#i will never shake in fear when someone threat me with spoilers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

babyjakes · 2 years

Text

forever and a day | 43. where she belongs.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

← last chapter | series masterlist | next chapter →

summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. injuries/mild gore. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect, past CSA and CSM, and their aftermath (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). medical abuse and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.trauma-informed therapeutic treatment of ECT. minor mentions of disordered eating. themes relating to abuse of power/authority and immoral interrogation tactics including SA (with brief depictions.) evil!Tony Stark.

[Steve]

The screen that flashes in front of me is blurrier than usual, images appearing and fading in and out every few moments. Light is distorted through a skewed lens, beams and shadows dragging across my vision. I can feel the fear and confusion coursing through Willa’s veins as our collective sense of sight tries to focus on what’s in front of her, and to my utter horror and disbelief, when the picture finally becomes stable enough to identify who it is, I find Tony Stark’s deep brown eyes staring back at me.

“Now- remember what we said, kiddo? Cap can’t hear a word about this,” he warns in an unsettlingly sweet voice, a serious threat clearly lurking just below the surface. As more of Willa’s surroundings come into focus, I realize that she’s tied down to some sort of padded seat, in some ways similar to a car-seat- only this seat is set up in Tony’s familiar laboratory in the tower, a place the little girl was never supposed to see again. “This is probably the last chance I’ll have at figuring out what you’ve got going on inside you, so we don’t have any time to waste,” the scientist continues, stepping away from Willa and beginning to prepare things at his station that I can’t identify.

“D-Daddy,” the tiny girl whimpers, struggling weakly against the restraints. Tears fall freely from her eyes as the man snorts darkly at her plea, shaking his head in disappointment and frustration.

“‘Daddy,’” he mocks sickly, “how pathetic. That son of a bitch doesn’t know the first thing about being a father. And yet here you are, begging for him, just like you’d beg for anyone who showed the slightest interest in you. It’s amazing to me how much of an animal you are. Just a sick, kicked puppy, waiting for someone to finally come along and pull you out of the mud.” Tony’s words spark anger deep within me as Willa continues to sob, trapped in the strange contraption of a chair.

“Please, don’t h-hurt me, please- Daddy, I-I want my d-daddy,” she pleads fearfully.

“Sorry kiddo. I don’t want to hurt you, but sometimes we gotta do things we don’t like for the sake of science. And would you quit calling for Steve already? He can’t hear you; he’s fast asleep. Plus, I’m doing him a favor. Walking out with some mutant kid is a pretty risky move, and I’m sure he’s well aware of that fact. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was planning on bringing you into some third-party lab company in the morning, just to get an overview of what he’s really working with. That would be moronic, of course, since he has access to the country’s best equipment and brains right in this very tower, but I’ll give him a break. He is like- what? A hundred years old?” Waves of panic begin to flow through Willa at Tony’s rambling, and anger builds up within me at the worries he’s planting in the child’s fragile mind. How dare he say these things to her? He knows exactly what he’s doing: scaring the life out of her.

“P-please, please!” my poor Willa begs desperately, her breathing beginning to falter as her levels of anxiety rise higher and higher.

“You know what? I was originally against the idea of gagging you- just for, you know, ethical reasons- but with what you’re about to go through, it might not be a bad idea. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear what’s going on if you decide to get too vocal,” Tony speaks casually, rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a rag. He walks over in front of Willa and rips her mouth open, ramming the wadded up fabric in before she can do anything to protest. She lets out a muffled sob into the gag as he ties it around her head securely, her airflow being partially compromised due to the blockage. “There you go, nice and quiet,” he says happily, patting her on the head.

“Alright kiddo, I think we’re all set to get started on the trials. Feel free to scream into the gag. No one’s gonna hear you,” he laughs as he begins starting up a set of machines positioned beside the chair, gathering various wires in his hands. Securing them onto various places across Willa’s skin, he taps more at his monitors as the gadgets roar to life. “We better get you shifted into equilibrium, too. Could you do that for me? Or am I gonna have to do it manually like last time?” he questions. Willa only whimpers into her gag in response, but I can tell that internally, her mind has been made: she’ll shift for Tony. Her thought process is that hopefully, he might show her some mercy this way. Seeing the changes he’s looking for on the monitors, he smiles. “Good choice,” he nods. “I was able to create a set of compatible simulations to observe your healing capabilities, so this time I won’t have to hurt myself,” Tony explains further as he keeps working at one of the screens. “This first one is a set of broken ribs. No idea what that feels like, but it probably isn’t good. Here we go,” he says, tapping at a few more buttons before turning back to face the little girl, and suddenly, an overwhelming burst of pain ruptures from within her torso.

Before I can experience anything more through Willa’s mind channel, my contact with her is abruptly cut off as she pushes my hand away from her face, throwing me back into the present moment. The small child is convulsing in the car-seat, an acute expression of agony drawn onto her face, and yet, through the pain, she was somehow able to break herself away from me. “N-no!” she exclaims, her skin still glowing a deep shade of red. Eyes clamped shut, tears roll down her cheeks as she holds her hands out in front of her to keep me away. “Stay-… aw-way-” she sputters. “N-not s…” she struggles, barely able to force her words out. “Not s-s'pposed to t-tell.” My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach as I realize she’s trying to keep me from seeing what Tony put her through.

“Sweetheart,” I murmur, my hand still held out in front of her, inches away from her scarlet skin. “Willa, baby,” my voice cracks as I watch the little girl choke and heave through her flashback, trying to process everything I’ve just witnessed. The fact that Tony once again went behind my back and abused Willa, my daughter, in an experimental setting sets an angry fire ablaze within me. Learning this only confirms that my decision to move us out was much needed; she clearly isn’t safe anywhere near Tony Stark. Another part of me is furious with myself for allowing this to happen again. He hurt her, and I had no idea. Even after it happened, I was too stupid and blind to see that she had been once again put through such an incredibly traumatizing experience.

Willa’s pain-stricken body spasms violently against the straps of the car-seat as she sobs pitifully; out of pure heartbreak, my hands find their way to the black buckles holding her into the seat, releasing them swiftly. She crumples forward with the sudden lack of restraint, her writhing body folding in on itself as she collapses onto the floor of the car in front of me. “Oh sweetheart,” I breathe out, tears building in my eyes. Still glowing strong, the child lifts her head slightly, seeming to be able to somewhat glance around and take in her position while simultaneously reliving her experience. With as much strength as she can muster, she throws herself forward, to my surprise, and stumbles out of the car, landing painfully in a ball at my feet. In an instant, I’m bent down beside her, cooing, “Willa, hey- it’s alright, you’re alright…” My hands reach out once more to try to help her, but she lurches back instantly, holding her own arms up again in front of her.

“N-no! N-no, please,” she whimpers as she scurries backward fearfully, her body beginning to duck under the car.

“Willa, baby, please,” I try, “it’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay; you can let me see. Please let me see, doll. I need to know what he did to you.” My hand draws near her cheek and she flinches back, a terrified whimper escaping her lips.

“C-can’t see, can’t,” she cries in reply, her mangled body curling further into itself as the pain of her memories seems to intensify even more. Her hands fly up and grab onto her hair, pulling down hard in distress.

“Sweetie, sweetie, hey,” I coo sadly, hating to see her so distraught. “Please Willa, come here- let me hold you. Let Daddy hold you, sweetheart. I’ll make it all better, I promise.” But she just continues to cry and cower away from me, and in the end I don’t have the heart to go against her wishes, so I keep my hands off of her, even though my strongest instinct is to wrap her up as tightly as I can and never let her go.

After several more minutes of agony, Willa’s cries eventually begin to die down, and to my relief, the bright red glow surrounding her slowly starts to fade away, leaving her a tearful mess on the parking garage floor. Once all the flush has left her skin, she lifts her tired body up slightly, her head rising up to look at me warily as I kneel down in front of her, concern and heartbreak still written all over my face.

“Sweetheart, hi,” I breathe. “Come here, baby,” I murmur gently, opening up my arms for her. The child drags herself slowly over to me, her shaking form resting gingerly against my chest at last. As carefully as I can, I wrap her up in my embrace, shifting so that I’m sitting cross-legged on the ground, cradling the little girl in my arms. Though her flashback is over, Willa still continues to cry, big warm tears rolling down her cheeks steadily, not showing any signs of slowing. “Shh-shh shh, it’s okay,” I hum, stroking her messy hair back from her face. “You’re safe now; I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Through the commotion, I can see that her light green shift has lifted slightly up on her tummy. And though no part of me wants to see just how hurt my sweet baby girl has become, the need to know wins out in the end, and my hand trails down to the hem of the shirt, lifting it up to get a better view. “Oh my god,” I let out, sucking in a breath. Dark, angry marks litter her entire abdomen, spanning all the way up through her shoulders. Without thinking, I lift up one of her sleeves as well, devastated to find similar marks covering her arm. Reaching down to the ankle of her leggings, I pull back the fabric, and am met with a similar sight. Tony’s set of simulations didn’t seem to miss a single part of her body that would be covered by clothes. More anger burns within me, but I’m quickly shaken out of my thoughts by a soft, terrified voice.

“P-please,” she begs, sounding weakened to the point of absolute exhaustion. “D-don’t hurt me; I’m sorry. N-no more. C-can’t take it.” Pulling her clothes back down to cover her damaged skin, my hand finds its way back up to her cheek; whimpering, she flinches, clearly anticipating a blow.

“Hey, you’re okay, Willa-bug. I’m not gonna hurt you; Daddy won’t hurt you, baby,” I croon, rubbing my thumb gently over her tear-stained cheek. “Willa, I- I don’t know how I could ever show you how sorry I am, but today is the day, sweetheart… I’m finally taking you home. And no one will be able to hurt you there, not Tony, or Hydra, or anybody else. This ends now, Willa. No more hurt for you. No more experiments or labs or anything like that.”

“No lab, p-please no lab,” she sobs quietly, and for some reason, as she says this, I’m thrown back to the very first day that we met back in Korea. As I was carrying her out of the base and onto the ship, she feared the exact same thing. And it just destroys me, to know that I still haven’t been able to ease her fears about my intentions with her.

“No lab,” I promise, continuing to stroke her cheek softly, and in the process, her own little thumb trails up and finds its way into her quivering mouth. “You’re my sweetheart, my baby, my doll. You don’t belong in a lab; you belong in a home. With me, in my arms. Just like this.” And as gently as I can, I begin rocking the small girl back and forth, a hint of relief settling in my chest as her sobs begin to die down.

“Y-your sweetheart,” she mumbles quietly, her head tucking in beside my chest as I lean down to plant a kiss in her hair. “Your baby, your doll. Y-yours. Daddy’s. Belong w-with you.”

← last chapter | series masterlist | next chapter →

#faad #faad: where she belongs #eun's writing #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers series #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #hurt/comfort #steve rogers x child!oc #dad!steve rogers #the avengers #avengers fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfiction

39 notes · View notes

bucksfucks · 3 years

Text

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙪𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙚

TFATWS EPISODE THREE SPOILERS.

summary┃the plan was simple. get in, get out, and always remember rule number three; no one gets hurt.

pairing┃tws!bucky x f!reader

word count┃1,935 words

warnings┃dubcon elements, soft!dark!tws, semi-public sex, choking, spitting kink, metal arm kink, soldat kink, death threat, degradation, mocking, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes┃PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH ANY MENTIONED ELEMENTS.

“Is the plan understood?” It’s Zemo who asks the question, nodding to each of you as you all exchange looks before heading your separate ways.

When you enter the scene, you can feel the floor shaking under your feet from the bass. Drinks are passed around with bodies floating through the space.

“And I thought we knew how to party in New York.” Your voice is muffled over the music, but you know Bucky can hear you.

“I haven’t partied like this ever.” He has to yell back in order for you to hear him as you both laugh.

You have to push your way through the crowd before stopping at where Sam and Zemo are left waiting for you.

Zemo nods towards Bucky, Bucky taking in a deep breath before giving him one nod.

He’s wearing something you’d never seen him in; Winter Soldier gear sans the mask.

“Longing.” You can see the twitch in Bucky’s metal fingers.

“Rusted.” It gets worse as he tenses his jaw.

“Furnace.” You have to look away when you see the pained look in his face.

Sam looks at you, a look that tells you to stick to the plan so you drift back and mix into the crowd.

You were nothing but a distraction, a distraction that would hopefully buy you guys some time.

But something went wrong.

Something always goes wrong.

You can see the obvious and evident switch in Bucky—there’s something more sinister in his eyes now as he watches you move from side to side; standing completely motionless and trained on you.

There’s a moment of realization when you realize just what’s happened.

A moment of oh fuck before he’s striding over to you and grasping at your upper arms.

“Come with me, Bunny. We have some unfinished business.” His voice is low and calm, parts of Bucky shining through, but you can’t seem to find him in his eyes.

“Bucky,” you try remain calm, but his hip is firm and you know that this is a battle you won’t win in.

You can’t help it when your voice falters in fear, but you can’t afford to bring any attention to yourself.

Sam is elsewhere, Zemo in tow as your eyes dart to find them—at the bar, drinking.

You were all alone, you had no backup; Bucky was your backup.

He was no longer Bucky, but the Winter Soldier.

“I said come. Don’t make me put you over my shoulder.” He threatened as you swallowed thickly.

You quickly search for Sam or Zemo, but they’re long gone. The distraction worked and they’d be proceeding with the plan.

What they didn’t know is that Bucky wasn’t Bucky.

It didn’t feel like a threat, you felt your pussy jump in excitement at the prospect of Bucky’s hands on your body.

Your feet moved instinctually through the crowd, lead by Bucky as he took one final scan of the room to make sure that you were alone; that no one was following you.

You didn’t feel helpless, it was more than you felt like you were under a spell—inclined to do whatever Bucky wanted.

Suddenly you were slammed up against a wall, the air being knocked out of your lungs as you let out a pained hiss.

“Scream, and I’ll kill you.” He looked feral.

“Try to fight back, and I’ll kill you.” Darkness consumed his eyes.

“Do anything other than what I tell you, and I’ll kill you.”

You want to scream, to kick and fight back—you know that you damn well could put up on hell of a fight.

But you don’t.

Instead, you submit and comply.

“Yes,” you whisper, watching the smirk spread across his face.

“There’s my good girl. A dumb and stupid, but a good girl.” He purrs, running his gloved finger down your cheek until it’s hooked under your chin.

You whimper, lip shaking with your sharp inhale.

“Bucky,” you croak before your face is tightly gripped between his fingers as he snarls and shows you his teeth.

“You will call me, Soldat.” He rasped, dark and sinister with no mercy in sight.

A silent mewl escaped through your parted lips as you shut your eyes tightly, trying to steady your breathing as your heart begged to be set free.

“What’s my name?” He asks you, a test of your loyalty as you pry your eyes open.

“Soldat,” you whisper back, a pleased smile on his face as he hears the syllables leave your lips.

“Good, maybe you aren’t as useless as I thought.” He snickers, dropping your face but trapping you against the wall with his flesh forearm against your neck.

Your airway is constricted for a second, laboured and painful before Bucky is pulling you off of the wall.

“Follow me,” he barks, tugging you by the back of the neck until you budge.

His strides are long as you’re forced to keep up with him, walking through hallways so robotically with a stiff body.

You don’t know where you’re going, but the booming music is getting softer.....quieter, straying further and further out of your reach.

Bucky’s shoulders look huge, absolutely massive in the tight leather outfit he’s wearing. You know he’s in there somewhere, you just don’t know how to reach him.

But maybe you don’t want to.

Suddenly, you’re pushed against a wall, with his metal hand covering your mouth as your eyes go wide and you try to gasp.

“Don’t scream, Bunny.” He purrs, smirking as you hear two sets of footsteps go past you, completely unaware that there’s someone else in their presence.

Your heart is in your throat when he removes his hand, tugging you off the wall again so he’s holding your entire body weight up with his arm.

“Good girl, you learn quickly.” He praises, finger hooked up your chin. His lips hover right over yours, brushing them slightly—just enough to leave you wanting more.

There’s a flutter in your stomach, a feeling akin to when you’ve gone over a large hill or descended on a roller coaster; exciting and terrifying all at once.

“I’ve always been so,” he trails his finger down your jaw, “intrigued by you.”

You don’t know what it means, but you want to.

You’re shoved into a small room, a closet that barely fits the two of you. It’s dark and smells like aged wood.

His thigh is wedged between your legs, “always following orders.” He hums against your ear, nipping the skin below it.

“A Soldat’s dream,” it’s dark, the way he refers to himself.

“You’re gonna let me do whatever I want to you, Bunny.”

It’s not a question, you don’t have a choice, you’ve unwittingly sealed your fate as he meshes his lips against yours.

It’s overwhelming; his thick, padded thigh creating delicious friction against your cunt. Or the way his teeth sink into your bottom lip, tugging it to hear your soft whimpers.

You feel the wet, hot tell-tale signs of tears roll down your cheeks as Bucky pulls away to cradle your face.

It’s dark but your eyes are fully adjusted. It’s just too bad that you can see nothing else but darkness in his eyes.

“There’s no need to cry, Bunny,” he cooes, “I will take care of you.”

You’re unsure why you trust him, why you feel your body giving into him, but that’s what happens next.

A sinister chuckle passes through his lips as he tugs your pants down.

“I can smell you already,” he hisses, his cock hardening against your hip.

“You can try to fight me, Bunny. But your body tells me that you want this, that you need my cock filling you up.”

Your pussy jumps at his words, breathing ragged and heavy as the ache in your core burns right through you.

Your mouth falls open when you hear the whirring of his bionic fingers massage you slowly through your panties.

“I never said I wouldn’t make this enjoyable for you,” he smirks, watching you closely as your hands go to the vest he’s wearing.

He snarls, grabbing them at your wrists and lifting them over your head as you shudder at his strength.

If he wanted to kill you, he would’ve already.

“Maybe you are stupid,” he hisses. “Did I give you permission to touch?” He asks.

He nudges your clit with more force making you squeak.

He wanted an answer.

“N-no, Soldat.” You croak, feeling an sensation of...fulfillment when he smiles.

“Good little Bunny.” He sing-songs, “so wet and responsive.”

You gasp, mewl, arch your back as he slips two vibranium fingers into you. A shiver runs down your spine at the coolness of them, your walls welcoming them warmly.

“Can you hear that?” He asks, “hear how fuckin’ wet you are?”

You can, you can hear your wetness coating his fingers as he pumps them inside of you.

It’s absolutely filthy.

His other hand drops your wrists to your sides, flesh fingers crawling around your neck.

“Look at me, Bunny.” You don’t need to be told twice as your eyes shoot open.

“Open that pretty little mouth of you,” his voice is low and raspy, but collected despite his aching cock pressed against your hip.

His thumb presses into your bottom lip, folding it down to encourage you to open your mouth. Which you do, because he’s just too damn compelling.

You gasp back a moan, thick digits inside of your cunt now brushing that sweet, sweet, sweet spot as you watch Bucky’s saliva trail into your own mouth.

“Mine.” He growls, forcing your mouth closed, watching you swallow.

Your heartbeat reverberates in your ears, blood soaring to and from your heart as you feel yourself clenching around him.

“All. Fucking. Mine.” His words send you toppling over the edge, legs shaking and convulsing gently as he has to hold you up as you come.

There’s a zip, a tug of something, a gasp for breath as you feel his cock at your entrance.

“There’s no running now, Bunny. I’m gonna consume you,” he snarls, pushing himself past the threshold as he groans at the feeling of your wetness.

You’re forced to dig your fingernails into the leather of his jacket—clawing at it as you relish in the stretch.

He grunts with every powerful thrust, his chest colliding with your chest as he holds you up with ease.

He’s using you. Eyebrows taut as he focuses on one thing and one thing only; his carnal instincts.

“Shut up,” he seethes, shoving his fingers into your mouth.

They’re cool, tasting like your own arousal and something you can’t quite decipher.

“Say my name, say it.” He pants into your ear, something in his voice breaking.

“S-Soldat.” You choke out, trying to focus on the words that are coming out of your mouth.

“My name,” he whispers, “say, my name.”

Your heart hiccups as you open your eyes, “Bucky.”

He’s there, he’s looking at you—holding you tightly as you can see the same light in his eyes that you did just an hour ago.

“Bucky.” You say with more conviction, more confidently as you crash your lips on his.

“Your name is Bucky.” You whisper against his lips, feeling pleasure seeping in through your toes and spreading upwards.

The air is thick and hot, sticky and wet as you both catch your breaths.

You don’t trust your own legs to hold you weight, but when they hit the solid marble floor, you don’t have a choice.

“My name is Bucky,” he whispers, holding your face in one hand.

“But you are still my Bunny.”

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucksfucks writes — [♡] ;#dark!bucky smut #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon

3K notes · View notes

night-city-netrunner · 2 years

Text

Ive been seeing a lot of Belle discourse recently, particularly pertaining to one scene in particular.

I want to take a moment from my usually fun, chaotic gremlin commmentary to address this scene because it was a very important scene for me.

Please be aware that if you continue scrolling you are consenting to spoilers. And, because this is an incredibly heavy topic, I am going to put a CW for Child Abuse, Violence and Bodily Harm.

The scene I am speaking about is the scene at the end where Suzu goes to Tokyo to protect Tomo and Kei. We as viewers watch Suzu stand up to the boys' father and protect them, leading him to collapse on the ground and run away. Now the commentary I've seen on this is that it doesn't make sense.

If it doesn't make sense, then it's likely you have never been a victim of physical abuse, and for that I am very glad. However, for those of us who have been in abusive situations and escaped them, this scene probably hit home.

You see, abusers want you to be afraid. They want to be in control and they want the person they are hurting to know it. When Suzu was protecting the boys using her body, he continued to try to tear her away from the boys because Kei would use his body to protect Tomo, and he recognized that as a fear response. He still felt like he was in control of the situation and that hurting Suzu would get her to fold, making her controllable.

That's why, when she stands up, facing him head on with her arms spread out, he immediately shifts from grabbing and scratching to raising his fist and yelling. He is realizing his control is slipping. He yells at her and shakes his fist at her multiple times, trying to make her flinch, trying to make her scared so he could maintain power. By the third time he yells at her, he realizes that he's not going to win, he's not going to scare her, and he backs down.

His power is taken from him by a child, a seventeen year old girl. This shakes him and he falls to the ground. He's so used to being in control that it actually scares him when he's not.

Now, we don't see the aftermath of this moment, but I expect that the dad is going to try harder to regain the power over his children that he feels he's lost, but now that Kei isn't afraid of him, I expect that will be much harder.

I know this, because something like this happened in my own life. I had an experience in my youth with an abuser who did very similar things, using threats of violence to create fear as a way of controlling me. And much like in the movie, it took someone else defending me against threats of violence to make the situation safe enough to leave.

That is why the scene makes sense. Because it showed how one act of bravery can change a seemingly hopeless situation. Standing up to an abuser doesn't always fix the problem, and its a very dangerous thing to do, but it's also a very selfless one.

For me, Belle was about bravery. It was about learning to do things even though they're scary. About being your true self in a world where everyone else is hiding themselves, both literally and figuratively.

What's braver than knowing you're afraid and choosing to take a stand anyway?

#belle #the dragon and the freckled princess #belle movie #belle spoilers

263 notes · View notes

bxcketbarnes · 3 years

Text

Making Amends

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 2900+

Author’s Note: The Falcon and The Winter Soldier (kinda) spoilers if you haven’t watched it. Uh, someone send help because I’m falling in love. I hope whoever reads this enjoys it as much as I did writing it. Much love to you all! xoxo

"Who's Y/N?" Dr. Raynor asks Bucky and his head snaps up, narrowing his eyes a bit. The therapist raises an eyebrow at his reaction to the question.

Bucky gets up from the couch before snatching the phone from her hands, not answering her question. He swallows thickly as he looks at the text you sent him, asking if the two of you could meet up.

He can feel his heartbeat quicken as Bucky hasn't seen you in almost eight years. The super-soldier licks his lips as he thinks about the last interaction he had with you, remembering his metal hand wrapped around your throat.

"She's someone I wronged years ago," he finally answers while continuing to stare at his phone.

"Well, you're working on making amends. Why don't you start with her," Dr. Raynor suggests and Bucky presses his lips together before slowly nodding his head.

The brunette sighs and texts you back, agreeing to meet up before showing his therapist the text. Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket before standing up.

"I need to go. See you in a couple of weeks, Doc," he mumbles while walking out of the office.

Bucky runs his hands through his hair as he walks out of the building, thoughts of you filling his mind. He wonders why you want to meet now after eight years since the incident.

You happened to be strolling through the airport grounds when hell started to break loose. You were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your eyes widened when you noticed a quinjet in one of the hangers, never seeing one of the Avengers vehicles up close.

Your eyes looked around everywhere as you tried to see if you could spot any of the mighty heroes. Two figures ran towards you and you jumped when one of the airport towers started to fall in front of the wide-open hanger.

"This isn't good," you mumbled to yourself and took a couple of steps back.

Everything started to happen so fast that you didn't see Captain America and The Winter Soldier run towards you. You went to move out of the way when the long-haired man wrapped his metal hand around your throat.

A gasp leaves your lips as you breathed in as much air as you could, your hand gripping his metal wrist. "Bucky, let her go," Steve told him and you could feel his grip on you tighten.

"I-I'm sorry," you squeaked out as tears filled your eyes, glancing towards Steve. "I-I just wanted to see the quinjet up close. I won't tell anyone I swear."

Your eyes met the Winter Soldier's cold blue ones before the super-soldier dropped you from his grasp. You gasped and started to breathe heavily while scrambling to get off of the floor.

Bucky's phone ringing snaps him from the memory he's having and he fishes the device out of his pocket. His breath hitches in his throat at your name flashing across his screen.

"Hello?" He hesitantly answers and your giggle comes through the speaker.

"Hi, Bucky," you greet him and Bucky swallows the lump in his throat as he sits down on the bench. "I'm sorry for calling all of a sudden, but I've been thinking about you."

He furrows his brows, not expecting such a warm welcome from you as Bucky licks his lips again. "You have?" Bucks asks.

"Yeah! The reason I asked to meet up is that I happen to be in New York for the first time in years," you explain to him and Bucky nods his head. "I know the first time we met wasn't exactly a fun one, but I figured we could put that behind us."

"Absolutely," Bucky sighs in relief, wanting to apologize to you for almost killing you that day in the hanger. "I've also been thinking about that a lot."

"Oh! That's great. Do you want to meet up for coffee or something?" You ask him and Bucky agrees. "Great! Uh, there's a quiet Café on the main drag that's right near the bookstore-"

"Oh, yeah, I know the one that you're talking about," Bucky mumbles and you mutter to yourself incoherently, a smile coming to the super-soldiers lips. "I'll see you in an hour?"

A grin settles on your lips as you look out the window of your hotel room, nodding your head before verbally agreeing with the plan. You bid Bucky goodbye and hang up the phone, sliding the device into your back pocket.

You've thanked Steve a few times already for providing you with Bucky's number. Captain America told you all about his past to try and make up for how he reacted in the airport hanger years ago.

You didn't blame him for his actions as you understand the reason why he did what he did. You just hope that the two of you can put your past behind you and be friends. "Here goes nothing…" you trail off before leaving your hotel room.

Bucky sits in one of the booths, fiddling with the gloves on his hands as he waits for you to arrive. He chews on his bottom lip when the bell attached to the cafe's front door chimes, making the super-soldier turn his head towards it.

His blue eyes soften at the sight of you. You're looking around the Cafe frantically before your eyes meet his. A smile comes to your lips as you give him a small wave and start walking towards him.

"Hey, Bucky," you greet and the brunette stands up from his seat. "You look great. The haircut suits you well."

Bucky awkwardly smiles and runs a hand through his hair. "Thank you," he whispers as his heartbeat quickens. "You look great as well. It's been… a while for sure."

A chuckle leaves your lips as you nod your head in response, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Do you want a coffee?" You ask him and Bucky shakes his head, politely declining your offer. "Okay. I'll be right back, hold on."

He watches you from the booth as you order your coffee. Bucky lets out a huff of breath, trying to relax his nerves before you come back over here. Am I really ready for this?

"So, what have you been up to?" You ask the brunette as you sit across from him. You look into his eyes while sipping the scalding hot coffee, awaiting his answer.

"Uhm, not much really. I-I go to therapy every few weeks. It was one of the requirements for my pardon," he explains and you nod your head in response. Bucky clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, feeling the leather gloves tug on the small hairs. "I've been trying to make amends with people who I've wronged."

You hum with an eyebrow raise, swallowing the liquid before speaking. "Oh, that's good. Is it working? Like, how are you feeling about that?" You question him and Bucky swallows thickly.

I still have nightmares every night. He thinks to himself as he stays quiet, not really knowing how to answer the question. "Uh-"

"I hope I'm not prying too much," you cut him off with wide eyes, just now realizing your intrusiveness. "I just… Steve's told me quite a bit about you and I know that you almost killed me when we first met, but I find you intriguing, Bucky."

Bucky smiles softly and shakes his head, not noticing any sign of fear in your eyes. "You're intriguing," he states and you can feel your cheeks heat up at his words. "I had my hand wrapped around your throat and here you are, trying to be friends with me. It's incredible really. Something I've never seen."

You shrug your shoulders while fiddling with your fingers, a shy smile on your lips. "I believe in everyone having second chances," you mumble to him and Bucky nods his head.

"Well, I'm really glad you're providing me with a second chance," he softly whispers as his heart flutters in his chest.

You run down the streets of lower Manhattan, quickly making your way towards the building the GRC are held in. You heard about the hostage threat on the news and for some stupid reason, you wanted to be close to the action.

Once you make it to the front of the building and stand behind the police barricade they have set up for the public. Your eyes see Bucky's figure walking around on the other side and your eyes widen.

"Bucky!" You call out, causing some heads to snap your way. A blush covers your cheeks while mumbling an apology.

The super-soldier walks over to you and looks around him cautiously. "Y/N, what are you doing?! You shouldn't be here!" He quietly scolds and you look up at him through your lashes, heavy breaths leaving your lips.

"You know me… I like an adventure. You remember the airport incident," you remind him, and Bucky's jaw clenches.

"Unfortunately, I do, yeah," he comments and grabs a hold of your hand before leading you off somewhere else. "Listen, Karli and her team are here and she's using people against us. I don't want you getting hurt."

Your eyes trail down his chest, noticing the metal all he's currently sporting. "You changed it," you whisper and reach your hand out, gliding your fingertips along the cool surface.

Bucky swallows thickly as his eyes move from your face to your hand on his arm. "Y/N," he softly mumbles and your eyes move to his blue ones. "Please do me a favor and get out of here. Please."

"Okay," you tell him while nodding your head, causing the super-soldier to let out a sigh of relief. "Be careful."

Bucky chuckles and mumbles incoherently as you lean on your toes, kissing the corner of his lips. The laughter dies on his lips as a blush covers his cheeks, his hand moving to grip your forearm gently. You pull away from him and smile up at him before making your way back towards your apartment.

You begin to feel uneasy during your walk home, looking over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one's following you. A small scream leaves your lips as you find someone wearing a mask in front of you, blocking your path. You take a couple of steps back and swallow the lump in your throat as your back collides with someone.

You didn't have time to say anything before getting knocked out by one of the men, losing consciousness instantly. A member of the Flag Smashers easily picks up your body before bringing you to their leader, Karli.

When your eyes flutter open, you see a shorter redhead standing in front of you with a phone pressed to her ear. "Listen here, Bucky. I don't want to hurt you guys, but you're giving me no choice," she starts and you begin to panic slightly as you feel your wrists bound together behind your back. "So, I'm gonna make a deal with you. You and Sam pack it up and leave… or I hurt your precious Y/N."

Bucky's breath hitches in his throat at the sound of your name, his eyes dancing around the area he's standing in. "I swear to God if yo-"

"You've got one hour to make a decision," she cuts him off before hanging up. You look up at the girl as you breathe heavily, chest heaving rapidly. Karli walks towards you before crouching slightly. "Let's hope Bucky cares enough about you to listen."

"Sam, they've got Y/N," the super-soldier informs him through comms, his heart pounding in his chest as Sharon runs up to him. "We need to find her before Karli does anything to her."

"I know where they are," the blonde mentions to Bucky, and his blue eyes snap towards her. "C'mon, I'll show you the entrance."

Sam finally joins the two as they stealth their way through the building, avoiding any member of the Flag Smashers as best as possible. "She'll be okay," Sam reassures Bucky who clenches his jaw in response, hoping that he's right.

A pained yelp leaves your lips as one of the members punches you across the face. You lean your head back, growing tired of the questions Karli's asking. "Fuck you," you growl and spit some blood onto the floor beside you. "You think you're helping but you're making it worse."

Karli's nostrils flare up before nodding her head once more. The same man who's been beating you the past thirty minutes throws another punch at you, causing the chair you're sitting in to fall back against the concrete.

"You should think before you speak," she snarls before walking away from you. "C'mon, leave her here. We've got shit to do."

You pant heavily as you lay helplessly on the ground, the chair crushing your hands beneath you. "This is what happens when you adventure off, Y/N," you say to yourself while staring up at the ceiling.

Your ears perk up at the sounds of multiple footsteps, your heartbeat quickening as you think they've come back to finish you off instead. "Y/N?" Bucky calls out and a weight lifts off your shoulders while a sigh of relief leaves your lips.

"Bucky," you cry out and attempt to move.

The super-soldier kneels beside you before lifting your chair. "Hey, you okay?" He asks softly and you nod your head.

"As okay as I can be," you whisper with a pained smile. Sam undoes your restraints as Bucky places his right hand against your cheek, stroking your bruised skin gently.

"I'm sorry," you both say simultaneously, earning a chuckle from the brunette in front of you.

Bucky helps you stand up, his metal hand resting on your waist while the other grabs a hold of your hand. "I'm gonna give you my address and the key to my apartment," he tells you and you nod your head, listening carefully. "Go there and stay inside until I get back, okay?"

"Y-Yeah," you whisper and grab the key from his fingers, gripping onto it tightly. You swallow thickly as the pain begins to take over. A hiss leaves your lips and Bucky looks down at you with a worried expression. "You happen to have a first aid kit at your place?"

"Under the bathroom sink," he informs you, and you nod before heading towards the exit.

Bucky calls out to you and you glance over your shoulder to look back at him. You watch him as he quickly walks over to you before capturing your lips with his. A short gasp leaves your lips while wrapping an arm around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair. He pulls away after a few moments, his heavy breaths fanning your lips and you let out a soft chuckle.

“Come back alive and there’s more where that came from,” you whisper to him and Bucky lets out a laugh before shaking his head.

“But I’m one who kissed you,” he reminds you and you shush him, giggling.

“Well, if you want more, come back alive, mmkay?”

Bucky licks his lips before nodding his head in response, pressing a soft kiss to your lips once more. “I promise, now go,” he demands. You bite your lip and nod your head, continuing to walk towards the exit.

You sit on the kitchen island counter, swinging your feet as your eyes are glued to the television screen. It’s been a few hours since you arrived at Bucky’s apartment, your eyes widening at the very little furniture he has in the place. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as Sam comes on screen, the newscast recording the speech he’s currently giving.

You can hear the doorknob jiggle and your eyes snap towards the front door, watching Bucky walk through it. “Buck,” you whisper out with a grin on your lips, his blue eyes glancing towards you.

The super-soldier waltz’s over to you before wrapping his arms around your shoulders, bringing you into his chest. “I’m glad you’re alright,” he whispers and you nuzzle your face into his neck, inhaling his scent.

“I could say the same about you,” you tell him while dragging your fingers through his hair.

Bucky pulls away from you and drags his hands down your sides, kissing your forehead softly. “You get everything bandaged up?” He asks you and you nod your head, grinning like a fool.

“Yeah, nothing needed to get bandaged, but I’ll have some killer bruises,” you laugh and Bucky frowns, his eyes casting down to your torso. “I’ll be fine, Bucky.”

"I just worry," he whispers and your heart flutters in your chest. You bring your hand to his face, stroking his cheekbone gently as the brunette leans into your touch.

You lick your lips as you reach into your back pocket before pulling his little booklet out. "I, uh, found this lying open when I got here," you inform the super-soldier and his blue eyes look down at the small notebook. "I crossed my name out for you."

Bucky gently takes the book from your hand and shoves it into his jacket pocket before lacing your fingers with his. "Thank you… for reaching out to me that day."

You grin, leaning forward to kiss his lips gently and Bucky hums into the kiss. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Taglist: @jessalyn-jpeg @queen-of-mischief @bumblebet-20

649 notes · View notes

parkersbliss · 3 years

Text

Part of The Crows

pairing: the crows x reader (all platonic)

warnings: shadow & bone spoilers? cursing?

wc; 800 ish

synopsis: the life of a crow trying to kidnap the sun summoner is not easy

a/n; this was fun to write will probably do more if anyone likes it :D

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

first things first

how did you become a part of this?

well..

lets just say you were an assassin

like the best one in ketterdam

and assigned to kill mr. brekker himself

you have full confidence that you can

but when you sneak into his office

he’s just standing there, leaning on his cane

“whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it.”

“what?”

“join my crew.”

“you do understand I’m here to kill you, right?”

kaz shrugs, sitting on his desk

“I’ll double it.”

you were never going to say no

no one says no to kaz brekker

“yes, okay.”

“good. first assignment, go kill your old boss.”

and now you’re kaz’s personal assassin

you met jesper the next day

the first thing you do is fawn over his gun tricks

and he is more than happy to show off

“someone here finally appreciates me.”

kaz rolled his eyes

“is he always like that?”

jesper shakes his head. “he’s worse.”

then, you met inej

and as soon as kaz lead you to meet her, it was awkward

not awkward for them

but for you as you stood there and watched them just look at each other

there was something there

you coughed

“right. this is inej.”

you two instantly became best friends

you loved going places with her

more specifically, missions

she did the spying, you did the killing

and of course, we come to the big reveal

“one million Kruge?”

“to cross the fold?”

“money isn’t anything if we’re dEAD”

kaz shuts both you & jesper up with one look

“I have a plan.”

“do you now? just a reminder cant exaclty just walk through it.”

sometimes kaz wishes you came with a “very sarcastic” warning

obviously you guys take the job

and spend the entire fucking night trying to find a way across the fold

that’s eight hours of sleep you wasted with kaz of all people

running around ketterdam

which turns from let’s find a way across the fold to heartrender

and then you find the heartrender

take her to dreesen

“criminals.”

you resist the urge not to laugh

was it THAT obvious?

“mr. brekker, no business man worth his salt hires his first applicant.”

*cue threat from kaz and jesper showing off his gun*

“you wouldn’t.”

“no business worth his salt would bargain for what he could take.”

you cross your arms, smirking

oh it felt good to be the ones in charge

“two weeks ago he crossed through the fold on foot.”

your eyes bug out of your head at that

and now you’re supposed to kidnap the sun summoner?

you, jesper & kaz share the same look of “utter bullshit”

“her name is alina starkov”

BANG

milana screams

no one else flinches

“you have until sunrise.”

oh great, another late night expedition

“he doesn’t have a way across the fold, you guys know that.”

you shrug, “it’s kaz.”

“just take the bet,” jesper whines

inej takes a shot

“he’s obsessed with taking down pekka rollins.”

“well of course he’s obsessed with taken down the guy who’s paid off stadwatch to get away with murder.”

“It’s more than that. I’ve seen the way kaz looks when he says his name. He wants revenge.”

you raise a brow at jesper, you thought kaz might’ve told her already

then inej is being summoned

“you want company?”

“No.”

“I meant to-,”

“Just shut up jesper,” you said, patting him on the back

then in strolls mr. brekker himself

you don’t comment on the bruise forming on his face

“you all right, boss?”

kaz takes a shot, one that was YOURS

but you don’t say anything

“no. we’ve been wanted off the job.”

“by who?”

“who do you think?”

“did he recognize you?”

“if he did, I’d be dead.”

kaz checks his watch, “five hours till sunrise.”

“we’re off the job tho, right?”

god, that boy is so stupid

“never make a decision out of fear jesper, only out of spite.”

“well, greed always worked for me.”

“I prefer for the fun of it. or you know, sweet revenge.”

“you just like showing off your skills.”

“so do you.”

silence then “both of you, leave.”

you roll your eyes, nudging jesper

“lets go before kaz has both our heads on spikes.”

anyway

you’re functioning on no sleep running around ketterdam

and then inej asks jesper to kill someone for him

and then kaz finds a lead

and now you’re playing distraction with jesper as charming as ever

you’re so lucky you found the conductor

only after inej almost killed him

I mean seriously

“Don’t,” Kaz said

and then there’s a knife like inches from your head

“I’ll need 20 pounds of alabaster coal, a pack of majdaloun jurda and uh… a goat”

you begged to go get the goat

I mean literally begged

“kaz, pLEASE PLEASE PLEASE”

“(Y/N)…”

“Kaz.”

“Mate just let her go get the goat.”

“fine-”

“YES”

“You’re with me.”

“Oh for fu-”

anyway you get the goat

kaz grips his cane and looks at you with raised eyebrows

you’re just like clutching this little goat

with all the love in the world in your eyes

and kaz cannot understand WHY

but that’s kaz

then of course you see the conductor making deals he shouldn’t

“kaz you have your scheming face.”

“I’m not-”

“I don’t like that face.”

“For the record, you don’t like any of my faces.”

“I dislike this one the most.”

if kaz could, he would punch you

“yOU GAMBLED?”

addiction is real

jesper is a perfect example of this

“ITS FINE”

“THERE ARE PEOPLE CHASING YOU”

“THATS NOTHING NEW”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP AND GET IN”

land mine go boom

“please tell me you have 20 pounds of coal?”

“so slight snag in the plan…”

“we know you gambled it,” kaz deadpanned.

“I lost a little bit of money”

kaz gives him the look

“I lost all of the money, BUT I managed to steal 20 pounds of alabaster coal”

“this is sixteen”

“SIXTEEN pounds of alabaster coal”

“can we do it in sixteen?”

“never been done before.”

cue the dirty looks from everyone at jesper

you sit across from inej next to kaz

and then the tracks aren’t connected

mass panic, mostly from jesper

arker explains that it’s all fine as long as the volcra don’t attack

spoiler alert, they do

and one gets stuck on a spike

it just goes downhill from there

the coal is gone

“tHiS iS hOw wE dIE”

“jesper, gRAB THE GOAT”

“I’m not throwing out the goat”

“GRAB THE DAMN GOAT ITS NOT BAIT ITS FOR YOU”

inej grabs her knife and starts praying

“HUG THE GOAT AND SHUT THE HELL UP”

and then arker casually says you’ll definitely die with the volcra weight

BUT JESPER SHOOTS THEM ALL

so now everything is fine

then a volcra rips open the top

and now arker is screaming

Inej is praying

jesper might as well be aLMOST crying

kaz looks unfazed

and you’re

well you

you’re screaming AT kaz

“kAZ BREKKER I WILL HAUNT YOU IN THE AFTER LIFE”

“THIS WAS THE STUPIDEST IDEA EVER”

“HOW ARE YOU SO CALM?? DO YOU REALIZE WE ARE GOING TO DIE”

you don’t die

jesper shoots it

you lived

for now

you get off the train

brush yourself off, pretend like nothing happened

kaz coughs looking at you

“my promise stands true, by the way”

“is that so?”

“I will haunt you if I die”

“I have no doubt”

“asshole”

561 notes · View notes

bratdesire · 3 years

Text

All Bark and No Bite

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Noncon, lowkey incel Tsukki, yandere ( i think?), degrading language, knifeplay, misogyny, slut shaming, brat taming, slapping, belting, mentions of blood, choking, emotional manipulation, belly bulge, overstimulation, painful orgasm, unprotected sex, general meanness, time skip spoilers?

Genre: Smut (gross)

Author’s Note: This is mean, nasty Tsukki brain rot and I had no reason at all to write this. He’s a fucking beast in this and I apologize for nothing. Hopefully someone likes it tho. As always, thank you to my betas @sempiternal-amour, @kidwine, @india-katsuki!!

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: Tsukishima teaches his roommate’s bratty girlfriend a lesson or two.

Please heed the warnings, it’s dark in here ;;;;

Tsukishima has hated you since he laid eyes on you.

You personify everything that he despises, from your big bratty mouth, to your typical bitchy attitude, to your ridiculous wardrobe which must only consist of tiny crop tops and slutty skirts that barely cover your ass.

Most of all, he hates that you never fail to give him a raging hard on anytime you’re around. But it’s really not his fault, not with the way you prance around his and Kuroo’s apartment in your tiny, indecent outfits and surely not with the sinful moans he hears you make through the thin wall between their bedrooms. He knows you know exactly what you’re doing.

You can’t not know.

He knows you’re trying to tempt him, test his resolve. He doesn’t miss the way you make sure he’s looking when you bend over in your too-short skirt, panties conveniently missing. You’re always mouthing off to him, trying to goad him into an argument, knowing Kuroo will always come to your defense.

You’re trying to push him until the thin, fraying thread that is his self-control snaps.

One day, it does.

You’re standing in the kitchen, boiling some pasta for dinner when Tsukishima unlocks the front door. Great, he thinks, he’s had a long day full of stressful negotiations for the museum and now you’re here to sour his mood even more. Usually Kuroo is there to smooth out any tension that develops between you, quickly defusing any arguments before you start full-on screaming at each other, so your conflicts have never risen above that threshold.

But Kuroo’s not here, as Tsukishima learns from you in your annoyingly snarky tone, “Tetsu won’t be home until late tonight. He told me to tell you he said to fuck off if you bothered me.” You’re smirking, feeling superior in the belief that you’re safe from his wrath because you’re his roommate’s girlfriend and he wants so badly to wipe that smirk off your face, preferably by belting you until you bleed.

“I didn’t ask, brat,” Tsukishima sneers, narrowing his eyes at you as he passes on the way to his room. He’s trying to keep a calm, collected persona, but you just get under his skin in a way that no one else does. Usually he lets those types of comments go but he’s just so tired, so tense, and so fed up with your attitude that his bubbling anger threatens to break the surface and boil over. He breathes in, breathes out, breathes in, breathes out. He can tolerate your unruly behavior for at least a few hours until Kuroo gets home, he tells himself. He truthfully doesn’t care about his relationship with his roommate, Kuroo just offered him a cheap place to stay after high school graduation, but he knows that if he did hurt you he’d have to find a new place to live and that would just be a headache that he doesn’t want to deal with.

After changing out of his work clothes and putting on sweatpants and a t-shirt, he makes his way down the hall and back into the kitchen to make himself dinner because he sure as hell isn’t going to eat anything you make. Girls his age never know how to cook, only knowledgeable in spreading their legs for any alpha male that looks their way.

Much to Tsukishima’s irritation, you’re still in the kitchen piddling around like the clueless bitch you are, incapable of boiling a simple box of pasta without the water boiling over and making a mess of the stove. He lets out a groan of exasperation, walking over to where you’re standing in front of the stove to remove the pot from the burner.

“Can’t do anything without fucking it up can you, brat?” He growls at you, purposefully clipping your shoulder as he moves behind you to throw the ruined pasta away. He knows he’s baiting you into an argument and that you’ll take the bait, but the knowledge that Kuroo won’t be home for a while makes him want to see how far you’re willing to go without your boyfriend present.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that? No wonder no one likes you,” you huff, leaning against the stove and crossing your arms. The action squishes your breasts together and he can see the faint outline of your areolas through the thin material of your shirt.

“As if I care about what a useless brat like you has to say about me.” Tsukishima scoffs and he can see your anger in the way your shoulders shake.

“You barely fucking know me, who are you to call me useless?” You push yourself off the stove and take a step closer to him.

“I know enough about you to know that you’re useless.” He can feel his resolve fraying more and more as each word leaves your bitchy mouth.

“Oh, I’m useless? Didn’t that little ginger boy you played volleyball with in high school get on the Japan National team while you work at a museum?” You’re smiling triumphantly as if you’ve won this battle of wits, but Tsukishima can rattle off insults in his sleep and this isn’t his first time putting someone in their place.

“You know Kuroo only keeps you around because you’re pretty and you’re a warm, wet hole waiting for him to fuck when he gets home.” He crosses his own arms this time, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“So you think I’m pretty?” You’re snickering at the reddening of his face and the twisting of his delicate features and it fills him with so much rage that the thread...

Just.

Snaps.

He’s on you so fast that you can’t even blink before he has you pinned to the countertop, one hand squeezing the back of your neck and the other twisting your arm painfully behind you. Tsukishima relishes in the little yelp of pain you make when he twists your arm back farther.

“Absolutely not. Your slutty cunt is the only good thing about you and even that has probably been stretched out by all the cocks you’ve taken.” His voice is calm, collected, as if he were discussing the weather and not verbally abusing you while he has you pressed into the countertop. Your fight-or-flight response triggers and you start kicking and screaming, thrashing against him in a blind attempt to wrench yourself from his grasp.

“What the fuck are you doing? Fucking asshole get off of me and let me go!” The hand that’s holding your arm quickly grabs your other wrist while his other hand wrenches you upward by a painful grip in your hair. Your back is now pressed against Tsukishima’s chest, wrists restrained by his long fingers and head bent back so your eyes meet his. They’re cold, unfeeling and send a sickly chill down your spine that makes you still immediately.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be quiet and calm down. It’ll be easier that way for the both of us.” The monotony of his voice is even more sinister in this moment where you’re completely at his mercy. Your eyes widen in horror as you feel his cock pressing against your ass and it causes you to start fighting him again, no coordination in the way your muscles move in your frantic movements. You’re screaming, just hoping somebody will hear you, somebody will come save you.

Your hopes are meaningless when you’re so small, so vulnerable. Tsukishima knows no one will come for you and he knows you’ll never be able to overpower him. You’re completely at his mercy, whether you choose to comply or not.

“You know, even if nobody comes for me now, Tetsu will be home later and I’ll tell him everything you did to me.” You’re confident that the threat of your boyfriend will deter him from taking his abuse any further. You struggle in his grip to hold yourself a little higher so you’re more eye level with him. “He’ll kill you if he sees one hair out of place and I tell him it was you.”

How cute, you still think you have control of this situation.

“I’ll just deny whatever you claim that I did or didn’t do. Who do you think Kuroo will believe? Me, his longtime friend from high school, or you, his whore girlfriend he met a year ago?” A smug smile tugs at his lips, knowing he’s planted a seed of doubt in your mind that Kuroo will believe you.

“Tetsu loves me! He’ll believe whatever I tell him.” He can’t tell if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

“You really think Kuroo loves anything more than your tits,” he uses one hand to grope at your breasts, “or your ass,” the other hand sliding down to fondle at the supple flesh. The feeling of his long, thin fingers on your body causes you to start fighting again, but this time your arms are free so you start flailing them blindly, hoping to stun him long enough that’ll give you enough time to get away. You manage to twist around and smack him in the face and almost wriggle out of his grip but as luck would have it, you don’t get away. You won’t get away.

Rage takes over his features, his muscles tensing and flexing. Tsukishima quickly raises his hand and brings it down across the left side of your face. It takes a moment for you to realize that he slapped you, confusion slowly morphing into an expression of sheer, unadulterated fear. The horror that dawns on you, overtaking your features, warms his heart.

“If you’re not going to behave and continue to be a brat, I’m going to treat you how a brat should be treated.” He drags you, kicking and screaming, down the hall to his bedroom. He wishes you’d shut the fuck up, but that’ll be taken care of soon enough.

Kuroo thinks you’re his sweet, innocent girlfriend but Tsukishima knows better, knows what you really are. You’re a mouthy, bratty whore who needs to learn her place and he’ll be the one to remind you what you are.

Once you’re in his bedroom he turns and uses one hand to lock the door. How pathetically weak you are that he only needs one hand to restrain you. He digs around with one arm underneath his bed, slowly getting frustrated before he finally grabs what he’s looking for.

Handcuffs.

He grabs your arm and fastens a cuff to your wrist, tightening them just enough so the cold, hard metal digs into your flesh. It only takes a few moments of your incessant struggling for redness to bloom across the skin of your wrists and Tsukishima can’t help but smile at the sight.

“What kind of sick fuck just has a pair of handcuffs lying around?” You’re scared, he can hear it in the way your voice shakes, but you’re trying to act tough and he can’t help but roll his eyes.

Tsukishima hauls your body over to his bed, forcing you to follow him if you want to prevent fracturing your wrist. He forces you onto the mattress, body bouncing with the impact. With the other cuff in hand, he fastens it to his headboard.

“The kind that’s going to beat your bratty ass into submission before I fuck your stupid cunt.” He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your flimsy, tiny shorts and pulls them down your legs. You start thrashing harder, trying to slow the movements of his hands but your efforts are futile.

“Stop! What the fuck do you think you’re doing a-asshole!?” You’re on the verge of tears, eyes welling up, bottom lip trembling. You shut your legs as tight as you can in an attempt to impede his quest to remove what’s left of your clothing, but you both know that won’t stop him.

Your entire body stills then seizes up when you see the glint of a box cutter blade in Tsukishima’s hand.

“W-What’re you planning on doing with that?” Your wide, terrified eyes are trained on the blade as he waves it around in the air.

“Stop your whining, I’m not going to cut you with it. It’s just to make removing your clothes easier.” He’s looking at you like a parent would look at a child that was throwing a fit, exasperated and tired of your nonsense. “Hold still and I’ll make this quick. I don’t want to get blood on my sheets just as much as you don’t want to get cut.”

You’re cowering from him, trying to scramble away from him despite the handcuffs anchoring you in place. You gasp when you feel the sharp edge of the blade against your hip, not daring to take another breath. Tsukishima slices through both sides of the little bits of string you call panties, revelling in the way your body trembles underneath him. Another long cut is made down the front of your shirt, the box cutter making quick work of the fabric, and his suspicions are confirmed that you’re not wearing a bra. Of course a whore like you wouldn’t be wearing one.

He admires the enticing curve of your breasts, the way your nipples are hardening in the cool air of his room. Your cheeks are wet with fresh, salty tears and you’re sniveling pathetically. He’s almost tempted to tell you that you’re beautiful like this, tied up and naked, crying, but you don’t deserve his praise.

“Turn over, face down ass up. If I have to tell you a second time, I have no problems carving you up with this blade.” The threat has you scrambling onto your hands and knees, the action hindered by your restraints but you manage to turn over and present your ass to him.

Tsukishima unbuckles his belt, sliding it through the loops of his jeans. He takes it in his hand and folds it in half, inspecting its structural integrity to ensure he won’t destroy it as he whips you with it. The belt is real black leather, heavy in his palm and he knows it’ll make pretty welts on your skin.

“Now, it’s time to beat all of that sass and attitude out of you.”

There’s no warning, no pretense before he starts viciously whipping you with his belt and you’re already screaming. If you hadn’t been so difficult, he might have warmed you up beforehand but he doesn’t mind. Your struggle was like foreplay, a little taste before the main course and it has his cock is straining against his pants.

Every broken cry that leaves your throat sends arousal down his spine and he thinks he

should’ve done this sooner.

He would have if he had known how delicious your screams were.

The blonde is relentless, the impact of the belt never lessening, if anything, the smacks become even more ruthless. Your ass is an angry red and he can see some of the skin beginning to split, fresh, warm blood bubbling to the surface around your deeper wounds.

“P-Please stop, it hurts so much. I can’t take it anymore!” You’re fully sobbing now, tears and snot dripping down your face. “I’ll do a-anything,” you choke out between cries, your voice hoarse from overuse.

“Look at you, bawling hysterically from a few licks with my belt. You really are all bark and no bite. How pathetic,” he sneers.

“Tsukkiiiiii! Please, stop. I’ll do whatever you want as long as you stop hurting me.” The way you say his name is harsh and grating against his ears, but he overlooks it in favor of taking what you’ve been dangling in front of his face all this time.

The sound of Tsukishima’s pants hitting the ground makes you stiffen on the bed, slowly and apprehensively turning your head to look at him. Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you see his cock: thick, hard, and leaking precum.

When you feel the dip of the bed underneath his weight, you start shaking and hyperventilating at the realization that this is really going to happen. “You… You’re really going to do this.” You sound so small, so defeated and his chest swells with pride because he did that—he smothered that blazing fire inside you with little more than a few flicks of his wrist.

“Yeah, and there’s nothing you can do about it so just lie there and take it,” he says as he lines himself up against your slit. When he notices the copious amounts of slick drooling out of your quivering pussy, the man can’t help but laugh at your expense. “Are you actually fucking wet from this? Does being fucked against your will turn you on this much?”

Your cheeks burn with shame and disgust because you are wet from Tsukishima’s abuse. It’s wrong, you know that, but your traitorous body doesn’t even feel like your own as it reacts to his touch. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop the thrusting of your hips to try to catch the head of his cock each time it slots against the tight ring of muscle around your entrance.

“I always knew you were a cock hungry slut. You don't care whose cock is inside this filthy pussy as long as you’re getting fucked, do you?”

You don’t respond, tears welling up in your eyes and leaving watery trails down your cheeks. He’s right. You asked for this—if you hadn’t tempted him, you wouldn’t be handcuffed to Tsukishima’s bed, waiting for him to defile you.

“I asked you a question,” Tsukishima snarls, fisting your hair in your hand and delivering a sharp spank to your ass. “Tell me how much of a disgusting whore you are.”

“I-I’m a—hiccup—dirty slut that loves t-to get fucked,” you stutter, the words like acid, foul and caustic on your tongue. “All I w-want is a cock inside me.”

“At least you know your place. Now let’s see if this slutty hole of yours is worth anything.” Tsukishima finally thrusts inside you, meeting some resistance from how unprepared you are, but he just pushes harder.

Your walls spasm and clench to try to adjust to his length, but you feel like you’re going to split in half. He’s much bigger than any other man you’ve slept with, stretching and filling you so full your stomach bulges where the tip of his cock is pressed against your cervix.

You scream and writhe on the bed in an attempt to get away from the hard, throbbing length painfully probing your delicate insides, but it’s futile with the handcuffs keeping you firmly shackled to the bed.

“Urgh, shit, for a used hole, you’re so fucking tight. I’m d-definitely going to cum from this.” The blonde takes a sharp breath through clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t want to cum so soon. He can’t cum so soon when he’s waited for this for months.

“P-Please, not inside… I-I’m not on birth control,” you plead softly, hoping he’ll at least spare you the humiliation of having to clean his cum out from inside you.

“Tch, you think I give a shit about that? I’m gonna cum deep inside this pussy, ruin you for Kuroo and any man that’s sorry enough to want to fuck you.” He speaks low, muttering to himself but just loud enough for you to hear.

Despite the aching of your heart each time he speaks, you can feel your pussy begin to give as he fucks into you with abandon, his hips smacking loudly against yours. The sharp burning in your core slowly fades to pleasure as Tsukishima’s cock presses against that little spongy spot inside you that makes you cry out. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds to try to muffle the noise, but it’s no use. He heard you and it just gives him more reason to taunt you.

“Ah, I found it, did I?” the man asks as he hits the spot again and again, making you clench around him as the fluttering of your cunt tells him that you’re close to orgasm. “What a dumb slut you are, about to cream on my cock as I ravage your pussy.”

How utterly fucking humiliating. You’re going to cum on his cock and you didn’t even want this, not with him.

A particularly rough thrust into your g-spot sends electricity down your spine, down your body, and sends you careening over the edge, mouth open in a silent scream. Your sensitive cunt clamps down onto Tsukishima’s cock like a vice, but his ruthless pace doesn’t stop or slow as you shake and convulse underneath him.

It isn’t like any typical orgasm you’ve had, which are usually blissful and warm, flooding your body with pleasure that makes your limbs heavy and your head fuzzy. No, this is almost painful, as if your orgasm was ripped out of you by force.

All of your muscles contract as hard as they can and several seconds pass before they relax, your body shaking all the while. As it hits it feels as if a bucket of ice water was poured over your head, shocking and jarring, and you want to claw your way out of your own skin it's all so intense.

Once the last of the aftershocks leave you, you slump forward on the bed, boneless, chest heaving with every breath. You’re too exhausted to hold yourself up as Tsukishima keeps fucking into your overstimulated cunt, taking no regard for you or your body as he chases his own climax.

You’re whining, gasping, hands fisted into the sheets to try to keep yourself grounded as electricity shoots through you with each thrust.

“Too muuuch, ‘s too much,” you slur, but it only falls on deaf ears.

The blonde pulls almost all the way out before shoving himself back inside the tight, wet heat of your cunt, and pushing against your cervix so hard you think he’s trying to fuck that hole too. You’re so fuck drunk that your eyes cross and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, strings of drool staining the mattress.

“Hey,” he calls out, yanking your hair backwards so you’re arched back towards him. “Don’t pass out; I’m gonna cum soon, so tighten up.”

You’re barely conscious by the time his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated, his own peak just on the horizon. His grip on your flesh is bruising, no doubt leaving purple marks in the shape of his fingers. The pistoning of his hips gets even faster, lewd squelching noises filling the room.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum inside this slutty little pussy and you’re going to take it all,” Tsukishima groans, digging his long fingers into your hips as he fucks into you.

All you can do is whine and mewl as he buries himself to the hilt, cursing and groaning as he shoots thick, warm spurts of cum into your sore, quivering womb. He leans forward, resting his forehead on your sweaty back as he catches his breath.

Some time passes before he withdraws and you twitch and gasp, the barest stimulation too much for your abused cunt. You try to curl in on yourself to go to sleep, but Tsukishima grabs your ankle and drags your limp body toward the edge of the bed.

“You really think we’re done here? Not even close. I’m not stopping until I’ve soiled every single one of your filthy holes.”

#tw knifeplay #tw noncon #tw dark #tsukishima kei #hq x reader #meany tsukki #idk what to even tag this #yandere tsukishima kei #yandere tsukishima #haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #tw yandere #bunny scribbles #tw rape

1K notes · View notes

irrelevantwriter · 3 years

Text

House Call

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, reader being scared and horny, Rio’s BDE (y'all know what's up)

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Part 1. Rio shows up unannounced to talk business. Among other things.

A/N: It’s here...it’s happening. It took me a whole 2.5 seconds to become obsessed with Rio once I started watching GG. Ya’ll know how I roll. Anyway, this is me just dipping my toe into the water. I didn't get too deep with a plot (spoiler alert: there isn't any). It’s essentially just reader-insert into the show’s current plot, but with some smut thrown in. For fun. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Added a Part 2! Read it here.

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

***********************

“You okay?”

The sound of your friend’s concerned voice filled the line, pulling you back to the moment and the conversation you’d been engaged in before you’d burnt yourself in the spray of hot water.

“Yeah, just washing dishes.” You explained, cradling your cell between your shoulder and cheek as you maneuvered dirty dishes under the spout of water.

“So the meeting with the principal? How’d it go?” Rachel asked, getting you back on track.

You sighed, beginning to scrub at a stubborn coffee stain left behind on one of your favorite mugs.

“Fine. The kids are still having a hard time with the divorce so it’s…” You paused, unsure of how to describe the child-like brooding your son and daughter had taken to participating in since you’d separated from their father.

“Tense? Difficult? Weird?” Rachel listed off helpfully.

“All of the above.” You deadpanned, still scrubbing.

“You take the rest of the day off?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta figure out what I’m going to do with these kids. Paul said he’d come over later to talk it over.”

“How incredibly thoughtful of him.” Rachel replied, sarcasm and disdain dripping from her words.

“Well, it’s a start. And as much as I’d like to tell him to fuck off, I can’t. He’s still their dad.” You explained for the hundredth time, feeling the stress of your situation with your ex starting to creep into your body. Your shoulders felt stiff and your head began to throb with a dull ache. It was a familiar reaction these days. One you loathed.

You opened your mouth to steer the conversation elsewhere when the doorbell rang, chiming throughout the empty expanse of your home.

“Paul?” Rachel asked, obviously hearing the alert of someone’s company over the phone.

“I guess. Look, I’ll call you later.” You said with another sigh, this one more tired than annoyed. You gave up on the stained mug and moved onto drying it, shutting the water off as you did.

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” You ended the call, aware that you were short with her, but unable to feel sorry for it. You had plenty of other things to worry about, none of which involved your shitty ex or his new girlfriend.

You placed your cell on the counter and turned to make your way to the entryway, mug still clutched in your hand. The ceramic cup dropped to the floor and shattered into pieces when you saw who was already in your kitchen. You gasped, clutching your chest and yelping at the familiar man in black, the dark ink splattered across his throat the first thing you noticed. Your heart leapt, your body going rigid at the unexpected visit. Pop-ups like this were never a good sign.

“I let myself in.” Rio supplied, voice low and thick with authority and charm. He wore a smirk, lips upturned at your surprised reaction. He always seemed amused by you. That fact only served to unsettle you further.

“What’re you doing here?” You managed to say between shaky breaths, fear making your own voice quiver.

“Just checking in, mama. Can’t I do that?” He challenged with his arms spread wide, daring you to say otherwise.

You didn’t.

You went to move around the large kitchen island but the shards of broken mug prevented you from getting far on bare feet. Rio took notice and strode towards you, all clean lines and hooded eyes. He had a swagger about him that radiated. It sent a clear message about the kind of man he was. Confident. Skilled. Smart. There was an ease in his movements, but a beast lay in wait inside, ready to strike when the need arose.

His piercing gaze took in your dress, uncaring of being discreet or polite. He appraised you from the tips of your painted toes to the top of your head. It was as unnerving as it was thrilling. He crowded your space. He always did. While the scent of him filled your nostrils. Something spicy, but pleasing. It sat in your nose, and you knew from previous experience that you’d smell it for hours after.

You swallowed, wanting to avoid his close proximity. You hastily bent down to gather what you could of the jagged pieces, moving around his sneaker-clad feet that stood before you. You tried to ignore his presence, tried to appear calm and composed. It was an uphill battle. The man always knew how to throw you off. He knew how to keep people on their toes. It was yet another facet of him that you both coveted and despised.

You hissed, feeling the edge of one of the shards dig into the tip of your finger. You stood and sucked the tip into your mouth, trying to clear the area of the blood that had started to surface. His eyes were on you, watching you with interest and a certain level of lust that you didn’t allow yourself to explore. You stiffened when he reached for your wrist and pulled your finger away from your lips. He inspected the cut, his flesh warm and soft against yours. It was a side of him that eclipsed the man you’d come to know over the last several months.

“It’s not bad. I’ll be fine.” You whispered, attempting to pull your hand free of his. It was futile.

“Band aid?”

“Uh...yeah. In that drawer. Next to the stove.” You pointed in the direction of the drawer, holding your breath as he retrieved the item. This time, you watched him. Watched as he unwrapped the bandage and tended to your finger with all the care of a parent with their child. He held the appendage steady as he got ready to wrap it, but he stopped himself. He locked eyes with you instead, making you shiver.

“I make you nervous.”

It was a statement. A very true statement. And yet you found yourself shaking your head; ironic because your voice felt too unsteady to use.

Your heart stopped when he placed a tender kiss to the cut. The air around you crackled with heat and tension. It was unlike any feeling you’d ever been subjected to before. It was danger mixed with primal fascination...attraction. And it called to you like a raft in a sea of treacherous waves.

He ignored your silent response and sealed the band aid over your finger, ensuring the ends were smooth against your skin. He didn’t let go of you.

“Don’t lie to me, okay? Trust is an important thing. And we’ve gotta have it if we wanna keep doing business together.”

His calm demeanor and gentle chastising made you a puddle of obedience. Your need to please wasn’t just born from fear. It was something you’d been unable to come to terms with until now. You saw it for what it truly was. You wanted to please him. In as many ways as he’d let you.

You nodded in response, agreeing to his statement.

“Let’s try it again then, yeah?” He started, eyes roaming your face. “I make you nervous, don’t I?”

“The constant threat of my life makes it difficult for me to be calm.” You said, choosing to still be untruthful.

You forced yourself not to fidget as his stare scorched your skin. His black eyes roamed across the open expanse of your collarbone and to the modest neckline of your wrap dress. He licked his lips as he focused on the measured breaths of your chest, your breasts rising with each pass.

“That’s not the only reason.” He retorted with a shake of his head. He leaned in close, noses almost touching as he spoke. “Don’t move.”

You said nothing as he bent down, continuing your failed task of picking up the broken bits of ceramic. You observed him dutifully gathering each piece, piling them into one large hand. His face looked pensive, as if he was trying to solve an equation in his head. You leaned against the island for support and bit your lip, unwilling to give into the lecherous thoughts that haunted you at night and managed to infiltrate your dreams.

“Nice dress.”

His compliment made you pause, looking down to meet that familiar smirk. He’d set what was left of the mug onto the counter, the floor relatively clear of large fragments. His fingers now played with the hem of said dress, the flowy material dancing in the air and away from your body.

“Thanks.”

Your voice was small. The apprehension so clear that you could both taste it. He found it funny. You found it humiliating.

He slowly straightened, taking the fabric with him as he gathered it to just above your knees.

“Color looks good on you.”

Again, the juvenile warmth of his praise sent you reeling further into anxiety’s waiting arms. Inwardly, you were responding to every lick of his lips and quirk of his eyebrow. Your thighs shifted restlessly against each other, waiting for that satiation that you hadn’t felt in forever. Outwardly though, you remained as skittish as a wild horse. You were as much on the edge of pleasure as you were on retreating.

“Thanks.” You said with a pleasant smile, wanting to conceal the yearning that bubbled just under the surface. You smoothed out the hunter-green fabric that rested against your abdomen, hoping to urge his hands away from you and the dress.

No such luck.

Instead, he ran his fingers up your skirt and along the outside of your thighs and hips, almost meeting the edge of your lace panties. Your traitorous body showed its hand, your nipples hardening in eagerness. Rio’s gaze predictably caught the action. And his face showed his approval.

“How long you been divorced?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion at his sudden curiosity. But the switch in topic had you alert again and somewhat clear of the fog he was so insistent on throwing you into.

“Why? What does that have to do with anything?” You questioned, stepping back from his body.

His hands fell away from you finally, but they didn’t stay idle for long. They skimmed over your hips, pressing your backside into the edge of the kitchen island.

“Answer me, mama.” He demanded, head craning down to meet your eyes. The intensity of his stare made you shift on your feet. He had an amazing poker face. A skill that left you envious.

“Two years.” You dutifully supplied, leaning backwards every inch that he moved in.

“It’s been that long then.” He commented with a nod, a finger tracing along the neckline of your dress, hovering just above your cleavage.

“That long for what?” You asked, taking note of the subtle ways in which his face changed. There was no trace of the teasing, light-hearted flirting that you’d become accustomed to seeing from him. He was serious. Almost as serious as the times he’d threatened your life. His touch was more insistent, telling you what he wanted rather than hinting. His mouth lowered to your ear, his nose brushing against your neck in a far too erotic manner. Your fingers itched to anchor yourself to him. You denied the request.

“Since someone stretched you out.”

A gasp caught in your throat, though you didn’t know if it was more from his words or his touch. He’d managed to slip a hand under your dress, tracing the crotch of your panties with a dexterous finger as he spoke.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stammered, knuckles tightening against the edge of the counter you were currently gripping.

“I mean…” Rio started, lips brushing against the shell of your ear with each syllable. His finger barely teased your slit, but his voice more than compensated for the lack of physicality. “You haven’t had someone here,” He emphasized the word with a firm press of his finger against the soaked material that hid your clit from view. “In two years. Maybe more.”

You whimpered, biting your lip as he continued to manipulate your body. Your head screamed at you to stop, to pull away. But the sensation of his body pressed so firmly to yours was far too comforting to deny.

“You don’t know that.” You attempted, though the effort was obviously pointless. It was true. Since your separation and subsequent divorce from Paul, you’d barely been on a date, much less had sex. Your body was fiending for it...for him. And he knew it.

He scoffed, finding amusement in your words. He pressed his finger along the same dampened area, seeing your eyes roll into the back of your head. He licked his lips when your hand shot out to grasp at his wrist.

“Yeah, I do.” He affirmed with a nod, finger still teasing over your lace-covered slit. “He stepped out on you, didn’t he?” He continued, his eyes taking stock of the way you responded to his touch.

You had trouble focusing on the conversation he insisted on having while his hand was up your dress and practically in your underwear. You didn’t feel the need to supply an answer anyway. He already had all the information he needed.

“He didn’t deserve you.”

You were jolted back to reality by his words, straightening your spine and pushing his hand from between your legs.

“And what? You do?” You threw back, agitation seeping into your tone. You felt like he was patronizing you. He was always one step ahead. Always aware of the skeletons in your closet before you were.

“Never said that.” He said with a shake of his head, not stepping out of your space. His hands were off your body now, but the stains they’d left on you would remain there. They wouldn’t easily be erased. And you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted them to be.

“Why are you here?” You asked, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

“Business.”

“A simple call or text works for that.”

“Wanted to come in person.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. He wore an expression of smugness, as if he knew something you didn’t, which was often the case.

“What do you want then?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” He retorted swiftly, lips pulled into a thin line.

The seriousness was back, his eyes nearly swallowing you as all humor became sucked from the room. The nerves in your stomach came back full force, the fear aiding them in their efforts. He was challenging you, apparently done with your lying.

“I…”

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to even begin. He was too intimidating. Just too much.

“I-I can’t.” You finished lamely, shaking your head and looking down at your feet.

He tilted your chin up, his mouth only centimeters from yours as he dared you to move.

“Just say the word.” He rasped against your lips, his free hand cradling your cheek.

You let yourself stare back, taking in his dark lashes and the angles of his face. He confused you on many levels, angered you beyond belief. He made your life a living hell. And yet, you wanted him more than anything. More than the money and the thrill of crime. And somehow he was privy to it all. And he wanted to give it to you.

So you were going to let him.

“Kiss me.” You breathed out, your hands finally coming to rest on his chest.

He needed no further encouragement. His mouth settled over yours in a tangle of lips and tongues. He tasted like mint, his lips much softer than they looked. The scratch of his facial hair only added to the moment as you pressed further into him, asking him to take more.

He did.

His hands were rough, but not unpleasant as they trailed along your body. They had the marks of healed scars. Not to mention the blood of those who chose to cross him. They were everywhere and all at once. Your breasts, your neck, your waist, your ass. He kneaded where he knew you yearned for more and tenderly stroked the areas in between. You struggled to keep up as his hips pushed into yours, his own yearning making its presence known.

“We shouldn’t do this.” You managed to say between heavy breaths, Rio’s mouth attaching to your neck and sucking near your throbbing pulse.

“Why not?” He mumbled into your skin, hands unwilling to slow down.

“Things will get complicated.”

He pulled himself away from the crook of your neck, his thumb running over your kiss-swollen pout.

“Yeah, they will.” He said with a chuckle, that devilish smirk staring back at you.

It was all a blur after that.

Limbs intertwined together as you worked on the buckle of his pants while he pushed your dress up and over your hips this time. He harshly pulled the lace away, the elastic snapping against your thighs as it got caught before making its way to the floor. Your mouths didn’t separate, not even when he lifted you onto the counter. He pulled one side of your dress away, exposing the matching bra you wore underneath. Your pebbled nipples called to him and he responded, massaging the flesh with expert precision. You moaned and writhed like a woman possessed. Like a woman that hadn’t been laid in two years.

“Feels good?”

The roughened gravel of his voice made your walls spasm, the hint of self-assuredness causing a wave of arousal to seep from within you. You could only nod, wordlessly pleading with him to continue on. His touch ventured south to your spread thighs. You widened them, allowing him access to the place you needed him the most. He didn’t disappoint.

His fingers were long and probing as they penetrated your sex, slipping easily in. You gasped at the fullness, the stretch around him making your eyes squeeze shut. He let your body guide him as he rubbed at your clit, his fingers curling against your walls.

“I’m...god...I’m gonna cum.” You confessed, only somewhat embarrassed by the suddenness of your climax.

He worked hard and faster. Your nails dug into his back, your mouth landing on his shoulder as you struggled to not cry out. You bit down when the euphoria of orgasm washed over you, trapping his hand within you. He could feel every tremor he brought forth as you shook in his arms. It felt like it lasted for hours, your body unwilling to let the feeling be a fleeting moment in time.

“You still with me?” He asked, lips pressed to your temple.

You nodded, hissing when he removed his fingers from the confines of your body. You watched, feeling as if you were in a daze. He shifted his pants and boxers down, revealing his length to your ravenous eyes. The hand that had been so deeply embedded in you now wrapped around himself. He was long and hard, as rigid as his hands. You felt like a moth to a flame, hand reaching out to feel if he was real. He was.

You swiped your finger over the tip of him and were overcome with wanton pride at feeling the moisture that sat there. His jaw clenched in a way that you’d only ever seen him do in anger. He didn’t allow you to continue. In an instant he was wedged between your thighs, his body already pushing into your waiting sex. Even with the climax from his fingers, he was a tight fit. You both expelled breaths, his a mumbled curse and yours a throaty moan. You shut your eyes as a new burst of pleasure radiated from your core and traveled up your spine. There was only a brief moment of intimacy as he sat unmoving within you, letting your body adjust to him.

It was short-lived.

“Fuck...” He cursed as he began to fuck you into the counter, hands holding your hips in place.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lavished yours with kisses and bites, each thrust of his hips causing his teeth to graze your skin. The chill of the marble countertop beneath your bare ass cooled your overheated skin. You bit your lip so hard you could taste blood as he filled you over and over, each pass making your walls accept more of him. He was deep and hitting that gloriously elusive spot that sat within your womb.

He cupped your breasts while you scraped your nails down his back, hearing him growl in response. The sound made you yearn to hear more. So, you did something you’d always wanted to do...you licked the ink on his throat. You decorated his skin with tantalizing kisses, your tongue aiding your actions. He shivered against your lips, the reaction making your walls clench around him. He was, at least for the moment, a slave to your ministrations. And it was a high unlike any drug you’d ever encountered.

It was animalistic fucking at its finest. He hit every nerve, soothed every ache. The union of your bodies was enough to send you sailing off the proverbial cliff, but his touch kept you tethered to solid ground, longing for more. He rocked his hips mercilessly into you, making your back arch at an almost painful angle.

“Right there, huh?” He teased, feeling you squeeze around him in raw desire. “Yeah, that’s the spot.”

You whimpered and tensed when he savagely rubbed your swollen clit, forcing your legs to tighten around him. He laughed, the sound ominous in your ringing ears. You could only hold on as he delivered the sweetest torture you’d ever felt. You spread your thighs wider, trying to get him closer than humanly possible. You opened your neck up to him, letting him have access to your bare flesh. You wanted him all over you and leaving a scorching trail of hunger in his wake.

It was manic. It was frenzied. It was passionate. And it all combined into a seductive elixir that made fireworks burst from within.

“Shit...I’m cumming.” You warned, feeling him double his efforts. Every muscle went taut with blinding pleasure as that coil finally snapped. You felt weightless, and yet the firm body still driving into your depths made you feel sublimely solid. And whole. More whole than you’d felt in the entirety of your marriage.

It was on the tail-end of your climax that Rio found his. His hips stuttered as he grunted and groaned, releasing himself into you and painting your walls. His fingers dug into the flesh of your inner thighs while his face burrowed into your chest and neck. It was as uninhibited as you’d seen him. And you were addicted to the sight.

You both heaved with shallow breaths, the exertion of each of your climaxes literally taking the air from your lungs. The room smelled of sex and instant regret as you straightened in Rio’s arms. He separated from your body, eyeing you as he redressed. You shifted your dress back together to cover your bra, the mess between your thighs preventing you from closing them completely.

Before you could say anything, Rio reached up and cradled your cheek. He played with your bottom lip, his thumb once again finding the appendage. His eyes took in every part of you, as if he hadn’t fucked you senseless seconds before. He licked his lips in that dangerous way that let you know his thoughts were on more than just money.

“Business is good?” He asked, warm palm still pressed to your cheek.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Cool, cool.” He nonchalantly replied, hand leaving your face as he stepped back from your debauched body. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You said with a nod, pushing your dress further down over your thighs, a lame effort to protect any modesty you might’ve still possessed. He smirked at the action.

“Might wanna clean up the mess.” He said with a cheeky upturn of his lips, hands gesturing to the remaining fragments of ceramic that still littered the floor but eyes locked solely to the spot between your legs. The place he knew he’d left a part of himself.

You bit your lip and nervously played with the hem of your dress, feeling his eyes bore into you. Despite still being fully dressed, you felt naked to him. Bare. Exposed. Vulnerable. You hated it.

He retreated, facing you as he walked backwards towards the front door. You watched him from over your shoulder, still unsure of what to make of the whole situation.

“And lock your door from now on. All kinds of madmen running around these streets.” He quipped, eyes lighting up at his own joke.

He was gone as fast as he’d arrived, causing havoc and then leaving without a second thought. The door closed with a crisp click at his exit, the house now feeling bare without his foreboding presence.

You didn’t move from your spot. You remained on the counter, Rio still leaking from your walls and your dress still disheveled despite your best efforts. Your mind raced with thoughts, each one riddled with panic. His unexpected visit left you with more questions than answers, all of which were tinged with fear. What did this development mean for you? Did it actually mean anything? Or was he simply taking what was so obviously laid out in front of him?

Did it matter?

No. It didn’t.

Because although he may have indulged your craving, your appetite was far from being fulfilled.

#rio good girls #rio #good girls rio #good girls nbc #nbc good girls #rio x reader #rio x you #rio imagine #rio fanfiction #rio fanfic

2K notes · View notes

lillianawayne99 · 2 years

Text

Fireborn Prologue

Pairing: Jon Snow & Oberyn Martell X OC

Genre: NSFW AU

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: smut, violence, fluff, blood, death, mixes the books and show, spoilers for seasons 6-8

Synopsis: Valaena Fireborn of House Targaryen has reached Westeros after spending her life in exile. While learning about her homeland and preparing for the war ahead, she meets two men who would change her life forever and learns of a threat to all humanity.

Fireborn // Masterlist

“I am [Valaena Fireborn] of Old Valyria, and I will take what is mine. With fire and blood, I will take it.”

I didn’t remember my homeland nor had I stepped foot on Westerosi soil. I was born on Dragonstone in the midst of a raging summer storm. The following years in exile comprised of my brother ingraining one objective into me. Retake our father’s throne and kill the usurpers.

After spending my entire life in another land, I was going back to Westeros. No, not going back. I couldn’t go back to a place I didn’t remember. Nonetheless, leather boots stood on a wooden deck destined for the North.

One of my dothrakhoyi joined me, posing as my escort. Kovarro spoke the Common Tongue and was loyal to me without a fault. My advisors, khalasar, and Unsullied remained in Mereen while the former slaves and masters formed a new government of their own which benefitted all in Dragon’s Bay.

Years of heartache were coming to fruition. Neither of my siblings were capable of seizing the Iron Throne. Viserys would have squandered whatever hold the Targaryen name still possessed. Daenerys would have been too soft, too kind to make difficult decisions. If a Targaryen was to sit the throne again, it had to be me. I was the only Targaryen left with the composition of a leader.

Daenerys was fortunate to die as a child. She wouldn’t have known to defend herself when Viserys grew cruel. Death saved her from living in this world with our brother. A short childhood protected her from his attacks.

I had already spent several moons training in the yard with Ser Willem Darry when Viserys first tried to hit me. He tried several more times, his attempts gradually only occurred at night. The first night I slept with a dagger under my pillow halted his actions. He carried the scar from that night until the day he was killed by my husband.

I was lucky when it came to Khal Drogo. Viserys taught me to expect cruelty from men, but Drogo never beat nor raped me. The most feared Khal in Essos was kinder to me than the last of my kin. He chose me as his wife, his Khaleesi, and he cherished me for the rest of his life.

Drogo never raised his voice nor his hand towards me. He was a good father, husband, leader, and a fearsome warrior. He promised me Westeros. He vowed to tear down the walls of my enemies and give Rhaego the Iron Throne. If it wasn’t for the maegi and traitor, we could have spent the rest of our lives on the Great Grass Sea.

The part of me who loved without abandon died with the last of my family. How could someone believe in love when they’d only been rewarded with pain and heartache? After waking in the blood of my husband and child, love wasn’t part of my life any longer. The devotion I once possessed hardened and festered until only vengeance was left.

The hole where my heart used to be never healed, but the years dulled the grief and the bells in my hair brought me comfort. When they ring in the wind, with the gait of my midnight, or a shake of my head, I imagine Drogo with our son in the night lands.

Rhaego would be nearly old enough to learn how to shoot from horseback now. Drogo was adamant we taught our son how to be a Khal from the time he could hold his own head. Shortly after he was running through the camp, Rhaego could hold an arakh and stand in the saddle. He could have been as ferocious a warrior and leader as his father if not more.

“Khaleesi?” Kovarro’s deep voice pulled me out of my past and into the present.

“Yes, zhey qoy qoyi?” I turned away from the stern of the ship to face my companion. The setting sun behind him cast a soft glow on the crown of his ebony hair. His lips were taught and brows furrowed as he stood before me dressed in brown and gold leather.

“The ship is about to dock.”

I nodded and led him to the cabin we had shared. Repacking our saddlebags was fast work as we left all of our belongings in them apart from what we needed during the voyage. The crew unloaded their fares as Kovarro and I retrieved our horses from the animal hold.

Moons at sea caused us to walk on dry land with shaky legs and a stumbling gait as we found an inn. Kovarro and I crossed a bridge into the northern side of White Harbor and left our horses in a stable. After unsaddling the horses, we brought our bags up to our room and found a table to eat at.

I was considerably more relaxed in White Harbor than I had been in many years. My entire life, I was the princess expected to behave like royalty until I was with the Dothraki. When Drogo died and I took control of the Khalasar, I had to be a queen. Now, I was just one more noblewoman traveling.

Despite twenty years with one goal in mind, Westeros didn’t feel like home. I felt like a foreigner surrounded by men and women dressed in the Westerosi fashion. Kovarro and I may be dressed like them, but the material was constricting and difficult to move in. It hadn’t even been a day, and I was already sick for home.

I missed my loose dresses. I missed wearing trousers. I missed the clay buildings of Mereen. I missed riding my midnight at the head of my khalasar. It will take longer than I’d like before I’m ready to summon my advisors and army to Dragonstone.

“I don’t know how these people wear such tight clothing. Do you want to live here and rule these people?” Kovarro spoke in Dothraki while tugging at his shirt and shifting in his seat.

“It’s my birthright.” I responded in Dothraki, his question making me pause as I raised my spoon to my mouth.

“That wasn’t the question. Do you want to be here?” He stopped adjusting his clothes and resumed eating his food.

“Ruling here is what I’ve always wanted. It’s why I stayed in Mereen.” I gave him the safe answer, the answer I’d rehearsed in my mind every hour of every day.

“This country smells like pig shit. How can they stand living in such cramped quarters? Don’t they need space to breathe?” Kovarro had been with me since I married Drogo, he should be used to these conditions.

“This is what they’ve always known. To them, this is normal.” This was normal to me as well, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed the stench of the city.

“Is this the kind of life you want, Khaleesi? To be stuck in a crowded city that reeks of shit?” If I hadn’t lost so much to reach this place, I never would have left Mereen.

“I’ve spent most of my life in crowded cities that reek of shit.”

Next Chapter

A/N: This is the only chapter I’ve edited since I changed my writing style for Chapter 13. Chapters 1-12 are a bit more modern sounding. I’m currently undecided whether I’ll go back and edit 1-12.

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

45 notes · View notes

sukunarii · 3 years

Note

Omiki: “I've never known the lovin' of a man But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand.” the band perry - if i die young

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

Type: Heian Era

Synopsis: You were part of the Zenin family, valued for being a Ten-Shadow Technique user. However, you’ve decided to run away because your family have been exploiting you for your technique. While running away, you encounter Sukuna who seems to have taken an interest in you.

A/N: Minor Manga Spoiler about Jujutsu Techniques! Also I swear these “drabbles” are getting longer and longer lol. 1.4K words!

You sprinted down the market street, shuffling through the crowds of people. You can faintly hear loud and chaotic shouts "Get her!" "Don't let her get away!". You dared to take a glance behind you to see the guards chasing you. They were still far behind. However, the moment you were about to turn your head to look forward again, you bumped into someone. Despite your speed when you collided into him, he didn't seem to stumble at all, he stood firmly while you were knocked backwards. You stumbled a bit but you managed to stay on your feet too. You rubbed your head and looked up at the man in front of you. He was tall, muscular, distinct pink hair.

You gritted your teeth, “Hey could you move, I need to get through--”

“You put up quite a show back there,” he commented.

You didn't have time to entertain him when there's guards hot on your tail, “Move before I make you regret it," you said and attempted to shove past him.

However, he continues to block you.

“Little one, when I am talking. You do not cut me off."

This sounded like a threat.

He continued, "I saw what you did with the rabbits earlier, are you a ten-shadow technique user?”

Whatever this man wanted, you didn't care. You just want him to let you leave before the guards gets here.

Feigning ignorance, you gave him an innocent smile and quickly answered “I don’t know what you are talking about. Now if you'll excuse me...”

You tried for the last time to move past him but this time, he grabs your wrist tightly.

"Do not lie to me," he ordered.

You were going to protest but he turned it into a direction it should not bend.

You yelped from the burning sensation, “Alright, alright I yield...Yes I am. I really don’t have the time to talk here.”

“Why did you run away then?”

“What do you mean why? They’re going to kill me.”

“You’re stronger than all of them. You can fight back.”

“No I can’t, there's fifty of them and....”

You realized it was too late, the guards caught up and have surrounded you two.

You snapped your head to look at the man again, “You bastard. I don't know what you want from me but you did this on purpose.”

He laughs. Angrily, you shake your arms again and managed to shake off his grip on your wrist and you instinctively pull your wrist close to you and rub the pain that he caused.

One of the guards stepped forward but still keeping his distance from you, “(Name) Zenin, under the jurisdiction of Jujutsu Regulations, you are under arrest for killing a sorcerer. We ask that you cooperate and peacefully give yourself in.”

You gritted your teeth then shouted at the guards, "Like hell I'll just give myself in. Let me go or I'll make you guys regret it."

“Oh, quite a trouble maker aren’t you,” the man beside you remarks.

"Shut up”, you spat back at him, “I’m not gonna protect you.”

He chuckles, “You don't need to worry about me, show me what you’ve got.”

Without a warning, all fifty-something of them ran to attack you. You closed your eyes and positioned your hands so it forms the shape of a snake.

"Orochi!", you summoned.

Immediately, a giant serpent springs upwards from the ground and the guards starts fighting your Shikigami. It was a close battle, it took a while and you even had to fight some of them with your bare hands but eventually, you and your Shikigami managed to effectively taking out most of the guards while the remaining few, have turned to run away in fear. You pant.

"I didn't want to do this," you mumbled and turned around ready to flee again. However you stopped cold when you heard a familiar voice.

“I see you’ve thrown away your humanity.”

You immediately snapped your head back, "Father?” you called out. The crowd of people at the market have formed a circle around you to watch the commotion. You spot your father step out of the crowd.

"That's right (Name), I am very disappointed with you."

"You have no right to say this to me after treating me like an animal, you only cared about my Jujutsu technique. You didn't care about me."

The pink haired man was still beside you watching the whole show. He seemed amused by the drama.

"I do care about you, you are an important asset to the family. Come back home (Name)," your father tells you.

“That’s right! I’m only an asset to the family.”

Your father's face darkened now, he hates it when you talk back to him.

“Last warning (Name). Come home now. This is an order.”

"Leave me alone or I am going to have to hurt you too!," you snapped back.

“You can’t. You’re still too weak.”

The moment he said this, you motioned for your Shikigami, Orochi, to attack your father. But before it even reaches him, he effortlessly mists it and Orochi disappears into thin air. Despair starts settling in, it's true that you don't really have a chance to defeat your father. He was a well reknown Jujutsu Sorcerer of the era. But you weren't ready to give up yet, there was one more technique that you could use but it was a gamble.

You placed your hands into position.

Fear immediately appears in your father's eyes when he realized what you were about to summon. Mahoraga: a Shikigami that no ten-shadow technique user has ever been able to exorcise. Summoning it meant death.

"With this treasure, I summon.."

"No (Name) are you insane? You'll kill both of us,"

A sadistic smile forms on your face. That's alright, if I’m going down, I’ll drag you down with me.

"Eight Handled Sword....", you trailed off when the pink haired stranger interrupted your summoning by gentling putting his hands on top of yours to signal you to stop. You looked at him confused. However, he wasn't looking at you, he sent a glare in the direction of your father.

“Show’s over. Let’s go,” the pink-haired man announces and grabs your hand and leads you to walk away in the other direction.

“Wait who are you and where are you taking her?”, you heard your father shout.

The man beside you casually lifts up one finger in a jerking motion as if he was slicing something and immediately, you hear screams or horror from the curious crowd that were watching you guys earlier.

You were about to turn your head around to look at what happened but he stops you.

“Don’t look back, there’s no going back now.”

"You killed him?" you gasped.

"Of course."

He said so casually as if he didn't just murder a sorcerer of one of the most famed Zenin family.

"Why—no, how," you asked in disbelief.

A sadistic smile appears on his face, “Does it matter? It's just one more of those annoying Jujutsu Sorcerer dead. They're all trash anyways..”

You didn't disagree. Since you were born with a prized cursed technique, Ten-Shadow Shikigami, you have felt that your family only cared for you because you were an asset to them. You've seen the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers with your own eyes. It was a corrupted world where the strong exploited the weak. It was a world you wanted to run away from. However, you didn't expect to run into this pink-haired stranger who suddenly stepped in to help you. There were a lot of questions on your mind but you felt dazed. Finally, you managed to ask him,

"Who are you and what do you want from me?"

He looks at you, his eyes filled with passion.

“Back there, you really proved yourself. You proved that you have talent, you have the passion, you have what it takes! I want you to wreck havoc with me. I am Sukuna and I will be the King of Curses while I want you to be my Queen of Curses. And together let’s turn the jujutsu world upside down!”

His hand was still holding yours to lead you somewhere. You didn't answer him right away but his invitation seemed to have ignited something within you because you could feel a rush of adrenaline. A rush of excitement. Perhaps this wasn't too bad. You've never felt what true love is. Your family never loved you. But this stranger — no, this man who calls himself Sukuna — holding your hands and promising you to destroy those Jujutsu Sorcerers that you've learned to hate. You didn't mind it.

It felt right. And it felt nicer than anything anyone has done for you. Because for once, someone understood you.

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines

525 notes · View notes

assassins-and-hidden-blades · 3 years

Text

Trust Me -- Part 2

02/06/2021: Wow, uh, wow. This one got me. Almost started crying at the cheesy ending. I will cringe at it in precisely two months from now. Thank you guys SO much for all the positive feedback of PART 1, it really helped me finish this part. Without you guys, this would have been still sitting in my drafts. There's lowkey a bit of pressure in this actually being GOOD, so I'm sitting here with a bit of Imposter SyndromeTM and crossing everything I can cross that you guys like it. I can't tell whether I went overboard or not, though... I guess that's for you guys to tell me lmao.

Also, these commas can be pried from my very cold, extremely dead, fingers.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! For the first time in almost ever, I'm a bit very nervous to post this -- I hope you enjoy it!!

Tagging: @marshmallow--3 // @yourlocalfrenchie // @rahdaleigh // @sofiewithat /// @iceboundstar // @mythandmagik // @itseivwhore // @pink-polarfox // @missbenzayb // @ct-5445 // @timbreavery // @dacian-assassin // @thepalaceofmelanie // @asilverraven // @huntheimpossible // @eclectic--assassin // @thehistorynut19 // @ta-ka-shi-ma // @roki3chocoa // @fandomsfanman // @le-nottibianche // @bandit-brunsmeier // @starmoji1 // @spocktheestallion // @salty-thembo // @missingfrye // @xdeimos // If you want to be tagged, let me know!!

Warnings: Lots of swearing, a bit of graphic violence, implicit mention of sexual assault (I hope it's not a spoiler to say that this does not actually happen, but the idea is used as manipulation. It's not done well, but I'm blaming that on the character being a horrible liar, instead of me sucking at write arseholes), implied character death.

Pairing: Edward Kenway x F!Reader

Assassin's Creed Mobile Masterlist

Red Dead Redemption 2 Mobile Masterlist

The neighbouring ship was chaotic. The opponents were drunk on victory, so slipping through unnoticed was easy. The hard part was going to be staying undercover until you could free Edward and the rest of the crew without anyone falling casualty. “Strip them of their weapons and take them to the brig!” You heard the Quartermaster yell. Thinking quickly, you moved to Edward; if you knew where his weapons were, escaping could be much easier. People were already pulling out his pistols and cutlasses, fortunately dumping them in your arms. Looking around, you pulled away to hide them in an inconspicuous barrel for later.

You weren’t planning on staying long.

Quickly rejoining the group, you took hold of one of your crew members -- you recognised him as one named Jonah -- at the back of the crowd, keeping your face covered lest they accidentally reveal your identity. You kept your eye on Edward’s tense shoulders the entire time, heading below deck and to the rows of cells at the end of the ship.

As you gently pushed Jonah into the cell, someone slammed the door shut, chucking the ring of keys your way. “Lock ‘em up.” Swallowing, you nodded, feeling uncomfortable under their gaze while turning the key in the lock. Taking them out of your hands, a mop and bucket was shoved in its place. “You’re on cleaning duty, starting upstairs; let’s go.” With one last glance, your eyes scoured for Edward before they all disappeared from view.

----------

Edward

There was this crushing anxiety he just couldn’t shake. It rendered him almost motionless, crouched in the corner of the cell, picking at his sleeves. There was a commotion heading towards them; he was in for company he was not in the mood for.

Heavy footsteps gave away the visitor. “We searched your boat.” His crew parted to clear a view as Charles Marlowe relaxed against the cell bars. “We found your woman.”

Edward’s eyes snapped to Marlowe’s as he clenched his jaw, almost daring him to say more.

With a chuckle and a disgusting grin, he brought out a small knife to clean. “Don’t you want to know where she is?”

“I expect you’d would tell me regardless.”

“I would advise against winding me up, Kenway. I could always take my anger out on her instead.”

It took a second for Edward’s arms to fly through the bars, constricting around Marlowe’s throat. “What have you done with her?”

Although cold metal pressed against his jaw, he didn’t ease up.

“She’s waiting for me very nicely... in my cabin.”

Edward didn’t have to think very hard to infer his meaning.

“I’ll kill you if you touch her. I’ll kill you.” Growling, he held impossibly tighter, for if he was here, he wasn’t there.

“With your actions come consequences, Kenway. And you might not be the one paying for them.”

A dilemma came to mind: delay him to keep him away from you, or risk the consequences of his revenge?

Somewhat luckily, he didn’t need to choose.

Before Edward could comprehend that he loosened his grip, Marlowe slipped out of his grasp. The distraught Captain pressed himself against the bars, anger drenching his expression as he heaved out breaths. His captor laughed. “You’re very good at empty threats, Kenway.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” His cold tone streaked through the crew, setting hairs on end. They had never heard their Captain like this before; so angry, so dangerous.

It terrified them.

“That remains to be seen. In the meantime…” With a mocking whistling tune, Marlowe spun on his heels and began to walk away.

“Come back here, bilge rat!” He pulled harshly against the cell door. “Don’t you dare touch her!”

“Then you better stay in line.”

As he disappeared from view, Edward’s emotions overwhelmed him, frustrated tears coming to his eyes. He turned to a solid wall, slamming the side of his fist against it and yelled.

Fear, anger, guilt, and grief echoed around the brig.

Collapsing against the wood, he hid his face in his hands, aiming to either calm himself or hide his inevitable breakdown.

----------

Y/N

“Finish up downstairs.” Nodding affirmatively, you picked up the mop bucket and eagerly headed beneath deck, having to consciously slow down to avoid suspicion. You were glad you were disguised in the uniform of Marlowe’s crew instead of the rags of the common sailors aboard; it would’ve made the job much harder than it had to be.

Keeping a level head, you walked past the cell holding your family and placed the mop bucket against the wall, scanning the deck.

Empty.

Sighing in relief, you realised that you were alone with your crew at last. As you pulled the covering off of your face, you shushed frantically, the cell almost erupting into cheers. You gestured for them to part, eyeing Edward, almost balled up in the corner of the cell. “Hey, Ed,” you whispered, watching as his head snapped up to you, eyes widening.

Scrambling up, he strode to the bars in a second, reaching through the gaps to hold you. “Thank Christ…” he exhaled in relief, bringing your forehead to his lips between the bars. You pulled away after a few moments, sharing relieved glances. “Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?” he asked, eyes scanning you for any sign of injuries.

“No, no, I’m okay. Are you alright? Did we lose anyone?”

“I’m... fine; I haven’t done a head count yet.”

You didn’t reply, watching as Jonah came up to tap Edward on the shoulder. “Capt’n?”

He turned around, withdrawing his hands as Ryan came into view. “I can’t find my da’.” His voice was barely stable, cheeks stained with tear tracks. For a second, you both exchanged sorrowful glances.

Edward crouched down, ruffling his hair. “He’ll be around, lad. We just have to find him. Maybe he’s escaped and is planning his own rescue mission for us.”

Ryan nodded, wanting to believe him. Meanwhile, Edward stood and brought Jonah close, leaning to whisper in his ear. He withdrew, a willing but uncertain look on his face. Both retreated back into the small crowd.

“What did you tell him?” you asked.

“...That he has to look after Ryan now.”

You squeezed your eyes shut to stave off tears. “Shit.”

His fingers gently grazed your cheek. “Are you sure you’re alright? Does Marlowe know you’re here?”

Frowning, you shook your head. “I wouldn’t have thought so; if he did, I’d be stuck in there with you.”

His expression was nearly unreadable, but you could sense his anxiety. “I saw him come from here a few moments ago. What was he saying?”

“He…” Pausing for a moment, Edward swallowed. “Just Templar bullshit.”

You scoffed at the notion. “Of course he did. Look, I know how to get out of this.”

“I’ll take anything at this point.” Although his tone was sarcastic, you could tell that for the first time, he didn’t know what to do.

“He needs to die.”

Edward froze, brows narrowing, realising your intention. “No, Y/N, no.”

“‘No’ was an option in Nassau, but we don’t have that choice--”

“No, there must be another way -- “

“There is no other way! This is our only chance--”

“Are you hearing me?! He--”

“Do you understand the situation we’re in?!”

“No, Y/N, please--”

“All it takes is--”

“Just LISTEN to me!” He hissed through gritted teeth, grasping your arm to give it a sharp shake to stop you talking over him. The shock threw you into silence. Lowering his voice, he continued. “If you make so much as one mistake, he won’t just kill you; he’ll make you wish you were dead. Please, please, don’t do this.”

You were stunned. You’ve never seen him so adamant about staying your blade. The desperation in his tone threw you off; you’ve never heard him this serious -- this frantic -- before.

Edward grabbed one of your hands in both of his, bringing your knuckles to rest against his lips. “I love you… with everything I have; I can’t lose you. Not if I can help it,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Your heart broke as you watched a tear escape, trailing down his skin.

“Okay, okay.” You rarely saw Edward cry, and when you did, it was usually due to either drinking or laughing. He took a small, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself.

“We wait for Adé. Then we’ll think about Marlowe.”

“Alright, okay. Hey...” you caressed his jaw. “I’m okay. We’ll be okay. Trust me.”

You heard ruckus above the deck. “Someone’s coming.” Both of you broke away like shrapnel, Edward sitting himself on the floor while you mopped, facing the wall.

And that was how things were.

----------

A couple of weeks had passed since the crew was abducted from the Jackdaw. Everyone had been forced to labour on the deck, doing various jobs, from scrubbing floors to adjusting sails to everything in between. Adé was nowhere to be seen; whether he was hidden on deck and still strategising, or God forbid, something worse, you didn’t know.

A few didn’t make it.

Keeping your identity hidden was becoming increasingly difficult as time went on, of both being a woman and lover of the imprisoned Captain. You had, however, been able to gather intel of Marlowe from the crew that despised him. Each day further validated your belief that this man would be much better off dead; the crew have no loyalty except out of fear, and you could work with that.

You understood Edward’s fear, but it would be selfish of you to stand back and not do anything, watching as almost everyone on the ship suffered; if you did nothing, you would regret it for the rest of your days.

One particular morning was extremely hot, extremely dry, and extremely labour intensive. You were almost halfway through your journey, and you knew you were running out of time. Something had to happen, and soon, or you would never make it to the end of the year.

----------

Edward

After the first week, the crew joined the common sailors around the ship, performing average labour over hours. There was barely time to rest, eat, or drink; he could tell that this was wearing him down more than any form of torture.

The sun’s rays beat down on the nape of his neck as midday approached. Orders were to scrub the floor. He had a brush in his hand the size of a polishing brush, sharing a bucket with four other members of his crew. Each time he made eye contact with one of them, he’d give them a reassuring look; they’d all get out of this, he just needed a plan.

Doors were haphazardly flung open, Marlowe revealing himself from his cabin, followed by an entourage of his closest crew. They clumsily made their way across the ship, bumping into those scrubbing the deck, only to send them a look as if it was their fault in the first place.

One of them knocked over a bucket of water, spilling the liquid across the wood. Edward looked up to observe the situation. It belonged to his crew, including Jonah and Ryan. Marlowe stopped, his stare set on the ones kneeling, completely ignoring the real culprit. “You.” He crooked his finger towards Ryan. “Get up.”

With a petrified look on his face, Ryan stumbled to his feet, shaking like a leaf. “It wasn’t--”

Marlowe put his hand up, a warning to shut up. “It was your bucket, was it not?”

“Y-Yes, but--”

“So it was your responsibility, correct?”

“W-Well--”

“It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, boy.”

“... Yes, sir.”

Marlowe turned to call to his second in command. “Get the cat.”

Edward’s heart stopped. By now, the ship had dropped to complete silence. They wouldn’t… he was only a boy. Marlowe was sadistic, but he wouldn’t be that evil, would he?

Before he could stop himself, Edward found himself standing protectively in front of Ryan. The child gripped onto his sleeve as he was pushed behind his Captain by the arm. “Why don’t you give a punishment to someone who deserves it?”

Marlowe held a neutral expression. “You’re right…” With a wave of his hand, arms snaked themselves around Edward’s, pulling him away from the others, restraining his movements.

Edward’s eyes flitted to Ryan for a split second; he was pulled to sit beside Jonah before he gained any more unwanted attention. Marlowe came to stand in front of him, unpinning his cape from around his shoulders. It fell into someone’s arms, who carried it away. Although his limbs were pulled harshly behind him, he held his head high, a hard expression in his eyes.

Undoing his cuffs, Marlowe smirked. “I believe you deserve twenty, in place of that boy…” Without warning, a fist came into contact with Edward’s sternum. If it weren’t for the arms holding him upright, the force would have sent his knees buckling. As he regained his breath, he glared at Marlowe. “Another twenty is in order for disobedience…” Another strike winded him again, this one seemingly worse than before. Keeled over, hair blocking his vision, he almost didn’t notice Marlowe leaning into his ear. “Then, about as many as I deem fit…”

Standing up straight, he shook out his hand. “Get him ready.”

Edward stumbled as he was half-dragged across the deck to the main mast. His chest and face collided with the post, the wood almost burning his skin. His arms were pulled taut above his head, rope quickly entwining itself around his wrists. He gave them an experimental tug, his heart skipping a beat when he found not even an inch of give.

Oh, fuck.

Hands gripped the back of his shirt, swiftly tearing it open. His muscles tensed as the sunlight hit his skin. Closing his eyes, he steeled himself with a breath.

The first strike licked his skin, the force shoving him against the post, ripping open stripes of flesh. Pain shot across his back. Biting a back a groan, Edward clenched his jaw. Sweat trailed down his temples, arms straining against the ropes.

Resting his forehead against the post, he prepared for the next lash.

But the strike never came.

----------

Y/N

Ooh, boy.

You were shocked at yourself for a moment, your hand firmly wrapped around Marlowe’s extended wrist, the cat of nine tails trickling Edward’s blood onto the back of your hand.

“I demand satisfaction.”

Gasps and muttering littered the crowd, and you kept to yourself the true realisation of what you’ve done.

You’ve challenged Marlowe to a duel.

“Don’t…” Edward looked over his shoulder, voice loud enough for only you to hear.

You spared him a side glance, urging him to quiet down.

Instead of the expected anger, Marlowe chuckled. “Alright; who demands it?”

You pulled off your face covering and hat, the sun hitting the skin on your face fully for the first time in two weeks. “Naturally, me.”

He hummed darkly, eyes narrowing with recognition. “Naturally.” He began to unsheathe his sword.

“I thought you were a man of tradition; are pistols not your forte?” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

After a prolonged glance, metal clicked back into its leather hold. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into, my dear.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“... Let’s get this over with.”

Your heart pounded. This was such a stupid move.

But it was also your only move.

Hiding your own fear, you held eye contact with Marlowe. With trembling fingers, you drew your own pistol, gifted to you by Edward from your last birthday. It was very much your lucky charm, and you hoped it wouldn’t fail you now.

“Ten paces, on my count.” You had no idea who the voice belonged to, nor did you have the current emotional capacity to care. Pulling the hammer down on your pistol, you turned your back to Marlowe. A blank was fired, the echoing shot a signal to start moving.

1…

2…

3...

It was almost deadly quiet.

4…

5…

6…

This was stupid, this was a bad idea. You won’t make it.

7…

8--

An unexpected shot rang out. You dropped to the floor, a pain beginning to blossom in your side.

“NO!”

Marlowe had cheated. Internally, you scoffed. Of course he did.

Although it stung, you were surprised at how bearable the pain was, given you just got shot.

Or did you?

You lay still, partly in shock and partly to plan what to do next.

“What are you all looking at? Get back to work!”

“Y/N? Y/N/N!” You heard Edward’s voice crack. “You cheating bastard!”

“Now, now, Kenway. Don’t forget the position you’re in.”

Floorboards creaked as someone approached. Pistol miraculously still in hand, you waited for as long as possible. Just a little longer....

A shadow shaded your face from the sun. Without thinking, you turned, aimed, and shot.

Marlowe stared back, glassy eyed, blood trickling down his nose.

A moment later, he collapsed.

No one dared to move, choosing to stare at the body in front of them, not quite believing that he was dead.

The monster of a man was dead.

After the adrenaline ebbed away, you sighed heavily. “Glad that’s over.” A hand came into view, offering assistance to stand up. You locked eyes with someone who should have made himself known a long time ago. “Adé!” Accepting the help, you smirked. “Great timing.”

You quickly moved to Edward to begin untying the knots around his wrists. “What the fuck were you thinking?!” he exclaimed, exertion clear in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for worrying you--”

“Worrying me?” One wrist freed, he deftly moved to the other. “When I saw you lying there, I felt as if I had died!”

You sighed. “I needed to do something, lest you became more bone than back.”

“That was the most stupid plan I’ve ever seen in my life.” His hands free, he paid no heed to his own wounds and immediately tried to inspect yours. “You were so irresponsible--”

Bringing his face to yours, you stopped him talking with a kiss.

He diffused immediately, finally processing that you were in front of him, alive, and Marlowe was the one dead on the floor. Melting into you, the tension in his muscles dissipated, replaced only with relief. He broke apart from you, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“If the plan worked, it couldn’t have been that stupid,” you remarked.

“I’m so sorry.” His words were mumbled into your shoulder.

“You were looking out for me; I would have done the same if the roles were reversed.” You hugged him back, recoiling when he suddenly flinched in pain. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“Shall we just accept each other’s apologies and call it a day?”

You laughed. “That would be good.”

Turning to the hands on deck, you raised your pistol in the air. “It’s over, lads! We can go home!”

You held your side, the pain greatly subsided under the amount of other emotions you were feeling; joy, relief, but also grief. Not for Marlowe, but for the ones that didn’t see this day.

You made a vow there and then; a vow to live your life the way they would have lived.

With joyful, carefree fun.

With the ability to live in the moment.

With gratitude for what you still have that they lost: For some, love, and for others, life.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed x f!reader #edward kenway x reader #edward kenway x f!reader #assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed oneshot #edward kenway imagine #edward kenway oneshot

160 notes · View notes

ererokii · 3 years

Text

— broken strings and beautiful melodies

diluc r. x f!reader

Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: major character death, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, gore, this does not follow the og plot and lore/ some spoilers for “We Will be Reunited” Archon Quest Note: this is for Attack On Academia’s Mythology Summer Collab! Please be sure to check out the masterlist for everyone else’s works. They all worked super hard and it turned out amazing! And big thanks to @reddriot and @axther for betaing <3

Synopsis: A simple love story between the Pyro Archon, and a mortal.

taglist || masterlist || server link || collab masterlist

Another four days pass and it’s finally Friday. Fridays at Angel’s Share were no different from the ones prior. Exhausted adventurers and townspeople venture inside the tavern to drink their woes away, to forget, or to have a great time. It was annoying, to say the least—hearing the laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls.

However, Diluc had to say nothing was worse than a certain pigtail braided bard strutting in with his lyre. The redhead had no choice but to serve the bard his choice of drinks after figuring out his true identity (although he still makes him pay the whole total—even if the singer can’t find a way to pay).

Like before, the bartender lifts his head up, crimson eyes boring into the crowd gathering beside the bard at the nearby table.

The bard’s soft voice matches with the melody of his lyre, fingers pulling and gracefully sliding past the strings. His eyes closed, telling a story to the nearby peers and the quiet man standing behind the counter. A tale Diluc heard once, yet it weighed on him all the same.

“The story of this archon is no better than the rest, yet, the most tragic comes from the debris of war. The god of War was like no other. Loads of strength, yet grief and sorrows weigh him down like an anchor in the vast ocean. Love is a mere factor, yet love is one of the many things the god brought ruin to.”

With heavy footsteps, a red-haired male walks along the dirt path in no shoes, wearing the silkiest of robes one could ever obtain. He hums to himself, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face, letting out a huff of annoyance when it falls right back into the same position as before.

He breathes in the crisp air of the summer night, relishing the winds that brush across his skin. Summers in Natlan were one of a kind. While it was scorching in the morning, when the night came around, all was calm. The harsh rays turned into blissful winds that cleansed the land of heat.

During the other seasons, it was never too cold, nor was it ever too hot. The temperature was just right for all men, women and children.

Located in the southwestern region of Teyvat, Natlan was home to the Pyro Archon, known as The God of War. The god, Murata, is unlike any other god. Ruthless and fierce, he does not handle any threat lightly. Anything thrown his way, he does not hesitate. With kindness and love, Murata will no doubt protect his nation.

His statues are scattered across the land. Standing with his formal rags and cloak that shields his face, Murata holds his claymore in his right hand, the tip pointing down to symbolize his foes beneath him as he celebrates in victory.

In the night sky, his statues act like lights to guide those on safe journeys home or to neighboring nations. Along with being guides, the structures are used for a place of reverence. Often many would journey far and wide to pay thanks for everything he has done.

In the center lies the biggest of them all, flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. Like the other Archons, Murata was grateful for his people. When roaming the land, he spots commoners on their knees by the base of the statue during the late of night or the crack of dawn. Not wanting to disturb, the archon watches from afar.

Today is different. Murata continues to walk along the path, listening to the noises coming from the forest animals and the creeks as the waters begin to rush at this hour of the night. He can’t help but let out the faintest of hums at the sounds of nature.

He reaches for the side of his face, tucking a red strand behind his ear. Often the god will put his hair up into a low or high ponytail, but for outings in the cool atmosphere, he prefers to wear it down. His powers were compared to his hair many times. When describing his appearance, he listens to the children exaggerate saying his hair is literal flames that he can produce from the palm of his hands. Of course, this is nowhere near true, but a child’s imagination is quite amusing.

In the distance, his crimson hues bore straight ahead at the small flickering light.

“Someone must be up now,” he whispers to himself, debating on leaving them alone but instead, chooses to go up ahead and observe from a closer proximity. Muratans knew what their god looked like. He comes out during the day to pay visits but never for long periods of time.

As quick as they see him, it's as quick as they’ll see him leave. No one can ever hold his attention for too long.

The sound of strings being played can be heard from his spot-- and he halts. A lyre, one of his favorite pastimes and favorite instruments.

Over the hill is a figure sitting beside the statue, back turned to him but he can see the movement of their arm. Curious, Murata continues to stalk forward quietly, not wanting to disturb the worshipper.

The melody played is show-stopping in his eyes. He wonders if Celestia had sent down someone he was unaware of to play this just for him, and only him. If anything, he could settle on the grass and listen to them play for ages on end, wearying his immortal days out. Music was the only thing that could settle him, but not forever.

Now, he's a mere few steps away from the cloaked figure. His face is lit up by the candles by his feet. His tongue peeks out of his lips as an unknown feeling bursts through his body. His palms felt sweaty and his heart rate increased.

He winces when the wrong note is played, gritting his teeth together. The redhead doesn’t think much until a force pushes him backward.

“W-Why are you standing there watching me?! Don’t you know this place is meant for us to come together, not to be creepy like you just were right now?!”

“W-What?” he whispers in surprise, bringing a hand to cover his nose that suddenly feels wet. He pulls away, noticing the red drops on his skin. Blood.

“Don’t question me that way! You know exactly what you were doing… A pig is what you are. Oh, just you wait until Murata finds out about this.”

“Murata huh?” he questions, wiping his hand on the grass, watching the blood dissolve into nothing-- the red trails of blood trickling down his nose come to an unsuspecting halt.

He clears his throat and comes to stand, staring down at the figure behind him. With the candlelight, a glimpse of crimson eyes and matching hair can be seen. In a matter of seconds, it's silent. Until there is a subtle gasp.

It amuses the Archon greatly to see a change in behavior and the fear present in the civilian's eyes. He wouldn’t dare try anything to her, but maybe it would lighten the mood if he did.

With desperate breaths of air, you reach forward and grab ahold of the man's hands, squeezing as hard as you could. “M-My Lord, I deeply apologize for my behavior! Please forgive me! I was foolish!”

“No need to be formal all of a sudden…mistakes are made and all can be forgiven. I must say, you are quite gifted with that instrument in your hand.”

Your face heats up, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than him as you gaze down. Your god had just complimented you and yet here you are losing the composure you had seconds ago.

“Thank you,” you whisper, hand clutching the lyre close to your chest. “It’s an honor to hear such wonderful words, especially coming from you.”

Murata stares down, an unexplainable look upon his face. Then, he smiles.

“Your name?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your name? As someone as gifted as you, I think you deserve to have your name remembered.”

“My name is Y/N. For some reason, your kind words seem to boost my confidence. I normally don’t play in front of people, I’m too shy and afraid of their judgement. I only like to play in front of the statue… or in this case, you.”

“How about you play for me again?”

The angelic sounds of your lyre had been played more often since you’ve met the god. The night was when you shined, when no one was around to listen or stare at you. The dark sky made you feel alone, yet you were at peace. You found pleasure in playing for the Pyro Archon statue, yet having him sitting beside you and listening made your heart beat just a bit more than before.

During the day, you find yourself sitting under the big oak trees, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and shining upon you two. Murata lays close to you, eyes shut and lashes resting against his upper cheeks as the song lulls him to a quick nap or a state of serenity.

He’ll comment on a subtle note, saying how he loves the pitch, or give recommendations. Many times Murata has taken your instrument and played a tune or two for you. He says every gentleman should at least know how to serenade a lady.

As a child, your family spoke highly of him. They even used him as a threat against you when you’ve done something wrong. Now that you look back, it was a mere hoax and it possibly scarred you just a bit. When you first told Murata this, he stared with his lower lip quivering before his shoulders started to shake and then, he let out a laugh.

“Surely you didn’t believe that, right?”

“I did! I was a child, what else was I supposed to do?! I nearly wet my sheets when my mother told me that you would come and scare me!”

“Well come on now, are you still scared?”

He enjoys seeing you worked up—then again, he loves seeing you play the lyre. He stays quiet and watches your fingers move as if they had a mind of their own. You move with grace, without hesitation. There is no wrong note, no wrong string when you play. Sometimes being here with you in this moment made him feel like he was mortal. Like he was able to live freely.

Being bound to divinity in Celestia, Murata had wandered Teyvat for ages, alone. Each person he had gotten close to, he had to watch them disappear from this world in the shadows. At some point, he even had to pretend to be lost so others could forget about him. If they forgot about Murata, would the load be easier on the Pyro Archon’s shoulder?

But now, you’re aware of his status and who he truly is. If you were to stay by his side, would he be the last thing you see before you pass into the next life? He’s not sure, but he’s hoping that won’t be true. He couldn’t bear with the guilt that will get him worked once more at the thought of another mortal dying in front of his eyes.

“Murata?” you ask one afternoon, sitting by the same statue you met him for the first time. “What’s it like?”

He steers his gaze away from the clouds and onto you, an eyebrow raised in question. “What is what like?”

“You know—” you start, messing with the material of your dress, head lowered. “Being a god?”

And then he freezes. Out of all the questions you could have possibly asked, this one had to be the most unexpected.

“Why do you wish to know something like that?”

“I want to know what it’s like. Immortality and eternal beauty sound pretty amazing, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he immediately states, sitting upright. His body looks tense, posture perfect and hands in his lap. However, you notice the small twitch in his fingers, as if he’s thinking. You can hear the heaviness in his breathing—lips parted as the air slips in and out of his mouth.

How can living on this earth for years on end, watching people die in front of you like they are meaningless, be perfect? Is that what people thought about immortality? The faces of past friends from ages ago are nothing but a blob of color in his mind. He can’t remember their faces, nor their voices—only the memories they have shared, and even that is starting to fade away.

Murata cleared his throat, eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaved up slowly, before falling at the same rate. Soon, he opens his eyes and faces you. He reaches up and tightens his high ponytail, running his fingers through the red tresses. “The life of an immortal is not...ideal.”

“There comes a time where living forever is not as good as it seems. A human like yourself might think differently since there is an end to everyone’s journey. Death is inevitable for a human, and almost all are afraid of the end itself. Even… I am afraid there will be a time I will be cursed with that end. But for now, that’s something that rarely crosses my mind..”

And he continues. Murata proceeds to tell you about the drawbacks of being a God. When he speaks, you can see pain flash across his eyes as he recalls a memory of a loving friend who passed before him. He tells you there’s no avoiding this never ending nightmare. If there was a way he could overcome this spell of immortality, he would choose mortal life in an instant.

He believes nothing good comes with this. In his eyes, everything gets destroyed by his hands. If he hadn’t created this nation, he wouldn’t be here with you, nor would he have people at his feet who love and worship him for everything—for giving them a home. He would be a traveler with no home, or loved ones.

The Archon doesn’t realize how much of his thoughts he spilled until he feels the warmth of another—your hand resting upon his cheek. This alerts him as he jolts, eyes wide as he stares at you. You wear a small smile, head cocked to the side. Your thumb moves on its own, wiping the tear away that dribbles down the swell of his face.

His body relaxes, shoulders slouching as he relishes your touch, not having been caressed by another, let alone a human. If he’s being honest, it's been at least a century since he has gotten close to another mortal. It’s a foreign feeling, but he loves it nonetheless.

Your soft spoken words are enough for him to be at ease.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue through the suffering.”

In a vulnerable state, the tears continue to flow down his face, arms slithering around your body as he pulls you in close. At first the motion shocks you, but soon you return the action, hand resting on the small of his back and by his head, stroking the soft locks. You can hear the faint sobs that escape his lips and it’s strange. From stories, they state Murata was fierce, barely any emotion in him.

But he looks nothing more than a broken man in need of comfort.

You press your lips against his head, humming softly to him. His arms tighten around you, a shaky breath slipping past. As much as Murata hates this feeling, but after being alone for as long as Teyvat had been founded, he thinks he deserves to be this close to someone again.

After moments of silence, the god is positioned beside you, hand resting on your thigh and head on your shoulder. His eyes feel heavy, the area feeling irritated and scratchy from his crying. As much as the thoughts still swirl in his head, they seem to be drowned out by the melody you play for him.

He lazily draws organic shapes with the pad of his finger on your skin, eyes beginning to close.

Your lyre is one of the few beautiful things he has come across in his lifetime. You currently hold the number one spot for the most beauty he has seen but when you sit with your instrument, he swears he can see the wings of an angel behind you.

He steers his gaze from the lyre to your face, eyes taking in the small details of your visage. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he notices the slip of your tongue peek from your lips, eyebrows creasing in concentration. Along with the melodies, he listens to your small hums as you play a song just for him-- one of worship and love.

His hand runs up your arm, halting your movements at once. Eyes opening, you stare forward for a second before looking down upon him. He recognises your confusion and lets out a laugh, hand trailing up before his thumb rests on your chin, making you keep your gaze on him.

Your face heats up at this interaction, mouth parted. Your breathing becomes uneven when you notice the close proximity. Your stomach flutters, the back of your throat suddenly going dry—no words able to slip through. His chest rises and falls just as quick as your own.

His tongue peeks through, licking his lower lip. His crimson hues stare at your lips before averting his gaze to your eyes. As much as it’s tempting, now is not the right time.

“Beautiful,” he whispers quietly, for your ears only. “So beautiful… like an angel sent down from the divine...”

- The lyre, made of nature’s resources and carved into the most adoring shapes—the ends curving in different directions and a piece of excess wood piercing straight through the middle with a pointed tip and a rounded end. Made for the best, the lyre contains seven strings that seem to glow throughout the day and the night.

In the middle, an emerald gem shines embedded on the wood, reflecting the rays of the sun, sparkling for all to see. Around lies the detail of the sun, the soft yellows encircling it. And just beneath that is gold details that resemble the wings of those who are free. Two flowers that are foreign to the land of Natlan are delicately engraved—their colors showing pure innocence.

The Cecilia flowers stay in bloom, never once dying out. Nor has any other grown in their place.

A perfect instrument, one of elegance and purity. Perfect for you.

The origins of said lyre are unknown, yet when it was given to you as a young child, you didn’t dare question it. Instead, you took it with the biggest grin and thanked your father as many times as you could. You were intelligent and extremely talented. At first, your mother was skeptical of such an object being in the possession of an nine year old, but your father assured it was in safe hands.

Since then, it’s been by your side to this day. It’s never been out of your grasp and you only let certain trusted people play it. For some reason, seeing others hold the instrument made you feel weird.

Playing your gift made you feel like you were above the world, like you could ascend to Celestia and play for the gods. It felt as if some sort of divine power surged through your veins and riled you up. And now at the ripe age of 24, having the Pyro Archon by your side as you play for him daily, it feels as if your purpose of living has been complete.

Seeing his soft smile and slight nods he gives when he's impressed (which is all the time) or when he places his hand on yours to play along with you. Having him close to you makes you feel warm, excited and giddy; almost like a young girl in love.

Which... You won’t lie to yourself about that.

There have been times during the day where you catch yourself thinking about the red head. Thoughts of him swirl your head as you drift off to sleep and he’s the first thing you think about in the morning. Sometimes you notice that you make motions in the air, like you are stroking something, when in reality, you wish to have his head in your lap again as you play with the loose ends of red tresses.

The god was just so breathtaking. Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. The color of flames held in his eyes drew you in so far, it felt as if you were walking through a pit of flames. Yet, these flames never extinguished or brought harm to you.

“You’re lost in thought again,” Murata comments, poking your shoulder with his pointer finger. “You alright there? I don’t need you tripping over a rock or something.”

“Huh?” you ask, glancing over at him. “O-Oh it was nothing. I’m okay.” You offer a not so convincing smile, scratching the nape of your neck in embarrassment. Knowing you for a while, the god offers a nod and looks forward, his hands behind his back, steps in sync with yours.

You let your hand drop, clearing your throat as you hum, filling the silence with some noise. Your eyes wander around the area before gazing up at the tall man beside you. You take notice how the ends of his ponytail sway side to side with every step he takes.

The apple of your cheeks heat up when you can see his back muscles flex as he straightens his posture. The shirt he wore let your imagination run wild; there was no doubt that Murta was built.

“It’s quite rude to stare,” Murata says out of nowhere, barely glancing over at you. “If you want, I can just stand in front of you so you can actually look at me face to face.”

“Oh be quiet,” you mutter, stepping forward and grabbing hold of his hand—his much larger, covering yours entirely. Upon contact, his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing softly.

“You know I love messing with you,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, which you respond back to him with a quiet “I know.”

The rest of the walk is filled with comfortable silence. It’s a bit chilly in the land of Natlan. One of the many summer days that turn out to be filled with crisp air and cloudy skies. Storytellers always said if it were cloudy during the season of summer, karma and misfortune was on the way—yet no one believed such lies like that.

His hand is so warm, you think, glancing down at your conjoined hands. Ever since that day by the giant stone statue of the god where you almost kissed him, his behavior towards you changed drastically. He’s been a bit more touchy (not that it bothered you; in fact, you loved it), holding your hand and somewhat more affectionate. At the end of your day when you would say goodbye, he would pull you close and plant a gentle kiss to your cheek or sometimes even close to your lips.

Just thinking about those actions makes you flustered, looking away from him and out to the open.

“What do you think it means to be in love?”

Hearing those words from the man beside you causes you to choke on your saliva, hitting your chest to calm your ongoing coughs. When you’re finally composed, you gasp for air and stare at him in shock. “W-What do I think about that?”

“Mhm.” He nods, inhaling deeply, his other hand reaching up into the air as if he was stretching before lowering it. “What do you think it means to be in love? I’m curious as to what you humans think it might be.”

“I-” You gulp, eyes semi wide as you try to wrack your brain for anything. That was not a question you were expecting, especially right now. “W-Why do you want to know? Isn’t love, love?”

“Well, aren't there different ones? Can’t people be in love with parts of someone? Lets say, only being in love with someone for their status in the nation. Or just their looks but not for them.

“Well… I think being in love with someone means you don’t care about their status or who they look or who they are.”

“Even if they’re a god?”

“Even if they’re a god.” you say confidently, before realizing what he said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Even if they’re a god,” he repeats, stopping in his tracks as he turns to face you. His cheeks are painted with soft pink, red eyes averting from you.

Murata’s heart is racing, far faster than it ever has in his life. HIs lips are dry, his mouth is parched. His shoulders heave with every deep breath he takes. Does the sweat of his hands bother you? God, he feels like a young boy about to confess his love to a girl he’s been pining over—although he's not completely wrong.

“Murata, what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, tilting yourself a bit to look up into his eyes as his head is lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you so intoxicating?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-You’re all I can think of,” he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t get you out of my mind, even though I shouldn’t get close to those I love and care for. In the end, I’ll be here and be forced to live with this overweighting guilt that rests upon my shoulders as time continues to flow knowing that you’ll be dead.”

A hiccup gets caught in the back of his throat, his thoughts becoming foggy all of a sudden. “I don’t like this feeling. I absolutely despise it. Many times after we hung out, I thought about disappearing again like I have before I got too close to anyone again. But I can’t let you go, nor will these memories ever go away.”

“Don’t you understand?” he whispers, hand shaking as his grip becomes tighter. “I can’t lose you… you’re too special to me already. I know there will be a day where we part ways forever but I want to be a part of your journey until then.”

His confession throws you for a loop. His words continue playing over and over in your head like a song you learned the night prior. You have this unexplainable feeling in your chest, yet it warms up as the seconds pass. Your whole body feels tingly, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes.

Your quietness is too much for him to handle right now—a bit silly if you were to ask the Archon himself. “Say something,” he mutters, shaking your hand lightly. The redhead can already feel the rejection pooling in the depths of his stomach, eating away at him.

“You... Do you love me?” you whisper, looking up at him with doe like eyes. Murata can’t seem to answer for himself, one hand cupping your cheek. He moves closer, his breath fanning your face. The flames in his eyes gaze into yours, losing himself in the color before he averts down to your lips. A quiet way of asking for consent.

You lean forward, lips barely brushing against his. It’s shy between the two of you. After having such strong feelings for each other, neither of you know how to proceed. No one moves, it feels time has stopped.

You feel him pull away slightly before going back in, his lips fully pressed against yours. His other hand drops yours, instead wrapping his arm around your lower back. Your chest pressed up against his, your finger runs up his side, to the top of his shoulder and around, cradling the back of his neck.

His finger tightens around the material of your coat you wore for the day, using it as leverage to keep you standing. His kisses are soft yet fierce. The softness of his lips and his scent up close are enough to drive you insane, enough to make your knees buckle and make you want more. You want more of him, Murata.

A small grunts leaves his mouth when you tug on his hair. In return, he nibbles on your lower lip, chuckling at the small noise you produce from his motion. It’s becoming harder to breathe as you stay in this position with him. If air wasn’t a necessity, you wouldn’t go for it.

You pull away from him, panting softly as you gaze up into his eyes. His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration as he peers down at you. The corners of his lips curve upward as he leans in, barely presses against yours again before pulling away. He sneaks in a few quick pecks, listening to your quiet laughter.

“Of course I love you.” He makes you look up at him, your face cradled in his hands as if he was holding something delicate, something that could be wrecked and destroyed any second. “That’s why I asked you what you thought about it.”

“And I love you too,” you reply softly. “I thought.. After everything you wouldn’t want to have feelings like this, let alone a human.”

“Sometimes boundaries are meant to be broken if it means true happiness.”

“Tensions have arisen in the land of Natlan. Nearby gods have caused quite the stir, causing Murata to put it to a halt at once. Upon ascending to his seat in Celestia, there have been prophecies saying a great misfortune is underway and can arrive in an instant. Since then, he’s been worked up. He cares much about his nation and will let no harm come its way.”

The bard strums the string before growing silent, letting his head hang forward, his pigtails falling in his face. “It’s a true shame that such a horrid thing came to be… If only he was strong enough as he said he was.”

Murmurs arise from the drunken peers, hiccups joining the air as they beg him to continue the song. Even if some wouldn’t remember this night in the morning, this was still enough entertainment.

“W-What happened next, bard?! Finish it!” an adventurer gasps, holding his cup of alcohol close to his chest, his cheeks heated and a light pink.

“You wish to know?” the bard asks, peeking through his lashes, his two toned eyes staring into the soul of the bartender. “Why of course!” he laughs cheerfully then clears his throat, batting his eyelashes as he brings his hand to his chest.

“Although, I’m quite parched and would love to have another cup of Dandelion Wine! What do you say, Master Diluc?”

“My answer is no. Do not ask me for something when you will not pay in the end.”

“Agh what a shame,” the bard sighs, letting his head hang back but never breaking eye contact with the redhead. “Don’t you wish to know about the ending?”

“I could care less.” Diluc speaks through gritted teeth, arms crossed over his chest, the infamous pose he does every hour of the day. “I just want you out of here.”

“I’ll pay for him!” one of the nearby men yell, fumbling with his wallet to grab the gold circles of currency to give to the bartender—and all the bard can do is smile cheekily, opening his hand.

“Well, looks like the drink is paid for. Can I have it now, Master Diluc?”

The red head, already annoyed with the behavior of the young man in front of him, reluctantly takes the coins from the drunk. Without speaking, he serves the singer his desired drink, noticing the small smirk he wears. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” he asks, eyeing him up and down.

“Because I’m getting to my favorite part.” He takes a sip of his drink and places the cup back down. After a pleasant sigh is heard from him as he takes hold on his lyre, stroking the white petals of the Cecilia flowers. “And you’re gonna love it.”

- Melodies of the lyre were played even during the darkest of times. The soft notes were enough to make anyone who felt down happy again, or at least content, even yourself. The colors of the strings being played was enough to put you at ease. Sometimes when you’re out in the town, many children would ask you to play their favorite song or at least a simplified version if you weren’t familiar with it.

But as of now, all of Teyvat was in ruin. Murata had told you the truth; he hated keeping you in the dark when you deserved to know. As much as he disliked saying this, your life indeed was on the line, more than his. In fact, the whole nation was at risk, along with the other six neighboring ones.

From other Archons, Murata heard that a water monster, Osial, had arisen and was ready to ruin and kill innocents for the sake of a seat in Celestia. Morax, who was the overseer of Liyue at the time, was trying his best to seal the beast with his spears.

In this case, Murata hopes a threat like this doesn't happen to Natlan. Especially when he’s not there to protect his people, to protect you.

Murata hears a gush of wind from behind him and the earth beneath him starts shaking. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, small puffs of air slipping out of his mouth. He reaches above and tugs on the black hood of his cape.

His archon outfit consists of silk white pants and black sleeveless shirt that resembled a vest with a slit down the middle of his torso. And to top it, a black cape flows behind, the hood covering his face from all to see. In his right hand, his fingers curl around the handle of his claymore.

A heavy burden rests upon his shoulders as he stares forward, seeing the world erupt into flames and utmost chaos. In the distance, he can hear the screams and cries of the families asking for mercy. He wonders what you would think about him if you were to see him right now.

“Murata,” you whine, trailing the last syllable of his name as his lips peck against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Come on, you know that tickles.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll continue to do it,” he muses, nipping at your skin before blowing warm air onto your neck which causes you to squirm from him, pressing your hands against his chest. He listens to your soft laughs, loving the way your body moves under his touch. Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close as you hum, inhaling the scent you’ve grown to love.

“Mmm… I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Murata whispers to no one, blinking rapidly when he realizes he was lost in thought and was not in fact with you, but only remembering a moment from a few days ago. In reality, here he stands in the middle of a deserted land that must be destroyed. Blood is on his hands, splattered on his face.

“I didn’t even want to do this,” he mutters, grinding his teeth together as he proceeds to walk forward, watching red explosions burst from the ground, red blocks protruding from either ends of the nation. In the sky, the color purple takes over as lightning strikes down from the heavens and is brought forth onto the land.

From his position, the ground had been cracked and was on the edge of being split apart if another Archon had used their powers against the nation.

He lifts his claymore in the air, staring up at the red sky with anguish. His lips part as he whispers something to himself, reassuring that what he is about to do is alright and isn’t his fault. A sudden strike of his weapon pierces the land, flames bursting into the air and cracking the earth.

Murata breathes heavily, leaning on the rounded edge of his weapon. Sweat trickles down his face, the hood falling off of his head. Two strands of hair fall forward, framing his face, the rest of it tied back into a low ponytail.

The flames continue to run down the cracks which branch to smaller ones that cause the piece of rock beneath the surface to crumble and fall, leaving the terrain to become uneven.

“Wow! Even from afar I can spot you,” a semi high pitched says from behind him. The Pyro Archon stiffens, internally groaning as he stares over his shoulder, meeting two green eyes. “Someone doesn’t look happy as he used to be.”

“Barbatos,” Murata grumbles, looking forward as he straightens his posture. With one hand, he picks his hood over his head once more and the other pulls his claymore from the ground, resting it on his shoulder. “What do you want from me now?”

“Just letting you know Morax has finished in the south region of Khaenri'ah,” Barabtos states, a frown growing on his lips as he looks away, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground as his wings keep him afloat. “You're not the only one who didn’t want this. We had no choice.”

“No choice huh…” He trails off, his claymore suddenly evaporating into thin air and gold dust left in its wake. “How are we loving, protecting gods if we just obliterated this nation with no god? What does that make us? We’re no better than those who do us wrong against our own homeland. We’re just like Decarabian. Nothing but tyrants.”

“Don’t bring up that name again.”

“Why? Because deep down you know it's true.”

“Because that was his own choice to keep us entrapped. We had no choice but to bring ruin. They felt-” Barbatos hesitates, licking his lower lip before continuing, “-they felt threatened. A nation with no god is a false one to Celestia. Everything must be in order. Khaenri’ah was not the case. We had to, or we’re next. The divine is not ready for a land with no god.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Murata. If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to Natlan.” A deeper voice from behind him is heard, the sound of footsteps becoming louder before they stop beside him. “You and your people would have been in grave danger.”

“Unlike you, I don’t need to keep making contracts.”

Morax chuckles lightly, shaking his head, his ponytail swaying with the movement. “And how does that look on you, God of War?”

Murata shakes his head, refusing to look at the Anemo Archon and the Geo Archon. “War or not, this is not just. The victors burn bright and the losers turn to ash. This-” he motions to the now deserted land of dust and blood. The sky is a deep red, the sun or moon nowhere to be seen. The earth is uneven, mountains caving into the ground as streaks of dark colors emit from the ground.

The spot the three archons stand upon is nothing but cracked ground, an empty space separating them and the rest of the debris.

“This is not war.”

Even when he’s not in his right mind, the only thing that can put him to ease comes up, suddenly soothing his woes away. He closes his eyes, envisioning he’s somewhere else

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper in the god’s ear, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with a smile. “No wonder you’re a god. How could they not take you?”

“Please. You flatter me too much.” He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it to his face, planting a kiss to it. “On the contrary, it should be you in my position. No, an angel is what you are.”

“An angel? Please, enlighten me.”

Murata shifts on his side to stare down at you, brushing the baby hairs from your face. A blanket covers your bodies from your previous intimate sessions, yet he remembers every curve, every flaw that’s perfection to his mind. “I mean, look at you. You’re too beautiful for this world.”

“Am I now?”

He nods, dipping his head slightly. The tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are. You’re amazing. You’re everything in this world. You’re desirable but most importantly... you’re divine.”

“Wow, now I’m flattered.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing as he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss. It lasts for a few seconds but it feels as if it goes on for years. When he pulls away, you cup his cheek. “And you are ethereal.”

The god shakes his head lightly with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. You’re all he can think about. Even when he is busy taking away innocent lives and watching them get turned into monsters, the sweet image of your face continues to pop into his mind. You’re the light in the dark.

He hates the feeling of being away from you, especially when he’s on close watch from Celestia. There’s something unsettling in the pit of his stomach that he can't quite put his finger on it. Murata watches Morax and Barbatos exchange a few words before he gasps, lifting his head up fast. “Natlan. It’s in danger.”

- The nation of Natlan, located in the southwestern region of Teyvat and home to the Pyro Archon, was under attack. There was no point in trying to save them, they were already too far gone. No god in sight yet the trails of monsters were left behind. Did the Archon truly love them like they said he did? Or was it all a lie to get people’s love?

The once beautiful land is ruined—looking like the one he destroyed not long ago. His statues that aided his people on their journeys far and wide were now broken and cracked. Chunks of stone litter the ground and crush nearby civilians. Whoever was standing beside those statues had been brought down along with them, no way to return.

The god feels weak in the knees as he staggers over the dirt path that has noticeable traces of dried blood. No doubt from his people. Where are the bodies? He has no clue.

Houses have been torn apart, the roofs blown off and thrown into the field of flowers on the other side. He feels torn at heart. He wants to give up walking, already knowing the outcome but refuses to stop. He hopes that a few people, even just twenty people, can still be alive and he can move them somewhere else.

The night is cold and fresh as it was years ago. Only this time, the sounds of the animals in the creek aren’t heard and the wildlife is quiet. He looks towards the forest, hoping a deer or a boar will rush through the trees. But his hopes die when he notices that's not happening, and the habitat is burnt to ashes.

“Somebody,” he croaks out, averting his eyes upward and freezes. Up ahead, in the center lies the biggest statue of them all, where flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come.

The most beautiful statue in all of Natlan has been crushed. The head of the statue is gone from the area (he can only assume it had been tossed across the nation or into the river). The candles are no longer intact, the pieces scattered and buried into the burnt grass.

“No,” he whispers lowly before crying out, running towards it. His heart races as he steps closer and closer. All his worries and fears; he doesn’t want them to be real. He doesn’t want any of this to be real. He wants to be at home.

You.

Where are you?

He gasps for air and drops to his knees. Red eyes frantically search along the stone pieces. He plants his hands on the ground and hisses upon contact, retracting back. A rock share pierced his skin. Murata bites his lower lip as he shakes his hand, watching the piece fly off before he can continue looking.

Are you safe at home? You were, right? Surely you wouldn't come out when everything is being attacked, right? Yeah, that’s it. You’re safe at home waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to be in your arms so you can cry about your fears of losing your life and him.

And by the end he’ll calm you down, say soothing words into your ear as he holds you close, saying he’ll never leave like that again and stay with you forever. God or not, immortal or not, he plans to stay by your side.

And then your lyre will be played for you and only you. He knows your favorite melodies. Oh so beautiful, he loves hearing you play them but this time, he’ll play for you until the end of time.

Your lyre-

He freezes.

His hand hits something underneath the stone. Something smooth like wood and the prick of an object with a pointed tip—an all too familiar feeling.

With a grunt, he grabs ahold and heaves back, pulling it out from under the rubble. A surge of fear flows through his veins when he falls back, holding an object in his hands.

It’s a cracked lyre, with pieces broken off where an emerald stone originally would have laid. The gold trinkets are ripped right off, the empty space now feeling dull. He notices the seven strings have now turned to three and aren’t holding their original color that glows.

The only thing that’s untouched, however, are the Cecilia flowers. Not a hint of blood stains the white petals.

His eyes grow wide when he gazes somewhere else, spotting a hand peeking out from the same spot he pulled the lyre from. A choked cry gets stuck in the back of his throat when it all clicks together.

You weren’t home like he thought you would have been. You weren’t waiting for him to return from his wages of war, to be in his arms. Instead, you did what you always did.

Worshipped Murata, under the ceremonial statue.

The one that caused your death.

Tears well up in his eyes as he hugs the lyre close to his chest, mouth parting as a sob slips out. He rocks himself back and forth, shaking his head at this false reality but he knows this is all real.

Murata babbles to himself, muttering things underneath his breath as he hyperventilates. He can’t catch his breath. His throat is closing in on him, the air too thick to even breathe right now.

The tears blur his vision. He can’t see nor think straight anymore. The god of War was unable to save his people from the hardships of an incoming war. What kind of god was he? Was he even one? Or was he now a false one?

What seems to be years later, though it only is an hour or so, Murata finds himself standing on the edge of a cliff, dried up tears evident on his face. The whites of his eyes are red, the tip of his nose matching the same color.

He sniffles, nose stuffed from the moments earlier. His breathing hasn’t changed a bit. His shoulders still shake with every inhale. The atmosphere around him is tense, maybe even too quiet for his liking.

Behind him, he refuses to look back on the destruction he let happen. Even from a far enough distance, he can still clearly hear the crackling of fire and the sounds of a nation dying.

He lowers his hand from his chest, spreading his fingers open. In a matter of seconds, the handle of his weapon appears slowly, the rest of the claymore following suit in gold dust.

He peers down slightly, watching the red and black glow before dimming out. The slant from the edge of the weapon, one he has used to kill off his enemies without a thought. In the current state, he can see the traces of blood left behind.

In his other hand is the damaged lyre. His fingers keep it close to his chest, his heart. One of the last things he had of you. The tip of his pointer fingers strums a string and he winces from the uneasy sound it produces. This instrument no longer plays the melodies he adored, and worse yet, the person he adores can no longer hear it.

Murata was the Pyro Archon. Amongst the other gods, he was ruthless yet kind and merciful. When a threat was sent his way, he did not hesitate to take care of it. He took care of Natlan.

Or, that’s what should have happened.

He closes his eyes, goosebumps forming on his arms from the gust of wind that breezes by him, knocking his hood off. His hair that was let down swayed in the breeze, the loose ends flowing behind him. His bangs move slightly and then stop, falling in their original place.

The rest of his cape follows in the wind, the ends flowing behind him like the draft was made just for him right now.

“I let you down,” he says, clearing his throat. He stares at the colors of oranges, pinks and blues, meshed together to create the sunrise that he grew to love but now, he suddenly resents it.

A single tear cascades down his face and lands on his bare chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. A rare whimper slips past his lips. With a shake of his head, Murata brings the lyre to his face, pressing his lips against the cracked wood.

A goodbye kiss should always be special, shouldn’t it?

He pulls away, stroking the place where the gem would have been at. “I’m so sorry my love.” He averts his gaze and lowers himself, dropping the lyre on the ground underneath his feet.

“Even I could not save you from the end of your journey. And as your god, I failed to protect you.”

When he stands up straight, his fingers tighten around his claymore. He stares down at the instrument, longing for time to change and to go back. To go back to how things were before.

He can still hear the sound of your life and your smile popping into his mind. At the thought, his lips curl upward faintly in a small smile.

Oh how he misses you already. He still remembers when he first saw you on that day under the statue as you played for him. You were aggressive, that was for sure. No doubt about it when you swung at him with your lyre and accused him of being a disgusting pig.

He can only blame himself. Deep down, he knew a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon.

But maybe now, as he called you his angel or an angel of Celestia, you can now ascend to where you truly belong.

This isn’t goodbye, but a farewell, he thinks, clearing his throat as he gets closer to the edge. He peers downward at the ground miles beneath him.

As he failed here, he still has a job to do, no matter what.

So then he jumps. He brings his claymore around and over his shoulder and swings it down. Flames engulf him in whole on his way down until he hits the ground with a thud, his weapon taking up all the impact.

“And thus, the Pyro Archon aided in other nations against the treacherous demons that corrupted their land. After such heroic deeds, he was never to be seen. Many questioned: where did the god of War go? Who will remain victorious?”

“Many say he disappeared to join his love in the next life. Others say he stepped down as god to live amongst the mortals as he always wanted.” The bard hums and lays his lyre across his lap.

“It’s a shame really, how beauty can go to waste.” His fingers run over an emerald gem that lies in the middle of the wood. His lyre was beautiful.

The edges curved in different directions with a piece of wood piercing the top with a rounded end and pointed tip. Seven strings glowed recently as he placed the object to rest.

“But it’s not as if it was her fault.” His slender fingers run over the white petals with a faux sigh of despair. “She would have been popular amongst the folks here, if she was immortal, of course. If only he kept his word to her saying he would protect her no matter what.”

The bartender drowns out the rest of Venti’s words, his eyes trained on the wood beneath his feet.

Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of the Dawn Winery and Angel’s Share. Information is at his fingertips wherever he goes. In Mondstadt, he is a nobleman of high status. Everyone knows about him.

His crimson eyes hold tears as he lets out a shaky breath, bringing a gloved hand to wipe away at the water that threatens to spill.

He tries to keep his mind off of it but he can’t suppress it.

In front of him was Lord Barbatos himself—one he knew too well from millennia ago. Having fought with him in the Archon War, and the Destruction of Khaenri’ah, Diluc knew there was no way to get rid of him.

It shocked him the most that the bard even remembers the story from back then. Even if other storytellers told this tale, Venti was the one that pierced his heart the most.

“Master Diluc!” At the sound of his name, the red head hesitantly lifts up his head. Venti’s annoying smile greets him, pressing his finger against his cheek in a thinking motion.

“Did you like it? I hope you did! I try to incorporate any stories of the divine. It seems that today was a hit. Don’t you think so?”

“Why are you bringing it up?” he whispers, not caring that tears trail down his face. “Why do you need to remind me of my failure?”

The other peers don’t seem to notice the usual calm and collective man in tears. They’re all too far gone in the hole of alcohol.

Venti’s eyebrows crease, cocking his head to the side. “Failures? What do you mean? I’m just doing my job and singing like I always do. You’re doing great things in the Wine Industry. What failure could you possibly mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Diluc snaps, slamming his hands on the counter in front of him, causing the bard to jump in his seat. “You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Oh dear oh dear,” Venti sighs, shaking his head. He picks up his lyre, placing his lips against the wood.

“So pretty huh?” he asks once he pulls away, a small smirk on his lips as he shows Diluc. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you got to play this?”

The strings continue to shine, dimming and going bright again. An instrument perfect for anyone and in this case, for Barbatos.

It pains Diluc to see him with your lyre. As much as you told him you despised other people holding it, he feels much more stronger about it. He wants nothing more than to snatch it from Venti’s hands and tell him to get out.

“Others say that he wanders in the world right about now. No one knows what he looks like though. It’s a shame if anyone were to find him and blame him.”

Venti’s fingers run over the strings. A melody is heard in the air, louder than any of the drunk men in the room.

Diluc feels a sob beginning to form in the back of his throat. He wants nothing of this. He wants to truly go back home to Natlan with you. He could have made you a god and you could have been here with him today.

As much as Diluc wants to look away, he’s mesmerized by the way the singer’s fingers move gracefully against the strings. For a split second, he could have swore he saw you sitting in his place, singing softly for his ears only.

Like the angel you were.

“But it seems that the god is afraid of confrontation. And yet, he seems to be mourning over his lover even after her death. If anyone were to be at fault, it would be his—”

Venti stops, peering up at Diluc through his lashes. A sinister look was evident in his eyes. He paused for dramatic effect, a smirk growing on his lips. He hums and strums the last note.

“Isn’t that right, Murata?” Venti muses, asking a question in the form of a song. But in reality, he aimed it towards the redhead god standing in front of him.

Diluc stares dumbfounded, mouth parted and eyes red from his silent crying. His hands are balled beside him. The peers cheer for the bard and offer drinks to compensate for his amazing singing—to which he laughs it off but takes the offers regardless.

And all Murata can do is live with his own guilt, for the rest of his immortal life. Forever.

taglist: @reddriot @thicmitten @katsuhera @novvabeam @patt-writes-stuff @axther @tspice283 @bonitoge @mysticalchocolate @yanfeisrose @mowestruc @tokyosrevenge @jaegerverse @hu-tao-main @midnightangelfox (add yourself to the taglist up above!)

#diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc x reader #genshin diluc #genshin diluc ragnvindr #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #diluc imagines #diluc ragnvindr imagines #attack on academia #attack on academia server collab

126 notes · View notes

cranehusbands · 3 years

Text

keep your enemies close

chapter 1 of 3(?)

karl heisenberg/ethan winters; reluctant allies to lovers; canon divergence - ethan takes the deal; someone lives/not everyone dies; re village spoilers (obviously). 2403 words.

a/n: hough ok. nervous 2 post this but here goes.

after seeing so many other writers try their hand at the what if of ethan taking the deal, i wanted to. toss my hat into the ring. after having really bad writers block and anxiety about writing for a.. long while, tbh, after writing for rp stuff i. think i’m gonna be ok to post stuff again. which, im so glad for. ive missed it - and what better way to come back with my current brainworms of the week, eh? lmao

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated!

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Ethan played with his hands. Like, a lot.

It wasn’t the first thing Heisenberg noticed about him, but it was certainly one of his more prominent traits. He rubbed his wrists as if they were aching, cracked his knuckles along the deep purple bruises that went down to the bone, pressed his thumb into his palm and up between his middle and ring finger of a non-bandaged hand and across a scar that was already starting to heal. Was it to try and restrain himself from another half-panicked half-angry rant, or simply just to check they were still there?

Ethan took the deal. He still didn’t know why. When he was sat in that chair, inches away from a pit with death, the father looked like death of a different kind - dead man walking, was the phrase that came to mind - and talked like it, too, voice tired and strained but still pushing the words out from the back of his throat with a ferocity and hatred that wasn’t unexpected, but still hurt, if only a little. There were bags under his eyes, his body shook as if it was about to shut itself down like a faulty machine. And when Heisenberg hung him over that pit as a threat, he almost let go without intending it, bringing his other arm up to grip onto the man’s coat with the three fingers he still had left. It probably would have been easier, to let him fall then and there, have his army deal with him… but things would never have been that simple. Ethan Winters simply didn’t… die. So when he huffed out an exhausted ‘fine’, Heisenberg had pulled him to his feet, and shut the hatch behind him.

And now, here they were. Nowhere near friends, but somewhat closer to allies. They’d gone back and forth with a plan, at opposing forces for a majority of it - Ethan was a good father, and Heisenberg cursed him for that fact. Ethan didn’t want to use his daughter as a weapon, and Heisenberg had called him stupid. Ethan said he wasn’t going to die so easily, and, despite another insult on the tip of his tongue, Heisenberg believed him. So they’d agree that whatever the kid was, she was a last resort first and foremost. So it was just the two of them, and a mindless metal army. Things were still in their favor, but it was going to be a bit more difficult without the kid. Whatever kept Ethan on his side, though.

That fidgeting was getting annoying, though.

The man glanced over, watching the way Ethan started to shake his bandaged hand, as if it had gone numb from the wrist, before moving to rub the back of it in rhythmic motions with no beat. Had he not been doing this for the past half an hour as they sat in silence, it would have been almost charming. “Are you nervous, Winters?”

“What?” He raised his head, pausing the coaxing of phantom pains to give the man a look - though he tried to remain neutral, there was something behind the eyes that had never left him since he’d arrived, since that very first trial. Fear. “I- fuck, I mean, yes? I guess that’s the word, other than ‘terrified and sick to my stomach that I’ll never see my child again’-”

“-which you will, by the way.”

“Gee, thanks, guy who’s tried to kill me a handful of times.”

“Only twice, really. Would have been more if you were a little stupider.” Heisenberg corrected him pointedly, smiling at the glare that was thrown his way, as he propped his feet up on the work table just in front of him, knocking things away with heavy boots. Ethan was fun to mess with, but wasn’t to be underestimated - a few wrong buttons pushed, and he’d be on the right side of a shotgun, again. Loyalty to a deal flew in the face of fatherly love, and of family.

The glare persisted for a moment, before the man spoke again, firm. “You’re insane.”

“And so are you, for humouring me.”

He paused, eyes flickering away for a moment before he conceded to the point. “Yeah, maybe.”

There was a moment of silence between them, before Heisenberg kicked his feet down again, pushing the work table away with a heavy clatter, enough to make the man in front of him flinch. He leaned forward a little. “What will it take to get you to trust me?”

Ethan scoffed. “A fucking miracle.”

A smile played on his lips at that. “Oh? Well, I can work with that.”

He looked confused for a moment, before yanking his hand back as Heisenberg reached to grab his bandaged hand. “What- no, get fucked, you’ve already done enough!”

“And I’m going to fix it, you big baby. Hand it over.”

“Fix it?! I’m not one of your machines.”

“I’ve got a prosthetics mold, asshole.”

That made him stop. The arm he was holding protectively to his chest with a good hand fell slightly, looking down.

“We can’t have you killing Miranda in 20 different pieces, can we?” Heisenberg continued, carefully watching the consideration wash over his face. “It’ll be easy, almost painless, and then as soon as we’re done, we’re gonna send that bitch to boom town and get your girl back.”

There were a couple more moments of silence, before Ethan sighed a tired sigh, and gave his hand to the man with a huff.

Though his hands were rough and calloused from decades of factory work, Heisenberg’s touch was gentle as his fingers moved up the bandages, trying to find an end to them to unwrap his hand. He didn’t look back up, but he knew the man was staring at him, eyes burning into him, watching for any sense of betrayal of trust. There wouldn’t be any of course - sure, he was a monster made in Miranda’s design, but he wasn’t going to conform to the role fully. He found the pin with a quiet ‘ah’ escaping him, and pulled it out, placing it on the side with one hand and taking hold of Ethan’s wrist with the other. The blood had dried, for the most part. But the wound was still fresh, both in body and mind - he could tell that much from the way he tensed at his touch against the skin.

“Relax,” And for once, Heisenberg’s voice was quiet, though still firm - less of a reassurance, and more of a command, out of habit. “I’m not gonna take another bite. That’s not my job.”

Ethan huffed out a half-hearted laugh though his nose. “Right. Leave that to your fairytale army.”

He bent the man’s good fingers into his hands, turning his wrist to face the palm upwards, though he didn't look up, even still. “You sure do hold grudges well.”

“Yeah, just a bit.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. A familiar sound. “It’s kept me alive for this long, and I won’t stop now.”

A quiet hum escaped him. Couldn’t argue with that. “I suppose telling you I’m always good with my business partners won’t help things?”

“Not at all.”

“Ha, thought so. It was worth a try.”

Ethan clicked his tongue as he shook his head and looked away, trying not to wince with the way fresh wounds were being played with, seeming to flinch every so often. He was a brave one, and a man of many strengths, but he was still only human.

(He didn’t seem to notice when Heisenberg removed his wedding ring, and left it on the side of the work bench without a word.)

They continued in silence, aside from the occasional whistle of a long forgotten tune or mutter from Heisenberg as he worked, or when he would tell Ethan to stop either bouncing his leg or playing with his other hand (flicking each intact finger out from under his thumb, in rapid succession). While the damage was severe, and the skin had already begun to repair - impressive, yes, but also curious - it wasn’t so much so that he couldn’t interrupt the process. Letting his hand fall, he pushed his chair back with a terrible screech against the metal floor, moving to stand and grab the mold left to cool from the back of the workbench.

It was then he heard a laugh. “You were saving those?”

“Hm?” He looked up as he popped out two lifeless appendages, the gesture somehow both rough and soft. “Maybe. Just something to hang over your head if you were stupid enough to turn me down.”

Despite himself, Ethan chuckled - though it certainly wasn’t a relaxed laugh, it was certainly the most amused he’d been since he got there (he tried not to make note of that). “Ah. Yes, the be-all-and-end-all of the deal, two fingers.”

Heisenberg scoffed, holding the fingers tight in one fist, as he moved to grab the chair and turn it backwards, sitting on it as such as he gestured. “Hand, smartass.”

He still smirked, shaking his head as he, surprisingly, did as he was told, handing over a now unbandaged three-fingered hand for him to hold by the wrist. He did not flinch as it was held, this time.

It was a surprisingly easy process, though he did yelp and curse as the metal dug into flesh and threatened to touch bone. And as Ethan spewed off another profanity, he paused at the way his hand bent in a gesture - how all five fingers bent in a gesture. Looking down, he stared, watching the way the two missing fingers moved in turn with each finger like a wave of movement.

“What the…” He trailed off, turning his hand over, as if to check there weren't any strings making the damn things move. But no, no strings attached, not in the literal sense.

There was a sudden tingle down to his bones, with the way the fingers had connected with his nerves, a gentle surge of electricity forcing his hand to move upwards as he watched in mild horror, eyes refocusing on the man behind his hand, as Heisenberg puppeteered it with dancing fingers and a sly smile. Of course it wasn’t made out of a polymer composite - less durable, for one, and he wouldn’t be able to mess with Ethan that way. He wore his scowl well as the man that had once been his enemy simply grinned winder, continuing to lift his hand before holding it in place, moving his own to interlock their fingers and pull him closer.

“And how’s this for fine craftsmanship, hm?”

“Asshole.” was the singular response he received, in a half-hearted growl.

That was enough to make Heisenberg laugh, short and loud, before he tugged at Ethan to make him trip where he stood, ignoring the way he quietly cursed as he inspected his work. Metal used to create and nurture, rather than destroy… Well, they’d be using them to destroy Miranda, but that bitch never counted for anything, so she wasn’t taken into account as part of those calculations.

The man tried to pull his hand away, but that tingle persisted, making his fingers curl tightly it’s Heisenberg’s hand to keep him in place while he continued to inspect his handiwork. It was dark metal, lightweight and durable, decorated with delicate golden motifs like the barrel of an old pepperbox from westerns he remembered vaguely from a time before the village. He muttered to himself, “Absolutely stunning, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, great, continue gloating, stroke your ego some more,” Ethan was still trying to pull his hand away, enough to make the other man grab his wrist firmly.

“Knock it off,” His voice reverted to that gruff, dangerous growl he was known for at this point, looking up finally from over his glasses. “You’ll tear the nerves again. And then this’ll be worth less than shit.”

“Then let go of me.” There wasn’t a moment of hesitation to match the tone - he wasn’t easily intimidated anymore, after everything he’d been through.

Heisenberg stared. The tingling stopped, and Ethan’s hand fell suddenly, so suddenly that he felt the need to catch it and stare at it in disbelief.

He flexed his fingers, watching the way they moved before he gave a breathless laugh and met the man’s eyes again, as he simply gave a modest shrug.

Ethan was messing with his hands again, but with eyes full of wonder rather than ones struck with fear. Fingers ran along the ridges where joints would be, a thumbnail scratching along the back of the prosthetic, gentle touches where the metal welded with the skin. And all the while, he was just… shaking his head and laughing to himself, in disbelief, as Heisenberg leaned back, resting his arm over the back of the chair he sat on.

“What’s so funny, Winters?” He asked, despite thinking he already knew the answer (he didn’t).

The man flexed his fingers a few more times, before he swallowed. “I… I don’t know. I guess I just… never expected to get them back, from you of all people. It’s nice… to not be killed on sight, I mean. So, uh… thanks.”

It was the way that he looked up that caught him off guard - that look in his eyes had changed again, to match the warmth of his words, despite how tired he was. He tried, and failed, not to stare for a moment too long, before he coughed with a fist covering his hands and fixed his posture. “Well! Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, why don’t we put those fingers to good use, hm?”

“…Right. Yeah, right.” It was almost as if he’d forgotten why they were here, caught up in the euphoria of being able to use his appendages again, by some miracle.

There was a beat of silence again, before Heisenberg stood up, pushing his chair back with a horrific screech of metal against a metal floor, before extending a hand down.

Ethan looked up, raising an eyebrow, before taking the hand offered to him with a newly fixed one, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet, but not letting go quite yet. “I still don’t trust you.”

“I know.” The response was almost immediate. He still hadn’t tried to pull his hand away. “Now let’s go kill that psycho bitch.”

#resident evil 8 #resident evil village #wintersberg #karl heisenberg #ethan winters #re village spoilers #resident evil tag #dahl.doc

53 notes · View notes

fluffy-lee-boa · 3 years

Text

Teaching Me How To Move On

(A SamBucky tickle fic :3)

@tickleebug requested some Sam and Bucky, so I went a little wild with it and made a short story to show how Bucky is adapting to his new life, and his new partner. Spoilers for Endgame/TFATWS btw!

“Buhucky! Cut it out!” Steve snorted, swatting at the younger’s arm as he lightly dug into his sides.

Before he’d taken the serum, it had been a well-known fact that Steve Rogers was probably one of the most ticklish guys in Brooklyn. Sure, he hated to admit it in public, and Bucky respected that, but when he and Bucky were hanging out at home? All bets were off.

So James Buchanan Barnes took every opportunity like this to tease the other about his sensitivity, sitting beside him and carefully scratching at all the spots he knew would make the other squeal. He never took it overboard, considering Steve’s fragile state, but he did tire the other out enough that he would be sure the smaller wouldn’t get revenge.

“Come on Stevie, there’s no way you’re gonna make the army if you can’t handle a little tickling,” he smirked at the other.

Steve gave an snort, slapping a hand to his face before shaking his head rapidly, “This is just tohorture!!”

“Mhm. And?” Bucky snickered as he trailed his hands up to Steve’s stomach, relishing in the deeper laughter that it gave him.

This certain brand of “torture” continued for a few minutes, interspersed with cruel teases and barely-masked flirting that the ever-oblivious Rogers seemed to let fly over his head. Though it was easy to tell Steve wasn’t trying very hard to escape the other’s grasp, especially considering how lightly Buck was holding him down in fear of injury. He could stop any time he wanted, really.

Bucky finally let up once the wheezing started, almost immediately leaving the room only to reappear with a cup of water. He couldn’t help the smug grin on his face as the other struggled to hide his deep blush. The moment was perfect.

Too perfect.

He would wait another day to tell him about his draft card. He didn’t want to ruin what they had just yet.

Years.

Years had gone by since that day- decades, even. He had gone for most of that time without Steve, without those affectionate touches and softness, and without love. He’d gone for even longer now that Steve was....

No, he didn’t like to think about the past few months. About how the very man he’d grown up with, who’d told him he’d be with him to the end of the line, got off early. -He couldn’t be angry with him, though. It was his life, after all. His choice. Steve would probably be better off with Peggy, anyways.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell, and that he was absolutely starved for affection with no one in the world to fix it for him.

Well... almost no one.

Admittedly, he’d grown closer to Sam in the time since the new Cap was gifted the shield. Despite his reservations, and the rocky start to their partnership, they’d come to an understanding. Especially after all they’d been through in their mission to stop Karli, and then Walker thereafter.

And there was the boat, of course. Bucky hadn’t even known Sam had a boat before this week- never even been near one besides during war times. Yet he found himself spending hours and even days of his time on helping him fix it. Then the days after that teaching the new Captain to toss the shield.

Was this what having a friend was like?

He couldn’t tell. I mean, after Steve, nothing was going to feel just right. ...Or so he thought.

See, even if Bucky had tried to deny it, Sam felt safe. He felt like Steve did. They shared that same big heart Bucky had always admired, and honestly, the shield couldn’t have found a better wielder. But on the other hand, Sam was also more honest, and more direct. That was something he needed after all those years of manipulation and self-pity. Not exactly tough love, but the truth. A kinder, softer truth.

“Hey! Buck!” Sam had called from the other side of the open field, between a few lone trees that were wrapped in foam.

Bucky looked up, torn from his deep thoughts about friendship and Captains and shields. He didn’t give away any of it through his glance, much better at hiding behind an emotionless mask these days.

“Are you gonna throw it back or what? -The shield, I mean.” the figure laughed.

James rolled his eyes and walked over, trying to play it off, “Your stance is off. You’re gonna get someone killed if you don’t have enough balance.”

“Balance my ass,” Sam scoffed jokingly as he took the shield back from the other, looking him over suspiciously, “...You’re just deflecting again. You’ve been spacing out like crazy today... did something happen?”

Ah, there was that signature therapist-like concern that Wilson managed to worm into every conversation. It made Bucky’s heart beat faster and his stomach flip and he hated it. No one had been this worried about him since he came back from the icy abyss of HYDRA’s control. No one else had checked up on him so consistently for no other gain than his continued wellbeing.

“I’m fine.” He shot back despite himself, half of a glare on his face as he turned away to go back to his spot.

Sam rolled his eyes at the other’s dramatics, at this point being readily used to the cold demeanor Bucky used to push aside his own feelings. But he wasn’t ready to let it slide this time around. So he stepped towards him after setting aside the vibranium shield, reaching out to stop him from walking away again.

Quite a few things happened after that, one after the other.

For one, Sam had underestimated how quickly Bucky could power-walk away from him, and ended up grazing his side with a small grabbing motion rather than taking him by the wrist.

From there, Bucky had faltered in his pace with a quick giggle, before looking back at the other with a somewhat horrified expression. Oh no.

It was painfully obvious to Sam now, by Buck’s initial reaction and the way he seemed just about ready to jump out of his skin.

“There is no way in hell....”

“Sam, you don’t want to do this-”

“You’re ticklish?!”

Bucky cringed, almost immediately blushing just as Steve had whenever he’d done the same to him back in Brooklyn. Karma may have been delayed for almost a century, but it sure did come back to bite him. Figures as much, right?

Bucky had started walking backwards away from the now-very-menacing falcon, though with the woods around them, his ankle caught on a rock and sent him flying back onto his butt. Figures even more.

Before he could up and scramble away, probably going to rush to Sarah and beg for protection, Sam had pounced. The super soldier found himself being straddled, which didn’t help his confusing feelings from before at all. He hands ended up under Sam’s knees, and even if he knew he could probably escape, he was concerned he’d end up hurting the other if he lost control of his own strength.

“Sam! Get off!” He said in a shockingly squeaky shout, obviously flustered.

“Nu-uh. I need to see this for myself.” Sam snickered, making the other look away as his blush deepened.

“You su-AHAHUCK-“

Before Bucky could articulate what would have totally been a coherent and witty response, Sam had taken the initiative and dug straight into the dip of his sides. There was an explosion of sunny and bubbly laughter that didn’t suit the awkward Soldier at all, making Sam beam down at the other.

Bucky internally cursed as he looked up and caught glimpse of the smile. He was too perfect- it was unfair!

Sam chuckled as he lightened up, tracing circles around his hips and making Bucky jerk back and forth with a few left over giggles, “Wowwww... It’s worse than I thought.”

“Shut the hell uhuhup...” Bucky muttered in embarrassment, making Wilson roll his eyes.

Sam knew he could definitely find a worse spot, and ignoring Bucky’s continued insults and thinly-veiled threats, he scanned the other’s upper body as thought to himself.

His metal arm probably couldn’t feel anything, right? But what about the spot just where the two met...?

Bucky noticed where his partner’s gaze had fallen, suddenly looking alarmed as he turned to begging, “Hey, wait, hold on, that’s a bad idea, Wilson. -Agh- Please? Is that what you want? Fine! I’m saying please-“

Sam just shook his head with that stupid, handsome smirk on his face, “Saying please isn’t gonna save you this time around. Tell me what’s wrong.... and I won’t absolutely wreck you. And trust me, I have an older sister. I know exactly how to do it.”

Bucky went quite besides his quick breathes and squirmy giggles, looking off to the side as he tried to consider his options despite the continued teasing of his sides and hips. But no- he couldn’t say what was really on his mind. Stubborn is as stubborn does.

“Do your worst.”

There was only a moment of reprieve as Wilson took in the other’s bratty reply, before he wiggled his fingers into that horrible dip between Buck’s metal arm and his ribs, right in the hollow. His other hand went to the rest of his rib cage just as quickly, alternating between both sides and dipping in between the spaces for added torture.

Bucky was pretty much lost in a handful of seconds.

He cackled, kicking his legs and pulling at his arms with only a shred of resistance from the last part of him that was conscious, which was still bent on making sure he didn’t hurt Sam.

But, that part of him could only hold out for so long, and when Sam found an extra sensitive spot between his ribs, Bucky ended up arching so suddenly that Sam was sent a good five feet away by his super strength.

Whoops.

There was a long pause as the air around them stilled once more, Sam laying feet away and laughing hysterically at his friend’s reaction while Bucky himself calmed himself down to a frenzy of frantic giggling.

After he was able to regain control of himself, he sat up to look over at Sam, his arms wrapped around his own torso protectively so the falcon could no longer access his weak spot. His voice was hoarse as he asked sheepishly, “...Are you ok?”

Sam’s own laughter died down, and he waved his hand dismissively, “Fine, fine. I shoulda expected it. You’re a hyper-ticklish super soldier. I��m just lucky you didn’t break my arm.“

Bucky didn’t find much humor in that joke, but he got up and made his way over to the other anyway. He held out his hand to help him stand beside him, and Wilson smiled softly at the other’s still reddened face, “Maybe we should do that more often. You’re cute when you’re blushing like that.”

And he walked away.

Bucky, for better or worse, didn’t have the same luxury that his old partner did of obliviousness to such direct declarations of affection, so he simply stood in shock as he was left in the small field of grass.

...Maybe, just maybe, his new life wasn’t as empty and lonely as he’d previously thought. Maybe Sam... could be what he really needed, as a partner, and as a friend.

Or.... maybe something more.

Lots of maybes today. But then again, when is anything ever certain?

#lee!bucky #ler!sam #marvel tickle fic #tickle fic #mcu tickle #marvel tickling

85 notes · View notes

emilia3546 · 3 years

Text

Shadowsinger Part 21 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter*

Masterlist with all previous chapters

*****

Gwyn shuffled on her feet, readjusting her skirt, and silently cursed it for being in the way, she could still fight, but not as well as usual, and she'd lose precious seconds reaching for the dagger sheathed at her thigh. Azriel stood beside her, his shadows nowhere to be seen, either spread out around them to be unnoticeable, or hidden in the cloak around Gwyn's shoulders, her protests that she didn't need them having fallen on deaf ears.

"You okay?" He murmured, and she nodded,

"Just a bit nervous, I'll be alright once this first contact is over," because she could still fall at the first hurdle, Evanna had warned them that they would be scrutinized before being allowed in, even if they claimed to support the Illyrian rebellion. She stifled a smile when Azriel squeezed her fingers, their joined hands hidden beneath her cloak, but it was still a risk, they weren't supposed to be in love, she was supposed to be what the Illyrian would expect of a traditional warrior's wife, and a traditional warrior would never display affection so casually, possession yes, but not affection. If he were in love with his wife, which was rare, he'd still only display affection in private, just to maintain his image, it was one of the more ridiculous customs, Gwyn never thought more of someone than when they allowed others to see their heart. The palace doors opened and Gwyn squeezed Azriel's hand back before letting go and reluctantly dropping her gaze to the floor.

"Gavin was it, of the Skybreath Illyrian camp?" A rather young-looking man shouted from the open door,

"Indeed," Azriel replied, not shouting, but clearly making himself heard, "And my wife, Amirah," Gwyn suppressed a smile at the sound of the name that Azriel's mother had chosen, what she would have named him had he been a girl.

"We have no records of others from your supposed camp," the man's tone was low, dangerous,

"That's probably because they're all pathetic cowards who fear the repercussions of standing up for our people, ask anyone you want, I can wait, I've waited long enough for this chance, don't be the reason I lose it," Azriel matched the man's tone, but without shouting, he sounded altogether more dangerous, and Gwyn almost looked up at the feel of the man's gaze on her, fighting to keep her eyes lowered, her attention on observing the guards, the way their protocols were carried out.

"Fine. If we find out that you're lying, you're dead,"

"Good luck with that," Azriel's hand warmed her lower back, "Come on, I'll see who's made it here, then I want to find a bedchamber readied for us," Gwyn forced herself to start forwards, her bones screaming out at her for pretending to be afraid of him when she nodded, but stayed beside him when a guard moved towards them, pressing into his side at the first attempt to grab at her, "What?" Gwyn kept her frightened gaze on the guard, "Get your filthy hands off my wife," he snarled, an arm wrapping around her waist, reassuring for Gwyn, she was doing well, but to anyone else it was a display of possessiveness at a threat. "She stays with me until we reach our bedchamber, I like to know where she is, who she's with." He didn't even bother to veil the threat in his eyes when Gwyn looked up, keeping the guise of fear as she pressed against him, shying away from the guards, and allowed her gaze to dart around, marking who they were, how many of them there were, where they were posted, how alert they were. She ducked her head, following Azriel as they were led through the palace. It was just as they'd expected, with no-one taking notice of Gwyn, except to occasionally ask Azriel who she was, and then to ignore her and speak only to him, allowing her to memorize the palace, its routes, its staff, all while pretending to be quiet and unassuming.

She didn't want to watch Azriel walk away once they'd reached an empty bedchamber, didn't want to see him walking towards the enemy, all it took was one Illyrian who was high enough rank to have seen him, all it took was one recognition, and they'd try and kill him. Still, she couldn't tear her gaze away, only just remembering to make it appear that she was scared for herself, and wanted his protection, not that she was worried for him. Once he'd vanished from sight, Gwyn shot one more frightened look at the guards in the corridor and bolted herself inside the room.

Right, she did have to get the room set up, no-one was coming to do that for her, but that would take maximum half an hour, it wasn't like they exactly had luggage to unload, and then, it was a little after midday now, she'd have a few hours before dinner could be expected. Still, she was stuck in this room for now at least, she could make the most of it.

The notebook tucked into her gown wasn't big enough for every detail, not if she wanted it to last long enough, but she noted down all she'd picked up on guard movements, positions, who was alert, who was bored. It wasn't enough, she'd make a point to have Azriel find some other females to 'keep her from boredom' who she could help with palace tasks, laundry, cleaning, the Illyrians made their females do the chores at home, why not here? She'd be all over the palace that way, easily able to pick up information, it'd hopefully make their stay shorter, hopefully help with preventing a full-on civil war.

*****

Azriel couldn't dare glance over his shoulder to Gwyn, where she was undoubtedly waiting by the door to their bedchamber, even with every part of him screaming not to leave her with those people, to go back to her. He listened to what the male beside him was saying, he'd seen him before at Ironcrest, from a distance, and he was probably the highest-ranking males here, being involved in training and organisation of Ironcrest's warriors, he could be a headache later.

"Where did you find her?"

"Find who?"

"That pretty little wife of yours, I must say you're a lucky male with that one, I'd love to know what she'd feel like on my-" the male didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, breaking off with a choked gasp as Azriel slammed him against the wall, a hand curling around his throat, pure death shining in his eyes. "Whoa, calm down, I'm sorry, I wasn't gonna do anything,"

"I sure as fuck hope not," Azriel snarled, still not releasing him, fighting the urge to end him then and there, unable to shake the image of the last male who'd thought such things about Gwyn. "Touch her and it'll be last thing you ever do," the smaller male paled at the threat,

"I swear, I won't, I was saying she's beautiful," she was beautiful, but the way he'd said it, it wasn't a compliment, if Azriel hadn't reacted, maybe he would have tried something, gods, maybe someone else would. He wasn't supposed to care to like that,

"She's mine, understand?" He added, covering his tracks, the reaction was supposed to just be possessiveness, not him actually caring for her wellbeing, he wasn't supposed to be worried about that.

"Yeah, I got it," the other male was still panting when Azriel released him, "Sorry, dude, I didn't mean it like that,"

"Yes, you did, but I'm a merciful male, if you never speak of her like that again, I'll let it slide, she is beautiful, but she's mine." The male nodded,

"Noted," and took a deep breath before continuing to explain the set-up, "You're the only one from Skybreath, bunch of cowards, so we'll probably attach you to another camp, for numbers' sake, those bastards do have the advantage in that department, and they have the High Lord, and 'High Lady'," he snorted at the mention of Feyre, "But we can trust the humans to help with that,"

"How? They're fucking powerful,"

"Yeah, but they're just as susceptible to ash and faebane as the rest of us, I'd wager that they're not still taking that damned antidote. Then again, the higher-ups think we could simply kidnap their son and use him to get them to give in, but I'd like a good fight anyway, and y'know someone might end up just killing the brat, then we'd be in deep shit." Oh yes, if they harmed one hair on Nyx's head, Rhys alone was likely to simply mist the entirety of their armies before any battle, and that was if he were safety returned, at the latest, the day after he was taken, if it were longer, or if Nyx were harmed, there would be no safe place in this world for those responsible.

"Probably a bad idea that," Azriel mused,

"I'd reckon you're right, the bleeding hearts want to regain our loyalty, they'll just try and obliterate us if we hurt the boy," Azriel grunted in agreement, dropping the conversation when they turned a corner, the corridor opening into a wide chamber, filled with brawling Illyrians, a temporary training ring, not bad. He ran his gaze across the crowd, there was no-one likely to recognize him, but he still wouldn't draw attention to himself, even if wearing two siphons might do just that, but he couldn't risk it with only one, not with Gwyn here as well. He nodded a quick greeting to anyone who bothered to acknowledge him, his mind still racing. He'd have to find a way to make sure that Gwyn wasn't ever left completely on her own, if just one other male had a similar thought to the one beside him, and if he wasn't there, if she couldn't get her dagger drawn in time, he didn't want to finish that thought.

The Illyrians were well organised, not to the same degree as the loyal armies back home, but they could present a threat, especially if it was true that they were to be armed with ash and faebane. The leaders eventually decided to attach 'Gavin' to one of the smaller camps, where he'd be able to adjust more easily, where, Azriel noted with a hint of satisfaction, it would be easy to gain their trust. He made his way across the room to where his new 'comrades' were taking a break,

"Hey look, looks like they've given us the latecomer," Azriel's attention snapped to the male who'd spoken, dark hair cropped close to his skull, blue eyes, that was rare for an Illyrian, he smiled and offered his hand, "Nathan," Azriel took the proffered hand,

"Gavin, from Skybreath,"

"Oh, I was wondering if anyone would bother coming from Skybreath," Nathan chuckled, "Braver than the rest then?"

"Or more stupid," Azriel chuckled, "I've been waiting a long time for this,"

"As have we all, brother," Azriel resisted the urge to snap at him not to call him that, but forced himself to smile, to join in the conversation, and to not beat the shit out of all of them when they reclaimed a spot in the training ring. "How the fuck did you get your hands on a second siphon?" Nathan's observational skills left much to be desired, but it was wishful thinking to hope that he wouldn't notice at all, especially when Azriel had just pinned him to the mats.

"I needed it,"

"Fuck. We got a powerful one here, boys," chuckles surrounded them, and Nathan rolled his eyes as one of the others drawled,

"We know, idiot! That's why you're the only one stupid enough to fight him," another male laughed,

"He's probably some high born lord, or something,"

"Are you?" Nathan's eyes were shining with curiosity, something fairly rare for Illyrians, but he did seem young, untested, perhaps he had no idea what he was getting into, but Azriel had learned the hard way not to bother with the benefit of the doubt,

"Not really, my mother died a while back, and my father was your bog-standard warrior, nothing special really, he got killed in a border dispute a few decades ago, guess I just got lucky, the Mother likes me maybe," he shrugged, "It certainly helped on the way over here, since no one else came with us, it was just me and my wife, and she's not much help with fighting, y'know," chuckled from everyone, including Nathan,

"She clipped?"

"Who do you think I am? Of course," Azriel's temper flared up again at the approving nods from around him, only Nathan looked uncomfortable,

"You did it?"

"What? No, when she was young, like everyone else, but it did mean that I had to carry her here, which was a pain,"

"Still, bet you found a good one, being all powerful and shit,"

"Yeah, I'll have to go fetch her before we leave for dinner, I left her in our bedchamber, she'll want food," each word hit him in the core, even if none of it was true, the idea that this was normal to these people made him want to scream, but he guided the conversation back to the war, to what he needed to hear, even with his mind continually drifting back to Gwyn.

*****

Footsteps outside had Gwyn shoving the notebook back into her dress,

"Amirah!" She rushed to the door, keeping her eyes down in case Azriel wasn't alone, he wasn't, and someone let out a huff,

"Shit, how the fuck did you leave her all day?" One of the males beside him chuckled, "We'll see you in a bit," Azriel nodded and stepped past Gwyn into the room,

"You okay?" She mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear, and he nodded,

"I hate this, I have to pretend that I'm not hopelessly in love with you," Gwyn's stupid, faithless heart fluttered in her chest at those words, ignoring the way Azriel's eyes were dark, tired,

"Hey," she muttered, "It's okay, I know it's not true," Azriel's head snapped towards the door,

"Shit," he muttered, "They're still there, they're listening in, they won't have heard, but," Gwyn narrowed her eyes, and her eyes widened at the realization,

"They want to listen?"

"Moan, now, or they'll think something's up," he was right,

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, a feeling of true fear descending upon her, they'd gotten in, gotten embedded and he stupid, foolish fears were going to get them discovered, gods she was really useless,

"Hey, Gwyn," Azriel tipped her chin upwards, swiping his thumb across her cheek, "Just make any sound, you can't do it wrong, we don't actually need to do anything, just make them think we are,"

"But why? I don't get it,"

"They're all horny shits, and they've seen how fucking gorgeous you are. I've been away from you all day, they'll expect me to want certain things upon reuniting with you," oh, she knew what he meant, but just one day? That was surely excessive, but she nodded, and kissed him gently,

"I don't think I can just do it on command, kiss me, and then we'll see," she looped her arms around his neck, and did moan at the first brush of his lips against her neck, her head falling backwards so that Azriel had to hold her up, she moaned again, and he groaned at the feel of her lips against his, deliberately chucking his jacket aside so it made a loud thunk on the floor. Gwyn pressed her fingers against Azriel's lips, waiting, footsteps, they were really alone now,

"I'm sorry about that," Azriel muttered,

"What are you talking about? Kissing you is wonderful,"

"But I don't want you to think that you have to, even if it's for keeping our cover,"

"I didn't, it was just a chance to kiss you, and it was helpful to convince those others, but if I didn't want to I wouldn't have," she chuckled, "Are you sure you're okay?" Azriel collapsed onto the bed, dragging her with him with a yelp,

"I'm okay, just worried,"

"Worried?"

"About you. One of the males who showed me around made a comment that I didn't appreciate, and I doubt you would have done,"

"Did he seem like he wanted to act on that comment?" Gwyn stomach churned, and she glanced around the room, marking the locked door and windows. Azriel stiffened, realizing that she immediately knew what he was referring to,

"Not once I'd dealt with him, but all takes is one, I don't want you to have to deal with that, especially when I can't be with you, you might be on your own and," he took in a deep breath, "I just worry about what could happen if someone tries somehting,"

"I'm never on my own, Az," a shadow danced around her, "If I need to, I can fight with or without my dagger, and I want to find out what the other Illyrian females are doing here, there must be others,"

"There are," Azriel admitted, "They do the chores and stuff, help making and adjusting leathers and armor,"

"I can do that," Gwyn said, "It'll give me a chance to speak to them, to learn things that the males might overlook, and to simply be in the palace, invisible. I can 'get lost' and find my way to restricted areas, the queens' offices perhaps," Azriel pursed his lips together, but she was right, she knew he was, and no matter how much he wanted her to be safe, he knew that too,

"You're right, I know that, I just wish you didn't have to do it by yourself,"

"I know, but that's going to be how we have to work here, now," she twisted in his lap, "Tell me everything you found out today."

#fanfic #fanfiction #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #azriel x gwyn #gwyneth berdara #Gwyn acosf #gwynriel #Gwyn #Azwyn #Azriel

36 notes · View notes

sserpente · 4 years

Photo

A/N: I was writing this while my cat kept attacking me because she wanted to play. I don’t know if it made any impact on the story but I guess we’ll see. 😅

Words: 2154 Warnings: fluff (+ there are NO spoilers for TROS in this Imagine!)

Your lungs were burning, accompanied by a stinging pain in your chest. A broken rib, probably, maybe even two. You had been reckless. No, you had been distracted. Distracted by the man you loved more than yourself.

You were so close to him now—and while your heart knew exactly what it wanted, your mind kept sending shockwaves of adrenaline through your entire body.

Danger. Threat. Flight.

You hadn’t seen Ben’s face since he departed to train as a Jedi with his uncle Luke—and Leia had forbidden you joined the Resistance on any risky missions anywhere near the First Order. You were not Force sensitive, never had been. But they took you in when you had had nothing left and you had given back to them your services and your loyalty—your support to fight for a better world.

Your personal political views remained indifferent as long as you got to live, preferably not in poverty. But the Resistance, back then operating under a different name, of course, had given you something else. Someone else. They had given you Ben—right until Luke’s godforsaken Jedi camp had ripped him from your grasp cruelly, had him drift away from you until he was out of reach both physically and mentally.

He had a new name now, new motivations—and he had done terrible things which shocked you to the very bottom of your heart and yet… yet you could never stop loving him. Perhaps this was the reason you were here now, on the Finalizer, bruised, beaten and defeated.

Your weapons had long been taken from you. You were helpless. And Kylo Ren was your only hope.

“Bring her to my quarters for an interrogation, and keep her restrained. Her strength is not to be underestimated.” The voice you heard behind you was somewhat… distorted, no, modulated—most likely, it belonged to one of the Knights of Ren… did Kylo wear one too, a mask? How would you recognise him if he did? What if this voice, what if it was him… You swallowed thickly. Focus. Interrogation. If you fought back too much, they would pry your mind open like a nut, pushing you straight into the depths of madness.

You didn’t know anything. Nothing about Leia’s plans and not even if they still resided in the same location. You were on your own now. You had left after the destruction of the Jedi camp, when Ben had become someone you did not recognise—yet.

My quarters… you repeated the words in your mind, pure terror spreading in your veins like a nasty disease. Could it be?

The Stormtroopers followed the order immediately. Grabbing you by your upper arms and practically lifting your feet off the ground, they dragged you through the cold and empty hallways almost effortlessly.

You did not resist—you would save your strength for later—for when you truly needed it to fight all the torture they were about to inflict on you.

Handcuffed to almost utter helplessness, you were shoved into some dark living space, discarded like an old piece of furniture; the metal doors sliding shut behind you and darkness swallowing you whole before you could even turn. Idiots.

Standing there in the corner in complete blackness, with your heart in your mouth and the blood singing in your ears, you waited. You knew enough about strangling people. Your restraints posed the perfect tool for that.

But it stayed silent for a while. No footsteps, no voices, nothing. Then, finally, just when you had almost given up and begun to think your captor might have forgotten about you, the metal doors flew open once again.

The small beam of light falling onto the ground of the dark living quarters before the only exit route was cut off again were enough for you to make out a tall silhouette—and attack it.

With a belligerent scream, you stormed forward, aiming for the figure’s neck—but found your limbs paralysed by an invisible Force only the fraction of a second after, before the metal around your wrists could even touch your enemy.

The man in front of you chuckled darkly—a terrifying sound through the voice modulator inside the mask he was wearing. You froze, regardless of what the Force was doing to your body, eyes widening as a suspicion rose within you. This chuckle… it sounded familiar.

As cool as you please, he reached up, gloved hands swiftly fiddling with the clasps of his mask, revealing…

“Ben.” You choked out when your eyes met. You had found him. He was alive. He was safe. He was well. “Ben…” You repeated, voice breaking pathetically. Instantly, the Force released your limbs but you did not move an inch.

“Ben is dead,” he spat.

“What? I see him. I see him right in front of me!” Kylo turned up his mouth, a touch of anger radiating off of him. Once more, you felt the Force on your body, this time wrapping around your neck tightly. He didn’t even blink as he lifted you off your feet and pulled you towards him without lifting a finger, your body—tiny and downright petite compared to his—colliding with his chest and knocking all air from your lungs.

You howled in pain, your stricken ribs complaining upon the harsh impact. Kylo hesitated, a frown decorating his face for no longer than a split second before he seemed to recollect himself.

“Where is the Resistance?” He asked with a tilt of his head, ignoring your prior response coldly. At this point, you were shaking. You longed to jump into his arms and hold him tightly, but feared his reaction. Would he push you away? Laugh at you? Kill you? No, you figured. Ben would never hurt you.

“I… I don’t know. I left them after what happened at… the… the Jedi camp. I’ve been looking for you ever since.” Kylo Ren’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“And now that you’ve found me, what will you do?” He responded coolly, a hint of mockery swinging in his voice. You fell silent. Ben knew you well, he always had. Truth was, you had not had a plan. All you had wanted was to find the man you loved.

“I presume the Resistance still cares about your whereabouts,” he continued then, seemingly unfazed. “What will they do once they learn the First Order has you in its grip?” Kylo Ren stretched out his hand, gloved fingers kneading the thin air as you felt the Force pulling your mind apart like thin threads being torn from a silken fabric—looking for any kind of information about the Resistance which might be useful to him.

You failed to resist, knowing it would make the inevitable pain a lot more bearable. You had not lied. And you had never kept secrets from Ben.

“You really have no idea.” He concluded almost softly, absentmindedly pulling away again. He gnashed his teeth, staring you intently in the eye for a few agonising seconds. You slowly nodded.

Kylo Ren already knew what you did not dare to speak out loud—that you had come to see him regardless of the consequences which might result in the downfall of the Resistance. For just a brief moment, his composed and repellent façade crumbled. Glimpses of cracks proving to you he was unwilling to yield to his true emotions. He clenched his gloved fists, his right eye twitching once.

Without another word, he hurried to put his mask back on, then he stormed outside, illuminating the dark quarters with the artificial light from the vast hallways for a third time.

“Send a message to the Resistance,” you heard his modulated voice say to the Stormtroopers standing guard outside, “Tell General Organa we have one of her… fugitives on board. (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s survival in return for the exact coordinates of their remaining ships.”

Your chest was heaving, tears streaming down your face. Grief and relief mixed in your heart, poisoning you with a deadly potion singeing you from the inside out—it was a pain much worse than the physical injuries of your body the two medical droids were treating. Ben must have sent them to his quarters after realising you were hurt. Nothing was broken, yet the contusions felt equally antagonising. The droids had stripped you and more or less forced you down on the black and uncomfortable sofa, with only your sports bra remaining to take care of the dark bruises.

They utterly ignored your heart-breaking sobs rippling through Kylo Ren’s empty quarters. At least, the lights had been switched on by now, allowing you a few curious glances around.

The decoration was sparse. There was a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a double bed with pitch black bed sheets, a dark and tiled hallway leading to a separate refreshing area and a mysterious metal door—you did not need to try for the knob to know it would be locked.

Ben’s signature was all over the room—it felt like his aura lingered despite his absence, reminding you with every passing second of the man you had lost. He could have taken you to General Hux, could have the Stormtroopers take care of accommodating you—and he could have you killed without so much as a simple blink. He had not. You were here. Right here in his quarters where you were safe. Safe from all the threats on board the Finalizer, safe from the proponents of the First Order. Safe from anyone except from him.

Kylo Ren returned, presumably, late at night. He found you curled up on the hard seating furniture, your almost naked back turned to him. He could sense you were still awake. Your thoughts were racing through your mind, one toppling over the next.

Your lips were still shaking—as were your limbs. His quarters were almost unusually chilly, dark and uninviting. Wearing no more than a pair of tight trousers and your sports bra did not exactly help this predicament. Holding your breath, you listened. What was he doing? You could hear the rustling of fabric, bed sheets being pulled back for the owner of the soft mattress to lie down on it and rest and lastly, the sound of a light switch. Once again, you found yourself in complete darkness.

One thing was for sure—Kylo Ren would never admit he was unsure of what to do with you. Killing you was no option. He would never forgive himself. Leaving you with Hux or the Stormtroopers? You were his.

Gnashing his teeth, he ripped his eyes back open all the while listening to your clattering teeth. Were you really his? You loved him, he knew this, he could sense it—always could have. And you were here. Here in his quarters. You could have been killed for just attempting to come here and even that had not stopped you from finding him. For Heaven’s sake—he was the Supreme Leader. If he wished to keep you with him, it would be his decision alone.

“B-Ben.” He suddenly heard you mumble.

Silence. Indignantly, he squeezed his eyes shut. Would sleep come to him tonight? He would need his energy. If his mother still cared about you as much as she had before he left her, tomorrow might result in yet another draining battle.

“Ben.” You said again, louder and more vehemently this time.

Again, he did not respond. You swallowed thickly, biting your lower lip so hard you could taste blood.

“Fine,” you spat. “Kylo.”

As if on cue, he turned in bed, facing you in the utter darkness of his quarters. You had a feeling he could still see every inch of you, his brown eyes boring through you like sharp daggers or the hot blade of his lightsabre.

“What is it?”

“I’m freezing. Please… can you give me a blanket?”

“I don’t have any spare blankets.” His dark voice rumbled through the blackness around you. Fearing that this would be his final word, you took a deep and shaky breath. But then, suddenly, the bed sheets rustled again. “Come.”

What? Did he mean… his bed?

Still trembling, you stood from the uncomfortable sofa, wondering what he would do if you approached him. But Kylo said nothing. Not when you lied down in his warm bed. Not when he covered you with his blanket. Not when he wrapped an arm around your middle and pulled your cold body against his warm chest, his heavy breathing brushing hot air against the back of your neck.

“Kylo…” You whispered. He held you even closer in response—there was no need for him to see you to notice how your eyes had filled with salty tears again.

What was he doing? Was he Kylo Ren or was he Ben Solo? But perhaps it did not matter. He was, after all, the man you loved.

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

3K notes · View notes