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suzayaaa · 2 months

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ೃ⁀➷ LEAVE, NOW ☆.｡.:*

𓆩⟡𓆪 pairing: jeno x fem!reader

𓆩⟡𓆪 word count: 1.6k

𓆩⟡𓆪 themes: angst, breakup

𓆩⟡𓆪 warnings: cursing, cheating

𓆩⟡𓆪 suza’s note: can i just say i’m proud of this one…

𓆩⟡𓆪 requested by some of you!

𓆩⟡𓆪 this is an additional part 2 of jeno’s texts in “when will you leave me?” post, but it also works as a separate oneshot if you don’t want to read the texts.

It hurt.

Your heart, your mind, your body. No part of you was able to keep itself strong, to have any kind of energy to be. You were tied to your bed, sinking into the cold sheets with each move like a lifeless animal on its last breath. The breath that hurt so much, grabbing your sore heart and squeezing it violently as you shut your eyes with tears down your cheeks because no matter where you looked, Jeno was there.

The sheets you were lying in wore the scent of his musky cologne. Most of the pictures on your wall were with him, of him, or the moments spent with him. Hell, even the wrinkled t-shirt you were wearing was his. But the worst of all, you only had him in your mind.

No matter where you went and what you did, he followed you like a spell that had to be undone by a witch to let go. In a way, he did put a spell on you—the moment that caused all of this replayed in your head like a broken record, mocking you ruthlessly until you begged on your knees to stop this madness.

The words you’d never imagined to hear, the situation you’d never imagined to happen.

It was a pretty day. Clouds formed what you could call a shadow of blinding sunlight dodging the skyscrapers to reach and lit up your face. A perfect day to surprise Jeno.

You did most of it almost automatically, like a routine. A takeout from his favorite restaurant in one hand and a bag filled with your clothes and skincare products in the other; everything needed for a sleepover.

After three years of calling yourself boyfriend and girlfriend, you were bound to have some sort of security in your relationship and maybe even further and more serious plans for the future. Jeno had suggested first to add your fingerprint to the doorlock of his apartment. You didn’t mind not having it before, but the offer made you smile. It sounded like the next, although tiny, step in your relationship.

You unlocked the door and entered quietly, hoping he wouldn’t be anywhere near the entrance. Just as you were about to put the bags down and take your shoes off, you heard two familiar male voices, but the words were more distant than ever.

“Wait, so you cheated?” Mark asked, voice cracking slightly.

The silence was excruciatingly long. Your heart froze, bruising with each second passing.

“We talked, then she kissed me.” Another pause, shorter, yet more damaging. “It was good… I felt something I never felt with her.”

Her.

He couldn’t even say your name properly.

You were a fool. A stupid, hopeless, desperate fool.

You were now just her, yet you still waited and hoped for him to reach out to you, explain himself, and apologize.

You damned yourself over and over and over again. You were the one who got hurt. Why did you want him back if he stabbed you right in the heart and twisted the knife inside?

Why did you want a cheater back?

Those words wouldn’t leave your mind even for a moment, trapping you in a self-pitying bubble that was too strong and too painful to break through.

You checked the time on your phone. It was still early afternoon, but time wanted to torture you, slowing down and rolling at its own distorted pace to make sure you took a hit with every thought that crossed your mind. Your phone was dry. The only notifications were a daily reminder from a mobile game you haven’t played for a good week and a text from Jaemin you were not ready to deal with yet. Swiping your fingers on both, your eyes clung to the lockscreen for a moment. Just yesterday you would smile looking at it; you and Jeno, beaming to the camera in a cat cafe. He was always so sweet, then he decided to ruin you in the worst way possible. You opened settings, quickly changing the photo to something that would sting your soul a little less. Now it was an old photo of your family dog that never liked you that much to begin with, but dislike was still better than betrayal.

The doorbell sound rang in your ears, forcing you to get up from your bed. You dragged your feet on the cold floor and made your way to the door. Your hand reached for the handle, opening it slowly, not expecting anyone. The sight knocked you down more than any bullet ever could.

Na Jaemin with a firm frown and behind him, the reason for it all.

Lee Jeno.

You wondered if this was how you’d looked like when you’d found out. Eyes glued to the floor, hunched back, arms limp, head down… Did you also look so lost, like the ground was sweeping from under your feet brutally slowly, letting you fall and bruise your body, letting your body take the damage for your mind? Did you also crumble to the ground, looking for any steady thing to hold onto, because hope wasn’t one of those things anymore?

You’d thought you would feel if you saw him. You imagined yourself over a hundred times screaming your lungs out at him, ripping the skin away from his bones, ending his world just like he ended yours.

You should’ve been mad. You should’ve grabbed him by his hoodie and torn him apart to pieces. You should’ve made his heart bleed slowly and painfully, blood dripping on the floor one by one, drip, drip, drip until he was drowning in it. You should’ve ripped your throat yelling every insult you could think of into his face.

You were static. No screams, no cries, no choked-up laughs. You just looked at him, trying to meet his eyes for once. You wanted to get into his arms, cry into his chest, silently blame him for all the pain he had caused. You wanted to understand, but you have never wanted his pain. You have never wanted him to be the same wreck you were now, because nothing hurt more than seeing someone you love being hurt.

“I’m sorry for bringing him,” Jaemin glared at his friend, “but I think he needs to explain himself. It’s better for both of you if you do it immediately.”

Jaemin bowed his head to you, eyes softening in a mix of pity and compassion when he looked at you. He didn’t say anything more, opting to leave you both alone with no choice but to face the inevitable.

“I’m sor-”

“Take your things please.”

Serenity was the look on his face when his eyes met yours. It was clear, clearer than the day you’d found out, that he already knew and expected.

“You won’t even let me explain?”

“Get inside and take your things.”

You didn’t want to let him talk. If you did, your mind would listen to your heart and you would let him stay a little longer.

You watched him get past you into your apartment, muscle memory leading him to your bedroom. You followed him, but stayed at the door. He was quick to start shuffling around your room, taking any belongings of his he could see.

Jeno had always been careful. Those little details you forgot about, like leaving your jewelry in your bathroom after showering or losing your phone somewhere in the sheets every time the alarm went off, Jeno had never missed out on. He almost knew you better than you knew yourself. He knew how to wound you and he still did it, even adding salt to it, making sure the suffering was obvious.

You watched him throw his clothes into the bag he’d once left at your place, arms crossed and a sour frown on your dried face. His back was facing you, thankfully, because you wouldn’t be able to say the things you wanted to his face without shattering your soul entirely.

“I thought I knew you,” you started. Jeno halted his movements, but didn’t turn around, “I thought you were…” the one? No. You wouldn’t say it to him now, he didn’t deserve to know. Choking the tears inside, you continued, fists turning into stone, knuckles white, hiccups turning into venom on your tongue, “You were so casual saying it… You don’t even regret it, do you? You don’t fucking care. You never did.”

Jeno’s voice was hoarse, barely audible even in the uncomfortable silence. “I did.”

A scoff and a single laughter. “No. If you did, you would think about me at that moment. You would think about hurting me, you would care about me, but you didn’t. You don’t care… You know what? Nevermind. Leave, Jaemin will take your shit.”

The bag dropped on the floor with a thud. No words were said anymore, nothing needed to be said; it was over. You met Jeno’s eyes for the last time, stone cold, as if you were a burden or a meaningless obstacle on his way. His shoulder was harsh when he bumped into you, and for a short moment when he’d reached for the door, you hoped.

Maybe a simple sorry would do, maybe it would only crush you more. You wouldn’t know, you let his actions speak instead of words.

The door slam was your goodbye.

Tears flooded your already swollen face, your whole body shaking uncontrollably, sinking into the floor. At that moment, a memory echoed in your mind. A piece of conversation with Jeno you would’ve never thought about, but now, when it was all you could hear, a bitter smile barely creeping up to your face, realizing you always knew.

“When will you leave me?”

“I won’t, baby.”

“Don’t lie, everybody leaves. Some just do it later than others.”

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huenyang · 1 month

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pairing: kang taehyun x gn reader / genre: fluff, meet-cute, college au / word count: 1.8k / notes: yet again we are in self-indulgence city smiles

summary: the headache that was previously a nuisance leads you into forming a new friendship - or something more, even.

You don’t remember how long you’ve been laying on the floor of your dark room for. You can’t bring yourself to care, either, thankful that at least like this, your day-long migraine is finally starting to die down.

As your head starts to hurt less and less, your thoughts come easier and easier. Finally, you can think back on the day and try to rationalize how you’re going to make up for an entire day of lost classes.

Fuck. You really didn’t want to think about that, though.

It’s not like you were a stickler for school, but you still preferred to keep your grades up like any normal person. You were in college for a reason, and as much as you weren’t going to destroy yourself studying, you’d like to have good grades, at the very least.

Usually, a single day of missing classes wouldn’t be too bad, but you had already missed quite a few other days, and the work was starting to pile up.

The white ceiling seems to mockingly stare back at you as you run back your day, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to remember any important details or things you should make a note of.

There’s probably not that much I’ve missed today.

Just as you conclude today wouldn’t make much of a difference on your already big pile of missed work, your phone dings repeatedly from across the room, the screen lighting up and begging for your attention in the darkness.

With a groan, you lift yourself off the floor and towards the noisy beast that was your phone. The brightness almost blinds you in contrast with the rest of the room, and you curse yourself for not turning it down before. But most importantly, the reason your phone lit up in the first place: a message.

And the one part of your day you’d mostly forgotten about.

From: Taehyun hey! this is taehyun from class earlier you gave me your number for the project but i didn’t want to message you right away no pressure to respond tho i hope your head feels better

The message’s contents threaten to make your headache come back, but you can’t bring yourself to feel upset. Taehyun had approached you, in your headache-induced misery, and offered to do a group assignment with you so you didn’t go grade-less.

A sweet action, but you can’t help but want to kick your past self in the shin. You had kind of hoped nobody would have to interact with you while you were in that state.

You barely knew him, really. Had heard his name here and there; smart guy with good grades, gym rat, campus heartthrob, even.

Taehyun was known for hanging out with a pretty interesting group. People who talked to him and his friends would often say they had no idea how all five of them even got along, with how different they were. Individually, they all seemed like stark opposites, but if you saw them together you would, without a shadow of a doubt, understand they were close.

Friends aside, people knew Taehyun as a smart guy who always seemed eager to learn no matter the subject. It was no secret that his grades were pretty high most of the time, or at least that’s what the rumors that traveled north to south told you.

So, if anything, at least you’d ended up with someone who knew what he was doing for this.

The next time you meet with him, it’s at the library. You had planned to meet up and start working on the project a couple of days later, the library being the natural first choice.

Your palms feel slightly clammy, still, though. You had never properly talked to this man, and if it weren’t for the unfortunate timing of your headache, you probably wouldn’t ever have. You just weren’t really the kind of person to talk to strangers so freely, much less someone with a reputation already above their head.

To add to all of it, you end up being late. A mixture of exhaustion and staying up late makes you oversleep past your alarm, and consequently, not be as punctual as you had hoped.

Blame it on your own brain, but It’s hard not to see him when you arrive at the library.

In fact, he looks like he fits perfectly around his surroundings. The hood of his jacket is pulled up over his head, the glasses on his nose reflecting his phone screen at you. You’d say he almost looks like a cliche straight out of a y/n story, the rows upon rows of books that stretch around him acting like the claws of a storybook trapping its main character inside it’s story.

But even from this distance, you can finally understand why people say what they say about him.

Taehyun is, indeed, insanely handsome. It’s a little strange, even, the way he fits into the descriptors of smart, handsome, with eyes that reflect the glow of the world itself — like someone had taken his very essence and put it into a couple of words.

Obviously, you know that those words are not nearly enough to describe anyone — much less him. But you allow yourself to live your fantasy, even if for just a second.

Unfortunately, you’re not here to drift off into daydream.

Swallowing your heart that threatens to beat right out of your throat, you walk towards him, the sound of your shoes against the faux wood flooring too loud in your ears.

“Hey,” he greets easily, putting his phone away as he sees you approach. “how do you feel?”

You kind of want to grimace and scream and sink into the floor all at once. You’ve been here for a total of five whole seconds, and even though this is basic decency, the nice words coming out of Taehyun’s lips entangle themselves around your heart and squeeze it like an old sponge.

“Better now.” You nod, sitting down next to him and pulling your laptop into the table. “Sorry for being late, I uh… Woke up, late.”

Taehyun offers you a smile. A small one, but you still feel like it could brighten up the whole world if he wanted it to. He waves your concern off, saying it’s no big deal, and that it happens.

The shift from small, awkward talk into schoolwork is quick. That’s what you’re here to do. But as time goes on, you find that Taehyun is easy to talk to. His voice smooth as he explains a bit you didn’t quite understand, smile infectious as he cracks a bad joke that has you mirroring his happiness with your own.

By the time you decide to call it quits for the day, you’ve made a lot more progress than you thought you would. It’s also been a few hours longer than you thought it’d been, being so engrossed in your work and work partner.

You shut your laptop with a deep sigh. Next to you, Taehyun leans back on his chair and stretches his arms behind his head, making a noise that you frankly can’t describe as anything but a cat trill.

A noise that makes you feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach. Like cupid has completely missed his target and instead used boxing gloves to deliver his curse.

“Jesus…” He exhales, relaxing and letting his arms fall to his sides. “That was good. I didn’t expect to get this much done.”

“Yeah, we really did a lot.” You hum in agreement. “That’s all thanks to you though, I can’t believe you understood half of that! I swear, that professor only knows how to explain things one way.”

He turns his head, bashfully, at that. “It’s nothing. I’m happy to help, either way! And it’s not like you’re stupid, either. You helped me with the parts I didn’t fully understand.”

“No, but really! You’re really smart, I can’t believe you didn’t just — I don’t know, get excused to just do this by yourself! You’d be perfectly fine!”

Maybe your voice came out a little louder than you intended it to, because from the corner of your eye you can see people nearby turn their heads toward you. Some of them scoff or roll their eyes slightly, and you make a face. Oops.

If Taehyun notices, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his full attention seems focused solely on you. Like you’re the only person in the room right now, like you’re not in a public library, surrounded by students cramming for their exams and pretending to work on their own projects.

It’s gone as quick as it appears, however, because he grins so big his eyes smile too, replacing that look of pure devotion with unbridled joy.

You feel insane, maybe. The screws in your head are falling out as we speak, kind of crazy.

This is absolutely ridiculous, the way this man has you feeling like you could outrun an olympic track runner. Everything he does kind of makes you want to sink into the floor and also maybe give him a kiss. Just maybe. A little bit.

God, this is hopeless. I’m hopeless.

While your brain is busy with your own situation, you don’t notice how Taehyun’s ears seem to be just a shade redder than they had been before. How he seems to divert his gaze ever so slightly. How his smile dips into something a touch too affectionate.

He chuckles, breaking you out of your stupor.

“Okay, okay.” Is his answer, if anything, just to get you to stop talking like that about him. “I’ll accept it, but on one condition.”

Oh? Curiosity ignites in you, anticipation and nervousness mixing into a concoction that laps at your feet like a treacherous ocean’s waves.

Nothing could have prepared you for his next words. Somewhere in the back of your head, the little voice in your brain high fives itself, but the normal part of your consciousness feels the anxiety gathering in your hands in the form of sudden, excessive sweating.

“Let’s meet up again,” he breathes, and you can almost hear the tremble in his voice. “Not for school. As friends.”

It feels like your soul has left your body entirely. Like you’ve been physically and mentally cut out from reality in a pathetic puff of smoke. He cannot be serious. This is not real.

“Um.” Great start, idiot. “I… I mean, okay.” Despite how terribly your sentence comes out, Taehyun smiles. That smile of his that has been plaguing you all day, beaming so bright it could permanently erase every shadow from the world.

You’re no stranger to the tiredness that weighs down your bones and glues your eyelids shut for a second too long when you blink. No stranger to the faint headache that you drown out with over the counter medicine as you make your way to class.

But when it comes to Taehyun, you feel as if you could get through anything.

#txt x reader #txt fluff #txt imagines #taehyun x reader #taehyun x gn reader #taehyun soft hours #taehyun soft thoughts #taehyun fluff #writing tag

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sequinsmile-x · 8 months

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Friendly Fire

Emily thinks someone has broken into her apartment, but it's just her boyfriend coming over to surprise her.

Too bad she only figures that out after she's punched him in the face.

-x-

Hi friends!

This is a little silly, hopefully a little funny and a lot fluffy. The perfect combination for a Monday evening.

I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: Some curse words, mentions of blood

Words: 2.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily groans as she checks the alarm clock on her nightstand, blowing out a breath as she registers the time.

11 pm.

She knew in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t late, not really, but the team had just got home from almost a week long case and she was exhausted. She’d got home, showered, slipped on one of Aaron’s shirts and crawled into bed. That had been almost two hours ago and she still hadn’t slept a wink. Her exhaustion made her body heavy, her limbs feeling like they were made of lead, holding her down to the mattress as she stared at the ceiling, her brain not shutting off, not letting her relax, even though she’d fought sleep on the jet home.

Ever since Ian had torn through her life, ripping away any sense of home, of comfort, that she’d build herself she’d struggled to sleep. In Paris it had been easy at first, the painkillers she was on enough to lull her into a dreamless sleep. Then she didn’t need to take them any more and the night became longer, stretching out ahead of her until dawn would work its way through the cracks in her blinds, signalling the start of another day of her solitude.

The inability to sleep properly had followed her home, chasing at her heels as she settled into a new apartment, desperately trying to fit back into a life that no longer felt like hers.

It was only when she started dating Aaron, when she’d snuggle up next to him in her bed or his, she’d be able to sleep soundly. Comforted by his embrace and the safety that followed him like a cologne, warm and settling over her whenever he was nearby. In the few months they’d been together they’d rarely had a night apart, falling into a relationship neither of them knew they’d been looking for.

This was one of the rare nights they’d gone home separately. He’d been pulled into a meeting when they landed, and then had to go pick up Jack, and he’d clearly seen how tired she was. He’d smiled as he kissed her forehead and sent her home, saying he’d see her tomorrow.

And now she couldn’t sleep.

She sighs as she gives up, and yawns as she stands up, stretching her arms over her head, the material of his shirt skimming the very top of her thighs as she does so. She rolls her neck as she walks towards her bedroom door, determined to get a snack and then bring it back to bed.

She’s only just in the hallway when she hears it.

Footsteps deep in her apartment that make her freeze on the spot, brief panic capturing her breath in her chest. She shakes it off, her training kicking in and taking over. She steps into the hall, wincing as she accidentally steps on a creaky floorboard, still not entirely used to all the noises and intricacies of her relatively new apartment. None of the lights were on, the apartment bathed in darkness, and she knew she could use that to her advantage.

She presses herself up against the wall, making herself as small as possible as she edges towards the living room where she can hear the noise coming from. She curses herself for putting her gun away, the safe in her home office, on the other side of the person in her living room, and she blows out a breath. Centering herself for a moment, worse-case scenarios taking over for a second, and she wonders if she’d actually fallen asleep. If she was caught in one of her nightmares where Ian wasn’t dead, when he still lived in the shadows of her life. Waiting for her in every corner.

The footsteps get louder, walking towards her, and she gives it a second, keeping herself hidden until the last possible moment. She steps out, her hand forming into a fist as she punches out, hitting her would-be home invader squared in the nose.

“Fuck.”

Her eyes go wide at the familiar voice and she curses under her breath, reaching for the light switch on the wall next to her, gasping as she switches it on.

“Aaron?”

He looks up at her, his hand cupping his nose, blood trickling through his fingers, “Hi, Em.”

“Oh my god,” she exclaims, leading him towards the kitchen, helping him lean over the sink as she pinches the bridge of his nose, reaching for paper towels with the other hand to try and wipe away some of the blood to access the damage, “I’m so so sorry, honey.”

He groans, clearly trying to pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did, “It’s okay,” he says, clearing his throat, grimacing at the taste of blood that had worked its way into his mouth, “I should have called first.”

She smiles as she pulls away the paper towel to get a better look at his nose, grimacing at the sight of it, “I think it’s broken,” she says, “I thought someone had broken in…I wasn’t expecting you-”

She apologises again as he hisses when she touches his skin, the pain radiating outwards from his nose across his face, “Jack was asleep by the time I got out of work and I didn’t want to wake him,” he explains, “I thought I’d come here. I know you sleep better if I’m here with you.”

Emily groans, somehow feeling worse something that she hadn’t thought was possible even just a few seconds ago and she cups his cheek as she wipes under his nose again, the blood immediately replaced. “Please stop being the best boyfriend ever for a second, it’s making me feel even worse for breaking your nose.”

“Sorry sweetheart,” he replies, smiling, and immediately wincing at the pull of it, when she glares at him, “Sorry.”

She shakes her head and removes the paper towel, grimacing and disposing of it on the pile of used ones next to them, “The bleeding isn’t stopping at all, I think I’m going to have to take you to the hospital,” she guides his hand to hold the paper towel there herself as she searches for her keys, remembering vaguely that she’d dumped them in the kitchen when she got home earlier.

“Em-”

“You’re not arguing with me on this,” she says, not looking at him, still looking for her keys, “You’re bleeding and you need to get looked at.”

“Not that,” he says, raising his eyebrows as she looks at him, his eyes flicking down to her legs, “You’re not wearing pants.”

She looks down and sighs at the sight of her bare legs sticking out from below the shirt she’d stolen from him. “Right,” she says, clearing her throat as she looks back up at him, “Pants. Then hospital.”

___

“They are taking forever,” she says, popping her head around the curtain that separated their cubicle from the next.

“Em, it’s fine,” Aaron replies, his voice slightly muffled by the ice pack he was holding to his face. He reaches his spare hand out to her and beckons her over. She huffs out a breath and walks over, linking their fingers together as she sits on the edge of his bed, “They probably have bigger cases to deal with.”

She hums, not sure what would be more important than her boyfriend’s broken nose, his pain and discomfort removing all sense from her brain. Especially since she’d been the one to cause it. She looks at him and she places her hand over his one the icepack.

“Here, let me do that,” she says, smiling as he lets his hand drop away from it. She chews on her lower lip at the sight of the bruising that was already appearing under his eyes, something she knew would be much worse by morning, “Honey-”

“You don’t have to keep apologising you know,” he says, squeezing the hand that was wrapped around his, “I know you didn’t mean to do it.”

“I do have to keep apologising,” she insists, “I broke your nose.”

“By accident,” he replies, and she sighs, closing her eyes as she shakes her head. He runs his thumb back and forth on the heel of her hand, trying to rub comfort into her skin, “Sweetheart, one day we’ll laugh about this.”

She looks at him and raises her eyebrow, “Really?”

“Well, maybe once the swelling has gone down,” he clarifies, pleased when he drags a smile out of her, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

She sighs, his apology feeling misplaced, “You-”

“You thought I was Ian didn’t you?”

She stares at him for a moment and she considers lying. The words caught in her chest, ready to break free, an old coping habit she couldn’t always stop. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to him, not when he’d asked so tenderly, when he was looking at her so lovingly even though she’d hit him when defending herself from a phantom that hadn’t been there.

“Yes,” she admits, her cheeks burning with embarrassment she hates, “I did,” she looks down at their joint hands, loving how their fingers fit together so perfectly. If she believed in soul mates, if she truly thought that there was one person out there for everyone, she’d know he was hers, “I know it’s stupid-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, cutting over her, encouraging her to move the ice pack away so they can look at each other properly. He sees how her eyes flash with sadness at the sight of his nose, and he can only imagine what he looks like, “I still sometimes think of Foyet when I hear a noise I can’t place,” he tucks her hair behind her ear, “These things take time.”

She nods, turning her face to kiss his palm, “Okay,” she says, kissing his palm again, “I’m not going to stop apologising any time soon though, okay?”

Aaron chuckles and he nods, “Sure, sweetheart. But just know I forgive you.”

She smiles, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead, “That’s a shame,” she says as she pulls back, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, “I was going to say this puts me in some serious blow job arrears.”

There’s a beat of silence and he clears his throat, “Okay, maybe I haven’t completely forgiven you.”

She laughs, but her response is cut off by a doctor clearing his throat, the expression on his face when they both turn to look at him letting them know just how much of their conversation he’d heard.

___

“Are you sure you don’t need any painkillers?”

Aaron smiles at her and shakes his head, “Sweetheart, I’m fine,” he says, “Now get into bed, it’s late,” he looks at the alarm clock and grimaces, 4 am blinking back at him, “Or early I guess.”

She sighs and takes off her pants, crawling into bed next to him, resting her head on his chest, and smiling as he wraps his arms around her. She tilts her head to kiss his jaw and then settles back down.

“I never said thank you for coming over,” she says, running her hand up and down his t-shirt covered chest, “It’s really sweet.”

“I sleep better when I’m with you too,” he replies, running his fingers through her hair, “Although, I think the broken nose might make even that tricky for a week or two.”

She looks up at him, her glare obvious even in the dark of her bedroom, “Not funny yet,” she says, and he nods, pulling her in for a kiss, wincing as he pulls back and she pouts slightly, “I’m going to miss the kissing.”

He frowns, “Why is the kissing going anywhere?”

She rolls her eyes, “It clearly hurts you-”

He cuts her off as he pulls her in for another kiss, barely covering a wince as it ends, “Worth it.”

She shakes her head at him, “You’re ridiculous,” she says, smiling as she pushes her fingers through his hair, “I love you.”

Aaron smiles, “I love you too,” he replies, and she settles back onto his chest, “You know what would stop this from happening again?” He asks, running his fingers through her hair.

“You calling when you’re on your way?”

He chuckles, “Well that,” he says, taking a deep breath before he carries on, unexpected nerves filling his chest, “Or, we could move in together. Then you’d always be expecting me.”

She hides a smile in his chest before she looks up at him, her chin resting on his shoulder, “I’d like that,” she says, kissing him gently, a delicate thing against his bottom lip, “I’d love that.”

“Me too,” he replies. She settles back down on his chest, curling herself around him like a vine, sighing contentedly, feeling the sleep that had eluded her all night finally settling over her. “I’m not sure how we’ll convince the others you didn’t punch me because I asked you to move in with me.”

“Aaron.”

-x-

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mylifeisactuallyamess · 13 days

Text

Sanctuary part 2

Chapter 2: Tantiss

A/N: Hey! Welcome to Stitch’s first chapter.

Warnings: 18+ Hemlock is a warning on his own, mentions of torture, anxiety, fear, canon violence.

Word Count: 1.6k+

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Masterlist

“Where is the specimen now?”

“On her way to Tantiss.”

“She should be heading to Mustafar,” a dark voice threatened.

“She has had no training.” A man’s voice slithered through the dark, drawing you closer.

“It does not matter.” The deep foreboding voice responded, automated and emotionless, giving you the impression of an endless pit of despair. The words were blank, hiding an ocean in pain and suffering waiting to be unleashed. “She would comply.”

“That may be, My Lord,” the first voice said calmly. “But she is an adult, I believe we could put her to better use.”

“How so, Doctor?” The shifting black around you shuddered and you were drawn even closer to the shadows that moved and twisted. They wound around your wrists, whispering and plotting, echoing the sound of the voice you had heard before. The one that ordered the death of all clones.

The Emperor.

“She could be a valuable asset in the project.” A pregnant pause had you trying to gulp down a breath, but there was no air in the void. The shadows tightened their grip, ignoring the way you thrashed and pushed against them.

“You believe she will give the desired results?” The Emperor asked, curiosity leeching into his words.

“I believe she will, or she will draw the answer to us. One of my staff has not been very forthcoming, I am hoping to change that.”

“Hmmm,” the Emperor hummed in contemplation and you got the impression of him moving around a room. A large, tall shadow stood off to the side and a man had his back to you. No matter how hard you squinted, no colours came through, barely any light, just the pulse of something dark and vile. “You have a year,” the Emperor said, with a glance at his taller companion. “If she does not yield results, I will have no choice but to hand her over to Lord Vader.”

“Of course,” the Doctor gave a small bow from his waist. “If she does not give results, I shall deliver her personally to Mustafar, My Lord.”

“I want her whole,” Vader intoned. “And undamaged. If anyone is going to break her, it shall be me.”

The Emperor chuckled, a deep evil sound that made you want to clap a hand over your ears. “You are dismissed, Doctor.”

The shadowy shapes dissolved before your eyes, collapsing like a black hole as your soundless scream tried to break free.

3 days after.

You came too slowly. The surroundings were blinding compared to the darkness you’d been swilling in for however long. Shades of grey and white were hard to focus on as you blinked, desperate to try and find out where you were, when the bench you lay on vibrated. The ship engines gave a deep rumble and you felt the landing gear take its weight.

“Get up,” a voice said. Echoes of automated voices clanged in your mind distracting you from the order you’d been given. “I said…” hands wrapped around your upper arms, hauling you upright. Your legs couldn’t take your weight and you slumped, using the trooper to lean on.

“How much did they give her?” Another voice asked, a second trooper taking your other side. Their grips were strong and sturdy, if you could feel your extremities properly you’d say they were bruising you.

“Better this, than her hissing like a nexu,” the first trooper replied as the ramp opened up. “Apparently she gave the Bounty Hunter some trouble.” Light flooded the compartment, hurting your eyes and you tried to walk with them as they began to lead you down. The clunk of your feet on the ramp told you, they were still numb and unresponsive. You desperately tried to get some sensation back into them.

An aggressive “stand up,” was growled your way and a jarring sensation passed through your body but you were concentrating on getting your eyes to work.

The hangar was huge, full of storage boxes that housed freshly delivered supplies and marching troopers with blue visors. They glowed eerily in your fuzzy vision, the shape of them vaguely familiar.

Except there was something else…evasive but dangerous, it made your insides quiver as it stalked closer. Closing your eyes, you attempted to concentrate, to register the intense inky blackness that brushed up against your senses like an eclipsing smoke, drifting through your grip.

“So this is her. Finally.” Your eyes snapped open and focussed quicker. A man came to a stop before you, flanked by more troopers with the bulky armour. He spoke the last word as a sigh, like he’d been searching the entire galaxy for you and it was his most arduous task. You’d heard his voice before.

“Where am I?” You managed to slur out, your tongue and lips feeling rubbery from being stunned too much.

“This, is Tantiss,” the man replied with a quiet reverence. “I am Doctor Hemlock.” He made a motion with his hand and the bulky troopers stepped up to take the others places, they handed you over willingly.

“Why am I here?”

“All in good time,” the Doctor told you. His crystalline blue eyes — as cold as chips of ice — demanded your attention, but thankfully you couldn’t concentrate on them. Just as well, they weren’t soft and brown and belonging to a certain man. Sadness welled up in your chest, remembering the Imperials now had you firmly in their grasp. The Imperials that had wiped most force users from the galaxy in a single move.

Anxiety trickled through your body, forcing feeling with blood flow and your skin pricked with pins and needles. You were steered forcefully through some doors, their mechanisms always activated by someone else and your heart thudded frantically in your chest. The deeper you went, the less likely you were to escape.

You tried to grab the elusive threads, the ones that linked you to everything around you, the ones that pulled just beyond your fingertips as they flexed. Fear built in blocks, filling you with dread and it made your heels dig into the floor. Not that the troopers noticed. You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t let them take you further into this place.

“No!” A sudden movement from you took one of them by surprise and his grip loosened. You managed to spin out of the other troopers grip, ducking as the second swung at you from behind. Using your shoulder, you barrelled into the trooper, making him back up a step and it was just enough time to drag your tired and half numb body into the first step of a run. You’d run right off the edge of the hangar if you needed too.

A second step made your heart pulse loudly, drawing a sharp breath into your lungs. All you could see was the drop, the expanse of blue and grey sky filled your vision. If this was your end, you’d were going to take it. Hope of succeeding grew and you were completely unprepared for the butt of a blaster connecting violently with the back of your head, buckling your legs and throwing you to the ground.

The world splinted with your vision, pain radiated down your arms, your bound wrists pulled tightly in the restraints. You attempted to crawl away but the trooper that stunned you, stepped over your body, hefting you up by your collar between his legs and spinning you round to face an impassive Hemlock.

“Stay down. If you know what’s good for you.” Your eyes widened at the sound of his voice, misplaced trust wanted to bloom and you twisted to get a look at the clone behind you. His armour was painted in yellow and grey, his blue visor blank and unfeeling as it stared at you.

Grey and yellow armour…you were too tired, too worn out, too scared to think clearly as his presence seeped into you. Definitely a clone — a commando — one you felt you knew.

“Such a show of strength.” The Doctor’s voice was like crushed velvet, brushing delicately along your ears: soft and comforting yet it made you flinch. But you stilled, like trapped prey, eyeing him apprehensively when he approached. He had one gloved hand, massaging it with the other as he glared down at trapped between the clones armoured legs.

“I have been waiting a long time for someone of your…abilities.” As he spoke, his icy gaze swept up and down your quivering body. “Such a shame you had to be brought in this way. The Bounty Hunter is effective, if indelicate.” He sighed quietly, his eyes narrowed and became glacial as he leaned forward. You wanted to recoil, everything in your body tensed in disgust as Hemlock cocked a finger under your chin, his thumb holding you steady, giving you no choice but to magnetise to his cold glare. The feel of his skin on yours had you screaming internally, desperate to snatch away because you couldn’t take the heaviness of his presence in your mind. He felt like oil, slick and oozing with an evil that stole your breath.

“I hope you and I, can finally bring the Emperor’s idea into fruition.” You swallowed. He made you want to scream and run in the other direction. All your senses were crying out to move away from him. His voice got under your skin, slithering like poison in your veins. He was dangerous, the sickness in your stomach churned with every motion he made.

After what felt like hours, he gave the smallest self-satisfied smile, gently tapping his thumb on your chin before straightening and adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “Behave, and I shall see that you are comfortable, Miss Fett.”

You offered no more resistance when the commando lifted you off the floor. The Doctor’s words had floored you mentally, killing whatever spirit you had been holding onto. He knew who had raised you. What else did he know about you? More doors were opened and the outside world disappeared completely as you went deeper and deeper into the facility.

The faint kernel of hope shrivelled to nothing in your chest.

#the bad batch #sanctuary #tech the bad batch #tech x reader #tech x f!reader #tech x you #tech tbb #star wars #tbb tech #crosshair

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mlmxreader · 1 year

Text

Aching For You | John Price x m!reader

anonymous asked: Can I request Price with “Just remember it’s for love”?

summary: Price comes home from deployment, and finally managed to pull you out of your own feelings.

tws: the word fag is used in the context of British slang, swearing

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Shadows danced so sweetly across the windowsill, the moon so bright and so full that it looked like it had been ripped out of a film, the sound of foxes and badgers wandering around outside and calling their young filled the air; but the night wasn't all that great. It was lonely, incredibly lonely; to be alone on such a night, was little more than a punishment if anything.

A wolf without its pack, isolated and doomed from the beginning; a pack would always survive, but a lone wolf? Such a beast would surely perish in the cold, shivering and wishing that it had never been left alone to begin with. Such a beast would never survive.

Sometimes, you wondered if he would return; if he would come back at all, or if the only thing you would ever be given was a fucking letter and his tags. The thought often made your stomach churn, a bitter burn settling in your throat when you cleared your throat.

You knew it could happen, knew it came with the territory of loving someone like him, but you were also aware that his work was secretive, and he could walk through the door at any given second.

You didn't want to be alone anymore, the rare visits from Horangi, König and Sebastian weren't enough; they never stayed for long enough to make a difference, to even put a dent in the abysmal loneliness you were going through.

You had waited for him to come back for months, eagerly waiting by the windowsill whenever you heard a car go past - but it was never him, and it was starting to eat away at your organs. Tearing them apart with jagged teeth that scraped your bones and made sharp pains shoot through you.

Even with the heating on, the bed was always so, so cold and felt far too big for just you; you weren't sure when you had last slept. Without him there, it was impossible; worrying that he wouldn't make it back, needing to be near the phone at all times just in case someone called and told you that, actually, he wouldn't be coming home - that he had been shot, stabbed, caught in an explosion, any manner of things.

You didn't want to feel lonely anymore, that much you were sure of.

It was getting late, nearing three o'clock in the morning, when you heard a car stop outside; you forced yourself to move over to the windowsill from the sofa, holding the blinds open so that you could see through the gaps properly. You watched, hardly a speck of hope left to you, as someone got out of the car; you couldn't see them properly in the dull light, couldn't make out who it was.

Maybe Sebastian. Maybe Soap. Maybe Horangi. Perhaps even Ghost, Gaz, or Alejandro.

You slumped down a little, resting your arm on the windowsill and propping your chin on it, a heavy sigh coming from the back of your throat that turned to a grumble; you watched carefully as the shadow drew closer to the house. If it was any of your friends, or any of Price's men or colleagues, they would have rung the doorbell.

But the shadow didn't.

Instead, the door opened, and a hefty duffel bag was chucked inside, a heavy thud echoing through and bouncing off of the walls as the silence grew thicker; you heard shuffling, something being placed on the coat rack and the squeak of leather against itself, before the shadow finally stepped inside.

"For fuck's sake, they couldn't even drop me off at Tesco," a thick Scouse accent, so familiar and so comforting, cut through everything, "and here I was hoping to get a pack of fags."

You sighed with relief, looking up and daring to smile. "You're home."

Price turned to you, smiling as he nodded. "Yeah, I'm home... you been alright?"

You shrugged, getting up and heading to the kitchen; you flicked the kettle on, turned the speaker on, and finally fully relaxed when you heard 'Poison' by Powerwolf. Price wasn't far behind, shoving the duffel bag aside with his shoe before he caught up to you; he leaned against the counter and lit up a cigarette from your packet.

"I've been... shit," you admitted, shaking your head and busying yourself with getting two mugs down. "You alright?"

Price watched you carefully, knowing what was going on every time he left, he wasn't stupid; maybe he was stupid for supporting Liverpool football team, but he wasn't stupid otherwise. He didn't want to push the subject, though, so he simply took a drag from his cigarette and grumbled quietly under his breath.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Gotta nip up the garage later to get fags, though, fucking Gaz nicked my last one."

"You can have mine," you told him.

"Nah, it's alright," he shook his head, watching the kettle start to stream steam from its spout. "Besides, you're my husband - it should be me buyin' 'em for you."

You wanted to laugh, remembering all the times that he had bought you something and you had gone out and gotten something for him in return; it was more than commonplace. But there was more to it than that, as although you weren't about to admit to it, you were glad to be in his company again; you were glad that you weren't lonely anymore. You never wanted to be without him if you could help it. You wanted to laugh, but you bit it back when the kettle finished boiling, pouring two cups of coffee.

Black, no sugar, always his favourite. Two teaspoons of coffee just so it was that bit stronger. Even when you had your own, you still stole a few swigs from his, and Price never stopped joking that whenever he was at home, he always ended up drinking only half a cup of coffee; you had missed those things most of all.

The stupid jokes. The stealing of food and drinks that you branded as sharing. Cuddling on the sofa and falling asleep together, always woken up for a moment when he started to snore. Despising the way that he would leave his dirty clothes on the floor yet never wanting him to stop. Hating the fact that he always went too far with his teasing and made you cry with laughter until your sides hurt and you were gasping for air. You missed those things above all else, and it was painfully obvious every time he came back.

"I wouldn't worry about it," you hummed as you handed the mug to him, fingers ghosting. "Just remember it's for love."

Price scoffed, unable to stop himself, he put his cigarette out in the ashtray and grabbed your shirt, pulling you close, crushing you against his side as he grinned. "It's for love, is it?"

"Yeah," you smiled at him, nearly grinning. "Always is."

He wanted to roll his eyes, but decided against it as he gently kissed you. "Idiot."

You had to bite back another laugh. "Only a fool could love an idiot."

"Shut your trap," he chuckled. "I missed you, y'know."

You nodded, knowing that he probably went through the same loneliness when he was deployed; an itchy feeling in your throat that maybe he had been feeling exactly the same the entire time. Loneliness that could never be satisfied, a constant ache in the bottom of the stomach.

"I know, I missed you, too."

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booleanean · 7 months

Text

[Author's note] The non-consent vibes in this one are strong. If issues of consent are a trigger for you, please skip this one.

The main character consents to the sexual acts, and enjoys them once it's clear she's not going to die, but also has no choice in this scenario. The antagonist has no control over himself through magical means. This is NOT meant to excuse or justify what he is doing, or intended to be applicable to any real life scenario. There's a discussion about consent at the end, which includes what would be some real fucking hot takes in our universe. I feel like they fit the story, with the involvement of magic and magical personality suppression, but such things do not exist IRL.

Day 10 - Werewolves - Enemies to Lovers

Each breath Caterina took felt like it ripped something out of her throat. Every muscle in her body burned, each step sending fresh spikes of agony up her shins. Her sides felt like she'd been shot with an arrow. A deep and primal terror urged her to keep sprinted onwards regardless of the pain, maintaining a reckless pace through the forest. The night was only lit by the light of the full moon overhead, and deep shadows could hold rocks or fallen branches to trip her up or for her to smash her head on.

She could still hear it behind her, occasionally pausing to sniff the air, then crashing through the undergrowth as if it wasn't there. Caterina caught the occasional glimpse as she looked over her shoulder, a large black furry shape careening through the forest in hot pursuit. Her only hope was to find a cabin, something with a door she could lock and wait out the darkness.

She could hear branches snapping as the monstrous shape continued its pursuit. It growled and yipped excitedly, anxious to catch its prey and devour it. Devour her. She'd fantasized about this kind of chase, but in her imagination it ended up with the beast having its way with her, not ripping her limb from limb. The reality of being hunted by a monstrous creature with fangs that could and would rip her throat out as soon as she stumbled wasn't as enticing to say the least.

"Fuck, not that, anything but that," Caterina thought as a cloud moved in front of the moon. The light failing meant she'd be blind. The creature, clearly built to hunt at night, would be on her in seconds. Tears started flowing and she cried out in despair as she tripped in the inky blackness. Cat hit the ground hard, a fallen branch barely missing her face. She turned her head just in time to see a darker shadow separate from the deeper night, leaping towards her. She tried to scream, but didn't have the breath as she watched the shape arc through the air towards her.

It crashed into her. What she'd imagined as four hundred pounds of fur and fangs and claws felt a lot more like a particularly harry, naked man. Had the monster flung another victim at her? Why was it hunting her if it had someone else to consume?

The man grunted as he rolled off of her, then spoke, his voice raw. "You have to get away from me. The moon— it won't be gone long, and when I change back—"

The cloud in front of the moon thinned. The man growled, his voice deepening wildly then going back to its more human timbre. He howled, a bone chilling sound reaching deep into her lizard hindbrain and squeezing her heart filling her with pure, animalistic terror.

Caterina tried to push up off the ground, but couldn't move. Her arms were like jelly, her legs burned, completely useless. She couldn't even get up on hands and knees, let alone stand and run again. She clawed at the ground, but no matter how hard she willed her arms and legs to work properly, she could only shift herself a few inches.

"I can't—" she rasped between panted breaths "I can't move."

A deep sense of calm descended on her. This was it, the moment before her death. She hoped someone would think to check on her apartment before Mittens starved.

"Please, get away, I can't— I can't contro—" .

"I can't move," Caterina panted. "It's okay, I forgive you. I've led a good life, if it ends here tonight I can have peace with that."

"It— it doesn't kill. It—" he screamed, as if in agony.

The light was coming back, the moon coming out from behind the only cloud in the sky. Caterina heard the sound of dozens of bones straining and snapping as the man's form shifted.

Relief flooded her. She wasn't going to die. The endorphin rush was unbelievable, making her giddy. What was it trying to do if not kill and eat— Oh. The realization of what the werewolf was chasing her for hit her like a ton of bricks. The fantasy had been one thing, a nice distraction from real life, something to rub one out to before going to bed. Caterina hadn't ever considered being able to act it out, it wasn't that type of fantasy. She didn't even really believe in werewolves, but with one transforming right next to her the reality was hard to ignore.

The unfiltered moonlight hit the man's face, and she watched in horror as his eyes changed shape and color, reflecting the moonlight. "It'll take you, use you for its pleasure. Run! Please, run—"

With that, fur sprouted again, bones cracked and grated, fingers shifted, forming claws. The monster was back, howling at the rude interruption by its human form. The sight of it was still terrifying, but she held firm to the belief that the man had been telling the truth. The terror was pushed aside by a weird feeling of excitement and trepidation. A fantasy she had considered truly impossible, hadn't ever really even wanted to fulfill, was being thrust upon her whether she liked it or not.

In the bright light of the full moon, her eyes fully adjusted, she looked at the monster in front of her. It hesitated, expecting her to run, perhaps wanting the chase to continue. It was taller than the man had been, she thought. Her heart skipped a beat in fear as it stood up on its hind legs, towering over her.

The shape was vaguely human still, but with definite hint of wolf. The face had a snout with a vicious row of canine teeth glistening in the cold, nocturnal light. Large, pointy ears twitched, and yellow eyes reflected the moonlight back at her, seeming to glow in the darkness. A barrel chest was completely covered in thick fur. It had relatively thin arms, ending in small hands. A hint of pawpads was visible, though not as defined as on a real dog or wolf. The legs were an almost awkward combination of the human plantigrade and canine digitigrade shapes.

The hybridization of human and wolf made it look a little awkward now that her terror was subsiding. Some of the features were endearing, in a horrific kind of way. The way some spiders were cute. She felt some tentative excitement grow, which was quickly banished when the creature lunged for her, maw open wide. Humans had evolved over eons to find snapping fangs and glowing eyes terrifying at an instinctual level, and despite her previous inability to move, she managed to roll onto her stomach and crawl away a few feet before it was on her.

A clawed hand grabbed her ankle, the sharp nails digging into her skin. She screamed involuntarily, the shock of pain shaking her belief in a delirious man's words. Her hindbrain was telling her, screaming at her, that this thing was going to eat her alive, rip her guts out and spill them across the floor as she was devoured from the feet up. She tried to kick at it, but her gummy legs didn't have any force to put into the motion. Caterina had put everything into running away and there was nothing left to fight with.

Lines of fire erupted along the back of her calf as her pantleg was ripped off, the claws scoring her skin. She kicked at the werewolf again, connecting with its ribs. It grunted and growled, then pounced on her back, its front paws pressing down on her shoulders. It's jaws took her by the back of the neck, and she was sure it would rip out her spine. Instead he held its jaws there, clamped down to the edge of pain.

Caterina whimpered, laying as still as she could, still pinned down by several hundred pounds of wolf creature, her heart pounding in her chest. With a final sharp growl it released her, then took its weight off her. Her top was torn free, tearing as if it were tissue paper. The fabric dug into her skin as the werewolf tore at it, and its claws scored her skin, leaving what felt like burning red scratches. Her sports bra gave it slightly more trouble, and she yelled out in pain as it finally ripped free.

Her sweatpants were ripped off her next, the waistband requiring a quick gnaw from its razer sharp rear teeth. Her legs were parted roughly, and a cold nose was pressed against the crotch of her underpants. It inhaled deeply, pushing its nose hard against her. The pressure on its nose made it snort as it smelled her, and it made hungry whimpering noises.

Oh god, this was really happening. There was nothing she could do, no way to escape. Whether she wanted it or not, this fantasy was becoming reality. She tried to calm her racing nerves, but fear had a tight hold on her.

Caterina yelped as a sharp tooth hooked under the elastic of her underwear, then ripped the double layer of fabric clean in half. A long, hot tongue pressed against her licking the entire length of her cunt and her ass. The second lick dug deep, sliding inside of her. The heat of it was unbelievable, its body temperature much higher than her own.

Despite herself, despite the utter terror she again felt deep inside, the tongue felt amazing. She'd gotten off to this exact scenario so often in her fantasy, and now it was happening for real. A wild conflict erupted inside her. She had no choice, no way to stop this or get away, and this creature could kill her without even breaking a sweat. At the same time, the lack of control and danger of the situation were oddly arousing. She wanted to scream and fight and run and get away unmolested. She wanted her fantasy to run its course, something that had been truly unattainable until mere minutes ago.

Setting her jaw, she decided to embrace her fantasy. She tried to spread her legs a little, but one was wedged against a fallen branch, the other pushed against the creature's thigh.

"Roll me over. I'm uncomfortable, and I want to watch."

The tongue froze inside of her, then pulled out. "What?"

It's voice was rough, guttural, clearly produced by anatomy not designed for human speech.

"You heard me, you have wolf ears. I'm exhausted, my muscles don't work, and I'm lying on all kinds of uncomfortable things. Roll me over, I want to watch you eat me out."

"You —" It worked its jaw, clearly uncomfortable with speech. "— you want me to rrrroll you over?"

"If we could find somewhere more comfortable, that would be nice too, but I'd settle for not having this damn rock digging into my tits."

It was quiet for a long time, and Caterina tried to shift herself again, with a bit more luck this time. She managed to roll onto her back. The scratches on her back burned as she put her weight on them, and a different twig poked her side. Straining, she managed to shift it enough to be a little more comfortable. The creature sat back on its haunches, staring at her.

"What, you're only into this if you have an unwilling participant?"

"I— Grah, no one else was ever willing."

"And you got yours anyway? Pervert."

A low growl let her know he didn't like that comment. "I fight, try to control — grah — myself, but moon and magic and — grrrah — instinct strong. Hunt exciting."

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"No!" The answer was immediate and vehement. "Human form eats a lot of food before the moon, very full."

Caterina grinned. There was a mischievous look about him, almost as if he was joking.

"Was that a joke?"

"He does eat a lot, grr, but even then I would not eat you. Deer are food, or rabbits. Humans are not."

"So do you need me to struggle to get off or—?"

Before she finished her sentence, his head was buried between her legs again. His eyes still glowed in the pale moonlight, but he looked straight at her now. His massive tongue undulated against her, covering most of her cunt all the way up to her clit.

"Oh fuck," she moaned softly.

She reached down and stroked the fur on his head. It was soft, especially around the ears, and he grunted pleasurably as she ran her fingers through it.

"My name is Caterina," she said, not expecting a response.

He pulled away from her. "I have no name, Caterina. The human is called Luca."

She heard the pause between the two sentences, felt his hesitancy. "Can I call you Lupo?"

A huge doggy grin split his face, baring inch and a half long cuspids. "Lupo, yes."

He buried his face again, his tongue slipping inside of her. The length of hot, wriggling flesh was unfamiliar but it felt amazing.

"Oh yes, Lupo, yes!"

His tail wagged slowly, back and forth. A content dog, happy where he was. She stroked his hair as his tongue worked absolute magic. Not even in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined a tongue this deep inside, and the sensation was almost overwhelming. Her legs still burned, her throat hurt from gulping vast amounts of air, but the pleasure inside was building as well.

Lupo's golden eyes glowed, always locked on her own. She wondered how well he could see her, his night vision obviously much better than her own. She found the strength to toss the tattered remains of her shirt and poor sports bra off to the side, and she caught a brief flicker of his gaze down to her breasts. She squeezed them together for him, enjoying the little grunt he made deep in his throat.

"Oh yes, Lupo, like that. Your tongue feels so good, oh fuck. Don't stop, don't stop."

Lupo made a noise that was a combination of a canine grunt of contentment and a human hum of pleasure. She felt his lust in every motion, the need to get her off, to do more. Caterina knew he'd take her as soon as she came, whether she struggled or not. She could feel the hunger in him building through his body language, a hunger she began to share, a need for more, for total abandonment of humanity and a full return to an instinct driven purity of lust.

"Oh fuck, so close, yes— Yes— YES, LUPO, YES!"

His amazing tongue finally overwhelmed even her exhaustion, pleasure pulsing through her in waves as he grunted and hungrily lapped up every drop of her juices. Her fingers gripped his fur tight, holding him in place, not that he needed any encouragement to do that.

She panted, still experiencing the aftershocks of a mind blowing orgasm when he spun her around roughly, pulling her to her knees. His claws dug into her sides, on the verge of breaking skin. He thrust wildly at her, trying to bury his cock inside of her without the manual dexterity to guide himself in. She managed to push up on her elbows, pressing her back against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around her waist.

"Slow down, let me heeeeeelp!" Just as she started to reach between her legs, he found his target and buried his cock deep in one rough thrust.

The ferocity of his movements was surprising. He fucked her hard and fast right from the start, his cock still swelling inside of her. There was no subtlety, no restraint, just a physical expression of an instinct, a deep seated need. His head was right next to hers, teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

Fear had left her, making way for a giddy disbelief at what was happening. The feeling of his cock growing inside as he pounded away was quite unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It was smooth and slick, with a decreasing sponginess as it thickened. She couldn't tell much about the shape, but it was getting pretty big. The sharp pain of his claws digging into her sides and stomach as he clamped down on her waist was a delicious contrast to the pleasure he was giving her.

She stroked the side of his head, caressing the soft fur. Her body shook with each impact as he seemed to drive into her harder and deeper with every stroke. He grunted with the effort and pleasure, cute little moans and guttural noises letting her know how good it felt for him.

"Oh yes, Lupo, yes, fuck me, oh yes, like that."

Her fingers tightened in the fur around his neck as her pleasure built, holding on for dear life. She longed to wrap her arms around all of him, hold him close, feel his fur on her bare skin, her breasts pressed against him, but there was no way she could turn around now. Caterina kissed the side of his snout.

When her orgasm came, she clung tightly to his furry neck with one awkward arm. "Yes, Lupo, yes, YES!"

Soon after, he started pulling out less and less each stroke, and the base of his cock started to swell. With one final lunge, he was all the way inside of her. She felt his knot expand inside, locking them together.

"Caterina!" His exclamation of pleasure, of victory and conquest, turned into a howl, stretching the last syllable into the chilly night air.

Caterina could feel Lupo twitch inside her, over and over again. He was filling her to the brim. The thought sent a shiver of pleasure through her. Gently, she stroked his large head. He was panting from the effort, his tongue hanging out of his maw.

"Mmm, this feels good," Caterina hummed.

He relaxed his grip around her waist, supporting himself on his own four limbs. "Yes, good."

Sensing this was a moment for quiet, Caterina relaxed into his embrace. The absolute boneshaking terror she'd felt not half an hour ago replaced by a deep feeling of safety, an absolute surety that no matter what happened, Lupo would protect her and keep her safe. His furry body kept her warm even in the chill early October air, and the feeling of him pulsing inside of her was intensely pleasurable.

An eternity later, she felt him shrink again. When he slipped out, she felt the loss deeply. A gush of cum flooded from her, more than she'd dared imagine. When he made to run away, she grabbed for him, managing to catch his tail.

"Stay?" It was a question, but she desperately needed him to.

"I," Lupo started. His gruff voice sounded hesitant now, ashamed.

"Please stay."

"I did terrible things to you," Lupo said, but sat down on a log. He was sitting like a human, legs stretched in front of him, arms steadying himself on the log.

She looked at him, hard to see clearly in the pale moonlight. His shoulders seemed slumped, and his head was turned away to the side.

"You're ashamed?"

He grunted assent and seemed to shrink. "The instinct, it's so strong. Conscious thought is impossible, the need— The wolf part— I can't stop it. After, I realize what I did, and—."

"So in a way, if it's all driven by magic, you didn't consent either, right? It's 'the curse of lycanthropy', not 'the mildly inconvenient loss of a night every four weeks'." Caterina let the statement linger. "I don't regret doing this with you."

His voice was less guttural, more controlled. His speech patters were different too, he used fuller sentences, growled less. He turned to her, head tilted. The combination of human and wolf body language was incredibly endearing.

"Lupo, I won't lie, I was terrified when you were chasing me. I thought I was going to die horribly. And I know what happened would've happened even if I didn't consent to it. But I did consent."

His head tilt shifted to the other side, ears perking up. She felt his gaze on her as he thought about what she'd said.

"Can you please come here? I'm freezing and I don't have a stitch to wear thanks to you."

He walked over to her, and she pulled him down next to her. His fur was amazingly warm and comforting.

"When will you turn back?" Caterina asked after a while.

"I can turn back when the moon is gone."

"Will you remember—" She trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought. The idea of him forgetting was intensely sad.

"Yes, vividly."

"I'm glad." She buried her face in his fur. "Will Luca?"

She felt him stiffen, and regretted bringing up his human alter-ego. She hoped she hadn't ruined the moment.

"I—" Lupo felt hesitant again. She squeezed him, let him know it was okay, and he went on. "I'm not really separate from Luca. He's me, and I'm him. When the moon is full, the magic overwhelms me and I get completely out of control. I lose my identity, just reverting to pure animal instinct."

She stroked his chest, letting his words sink in, processing them slowly.

He continued, "But when you were willing, I got just enough control back to speak and wait a little. I try to see the wolf and the magic as separate from myself, but they're not. Not really."

"So you're just— you. The man who warned me, the beast who chased me, both the same."

"In a way. Does that upset you?"

She shook her head, letting the silence stretch. After a while, she said, "I'd like to see you again."

"Really? After what I did?"

"Mm-hmm. At the very least, I want to see you next full moon. No more hunting poor women who don't have secret werewolf fetishes. How many have you—" She trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud.

"You're the third. Usually I manage to chain myself up before I change, and when I can't, most get away to safety before I catch them."

She heard the remorse in his voice, the bone deep shame and self-hatred for his failure to keep those poor women safe.

"Next full moon, we'll lock ourselves in my basement, okay? But you're taking me out to dinner first. And replacing my sports bra, that thing was expensive!"

He laughed, a deep, warm sound. "Want to come back to my place? My cabin's only a few minutes walk away, and a lot more comfortable than the forest floor. I'm sure we can find you some of my clothes that fit well enough to get you home."

She cuddled deeper into his fur, kissing his broad chest. "Only if you're up for round two."

#krakentober #kinktober #ns/fw #non consent #dubious consent #werewolf #m/f #fear of death #werewolf smut #original smut #original fiction

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pettyprocrastination · 9 months

Text

Unravel

hey who wants to read some silly Odyssey fanfiction I wrote for my humanities final hehe

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Penelope’s fingers were beginning to grow calluses.

She had only been entertaining the suitors for a month. If that were the right word for maintaining a strained smile as men ravaged her house like a pack of wolves, pillaging her kitchen and dining hall while leering like they wished to do the same to her.

The idea had come to her two weeks into their stay, when she sat by her loom to find the remaining thread slowly beginning to lose its tension and fall from it’s place.

Unraveling.

Night by night. Undoing the hours of work she had toiled over during the day so she may begin again in the morning. An hourglass that will never empty as she waits for him to return.

Odysseus.

The fleetings moments of sleep she allows herself are spent in a blinding nightmare where his demise is placed in front of her. Each night is a new death.

Drowning.

Starvation.

Hung.

Betrayed.

Slain in battle.

Each night she sees the light leave her husband’s eyes and each day she must endure the men who so desperately wish to replace him. She stares as the unwoven ends of the textile before her, letting her fingers slowly run over the fibers and feel each ridge.

A wife weaving a burial shroud while waiting for her husband’s return.

The irony is not lost on her.

A soft cry comes from the corner of the room, pulling Penelope from her thoughts and to the polished cradle by her bed. The noises continue, a low whine that slowly begins to build and build until she leans over the cradle and smiles.

“Good morning, my sweet.”

Telemachus does not have his father’s eyes nor his nose. Odysseus had jested about the fact when the babe had first been brought into the world by her own strength. After hours of labor he lay sleeping in her arms as her husband watched them both fondly.

“The boy looks nothing like me.” He whispered with a smile. “A small gift from the gods, to give him his mother’s face rather than his oafish father’s.”

Penelope was too tired to properly chastise him for such self loathing, nor would she risk jostling the infant sleeping on her chest. She simply scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I happen to quite like the oaf.”

Odysseus leaned over the bed, allowing his lips to graze the shell of her ear and grin as a smile grew on her face no matter how hard she fought it.

“And I thank the gods everyday for it.”

She takes the fussing child into her arms, gently shushing him as his cries slowly quiet until they stop completely. He grins at his mother, proudly showing off his complete lack of teeth that makes her smile in return.

Her son holds no features of his father. She hopes he does not grow to live in his shadow.

A glass shattering in the dining hall breaks the tender moment of mother and son. Frightened, Telemachus’ lip quivers before he begins to wail. Penelope is able to soothe him once more, letting him slowly drift off to sleep on her shoulder.

But she must leave, as she does each day.

Penelope gently lowers Telemachus back into his crib and kisses the soft curls atop his head, whispering sweet words to her son before departing from the room.

She can hear them clearly now. The call of the morning by those violating her home. The vulgar voices of the men in her home, hollering and laughing amongst one another like friends in reunion. With slow, even, breaths, she walks down the hall, listening to the voices grow louder and louder until she is faced with wooden double doors, all that keeps her from them.

Odysseus, she pleads to nobody. Return home.

The last gentle thread of the mourning wife is wiped from her face as calloused fingers curl around the handle and rip the door open.

Another day begins.

#tj talks #anyways Penelope my beloved

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teddyniffler · 28 days

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In the Shadows of Friendship Forever

Chapter 2, part 2

The twins had said hello to him properly. From that day, he had always been with them, a little tap on his arm announced one of their arrivals, although he often couldn’t tell them apart at first. They sounded so alike, even from their walk, their touch. Then he had moved into Sebastian’s dorm when another student moved. Each day he was with the twins. He had often wondered what they looked like, if they were exact copies of each other, or different. He eventually worked up the courage to ask them to describe themselves to him a few weeks into term. It resulted in a lot of laughter, apparently Sebastian’s face was full of little dots, but Ominis couldn’t feel them when he touched Sebastian’s cheek. He didn’t know if that was a lie or not. They became his best friends. They had been his eyes until he found his footing. Often they helped him over the infamous trick step because his wand didn’t identify it as a hazard. They had become his home when he cut off his own family. Now his home was broken.

He snapped out of old, happier memories as he entered the Common Room to the daily mutterings. “There he is, that’s him” Somebody whispered quietly on the other side of the room, but for Ominis’ hearing they might as well have been shouting next to him. “-He’s the one who betrayed Sebastian, it was him who turned Sebastian in, I know it – “ “Do you think he would turn his entire family in too? Aren’t they all dark wizards?” “He’s not really a Gaunt, you know? I heard his mother adulterized with another wizard. – what scandal, such a Strumpet! - So his father isn’t really from the Gaunt bloodline? – Nope, I heard his real father is Professor Black, that’s why they are so close. Mr Gaunt was so angry he cursed his wife and her child, that’s why he’s blind.” All around him he heard them. They kept their voices low and stopped if he came close, but he was often the topic of most conversations these days. Whenever the Daily Prophet ran a new story, the mutterings started up more. Ominis held his head up, they didn’t know of the torment within himself for turning Sebastian in, he doubted they would offer any comfort to him either way. It was time for breakfast, he only hoped some appetite would visit him on the way to the Great Hall, as right now his mouth was dry.

Entering the Great Hall, he made his way to the Slytherin table on the far left. He could hear hundreds of voices all talking as one, some conversations were loud, some quieter. The tiny click, click, click of cutlery as it tapped against the side of bowls rang out. He had once told Sebastian that it was so loud in here, people really were careless with what they talked about. Sebastian didn’t understand what he had meant, nobody truly could unless they lived in his shoes. His wand led him half way up the table and then it stopped. Ominis felt the bench before him, then climbed onto it, taking care not to kick the table with his knee. He sat and held his wand out. “Porridge.” He said to it. The wand moved to find a bowl, which Ominis took, feeling for a spoon he picked it up and began to eat. Between mouthfuls, he felt his robes to make sure he wasn’t spilling any food down himself. Normally Anne would discreetly clean anything spilt without drawing notice, but he didn’t have her watchful eyes anymore. He was able to eat untroubled by any rude comments, the only thing really catching his ears was the sound of Professor Black up at the teacher’s table laughing loudly every so often. The sound of a soft thump paused him eating, something had landed on the table in front of him, he could hear it fluffing its feathers, the tapping of claws on the table. “Good morning.” Ominis said to the owl, he reached forward carefully, owls were not really forgiving if you poked them in the face by mistake. He knew that from experience. He found its outstretched leg and the cord tying the newspaper in place. “Your payment is with my father, you know where he be? My family house.” The owl hooted and flew off, its wings causing Ominis’ hair to blow. He had asked his father for a subscription to the Daily Prophet, his family still supported him financially for anything he needed. Cant have a Gaunt in rags now, his father would rather see the House of Gaunt destroyed then allow one member to wear worn robes. There was always something about the unknown Hogwarts student on the cover. The Daily Prophet was running a sensationalist long term story on Sebastian, with fresh, shocking and absolute false allegations every other day. According to the Daily Prophet, Sebastian had recently got back from a year at Durmstrang, where he had been enticed into the Dark Arts by wicked goings on at that infernal school. Holding his wand at the paper, Ominis commanded. “Read.”

Today’s weather promises – “No, stop” Ominis said, he was holding it the wrong way. He turned the paper over to the front page before once again asking his wand to read.

Daily Prophet. September 1891 HOGWART’S Dark Wizard Student Named!

Name and first pictures of the Hogwarts Student imprisoned in Azkaban. The Daily Prophet can at last put name and picture to the so far unidentified youth who was arrested and sentenced to Azkaban, thanks to a Ministry of Magic insider who wishes to remain anonymous, writes Judith Skeeter, special correspondent for The Daily Prophet. Sebastian Sallow, age 16, was in his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when he first used Dark Magic on a fellow student within the confines of the school. Once a resident of Feldcroft, a small village close to the magical school, Sallow is now a resident of Azkaban after the murder of Sallow’s own uncle, Solomon Sallow, a highly respected ex-Auror in the Wizarding community. Auror Sallow met his end at the hands of his own nephew. The Daily Prophet wishes to casts no doubt upon the character of this boy, for we can now reveal Sallow’s closest friend at Hogwarts is no other than a member of the infamous Gaunt family, decedents of Salazar Slytherin himself. Known for generations for being Dark Wizards and following in their ancestor’s footsteps, they possess an intense hatred for Muggles and anybody not of pure blood statues. Sallow’s other peer is a mysterious student who joined the magical community only last year, and has since vanished after the suspicious death of a Hogwarts’ Professor at the end of term. Perhaps Professor Black should look into stopping the admissions at Hogwarts of dark wizards in training rather than Muggle-Borns, particular in Slytherin House as parents today will be surely questioning allowing such dangerous magical families into the school. It is also believed, as we can now reveal, that Sallow’s twin sister was mysteriously cursed by Dark Magic in the summer before her fourth year. We can only ponder the possibility that Sebastian Sallow is also guilty of that. Was this boy using Dark Magic before his arrest in his fifth year and she was his first victim? The Daily Prophet also understands that Sallow’s own parents died in mysterious ways that was ruled as unexplained accidental magical death. Perhaps this boy was simply born evil. Parents no doubt will be demanding answers as to why the identity of this student has been concealed by Hogwarts School for so long. We shall have more on the Sallow family in issues to come. DO YOU KNOW SEBASTAIN SALLOW? HAS HE TRIED TO CURSE YOU TOO? All owls to the Daily Prophet are confidential and your name will not appear in this publication. Sebastian Sallow and all we know of him, page 2 and 3. Sebastian Sallow’s dark friendship circle, page 4. Memorial and tribute to Solomon Sallow, page 5 and 6. Pictured: Sebastian Sallow, aged 13 here with sister Anne Sallow, on their first trip to Hogsmeade village. Pictured: Ministry of Magic file photo. Sebastian Sallow with Azkaban identification number. Pictured: Slain Hero Auror, Solomon Sallow.

Ominis’ wand was describing the pictures to him, but he heard none of this. His porridge suddenly felt like led in his stomach, which was twisting horrifically with guilt. It almost felt as if his insides were boiling over, with an intense cold that left him shivering. They had named Sebastian. While it was bad hearing lies or even the truth about his friend, they had been some comfort knowing the world at large outside of Hogwarts didn’t know the name Sebastian Sallow. Even some of the students from other houses didn’t know Sebastian’s name, they just knew a fifth year Slytherin had been arrested. Now they would all know Sebastian’s name. People in the streets at Hogsmeade, in the three broomsticks, they knew Sebastian well in that pub, he was always going in there for Butterbeer. He could picture a witch he imagined as Sirona in low conversation with her regulars, eyes shifting to the door in case any Hogwarts student walked in. He could imagine faceless wizards and witches in a street he had imagined as Diagon Alley, all talking about his dear friend as if they knew him, but they wouldn’t be talking about the real Sebastian, the one who had slept with a soft bear, a last gift from his parents, hidden in his bed for the first two years at Hogwarts, they would be talking about a Sebastian conjured up by the Daily Prophet. Evil and cruel, casting unforgiveable curses at anybody walking past him. The next Dark Wizard whose best friend killed Muggles for sport.

Ominis did not care right now that the Daily Prophet had named himself and linked him back to his family. Maybe later he would, but in the current moment all his anguish was for Sebastian, and for Anne. He sat, suddenly not hearing any of the voices all around him. He retreated back into his own little world within his head. The pale white light from daylight was all he ever knew, an empty void that could sense sunlight but knew not of its beauty. Once Sebastian and Anne both filled the empty world he knew. Their voices and laughter, the sound of their breathing they didn’t even know they were making, the odd sniff, the odd scratch of skin, Anne redoing her hair and the sound of her comb moving through the stands, even Sebastian’s bones making the odd click as he flexed his hands. Being around them he had pictures in his mind of what they were doing. They were his enrichment, without them he felt nothing would distract him from his own insecurities and anxieties. He knew then with terrible certainty; he had been experiencing extreme doubt and regret all summer long. He had been feeling it the second Professor Black’s office door had closed behind him, cutting him off from Sebastian, his oldest friend. He had made a terrible mistake.

It took a while, but Ominis slowly brought himself back to the world inhabited by all the voices, all the sounds. The Great Hall was still busy but the volume had dropped a little, replaced by feet on the stone floor walking out of the corridors. The small clicks of cutlery had died down, which told him it was almost time for class to start. He didn’t want to go to class, there was a plan already forming in his mind. Branches of thoughts and ideas all racing off across his brain. Once again Professor Black’s sarcastic laughter rang out. So loud. So obnoxious. The headmaster was so carefree right now it sounded to Ominis, but for how long? He checked his timetable again with his wand, it told him he was due in History of Magic shortly. The perfect class, because nobody would be awake long enough to question him on his suspicious activity.

#ITSOFF2.2

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giorno-plays-piano · 3 years

Note

Okay but what about Orc!bucky and Goddess!reader ..😳🤭 Shes an Aphrodite, I can imagine her looking down and seeing orc!bucky and just craving him. They be a great power couple ...

Hi hun! I'm sorry it took me so much time to write this fic, and, well, since most of us already have some depiction of Aphrodite in mind, I decided to make the reader her daughter. Guess the story turned out something very different from what you wanted, but I still hope you will enjoy it!

Somebody to Die For

Pairing: orc!Bucky x goddess!Reader

Warnings: violence, injuries, angst, hurt/comfort.

Words: 2385.

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"I will fight for you till they cut off my arms, my legs, and my head."

You looked at the warrior in front of you, his heavy body clad in armor, his arms holding a spear and a shield you brought to him yourself, earning a slap from your mother, the goddess of beauty who forbid you to help humans so shamelessly, and yet, you always did.

The man standing in front of you was neither orc nor human but the descendant of the both of them, the only hero who could possibly defeat the evil forces when every other man had failed. He's rough; he's rude; he knew little of honor, but he's the one who still fought when the ones before him had long given up. Despite the prejudice against orcs, now even humans understood he was their only salvation.

You hoped he would survive the last battle. Not just because you needed the human kind to have a savior, a leader, the one who would aid them when nobody else would, but because you had grown found of him, the man you had been guiding for years, helping him to protect those who detested him, bringing him hope when he was ready to give up, embracing him when he no longer had the power to hold his spear. A daughter of the goddess of beauty, you were to bring this beauty to the parts of the world where your tired mother could not, but you brought hope instead.

"Fight for me, and if you win, I will fulfill your wish, soldier." You whispered through your golden mask that covered your face entirely, only your eyes visible to the orc standing on his knees.

Your mother never approved of it, but you had seen people going mad from having just one glance at you, your immense beauty blinding them, driving them insane, making them forgot who they were. It was a curse, not a blessing. It was the reason you wore your mask at all times, only showing your face to those your deemed worthy, strong enough to withstand the charms you had no control over.

You knew your hero wanted to see your face more than anything else in the world.

"I will bring you the demon's head on a golden plate, my goddess."

You'd chuckle at his attempt to please you, but you were scared, you feared he would fail, fall, die in the hands of evil forces feasting upon human kind and threatening to destroy all the gods had created. You could not fight along him, possessing no skills to win that battle; moreover, your mother would most certainly kill you if you intervened, breaking the oath you had given to her. You could only help the hero you had chosen while staying in the shadow.

"Stay alive, Bucky." Those were your last words when you pressed the cold lips of your mask to the orc's forehead, giving him your blessing and hiding the tears behind the cold metal.

If only you could fight, but your hands grew cold every time you touched the hero's spear, unable to wield a sword or a mace. The war was not your domain, all the gods kept telling you when you plead them to gift you enough strength and courage to engage in battle. No, your fate was to shine like a golden statue, blinding all those who dared to look at you, bending them to your will like you mother had always done. They couldn't understand your ardent desire to watch over the humankind and all those who needed your help, spending your time healing soldiers, aiding orphans and the elderly, bringing food and water to all those in need. The gods cared little for mortals. Even when the Great Evil appeared out of nowhere, wreaking havoc on the lands belonging to people constantly praying for gods mercy, the immortals were too busy with their own affairs, realizing how serious the matter was when it had been too late.

When the orc you clad in charmed armor stood in front of the army of the undead, the diabolical creatures with horns and gaunt wings growling behind them, ready to strike, you prayed for him to come out of the battle alive. It was his fate to be the last hero standing between the chaos and all what was dear to the living, yet he bore no responsibility for it - he didn't ask to be the hero, to fight when his spear was long broken, go forward while the undead broke his bones and demons feasted upon his flesh, ripping pieces of meat before the orc could crush their heads with his mere hands. You kept casting spells to aid him, knowing your mother would whip you, but you didn't care, healing your hero's wounds so he could fight until he would cut off the head of the Demon King with his own sword.

Your hero was laying on top of demon's dead body, still holding the head even while unconscious as you sneaked into the field full of corpses, bodies of demons and bones of the undead rotting under the blazing sun. Your hero was dying from his wounds, bleeding so much his skin was loosing its color, and now it was your time to bring him back to the living before it was too late.

Oh, you knew your mother could kill you for stealing the salve meant only for gods to heal their wounds, but you no longer cared. What did it matter if the one who saved you all was to pay with his life for everything he had done to protect the living? No, it was unfair. The orc stood to gain nothing from his heroic deeds, gods being too arrogant to acknowledge him properly, but he had the right to keep his life.

And so you carried his heavy body to the springs, washing his wounds, applying the salve generously and casting as much healing spells as you did in your entire life to keep him alive, praying and hoping the gods would take mercy on him. Yes, he was three quarters an orc; he was barbaric, savage, ferocious, but he had kindness in his heart like no other, agreeing to fight for humans who had always utterly despised him. Despite being a brute, he was kind to children, women and elderly people. He had never lay his hand on those weaker than him, except when they attacked him on their own. In the end, he was the only hero who answered your call when all those you had asked for help died on the battlefield, unable to fight the demons and their army of corpses.

It had been three days and three nights you spent tending to his wounds until his heart started beating like of a living being. You cried your eyes out when you heard it. The salve had finally worked, and the open wounds closed, leaving his body scarred but healed; his breath steadied, and soon your hero would come back to you, you knew. Gods had answered your prayers for the first time.

"Am I dead?" Bucky asked you when he opened his eyes on the fourth day as he saw you tired face, your mask long abandoned the moment you brought him to the springs.

You smiled at him and held him close, his head laying on your lap while you witnessed his awakening, his body covered in salve, making his skin shine like pure gold.

"You are alive and well." leaning to him, you left a kiss on his forehead, brushing his dark disheveled hair out of his face, and the orc made an odd sound as if he were purring like a giant cat. "You will live a long life, cherished and honored by those you protected, I promise you."

"Will you keep that one promise you gave me, my goddess?"

He's impatient, he had always been, and you laughed at his eagerness, knowing his body still hurt, but the orc didn't seem to mind it. Was he unhappy with seeing your face? You didn't think so, and yet, apparently, he wanted something else. Gold? Women? Immortality? The last one would be quite hard, that is if gods wouldn't struck you with a lightning or something just to teach you a lesson to be more pliant and respectful.

"What it is that you want, my warrior? I will do whatever you ask me to if it is within my powers, just like I promised."

"It's within your powers, I'm sure." He grumbled, making you laugh even harder at his unusual grumpiness, touching the tips of his tusks, and the orc laughed at you, too.

"What is it, then? Don't keep me waiting, mortal, for even I grew tired of tending to you over four days." Winking at him in the most frivolous manner just like your mother had taught you, you giggled then, and the hero's face lightened up.

"This is not how I imagined it to be, but who cares, anyway." he muttered to himself and sat up, turning to you and hurriedly searching the pockets of his torn pants, obviously empty after his long, intense battle. "Shit! I've brought you golden rings and necklaces and bracelets, but those flying bitches made holes in my clothes. I should have hidden my gifts under some rock before the battle."

"Oh, you should have!"

He's impossible, you thought as you both snickered, his huge, calloused hands touching gentle yours. He brought you gold? What for?

"Well, whatever, I'll find more for you later if you don't mind, goddess. Will you give me the honor of becoming my wife even if I didn't bring you the gifts?" The orc tilted his head to the side, looking at you as if it were just a mere matter of something minor, unimportant, but soon, as he watched you openly gape at him for his audacity, he quickly bowed his head, kneeling in front of you.

You were speechless. For once, you had never for once suspected of the hero having these feelings for you. Surely, he prayed to you, he respected you as a mortal should respect their deity, he was intrigued by your true appearance you had concealed from him, but his spoke of marriage seemed preposterous. Was it your face again, your mother's charms? No, no, it couldn’t have been it for the hero intended to bring you gifts, wedding gifts, that is. He had come prepared.

Unbelievable. Did his feelings grow while he didn't even know how you looked?

"Forgive me my insolence, goddess." he mumbled, realizing his offer could be a grave offense to you, a being standing way higher than him. "But I can serve you till the end of my days, do whatever you tell me to. If I have survived the last battle and brought people salvation they wanted, I must be good enough, right?"

"Will you serve me even if I am not your wife?" You asked him quietly, looking at your hands covered in the balm you stole from the gods just to heal his wounds, knowing you were attracted to him despite your feelings never being voiced.

For a couple of seconds the orc grew silent, watching the carpet you put him on to tend to his wounds: it had been soaked in his blood that now dried out.

"I will serve you even then." He uttered grimly, refusing to look you in the eyes, his gaze on your hands as he kept sitting in front of you.

Afraid to speak, you fell silent too, wishing to touch him, brush your hand against his disheveled hair. Oh, didn't you want him? Didn't you wish to be embraced by the very hero you spent years guiding and healing so he would continue his journey? Didn't you deserve to be loved, the daughter of the goddess of that very same love you'd been craving for so long?

But your hero was a mortal. You were frightened to even think what gods would do to him for his impertinence.

Oh, evil gods. You spent years to teach and guide the mortal hero they despised who brought the salvation to the lands they were so afraid to lose, and yet neither him nor you were given anything in return. Instead, they were granting you a torture of refusing advances of the only one dear to you.

Please, darling.

Your mother's irritated voice cut through the silence like a knife, and you froze, knowing she was rolling her eyes at you, watching you secretly like she often did.

You have a heart of stone if you reject the man who is standing on his knees in front of you. I grant you my permission if you so need it.

As her mighty voice rang in the complete silence of a cave, Bucky shivered, immediately getting on his feet. Of course, he knew nothing of your mother except that she was a goddess, and he had never heard her voice. It didn't matter to you, though, as you stared at him, dumbfounded.

Permission. She granted you her permission to marry him. You were free to act as you like, knowing the gods wouldn't bring their wrath upon your hero.

"I will have you if you promise to love and cherish me like no other, protect me, and be loyal to me until your last breath." You whispered, your eyes full of tears as you watched him from below while he towered above you, and the next second he was on his knees again, taking your arms in his and kissing your tears away.

"Even if my face will be disfigured, my tongue cut off, and my body dismembered, I will love you till my last breath." his voice was so quiet, yet you heard him as if he were screaming at the top of his voice. "I promise to worship you and come to you aid whenever you need me."

Hurriedly ripping a piece of his ragged, soaked in blood clothes, he wrapped it around your finger like it was a ring he had lost.

"My soul, my heart, and my sword - everything I possess I give to you."

___________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @iheartsebandchris

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #orc!bucky #winter soldier #mcu #mcu fanfiction #requests

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

hi eve ! i was wondering if you could write a fic where coops are at home just doing stuff and suddenly the electricity goes out because of a thunderstorm like it did that night at dumo's ? and coops just sit there and reminisce ? (man i hope that is how you spell that word, english isn't my first language hahah) idk i just thought that would be neat

There isn’t a lot of sitting and reminiscing, but this prompt was just too cute to pass up. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for making out (courtesy of an anon who was enjoying the hot tub fic) and mentioned future spice

Remus’ hand was halfway to the popcorn bowl when the house went dark. The tv shut off, the dishwasher went silent, and the comforting hum of the fridge disappeared. “Uh. Hmm.”

There was a rustle next to him. “Did the power just go out?”

“I think so. Hang on a second.” Remus stood and padded toward the living room window, wrapping his arms around himself to stave off the chill as their heating cut off; the coming winter would be harsh. Outside, he saw nothing but a row of dark houses and car headlights in the distance under the place traffic lights should have been. Frost crept along the corner of the windowsill as his eyes adjusted. “Yeah, our whole block is out. There’s probably nothing we can do except wait for it to come back.”

Sirius hummed from the couch and opened his arms. “Nothing?”

“Not a thing,” Remus sighed, grateful for the darkness hiding his smile as he settled back down.

Sirius laughed and pulled him down by the arm, spreading his thighs so Remus could lay between them on his chest. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Do you?” Remus asked, only inches from his mouth.

“Mhmm. Can’t have you getting bored, can we?”

“Oh, no, definitely n—“ Remus’ words were cut off by warm lips and he smiled as Sirius’ tongue swept forward. A hand snuck up his shirt and he nibbled Sirius’ lower lip, drawing a low laugh from him; Remus set his elbows on either side of his head and wove his fingers into Sirius’ soft hair.

“Off,” Sirius mumbled with a tug to his tshirt.

“Pushy, pushy, pushy,” Remus tsked, though he separated for long enough to reach behind his neck and pull it over his head. The fabric of Sirius’ long-sleeve rubbed against his chest as he laid down and muffled a moan into his mouth, feeling him melt as Remus tugged his hair lightly. “Yours, too.”

Sirius’ pout was almost audible. “I’ll get cold.”

“I can keep you warm,” Remus said with a sly smile, drumming his fingers on Sirius’ ribcage. He skimmed a thumb over his nipple and laughed when Sirius’ breath caught. “Please?”

Sirius huffed and wiggled around until Remus—being the most accommodating boyfriend in history, thank you very much—sat back to straddle his waist and occupied himself by tracing Sirius’ abs until strong hands hauled him back down into a fervent kiss. “I love it when you ask me for things.”

“Hmm, really?”

“Makes me feel useful.” One hand came up to cradle Remus’ cheek, but the other wandered down his spine and only stopped once Sirius had a solid handful of his ass to knead.

Remus let out a harsh exhale into the side of his neck and pulled Sirius’ thigh up, relishing in his soft noise as he began rubbing the outside through his sweatpants. “This feels familiar,” he practically purred.

“Does it?”

“Making out in the middle of a dark and stormy night with no lights on? Now, where have we done that before?”

He felt Sirius’ pulse give a hard thud under his own. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“One year.” Remus felt some of his blinding want smooth out into affection and kissed the corner of Sirius’ mouth. “And a couple weeks, of course.”

“We should celebrate—“ Sirius nipped his lip and pushed down on the small of Remus’ back. “—more often.”

“Monthly anniversaries.”

“Does this mean we get to have sex tomorrow night after I get a hat trick?”

“It’s Kasey’s birthday party tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Absolutely.”

“Fuck yeah,” Sirius said under his breath, though Remus could feel him smiling. They broke their kiss for a moment to laugh, but quickly returned, much slower than before.

“If we do this right, I get to wake up when you come back to bed and kiss you stupid without any warning.”

“Deal.”

“And you have to cuddle me all night.”

“I was going to do that anyway.”

“Just making sure.”

Remus tucked his face beneath the hinge of Sirius’ jaw and breathed deep as he sucked a small hickey into the shallow dip—he smelled like buttery popcorn and laundry detergent and home. His broad hands ghosted across Remus’ back before pulling him away by his hair to press another kiss to his mouth; he gasped as his stomach swooped. “What do you want to do?”

“This,” Remus managed between kisses. There was an urgency, but not for anything he could name. He wanted the closeness and the quiet of the night.

Sirius waited for a moment. “Anything else?”

He was tempted to say yes, but that would involve more fumbling and possibly even—god forbid—leaving the couch. Remus shook his head and tilted Sirius’ chin up with his finger. “Just this.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, sinking back into the cushions. He smiled into Remus’ next kiss and wrapped both arms around his back; he was hard against Remus’ hip, but didn’t grind into his thigh at all.

“I love you,” Remus mumbled.

“Je t’aime aussi.”

“Are you comfy?”

“Hmm, let me think.” Sirius’ mouth trailed down his cheek and neck before settling near his collarbones. “Laying on my couch, in the dark, with my incredibly sexy boyfriend on top of me just waiting to be kissed after putting up with me for over a year…yeah, I’m pretty comfy.”

“I don’t put up with you,” Remus scoffed, leaning his head to the side so Sirius had more space to work. “I love you. There’s a difference.”

He closed his eyes as tongue and teeth lavished his pulse point, sending a shock all the way to his toes. The winter cold was the last thing on his mind—he was warm everywhere, though the involuntary shiver when Sirius blew gently on the hickey he left was a greatly-appreciated exception.

“You’re sure you’re okay with not doing anything right now?”

“I was promised sexy times tomorrow.” Sirius gave his ass a playful squeeze, accompanied by a nibble to the hollow of his throat. “We have to follow tradition, mon coeur.”

He bent down to Sirius’ ear with a grin. “If the power stays out, we could do it right here. No curtains, no lights on, right in front of that big window.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius said on the tail end of an exhale.

“We could.”

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Despite his words, Remus felt himself succumbing to the cocoon of shadows around them and slid his hands under Sirius’ wingbones for a cuddle. He had already been drowsy when the lights went out, and being that close to the most comforting person he knew certainly hadn’t helped, no matter how horny they were. “We can pick this up tomorrow night? Gives us plenty of time to brainstorm.”

Sirius’ chest buzzed underneath him before he nosed along Remus’ cheek for a kiss. “Sounds perfect.”

“I can call the electric company and tell them to keep our block’s lights out,” Remus suggested.

“Love it.”

“We should go upstairs, shouldn’t we?”

“I don’t care, as long as I get to do this when we get there.” Sirius’ accent had thickened over the past half hour and Remus soaked it in like a sponge.

“Such a stickler about tradition,” he teased, resting his head on Sirius’ shoulder; the couch wasn’t quite wide enough for them to fit side-by-side. Not that he was protesting, of course.

A beat of silence passed between them. “If we go upstairs, we can make out properly without falling off the couch.”

“Oh, thank god,” Remus said immediately, stumbling to his feet and dragging Sirius after him. With any luck, the power would be out long enough that they wouldn’t be able to go anywhere for days.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #making out #rated m #power outage

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cherienymphe · 4 years

Text

Rapture (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity

!!! DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !!!

➥ {page breaks done by @firefly-graphics }

summary: taking on the case of the disappearance of your father, Sherlock Holmes finds himself drawn to you, the daughter who holds more mystery than any riddle he’s ever encountered

“Y/N, keep your chin up, dear.”

Swallowing down your ire, you listened to your mother and did just that, raising your chin and pushing your shoulders back. A soft breeze ruffled the skirt of your dress, and goosebumps erupted over your arms underneath your sleeves. You could hear your mother fussing over your sister, lightly scolding her for the dress she’d picked out, something about the color.

“We want to look our best for when Mr. Holmes arrives,” you heard her say.

You heard your sister let out a soft huff, having no desire to hide her annoyance. Those classes your mother made her attend weren’t doing much for her character, but she was young. No longer a child but not yet a woman, instead stuck in that place in between. You did not yearn for those days…

You did once, longed for the innocence and ignorance that clouded your childhood, but adulthood had long taught you that ignorance was not bliss. Ignorance kept people blind from the truth, and some truths needed to be known.

Your mother’s change in tone alerted you to the carriage that was being pulled into the yard. A soft sigh escaped you as it drew near, a far cry from your sister’s intrigue, eyes wide and neck strained in order to get a better look. The three of you were poised on the steps in front of the grand house, having been patiently waiting for Mr. Holmes’ arrival.

Sherlock Holmes.

The detective whose name was known far and wide was arriving to help none other than your family. Out of all of the possibilities that had taken up residence in your mind, the infamous Sherlock Holmes taking on the case of your missing father had never been one of them. You supposed that you shouldn’t be shocked that the mysterious disappearance of the wealthy patriarch had caught the man’s attention. It was all anyone could seem to talk about these days…

All three of you watched the mountain of a man step out of the carriage, but for three very different reasons. Your sister was curious, intrigued by this new person, a new puzzle to figure out, a thing to study and observe. Outside of father, your sister had never interacted with many males in her life. Your mother looked at the dark-haired gentleman like a beacon of hope, a savior to bring her peace in some form or another. You, on the other hand, you watched him like a snake would a hawk.

If you didn’t keep an eye on him, he could very well eat you alive.

“Mr. Holmes,” your mother rushed to greet him, and the contents of your stomach tossed at the relief you heard in her voice.

In her mind, he had already solved the case and returned your missing father to you. She was comforted by the detective’s mere presence, and you grimaced.

“It is an honor to have you here. Truly. You do not know what it means to me and my girls,” she told him, voice already shaking.

“It is no great deal to me, madam. I wish to find your husband just as much as you do, to bring peace and relief back to your household.”

You shifted on your feet, hands clasped in front of you as the low timber of his voice reached your ears. It was smooth, soft even, but no means wavering. His steady diction exhibited his refined background that you’d heard so much about, and you warily eyed him.

He towered over your mother, making the strong woman look so incredibly fragile to the point that it scared you. You suddenly had the urge to push him away. As your mother conversed with him, your sister tiptoed to your side, admiration in her voice as her lips brushed your ear.

“He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” she said, surprising you.

She had never expressed any interest in boys, but Mr. Holmes clearly struck something in her that even she could not ignore. As you ran your eyes over him, you found you were unable to deny the truth in her words. His features were indeed striking, the kind of face that artists begged to paint. His dark brows and hair complimented his eyes, strong jawline and pink lips moving fluidly as he talked to your mother. His curls gave a boyish quality to his otherwise manly countenance, and you had the brief thought of touching them, wondering if they were as soft as they looked.

“…and these are my daughters,” your mother’s voice reached you as she neared, the imposing man a step behind her.

Both you and your sister greeted him properly, your sister’s name falling from his lips as your mother honed in on her. You sent him a small smile when your mother gestured to you, and he returned it, eyes alight as she introduced you.

“This is my oldest, Y/N. My pride and joy,” she praised.

Your sister squirmed beside you, and you frowned.

“Mother,” you quietly admonished to which she quickly brushed off.

“Oh, hush. She will bring greatness to our name just as her father did. Rest assured, she will be a great help to you,” she told him.

He eyed you with something unknown as your mother continued to speak praises to your name, and you looked away, gaze landing on your sister instead as you took her hand. She had begun to shrink in on herself, and you swallowed down a sigh.

Your mother wanted her youngest to be something she was not. She wanted her to be you, but the young girl couldn’t ever be anyone but herself. And you didn’t understand why mother would want her to. It was a great source of insecurity and frustration for your sister, to constantly be compared to yourself, and it hurt you to see the adventurous girl make herself small.

“Do come in,” your mother ushered him inside.

Mr. Holmes followed her, and you and your sister him, your eyes never straying from his broad form. You’d heard of his skills, his observation, but of course you had never seen the man in action before. At first glance, it seemed like an innocent perusal, as if he were simply taking in the new scenery, admiring it. However, it didn’t take long to realize that he was taking note of every detail. Every plant, every painting that was askew, even the liquor cabinet, eyeing which liquors were consumed the most.

Your mother was prattling on about nonsense, and Mr. Holmes had already begun to work.

“Tell me, when did Mr. Y/L/N disappear?” he suddenly murmured, fingering a plant on a nearby table.

“Tomorrow will make it…what is it? Three weeks without him?”

She looked to the two of you, and you both nodded.

“Three weeks,” she confirmed. “We only noticed his absence the next morning, so it had to have been that Wednesday night. At the very latest, the early hours of Thursday morning.”

“…and you are sure it was a Wednesday?”

She thought for a moment before nodding.

“I’m sure of it. It rained all day the next day, finally making the ground soft enough for my dear Y/N to start her garden. She adores plants,” she told him with a smile.

Your heart sank to your stomach, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you realized what was happening here. Leave it to your mother to prioritize finding you a husband while investigating your father’s disappearance. Mr. Holmes’ gaze met yours, and you held it until he was forced to look away. At least she thought highly enough of you to think you worthy of someone like Sherlock Holmes.

All three of you watched him pace around the living room, a soft hum leaving his lips here and there. Again, he returned to that plant that he’d been fingering, eyeing the carpet beneath the table before finally looking to your mother.

“I’d like to take a look at the rest of the house.”

With a wide smile, she was all too happy to oblige. Your sister bid him goodbye with a soft smile, and you did the same when his eyes met yours, face falling as soon as he turned his back to you.

“Do you think he will find father?”

You glanced up from your breakfast to gaze at your sister, her anxious eyes already on you. You swallowed, wiping your mouth before offering her a shrug.

“Who is to say…”

“He must! He’s the best detective there is. He’s only been here for two days, and already he seems far more diligent than the others,” she quietly argued.

“I cannot argue with that,” you admitted.

You were unnerved by the unfamiliar man. He was indeed great at his job, and his acceptance of your mother’s offer to stay in one of the many rooms here only gave him more time and free reign to gather clues as to where your father could have gone. He spent the first day with your mother, having her recount everything she could remember, anything that could help. The next day was your sister, so you knew it was only a matter of time before he demanded your time and attention as well.

You didn’t like the thought of being alone with the man. His piercing eyes were scarily perceptive, taking note of much more than you could possibly give him credit for. They were ever watchful, and that unnerved you to no end. True to your suspicions, he entered the dining room just as you were finishing up, heavy gaze finding yours, and you bid your sister adieu.

“Your mother said that you went to bed early Wednesday night,” was the first thing he said as soon as you sat down across from him in the dimly lit living room.

The dark curtains allowed for little sunlight to peak through, and shadows casted over his aristocratic features.

“I did.”

He hummed, a faint smile on his lips, so small you could miss it if you blinked.

“Tired?”

“Extremely. I don’t sleep very well,” you honestly told him. “…and so I figured the earlier I rested my head, the earlier my eyes would follow suit.”

He nodded at that, eyes trailing over the room.

“Does gardening help with that?”

“…sometimes,” you answered.

“Does your mother or sister help out with that? Or is it just you?”

“It’s just me.”

His eyes were on yours again, gaze inquiring, yet guarded. He was probing for something, and you knew it was his job, but it filled your mouth with distaste.

“…so you are the only one who attends to the plants in the house?”

“Yes.”

He stared at you for a moment before releasing a small sigh. He stood, and you did as well, eyeing him as he paused at your movement before slowly beginning to pace about the room.

“I am here to help…Ms. Y/L/N.”

His voice reeked of well-hidden frustration, and you sighed as well.

“I know that,” you responded, briefly closing your eyes. “…and I am cooperating, am I not?”

He paused, and his eyes met yours again, flickering between your irises before humming.

“Indeed, you are, but I want you to cooperate because you want to. Not because you feel like you have to. I am merely here to help, to find your father’s whereabouts, so I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

“I am,” you lied.

He knew that you were lying, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by, but he let it go.

“Your mother and sister said that you all searched the grounds for him all day. Enlisting the help of the police for the next week and a half before the search was eventually called off,” he suddenly said, moving on.

“Yes. No stone was left unturned. My mother felt it was best to leave this in the hands of detectives, but the lot of them were…incompetent at best.”

Disdain and disgust coated your words, and Mr. Holmes eyed you.

“…and at worst?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, pursing your lips.

“Greedy perverts trying to get their hands on our money,” you admitted.

You threw him a humorless smile, and the corner of his lips quirked up just the slightest as he turned away.

“None of them sparked your fancy?”

He was teasing, and you fought back a smile.

“No. I don’t daydream about marriage, Mr. Holmes. Of course, it is what my mother wishes for me, and I know that I am to settle down eventually for it is the way of the world, but I am certainly in no rush. Marriage does not appeal to me in the slightest.”

It was the one wedge in you and your mother’s relationship: your lack of prospects. However, no amount of snide comments from your mother about your age would sway you.

“Surely, your parents’ marriage must have softened your heart just a little…”

When you looked up, his eyes were once again on you, something in them that you could not name, and you held his gaze, a fond smile on your lips.

“Their marriage was like any other, I suppose. Of course, they had the occasional spat over the most trivial of things like all married couples do, but they were happy,” you replied.

He simply nodded, gaze lingering before pulling his eyes away, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say reluctantly so. His casual interrogation that wasn’t really an interrogation didn’t last for much longer, and somehow, you felt more nervous leaving the room than you did when you entered it.

Your mother and sister did not seem to share your sentiments. Indeed, they were ever comfortable around the dark-haired man. Part of you wondered if the holes in their heart that were left by father were temporarily being filled by Mr. Holmes. Having a man around the house again surely brought some mild comfort to them, even if they knew it was only momentary.

They happily invited him to eat with you all, participate in small talk, even showing him your garden. You felt that it was all unnecessary, distracting even. Mr. Holmes had a job to do, and the sooner he left, the better. You didn’t know how much more of his analyzing gaze you could take.

It didn’t matter that he would be engaged in conversation with your sister or mother for his eyes always found their way back to you somehow. He wasn’t a man of many words, but it seemed that you were an exception. Your mother did not miss how he always attempted to draw you into conversation, get you to talk more. It was becoming rather tiresome to explain to her that the man was simply doing his job.

Hell, it was becoming tiresome to remind yourself of that. It was his job to pry, to observe, to snoop even. The day that you’d found him in your chambers, standing by your bed, gazing around with his hands folded behind his back, you’d almost suffered a heart attack. It took the will of God to remind you that he was a detective, and that he was simply doing his job.

Sherlock Holmes was doing what he was hired to do.

And that was the problem.

You could hear footsteps approaching from below, and you paused on your reading, sticking a finger in the page before closing your book. The branch that you’d chosen to lounge on was higher than the usual, and you craned your head ever so slightly to look down below.

Mr. Holmes decided to make himself at home beneath the tree, leaning back against the trunk. His suit jacket was gone, one knee bent, and you watched as the autumn breeze ruffled his soft curls. You blinked, wondering to yourself how he managed to look both intimidating and vulnerable at the same time?

“No one in town seems to have any legitimate idea of where your father could have gone.”

His voice traveled to you from below, and you chuckled before you could stop yourself.

“No, I would imagine not. Despite what they may think, none of the townspeople know my father, at all,” you told him.

You could feel his eyes on you as you descended, and you brushed your dress off when you finally made it to the ground. He looked up at you with such intrigue, brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. You cleared your throat.

“You’re staring, Mr. Holmes.”

He slowly blinked at you.

“Indeed, I am,” he said, rising to join you. “I do apologize. I was having a rather strong sense of déjà vu.”

Now it was your turn to frown in confusion, and he continued.

“My sister…she loves to hide away in a tree with a good book just as well as you.”

He ran his eyes over your face, drinking you in, and the hair on your arms stood on end.

“…you remind me of her in some ways,” he murmured.

“Well, she sounds like a remarkable young woman then,” you complimented.

“She is getting there,” he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “Although, just like her, so much of you remains a mystery to me.”

You squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze, looking away from his narrowed eyes to walk towards your garden. You could both feel and hear him behind you, and you felt your face grow hot as the weight of his stare pressed down on you.

“You have a rather impressive garden,” he praised.

You looked to him, a small smile slow to spread along your lips.

“Thank you.”

“Crown Imperials,” he noted, and your smile fell. “They seem to be a favorite of yours.”

“They are. The bright blooms are so pretty to me,” you truthfully replied.

“You spend a great deal of time out here,” he hummed.

You bent down to finger a petal, a genuine smile on your face now.

“I find comfort out here. Looking at this garden, basking in its presence, puts me at ease. Flowers that bloom in the colder months, when all the leaves have fallen and the animals have scurried away to hibernate, symbolize rebirth to me. New beginnings,” you whispered, eyes unfocused as you let your hand fall.

You slowly stood, stomach flipping when your eyes met his as you turned around. His hands were at his side, broad form much closer than you remembered, and your eyes zeroed in on the way he flexed his fingers. Mr. Holmes opened his mouth to speak, but you interrupted him.

“I should get back inside to assist my sister with her studies,” you told him.

You bid him goodbye and scurried past him before he could utter a word.

The next night, you made your way downstairs in the darkness as you did every night. Your mother and sister were fast asleep in their rooms, Mr. Holmes having long gone to bed as well. With a soft sigh, you approached the front door, locking it with a resounding click. You pressed your hand against the wood, heart aching for your mother, pitying her even, before you turned around.

“Why do you lock the door every night?”

A scream threatened to escape your throat, but you swallowed it down as light flooded the foyer. You pressed your hand to your chest, glaring at the detective as he stood across from you…dressed for bed. You blinked at the sight of his bare chest, and you quickly looked away, face heating up.

“Mr. Holmes,” you slowly began, forcing your heart to slow. “…you frightened me.”

“You did not answer my question,” was his only response, and you frowned at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

He took a step towards you, and you resisted the urge to take a step back.

“Mrs. Y/L/N leaves it unlocked every night in hopes that her husband, your father, will return. She told me so, and you come down every night to lock it. Why?”

You heaved a sigh, guilt flooding you.

“…because it is sad. I hope for his return just as much as my mother, but I will not be so foolish as to leave me and my family completely vulnerable while we sleep.”

He didn’t respond, so you continued.

“My father, her husband, is God knows where, and I understand that she is worried, but she is beginning to lose all sense of reason ever since his disappearance. Someone must keep this house together,” you complained.

He eventually nodded at that, seeming to accept this, and your eyes fell to the floor, uncomfortable with his close proximity and inappropriate state of dress. Your eyes caught the end of your nightgown, and you realized with a start that you both were inappropriately dressed for this conversation. Especially one so late at night. You shuddered to imagine what your mother would think if she came downstairs this very moment.

You looked up, startled, when he stepped closer, and your throat felt incredibly dry all of a sudden. Your sister’s words that first day came back to you, and you thought to yourself that Sherlock Holmes was much more handsome than she knew. You took a step back, back grazing the door as you eyed his face, him doing the same.

“You brew medicine for your mother, making salves as well,” he suddenly murmured, and you frowned. “I saw them in her room. The herbs used to make them I found in the kitchen.”

Your frown deepened, unsure of how this was relevant to anything.

“I did not know she was unwell,” he probed.

You cleared your throat, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“She isn’t…unwell, I mean. At least…not really. As she said, it rained that Thursday after my father’s disappearance. She was worried and distraught and did not take note of the slippery steps. She fell, and the salve and medicine are simply to help with the bruising and the pain,” you explained.

He only hummed at that, and you made to move around him, a bidding of goodnight on your lips, but he blocked your path. You looked to him with wide eyes, heart beginning to race again, although you didn’t know why.

Even in the thin and exposing nightgown, you felt your body heat up under his heavy gaze, his eyes running over your frame in a way that you were familiar with. However, the disgust that normally coursed through you at such an action was nowhere to be found. Instead, something unfamiliar swirled in the pit of your stomach, and this scared you.

It must have been written on your face, that fear, or at the very least visible in your eyes for Mr. Holmes took a step back. You noticed that his jaw was clenched, face pinched in a pensive manner that was becoming all too familiar to you. He suddenly wished you a goodnight, and you did the same, feeling his heated gaze searing into your back as you ascended the stairs.

Sleep did not come easy to you. In fact, it smoothly evaded you for days, and the already dark circles beneath your eyes became even more prominent. Your mother and sister were used to your inconsistent sleep schedule, accustomed to the haggard appearance your face would take sometimes. If Mr. Holmes noticed, however, he did not mention it. Of course, that was a silly thing to think. He noticed everything, and it was no surprise to you to find him in the lounge room late one night.

The flames licked at the inside of the fireplace, casting a low light over the room. His daunting form was seated in your father’s chair, and neither one of you greeted each other as you made your way into the room. Sometimes on particularly trying nights, you liked to curl up with a book by the fireplace in hopes that it would lull you to sleep. You had a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Holmes knew this, hence his presence, and you sighed.

You didn’t wish to be alone with him, and you had every intention of making your way back to bed, but some part of you scolded yourself for your treatment of the detective. He was only doing his job, after all. You knew that your wariness of him was no fault of his, and you guiltily made your way to your father’s bar.

“Would you like a drink before I head back to bed?” you asked him, already reaching for a glass.

He didn’t respond, and you glanced up to find his gaze still on the roaring flames, a hand resting against his mouth, eyes thoughtful. You reached for one of your father’s more expensive selections just as Mr. Holmes spoke.

“He’s beneath the garden…isn’t he?”

You did not falter in your movements, but you could not stop the way your stomach churned, threatening to expel everything you’d eaten that day. You set the bottle down, and your hand shook around it. Your lips parted, but no words came out, and you snapped them shut, swallowing.

“I beg your pardon?” you eventually responded.

“I took on this case to pass some time really. It seemed simple enough to me. Your father had been murdered…that much was clear,” he quietly said.

Your throat felt incredibly thick all of a sudden, and your heart clenched in your chest, painfully so.

“However, it was only a matter of who.”

You felt tears spring forth, but they held off, collecting in your eyes as he continued.

“Your mother seemed the obvious choice, too obvious even, and I was proven right when I met her. She loved your father dearly, and I’d be a fool to think she could ever bring harm to him. I considered your sister next. Naturally. She is impulsive and wild, but that is precisely why she was ruled out. She’s not, how would my brother say it, refined?”

You briefly closed your eyes in defeat.

“No. Not like you…”

He stood to face you, and the tears finally spilled over when his troubled gaze met yours in the low lighting.

“She has not mastered the skills to truly be a lady. She has not learned to hold her tongue or hide her thoughts or school her features so that they are the picture-perfect vision of decorum and poise…to show the world only what you wish for them to see.”

His smooth voice did not bring you comfort, and you fought to hold his gaze as he neared you.

“…but you have. You’ve mastered it quite well, in fact.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out, only a shaky exhale.

“Many people in town mentioned your mother’s clumsiness. Her constant aches and faint bruises…bruises you’ve been tending to for a while…”

He stopped before you, eyes somber.

“He was hitting her. Probably much more than that. When did you first discover it?”

Again, words failed you, and he shook his head, a dark curl brushing his forehead.

“That tidbit is not relevant, so don’t bother to answer that.”

“Mr. Holmes-.”

“You referred to their marriage in the past tense. You lock the door at night because you know that he is never coming home.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Crown imperial is an interesting flower to plant, most people avoiding them because of the putrid smell. Of course, a flower like that would cover up the smell of decaying flesh rather nicely,” he mused. “I know it happened in the living room.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“That plant on the table…there’s hardly any soil in it at all, the only one in the entire house like it. That and the pinches of soil on the carpet beneath it tells me that it had been knocked over. It matches the few grains found in your sheets,” he explained.

You blinked at him.

“You were evidently in a hurry to clean it up and get back into bed. After all, it must have been rather early in the morning at that point… This was after you buried him correct?”

Reluctantly, you gave a shaky nod, confirming his accusations for the first time. He pressed his hand to his mouth again, the other on his hip as he paced, brows furrowed.

“The only thing I cannot seem to figure out is how you did it…”

“…belladonna,” you softly said, speaking for the first time that evening.

He looked at you, and you held his gaze, tears at bay for the moment.

“My father never misses a nightcap,” you told him with a shrug. “Large doses of belladonna can be-.”

“Fatal,” he finished for you, and you looked away.

“So…what happens now? Surely you mean to turn me in…hand me over to the police to answer for my crime,” you tearfully said.

He didn’t say anything, and the only noise in the room for a while was that of the crackling fireplace. Eventually, you heard him approach you again, and you flinched when his hands landed on your arms. Reluctantly, you looked at him, and his eyes flitted over your face, unsure of what to settle on. His thumbs brushed along your bare skin, and your throat bobbed.

“I should,” he whispered to himself, brows drawn together as he studied you. “I should turn you in immediately.”

He stepped closer, and you could feel his body heat, practically feel his heartbeat beneath his chest. His hands tightened on you for a brief moment before loosening his hold.

“…but I can’t,” he confessed through clenched teeth.

Confusion filled you, and your lips parted in shock. His eyes seemed to be drawn to the action, gaze lingering on your mouth for far too long.

“I…I don’t understand…”

He drank you in, gaze vexed, like you confounded him. One of his hands slid to your neck, fingers brushing your jaw, and you sharply inhaled, lips trembling.

“Even now…I still cannot figure you out,” he murmured to himself.

Your confusion grew, frown deepening, and you watched as he suddenly blinked, taking a step back. It took longer for him to finally let you go, and his face appeared strained, movements stiff as if it took everything in him to do so. He took a few more steps back, getting as far away from you as possible before he spoke again.

“There is no doubt in my mind that you very well could kill me in my sleep, but I trust that you won’t.”

Your eyes widened when he made to leave, and you called to him. He paused in the doorway, fists clenched at his side as he refused to look at you.

“W-what…what will you tell them? What will you tell my mother?”

Your voice was but a whisper, disbelief coursing through you at this turn of events. His shoulders heaved as he sighed.

“…nothing for you to worry about…Y/N.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of your name falling from his lips, and before you could process what he had said, he was gone.

“He…he’s simply run off?”

You leaned your head against the wall as you listened in on the conversation taking place in the dining room, and your heart constricted as her soft sobs reached your ears. You couldn’t imagine the feeling of fretting over someone for weeks, fearful for their wellbeing only to discover that they weren’t hurt at all. The opposite, in fact.

Only, it was a lie.

As you listened to Mr. Holmes spin the believable tale of your father running off with some mistress, you thought to yourself that the truth would have been better. Your mother could move past the truth. She could heal from the truth. How was she meant to heal from this?

You quietly pushed yourself off of the wall and made your way past the doorway. As you passed, your eyes caught those of Mr. Holmes, his heavy stare boring into you, and guilt tore through you as you caught sight of your mother’s distraught form.

No, the truth would have been far better. Your mother, the loving and strong woman that she was, deserved to know the truth, and you intended to give it to her.

Hours later when darkness fell, you found yourself outside, yanking out flower and vegetable roots. Thunder rumbled far off in the distance, and a light sprinkle of rain dampened your hair and dress. Tears soaked your cheeks as you dug through the dirt, sobs wracking your frame. You had buried him deep, and now that had come back to haunt you.

Or so you thought.

A startled gasp left your lips as firm hands yanked you to your feet from behind, and your eyes were wide as you were spun around to face none other than Sherlock Holmes. Lightning flashed behind him, illuminating his angry features, and you shrank in on yourself underneath his harsh gaze.

“What the devil do you think you are doing?”

More tears fell, and you shook your head.

“I cannot do this! I cannot go along with this lie any longer,” you told him.

His eyes softened, but his jaw ticked at your words.

“Y/N,” he sighed your name.

“Thank you for what you’ve done, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot bear to see my mother hurting like this over a lie. The truth…the truth will be much easier for her heart to bear,” you gasped.

You fought to get out of his hold, but he proved to be as strong as he looked.

“I cannot allow you to do this-.”

“Why not? You’ve solved the case! The great Sherlock Holmes figured it out, and soon my name and face will be plastered on papers everywhere as everyone learns what I did,” you cried.

“You were protecting your mother,” he argued.

“In the eyes of the law, I am still a murderess. I have reason to believe that you would agree with them,” you scoffed. “…why are you protecting me?”

He didn’t respond, and you huffed, jerking in his hold again, but he wouldn’t budge. The rain was coming down a little harder now, and your vision was blurry from both the weather and your tears. Your knees started to buckle as your movements slowed, and you would have collapsed to the ground if Mr. Holmes hadn’t been holding you.

He leaned you against your tree, and your fingers twisted into his rain-soaked shirt as tears skipped down your cheeks. He still hadn’t answered your question, and your eyes reluctantly met his. He looked at you like he had been looking at you for weeks, and that unfamiliar feeling returned…as well as the fear.

“You are not nearly as fragile as I initially thought you to be,” he quietly said, puzzling you.

He continued before you could voice your confusion.

“…but you are not nearly as tough as I thought you to be either.”

He reached up to brush his thumb over your lip, and you jerked, eyes widening at the action. Your heart felt like it was threatening to leap from your chest, and a thought suddenly occurred to you that had never occurred to you before.

“You have plagued my thoughts for weeks,” he confessed, making you freeze. “…entering my dreams the very moment I first had my suspicions.”

“Mr. Holmes…”

“Who would think that someone like you would be capable of such a thing,” he mused, genuine bewilderment on his features. “…and yet…I still want you so.”

Dread began to fester in your gut, and you pushed against his chest, but it proved to be useless. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes boring into your own.

“Sh-Sherlock,” you said, hoping that hearing his name from your lips would snap him out of it, knock some clarity into him, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

His fingers tightened, enough to make you wince, and his eyes fluttered close, a long exhale leaving him.

“Y/N,” he whispered your name like it was a prayer. “How do you manage…to be half heaven…and half hell?”

The words had barely left his lips before he fiercely pressed them against yours, startling you. A horrified gasp left you, and he clutched you to him, breathing you in as he moved his mouth over yours. He only seemed to take note of his actions when your palm met his cheek.

You stumbled back, hands grasping along your tree as he took a step back. His lips were swollen, hair damp and eyes troubled as he blinked at you. You pressed one hand into the tree behind you, the other to your chest as you stared at him in fear. Your chest was heaving just as much as his.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

He swallowed, at least having the gall to look ashamed. You stared at one another for a painfully long time, ruminating on what he’d done, the line that he’d crossed. You didn’t move, too afraid to, and Sherlock’s jaw clenched as he eyed you.

His hands curled into fists at his side, features twisted with a myriad of emotions that you couldn’t place. There seemed to be a struggle going on, and your lip trembled as he dragged his eyes over your wet frame, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His dark hair was damp from the rain, the strands curling around his ears and kissing his forehead.

His lips parted ever so slightly, and he straightened as his eyes finally met yours again. You watched the way his nostrils flared, a carnal hunger in his eyes that terrified you to the bone.

“Forgive me,” he whispered again, apologizing for something that he hadn’t done, but was instead about to do.

You turned and ran past your tree, but he was already upon you before you could even get in three steps. His muscular arms wrapped around you, holding you to him as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, lips trailing kisses over your damp skin.

You reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, attempting to pull his head away from you, but he only groaned against your skin. Fresh tears escaped, and you shuddered as he pressed himself against you, hard and threatening against your dress.

Your back met your tree, and Sherlock was quick in pressing his lips to yours. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, noises of protest escaping your lips as you pushed against him. You were sobbing when he finally broke the kiss, and you shook your head, pleas falling from your lips.

“Don’t do this,” you begged, knowing you were no match for him and accepting that pleading was your only chance. “Please, don’t- you’ll ruin me.”

Your eyes searched his.

“I’ll never be able to find a husband, to give my mother some form of happiness again after what I did. Let me make her happy,” you shakily whispered.

His brows were furrowed as he gazed at you, and his hands felt incredibly hot on your waist. The light rain had passed now, leaving only a partly cloudy sky and a bright moon to shine down on you. Sherlock closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead to yours, thumbs tracing patterns into your waist.

“…I suppose I will be your husband then.”

He gently shushed you as you cried, softly pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t budge no matter how hard you pushed against him, and you shook as he hooked one of your legs onto his waist. One of his hands pressed into the back of your head while the other tore at the skirt of your dress, all the while he kept you pinned between him and the tree.

It suddenly occurred to you that this was your punishment. This was your comeuppance for what you’d done. It didn’t matter that your father hurt your mother on a regular basis, murder was wrong, and you were being punished for it.

You cried harder when you both felt and heard him releasing himself, and the cool air you felt against your core told you that Sherlock had ripped away every barrier between you two. His lips were gentle on yours, and his entry did not differ from that.

He was slow in pushing inside of you, and you hit against his shoulder, mouth parted in a silent scream as he stretched you. Your nails dug into him when he could go no further, and a long moan lowly left his lips, satisfaction dripping from every note. You blinked back tears as he pressed his hands into the bottom of your thighs, keeping them at his waist as he held you to him.

He slowly moved within you, and one hand held onto him to keep from falling while the other dug into the bark of the tree behind you. He kissed you again, and you turned your head away. He let out a soft growl of frustration before pulling away from the tree.

You yelped and shuddered when your back met the cold damp ground, but your yelp turned into a gasp when he firmly thrust into you. It was a feeling unlike any other you’d ever known, and you squeezed your eyes shut, one hand fisted into his shirt while the other did the same to the grass.

You felt full, but it was an uneasy feeling, like you shouldn’t be full. Every drag of his member pulled a whimper from you, and your face crumbled when he pressed kisses to it, trying to bring some comfort to you while he had his way with you.

“You feel exactly as I dreamed you would,” he whispered.

You sniffed beneath him, core protesting his assault, no matter how gentle it was. You pushed against him again, but he gripped your hand, bringing it to his mouth, and a shiver traveled down your spine as he brushed his lips over the inside of your wrist. He held your gaze as he held your wrist to his lips, and the intensity behind his eyes scared you.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I have every intention of marrying you.”

Somehow, the fact that he was telling the truth scared you more than the thought of him abandoning you. He was going to take you away from your mother and sister, and then who would look out for them? A shaky sob escaped your lips, and he shushed you again, hips curving into yours over and over.

“No one will ever discover what you did. I’ll see to it,” he told you, kissing you again. “…and I’ll make sure your family is well cared for.”

His breath hitched, pace changing, and your toes curled on their own accord.

“Why?” you tearfully gasped as he nipped at your neck. “Why…?”

He paused his movements, holding himself inside of you as he looked down at you. You felt defeated, and the only thing left was confusion, bafflement at why you. He brushed his fingers over your tear-stained cheek, eventually ghosting them over your swollen lips. Sherlock looked at you like you were the most magnificent creature he’d ever seen, and your stomach turned.

“…so much of you is still a mystery to me, and even if I never figure you out…”

He brushed his soft lips against yours.

“…at least you are mine.”

tags: @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @trinittyy @hyoyeoniie @kellyn1604 @sherrybaby14 @jtargaryen18

#dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #dark fic #sherlock x reader #henry cavill

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makeste · 3 years

Note

Don’t you think that Horikoshi backing up Katsuki with 1A is proof Deku’s stronger than him? Like, I really don’t think it would end in a draw if they fought it out 1v1, it would just be unrealistic at this point, (and would undermine Endeavour’s storyline, Nagant’s character and the overall power scaling of the manga). However, Katsuki winning alone against Deku or winning as a team against Deku is the same end result for him, so it’s way more realistic, and follows what MHA’s always telling us about teamwork. Maybe in the end there’ll be a Deku v Kacchan (and I hope so! And likely, considering Katsuki’s definitely the strongest in the class and the only one who can at least hope to compare) but I think Horikoshi realized Katsuki can’t win alone (and I think even Katsuki knows that rn), but that doesn’t mean he can’t win at all.

I very much do not think this is proof of that, but I am also very biased and stubborn about this, and have a lot of strong feelings about it as you probably know lol. so keep that in mind.

there are a few reasons why I think the entire class is there. firstly, to show how much they all care about Deku and how important Deku is to all of them. I said in my prediction post last week that I thought the Deku Rescue Squad would consist of people whom Deku had inspired in some way. and that did turn out to be the case -- it's just that I underestimated just how much Deku has inspired all of them, not just a select few. he means enough to each and every one of his classmates that they all came together and agreed that they were going to go out and find him and show him that he wasn't alone. and that was actually very moving to realize (no wonder Deku scrambled to hide back under his mask so quickly lol).

the second reason why I think they are all there is because, this being endgame times, I think Horikoshi wants to show how much all of them have powered up, not just the main cast. with the final battle approaching, he needs to show us that these kids are ready, or else he risks us not being able to suspend our belief when they wind up defeating AFO and the League at the end of the series. we need to see how far they've come, and he needs to show us what they're made of.

and the third and final reason is because in order to ease the fear in Deku's heart right now, his friends need to reassure him that what happened at Gunga and Jakku is not going to happen again. they need to show him that they're strong, so that he can trust in their strength. and they also need to show both him and the Vestiges that the most surefire way of defeating AFO isn't through OFA's power alone, but through the power of all of their quirks. all of their strength, combined. they need to demonstrate to him that the 19 of them acting together are easily a match for him even if he does have six quirks. and so if all of them work together, they can even be a match for TomurAFO as well.

so yeah, all of these things are very important and need to happen. but none of them precludes DvK3 from also happening as well. what I'm currently envisioning is a two-phase battle.

in the first phase, all of them team up against Deku while he tries to use SIXQUIRKS to take them down, using the same strategies that worked against Muscular and Nagant and the others. except that it doesn't work against 1-A because they're prepared for it, and they show him how their own strength and ingenuity can match and exceed his own when they all work together.

during this phase we'll get to see the kids show off, and we'll get to see what kind of combos Horikoshi can pull off with all of them acting together as a unit. so for instance, maybe Deku tries to use Smokescreen to escape, and Momo makes a bunch of giant fans to blow the smoke away, and Dark Shadow carries one of the fans up into the air, and Ochako makes the others weightless, and Kouda summons a bunch of birds to carry them, and Iida turns on Recipro and runs a bunch of high speed circles around the area to clear out the rest of the smoke.

or Deku uses Float, and Mineta and Sero and Shouto use their quirks to catch him while Kacchan and Shouto and Ochako and Tokoyami and all the other kids with flying quirks loop around to cut him off.

or Deku uses Danger Sense to try and dodge their attacks, but the same group from the previous paragraph uses the same tactics to hold him in place. or Jirou and Kami and Tsuyu use their quirks to paralyze him temporarily. or Hagakure and Kacchan use their quirks to momentarily blind him.

or Deku tries to use Blackwhip to grab them and hold them all in place, but Kacchan and Iida use their speed to evade (evading Blackwhip is a specialty of Kacchan's after all), and Shouji uses his quirk to sprout arms on all of the other kids to help pry them free, and Aoyama and Mina use their quirks to dissolve some of the Blackwhip tendrils because idk but there has to be something that's able to actually counter them (just like Dark Shadow is similarly made of "dark energy" but isn't invulnerable either), and Ojiro runs around being a diversion or something because I had to include him in these hypotheticals somewhere, and Sero and Shouto use their quirks to bind and freeze Deku's hands so he can't aim properly, and Kiri and Satou use their strength to turn the tables on Deku and yank him off balance instead using his own quirk.

anyway but the point is, they have an effective counter for each and every one of Deku's quirks and strategies, because they are taking advantage of the fact that 19 > 6. and so that's what the first part of the battle will be like. but then the second phase, I envision happening once Deku finally whips out the one quirk they haven't been able to prepare for, because they didn't know about it -- Fa Jin. I don't think Deku will use it to attack any of them directly; rather, he'll try to use it as a trump card to try and make his escape. in which case the most likely scenario is that Kacchan -- whose own speed upgrade Deku is similarly unaware of -- will take off after him, with the others following behind at a slower pace (assuming they can still track him using the GPS). which in turn leads to the second phase of the battle -- our much-anticipated DvK3 proper.

which is still going to happen for my money, and is still vitally important. because the two of them have a lot of things that they need to say to each other. and because Kacchan is still Deku's equal, and I will die on that fucking hill if I have to lol. and with respect, I can't really bring myself to worry about it potentially undermining Endeavor's storyline or Nagant's skills or whatever either, because to be perfectly frank this is something that was established long before those things came along, and this takes precedence. Kacchan staked his claim to number one in the very first chapter. he reaffirmed that claim multiple times throughout the series, including after DvK1 and DvK2. he was the second one to be tied to All Might's legacy right after Deku. he is the other half of the "win" and "save" equation. the first one Deku entrusted with his secret. the one who Deku emulates. and the reason why Deku left UA. the real reason. not the only reason, but the predominant reason which he still hasn't been able to face yet. because Kacchan's body moved on its own, and he took that blow for him, and that frightened him more than anything has ever frightened him before.

so yeah, it has to happen. there are too many loose ends which need to be addressed. too much emotional buildup to be resolved with just a handful of sentences while they duke it out alongside their classmates. at the very least, if 1-A does wind up triumphing over Deku, there would need to be some kind of follow-up conversation between Deku and Kacchan alone, if not necessarily a fight.

but you know what, even as I typed that last sentence out it didn't feel right lol. ngl I do still think it's gonna be a fight. that's just what they do. they're shounen rivals. and shounen rivals share their feelings via their fists lol. and these two have a lot of feelings to share, and a shitload of trauma to unpack and address. and that moment at the end of 318 -- that solo moment with just Kacchan, alongside the "the one who can complete Midoriya Izuku..." dialogue -- that wasn't just a coincidence. there is absolutely no way.

so yeah, I stand by my previous posts lol. we doin this. not sure when, at this point, but stay tuned.

#bnha 319 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #class 1-a #bnha meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks #long post

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lespritdekin · 3 years

Text

gone with the wind.

heeseung wasn't the creator of the universe, but he was your entire world, and you were willing to turn a blind eye to his disloyalty if it meant that he'd stay with you.

pairingㅡ heeseung x fem!reader (ft. jay).

genreㅡ angst, fluff.

warningsㅡ heeseung is an asshole, and a fuckboy.

word countㅡ 2.6k

disclaimerㅡ I am not knowledgeable within the business world, and i certainly am not a witness of how employers promote their employees.

The shadows that followed your form like a Pied Piper produced a wary rhythm that scattered across every corridor of your veins, the nightly breeze that stung your face held your heart in its grasp, squeezing, extracting your sense of pugnacity, forcing you on your knees, calling, whispering in your ears,

Why do you desire what you cannot acquire?

Why do you long for someone's touch? Someone that only desires himself?

It wasn't your first encounter with Ethan's straying eyes. Beautiful orbs as dark as ebony, gaze as sharp as tungsten, behind the curtains that dangle from his sinful truth, there lies a hunger that can never reach satisfaction, yearning for the taste of one more kiss for the night, one more body to hold in his sheets.

The number of opportunities the world gave you in order to keep your head straight, keep your chin held high, mind persistent on your own necessities, like your career that recently had been at the top of the pedestal, your home that had become a penthouse suite a week ago because of your intelligent hardwork.

At the back of your mind, you chose to discard these thoughts. Everyday, you could achieve another line of recognition in your work, the field you were most passionate about. The royal blue mermaid gown didn't entice Ethan enough to form a song with solely the thought of you. No lingering lips from another woman, no repeated amounts of second chances, just you and your sweet melodies. None of that occured.

That apex of the night, you shone brighter than the stars, glowed stronger than the moon.

You were dazzling.

Your skin could rival the smoothest gold, the details of your dress twinkling under the large chandeliers that hung atop your silky, beautiful hair. The Sapphire jewelry set you had just bought with full paper the day before brought out the alluring beauty of your eyes, the most tantalizing part of you, according to Ethan.

But, not even your most desirable features could bring the source of your pain on his knees. The dysphoria that etched itself onto your face magnetized his eyes for a split second.

Was it that difficult to properly look you in the eye?

You were beautiful, of course. Albeit, the most beautiful goddess that Ethan ever held. The confidence that ambushed your throat vanished as Ethan's arm snuck around the woman's waist, his lips that was once kissing your ear last night were now on the woman stuck to his form, well aware of your eyes on him, well aware of the hurt that formed in your chest, well aware that the tears you have been holding back the entire event would come crashing down any minute soon.

"I love you, [Name]." He used to say after spending the night in your bed. You were too naive to care, too timid to dig deeper into the honesty of his words. To you, he was flawed, but never in your favor. He was the ice cream that encircled around your tongue whenever you felt conflicted, the peaceful serenity that embraced your ears when your world was close to collapsing. That was your biggest mistake.

Ethan was a jerk. A bastard that continued to disregard your feelings, a monster that claws at your emotions until you fall into an abyss of darkness, shrouding over you until you suffocate.

You closed the door to your penthouse, your tall shoes thumping across the polished marble floor, tears now cascading down your pretty pink cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, Jake was right. You were a fool for wanting Ethan. You were a fool for allowing another fool to brush you off his shoulder. He was a puzzle you were never meant to fix, a maze you were never destined to enter. You were now nearing the end, your tiny feet scrambling to leave this labyrinth you've been caging yourself in.

Ethan wasn't the only man on Earth.

And, you bet he wasn't the only man you'll ever love.

"How was the ball, cupcake?" The man within your pallet had asked, voice deep and raspy, but still curious and soulful. He was rubbing his eyes, ripped muscles and evident veins littering his skin, eyebrows scrunched up as he forces himself awake. You wiped your tears away, taking your heels off as you allowed the coat to slip past your shoulders.

You sat in front of your looking glass, gentle fingertips removing your earrings. Two large, calloused hands slipped around your shoulders, kissing the exposed skin before disassembling the lock in your necklace.

"It was, hmm, how do I say this... Quite eventful?" You chuckled softly, fingers coming up to rub the hand resting on your shoulder. He bent down to kiss your cheeks, mumbling about how courageous and strong you were for facing the most afflictive quandary in your life. All alone, you've watched Ethan kiss another girl, make love to another girl, all alone in your little daydream of pursuing yourself that Ethan was a man that has been damaged, a man that needed another person's warmth.

Fully aware that you were deteriorating slowly, fully aware that you chose to ignore it, so long as Ethan still came home to you.

"Thank you, Jongseong." You sighed, the kisses that were scattered on your neck lulling you into sleep.

"Princess, don't sleep on me. We still need to take your makeup off, and take a bath." He warned you gently, applying micellar water on your face with a cotton pad. You smiled, your heart swelling from the undivided attention, something Ethan couldn't give you. After he had finished wiping off the last bit of your lipstick, he pulled you up and unzipped your dress, allowing you to step out of it. He gawked at you, eyes ogling up and down your figure.

You were marvelous.

The faint dimples on the small of your back, the little lovehandles you had, the cellulite that cluttered on your thighs, the little stretchmarks that had formed on the sides of your tummy. They were all so gorgeous, so, so breathtaking in the eyes of the man before you, eyes twinkling with unrealistic amounts of love. "All for me?" He asked cheekily, causing you to slap his chest lightly. You sweet laugh grazed his earlobes, kissing him, shrouding him.

"You're so beautiful. I hope you know that." He spoke, hands rubbing up and down your arms. You looked up and smiled at him, your cheeks heating up from the confession. "I know, you remind me everyday."

The morning came and greeted the both of you like a happy little kid, it reminded you of Sunoo. Bright, innocent, and hard-working. He was the sweetest little angel, so pure that you were almost fooled he was your long lost little brother. "Good morning, beautiful." A groggy, raspy, deep voice resounded from behind you, muscular arms wrapping tighter around your chest, nose shoved at the nape of your neck, inhaling your sweet, mature scent.

"Good morning to you, too, handsome." He sighed exasperatedly, nuzzling the tip of his nose into your scalp. "I adore the aroma of your shampoo."

You pushed his shoulder away, opting to turn around and face him. You gave his nose a kiss, your thumb rubbing smooth lines across his cheekbone. "Let's get up, big boy, work starts in an hour and a half."

After finishing your breakfast, which was done by the both of you (of course, your pancakes were with maple syrup and his with an entire jar of honeyㅡ) got dressed, but not after a quick occurrence of love making in the bathroom. For the first time in your entire being, someone brought you to work. Jongseong himself let himself in despite the rivalry between your companies, greeting the workers and staff as they pass by.

He brought you to your office, kissing you tenderly before leaving shortly, engaging in a little warfare of who could declare their love the deepest.

Of course, your competitive boyfriend won.

You could still feel the delicious warmth of his lips on your as he says "I love you more than Heroes of Storm." You could still feel his hands on your waist as he sits you down your desk, his tongue prying.

Lost in your little daydream, your secretary knocked on the door, informing you that the Chief Executive Officer longed for your presence in the conference and room. You arrived shortly, all eyes on your gorgeous figure and miniscule, flawless face as your PA closed the door in your tow. Expectedly, the man of your nightmares was equally as daunting in the presence of the room, the gentle humming of the air-conditioner reminding you that you were in a place of professionalism, not your personal escapade.

You sat in the only seat available, parallel to the CEO, right next to the left of Ethan. Your PA stood behind you, fiddling with the folders and papers in her hand. You tugged at the ends of your maroon blazer, your skirt the same color. Your pencil skirt and tall heels were black, pearl earrings a bright contrast to the black onyx of your designer shoes. Your cheeks were pink, lips adorning the same color, eyes sparkling with casual confidence, causing Ethan's eyebrows to furrow.

Weren't you just on the brim of crying your eyes out yesterday?

Why the fuck were you glowing?

"Good morning, ladies. Good morning, gentlemen." A series of polite responses welcomed the ears of the chairman, standing up with his hands clasped together. "The following six months were quite the effort, weren't they? The panel and I have discussed the possibility of a President, soon to replace the retiring Mrs. Min."

Murmurs of who they wanted to lead them hollered around the crisp air of the alcove. Your name came in the picture of gossiping workers, but the smile on your face soon turned sour after hearing Ethan's name in the air. Your smile could have faltered if it weren't for your newfound strength to face challenges head on, to face the fresh antagonism between you and Ethan.

A sly smirk graced Ethan's unbelievably handsome face. You've missed the cheeky quirk of his eyebrow, the serrated glint in his eyes, the burning touch of his fingertips, and his gorgeous face. You've craved for them more than anything in the world these past few days, but not even Ethan's remorseless persistence could govern Jay's latency in your life. Ethan was a pest, Jay was a miracle that was given to you.

The exemplification was enough.

The Jay Park, the CEO and President of Park Enterprises was the one that held your heart.

Not even your past with Ethan could compare to that.

"We have come to a conclusion. It was quite the handful to decide, but our verdict was unanimous." The chairman concluded, causing everyone's blood to stiffen, curious, biting, curiously waiting, demanding for the designated name to be called in their seats, eyes boring into the man in front of them. "We have decided, that, from this day on, Ms. [Name] Yang will be your latest luminary."

The crowd squealed in delight, inappropriate within the occasion, but appreciated, nevertheless. You stood up to bow to the chairman, your new position in the company greatly satisfying, justifying your hardwork. The image of vengeance never crossed your mind, but with Ethan, dumbfounded and in disbelief of your success, being here, on the time of your prosperity, was breathtaking, to say the least.

The gentle monikers you've given him proved worthless as you bowed in front of him, the red that clouded his vision powerful enough to physically manhandle you, force you into submission, force you below him. His hands itched to paint your skin red, stain your mind with him and his rough palms, make you feel the anger and dissatisfaction you've caused him. His head was in a swirl, the radiance of your skin and your smile pushing him off a cliff, your elegance draping him with your beauty.

But, why?

Why was he feeling this way? You were just another whore that fell in his mousetrap.

Why were you suddenly the only prize he wanted to win?

As soon as you informed Jongseong through the phone at lunch time, he swore he could make love to you then and there. He was more than gleeful for you and the steadfast dedication you had in your field. All the nights you spent at the office in your home, all the coffee lattes that you would open the door to, all the fast-food meals you would consume just to finish your line of work finally paid off. To celebrate, Jay booked a dinner reservation in one of the 7-star hotels him and his father owned.

That night, Ethan's very own eyes discovered Jay Park's form, leaning against his black Mercedes, seemingly waiting for someone. His speculation that it was you soon pummeled him in the face as your little arms wrapped around Park Ent's CEO, shoving your tongue down his throat out in the open. The moment you entered Jongseong's car, he slammed his beer glass on his desk and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt past his elbows, the veins and muscles that flourish his arms more enticing under the moonlight.

Ethan's plan was meant to be successful. You were his opponent. Opponents of that of Lee Heeseung deserved to be humiliated, emotionally distraught. His loving past with his object of rivalry is all but impractical. The voice that called him in that dark night, your voice that felt like an early summer sunshine was valueless. The love that you so willingly gave dripped down his face. He licensed them to fall. Everything you shared with him, all of them were mere acts of kindness.

So, why were the veins in his temples protruding from under his skin?

Why did his eyes burn when your lips kissed Jay's?

Why did something in his guts wreathe when he reminded himself that you weren't his anymore?

Why were you such a bitch in the first place?

Of all the queries, the interrogations, the questions, and all the answers, responses, replies, all of the truth Ethan indulged in, it was always you that burglarized his mind. The most horrifying part was, he was in pain. His hands itched to be on yours, entangle your fingertips, kiss your palms, he wanted your lips on his fingertips, like you used to do when he was in distress.

He felt like he was granted to finally grasp the moonlight in his arms, cradle it until his retinas burn with luminescence, listen to your soft, breathy voice, telling him, urging him, singing him lullabies, moaning for him, whining, whimpering, shuddering, trembling for him.

Classical music devoured his sour ambience, the bitter taste of your dispossession of him made Ethan's chest tighten, lungs burning, limbs numbing. His mind was in a whirlpool of your graceful exorcism, your deportation like a gun against his head. His palms met the glass wall where he witnessed your happy smiles and soft giggles, the ones you used to make whenever you were with him.

The classical music that you used to listen to kissed his ears, and for once in his life, he cried and longed for someone. He would soar through the stormy clouds if it meant to have one more minute with you in an apocalypse of pandemonium.

That was Ethan's mistake. The long yesterday was the last time he could ever feel your skin on his. Your kisses would be nothing but a dream, your words nothing but a song he used to sing, your laugh nothing but a faint melody, your love nothing but whispers in the air.

Ethan was the one who left, but he wasn't the one who disappeared. He was left high and dry.

And you?

You were simply gone with the wind.

#enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #heeseung angst #heeseung imagines #heeseung scenarios #jay fluff #jay angst #jay imagines #jay scenarios

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sweethartlullaby · 2 years

Text

missing pieces part ii - ksj

word count: 3.8k genre: angst, just angst warnings: death, blood song(s): you were good to me - jeremy zucker, chelsea cutler sweethartlullaby ꕤ masterlist

Seokjin had searched everywhere. He knocked on his neighbours’ doors, accepted their weird looks and asked if they had seen her, went to nearby cafes and made sure to ask twice if they spotted her. He tried his mother, and she told him she hadn’t seen or heard from Peach since that day.

He considered calling his brother, but he didn’t want to hear the part where he would get scolded for keeping her. He was passing his lab when he heard a sputtering sound, as if someone was choking.

And it sounded damn familiar.

Seokjin turned towards the sound and walked down the alley he found her.

“Peach?” He whispered out.

No reply.

But he knew she was there.

“Peach?” He called out a little louder.

“Pea-”

Another choked sound.

But this time, with a shadow hurled over behind the trash cans. He ran to it without a doubt in his mind that it would be her. Breathless, he stood in front of her frail figure, trembling with the flap of jacket being blown by the wind.

“Peach,”

“Go away.” She croaked.

“Please don’t do this.” Seokjin reached out to her but she smacked his hand away. He noticed the blood streaming down the fingers clamped above her mouth.

“Peach, let’s get you home.” He placed his hands on her shoulders gently and pulled her closer but she wrenched herself out of his grip.

“It’s too late, just leave.” She turned away from him and he had never been so hurt before. He wished he understood why she was pushing him away.

“Please, let me take care of you.”

“You can’t!” Peach yelled with a whip of her head.

“You can’t take care of something like me, Seokjin. You should know better than that.” It sounded like the words she was saying were hurting her too but her voice wasn’t shaking nor was it unsteady.

She meant what she said.

And that made Seokjin extremely sad.

“Let’s get you home, and then we’ll talk okay?” He begged her, taking her hand in his. He felt the blood staining his own palm but he kept holding onto her hand, not wanting to let go.

“It’s too late, they’re-”

“Seokjin!” The man looked up to see a blinding flashlight pointed at him from the main street.

“Seok joong?” He whispered to himself. His brother jogged up to him, turning the flashlight off once he was close enough.

“Mom called, she-” His eyes had trailed over to the girl in front of Seokjin, her hand in his, and the blood and fuel trickling down her nose.

“What the hell?” He hissed, but he didn’t sound terrified or scared, rather disgusted and annoyed at the sight of her.

“Seok Joong, please let me explain.”

“I told you to throw her away.”

“She was-”

“Do you have any idea what you risked by taking her home?” Seok Joong bellowed and in truth, it scared Seokjin a little. He hadn’t seen his brother this mad in ages, maybe ever.

“Hyung, she was alive. I couldn’t just throw her away like she’s just some piece of metal.”

“But that’s all she is!” He pointed at her in an accusing manner and Seokjin didn’t know whether to be mad at him or beg for his help.

“Pieces of metal welded together with organs in hopes of her becoming Korea’s strongest soldier.” Seok Joong spat out the last few words bitterly, as if he was showing his disappointment for her failure of not being perfect enough.

“And she failed, or rather, it failed.” His eyes were trained on Seokjin now and he could feel his brother’s gaze burn the back of his head.

“It was a failed experiment. And we don’t waste time on broken things.”

“She’s not broken, I fixed-”

“You can’t fix her Seokjin! It will never work properly.” He was almost yelling now and Seokjin wanted to yell back.

He wanted to scream about how Peach was always more than just a robot; how he and his little lab friends were so naive to think that a human brain wouldn’t produce real emotions. He wanted to let the world know that Peach was alive and well and she was so much more than scrap metal. She was someone important, someone who meant something to him.

“You’re coming home with me.” Seok Joong grabbed Seokjin’s arm before he could say anything else but he tried hard to release himself from his grip.

“Let go of me!”

“No, you’re leaving the robot here and we’re going home.” Seokjin managed to twist himself free of his brother’s grip before he ran back to Peach, who was now leaning on the trash can and still spitting out blood.

“This isn’t going to end well, Seokjin.” His brother warned; but it sounded like it was more from concern than anger.

“The lab knows she’s working. They’re going to find her and you don’t want to be around for that.” Seokjin froze in his spot before turning to his brother.

“What did you say?”

“Before you get mad and punch the shit out of me, I didn’t tell them. Every time she gets a nosebleed,” He nudged his chin towards the coughing girl.

“It’s because the tracker is using up all her energy, and she becomes extremely weak. Whatever is left was meant for fighting; but she isn’t complete yet so it doesn’t do both.” Seokjin looked at Peach and he noticed his breaths were getting heavier.

The lab knew where she was.

It was only a matter of time before they would come for her.

“Why would the lab want her? Isn’t she just broken metal?” Seokjin was nervous now, he didn’t have the time to tell his brother off.

“Because she’s working and she’ll probably be the guinea pig for their next trials.” Now, Seok Joong sounded concerned; and not just for him, but for her too.

“Hyung,” Seokjin whispered, but he couldn’t look his brother in the eye.

So he dropped to his knees and bowed.

“Help us.”

Seokjin took his brother’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Please, help us.”

Seokjin wasn’t one to question the heavens. Part of the reason was because he never thought of a reason to do so.

But he finally did when they turned the corner out of the alley and were faced with soldiers, with guns held close to their hearts, and the gaze from their eyes in between apologetic and stern. Seokjin wanted to make a run for it and he was planning each of their moves on how to evade the bulky men waiting for them when she took a step forward.

Everything that was buzzing in his mind came to a halt and he watched as she willingly surrendered herself to them, with small wrists handcuffed behind her and no words spoken.

“Peach,” Seokjin took a step towards her but his vision was immediately blocked, with two men who stood before him.

“Let me…” He could feel tears pricking the corner of his eyes. Something about her sacrifice pained him so much that he could hear his heart breaking from inside.

“Please, let me say goodbye.” He begged in the most monotone way he could. He wasn’t going to bow on his knees to these men; who would probably be the ones hurting her later.

Saying goodbye was just an excuse and they probably knew that, which Seokjin realized was also probably why he shouldn’t have tried to break past such huge men, and get thrown over with a swing of their arms.

He fell onto his back and he almost regretted everything that led up to this moment.

“Jin,” Seok-Joong called out softly before the man could lunge at the wall of flesh.

“Hyung,” Seokjin turned to his brother with teary eyes, willing him to do something. Yet, his brother just shook his head solemnly, as if it was a silent apology for being helpless.

But Seokjin didn’t want an apology.

He didn’t want to feel helpless.

He wanted to reach out to her, to save her from whatever it was that awaited her in the lab.

He didn’t need pity from his brother, or anyone else for that matter.

Seokjin just needed her.

So he forced himself onto his legs and threw himself towards the flesh wall that stood in between him and her. He had so much anger and regret flowing through his veins, he didn’t even realize how hot his skin was.

I need to get to her.

And to him, it didn’t matter if it meant breaking a bone or two.

So he pushed himself through the two men, then thrashed as violently as he could when they grabbed him so easily. He yelled her name and he didn’t care if it made him look insane. If she could hear him and come out, that would be enough.

But she never did, and the car she was in drove away.

And his screams began to soften as tears slid down his cheek. If he had come sooner, if he didn’t ignore her, if he just put her first; none of this would happen.

They’d be eating dinner together, then watch whatever was playing on the television as she laid on his lap. He wouldn’t be here, crying out her name and wishing she could come back, wishing he was stronger so he could fight back.

He wanted to scream even more, but he felt so out of breath and dizzy.

Everything was spinning and the only reason he hadn’t collapsed yet was because two pairs of arms were holding him up. And yet, they never quite released him.

Seokjin didn’t realize that he had been brought to a car similar to the one Peach was in, and his hands had been cuffed. He stared at the metal that glinted every time they passed a streetlight, and he wondered how he got here.

Everything had been a blur since Peach left. All the running, the anxiety, the sadness, it had taken a toll on him. He thought about everything he should have done to prevent this and he blamed himself silently throughout the car ride.

He was furious, with a lot of things really, but most importantly, himself.

They arrived at Seok-Joong’s lab and Seokjin was dragged out of the car recklessly. If he had any strength left in him, he would fight their grip. But honestly, he wouldn’t mind if they tossed him around right now, he just didn’t have any strength left to carry on.

He was brought to a bright room, with a white ceiling, and white walls, and white floors; it almost blinded him. He was seated onto a metal chair and Seokjin slumped onto it, fighting the urge to burst into tears when the soldiers left him.

Seok-Joong wouldn’t let them hurt him.

And the lab wouldn’t dare to lose Seok-Joong over something that wasn’t his fault.

A whirring sound started out of nowhere and Seokjin could hear the sound of a blinking light bulb. He looked up to the mirror in front of him, one he recognized to be familiar with those they used in interrogation rooms.

“Tell us how you fixed her.” A voice said. It was deep, stern, and came from the ceiling somewhere.

His brain was still fogged up and he could barely think of a way to escape. His head felt so empty, yet it was scrambling for answers. Where was Peach now? What could they be doing to her?

Seokjin didn’t answer the voice, simply looked at his dirty hands. All this, for nothing.

“Kim Seokjin, we demand you to tell us how you fixed her.”

He was exhausted and honestly, more than anything he wanted to close his eyes and wake up from this nightmare. But when he did so, he still heard the whirring, and felt the glow of the lights above his eyelids.

One would think this was peaceful if it weren’t for the unfortunate events he had been through tonight.

Then he heard it.

A scream.

A shrill and deafening scream that stabbed through the silence and woke him up.

Seokjin’s head shot up from his seat and his gaze was fixed onto the mirror before, which had turned into clear glass, showing him the opposite side of the wall.

There she was, strapped onto a reclined chair with restraints around her wrists and ankles, keeping her as still as they could as a needle neared her temple. They stuffed her mouth with a damp towel and the needle plunged in, ripping another terrifying shriek from her throat.

Seokjin froze and he could feel the trembling of his hands and he would try to clench them into fists but he couldn’t move at all.

“Tell us how you fixed her.”

They prepared another needle, and stabbed it into her arm harshly, emitting another whimper from her. Seokjin could hear his own breaths, and how his heart was beating in his ears. He could feel every nerve inside him ignite with indignation.

“Stop hurting her.” He breathed out as more of his body began to alight with outrage. He could see the tear-stained cheeks, the bruise below her eye, the ones on her arms and thighs, either from the needle or whatever it was they did to her before this chair.

And the thought shattered his heart into pieces and made his hatred grow stronger.

“Tell us-”

“Stop hurting her!” He yelled as he brought a fist up to the glass and punched it as hard as he could, creating a fine crack.

“Leave her alone you pieces of shit!” Seokjin screamed in agony. The more cracked the glass was, the blurrier his vision of her.

But he kept pounding on it, yelling and screaming at the voice to let her go. He couldn’t feel anything else but the blood pumping through his veins, and the resentment in his heart.

It was only when the glass finally collapsed under his fist that he realized the blood dripping down his fingers. It was only then when he realized this could’ve meant his career was over; who would want a surgeon with an unstable hand?

But he didn’t care.

Seokjin’s eyes locked with hers and the world fell away.

Save her.

Those were the only words that echoed through his brain, still full of adrenaline. He ran to her, crunching down on broken glass and leaving dots of crimson blood to stain their otherwise pristine floors.

He pushed the cart of needles towards the nurses and doctors, which knocked them onto their backs. Seokjin reached for her and pushed the unkempt strands of hair away from her face, revealing her swollen eyes and wet cheeks.

He could hear her silently begging him to help her.

“I’m going to get you out of here okay?” He promised as he began to unclasp each of the straps. As he was on his last one, he heard a yell from behind him and Seokjin turned.

The doctor stood with a gun in his hand, held a little too carelessly. And although Seokjin understood what was about to possibly happen, he couldn’t process why it was so important that he escaped at this exact moment.

“You’re not going to ruin my life’s work.” The doctor hissed then Seokjin could hear the bang, and he expected the fall.

But it never came.

Instead, he felt a pair of frail arms around his waist, as if they were caging him in from the outside world, protecting him from all the danger that could come. Seokjin breathed out what he thought could’ve been his final breath and he looked down to see the top of Peach’s head, and her cheek pressed to his chest.

And everything felt like it was going in slow-motion.

It was as if he could hear her short breaths as her body fell onto the ground with a thump as he desperately tried to catch her. Seokjin didn’t fully realize what had happened until he saw the blooming red on her chest, staining the rest of her clothes.

He could hear the voice in his head being in denial as he struggled to cover the wound, to stop the blood from spreading.

To make it all just fucking stop.

Tears fell down from his eyes and Seokjin began muttering, over and over again, still trying to save her.

“No, no, no, Peach…” He breathed in between choked sobs. Seokjin’s hand found its way to her cheek and although it was stained with blood, he could feel her lean into his palm.

Not now, please not now.

“G-God, no, please,” Seokjin stuttered as tears continued streaming down his face. He wasn’t too religious but if there was God, he was begging for mercy at this moment, begging for her to come back to him.

Just give me some more time, I promise I’ll be good.

Because when his gaze travelled to her face, with life ebbing away by the second, he could feel his entire soul crumbling away into dust.

“Peach, please, don’t-fuck, please, I’ll be better, please don’t go.” Seokjin sobbed as he tried to close the wound but the blood kept spilling, soaking his knees and shoes, and staining his hands, mixing with his own red fingers.

“Don’t leave me, please.” He begged her endlessly, as if she was in control of what was to happen to her.

“You mean...too much to me, please.” Seokjin tried to cover her body, but the pool of blood on his knees wouldn’t stop and through blurring tears, red was all he could see.

Her eyes lost their light, but he thought he saw a bit of a smile in her orbs one last time before she closed her lids. And all Seokjin could do was keep calling her name, willing her to come back to life.

But he knew she was gone.

And he hated that he couldn’t do anything but wail out her name, begging God to give him a few more minutes with her, to hug her and tell her he didn’t care that she was a weapon. He wanted her to stay, and that she was all he ever needed.

He would give everything up at this moment if he could just hold her cheek and feel warmth instead of cold skin.

“Seokjin,” He suddenly heard a voice amidst all of his sobbing and the young man turned up to see his brother, and the knocked up doctor laying completely still behind him.

“Seokjin, we have to get you out of here, the police are-”

“No! I can’t lea-leave her again.” He exhaled through tears, taking her lifeless face into his palms. And part of him knew what he was about to say wasn’t completely true, but God he had to try.

For her sake and for his.

“I can fix her.”

“I’m a s-surgeon!” Seokjin said reassuringly as he leaned into her chest, where the blood bubbled out of and her heart had a hole.

“I can fix her, please,” He turned to his older brother, eyes full of tears and anguish, wishing he would give him the chance.

“Please let me fix her hyung.” Seokjin turned back to Peach, whose body was heavier now without all the life in her.

“I can…” But as he watched her face for longer, he began to feel all his hope diminish. He couldn’t fix her no matter how hard he tried. He knew that, Seok-Joong knew that, and if Peach was watching him, she knew it too.

“Please-” Seokjin sobbed and couldn’t help falling onto the crook of her neck, crying out her name and yelling at the world, cursing the universe for the pain that was eating away at him.

Take me instead.

Why won’t you just take me instead?

Seokjin’s hand clasped hers, wishing it would lend her some life, so he could tell her how much he loved her, how much he wished he didn’t let her leave.

“Please come back to me.” He whispered in his sobs and when he breathed in, he could take the hint of his soap on her skin and it made him want to cry even more. Seokjin screamed into the space in her neck and he swore he felt like he used up all that was left of him to do that.

“Not now, don’t go, please.” Seokjin’s tears continuously flowed out of his eyes and he could hear his own heart dismantling inside of him.

He felt so drained, but he was ready to fight just about anybody. Sadness had taken the better bit of his body. And when he finally had enough strength to stand up, he only fell again.

But this time, he was met with the unforgiving and cold embrace of darkness.

“Seokjin,”

The image of her was cracking as if she was on a broken television.

He reached out for her but she only smiled and shook her head.

And then she disappeared into the wind and he was left alone.

Seokjin woke up to the feeling of dry eyes and shooting pain in his right hand. He didn’t realize where he was until he sat up and realized the familiar sound of a beeping machine.

And he wished he wasn’t awake.

“Seokjin?” He turned to see his mother sitting beside his bed, worry written across her face and tired eyes that carried too much weight. He wished he could reassure her, and tell her that he was alright.

But he couldn’t bring himself to speak when the images of her lifeless body in his hands came to mind again. He woke up to a world without Peach today.

And he wished it wasn’t so.

He didn’t know how, but he felt more tears spilling down his eyes, fast and uncontrollable. He looked away from his mother and chewed down on his lip, hoping she would give him some space.

But instead, he felt her small hands wrap around his shoulders and pat them gently.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” She whispered and Seokjin burst into tears as he leaned back into his mother’s hold. He felt so broken and so empty, he didn’t realize he was capable of feeling this way.

His mother gently stroked his hair and coaxed him through his sobs. She didn’t shush him, or say anything else for that matter. But instead she sat there with him in silence, caring for him the way she would’ve when he was a baby.

He wanted to tell her his regrets, how he couldn’t fix her, how useless he felt when all the blood was pouring out of her body and he couldn’t act quickly enough.

He wanted to tell her how destroyed he felt inside and how he felt as if nothing could make him feel whole again.

Peach wasn’t just someone who made his life interesting.

It gave his life so much more meaning than he thought it was capable of. To him, she was a beacon of wonder and excitement, something he obviously lacked from before. And to feel that way, and have it robbed of him, he didn’t understand how he could carry on.

From the moment he picked her up, he knew his life was going to change, even if it was just by a bit.

And she gave him unforgettable moments in his life.

Seokjin sobbed for her death, and the memories that stayed with him. He cried for the broken promises, and hopes and wishes he had for them both. He prayed for it to stop, for him to wake up from such a bad dream.

But he knew better than to believe in miracles.

missing pieces part i - ksj

A/N: Okay! I don’t know how I feel about this fr.Anyways, I hope this was enjoyable. I searched up korean poetry for this fic and honestly they are so beautiful please, I fangirled over these. I realize this took way too long but I hope people will still enjoy this; and please feel free to drop song recommendations for this part!! I will see you in the next fic!! And for those facing finals soon, goodluck!! You can do it! I believe in you! byebye!

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bokettochild · 3 years

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Hey Ketto, I'm not sure if you are taking any requests rn, but I've had a rough time of it recently and if it's no bother or hassle, could I request a fic where Time gets comforted by Warriors? Something with cuddles and hair petting, and Time getting to be held. Only if it's no bother. - Nick @thesacredtwink

Of course, Nick!

Sorry I didn't see this until just recently, but I whipped up something for you as soon as I could. I hope it helps, luv, and if you want more please do not hesitate to ask!

Time has been acting strange since the last switch.

At first, none of them questioned it, after all, leaving the ranch made them all a bit down, Time especially however, their leader usually sprung back to himself within a few days of travel time, going back to making jokes that made the others groan and offering advice and aid to their younger heroes. This time however, Time had only gotten worse, the shadows under his eyes growing nightly, the older hero falling silent and stern and very nearly snappish with the others. Only this evening, Warriors had seen Time lose his temper with Wind when the kid had been bubbling around him all day, and while the sailor took the scolding and tired ‘you’re just too much, Wind’ like a soldier, Wars had seen how the kid had retreated to Twilight and Legend during dinner, clinging to the both of them with misty eyes and keeping himself strangely silent while Time brooded on the other side of the fire.

The captain sighed to himself. If his boys were having trouble getting along, not just adjusting to being on the road again, then it was his place as a father (brother?) to step up and see what the problem was. After all, Time would tear himself up about this later, so he needed to nip it in the bud now before the man did something that would make the following guilt later even worse.

Time was seated on the far edge of camp that evening, and unlike most nights on the road, the man had left his sword in its sheath, himself still clad in his armor as the others shed their excess layers, and a blue ocarina was cradled in his hands, eyes distant and brows pulled low as he stared off into the forest. Not brooding then, sulking, and he wasn’t quite sure if that was better or worse in the moment.

“Room for one more?”

Time’s blue eye flickered to him for a moment with a dark scowl, the man shaking his head tiredly and pulling himself up.

Oh shoot, a royal sulk! Time was usually fine to let someone sit next to him, even when he was brooding, but if it was so bad that he didn’t even want anyone nearby? Oh goddesses, Warriors had his work cut out for him.

Dinner that night was a cold affair, the younger ones trying to prompt Wind into anything resembling conversation as Legend poked the sailor’s side, and the older ones exchanging worried glances as they looked from their sulking leader to each other. Usually, someone would break the stillness with a joke or a tease, but Legend’s snark only made things worse when Time shot the vet a look after he had made a jab at Warriors, and while the captain appreciated the defense of his honor, it was reminding him much too much of the war when Time had been a gremlin ready to wreak havoc on anyone at the nearest hint of insult to his father-figure. And while he rather doubted that Time could pants Legend (no pants, and their leader hopefully knew better now that he was older) it was an uncomfortable reminder of the kid’s worse days when nothing could get through to him and Warriors had to be very careful to hide his flask where the kid wouldn’t find it.

When arranging watches, Time had just grunted and moved to the edges of camp and Warriors found himself wincing.

“I’ll take second watch.” He told the others. “Time’s claimed first- don't ask, that’s what that huff usually means. Wind, you’re on Twilight duty, make sure the rancher doesn’t wander off again this evening, alright?” That earned a smile from the kid however hesitant, and while Twilight looked mildly offended, Warriors mentally blessed the rancher for not protesting the comment.

“Yessir, Cap’n.” Wind offered a sharp little salute, and he couldn’t help but reach over and ruffle the kid’s hair as his chest had swelled with pride. They’d worked on that salute a thousand times and now it was as clipped and smooth as any officer’s, even better than many of his men. Maybe he should have the sailor give his soldiers a few tips he chuckled to himself as the others sorted out watches; Legend taking the one directly after his and Hyrule the one after. Wild was on morning cooking duty, so the kid was ordered to rest for the night to avoid any sort of unfortunate mishaps. Usually, it wasn’t a problem to let the wild Champion take final watch, but if his plans (of course he had plans, did you doubt him?) were going to work out, the kid would need to be well rested to prepare the breakfast he’d asked for in the morning.

Knowing glances were shot his way by the others, Sky and Twilight both clapping his back and Legend tugging his scarf with an impish smirk as the others headed to bed, silent wishes of good luck ringing clear across the camp as he was left alone with their leader while the others settled in for bed.

He waited until the sun had set properly and the snoring of the others had begun rumbling around the camp, Twilight’s throaty snorts and Wind’s rumbling ones mixing with Four and Legend’s more soft snuffling ones. Hyrule and Wild lay silent and curled up, each snuggled into one side of the cuddle pile that had formed with Wind in the center, the sailor clinging to Twilight and Legend both in his sleep and dooming them to be smushed in by the other heroes. Sky, at the head of the pile, drooled slightly in his sleep, apparently uncaring that the others were using him as a pillow, and with one hand lost in Twilight’s dark hair. It made him smile as he took them in, pulling himself up to go and ensure they were all tucked in warmly before he turned his attention to the brooding warrior on the edge of their camp.

Time was still fiddling with his ocarina, eyes downcast and almost misty as the older man sat on the edge of camp, and he had to stop for a moment to collect himself before confronting him; Time looked miserable.

“Guilt hitting you yet for yelling at Wind?” He drawled, coming to sit next to the other and carefully arranging his scarf where time could grab it if needed. The man was no longer a child, but even so the blue fabric was a comfort to most of their odd little family, and scoldings or long talks were always made easier when it was available to hide under.

“A bit.”

“If it helps, he knows you didn’t mean it.”

Time slumped in place. “I still said it. Wind looks up to me now, I-” The other cut off with a sigh, tired eyes and weary heart both dimming as he watched.

“Right then, what’s eating you?” At Time’s startled expression he offered a knowing frown. “I helped raise you, Sap, I know when you’re taring yourself up over something and I’d half to be as blind as you to not tell when somethings hurting you. So, what is it?”

Royal blue blinked slowly, a match for his own and so terribly distant as Time turned back to the forest, thumbs trailing over the smooth porcelain of the ocarina. “I’m worried.”

“For?”

“For Malon.” Oh shit. “She wasn’t feeling too good when we left and-” Time’s face twisted up, eye glimmering as the man stared up at the stars, pain twisting his expression and straining his voice as one hand had wound into the prepared scarf. “I’m not there. Talon’s getting on in years and if something happens when we’re gone-” Time’s voice hitched, not quite a sob but broken all the same, and like a trigger was hit Warriors was already pulling the other man into his arms, holding tight as Time’s shoulders shuddered under his grasp. “I’m worried, Pops.” Came the broken whisper. “What if-”

“Shhhh.” Like a million times before his hands were running through short blonde hair. It had been ages since he’d trimmed either of his boys and Time was getting shaggy again, something he was grateful for. Running his hands through the kid’s hair had always helped him calm, and it seemed to still be effective even ow, Time melting further into his embrace as he hummed softly, rocking ever so slightly in place. “Malon’s a strong woman, she’ll be fine. People get sick all the time, Sapling, this isn’t anything to fuss over.”

“She couldn’t get out of bed the other morning.” Time breathed against his chest, the ocarina falling to the ground as both of the man’s hands had wound into the blue scarf instead.

Warriors tried to steady the stutter of his heart as he clutched the other a but tighter. “Is that so?”

“She’s been awful nauseas too.” Time choked out. “Wars, I-”

“Has she had random dizzy spells and weird cravings? Maybe gets sickened at the mere idea of certain foods but also likes eating things that even a pig would turn away from?” Oh, goddesses let this be right.

Time’s blue eye stared up at him curiously. “Y-yeah, how’d-”

The captain choked back a snort. “She’ll be fine, Time. Ladies get that way sometimes. My own beloved was that way for a while too, it passes in time, and there's few ill effects.”

“What ill effects?” Time shifted uneasily, pulling away to stare at him better.

“Exhaustion mostly, some pain, and loss of sleep, but,” He tilted his head with a knowing grin. “It’s well worth it in the end when she’s okay again. You’ll want to talk to her about it next time we get there,” if the bulge of Malon’s stomach didn’t give her away first. “But she’ll be alright.” Time stared at him in disbelief, brows pulling together in a doubtful frown that had him huffing in mock offence. “Wat, you don’t believe me?”

“Battlefield experience as a medic-”

Wars cut Time off with a snort. “Battlefield nothing! I was fighting my loves illness before the war even started. It’s not something that catches, I’ll have you know, and as long as she takes it easy, something I trust Malon knows as well as the next woman, she’ll be fine.” He reached over to tig Time’s ears making the other shy away with a strained laugh, only earning a hair ruffle “Stop fussing, Sapling, your lady love will live just fine.”

Time actually outed at him for a moment, something which quite frankly looked ridiculous on the man’s face and made him bust up laughing as the other flopped against him. Absently, his hands drifted back into Time’s shaggy hair, humming softly as Time continued to lay in silence, eyes staring up at the stars and ears twitching slowly.

“Tomorrow,” He tugged one flickering ear pointedly. “You need to apologize to Wind.”

“Trust me, I intend to.”

“Good.” He grinned, flopping his scarf across the other’s face. “But for now, rest, kiddo, you’re a right grouch when you're tired and I don’t mind pulling double shift for a night.”

“I’m-”

“Not fine, and not staying up. Past your bed-time squirt.” He tugged the ear again, earning a soft growl from his adult kid as Time shifted.

“I’m still in my armor.”

“Then change.”

Time pulled himself up with a huff, shucking his armor and letting Wars help him with the buckles and belts before the both of them settled down again. Tomorrow night, the leader’s metal shell would need cleaning, but for now, he’d let himself out to be seen and held, head nestled in Warriors’ lap as the captain played with his hair.

Time’s breathes evened out to join the cacophony of rumbling snores of the others. Warriors smiled, ruffling his son’s hair fondly and turning his eyes towards the moon.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #dad warriors #lu warriors #lu time #lu malon #mentioned #mamalon #more so than usual #time gets grouchy when he worries #hints at #pregnant malon #time is a good husband #warriors is married #feel free to insert your own ship there if you like #for #thesacredtwink my beloved #fluffics

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