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nosferatyou · 4 years

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If I Can Be So Bold: Chapter 4 (Jack White x OC)

Summary: A time line of Lee’s life after a certain event. Chock full of hardships, odd music choices, and the FBI watchlist. Overall an incredibly important chapter.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, cursing, frank iero

NOTES: Fuck. Its been a while hasnt it? schools a bitch. anyways i thought this was the best way to move the story along. Besides the early days werent really important. well it was, but it was th lead up. Still I think this is pretty damn good. Took me for fuckin ever. I hope you enjoy!

I think I could’ve saved myself from more heartbreak if I just stopped fucking the man that was slowly breaking me, sparing me from the years of emptiness I just floated through. We could’ve only been friends and ended it at that, but I fell in love with him.

It took me a year to realize id made the biggest mistake of my life. He was my mistake. I saw all this like I did relish every moment we had together, like every time he kissed me, I felt my chest grow warm. I never had a bad moment with him. When we fucked it was just me and him, which is so incredibly cheesy, but when you’re that intoxicated by the touch of another, its all you can think about. Nothing else existed. Bad breakups, a growing rift in old friends, the unpaid bills sitting on your counter. The truth. It genuinely was witchcraft on his end. I think the songs he wrote when we were together were actually just love spells.

This went on for a year. I waited for him and meg when they went to the meeting that landed them their first studio album. Hell, I even taught him slide and played on their track “Suzy Lee.” Looking back at that moment always makes me laugh, the irony of it all, how I shielded myself from any truths. I think I realized I loved him when I opened my apartment door to see him with freshly cut hair. The sides shaved, the red just as wild as always but dyed a firetruck red. To this day, its the worst haircut I’ve ever seen someone get, and that day I died with laughter. He was always so confident in his looks, but that day he was in a panic. I had to console him and try to convince him it wasn’t that bad.

“Rosie, it looks like someone glued fake fur to the top of my head.”

The both of us sat cross-legged across from each other on the bed, trying to assess the damage. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. Fixing any loose hairs, which was the entirety of his hair. I scooted forward and played with it, trying to find any feasible angles.

“Jacky, it’s not that bad, it looks quite handsome from this angle.” I pretended to style it. There was no fixing it, but I could boost his ego to last until it grew back.

He grabbed the hand mirror sitting next to him and tried every angle. Worry had found its way into

every part of his face.

“Mmm well, I guess it’s not as bad as I thought,” He couldn’t stop touching it. “Thanks, Rosie.” He smiled at me the same way he always did, lips pulled tight, making his face scrunch up with those warm eyes.

I still looked at him and saw the most handsome man, even with that ridiculous haircut.

It never took much to convince him of something or to do something for that matter. If you put any liquid in his hand he’d drink it, I think I watched him drink hand sanitizer on a dare made by Ben. I never convinced him to go on a date with me, though. We always spent our time alone together, holed up in my room. Though back then, I always considered our late-night solo show adventures a good filler. He never noticed how happy they made me. That should’ve been a red flag, but they always just look like flags in rose-colored glasses. I seemed to be an expert at collecting red flags. I convinced myself for years that my time with my ex back in Nashville was normal.

Harriet pulled my head out of ass, though, and brought me here. To more red flags. It’s funny how completely opposite the two of them are. Jack and John (John and John if you want to get technical). John, at first, took me everywhere. He knew everyone and could get in anywhere. He showed me off and always made it clear who he was with. Once he had me fully wrapped around his finger, and we were living together, it switched. I wasn’t allowed to go out, not without his permission. I couldn’t talk to anyone except my bandmates, that was limited too. He held my playing shows above my head. If I was “good,” I could play under his supervision. I mean, he managed our band, he always knew our every move. It’s easy to misconstrue love, confuse what possession is. I was his pet, his thing to show off and shove in a closet until he needed me again. It took years to notice that it wasn’t okay.

The beginning is always just so intoxicating.

Jack just had this air to him, that same confidence as john. He knew he was talented and certainly knew he was good looking. The difference is Jack is humble. He could barely take a complaint from me, and as he grew, he didn’t know how to handle the attention. He didn’t lavish in it as John had, as short-lived as his attention was. Jack and I hid away, our confessions of our true feelings hiding on lyric sheets feet away from the other. That made my want stronger, I never felt I could have him, but we were so close it almost felt like I could have him. Its that moment, though, when you stare at each other with such love and warmth, faces growing so close you could feel their body heat. Your so close you can almost taste it, and that’s the moment he leaves. We didn’t cuddle. We weren’t affectionate. It was his choice. He left after tender moments, he left before breakfast, and he left before we finished the last verse of our song. We never were anything, and we never got anywhere. Me being me, it never was a thought in my mind. My judgment was clouded every time he looked at me with those eyes that pulled me in the first time.

While we grew closer, nothing ever changed, he came over, we fucked, and then wrote together. Sharing the same Camel pack every time. I never thought he shared my feelings for him. He never showed it. He was as open as he was closed. He only let you see what he wanted. That was until me, and the girls were all hanging around during a White Stripes practice. Which was quite common. We all watched each other play, testers for anything new that we cooked up. Meg was weirdly good at knowing what riffs people would like. She always was smarter than any of us would ever be.

That day Jack introduced a new song. It wasn’t entirely new to me. I taught him the parts, I always played the solos. He never quite got it back then. I was overjoyed to finally hear it. None of the girls were too focused on them. They always got stupid high. Jack and Meg’s landlord didn’t quite care if they smoked, not that ever did, though. It was a slower song, and a lot of work was put into it. Knowing him, the lyrics always had just as much care.

He refused to meet my eyes. He didn’t look at me once. His eyes quickly flipping between the wall behind me and his guitar. It was very, obviously intentional. He was a storyteller, he always did it so carefully in songs, hiding the message. This seemed incredibly open. Too obvious. He was hesitant. It wasn’t until the “Chorus” (it could barely be called a chorus) that he started to get a bit more confident. It was apparent he had a lot to say.

Miss Suzy lee

The one I'm speaking of

The question is

Is she the one I love?

That made my ears perk up, my eyes locked onto the floor. Why was I afraid to look at him?

Maybe I was thinking about it too much. My hope tends to get the best of me. Still, this pit in my stomach was growing with each note he played.

She sent me flowers

The name of an incredibly sappy song I showed him

With her tears burned inside

Again it was embarrassingly open

And you know what I'd do?

I would run and hide.

Fuck. I think my imagination and reality were clashing. I might actually have finally snapped and lost it.

And the paper

On it was my name

Okay, I definitely did hide the unofficial nickname I made for him. I didn't use it often. I called him “Tree” when I was annoyed with him.

With the question

Do you feel the same?

I knew. I knew he didn’t notice my intentions that day, though he should’ve won an oscar for his acting. He pretended like he didn’t notice.

I think I’m going to legitimately throw up on their ratty couch. I’m going to throw up, and it’s his fault. Jesus, I’m overreacting to a song that’s probably not about me. Fuck I need this to be over so I can breathe. Maybe look up from this thrifted carpet.

Again his words make my head snap up. This time I met his eyes.

To end this tale

The one I'm speaking of

I wish I had an answer, but I just don't know

Is this really love?

I left the room as fast as possible after he said love. I didn’t think I could stomach it. Fuck. Shit. Jesus Christ, retribution may be in my future.

Everything changed after that. I couldn’t look at him, I avoided him, the hope would kill me. It was killing me. I’ve always gotten too excited over people, too attached, and whenever this moment came, I spiraled. I had longed for his love for so long, and the idea of getting it overwhelmed me, being around him overwhelmed me. I avoided him, said I was busy every time he asked to hang out. I didn’t even bother to hide that I was making excuses. It took him a week to stop taking my bullshit. Jack was incredibly blunt. He wasn’t one to beat around the bush. One night he knocked on our door, and someone other than me answered, and they sent him my way. I didn’t tell the girls my feelings. I was too afraid to say it out loud. I didn’t want to be in love again. I loathed it. I wanted to be the person who could be fuck buddies and be fine with it, but I fall too hard. Every fucking time. It’s inescapable.

My dad always said I loved harder than others and should hold onto it, but it only hurt me.

That night fucked everything up. He didn’t look at me. If he did, it wasn’t for long. For the first time, he looked cowardly. He stormed into my room. I could hear his very distinguishable and heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart pounded into my throat with every footstep. He didn’t knock. He always knocked. His hair had grown out, it lost its curl, but it hung in his face just as it always did. He didn’t look smug. He didn’t have his bubble of confidence. He was meek. He was small. I remember his hands flying to his pockets. He did that when he was nervous.

As I said before, he doesn’t beat around the bush. I wish he did that day. Spared my heartbreak for a few minutes.

“Lee, I can’t love you.”

Those fucking words. They rang through my mind for years. Every time I saw him in the news, saw his face in magazines in passing at grocery stores. It felt like id been ripped in half, I was speechless, I physically could not form words. That feeling happened every once in a while when I reminded. Overtime I numbed to it.

`He was married. Can you believe that? I was the mistress and with my best friend’s husband. The moment he pulled his hand out to scratch his face, I saw it. The wedding band that was never there before. I think he wore to mess with me, one last laugh. He knew this would be the end of us ever seeing each other, working together.

He said he kept it off during shows for the brother-sister act, and just took it off before seeing me. Jack was never a coward, but it took him a year to tell him he was married. I hung out with them daily, I watched their dog when they toured, and I never noticed once. He was fucking married. The real kicker is that the girls knew too and didn’t tell me earlier. They let me live on with my sins. I felt so dirty. He just kept talking that day. He didn’t stop. Nervously rambled on, and he never did that. He was quiet. He opened his mouth to say something that’ll either make you cry laughing or make your heart swell. He was whip-smart and knew when to speak. I just let him go until he ran out of steam, tears quietly slipping down my cheeks. Still, stone-faced. The moment he stopped, I just silently showed him out and softly shut the door behind him.

That night, I about committed arson, okay I didn’t, but I sure wanted to. At first, I cried. And cried,… and cried. It was a mess. Soon that turned to me having a small existential crisis and dumping everything on the cashier at the liquor store who definitely knew the others, and was incredibly uncomfortable. We went there a lot. As soon as the alcohol had been bought, it was gone. I spent the night binge drinking and wrecking everything in my room. I ripped up my journals for songs, I set a small fire to my sketches of him, and I very furiously tried to wash the smell of him out of my sheets. I also punched a hole in my wall, which I kept a secret until the girls moved out. The next day I switched to Marlboros, the smell of camels gives me that same gut punch. It was his brand.

I said some not great things to the girls. I blamed them for my downfall for not telling me. I made them my excuse. I shortly left the band. We had tried to do a show, but I was so drunk I couldn’t remember most of the songs. I was also told I was lost my pants at some point.

I moved out of the house and lost all ties to them. I cut all ties to jack. I couldn’t go home, though. I burned too many bridges with my family and friends, a bad habit I seemed to have. I still played shows.

The good thing to come out of my rage and fall into substance abuse was my music. I went through some phases. I was playing my standard stuff for a while, just with a bit more... Anger? Then some months later, in ‘99, the stripe’s first album came out. Of course, I fucking bought it. I kept all their records. I couldn’t let go for some reason. I listened to it on repeat. I was so outraged that it was good. I heard myself in their songs, saw my name in the liner notes, I heard myself in his lyrics. I was obsessed; it was great. For two years, I fought and scratched to get some kind of record deal. I got a two-album deal. I toured nonstop, played with some damn good musicians, though I never was happy.

I lived a life of driving and playing. Most of the time, I had no fucking clue what state I was in. In New Jersey around 2003, I’d made some friends and played with them for a bit, fucking around in their basement. I lived there for a bit. I couldn’t stomach Detroit. I stayed consistently drunk from that night in ‘98 until 2004 when I received a friend’s call, showing me where I was headed.

We talked through it, and both decided to get sober. We both were sick. They sparked something musical in me, though. I started to get heavier, I played punk, I put my aggression entirely into my music. I produced my own stuff then, scraping what I could together. I made that record and went back to Detroit. As painful as it was, I couldn’t go back to Nashville, so I was stuck here. I mostly just fucked around, still living pretty much like a hermit, making music in my basement. When the Elephant came out, I couldn’t avoid hearing The White Stripes. They were an international success. I still collected all their records and listened to them extensively. As time went on, my existence in his lyrics disappeared. As for him, it did for me, I’d given up. It was dumb to be upset over it all these years later, still, thinking of him hurt so much. I was restless. I was bored. I wanted to be back out on the road again.

While I was usually blackout drunk every day, I still loved it. Playing something new somewhere new every day. That’s when my friend frank from my New Jersey days called me up in ‘07 to join his new band. I think he was just as fed up and restless as I was. We played “hardcore punk.” though that's debatable. We were sick of shit and needed to yell about it. It was my last hurrah with my inner turmoil. We finished the album and got onto the FBI watchlist for a political song.

I looked down at my phone to see I was getting a call from “Party Dad.” I knew what this is about.

“Did- did they show up at your door too?”

“Frank, you know they did.”

“Dude was fucking on the FBI’s list!” He was just as excited as I was.

“Hell fucking yeah, we are! You know we were still playing the song.”

“Oh, you know it. We will find a way around what they said. Plus fuck the government, that’s the whole point.”

“Two 30 something-year-olds on the FBI watchlist for a fucking song. This day could not get better.”

See here for the song

And toured. We toured for a while. Our last tour date was actually on my birthday in ‘08. In Nashville, no less. I didn’t tell my family, and surely didn’t expect them to be there. I never saw them, but I did see a familiar face. A significantly grown-up Ben Blackwell front and center. It caught me by surprise, that’s for sure, I slipped up a note or two upon seeing him. Though when we met up after, I was surprised how cool I stayed. I hadn’t seen anyone from my past in the years since. Ben has always been the sweet kid. I could never be mad. After that, we always stayed in touch, and whenever one of us was in Detroit or Nashville, we always met up. We recorded a couple tracks too. He’s always been a hell of a drummer.

The band didn’t live long because of the others projects, but I always worked with Frankie when he asked. I even played drums for most of his last album. I got a call while trying to make a drumline for one of the tracks. It was my mom. I hadn’t spoken to her in 14 years. The last time we talked, we’d gotten into the screaming match to end all screaming matches over my focus and direction in life. She didn’t want me to move, she didn’t want me to pursue music, and she didn’t want me to leave John. She always worried I’d die an old maid. I hadn’t dated since Jack, so I can see her concern now.

She dropped the bomb that my dad was sick. Of course, he was sick of all people. He was the most important man in my life. I hated being away from him. I could never bear to see him, and it turns out I’ve been wasting my time with him. All the tour stops, and I hadn’t seen him once. Guilt filled me. I felt the weight of it all. I felt the same tearing feeling, the same gut punch. I told frank everything, and him being him, he sent me off as quickly as possible to be with my family.

My mom didn’t mention the fight. She just hugged me and sent me to my dad’s room. She couldn’t look at me, though.

The moment I entered the house, I could hear Willie Nelson, a Red-headed stranger. It was always his favorite. My dad never showed his pain. He wanted to show us strength. It was heartbreaking to see him now in this state. I pushed it down. We talked for hours, and I told him everything, good and bad. He was always understanding. He knew my mind and reasoning better than I do.

When Ben invited me to a Third Man event, I hesitated. We see each other frequently now that I’m back in town for who knows how long. He always invites me shows and record release parties. I always declined, even though my feelings have changed, I still can’t see jack.

This time though, he said jack wouldn’t be there, something about his kids. Which took me by surprise, yet didn’t surprise me at all. So I agreed. To my dislike. I love ben, but the thought of being in Jack’s business nauseates me.

I watched the show from behind in the control room. Even though id heard it a million times, Ben did not hesitate to talk me through the live recording process. I was half paying attention, aimlessly looking at the crowd.

Then I heard that laugh, the same from all those years ago.

My heart leapt, panic-filled. I about pushed Ben over trying to get his attention. The footsteps. The heavy thuds came down the polished hallway. I nearly tore ben apart, trying to ask him if there was a bathroom.

I was waiting for my breath. There were two entrances. Both blocked. I could either join the band on stage or run straight into the man I’m trying so hard to avoid. Ben looked so frazzled, trying to calm me down. I felt a shiver run through me, and I suddenly stopped. I was frozen, looking at the hallway.

The bustle stopped, the footsteps stopped, all the people around him stopped in confusion. I locked eyes with him the moment he entered the room. No one dared move. Ben looked terrified next to, and the men around jack were whispering to themselves, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Then he spoke, almost like he didn’t believe I was in front of him.

“Rosie?”

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capisback · 4 years

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character A hasnt seen character B for years. they're both villians in a superhero AU and they reminisce about the old days where they worked together or had a common interest in killing a/the hero/s. They don't use their real names, just their villain names. Maybe they're secretly into each other, who knows. Go wild babe. i imagine they meet on top of a building and suprise eachother.

Nothing ever changed in the city Melusine called home. Once, a long time ago, she’d hoped it would. She’d thought maybe she could change it with her own two hands. Take it, and twist it, and make it new, better, make it a city she and her family could live in without – well. Everything that came with being different.

As she stared over the monotone greyscale cityscape, given colour only by the setting sun, she thought of how foolish she’d been.

She’d started being a Villain at seventeen. Young enough to hold such naïve hopes for herself and the future.

Melusine sighed, kicking her legs, which dangled over the skyscraper’s edge, back and forth. She sounded like an old lady, and yet she wasn’t a day over twenty-six.

Pigeons scattered up from the lane right below Melusine, a luxury car speeding past as if it owned the street. She briefly considered sending a bubble down, trapping the car inside, and letting it and its driver stay suspended for an hour or twenty-four.

Gravel ground under someone’s feet, behind her, to her right, and she instantly summoned five paralysis bubbles to her fingertips. She whirled around, poised to throw, but stopped short, almost frozen, when she was met with a familiar – albeit a little different – figure.

“Vougn?”

“Méduse?” Vougn all but gaped at her, posture and features openly displaying her shock. “Is – Is that really you, Méduse?”

“Vougn”, Melusine breathed.

“Méduse!” Vougn launched herself towards Melusine so fast, that Melusine, out of reflex (and necessity, she later realised, seeing as she’d been about to be tackled off a skyscraper), threw a bubble towards Vougn, trapping her inside.

“Hey!” Vougn whined. “This isn’t what I call a warm ‘Nice to see you again’!”

“Sorry.” With a flick of her fingers, the bubble dissolved. “Reflex.”

“Hmm, good to see you’re still sharp, even after all this time.”

“It hasn’t been that long.”

“Please”, Vougn laughed, walking up to Melusine this time. “How long have you been a Villain for? Ten years? And I haven’t seen you for the last four of them, so sorry if I’m pleased to see you haven’t gotten rusty in your old age.”

“Har har”, Melusine said with a fond roll of her eyes. “I’m old, laugh it up.”

“Awww, don’t be like that, Méduse.” Vougn shoved her shoulder, seating herself next to Melusine. “If it’s any consolation, you look just as pretty as when I last saw you.”

Heat flushed across her cheeks and nose, and she quickly turned to look back at the city, away from Vougn.

“You don’t”, Melusine said loudly.

“Aw, I don’t?”

Melusine’s face, rather than cooling down, became a tad bit hotter at Vougn’s teasing tone, and she turned her face away to the left even more.

“You look even prettier”, she said, only a bit clearer than a mutter. And it was true. Vougn had changed overtime. Cropped her dirty blonde hair to just beneath her chin, where it had been a long braid when she and Melusine had had their partnership, and she’d changed her colour scheme to a fetching black-and-red.

“Hmhm~”, Vougn hummed, victorious, teasing grin clear in her voice. “Thought so.”

“Your personality’s terrible, though.”

That shocked a laugh out of Vougn. “Well! That’s what I’m known for!”

“What a pity to be both beautiful and a bastard.”

“Oh, Méduse, if you keep complimenting me like this, you know how we’ll end up?”

Ah, well, that didn’t help Melusine’s long-held (and previously dormant) crush get out of overdrive at all.

“Locked in battle?” she tried, hoping her voice wasn’t several pitches higher than usual.

“Yeah. Taking down our very own Superhero together.”

“You mean Draft?”

“Him, and whatever other hero we want.” Vougn sent her a cheeky, dreamy grin.

“That does sound nice, doesn’t it?”

If only it was something they could do – something she could do. But she hadn’t been able to realise something that big for a long time. When they’d started out, she and Vougn had been a great team. Draft had been a bit of a novel hero then, too, and he’d been so much fun to toy with. Too bad that Heroes got actual training, while they had to figure it out for themselves. Really gave the Heroes a very unfair advantage, and the Villains didn’t get enough credit for their actually quite impressive feats. Not that anyone was going to praise a Villain.

“Remember back in our first year?”

The sun dipped below the skyline, rays of gold, molten sunshine illuminating them through the haze hanging over the city.

“I remember all our time together, so you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

Melusine chuckled. “The first time we captured Draft? Got him to spread my sticking bubbles all over the city. He was so upset.”

“Oh, oh, yes”, Vougn chortled. “Of course! God, and when we hung him by a rope at the edge of that gargoyle? I lit a fire under him, and he got right to begging! ‘Buh-buh-buh-lease’! He was so pathetic!”

“He is! And he’s gotten such a big head now, despite only having some so-so wind powers. Borea has amazing control over it, and the tricks she does are amazing, but you don’t see anyone complimenting her.”

“The fate of being a Villain, I’m afraid.”

“And who names themselves Draft? Who let him name himself that?”

Vougn sputtered a laugh. “It’s probably the best he could come up with since he’s so damn daft!”

“Oh my god”, Melusine laughed.

“Right?” Vougn wiped at her eyes. “What would you have called him?

“Probably just Daft, I think that’s perfect.”

“It checks out, for sure, but really. If you had to give him a proper Superhero name, what would it be?”

“I don’t know…” Melusine twirled her hair around her finger. “Something cool? Like, let’s see… Zephyr?”

“Oooh, sounds fancy. What’s that from?”

“It’s the Ancient Greek name for the western wind.”

“Oh, man, that would’ve been so much more intimidating than Draft. Can’t believe I have to regularly beat up a kid called Draft and not Zephyr.”

Melusine bit back her laughter as she tried for mock-sympathy. “Oh, no, poor Vougn. Having to kick ass and not even having someone cool to beat up. However will the number three villain recover from this injustice?”

Vougn sniffed and wiped away an imaginary tear. “Thank you, it’s really hard.”

“How is it, though, being a big time Villain? Everything you hoped for?”

Everything fell silent for a long moment. Melusine was struck by the weariness of Vougn’s expression, the tired curve of her back.

“Well…” That bitter, breathy laugh shouldn’t come from someone like Vougn. She was upbeat, bright, and sometimes a little too much. She wasn’t quiet, or reserved. She wasn’t bone-tired and disillusioned. Not the Vougn Melusine remembered.

But then again, neither was Melusine the one Vougn remembered. The world had changed them both. Maybe too much.

Melusine, too, was tired.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you”, there was that cheeky tone again. Both a relief and a painful sting, since it was so obviously strained, an attempt to divert from her inner turmoil. “How are you holding up? I see you’re still rocking that jellyfish aesthetic.”

She motioned to Melusine’s blue-and-white, puffy (and jellyfish-frilled) skirted outfit.

“I’m getting kind of tired of it, actually.”

And of everything that came with it.

Maybe she and Vougn still made a perfect pair, after all.

“Oh. That’s too bad. I think it suits you.”

Melusine cracked a smile. “Thanks.”

They settled into a long silence. Dusk rapidly caught up to the time. The long shadows cast down on the city below disappeared into the dark. Only they, up on their skyscraper, were privy to the beauty and the setting of the sun, and the movement of the Earth.

Her grandmother loved dusk. Le Crépuscule, she always said, refusing to use the English word. Her grandfather had once told her he’d had to bargain with her to keep from naming their little crafts-and-herbs store that. She had to admire her grandfather. Her grandmother was a hard woman to bargain with.

“You know”, Vougn said. “When I first got these powers, I never imagined I’d turn out like this.”

She let fire dance across her fingertips, the bright orange flickering and casting a warm glow between them.

Melusine huffed, bitter and understanding. “Me neither. They always tell you you’ll be the hero, don’t they?”

“Yep.” Vougn popped the ‘p’. “But, hey, they also say everyone’s the hero of their own story, so I guess they’re a little right.”

“No, they’re not.”

“No, they’re not”, Vougn agreed, and snuffed out her fire.

Melusine closed her eyes and tilted her head back, face towards the clouding sky. This, this, was nice. Calm, quiet. Peace. She wanted that. No more battles, being yelled and cussed at, no more injuries and long days and late nights.

She wanted a life. A proper one.

“Vougn”, she said, softly. “I’m quitting Villainy.”

“What?”

Melusine looked back at Vougn, surprised by the disbelief in her voice, and even more at the distress on her face.

“I’m quitting”, she repeated, firm and resolute. “It’s not worth it anymore, Vougn. All of this, it’s just – ” She sighed. “I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to.”

“But – but you had such big plans!” Vougn stumbled over her words. “Weren’t you going to change things?”

“And where have I gotten with that?” She looked at Vougn with earnest sorrow. “Tell me, Vougn, how have I changed anything? How will I ever change anything? We’re not the heroes of this story. At least, not me. Maybe you still have a chance. But I’m done, Vougn. I’m – I’m so tired.” She choked on fresh tears.

“Méduse…” Vougn hesitantly reached for her, hand hovering in the space between them.

Melusine clasped that hand tightly with her own two.

“Will you remember me?” Her throat was raw. Her feelings clawed, sharp and unbidden, up her chest. “When I’m gone. Will you at least remember me?”

Vougn swallowed thickly, frozen for a moment, but then she placed her other hand, gently but firmly, a promise and a reassurance, over Melusine’s.

“How could I ever forget you?”

Melusine let out a wet laugh, her smile wobbly.

The caress of Vougn’s thumb over the back of her hand was gentle, comforting.

“Méduse”, Vougn’s voice was soft. “I just – I want to –” She frowned, struggling. She tried again. “Will we ever meet again?”

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

“Me, too.” A pause. “I’ll search for you.”

Melusine smiled, soft, and for the first time in a long while, hopeful. “I’ll love to see you try.”

#Anonymous #hello thank you for this prompt because I think I'm in love with Meluse #me: this is going to be short :)#also me: writes 1785 words #ok so maybe I should explain Meluse's jellyfish theme?#so like her name is méduse #and this both means Medusa #AND #jellyfish #idk why that is but I really love it #french did a good job with this one #first I wanted to call her Méduse as in medusa and then I went with Médusine but Melusine kept calling to me #so in the end I used both Melusine as her first name and Méduse as her villain name #and Vougn comes from Vough (or Fuath) which is gaelic and I didn't think Vough fit very well and for some reason my mind kept going Vougn so #here we are #also I'm not very good at writing superhero/villain stuff lol #but I tried!#I had to cut a few small things I wrote because it didn't fit in with the rest and im sad #it's been ages since I last wrote something so thank you SO MUCH for this prompt #I had a lot of fun!!#hope it's somewhat alright #I'll probably pick out a few things I would've changed later but so far I'm pretty pleased with it #hope you enjoy it too!!#cap's writing #writing #hope there's no mistakes either lol #but eh we'll see #prompt

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hellimagines · 5 years

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Please, Don’t Take it Back -- Nathan Young

*My masterlist link can be found in my blog description*

Request: “Requesting shamelessly. If you have time can you do a Nathan/Reader where shes like his go to. He goes to her with all his problems and she helps him. And thensomething big happens and he realizes he hasnt been doing the same for her? Bonus points if theres a sudden and aggressive declaration of love! I love your face!!!” @stargazingwithcassidy

Summary: After another altercation with your boyfriend, you pick Nathan up from the Community Center, and the truth comes out.

Warnings: domestic abuse, graphic injury depictions

Pairing: Nathan Young x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,000+

A/N: Everyone, Cassidy is the best and I love them and please go give them a follow! Also, lemme know if you liked this bitch

“You know I love you… right?”

You paused, your palms pressed against the kitchen flooring of your boyfriend’s house. Blood dripped from your nose and the corner of your lip, dribbling onto the white tile below and causing tiny mouse-like puddles. Lifting your head you saw Drew knelt beside you, his face full of false concern and pity. His hand was gently placed on your shaking shoulders, his knuckles split, bruised, and bloody from all the punching and attacking he had done. His eyebrows were furrowed over his brown eyes, but they held no emotion.

“Right,” you replied simply, finally looking away so you could raise yourself onto shaking legs. You were forced to stumble over to the counter, your broken fingers gripping onto the marble to keep from falling back to your knees. Pain ricocheted from the tips of your fingers to the back of your shoulder blade, but you ignored it in favor of staying upright. A weak smile spread across your lips as you looked back to your attacker, trying to convince him (and yourself) that you were okay. “Can I go pick Nathan up now? His mum called earlier and she won’t be able to grab ‘im. I’ll be back within the hour.” It was a lie, Nathan had been the one texting you non-stop to grab a bite with him, and you weren’t planning on being back until later.

Drew looked at you carefully, still crouched beside your puddle of blood on the floor. He breathed in, “Fine. Be back by 4, or we’re going to have another talk, got it?”

“Yes, I’ll be back before then,” you nodded, willing yourself to straighten out as he stood up. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now go.” Drew flicked his hand towards the door and you didn’t hesitate before scurrying away, tail metaphorically tucked between your legs.

You rushed to the car, practically stumbling over your own feet in your haste as the front door slammed behind you. Tears trickled down your face and mixed with your blood, causing pink droplets to fall from your chin. Opening the car door took you a minute, but once you were safely inside, you managed to finally take a handful of calming breaths. Your eyes were shut and your hands loosely gripped the steering wheel. You didn’t have much time to think about the past hour- Nathan was probably already waiting for you, and making him wait much longer would only cause a boatload of questions. So, with a deep, ragged breath, you drove away in pursuit of the Community Center and its resident dumbass.

“Oi, Cunt Face! Took you long enough, I’ve been out here for days!” Nathan howled across the parking lot, dramatically trudging himself over to your car. A cigarette hung from his pouting lips, but he flicked it away before approaching your car. “The starvation and dehydration has already started kickin’ in! I mean look at me! I’m skin and bones,” he cried, swinging open the door and sliding in.

“Nathan, you’ve always been skin and bones. Shut up,” you laughed quietly, pulling out of the parking lot without looking at your best friend.

Nathan gasped, “Are you skeleton shaming me right now? Because I don’t appreciate that.”

“You know what? Maybe I am- there’s too many skeletons out there, it’s like the pirate days all over again,” you giggled. “I mean honestly-”

“The hell’s happened to your face?” Nathan suddenly shouted, cutting you off and startling you into jerking the car. “You look like you’ve just gotten out of a fight ring- and lost!”

You laughed nervously, “D-Don’t worry about it, Nath’, just an accident. Besides, we all know I’d kick ass in a fight ring.” You were hoping that with enough jokes and playful laughs, Nathan would drop the subject.

But Nathan was an observant pissfire and rarely gave up on things he became fixated on. “Bullshit! That ain’t no accident, love. Your fingers are all fucked, and your face is every shade of black and blue in existence. What happened?”

You let your eyes wander over to Nathan briefly, before focusing them back on the empty road ahead. You didn’t want to tell your curly-haired best friend what had truly happened to you for a multitude of reasons. For starters, Nathan would try and shove you into a clinic, or worse, fix the injuries himself. Just the thought of Nathan attempting to fix your fingers made you shiver. Then, after making sure you were okay, he’d march his scrawny-ass over to Drew and pick a fight. A fight, he would no doubt lose. You had no intention of letting your best friend get mauled just because your boyfriend had a temper.

“(Y/N), please. Tell me what’s going on? It seems like every week you’ve got a new injury and a newly broken heart. I’m a jerk, yeah, but I’m not stupid. He’s hurtin’ you, isn’t he?” Nathan snarled- his soft voice now filled with enough venom to make his Irish accent nearly incoherent. “I’ll fuck him right up if he is. Make ‘im piss and vomit blood for months. ‘Ow’s that sound? Make sure ‘e never bothers you again.”

You sighed heavily. Gripping the steering wheel with your unbroken hand, you veered into an abandon store parking lot and shut off the car. Nathan was uncharacteristically quiet, probably sensing that you were finally about to open up. You shifted in your seat, pressing your aching back against the door so you could fully face him. His green eyes were narrowed with worry and concern, his lips pulled into a deep frown, and his fingers tugged on the various holes of his orange jumpsuit. Over the past few months, you had grown tired of constantly having to lie to everyone around you, including yourself. Drew didn’t love you, not anymore, and it hurt to admit. But you had to tell someone about what was going on; even if that someone had never taken anything seriously in his life.

“Just… just let me talk, okay? No interrupting, no nothing. Because if I stop I won’t get going again. Okay?” Nathan nodded, so you began. “We’ve been dating for like two years, yeah? And shit was amazing in the beginning: flowers, books, trips, coffee, texts, car rides, meeting everyone, all that crap. But after the first year, he got mean. He was controlling and kept looking over my shoulder. Everything I did and everywhere I went, he was there. Then, one night, I went out without tellin’ him. I figured that a night away would do the both of us good. I went out with you and the others, smoked a bit and fell asleep on your floor. Shit we used to do all the time. But when I got home that morning, he was… he was mad. Like, really mad. He hurt me until I passed out, and when I woke up, he had gotten me flowers and another book. So, to me, things were okay. One time thing, yeah? But then it became a monthly thing. Then a weekly. And now, I’m lucky if a day goes by that I don’t get slapped or something. I don’t know how to get out of it. I don’t know what to do, Nath’.”

After your admittance, the car was filled with a heavy silence. You had tears falling freely from your eyes, while Nathan had barely-concealed ones that he refused to let fall. He needed to be strong for you, the same way you had been strong for yourself. Nathan’s heart hurt at the fact that you had been dealing with near-constant abuse for over a year. That he had no idea about any of it, and that he wasn’t there for you or there to help you during any of it. He had been so focused on his own issues, his own demons, that he didn’t take a second to consider the devil by your side.

“I’m sorry,” he began, the words tumbling from his quivering lips. “I’m sorry that you felt that you couldn’t trust me, or anyone, to help you. I’m sorry that you haven’t felt true love and happiness, that wasn’t followed by being hurt, for two years. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you like I promised I would. I’m sorry, for everything.”

“It’s not your fault-”

Nathan shook his head, “I’m not saying it’s my fault. And it’s not yours, either. It’s Drew’s fault for being a fucked sack of shit. But, what I’m saying, is that I’m sorry. And even though I haven’t been there for you lately, I’m here now. I will do everything in my immortal power to keep you from ever going back to him, from ever getting hurt by him. I love you too much to see another one of these injuries on you. Come back to the Community Center with me, sleep there. We’ll grab some food, like we planned, and then figure all this shit out,” Nathan said, reaching across the console to grab your uninjured hand. “But first, let’s go to the clinic to get this hand fixed.”

“I can’t go to the clinic, they’ll ask questions- but wait, what did you say?” Your brain was turning in mushy circles after Nathan’s speech, focusing on one part of his words, and then all of them, and then none. But one thing did stand out and stayed circling your mind.

“That you can sleep with me at the Center. Mum kicked me out, remember?”

“No, not about that. The love part, you said you love me,” you whispered, your mouth opened in awe. Nathan suddenly looked panicked. His worried face was now a deep red, and he began spluttering over nothing. “Don’t take it back. Please, don’t take it back,” you spit out quickly, gripping his hand tightly. “I love you too. Fuck, Nathan, I’ve always loved you.”

Nathan’s breath hitched and his eyes widened impossibly more, but his face became soft. “You have? Oh God, (Y/N), I should’ve said something sooner! I could’ve made you happy and you wouldn’t have had to deal with that douchecanoe!”

You giggled softly at Nathan’s words, a genuine smile gracing your features. “I should’ve said something, too. But at least we know now.”

“Yeah, you can love me now instead of him,” Nathan huffed, but you shook your head.

“Doesn’t work like that, Nath’, and you know it. I’m gonna need time to heal from all this, and I don’t want to use you as my medicine. I want you to be there for me, but I don’t want to rely on you to be happy. Only once I’ve officially broken up with him and know I’m safe, will I consider us dating. For now… for now, let’s just get these fingers dealt with, grab some food, and head back to the Center.”

Nathan nodded quickly in understanding. “Of course, (Y/N/N). I’ll be here for you as long as you need me to. Best friends ‘til the end of time,” he joked, flashing you a wink as you started the car back up.

“Best friends ‘til the end of time,” you confirmed with an equally goofy smile on your face. You pulled out of the parking lot suddenly feeling lighter, as though the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. You still had a long way to go, and you weren’t even close to being out-of-the-clear, but you were one step closer to safety; to happiness. And that was all that mattered.

All Writing Taglist (OPEN): @teageowen @mads---world @alex--awesome--22 @hxdesworld @frozenhuntress67 @samanthasmileys @simonsaysyasss @marvelismylifffe @bademliimagnum @coastalmason @wherewecangazeintothestars

#nathan young #nathan young imagine #nathan young imagines #nathan young x reader #misfits #misfits imagine #misfits imagines #misfits x reader #robert sheehan

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kiruuuuu · 5 years

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Doc/Lion oneshot in which Lion absolutely can’t get enough of Doc. (Rating E, pure filth + fluff, ~4k words) - written for the ever so wonderful 1ce_09 on twitter ♥♥ Everyone who hasn’t already, check them out for beautiful Siege art! Thank you so much for commissioning me, I enjoyed myself :)

If anyone had asked Lion a year – hell, months – ago which part of the day was his least favourite, he would’ve said waking up. Throughout his life, the only consistently good thing staying with him has been how easily he falls asleep and his ability to only wake up once fully rested; he sometimes thinks it’s a genuine blessing he received, a rare show of mercy of which he’s ultimately undeserving. Even when his mind worked overtime, even when there was an oppressive weight on his soul, even when there was no reason to get up in the morning, he drifted off like a lazy, oversized house cat napping in the sun. In rare moments, he idly wonders whether this ability hasn’t saved his life at some point, granted him this little bit of energy he needed to get through the day, gave him enough hope to trudge on and eventually sparked his endeavour to make it up to those he wronged.

And then there are his dreams. They’ve always been vivid, abstract, hard to grasp, but as a child he could always pinpoint at least a location or a person, something concrete which gave him an indication of what was on his mind at the time. After – after Claire, after colourful pills and pieces of paper with cartoon characters on them and a few other things, his nightly visions became even more obscure, swirls of colour, evoking emotions whose vibrancy stays with him in this twilight between waking and sleeping, a half-doze in which he’s disembodied yet conscious. He enjoys their embrace and despised nothing more than the afterimages being violently ripped away from him by a shrill alarm.

These days, he doesn’t mind it so much. The reason for his change of mind is as fortunate as it is unbelievable because of all its facets no one could’ve predicted, especially not him: It’s someone he loves (and he’d given up on this particular idea a while ago). It’s a man (and while he’s fooled around with some of his friends before, it was largely born from spite and the thrill of the forbidden). And of all people, it’s Doc.

It took him months to come to terms with the realisation that his infuriating colleague never really left his thoughts because of a fierce desire to impress him, not because of personal dislike. Doc is revered wherever he treads and when Lion earned his ire, it was much easier to pretend the negativity dictating Lion’s remorseless remarks and actions towards the other man stemmed from disdain and not disappointment in himself, not from a knee-jerk reaction to the realisation that Doc would never see him as an equal now.

It took him even longer to finally act on it too, reach out and attempt to rebuild the bridge Doc had destabilised and which Lion had spitefully burned in response; it required endless conversations with Bertrand as well as the rest of the GIGN, a worrisome amount of self-reflection, and uncomfortable, tough admissions.

But he managed. Looking back, it’s amazing how much he turned his life around, how much he achieved with the help of those around him and indubitably help from above, and he’s humble enough to try and let his gratitude shine through in everything he does these days.

He even learnt to enjoy waking up. Though admittedly it wasn’t difficult, no, not at all, not when he knows he’ll have company, be greeted with a smile and a kiss, a brief update on global events, a cup of coffee just how he likes it. And so instead of hitting the snooze button on his phone several times, tossing and turning, dreading the beginning of yet another day, he wakes with a serenity he never thought he could achieve.

This morning, his heart feels even lighter than normal and it doesn’t take long to figure out why: there’s a warm body next to his. Doc prefers getting up early, always prefers being prepared no matter what and possesses the inhuman ability to sleep without an alarm and be on time anyway – but rarely, on one of their days off, he allows himself to sleep in, much to Lion’s delight.

Smiling to himself, he rolls on his side to dazedly blink at the spectacular view in front of him and really, Doc has no business being this gorgeous this early in the day. He’s stretched out on his stomach – and he’s the only person Lion has met who sleeps this way –, head turned away from Lion, explaining his constant neck pains, and smooth skin illuminated by the rays falling in through the blinds, painting long stripes on his naked back.

Lion doesn’t want to disturb the image yet reaches out regardless, runs his fingertips over shoulder blades jutting out, the dip of his lower back, relaxed muscles, and reaches the blanket covering Doc from the hips downwards. He should let him sleep. Really, he should, but with every centimetre more that’s revealed, Lion’s interest rises. He takes his time, pauses when he hears his lover take a deep breath and proceeds when it evens out again. Slowly, surely, he reveals plump curves and more soft skin, and then his gaze falls on the discoloured spots on the back of Doc’s thighs and the almost languorous desire playfully swaying in the back of his mind suddenly gets shoved to the very forefront, makes his heart skip a beat and his crotch throb.

Memories from the previous evening come flooding back, the end of a tedious work day necessitating some kind of release – they’d started as soon as they set foot into their apartment, Lion crowding his lover against the door and licking every bit of composure off his tongue, then wandering deeper with his hungry mouth and swallowing him whole, something he’s come to love, provided he can watch Doc’s features dissolve into helpless want while sucking on him, hard. He took his time, did so for the rest too, left Doc aching and fingered him open over the couch until he was flushed and flustered and even more beautiful, took him standing up until his legs gave in, relocated to the kitchen table, eventually landed in bed where he finished them both off with merciless snaps of his hips, listening to Doc’s desperate whines and floating on pure ecstasy.

The bruises are remnants, and now he also feels the scratches on his back again which he didn’t let the other man see, angled his body so he wouldn’t notice the damage he’s done – he usually feels bad about leaving marks though Lion can never get enough. It’s one of the many small disagreements about which they half-heartedly argue and neither of them is ready to budge, but more often than not they end with a hand in someone’s hair or quick kisses. There’s more, now that he knows where to look, Doc’s ass cheeks themselves are still tinted red and the lovebites Lion sucked onto his ribs remain perfectly visible as well.

Maybe he should add a few.

Moving carefully, he removes the blanket entirely, admires Doc’s shapely legs for a moment and then kneels between them, intending no more than to touch the sleeping beauty a little, but as soon as his palms come to rest on firm flesh, a different thought makes his cock twitch in anticipation. Doc is perfectly on display like this, the hills and valleys of his body enticing in a way that Lion wants nothing more than mould himself around them, and he decides to appreciate it all by waking Doc with something more… personal than simply covering him in hickeys.

Thumbs pull the cheeks apart a little, exposing a pink hole which looks overwhelmingly inviting to Lion, a hole he abused to his heart’s content the previous evening and so it’s only appropriate for him to make up for the rough treatment, isn’t it? He leans forward and gingerly circles the rim with the tip of his tongue, starting feather-light and increasing the intensity slowly, intersperses it with broad laps and has to suppress a moan when he feels the ring of muscle pulsing in response. He’s felt similar contractions around his shaft so many times before and the association is all he needed for a full, heavy erection – especially when he remembers Doc’s usual, elated expression whenever he climaxes.

The hips beneath his hands shift a little, and a foot lifts, powerless, and when he pushes the tip of his tongue inside, Doc lets out a sleepy groan. “Really?”, he mumbles into the sheets but makes no move to stop Lion. “Didn’t we do enough yesterday?”

He grins and forces himself a little deeper, eliciting a weak moan, before withdrawing for a reply: “Gustave, I can never have enough of you.” And to cut off any smart remark, he wiggles his tongue back inside and turns all of Doc’s protests into small, appreciative noises. Though his lover appears to be the voice of reason more often than not, he allows himself to get swept up by Lion’s passion all the time, mentioning work but riding him with abandon ten minutes later, scolding him for only thinking about one thing but asking him to come on his face the same day. Lion never minds initiating, not when this is the result: an increasingly aroused Doc meeting his mouth with subtle grinding, fisting the sheets and not even fully awake yet.

A curious finger proves Doc to be more than loose enough a few minutes later, and by this point they’re both panting and dizzy – and besides, Lion has always been more of a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ type, so he wastes no time in grabbing the lube strategically placed on the bedside table to pour a generous amount on his stiff cock, wincing a little at the cool, viscous liquid. A few strokes for good measure coat it sufficiently and the next moment he’s rubbing his tip over the very hole he licked open just now, felt it quiver around his tongue. The touch is electrifying and the fierce need pulsing through him urges him to give in, take what’s his, ensure his own pleasure.

But he waits. Bites his lip in impatience, pushes slightly against the entrance and shivers when he feels it give way a little, squeezes one of the buttcheeks he maltreated in the sweetest way possible last night – but he waits.

And then Doc meets him, lifts his hips to allow the head to slip inside and both of them gasp at the sudden surge of pleasure. Lion accepts this signal for what it is and begins the slow slide, pushes deeper and deeper into deliciously tight heat, feels Doc’s walls contract around his dick and only stops once he’s bottoms out. Since his lover usually requires a moment to adjust, Lion uses this time to not only focus on how fucking good he feels, but also to straddle the other man properly and lean down, cover him with his own body and place a few loving kisses on the top of his head.

“Other people wake their boyfriends with breakfast in bed”, Doc grumbles under him, now less bleary than before, but the hand he places next to Lion’s contradicts his words. He spreads his fingers and Lion interlaces them with his own, holds on tight and makes no move to suppress the smile stretching his lips at the gesture.

“Their boyfriends are definitely not as erotic as mine then”, he purrs into Doc’s hair. His limbs are possessively caging the other man in and even then, it hardly suffices to sate his need to be as close to Doc as possible, feel all of him.

“What you mean to say is they have more than just a shred of self-control.” And oh, he’s going to make Doc eat those words.

Slowly, he begins grinding down, impatient erection twitching eagerly inside and rubbing against all the right places if Doc’s startled gasp is anything to go by. He loves it deep and Lion knows it, rolls his hips against his lover’s perfect ass and makes him feel every centimetre keenly. For good measure, he bows his head to latch onto that spot right below Doc’s ear which he knows drives him wild, tongues at it wetly before sucking and relishes the unrestrained moan he earns for his trouble. Over time, he’s memorised all of Doc’s weakspots and exploits this knowledge now shamelessly, bites at his earlobe and trails his lips over soft skin to the back of Doc’s neck where he nibbles, his lazy motions emphasising his ministrations.

By now, Doc is trembling against him, the deep grind stealing his breath and causing him to jerk his hips up in search of more thorough stimulation than this merciless teasing, trying to fuck himself on Lion’s cock but failing. Frustrated huffs join the quiet panting, his grip involuntarily tightening parallel to him clenching desperately around Lion’s hard shaft and it’s mesmerising to behold how his mock crossness melts away into pure lust.

Doc’s other hand reaches back and digs into Lion’s ass, tries to get him to move more, faster, anything, but when that fails as well, he pleads: “Come on, just fuck me, Olivier.”

He knows how this goes. Grinning to himself, Lion tenses his muscles to make his dick throb inside additionally to the tantalising motions and decides to have even more fun. “You look so pretty, impaled on my cock”, he whispers and throws Doc a bone, withdraws all the way and slowly slides back in, keeps this torturous pace and sighs contentedly every time Doc’s hole allows him back in, stretches around him. He meant his words – he really can never get enough of this.

Uneven breaths have turned into whines now. “Olivier, please -”

“I could fuck you, pump you full of come and then leave you, dripping and begging for it”, he continues and concentrates on the steady build of pleasure – a slow climb but oh so satisfying. Doc feels wonderful around him. “Could do that the entire day. Every time you suck me until I’m hard again, I shoot inside but you’re not allowed to come. You can ride my cock all day, Gustave.” The thought is dazzling and he probably never fantasised about someone while being balls deep inside that very person, yet he can’t help but picture Doc all powerless, frenzied, obeying him fully. He knows Doc is too proud to actually agree to anything like it, though the throaty moan Doc lets out in response tells Lion unambiguously that he’s imagining it – and actually enjoys the thought. Still, Lion’s thumb strokes reassuringly over the hand he’s still holding.

“Please, I want you, go faster -” Doc’s impatience has reached its peak now, he shoves himself onto Lion’s member in one go and pushes against him, whimpers when Lion gnaws at his neck in retaliation and rises nonetheless, lifting his lover’s body with him. The teasing has left him frantic and exactly how Lion likes it, cheeks red and gaze almost defiant when he glares at the larger man over his shoulder. Lion could spend all day marvelling at the state of him.

Instead, he relents, guides Doc onto his hands and knees and grabs his hips to steady him, fingers brushing over the bruises on Doc’s thigh, the faint purplish tinge an expression of his devotion. “You want it hard?”, he asks and is almost surprised at how breathy his own voice is. Unbridled want is pulsing through him, vicious and blinding, making his digits itch and cock ache.

Doc nods wordlessly and it’s probably good he can’t see the pure joy on Lion’s face over the admission. Even now, even with how familiar they are with each other, every confirmation of the passion, respect and love they share sparks delight.

A sharp snap of Lion’s hips later and his focus is elsewhere again. Now he’s getting serious, drives into Doc at a fast tempo, watches as his entire erection disappears inside him and tries his best not to come on the spot. The abrupt stimulation is almost too much but he keeps going through the discomfort paired with blunt need until he hears himself moan loudly in pleasure, dig his fingertips into Doc’s flesh. He’s not going to last long, that much is clear, but he’s going to make it good regardless.

A few pointed thrusts elicit more dazed whimpering from his lover, a picturesque arch of his back to allow Lion to penetrate him all the way and even another, decidedly more heated glance back at him. They’re both equally into it, tensing and moving against each other amid the sound of skin slapping against skin, the rustling of sheets as Doc desperately seeks support, leverage, anything to hold on to – and Lion shares the sentiment of feeling wholly lost yet not wanting to be found. Ruthlessly, he slams into his lover, chasing his pleasure, helping Doc pursue his own, and makes no effort to hide his enjoyment.

A sudden spike almost pushes him over the edge when Doc’s arms give in, accompanied by something that sounds suspiciously like a keen, and now he’s really pounding him into the mattress, showing him just how deep his desire runs, how comprehensive his attraction is. He can’t even pinpoint which part it is exactly about Doc that drives him this wild, fills him with the urge to claim, mark, embrace and never let go; and he revels in the knowledge of being able to make this otherwise so poised, dignified and professional man fall apart, provoke emotions from him he displays for no one else.

“Come for me”, Lion gasps in between the creaking of the bed, “do it. Come on, amour, Gustave, I want to feel it.” And the sounds he wrenches from Doc’s throat with every thrust get impossibly louder when his lover reaches for his dick, probably not able to keep up with the merciless rhythm with which Lion is driving into him but still good enough. He gets tighter, even more so when Lion’s breath hitches, followed by a growl. He’s getting closer by the second, Doc’s noises and velvety heat making up the perfect catalyst -

And then Doc orgasms, surprisingly quickly for how little he stroked himself, he must’ve been primed, possibly dreamt of Lion and this thought is a whole other turn-on he shelves away for later. Right now, he watches, utterly transfixed, as Doc spasms under him, hips rolling futilely to either increase the intensity or shy away from it as he shoots his sperm in short bursts in between the hard thrusts. Lion fucks him through it, runs one of his palms over the dancing muscles of Doc’s back and shudders at the violent contractions around his throbbing cock; fucks him through the aftershocks, too, tiny jolts which speak of a very satisfying climax. Lion isn’t there yet, however, not fully, teetering on the edge, carefully controlling himself so he can take all of Doc in and -

“Finish inside, Olivier”, Doc demands, voice shaky, and he’s gone.

His abs tense with a delicious kind of pain at the first wave of blissful release washing through him. He buries himself deep inside his lover and moans in disbelief over how abruptly pleasure explodes behind his eyelids and nearly folds in half at the intensity, gasping for air as his cock twitches and probably adding a few bruises to the existing ones. Momentary blindness allows him to be wholly aware of Doc moving against him to milk him for every drop, of overwhelming relief encompassing his entire being as he orgasms, surrounded by scorching heat and momentarily losing all sense of reality.

Coming down is a slow, gradual affair, both of them slumping a little and Lion bending so he can rest his forehead on Doc’s shoulder blade as they both catch their breath, bask in the afterglow and enjoy the feel of shared body heat, companionship and sweet exhaustion. Lion peppers his boyfriend’s shoulder with kisses once he can see straight again, withdraws tentatively and sits up to examine the masterpiece he just fucked into existence in all its glory: shiny skin, reddened cheeks, a gaping hole, dark marks and lovebites, and, after a few seconds, a thin stream of white leaking out.

Lion is definitely unable to get hard immediately after a climax this exquisite but his dick gives a feeble jump at the sight nonetheless. He reaches out and catches the droplets with a fingertip, pushes them back to where they came from, pushes them back inside and earns a quiet moan. Adding another digit, he tries to finger the semen as deep as he can and only pauses when Doc kicks him lightly.

“I’m sore enough as it is”, he complains and rolls to the side when Lion withdraws mournfully, yet there’s a bright smile adorning his face when their eyes meet.

With weak knees, Lion stalks back and forth to get them cleaned up (and is actually amazed Doc doesn’t mention the scratches he himself inflicted) but insists on doing one thing by himself: once he’s taken his rightful place by Doc’s side, entangled their legs and exchanged a few loving kisses, he catches Doc’s wrist to lift it to his face and starts to lick his palm clean.

“You’re like a dog”, his lover murmurs fondly and readily spreads his fingers to allow for better access. “They should’ve called you Husky, not Lion – they’re just as noisy and stubborn.”

Lion shoots him a good-natured grin. “Then you should be called Bunny. What was that about self-control?”

“Oh please, you’re the eternally horny one, mon amour.”

“And yet you never say no.” Their lips meet once more in a long, thorough kiss, with Doc climbing on top of Lion halfway through, ending up straddling him and stroking his face affectionately until Lion mouths at his palm while keeping eye contact.

“You really love my hands”, Doc points out quietly.

It’s true, he does – he loves how steady they are on the job, never making a mistake, never causing harm; loves how they’re calloused and scarred, lots of specks and lines lighter in colour telling tales of hard work; loves how they worship him, how gently they treat him, how warm they are when they touch him.

“I also really love you”, Lion says instead of the million other things he could say instead which would amount to the same thing. He’s learnt his lesson about being honest with himself and others and can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed when his admissions make Doc’s face light up like a Christmas tree. “And your hands do good. They’re your most important tools and I’m thankful every time I feel them.” There’s so much more for which he’s grateful that making a list would take him several days, so he tries to convey all which he’s not divulging explicitly with a heartfelt: “Thank you, Gustave.”

Doc’s features soften and he accepts the notion with one last kiss before getting up. “I’m going to brew us some coffee”, he announces, yet pauses by the bedroom door to catch Lion’s gaze and add, softly: “I love you too, Olivier.”

And while Lion remains in bed for a minute longer, stretched out and encased in soothing warmth coming from within, a distracted smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and most of his body tingling pleasantly, he thinks back to his life no more than a year ago. How unthinkable it was that waking up would become his favourite part of the day. But sometimes, the unthinkable happens all the same.

#rainbow six siege #doc #lion #doc/lion #fanfic #commissions #thank you!!#I couldn't even fit everything in #well at least doc could #HA

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