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notyour-valentine · 1 year

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A Fair Exchange XIV ~ Aemond Targaryen x Reader/OC (Angst)

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Summary: Some things are easier in theory than in practice, and Aemond too realises some games are not won with anger and strength

Warning: bullying, blood, mention and threat of violence and death, mutilation, mention of torture and death, childbirth, injury, misogeny. Expect canon conforming tone and language. (18/21+)

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Previously

Part XIV

She had always been uncomfortable in his presence, something that had once filled Aemond with pride, but now he was the one avoiding her gaze, with mumbled words and sweaty palms.

He didn’t dare meet her gaze for fear of the truth that lay in it.

She had seen him at his worst, weak and broken, degraded, humiliated, choking on his own blood and sick.

Aemond had no shred of dignity left to hold onto, no small fragment of pride, when it came to her.

And yet, she wasn’t at ease in his presence either, even if her discomfort was of a different sort.

In truth, all of her was different, and he did not just mean the pale grey eyepatch, or these high collared clothes with the attached veil she now chose to wear, replacing everything he had ever seen her in. Her voice had changed, her posture too, the way she spoke and the words she used.

All of her was different.

Like Jacaerys, she seemed older, in a timeless sort of way as if she had been frozen over, or trapped in stone for all eternity.

And yet underneath her unmoved facade, her fire still burned, and Aemond felt it’s boiling heat.

It made her refuse to shrink away from him, which only increased his struggle not to quiver in her presence, hers and that of her companions.

A pair of guards were standing close by, hands closed around their swords and their eyes narrowed in on him, ready to intervene at any chance.

There was someone else too as if they didn’t trust him to be alone with her but strangely enough her presence, as uneasy as it made him, was the only thing resembling security that no bodily harm would come to him.

She had had her chance.

One word of hers would have meant they had slit his throat, or taken his other eye, or hand or manhood.

And if she hadn’t spoken, they would have continued on with their plan.

She had been the one thing standing between him and their ferocity, as little as she was.

What a way the Gods had chosen, but if it was a test, punishment or mockery, he did not know.

But he did know he had to keep her happy, or at least content or else there was no hope for him to hear of Helaena, nor her from him.

Twas not easy to bring a child into the world and they did not call the birthing bed a woman’s battlefield for nothing. And added worry about him would only make things worse.

So Aemond had made the decision to swallow his hurt and trap his shame, to force himself to be the most helpful teacher he could. For Helaena’s sake.

He’d suffer worse for his sister in a heartbeat, so he was determined to suffer this. Only his niece proved a tricky student, and not in the ways that had frustrated the Maesters, with her inability to comprehend even the basest forms of Valyrian and the simplest happenstances of history.

If Aemond had thought she would be at least half as productive a student as she had been back then, he was disappointed, for he was met with a wall of stone.

Jace’s idea, even if she had now chosen to obey it, was not one she approved of, something which she made all too evident from the moment she had entered his chambers, long before they had even sat down on the round table, under the watchful gaze of the guards and her companion of the day, Lady Rhaena.

“What do you expect me to do?”, he asked, after minutes of suffocating silence had passed.

“Just tell me!”, she sighed in exasperation, impatience straining her voice. “Just tell me how you do it. How you do all of it.”

Aemond huffed. All of it - because it was all of it.

There had not been a single thing that had not been impacted by his loss of eye, and he doubted she’d fare in a different way. But he could not answer that, not without knowing where to start.

Aemond took another shaky breath, staring at the spot on the dark table where his fingernail had chipped away at the wood.

“Well is there anything in particular that bothers you?”

“Perhaps the loss of an eye.”, she hissed under her breath, before glancing at Rhaena and then the door.

If his contact to Helaena didn’t depend on it, he would have given up long ago. But it was the only chance he had.

He said her name in an irritated whisper, as his side began to throb again.

Sitting like this still caused him pain, but then again, everything did that included speaking, breathing and especially coughing.

“You have to tell me specifically what I am to help you with if you expect me to help you.”

Her head snapped around, her eye flashing with rage, but when she leaned in, her voice was so low only he could hear.

“Why are you still so set on my degradation?”, she demanded to know. “I’ve given my eye to satisfy your cruelty and nearly died for it!”

Her lip trembled with rage.

“And it is my silence that has kept you from mockery and humiliation and yet you still deny me the basest courtesy.”

If she had slapped him, even if his face still injured, his ears would have rang less as the weight of her words settled in and their meaning sent his thoughts spiralling.

Trapped in a current of her creation, he was unable to even think of a response let alone say it, and when face with his silence, she scoffed and pushed herself up in a stand.

Her foot was bothering her. Aemond had noticed that on her way in, during their last meeting and during that night, out of the corner of his swollen eye.

That foot was now bandaged to keep from further strain and yet she needed a guard’s arm to lean on.

“Shan’t you at least try?”, he heard Rhaena ask.

“I have tried and look where it got me.”

Her words came as a venomous hiss as she dragged herself out of the room, Rhaena rushing to follow.

And then Aemond was alone with his thoughts again, or rather, her words echoing in his head.

Rhaena caught her quickly, too quickly for her liking.

Cursed foot, she thought as she blinked away the burning in her eyes.

If she hadn’t twisted it on her escape from that woman in Harrenhal she might have had a chance to get away.

“Care to explain?”, Rhaena asked, linking her arm with hers, and thereby trapping her for good. “I thought you agreed with Jace’s plan.”

“I did.”, she said through clenched teeth as she steered them towards the terrace, from where she’d be able to smell the sea and hear the waves better and perhaps they would calm her thundering heart. “And it was wrong of me.”

“He has agreed to help you.”, Rhaena said as she helped her sit. “Even if it is just for Helaena’s sake.”

Her eyes drifted away from the sea to the large volcano that housed all their dragons.

In her life, she had been in there but once when her parents had taken her up there to find a hatchling for her, to give her strength, the night she had found Tyseleys, but in her dreams she had been in there a hundred times, so much so she could have painted it from memory - the smoke and steam, the orange glow reflecting on the black stone, the spot where Vermithor and Silverwing curled together, the caverns higher up which housed the younger dragons, who didn’t dare stray further into the dark for fear of the Cannibal and other, older beasts.

She knew where the eggs lay, and where the streams of liquid fire flowed - she had felt the heat on her own skin, but only ever in her dreams. And in her dreams she was strong and fierce, with no warrior on the face of the earth capable of causing her harm.

And then she woke, because she always woke, feeling the cold in the absence of that inner warmth, sheer strength and inhuman strength and smell replaced by the pain, the lack of her eye and her own weakness, both real and acted.

While she was certain she could pretend to be weak in front of the world, and act like the perfect broken maiden, there was something inside her that refused to admit her own limitations, no matter how small, in front of her uncle.

Rhaena looked at her with those soft, searching eyes, but she wasn't as foolish as to think there was no determination underneath.

And yet it was Rhaena, her sister, a person who had seen and cared for her at her weakest.

If she and Baela had grown up here in Westeros, she would know the answer, like Jace and Luke knew. So she supposed it wouldn't matter if Rhaena also knew.

Still, the words caught in her throat.

“Anything I say or do, he will use as weapons against me. He always has.”

Any slip of her tongue during those language lessons, any confusion in history was cause for mockery and shame, no matter how hard she tried to make up for the years of advancement he had, they all had.

It wasn't her fault that she had spent the first years of her life in a sick bed instead of a school room, and yet he had convinced her of the fact.

Any mistake, no matter how small, was illuminated by his sneers and looks, chipping away at her bit by bit until there had been dangerously little left.

In the pocket of her new gown, her finger brushed over the face of the carving as she recalled the night she had believed his words.

She had gotten far, further than she should have done, slipping past servants and guards, even outside the Red Keep, and if See Harwin hadn't caught her a mere few steps beyond the reach of the gate, who knows what would have happened?

It had taken more than that night of soft words and assurances from him, her mother and father to convince her.

And it had been weeks after their arrival at Dragonstone before she had dared speak High Valyrian, even if she had never gained an interest in history.

Years of unlearning, only to find herself back at a table and Aemond beside her, like it had been all those years ago, but instead of learning with him, she was supposed to be learning from him.

And yet sitting next to him brought back into that school room, expecting the way he’d make it known when she would make a mistake, with mocking snorts and sharp huffs, as if her failure was the most humorous thing he had ever known.

She half expected him to lean in, his lips close to her ear and his arm around her shoulders, with poison spilling from his tongue drip by drip until her eyes burned with tears.

His cruelty was rarely loud, but always sharp, and ever constant.

But they were at war now, and she could not and would not allow him to make her feel weak ever again, because if she did, she would never have the strength to play her part to perfection.

And she’d be damned to seven hells if she allowed Aemond Targaryen of all people the chance to foil their plan.

Of course she was also not fool enough to believe he wouldn't try, especially now that he only had more reason to hate her.

One day his attempt at retaliation would come.

Any weakness she admitted to now would be increased tenfold by his cunning and cruelty, of that she was certain, and they would chip away at her bit by bit until she was no longer strong enough to shoulder the responsibility of their plan.

She didn't tell all that to Rhaena of course, but enough for her to understand, and she wasn't as naive to think that Rhaena wouldn't corner Luke within the hour and demand a full report into their childhood, nor to expect Luke to be able to deny her anything at all.

Sometimes she wished she could stay in her dreams - her nightly ones and not the nightmares she had had twice, the ones that had seen her wake once on Dragonstone, the second time on the Isle of Faces, shaking and heaving from the flashes she had seen, flashes of fire and blood, of silver hair and haunted violet eyes, torn in grief and pain.

These glimpses haunted her in the dark before her sleep claimed her and brought her to him.

If she could stay in her dreams, she’d be strong forever.

But they were just that, dreams without weight or meaning, just like her nightmares, similar to smoke from a candle that was snuffed out, burning in the eyes and nose for a moment, before disappearing into thin air.

Only her dreams never disappeared from memory, even if she wished them to.

Her hands closed into fists in her lap until she felt the bite of her nails in her skin. It brought her back from her childish, foolish thoughts and anchored her in the here and now, but not enough to stop her from asking a question she had pondered for a while now.

“Rhaena,”, she asked, “There are people who believe they can see the future in flames, aren’t they? In the Free Cities?”

“Yes.”, Rhaena saif casually, not knowing the weight of her question. “The Followers of R’hollor.”

Her jaw clenched.

“Do you believe them?”

Rhaena only shrugged, glancing out towards the water as her memories carried her back to the places of her childhood.

“Many in the Free Cities do. They have temples there. Especially in Volantis where most follow the Red God. Their priests and priestesses are renowned.”

“But do you believe them?”, she wanted to know. “That they can see the future in flames?”

“I believe that there are things we cannot understand or explain, and that there is power in fire.”

For a moment, her sister’s face lay deep in thought as she weighed her answer.

That wasn’t a good sign.

It was closer to a yes than a no and not the response she wanted. She had wanted mockery, laughter even, to lighten her own heart, to know that this belief meant nothing. That that woman’s words meant nothing.

She could see him before her eyes, tall and proud, with short silver hair and violet eyes, as round and large as Lucerys’. His face haunted her as much as those of the countless dead and dying, of all those contorted in agony or grief.

“Why do you ask?”, Rhaena wanted to know, shifting closer.

She took a shaky breath and reached over to take her hand.

The smile she offered her sister was false and strained and she knew she did not believe her.

“Just a curiosity.”

Her words had made him feel nauseous to the brink of being ill, where the mere thought of food made his jaw muscles tighten.

And with each beat of his heart, it echoed around in his head, no matter if it was day or night.

My silence has kept you from mockery and humiliation.

Although it did explain why no one had said anything of the sort, not Jace, not Luke, not even Baela who certainly did not mince her words.

He didn’t want to believe it, after all, it made no sense.

She couldn’t hide the evidence of his attack so why would she refuse to share the whole truth?

But Aemond still couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t tell them. She had no reason to conceal his shame.

Although she probably only ever wanted to hold it over him, or to pull the ground out from under him at any given chance, but then why tell him, even if in anger?

It didn’t make sense to him, and the uncertainty kept him up all night.

But when on the morrow, only ever the servants entered to bring and take away his mostly untouched breakfast in stoic silence.

When they brought lunch in equal fashion with no change in his chambers apart from the way the sun shone into the room, Aemond knew she wasn’t coming.

Fine, he thought, but it wasn’t. He had to know why.

Dinner came and went and the night was as sleepless as the last.

So when the serving woman came the next day, Aemond was already expecting her.

“I wish to speak to the Princess.”, he announced.

She froze and stared at him with wide eyes.

“Will you convey my wish?”

She blinked, looked to the guards, then back to him, her pale cheeks flushing a bright red.

“Ah.”, Aemond sighed, realising the reason for her shock.

They had been instructed not to speak a word to him. That would explain the silence he had been faced with the last few days, not that he had minded.

“Then fetch someone who is allowed to talk to me.”, he asked her.

She looked to the guards, who seemed equally uncertain.

Not too long after she left, the Maester entered.

“I want to speak to her.”, he told him as soon as he could place the clink of his chain.

“I see.”, he said, before beckoning him to sit closer to the edge of the bed so that he may assess the bruising around his ribcage.

He did not budge.

“Tell her-”

Aemond stopped himself before completing the order he was ready to bark at the old man. This would get him nowhere. He needed friends here, and if not friends, allies.

“I’d be grateful,”, he rephrased with far more caution, “if you would inform the Princess that I would appreciate it if she would find the time in her day to reattempt what we had started.”

And if she would care to explain what in seven hells she had said the last time they had met.

But more importantly, to get word to Helaena.

He was beyond enraged that they kept dangling his sister over him, knowing it was the one thing to use to force his hand, but at the same time, he could not risk it. He would not risk it.

The Maester gave him no reaction, instead asking him to sit up.

“Are you even listening?”, he demanded to know of the old man.

“Oh yes.”, he said, entirely unimpressed, “now please, my Prince, do not make me ask the guards to assist me.”

Aemond was not willing to have anyone’s hands on him, merely tolerating the Maesters, but he would not be manhandled, not in this place, not when every helmet could possibly hide one of the sailors who had caused his wounds.

“Will you tell her?”, Aemond asked of the same man who had treated his wound when he had lost his eye on Driftmark all those years ago.

“I shall consider it.”, he admitted as he ran his hands over the bruising on his side, “Breathe.”

Aemond knew he had no option but to obey, and so he, if reluctantly, did as he was told in silence.

There were controlling touches, salves that were applied, notes that were taken.

“Tell her.”, he asked once more as the Maester was about to leave. “Please just tell her.”

Sleep only ever came after his worries and fears had exhausted him, fragments of all the books about pregnancy and maternity he had devoured in the library all those years ago when his sister was first pregnant, coming back to haunt him.

They had not been the kind meant for women which talked about prayers and teas, which stones to throw into ponds and which words to say if one wanted to have a boy or which flowers one should wear in their hair to conceive and all that nonsense, but those for Maesters and healers, the kind that were deemed inappropriate for a boy.

He couldn’t remember how many times the librarians and scholars had come to him and told him it was not a topic he should occupy himself with, but he hadn’t stopped until he had read each and every one of them, no matter how much they had made his stomach turn and his blood run cold.

They described all the pains, all the ailments, from little things like swollen feet and aching backs to stabbing headaches to all the things that could go wrong in the birthing bed.

All those descriptions had swirled around his head for hours in the darkness, the poisoning of liquids that would lead to seizures, the tears and the bleeding that sometimes could not be stopped, the fever that could take hold and make a new mother waste away, the way sometimes hearts could not stand the strain.

All these things haunted him in his dreams, until he was torn from them.

Something jolted him awake, not a touch or a change of senses, like the time Aegon had dumped ice cold water on him just because he felt like it, back when they were children.

Something inside him warned him.

Wide awake at once, he pushed himself up, ready to fight, to kill if need me only to ensure he wouldn’t be at their mercy once more.

But he was not met by four attackers, he realised, as soon as his eye had adapted to the fall of moonlight, aided by the single candle between them.

“Cousin.”, Aemond said, breathless from his shock and the utter disbelief. “Niece.”

He had sat up too quickly, and without care for his broken bones, which now demanded payment for his recklessness, screaming in agony.

His hand went to his side as he prayed it would not show on his face, while his gaze darted back and forth between them.

Both were in their nightclothes, Rhaena’s hair tamed in a silk scarf that was wrapped around her head and a blue robe covering her nightgown. It looked to be Essosi in cut, embroidered with thread of silver that sparkled in the light.

His niece, and her sister now, wasn’t wearing a robe, just a simple nightgown with laces that held it together over her chest, tied into a bow. Her eye was covered with a different eyepatch than by day, more a bandage than a patch, with wider straps made of softer fabric.

Whatever this was, Aemond realised, it hadn’t been planned. Otherwise they wouldn’t be in such a state of undress.

Both were watching him like he was some kind of curiosity.

Aemond wanted to speak, wanted to ask her about the meaning of her words, about the intention behind her silence, but Rhaena was right there.

Anything he told her, she too would hear and so he bit his tongue.

He had to convince her to agree, for his sake and for Helaena’s, but he had to be smart about it too.

But at the same time he knew that it would be impossible to ask her in the privacy of some sort of solitude without her agreeing to the arrangement Jace had made with him.

Even then, it would be unlikely, but without it, it would be beyond unfeasible.

“I don’t trust you.”, she told him blankly, but there was a strain in her voice that sounded almost close to sadness. “And I don’t want to be near you.”

Somehow hearing her words laced with lamentation instead of the rage he had faced yesterday was worse. Far worse.

“I understand.”, Aemond admitted, dropping his gaze, his voice still thick from sleep. “However, I need you to know that I intend to honour my agreement with your brother. I wish to help you.”

“Liar!”

“I am willing to help you,”, he corrected, speaking the truth this time, “in exchange for contact to my sister. I shall do it to the best of my abilities.”

There was anger in her eyes, and in the way her muscles pushed out her jaw.

And Aemond could not deny the truth she had spoken.

He needed something sharper to get through all the resentment and hatred between them, and when he spoke, he did so with caution, weighing each word with the precision of a merchant packaging his most precious spice.

She looked at Rhaena and Rhaena looked at him.

Neither seemed convinced, and Aemond knew he had to try harder.

“The dangers of childbirth are not lost on me.”, he said, his eye darting back and forth between them for any sign of a reaction.

He shifted slightly on the bed, moving closer to the edge, almost in reach of them.

“Much and more can go wrong, for both mother and child. We all know that. Your mothers-”

Aemond had made the mistake of looking at Rhaena as he spoke and saw fury flashing in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother!”, she insisted, hand raised to strike him, like she had done all those years ago on Driftmark.

Aemond had his own arm, the one not aching with every movement thanks to the strain applied to his shoulder raised to shield his face from damage.

“I do not say these things in malice!”, he quickly said, shifting back on the bed to be away from her. “I am saying it because it is the truth. Because we all know it is true!”

His back hit the headboard and he pressed himself against it, suppressing a hiss of pain at the ache in his ribs, as the two watched from the side of the bed.

Rhaena was still shaking with rage, but his niece had come up beside her, a hand on her shoulder.

Whether it was to aid her or to stop her, he could not say, but it did buy him a moment’s chance.

“Rhaena, our grandmother died in childbed.”, he reminded her, recalling the fate of Meleys’ first rider. Curious, he suddenly realised, that both the dragon’s riders were grandmothers to Rhaena. But he had no time to dwell on such histories, as he turned to his niece.

“As did yours.”

Granted, he knew little about Queen Aemma Targaryen, except that she had begun having children at a similar age to Helaena, and had died in the attempt of giving his father a son. Baelon, the heir for a day.

“Your mother is yet one of many strong women who succumbed to it.”, he added, sprinkling in some flattery in the hope of swaying her, “and your mother nearly suffered the same fate, with her child, your sister, lost.”

“Visenya wasn’t lost.”, the Princess snarled, her eye shining even in the darkness. “Your treason killed her.”

“The fear of war then,”, Aemond said, so quickly that his words sounded breathless, “But can you honestly say that Heleana feels none of that now? None of that pain? She lost a father, same as your mother. And now the threat of war looms over her just as it did over Rhaenyra.”

“You were fond of her once.”, Aemond reminded her, “Every quarrel between us, all the blame you place at my feet, be that as it may, but when did Helaena ever once do anything to hurt you? Tis for her I ask.”

The fact that they remained silent, gave him more hope than any words ever could.

And now he was talking just to her, the girl who had taken her eye and gained power over him. Her word would once again decree his fate.

She shifted and averted her eyes, half hiding behind Rhaena now, telling him he was close.

“I know you do not like me, and that you do not trust me, but don’t you trust me to have her interests at heart?”, he wanted to know. “I will do my best to help you in hopes it will sway your hand for her sake.”

The silence was so loud, the waves felt like crashing avalanches and the dragon’s cry somewhere in the distance like crackling thunder.

“I can help you, you know that. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

Still, there was nothing. And so Aemond chose to play the one card yet remaining to him, speaking in the softest of voices he had reserved only for Helaena and the little ones, a voice unbefitting of a warrior and a prince, too soft, too gentle, too vulnerable.

“All these things you struggle with, your reach, your balance, the way you cannot grasp for things like you used to, the way furniture seems to move in your way even though you were sure you avoided it, the headaches, the strain on the side of your face, the way you tire quicker - “

“Stop it!”, she ordered, her voice cracking like a whip. “You make me out to be a weak, helpless child, incapable of doing anything on its own!”

“I did not say that!”, Aemond was quick to argue, not letting her anger infect his voice, even if he wanted to.

“I cannot deny the fact that you have proved rather resilient in the face of it all, but at the same time you cannot reject the notion that the loss of an eye makes one weaker.”

She bristled at his words, raising her head high as if to balance an invisible crown he had caused to slip.

Aemond did not puff his chest, or build himself up to his own height. Instead he remained as he was, sunken in his sickbed, injured arm clutched to his chest, for once allowing the pain he felt to show on his tired face and lace his voice.

“I should know,”; he reminded her, “after all, I walked the path before you.”

Part XV

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wordsofrowan · 8 months

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The Shadow Court

Chapter 9 - Things Whispered in the Shadows

Marinette sent off a couple of texts, one to Felix and Chloe, letting them know she wouldn't be coming to class today and that she'd talk to them later. Then she messaged Jay, asking if he was busy. He sent back a quick 'in meetings' text. She let out a sad sigh, feeling a bit disappointed that Jay was occupied.

As she scrolled through her contacts, her gaze settled on Luka's name. A flood of nervousness bubbled within her, and with a deep breath, she typed, 'Hey, are you busy today?' Sending the message, she waited anxiously for his reply.

A moment later, her phone chimed, and her heart skipped a beat as she read Luka's words, "I'm always free for you, my melody." A wave of comfort washed over her, and she gathered her belongings, ready to embark on an adventure of emotions.

The sun's warm rays painted a golden path on the river as Marinette made her way to the Couffaine's houseboat. Each step brought her closer to the sanctuary she sought, her heart pounding with anticipation. The gentle sway of the water seemed to whisper a promise of solace and understanding.

Finally arriving at her destination, Marinette took a deep breath before texting Luka to announce her arrival. Moments later, he emerged from the houseboat with a soft smile, as if he had been waiting for her all along. She melted into his warm embrace, feeling a sense of security she had longed for.

As Luka led her to his room, Marinette couldn't help but feel a tinge of vulnerability. Although she had been to his room before, this time, it felt different, as if the walls held a secret longing that mirrored her own. Uncertainty clouded her thoughts, and she wondered what this visit would bring.

Sinking onto the cozy cushions, she released a soft sigh, her eyes betraying the emotional storm raging within her. "Talk to me, Melody," Luka urged gently, his voice like a soothing melody.

As the words spilled out, Marinette couldn't help but feel grateful for Luka's unwavering presence. He was a steady anchor amidst the storm, and she found comfort in his quiet strength. The moments of silence that followed their conversation were filled with unspoken understanding and support.

Luka's touch was tender as he wiped away the tears that streamed down her cheeks. At that moment, it felt as if they were the only two souls in the world, entwined in a shared experience of connection and understanding.

As time seemed to stand still, they remained wrapped in each other's embrace, their heartbeats syncing like a soft, harmonious melody. The houseboat itself seemed to hum in resonance with their emotions, creating a safe haven where vulnerability was embraced and celebrated.

Hours passed, with Luka gently cradling Marinette in his arms, his focus solely on her soft breathing and the soothing melody of her heart song playing out. The weight of her burdens seemed to ease as she found comfort in his embrace.

But their peaceful moment was unexpectedly interrupted by the insistent ringing of Marinette's phone. Luka hesitated, not wanting to disturb her peaceful slumber or disrupt the fragile tranquility that had settled around them. However, the incessant ringing persisted, and Luka finally decided to answer the call, hoping it was nothing urgent.

"Hello?" he answered in a hushed tone, careful not to wake the sleeping girl in his arms.

"Where's Mars?" the man on the other end demanded. Luka hesitated, fully aware of Marinette's recent serious breakdown, and wanting to shield her from any further hostility. His brow furrowed as he attempted to decipher the man's tone and intentions. He felt a strong protective instinct towards Marinette, and his priority was to avoid subjecting her to any additional stress or confrontation.

"Look," Luka responded firmly, "Marinette has been through a lot recently. She had a serious breakdown, and I don't think it's a good idea to disturb her right now."

The man on the other end let out an exasperated sigh, his tone slightly softer. "I get it, but we really need to talk to her. It's important."

Luka found himself torn between his loyalty to Marinette and the man's insistence. After a moment of contemplation, he finally relented, "Alright, but please be gentle with her. She's been through a lot, and I don't want to see her hurt."

The man assured him, "We won't do anything to harm her, I promise."

"Fine," Luka agreed reluctantly, "come down to the Liberty, but keep your voice down." With that, Luka ended the call, still feeling uneasy about the upcoming meeting. While Marinette had mentioned getting a new group of friends, Luka couldn't shake the feelings of uneasiness that came over him. Luka wasn’t sure if it was his own deep-rooted jealousy that made him not want to trust the man who was on the other end of the call or if it was something deeper, his mom had always told him to trust his gut, that Couffaine’s had impeccable gut feelings and that those feeling would never steer them wrong and as of right now despite what his heart would say, his gut was saying that the person on the other end of the call is good for Marinette.

Without Luka noticing time passed as he was locked in his own thoughts about the situation. As the door creaked open, Luka's gaze turned toward the trio entering his room as he was snapped out of his train of thought. He sized them up with a hint of curiosity, his eyes locking onto Chloe, whom he immediately recognized from the countless years she had spent in the same class as his little sister, Juleka. He distinctly remembered Marinette telling him that she had become friends with the blonde-haired girl but he didn’t know how to feel about her yet given all the bullying she had done to Juleka and Rose and the rest of his little sister’s friends. But he trusted Marinette and if she trusted Chloe then he decided he could give her a chance.

The two other guys accompanying Chloe were unfamiliar to him, their faces new and mysterious. The blonde guy had an air of confidence about him, his stance displaying a sense of ease as he leaned against the doorframe. On the other hand, the dark-haired guy seemed more reserved, with an intensity in his eyes that hinted at a depth of emotions beneath the surface.

Marinette, cradled in Luka's arms, stirred slightly but remained peacefully asleep, oblivious to the visitors. Luka's protective instincts kicked in as he instinctively pulled her closer, creating a shield around her. His heart thumped a bit faster, unsure of what to expect from this unexpected intrusion.

The silence in the room was palpable, each person waiting for someone else to speak first. Finally, the dark-haired guy broke the stillness, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and perhaps a touch of teasing. "You love her too, huh?" he remarked, his arms folding over his chest as he leaned against the door.

Luka's eyes softened as he looked down at Marinette, a tender smile forming on his lips. "Yeah, I do," he replied with a hint of warmth, his gaze filled with a mixture of fondness and protectiveness.

Chloe, ever the assertive one, chimed in with a flick of her blond hair. "Well, yeah, join the club," she said, her tone laced with a touch of sass.

Unfazed, Luka's determination shone through as he responded, "Hey, if there's an actual club, count me in. I'll do anything to protect my melody," his voice resonating with an unwavering love for Marinette.

The blonde guy smirked, seemingly impressed by Luka's unwavering devotion. "Fe, add him to the group chat," Chloe commanded with a nod, acknowledging Luka's loyalty and officially welcoming him into their circle of friends.

As the minutes ticked by, Marinette's eyelids began to flutter, and she slowly awakened to find Luka sitting faithfully by her side. "Hey," she whispered softly, her voice still carrying the remnants of sleep, but a hint of relief now evident.

"Hey," Luka replied, a warm smile lighting up his face. "How are you feeling?"

Marinette took a moment to assess herself, her emotions settling into a calmer state. "Better, I think. Thanks for being here, Luka," she expressed her gratitude, grateful for his presence in her moment of vulnerability.

"Always," Luka replied, his sincerity evident in his eyes and the gentle squeeze of his hand on hers, reassuring her of his unwavering support.

Chloe's confident voice filled the room, announcing their presence. "Hey, Mars, Fefe, Jay, and I are here."

Marinette's eyes scanned the room to see Chloe, Felix, and Jay standing at the doorway, each wearing expressions of concern and friendship. A mixture of surprise and comfort washed over her as she realized that she wasn't alone in facing her struggles. Their presence, along with Luka's unwavering support, made her feel a little less overwhelmed by the challenges she was going through.

Chloe's usually confident demeanor softened as she approached Marinette, her genuine concern shining through. "How are you holding up, Mars?" she asked, her voice kinder than Marinette had heard before.

Felix and Jay nodded in agreement, their concern evident as they took a step closer to show their solidarity.

XoXo Rowan

#writing #spilled ink #miraculous au #miraculous fandom #akuma class salt #Marinette harem #marinette deserves better #lukanette

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gumnut-logic · 1 year

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Gordon surfaced and stared up at his brother.

Virgil was sitting in the little sailing boat apparently lost in a world of his own, humming away while he concentrated on what he was doing.

It was wonderful to see.

Particularly after recent events.

Virgil had a bandaged leg, a broken rib and was grounded until Grandma stopped swearing. Gordon had brought him out here for a change of scenery and to hopefully drain away some of the frustrations that always happened when he was stuck on the Island. Not to mention the grief after what led to the injuries in the first place.

So it was good to see his brother happy.

A nudge at Gordon’s elbow and the images that appeared in his mind were full of curiosity.

“He’s knitting, Enki.”

The dolphin warbled and whistled at him. He was always fascinated when either of them did something intricate with their fingers.

And Virgil was definitely doing that.

Gordon had his suspicions as to what his brother was making. The colours were a little on the obvious side with the golds and turquoises he had packed in the ancient knitting bag he brought out here with him.

Apparently, the bag was their mother’s. Another remnant of a time Gordon barely remembered yet was sacrosanct amongst his elder brothers. As always, he faced the issue with some wistfulness.

But what had happened had already happened and there was no use dwelling on what could never be.

He clung to and cherished those memories he did have of their mother. Dark eyes much like Virgil’s and hair like Scott’s.

And a smile similar to the one Gordon saw in the mirror every morning.

It was the little things.

A whistled query and he realised his thoughts had wandered.

Enki had more questions.

Enki always had more questions.

But then so did Gordon.

“He’s making something.” A scarf? A jumper? Likely a Christmas present. his bear of brother was quite predictable. He always wanted to give something personal and almost every year he managed it. Almost.

Sometimes things didn’t quite work out.

But then sometimes they did, and Virgil was always one to keep trying.

Gordon tried to explain the process of creation. “It is like creating a song.”

And as if on cue, Virgil started singing.

No words, just notes held above the splash of the water.

A blink and Gordon burst into a grin.

He was only singing softly. None of that full lung capacity depth due to that broken rib, but the tune was there.

Gordon tried to place it, but it wasn’t familiar. Maybe whale related? Dolphin? He wasn’t sure. Chances were Virgil was making it up as he went along. He did that.

Enki clicked beside him, obviously approving, but not quite understanding.

“Don’t worry, I don’t get him either.”

But he did admire him.

Virgil had tried everything to save that man. He had literally put his life on the line.

And still he had failed.

The two of them had fallen down the scree slope when the rescuee panicked and struck out. Virgil had been in the process of securing them, but hadn’t been fast enough.

There was only so much they could do.

The rescue had turned into body recovery.

And Gordon had had to pick his unconscious brother off the valley floor.

He swallowed, only to be shoved sideways as Enki pushed way into his personal space.

His whistles were determined and the wave of worry stopped the music from the boat.

“Gords? You okay?” And Virgil was suddenly hanging over the edge, big brother frown staring down at him.

Gordon mentally shook himself. Damn, telepathy was a tricky thing. He shoved a mischievous grin onto his face as Enki pushed himself up in the water to nose at his cheek. “I’m good. Though I have to say, I’ve got a great guess at what John’s getting for Christmas.”

The frown turned into a glare. “Keep it to yourself, Fish.”

“Ahhh, blackmail material. Excellent.”

“Gordon.”

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll save it for later.”

Virgil groaned. “Can you not?”

“No, I can’t. It is a law of physics.” He grinned his dark thoughts away. “Just ask John.”

Dark brown eyes that he loved to see so exasperated, switched their gaze to Enki, who was still wriggling under Gordon’s arm.

A flash of something…

…and Enki flipped Gordon under the water with a wave of cetacean laughter.

Gordon oomphed in surprise before slipping into a dive that took him deeper and a touch further out of reach of Virgil’s henchman.

Enki followed, literally laughing his fins off.

Betrayal! Such betrayal!

But by the time Gordon surfaced, his gasp of air was more laughter than anything else. “I’ll get you for that, Tankman. You are going down.”

His brother’s laughter was more than music to his ears.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #FishTank #kermadec au #vox delphini #nuttyfic reblog

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djtavy · 1 year

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Cînd se termină greva profesorilor?

Cînd se termină greva profesorilor? Din ce în ce mai exasperat, Andrei mă tot întreabă: -Cînd se termină greva profesorilor? I-am răspuns cu o altă întrebare: -Tu știi cînd se termină războiul din Ucraina? Micul nostru război social despre care mulți credeau că se încheie în două-trei zile se prelungește. Țara noastră, o țară dominant păreristă se întrece în profeții. Este copleșită de un fel…

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vipromania · 1 year

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În fața ta cu Theodor Paleologu: Patriarhul Daniel este exasperat de pantalonadele lui ÎPS Teodosie

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#Youtube

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paginadepsihologie · 1 year

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Dacă și tu ești copleșit de atâtea materii și exasperat din cauza profesorilor care te vor la olimpiade, cheamă-i în ajutor pe Barb, Terry și Al, cei mai grozavi parteneri de studiu! Chiar dacă nu ne convine s-o recunoaștem, nimic nu e mai important decât învățatul. Descoperă ➡️ https://bit.ly/3IxWzO1

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stireazileiuk · 1 year

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Exasperat de criza demografică, guvernul japonez oferă un milion de yeni de copil familiilor care aleg să se mute din Tokyo

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sweetsugarstarz · 2 years

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What if?

I had a thought... And that was: "What if Yuu/MC/(Y/N) was a small child, between the ages of 5 and 7, AND they came from an emotionally/mentally(?) Abusive/manipulative(?) Family. So this is gonna be angst/fluff

Gender neutral pronouns are gonna be used.

This can be either a reader or OC insert.

CW: mentally/emotionally abused child.

"Mommy?" A small voice called out from inside of one of the coffins. It sounded much younger than the rest of the students, perhaps it was one of the talking portraits? He didn't know for sure, and he almost turned around to go back to the mirror chamber when he heard it again, sounding more distressed. The masked headmaster walked towards the sound of the voice. He peered into the coffin, and to his surprise, it was, indeed, a small child. The poor kid looked like they were on the verge of tears. He scooped the little one up in his arms. "Hello, there. My name is Dire Crowley, and who might you be?" He asked. "My name is (Name)." The child responded. "You don't have to carry me. My legs aren't broken." (Name) said, looking anywhere but at him. He gently set the child down on the floor. "Alright, (Name) Where are you from?" He asked. "I'm from (place)." (Name) responded, without hesitation. "(Place), huh? I've never heard of it... Let's get you back home, okay?" He held his hand out for the child to take. The last thing he needed was for a small child to be running rampant around here. Once (Name) took his hand, he guided them to the mirror chamber.

"Such a place does not exist." The face in the mirror had announced. Crowley looked at (Name) "Are you sure you're from (Place)?" (Name) nodded vigorously, looking like they were starting to tear up again. "Uh-huh! (Place) Does SO exist!" The child argued with the mirror, who simply raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused by the child's antics. It had never been argued with before.

Crowley set the last of the geography books down on the table, where (Name) was sitting, reading a storybook to themself, whilst swinging their legs. "I'm sorry, (Name), but I just can't find (Place) on any of the maps. It simply doesn't exist here... Although... Yes. It's possible that you're from another planet, or even another dimension. (Name) gasped aloud. "So that means I'm a... Alien?" The child whispered in wonder. It was kind of adorable, if Crowley were being honest with himself. He couldn't help but to smile and affirm the child's suspicions. "Indeed, you are." The man chuckled. But now what? Where would they stay?! A child this young would never be able to fend for themselves in Ramshackle, so that was entirely out of the question. Trein had experience raising children, but he was getting up there in age. Surely a child would be too much for him now. And then there was Crewel, but that man seemed more interested in raising dogs than taking care of a child. That only left Sam and Vargas. Sam was much too young, and Vargas was a questionable choice, at best. The headmaster sighed and picked the child up again. "Well, (Name), it appears that I have no choice but to let you stay with me. Aren't I gracious?" He smiled. "I can walk." (Name) repeated the sentiment from earlier. "But can you fly?" Crowley asked. "No... Wait! YOU CAN FLY?!" The child gasped incredulously. "I sure can." He responded. "Hang on tightly." He warned (Name) just before taking off, bringing the child home with him for the night.

The next day, the small child decided to follow him through the halls. It was getting a bit nerve wracking to have them on his heels no matter where he went. Who could he pawn the kid off on? He smiled, knowing exactly where to go with this. "Follow me, (Name)." He requested, as if they hadn't been following him all morning.

The door to the elderly teacher's classroom flung open, and Trein sighed. The headmaster had a goofy grin plastered on his face. That was never a good sign. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, headmaster?" The teacher let out an exasperated sigh. "Not what, but rather, who." The headmaster stepped to the side, revealing a young child just behind him. Trein's eyes widened, a bit shocked. He'd never thought that Crowley, of all people would have a child. "Is... Is that child yours?" The elderly man asked, still unsure if his vision was failing him or not. "Oh, heavens no... They were transported here via dark carriage... And apparently they aren't from this planet..." "I'm a alien." The child interjected. "Yes, quite." Crowley turned his attention back to the man in front of him. "Anyway, this is (Name), and I was wondering if you would watch them for a bit."

"How am I supposed to run a class and babysit at the same time?!" Trein argued, but it was too late, the headmaster was already out the door. "And what shall I do with you?" He asked rhetorically. (Name) simply shrugged, and found a corner to sit in. They eventually spotted the cat. 'Aminals don't like playing with bad children' their parents had said. So when the cat approached the child, they simply muttered 'no' to themselves, knowing that they were a bad child.

Lucius plopped down in front of the small human, and meowed loudly. When the cat failed to get the tiny one's attention, he sat in their lap, and purred loudly in an attempt to get the human to pet him. The small one didn't even lift a finger. The cat, a bit disgruntled by this, decided to take matters into his own paws. He dug his muzzle between the human's hand and the floor, then raised his head, causing their hand to slide down his back. If the tiny human wouldn't pet him on their own, then he would just have to make them do it, and hope they got the hint.

Trein heard the cat's loud purring from across the room. He approached the child and his familiar with a smile. How cute, Lucius and (Name) were getting along. "Well, well, well... What have we here?" "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to..." The child started, seemingly on the verge of tears. "Why are you apologizing? You've done nothing wrong. And Lucius seems to enjoy your company." Trein responded, a bit concerned for the child's wellbeing. Had they been abused? "Well, mama and papa said aminals don't like bad children..." (Name) explained. "Oh? And what makes you think you're a bad child?" He pressed for a bit more information. "Cause I just am. Mama says I'm always bad." They pouted. "Well, I don't understand why she would say such a thing. You've been a very good kid the entire time you've been here." He patted (Name)'s head gently.

(Name) didn't understand it... What good had they done? They didn't remember doing anything to help out. The child thought about why the old guy was being so nice to them. They ran their fingers through the cat's soft fur giggling silently as the kitty pressed its cheek into their tiny hand. All the bad thoughts slowly melted away as they played quietly with their new, furry, friend.

As the day stretched on, the child found themself getting hungry. Once the bell rang the elderly teacher walked with them into the cafeteria. "Choose whatever you'd like." The man had said. "Are you sure?" The young one asked, not wanting to be too much trouble. "Of course." The man nodded, smiling at the child in an effort to make them feel more comfortable.

"Ugh, if you keep smiling at them like that, people are gonna think you're a creep, Trein." A younger man with black and white hair scoffed at his senior. Trein narrowed his eyes at the other guy. "Says the teacher who demands that his students refer to him as 'master'" Trein retorted. "Umm..." The child stepped back, thinking they were in the other man's way. "I'm sorry..." They muttered, a bit intimidated by the man in the fur coat.

Divus rolled his eyes at the other teacher, then knelt to be closer to eye level with the child. He raised a hand to pat their head gently, and noticed how they flinched and cringed away slightly, but he gently placed his hand on their head. "Don't apologize, you haven't done anything wrong, pup." He smiled softly at the child. He didn't much care for little kids, but he had to admit, this pup was very adorable.

(Name) felt the hand gently ruffle their hair, and they opened their eyes. "Oh." They couldn't help but to smile up at the man. He seemed nice, and his coat looked almost as soft as Lulu-kitty, but they knew better than to touch something that wasn't theirs.

After lunch, for some reason (Name) ended up going with the black and white haired teacher. But not before saying goodbye to Lulu-kitty. This teacher even gave them their own desk to sit at, as well as a couple of coloring pages. They hummed softly to themself as they colored happily. Today had been one of the best days ever. They didn't break anything, nobody yelled at them, heck, nobody even got mad at them, not even a little bit. Once they were done with their work they walked up to the desk to show the teacher their work.

Then they tripped, falling against one of the shelves, knocking a vial down. (Name) looked mortified as the glass broke. It was their fault. They got too careless. So the child began to pick up the broken glass, not noticing that the teacher had rushed over to them, he lightly swatted their hands away from the glass. "Don't touch that, pup. Are you alright?" He asked the child, concern evident on his face as he inspected the child for any wounds.

"I'm sorry." Was the only response (Name) could muster without bursting into tears. "I didn't mean to." The child's eyes started to well with tears. "Don't worry about that, pup. Everyone makes mistakes." He gently pulled the kid into a hug, in an effort to comfort them. He used magic to repair the vial, and clean up the liquid that had been inside of it.

After the bell rang to let class out, he decided to take (Name) to Sam's shop for a treat. They seemed very stressed since the incident with the vial. He hoped that this would bring a smile to their face. He had also hoped that Sam would keep an eye on the child for a bit, so that he could talk to Crowley. He had a suspicion that (Name) had been abused at home.

(Name) waved goodbye to the teacher who seemed to think they were a puppy. They then turned their attention to the new guy who was watching them. "Hello. I'm (Name)" They introduced themself. "The name's Sam." He grinned, humoring the kid by shaking their hand. "It's nice to meet you." He smiled brightly. (Name) smiled back.

Meanwhile, at the headmaster's office, Crowley had been doing his paperwork when he heard a knock on the door. "Come in." He responded. He didn't know what this was about, but anything would be a welcome distraction from the mountain of paperwork before him, not to mention he still had to find a way to send the child back home. Both Trein and Crewel walked into his office. "Oh my, another squabble between the two of you?" He asked.

"For once, the answer to that is no." Trein responded. "We came here to talk to you about (Name)" Crewel interjected. "Speaking of, it would appear that you lost them." Trein accused. "For your information, I left them with Sam." Crewel scowled. "Ahem..." Crowley cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, the matter at hand..." He said expectantly. "Ah, yes, (Name)... Well, we fear that they may have been abused back at their home." Crewel explained. "Indeed, we feel they may be safer for them if they stayed here."

"So it wasn't my imagination." The headmaster sighed, but was quick to agree to keep the child. Less work for him. Or so he thought. "But who is going to be their new caretaker?" Trein asked. "Why I will take on that role myself." Crowley puffed out his chest proudly. "My sincerest apologies, headmaster, but I hardly think-" "I would use my words wisely, if I were you, Professor Trein..." Crowley warned. Trein sighed. " my point is simply that I have the most experience as a parental figure." He pointed out. "But you're hardly young enough to keep up with a child anymore. I believe I'm the best suited for the role." Crewel argued.

This was gonna be a long night. But one thing was certain: (Name) was going to become a permanent fixture at Night Raven College.

#Child MC #Child twst MC #twisted wonderland #TWST angst #twst fluff #TWST angst to fluff

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the-little-ewok · 3 years

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Stay

Stay Poe Dameron X F!Reader (Oneshot) Wordcount: 3100 (ish) Rating: T Warnings: Lil bit angst, mentions of relationship breakdown, fluff in the end (promise) Summary: Poe is scared to love you... and about to make the biggest mistake of his life... does he have time to get you back before you leave forever? Fluff prompt: 39. “Why are you scared of loving?”

A/N : This is entirely written from Poe's POV I'm sorry it's not as fluffy as the other prompts but I promise there is a soft ending! This turned into a full blown oneshot rather than a ficlet :) I have no restraint when it comes to Poe.

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"I just don't get it, Dameron. Anyone could see you were absolutely, madly in love with her," Snap sighs.

Poe ignores him, knocking back another gulp of his drink, the liquid burning his throat as he looks across the bar, emptier than it should be at this time of night. After the most recent fight, nobody felt much like socialising.

"Don't ignore me." He turns back to look at Snap who's eyeing him in a way that says he isn't giving this topic up.

"There's no point talking about it. It's over. She's leaving." There’s a tug of pain in his chest, and he throws back another swig of his drink to dull the edge. You were leaving; it was over. It had been over for weeks... and besides, it was better this way.

So why did it still hurt so much?

"I didn't love her anyway. It was just for fun." Poe sighs.

Snap rolls his eyes as he answers. "Right, of course you didn't. That's why you've been sitting in this bar every night for the past week, drinking till you can't see straight. Which by the way, is a terrible coping mechanism."

He had no comeback to that because in truth, that's exactly what he's been doing. He was trying to dull the pain of letting you go, erasing the fact that you're leaving forever.

"You're a good man, Poe. Why are you scared of loving? Let's face it, this isn't the first time you've run!"

Poe groans and leans on the table, staring into his glass. "Because how many people that we've loved have died? Families, friends, lovers. Blown into stardust in a matter of seconds. You blink, and they’re gone. What's the point? I'll be dead soon too, no doubt."

Flashes of faces echo in the darkest reaches of his mind, and as always, yours is there too, a bright light among it all. Yours was a light that he couldn't bear to see extinguished.

"It just hurts too much. It'll hurt her too much."

Poe feels Snap pat his back empathetically. He wishes you were here to wrap your arms around him, as you had so often, to promise him everything would be ok one day. But he'd ruined that for himself. Instead, he stares into his near empty glass, pondering how much he would even care if he died now.

"You've survived this long. You've probably got a good few years yet."

He wishes Snap would stop bringing it up. All he wants is to drink and forget. Of course he loved you. That's why he had to let you go. That's why he's trying to forget.

"She wants someone who can love her. Fuck, she deserves someone who can love her," he grits out. That's true. It's the most truthful thing he knows. You deserve to be loved by someone who isn't constantly afraid to lose you, one way or another. You deserve a settled, happy life. You deserve better.

"You know you do as well," Snap sighs, finishing the rest of his drink. "You deserve someone who loves you. War or not, we could die tomorrow. We might as well live for now." He shrugs, like it's that simple.

Poe wishes it was that simple.

"She doesn't want me anymore. You don't know what I did. What I said. She won't even look at me now." That had hurt the most. The way you turned on your heel and walked away when you saw him coming, the way you sat as far away as possible in the mess hall. You left a constant, gaping absence in his life.

"I do. She told Karè what happened this morning. Karè, by the way, is now absolutely set to murder you. I had to talk her into letting me talk to you first." He lets out another exasperated sigh before he continues. "You broke her heart, Dameron. Of course she doesn't want to be near you. But that doesn't mean you just let her up and leave!"

When he found out you were leaving, not just on a mission but permanently, he'd been relieved for you. You could leave and build a life somewhere else, find a good man to love you and settle down with. One that wasn't so likely to get blown to pieces and leave you alone. But a much bigger part of him had hurt with a pain he couldn't describe, a sharp ache that precipitated a desperate need to keep you in his sights, even if he couldn't have you himself.

"It's better for her." It didn't seem better for her when she left in tears. Poe pushes the thought away, knowing going over it in his head now is pointless. It's his own fault. "It's too late anyway. She left an hour ago."

"She's in the yard. The ship got held up by the storm. It hasn't left yet." Poe's head lifts up at that, causing Snap to smile as he continues, "Stop being an idiot and go tell her you love her! Explain it to her. Let her choose."

As quickly as the spark of hope flared in Poe’s chest, it dies again, doused by the memory of the last time you had spoken, the harsh words, the tears, the way you'd looked so broken.

"It doesn't matter. She won't want to hear it." And what right did he have to ask you to? None after the way he had behaved.

"You won't know until you try. She loves you. Don't throw this away because you're scared. You need to stop being such an idiot about this and saying it's too late. It will be if she leaves. I know you, and you'll regret it forever if she goes. Maybe if you got over yourself for a minute and told her the truth, she might actually understand. At the very least, she deserves to know it wasn't her, Poe."

He knows that Snap is right. You deserve to know. Because it isn't you. It was never because of you or anything you did. And you need to know that. He needs to at least tell you that.

The rain soaks into his clothes, the material sticking to his skin, and Poe regrets not throwing on a jacket. The storm that delayed your departure is still raging overhead, but you're out here in the yard anyway, soaked but determined. He can see you, wrapped in an oversized coat, hood pulled up against the lashing rain as you load the final supplies into your ship. His heart pulls at the sight of you, almost like a tug on the invisible string woven around you both - one that he almost severed. Your connection had begun fraying at the edges, but somehow was not completely lost... for now at least. You must feel the same tug because you turn to look at him.

He watches you sigh, your shoulders slumping, the way your eyes momentarily shut, not wanting to look at him. No doubt you were remembering the things he had said during the argument that had ended everything-the one that had you both shouting at each other, flinging harsh words. He'd lied to you that night. You said you loved him. He'd told you he didn't feel the same and watched your heart break. You'd argued that it wasn't true, that you knew better, that everything he'd done showed you he did. But he couldn't admit it, couldn't allow himself to love you. It was easier to break your heart now than to lose each other later on. Or so he had reasoned to himself. He'd told you he felt nothing, told you he liked you, but he didn't love you, and he was only looking for fun. It was never supposed to be a serious relationship. He had shattered you, and he hadn't forgiven himself for it. The sight of your tears haunted his every moment, sending sharp bolts of hurt jolting through him. He would never forgive himself for that.

"What do you want, Poe?"

Without knowing, he had taken the last few steps over to you. He watches the rain dripping down off your hood, catching on your cheeks. The familiar ache he's felt since you were gone tugs painfully in his chest. His intention was to apologise - to explain it wasn't your fault, to explain it's all on him. Then he was going to let you go and build your new life, happy elsewhere. But here in front of you, he realises he can't do that. The pain of losing you would rip him apart, and in a way, it already has. All the fears he has, all things he thinks are right for you, they all get erased when he looks into your hurt eyes. Only one thought remains in his mind now.

Please don't leave.

"I lied. The night you left. I-I… I fucked up!" he blurts out, shouting above the noise of the hammering rain. He doesn't know where to start with explaining, with apologising, let alone asking you to give him another chance. But once he starts talking, he can't seem to stop the rambling explanation that comes out. "I lied to you because I was scared. Because you deserve so much more than what I'm able to offer you. I don't know what's going to happen, and I'm scared one day one of us won't come home, and I thought…" he trails off, trying to find the best way to word his explanation. "I thought it would be easier for you to hurt now than later." He hates the way your eyes spark, not with your usual bright laughter but with anger, with pain.

"You thought it would be easier? Easier? Poe, you let me so far in! You let me love you. Then you broke my heart, and you thought that was easier on me?"

He flinches at your words, but he knows you're right. And you have every right to be angry with him, to tell him where to go, to leave and never look back.

"You don't get to decide what's easier or what's best for me. I love you! Fuck you, Poe! You've had weeks to talk to me. Fuck you for doing this now!"

Your words are choked with emotion and he can't stop himself grabbing your hands, holding them tight in his, ignoring your struggles against his grip. He can feel the anger, the hurt, rolling off you in waves, but he also doesn't miss the words you use. I love you. Not loved. A tiny spark of hope ignites itself in his chest. If he can only make you understand, then maybe he can get you back.

"I know! I know! There aren't enough words in the galaxy to tell you how sorry I am, but please let me explain. Please."

He holds onto your hands tightly, warm against his cold fingers, his eyes flicking between yours, reading all the emotions flitting across them. When you don't move, or offer any other words, he takes a breath and lays his heart out for you-the way he should have done that night.

"I love you. I've loved you for a long time. I loved you the night I told you I didn't. I loved you for months before that. But I couldn't let myself give in to it because I have lost so many people. And I thought I couldn't lose one more. I couldn't love you because I couldn't lose you. Not if one day something happened, and you didn't come back. Or worse, if I let you love me, and I didn't come home. I couldn't let you get hurt like that. I had to give you something better. I needed to give you a life where you could be happy. Not living constantly on edge, worried I'm never coming home. I know it sounds stupid, and I know I'm an idiot. It's not an excuse for what I said, but I should have told you this before. I just thought I was doing what was best for you. I wanted you to be happy."

All he wants is for you to understand. All he wants is for you to give him a chance to try.

"Poe…"

He hates the way you sigh his name, like it hurts you to say.

"I was already happy. I was happy with you."

Was. You're going to tell him you're going. That’s it; it's over for good. He can already feel the last pieces of his heart breaking. Not that you deserve her anymore, anyway.

"Please. Don't go." Poe tries to swallow the lump in his throat, grateful for the rain dripping down his face as tears prick his eyes. His hands squeeze yours as he holds your gaze. "I'm so sorry. I love you. I'm never going to stop loving you. And I don't want to imagine a galaxy without you being with me." His shoulders feel lighter with the confession. At least, if nothing else, now you know the truth. You know that he truly loved you after all. "If we only have a few days, or years. I want to love you for the rest of my life. And I know, I have things I need to work through. I'm working on it. But please, I'm trying to put this right."

You don't answer but he can see the tears on your cheeks mixing with the rain that makes it past your hood.

"I love you,” he repeats, softly this time, less of a plea and more of an acknowledgement to himself. That's what seems to break your resolve.

"I can't do this if you push me away again."

He hates the fact your voice is so small, almost drowned out by the rain. He hates the fact that your eyes are red. He hates the fact you look so sad. And most of all he hates the fact he did that to you, for his own misguided reasons. Poe vows to make it up to you, every day for the rest of your lives, however long that is. He never wants to see you hurt again, not because of him.

"I won't. Not ever. I want to be with you. I want to love you. Tell me I didn't lose you. Tell me we can give this another chance, give us another chance. Stay. Stay with me," he pleads desperately, as he takes a step closer to you, letting go of one hand to gently cup your warm cheek, relaxing just a little when you lean into his touch. He watches the way you close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, tears still caressing your cheeks. "Please."

"Okay."

Poe never knew a simple word could hold so much promise, so much hope.

"Okay?" he repeats, holding his breath as he watches you. The anger is gone, but the remnants of the hurt still remain in your eyes.

"Yes. We have a lot we need to talk about. Things aren't just going to go back to how they were straight away. You obviously have some serious kriffin issues, Poe. But I still love you. I never stopped loving you. Stars, why do you think I've been avoiding you? I couldn't be near you and not be with you. So, okay, we can try. But on one condition, you need to be honest with me from now on. Promise me at least that."

"I promise." He nods. And he means it. He'll tell you everything. He will tear open every part of himself and expose it to you, lay it all out for you to examine every piece. He'll do anything for you to stay.

He gently frames your face with both hands, brushing the rain and your tears away while he drinks you in.

"Is this the part where I get to kiss you now?" he asks softly, half expecting you to say no, still unsure of the territory you're in.

Your smile warms his heart, and when you press your lips to his, he knows he could never have let you go. He knows he would have come after you, followed you anywhere to beg you to allow him to love you. He can't explain it all so he pours everything into the kiss, every ounce of love he has for you, every apology he can make, every desperate beg for your forgiveness. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, holding you to him, as his lips map yours, tasting the rain and tears from you both. When he pulls away, he peppers your face with soft kisses, determined to kiss every inch of your rain-soaked skin, to show you just how much he truly loves you. Your laughter is the most beautiful sound he's heard in weeks, and it mends just a tiny bit of the hurt he's caused himself.

"Come on. Let's get inside. You're soaked through. Only you would come out without a coat in the middle of a storm!" you admonish him, and he suddenly becomes very aware of just how soaked he is. He'd been too caught up to notice until now, but his boots are filled with water, his clothes are plastered to every inch of his skin, and rain is dripping down from his curls into his eyes. "And you're unpacking the ship. That's two hours of my life I won't get back," you tease.

He watches as you fold your arms, giving him an annoyed look. For just a moment it's as though you were never apart and for the first time in weeks, he remembers how to smile.

Eventually you unfold your arms, and he slips a hand into yours, lacing your fingers, holding just a little tighter than he would normally. When you squeeze his hand in return, he finally allows himself to relax. You're staying. He can fix this. He can love you. It won't be easy, it won't be simple, but you'll work through it with him. Another piece of his broken heart heals over. He knows over time you'll heal the rest, and he will try to heal your breaks too. The scars would remain, but they will fade with time, and he knows you will write beautiful love stories over them. Together.

------

Beta by: @the-scandalorian

Taglist: @fisforfulcrum ; @salome-c ; @beydameron ; @pumpkin-stars ; @mypedrom ; @mbpokemonrulez ; @lexloon ; @fett-ching ; @jitterbugs927 ; @prettylilhalforc ; @one-hell-of-a-disappointment ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @reenadreams ; @dailyreverie; @mandorush

Further Poe stories: Masterlist

Prompts/Requests open

#poe dameron x reader #Poe dameron x you #poe x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron x f!reader #star wars #fanfiction #fluff prompts #poe dameron imagine

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divinolenta · 3 years

Text

perhaps love

scaramouche x gender neutral reader, fluff/sfw

additional notes: requested by an anon ! thank you for requesting ♡ i legitimately had to read scara fics just to grasp his personality which is embarrassing but uh yeah ! just a fair warning (before you dive in) that this might be ooc. the reader is also described as wearing makeup in this

word count: 1,049

hovering inches away, you peer at your boyfriend's face, your breath rousing strands of his indigo hair into motion. scaramouche has been sleeping for hours, you muse. utterly bored, you ponder for a few seconds before choosing to poke him in the ribs.

treading in dangerous territory, you'd say, but you're desperate to do something other than pretending that you're able to nap in broad daylight. although you don't doubt that scaramouche works hard to please the tsaritsa and deserves to rest, he's finally gotten a precious day off and you don't intend to waste it by lazing around like this.

you snicker quietly, entertained as you watch scaramouche squirm away from you in his slumber as you continue to prod him in his side. he's prettier when he doesn't open his mouth, you decide, a smile creeping onto your face as you shamelessly admire him for a bit. soon, you tire of your little game and get impatient, putting all your strength into delivering a jab to his stomach.

before you can blink, scaramouche jolts awake, hissing a string of profanity. however, he doesn't realize that you're sitting rather close, and knocks his forehead against yours when he sits up.

yelping, you flinch back, hands instinctively lifting to rub the sore spot as tears spring to your eyes from the sharp pain. scaramouche's eyes widen, before he's sliding over to cup your face in his palms, his touch a juxtaposition to his rough nature as he brushes away the tears that remain.

"you're an idiot." he mutters, easing away to massage his forehead as he eyes you. you beam at him, but then your gaze falls to the faint dark smudges on his fingertips.

"you ruined my eyeliner." you whine, dramatically falling back onto the pillows in a "woe is me" manner.

scaramouche scoffs, but leans forward and swipes his thumb across your eyelids, attempting to make it better but failing sorely as more pigment comes off.

"you just made it worse!" you gasp, shoving him away before he can do more damage. he rolls his eyes before getting up, smoothing his rumpled clothing.

"where are you going, mister?" you scowl, watching as scaramouche swings his legs over to the other side of the bed.

"away from you." he answers curtly, pausing to stretch his back, groaning softly in satisfaction when his joints pop. you pout before latching on to him like a koala, making him twist to glower at you.

"could you redo my eyeliner for me, scara? please?"

when he doesn't immediately respond, you pull your best impression of puppy-dog eyes on him. scaramouche glares but he falters as he assesses the situation, contemplating.

"c'mon, please? i need your elite skills." you implore, trying to encourage him by feeding into his ego. you weren't lying; you were envious of how effortlessly neat and symmetrical his eyeliner was every day. besides, scaramouche should consider it as redeeming his crime of wrecking your eyeliner, though you're wise enough to keep that to yourself.

"fine. you better hurry up or i won't do it for you."

you're lucky you're cute, he thinks, as he watches you instantaneously brighten before dashing out of the room to gather the necessities.

"i'm back." you announce, flopping back down on the bed so hastily that the mattress sinks abruptly under your weight, and scaramouche bites back the urge to curse at you.

you watch as he picks up the pen before placing it between his lips to remove the cap. popping the lid off, he tosses it aside where it promptly vanishes amongst the messy sheets.

you recline against the headboard, adjusting your position so scaramouche can have better access. he releases an exasperated sigh before clambering on top of you so he straddles your thighs.

"hold still." he warns gruffly, gripping your jaw firmly in one hand to tilt it slightly upward. you hum in response before casting your gaze downwards.

scaramouche meticulously draws a line before connecting and thickening it, and you hold your breath, careful to not jostle him. you feel him move on to the other eye before he leans back and you look up, blinking a couple of times.

folding his arms across his chest, he smirks smugly, looking quite proud of his handiwork as he gives you a once-over. "not bad."

you pick up the mirror you brought and scrutinize yourself. "you do have remarkable skills." you acknowledge grudgingly, noting the clean lines. "thank you, scara!" you coo, putting down the mirror to squeeze his face before brushing his bangs off his forehead to kiss it.

"don't bother me about it again, this is the one and only time." contradicting his harsh words, scaramouche's stare softens almost imperceptibly from your affection and the genuine joy that radiates from you.

"all bark, no bite!" you sing, grinning widely. he gives you a dirty look but before he can withdraw from your reach, you sling your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to nestle against his shoulder.

scaramouche snorts, but rests his palm against your back to hold you against him. you truly were lucky he loved you, but he would rather die than admit it, and if you were to try and pester him about it, all you'd get is denial.

scaramouche had initially believed love to be dumb, and that only the most foolish would allow themself to swerve off the path of ambition. on numerous occasions, he had denied himself the opportunity to explore the concept by devoting his mind, body and soul to her majesty.

you'd be mistaken if he still didn't hold the same belief, yet in tender moments like this.....he allows a small, fond smile to play on his face, his other hand inching up to press against your head, preventing you from seeing it.

there might be a day where he breaks your heart, or god forbid, you break his, but perhaps love inevitably still has a hold over him. after all, even the most powerful warriors and deities fell prey to eros and his arrows.

scaramouche can finally envision a future where he can rewrite his path and discover an alternate ending to his story. perhaps one of whispered sweet nothings and aureate sunshine, but most importantly, one with you.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin scenarios #genshin impact writing #genshin writing #genshin fluff #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche scenarios #txt.scenario

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ashleyfableblack · 2 years

Text

My artwork and a lil' excerpt or two, to go along with a new story format I'm working with on another site-

Special agent of S.M.I.L.E., Sweetie Drops undergoes a vigorous debriefing after chaos erupts in Canterlot. A giant robot superhero GECKOTRON THETA MKVI levels a city block. A drunken empress calls for a trade embargo against soy sauce. Panic, Royal catastrophe and devastation seem to be linked back to 4 couples, a public relations outreach for inter-species understanding and one wild night of middle-age mares getting WAY out of hand when the jello shots arrived...

Special Agent Caufax Cauliflower- "Would you say that was when the trouble began, agent?"

Agent Sweetie Drops- "No... Sure things were getting a bit weird but that was just everyone having a bit of fun. Blowing off steam... "

Twilight draped a hoof around her wife, purring. A gust of her margarita-scented breath you could light with a match circled Queen Chrysalis drawing a lascivious smile. Twilight chuckled maliciously as the raspy words sloshed from her lips.

"Hey..."

The Changeling Queen's forked tongue flicked at the air. "Hey."

"I'm MARRIED to you..."

Chrysalis nodded with a bemused smile. "Mnnhmmm. Yes, you are."

"D'jyou know what that means...?"

"Enlighten me."

Twilight leaned in conspiratorially. "I get to have S. E. X. with you.... nnn' nobody can get MAD about it..."

"Is THAT what that means?"

The plastered empress nodded emphatically. "Yep. We could do it. right here, n'frunna everybody. 'N nobody'd get mad. You wanna see?"

Agent Sweetie Drops continues...

"Being the designated cart-driver, I was still solid as a rock. But the rest of them were just..." She paused to take a sip of her drink, examining the thin trail of smoke drifting from the interviewing agent's incense burner.

"Maybe I should've called for the check when Roseluck climbed on the table and started dancing. I dunno. It seemed harmless enough." She smiled pleasantly. "Nothing too out of the normal for a mare her age, just out on the town, upscale place, among friends, private room." She chuckled "Seeing Muffins so happy was just heart-warming. They're both just such sweethearts and she's really a much sharper cookie than she lets on..."

Her left eye twitched again.

"When Roseluck showed us all 'her new piercing' that..." she raised a hoof pointedly "THAT might have been a red flag." She considered the moment, rolling it around in her mind. The mailmare applauding with pride as her horsepanic wife hiked up her dress. The assembled mares all cheering her on. Rainbow Dash hurriedly writing out a scorecard on her napkin and holding it overhead.

"Maybe...?"

The interviewer tapped Agent Sweetie Drops glass with her quill. "Do you need a moment?"

Bon Bon shook from her thoughts. "Hmmn? No. No. I'm fine. Thank you." Sipping her drink, she continued...

"I'd thought Applejack would be the biggest concern for the evening. All previous intelligence on the Apple Family had indicated that she could hold her liquor well enough but their gatherings get a bit rougher than most ponies are accustomed to."

She tapped a hoof on the table. "No, if anything, she was more an instigator than anything. Her and Lyra." She groaned. "Ough... LYRA..."

The interviewer's quill stopped short. "Agent Heartstrings?"

Bon Bon corrected herself. "Oh. Yes. My adoring wife..." She said it with arched eyebrows, re-playing the events leading up to the carnage. "I had told her to dress up for the evening. The empress had personally invited us, after all. It was a fancy place, upscale, themed restaurant. She would be there in an unofficial capacity on this so she could just kick back and enjoy herself. Maybe I should've been more specific. I dunno..."

"I read in your report..." the interviewer sifted through a few papers "something about... a cosplay?"

Bon bon rolled her eyes with the huff of a nerd-spouse. "She showed up, dressed as 'D' from that stupid video game 'Dragon Might Care'" She threw her hooves up in exasperation. "I mean, It's a great cosplay, sure, but COME ON, honey, we're dining out with ROYALTY, here... She kept quoting that stupid thing ALL NIGHT...."

He eye twitched again. "Hail to the king, baby... urgh.... goober"

Bon bon crunched on an ice cube as she swirled the contents of her glass around...

"Now, Rainbow Dash, she was a hoof-full but a measured one." She shrugged. "She's captain of The freakin' Wonderbolts. I'd anticipated that. Sure, they're military folkes. They can get a bit rowdy, trash a hotel room like rockstars..."

Bon bon thumped the table. "...but she's the Element of Loyalty, too, a freakin' hero. She's a bit salty, can get a bit crazy... but she's not one of those plot-pinching weirdos, the kinda drunks you just cuff and clap in the squad-cart. Even six-sheets to the wind, she has her priorities."

"She seemed to recognize the model on the Ni Sake we were all drinking... Not too much of a surprise, given her star status and all..." Bon bon tilted her head, considering the evening "bit weird for her to know the gal from just her plot... not so weird as the belching contest thing."

"Belching Contest?" The interviewer smirked.

"Yeah. Her and Applejack got into a belching contest at one point. Seemed a point of pride between the two. I dunno, might be a pegasus thing, more likely an Apple Family thing." she shrugged. "Weirdest part of it was how Roseluck seemed to consider it flirting. Maybe I've been married too long and I've forgotten how that works but... it was just BIZARRE, seeing her blush like a filly."

The interviewer scratched up a side note. "Was this 'belching courtship ritual' related to the later incident?"

"I don't think so. Just... weird. No. The REAL trouble didn't start until later"

Agent Sweetie Drops set her chin and took a deep breath-

"No. The REAL trouble didn't start until Queen Chrysalis called for Jello Shots."

She banged a hoof on the table. "Damn Jello shots.... I should've KNOWN..."

The interviewer raised an eyebrow inquisitively "You expected an incident to erupt from these 'jell-o shots'?"

"And Motorhoof."

The agent dropped her quill. "MOTORHOOF?"

"Yeah."

"My... god..."

The two sat in stark silence.

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sheliesshattered · 3 years

Text

Chameleons and Bowties - chapter 5

In the weeks after his concussion, Adrian Smith of the Coal Hill English department becomes certain of two things: First, he has been in love with his colleague Clara Oswald for as long as he can remember. And second, Clara is most definitely having a secret affair with John Smith, Coal Hill’s Scottish caretaker.

Souffez and Whouffaldi canon-divergent AU set in roughly s9. Rated T, will be 11 chapters and ~25,000 words when finished. Chapter 5 is 2900 words. Posted for the #EmbraceTheRaven event week three prompt ‘genre shift’. New chapters will be posted every Saturday. Also available on AO3 under the same title and username.

–

Chameleons and Bowties - Chapter 5

Adrian reached the turn off for his flat and kept on walking past, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trousers, his gaze fixed on the toes of his boots, and his mind a blur. No matter how he turned it over in his head, nothing he’d overheard from Clara and Osgood’s conversation made any sense. There was the obvious strangeness, like their codename for him, and Osgood’s presence at Coal Hill in the first place. But that was nothing compared to the terms they’d thrown around so easily. Telepathy. Web of time. Hole in the universe.

He tried to fit it all into some sort of innocent explanation. Play-acting for the students? No, the classroom door had been closed, and they’d kept their voices hushed, as if afraid to be overheard. A game, perhaps? Role playing or augmented reality or whatever it was that people with active imaginations got up to in their freetime? That couldn’t be it either, Clara was too much of a professional, she would never step away from her students for something like that.

Adrian felt like Amelia Pond, the girl from the fairy tale whose life didn’t make any sense. Nothing fit. There were no logical explanations.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket, and he withdrew it to find a text from Osgood. Drinks at the pub tonight? My treat. :)

It was at such odds with what he’d heard in the hallway at Coal Hill, in tone and content both, that Adrian stuffed his phone back into his pocket without a reply and continued walking. The way Osgood and Clara had talked about him, like he was a child in need of minding, still stung. But far more alarming was their casual decision to abduct him in service of whatever it was they were mixed up in.

No matter how he looked at it, there was only one conclusion, as much as he hated to even think it: his friends had been lying to him. There was something sinister going on that they had intentionally hidden from him. Worse than that, even, they had been managing him. ‘Bowtie duty’, Clara had called it. Was that what had happened last Friday as well? Clara called off on a ‘minor emergency’ that had apparently taken all night, and Osgood volunteering to make sure he got home safe, then staying with him the rest of the evening?

His phone buzzed again. He staunchly ignored it.

Did Osgood even like bowties? Or had it all been part of a plan to gain his trust and keep tabs on him? And if that was what had happened last Friday, that meant John Smith had to be mixed up in all this as well.

He stopped in his tracks, glaring off into the distance. John Smith. If their codename for Adrian was ‘Bowtie’, then who else could they possibly mean when they referred to ‘Eyebrows’. Of course John was part of this. In all likelihood he had pulled Clara into the whole mess. He probably wasn’t even a real caretaker. That would explain why he was so terrible at his job.

Adrian resumed walking, shoulders hunched and head bowed, no destination in mind other than just away.

What else had he missed? What other odd moments had he shrugged off in the last weeks, too focused on his infatuation with Clara to see the forest for the trees? What other lies had they made him believe? And why? What reason could they possibly have for behaving so bizarrely?

The buzzing of his mobile hadn’t stopped, he realised, and he pulled it from his pocket in exasperation, half a mind to tell Osgood to leave him out of whatever it was she was playing at.

Dr Martha Jones calling the display read, to his surprise, and he quickly answered it.

“Adrian, hi, I’m glad I caught you!” Dr Jones’s voice came down the line, sounding harried.

He frowned at that. “Everything alright?”

“We got your blood test results back, and there’s something I’d like to discuss with you in person, if you’re free this afternoon. It’s somewhat urgent, I’m afraid,” she replied.

“I can swing by your clinic now, if you like,” he said, his worry only increasing. “Shouldn’t take me more than fifteen minutes or so to get there.”

“Perfect,” Dr Jones said, relieved. “The staff has already gone home for the day, so I’ll meet you at the front. See you soon.”

The call ended and Adrian was left staring at the screen in bewilderment. Yet another strange thing to add to the pile of today’s inexplicable weirdness. Dr Jones couldn’t be caught up in this, could she? No, he was being paranoid. She’d been his physician for years, and only met Clara because she’d taken him to the clinic after his accident.

Which meant that there actually was something wrong with his bloodwork, something so dire that Dr Jones didn’t feel it could wait until Monday. He looked around to try to get his bearings, quickly gave up on that pointless endeavour, and instead thumbed over to the cab app on his phone.

Clara and Osgood could keep their games about telepathy and punching holes in the universe. Adrian had more important things on his mind now.

Dr Jones met him at the front of the clinic, holding the door open for him to enter, then led him through the empty lobby to an exam room. It had an almost haunted atmosphere to it, this place he was so used to seeing filled with staff and patients, similar to how Coal Hill could seem late in the evening after everyone else had gone home. He tried to shake the feeling that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, telling himself again that he was just being paranoid.

“Wait here while I grab your chart, I’ll only be a moment,” Dr Jones told him as she slipped out of the room.

Adrian perched on the edge of the exam table, then got up again and sat in one of the chairs instead, feeling antsy. Whatever this was must be important, but he couldn’t quite get Clara and Osgood’s conversation out of his mind. That combination, along with the oppressive silence of the clinic, only served to ratchet up his anxiety. He tried to calm his racing pulse and failed at that miserably.

“Thanks for coming in so quickly,” Dr Jones said, re-entering the exam room with a folder in hand and pulling up a chair next to his. “I can imagine you had other plans for your Friday afternoon.”

“Not good news then, I take it?” he asked.

Dr Jones gave him a sympathetic look, holding his gaze for a long moment. “I’m afraid not.”

Before he could reply, a familiar voice drew his attention, and Adrian spun quickly to find Osgood framed in the doorway. “Oh, thank god,” she said, sounding relieved.

“Osgood? What are you doing here? What the hell is going on?” he demanded. As he said it, he felt a sharp pinch in his neck, and turned to find Dr Jones holding an empty hypodermic needle.

“I’m am so, so sorry,” she told him sincerely, as the world went abruptly dark.

Adrian came back to himself slowly, the memory of what had happened in Dr Jones’s clinic filtering back in before his body had fully recovered from the drugs he’d been given. Whatever was going on with Clara and Osgood, evidently his physician was tied up in it as well. And whatever it was, it had quickly escalated from a strange conversation in the Coal Hill hallway to drugging and abducting him. He held still, kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady, all too aware of the danger he was likely in.

Even without looking around, he could tell he’d been moved, the room around him colder and larger-sounding than the exam room at the clinic. He could hear an air filtration system high overhead, and footsteps pacing in the middle distance, crisp and echoey on what he guessed was probably a cement floor.

He should have trusted his instincts about Dr Jones being mixed up in this weirdness, rather than dismissing it as paranoia. He should have trusted that feeling that told him to get as far away from all of this as possible. Wherever they’d taken him, he was completely at their mercy. No one knew that he’d gone to see Dr Jones, no one would even think to look for him until Monday at the earliest. His limbs felt heavy and sluggish, so making a run for it didn’t seem to be an option, either.

It was chilling to think that people he trusted, those he considered friends could do this to him so easily. And the knowledge that Clara of all people— his Clara — could be part of this made Adrian’s heart twist. He loved her. Against his better instincts for self-preservation, he loved her enough that a little thing like betraying him couldn’t possibly change his feelings for her. Whatever happened next, whatever nefarious situation she’d dragged him into, he couldn’t help but love her still.

The pacing footsteps stopped a few feet away. “Is it just me,” Osgood’s familiar voice asked, “or is this taking too long?”

“For him to wake up, you mean?” Dr Jones replied, and only the drugs still in his system kept Adrian from flinching, her voice was so close by. “Could be any time now,” she went on, apparently unperturbed by their current circumstances. “His physiology is only mostly human, so it’s anyone’s guess.”

“It’s not just that,” Osgood said, far more worry in her tone than in Dr Jones’s. “We ought to have heard from Clara by now. It’s been more than an hour.”

“Which means exactly nothing if she had to take the __ somewhere,” Dr Jones pointed out, evidently using the same word Adrian had overheard Clara and Osgood say at Coal Hill, the strange two syllable word his mind couldn’t seem to hold onto. “You know how it is. Wibbly-wobbly. Honestly, it might be a good sign: if Clara hadn’t been able to get in touch with Eyebrows, we’d certainly have heard from her by now.”

“You’re right,” Osgood sighed, and Adrian heard a chair scrape briefly against the hard floor as she presumably came to sit near Dr Jones, close to the cot they’d laid him out on. “Do you ever miss it?” she asked a moment later, her voice softer, almost wistful. “Travelling with him?”

“All the time,” Dr Jones said. “The things you see out there... nothing compares. But I also like sleeping in my own bed, and not nearly dying on a regular basis.”

“To be fair, that still happens fairly often in this job, too.”

“True, but at least now I get a salary, and hazard pay for the really bad days,” Dr Jones replied, laughing. “What about you? Do you ever wish...?”

“Only on days ending with ‘y’,” Osgood said levelly. “I mean, of course I do. I’ve read every file we have on him at least twice, daydreamed about it for years. But I know I’m needed here, given the political situation of late. And if I’ve learned anything from reading about the Doctor’s companions, I know the best days are when you manage to save someone, or many someones. When you’re able to make a difference.”

“Yeah,” Dr Jones said, sounding thoughtful. All of that made about as much sense to Adrian as the conversation he’d overheard at Coal Hill, but he kept still and listened intently, hoping they might say something that would shed some light on the situation, or help him find a way to escape.

“I’m doing that here,” Osgood said. “The work we do, it makes a difference. And that’s enough for me.”

“Save the world, save the universe,” Dr Jones replied ruefully. “All in a day’s work.”

“Or: hastily paint and furnish a flat, fabricate student records, drug and kidnap the Doctor...”

A chill ran through him at Osgood’s offhanded, almost joking tone. Whoever this Doctor person was, it sounded as though Adrian wasn’t the only one taken against his will. How many other people had they stolen out of their lives? And why?

But Dr Jones laughed in response. “Is it terrible of me that I wish we got to do that last one a bit more often?”

“I won’t tell him if you don’t,” Osgood said with an amused snort.

“He really ought to have woken up by now,” Dr Jones said, her tone turning serious again. “I didn’t give him all that much.” She touched Adrian’s wrist, perhaps intending to take his pulse, and he jumped in spite of himself.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said. “I was actually starting to worry.”

He squinted one eye open at her. “Worry about the man you abducted?” he asked sourly.

“Sorry about that,” she replied, sounding not at all sorry. “Bit of an emergency. Needs must. How are you feeling?”

Adrian decided against answering that and instead pushed himself up to sitting, bracing his hands behind him as a wave of vertigo overtook him for a moment. “Where are we? Where have you taken me?” he asked as his vision cleared, revealing an odd sort of warehouse room, lines of metal shelves marching away into the distance, each covered with a nonsensical collection of objects, some strange looking and others utterly mundane.

“This is the Black Archive,” Osgood said, leaning in and angling her chair to better see him from the other side of Dr Jones. “The deepest and safest level of UNIT Headquarters.”

“UNIT?” Adrian asked, glancing at her before returning his gaze to his surroundings. He hadn’t actually expected them to tell him where they were, but if Osgood was willing to offer up answers, he might as well keep her talking.

“Unified Intelligence Taskforce,” she supplied. “We handle alien incursions of Earth so that the rest of humanity doesn’t have to worry about it. The Archive is where we store all the extraterrestrial bits and bobs we can’t risk falling into the wrong hands,” she added, perhaps noticing his scrutiny of the room. “You’ve been here before, you just can’t remember it at the moment.”

He scoffed at that. “I think I would remember a place like this. And remember dealing with alien incursions. Assuming any of what you just said is actually true.”

“You’d be surprised how much you can forget,” Dr Jones said, “and how easily.”

Adrian fixed her with a cold look. “And I suppose you aren’t truly my physician, are you, Dr Jones? If that even is your real name.”

“It is, and I am,” she replied, less defensively than he might have expected. “Dr Martha Jones,” she went on, offering him her hand to shake. “Chief Medical Officer of UNIT. We’ve met before — many times, actually — but I’ve only officially been your physician the last two weeks or so.”

“Since my accident, you mean?” he asked, squinting at her in confusion. But before Dr Jones could answer, an old machine on one of the shelves nearby crackled suddenly to life, drawing everyone’s attention.

“UNIT, come in, this is the Doctor!” the tinny speakers blared out, John Smith’s voice distinctive even through the static. “Kate, are you there?”

Frowning slightly, Osgood crossed to the machine and picked up the attached radio handset. “She’s with our forces in the field, Doctor,” she said into the handset. “HQ is under my command. Where are you?”

“In the Vortex. I can’t risk landing anywhere I might be spotted. I need the landing pad protocols activated. Now.”

Osgood straightened up at his brisk tone, pulling her mobile from her pocket and opening an app that Adrian couldn’t quite see. “I need your authorisation code first.”

“We don’t have time—”

“Doctor, we are dealing with a telepathic hostile force whose skillset is unknown,” she replied firmly, cutting him off. “There will be no landing pad protocol until I’m certain it’s really you.”

John muttered something unintelligible then bit out, “Fine, let me find the correct setting.”

The machine emitted a series of buzzing, whistling noises that made Adrian wince, but Osgood barely reacted, keeping her eyes on her phone.

“Happy?” John’s disembodied voice demanded when the noises stopped.

“Sonic code verified,” Osgood said, nodding. “Tower roof landing pad protocols activated. You will be met and escorted down to the Archive. We have—” she stumbled slightly over her words but quickly recovered, “—Adrian secure here. Is Clara with you?”

“No,” John snarled, and then the lights on the machine went dark.

“You know this face better than I do,” Dr Jones said into the silence that followed, as Osgood replaced the handset. “But that sounded ominous, even for him.”

“Very,” Osgood agreed, attention on her mobile again. “And still no word from Clara.” She pocketed her mobile, turning her gaze back towards Adrian and Dr Jones. “Whatever’s happened, it’s not good.”

And despite the utter bizarreness of his current circumstances, drugged and kidnapped and held in a warehouse full of supposed alien artefacts, Adrian felt his heart lurch painfully at the idea that something terrible might have happened to Clara.

Chapter 6

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darlinvandijk · 4 years

Text

After Care: Soft Version

concept: decided to make this alternate version since it was originally supposed to be a soft request that I was doing, but I kinda got distracted and made it a bit more yk. Which one do you guys like more? hope you enjoy :)

Ruel groans into my neck from his place on top of me, his hips softly meeting mine for the last time, my hands completely tangled in his hair. We stay wrapped up for a few minutes, both of us coming down from our highs, before he pulls back and hovers his face above mine. He gives me a soft smile, reaching up to push a few strands of my hair behind my ear, watching me with utter love and adoration in his eyes. He leans down and gives me a few soft kisses, mumbling praises and compliments between each one, before rolling off of me and laying on his back.

We lay there out of breath still, before both of us turn to look at each other, smiling at the soft glow both of us seem to have. I raise my hand and run it through his hair, my heart swelling with love as he closes his eyes and grabs my hand to hold it against his cheek, turning to press a small kiss to my palm.

“I love you.” I whisper, watching his eyes flutter open as he looks at me, a boyish grin breaking out on his face as he sits up, moving so he can lean his face over mine. His eyes wander over my face for a few seconds, before he leans down and connects our lips, mumbling his reply softly back to me. “I’m glad we finally got to be alone for a bit, it was starting to be a bit suffocating always being around people” I softly laugh out, pulling away from him, watching the eye roll he gives to my comment.

“That’s not what you said earlier at the family picnic if I recall correctly, glad to know you finally came to your senses” he smirks out, squealing seconds later as I reach my arm out and pinch his side for ruining the cute atmosphere we had going on. “I hope you know that’s bullying, it’s not like I lied though” he mumbles, instantly rolling away as he sees me dart my hand back out for more revenge. I give him a small pout, hoping it’ll lure him into coming back over to me, since he always falls for my traps. He gives me a disapproving glance before shaking his head, standing up and leaving the bed completely.

“Nooo, come back. I promise I won’t pinch you again if you come lay with me” I plead, knowing he can’t resist and won’t be able to tell me no, I mean he’s a sucker for cuddling. He ignores me and continues his way into the bathroom, leaving me to roll over on to my back and stare at the ceiling, wondering when my husband will finally return from war. Just kidding, I stare at the ceiling wondering what I did in a past life to get a boyfriend that won’t even cuddle with me after I’ve been nothing but nice to him. This is why Wilbur is better than him, because he actually cuddles with me.

As I lay there silently, I hear the tap running in the bathroom, causing me to be even more confused about what he’s doing in there, but knowing I probably don’t want to know. I lean over and grab my phone, changing the playlist we had on to a more slow and peaceful vibe, knowing he’s going to want to relax for the rest of the night. As the music fills the room, I softly sing along, a small smile growing on my face as I hear Ruel singing along from the bathroom, only for the door to open and him to make his way over to my seconds later.

“Babe I need you to turn a little bit more over here so that I don’t fall off of the bed” he chuckles, watching as I give him a confused look at his request, not wanting to move from my already comfortable position. I ignore him and keep singing, only for him to grab my leg and pull me to where he wanted, earning a groan of pain from me. “I take it that’s not a good noise huh” he mumbles, watching me with a slightly apologetic look as I frown at him, already knowing this feeling was gonna last a few days.

“This is your fault. You said it was gonna be soft ruel” I whine out, my whole body slowly starting to feel the toll of today’s activities, the adrenaline from earlier disappearing. He softly grabs my legs and puts one on either side of him as he situates himself between them, my eyes finally catching on to the rag he’s holding. I immediately try to close my legs and pull away from him, causing him to groan and hold me in place. “No. I do not want the rag. Don’t do this to me, I thought you loved me, you’re a liar” I cry out, throwing my hands over my face, hoping my dramatics would make him feel bad for me. I should have known better, he’s a cold heartless boy.

“You’re so fucking dramatic, it’s the only way to clean you up, stop whining” he groans out, having been through this predicament many times before. I shake my head and press my knees together, giving him no access, because I will not deal with that forsaken rag again. “Open up for me love, you know this is inevitable” he grumbles, watching as I let out more cries of protest, this time waving my hands throughout the air to add to the performance I’m giving. Before I even have time to react, my legs are wretched open, the rag pressing straight on to me. The warm feeling of it chilling me straight to the bone. Nothing is worse than this. Nothing.

“Ruel!” I cry out, my hips jerking as he hits a sensitive part, a sore ache spreading throughout my body, the only thing on my mind being that I hope we still have advil in the cupboards. He winces at my shriek, lessening the pressure he’s using, hoping to at least slightly ease my discomfort. He has a hand against my hip, rubbing soft circles, hoping it will distract me.

“You really like screaming my name” he chuckles out, trying his hardest to lightly clean me up, eyes avoiding the glare I have pointed at him for his comment. I let out another quiet whine at the feeling, the dull aching pain spreading through my lower half at any sort of contact, reminding me of why I should just do the abstinence thing. “Sorry bubba, I need to be a little gentler with you sometimes” he tells me, placing a light kiss against my inner knee, before standing up and throwing the rag into the hamper we have in the corner.

He turns back to me and holds his hands out, waiting for me to grab them. I give him a small frown and hold my arms out, not willing to walk, since I know I’ll end up falling. He laughs and leans down, lifting me up into his arms, before placing me in the bathroom, and pushing one of his hoodies into my arms. I pull it over my head and slide on a pair of his boxers that he had sitting on the counter for me, watching as he slides sweatpants over the boxers he had put on earlier. He lifts me on to the counter, grabbing my makeup wipes from under the sink, and pulling two out, knowing my smudged mascara was going to be a bitch to take off.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are? You’re fucking stunning” he mumbles, eyes completely filled with awe as he looks at me, my face turning pink at the compliment. I lean forward and give him a kiss, wrapping my arms around him for a hug, wanting nothing but love from him. “I love you so much, even if you look like a little panda with your smudged makeup” he teases, pulling away to press kisses to my pouting lips.

“I’m a pretty panda right?” I question, earning a chuckle and light kiss to my forehead, both of us still in a more affectionate mood from earlier. “I love you too by the way, even if you tease me all the time. You’re the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for, you’re also the absolute best friend I could have ever gotten” I mumble, feeling vulnerable as I think about how much he means to me. He sets the makeup wipes down and grabs both of my hands, intertwining our fingers in between the both of us, smiling as he thinks about how perfectly our hands fit together.

“You’re my best friend too sweetheart, you and me against the world forever, you know that.” he grins, pressing a kiss to my nose, before leaning down and connecting our lips. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer to me, the feeling of his lips against mine completely enticing me. Love and many other emotions being conveyed as he softly kisses me, before he pulls away with a laugh, enjoying the whine that escapes my lips.

“Kisses. I want more.” I practically demand, groaning as he shakes his head no, picking up the wipes he set down earlier. I frown and tug at the waistband of his sweats, hoping he’ll just comply and give me what I want.

“I promise more kisses later, but while I’m taking your makeup off, tell me about that drama you were having with what’s her face again” he chuckles, loving when I go on rants about the girl I work with, because he finds it amusing when I get angry. I throw my head back and groan, already feeling my annoyance level rise as I think of her. “That’s what I like to hear, I can already tell this is gonna be good. Spill the tea baby” he laughs, softly wiping across my forehead as he takes of my foundation from earlier. I give him a look, that clearly states ‘you’re literally not fucking ready for this’, only to get a look of ‘I really am so hurry the fuck up and tell me’ in return.

“Baby, she really wanted me to fuck her up. I swear she wants me to just lose it and rip out her cheap extensions. She acts like it’s real, but you can tell since she can’t blend for shit” I explain, closing my eyes as he takes off my eyeshadow, hearing him hum in reply. I wait a second to keep going, knowing that when I move around it’s harder for him to clean my face, continuing once he steps away and throws the wipes in the trash. “So our boss had her type up the first half of the report right? So she could then send it to me and I would finalize it and do the rest before it gets published right?” I tell him, watching as he grabs my face mask from the cabinet, and sets it on the counter, pulling out two headbands right after.

“Oh god, don’t tell me she fucked up her part of the work” Ruel groans, already knowing what I was about to say, giving me an exasperated look. He puts a headband on, pulling his hair back, before grabbing the other on and putting it on me, redoing my already messy bun. “Baby how bad did she mess up this time” he asks, watching as I shake my head at the memories, because she literally never knows what she’s doing.

“Bubs when I say messed up, I mean totally messed up. Literally wrote about not only the wrong thing, but also wrote all the wrong things for what she wrote about! Like how dense can someone be” I whine, picturing her smug little face in my head, wanting to do nothing but punch it. “Guess what she did after I told her she did it all wrong?” I tell him, as he finishes applying the face mask to his face, turning away from the mirror to stand between my legs, tilting my head up so he can apply it to mine.

“Tell me baby, what did she do this time?” He questions, concentrated on making sure he gets the face mask evenly applied, laughing as I shiver from how cold it is. I get distracted before I can even answer him, too focused on his face, wondering how I got blessed with someone like him. Someone who takes care of me, loves me, and listens to all of my problems like they’re actually his. “While I love having all of your undivided attention, I need you to finish the story, my heart can’t take anymore waiting” he cries out, throwing his hands in the air, the sounds of my laughter filling the room as I watch him act like an idiot.

“Okay okay, she literally says that I’m the one who told her to write about that! And that I was the one who gave her the stats she used!” I all but yell out, the look of shock on his face matching mine, both of us not knowing how somebody could be so rude. “I know! What a bitch, like I swear she’s getting on my last nerve baby. Like I’m gonna fuck her up I swear” I rant, moving my hands around as I talk, watching as he nods his head with me, leaning against the wall as we wait for the masks to dry.

“Fuck her up baby, fuck her up!” he cheers, fist pumping as he hypes me up, his eyes gleaming as he watches the smile that takes over my face, feeling pride that he can make an upsetting situation for me better. “That’s right baby, you’re THAT bitch! She couldn’t even try you if she wanted too, we don’t fuck with lames” he tsks, giving me a fist bump, before we do the little handshake we’ve had since we were younger.

“Seriously! I might have to like she’s just really testing me, boss knew what actually happened though and gave me the next few days to redo her part and fix it, even said he’s going to give me a bonus” I cheer out, Ruel cheering with me as he wets another rag so that he can wipe off the mask from our faces. I stay silent as he wipes it off of mine, getting off of the counter as he finishes his and grabbing the last products we’ll need. “I just don’t get why she’s like this you know, like I am nothing but nice to her, and she has the AUDACITY to be like that? You know she does it on purpose” I state, watching as he nods his head in agreement.

“She’s just jealous that you’re smart, beautiful, and talented. Since she’s a fugly wench” he comments, eyes on the little dropper I was using to apply a face serum to both of our faces, because no crusty bitches allowed. “She’s cancelled honestly” he grumbles, rubbing the serum into his skin as I do the same, both of us giving each other the same look of agreement. There’s no one in this world that gets me the way he does, like I don’t even have to say anything for him to already know.

“She is, like we have no other choice but to cancel her. I didn’t want it to come to this, but she’s left us with no other choice” I gravely reply, putting some facial lotion on his hands, before putting some on my own. We both silently rub it in to our skin, before taking off the headbands and going back into our room, settling against the headboard. “She’s just so annoying, like fuck her” I groan, Ruel nodding his head sympathetically, having no idea how I do it.

“Yeah, fuck janet” he agrees, my mouth dropping open at his statement. Not able to comprehend the way his brain works, only knowing it definitely has selective hearing.

“You do this every time! Her names Jane!” I laugh, watching as he rolls his eyes and grabs his laptop, pulling up netflix as he gives me a smirk.

“Same shit, can we watch spider-man now? Janet is cancelled but peter parker isn’t, also we can makeout while watching it, because I know you can’t resist all of this”

#one ruel #ruel #ruelvincentvandijk #ruel van dijk #ruel one shot #ruel imagines #ruel imagine #ruel fanfic #one shot #x reader #imagine #imagines #free time ep

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cyberrat · 4 years

Text

40th Batch Of Fics: 7th Fill

Reaper/Sombra – cont B39F2 – halloween fic; dom/sub; scare kink; size difference – Sombra just wants to scare him :(.

---

Sombra knows for a fact that Reaper has to be in this old room on. She’s got the whole base bugged. There’s nothing she doesn’t know. His signal has led definitely to this room, but now that she sneaks inside she can’t see hide nor hair of him.

How does he do these things? It is so infuriating.

She’s gotten herself all dressed up just to try and scare him for once, but now it seems that she’s done her hair up to no avail.

Frustrated, she pulls up a screen in front of herself and taps away, brows furrowed as she watches his dot appear again. Once it is in the very corner of the room, then it is suddenly in the middle, then completely vanished. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps, eyes flicking up despite herself to look in the direction the two beeps had been – even though she knows he isn’t there.

There is no way a hulking monster like him could hide away in the near empty rec room. Then how…?

The beep is suddenly back. It sounds painfully loud in the complete silence. Her attention snaps back to the virtual screen hovering in front of her, belly swooping in a very uncomfortable way when she sees that the blood red dot has indeed reappeared; and from what it looks like, it is right behind her.

Her breath freezes in her lungs, nipples involuntarily becoming stiff peaks pressing against the tattered white dress she had slipped into earlier.

The tiny hairs at the back of her neck slowly stand on end. The beeping does not vanish again. The dot stays there, steady and calm. Glowing a dangerous red.

Suddenly, her arms are grabbed and pressed to her torso, a shrill shriek of terror ripped from her before she can remind herself to keep her cool.

She is lifted up off her feet and immediately kicks her legs, trying to worm her way out of the grip.

“Calm the fuck down.”

The deep voice growling in her ear has Sombra stop immediately, heart still racing something fierce. While she tries to gather up her scattered wit, she is unceremoniously carried over to a dusty table.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Reaper asks calmly, putting her down on her feet. Sombra feels him let go of her with one hand, only to place it on her head and roughly push her forward, bending her over the table.

“... and the fuck you’re wearing?”

The hand stays on her head, keeping her pinned like a fly while he flicks her deliberately tattered skirt up, exposing her ass covered in opaque white tights.

“Stop that! What kind of creep does just-”

He grabs her ass, sharp talons pressing against her pussy through the thin fabric of her tights and panties. Sombra immediately stills, breath caught in her throat again.

“Shut up. Let me think…”

When that makes her snort, he grabs her by the hair and lightly pushes her head back down against the dirty table.

“Ouch!”

“I said ‘shut up’.” He does not sound sorry in the least. It should make her wet.

But it does… oh, it does.

She hears the rip of fabric before she feels the cool air of the unused room hitting her pussy. Immediately, she squeezes her thighs together, making a frustrated sound of protest as she does so. Her frickin’ clothes! Damn him!

“You came looking for me… probably to beg for a fuck, but… hmmm… why would you dress so idiotically?”

One long, sharp talon slowly starts to push into her. It makes the blood in her veins freeze, eyes going wide in terror. She wants to whimper and beg for him to not hurt her, but the fear that her disobeying his order again would set him off has her press a hand over her mouth. She stays completely still, feeling the cool metal spreading her walls, painfully aware of the sharp tip.

Reaper continues to talk as if unaware of her terror.

“Maybe you did not come for a dicking… at least not in the first place. So you came because of your little get-up.”

He pauses, then suddenly pulls the claw out of her, voice sounding less menacing and more exasperated as he asks: “Did you want to scare me?”

“...No?”

She has no idea if he’s even heard her as she’s squeaked it right into her palm. He scoffs even so, clawed thumbs spreading her ass, and in turn her pussy.

She wonders what the fuck he is doing, right until his cock knocks against her trembling pussy and drags the fat tip through her folds.

“That’s… cute.”

Sombra can’t figure out what that tone of voice is supposed to tell her. Despite his words, he sounds disdainful.

There’s no hand keeping her face pressed into the dust due to him needing it to spread her open, but she stays right where she is regardless. She can’t deny that while her heart is still beating fast from the scare, and cold sweat is itching along her hairline and down the valley of her spine, she is now completely focused on the big fat dick nuding against her opening.

He’s not pushing in, though; just putting pressure on her until she just starts to stretch around the glans before pulling back again.

Sombra dares to glance behind her. She can’t see his face, he’s wearing his mask for some reason. God, the asshole looks so scary like this. Huge and dark and menacing, his claws digging into the squishy flesh of her ass cheeks until she can feel a couple trails of blood trickling over her skin.

Eventually he makes a single sound, “Hm.” and seems to snap out of whatever thoughts he’s had.

“Fuck yourself on me.”

It is a simple enough order. Part of her wonders what would happen if she were to refuse, but she honestly is glad she hasn’t peed herself during any of the events in the last fifteen minutes, and she doesn’t want to push her luck.

She does keep watching him, though, peering over her shoulder up to him as she shuffles her feet just a little apart to brace herself for the wide stretch. Her toes curl against the cold ground. She’s not wearing any shoes.

She arches her back when the tip finally pops in, mouth dropping open – but he stands there like a statue, not moving a muscle. If she couldn’t feel his inhumanly hot cock sliding into her as she squirms her ass, she would think that he’s not alive.

“There you go. Good girl.”

The unexpected praise has her turn her head away and into her arms, eyes closing. Her cheeks pound almost as hot as her poor pussy stretched to its limits on his dick. Getting it from behind makes him feel even bigger than the last time. It numbs her brain.

He is relentless, not getting swayed by her gurgling or whining. He stays where he is and doesn’t move. He really makes her do all the work.

She’s never had to… she’s never had to do this stuff. It usually is enough for her to spread her legs and the boys will just go wild. This is worse, and simultaneously better than that.

Her snatch is burning from the stretch; she can’t blame anybody but herself for that. He’s just so… so big-

He grabs her by the scruff like a kitten. There’s no warning, no explanation, no nothing. Just him suddenly seizing her and holding her and snapping his hips to drive into her body until she feels like he’s buried himself right into her uterus.

Her eyes pop open wide, a scream stuck in her throat as waves of an almost brutal orgasm crash through her.

Somewhere in the midst of the chaos consuming her body she can hear his deep voice whispering insidiously: “Better luck next time, señorita.”

#cyberratting writes stuff #sombra/reaper #dom/sub #scare kink

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