't playing to put them away.

He stands up and starts striding across the room, and Leon has to make a conscious effort to not stare and drool at the man. He's taller than Leon thought. He's got long, lean legs and the most perfect hips Leon has ever seen. And then somehow he's talking to Leon.

“Mind if I sit here?” He has an accent. It's hot. Leon had set his bag on the chair next to him, but moves it so the ridiculously hot stranger can take a seat. “This is your first time coming here? First time playing..?”

“Do I stick out that bad?”

“Not really. It's just that I know I would have recognized you if you'd been here before. I could never forget such a pretty face,” Did this guy seriously just call Leon pretty? In a warm, genuine tone, like it's actually a compliment? Leon is quite used to comments like that, but in a derogatory manner. "Compliments" hurled at him in mocking tones. “But I will admit, you do look a little lost. Do you want help building your deck?”

“Yeah, sure. I've played before, back in high school, but never made any decks. Just played with decks my friends would let me borrow. I wanted to have my own, but my foster parents thought the game was basically devil worship and would've been dragging my ass to the pastor if they ever found cards under their roof.”

Leon worries that might have been a little too personal too fast, but he's not sure Tall Hot Guy was even listening. He doesn't say anything, and seems laser focused on Leon's cards.

“Off to a good start, with your sorting,” In the time Tall Hot Guy made a deck, all Leon managed to do was open all his packs and sort them by color. Tall Hot Guy starts going through the piles, picking out some cards to set aside. “Prereleases are good for beginners. New cards, new mechanics, so even people with experience won't know everything. Besides, you're not even the only new player here. Now, I think you have enough for mono red, so we keep it simple and do that, if there isn't anything else you'd rather do?”

“That's fine, whatever you think is good. You're the expert.”

The “help” is less help and more just him doing everything. But he does talk as he goes through cards and starts laying them out. Leon is fine with the situation.

“Mana curve, it's important. This is your deck laid out from lowest to highest mana cost,” So there is a method to the madness. He figured there was a reason they were laid out the way they were, but hadn't figured it out. “You want variety, because you want to be doing things every turn. You need big win condition cards, but you don't want to just be sitting by idly waiting several turns to get enough mana for them, you need small things too. Of course you can get unlucky enough to not draw your lower cards early, but at least the odds are better if you have a good mix of low and high cards.”

Tall Hot Guy finishes the spells in Leon's deck and gets up to fetch the basic lands it will need from the shop's communal land station, and grabs something out of his bag too. He needs to stop standing up, because every time Leon really struggles to not ogle him. Curse those stupid skintight jeans.

Leon puts away the unused cards, except for one stack Tall Hot Guy made for reasons Leon really can't figure out. It seems so random, cards from every color.

“Hey, what's this stack of cards next to the deck?”

“Oh, those are just cards that I think will maybe be worth something,” After putting the lands on top of Leon’s deck, Tall Hot Guy starts putting the other stack in card sleeves. “These are extra sleeves you can have, to keep these in good shape in case you do want to sell them at some point.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I've already told you that you have a pretty face, right? I'm a sucker for a pretty face. I want you to have fun playing here, so you come back. Now, let me give you some pointers on what your deck wants to do!”

Leon hadn't expected this guy to actually stay and keep talking. He said Leon wasn't the only new player, so he figured once he got Leon's deck together he'd go over and help out the other newbies. But no. The only thing that Tall Hot Guy seems interested in is just talking Leon's ear off. This isn't a general newbie thing, there's something about Leon specifically. He barely absorbs a word he's saying, he's too busy staring at his stupid perfect face and messy curly hair he wants to touch.

Leon jumps up the second a game store employee calls out that deck building time is up and pairings are ready, because he really needs to get the hell away from this guy that's making him feel things his recent ex-girlfriend never could. He gets a slip of paper with his name and the name of his opponent: Dr. Lewis Serra. He looks around, totally lost, because he doesn't know anyone. Of course, Tall Hot Guy approaches him again.

“Do you need help finding your opponent?”

“First my deck, now helping me find someone, you're a real knight in shining armor, aren't you?” Was that flirty? Doesn't knight in shining armor usually have some romantic connotations? Did Leon actually just flirt with this guy? He's pretty sure he did. Christ. “You know who, uh, Dr. Lewis Serra is?”

“You're looking at him. Your knight just so happens to be your first opponent too. Guess it's just you and me, pretty boy,” The words make Leon's face heat up, but thankfully Lewis turns his back to Leon quickly, to lead him to a table. He just hopes and prays the blushing will have subsided before he sits down and faces Lewis. “By the way, the name is actually Luis Serra. The name on the slip is a stupid nickname that just won't die.”

“There a story behind it?”

“I suppose, depending on how you want to define story. Some idiot I played once thought that my name was pronounced like Lewis, and everyone else thought it was really funny. That's it. Like I said, stupid.”

“What about the Dr. part?”

“Oh, that, ah, that actually isn't a nickname. To toot my own horn, I was a real child prodigy. I got my PhD in biology when I was 16,” Oh great. This guy is tall, hot, and insanely smart. Be still Leon's beating heart. “Normally I'm humble and never introduce myself with the title, I don't want to seem pretentious. And I like to keep my work and personal life separate. It being on the slip is not my choice. I've asked them to stop putting it here, but of course they just think it's funny that it annoys me!”

“Well, there are worse nicknames. My coworkers call me Leon Stupid Kennedy.”

“Wow. Okay. You win, yanqui, I have no right to complain about being Dr. Lewis,” Luis lifts his life die up. “High roll? Or I can just let you go first, since you're a beginner?”

“Such a gentleman, guess I'll just go first.”

Leon's deck is as straightforward as Luis promised. He plays mountains. He taps mountains and casts creature spells that he attacks with. There are some instant and sorcery spells in there too, but not a lot and they're pretty simple, mostly just kill spells.

Luis's deck is complicated, which is no surprise. Just about every single card he plays triggers some combo on cards he already has out, and he's constantly drawing cards, scrying, tapping and untapping things, putting counters on shit… It's impossible for Leon to keep up with. But he doesn't really need to. It doesn't matter what Luis is up to, his deck is meant to just keep attacking regardless of what his opponent is doing. And it… Actually works? He thought he was going to get his ass handed to him, but then he gets Luis down to 5 life…

“You got me. There's no way I can win now,” Luis says, scooping his board up and starting to shuffle his deck. “Game two!”

“Oye, earth to Leon, you in there?” Jesus Christ. Luis played a card that required him to shuffle his library and Leon completely zoned out staring at Luis's hands. At first he was just looking at his rings, but then he was just watching his hands shuffling his deck, thinking about what else those fingers could do… What the hell is wrong with Leon? “It's your turn!”

“Right. Sorry. Just zoned out.”

Game two does go to Luis. Quite possibly because Leon kept swooning over him and getting distracted.

But somehow Leon gets his shit together enough to win game three. Luis goes up to report the result of their match, and then the other players that are done gather around and give Luis some shit for losing to a beginner. Leon's anxiety suddenly kicks into overdrive and he gets hit with a vision of Luis throwing him under the bus to protect his own reputation, saying something about how Leon sucks and Luis could have crushed him if he tried, but he went easy on him, and Leon would spend the rest of the night questioning if he actually knows how to play. Being an outcast among other outcasts would be a new low for him.

It doesn't happen. Luis doesn't even dignify the comments with a response, just wanders away from them to glance at the ongoing matches. Leon is both relieved and disappointed that Luis doesn't try to talk to him again. Not until the end of the night, after prize packs are being handed out.

“So… Will I be seeing your pretty face around here again? You won three packs, you could save them for a Friday Night Magic draft for free?”

“Yeah. Think I will.”

Leon isn't sure what exactly a Friday Night Magic draft is, but he'll figure it out.

#luis absolutely did make mistakes on purpose so leon would win the first game. but it's a secret he'll take to his grave #he just wanted to give him a lil confidence booster so he wouldn't be intimidated against other opponents #and would feel confident playing super aggressive the rest of the night #serennedy #serrennedy #luis serra #leon kennedy

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jjungkooksthighs · 2 months

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The shadows fill his eyes, and he urges her closer while his lips curl back to reveal those sharpened canines. "You do not tell me what to do. You are my little whore. Do not overstep your boundaries, slut." He hurls her down toward the floor, and he doesn't attempt to catch her as she once again falls onto her elbows and back. She's not fast enough, and the wind is knocked from her lungs on impact with the cold, hard ground as she looks up pathetically at him.

Have you forgotten what I did to the last person that fucking defied me?" He stands, turning on his heel to kick the downed candelabra across the room. It is hurled through the air toward a glass decanter on the far end table, and the glass shatters into thousands of pieces upon its landing into it.

It is a demonstration meant for her, obviously. He was showing her how easy it would be to break her. Yet, he had not.

She doesn't try to pick herself up off the floor. She knows better than to try.

"Yes," she croaks out, "I remember, alpha."

"What did I do to you after I killed that fucker, female?" He questions, his eyes setting on the shards of glass that glint in the light of the fire rather than looking at her. "Tell me what I did to you after I took his life with my own hands."

"A-alpha.." she tries calling out, not wanting to give in yet. He doesn't look at her, cracking his neck instead as he clenches his jaw, his fist clenching as he tries his best not to let go of the little patience he has remaining. But- she didn't.. no! He can't just threaten to throw the book away! The longer his gaze is directed away from her, the braver her thoughts get. She just.. wanted to try something... new. For him! .. alright, she'd done wrong not to tell him of the toys. But, she'd told him of the book herself! She wouldn't let him throw it away as a punishment! He can't do that! "Alpha!" she whines, her lips fixed in a pout now, still wary of her actions. However, the more she thinks of it, the more her rebellion grows. It doesn't stop her from crawling back, however. She knows her next words will have consequences. But, she can't help it! She doesn't see what she's done wrong with this. "I won't let you throw it away, alpha." She crawls back by a bit, her voice meek and panicked as she shakes her head, her gaze flitting about the room, her eyes landing on the blazing fire he'd threatened to ruin the treasured item with. It sets her off. "Y-You won't do that! I- I won't let you!"

Instead of trudging toward her as she expected him to do, he remains. Still as a statue, he stays seated in that chair as she crawls away from him and toward the safety of the corner opposite him.

He says nothing, and for a time, only the roar and crackle of the fire is heard between them. Somehow, that is even more unsettling than horror tale she's ever read.

He just stares scathingly at her, his fingers interlocking as he rests each elbow atop each knee.

The silence becomes deafening, and her heart hammers in her chest when he remains quietly, uncharacteristically still.

When the fattest log in the fireplace snaps in two under the scorching heat, that's when he finally breaks the quiet.

Instead of the red-hot rage she was expecting, his tone is calm and controlled.

"I have your book, whore. If it is my desire to burn it, I will do so. You will not let me do anything. I make the decisions around here. Not you." He leans forward in his seat. "You are here because of the choice I made to make you mine. You are clothed in the fabrics and styles you are because that is what I want on your body. You are fed every night with the game I bring home to you. You spend your days frolicking in the library, the fields, the schoolhouse because I go to the forest and kill anything that threatens the peace you enjoy because I make it so." He taps the heel of his foot against the floor. "Do not tell me what I will do, whore. I thought you knew your place, but clearly, I was wrong."

#alpha jungkook asks

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your0dearest · 2 years

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AHIT(TW)

Trigger warning; Death, Blood, Gorey descriptions, mention of envasive thoughts.

Snatchers reaction to the death of his S/o and the aftermath.

+++

Snatcher

He remembered their cold corpse torn ripped and pulled apart at it’s seams, spikes of ice pierced their form, their lifeless eyes, those cold empty eyes that would forever haunt his existence and dreams.

He had found them while tending to a few forest fires, when he finished up putting them out he found their body underneath and pile of rubble and debris, with a trail of left over snow from the traveling.

It seems that you had gone out to find something out in Vanessas’ mansion half hazardously, not to mention without notice, and was attacked, then came back…Then was finished off by being crushed by a falling tree…

He was sent into a state of pure and absolute despair, when he picked up his loves corpse he held them tightly to his chest crying out to into the night sky in agony, the whole planet and many others could hear his cries of pain and agony.

After he had calmed down a bit he gave them a proper burial gently placing their small body in the coffin case, with their soul clutched gently between his talons.

He often found himself thinking he should’ve been there and that it was all his fault you had died, tears seemed to be a constant nowadays, he didn’t even bother checking his traps after they went off, he was always so tired too.

God, why did he fall for them knowing full well their and himself would be in harms way? Desperation? Need? Desire? No, he just craved being held by someone as perfect as them, but that craving can never be satisfied, because his perfect lover is dead.

He raked his claws through his neck fluff in hopes to calm himself down, he glanced up at a picture of them on the wall of his home, their beautiful lively eyes burned into his face, it hurt so much.

He wouldn’t fall in love again-wOAH where did that come from- nonono, this is all just a bad dream, they never died! Right?

He was just having another seemingly long nightmare!

Right?

Yeah…Let’s go with that!

He’d wake up with his loves small body pressed against him with his arms wrapped around them, and when he’d wake up he’d shower them in love and kisses!

The thought of them asleep in his arms made him feel better.

This was all just a bad dream… That’s lasting quite a long time…

Everything is fine…

…

Everything is not fine…

He quickly rose from his chair and violently hurled the book he held in his hands to the ground, he turned around and screamed out into his forest.

Wailing in pain once more he held his head tugging at his hair and tears fell down his ghostly face and down in the small canal bellow, it was higher now, all thanks to his tears.

God it hurt so much, why? Why did this have to happen? Why did she have to take you from him?

One day…

One day he would ensure she burned in hell for what she has done…

One day soon enough will that day come.

+++

I hope I did ok! Also my apologies for not being more active, I’ve been busy with mental health and friend drama! But I’m back and ready to write some more!

-Yours truly

#a hat in time #ahit #ahit snatcher #snatcher #snatcher x s/o #snatcher x reader #reader insert

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heliads · 3 years

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Second Best

Based on this request: “a Zoya Nazyalensky story where she and the reader are friends and one night they get into a fight and Zoya confesses her love?”

masterlist

The task before you is simple. All you have to do is use your abilities as a Grisha Squaller to pick up the metal spear before you and launch it across a clearing into the awaiting target. It’s almost offensively easy, something you’ve been training to do since you arrived at the Little Palace all those years ago. It’s very simple, although the fact that you’re now next in line to complete the task makes it seem strangely harder.

However, the eyes of the rest of the Squallers are upon you, so you can’t exactly back down now. You step forward, lifting your hands in the traditional gestures used by the Etherealki whenever they have it in their minds to do something particularly interesting, and the spear lifts before you. You let it hover there, suspended in the air for a second, and then you fling your hands forward, palms facing the target. The spear flies in unison with your movement, burying itself halfway through its length in the target. It’s almost a perfect shot, maybe off by a hair’s breadth. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

You can hear applause from behind you, the usual aura of surprise that comes with the feat you’ve just accomplished. With a casual gesture of your fingers, the spear yanks itself out of the target, with only a few sparse pieces of straw falling to the ground as any sort of damage. Well, that and the gaping hole in the center of the target, although that is quickly mended by the Fabrikator kept on hand. You can’t help but grin to yourself as the spear returns to your hand. Let’s see anyone else match that.

You may have spoken a little too soon- seconds after you’ve returned the spear to its awaiting position near the front of the courtyard, it’s hurled again through the air, shooting with the precision of an arrow to land in the direct center of the target. You thought it might be impossible to improve upon the slight difference in your shot, but this latest Squaller has managed it with ease.

Normally, any other blue-garbed Etherealki would be looking around in horror and dismay, upset as to what would cost them the first place spot in the class and curious as to who could land a perfect shot such as that. You, however, are somewhat used to this now, and just keep walking with a grin. You can hear footsteps approaching behind you, and don’t even have to turn around to acknowledge the girl now matching your strides.

“Nice one, Zoya.” The girl beside you smirks. “I should hope so. If I so much as missed the center by a hair, you wouldn’t let me forget it for a week.” You laugh. “Of course not. How could I let go of the chance to not tease Zoya’Best In Class’ Nazyalensky? It would practically be a crime.” Zoya nods, pretending to be serious. “Absolutely. The Saints might invoke their wrath upon you if you didn’t act upon such an opportunity.” You fling your hand over your heart dramatically. “Here lies Y/N L/N, dead after the Saints wanted to see her make fun of her friend and she let them down.”

Zoya snorts graciously as you pretend to faint on her, shoving your mock limp body aside. “Oh, you consider us friends?” You catch yourself easily, rolling your eyes. “Zoya dear, I know it would bring you no greater pleasure in the world to consider yourself a lone wolf, forever at the front of the pack, but I thought you’d realized by now that you simply can’t get rid of me. We’re friends.”

You can hear Zoya grumbling, but when you glance over at her, there’s an ill-concealed smile dancing behind her eyes. “That’s an interesting way to convince people to like you, annoy them and make sure you don’t ever leave you alone.” You raise an eyebrow at her. “And did it work, yes or no?” Zoya huffs. “It did, but we’re not talking about that.” You grin. “Of course we’re not.”

You pause by the halls of the Little Palace, ready to part ways as usual. Although the Etherealki and Squallers specifically all have their quarters around the same area, Zoya’s rooms are a ways away from your own. This is typically where you split up, where you go your way and Zoya returns to her own devices, where she’ll most likely plot how to take control of the next lesson and prove herself the best of the students yet again.

However, Zoya shakes her head, continuing to walk next to you. “There are too many people waiting by my doors. I’m staying in yours instead, if that’s alright.” You nod, unable to keep a teasing grin from your face. “Of course it’s alright. It must be so hard, having to deal with suitors and fans so often. I imagine it to be simply exhausting.” You’re expecting Zoya’s vexed scowl and smack on the arm, so you’re able to duck out of the range of both.

This is how it is to be close friends with Zoya Nazyalensky, after all. You laugh with her, develop a thick enough skin to stand the constant scathing remarks that must of course be exchanged, and do your best to keep up with the neverending flow of power and possibility that always seems to come her way. That’s how it has always been, and how it will always be.

It’s not that you mind this, of course. You learned early on that no matter how hard you try, she’s always going to come in first in the class competitions and Grisha displays of strength. Being second out of so many Etherealki is pretty damn good for you, and you can tell that there’s a slight sigh of relief in Zoya’s eyes when you never seem to mind her showing off or ruining what might have been a first place finish for you. Hey- you never came to the Little Palace to always be the best, you came to learn and laugh, and you do that with Zoya. You would never trade what you have with her for fierce competition, even if it meant that you’d start besting her in contests.

This isn’t to say that you wouldn’t change slight aspects of your friendship, of course. For some reason, your heart decided to join the scores of other Grisha and even otkazat’sya that were foolish enough to fall in love with Zoya, and you’re just as hopeless as the rest. It’s just the way that she laughs when she wins, the glimmer of competition and spirit in everything she does, the undeniable thrill in your chest whenever you spot the familiar blue-clad silhouette heading briskly your way. No, you don’t think there was ever a way that you wouldn’t fall under her spell, even if you tried your hardest to fight it.

You could have told her you loved her, you think. You could have mentioned it to Zoya at any point, but you don’t. You’ve seen the way she watches potential friends for their weaknesses, having to always second-guess why they’re talking to her. Is this latest Corporalki approaching her because he truly wants to be her friend, or is it because he instead desires the secrets of her skill in Grisha abilities or as another girl in his bed? For anyone else, you think the constant doubts would drive someone mad, but it doesn’t for Zoya. She’s able to tuck it inside herself, bury it until you wouldn’t even know it was there at all.

She told you once, when the night was dark and long and Zoya couldn’t stop herself from having slightly too much kvas after a hard mission, that she sometimes terrifies herself over the fact that she might always be alone. You can still picture her there, curled up in a chair by your fire, the haunted look in her eyes. You know something happened before she came to the Little Palace, something that made her never trust another soul unless they worked to prove it, but it’s hovering in the back of her mind right now.

So, you nodded at her, and gave her another one of your sapphire blankets to help the way that she won’t stop shivering, and you listen. When Zoya looks up at you again, as if expecting to leave like the others or at least shoo her from your rooms, you simply offer for her to stay the night and not have to go back to her empty quarters. You think that was the moment when she finally accepted that you weren’t going away, when she really started to trust you.

This is precisely why you cannot say a word about how you feel- if Zoya finds out, she’ll begin to wonder if your entire friendship was just borne of a lie, the same as any of the other heartstruck Etherealki who think themselves brave enough to tame Zoya. So, you make sure to direct your lingering glances towards the woods and the scenery around you instead of her, and you force a joking smile instead of a soft look. She would know what you meant if you didn’t hide your heart, so you must do your best to deceive her.

You’ve arrived in your rooms by now, tossing your outer coats to the side and warming your hands by the fire in the corner. You talk for a while about the class and the other students and the way Marie won’t stop staring at Sergei, a Corpoalki who she most certainly should not be associated with. Zoya stays until the candles burn low, and then she says goodbye with a smile. You return her smile. You always do.

You have a most interesting conversation over the next week. It’s not with Zoya, as it turns out, but General Kirigan. Truth be told, you weren’t expecting it at all. He’d caught you unawares in the library one night, while you were studying the particulars of the making at the heart of the world for a class lecture the next day. He hadn’t been there one second yet appeared the next, looming over your book with a shadow that seemed too tall and menacing to be real.

You had looked up in surprise, but he held up a hand, quelling any doubts that you’d accidentally done something wrong. He spoke to you about a regiment of Grisha in one of the backwater towns, some part of the Second Army that was asking for far too many supplies in exchange for the lackluster job they were doing to protect the potential Grisha in the city. For some reason, he asked your opinion of what to do about them, and you gave it. He thanked you with a smile, then left.

This happened twice more. All three times, he showed up, talked with you for a little bit, and asked a question on what you thought of a particular issue. Sometimes, it was still with the Second Army, and sometimes it was with the opportunities presented to the Grisha at the Little Palace itself. He seemed intrigued to hear what classes were like, saying how he had heard you were one of the best Squallers there were. You had smiled at that, and his eyes had glinted like a hound about to take down his prey.

That was the third visit, the most recent visit. You’re walking back to your quarters now, unable to keep a slight grin from your face. This is it, isn’t it? This is how you make your way from the classrooms of the Little Palace to the battlefield, to a real chance to do something different. When you open your doors, Zoya is propped up in an armchair inside, although this does not surprise you. You’ve long since given her free reign of all that is yours.

She looks up at you, a question already bubbling up in her inquisitive glance. “What’s got you so excited?” She’s never been able to miss a detail, has she? You can’t seem to tuck your smile away. “I’ve been speaking to General Kirigan, three times now. I think he might be on the verge of offering me a job in the Second Army.” You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting from Zoya- an expression of surprise, maybe some congratulatory words. Whatever you thought might happen, you were certainly not expecting her to stand up, face twisted in something that looked almost like fear and anger.

“You can’t do that. You should avoid him as much as possible.” Your feet stall from where you’d been crossing the room to her. “What are you talking about?” Zoya shakes her head, almost manic. “You should stay away from him. What did he tell you?” This, coming from your closest friend when you’d been so excited, is enough to make your happiness start to leach from you, replaced by a cold bewilderment and betrayal. “What does it matter? Zoya, this could be my future.”

Zoya seems unwilling to hear you out. “Tell me what he said, Y/N. You can’t trust a word he says.” You scoff. “I’m not a fool, Zoya. I know what he said, and none of it was a trick. He spoke to me like a friend, and last time he talked to me about potential openings within the Grisha ranks. I could have a position. Isn’t that excellent?” Zoya shakes her head once more. “It’s a trick. He won’t give you anything. Don’t tell me you’re actually going to believe what he says?”

You draw back from her now, all traces of excitement gone from you. “Why are you saying this? Maybe I don’t know if he truly means it or not, but you don’t know anything about this. Saints, I thought you might actually be happy for me.” Zoya almost winces at that. “I’m not- I would be happy for you if I thought this was something real, Y/N, but it’s not. Nothing is with him.” You can feel yourself rising up in anger. “Oh, and you would know about that, wouldn’t you? From all of the time you spent with him? Are you truly doubtful, Zoya, or do you just not want me to be involved with him because you don’t want me to have anything that you hadn’t had first?”

The words are coming out faster now, one after the other. Truth be told, it’s almost good to hear them aloud after so long keeping them inside. “I never had a problem with you being first in class, first in everything. I never will, but I assumed that you would extend that same courtesy to me. Why is it that we’re friends in everything, but the second I seem to get some sort of headway, you have to prove it wrong? Can’t I have anything that isn’t yours already?”

Zoya draws back as if you’ve slapped her. “That’s not how I feel. I’m just trying to keep you safe.” You want to laugh. “This is how you keep me safe? By taking everything away from me until I’m only in your shadow and nowhere else?” Zoya flings her hands in the air. “If it means he doesn’t get his hooks in you, yes! I would rather have you stay here forever than lose you.” You look at her, unbelieving. “And why is that? Because we’re such good friends that you’d trade my future for my complacency?”

Zoya’s voice is soft now, barely there at all. “Because I cannot stand to lose you. Because I love you, Saints damn it, and I’d rather have you hate me than never have you at all.” You stand there for a second, then another, then another. Your breath is sharp and harsh in your chest, but you cannot seem to say a single word. You try for a few, anyway. “You love me?” She nods once. “Yes.”

You do laugh now, incredulous. “Why didn’t you say so, you idiot? I love you too.” She looks almost surprised. “I thought- I thought you just wanted to be friends.” You shrug. All of your anger is receding away from you now, washing back into the banks after a flood. “I did, because I thought that’s all you wanted. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was only your friend because I had feelings for you.” Zoya stands there for a moment, then something almost like a sigh comes from her and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around you. “You generous, impossible fool. I can’t stand you.” You laugh, returning her embrace. “Of course not. You love me.”

requested by @villnella

grishaverse tag list: someone who would be my squaller bestie @underc0vercryptid, @darlinggbrekker, @cameronsails, @aleksanderwh0r3

#zoya nazyalensky #zoya nazyalensky imagines #zoya nazyalensky x reader #zoya nazyalensky oneshot #grishaverse #shadow and bone #grishaverse imagines #shadow and bone imagines #grishaverse oneshot #shadow and bone oneshot #sab #sab imagines #sab oneshot #zoya #zoya imagines #zoya x reader #zoya oneshot

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bridoesotherjunk · 2 years

Text

Venom 3 : All in the Family

Bit Five!

LISTEN- I NEED to see Donna get to be just as unhinged as Cletus and Carnage. I need to see this. LET ME HAVE A VIOLENTLY UNHINGED WOMAN, SONY. - Make her Olivia Octavius but multiply that by SIX.

We hear Scream’s voice before we see her. We open back up on a shot zooming out from her back as she walks into a nondescript room. She’s shouting, “Well!?!”

Once Scream is far enough out of our way, we see that she’s in the same room as the other people who kidnapped Venom. They all look frustrated and are either pacing, or muttering to themselves.

Trevor, the one who talked to Venom when he was in the glass jar, speaks up first. “Nothing. I’m getting nothing. Just-just… Just the barest of feelings.” He looks at his hands. “I can’t hear anything anymore.”

Scream snarls at that and looks at one of the others, her head snaps in their direction so quickly that her hair tendrils take a second to catch up.

Leslie just shakes her head, looking sad. She doesn’t say anything, just sits where she is and rubs her chest like it hurts.

Ramon says what he’s getting doesn’t sound like language anymore. “It’s like… baby talk,” he says.

Carl says, “I think they killed mine.”

This clearly pisses Scream off.

She grabs the nearest object and hurls it into the wall with a shriek of rage. She destroys something else, still screaming. Only after ripping something else apart, does she finally stop. She stands there taking in deep, heaving breaths.

The Scream symbiote separates herself from Donna enough to twist her head around and look at the room. Donna looks up at her, still panting. Slowly, Scream extends her tendrils to the others in the room, oozing slightly into them for a moment. She is quiet, almost like she’s listening to something we can’t hear.

“They’re not dead,” she says finally. “They’re hurting. Whatever those humans did caused a great deal of pain…” She retracts her tentacles and looks back at Donna. “They will need time to recover.”

Donna’s breathing picks right back up. She looks like she is shaking. Scream is still extended from her as she grabs a chair and slams it into the wall. Scream just watches her calmly, cocking her head with her toothy smile.

“That fucking Brock!!” Donna shouts, slamming the chair down over and over to the point that it’s in splinters now. “Twice now he’s done this shit to us! Twice!!” She finally throws the little scraps of the chair across the room. (They get embedded in the wall.) She looks poisonous as Scream begins to come back and envelope her again.

“I swear,” she growls, “As soon as you four are healed, I’ll kill him.”

The camera fades out once more on a close up shot of her face. The music is dark and ominous.

Two Months Later…

Eddie and Mulligan are sitting on a bench in some sort of park. Toxin’s head is protruding from Mulligan’s back and Venom’s head is protruding from Eddie’s. Eddie is tossing peanut chocolate candies to both of the symbiotes. (Venom still won’t eat the red ones, but Toxin doesn’t seem to mind them.)

“I just don’t get it,” Mulligan says. “Carnage never stopped killing, but these guys just go quiet after one day?” He huffs. “I don’t like it.”

“Perhaps they are planning something,” Venom suggests.

Eddie snorts. “Perhaps? Ooh, look at you using the big words.” Venom makes a face and hisses at him.

“It is strange, though,” Toxin says, “I often have to reign in my desire for killing with Patrick’s help. The others… Their hosts did not seem to have that control or desire for peace.”

Mulligan leans forward to look at Venom. “So… remind me again… What exactly did they do?”

Venom finishes crunching on his candy before he answers.

“I have told you before- they used some sort of noise makers to take me from Eddie, like the recordings Anne and Dan have. I was sealed inside that thing and taken to the laboratory. They extracted my next five spawn and bonded them to themselves.”

“Okay, well how long did that take? It wasn’t until like a week later that they went on their rampage...”

“Yeah, Carnage started that same day, didn’t he?” Eddie asks Mulligan.

“Literally a few hours after you left.”

Eddie frowns. “So- so maybe something’s wrong with them. Maybe something went wrong with the whole extraction process.” He waves his hands animatedly as he talks. He wiggles his fingers for emphasis on the words ‘extraction process.’

Mulligan gets ready to say something else, but Venom talks over him.

“Eddie, you are out of chocolates.”

Shaking his head, Eddie gets up. “All right, how ‘bout a trip to Mrs. C’s?”

“I’ll catch you later, Mulligan. Toxin.” He gives them both a little wave and walks away. Venom oozes back into him and the two make their way to their favorite shop.

As he walks, Venom asks, “Eddie?” Eddie hums in response. (Tom Hardy noises.) “Why did you kiss my head before? Back at the laboratory…”

“Hm? Oh, that? You said you were hurt.”

“So?” Venom presses for more.

Shrugging, Eddie says, “I dunno, that’s just what you do when somebody is hurt. You kiss it and make it better.”

“Do these kisses have healing properties?”

“No. No, they’re uh, just kisses.” Eddie has his hands in his pockets as he walks.

Venom sounds confused now. “Then how are kisses supposed to help if someone is hurting?”

“It just makes you feel better, I dunno,” Eddie says with a little huff. “It’s just a nice thing to do for the people you love. You’ve seen it in some of the movies we’ve watched. Parents do it with their kids a lot.” Venom makes a ‘harumph’ noise in Eddie’s head. Clearly that answer is not good enough for him.

----------------------------------------------

First Bit -> here

Last Bit -> here

AO3 Link -> here

#venom #venom 3 #venom 3: all in the family #symbrock #venom let there be carnage #venom 2 #sony #veddie #venom symbiote #fanfiction #venom all in the family #scream symbiote #toxin symbiote #my art

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elizabeethan · 3 years

Text

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 13 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: Heyooo time for more smut! And more answers. And more cliffhangers.

Rated M

Get added to my tag list

Read the Rest

Read my Other Stuff

Read on Ao3

~~~~

The destruction in the apartment is clear the moment she walks in, feeling Killian’s watchful eye leave her as she shuts the door. There’s broken glasses and plates on the floor, Neal having cleared off the counter in what she assumes is his anger. She can’t think of another reason for him to be so destructive, picture frames smashed in the living room and fluffy pillow feathers flying through the air, but she certainly allows her mind to wander.

What if he knows? They’ve been careful, but what if someone besides Rufio had seen them?

“Neal?” She asks tentatively, clutching the strap of her purse tightly.

She hears another crash from his bedroom in response to her voice and cringes. The door opens forcefully, slamming shut behind him as he storms into the living room to meet her.

“Where the fuck were you?” he asks threateningly.

“I was at the store,” she answers, her voice small and weak, although she thinks it unwise to make a show of strength. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he spits. He fumes in anger again and picks up a vase that she had filled with flowers she bought herself, hurling it at the wall to her right and sending water and glass towards her. “Rufio is fucking dead , that’s what’s wrong!”

She pales immediately, realizing that he must know of their involvement in his death. There’s not much for her to say, unable to defend herself as she and Killian both know that their actions were wrong. She only wonders now if he also knows of the affair they’ve started. “Neal…” she croaks out in terror, unsure how to continue.

But to her surprise, he falls to his knees, his hands catching his head as he lets out a sob. “Who would do this?” he cries, sending her mind racing. “Who would kill my friend?”

She shifts, the sudden realization striking that he isn’t angry at her, he simply finds it appropriate to take his anger out on her. She has to adjust now, unable to hold onto the fear of him discovering her dangerous secret and required to shift into her role as doting girlfriend. She has to keep up appearances, as much as it pains her to do so.

“Babe,” she says softly, “I’m so sorry.”

Once she’s close enough to him, he grabs at her hand, pulling her roughly into his arms and squeezing her too tight. His actions are forceful, but not at all surprising. He holds onto her, sobbing into her hair and making her cringe as he cries for his loss. He says things like, how could someone do this to me, and it makes her realize that he isn’t sad about his friend’s death. He’s sad that someone has hurt him. He thinks this is personal.

While he cries, she looks around the apartment and wants to cry herself. He’s broken so many things, and even though almost none of it was hers, she still feels sadness in the wake of the destruction she sits in. When she looks to the bookshelf frightfully, she realizes she doesn’t see the one and only object that she covets as hers and lets a tear escape.

He’s angry. But he didn’t have to take his anger out on the one thing that he knows means something to her.

~~~~

“The Kings of Elsinore will pay for what they’ve done to us,” Peter says commandingly, his fist slamming against the table before him and making Emma startle. Many of the men around the table nod, grunting in agreement, including Killian.

He’s careful not to stare at her too much, although it’s difficult. Aside from his love for her and his disbelief at her beauty, it’s hard not to stare in an attempt to ensure that she’s alright. They haven’t been able to talk since she left this morning, but he doesn’t see any evidence that she’s been harmed. He knows that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been, though.

“The murder of Rufio was a heartless and psychotic act with the intention of hitting us where it hurts. Rufio was heir to one of our club’s founding members, and his death will not go unpunished.”

Killian shudders in his seat, the action making Rob turn to look at him and cock his head. He’s sure Peter means it, and he’s sure Killian’s punishment will be worse than anything he doles out to the Kings if he finds out.

He can’t find out, though. Because if he does, he could find out why it happened, and he can’t risk Emma’s safety like that.

“We’re going to hit back, which is why Miss Swan is here today,” he continues. His words draw Emma’s attention up from her hands as her big eyes stare at Peter. “It has become imperative that you identify something we can use against the Kings. Any help you need, you’ll have. Hook,” he calls, shifting his focus.

“Aye?”

“Continue to assist Miss Swan in her search. Remove the security features if you have to.”

“If it’s alright,” Robin starts, causing Killian’s eyes to grow twice their size, “I’d like to help as well. I believe my tracking skills may be useful in helping Miss Swan decide where to look.”

“Fine,” Peter agrees, waving him off. “As for the rest of you, prepare for a battle. If it’s a fight they want, then a fight they shall have.”

~~~~

She drops into the too-firm chair and it squeaks under her weight, a groan escaping her lips as she jimmies the mouse of her computer. He can’t help the small smile that pulls at one corner of his mouth, her dramatic entrance bringing him joy despite the stress they're all under.

No one says anything at first; it’s awkward with Rob being here despite him being one of Killian’s closest friends. Even though he trusts him with his life, he isn’t sure he’s ready to hear the truth of their relationship after how many times he insisted that Killian avoid this.

Once her computer boots up, she straightens and he takes a seat in his usual spot, gesturing to another folding chair across the room in an invitation for Rob to sit. “Want me to remove the securities, love?”

“No, I don’t want you to remove the securities ,” she responds in a mocking tone, mimicking his accent as she rolls her eyes. “I’m not a damn child; I know how to take off parental controls.”

Killian raises his brows, looking at her in surprise, and asks, “then why haven’t you?”

“Because I’m also not an idiot,” she responds, glaring at him before turning back to the aged screen. “I’m not stupid enough to try and go against Peter’s rules.”

He gives her a small smile, one that he can’t seem to give to anyone else, and can't seem to help giving her, and nods. “That’s right,” he agrees softly, his voice just barely above a whisper. He almost forgets his place, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and plant a kiss on her beautiful-- if not thoroughly chewed up-- lips. It’s obvious enough that something’s irritated her, and he wants to get to the bottom of it and console her so that the light comes back into her eyes. He’s greedy like that, he supposes.

“I bloody knew it,” he hears, Rob’s grumbling voice yanking him violently from his thoughts and his desires.

Killian turns quickly, as does Emma, both of them staring at Robin in surprise, as if they forgot about their audience.

“You’re fucking her,” he accuses, nodding and tightening his jaw. “Killian, mate, how many times have we talked about this--”

“Rob,” he starts hurriedly as he stands, his hands held out in a plea. Without words, only his eyes communicating to his friend, he begs for forgiveness and discretion and kindness. “Mate…”

He can’t even look at Emma yet because he knows that the look on her face will break him. He knows that she must be gnawing at her lip, her brows high on her forehead and her eyes desperate and terrified. “I’m not going to say anything,” Rob finally says, his eyes meeting Emma’s rather than Killians, confirming his hunch. “You two have royally fucked up, but your secret’s safe with me.”

He hears her sigh and worries that she could be crying, so he turns to her. He’s met with her dropping her head into her hands in relief, and he hurries to squat in front of her, taking her hands in his. “It’s alright,” he whispers, running his thumbs over her knuckles. Her dim, glassy eyes meet his and she shakes her head.

“We can’t-- he knew after two minutes. We have to go,” she murmurs softly, but he sees something shift in her. She sits up slightly straighter and gazes into his eyes seriously. “Can we trust him?”

“Yes,” he confirms while he squeezes her hands. He knows they can, but he turns back to look at Rob anyway.

“You can trust me, lass,” he vows, understanding as Killian begs him to. “I swear I won’t say a thing, but you’re playing a dangerous game. What’s the plan here?”

“We’re leaving,” Killian answers simply. “As soon as possible. We would have tonight, but Neal came back early.”

“He didn’t come back early, you dolt. They never left.”

He pales, his face falling, and he feels Emma's squeezing his hand. She must be thinking exactly what he is. They had both assumed that Peter and Neal somehow heard about Rufio and had returned, but the fact that they hadn’t even left is somehow more concerning.

“How… how did they find out?”

Rob snorts, shaking his head. “Right, you were too busy to-- hang on. Killian… tell me you didn’t--”

“Rob--”

“You didn’t. ” His face falls pale as well, the look he gives his friend chilling. Killian can feel the disappointment and terror radiating off of his oldest friend easily, and it does nothing to quell his nerves. “Killian, tell me right now that you didn’t kill him.”

“I had to,” he whispers, shaking his head in self hatred. “He attacked her. Said he would-- he said--”

“ Fuck, he caught you, didn’t he?”

“Robin,” Emma interrupts, trying to stop the two of them from going at it and speaking too loudly. They’re bound to tip someone off if they keep this up. “What Killian did… He knows it was wrong, but there wasn’t much of a choice. Rufio attacked me. He was protecting me, and now… I have to protect him. We have to get out of here, because if they find out that Killian shot Rufio, he’ll be worse off than your friend, Liam.”

Rob is quiet for a moment, allowing Killian to absorb her words. She’s right, of course. They’ll deliver him a fate much worse than that of his brother if they find out.

“Too right, love,” Rob agrees finally, nodding and running his hands over his face. “I’ll help you however I can, so long as the two of you take me as well.”

“Of course, brother. I’d hoped to grab Tink and Elsa as well.”

He and Emma hadn’t spoken of his previous dalliances, and he only hopes that his intention to bring Tink along with them doesn’t offend her. It’s not as if he plans on staying with her long, but she deserves to get out just as much as they do.

“Only because of Liam, and Tink is--”

“It’s okay,” she cuts him off with a smile, her hand squeezing his. “Of course we’ll bring them.”

He can hardly take the amount of love he has for her, her unequivocal understanding of every piece of him hard to wrap his mind around. He gives her a genuine smile, and her gaze meets his, giving him the beaming sunlight in her eyes of which he’ll never tire.

~~~~

The service they hold at the Rabbit Hole is only slightly deranged. The message is clear enough: Rufio’s loss of life is seen as a personal attack against the club. His death is not sad because his life ended, it’s sad because the club is suffering.

It’s nauseating.

The only thing that keeps her head on straight is Killian, the gentle looks he shoots her from across the bar where he sits with Rob shooting warmth through her heart and to the pit of her stomach. His presence is so soothing, so grounding. It makes her feel steady and strong to be with him, to even be near him.

Each time she catches him glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, she feels her heart rate picking up. He drives her mad, she’s discovered. They’ve only just begun their relationship with one another, but it feels stronger than any she’s ever been in if only based on the physical connection they have with one another. She’s never felt this way about anyone before. She’s been with men before, men before Neal, but it was always transactional and cold. It was fine, but it wasn’t great. With Killian, it’s mind numbing.

He reads her effortlessly and flawlessly. He knows exactly what she needs when she needs it. He’s known exactly how to bring her over the edge each time, and she can only foresee their sex life getting better as they grow closer and closer. She can’t wait to grow closer to him.

The overwhelming feelings of disgust and discomfort are washed away easily each time he stares at her and are replaced by a feeling of undeniable need. The pressure builds where she needs him the most, arousal washing over her and through her until she can barely stand it, and the feeling of Neal’s hand landing on her shoulder makes her jump. “Want a drink, babe?” he asks, as if completely forgetting the conversation they had last night. He hasn’t even bothered to ask her of the results of her tests yet.

“I’m actually gonna just run to the bathroom,” she says with a smile. “Not feeling great, I’ll be back.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she stands and heads towards the bathroom, relying on the dank darkness and the slowly dripping faucet to distract from the overwhelming moodiness of the bar and her overwhelming arousal at the thought of Killian’s hands on her.

She focuses on her breathing for a moment, hoping to slow things down around her and calm her racing pulse. The sense of peace is short lived; the door opens slowly, making her heart rate pick up. But when she sees him, she relaxes easily, a smile creeping onto her face. “You need to be careful,” she insists quietly, although she can’t help but giggle as he locks the door and pounces on her.

He lifts her onto the counter and his lips are on hers instantly, his hands gripping her ass and pulling her towards him. Her legs wrap around his and her arms grab for his shoulders, her nails digging into the rough fabric of his button down shirt.

With his mouth trailing hot kisses along her flesh, his teeth scraping against her neck, he finds his way to her collarbone and murmurs, “I couldn’t stand being away from you a moment longer.”

She gasps in surprise at his words, a wave of arousal rushing through her and landing in her core, twisting her and encouraging her to tighten her legs around him in search of friction and pressure. “Fuck,” she whispers as his hands and lips move the cup of her bra to the side.

“Do you want this?” he asks, seeking consent before latching his lips to her hardened nipple. She nods fiercely. “ Gods , how I crave you.”

“Killian,” she breathes, “touch me.”

His mouth devours hers again, his hand sliding down the front of her and finding the waist of her jeans. He tugs, drawing her closer to him and, without breaking their lips apart, snaps her button undone and slides her zipper down quickly.

“Are you wet already, Emma?” he asks roughly, his fingers sliding over the cotton that’s already nearly soaked through. He growls. “You are; that’s a good girl.”

“Yours,” she mumbles, her arousal taking over and her mind barely able to keep up with what her mouth says.

“Aye, mine,” he agrees, nipping at her bottom lip. He pushes her garment aside and slips his fingers through her folds, groaning when he finds her sodden for him. “So responsive,” he praises. “So perfect for me.”

With a moan as his mouth presses to the sensitive skin under her earlobe, she nods again, wanting to reinforce to him that she’s his . Only his. Simply, she tells him, “I love you.”

His fingers glide over her clit, pinching quickly and dragging a whimper from her throat. “I love you so much I can scarcely breathe,” he whispers. “I can’t stand to be away from you.”

“Then don’t make me wait,” she begs in a whisper herself.

He moves his hand away from where she craves him and quickly moves his own jeans, and Emma wriggles until her pants are falling around her knees. “We’ll leave tomorrow,” he vows, smoothing his weeping cock along her clit as she wrestles with the condom wrapper. When she finally has it open, she places it over his tip and slides her fist down to the base.

“Where will we go?”

She gasps when one finger slips into her followed closely by a second, curling against her expertly and sending her searching for his mouth with hers. He swallows her cries when his thumb gently presses against her clit.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan,” he says, lining his cock up to her waiting entrance. “I promise, that’s all I want you to have.”

Their foreheads press together, their noses too, and she bites her lip as he pushes inside. She clings to him, her fingers gripping the back of his shoulders, her heels digging into his backside, her core squeezing around his cock. After a few perfectly timed, perfectly angled thrusts, she whispers, “I just want you.”

He holds her so close to him as one hand grabs onto her ass and the other holds her jaw and neck. His thrusts are quick, but deep and effective, striking her exactly where she needs him. He groans when she clenches around his cock again.

His hand slips around from her back so that his fingers can dance over her clit with each thrust. Emma moves her hands up to the back of his neck, gripping his hair and begging him for more in each moan against his mouth. It’s not long before he has her a writhing mess in his arms, pleading for release.

“Come on, angel,” he encourages gently but firmly as he gives her another flawless thrust. “Nice and tight for me, aren’t you? I know you’re ready, love. Come for me.”

His voice is tenacious, but still so tender, so caring in the way that he loves her. She’s never felt so loved and safe while being spoken to in such a dominating tone, and she loves it. She loves the freedom that comes with being commanded and feeling safe at the same time. She never knew the two could coexist.

At his behest, she clenches once more and cries out his name, his mouth muffling the sound as he spills into her. They hold each other firmly, panting as they ride out their highs together, although they’ll never be sated. They’ll never have enough of each other, always craving more.

“Bloody hell, I love you,” he says when they catch their breath.

She hums happily, if only because she’s still panting too hard to speak. She kisses his neck, her lips lingering on his soft, sweat coated skin. “I love you,” she whispers. Then, because telling him once will never be enough, she moves so that her tongue traces his earlobe and repeats, “I love you.”

He moves her hair out of her face when she pulls away slightly, then presses a kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry to come in here so… rudely,” he laughs. “But I--”

“I’m glad you did,” she smiles. She winces slightly as he pulls out, stepping away to dispose of the condom and exposing his bare ass to her, tempting her to pull him back to her. “Are we really gonna be able to go tomorrow?”

“Aye,” he smiles and returns to her to kiss her once more. “I just need to tell Tink and Elsa. We’re to meet by the docks; Robin knows already.”

“You have a plan?”

“Somewhere quiet,” he answers, “hidden away, unsuspecting… but it must be by the beach, aye?”

“Aye,” she giggles and he straightens her shirt with a smile. “And?”

“Nantucket.”

“Nantucket?”

“Mmm,” he hums as he helps her off of the counter so that she can fix her pants. “Quiet, secluded island, enough tourists to help us blend in. Plus, infamously beautiful beaches for an infamously beautiful woman.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, pushing onto her toes and kissing him. “Sounds perfect.”

“Emma…” he starts, and she can sense the shift between them. He’s thinking, his self-anger and self-hatred sneaking through the joy he felt moments ago. “If it weren’t for what I did--”

“Please,” she whispers. “You know that I love you. The fact that you killed Rufio doesn’t change that. I know you regret it, but if you need forgiveness, you have it.”

He leans against her heavily, forehead to hers again, and nods. “I do regret it. But I know it had to be done.”

“Exactly. And where will I meet you?”

“I’ll find you, my love. The less you know, the safer you’ll be with Neal. Robin knows the plan, though.” She nods against him now. “You’ll be alright,” he whispers, and she almost wonders who he’s promising.

“I know; I trust you.”

~~~~

A knock sounds against a heavy door. It’s pushed open slowly, and behind it stands a young and conflicted soul, trying to make the best decision for her family. The things she overheard as she stood outside of the women’s restroom serve to threaten the family she has found, and she cannot let that stand.

“Enter,” commands a strong and powerful voice, the man looking up from his ledgers and giving the woman a pensive look. “Elsa, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Peter,” she answers, moving towards the chair across from him. “I’m afraid I have some… troubling news.”

The man hums, leaning forward and pressing his arms to the desk. “And what is that, my dear?”

The woman takes a deep breath, sadly shaking her head at the truth she’s uncovered. She didn’t think her friend Killian capable of such a thing, but discovering that he’s murdered a member of the club has stunned her. “It’s Rufio,” she says wistfully. “I found out who killed him.”

“That’s very interesting indeed,” the man agrees. “Are you implying that it wasn’t a member of the Kings of Elsinore who murdered a member of our family?”

“Yes,” she nods with a deep sigh. “But it pains me to put the truth to words.”

“Elsa,” he starts again, leaning back in his chair authoritatively. “If you know something, you must tell me. How can we protect you if you don’t protect us in return?”

“Of course. After what happened to Liam, of course I want to protect the club.”

The man nods in sad agreement. “Yes, his death was a tragedy, but the club has been keeping you safe ever since.”

“Exactly.”

“Go on, then,” he gestures towards her. “Whatever you’ve discovered, you must remember that the club’s interests as a whole must come above those of one.”

The woman nods once more and takes a deep breath in, feeling the cool air hit her lungs. “It was Killian,” she whispers. “Killian killed Rufio.”

~~~~

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @hookedmom @pirateprincessofpizza

#Watch the Sunlight Fade #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #sunlight ff #captain swan au #modern au #captain swan smut #cs smut #captain swan angst #cs angst #captain swan fluff #cs fluff #ouat fanfic #ouat ff #once upon a time #once upon a time fanfic #captain swan

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imnotwolverine · 3 years

Text

The Wolves Return - Part 2

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

Summary: Evil is meddling in the woods and bad news hangs in the air.

Word count: 2649 (9,5 min. reading)

Disclaimer: 16+ - Thrilling, monster hunting and gore, minor injuries and a smidge of Geralt being a soft!dad

And then the White Wolf came. Fighting till his knees gave out and weakened did he bleat; Shit, Fuck, Almighty! Is death worth this good deed?

It was a terrible idea to go out of Kaer Morhen’s gates in this weather, with his leg feeling like a lug. But Geralt was a man of principle. And evil was evil. Greater, lesser, meddling. It stopped him from having a quiet night in, and he wasn’t having it.

Stepping out of the gate that crashed back in its lock, Geralt squinted into the flurry of snow. The footsteps he had seen here had faded as the stormy weather raged on.

Removing the long silver steel from its scabbard, he let his golden eyes roam over the dangerous pines. Instinctively his free hand shot out to his medallion. The magical pendant was still warm from the firepit inside and it thrummed restlessly into his palm, indicating that a source of magic was near.

‘Come out then.’ He demanded. But nothing came. A new flurry of snow came in instead and it was almost hard to believe that hours earlier the world had been green and somewhat peaceful.

Unfortunately for Geralt it wasn’t just snow that had arrived. A heavy gust made him stagger. It was like someone had tried to push him over, the strength so odd that perhaps he had already found his magical perpetrator.

Raising his sword, his free hand casted Yrden. The spell lit purplish blue fires in a circle around him, illuminating the radiant storm. That storm seemed to calm somewhat within the boundaries of his spell. It confirmed his assumptions that something strange was afoot, and yet he couldn’t place whom or what it was. Was it the woman? If so, were there more? Was this an ambush?

What a way to die that would be.

Looking left and right he sniffed the air. That same mixture of fresh pine sap and blood hung in the air.

A scream.

In a rush of whirling wind that crushed a tree branch up ahead, the woman came hurling at Geralt. Her skirts were ripped and somewhere in the past minutes she had lost her cape.

Geralt steadied his breath, ready to strike. But as the woman came near he noticed that the winds around her were off. They were irregular, like a wall of mists chasing her down.

‘RUN!’ She belted, eyes wide.

Geralt did not run. He only raised his sword a little higher, head twitching to the side to take that ever important decision; attack or defend.

The woman was a few footsteps away as he made his call. With a twirl he slashed down, hacking straight through succulent flesh.

The woman froze, gulping as a frosted grey creature fell apart by her feet.

‘Ah!’

‘QUIET.’ Geralt growled, eyes focused. The Yrden flames now cast a purplish hue over his pale features. Keeping his sword in one hand, his other was held out, ready to cast another spell if needed.

The woman nodded. With her arms grasping around some undefined wooden object in her arms she looked around skittishly. The wall of magical winds was now encircling them, causing the temperature to drop even further. Icy breaths broke from their mouths and the pinetrees above their heads went berzerkers. Whipping wildly to and fro it felt like they would soon pick up their root systems and fly off.

‘We’re gonna die.’ The woman cried.

‘The fuck we aren’t.’

The woman stepped back to get her back closer to the Witcher. Geralt snarled.

‘Don’t make this any harder woman.’

She let out a little breath but kept her complaints to herself. ‘Ha..typical this is.’ She whispered.

The winds were now inching closer, investigating the curious sign that was losing its force. Without hesitation Geralt called upon it again. The purple blue flames rose higher and as they did another creature was caught in their wake. A demon-esque, mangled face without eyes or nose reached out its claws, howling.

‘Foglet.’ Geralt growled, shoving the woman aside to make a clear path for his sword. With a fine sweep he mowed down the creature, slashing straight through its narrow body.

What Geralt didn’t notice was the launch of two more creatures that came from behind. And unlike their fellow packmember, they weren’t quite so distressed by the magical barrier that Yrden cast. Howling in pain they lunged forward, taking both the woman and Geralt by surprise.

Yrden’s light flickered as the woman was thrown to the ground, taking Geralt with her. Though the ghostly lights did not harm them, they did feel the cold return as they tumbled over the circle’s border. In moments another wave of slim limbs materialized, turning the blue-hued night into a true nightmare.

Geralt struggled to get the monsters away from them. Claws raked through supple skin and in moments the fresh white snow beneath them started to fleck with drops of blood. And not just his. The woman screamed bloody murder as one of the grey creatures found purchase on her neck.

Not that Geralt could care.

Swinging his sword in wild abandon he pushed away the aggressors that were toppling over him. The white world became a blood soaked nightmare. Greyish limbs went flying and though cold on his skin, Geralt felt warm blood thrum in his ears as the thrill of the fight returned. Practised stances echoed through his limbs as he cut through the foggy air. Though he did have to admit that even the adrenaline couldn’t qualm the ache in his leg. With a protective stance he kept the weight on his good leg, hoping the creatures weren’t smart enough to topple him over again.

A new windy cloud of snow came his way and he started hacking.

It was enough occupation to move his attention away from the dying light of Yrden. A few flickers of blue lit the trees and swirling snow before all went terribly dark.

The woman cried out again, though this time there didn’t seem to be terror within her. A snarl came from her vicinity, closely followed by a few damp thuds.

Bones cracked. Monsters howled. And as the foglets fell dead by Geralt’s feet, so did the howls behind him.

The woman panted. ‘So far for a warm welcome.’

Geralt turned, feeling the ache in his leg worsen by the second. He wasn’t even sure if he would be able to make it back to his chair without making a complete fool of himself. In the dark stood the woman, the object that she had kept in her arms now falling apart in misery. A lute, that’s what it must have been. The strings curled broken around her bloodied hands. Her eyes were bewildered as she looked around in what must be pitchblack darkness for her.

‘Hello?’ She stopped panting to swallow deeply.

She couldn’t see him.

Geralt felt his lip curl up, though he wasn’t sure whether he was smiling or grimacing. The thrill of the fight was slowly seeping away with the blood that was gushing from his shallow wounds. He had to take care of that soon.

‘We don’t have visitors here.’ He finally said, allerting the woman. She held her breath and held her broken lute a little higher. The poor instrument was beyond repair.

‘I’ve learned otherwise good Sir.’ She shuffled nervously, still not able to see him.

Around them the storm had returned to a quiet snowfall. No stars were to be seen and little flecks of snow were starting to stack back onto the tree branches. In a few hours the paths to Kaer Morhen would become near impossible to cross by normal footfolk. And that was all fair and game, until you have a visitor at the wrong side of the tracks.

Geralt sighed. ‘Visitor or not. Claim your business here.’

The woman huffed. ‘You’re my business.’

‘I am your business?��

‘The Butcher of Blaviken? The White Wolf of Rivia?! The--’

Geralt started walking off. Or better said: limping off. His leg was smarting so terribly that he already felt his head whirl after just a few steps. That, or it was the blood loss in combination with the biting cold.

‘Hey!’ The woman heard his dragging feet and followed.

Every few steps Geralt could hear her slip and slide, but she was not one so easily dissuaded.

‘I don’t do visitors.’ He growled, clenching his teeth. His vision was starting to swim as he laid eyes on the gates up ahead.

‘Well then count me as an old-new friend.’

Geralt halted, but as he wished to tell the woman off he could feel the world starting to blur. The sharp jolts of pain from his leg were starting to numb -- bad sign.

‘I don’t even know y--’

[In perhaps a dream]

‘Now you take good care of him, okay?’ Ciri whispered to Roach. The horse wiggled her ears as they both kept a mischievous eye on Geralt. The spring sun was streaming warm light over Kaer Morhen’s courtyard as all inhabitants stood around to wish the young woman farewell.

Meanwhile Geralt kept a small smile on his lips. He wasn’t really feeling happy, but he had to quell the less desirable feelings that were bubbling up inside him. Ciri was leaving. She was a grown woman now. This was a good thing. This was supposed to happen, right?

He eyed Vesemir who seemed far more relaxed. Arms folded and hip leaning into the stair balustrade, he winked at Geralt.

‘Hmmpf.’ Geralt huffed through smiling lips.

‘Now, now. You start sounding like me there, young man.’ Vesemir grinned.

‘It’s not the same.’

‘Oh I think it is.’ Vesemir raised up as Ciri skirted up the stairs to jump-hug him. He chuckled merrily as he patted the back of her shoulder.

‘Uncle Vesemir.’ Ciri swallowed, smiling and fighting back tears.

‘Goodbye Cirilla. Return to us soon.’

‘I will.’ She turned and readied herself for the poorly kept tempest that was Geralt.

Geralt awkwardly tried to keep his lips in a smile, but looked far more malicious and mad than happy.

‘Geralt.’ Ciri mumbled, stepping in to press her head under his chin. Like old times their arms folded around one another, their noses turned to take in each other's scents.

‘Cir-.’ Geralt’s voice cracked and he chose silence instead. Unsure where to look he looked at the blurry cascade of mousy blond hair that Ciri had started growing out the past year. She kept it braided most of the time and it would always snag with small twigs and branches as they roamed around the grounds and forests of Kaer Morhen.

Her time of training was over. It was time for her to set out on The Trail and carry on the knowledge and skills he had taught her. It felt odd after all these years together.

‘Hang in there old man.’ Ciri whispered, hugging him a little tighter. The sun burned hot on their skin and Geralt wondered if he was feeling her sweat or her tears. Either which it was, he held on tight just a moment longer.

‘And tell Jaskier he cannot, I repeat CANNOT use my flute. Don’t want his spit all over.’

Geralt huffed. ‘Of all the things..’

‘What?’ Ciri leaned back and quickly dried a tear on her cheek.

Geralt smiled. This time a real smile. Squeezing her back into his embrace once more he pressed a kiss on top of her head. ‘Come back whenever.’

A melody. Too happy for the way Geralt was feeling. Squinting hard against the ray of light that fell exactly on his face, he woke up from a fitful dream. The melody hadn’t been part of the dream though. As he looked around he found himself laying on a wooden bench with some animal skins propped up under his head.

The music continued to flow through the large hall where the first light had arrived some hours ago. The air was fresh with the snow from outside -- the door had been opened recently. And there was a fire. Well-kept, warm, smelling of just a tinge of lacquer.

A figure sat there, wrapped in a worn blanket, naked feet dangling from the bench. The woman. It all came back to Geralt as he pushed himself up with a grunt. His leg was feeling terrible, but his wounds were bound. His shirt had been removed, he noted, and replaced by a simple blanket. His arms and shoulders were wrapped in blood speckled bandages and he could smell the heady aroma of some herbs peaking through.

‘Fuck.’ He groaned, sitting up completely.

The music stopped and the woman looked over her shoulder.

‘Look who’s alive.’ She said, getting up.

Geralt’s eyes shot daggers at her. ‘You could’ve killed us.’

It was the first time since he saw her well and true. She had dirty blonde locks, which fell away from a messy braid. And her eyes were a striking cornflower blue. Her clothes, once quite expensive, were torn to pieces. Her face. Hmm her face. He was sure he didn’t know the woman and yet she tingled a familiar sense in him.

Grunting Geralt got up from the bench. His body was aching like he had been pummeled in a fistfight with Eskel, and he couldn’t wait to dip into his stash of potions. Potions.. With a weary eye on the strange woman he moved his attention to the cellar door in the far back. It was open.

The woman squeaked in delight. ‘Quite a collection you have here! Are there others? There are other Witchers right? My father always --’

‘WOMAN.’

The woman quieted, biting her lip. ‘Actually my name is --’

Geralt stepped forward with all the power he could muster, willing the strange woman to be gone as soon as possible. He could lock her up somewhere. He could throw her out. He could.. He clenched his jaw as he realised how rapid his heart was beating in his chest. Little beads of sweat were falling down his brow and before he could utter another retort at the woman he felt the clammy cold of unconsciousness crawl back over him.

‘Geralt..?’

Her voice swam like a breeze through his mind.

‘I’m going to be a father.’ Jaskier sighed, staring out at the dipping sun. The sausages they had roasted on the campfire were almost all eaten by him.

Geralt sighed. ‘You don’t know the trouble you’re getting yourself into Jaskier.’

Jaskier smiled dreamily. ‘And yet we wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Part 3 >

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14 @aletheladyinred @moonlacebeam @kebabgirl67

#henry cavill fanfiction #the witcher #fanfiction #geralt of rivia #ciri #jaskier #kaer morhen #multichap

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merrybandofmurderers · 2 years

Text

hope y'all are ready to be sad about alexius :3c

The Inquisitor has a singular gait. His approach is always heralded by his footsteps. Solid, sure, swaggering. The epitome of a man worshipped as a messiah.

Gereon doesn’t look up from his notes. The Inquisitor never comes here for—

A shadow falls over him. “Alexius.”

Ink blots the page from the twitch of his hand. Gereon purses his lips. “Inquisitor. To what do I owe the honor?”

Silence.

Then, again, “Alexius.”

Something is different in the Inquisitor’s voice. Less stoic, heavier. Gereon looks up.

The Inquisitor is an imposing man—and not just for an elf. Scarred and looming, hard-eyed and straight-shouldered. He carries himself like a man god-chosen, looking down his nose at the peons who scramble to meet his desires.

“What?”

The Inquisitor clasps his hands behind his back. “Dorian received a letter from an acquaintance in Tevinter.”

The acknowledgement of Dorian’s existence makes something squirm in Gereon’s gut, but he doesn’t let it show. He raises a brow. So?

The Inquisitor’s gaze drops, then returns to his. “Felix has passed.”

The silence that follows the Inquisitor’s statement is deafening. The air swells, choking; there is a buzzing in Gereon’s ears. His robes chafe the nape of his neck.

Felix is ill, has been for some years. Gereon knows. His and Dorian’s attempts at a cure were only putting off the inevitable. Gereon’s other attempts failed. He knows. It’s only a matter of time. He knows, he knows, he knows—

“You’re lying,” he croaks.

The hard set of the Inquisitor’s brow softens.

Gereon shoves the contents of the table to the floor; the cup rolls and clatters into a corner, the inkwell bleeds black across the rug. “No! You are—” He can’t bring himself to finish the accusation. The Inquisitor’s expression doesn’t change.

Gereon presses his palms against his eyes and screams. He screams and screams, until his throat is raw. When he takes his hands away, the Inquisitor is still there.

Gereon picks up his chair and hurls it at the cell bars. The guard flinches; the Inquisitor doesn’t even blink.

Felix is dead. Felix—Felix died. He died leagues away, alone. Alone, while Gereon was stuck here, translating texts and mixing ingredients and having tea. And Gereon only knows because someone wrote to Dorian.

His son is dead.

Fire blooms in his hands, but before his arm is even fully raised, a nullification spell smothers him. He falls to his knees, gasping. He can see the Inquisitor’s leather-greaved legs at the edge of his vision. There are low murmurs above him, a set of footsteps heading away.

He looks up. The Inquisitor is alone. His body is angled slightly away, eyes focused on something down the hall. His expression his blank; he looks infuriatingly unruffled.

Gereon’s fingers curl into fists, nails biting his palms. “Leave me,” he hisses, “if you have any decency in you.”

The Inquisitor looks at him askance. “This is not the sort of news one should be alone for.”

“Do you think I appreciate your comfort?” Gereon snarls. His mana is still snuffed, and it hurts how badly he wants to set the Inquisitor’s face on fire.

“I could care less what you appreciate.” His tone is cold, aloof, as if this is just one more duty he’s obligated to carry out. “I will give you privacy, but you won’t be alone.” He walks away down the row of cells.

The air is clearer with the absence of the Inquisitor’s overbearing magical energy. Gereon remains on the floor, kneeling, staring at his hands. The skin is thinner, veins like roots, blemishes beginning to darken.

He is aged. Never has he so acutely felt all the years of his life, piled onto his shoulders, his countless mistakes etched into his very bones.

His son is dead.

The last time Gereon saw Felix, he was in chains and couldn’t even look his son in the eye.

Felix returned alone to Tevinter, to an estate with no family. He would have inherited Gereon’s title and all the responsibilities and expectations that came with it. Responsibilities which Gereon had shirked for years already.

Felix returned home alone, took up Gereon’s title and all his abandoned duties. Spent his last days among a society that would pounce upon any weakness perceived.

So many years to do right by his son, yet all Gereon had left him was an early death, a ruined legacy, and a funeral planned by strangers.

He presses his forehead against the soft weave of the rug and weeps.

tagging @mrs-theirin, @gaysolavellan, @midnightprelude, @fade-and-loathing-in-thedas, @cciarants, @dumbassentity

#my stuff #my fic #gereon alexius #oc: yuo lavellan #fic: the time has come #fic: eyes sorrow blinded

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plumoh · 3 years

Text

[Yuumori] tethering touch

Rating: G

Word count: 1846

Summary: “Sherlock's soft and long fingers don't shake in the slightest when he touches William's hair, brushing aside uneven bangs that were covering the scar of his eye.” A touch, no words, and trust. / pre-chapter 57.

Note: AO3 link. The fic is set right before chapter 57, during the timeskip, and was written before the release of chapter 62.

The window is open.

A carriage drives at a brisk pace and causes someone to hurl half-shouted insults at it, probably due to its close proximity to the sidewalk. A dog barks, terrified, while its owner murmurs reassurances. The cries of children running around and playing games travel from one street to another, clear and innocent.

The wind blows gently against the thin curtains; the weather is nice, a good day to take a walk and enjoy tea outside to relax.

The second chair at the table scrapes on the wooden floor, and Sherlock winces as he lets himself drop into it without grace. He at least had the forethought to put his mug of coffee on the table beforehand; William wouldn’t have cleaned the stains for the third time in as many days.

“It’s too early for chairs to make that much noise,” Sherlock mutters.

“Perhaps yanking on a chair without lifting it from the floor isn’t the right way to sit,” William says, the corner of his lips curling upwards.

Sherlock shrugs, his face giving no hint of a change in behavior in the foreseeable future. William thinks he can manage watching chairs being poorly treated for a while longer, since a month or two are meaningless compared to three years of cohabitation.

“Did you leave the window open all night?” William asks, glancing at the slightly damp ledge that got rained on during the night.

“I smoked too much last night, I figured it wouldn’t be pleasant to walk into the living room with that stench in the morning.”

It tugs at William’s heart, a gentle grip that can turn forceful any time. No matter how long he spends observing Sherlock, no matter what truths and secrets they’ve told each other, one way or another William finds himself always, always surprised at small gestures and reasonings that make up Sherlock’s strange character. He’s grown over these past three years—they both have, though not everyone would be satisfied with whom they’ve become, most likely. But they are the only judges of themselves, uncaring of the opinion of others.

But it is unlike Sherlock to forget something as basic as opening the window when he smokes. William stares at him, searching for a sign of discomfort or doubt that wasn’t apparent the night before. There is a small crease between Sherlock’s brows, pinching his face into an expression of both focus and concern that hardly belongs on these cocky features allowing nobody to think he’s hesitant.

William brings his cup of tea to his lips, carefully, biding his time.

“I was under the impression your habits have improved, and that you have been smoking less in the last few months,” William says. “Did you get enough sleep this week? We could re-institute our nightly games of chess, if it helps you relax.”

Sherlock, mirroring William in a deliberate and casual gesture, sips his coffee and stays silent. His gaze never leaves William’s, assessing and critical, like he’s expecting to be teared open from the inside out if he lets too many emotions slip through his fake calmness. William smiles at the thought behind his cup.

"Of course, I don't believe that losing to me every night would give you the desired effect. Your brilliant mind needs rest, too."

"You have a way with words that makes me wonder if I should be amazed or frustrated, Liam."

Sherlock puts down his mug and sighs deeply, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. William places his cup on its saucer, and gets up. He pushes back his chair like he's handling something precious, his gaze focused on where his feet are and what his hands are gripping to avoid stumbling, then he makes his way around the table to stand next to Sherlock. Sherlock cuts a glance at him, half-sprawled on his chair and half-stiff with unnecessary worry.

"I'm not saying this lightly, when I suggest you should let your mind rest," William says in a low voice. "You are filling your head with cumbersome thoughts that have no reason to exist in the first place."

William doesn’t understand why the air is so heavy with doubt this morning, so stifling when they’ve agreed on the plan a long time ago already. Being overwhelmed with the panicked need to back down at the last second before the act is not an option permitted in the life they’ve chosen to live; they go through with their decisions and succeed. Failure is rarely brought onto the table, because they can’t afford to fail.

Sherlock’s body relaxes ever the slightest upon hearing William’s words.

“You’re right,” Sherlock whispers. “I just have to act like I always do.”

William smiles. “I’m sure three years aren’t long enough for you to forget how to act around your brother and the MI6. You’re still the same.”

Wild, unpredictable and straightforward Sherlock Holmes—a person that slips through people’s fingers when they think they have him in their palms, someone that uses flamboyant methods to get out of unpleasant situations. His words are sharp and awkward in their honesty, grazing at skins without the intention of hurting, but he’s too earnest. William is nothing like Sherlock at all, from their opposite dressing styles to their obvious different way of thinking, and yet.

And yet, William shares half of his mind with Sherlock, and Sherlock listens to him.

William slides a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, feathery-like touch leaving behind trails of phantom strokes. He smoothes a wrinkle here, dusts off a spot there, then pulls lightly on the shirt’s collar, prying it open easily without a tie holding it together. The underlying message doesn't go unnoticed, judging by Sherlock's soft laugh. When he looks at Sherlock’s face, William finds hawk eyes watching him with rapt attention, scrutinizing him like he’s harboring all the unresolved wonders of the world.

“Well, mostly the same,” Sherlock points out with a grin. “My tie’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it later.”

“You will make a lasting impression, I’m sure.”

“Yes, reappearing three years later with a tie strangling me will do that.”

A laugh escapes William’s throat, and Sherlock keeps looking at him like he will never tire of watching the blooming of roses. Sherlock shouldn't make this kind of expression; he should know better than to let such naked feelings dance on his face and in his eyes, hiding none of the bizarre, fiery affection he's nurtured over the years for William. It's a dangerous train of thought that William lets fester in a corner of his mind without doing much about it—maybe when it fully takes root and can't be plucked off anymore, then William will acknowledge it and will no longer run away.

Sherlock wrenches his gaze away and glances at the table. William follows his movements and watches him pick up the abandoned black eyepatch next to the tea pot, pinching it gently by the thin strap.

There are no words exchanged. William withdraws his hand from Sherlock's collar, and Sherlock rises on his feet with a smile. His soft and long fingers don't shake in the slightest when he touches William's hair, brushing aside uneven bangs that were covering the scar of his eye. The scar is an ugly thing, a mess of tissue and discolored skin surrounding the hole where his eye should be, but they've never been one to flinch at the physical manifestations of the cruel trials of life. There is warmth oozing from this gesture, as quick as it is intense. The two of them are not people who are used to the touch of others, preferring the cold and grounding sensation of a weapon held in their hands. In spite of it, William closes his good eye.

It's permission as much as it is curiosity. How long will they keep doing this, allowing small acts of service and reveling in the peace they bring, without ever addressing the meaning behind them? William isn't one to let anyone stand so close to him, at a distance where any threat is invisible and any counter-attack is ill-timed. Sherlock could grab him by the sides of his head and hurt him, and William wouldn't be able to stop him. In another world, where their shared future is written in stone, it could have happened. They could have been facing each other like this, silent as a tomb, following the script of a justice punishing all criminals equally, one of them delivering it and the other accepting it.

But it isn't that harsh and implacable reality. In the world they live in, William feels the eyepatch placed over his eye, the two ends of the strap traveling behind his head to be tied together. Never once does he stop sensing the warmth of Sherlock and his hands. They are close enough they can hear each other's heartbeat; one second passes, then two, and then three, and Sherlock's fingers are still in William's hair. A careful and tender pressure, a steady touch he savors.

"I could do this with my eyes closed," Sherlock says quietly.

He slowly, slowly extracts his fingers from William's hair and lets one hand linger on his cheek. William opens his eye, already knowing what he'd find staring back at him. Sherlock has always been unable to hide his emotions, even in his touch.

"That's good to know," William replies just as calmly. "You can be my two eyes, as well."

"I'm anything you want me to be, anyway."

Sometimes, Sherlock's words are so honest they are hard to parse. Abrasive, frank and sincere—how did such a man end up with someone like William? He caught him, and he's not letting go.

"You are too trusting," William settles on saying.

Sherlock grins. "I trust you as much as you trust me, Liam. Don't forget that."

"That is assuming you know how far my trust in you extends."

"That's because I do know. You haven't left yet."

William chuckles. Bold words coming from a shameless person.

"I suppose I haven't, no," William agrees.

William lifts a hand, and in turn, he cards his fingers through Sherlock's hair, much longer than it was when they first met. He makes it more presentable, less wild, smoothly. Sherlock's eyes are locked on his, like he has nowhere else to look.

Small acts of service that punctuate their shared life, charged with significance they cherish without uttering a word.

"Finish breakfast and go retrieve your tie, Sherly. It's almost time for you to go," William tells him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that. You should get ready too."

They came back to England and are continuing their fight. It leaves no room for hesitation.

William drops his hand. Sherlock does too and smiles at him, and if it were yet another universe, where he isn't a coward, William would have kissed him.

But not yet—this isn't the right time yet. The way they look after each other is enough, for now, and William will protect it, until they are ready.

#sherliam #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #yuumori #william james moriarty #sherlock holmes #hello i love sherliam and how soft they can be while being emotional disasters #they took my heart and have a vice grip around it

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kireii-writes · 4 years

Note

hey! if your requests are still open, may I please request a Yandere Eren Jaeger where like when he escapes his cell after Marley he has the yeagerists kidnap his s/o?

Stay with me

warning(s): kidnapping, yandere tendencies, minor spoilers (for those who haven’t read the manga), a little ooc

the surroundings gave nothing away, except for the sound of horses trotting and the rumble and occasional bump of a carriage- the carriage you were in. confusion hit you like a truck at first, and you opened your eyes only to see nothing. you were blindfolded by your captors, and you could feel something like a gag being placed between your mouth, and the thick rope rubbed against your wrists with every move.

you had no idea how you ended up in this predicament. you were with some of the newer survey corps members, and the next thing you knew you were knocked out cold and woke up on a moving carriage, gagged and blindfolded. with every passing second, your throat felt dryer and dryer, and the thumping of your heart became louder and louder. deciding not to alert your captors, you continued laying down on the hard wood as you desperately tried to come up with a plan. who were these people? what is their main agenda? and most importantly- why were you kidnapped, of all people? there was no knowing what these people might do, and when they might decide to kill you. if they do, you had to think fast to avoid that dreaded outcome. straining your ears, hoping to pick up any noise that could serve as a clue, but to no avail.

if there’s two people, you could probably take them out before they brought you to the desired location. but to be sure, you had to assess the situation properly. right now, all you could think of was escape. but even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to go far before they caught up to you. deciding to wait before taking the next course of action, the loud thumping of your heart was doing nothing but reminding you that with every passing second that you’re not doing anything, you’re closer and closer to death’s door.

when the survey corp members that were fighting down below on land boarded the airship, you’d waited eagerly until you saw eren being forcefully hurled into the airship by a rather angry Levi. before you could even ask what was going on, the older man already had aggressively placed eren under arrest as the survey corps members filled in hurriedly. seeing the grim look on Mikasa and Armin’s face, you knew that eren had done something without Levi’s permission. as your eyes met Mikasa’s your doubts had been confirmed. making your way towards her, you tried to ask her what had happened down below when Levi stepped in front of you, the look on his face warning you not to ask about what had happened.

“you’re not allowed to see eren while he is imprisoned.” Levi ordered you curtly.

“but why?” you asked, unable to accept Levi’s treatment towards eren. first he places him under arrest, and now he wouldn’t allow you to visit him?

“because i say so, you damn brat.” Levi answered your question brusquely. “that stupid boy thinks he can do whatever he wants, and since he thinks he’s smart enough to take things into his hands and defy orders, he deserves to be locked up after all the commotion and damaged he created. you better not defy my orders too, y/n.” giving you one last look, Levi walked away along with the rest of the survey corps members, leaving you, Mikasa, and Armin together.

“i’m going to talk to eren.” you informed the other two. without waiting for their replies, you hastily walked off into the direction eren was being dragged away while Levi and the rest were too busy to keep their eyes on you. just as you were making your way into the basement of the airship, two survey corps members caught you. thankfully, they didn’t hear of Levi’s orders and did not question you as to why you were in the basement when you informed them that Levi had ordered you to head down and grab some supplies. as you watched their retreating forms, you were too focused on not getting caught that you didn’t sense someone coming up from behind you. by the time you turned around, it was too late. the next thing you knew, you were stuck in this predicament.

as the carriage came to a slow stop, you heard footsteps approaching you and you stayed as still as possible hoping that your captors wouldn’t be alerted of the fact that you were awake. you were then roughly grabbed by the arm before being slung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes before you felt your captor alight from the carriage.

staying as still as possible, you struggled to pick up any signs of where you could possibly be. ever since you had woken up, you made sure to take note of every turn and twist of the road the carriage was travelling on. but all of a sudden, the carriage stopped in the middle of what feels like a straight path, and you had absolutely no idea where you were at now. as your mind raced to formulate some kind of plan that would allow you to escape, what sounded like a door was being kicked open and your captor continued walking into what is supposedly a room. upon entering the room, you were being roughly thrown onto a chair, forcing you to bite you tongue to stifle a groan.

“could you be gentler?!” a masculine voice spoke up for the first time ever since you were kidnapped. “if he finds out you’re being so rough, he’s going to kill us both.” at the words of the male, your ears perked up as your mind churned with thoughts. who was he talking about?

without warning, your blindfold was removed from your eyes, and the stream of light attacked your eyes, causing you to blink rapidly and squint against the light.

“you were awake this whole time, weren’t you?” a gruff voice asked you, and although you couldn’t see who it was, it was clear that there were two captors. “what the hell, if i’d known i should’ve made you walk here instead of carrying you all the way.”

“knock it out already! this isn’t the way to treat our saviour’s love, if he finds out you’re being rude, your head will roll.” the first man scolded. squinting your eyes as you adjusted to the light, you scanned your surroundings, hoping to find some form of exit. unfortunately, the only exit was behind one of the men who had brought you here. you could try the window to your right, but it would be near impossible to make an escape with the little time you have. as your guts churned with dread and a trickle of cold sweat ran down your spine, one of them had approached you and proceeded to undo the ropes that were binding your hands together.

“please don’t be afraid of us, y/n.” the man sounded out as he undid the ropes on your wrists. “we don’t plan to hurt or harm you in any way, trust me.” the man continued as you thought of another way to escape. “we’re part of the yeagerists, ad we’ve brought you here as part of our orders from our savior, the one who would save us all from this doomed world. the man offered you a small smile as he stepped in front of you and removed the gag from your mouth.

by now, you weren’t able to think straight. your hands instantly started becoming cold and clammy as you felt the energy drained from you. who are these people, and what are they talking about? ‘our saviour’? who the hell was that? were they planning to use use as a sacrificial or something? you were so caught up in your own thoughts, the pounding of your head getting louder and louder, so much so that you didn’t notice the door opening until you heard a familiar voice.

“y/n.” at the sound of the third person, you looked up in the direction of the voice that brought you a sense of comfort and warmth all the time. there was no doubt about it- there in the doorway stood eren, your beloved, a smile on his face.

your first instinct was to run towards and into the arms of the man that would hold you to sleep every night, but the confusion of seeing him here rendered you unable to move from your seat.

“how did you- why are you-” you fumbled over your words as eren made his way towards you and squatted in front of you, a smile on his face as he brought a hand up to caress your cheek.

“how i escaped isn’t important, y/n. what’s important is that you’re here now, and that it all that matters to me.” eren answered the burning question in your mind, his head buried in your lap. “i’m so glad you managed to make it here safely, y/n.” eren sighed as he nuzzled your thigh.

“eren, what’s going on? why am i here? why are you here? who are these people?” at your questions, eren couldn’t help but chuckle. “relax my love.” he soothed as he traced circles absentmindedly on your thigh. “these people are part of the yeagerists- people that follow me and like me, believe that this wretched world needs to be changed. and they’ve entrusted me with their hopes and lives to create a new world where everything would be fine. i told them to bring you here, so i could talk to you, my love.”

‘what did you want to talk about?” you questioned as you narrowed your eyes at your lover. you had this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that it was something that could change your entire life.

“i want you to stay with me.” eren looked up, his eyes never looking away from yours.

“what do you mean? we could stay together, we already are, aren’t we? we’re still together in the survey cor-”

“no.” eren’s cold and harsh tone cut you off. a look of shock took over your confused one as you looked into the eyes of eren. he had never once raised his voice at you or talked to you in this tone before, why was he so worked up?

“i meant, away from the survey corps, away from anyone who thinks that this world doesn’t need to change.” eren continued in a gentler tone. “the survey corps clearly don’t see the need for me to change this world we live in, but i know you do, don’t you?”

“eren, are you crazy?!” the words flew out from your mouth before you could even know it. whatever, there was no taking it back, you might as well just say whatever’s on your mind and hope that eren doesn’t kill you. “eren, you can’t defy the survey corps and go about doing as you please, you have a responsibility to uphold! think this through!” you pleaded with eren, but the man clearly had no intention on changing his goals. you knew that once eren was set on something, he wouldn’t waver and change his mind that easily no matter what others told him.

in one last attempt to dissuade him, you brought up the last two people that he wanted to hear about. “what about Mikasa and Armin? have you thought about how they would feel?” you asked gently as you cupped eren’s face in your hands. the slight widening of his eyes at the mention of the two people he was closest to brought a tiny silver of hope into you heart. maybe, maybe he would rethink this after all.

“as long as i have you by my side, nobody else matters.” eren turned and face you, his big hands overlapping your smaller ones. “so will you stay with me, my beloved y/n?”

you were torn. torn between your loyalty towards the survey corps and eren. should you decide to follow the survey corps, you knew that eren would not hesitate to kill you in order to stop you from leaking any information. but if you agreed to follow eren to the ends of the earth and his plans do not succeed and is captured by the survey corps, you knew that Levi and the rest would not spare your life too.

letting your hands fall to your sides, you tore your eyes away from your lover as you looked down at your feet. swallowing hard, you gave him your final answer.

“no. i cannot support you this time.”

at your answer, eren removed his hands from yours, and a deathly silence hung over the both of you like stale air. embracing your fate, you were prepared to die at the hands of eren. slowly, eren got up, and gently tilted your head to look up at him.

“then i’m sorry, my love.” eren replied, his thumb rubbing your cheek gently. “i’ll have no choice but to take you away from this lie that they have fabricated. i’ll take you away and together, we’ll create a world that you deserve to live in. i didn’t want to take you away without giving you a choice, but i realized that no matter what, i want- and i need you to be by my side. and if it means having to take away your freedom, i’ll gladly do it.”

“why?” your voice barely above a whisper.

“because i love you, and i want you to stay with me, no matter what.” eren smiled softly at you. “i promise you, i’ll make this world a place where you’ll never worry about your life anymore, just for you. all you have to do, is to stay with me.”

#anime #aot imagines #aot x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager #snk eren #yandere #yandere x reader #levi ackerman #snk x reader #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #eren jaeger

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stark-tony · 3 years

Text

most recent bookmarks (6/18/21)

mcu

you game? cake time? by iron_spider (3k, T, pepperony) Peter stares at him.“I’d like your help,” Tony says, gesturing towards the ton of cakes. “Your refined palette.”Peter snorts. He can’t lie, excitement is rising in his throat and in his stomach, and he barely ate at lunch today because he was trying to finish up the book report before sixth period. “Does Miss Potts know you picked me?”“You can call her Pepper.”Peter cocks his head. “Does Pepper know you picked me to help you?”

The Dangers of Sleeping on the Upside of the Bed by Honorable_mention (1.1k, G, gen, quarantine) Midtown High School’s Academic Decathlon team had moved online. Once a week, even during the summer, everyone would log on and chat for a few minutes before trying to beat each other on Protobowl while hurling barely school appropriate threats at each other. It was really quite a lot of fun.Through these online meetings Cindy Moon had gotten the opportunity to intimately learn about her teammates in a way she hadn’t been able to when they were in-person. A person’s room and the way they talked to their family told you a lot about them.In which the members of the Academic Decathlon team get the chance to meet Peter's roommates

something bright coming his way by iron_spider (6.5k, T, gen, hurt peter) “Pete,” Tony’s voice says. “I’m heading to your location.”Peter narrows his eyes. Karen’s colors turn from dark red to a softer blue, which he takes as her celebrating Tony’s imminent arrival. How imminent? What?“What?” Peter says again. Like an idiot.“Your numbers aren’t what I like to see and you stopped moving and I was in the area, anyway. You know. Doing Iron Man things. You okay?”Peter blinks. He sees some more lights out ahead of him that he thinks are headlights, and he feels like Karen is trying to even out his vision by changing how things come across on the HUD. She’s failing, but he won’t say that. Can she read his brainwaves? No. Definitely not. Maybe. Either way he doesn’t wanna be mean to her, so he stops thinking.Ugh, his side hurts.

Of All the Nurses’ Offices in All the High Schools... by sahiya (7k, T, gen, outsiders pov, identity reveal, hurt peter) Peter Parker has his own gravitational orbit, and it tends to suck in the people around him. Including burned out school nurses who were just minding their own business.Or: Patrick Carmichael meets Spider-Man (and Tony Stark), adopts a cat, and gets just a little bit better.

a first time for everything by crowkag (7.7k, pepperony, sick peter) “Why are you whispering?” Pepper was asking, and the other noises were receding away behind the creak of a door and click of a lock.“Because I’m hosting a vigilante super-teen with enhanced hearing this weekend.” He slumped back into the couch cushions. “Or did you forget?”There was a sharp intake of breath.“Peter? Oh god, what did you—”“Nothing,” Tony rushed out, scrambling. “He’s fine. The kid’s fine, honey.”A beat of silence.“Okay, well, he’s not fine, but—”“Tony Stark—”

Is he or Is he not? by Omenthia_Arc (43.2k, G, pepperony, 5 + 1, people think peter is tony’s kid) Five times someone thought that Peter was Tony's biological son and one time everyone thought it.

The Moon Looks Lovely Tonight by Omi_Ohmy (35.7k, M, drarry, post-hogwarts, domestic) When Harry moves into the damp and empty Black house, it doesn’t quite feel like home. And then the first owl moves in. After that, it’s a steep slope leading to bed-sharing, more owls, assorted housemates, strange potions experiments, and terrible cooking. And a bit of waltzing, too.

The Wrong Sort by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle (289.5k, T, drarry, romione, gryffindor draco, canon divergence, torture) In which Draco Malfoy is sorted into Gryffindor and everything kind of goes to Hell from there… but hey. At least there’s a chance he won’t grow up to be an awful person. Alternatively titled ‘Draco Malfoy and the Worst Goddamn Seven Years of His Life’

The Mirror of Ecidyrue by starbrigid (998.6k, E, drarry, wolfstar, romione, neville/ luna, grindeldore, lockhart/snape, time travel, fix it, abuse) All it takes is one look in a mirror and an ill-advised attempt to shatter it, before an embittered Draco Malfoy fresh out of Azkaban is sent back into his body on the day he gets his Hogwarts letter.Suddenly, Draco has an unwanted second chance, with a Sorting Hat that doesn't know what to do with him, a certain Muggleborn who won't leave his study table alone, and green eyes he just can't get out of his head. And then there's his new wand, whose choice of him could just mark him as every bit as dark a wizard as his name means he should be.

more than getting by by sarewolf (34.4k, M, wolfstar, wolfstar raises harry) “What do you want me to do?” Remus says, tiredly. All he wants is to curl up on his bed. Smoke a pack of cigarettes. Get drunk. He can’t stop looking at Harry.“Remus...” Dumbledore is gentle. Remus hates when he has that tone. Hates that he knows it will hurt. “There is no one else left.”A bitter laugh escapes him. “So you’ll curse the poor thing with a werewolf for a guardian?”

How Like Home by waitingondaisies (63.5k, T, jily, dimension travel) When Sirius falls through the veil, Harry chases after him, determined to find him on the other side. Instead, he finds nothing at all. When he wakes up, he is informed by Unspeakables that he is from an alternate universe.Thanks to his uncanny resemblance to his counterpart, Harry is readily recognized as a duplicate of Harry Potter, a normal fifteen year old boy, and is entrusted to the care of Lily and James Potter. From them, Harry discovers that Voldemort is not, and never was, a threat in this universe.Now, Harry must adapt to life with loving parents in a peaceful world.

Professor Black by Haunted_Frost (29k, T, wolfstar, professor regulus black) Kreacher's unending loyalty has allowed Regulus to survive the Inferi. In order to destroy the horcrux and ensure Voldemort's death, he goes back to Hogwarts, this time as a Potions professor. Years at this position give him new insights, even as the papers rave about how both the Blacks were traitors to their sides.When Sirius gets loose from Azkaban, Regulus knows one thing: he is not going to let his lunatic brother hurt his students.Inspired entirely by this tumblr post.

atla

(let me be) there for you by lesmiserablol (8.5k, T, zukka, post-war, bodyguard sokka, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers) Sokka pulls out a clean piece of parchment and starts to write:Reasons Why Sokka Would Be A Great Bodyguard for Lord ZukoHe smiles in satisfaction at the title. Seeing it in writing only makes him feel more confident in this brilliant, two-minute-old idea of his. Zuko is one of his closest friends, and Sokka is a great fighter, he would be the perfect bodyguard! He has the entirety of his trip in the Fire Nation to prove it to Zuko. This is going to be a piece of cake.(or, Sokka mistakes his crush for just a strong desire to be a guard for Zuko, and Suki is amused)

boy problems by burnt_oranges (22.2k, zukka, mailee, friends to lover, post-war, arranged marriage) “I accidentally signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka,” Zuko says faintly. He sits up so fast he almost falls out of his chair. “I signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka, and he agreed."In which Zuko suffers in a variety of ways, including but not limited to: close and constant proximity to the object of his affections, assassination attempts, and irreparable injuries to his dignity.

we really should google these things first by Bundibird (3k, G, gen, modern) Sokka's aloe vera plant is in need of a good pruning, and what's Sokka gonna do, just throw out all the pruned leaves? When instead he can make aloe vera juice? Come on. (Only - maybe he should have googled this beforehand. Because it turns out there's an edible kind of aloe, and a toxic kind. Guess what kind Sokka has. Go on, guess.)(Or: the modern AU based on the time I nearly poisoned myself with a non-edible succulent.)

spn

Checked Out by whelvenwings (27.1k, G, destiel, dreamhunter, library au, librarian castiel, writer dean, openly bi dean, misunderstandings) Castiel Novak can think of many writers who would not be welcome under the roof of Heaven’s Gate library, where he is the librarian: Ayn Rand ranks highly (no explanation needed), as does Charles Dickens (he hasn’t forgiven Charles for the month he lost to The Pickwick Papers). And, of course, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, local author and obvious a-hole, who is entirely too handsome to be true and who is clearly totally lacking in profundity, intelligence, sincerity, and self-awareness. Unfortunately, though, Dean’s been invited to do a book signing at Heaven’s Gate - and Castiel’s about to be confronted by some unexpected feelings when he finally meets Dean for the first time.

Aim and Ignite by wincechesters (10.3k, M, destiel, cas in the bunker) After the angels fall and Cas loses his grace, and with Sam still recovering from the toll taken on his body by the trials, Dean starts a prank war as a way to lighten the mood in the bunker and alleviate his boredom. It might just have some unexpected consequences. --- A post-S8 canon AU.

bnha

Izuku plays video games with the League of Villains (among other things) by ADyingFlower (54.2k, T, gen, quirkless midoriya, villain deku) Izuku plays video games with the League of Villains, denies being a villain, has his beloved animal crossing file threatened, kicks ass with a shotgun, is proposed to, learns to deal with his depression, and accidentally kidnaps the son of the number two hero. In that order.Or: Five times Izuku played online with his friends, and one time he played with them in personThen Himiko screams.“CAPTAIN!” “Y-yeah?” Tomura asks almost hesitantly. “LOOK!!” All four of them spin around, right as a cannonball comes soaring inches from Izuku’s head from the Galleon less than a three feet away from them. They scream. “OH FUCK NO NO NO NO! NO!” Dabi yells, running to load the cannons. “DUDE WE HAVE SO MUCH SHIT! NO! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!”“Hey guys, guys! Hey, chill!” Izuku shrieks frantically, right as one of the players boards their ship and starts shooting. “CHILL THE FUCK OUT!”

our trust shot full of holes by nolov (louscr) (25.9k, T, gen) When he's twelve, Izuku meets his best friend. Neither of them are especially good at having friends, but they make do.The other shoe drops less than a week into his first year at U.A.

Are You Valued? by cyber_phobia (9.2k, T, dad for one) "What are you drawing, Izuku?" Hisashi asks with adoration dripping in his voice. "It's Uncle!" Izuku shouts, smacking his dad's arm for daring to ask once more. All the air leaves Hisashi's lungs in one fell swoop.

To Spark A Smile by awefull (1.1k, G, gen, dadzawa) A six-year-old. Aizawa was the guardian of a six-year-old. Aizawa, a pro-hero, who had poor eating habits, and no sleep schedule, was in charge of raising a little girl.He, reasonably, had some concerns.

Long Night in the Valley by Marsalias (53.7k, T, gen, suspected traitor, dad might, dad for one) On paper, the Hero Commission's plan to investigate Midoriya Izuku under the guise of a training course for combating mental quirks is solid, almost foolproof, even. If Midoriya turns out to be innocent, they can pass everything off as part of the training exercise, assuming he even remembered any of it. Otherwise, they could beg forgiveness after the traitor was securely imprisoned in Tartarus.The paper plan failed to take into account the feral ghosts living in Midoriya Izuku's head, or his equally feral living friends.Time to bring on the chaos.

i gave the voices in my head a megaphone by hannahbal (17.3k, todoroki/midoriya/shinsou) ...and they started singing Megan Thee Stallion.(Hitoshi, like any good friend, brainwashes Izuku’s anxiety away for a day so he can know some peace. The problem? Izuku has no fear of god or consequences.Izuku also has no goddamn filter.)

Nothing Could Be More Worthwhile by Krisington (3.5k, G, gen, dad might) Toshinori Yagi wouldn’t say he had let his guard down in retirement, not exactly. It was more accurate to say that he had let his guard down in his true form. He didn’t notice others, and others didn’t notice him. It had become a small pleasure, he realized, one he was reluctant to let go.He should have known better.The man managed to reach All Might’s forehead a split second before All Might grabbed the man’s arm. But a second was just enough.A villain showed All Might a vision of Izuku. Bloodied. Broken. Fading. Was that some future that would come to pass? Toshinori needed to do everything in his power to make sure it wasn't.

everything i wanted by raindrops_0 (9k, T, gen, 5 + 1) Izuku turns to face Hitoshi and flashes a bright smile, eyes folding into crescent moons.Bright like the afternoon sun swallowing Hitoshi whole, bright like All Might’s fucking perfect grin, bright like he’s already a hero.Bright like everything Hitoshi has ever wanted and then more.(Hitoshi can’t help it, but he hates. Of course Izuku can smile as if the whole world is in his hands. He’s never had to fight for every little thing and be hated for it.)Or 5 times Hitoshi misjudged the golden boy of UA, and 1 time he finally understood.

hp/bnha

Bend Before You Break by orkestrations (16.2k, T, gen) When Izuku set out for his morning run, the last thing he was expecting was to be plucked from his own world by magic and thrown into another universe entirely.Removed from his own conflict and with no way back, he sets himself to figuring out this world and its own incipient war while searching for a way to possibly reverse the spell that brought him here.It's just his luck that the year he arrives is the same year the government decides it's a great idea to bring back the potentially-deadly tournament.

#my fics recs #most recent bookmarks #hp recs #atla recs #mcu recs #bnha recs #spn recs #abuse tw #torture tw

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

Text

Exchanges: Morning After (The Song of Sway Lake Short)

When Ollie returns to The Point after his date/sleepover with Jess, he and Nikolai have a heated argument. A/N: Set immediately after “First Date.” I spent too long trying to come up with some of what’s said before I realized, ‘I don’t have to be good and quippy at this, Ollie probably isn’t.’ Word Count: 732 Rating: T - swearing, insults/derogatory language

“Oliver,” Nikolai greeted him as he slipped back into the house along with the first full rays of sunlight. “I see you did not come home last night.”

Ollie cringed, feeling much the way he imagined teenagers did when caught by their parents, up to no good. At least it wasn't his grandmother, he thought with a sigh of relief.

“I uh, yeah. I spent the night at Jess's. So what?” He snapped, feeling peevish.

“Obviously. She is your siren, like I have mine. So was she a good fuck?”

“What?” Ollie's voice cracked and he felt his neck growing hot.

“I am asking if she was worth your time. If she was easy enough to put out after one dinner--”

“You’d know all about that. Do you even wait for dinner?” Ollie scoffed, interrupting. “It's a little late to try and win the Cold War with an army of your bastard children, don’t you think?”

“What does that even mean?” Nikolai frowned, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“It means even if Jess were a whore, which she’s not, you calling her that is a joke. Do you even know the name of the last girl you screwed?”

The Russian actually took a step back, shocked that his friend reacted so fiercely.

“Of course you don’t,” Ollie continued. “You probably hate those stupid jet skis because you want to be the only quick, rented ride around.”

The words had barely left his lips when Ollie started to regret them, face flushing. He licked his lips nervously, trying to force an apology off his tongue but Nikolai spoke before he could.

“You would fight me over this chick Oleg?”

“I…” Ollie hesitated.

His first instinct was to say yes. It was already obviously the answer. The thought made his gut twist. He was already hurling words, but he was alarmed to realize he was willing, and in fact tempted, to take a swing at his best and possibly only real friend because of a girl.

Nikolai picked up on his hesitation and scowled.

“She is nothing, you see. You can find a hundred Jessicas. Anywhere you spit, when we go back to the city.”

“You're wrong!” Ollie shouted, getting up in the taller man's face, his own growing red. “Jess is...She's…I love her.”

Nikolai laughed, incredulous.

“I'm serious, Nik,” Ollie said, sounding somewhat surprised himself, as he took a step back from their confrontation and sat heavily in one of the dining chairs.

“So she was a really good fuck then?”

“Ugh,” Ollie groaned. “You don't get it! We didn't even have sex. We just talked, and laid together and actually slept. But...it felt...special.”

“I don't understand. You think you love this chick but you didn't…” he frowned. “Why not?”

“It wasn't the right moment. If I'm going to be with her, it should be perfect. Like her.”

“How can you know you love her if you don't lose yourself to passion and burn with desire at the very sight of her? If you don't want to seize her in your arms and have her at every moment?”

“I feel like I can talk to her about anything. Like she really cares to hear what I have to say. And she sees me, not The Last of the Sway Family or whatever. And I want to know everything about her. I just left her place and I already miss her so badly it hurts. That has to be love.”

Nikolai fell silent, studying the wistful look on his face as Ollie talked about the girl. There was an odd twist in his gut. Something in his words felt familiar, like the emotion spoke to Nikolai's own. But there was also jealousy there: toward Ollie who was so desperate to cast aside his family name, who had truly everything now and didn't seem to notice, and toward Jess who was a no one, a shopkeep, nothing special, like him, and was threatening to take away what little he had, the brother-bond he had fought so hard to forge.

After a prolonged moment, he shook his head. “You are too romantic for your own good Oleg. She is not so special.” He shrugged, as if to say he was bored of the conversation. “We are wasting the day. The sooner we find your Pops’ record so you can leave her behind, the better.”

#I'm going to do all of the shorter conversations/pieces with this titling format 'Exchanges: [specific title]'#and also move Sway Lake stuff to their own list within the list soon #this is probably the angstiest of the conversations that's going to happen #although Jess and Charlotte will also get pretty...colorful #anyway #Oliver Sway x Jess O'Neill #The Song of Sway Lake fic

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timextoxhajima · 4 years

Audio

Playlist Feels

Member: *at the point of writing this i haven’t yet decided but i went out today and this song started playing and my heart just starting beATInG SO faST

*update: ended up settling for san

A/N: I won’t write smut/anything aggressive for jongho (or any ‘00 liner for that matter) so until they turn 21 internationally, i’ll refrain from writing anything nasty. this goes for other idols who are ‘00 liners and younger.

Genre: shitty-ass angst, aggressive shoving lol idk, what’s a desire-inspired fic if there’s no smut heh (lowkey fifty shades vibes irdk what im doing at this point of time) *kind reminder that it’s been too fucking long since i’ve written some smexy smut so please bear with me ;_;

Word Count: 3.6k

you could almost smell the money that everybody in the room collectively have under their belts. everybody was fitted in suits and extravagant gowns and blazers and dresses-- it was difficult to believe that these people would ever wear anything else besides whatever they were wearing now.

your parents had gone off to greet the older, more important people of the organisation, or bureau, or whatever group that coordinated this event was called. you were stuck staring at your glass of champagne while your fiance picks at the little nuts in the tray that was sitting in the middle of the small table.

fiance, more like annoying family friend you’ve been actual friends with for nearly ten years.

“do me a favour and cut it out, would you?” you glare at him through your long, false lashes, bringing the champagne glass to your lips and taking a sip. mingi looks at you and pouts, quickly throwing a nut into his mouth before he wipes the crumbs away on his shit-expensive Saint Laurent blazer.

you groan under your breath, rolling your eyes so hard that you could see the insides of your head.

“who picked out the gown? i know you have a thing against gowns so why’d you let them fit you in this one?” mingi munches on the nut and nods towards your fit. you don’t bother to look down at yourself, because you couldn’t stand the sight of it.

the v-neck cutting was so low down your chest that if you pulled it aside with any considerable amount of strength, your chest would’ve been exposed.

it didn’t help that the gown was red, and on top of that, there was a long, ridiculous slit up the dress by your left leg.

it’s like you were a walking target.

“does it look like i had much of a choice?” you eye him with an annoyed look, finishing whatever was left of the champagne. “in fact, i don’t even remember the last time i made a decision for myself. fun.”

mingi gives you a pathetic smile and wraps his arm around your shoulders, the soft material of his blazer grazing against your skin.

someone pushes the door open to the function room, and everybody around starts making their way in. your heels would’ve been caught stepping on your gown, so mingi offers you and arm to hold while you grab a bunch of material with your free hand to make walking easier.

your fiance helps you settle into your seat before sitting down next to you. the function room starts filling up, every now and then some ceo or businessman or someone walks by your table and you have no choice but to stand up to greet them.

but all you wanted to do was to go home to the comfort of your bed and binge watch your favourite series.

not stand here, in the middle of a function room in the country’s most expensive hotel, and let these middle-aged, possibly married-with-children, men caress your hands like they didn’t already know you had a fiance.

“you seem to have a way around men, don’t you?” mingi teases quietly, helping you push the chair in as you sat down from shaking some stranger’s hand.

“it’s the dress, and the hair and the make up. otherwise, i’m pretty sure they don’t give a fuck.”

mingi sucks on his teeth at your straightforward statement, noting that your parents were coming round the table. you look up to search for them upon mingi’s announcement, and you notice they were talking to another couple with their children trailing closely behind them.

“oh god, another one--” you spit under your breath. mingi elbows you a little, standing up and cuing you to do the same as your parents come by with the other couple and their clearly-uninterested son and overly-enthusiastic daughter.

“mingi, y/n, this is mr and mrs choi, and this is choi haneul and choi san,” your mother gestures to them as the couple reaches out for a handshake. you and mingi take turns to shake their hands, including the two children.

you were so used to faking a smile that you were sure nobody could’ve been able to tell you absolutely hated being here.

but your ‘service’ smile struggles to remain loyal to your need to be the perfect chaebol when you catch their son staring at you, with eyes that could kill.

you reach your palm out to him, and he takes your hand with a firm grip.

you almost feel something similar to static, but you shake it off by giving him a bright smile.

he reciprocates, offering you a wide grin that exposes his dimples and folded his eyes into long, slits.

that 180 degree switch... psycho.

you pull away, and you feel his reluctance to let go for a split second.

a frown appears on your forehead in that instant, but he releases your hand quickly, as if noticing the change of expression on your face.

your parents wave them off as they make their way to another table. you return to your seat, now sitting between mingi and your mother who just wouldn’t shut up about the choi family.

something about splitting the company into two so each their children gets an equal half.

something about them being very capable.

blah blah blah...

the function hall gets filled up and every table was fully occupied. name tags were placed on tables by the seats the guests were allocated, and your eyes run through the many names and titles. you couldn’t find a single one that didn’t have a big company name attached to them.

mingi humors you the entire dinner, and being your only source of entertainment, you couldn’t help but still feel lucky that he was chosen to be your fiance.

there were so many things about being a chaebol that was so wrong and so pathetic, and mingi knew very well how much you hated it. both of you grew up as childhood friends, for the sole reason that both your parents were partners in an important project.

so big, rich people gatherings? your weekend plans for almost ten years straight.

when you were told that a marriage was in plan for you though, you remember threatening to run away from home unless your fiance was mingi.

and since mingi was a chaebol himself, your parents were more than happy to let the both of you get engaged, even if the two of you didn’t actually love one another.

there was some dumb auction going on with the mc yelling into the damn mic every ten minutes, not even giving you the peace of day to eat your food that took forever to come. mingi tries to get you involved by raising your name tag, helping you offer three million for a premium yacht.

you hiss at him, nearly giving him a slap across the face when you won it.

your mother reminds you not to have too much wine and champagne, but you didn’t even want to be here in the first place. you were going to get married into the song family anyway, so it gave you the courage and liberty to do whatever the hell you wanted.

you were so used to drinking champagne and wine that mingi doesn’t stop you until your face finally flushed bright red, and you were beginning to smile and giggle at the mc.

an unfamiliar sight for your fiance.

“do you need to go to the washroom to get yourself together? you look tipsy,” mingi leans into your ear and asks with concern. his question pulls out an ugly look on your face, and you reach for your champagne glass, only to realise that it was empty.

you huff in disappointment. mingi gives you a blank look, knowing that you weren’t done with whatever attitude you had up your sleeve tonight.

“i’m gonna hurl out all that fucking champagne and you better have my glass refilled when i get back,” you try to whisper to mingi, but you belch out all the gas that was in your stomach.

“disgusting--” mingi winces at the scent of the alcohol. you laugh, pushing yourself out of the seat and grabbing your purse, leaning over to your parents to inform them you were heading for the washroom.

it was a good thing you weren’t drunk, but you definitely would be if you had returned for more champagne had you not stuffed your finger down your throat. you wretched loudly, knowing that you deliberately searched for the most out-of-the-way washroom in the building, and there was nobody around to hear those inhumane noises. expensive liquid flushes out your throat and you choke on the sight. the burning sensation wasn’t a good experience, but you couldn’t be any less bothered.

you lick your lips, still cautious that you had lipstick on. turning around, you struggle to your feet and head over to the sink, head hanging low and palms pressed flat against the marble surface.

you gather the tap water in your hand, slurping it up to try and get rid of the taste of stomach acid and alcohol in your mouth.

didn’t help.

you mutter some curse words under your breath, looking back up at the mirror to fix your hair and your lipstick, pulling your shoulders back so you were standing with the posture your mother spent most of your life scolding you about.

you take a step out of the washroom, and your eyes were so occupied with mentally berating the hell out of your obscene dress that you physically ram yourself into someone’s shoulder.

the impact throws your balance off completely, but you feel an arm snake around your waist just moments before you got fall flat on the ground.

“oh, you.”

you fidget with uneasiness, anxiously getting your balance back in check and shoving him off you. you look down at yourself, making sure your boobs were still under the material and your slit didn’t get any higher up your thighs.

“you’re welcome, by the way.”

you return your attention to choi san, who now had a sneaky smirk drawn across his lips. he was in an all white fit, with small black details like his cuff links and black gemstone accentuating his entire look.

“sorry.”

you clear your throat, feeling your face flush from the realisation that you could’ve been completely fucked over by your parents if they saw the way you responded.

‘that’s no way of thanking someone,” they’d say.

“what are you doing here anyway? it’s such a far walk from the function hall.”

you raise a cocky brow, tongue looking for small bits of food stuck in the crevices of your teeth. you couldn’t be bothered to maintain your image now that you’ve already acted like he was molesting you.

“me? i could ask you the same,” you tilt your head to the side, hands looking for the slit of your dress to push aside. you wouldn’t want to trip on your walk away from him.

“i don’t like these functions. i like meeting people but i definitely don’t like watching them spend their money on ridiculous items.”

you sigh, wondering how long you were going to be stuck in this meaningless conversation with him.

“you do realise the proceeds all go to charity anyway, don’t you?”

“is that why you bought the premium yacht for three million?”

“no, my fiance used my name.”

“so you’re saying you didn’t want to provide the financial assistance to charity?”

your eyes harden at his accusation, and you couldn’t be more frustrated. if you weren’t in your obscene v-neck gown with that useless slit up your thighs, you would’ve already gotten your heels off to whack him on the head.

all your emotions must’ve been put up for display all across your face, because choi san flashes you a devilish grin, eradicating any hint of his dimple-smile from before.

the same 180 change.

“my family and i do enough charity every year. this three million doesn’t mean shit,” you take a step forward, not letting his demonic presence faze you. he was just about a few inches taller than you, so confronting him like this was nothing compared to mingi.

“so, mr choi,” you hiss under your breath, your nose just right under his. “if you’ve got nothing else constructive to say, then do excuse me. i have an event to be at.”

you gave it a few moments for him to flinch or react, but he fails. you smirk to yourself, convinced that you’ve won this showdown. you turn, ready to walk away from him, but he grabs your arm just as you walk past him and wraps his arm around your waist. if he had invested more effort into the act, he would’ve easily picked you up.

“what the fuck-- let me go!” you try thrashing yourself out of his grip, but he only pulls you harder into the hidden lift around the corner. you try to make a run for the door before it closes, but he holds you back as he hits a button on the lift panel.

he shoves you up against the wall, your rear resting against the bar that lined the walls where people could hold. he rests his palms on the bar on either sides of your hips, and he pushes his face dangerously close to yours.

you were fuming at this psycho, but deep down in your heart, you knew you were the one to blame for inciting it.

“you know...” he drags a finger down your earlobe and your jawline. it takes you awhile to realise that you were slowly turning away from him, gradually becoming unable to continue this power play with him. “you haven’t said ‘thank you’.”

you scoff, eyes shifting to meet his without turning your head. you wipe your canine teeth with your tongue, trying your best to read his face.

but all you could see was that devilish grin you don’t think you were ever going to forget.

you try to hold back from saying anything, knowing that every word you said from this moment on was going to decide his next move. but you were angry with this piece of shit, and your temper invites you to spit out the words you had on the tip of your tongue.

“or what?”

i should not have said that.

“that’s completely up to you.”

choi san smirks again, and you’ve never seen someone look so lustfully challenged before. the look in his eyes was enough to rile you up to it as well. though your head was screaming at you, telling you to stop, but your heart and body say otherwise.

he sucks in a deep breath as he takes a step back, letting the lift doors open to the hallway where all the suites were.

you expected him to grab your wrist and pull you along, but he doesn’t. confusion wasn’t the right word to describe the overwhelming feeling that ate you up, and you hated yourself for it.

you watch in dissatisfaction as he calmly walks out of the lift and walks down about four doors. he stops right outside the cream colored door, his white fit contrasting the brown hallways, and turns to look at you.

that devilish smile was gone, replaced with a look you couldn’t begin to describe.

you feel your stomach churn as he reaches up to his neck and starts to undo the top few buttons, exposing his collarbone. his free hand pulls out a card from the inside of his blazer, and he gets the door open.

your hands were balled up into fists, and you could still feel his trace on your jaw as you watched him walk into the room.

don’t do it.

you suck in a deep breath, frozen in place.

don’t fucking do it. he knows exactly what he’s doing.

the lift doors begin to shut.

don’t. do. it.

your needs and desires engulf you like flames in a burning building, and you found yourself storming straight into the suite, eyes only searching for him. before you could even notice the size of the room, you were shoved backwards against the carpeted wall.

hands were hungrily searching your body for any crevice for him to dig into, and you could already feel your lipstick getting smudged between both your lips.

his fingers find the material of your dress that goes over your shoulders instead, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull them down your arms. you struggle to get his white blazer off, completely ignoring the rare gem that was pinned above his breast pocket.

you were already running out of breath, teeth clashing and your tongues messily swirling around each other as his hands find the zip on your back. by the time your dress pools around your feet, you get the buttons on his shirt undone.

you run your hands down his chest and toned stomach, but was interrupted by him picking you up against the wall. he doesn’t hesitate to attach his lips to your breasts like a hungry kitten, and the heat between the two of you becomes nearly impossible to contain.

his hair gets tangled in your fingers, desperately trying to find something to grip while lewd sounds escape your lips.

“you must not like losing,” he pulls you away from the wall, eyes looking up at you as he walks elsewhere in the room. you expected yourself to be thrown on a bed, but instead you find yourself pressed up against the window panel of the room, with the city right below your feet.

“don’t you fucking dare,” you threaten with a low voice. but you hear him scoff, arm wrapped around your waist as he positions himself so that you were pressed flat against his chest and your breasts against the cold surface of the window.

“but i already did.”

he whispers into your ear, somehow finding both your wrists and holding them in one hand while the other snakes down your stomach and under the only piece of clothing you were wearing.

you bite on your bottom lip, shutting your eyes tightly upon the contact of his fingers on your sensitive spot. you hear him chuckle and he realises that you had absolutely no control over what your body needed - or wanted.

“aren’t you going to tell me that you have a fiance?” his voice was low, and almost threatening. he hooks your underwear by the side and pulls it off the curve of your rear, letting it pool around the heels you were still wearing.

you gulp and huff heavily, listening to him undo his belt while your wrists were still trapped in his left hand.

“answer the question, mrs song.” he presses his already hardened manhood against your core, and the contact sends chills up your spine to your head. you could feel yourself slowly losing all sense of control by the second, and him psychologically pushing you into a corner to make you submit to him wasn’t helping.

“we could always stop now, and you could go back to the function hall like nothing happened.”

now you don’t feel the material of his underwear, but the bare skin of his manhood rubbing against your naked core. the sensation finally pushes you over the edge, and you choose your desires over the fucking obligations you were born with.

“please don’t stop.”

you brace yourself as he pushes himself into you, and he doesn’t give you much time to process the explosive feelings of need in your abdomen. picking up his pace, you feel his grip on your wrists tightening as the excessive thrusting pushes you nearer and nearer against the glass.

you hear nothing but the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, and the combination of the mewls and groans the both of you were offering one another.

his free hand finds your sensitive nub, and the combination of his ramming into you with the circles drawn with pressure pushes you closer to your climax. your legs tremble under the overwhelming feeling, and he finally releases your wrists. he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you up while he continues fucking you against the window.

you feel the weight in your abdomen get heavier after every thrust, and your irregular moans tell him that you were reaching your high.

something inside you snaps, and you raise your head to look at the window, water vapour already collected in messy patterns on the surface.

he pulls out and you feel his load landing on your lower back, the only sounds you could hear now was the panting from the both of you.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

you take your seat between mingi and your mother again, legs still shaking ever so slightly, and you were hoping nobody was going to notice that your hair didn’t look at neat as it was before.

“i thought you got lost in the bathroom,” mingi looks at you while you down a whole cup of water before attacking the champagne.

“well,” you shrug, eyes catching a glance of choi san returning to his seat. “i’m here now, aren’t i?”

#timetohajima #timetohajima playlist feels #san #choi san #san smut #i fucking finally wrote a smut #ateez smut #ateez san #san imagine #san scenario #san fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #san one shot #ateez one shot

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bellshells · 4 years

Text

Splitting Hairs ch. 7

Hello dearies, chapter seven is here. It’s a long one again, so strap yourselves in. As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read this it means the absolute world <3

Severus x OC Summary: Sad Sev is sad tm. Minerva is brill and Valentine is honest. Warnings: Angst, mentions of unforgivable curses, bit o’ blood n that. Word Count: 3586

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It was the final week before the Christmas holidays and Severus was miserable. Now, that’s not to say that Severus being miserable around Christmastime wasn’t a common occurrence; but this year was different. Severus had all but shut off communications with everybody bar Minerva, although their visits to each other were now short and full of long silences. Severus felt like he was constantly treading water, if he were to falter slightly- he would drown. He withdrew himself from everything; Quidditch matches, meetings, his revision groups, until finally he stopped eating in the Great Hall all together; choosing instead to lock himself away in his chambers. It became so rare to see Professor Snape anywhere other than his classroom, and people knew better than to ask questions. But in truth, if anyone were to ask Severus why he was suffering so, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to give a cohesive answer. He felt the weight of the term as it constricted around his neck, what he intended it to be (a tedious bore), and what it transpired to be (anything but), were two completely different things.

He missed Valentine. He missed her with a burning intensity that he was not familiar with, yet it had become as necessary to him as breathing. From the minute he opened his eyes he felt the burning, it started in his chest and by mid-morning it had consumed his very being, it reminded him that he was still alive. That although he was hurting, he was not entirely broken because he had allowed himself to feel. He had not known exactly why it hurt so to think about Valentine, perhaps he was merely embarrassed for allowing her to bewitch him, or perhaps he was rather fond of her and felt betrayed-? Either way, he had neither sight nor sound from her since the night he had visited her chambers, and she had revealed that her father was an acquaintance of Lucius Malfoy’s. Severus winced as he recalled the conversation, she had told him she had pursued him due to boredom and Severus had wept when he had reached the safe confines of his bed. He felt stupid. He felt used, but more importantly, any ounce of sympathy he felt for Valentine had vanished. Yes, he desired her- as any man would. But, after the callous way she had treated him, he cared not for any ‘danger’ she might have found herself in. It didn’t concern him, whatever it was, and Severus was content with that.

He struggled immensely with the idea of him having a ‘purpose’. Since the Dark Lord had fallen, Severus had to ingratiate himself with his colleagues for fear of being cast out. None of them had trusted him when he had taken up his post and quite rightly too, but it had been ten years- or there abouts, and Severus was still there, trying to compel people to believe his version of the story. But surely, as Severus had thought for several years, Albus had no real need for him anymore. He could understand that, as the dust settled those first few years after what happened happened, he was a necessary evil required to bridge any gaps that surfaced on the road to a social and economic recovery for the Wizarding community. At least, that’s how Albus had worded it and Severus knew better than to challenge him. Severus had played his part in the war, and he had done what Albus had asked him to do in exchange for what Severus wanted.

Almost as if he had apparated there, Severus could feel the cool night air whip around his face as he had pleaded with, no, begged Albus to help spare the lives of Lily and her son. Albus had been indifferent he remembered, almost cold. But now he knew that you don’t get something for nothing with the Dumbledores and Albus was no exception. Did the headmaster forget what Severus had sacrificed all those years ago? Had he forgotten that Severus had been hurled toward a chasm of despair at the loss of his friend and did he just expect him to continue? Ultimately, Severus thought that Albus didn’t care one way or the other what happened to him, or anybody else, so long as they achieved what was right. Severus was just a little pawn in a big boy’s game of chess, whichever side he landed on didn’t matter. He wondered if that was why Valentine had affected as much as she did, of course there was the obvious, the searing resemblance she bared to Lily; but Severus had become almost accustomed to it now. The jolt of pain it used to cause in chest was dulled to a small ache when he looked at her. Or perhaps, it was because she was the first person in years that he felt he had a connection with, that what they shared was something special that he could proudly confirm was his.

It had been three weeks since he had seen her. He was so angry with her still, his mind scoured over every conversation they had had, every nice word she had given him and had scratched them out with a big red line. They were wrong, all wrong and all lies. Now what was left was a yearning for what they shared and an anger that fuelled him to put one foot in front of the other. He had to continue, he had to get to the end of term and get himself home. Home, whatever that meant. Spinner’s End. Cokeworth, the place where dreams go to die. He would usually stay at the castle over Christmas, but this year he didn’t have it in him. He wanted to be as far away from this place as humanly possible and for the first time in his life, his childhood home that was often filled with fear and rage, offered him a solace that he didn’t think possible.

It must have been near seven when there was a knock at the door. Severus grumbled to himself as he opened it a crack, Minerva stood anxiously on the other side, she offered him a small smile. “Severus? May I come in?” Severus grunted in agreement and opened the door wide enough for his friend to enter, he flounced into a chair and gestured for her to join him. “How are you?” Minerva asked cautiously, she tapped her foot nervously as Severus regarded her. She looked worried and Severus felt uncomfortable. “I’m well, and yourself?” He replied after a small silence, Minerva frowned slightly and sat back in her chair. “Fine, thank you.” She paused, “Would you like to accompany me to dinner this evening?” Minerva looked at him hopefully, she knew what had transpired between Severus and Valentine through a hastily written note pushed under her office door. He had requested not to talk about it after the fact, she had obliged, of course she had, but Severus knew Minerva well enough to know she had questions. He wondered whether she would have probed Valentine any further about the letter from her father. Knowing what they knew about her connection to Lucius Malfoy would be enough to arouse suspicions in anybody, but that paired with a mysterious warning from Azkaban was more than worrying. “Before you answer,” Minerva began, “Elizabeth has been on a leave of absence for the last two weeks, so she won’t be in attendance. Also, there’s a nasty flu going around, and the infirmary is fit to burst so, turnout is a bit thin.” Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He shot Minerva a pained look, he was grateful for his friend, however he was also weary. But he didn’t want to cause her any more distress. “Will you sit with me?” He asked in a small voice, Minerva’s eyes glistened. She rose from her seat and pulled Severus up by his hands. “Of course I will, dear boy. I’ll be by your side.” She pulled him into her embrace tightly, “I’ve been so worried Severus.” He hugged her firmly, he scrunched his nose in order to halt the tears that threatened to escape. Minerva pulled away but held him at arm’s length and Severus smiled slightly.

When they were seated Severus could really see the effects of the flu Minerva had mentioned in full force, the long student tables were barely half full, and coughs and sneezes were in abundance. Severus flinched as yet another rumbling cough trundled toward him as students passed in front of the high table. “Well this is divine.” Severus muttered slyly to Minerva as she rolled her eyes. “Shall I conjure us a couple of plague masks?” “Your nose wouldn’t fit.” Minerva said with a smirk as Severus spluttered on his drink, a real smile emerged on his face and laugh left his chest. Minerva’s smile suddenly faltered as she gazed passed Severus to the other end of the high table, Severus followed her gaze until it ultimately settled on a dishevelled figure which sat themselves uncomfortably at the very end of the table. “Merlin, would you like to leave, Severus?” Minerva’s words felt miles away as Severus’ eyes met Valentine’s from across the expanse. The redhead looked awful, her eyes were bloodshot and were surrounded with dark circles. She had a large bruise on her cheek and her bottom lip was swollen and red with a sizeable cut. She lifted her hand to push her long hair which hung limply around her face, behind her ear and he could see her knuckles were split and bruised. “What’s happened to her?” Severus whispered to Minerva without taking his gaze from Valentine. “I don’t know, she’s been away.” Minerva sounded concerned as the pair watched Valentine struggle to pick up her goblet, she seemed to be in incredible pain. “Has she broken her hand?” Severus shrugged his shoulders and forced his gaze back to his own plate, his heart thundered in his chest. He could feel it begin to heave shallowly, and his hands gripped onto the edge of the table. Minerva squirmed in her seat; she craned her neck to get a better look at Valentine who now struggled to use her fork. “Oh, she needs to go to the infirmary. This isn’t on.” The deputy headmistress slyly stood from her seat and hurried to the other end of the table and crouched down next to Valentine. Severus watched from the corner of his eye as Minerva whispered into Valentine’s ear and the two stood and exited the Great Hall, Minerva’s hand under Valentine’s arm; guiding her carefully as they walked.

Severus contemplated his options for a moment, he didn’t feel comfortable sitting in the hall by himself so he could either return to his rooms or he could follow Valentine and Minerva. His heart ached for her, she looked like she had taken a brutal beating and Severus felt a quiet rage build in his chest. His affirmations that he didn’t care what happened to her, that she was a liar and not worthy of his time disappeared as he replayed the visions of her injuries in his mind. Whatever was happening in her life was obviously dangerous and for whatever reason she felt like she couldn’t divulge any information to him, but that didn’t alter the fact that she needed help. He stood from his place at the table and followed the same route previously taken by Minerva and Valentine.

They were already in the infirmary when Severus caught up with them, Poppy was fussing with Valentine, ushering her down to the very end of the busy ward and into a room off to the side. Minerva followed hastily, ignoring the lines of sneezing students and opening the door for the nursing mistress as she supported Valentine into the room. Severus waited a moment or two before creeping silently passed the long lines of beds full of students in various degrees of wellness and knocking on the door to the private room. He didn’t wait to be invited in, instead opening the door and slipping inside. Poppy looked over in his direction as she helped Valentine onto the bed and removed her shoes. “She’s had a nasty Cruciatus, Severus,” Minerva whispered as she sidled next to him. “She must have fallen as well.” “It looks like she’s done a lot more than fall, Minerva.” Severus muttered. They watched as Poppy sat Valentine up and tried to remove Valentine’s jacket, the young witch winced with pain as she withdrew her arms from the sleeves. Poppy lifted her shirt at the back and gasped, she looked at Severus, her face pale. “Severus, would you mind?” Poppy hastened, Severus was by her side in two quick steps and felt the bile rise in his throat as he regarded the deep lacerations painted across Valentine’s back. Severus slowly extended a finger and gently traced the outline of one of the bigger ones, Valentine whimpered at the touch and Minerva moved forward to grasp her hand. Poppy looked up at Severus worriedly, pulling Valentine’s shirt further up until it rested atop her shoulders. “What do you think, Severus? Is it-” “Sectumsempra? Yes.” He confirmed stiffly. Poppy only nodded sombrely as she produced her wand and started to chant the Vulnera Sanentur quietly, Valentine groaned, and Poppy nodded at Severus to help. He grasped Valentine’s shoulders to steady her in place as Poppy worked on closing the wounds on her back. How long had she been like this? Whomever had cast the spell, his spell had done so haphazardly, it wasn’t strong enough to cause a haemorrhage and Valentine was able to get away. He whizzed through the names of people who knew about the curse in his head, fuck there were so many. All of them vile too, who on earth had Valentine pissed off for them to do this? Not only had she’d been a victim of the Cruiciatus curse, but someone had really wished to hurt her with the curse of his own devising, you were not supposed to be able to walk away from it.

Valentine’s face was contorted with pain as Poppy tried to work as swiftly as she could. She writhed under Severus’ grip and he felt sorry for her. “Minerva,” Poppy said quietly, not looking up from her work. “I think it best to fetch the headmaster.” Minerva stood at once and left the room, she closed the door softly behind her and Severus turned his attention back to Valentine who still squirmed on the bed, tears fell her closed eyes and Severus’ heart once again ached for her. “Just try and keep still,” Severus said gently, “Nearly finished now.” Valentine didn’t respond but she nodded and took a deep breath. She seemed to relax slightly as Poppy started on the third incantation, allowing Severus to bear more of her weight by leaning into his hold. Satisfied with her work, Poppy stood back from Valentine and ran her hand over the healed skin. Still tender, Valentine flinched. “I think we’ll just pop this top in the bin, don’t you, Elizabeth?” Poppy said as she tapped Severus’ hands away and carefully lifted Valentine’s shirt over her head and over her arms. Severus’ eyes widened and he turned his back immediately. Valentine let out a weak laugh; “I think we’re passed all that, Sev.” Valentine said feebly, he turned to look at her and she offered him a tired unconvincing smile, her bruised hand covering her breasts. He returned her smile weakly and took a step toward her. She extended a hand to him and without thinking, he took it and perched on the seat next to the bed. “Good job you’re not wearing a brassiere my dear, or that could have been very fiddly.” Poppy said cheerfully as she rustled through the standing wardrobe and pulling out a hospital gown and shaking it in Valentine’s direction. Severus took the gown from the nurse as she helped Valentine stand, Poppy turned her away from Severus giving him a good look at Valentine’s back. Poppy really had done a marvellous job in closing Valentine’s wounds; but she would always have the scars. But you would never guess that they were fresh and bloody only moments ago. Poppy asked Severus to support Valentine’s arms as she unfastened Valentine’s trousers and instructed her to step out of them, which she did unsteadily. Severus presented the young with the sleeves of the gown, careful to not let his body touch hers. She pushed her arms through, and Severus pulled it over her shoulders and worked on fastening the ties at the back.

“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” Valentine laughed softly followed by a cough. Severus couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the first night they met, zipping her dress after dealing with another of her calamities. After helping her back onto the bed and pulling the covers over her lap Poppy turned to Valentine with a smile; “I’ll be back in two ticks, just need to give one of the Weasley boys a drop of Sleeping Draught.” She made her way to the door and stopped just before she opened it, “Will you be alright with Severus, dear?” “Oh yes, I’ll be fine.” Valentine answered with a smile. “Lovely, I’ll be back to reset the bones in your hand. Won’t be nice, but you’ll thank me for it in the morning.” Poppy offered both a smile as she left, leaving the two of them in silence.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Severus spoke first; he brushed his hands over his trousers and placed them neatly in his lap. Valentine bit her bruised lip before she answered. “Not really.” She smiled weakly. “Please don’t feel like you have to sit with me, Severus. I understand if you’re angry with me.” “Whether I am angry or not is of no pertinence. You mustn’t be left unattended, and it seems like I am the only one here.” He said flatly. “Those wounds on your back. Who gave them to you?” “Why does it matter?” Valentine groaned and she studied her broken hand in the dim light. “It matters to me.” “Why?”

Because although he would swear otherwise, he cared for her and he wanted her to be safe. “Because you’re a good friend to Minerva, and she’ll only worry.” He said coolly, Valentine nodded sadly. A silence settled between them, and although it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable Severus felt he should break it. “I feel like I should apologise to you, Severus.” Valentine said, startling him. He looked at her then, as she hunched over on the bed. He felt sorry for her, she looked so small and meek. A shadow of the gregarious woman he had met in the summer. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I would like to say it nonetheless.” Severus raised an eyebrow and waited. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. None of it was true, I said it to get a reaction from you. It was immature, and I’m sorry.” “So you admit it?” “Pardon?” “You admit it?” “Admit what?” “That you were pursing me?” “What?” “You admit that you were pursing me. And now you attest that it wasn’t due to boredom. That is, interesting.” Severus smirked. Valentine looked confusedly at him, he enjoyed it. He had power in this moment, and he relished in the energy that passed between them. Him, in control of the situation. “I have a genuine interest in you Severus, why is that a difficult concept to grasp?” She questioned as she tried to lie down on the bed. Almost as if she had forgotten, she yelped in pain as her back touched the mattress. She shot up again and Severus lurched towards her, he pulled her into his arms and tried his best to soothe her. Valentine wept as she clung to Severus with her good hand, he kissed the top of her head deeply.

“Did you try to run?” He whispered into her hair; he traced his fingers ever so lightly over her back. It was an odd place to be hit by the curse, he wondered if she had tried to escape after she had been curcio’d. Valentine nodded and sniffed pathetically. Severus felt his stomach drop, she had tried to get away and someone had hit her with his curse. “Oh darling.”

They stayed that way for a moment or two, Severus gently rocking back and forth with Valentine in his arms. He hummed quietly to himself, he remembered his mother doing this for him when he was a child. It didn’t remember it ever making him feel better, but it was worth a try. When he heard the young witch’s breathing relax he turned her face to his with a finger and thumb.

“So, you admit it.” He said gently, if he wasn’t mistaken he could have sworn Valentine rolled her eyes.

“What am I admitting to this time?” She sighed. “That you are interested in me-” “Are you twelve, Severus?” “Perhaps,” he chuckled. “But I feel it important to share that I-” he coughed, Valentine looked at him with an expectant smile. “I have an interest in you, also. So…there, yes.” He gazed into Valentine’s bloodshot green eyes and smiled.

“Kiss me.” She whispered. Severus of course, complied eagerly.

#severus snape #snape #pro severus snape #Pro Snape #professor snape #severus snape x oc #severus snape imagine #snape imagine #severus snape fic #minerva mcgonagall #poppy pomfrey #Splitting Hairs #elizabeth valentine #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction

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madasthesea · 4 years

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Happy Star Wars Day!!! If today isn’t a good day for Star Wars AU, I don’t know what is.

The ship reverting from hyperspeed made Peter nearly fall out of his handstand.

“Master?” He called to the cockpit, his eyes still blindfolded. They weren’t supposed to reach their destination for several hours yet.

“Feet off the floor, Padawan,” Tony replied. He didn’t sound alarmed, and the Force was a quiet, if slightly queasy pool of light, as it always was in space, so Peter let himself relax a little bit, rebalancing himself on his palms.

“They are,” Peter protested. “Just as they have been for the last thirty minutes.”

“If you can’t take the punishment, don’t do the crime,” Tony said, his voice coming from the doorway. Peter could picture him leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his smirk practically tangible in the Force. An imagine transferred clearly across their bond of a fluffy baby flitterbat, sleeping upside down.

Peter scowled, both at the accusation and the comparison, which made Tony give an undignified snort.

“I would hardly label what I did a crime,” Peter gritted out, shifting his weight. A half hour was a long time to hold a handstand, even for a Jedi.

“You called me old.”

“The word old never came out of my mouth.” Tony grabbed his ankle as he wobbled.

“You’re right, you said, and I quote—” Tony put on a high falsetto voice that was clearly meant to be a mimicry of Peter’s voice— “‘Don’t worry, Master, you’re in good shape for a man of your age.’”

“Which is a compliment,” Peter interjected.

“Your diplomatic skills leave something to be desired,” Tony sighed. “But you’ve served your time. Down you come.”

Peter held back any remarks of about time and gratefully flipped onto his feet, shaking his arms out before reaching up and tugging the blindfold off. He blinked at Tony for a second.

“There you are,” Tony said, smiling a little. “Now, aren’t you going to ask why we’ve stopped?”

“Only since you so clearly want me to, Master.” Peter followed Tony into the small bridge, collapsing gracefully into the co-pilot’s chair. “Why have we stopped at—“ He checked the nav computer— “Stewjon?”

“Got a call from the Council. They’re requesting help with a local dispute and we were closest.”

Peter nodded dutifully, already mourning the astrocartography exam he was going to miss. Master Sibwarra always made the make-up exams much harder than the original.

“Relax,” Tony admonished gently. “It’s our duty, much more than exams are.”

“Yes, Master,” Peter responded. In the first few months of his apprenticeship with Tony, that would have stung, but he’d learned to take the compliments and instructions with the same level of appreciation. “I know.”

“Besides, you could pass that class in your sleep.” And even Peter had to admit, that soothed like liniment on sore muscles. “And it just so happens,” Tony continued, leaving Peter to follow his train of thought, “that I have an acquaintance with a diner in the capital.” He cast a sideways glance at Peter. “And an apprentice with a bottomless pit for a stomach.”

Peter perked up a little bit at the prospect of a good, greasy meal. The refectory at the Temple served only the healthiest of fare, with the occasional fruit for dessert.

Tony smiled, probably sensing Peter’s lifting spirits. “I’ll have a ‘thank you, Master,’ if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Thank you, Master,” Peter said, and Tony’s eyebrow twitched upward in surprise at the sincerity.

They were received with a level of ceremony that was bordering on absurd, but they endured it with the grace of trained diplomats. They were shown to an airy chamber where two farmers were bickering. One was accusing the other of poisoning his crop while the other spouted vitriol.

Tony and Peter exchanged a look.

“Gentlemen,” Tony called, stepping forward. Both quieted and looked Tony over, their eyes widening as they saw the lightsaber hanging on his belt. “I think this can be resolved fairly easily, so long as we all cooperate.”

They both nodded. They sat down at a long table in the center of the room, Tony at the head of it and Peter at his right hand.

“Now,” Tony said calmly, his voice clear in the quiet chamber. He turned to the accused man, who was wringing his hands under the table. “Answer me honestly. Did you poison the fruit?”

The man blanched; glanced down at Tony’s hip where the ‘saber hung. “M-Master Jedi,” he said weakly.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he admitted in a rush of breath. “Yes, I did.”

Chaos descended. Leaving them to it, Tony looked over at Peter. An image of a bantha burger floated across their bond, making Peter’s mouth water. Peter responded with an image of fried crezzils, golden and crispy, and nearly felt Tony’s sigh of longing. On the surface, they both maintained the mien of a stoic Jedi.

After a few more moments of uproarious arguing, Tony called order again, and quickly put Peter in charge of negotiating terms of reparation. The situation was so straightforward that even Peter—who was well aware that diplomatics were his worst area—managed it with ease and only the occasional need for back-up from Tony. They were then honored with an interminable tea ceremony (they both preferred caff, anyway) before they were finally free to find lunch.

Tony led the way through the fragrant merchant district, lined with shops and stalls selling a wide array of produce and handcrafts. Peter trotted along after him, looking this way and that, trying to take it all in.

“Iko-re does the best ixlatl cake in the parsec,” Tony said as they walked. Peter’s stomach rumbled at the thought—if sweets were a delicacy, ixlatl was the crown jewel. Ben had given him a bar of it for his twelfth lifeday and Peter had savored every creamy, sugary piece, shamelessly licking the melted remains off his fingers.

Just as they were passing through the most crowded part of the city so far—a square lined with carts and bins overflowing produce—there was a shout, followed be the unmistakable sound of a blaster firing.

More screams followed and people started running, scrambling over one another to get out of open space.

The Force was instantly taut with panic and fear. Tony and Peter snapped to attention, both of their hands going toward their ‘saber hilts.

Tony charged forward, pushing against the crowd. Peter, glancing upwards at the buildings around them, leapt up and grabbed a lamp sconce, hanging from it for a moment to see what was happening. Ahead, in a clearing of people, lay a middle-aged man, his eyes open and blank. A woman was crying over his body. And there, even further in the distance, two men were shoving people out of their way as they fled.

“Master,” Peter yelled, the loss of life ringing like a church bell in the Force, pounding in time with Peter’s frantic heartbeat.

“Go!” Tony answered without needing an explanation.

Calling on the Force, Peter went, jumping forward from lamp post to cart-top to balcony, sailing above the crowd instead of pushing his way through. He kept his eyes fixed on the murderers as he went.

As soon as he was through the square, he dropped to the cobblestone street, sprinting at full speed. He could feel Tony nearby, pursuing as well.

The men glanced behind them and their fear cut through the Force, sharp and acrid, when they realized they had Jedi on their tail. They veered down a side-alley.

Peter summoned his ‘sabers to his hands, igniting them in a flare of blue light, the crystals humming in harmonized approval as he took chase. He hurled around the corner, springing off the alley wall with one foot so he didn’t have to slow down, only to immediately inhale a lungful of a foreign substance, making his throat burn. Coughing, he felt Tony’s concern echo through the Force as his master passed him.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, picking up his pace. The fire in his lungs cleared after a moment. Thinking little of it, Peter darted forward, ‘sabers at the ready.

The men veered into another street; this one narrower than the main road, with little stalls selling jewelry and linens. The shopkeepers ducked behind their wooden carts as they saw Peter following, closing the distance.

He let a tiny smirk curve the corner of his mouth. The Force coiled inside him like a spring ready to be sprung—Peter was nearly lightheaded with the power pooling in his veins. He prepared to leap.

He blinked awake to Tony leaning over him, his expression set in studied calm.

He looked around at the detritus around him and realized he’s crashed directly into one of the vendors’ carts, smashing it and its wares. Peter craned his head to peer further down the alley and saw the men’s backs disappearing.

“Master,” Peter panted. “Go.”

“Hush,” Tony snapped, trapping Peter’s face in his hands and peering at him intently. “You just fainted, Padawan.”

“They’re getting away,” Peter protested, trying to sit up more but he was hit with a wave of dizziness. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Stay awake.” Tony’s thumb pulled Peter’s eyelid up, which was good because it suddenly felt like an Aurodium coin had been placed on it, like the Feorians do before burial.

Peter slumped further, all energy seemingly drained from his body. He didn’t even remember passing out. He remembered chasing the men, then waking up, as if watching a poorly transmitted hologram with gaps in the recording.

“Peter.” Tony’s voice was firm and laced with power that Peter had little choice but to obey. “Stay awake.”

Peter wanted to protest that he was trying, even if there was no such thing as ‘try.’ Obedient to his Master’s command, he forced his eyes open again, barely managing to focus on Tony’s face, the lines around his mouth creasing as he frowned.

“Master,” Peter slurred, and then he knew nothing but darkness.

He woke up on fire. Burning in every inch of him, every inch of his crude matter, going so deep as to set the Force alight, the core of him that was meant to be untouchable.

He sucked in a breath but it only fanned the flames.

A scream tore from his throat, try as he might to hold it back. Tears gathered in his eyes and fell, blessedly cool on his skin, but the shame of it welled in his chest, scorching in his veins until there was nothing but heat and pain.

“Padawan.”

A lifeline, a reprieve: like a sip of cold, spring water after a month under Tatooine’s suns. Peter stilled his unconscious thrashing.

“Peter,” the voice said again. “Calm yourself.”

A hand, so cool in comparison to his own blazing skin it almost hurt, brushed away the tears still clinging to his cheek.

“That’s it. The Force, Padawan. Find the Force.”

The Force? The Force was screaming from the top of a pyre.

But that wasn’t right. The Force was always placid, always tranquil. Calmer and cooler than the river in the Room of a Thousand Fountains when his peers convinced him to join them for an illicit swim.

“Breathe out the pain,” came the gentle command. A hand covered his forehead and the hurt was winnowed from him like flame into the vacuum of space.

Peter exhaled a sob, but it must have been close enough because the meditation continued.

“Breathe in the Force.”

The Force. Peter imagined himself submerging in the Light, in the inextinguishable plenum of existence. The thrill of a ‘saber duel, the vibrant peace of a buzzing forest. His Master’s warm hand on his shoulder.

“There we go. Breathe out the—”

“Master.”

“Right here, Peter,” Tony assured. He tugged so lightly on Peter’s braid that he almost didn’t feel it.

“I’m sorry,” Peter gasped. For screaming, he wanted to elaborate. For crying. For wanting Tony to hold him while he trembled in agony.

Tony made a shushing noise, softer and warmer and more lovely than anything Peter had ever heard. “You’ve done nothing to apologize for, little one. Just breathe.”

Peter reached out blindly, wanting some comfort, even if a Jedi should be above that.

A foreign hand caught his, and it occurred to him for the first time that there were others there, bustling around him. For the first time, he recognized the chemical stink of a healers.

His hand was passed to another, and this one was familiar, calloused from years of ‘saber practice, engulfing Peter’s hand entirely.

“Master,” he breathed again, hoping that Tony could hear what he was trying to say through their bond. What he wouldn’t say out loud.

“Yes,” Tony sighed, pressing his thumb against the pulse in Peter’s wrist. “I know.”

Another wave of pain crested over him.

“Sleep, Padawan. It’s all right.”

There was enough Force-compulsion in the simple order that Peter couldn’t have disobeyed even if he wanted to.

Peter felt sluggish when he woke and he wrinkled his nose in annoyance at the dizziness clinging to him.

“There’s my poorly tempered, Padawan,” Tony’s amused voice said. Peter groaned in response. “Ah, yes. I’ve been missing that acerbic wit, young one.”

Forcing down a smile, Peter opened his eyes to give a rather pathetic looking glare to his Master, who was sitting at his bedside looking almost embarrassingly fond.

“There you are.” Tony smiled more freely than any other Jedi Master Peter had met, but only when looking at Peter, who was always an eager recipient.

“Did you get them?” Peter asked when his mind was clear enough to form the question.

The smile dropped, but a bit of begrudging humor lingered in Tony’s eyes. “You are intractable,” he reproached. “You’ve been in the healer’s care for three days. Don’t you care to hear about that?”

“No,” Peter answered honestly. He wanted to forget about it, in fact, humiliation creeping up his spine and making him pout before he could catch himself. What a terrible Jedi he must be, to be taken by surprise in such a way as to inhale a toxin, and then scream and cry like a crecheling having a tantrum while dealing with the consequences.

Tony reached forward suddenly and tugged sharply on Peter’s ear. “Enough,” he warned, his voice stern. Peter stilled, realized that perhaps his mental shields had not been tight enough to indulge in such self-recriminating thoughts.

He looked up at Tony in mute apology.

“No, I did not ‘get them,’” Tony said after a long moment, and Peter figured the subject change was akin to forgiveness. “I, for some reason that is increasingly baffling to me, prioritized the health of my young charge, who had collapsed like a swooning maiden from a holo’ drama.”

Peter scowled deeply at his Master, but Tony only raised a challenging eyebrow and Peter backed down.

“Besides,” Tony continued. “They got in a speeder bike. I couldn’t have caught up even if I had pursued.”

“Oh,” Peter said, slightly mollified. There was silence for a long moment as Peter thought of the man they had killed. Tony’s mouth turned downward and he patted the back of Peter’s hand. Then they released their sorrow together.

“You owe me ixlatl cake,” Peter finally said, eager to change the melancholy mood of the room.

“Do I?” Tony said, his amusement glittering in the Force. Peter relished it. “Very well. You will get your ixlatl cake, so long as you beat me in a quarterstaff duel.”

Peter sighed, longsuffering, knowing that that was not so much a suggestion as a command. HIs quarterstaff technique was terrible and Tony knew it. He certainly would not be winning himself any cake. But Tony would probably give it to him anyway.

“Yes, Master.”

#Star Wars AU #SW AU #Irondad and Spiderson #Tony Stark #Peter Parker #MCU #brotp: speaking of loyalty #my writing #fic #ixlatl is chocolate by the way #but it's Star Wars so we have to have a different name that no one knows #may the fourth be with you

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