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#it is sure amusing to see how stupidly naive I was
livelaughlovesubs · 18 days
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Incubus Fyodor 2
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Part one
My last repost for a while, the next part will be out in a month or so :>
Dom!reader x sub!fyodor
Warning: teasing, hierophilia, manhandling, otherwise pretty tame
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You were minding your own business as always, since today was a mass at the church you were in charge of. Running around all day and helping with preparations, then reading verses as well as singing songs in the main hall. It was a busy day, so much that it annoyed your lovely little pet. From the moment the sun shone til the afternoon, you didn’t even get to spare him a glance, and he couldn’t visit you neither. Wait, why couldn’t he, what was stopping him?
Long story short, that is why he dressed up as a nun and decided to pay you a visit, sneaking into the building. He put on a confident air, as if it was normal for him to walk around like that. The costume was perfect, it covered his face almost entirely and the long robe hid his tail. When he found you, his heart skipped a beat. It was so much more intense seeing you in this setting, how everyone was looking up at you in awe. The incubi found himself admiring you in silence, until he got reminded of his mission. He waited on the sidelines until you were done, following you down the hallways. Fyodor really thought you didn’t notice him, or rather didn’t recognise him, but you already knew the moment he entered. You could find him even if he was a needle in an ocean.
Suddenly you made a turn at the last corner, into the direction of the confessing rooms. The boy just followed you stupidly, looking around before stepping inside the small cabine. The next thing he knew was how he got pushed against the wall, the veil fell from his head and revealed his face. “Wha-” he yelped slightly, the hit hurt him a little. “Oh? So it’s my little incubus who followed me around.” You said with an amused tone, as if you were expecting him. “Dressed up as a nun? Have you finally acknowledged your pitiful self, and decided to reach out to god?” “Ha-huh...no, I was just…err.” Fyodor struggled to find the right words, what was there to misunderstand? What could he have said to escape this embarrassing situation?
“I just missed you... master.” In the end, he decided to just flirt, putting on his best pitiful face and pouting softly. A scheming smile behind that facade. “Is that so? What exactly did you miss?” Pressing him against the wood, gazing over your shoulder to make sure the curtains were hiding you two nicely. It was truly cramped as hell, but you would manage, you had to. “What do you mean?” He asked, staring at you with a sincere expression. You weren’t sure if he was just acting naive or actually confused. “I mean if you missed me, or something else.” Then with a swift move, you pulled his pants down to his ankles. A shocked gasp following, yet no objection could be heard. Afterwards you picked the male up, his slim body pressed against you, legs wrapped around your waist as you slam him further against the wall. “UgH! Wha-what..?” “Wrap your arms around my neck, I can’t hold you forever.” Fyodor did as you instructed, lessening some of the burden on you.
This position was rather vulgar, especially considering the fact that you two were in a church. During a mass, on a sunday, paired with many visitors. Your faces were so close to each other, due to the limited space you two had. “Right now..?” He asked gently, not a hint of fear or nervousness was present, instead ecstasy and anticipation was filling his voice. Seems like he finally caught on to your intentions, “yes, right now.” Was what you said, it was times like this that he was happy you were his master. “But there are still visitors outside..” you chuckled into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine, “I didn’t know you cared about such things, fyodor.” Right, he didn’t, he couldn’t care less wether which unfortunate soul will hear you two. “Or maybe you don’t want to?” Now you were teasing him, feeling quite entertained at his antics. “Of course I want it~ do as you please then..! <3”
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My first thoughts about Invader Zim (before I watched the show)
My overall prediction of the show’s theme was... a slight Powerpuff Girls vibe, but edgier. Lots of poison green and neon pink in the background colors. Probably an underground lab with white floor tiles as the main scene in most episodes. A really bad cartoon with crappy humor but interesting characters. Just very generic and cheesy in general, something you’d sit down your 6 year old child in front of when they’re being particularly bothersome so that they don’t annoy you further.
I had no ideas about the plot. I knew it would be episodical without much of a storyline, but something more like Gravity Falls, where there are small clues and references throughout the series to former events. Still really storyline-less, to be available for being stretched to season after season until you can’t even count them and the quality’s getting shittier with each one.
I thought Zim would be that typical bad guy. Just a little shit to the core. Always trying to cause inconcenience to everyone, calling them names, not caring about emotions. Someone you’d kill on the spot if you saw in real life. A bratty asshole. With a ridiculously high-pitched voice and laugh that tears your eardrums to shreds. Also really fucking feral and unhinged, probably going around on all fours and biting people for fun. Like if you piss him off particularly badly he’ll straight up attack you and claw and your face and try to chew off your arm. Incredibly cat-like, too. Most likely a coward.
Dib should have been a Dipper-knockoff. Quite literally. I thought he would be an exact bootleg of the Dipdops. Perhaps an inventor kid, building machines for his battles against Zim, a science kid. Super smart, straight-up genius, very devoted to serving humanity and saving people from Zim’s vile schemes. He doesn’t want the fame or to capture the alien, he just wants him to get tf outta here and stop pestering the human race. (At one point I thought HE was called Gir. I felt so stupid later for doing so.) Also, GIR would’ve been his sidekick, not the brightest brain there was but an absolute sweetheart going around and being sweet and brightening everyone’s day. A wholesome boy, never did anything wrong. Incapable of fighting, simply an assistant in the lab and Dib’s general company. 100% sees him to school and looks out for him during the day so he doesn’t get hurt. A fantastic friend.
I expected Gaz to be that typical teenage girl stereotype. She can’t stay alive for five seconds without her mobile phone, takes 54 selfies per hour, sreams when she’s frustrated, spends way too much time in the bathroom, hates nature, complains about every little inconvenience that happens to her endlessly. Not necessarily a popular girl but definitely a gossiper, pretty much hates everyone including her own family. A backstabbing whiny bitch. Can’t be trusted. Will not help you if you happen to be hanging off a cliff. Plays the innocent whenever it benefits her. She’s on the good guy team only for the fame and appreciation; as the savior of the world she’ll surely get praised by all of her peers. She still doesn’t help Dib though, just tags along and watches him work. She couldn’t even if she wanted, though, she’s an academical failure. She might be a tad bit into literature though.
I also didn’t think the Tallests would play such a big role. I mean, sure, they exist, but I believed Zim came to Earth on his own responsibility and will simply because he wanted to rule it, not to please anyone. Skool shenanigans? Human disguise? Lots of side characters of various species? Nah fam, none of that. Small cast, small problems, and nobody even knows about Zim’s existence since he hides in his base all the time.
And most importantly...
I hadn’t the slightest clue this godforsaken show would be so fucking dark.
ORGAN HARVEST?! DISSECTION?! TURNING PEOPLE INSIDE OUT?! ASYLIUMS?! MURDER?! FEELS?! DEPRESSION?! NEGLECTMENT?! SHITTY PARENTING?! GODDAMN BLOODY GIR?!
FUCKING NO.
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darkmulti · 3 years
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Hello I love your work so much, you are my fav writer I love your style and the way you paint your ideas! <3
I know you must have a lot of requests but could you please do a hard dom CEO jungkook, with innocent reader. Would be nice if you can add corruption kink, degrading and non con. Thank you!
⚠️: NON CON, DEGRADATION, CORRUPTION KINK, INNOCENT!READER, VIRGIN!READER, slapping, choking
-> I’m glad you like my work!! Sorry for the wait tho😭
-> I didn’t “add” too much corruption kink because it’s kinda hard to incorporate corruption kink and non con
-> sorry for any mistakes
“Y/N! In my office now!”
The moment you sat down on your chair, your boss called you again
You quickly stood up and hustled into his office
“Yes, Mr. Jeon. Is something wrong?”
You politely asked
“What the hell did you put in my coffee?”
“Regular, sir. Two milks and one sugar.”
“Did you check the expiration date on the milk?”
“Uh… no”
“God damnit! Are you trying to poison me, Y/N?! You can’t do the simplest tasks right! Get out of my sight.”
“Sir, I can make you another-”
“I said get out!”
You immediately left his office and sped off into your own
You closed the door gently before covering your mouth and bursting out into tears
The constant yelling and degrading was slowly breaking you down
He never appreciated any of your hard work, instead he focused on the small flaws you made
You knew you deserved better so that night you went home and wrote a resignation letter
The next day you went to work and gave it to Mr. Jeon
“Mr. Jeon, this is my resignation letter. I can’t work here anymore. It’s not good for my mental health.”
He poked his inner cheek with his tongue and crumbled the letter
“You have to give me a two weeks notice. That way I can start looking for your replacement. However, I have a business trip next week and you have to come with me.”
“What if I find someone that can take my place?”
“No, I want you to go with me and that’s final.”
Next week
You were at the airport with your carry on bag in hand and your passport in the other
Jungkook was in front of you, leading the way to the private jet
Once you both were seated, he poured himself and you a drink
“So, tell me why you want to quit.” He said, taking a sip of his Blue Label whiskey
You didn’t want to tell him the real reason, which was because of him
You thought it’d make the trip more awkward if he knew that you were quitting because of him and you also didn’t want to sound mean
So the best excuse you could come up with was that you found a more suitable job
You told him lies after lies, thinking that he was believing you
Little did you know, Jungkook could see right through you
He knew the real reason you were quitting was because of him
He was purposely cruel to you and you’ve finally reached your breaking point
It was amusing to him
Did you really think that you could trick him?
How cute
Jungkook knew that whole suitable job excuse was a lie because he keeps his eyes on you all day and night
While you were asleep, Jungkook broke into your apartment and installed tiny cameras all around
So he could keep an eye on you
He also hacked into your phone and installed a tracking app, just in case
He got access to all your emails, social media, phone calls, photos, text messages — ect.
Anyways, back to the private jet
You were in the back of the jet sleeping since it was a long flight and you get air sick
You felt something around your waist so you looked down and see a tattooed arm
You immediately recognized who it was and got up, waking up Jungkook in the process
“I- I’m sorry, sir. You should’ve woke me up and I would’ve given you the bed.”
“It’s fine, we’re about to land anyways.”
After you guys landed, you both headed towards the car in the hangar
The driver took you both to a luxury hotel
The building itself was super unique
The transparent, rooftop pool was definitely something you were looking forward to
Jungkook had paid for your hotel room
You guys had rooms right next to each other so it’s more convenient for him
It was still 10 in the morning, so Jungkook allowed you to sleep for a little while but by 12pm, you guys had to leave for an important meeting
The afternoon was packed with meetings, presentations & preparations for a small business party
You were exhausted because Jungkook kept you running back and forth while he was sitting on his ass
By the end of the day you were tired as hell, but luckily everything went smoothly
Jungkook seemed to be okay with how everything turned out
You were relieved to say the least
He’d usually find something to complain about
It was 10pm when you both arrived at the hotel
Jungkook said he was going to go shower and sleep so you bid goodnight and went into your room
Even though you were physically and mentally exhausted, your mind couldn’t fall asleep
You figured it was because of the amount of coffee you consumed
Since you couldn’t fall asleep, you decided to put on your swimming suit and go upstairs to try out the pool
Once the elevator doors opened, you were surprised to see so many people on the rooftop dancing and drinking
You still went to the pool even though it was loud and packed
On your way to the pool, you accidentally bumped into a group of guys
They notice your somewhat revealing swimming suit and offered a drink
You were going to reject but all of them were pressuring you to have at least one drink with them, so you stupidly agree
One drink turned into two and so on
You started dancing with the guys and they were all cheering you on
This was it
This was the attention you were craving for
You were a little wasted but still had your senses
You held one of the boy’s hand and took him to the swimming pool
“You said you were good at swimming… so make sure I don’t drown.” You drunkly said before jumping in
The man chuckled at your behaviour and jumped in afterward to make sure you don’t do anything dumb
After swimming, you had more drinks and danced more with everyone
The night was going so well until someone pulled you away from all the chaos
“Heyyyy, what’re you doing man? The party’s over there.” You said, pointing back to the crowd
He wasn’t responding so you tried to look at his face but the lights were burning your eyes
You looked down at his arm and recognize his tattoos
Once you realized who he was, it was too late
“M- Mr. Jeon, why’re you up so late?”
He brought you back to his room and shoved you in
Jungkook pushed you against the door and slapped you hard
It brought you back to reality real fast
“Are you dumb, Y/N?! Going upstairs without telling me anything, drinking and dancing with men you don’t know— do you know how dangerous that is?! Is your head hollow?!” He yelled in your face and hit the side of your head a couple of times, checking if it was hollow
“Do you know what they would’ve done to you if I didn’t come?! Let me fucking show you.”
He pushed you towards the bed and you slipped because of your wet feet
You started backing away from him, but you knew you were doomed when your back hit the side of the bed
“Mr. Jeon, please. I was just trying to have fun-” another hard slap landed on your cheek and this one was enough to make you tear up
“Fun? You want to have fun? Okay then, let’s have some fun.”
He pulled you up by your wrist and pushed you down on the bed
“Mr. Jeon, please! I’m so sorry! I don’t know how it all happened!”
You were sobbing at this point because Jungkook looked terrifying
He was beyond pissed and his eyes were showing it all
“You think a “sorry” can fix what you did?! You’re so fucking stupid! This is why I yell at you all the time because your dumb, little head knows nothing. Without me, you wouldn’t be living so comfortably. I give you a good pay, so you can pay rent, buy food and clothes without worrying about money. But, what do I get in return? A resignation letter…” he scoffs before continuing “… You’re just a dumb, naive, whore that would be homeless right now if I didn’t take care of you. Maybe this is why your parents abandoned you.”
Your bottom lip started to wobble and before you knew it, you were bawling your eyes out in front of him
His words were so harsh, you weren’t ready for it at all
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
You apologized over and over and over but he still wasn’t satisfied
“H- how can I make it up? Please, give me a chance.”
His hand went towards your private area and you started shaking your head profusely
“No, no, no… anything but that please…”
“Well, there’s nothing else that you have that I want.”
“I’m n- not comfortable though.”
Jungkook grabbed your face and stared deep into your eyes
“Does it look like I care?”
Jungkook continued on
He ripped your swim suit off and pulled down his pants
“Please be gent-”
You screamed when you felt him push into you
You grabbed his arms and tried to push him away but he easily dominated you
He pinned your hands above your head and spat down on his cock for some lube
Without any warning, he pushed his full length in, causing you to squirm around and cry
Your purity blood dripped down onto the bed sheets while you kept pleading for him to stop
“Mr. Jeon, please! I- I was sa- saving till marriage.” You sobbed
“That’s even better. Now we can get married.”
“No! No! I don’t want that.”
Jungkook pushed your legs apart and started going at a fast pace
“You don’t want to get married to me? Well, that’s too bad because I don’t care about what you want.”
Each of his thrust were powerful and rough
He wrapped his hand around your neck so anytime you rejected him in a way, he’d squeeze until you’d shut up
Your face was hot and red from all the slapping and choking
He covered your neck in hickeys
All night, he was fucking you
The headboard was banging against the wall so hard, it left dents in the wall
There was cum overflowing out of you, but Jungkook still didn’t stop
He pounded you until your body gave up on you
You couldn’t fight anymore
You weren’t talking, crying or moving
All you could do was whimper softly when it really hurt
Jungkook noticed you were on the verge of passing out, so he quickened up his pace and came into you before collapsing on top of you
“You would’ve been in so much more pain if I didn’t save you from those guys. So what do you say to me?”
You weakly open your eyes and look into his
“T- Thank you.” You whisper softly before falling unconscious
Decided to end it here bc I don’t have the brain power to continue writing. Sorry for any mistakes. It’s 2am
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Witcher of the Night (Chapter 15)
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THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.
UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)
CHAPTER 14 (Link)
WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST
Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader
Summary: Mornings with Geralt especially after a night full of bliss can keep your face burning hot from the discernment that he'd finally bed you. He was insatiable and also salty from dodging his subtle gestures---which can be quite entertaining to experience and also upsetting when it took him three days of keeping his distance. But, the witcher made up his absence by giving a gift that surely warmed your heart.
Warnings: Mention of Bucky, X-men and the Avengers. (Weird, I know. HAHA!) Suggestive content. Cheeky Geralt. Nudity. Salty Geralt. (LMAO XD) Shy reader. Kinda sweet Geralt? There's floof in this! Geralt unfamiliar with the feeling of holding hands. Heehee! Mention of bulge, nipples and punani? Also, a cunning reader. HA!
Words: 8.9k (It's a lot. I know. Sorry. The next chapter is actually smut again. Damn. It's also 10k words. I AM UTTERLY SHOOKTH. XD)
A/N: Chapter 15.1 will be smut. No plot shift for the rest 2-3 chapters. (Just relationship development for the reader and our white wolf) Let's just be happy with these type of chapters before I drop bombs, bb's! Also, let's just appreciate that Geralt is feeling happy (still being how he is tho) before shit goes down again and he's all brooding. XD Geralt deserves this! XD I don’t want the characters to just revolve around the idea and pleasure of lust because I know it is more than that. 
TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!
Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi (GIF credits: witches-ground, white-wolf-of-rivia, demivampirew)
MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!
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ONE HABIT OF YOURS THAT YOU WERE USED TO DOING IN THE MORNING IS TO STRETCH ALL THOSE KNOTS THAT HAPPENED TO BE ACHING WHILE YOU'VE SLEPT LIKE A BABY. The ravens that tweeted on the window side never seem to wake you up, but your body clock did.
No blinding sunlight has woken you up from your slumber this time. A lazy whine gurgled at the back of your throat; shifting on your side of the bed as you've turned sideways to sluggishly haul your arm on an expected empty space to surprisingly feel solid, chiseled, warm, valley of muscles that laid upon your palms.
You've swallowed your saliva, your throat feeling scratchy and drier than usual. A subtle clearing of your throat as you narrowed your eyes to presume that the white wolf was already out and about before you even were.
Well-knit arms and sturdy shoulders that were precisely sized like your thighs, crinite chest that you somehow managed to goggle once your half-lidded eyes blinked to straighten the blurry gaze of yours, eyesight now sharp as a cheetah. Perspective concentrated on the beefy man who had his blankets treacherously meeting the ends of his torso, mantling the parts he needed to cover for the sake of your stability.
You didn't even know your palms were already caressing Geralt's prominent abs when you've raked his body at a snail's time. Glowing, soft and amused amber eyes already focusing on your groggy state of mind.
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"Good morning," the scarred hunk of a man huskily greeted, his timbre lacing with an unused pliant tone that certainly left your thoughts unprocessed as your hand cease its freedom from feeling his abs brushing beneath your fingers.
You've taken a dry gulp, impulsively carrying your weight with the help of your elbow, gaping at the witcher who had a stoic face but with unfathomable emotions filled within his eyes.
"I wasn't fondling with your abs, I swear! I was...caring and caressing your scars!" an arm was raised, like you've been caught by the police for creating a crime. The other supporting your weight against the mattress as Geralt seemed to be in a sustained position. Back wholly laying down with his face turned to your looming ones as he rested below you.
He sluggishly blinked, eyes slightly seeing something more worth to admire at as he looked down on your wonderful unclad chest before cocking a brow to skeptically admit with his eyes now focused on you, "That...didn't felt like there were any scars on that part,"
You could tell his mind was preoccupied as he licked his lips, taking a glance of what he was been looking at when you've seen breasts out in the open that made you emit a tiny shriek which got the witcher grinning a little. The blankets on you were hurriedly raised till your chest was covered; though, it probably had no use already from how you've seen the hickeys that were left all around you chest; convincing you that having a nipple slip wasn't the only thing uncouth.
A mortified look on your face had Geralt entertained first thing in the morning. A weird expression you pull whenever you're in the midst of feeling petrified for every new stuff that you experience in their world; never having to experience it back in your earth.
For all one knows, you were probably a reserved child or simply a staid that you haven't gotten a real man throughout your lifetime.
Geralt kept his mouth shut; as he always does and waited for you to vent and clear out your horrified burst of emotions. He knew you would calm down a little after saying what you needed to honestly tell, and so; he silently listened.
"Please tell me you've taken my clothes off because I needed a bath and because of whatever I was feeling last night---because, because---I'm so freaking redundant, I apologize--- Also, I gotta' say and ask you an intriguing question that you surely don't mind based on how you are lacking clothes right now---but, are you NAKED UNDER THE COVERS, Geralt?"
You couldn't believe you've taken drastic measures last night.
Face began to twist in embarrassment, it was like the morning wanted you to take the recording device and press the playback button. The horrible thread of wanton moans and utterances in the middle of being riled chimed in your head like your dignity was laughing at how you promised never to give in to the witcher because he was a fuck boy in their dimension.
Who's cackling now?
Right. Your strength of character was, because you didn't seem to be quite strong for lewdly moaning out his name like a prayer in the middle of the night. Those raunchy ugh's and oh's will continue to haunt you down.
Geralt's expressions seemed to be unreadable still, until you've seen his lips pucker a little, slightly tilting his head as he tried to sit up, "I'm taking the blankets off."
You tried to stop him and held onto his shoulders, softly clawing at the back of his disheveled, chalky white hair as the touch wasn't making you feel any discomfort for the first time; would you even feel uncomfortable after being bonked all night? you probably hugged him when he had rode you off to wonderland for a couple of times already.
"Wait---no!"
His unkempt head fell on his pillow with a soft thud, vaguely turning his head till you were within an ace of breathing each other's oxygen.
The witcher kept still and hushed. His gaze falling on your semi-dry lips as he quietly listened to all your questions; ceasing from saying anything less than his breathing, "It happened, didn't it?" he became more blasè when you've thrown your queries at him in a hurried pace, not giving him a chance to answer, "---I didn't have a wet dream or something?"
As more as you talk, letting the panic rise to your head because of the shame you felt that maybe he would feel used after being so in need for such a passionate impaling; the sex being done out of help or because there was no other choice for the pain to stop, those sly fidgety fingers of yours topped off his thatch of hair that laid upon his chest, tracing the notch of his medallion as you heard him lowly hum in delight.
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Geralt only answered you with a lazy blink of his eyes, heedful of your fingers mindlessly caressing his skin because you were anxiety-filled as of the moment. He let you, always will; with eyebrows tightly furrowed together as he was trying to retain the image of your sweet, seraph face, scruffy hair and painted skin that was filled by witcher bites.
You pouted. Your lightly swollen, grouchy morning face go on about how your core felt sore from how it has been penetrated hours after hours end, "I'm sore. You sure I didn't just got prank by Jaskier and somehow stupidly sat on a pole that stabbed my reproductive organ?"
The sexy, hot, and stark naked white wolf subtly shook his head, his palm retracting from behind his head as he moved his thick arm, slipping beneath the white covers. Determined for his listless touches; strong fingers gliding behind to rest his palm against the small of your back.
His touchy-feely gestures made you swallow the collywobbles, rapidly blinking back as you hardly believed he was actually touching you back. Far as you remembered, when you hugged him while his hair was being braided, Geralt went stiff and still, never knowing what to do with your sudden, impulsive actions.
Your words stumbled after each other, slightly stuttering at the perfervid gaze he opted to give out of his wits, "Great! No...no more sacrifices of virgin women to witches now?"
Geralt was still voiceless as he remained speechless. Your image in the morning placing him in a trance. You awkwardly cleared your dry throat, wincing because of how stupefied he appeared to be. Your hand quickly came to cover your mouth, stifling the embarrassment because of how he seemed to be blown away by particular things you didn't know about. One of your guesses was that he was dumbfounded by your morning breath, "Oh, my morning breath. Explains why you're not talking, Rivia."
You've warily stuck your head in between the crook of Geralt's neck and clavicle after being forthright. The touch of your skin against his knocking him out of his reverie as he tried to turn his head to see your face, but failed to do so; your face thoroughly hidden in his peripheral vision.
"No. That's never happening." he hoarsely murmured; answering your 'sacrificing a virgin' question. His timbre awfully deeper and rougher than most of the time. This was his morning voice then, and you were sure your heart began to wildly flutter because of his fingers behind the small of your back; absentmindedly brushing his calloused palms against your delicate skin.
You mumbled against his shoulder, speaking tone more sotto voce and inaudible. But, the white wolf heard everything. Your tone turning pocket-sized because of how scandalous the question have been.
"I'm not a virgin anymore then?"
He granted your question with an affirmative hum, his answer felt like you were tickled under your palm as you were still being a scatterbrain.
"We'd really...?" you trailed off dubiously. The train of thought left like a scattered path that had an arrow as to what you really wanted to mean. You've felt his chest exhale a sigh before he lowly spoke and frankly continued the sentence for you, "Bed you?" the witcher grouched like he wanted to scoff from how beyond belief you sounded, "---Yes, midget. I did. We did."
Geralt felt your shoulders shaking, your mouth exhaling stifled, mirthful giggles as your face went flushed from the reality of your virginity being taken by the witcher.
A dashing mutated human who came from a different world. He was like a character that existed in a game or movie. The type of television series that you would love to watch despite of having many seasons for it based on how interesting his world have been. Less frightening through a gadget rather than experiencing it in real life though.
Your first experience with sex and it had to thankfully be with Geralt of Rivia.
"Oh..Ohohoho," you expressed your faint simpers, feeling Geralt's fingers turned still as he waited for you to continue like he always does, "---You're not serious."
He sensed the slight snigger in your tone, the disbelief somewhat dripping in strong because of the thought. Though, there was also a bit of worry to it because you were probably agitated of what would happen after this; like it was just the start of something bigger and you knew it wasn't just the girth that has piped you in like a broken faucet which is needed to be fixed all night.
"Geralt of...Mmmhia and me," you mused before feeling his fingers brush up your sides; the butterflies in your stomach tickling your insides making you partly squirm from his touch. Your body oblivious of the modest shiver of your body that has automatically responded to the witcher's touches.
A pair of soft, pillowy lips rested upon your shoulder, pecking your silky skin that somehow had a purplish bite and the witcher tried soothing it with a kiss.
"It happened. Even more than once."
You've tried hard to suppress your exhilaration from how the witcher has been acting. Staying in bed with you, saying good morning and most of all, boldly kissing you or in every parts of your body whenever you're together. It was an obvious notification that he was a lot more brazen with you alone, by preference; Geralt appeared to be like a person who lets his walls down when you're the only person he's with.
A deep, baritone chuckle was heard after your toned down squealing. You swiftly lifted your head to meet the diablerie eyes of the white wolf, his mouth in a tight-thin line before winding his long fingers around your nape, pulling your face close until his lips met yours, his vermillion avid to give you a passionate one when he planned to only give you a soft peck that would make his gluttonous cravings contented.
Nevertheless, he knew it wouldn't based on how he wanted to rile you up again, all day. Just those naive, coy innocence of yours was enough reason to continue his corrupting.
You've held a hand on his chest when he tried to deepen the kiss, lifting himself up with an elbow while he continued to connect your lips to his; smoothly molding as one before you've felt his hoary hair frame your face, paving the way till you were laid flat upon your back; Geralt's heavy, muscular weight starting to crush you. His soft kisses that turned choleric had a hidden agenda when he tried placing you under him, and you knew what strategy he was playing.
Your warm palms stopped his ministrations with a hand on his bewhiskered, chiseled chest. The look in your eyes savvy for what he was planning for; feebly doing it so as you were puny with just one aflamed kiss from the witcher. His spirited kisses were cut-short, a coquettish look within those glowing amber eyes that gave you the tingles when you were trying to grasp how you've fantasized to have his weight crushing you as he laid on top; then now it wasn't just a fantasy of yours as it turned into a reality.
"We actually did the birds and the bees then, if you're that comfortable with kissing me, Geralt."
His features appeared to be like he couldn't-care-less, until such time his taciturn self had slipped a small smile or two making you raise a skeptical brow. Geralt tried to put his lips back to where it came from before you've tutted with frisk.
The latter deeply groaned to himself, cocking his head to the side when you've received an unusual balk from a man who rarely expresses himself. He dejectedly rolled off you, seeing him raise a skeptical brow. Geralt's cynicism catching you off guard like he was an adult who has never been given what he wanted.
"I had you all night," he claimed, sounding totally point-blank as he sat his ripped back against the wooden headboard. The covers just below his torso as a trail of trimmed hair was hiking down a path that had your fingers cursory signing the cross like you were being whispered by the devil on your shoulders.
He didn't seem to mind showing you his sculpted body that was carved by the gods, after screwing with him, he became pretty much as bold as brass unlike you who was still sheepish about your naked self hidden beneath the covers. Well, if you had a chiseled body like Geralt of Rivia; you wouldn't be shy of it at all.
Geralt's lips were slightly curled up in a sneer as he sat beside your laying, timid form. You shifted across the bed, rolling off to the other side till you weren't facing the goading, ghost-voiced witcher---who sounded so hot nevertheless---and you saucily concluded, "It was just...a wet dream of me being one horny woman. Not real."
You can sense that he wanted to scoff, feeling his eyes tickling your back because you knew he was still staring.
"You begged for it," he spoke as a matter of fact.
Oh, he's wanting a debate in this one. You thought in the back of your mind. Discomfited by the truth that was set free. Much to your chagrin, his frank discussion made you jump on the bed, sitting upright with the blankets covering your chest as you let out an incredulous gasp, feigning the whole act that you didn't know the veracity held within his facts.
His gaze was entirely pooling with mischief and a little bit of pride as well. He was close-lipped when his features began to endearingly soften, ushering your heart to turn mushy from how evocative his gaze held; tinting your face with a blush that certainly couldn't be seen through the naked eye.
"It--It was the scar's fault! You didn't need to be so blunt about it!---also stop looking at me like that!"
Your heart was on edge like it was standing on the ends of the cliff, waiting for the catapult to just be done with Geralt probably standing below you with open arms. You've given him a faltering glare that consists of ambivalent emotions soaring high.
You didn't know where to look, eyes shun away from the man. Briefly shifting from the windows behind him; lately realizing that his wide ranging built actually had him covering the sunlight for you as you slept. A hand clutched the blankets tightly in front of your chest while the other hand had you fidgeting over the disarranged bed covers; tapping and tapping till it ceased when you've felt Geralt's fingers grazing along your chin, turning to look him in the eye and you swore breakfast was already served before you even know it.
"That wasn't the issue when you've left me alone in my chambers---trying to upset me when you've braided my hair,"
He deeply mocked as you feigned another gasp. It galled you that he was accusing you that you've left him upset yesterday. He wasn't just the only one who was aggrieved from the whole situation.
"Excuse me---?! What are you actually trying to point out here? Now, you think of me like I'm some...some woman who planned this all along and--and---!!" your train of thought was cut off midway, forbearing what you wanted to say as the witcher raised a brow in understanding; knowing what you meant.
A promiscuous woman. Geralt never thought of you that way last night when you were caught in the heat of the moment especially experiencing the effects of the Cicatrix. He found it definitely onerous mostly that he also could feel what you felt; happiness, sadness, fear, anxiety, vexation and a lot more that could vary. Though, the witcher would know what you felt when the emotions were already clouding up your mind; filling them until it was the only thing that runs in your heart before sensing it.
The whole intuition about sensing each other's feelings still had no answer. Though, both of you knew it was also because of that bizarre mark that was carved in between your breast; knowing full well that the hunger you had for each other causes it at the same damn time.
Geralt's lips curled into a faint, kindly beam that had his eyes glowing in odd compassion.
"I don't. You're still my midget,"
You tightly blinked, words jumbled all together with a disbelieving stammer, "Your---midget? Yours?" and subtly pointing a finger at him as you were entirely gobsmacked from his sudden admission and roundabout claiming towards the whole midget thing.
Does this mean he was your witcher then?
He averted his beautiful cat-eyes away, lowly humming beneath his chest and fleetingly shut his peepers, the isolation of being with you overwhelming him a lot. The solitude of being alone as much as possible; away from people except for Jaskier and Cirilla sounded calming. But, when you came along; your happy-go-lucky and naivity of yours swept himself off his feet no matter how emotionless he appeared to be.
Your sweet, bashful and intriguing presence was beyond overwhelming to his withdrawn behavior.
After hearing a hum from the witcher himself, you've hardly scooted away---thinking better to have breakfast in bed, no kidding---but chose to be practical and avoid a slip of your flushing face, turning your bare back away from Geralt; feet falling flat on the wooden floors as you straightened your back, lazily stretching as you softly mewled---that got the witcher burning holes on your back and also feeling himself twitch under the covers because he heard it so well.
You've felt his thick, long, calloused fingers brush against the small of your back, gliding along like he was insinuating at something.
"Another?"
He actually didn't mean...that, right? you silently talked to yourself, clearing your throat, ceasing your actions; gaze fixated at Geralt's used black buttoned tunic that was tossed to the floor.
"What do you mean, another?!"
Your tiny squeaks echoed around his chambers, chary of what he was hinting at that made your eyeballs pop out of your eye sockets from how he still wanted sex after having at least just two hours of nap. You were blissfully spent last night, utterly drained and here he was, the witcher was wanting more.
Was this one of his perks in being mutated?
His fingers gave you a slight tickle, rough voice turning velvety like silk, trying to scrub that determined but utmost wobbly state of mind when it came to your witcher. Geralt's fingers brushed along your spine, languidly tracing till the periphery of your shoulder blades that emitted a breathless exhale of your breath from his mere touch, "When I told you I would indulge your curiosity all night long and days thereafter, I wasn't lying."
Your skin felt so supple and satiny; the way he coveted all night wasn't enough to keep him sated. Satisfied. No. If it was possible to have you in a week of constant ravishing; he would delightfully do so. But, no. You didn't have his stamina nor do you probably feel comfortable by the sensitive feeling you were experiencing as of this morning.
Yes, you were sore. Very. But, the soreness was worth it in your perspective.
You hastily grabbed onto the used tunic, slipping your arms over the huge shirt in which Geralt loved seeing on you but he definitely wouldn't admit, "Oh! As much as I remembered, you never wanted this coochie in the first place! Telling me it was the Djinn effects or some sort!"
"---Midget," you've began your mockery, parodying his baritone timbre like a loser, trying hard type and Geralt couldn't help but place you under his scrutiny, his succulent lips curling into an amused smile as he silently watched you make a fool out of yourself, "---I don't deserve it. I'm guessing it's the Djinn's work that is talking---who's the liar now, huh?"
The witcher exhaled a long sigh, drowsily blinking as he added nonchalantly, "A shame." he stifled the amusement in his tone as you turned to see him slightly imploring to persuade that dead set decision of yours. Your reactions were priceless, even so; he kept his bulge twitching in anticipation for another wave of bliss because every breath he hears surprisingly makes him go gaga over you.
"---Spare me five minutes."
You looked at him like he has grown three heads. Unblinking from his risquè intimations of having your fantasies ticked down. It only needed a 'yes' from you and breakfast will immediately be served right thing in the morning.
Geralt of Mmmhia licked his lips, gaze narrowed as he was seeing the unwavering look within your eyes.
"Ten." he bluntly proposed, stifling a chuckle that made you want to just throw yourself at the witcher but you were a strong woman---though, your eyes have been a huge traitor against the strong will; raking along Geralt's body maybe more than once to admire him in the flesh. Yet, also the tragic experiences that his scars held.
You would ask him about it someday; deciding that you wouldn't want to ruin this rare mood of his.
"Must it be half an hour?" skeptically, he mumbled and blurted out in the open with a hum that snapped you out of your reverie.
"A liar indeed. You don't just take five minutes. Your five minutes consists of six hours or more! Probably even days!" you shook your head knowingly, subtly pointing down below as you sheepishly batted your eyelashes back to the staring witcher who was intensely doing it; with you who was gesturing to what he wanted, "---You're not having this,"
With a simple wiggle of your fingers he knew you wouldn't budge, nor was the white wolf even serious. Geralt was just sending a jest or maybe it also held a little bit of real talk if you would allow him for his wishes.
He'd feast ones eyes as you slid your feet off the bed, with bewilderment in his golden peepers. He opened both palms on either side, gesturing with his hands in astonishment  from how you've curved him away, giving the morning bonking a miss. Geralt raked you from head to foot, having a thing about wearing his gigantic clothes that obviously didn't fit like a glove.
With the tousled hair, abnormally painted skin and body ache you were feeling, it was enough to get his agitating hunger firing up.
You heard him grouch as the bed squeaked, warning you that the witcher has stood up on his feet; unintentionally giving his exposed body a once over as the bare-assed witcher grabbed onto his leather pants, fumbling with the hem of it; looking out of the window as the sunshine hit his body in a staggering way. His derriere was phenomenal, the swell of his ass was remarkable; out of this world and you couldn't believe that he'd actually...finally...let you have him.
Pulling out an all nighter didn't kept your curiosity still; even then, you planned and wanted to have another soon when you weren't sore enough, if he'd let you.
"Yeah," he stated in point of fact, receiving a panicking yelp from you when he'd turn around; his disrobed nature never disturbing him despite with you in the room, a daring gesture that he certainly didn't mind if you would stare because you were free to do so. Your reaction got his lips curled into a small grin, the sun making your bruised skin glow in ways that got him complimenting his work of art.
"---Until that weird Cicatrix of yours starts giving effects, the domineering lady would waver,"
Alas, the cicatrix was not giving you effects. But, just seeing him standing buck naked; had your will shaking from the time out you opted to happen. It was probably a bad idea to even suggest a short suspension of the activities he wanted to receive.
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Three days have passed. After your nightly penetrating with the witcher and the morning after when you've hushed his off-colored ideas, you didn't know he would be so salty about it.
Geralt was still Geralt; silent, unobtrusive and basking in his own solitude with his horse at all times. Regardless of his normal behavior for wanting to be alone, you understood that it was already a part of his personality that you've known since the day you've arrived.
When you meant that you wanted a timeout, three days wasn't what you tried to point out. The burning coil stirring and pooling below your stomach calmed down in some way or another when you've given in to the desires it wanted. Hence, after that carnal desires it controlled; it wanted another thing as well. Though, this time around; no Cicatrix was controlling you to feel this way.
You wanted Geralt's attention after spending most of his time with Roach rather than his midget.
He wasn't entirely avoiding you at all costs, pushing you off the side or something like that but his gestures were minimal especially with Jaskier and Cirilla hanging around. No hugs, no kisses or no touches when you both were surrounded with his family's presence especially that they had guesses about what happened that night.
Jaskier knew it all and heard what happened. With all the grunts and hushed moans in the middle of that particular night, he blamed himself for telling Geralt to just give in when he would've realized that his room was beside his. The constant whump of Geralt's headboard hitting the adjoined walls that he had with his made the bard grab all his pillows, deciding that it was better to sleep on the hallways instead.
Geralt's withdrawn behavior was a run-of-the-mill habits of him. You were beginning to ask yourself if it has ever been a dream; the nightly ravish and torrid kisses that has happened, but you were wrong because you've woken up one time in the middle of the night with the witcher behind you as you slept on his bed, feeling his burly arm surround your waist, and unexpectedly spooning you to sleep.
You knew it was him because you've jerked from his sudden touch; in the midst of a nightmare that got your heart palpitating as you turned in your sleep. He heard your troubled whimper, taking a peek from behind your back to see if you were deep in your slumber. You were, but he'd heard your heart beat abnormally thumping louder like you were being chased and the latter knew you were caught up in a nightmare.
He gently pulled you around, turning you to face him as you've unconsciously flutter your eyes open, seeing burnt out glowing amber eyes which made you thoughtlessly cuddle closer to his neck. Humane, baritone shushes rocked you to sleep, feeling more protected that you wouldn't have a nightmare of being chased by monsters anymore now that Geralt was beside you.
Be that as it may, his actions were baffling you because after that nightly cuddle session, he was out of doors; never telling you where he went as he came back home at around nightfall without anyone telling you where he went; not that Jaskier and Cirilla knew because they also had no idea where the he went.
Here you thought, witchers can't be petty over such a little thing.
Surprisingly, Geralt was going to be the living proof that they knew how to act like one. It was like he was having a manly period and acting complicated was one of the effects; would chocolates simmer his pettiness down? you doubt.
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"Hmm." The witcher was crouched beside his horse; giving her a look before scanning through a half ripped parchment paper that had an awful sketch of his face and yours; one he had retrieved from the guards that tried to forcefully take him when he was away to hunt a Bruxa.
He heard your soft padded footsteps coming down the stairs. Geralt knew it was yours because you had your own pattern; like it was a pebble being thrown in the water. Faint, gentle patters that only you can do in the perimeters of his household. Thusly, he kept the paper close to him, slipping it through the band of his pants as he rose to his feet; the sound of your feet taking a hesitant step close once he'd felt you nearby. You were hesitating, shy or probably thinking too deeply again.
Hence, your bashful company has lifted a suppressed smile on the witcher's face before it fell in just a hot second.
"My...sweetheart of a witcher," You coyly poked through his silence, taking heedful steps close. Your boots lightly scraping along the pastureland, trudging to where you could see Geralt and his broad shoulders.
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The endearment you had for him struck an involuntary cringe. He swiftly turned on his heel, facing you with his eyebrows tightly scrunched together like he didn't know what to truthfully feel about the whole pet name. You gave him an unimpressed fall of your forced smile, completely nonplussed that he seemed to be peeved.
"What's with that face? You don't like it? Is it that too cringey? you looked like you've seen Barney and realized he was an awful, scary dinosaur for the children!"
Geralt exhaled a breath out of his mouth before peering down at you; disregarding your modern references for now because he knew it was a banter, his eyes doing that beautiful narrowed smolder that made you want to smack his face...with your lips.
"You're doing it too."
You snobbishly crossed your arms across your chest, shrugging off the timidness as you held your head up high. Literally. The compelling sarcasm drizzling out of your mouth as you declared, drawling out your words like it sounded seething and with emphasis as Geralt couldn't help but tilt his head to the side, considering the snark that you wanted him to be aware of.
"Fine. I'm ticking that out. Honey, then? Cause you're as sweet as honey then became too salty and tried spending more time with Roach rather than your midget."
Who was petty about being subtly ignored now?
Y-O-U.
Geralt shifted his weight on both feet, the glint in his eyes telling you that he was finding the topic rather amusing when you're all riled up for being out of his reach. He'd done that for you. Isn't that what you wanted? space? a timeout? yet, why were you being mad about it then?
"My darling witcher," you started again with a pinch of sugar; the endearment sounding like a threat when you've seen his eyes subtly scanning your clothes. He'd given you a scowl. His gaze felt heavily dragging as he bore in mind at the image of your taut, hardening nipples that was poking through the tube part of your dress.
The crisp breeze of the wind passed through the air, licking up your spine that ignited a reflex from your perky breasts, your dress more see-through as Geralt inspected such a modest outfit which you never worn ever.
Nevertheless, its effects that you wanted to portray through the outfit got him eager for what plans you hold; appearing to be so innocent, demure and sweet with that princess-like sleeveless dress. You had plans. Cunning plans for the witcher, indeed. Sometimes, that naivity running in your veins contradicts with the threatening tone that somehow slips through your mouth; like a bane from a baby snake because of how innocuous you wanted it to be told.
Your innocence somehow had ulterior motives and dark shadows behind your cherub face and small height.
"Stop it." Geralt lowly grumbled in protest, the sight of your nipples stirring the heat inside his pants. You've caught a glimpse of his eyes rolling in disbelief, making you exclaim out loud, "I'm squeezing so hard for your sweetness to come out, Geralt. Pay heed for my effort, will ya'?"
The latter loudly sighed, turning on his booted heel to brush through Roach's mane; he tried to ignore your get-up. But, the dress was doing magnificent effects to your whole being. You were as pretty as a picture, captivating on its finest because of how effeminate its design was decorating your body.
Geralt gave you another once over, probably staring a little bit too long for his 'self-control' to shake.
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"You're wearing a dress." he uttered a little bit dull for you to accept. Words frothing with lethargy as he continued to give his attention more to his horse that made you withhold a huff because of how you were feeling disregarded.
You went all the way out; wearing a pretty dress just for the witcher and here he was, brushing off your presence like he didn't like what he was seeing. You were sure you were dolled up from head to foot; even had Cirilla helping you tie the strings behind your back to keep your stomach in tact.
Jaskier even had a good start of the day to send compliments when all you've receive from him was insults; his words noting that you were looking rather feminine and pretty with the dress you've bought back in the marketplace and the witcher here couldn't even look straight into your eyes nor give you the attention you've been hoping for?
Your face fell from his lackadaisical response, eyeing Geralt in dismay who still had his back face-front. You were thoroughly disheartened, shoulders slumping while you stood beside the towering white wolf; voice sounding nasally from how dispirited you've felt.
"You sound like you're telling me I look like a whale in this pretty cute dress with that scowl on your face---Thank you for your kind honesty, my lord."
Geralt sauntered around Roach where his bag has been strapped to his horse, you've tailed behind him like a puppy. He rummaged through his leather bag, mumbling his reply in his most sluggish tone like a wiseacre.
"You want something from me. Obviously." he bluntly commented, digging in his bag for a thing he bought from Babeth.
You cocked your head to the side, shrugging your shoulders when you've heard Roach neigh through your honest confession induced with sheer sarcasm.
"Your attention.It’s what I only need! What else? It's like begging to a rock, I swear. You don't even hold my hand, give me back hugs, kiss me on my forehead like in the movies or those sweet gestures that men usually do. Roses! Daisies! Love letters! But, does your world have roses though?---What? you screw me all night in one day---wrecking my punani then ignore me the next? excuse me, Mr. Casanova---"
He briefly ceased his ransack, sparing you a glimpse of his impervious amber eyes; silently asking if you were actually serious with this complaining of yours before quickly revoking the admission with a snort.
"---Pfft. Okay. I'm shutting up."
Geralt went back on digging through his bag pockets, his thick fingers seeming to give him a difficult time as he couldn't help but deeply groan to himself, the scowl etching on his face growing tighter when he couldn't seem to find it. In the midst of searching through his bag, he could hear your toes softly tapping on the ground alongside with your fingers lacing behind your back and tapping against each other while you get a hold of what you were about to actually ask; like a child asking permission from her guardian.
"Jaskier and Cirilla will be visiting Cuthbert," you quietly started, uncertain of what his answer would because the last time you've tried jumping out of their household, he came home entirely maddened over the fact that you were wandering around the woods at night. However, today you would dawdle through the woods in the morning.
"---Can I come with?"
He talked under his breath, "No. Stay."
You slightly turned your head, jutting your ear his way because it sounded like an incoherent rumble of his voice that you didn't quite believed to hear and so, you repeated; much clearer and with emphasis.
"Jaskier told me they'll be bringing Kolby with them so he could wander around a little bit. If a Hirikka can come with them. Then, I suppose I can---"
Geralt cut you off in a curt manner, "Stay." he repeated his word more gruffly than the rest.
You instantly pouted from the dismissal of your request, glowering back at the witcher who was turning a deaf ear; still going through his stuff as he kept silent which caused you to sulk because of how he couldn't seem to get the bottom of why you were being petty like him.
"I thought you needed to do some monster hunting again?"
A strand of silvery hair fell from the side of Geralt's temple as he simply turned to give you an indescribable look in his eyes, tight-lipped but not much of a scowl and close enough towards a frown as he gruffly asked.
"Do you want me to leave?"
An immediate answer was sent to him; a hasty shake of your head as your features turned rigid while you quickly didn't hesitate to answer, "N-No! Of course, not!"
"Then, no. I'm not leaving you." he nonchalantly aforementioned. Finger brushing off a metal string he was finding for.
Geralt decided to stay a little longer before he went out and about to search for the Bloedzuiger he needed to annihilate for the town. He'd given Durriken a two week deadline before he finds the beast in the swamps. Though, the witcher didn't expect to actually take him a week before going on his way to kill this monster because he'd estimated his hunt to only be four days tops. Howbeit, he was stalling and chose to hunt for the bruxa that Jaskier lately mentioned near the ruins and close enough for him to go home when he wants to.
The white haired witcher never puts a brake with his job because he knew that this was the lives of people they were talking about. Yet, when he has encountered the chevaliers of Kaedwen, hunting for the Bloedzuiger that his old friend has requested somehow took him more than a week before actually starting his pursuit.
The day after tomorrow. Geralt would start to find this monster in the south swamps.
"You're not really going to let me go?" you utter so suddenly, huffing out a frustrated breath because you felt like you were being quarantined after the whole incident. It was fine if Geralt was thoughtful enough to entertain you; giving you a little slip of what was running inside his mind, talking to you instead of his horse and a lot more that could serve as entertainment for you.
There were no television, wifi, computers or places you know that were safe to jog in without being eaten by their monsters.
He clipped his bag shut, his fist closed as you tried peeking to what he was holding but his big hands made it difficult to snoop around. Geralt was tightly clutching onto the thing he was holding that made you cross your arms for the second time around, your eyes giving him a glare that didn't move him because he knew you weren't actually mad; just annoyed.
"Fine! I've wasted using a dress then. You know I never like wearing this type of clothes!"
"You're also wearing that because you have other things in your mind,"
Yes, it was to keep Geralt's eyes only on you and not his horse; trying to stir whatever you could for him to never leave your sight.
You rolled your eyes; trying not to appear like you were caught like a deer in headlights, "Great, now you're wanting to be adopted by the x-men or avengers," pause. "---You read minds now too?"
The latter softly exhaled a breath out of his nose. His muscles straining against the black under tunic he wore; sleeves folded till the ends of his elbows that accentuated those protruding veins in his forearms that looked so powerful and strong. You cleared your throat when he'd crossed his arms, the ends of his lips faintly curling when he'd lean his head to the side, quietly watching you fret.
You gave him a nod, misunderstanding his silence that he was trying to shoo you away, anxiously biting the insides of your cheeks, looking straight into his eyes as you thought out loud, "Alright, I'm not going to leave the house. I'll...try and find ways to spend the time,"
Turning around your heel, you were ceased from doing so as strong, thick and warm fingers held onto your shoulder; halting you from leaving him alone. Your heart skipped a beat as he did, his touch sending a bolt towards your stomach, electrifying the butterflies living inside to wake up.
"Wait." Geralt suddenly rasped.
"Did you change your mind now---"
You've tried to turn around, eyes hopeful that he wanted you to stay. His strong hand held you still. Silver met silver as it chimed from behind, a tiny grinding of metals faintly crashing against each other before you heard another grumble of curse words from the witcher who towered from behind.
As blasphemy left his lips, a string of metal looped around your neck followed after. His incoherent babbles quite fathomable as you could hear and comprehend that he doesn't do this kind of shit, complaining why did he even bought such a thing. Another low rumble of the word 'fuck' was all it took for Geralt to impatiently clasp onto the lock with his patience running low, taking him five tries before successfully connecting the hook; his thick fingers awfully difficult for the small jewelry to hold onto.
"Geralt," you were stunned, looking down to see the necklace that has caught your eye back at the marketplace.
It was still glowing like it used to, the coral green color beautifully twinkling against the sunlight. With an excited turn of your heel, you were feet close with the witcher; peering down with a compassionate haze in his eyes that made you grab onto the stone that lay before the valley of your breasts. His fingers still clasped on your shoulder, "This is---this was the fae necklace from Babeth. How did you know?"
Geralt avoided the question with a lick of his lips, taking a glimpse down at the necklace before staring back onto your face. The stone complimenting your glow that only you could radiate, "It'll suit you." Pause. "---The necklace also serves as an amulet to keep you out of harms way,"
"How did you know I liked this?"
You were dumbfounded; peepers quizzical and gaping at the colossal hunk of a witcher. He looked around the field as he breathed, trying to form words that he wanted to say but chose the savory answer of what he actually meant.
"I....just know," he trailed off, warmth trying to embrace you in solace when he let his words flow like a boat sailing in the ocean, smooth and steady; also direct to the point.
"---Your wishes for a man who could offer you a lavish life will never be granted. I can never be the man in your fantasies, midget. I'm not what you think I am; a prince or some nobleman in this world. I’m the least you expect or hope for,"
His jaw ticked as he continued to speak, amber eyes downcast as his face turned impassive; words turning slower than the usual, "I try not to be what they say I am after years end," pause. "---I am not entirely evil nor am I good. I've done things far more worse than any kind person would wail about. People have considered me as a monster for relevant reasons because I've killed their kind with my sword---specifically, fiendish people as I see fit,"
"---But, If I could choose one evil or another, I prefer not to choose at all."
Geralt never broke his gaze away, nor did you find any lies beneath the windows of his soul. Every word he say was the truth as he tries to truly explain what he was in their world, sending a message that he was the boogeyman living inside your closet or a monster haunting you under your bed. The horrible type of personification of what he actually was. Yet, you never see him as one.
With all words that has been said, you couldn't learn to despise him because you knew he was beyond more than that. Important. Valuable and also needed to be shown that ill will and animosity aren't the only sarcastic good that every world can offer. There was kindness; in which he shows no matter how he didn't seem to be aware of. Care. Love. Hope. Eternal happiness.
You knew your heart was screaming it; silently shouting back at the witcher that there was more to the world that it can ever offer and you aspire to be that person to show him what it is he seem to be rejecting.
The latter was heedful of how gentle you were gazing up at him. Thus, he continued, mindless that he was lost in his dismal thoughts of the life that was given to him, "The whole continent, they despise my kind and where ever I go, shit happens all the time,"
Geralt seemed to grit his teeth, humming in displeasure when his features curved into a wince for whatever he had to say next, "---It's the fucking destiny that was bound for me,"
A sudden heavy feeling crept inside your chest; crawling towards your throat and triggering you into throwing a hissy fit of sobs that pushed the tears falling right before your eyes. The abrupt shift from feeling sympathy turned into a mournful midget. Tears being an answer that you were with Geralt in this for whatever he was fighting for; having no idea that his fight could be total carnage and here you thought he was just like Bucky in the Marvel Universe.
People calling him that he's a villain when he certainly isn't because he was brainwashed or had no other choice.
Perhaps, Geralt could be like it. He'd done some kind of evil because he had no other choice too. 
He could be a monster but also a hero. 
"Why...are you crying?" the white wolf didn't know what to do. Should he hug you? wipe your tears? do men in your world do that when a woman cries? Geralt just stood tall and stiff beside Roach who had stepped back till she had her head close to him.
For anything Geralt can ever look for a horse, she'd somehow neighed and nudged his face; promptly hitting the witcher on the side of his face which caught him off-guard; quickly glaring at his horse as she offered another clear whinny which got another piercing glare from the man himself.
"I don't even know! I think it's because you're also feeling this way but you're not the one crying!"
You were in the midst of expressing your feelings. Your impulsive self hastily grabbing onto Geralt's hand that had him raising a quizzical brow. He momentarily took a glimpse of your fingers lacing in between the spaces of his. He'd never remembered that he had done such a thing before; holding hands while standing in the middle of the meadow, his hand that has tasted blood from different kinds of living creatures or people.
Those sensitive, delicate and sinless fingers of yours gripping his; connecting and enveloping against each other as one. He'd never expected for it to feel this way.
It was quite satisfying and calming; making him feel like he was protecting you in some ways because of how his palms were rather large against yours.
You sniffed your cries away, roughly wiping them with the back of your free hand. Stepping more to his side; his height towering beside your small form as you have given Geralt a look of query, "Why are you holding my hand, Geralt?"
It was a ridiculous joke that laced with sarcasm. He didn't seem to decipher what you meant and heard him sigh with a suppressed smile on his face; fighting off the beam.
"I didn't. You held onto it in the first place,"
"Oh, right. Heehee!" you simply shrugged your shoulders and puckered your lips, giggling after seeing the smile rising those tight-lips. You've waved the awkwardness off as the witcher didn't seem to know what holding hands meant. Add the fact that his hold didn't seem tight and comfortable.
"Isn't holding hands a thing in this world of yours?"
"No." He simply answered, wondering if he needed to clasp his hands tighter. Geralt was about to when you've patted his fingers to relax and grope yours, eventually slackening.
"Oh. Okay. Then, hold me like you're scared to let go, Geralt."
The white wolf mutely complied to your satisfaction; warmth that his hand could provide felt so secure as his grip turned firm like he never did wanted to let go if possible. He tipped his head to the side, watching your face contort into a felicitous image that he had already seen; recognizing the smile that he has seen in the dream that the Djinn wanted him to see.
A dream where he was also smiling the same way as you did.
You were definitely in a more jovial mood after receiving such an adorable gift from the witcher; gifts that he certainly wasn't used to giving, gestures that make him uncomfortable but he tries his best to show that he wasn't what people think he really is and that mindset was enough for your heart to jump in felicity. You've tightened your intertwined fingers.
"There. Better!"
Geralt heard the faint rustle of the winds; hitting you both in a chilling phantasm of the air hugging you in the cold. He heard a twig break from the far distance, it was imperceptible to the ears of a normal human; but not to him.
This wasn't the only time he'd heard things out of the ordinary, some were harmless animals but mostly were beasts that could harm people when hungry. The sound was faint and stealthy; sounding like this beast didn't want to be seen nor caught.
His head snap to where the sound came from, seeing nothing but an extensive lineage of trees swaying from left to right. You've given Geralt a look of doubt, seeing him narrowing his eyes at the far end of the meadow. A simple shake of your hands interlaced together interfered his perusal of something or someone lurking from behind the woods.
"Geralt, come on! I need to show you something and it's about Kolby! He's acting weird!" you tugged onto his hand, walking forward as you tried your hardest to pull his weight; he knew you couldn't and so his concern flew right above his head when you've looked back with those pleading doe-eyes of yours, receiving not anything less than a hum from Geralt as he'd fully had his attention diverted because of you.
"Hmm."
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ANOTHER SMUT WILL BE ON CHAPTER 15.1 WHICH WILL BE UPDATED NEXT WEEK, OF COURSE! HEHEHEHEHE. FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! CAN I JUST SAY THAT I WANT TO BE THE READER SO BAD? 
Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl​ @himarisolace​ @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @hellodevilslittlesister​ @vania-marie​ @spookypeachx​ @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us​ @nympeth​ @amirahiddleston​ @gabethelobster​ @dreaming-about-starfleet​ @uncoolcloudyhead​ @melaninstylezz​ @psychosupernatural​ @missjenniferblog @dance-dreamer @marvelousell​ @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a–1–1–3 @gutfucks​ 
Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza
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king-bito · 2 years
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Hey Bito! Been a hot minute since we talked and I was so happy to see the match up post because you know I thirst for all your monster babes.
Um, about me: pretty average looking fem, though some think I'm pretty. Shy (I'm on anon for a reason but I'm messaging you so you know who I am) and in regular need of reassurance. I have a lot of love in my heart, and a lot of passion for all sorts of things. I like to craft and bake and keep my hands busy, and I'll talk people's ear off info-dumping about various topics. Very kinky, sub leaning switch.
You know how aquariums and zoos will pluck injured creatures from their habitats and rehabilitate them? But then sometimes they'll say there's a sea otter that can never be released back into the wild so they keep it in a safe enclosure and care for it forever? Yeah I'm that sea otter. I just want a monster/alien/fae whatever to just scoop me up and keep me as a pampered pet because I am clearly not fit for the wild.
I hope you're having a good holiday, Bito ^_^
Hello you xD I'm a little surprised who I matched you with! This is Anya! A black kitsune. A corrupted Kitsune.
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It is said that corrupted Kitsune are created when a divine or regular kitsune commits cannibalism, though Anya will never tell you if that's true or not xD
You will find him at home doing what he loves to do, tormenting and being a little asshole, with tricks and dirty games, for this reason, him and Azazel get on quite well, and while that collecter of hearts has not managed to swipe this fox just yet, their back and forth can be quite amusing to watch. Anya loves demons and humans alike, and while his outward demenor is laughs, cocky flirts and dark deeds, he is just the kind to take a chance on doing something// 'charitable' A poor naive little human? He MUST take pity on you, surely. But the more time you spend with him, the more you'll begin to notice that despite his mouth, his gestures are protective, often pulling you to his side, or snarling and snapping at anyone who takes an interest. Like it or not, once he's adopted you, you're his. And if you're lucky, VERY lucky, you might be allowed to pet his stupidly soft tails.
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sparklyfairymira · 3 years
Text
Prompt & Fic Updates (Updated 5/9)
Because I have a lot of fics and prompts upcoming, here is a list so you can see what's in queue and when my WIPs are set to update. Generally speaking, I will stick to this schedule as much as a I can, though it might change from time to time.
A HEART PERMANENTLY BOUND TO YOU
BELLARKECAVE
Chapter 3 (Final): 6/23/21
BETWEEN THE FIRE AND THE FLAME
CLURPHAMY
Chapter 3 (Final): 6/30/21
WAIT 'TIL I GET MY MONEY CH 1
BELLARKE/MINTY/HARPHY Chapter 3: 7/7/21 Chapter 4: 7/21/21 Chapter 5: 8/18/21 Chapter 6: 9/1/21 Chapter 7: 9/13/21
HE'S NOT THE ONLY ONE (WHO HAD A SECRET TO HIDE)
BELLARKE/MURVEN
Chapter 2: 7/14/21 Chapter 3: 8/9/21 Chapter 4: 8/25/21
YOUR HEARTBEAT NEXT TO MINE
BELLARKE
Chapter 7: 6/25/21 Updating every Friday
UPCOMING PROMPTS
See below the cut for my upcoming prompts
FIND ME IN THE DARKNESS
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: 6/26/21
Seelie Princess Clarke is set to marry Unseelie Prince Wells, her childhood friend as has been arranged since their birth, but there is nothing less in the world that she wants to do. So she decides to run from the court but somehow ends up in the Shadow Court—somewhere that no Seelie should ever be. But then she meets the King of the Shadow Court Bellamy and something is drawing her to him. Bellamy can’t believe his luck with one of his subjects shows up at his door with a Seelie Fae and not just any Seelie, it turns out, but the Seelie Princess. He thinks that he’ll be able to use her to finally have his court recognized by the other two. He wasn’t expecting her to be his soulmate but as soon as their eyes lock, he knows. And he knows that he can never let her leave him.
COLD SWEAT
ROARKE
Expected publication date: 7/3/21
Clarke is a nurse who works hella late nights in the ER and walks home. She’s attacked one night while walking home — nothing happened because a (tall, muscular) stranger happened to be nearby and pulled the guy off her. But the man in question, Roan she learns, tells her that if she’s going to walking home in the city at night she should learn how to protect herself. So she signs up for a self-defense class...and Roan ends up being the instructor. He teaches her how to defend herself, and she starts growing more confident in herself in general. Confident enough to ask him out after class one day. Let’s just say they never make it to their dinner reservation.
TIL DEATH
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: 7/10/21
Clarke falls in love with Bellamy the moment she lays eyes on him. He's smart and handsome and has a fire inside of him that she finds mesmerizing. Sure, he's always been secretive, but his secrets are a small price to pay for his love. But then she learns what those secrets are, and suddenly the price doesn't seem so small. He's not what she thought he was, and even though she loves him, she plots to take him down
JUST KEEP BREATHING
BELLARKE/MINTY/MURVEN
Expected publication date: 7/17/21
Their group consists of six. Bellamy, a convict with a thirst for revenge. Miller, a sharpshooter who can’t walk away from a wager. Monty, a runaway with a privileged past. Raven, a spy known as the Wraith. Clarke, a Heartrender using her magic to survive the slums. Murphy, a thief with a gift for unlikely escapes. Somehow they managed the impossible heist only to be backstabbed and Raven to be kidnapped. They get Raven back and they get their revenge but nothing ever comes for free. "We were all supposed to make it, " Monty says softly. Maybe they'd been naive but they had never questioned their survival—no matter how dicey the situation seemed. But Bellamy is dying in Clarke's arms—the only place he wants to be—and Raven is telling her that she has to accept it. Only Clarke knows that she doesn't have to. She may not have the jurda parem but it's already changed her powers. She can do this. She knows she can. She pulls on all of the power that she can and forces it into Bellamy's body as the last breath leaves his lips. Or a Six of Crows AU that picks up at the end of Crooked Kingdom with slightly different results.
REMEMBER THOSE WALLS I BUILT (WELL, BABY, THEY'RE TUMBLING DOWN)
BELLMORI
Expected publication date: 7/19/21
Emori isn't the sentimental type. When you grow up the way she did, you tend to learn to not get attached to things. When you get attached, that opens you up to loss. And she's had about all the loss she can handle. But then she meets Bellamy. He's a grad student at NYU, this hot book nerd whose hair is always a mess and who comes to her bar to do homework like some sort of weird. Says he grew up basically in a bar, and the background noise helps him focus when his apartment gets too quiet. And he's...not her type. He's got kind eyes and his hair is always a mess and he's getting a master's so he can teach history and he wants to travel the world to see all of the places he's going to teach students about in person. He wears his heart on his sleeve and makes stupid jokes and chats with everyone he sees. Meanwhile, she's got hard edges and a rough exterior no one's ever gotten close enough to even try to crack. Well, no one until Bellamy. And the closer he gets, the more she starts to think maybe the risk of opening up is worth the reward...
WELCOME TO TEMPTATION
BELLARKE/CLURPHY/ROARKE
Expected publication date: 7/24/21
Riot Night changed Clarke’s life forever. A gang war between the Grounders and the Reapers had reached a head that night. The first riot began at the abandoned amusement park where Clarke and Raven were attending an underground MMA fight. Clarke makes sure that Raven gets away but finds herself in danger only to be rescued by three extremely attractive mystery men. Three mystery men that framed her as the ringleader of Riot Night. It’s eleven months later and she is coming back to Arkadia for the first time in the eight months since she was acquitted of all charges. As she arrives at her mother’s house she discovers that the three mystery men are her new housemates and they have no intentions of leaving. Now all that she desires to revenge—no matter the cost. When she finds herself in danger it is her new housemates that vow to keep her safe. Can Clarke learn to trust Bellamy, Murphy, and Roan? Does she need to trust them to sleep with them? Because it has been a long eleven months of celibacy and they are all stupidly hot. Based on the Madison Kate series, a reverse harem enemies-to-lovers story involving lots of sex and lots of violence.
Will be added to WIP list w/ expected publication dates after the first chapter is posted.
THE AFFAIR
MEMORI
Expected Publication date: 7/31/21
Murphy is married to Clarke Griffin, a hotshot doctor who's on her way to becoming the youngest chief of surgery ever at Arkadia Memorial. But their marriage is more show than anything these days, and neither of them is in love anymore. She's constantly at work, and he's left to his own devices. That is until he meets Emori at one of Clarke's hospital galas. The affair they startup is supposed to be fun, a bit of distraction from Murphy's otherwise mundane life. But then real feelings develop, and he isn't sure how he's supposed to tell Clarke that he thinks he's found the one...and it's not her.
IT'S YOU (IT'S ALWAYS BEEN YOU)
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: August
Clarke, Princess of the Arkadian ocean, and Bellamy, Prince of the Mecha sea, were not supposed to ever meet—let alone fall in love. There were engagements to uphold, treaties to sign, and wars to win. But they do meet and they fall in love—deciding to leave it all behind. Before they can run away together their two kingdoms unite to banish the princess and the prince to separate oceans, to separate their souls, despite the sea witch's warnings. But soulmates always find a way back to one another. Can Bellamy and Clarke find each other and right a wrong from centuries ago?
Will be added to WIP list w/ expected publication dates after the first chapter is posted.
THE ANIMAL AWAKENS
LINCTAVIA
Expected publication date: August
Growing up Octavia never understood why the foxes would follow her around. It wasn't until she hit her teen years that she learned that she was a Kitsune—the Queen of the Kitsune. In a world where the supernatural is viewed as evil, she has to learn how to rule her people but also how to live in the world into which she was born. Lincoln is a dragon shifter—a warrior with one purpose: wipe out the Kitsunes. He doesn't know why their two people are at war but he has never approved. When he meets Octavia it is easy to forget that their people are enemies. Can true love overcome everything for these natural enemies?
PIECE BY PIECE
LINCTAVIA
Expected publication date: August
Octavia's father left when she was just six years old, leaving her feeling unloved. It is her big brother Bellamy that picks her up and helps her put herself back together again. He is the first man to show her that they don't always leave and that she isn't unlovable. Octavia begins modeling in her teens and her father shows up under the guise of catching up and getting to know one another—but really all he wants is money. Luckily her stepdad Marcus is there to help her put herself back together again. He's the second man to show her that they don't always leave and that she isn't unlovable. When Octavia meets actor Lincoln she is cautious, afraid to put herself out there but he wins her over. And then they're married and starting a family. When she gives birth to their daughter she vows that she will never be like her father and it is Lincoln that shows her what it truly means to be a father. Inspired by "Piece by Piece" by Kelly Clarkson
REVENGE
CLURPHY
Expected publication date: August
Clarke and Murphy grew up together and they caused a lot of trouble together in their teens. They left Arkadia as soon as they were both eighteen and set out to make lives for themselves. They turned to robbery for an easy way to get some cash, but then a job goes wrong and Clarke gets caught and Murphy just runs. She’s spent the last six years in jail and he’s never once come to see her. Now she’s out and she wants revenge. But as soon as her eyes land on him, all those old feelings come back and she can’t decide which is stronger—her love for him or her need for revenge.
NOT EVIL, JUST HURT
LINCTAVIA
Expected publication date: August
When Octavia discovered her powers to control the weather she had been excited but a little overwhelmed. She tried to teach herself how to use them since there were no sorcerers or sorceresses in her village. Unfortunately, she’d lost control and massacred her entire village—her mother and brother included. When she was found out they tried to kill her, spewing hate and telling her that she is a monster. So she became the monster that they accused her of being. Years later when she meets a soldier named Lincoln who has been injured, something happens that she never expected—the ice around her heart begins to melt. Lincoln isn’t afraid of her and he is kind to her. She doesn’t understand it but she finds herself falling hard.
CUTS DEEP DOWN THROUGH YOUR CHEST (INTO YOUR SOUL)
BROARKE
Expected publication date: September
Bellamy and Clarke have been married for five years and they're just as happy as the date they got married. They love their jobs, their dog, their friends, their life. When Clarke's childhood friend Roan begs Clarke to be his date to his mom's wedding, she and Bellamy decide what's the harm—especially with Roan willing to foot the bill and pay her for her time. Bellamy's only condition is that he goes to. Roan agrees which should be the end of it—until the couple realizes that they're falling for Roan.
CITY OF CLOUDS
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: September
Clarke found the staircase in the middle of the woods—a place she’s been a million times before and it had never been there. Something was drawing her to them and as she climbed and climbed, clouds began to appear around her. When she pushes through the door she finds herself in a whole new world. Bellamy welcomes her to the City of Clouds and explains that the only way she could have found her way there is if she was looking for an escape. Clarke doesn’t want to admit it but she was looking for an escape from the pressures of her life—her mother’s expectations and pressure to marry Finn. It was all just too much. The City of Clouds is beautiful and she’s never known a place like it. And she’s never known a man like Bellamy before. And now she’s not sure that she ever wants to go home.
HOT & COLD
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: September
Clarke, the Winter Queen, has only ever known cold and logic. Bellamy, the Summer King, has only ever known warmth and emotions. When their two realms suddenly start bleeding into one another they have to figure out how to stop it. If they happen to fall for one another in the process, who can blame them? Can he teach her how to feel? Can she teach him how to use his head and his heart?
THE CRUEL PRINCESS
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: September
Bellamy Blake was seven years old when his mother was murdered and he and his sister were stolen away to live in the treacherous High Court of Faerie. Ten years later, and Bellamy desires nothing more than to belong there but many of the fey despise humans. Especially Princess Clarke, the youngest and wickedest daughter of the High Queen. To win a place at the Court, Bellamy must defy her and face the consequences. Consequences deep down he's not ready to face—like falling in love with Clarke even though he can't stand the mere sight of her. A Cruel Prince AU
FORBIDDEN
MURVEN
Expected publication date: October
The sorceress of Arkadia, Raven, has only one job—to keep Prince Murphy alive until his coronation. There have been multiple attempts against his life and it has been decided that she is best equipped to protect him. She takes him far from the palace so that she can protect him. What she wasn’t expecting was to fall into bed and then in love with him.
BORN WITH TRAGEDY IN HER BLOOD
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: October
Clarke is the beloved queen of Arkadia and when Azgeda declares war on Arkadia, she is right there beside her soldiers fighting. During a battle, she is wounded and she’s not sure that she will survive but a man rescues her and nurses her back to health. Bellamy tells her of the chaos that the world has become since she went missing—water turning to blood & crops dying. It seems that there is some kind of curse on the land. Clarke immediately tries to drag herself from bed but she can’t even stand. Eventually, he agrees to see her home so that she can right their lands. And if he’s a little bit in love with her, who can blame him?
SOULMATE AU
BELLARKE/MINTY/MURVEN
Expected publication date: October
A continuation of chapter 39 of "We are all caught in the in between (Of what's real and what's a dream?)"
CONTINUATION/EPILOGUE OF A WALKING DREAM OF LIFE AND LIGHT (HATH LEFT ME BROKEN-HEARTED)
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: October
A continuation/epilogue for my fic A waking dream of life and light (hath left me broken-hearted)
SUPERNOVA GIRL
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: October
Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century AU — Clarke grew up on the Ark with her parents and loves everything about her life in space. But after getting into trouble one too many times, her parents are sending her to spend some time on Earth with her Aunt Diyoza. To say Earth is a huge culture shock would be an understatement. But things begin to look up once she manages to make some friends, especially Bellamy, the cute boy who is fully fascinated by her life living among the stars. Everything is actually going great until Clarke discovers something that puts life on her beloved space station in jeopardy.
DARK MAGIC AU
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: November
Arkadia, once a prosperous land filled with magic is slowly crumbling beneath the darkness that spreads from the forest that borders their lands—the magic all but lost and forgotten. As the darkness spreads, Arkadians begin to sicken and die. Following his mother's death and his sister falling ill, Bellamy decides that he shall brave the darkness and destroy Wanheda. Wanheda, the Commander of Death, used to have another name—Princess Clarke of Arkadia. In order to keep her people and her lands from being overwhelmed by evil, she took it upon herself to keep the darkness at bay. Into the forest, she went and made her home in a tower far from anyone and everyone that she has ever known. For centuries she has taken the darkness into herself to save her people and it has slowly been seeping into her soul until she has forgotten her former self. Now all she knows is the darkness. Can Bellamy save Arkadia and Clarke?
WEREWOLF AU
BELLARKE
Expected publication date: November
Clarke bought a little cabin in the woods so that she could get out of the city. She just can’t do all of the people and all of the constant going anymore. Everything is going well until she gets bit by a wolf and then on the next full moon, she turns into a wolf herself. She’s scared and confused—not to mention lost—when the black wolf finds her. She immediately knows that he’s like her—a werewolf. He helps her through the night until they fall asleep under the stars. When they wake up naked, she finds out that the black wolf is a very hot guy named Bellamy who has a proposition for her. Bellamy was born a werewolf, a gene passed down by his mom. He was raised as part of the pack and Marcus, the pack leader, was training him to take over when the time came. But then another pack came and killed most of their pack. Those that they didn’t kill they took prisoner—his sister being one of them. The only reason he’s alive is that Marcus had sent him out of state to meet with another pack. He knows that the wolf that bit Clarke is in this pack because he’d been watching her when she got bit—he just hadn’t been fast enough to stop it. Bellamy tells Clarke that he can help her get revenge on the man that turned her into a werewolf as long as she helps him get his people back. She doesn’t hesitate, her thirst for revenge and blood running too deep.
MERMAID AU
LINCTAVIA
Expected Publication Date: November
Lincoln sets sail one week following his wedding to Octavia, promising to return in six months, leaving her with nothing but a paper boat. It's been two years and everyone thinks he's dead. But then rumors reach her of a man who looks likes her dead husband, swimming in the sea—with a tail instead of legs. So she steals her brother's boat and sets off to find her husband.
UNTITLED
BELLARKE/CLEXA
Expected publication date: November
Clarke finds herself in love with two people: Bellamy and Lexa. Neither of them can stand one another and it's probably at least in part due to the fact that she refuses to choose between them. Tired of the pair's fighting she tricks them both into coming over at the same time and tells them that she will not choose. If they cannot get along then they can both leave. It's either both or neither of them. Reluctantly they get to know one another and realize that maybe the other isn't so bad.
UPCOMING OTHER
TRY AND STAY OUT OF YOUR HEAD SERIES (MURVEN HOLIDATE AU SERIES)
Holidate AU. FWB. June holiday. Expected Publication Date: 6/28/21
Holidate AU. FWB. July holiday. Expected publication date: 7/12/21
Holidate AU. FWB. August holiday. Expected publication date: 8/23/21
23 notes · View notes
gallavictorious · 3 years
Note
concerning the ask about Ian bein the eldest child - I wonder how his relationship with Micky would even play out, when he'd have less free time and maybe a more realistic (less romanticized) view on life in general? Like, do you think he would chase after him like he did in the earlier seasons? I don't know, the whole "Ian is the eldest child" is facinating to me
Oh, this is an interesting one! I think there’s two different aspects to consider here: 1, would Ian and Mickey even be interested in one another if Ian were the eldest, and 2, if so, would pursuing a relationship be feasible under these circumstances?
I'll deal with the first issue briefly, and then with the second one at some length. Lots of different parameters to take into account here... This is obviously going to be speculative as hell, and I’m teasing the whole thing out as I type, but let’s see–
As was mentioned in the discussion that promted this ask, it’s difficult to know to what degree Ian’s personality would have been different, had he been born the eldest child – and even harder to know how that would have affected his compatibility with Mickey. He’d probably still would have been tough as well as compassionate, two qualities I believe are key to him being attractive to Mickey, but I’m less certain that Ian would have found Mickey quite as charming if he was already saddled with the responsibility for five younger siblings and a drunken father… ? And maybe Mickey embodying the South Side male in ways that mirror both Terry and Frank (look at their similar choices in clothing) would have been more of a turn off for firstborn!Ian, since he’d be the one who primarily had to deal with consequences of Frank’s many failings? Ian being a bit of a chameleon himself has him being more appreciative of Mickey being so extremely unconcerned about the opinions of others, but he might have been less amused with Mickey’s crudeness if he was dealing with a lot of other shit already? Then again, maybe none of this would have mattered! Maybe Mickey’s directness might be especially refreshing if your life’s generally a huge fucking tangle and you have slippery fuckers Monica and Frank to contend with on a daily basis. And although I think that the fact that canon!Ian often feels a bit invisible and like he's living in Lip's shadow might contribute to him fighting so hard for that connection he feels with Mickey – chasing after him, as you say – it might well be that even if he'd been the eldest, he'd still be seeking that out, because so much of his life and time is dedicated to his siblings and he yearns for something that is only his, only for him.
No easy or immediate answer to this question, though I suspect most of us prefer to think that they’d have liked each other anyway. Heaven knows there are plenty of AU:s built on this assumption.
Oh, and then there’s the whole question of pheromones. Now, obviously that’s not the be-all and end-all on sexual attraction, but given how very quickly Ian and Mickey go from trying beat the creap out of each other to eagerly fucking, and how Ian is very clear about liking the way Mickey smells, I think it’s fair to say that chemical compatibility is a pretty big factor in them first getting together. (It sure as hell isn’t the only one, but still.) With that in mind, I may or may not have had my partner, who’s a clinical research biologist, look into the epigenetic properties of pheromones (i.e. to find out if how you grow up might affect your natural body musk to the point where you’d be chemically attractive to other people than you are now). It’s not entirely clear and – predictably – the research done on what part pheromones play in sexual attraction among humans has been primarily focused on attraction in heterosexual people, but it seems that conditions in the womb and external factors in childhood (as well as changes later in life, such going on the pill, being stressed or having a disease) would affect your smell. However, we can’t readily know if and to what degree just being born first and having to take on the responsibilities of being the oldest sibling would affect Ian’s musk, and if it would decrease how attractive he is to Mickey (that it would increase it seems an impossibility because these two are already so insanely, stupidly horny for one another).
Okay. Having tentatively concluded that we can’t know for sure whether or not Ian and Mickey would still be into each other had Ian been born first (and hence not been quite the same person), let’s recklessly assume that they would, and turn to far more intriguing discussion of how their relationship would actually play out.
Do we imagine that Ian is a few years older than Mickey then, the same age as Fiona would have been at the start of canon? Maybe it doesn't matter much – it's not a huge difference, but to be honest I feel a little ickey about it since Ian would be an adult and Mickey still a teenager (and not a particularly well-adjusted and healthy one at that). Hmm. Either way, I can see them getting together in much the same way, with Ian doing something nice for Mandy – intervening when she's harassed at the local store, maybe, sparking a little hero crush on her part – and that whole thing going down more or less as it does in canon. But if it does, and Mickey and his goons beats up Ian's younger brother Lip in Ian's stead, I think eldest child!Ian might be really, really pissed and out for blood? Which gives him a nice incentive to go look for Mickey, even if Kash is not part of this picture (and I think that he's probably not). So far, so good... but if Ian's this much older than Mickey – four years? – Ian will already have started to fill out, right, turning all tall and buff, and Mickey might not have such an easy time overwhelming him. Then again, that might not necessarily serve as a deterrent to Mickey at all, so the end result is probably still the same, surprise sex fuelled by adrenaline, pheromones and general compatibility.
But... then what? To be honest, I think it'd be very difficult to make it work under these circumstances. If Ian is older than Mickey, Mickey might well have a much harder time feeling safe with him, just because he might feel like he doesn't have the upper hand in the relationship – and in the beginning I think it was VERY important for Mickey to feel like he had control and was calling the shots on when and how they met up. Four or five years is not a big difference at all later in life, but if you're 16 and your lover is 21 (or thereabouts, I'm still not super clear on the timeline, but ballpark) and they're also used to running an entire household and therefore accustomed to being in charge... I don't see this working for Mickey, not enough so that he dares let his guard down to the point required for their relationship to develop.
As for Ian, I think he'd have far less patience with Mickey's standoffishness and unwillingness to committ or even admit that they have anything beyond sex. Ian wouldn't have the time or energy or disposition to deal with that, not on top of everything else, and furthermore, it seems like it'd be very hard to keep his clandestine meeetings with Mickey secret when he's the lynchpin of the family, always taking calls and dealing with sudden emergencies. To make it properly work with Fiona, JimmySteve has to more or less move in more or less immediately and adjust his life to fit with her chaos; it'd arguably be the same for Ian, yeah? Don't really see the still very much closeted (and terrified) Mickey actually doing that – moving in, helping out with the kids and what-not. (One could also hope that Ian realizes that pursuing a relationship with a still underage Mickey would be inappropriate and calls it off for those reasons.)
So, realistically, if there's an age difference and they meet at the same time as they do in canon, I think there might be a few hook-ups, but it would fall apart rather soon, in spite of their very strong attraction. But! Maybe in a few years, when Mickey's older and the age difference less meaningful, and Mickey's had the chance to become a little more accepting of himself and his orientation, and Ian's siblings are just a little bit older so that Ian can take some more time for himself... maybe then they could run into each other again and that old spark roar back into life and they take it from there? It'd still be an uphill struggle, of course, but they've dealt with those before and always – eventually – come out on top. The whole Svetlana thing never happened, Mickey is fully on his way to coming into his own at the king of the South Side, Ian is trying to figure out who he is outside of the Big Brother, maybe Mickey is out, maybe he's not, maybe Terry is gone, maybe he's not... If one is so inclined, I think there's some fun to be had with this idea. I am, however, more partial to another:
Say that Ian's still born when he was born, so still a couple of years (according to the forms they fill out when applying for a marriage license) younger than Mickey. Maybe then, even in spite of his added burdens and responsibilities, he'd still be naive and soft enough to have a bit more patience for bad boy Mickey? It'd be before Monica ran out on them, so maybe there are still times (few and far between) when Ian doesn't have to take full responsibility for his siblings; times when he can pursue what he wants instead. And Mickey would feel more in control and safer dealing with babyface!Ian, so maybe he'd dare a bit more?
Maybe he starts hanging out at the Gallagher house after that first fuck, for a chance to be near Ian. The rest of the siblings would be young enough that he feels confident (although perhaps mistakenly) that they'll not pick up on what's going on, so as long as Frank and Monica are out (or out of it), Mickey's happy to come around. Hang out, fuck whenever they can, maybe even help out a tiny little bit when Ian makes him, and in spite of his best efforts and intentions he gets more and more pulled into Ian's life. This, I think, could potentially work, although I expect the same sort of up and downs as we get in canon. Mickey probaby won't get shot by Kash (because I think eldest child!Ian would be a little less susceptible to his ”charms”), but Frank could still – very easily – walk in on them. It would get overwhelming at times and Mickey would push Ian away and flee; Ian would get impatient with Mickey's insistence on distance and NO EMOTIONS ONLY SEX (more so than he is in canon, I think) and tell him to shape up or fuck off. It'd be volatile for sure, but in the end I think they'd always return to each other, adapt and try a little bit harder to make it work. Pull's just to strong, you know? Maybe it'd even happen faster than in canon, if Mickey isn't sent to juvie that first time, and if they have more opportunities to spend time together doing stuff other than fucking (ie just hanging out at the Gallagher house under the pretext that Mickey's just a friend, which Mickey would allow, thinking the younger siblings clueless). Really wouldn't mind reading this fic, you know, though I'd mourn Ian's relationship with Lip in this alternative reality. (Like, there’s SO MUCH potential! Maybe Mickey lures Frank and Monica away on a drug weekend just so he can stay at the house with Ian, even if it does mean having the help out with the little ones! I can see angry teenage Mickey being made to help Debbie with her math homework! Feed baby Liam! Supposed to stop tiny Carl from doing horrible stuff but ending up helping him instead! Ian is not amused! I want it!)
So, uh. That's my speculative take on this, for now. Very open to being swayed by other people's opinions, though, so I'd love to hear them, or whatever additional thoughs you might have.
Thank you so much for the ask: I had a lot of fun thinking about this, and hope that you found somet sort of satisfaction in my long-winded ramblings. <3 Also, I'm sorry it took so long to get back to you! As I've noted before, I'm unreliable (and sometimes busy).
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ichor-and-symbiosis · 4 years
Note
So would the Shig meister ever feel bad for accidentally standing up his crush?
yes yes and yes
_______________________________________________________________________
Rarely did you ever have the chance to enjoy relative normalcy with Tomura. Rarer still was when he made the effort to invite you anywhere at all, much less to your favorite cafe on White Day. You were shocked senseless when he brought it up. The fact that he would fight through his misanthropic tendencies to take you out to a public place meant more to you than he could possibly understand.
If Tomura wanted to put in the effort, then so would you. He would undoubtedly tease you for bothering to wear a nice outfit and putting on makeup, but you were determined to have the last laugh when he got to see the lingerie you were hiding underneath. It would be a lovely day, and you were incredibly excited.
You had waited for a few minutes outside of the cafe, none the wiser for what was to come. He must be a bit busy. Maybe Kurogiri is holding him up. You could wait. Maybe you should go inside and grab a table while you wait.
This naive line of thought continued for twenty minutes. You had texted and called to no avail, and your immediate reaction was one of anxiety. Tomura never mentioned an impromptu meeting with the League. A hasty text to Toga put your mind at ease — we don’t have any missions today, silly! hey, how’s your date? — and now …
Now you were pissed.
You really sat by yourself for half an hour like a naive idiot, tolerating sympathetic looks from the waiter and ignoring all of the couples surrounding you. You really sat there and thought you could pretend your life wasn’t insane and that you weren’t dating an emotionally stunted man. Too good to be true.
And this had to happen on White Day, no less. Not that you ever really gave much thought into commercial holidays, but it was simply the principle of the thing. Tomura wan’t just late or offering half-assed excuses. He never even showed up or bothered to call you.
Well. You were never one to pass up an opportunity for self-care. So what if Tomura ghosted you? Nothing would stop you from ordering an obscene amount of pastries and bringing them back home. You sat your ass down on the couch, fancy clothing and all, and proceeded to binge your favorite movies with the bag of dessert by your side. Sure, you might have spent the first hour crying your eyes out and feeling sorry for yourself, but once numb indifference set in, you finally got comfortable.
You were going to enjoy your evening eating good food and feeling sexy without your boyfriend. Maybe the real boyfriend was the hand you used along the way.
Halfway into a tragically bad zombie movie, Tomura finally graced you with his presence. With flowers, scratching at his neck as he stepped through the portal and staunchly avoided eye contact. The small bouquet of roses was clutched in a death grip, as though he could not figure out if he wanted to immediately disintegrate the flowers from the sheer embarrassment of holding them at all, or if he should bear the brunt of your glare and offer them to you with as much grace as possible.
The silence between you hung in the air, thick and heavy and only slightly funny from the intermittent zombie screeches that emanated from your television. Tomura still refused to look at you, standing awkwardly as he stared at the floor. You sighed and muted the movie.
“I’m going to hazard a guess and assume that Kurogiri thought of the flowers.” Better to break the ice with him. You may be upset, but you were more interested in an explanation. And when Tomura felt like he was cornered, he lashed out. Neither of you needed that right now.
Tomura grimaced and inspected the bouquet with distaste. “He said I needed to show some effort.” He mumbled the next admission. “After my fuck-up.”
“What effort? You went to a flower shop?” He threw you a rueful glare. “Right. The only effort I’m seeing here is the fact that you bothered to shower before coming here.”
“ … but you like when I’m clean.”
You closed your eyes for a moment. This man better not have any intentions of getting near you tonight. “Put the flowers down,” you said exasperatingly, waving a hand towards the coffee table in front of you.
Tomura dropped the bouquet with disinterest. Something about that movement, that zero effort to go out of his way to even find a vase instead of taking the easy way out, reignited your ire all over again. You threw all of your anger into your stare as you examined the bouquet, hoping those stupidly luscious roses would wilt from the weight of your annoyance.
The bag of sweets had dethroned Tomura from his usual spot beside you. It innocently took up his favorite place, and even though he intentionally eyed the space, you folded your arms and refused to move the bag. Your other side was occupied by a mountain of pillows. Let the fool stand.
“Where were you?” you asked, letting him hear the tiredness in your voice. “Toga said there weren’t any missions or meetings today.”
He did not answer. You waited patiently for a response, feeling a twinge of satisfaction as his bangs fell over his face and obstructed his guilty expression. “I got caught up,” he finally replied, raspy and quiet.
“Caught up with what?”
Another period of silence. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned away. “Gaming. Lost track of time.”
Wow. That should not have hurt as much as it did. You knew this was a way for him to forget about reality, to let loose and pretend like everyone in the world was an NPC but him. His tendency to slip away from you was painful. You wanted him to think about you, at least.
“You stood me up to play video games” Tomura opened his mouth. “I dare you to say it’s not a big deal. See how that goes for you.” He shut his mouth. “Thanks for being honest with me, I guess.”
Tomura hovered nearby, unsure of what to do with himself or what to say. You did not want to make it easy for him, and he could feel it. Tension was beginning to build up within him as he scratched at his neck. You stared at the television, letting the muted screen recapture your attention.
“You can leave,” you said, unwilling to look at him.
From your periphery, you could see Tomura flinch imperceptibly. “Don’t be like that, we can still go somewhere.”
“I’d rather not.”
”Why?” he growled, an edge of hysteria coloring his voice. “Why are you being so difficult?”
The words left you before you could stop yourself. “Because I’m really upset, and I don’t want to be around you right now.”
Tomura stilled, hands hovering near his neck. You didn’t need to look at him to know his eyes were wide and panicked. He stepped forward, paused, and clenched his hands into fists, breathing deeply in a bid to tame himself.
A part of you felt guilty for being so harsh. But you said what you said, and it was too late to take it back. Not that you wanted to, anyway. As much as you missed him, you really did feel prickly and unwilling to be near him.
You expected Tomura to call Kurogiri right in front of you and demand to be whisked away. You expected him to throw a tantrum, angrily yelling at you for being cold and cruel.
You did not expect him to march over to you, toss the bag of pastries to the floor, and plop down so close to you that he was practically pressed up to your side as he rested his head on your shoulder. "Tomura — “
“I’m not going anywhere,” he stubbornly said, linking his arm with yours for emphasis.
Bitter words died down before you could voice them. This was all you wanted, to have Tomura spend time with you. You just felt tired at this point. Tired and miffed and in desperate need of feeling wanted.
Neither of you spoke for a while. The television blared on, offering a comfortable buffer between you. Tomura gradually melted into you, until you had no choice but to loosen up your tense posture to support his weight. Every fiber of your being wanted to move away to get a pastry, but even the slightest attempt to shift out of his grasp was met with firm resistance.
He was pouting. You could see the frown lines etched into his face from your vantage point. Several times he would try to shift in such a way that signaled his desire for your attention. He even somehow managed to wrap his arms around your waist and nuzzled his face along your collarbone, hoping for your loving caresses.
“Sorry,” he quietly murmured. And against your better judgement, you felt the last remnants of your anger dissipate. You lightly stroked his hair in answer, enjoying the familiar lavender smell. He had used your shampoo.
Tomura angled his head down just enough to make it obvious that he was staring at your cleavage. You were too amused to stop him from hooking a finger into the collar and pulling it away to give himself a better view. He hummed thoughtfully. “Don’t think I’ve seen this before. Since when do you wear lace?”
“Since I decided I wanted to surprise you after our date.”
He kissed your clavicle in apology, warm lips lingering on your skin as he trailed along your neck and whispered in your ear, “You look really nice.”
A blush colored your cheeks. “I tried.”
Tomura snorted and rested his forehead against your temple. “You could wear a trash bag and I’d still want you.” He ran a hand along your outer thigh, blindly searching for a way to get under your clothing. “The evening doesn’t have to be a total bust, you know. Why don’t you show me your little surprise.”
“Hell no. You’ve got a long way to go before earning that right.”
He sighed, dousing your face with surprisingly odorless breath. “But I showered,” he whined.
“Yup. And your reward is a heartfelt thank you from my nostrils.” You wriggled in his grasp, and before he panicked over the loss of physical contact, you draped your legs across his lap as you made yourself comfortable against the cushions. “Fetch me a pastry, asshole.”
Of course he would be too captivated by the opportunity to stroke your legs to care about your insult. You expected him to ignore you entirely, but much to your surprise, Tomura quickly leaned over to rummage through the bag and plucked out a donut. Your mouth watered in anticipation. He held it between thumb and forefinger as he examined it, then looked at you from the corner of his eyes. “Come here for a sec.”
You sat up out of sheer curiosity. Tomura eyed you for a moment, his expression somehow apologetic and determined all at once. With the donut angled away, he leaned in and kissed you.
It was the tamest kiss you had ever experienced. Just a soft, prolonged brush of his lips against yours, lingering in between interspersed pecks before you finally melted into the kiss. Distantly, you registered his unoccupied hand squeezing your knee. Who knew Tomura could exhibit self-restraint?
You pulled away from each other after one last chaste kiss. His cheeks were tinted red, and you mindlessly reached up to caress the side of his face. Your heart stammered as he leaned into your touch, looking at you with unfiltered longing.
“I’d like my donut now,” you cheekily said.
Tomura narrowed his eyes, brought the pastry between you, and hastily took a giant bite right in front of you.
You proceeded to wrestle him and smother him in pillows for committing what was arguably the worst transgression of the entire day.
And movie night promptly devolved into Tomura figuring out the best way to convince you to show him your surprise.
It took him all but a second to admire the expensive lingerie before he disintegrated everything to dust, and it took him the rest of the week to make it up to you. You were getting that damn date no matter what. And you were going to keep him away from his computer for as long as your body could handle his undivided attention.
And most importantly, you were owed a whole donut.
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m-oana-archive · 4 years
Text
A Love Too Heavy (For Just One To Hold)  pt. 1
Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader x Remus Lupin
Words: 2,461 
Summary: After pining after Y/N for years, Sirius finally gets the girl: the happy ending the story is supposed to end with.  The only problem is the fact Sirius' feelings for Remus still haven't seemed to go away.  But he isn't the only one starting to question their ability to love two people at the same time.
requested by @shinysilverunicorn-blog​  | read on AO3 | Masterlist 
Sirius’ POV 
Spring was full and bright all around Hogwarts. The chirp of birds rhythmically punctuated the soft breezes that tossed up ponytails and rustled seeds off of daffodils. While most of the students in the courtyard were staring at all of these beauties of early April, Sirius was busy studying the light breathing of his girlfriend’s breathing while she slept, head resting on his leg.
Y/N was undeniably beautiful, even without the fascinating contrast of light and shadow passing over her face from the evermoving clouds in the sky. Sirius noticed it the first moment he saw her. Despite the crowd of students at the Sorting Ceremony and the grandeur of the Great Hall, the thing Sirius couldn’t keep his eyes off of was a girl who was sorted into Slytherin. It was enough to make him upset to have been sorted into Gryffindor; luckily, his new friends were rewarded enough for being covered in gold and red.
Hogwarts was just large enough that Sirius’ path never truly crossed with Y/N’s during first year, but just small enough that he’d see her across courtyards or libraries: a rude reawakening of his crush. He pushed it off, learning about his roommates instead; Peter had never been out of the country, Remus had a big appetite for chocolate, James really did need his glasses, Remus always put his right shoe on before his left, Peter talked in his sleep and James tossed and turned in his, Remus had read every book known to man, James loved puns, Remus liked sly remarks (and was good at making them), Peter preferred biking places, and Remus drank most everything out of his assortment of mugs.
It wasn’t until second year that Remus had class with Y/N: herbology. Never did he think he’d enjoy plants so much, but he entered the greenhouse skipping. While he was slow to break the house pride divide, when it was first demanded that the students find partners from another house “to learn how to cooperate with people that have different strengths,” Sirius was quick to find an open spot by Y/N’s side.
“Finally,” she said. “I’ve caught you staring at me before. I’ve been wondering if I resemble some second cousin of yours that got kicked out of the family for something.”
“No. You’re far too pretty to be mistaken for poor old Wilbur.”
She brushed off the compliment: “That sounds like a pig’s name.” But she was blushing.
“Why do you think he got kicked out? He was a pig!”
The grin that formed during the exchange lasted for the rest of the day.
“Mate, you better be careful,” James warned at dinner, the chicken dangling out of his mouth wildly contradicting his tone. “You don’t want to seem too eager.”
Sirius’ eyes darted from Y/N to James. “Me? Too eager? What, have I turned into a mirror?”
Peter sniggered; Remus shot a secret smile Sirius’ way, the one that meant good job, you amused me. “What’s that supposed to mean,” James whined.
“Have you seen yourself around you-know-who?”
“I thought we agreed to call her she-who-must-not-be-named. It’s much more mysterious.”
“We could call her by her name if you had the guts to go after her,” Remus added nonchalantly. Sirius looked at him to give him the same smile of appreciation Sirius had gotten but moments earlier.
“It’s my safety feature,” James said. “If I had balls, I’d be irresistible.”
Peter almost choked on his potatoes. Which were mashed.
“Well I do have balls,” Sirius argued. “So I am irresistible.”
And irresistible he was. Sirius wasn’t sure what exactly it was: the “don’t give two fucks” demeanor, the fact he was an extremely amateur electric guitarist, his perpetually unlaced combat boots, or the fact he had a naturally flirtatious personality (he even flirted with James and Peter for fun), but people batted eyelashes and bit lips and blushed up their necks. By year four, Sirius realized he could almost get anything by calling someone “love” or “darling” in the right way. Essays were written and proofread, reading was skimmed then recapped, Butterbeer was sent to tables free of charge. By year five, Sirius found that some first-years were betting on which of them could get Sirius to ask them out. By year six, it seemed as though Sirius had all of Hogwarts under his finger.
Except, of course, Y/N. When Sirius would widen his eyes and part his lips in pleading, Y/N would just shove the parchment, quills, and ink back into his lap.
“I have my own work to do, Sirius,” Y/N scolded, burying her head back into her textbook. “If you do it with me, like Rem, I’ll help and discuss. But I’m not going to risk my grade for you.”
Sirius grinned, hiding the fact his stomach turned at Remus’ name. At Remus’ lack of acknowledgment of the compliment; he was sitting next to Y/N, also engrossed in reading, not nearly happy enough to be wanted by someone as amazing as her. He had to clear his throat to ask, “Am I really not worth the risk?”
Without taking a beat to pause, she responded, “Not really, considering I already have all of your attention, anyways.” Remus looked up at that comment, staring at Sirius with a smirk. Sirius gave him an obviously fake smile, teeth gritted and eyes dark, which automatically disintegrated when Remus threw a spare quill at him.
Sirius’ frustration wasn’t momentary; Y/N’s words were like a spell stuck in his head, floating around, never settling. It was true: although she was a constant presence in his daily life, Y/N quipped and quarreled with him like she was James or Peter. Was it because he would give her more of his hours than a day could provide? Because he’d so obviously drop anything to help her without any explanation needed? Because, even after so many years and so many beautiful people with lovely souls and smiles, Sirius would still choose her, each and every time?
Was his ardent desire the one thing pushing her away?
Sleep was futile after that comment, leaving Sirius tossing around his bed like a hurricane. His mattress creaked below him with every overexaggerated movement. After about half an hour of this, a shadow formed above his tired—but sleepless—eyes. Sirius opened them to Remus standing there, coat on over his pyjamas.
“Sneak out with me?” he grinned.
“But of course.”
They took the invisibility cloak and went to Black Lake, their usual spot. The cold air helped numb Sirius’ aching tiredness, beginning to match his energy level with his inability to sleep. Even when he sat down on dewy grass next to Remus, he felt endlessly more awake.
“You kept moving in your bed,” Remus said, looking straight out towards the lake. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Yes, Sirius’ insides gasped. Yes, because you’re a good listener and my best friend.
Outwardly, Sirius matched Remus’ indifference. “You don’t want to know.”
Remus looked at him. But it felt more like through him, through his flesh and bones, to the heart pumping and beating and quaking. “What do you know about what I want?”
Remus’ eyes looked like the lake they were sitting in front of: deep, beautiful, dancing with the glittery reflection of starlight. Suddenly, Sirius was aware of how close they were sitting to one another. Suddenly, his heart wasn’t only beating and pumping and quaking, but skipping beats.
Because, if Sirius was being honest with himself, there wasn’t always only one person. Of course, Y/N caught his eye first, but seeing her was a rare phenomenon at first, only becoming a constant enough to be a reason for Sirius to wake up everyday during third year. But since the beginning there was Remus Lupin. Remus, who had a big appetite for chocolate, always put his right shoe on before his left, had read every book known to man, liked sly remarks and was good at making them, and drank most everything out of his assortment of mugs. Remus, who had a talent for making him feel happy, be it through a crude joke or a secret smile or a quill to the head.
Remus, who he had been this close to kissing before. At some party in fourth year, when everyone was too young to have alcohol but still acted drunk, and people were playing spin the bottle. On his turn, he spun, and the neck of the bottle missed Remus by something Sirius had naively labeled “luck.”
“It’s a pity,” Remus teased. “I’d be a good snog, you know.”
Now, almost three years later, Sirius was finally ready to believe him.
But, in fear of wanting too much, too many, two, Sirius turned away. “I know what I want,” he lied, stupidly, desperately, painfully.
Not wanting to have ruined his friendship for nothing, the next day, he found Y/N and asked her to Hogsmeade that weekend.
“With James and Peter and Rem—”
“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “Just the two of us.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, I don’t know what you think about how I’ve treated you for the past few years, but God, Y/N, I just… I’ve liked you so much since the moment we met. And I just didn’t know how to act around you except being my normal arsehole self—which is no excuse to have been an arse, I know— but you just always… you’ve never let me catch up to how I feel about you.”
Y/N was laughing. Was this just some sick joke to her? Sirius went to open his mouth again, but before he could, she was saying, “I guess that’s better than hiding it in a diary and pretending it's not real.”
Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You can’t… do you really feel the same?”
“Sirius, you are a massive—” Y/N said, while taking his hand in hers, “—absolute, oblivious, fool. Why would anyone hang out with you willingly if they weren’t totally weak for you?”
Sirius laughed. Part of it was joy that he got to squeeze Y/N’s hand in his, feel it, hold it, support it. But part of it was false; for, that statement could apply to Y/N as much as it could apply to Remus.
Now, a few months later, Sirius and Y/N had had their first date, first kiss, first night together, full of writhing and gasping and “I love you’s” mouthed directly onto skin. Every time he looked at her, he still saw her as the breathtaking girl across the dining hall at the Sorting Ceremony, as tough his eyes were time capsules incapable of encapsulating the beauty of what they held. Maybe he kept her at a distance subconsciously. Maybe it was because he knew he wasn’t ready for the kind of relationship he wanted to have with her. Or maybe, he knew having her love would feel too real to fathom, too large to hold, and he couldn’t manage to make himself do it until there were no other options than to get past the fear and learn to carry the love he used to secrete.
Even while looking at her now, he was in awe.
Even while looking at her now, he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had kissed Remus the night before.
Perhaps things would be less tense now; the dorm room would be wordless if it weren’t for James’ nonsensical but necessary blabber and Peter’s desire to talk whenever an awkward silence broke. Perhaps it would be as loud as it used to be (if not louder, for obvious reasons) if Sirius hadn’t so obviously turned himself away from something he wasn’t against as much as afraid of. Perhaps, more than the kiss itself, Sirius now longed for a bit of normalcy, wishing he could have both the girl of his dreams and his best friend. Be it in the same way, in different ways…
Sirius was so deep in thought he didn’t realize he was staring across the courtyard with narrowed eyes and that Y/N had wordlessly awoken from her slumber. Both of these realizations happened at once, when Sirius felt a touch to the bridge of his nose that didn’t come from his own fingers.
He looked down to a Y/N happy enough to be faking a pout. “What’s that for?” she asked, referencing the furrow between his brow she had helped calm.
Sirius sighed. His hand rose to lift Y/N’s finger off of his face, directing it to slip into the crooks between his fingers instead. Despite the apparent intimacy of the gesture, Sirius was removed; if he felt more comfortable, his eyes would meet Y/N’s, which they couldn’t do. “I just feel… I don’t know why, Y/N, but I really think, for some reason, Moony’s angry with me.”
“Oh.” Now the frown was real. “Do you really not know why, or is this one of those ‘I don’t want to admit I did something wrong’ moments?”
“Come again?”
Y/N sat up, making it more difficult to avoid her eyes. “I just feel like you both know one another awfully well for you to not know how you could make the other mad.”
“I guess,” Sirius blew out a breath, “We, um, argued… and both took it more seriously than we needed to. Now neither of us will crack first.” It wasn’t far from the truth: both of them had taken that moment with immense weight in the way it shifted the dynamic of their relationship, and now, neither of them wanted to bring it up to the other.
“You’re both mature enough to have that conversation,” Y/N complimented.
“Yeah. I just think he’s not done cooling down from it. I don’t want to push him again too soon.” Again, not far from the truth. But it was still a lie. A second lie, which worried Sirius in the ease of its formulation and distribution.
“Well, I’m headed to study with him now. So if you want, I can ask some not-very-sly-because-they’re-far-too-pointed questions.”
Sirius finally met Y/N’s eyes; now, it was she who was wearing a tense brow. Sirius echoed her previous movement to relax the spot before kissing it. “Would you do that for me?”
“But of course,” Y/N smiled, standing up. She collected a few things from the ground: her cardigan, her bookbag, a dandelion. She held it up to Sirius’ mouth. “Wish me luck?”
Sirius blew and watched the seeds dance around him. But, if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t quite sure what he was wishing for.
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Pt. 2 NOW AVAILABLE! read here 
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Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @siriuslyimmoony @astertist @who-cares-unknown @neewtmas @sjriusblck @boring-viola @moonlitdiggory @gryffndor @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy @the-apple-princess @sly-vixen-up2nogood @bluemadcnna @lonelyheart-jadedsoul @starlitfawkes @swellwriting @young7711 @fandomsxo @kar-loves-you @some-blondes-unicorn @bethanystan @starlitfawkes @jamcspotters @siriusoricns  @swellwriting
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diazevan · 5 years
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 xxix. numb
Beck knew he would win. Even dead, he got the last laugh. He planned this, and Peter hadn’t seen it coming.
Peter was stupidly naive. He let himself believe that he could start leading a somewhat normal life, despite everything that he’d been through. 
New York City and the rest of the world would see the footage. They’d see Spider-Man, a hero they trusted, commence a drone attack on London. They’d witness Beck’s last moments, and believe him to be the hero. It wasn’t real, but the lie was edited seamlessly. It didn’t look fake. Seeing is believing.
Peter narrowed his eyes at the screen, as J. Jonah Jameson kept droning on about Mysterio. Peter hoped this would be his saving grace, the video was released by an untrusted source, perhaps that worked in his favour. However, the world was messed up, and people pretty much believed everything they saw and heard. Peter kept a firm hand wrapped around the lamppost that he was perched on, his knees had already turned to jelly, and he feared the fall. He unconsciously leant back into his defensive position, as his senses spiked. “But that’s not all folks…”  Jameson proclaimed, “Here’s the real blockbuster. Brace yourselves, you might wanna sit down.” Beck flashed back onto the screen, with red-rimmed eyes, and a panicked expression. Peter had to hand it to the illusion, it looked more than real, “Spider-Man’s real…” Beck flinched, looking to the side, adding to the trick that he was hiding from Spider-Man; he turned back to the camera, “Spider-Man’s real name is --” Peter’s heart dropped. This couldn’t happen. If this happened, it was over. Everyone he loved would be in danger. The footage glitched out, and he hoped that was it.  His prayers weren’t answered. Beck came back on, red-faced, with tears in his eyes, sadder than before, as if he were recovering from the betrayal of a friend, “Spider-Man’s name is Peter Parker!”
Peter’s stomach lunged, when the video cut to a picture of him. It was a recent yearbook photo of him smiling. May had a copy at home, so did Pepper. It used to be harmless, and now, it was incriminating.
Peter brought his hands to the side of his head as he exclaimed, “What the fuck?” The sound around him drowned out into a high-pitched squeal. He didn’t panic, scream, or cry. It was too much input. He was feeling so much at once, that he didn’t feel anything at all. His balance faltered, and the next thing he knew,  he toppled off the lamppost, landing with a thump on the concrete below. It should have hurt, but it didn’t; his suit reported three minor fractures in his right leg and a bruised vertebrae, but he didn’t care.  He turned to his side, coughing violently, as air forced its way back into his startled lungs.  He could hear voices, through the continuous ringing in his ears. People were screaming at him, making vile remarks. The words and statements that were said, he would never have the heart to repeat. However, he still didn’t care. “Peter!” Michelle’s panic-stricken voice woke Peter from his dissociation. She was at the epicentre of the forming mob, that meant she was in danger. That, he cared about. He sat up, shuffling away from the crowd, who were attempting to grab him. Michelle broke through, pushing people out of the way, as she chanted his name. She collapsed beside him, taking his arm, “We have to get out of here.”  Peter nodded, as he stood, she quickly secured herself around him.   “Get away from her!” Somebody screamed, dozens of people echoed the same message. Peter ignored them, he made sure Michelle was safe in his grasp and swung away. He flew over the crowd, and charged across rooftops, looking for a space to lay low, for a short while. Michelle buried her face against his shoulder and held onto him for dear life. He landed in an abandoned alleyway. Somewhere they could hide until Happy found them. He’d already sent an alert to Peter’s suit, telling him that he was on his way.   He let go of Michelle, and stumbled to a nearby wall, with an outstretched hand. He clumsily slid down and hugged his knees to his chest. Michelle knelt in front of him, “Hey.” She reached forward and pulled his mask off.  Peter stared at her, as she brushed his loose curls out of his eyes, “It’s not true.”  “Don’t be an idiot.” She nudged his cheek as she sat back, “I know it’s not.” “It looked true.” “The Daily Bugle is shit.” She was rattled by what they’d seen, angry even. Peter couldn’t explain how he felt, and he was starting to think something was wrong with him, “Everyone knows that. It’s fake news.” You’ll see, Peter. People tend to believe…And nowadays…they’ll believe anything. Peter shrugged, as he leaned his head against the wall, “That doesn’t matter.” “If anyone believes that, then they’re dumb….”  “I guess.” The pair sat in silence for a short while; Michelle kept rhythmically drumming her fingers against Peter’s leg, anxiously.  It wasn’t long until Happy’s car swung around the corner, skidding to a sudden halt. He jumped out, panic etched across his face, “Hey!” He bellowed, “Get in!” Michelle helped Peter to his feet, and the pair charged over, clambering into the back of the car.  Michelle, being the responsible person she was, buckled Peter in, and then herself, in the middle seat, so she could hold his hand. If they weren’t in a high-stress situation, she’d probably have some terrifying facts about seat-belt safety.  Happy floored it, getting back onto the main road, as fast as he could, “Are you both okay?” Peter knew Happy meant well, but that question was dumb. “Sorry. Stupid question.”  Michelle leaned forward, “Where are we going?”  “…It’s one of Tony’s old safe houses. Well, apartments. ” He blurted, “May’s already there.” Happy and Michelle kept talking among themselves but Peter drowned them out. All he could think about was the irony of the situation. Edith was an anagram. It was a playful and jokey term that Tony had found amusing, and knew he could use to ease the suffering of whoever used them. Even dead, I’m the hero. It had two meanings now. The second was never Tony’s intention. Tony was dead, and he was a hero. Always would be. Beck was dead, and to the world, he too was a hero. People would be him on the same podium as Tony, and that was truly disturbing.  Peter had cut himself off from reality and he didn’t realise until they were walking.  Michelle’s hand was pressed against his hip, as she helped guide him up the stairs of a crappy dismal apartment complex. 
Happy was a few steps ahead. They stopped outside a high-tec front door, now this was more Tony Stark. He scanned his hand, and as soon as the door clicked open, he ushered them inside.  The apartment was laid out like one of the communal lounges at the Avengers Headquarters. May leapt off the couch, tears in her eyes as she hurried over, “Peter!” She exclaimed, “Michelle.” She pulled the pair into a hug, “Thank God.” She leaned back, pressing a hand against Peter’s cheek, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” “Um-hm.” Peter pulled away from them, and fell back onto the couch, he mindlessly stared ahead. May caught Michelle’s wrist, “Thank you.” Michelle’s face fell, in confusion,  “For what?” “We saw the footage from …from Times Square….” May stuttered, “Thank you for getting him out of that.” “It’s okay.” Michelle said, “Um, what’s next? What are we gonna do?” “Pepper’s on it.” Happy answered, I’m not sure what that means exactly, but when she says she’s sorting something, she’ll sort it.”  Great, Pepper had been dragged into this. Another two people Peter loved that were now in danger, her and Morgan. Pepper had enough to worry about. She’d lost her husband, not even a year ago, and she had a daughter to look out for.  “Rhodey’s make it priority number one too.” Happy added. Peter brushed a hand over his face, emotions running high. Rhodey was Vice President, surely he had more dire situations to deal with. He was running for office in the new year, and Peter didn’t want to be the reason he lost his chance, “Why?”  Happy’s breath hitched, stumped by Peter’s question, “Huh?” Peter held out his hands, “There’s no point.”  May stepped closer, worry swimming in her eyes, “Peter?” “They know who I am.”  “We’ll deal with this, kid.” Happy said, reassuringly. It was times like this when Peter missed the pessimistic straight-forward Happy, the one who took no shit. He was overly optimistic these days, and Peter didn’t want that. He wanted the truth, and no one was giving it to him. “No, there’s no dealing with it.” Peter argued, “There’s no hiding”.  “We know, honey.” May sympathised, “Hey, Tony did–” “That was his choice.” Peter interrupted, knowing where she was going with her point. Yeah, Tony revealed his identity, but he wasn’t framed for murder on the same day, “This wasn’t mine.” Tony had also confessed to Peter once, that he regretted the choice he made, “It was a secret…for a reason. To keep…” Happy sighed, “We’ll be okay, Pete.” Peter leaned forward, throwing out his arm, “How do you know that?” “I just do.” Peter deflated, folding his arms over his chest, “Well, you’re not the first person who promised me that.. so…I can’t…” Silence fell over the room, they weren’t idiots and realised that he was referring to Tony. Happy stepped into another room when Pepper called.  Michelle kept her eyes locked onto Peter, he could tell she had a thousand things she wanted to say.  She moved her focus onto May, “Is Ned safe?”  Dread shot up Peter’s back, as he slowly became aware of how he was feeling.  “Yeah,” May nodded, “He’s with his parents.”  “Good.” Michelle buried her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone; Peter could tell it was on silent because it would have blown up with notifications, after the reveal. She scrolled through it as she paced around.  Her mouth twitched in the corner, as a knowing sad smile spread over her face. She walked over to him, “Here.” She held out her phone, wanting him to take it. “What?” She held it closer to his face, “Just look.”  “Okay.” He took it. It was on her Twitter. The trending page to be exact, every single hashtag and headline was about him. Something warm spread across his chest, when he saw what the top results were; #standwithspiderman, #fakenews, #peterparker, #spidermanisinnocent. He ignored the third one, which was #justiceformysterio because it was the only negative trend. The rest were for him. Perhaps people weren’t as terrible as he thought they could be. Beck was wrong about humanity too, it seemed together, humanity can tell truth from fiction. Michelle sat beside him, she took his hand, “I get it, loser.” She said softly, “I do…but you’re wrong. We can fix this.”  Peter nodded, as he squeezed her hand. He kept scrolling through, reading comments. Stories from those who had been saved by Spider-Man; there were multiple video clips, audio recordings and photos. They were testimonies, proof that he was innocent.  He stumbled across a bunch of Twitter threads from his classmates, some from his current year, and some of those who’d survived the blip, and were now in their twenties.  Curiosity got the best of him, and he clicked onto Flash’s profile - ironically, his @ was ‘spideyno1fan.’ There was one tweet that read ‘sPiDeR-MaN’S NaMe iS PeTeR PaRkEr’ and underneath was a picture of the infamous Spongebob meme. The next one was captioned, ‘when you knowingly teased your hero for two years’ attached was a picture of a guy putting on a clown wig.  Peter snorted a quiet laugh, he needed to text Flash when he had the chance, to make sure he wasn’t having a mental breakdown. They were on good terms recently, and he hoped this didn’t taint that. He realised it didn’t when he saw Flash’s most tweet, which was genuinely kind. He had written, ‘parker is a dumbass but he’s no bad guy #standwithspiderman’ and with it, was a photo of the class on the field trip, they were laughing at a joke Peter had made, he couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but it was something to do with the crowd of pigeons surrounding them.  Peter moved on to Betty’s profile; her tweet had gained some traction, with almost 100k retweets. It was a picture of them hugging on the field trip, and the caption read, ‘Peter once waited with me, until my parents arrived to pick me up from school. It was dark, and my phone had stopped working. He wanted to make sure I was safe before he left #standwithspiderman' 
Peter’s heart fluttered, when a new notification came through. Liz tweeted, Peter’s first crush and the daughter of his first ‘bad guy.’ She survived the blip and had finished college. Now, she finally knew and understood why Peter ditched her at Homecoming. He clicked on it, afraid that she might resent him for what he did. She didn’t.  Her story was too long for Twitter, so she had typed it on the notes of her phone.  “Back in 2016, Peter Parker was my homecoming date. He is a good friend, and one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. He flaked at the dance, and I thought it was because he was nervous. Now, I know, he left to save the day. He stopped my father, Adrian Toomes, from stealing dangerous high tech weaponry. My dad hurt him, and Peter could have left him to die like other heroes might have, but he didn’t. He saved his life. If that doesn’t tell you what kind of hero Peter is, I don’t know what will.”  Peter brushed tears away with the back of his hand, as his feelings caught up with his mind. He quickly noticed that Rhodey was trending. He feared that Rhodey getting involved might taint his Presidential Campaign but he knew they’d be no stopping him. He clicked on his page, and his heart leapt into his throat when he saw what he’d posted. It was a clip, simply tagged #standwithpeterparker. It was one of their monthly training days, from before the blip; Peter would travel to the Headquarters and spend the day completing tasks set by Tony and Rhodey.
Peter clicked play, and watched, with teary-eyes.  Peter is standing in his suit, without his mask on. He is out of breath, and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, “Are you done?” He asks as he places his hands on his hips. “Incoming!” Tony warns as he tackles Peter in a hug, holding him a few inches off the ground. Rhodey, behind the camera, laughs.  “Ah, Mr. Stark!” Peter chuckles as he taps his hands against his arm. “You’ve gotta stay vigilant, kid.”  Peter rolls his eyes, “A hug is not dangerous.” “Oh, really?” Tony starts to spin him on the spot, they both giggle playfully. “Congrats, Tones!” Rhodey exclaims, “You’re a dad.” Peter noticed, through glazed eyes, that Rhodey had tagged Pepper in the tweet. Peter clicked on her profile, he didn’t expect to see anything. She hadn’t used Twitter in years, and since Tony died, she made an effort to keep a low profile for Morgan’s sake.  To his surprise, she had posted. She hadn’t captioned it or tagged it. The picture itself said a thousand words, no more were needed. It was of Peter and Tony, curled up on the couch. Peter was fast asleep, with his head rested against Tony’s chest, and his knees sprawled across his lap. Tony was twiddling his fingers around Peter’s curls, with the Spider-Man mask draped over his shoulder; Peter remembered the day, it followed one of his toughest patrols where he hadn’t been able to save the life of a young woman. Tony comforted him. He’d seen the picture before, it had been Pepper’s lock screen on her phone. After all these years, it still was. (Her background was Morgan, obviously.) Peter moved, leaning his head against Michelle’s shoulder. She tightened her grasp on his hand, “It’s gonna be alright.”  Peter’s throat cracked, but she was right. They’d find their equilibrium, no matter how crazy their new normal would have to be, “I know.” 
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deathduty · 4 years
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Moonlight Sudoku || Deirdre & Otto
By some miracle, Deirdre gets someone else to do some sudoku with her in a cemetery. Except this person is very cool. Too cool. ( @gravityfissure )
By some miracle, Deirdre found herself in a cemetery again, with sudoku, waiting for some poor man to show up and hopefully get thrashed by some spawns. Admittedly, she was curious to what kind of a man Otto was. He seemed so charming online, in that way some people could be. And either naive or reckless enough to agree to this dumb idea of hers. But unlike Alain, this man would be fun. She perked up as she heard the telltale crunch of dry dirt and leaves, snapping up from where she sat on a tombstone. She flung the light of her flashlight in the intruder’s face, grinning widely as he came into view. “You must be...Otto?” And to think, he was more handsome than she thought too. “Did you bring your sudoku?” 
Otto had parked up his bike in the parking lot just outside the graveyard. He didn’t make a habit of hanging around cemeteries if he could but sometimes his spell stores required resupplying and that meant going out to gather some goofer dust. The dead didn’t tend to mind so long as you asked permission before you took what you needed and if they did - he’d found a dusting of salt tended to silence any issues they might have. Then of course there were plenty of other dangers lurking around the graveyards, vampires for one loved to hang out here and their proclivity for counting things? This lady’s interest in the dead and sudoku had left him wondering if that’s the sort of person he’d be dealing with tonight. A natural precaution left him with a simple wooden stake, dagger, bottle of holy water concealed beneath the hang of his tailored black blazer. Present more for his own peace of mind. His steps slowed as the flashlight was swung in his face and the woman spoke. Oh, well that was interesting. “And you must be Deirdre the screamer, I should’ve realised you were Irish - snap,” he flashed a playful smile as he sauntered nearer, flourishing a little sudoku book in his hand, “right here darling… Right here.”
Deirdre clutched her chest, flinching back in surprise. “You recognized my accent?” She stood up a little straighter, beaming and proud. “So many Americans have been calling it Scottish that I lost faith.” But clearly this man knew his European accents. But when he said it like that, Deirdre the screamer---Irish---he sounded like a warden putting the pieces in place. She’d never met a charming warden before, but tonight could be a night of firsts instead of seconds. “Fates,” she breathed, watching him reveal his sudoku book with a flourish. “I love you. I think I might be falling in love with you. Did you know the last man I took out to do sudoku at a cemetery just said it was a stupid idea?” Granted, she was making claims about her sudoku cult, and trying to get twenty dollars off of him, but that was neither here nor there. She gestured to the tombstone opposite to her, wanting him to sit. “You wouldn’t happen to want to get naked now too, would you? Because I’d adore that.” Her grin was lopsided. Well, now that she liked him, she was a little sad the spawns would inevitably come out and try to make a meal out of him. Or would that be more fun? Clearly a man like him, with a brain, wouldn’t come to a cemetery unless he knew how to defend himself from the risks. Her mind wandered back to thinking he was a warden. She could only know for certain with some prodding. “Do you meet girls in cemeteries often, Otto?”
Otto winked before clarifying, “well, Americans can’t tell the difference between most things. So it’s your lucky day, A because I’m not American and B because I was born in Dublin. Plus, your name’s old Irish.” His laugh rang out with genuine amusement  as she declared her sudden infatuation. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one but darling we’re just getting started aren’t we? No need to rush,” as she gestured to the tombstone he moved over and hopped up to perch on the edge of it. “It’s certainly unique,” he admitted to her saying that someone had thought it stupid, stupidly dangerous perhaps but that was part of the thrill of life wasn’t it? “Now now,” he started with a sly smile as he flipped open the sudoku book he’d brought along “we’ve only just met, and while I do appreciate your enthusiasm, all good things come in time.” He paused, cocking his head as he took out a little pen, “after all, if just meeting me is enough to make you love me, who knows what’d happen if you saw the rest of me hm?” The question caused his eyes to flicker up and study her for a passing moment before returning to his book. “Sometimes,” a slightly evasive answer but that was part of the fun wasn’t it? “Depends what I’m getting for meeting them in graveyards.” Which wasn’t untrue, though mostly it was ingredients and hand-offs that saw him in places like this. “Do you invite strangers here a lot then?” he faked a look of sadness a hand gracefully moving to touch his heart the act and everything about his persona reading easily as casual confidence “and there was me starting to think I was special.”
Deirdre grinned. Now, she really liked Otto. “Oh, I couldn’t tell. You don’t sound…” She gestured to him, knowing he’d fill in the blanks. “I assume you must have moved to America young then...right?” It was the only reason she could think of him not having the telltale accent. Or maybe he was just one of those people that lost it over time, but he didn’t seem the sort to be so easily swayed. But oh, did she like him. So many humans could be so dull, with nothing of excitement to offer. But this one at least had charm, and enough charisma to impress her. “Why, aren’t you cheeky? I think you and me will get along perfectly fine, Otto. Especially if a little danger excites you.” And turned to her sudoku, easily working her way through the puzzle in front of her. “Oh, just a couple of times a year. I’ve been trying to start a sudoku club. But you know---” she looked up, smiling. “Some people are just so scared of cemeteries. That wouldn’t be you now, would it? Do you believe in the things that go bump in the night?” She could feel them around her, their chill shooting down her. They lingered around in the darkness, she was sure. Spawns weren’t smart, but they did always have impeccable timing. “I might just have ulterior motives for bringing you here, Otto. Something more than getting you naked.” Like getting him eaten, even thought she knew it wouldn’t happen. But maybe the spawns could take a leg or two. 
“I know and yes, I did” Otto knew well enough that he didn’t really sound like much of anything. Too young to fully adopt his home’s accent and stubborn enough to resist the American way he’d been raised that ultimately left him in a strange middle-ground of neutrality. Not to mention his grand-mother’s insistence on speaking Cantonese around the shoebox flat when she’d been alive. “You don’t get anywhere in life without a little cheek” it was a good lesson to learn early on “but if this is a usual for you we might indeed.” His pen moved across the paper, filling in boxes and noting potential answers in the margin. “If I were afraid of cemeteries I wouldn’t be sitting on a tombstone doing sudoku now would I? Plus, life and death are cyclical. They feed one another, to be afraid of death is to not appreciate the complexity of life, don’t you think?” he answered in kind, always prone to answering a question with a question. It made for a curious rally and a useful insight into someone’s mind. His pen paused mid-jot, a surreptitious glance being cast towards a few of the shadows that seemed to stir in a strangely unnatural fashion. “Oh?” he arched a brow and fixed her with a curious look though he saw another shape flit through the darkness a shudder of anticipation shot through his nerves “ahhh, so I am special. Don’t tell me, you’re going to get me naked then try and sacrifice me to some ancient unfathomable being to bring it back from whatever false reality it's been chained to? It wouldn’t be my first rodeo of that sort…”
Deirdre smirked, listening along to Otto. The sudoku in her hands was a distant thought now, mostly filled in, and completed in her mind anyway, she had far more interesting things to focus on. She tilted her head, “I’ve often said the same thing.” It was like he was reading a page out of the banshee philosophy handbook. “I agree.” But it was a strange thing for a human to say, she’d never once heard one speak that way. Something, though she didn’t know what, was special about Otto. Did he know how to impress? Did he know what she was (not that it was too difficult, Irish and sitting in a cemetery)? Beyond them, a branch snapped, some spawn’s pathetic idea of an ambush. She continued to eye him, unflinching. Was he simply probing her? Trying to set her up to say the kind of thing that would reveal her hand? Eventually, she shut her sudoku book, uncrossing her legs to cross them again on the other side. “You’re the one that agreed to meet me in a cemetery at night. In this kind of town...you had to be expecting danger.” Her grin grew wider and crooked. “And maybe I like watching humans flounder around.” And wider. “And maybe I think it’d be fun to see you squirm, Otto. But don’t worry, you’re not going to die  today. Not that it matters, right? You’re not afraid of death, are you, love?” And then the hissing of the spawns cut through the tense night air, curling around their conversation. She could feel them growing closer and closer...until they finally darted out, predictably focusing on the one with the human heart first (something about her cold skin and slow heart had her mistaken for a corpse where spawns were concerned, but even the dumbest of flesh-eating creatures would eventually realize she was a meal too). 
Part of being a spellcaster was being able to recognise and comprehend the duality of the world. Light and dark, life and death, dusk and dawn, war and peace. Two sides of the same coin that kept on spinning holding the world on its knife edge at risk of slipping at any given moment. Otto could recognise the patterns in the chaotic threads of the world and where others saw blind ruin he saw moments of possibility hidden within the chaos being put to order in that destruction. Possibility that could be wielded to his own benefit in some, and manipulated to suit a given outcome in others. Reading people, and gauging how to interact with them was another facet of his talents. Deirdre was… well, strange, and clearly had some hangup on death. So tapping into that seemed the most ideal method to try and understand her mentality. Did he think she had an ulterior motivation? Yes. Was that going to scare him off? Absolutely not. Was that reckless? Absolutely. Did he mind? Not at all. He wouldn’t be here otherwise. The snap of the branch gave direction, and while every sense in him urged him to turn and look in that direction he fought them and instead casually leaned back a fraction one hand on the cold stone behind him nearer to the holy water stored on the back of his belt. “Ah, well if it’s me squirming you’re looking for…. Well, I’m afraid I’ll disappoint.” No answer but a laugh was given, as with a surprising catlike grace of a dancer, Otto spun off the side of the tombstone rolling into a low crouch as two spawns leapt at the spot he had just been sitting swiping out with claws before crashing into one another instead. He watched the pair barrel away ass over teakettle into the nearby gravel hissing and spitting at their ‘ambush’ being foiled drawing the small dagger and unstopping the holy water with the other hand to pour it over the blade. 
The container was dropped aside and a manic glint lit in his eye, sharp and intent as he next drew out a handful of crushed slate which he dropped in a circle over the hand holding the blade. “Corio,” the incantation was spoken clearly as a haze of purplish-black energy sparked like a tesla coil, one dagger seemingly becoming three as it was launched at one of the two spawns which in their confusion tried to split out of the way uncertain might be a true blade. Their confusion hindered them long enough for the single dagger to strike home with more force than any one blade should have the power to inflict. The blade ripped skin and muscle and was there a crunch of bone or was it the sound of the gravel underfoot? Who could say, but the spawn howled in anguish as the wound engulfed in flames a moment later. The spawn recoiled, bolting straight into the other that was attempting to right itself. 
“Reditus,” a sharp hand movement followed in a jerking motion that had the blade come spinning in reverse back to his hand. There was a separate spawn to the two he was dealing with, but Otto seemed less easy prey than initially thought. Enough that it turned its attention to the other stranger in their territory clacking a row of haphazard teeth menacingly as it stalked a circle around the women’s tombstone. She would be an easier meal tonight.
Deirdre had watched several slayers do their work, but none muttered incantations—prayers, maybe but never words that sparked magic. She watched him curiously, working with a professional's grace, and a wise man's flair. Otto knew what he was doing, and he was showing off. She watched the blade fly out and come back to him, honing true as if magnetized to some invisible force within him. Could witches do that? Alchemy was Morgan's expertise, and Deirdre never bothered to inquire more from her about the other kinds. Magic never was much of a concern, but it was mesmerizing watching it played like a concerto before her. "Impressive," she whistled, uncaring of the spawn that gave up on him and now stalked towards her. "What kind of magic is that? I thought only mediums could do the whole—" She waved a hand around in the air, "Teletubbies thing." The spawn coming to her snarled, hissing, stunned to momentarily confusion with her ignoring of it. But maybe that was the mark of an easy prey? And so, pushing whatever basic instinct told it that something was wrong aside, it lunged at her. 
And with the same speed, Deirdre opened her mouth, screaming one sharp note aimed at the spawn, its effect diverting harmlessly away from Otto. The spawn stumbled back, whimpering in confusion. She shifted in her seat, yawning, watching the spawn flinch at the sight of her mouth opening again. She enjoyed that most about being a banshee, she could sit, and with no effort at all, end the lives of anyone she pleased. She could kill Otto if she wanted, even with his fancy magic. She wondered if he knew that, or if his faith in his own abilities outweighed the rumor of hers. "You know, you're wrong, Otto. You don't disappoint, even if I wanted to watch those things take an arm off." The spawn she knocked to the ground had already righted itself and settled its eyes back on her. "Tell me, do you always need to use tools to get the job done?" Her eyes flickered to his dagger. To emphasize her point, she whistled another scream at her spawn, knocking it back down as it recoiled in anguish. All she needed to do was open her mouth, did Otto's magic carry the same power? Curious to know more, she urged that he continue his show. 
Words had power if you knew how to channel them right. Otto’s words combined with the fluid gestures and sigils his fingers seemed to tut out were what gave rise to this display. Which it was in a way, each calculated movement designed to maximise the limited capacity of energy he had to expend as efficiently as possible. Years of training within a coven had honed skill but this was something else, a pulling on the very essence of reality and that which grounded things to this very existence and bending them to his will. Each target was focussed on in turn, his eyes narrowed in precise focus so that a misstep was never made because if he made a wrong movement, set his foot in just the wrong stance, these could easily backfire considering the experimental nature of it.
He heard Deirdre’s running commentary, like an entertained theatre goer enraptured by a performance but no response was given as he turned his attention to the second spawn – the first having thought better of this little confrontation and scuttling off into the dark from which it came. A trickle of sweat ran down his brow, the addictive rush of power returning once more. It felt so good. Like a high he never wanted to come down off of. But he glanced in Deirdre’s direction as the other spawn raced at her and she… screamed? He blinked, curious and intrigued yet distracted enough for the second spawn to lunge all gnashing teeth and raking claws. One catching his side as they toppled over and slammed into the side of a mausoleum, the fucker was strong and a white hot pain flared across his ribs where a stray clawing hand caught him. The weight kept him pinned as he fought against the creature, keeping it away from his throat with the flat of his dagger as he focussed another spell, letting the nick of another claw serve as the fuel to power it. Kicking out the creature was launched away as if it had somehow lost several kilos and barely weighed an ounce sending it in an arc. Otto knelt, dashing his hand through his own blood and raising it forth above his head, palm upturned in the direction of the arcing spawn before his fingers curled into a fist and with a loud cry wrenched his arm down. The spawn’s body contorted, and a sudden pulse of violet magic exploded as gravity seemed to firmly reestablish itself. The spawn’s mangled body suddenly jerked straight down, pulled by some unseen force before pummelling into the floor with an overwhelming force that snapped several bones leaving them jutting out at mangled angles thick black-red blood glistening from their broken shards.
Stumbling to his feet, he tugged out the stake from his belt kicking the mangled spawn over and jamming it into his rough approximation of where it’s heart should be. A terrible agonised scream filled the air before its form burst into flame and Otto staggered back, grabbing onto a tomb-stone for support as he caught his breath and tried to fight off the wave of dizziness that threatened to overcome him. Even then he only heard a fraction of what Deirdre (still looking impeccable as when she’d arrived) said and he snorted a laugh. “Not always,” he huffed, swiping a hand over his brow to wipe away the sweat, the foxish smile and coy glint returning even as he braced his remaining hand against his side, “but then again who doesn’t enjoy a good toy when you have one to hand?
She was an observer, first and foremost. Deirdre’s mother drilled the concept in her. She was to watch, never to intervene. But what was devout accordance to duty in practice, always morphed to strange, sadistic pleasure in watching someone else struggle and fight. She didn’t think Otto would blame her, he seemed like a performer, an actor. And the magic he did was special, and she swore she could see that he knew it too. That some part of him did enjoy this rush; his power. Who wouldn’t? Deirdre enjoyed seeing creatures fall to her screams just the same. Power itself, and the acquisition of it, was intoxicating. Otto did his work, and Deirdre watched. The spawn was crushed with invisible force and she looked on with delight---the bodies she’d seen mangled from large falls came to mind, and yet, that manner of force was seemingly summoned from Otto himself. This wasn’t alchemy or necromancy, this was hardly telekinesis. It was something better, grander, and she wanted to see more.
Otto, on the other hand, didn’t look up to the task of performing more. The rest of the spawns had scurried off, favoring self-preservation between Otto’s power and Deirdre’s screams. Yet, instead of offering her help to the man, clearly injured, she watched him. Observed him, scrutinized his breathing and posture. She was wrong to think he was a warden, but what he was...she thought she might just have more fun with. “I like knives,” she said, her face impassive, “I can scream. But I like knives. I like watching the blood spread under my strength against another’s flesh. Sometimes, I think it might be my undoing, to want to use a knife instead. That’s my toy.” But just as soon as the admittance tumbled from her, the glaze over her eyes fell, and concern pulled up her features. The woman who thought she might just find artistry in murder, the girl who looked curiously on to death and the her acts of it, was replaced with the one that knew better. She rose, moving slowly towards Otto, pulling the handkerchief she kept in her pocket out to press against his wounds. “Do you need a hospital?” She asked him, “It might please you to know you’re not dying, and won’t be any time soon, but ironically, cemeteries make a poor place to rest.” She tilted her head, “what kind of magic was that?”
The taste of power was honeysuckle sweet, pure temptation injected into his veins and left Otto riding a high that felt like it would never end. Even the sting of the gash was dulled in the heights of his power ebbing and flowing through his body a dizzying and infinite height of pleasure that couldn’t be abated. How could anyone not get lost? In being able to take and bend the very essence of something and apply a force that could crush, splinter and crack a body to something beyond all human recognition. Good thing they aren’t human, a voice reminded him. 
It was that thought that brought a sudden flash to the forefront of his mind, and his graceful moves staggered as the mental image of a mangled body rag-dolling to the floor flashed through his mind's eye. Eyes pleading for mercy that wasn’t given. A life taken a mistake, but blood on his hands. The memory was enough to startle Otto’s concentration enough that he felt a sudden twist of sickness in his stomach. He stumbled, hands going to press flat to the mausoleum as he bent over screwing his eyes up as he fought off the urge to empty the contents of his stomach right there. He sucked in short sharp pants, in and out, in and out spitting out a globule of saliva into the grass as he set himself to rights the latent tingling at the tips of his fingers urging him to just do one more. One more spell wouldn’t hurt.
He had to clench his fists against the urge. And where some might ask for help, Otto didn’t, used to being alone on jobs that he had to sort his own shit out or risk facing the consequences of being caught. He could feel the wintery coolness of an observational gaze but he pushed it out of his mind. “Nothing wrong with liking knives,” he mustered a grin brandishing one of his golden gilt daggers “no kink shaming here,” Otto joked. He might look a little peaky and rough around the edges, but hell if he’d let an opportunity to quip pass him by. “You’re fae, no one else speaks quite so poetically yet succinctly about death,” more a statement of fact than a question “vampires get all flowery and morbid about it.” He grimaced at the pressure but he couldn’t help the pained chuckle “I’d rather avoid hospital. Don’t fancy explaining a spawn scrap to the attending.” Not dying. Well that was good news at least. “Really?” there was a mild touch of wryness to the question but slowly they walked away from their perch back in the direction of the entrance. “A highly experimental type,” he answered after a moment seeing no harm in sharing considering she had as well and the new bike. 
Deirdre smiled, watching Otto. He didn’t look well, but as a credit to him, he didn’t act like it. She flashed the inside of her jacket, revealing the knives that lined it, in a muted attempt at knife-based solidarity. He wasn’t going to die, she knew that, but that didn’t mean he was well. Or that he wouldn’t, if she just left him here. Strange as it was to be worried about him now, when she brought him here in the first place, Deirdre was not without some compassion. “Did you just figure that out now?” She cocked her head to the side, “if the Irish accent and the love of cemeteries didn’t give it away before. And you’re a witch.” Maybe she should take more people out for sudoku in cemeteries, it clearly revealed a lot. “I’m known for many things, Otto, but my medical care isn’t one,” she withdrew her hand. “No hospital then, but you have to go somewhere. Where can I take you? That is--because you don’t seem like you’re in any state to drive a bike.” She followed him out of the graveyard, gesturing to her car, the immaculate Aston Martin parked poorly off to the side. “And maybe you can tell me if that experimental magic is of your creation, or something ancient. It’s remarkable and…” she trailed off. She didn’t know Otto well enough to make any strong claims, but she was starting to get a sense of him. “...dangerous,” she continued. What were his limits? And would it matter at all if she knew? Would she have to worry about which side of his friendliness she fell on? “....exactly who are you again?” She whispered, her breath a wisp in the cool night. She opened her car door for him, pausing as she realized he might not come along with her. Otto was, above all, a mystery. And Deirdre knew better than to force the unraveling of his game. “What will it be, Otto?”
Growing up in the kind of environment Otto had there wasn’t any time for letting yourself act anything other than good. Even with the rolling of his stomach he knew better than to do anything other than pull his shit together and carry on. “I had a suspicion, but…” he waved his hand vaguely to the carnage around them his grin a tad slanted in its amusement “all that kinda confirmed it.” Still, Otto snorted strangely amused by the notion of Deirdre being a doctor “yeah, your bedside- no, you’re graveside manner could use some work.”
There was a natural distrust of hospitals in him, or perhaps it was the fear of documentation. “Home’ll do…” he answered after a moment’s thought. Home would do just fine. The trickle of blood was slow, but the gash was relatively superficial. Nothing he couldn’t stitch up at home if needs be. “Mm… I hate the thought of leaving it here.” But what else could he do? Glancing between the bike and the Aston Martin he weighed up his options. “A nice little mystery for you to perplex yourself with if you care to try,” he answered, cryptic as anything before ultimately he relented “fine. But only because it means I get to ride in your fancy car.” 
He climbed into said fancy car, wincing a little at the gash in his side that twinged with the movement but as he reclined the seat a little it made it a tad more bearable. His eyes closed taking just a moment of respite inside his own mind as he heard the soft click of the driver’s door closing and shift Deirdre getting in the car and he answered her earlier question. “As for the magic I uh… can’t rightly say I know. Mostly my own creation but I know my ancestors may have tried to figure it out without much success...” Not like there was anyone left to ask. Still, he laughed quietly, shifting once more to try and ease the new batch of discomfort and not bothering with his belt.
A suspicion. Deirdre tilted her head. Some part of her teaching to be more cautious filtered through her head. Her eyes glossed over Otto, she didn’t trust him not to go off and spill her secrets; she didn’t trust anyone. It was arrogance that kept her flippant, her species being a secret she could see little reason to keep better. Who could hurt her? Not some warden, and not Otto with his experimental magic. “Where to?” She asked quietly. 
The night scene streaked past them as she drove, following Otto’s directions. For his sake, she tried to avoid the bumps in the road and any sharp turns. He hid his pain well, he hid himself well, but come reactions could not be stopped. Otto, for as much as he was a mystery, was only human. “You’re enterprising, I’ll give you that.” How dangerous was it exactly to devise your own magic? How much trouble would Otto find himself in? And, when it came down to it, would Deirdre be watching? “I wonder how long you’re last, Otto. I wonder how long you’ll think you’ll last.” She glanced over at him, bleeding against her plush leather seats.
“The docks will do,” Otto answered simply, it wasn’t too far of a walk from there and the air would do him good after tonight. Plus he’d have to go back and get his bike tomorrow but it was the least of his concerns right now. His head rested back as the lights of the town streaked past the windows and Otto observed them quietly until Deirdre spoke again and his mirthful expression returned, “would it be cliché of me to say I’m only human?” Otto was keenly aware of his mortal coil, the environments he’d lived in hardly let you forget it. “That’s a good question, I guess we’ll have to see.” Eventually the car pulled up and Otto leaned forwards catching the handle but pausing before he pulled it and got out, “well Deirdre m’darlin, tonight was a thrill. We should do it again sometime but maybe next time we can have some booze? Stop by my place when you have some time, I’ll fix us up a real fun night.” With a promise in his eye he tugged the handle swinging the door open and climbed out stiffly, his side throbbing yet the pain was masked discretely away. “Tarah love, don’t be a stranger” he winked playfully swinging the door shut and tapping the roof lightly before pivoting and swinging his way lazily back towards the warehouses in which his apartment was located.
He was human, Deirdre reminded herself. It was easy to forget that with his showmanship, with all that she’d come to learn about humans. But he was human, nonetheless. And death would catch up to him. She would catch up to him. When she leveled her blade against his neck. There might have been pity, sadness. She watched him leave, retreating into the dark where her vision could no longer follow. “Don’t die boring, Otto.” But he was too far off to hear her now.  
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How about A21 and A22 for Cal with the MC being hurt, please and thank you.
No can-do, @jewalsgem​! Thank you for your request and I hope you enjoy!
A21: “I don’t care if I get my clothes bloody, you’re dying, (MC)!”
A22: “Just keep your eyes on me, okay? Everything’s fine now.”
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“Just keep your eyes on me, okay? Everything’s fine now.”
Cal quavers, his eyes ashine compared to the dark gauze of the night sky. MC doesn't respond--shocked from her blood loss. There was so much blood--too much blood. It was like a scarlet curse gloved his hands, a heavy burden that weighed his heart down--an anchor plummeting in his chest. The source of it all was tangled up in his arms, fighting to stay conscious as she bleeds without end. Cal’s pulse was a rickety rollercoaster soaring along his throat--thumping loudly in his ears as his hands shakily try to detain the crimson river pouring from MC’s side. Stupid, stupid, Cal! Why’d you leave her side?! He had done so to take down a squad of demons gunning for them, thinking that they were the last cluster of bozos they’d have to take down. I was wrong. So stupidly, naively wrong. MC sputters as pain ransacks her torso, ripping a flash of white hot pangs along her body. “Come on, come on, come on!!” Cal roars desperately as more rouge seeps between his fingers. At this rate, MC was going to bleed out before anything could be done--before she could be saved. “Stop bleeding so much for fuck’s sake!” All of these shouts are enraged morsels of fear--anxiety. Cal couldn’t lose her--he just couldn’t. A world without MC in it wasn’t a world Cal could be happy in. “Hah,” MC rasps, voice coarse as one of her hands wrap around Cal’s wrist; a timid warning, “if I could... tell myself to do that... I wouldn’t still be laying here right now...” Cal shoots her a hostile look of warning, his blue eyes a thrashing ocean as they bore into MC’s face. “Shut up!! You need to reserve your strength, MC--for once in your life, keep your mouth shut!” 
He swats away the hand clasped around his wrist and continues to stain his hands in her blood--there was enough masking his fingers alone to keep her afloat. It nauseates him to see the smile on her lips climb higher out of amusement. “You can’t make me. This is my last moment... alive, I can do... w-what I want. Silly Cal.” Her voice could be wrung and unconditional affection would storm out of it. Hearing this makes Cal’s fuse combust and detonate, anger bursting red in front of his eyes. “Seriously, stop it,” he snarls, “you’re gonna live longer than this, MC. You’re gonna make it!” Cal couldn’t stand the way MC was handling this, opting to waste her breath to refute him rather than reserve it for the good of living. She returns her hand’s placement around his wrist to tempt him away--as if she knew that the last seconds of her life were dwindling. That it was too late to prevent the inevitable. They’re not! She’ll live. I know she’ll live. “Your clothes,” she croaks out of feeble horror, her chocolate eyes grazing the inky stains coloring his shirt, “you’ll get them... ruined and bloody if you don’t...” Her sentence doesn’t finish--instead punctuated by fierce a cough wracking her body, sending spirals of agony crusading from her side. Cal’s disapproving scowl steepens as he attempts to carefully heave her up into his arms princess-style. She groans and he winces, experiencing secondhand pangs. “I don’t care if I get my clothes bloody, you’re dying, MC!”
His mind is a thrashing storm of desperation and anxiety, his stomach rolling like waves in a disturbed sea--continuously worsening as the tides roil. The jeep was close by--thankfully--and Cal guns for it like his life depended on it, as if he had been the one who had taken a few sharp bludgeons to his side. I wish that would have been the case; MC’s much smaller than I am. It wouldn’t have been as fatal for me compared to her. MC’s chest ripples with the faint haul of laughter and a blood-soaked palm comes up to cradle Cal’s cheek. Her eyes were soft even as her eyebrows sharpened with pain, mouth syncing with a tempestuous frown. “There’s a first,” she keens quietly, “never thought I’d see the day where... w-where your fashion would come second.” Cal carefully flings the back jeep door open and as carefully as he can, he tips her into the backseat. The trick shooter cautiously pillows her descent and doesn’t leave her side until she’s properly in the jeep in a position that wouldn’t strain her injury any more. Then he purls around to the passenger seat of the jeep, rummaging through the glove compartment for the first aid kit the troupe had stashed away in case of emergencies on the road. Not sure what good a first aid kit would do if there was an emergency on the road; a band-aid wouldn’t help you out if you crashed the jeep. But I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth now.
After a moment or so of fierce scouring through a bunch of mindless clutter, Cal finds the first aid and quickly returns to MC’s side, piling into the jeep in order to treat her. “First aid kit? You’re not as reckless... as I thought... you were, Cal North.” MC teases, her eyes hooded as she peers up at him. The glaze of humor in her eyes is baffling when Cal tends to her bloody side, peeling away sickeningly wet layers of clothes. Seeing the amount of blood she had lost--and the gash that leaked all of the blood in the first place--juxtaposes the playful hint crooning in her eyes. “Hold this,” Cal directs gently, offering her his hand as he scavenges for a roll of bandages and possibly a minified bottle of hydrogen peroxide. The bleeding girl chuckles as she loops their fingers together, her pain-etched expression dwindling into a shining smile. “You say that like holding your hand’ll save... my life.” She quirks softly. Cal produces gauze--an unfortunately thin roll of gauze at that--and unravels some of the white gossamer hastily. It seemed like he was too occupied with actually saving her life to pay attention to her near death antics; go figure. Gingerly, the gunslinger squeezes her fingers as he guides her to shift her weight onto her uninjured side, wanting to tend to the injury more thoroughly.
The gash was jagged, almost like a claw scratch or the scrape you’d get after tripping onto concrete. “How’s it look?” MC breathes, her breaths ragged and hoarse, and Cal’s eyes soften sympathetically. “Not good,” he takes a few cotton balls out of the kit and snags one of the water bottles occupying the cup holder, praying that no one had drunk from it yet, “this going to sting, so be ready.” He warns, tipping a small trickle of the water onto a cotton ball to mop away the scarlet pooled her side. The bleeding had ceased for the most part and now it was just a means of getting the injury dressed and cleaned before injection invaded her body. That could be her killer more than blood loss, at this point. Then, out of nowhere, the hand engulfed in his free one slips away and braces against his chest--a gentle reprimand. When his deep blue eyes find hers, there’s a lifetime of fond feelings and affixed misgivings drowning in the depths of MC’s pupils. “Kiss it better?” MC suggests bashfully. She gestures to her mouth which is leisurely carving into a smile, hope a star twinkling in her eyes. Though Cal was apprehensive at first, her undying sparkle of verve melted the feeling quickly, overtaking him so fast that he doesn’t even realize he’s leaning down until her breath fans his lips. 
Cal kisses her, gingerly, as if she were spun of glass prone to shattering. He held her close, hoping that his arms could be a safe haven even for just one moment. Injecting every ounce of emotion he has furbishing his heart, Cal ensures that it’s light and comforting--nothing that would evolve into something heavy. He kisses her like it’s the last time he might ever get to--since there was a good chance that that was true. The distinct taste of iron chafes his tongue from the back of MC’s throat and he cringes, hesitantly breaking their kiss to avoid the nauseating taste. Before he retracts from her face totally, he brushes his pursed mouth against the softness of her cheek--he couldn’t refrain from offering her support.
And when he pulled away to treat her wound, he hopes that the kiss was something she could hold onto if she did pass.
Even though Cal North didn’t think a kiss from him was worth holding onto at all.
Whatever works for her works for me.
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Again, thank you for requesting! Sorry it took so long, I hope it was worth the wait; I loved writing this for you!
If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.
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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years
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Dark Stars {Part 3}
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*Loki x OFC*
Part: 3/10
Words: 6.5k
Warnings: blood, nudity, fighting
Summary: ~Loki could just let her die here and now. His problems would be solved and he could go back to his usual ways. But then he would forever be left with an unsolved mystery and he hated the prospect of that even more than the fear of what would happen if she lived.~
A story of what happens when Loki stumbles upon someone who is like him in every way. Only better. Oh, and they just happen save Asgard too.
A.N.: To celebrate over 1000 people following me (how insane is that?!), I decided to share the newly edited version of the very first Loki fanfiction I ever wrote! Enjoy the mischief 💚
All Parts can be found on my Masterlist!
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It would have been an unfair fight, considering Ivy's injuries and Loki's larger physical strength, if it hadn't been for the magic they threw at each other mercilessly. Forming weapons, attacking and defending, both showing off what they were capable of… only to refrain from doing any serious harm.
After what seemed like hours, they both lay next to each other on their backs, facing the ceiling, breathing heavily into the otherwise silent room.
Hurting and healing likewise, with nothing but their magical abilities, was very much draining for both, though Ivy found herself more exhausted than Loki was. She was sure that he knew that, but he hadn't acted upon it, which did not surprise her much. They both had had a couple chances to end each other, but both had refused to do it.
However only Ivy knew that she had indeed taken the difficult road to fight, by not using her strongest weapon, the very core of her magic. Because if she had, there would have been no holding back anymore, and Loki would have died along with every last part of Ivy's own soul. And she would never let that happen. Not again.
So they simply lay next to each other, very much alive, panting and listening to the other's drumming heartbeat.
"I don't despise you as badly as other beings." Loki finally spoke up between heavy breaths.
"Aw, I like you too." Ivy laughed breathlessly, smiling up at the ceiling. Repressing the core source of her magic was what had truly exhausted her, but she would gladly let Loki believe that it had been their fight. Might do his ego better.
Suddenly they heard a yell, an exclamation of horror, and upon that some heavy footsteps approaching the cell. Both Loki and Ivy propped themselves up to rest on their elbows and looked towards the wide eyed guards who stood in front of the barrier-sealed walls, gaping inside.
"Well, hello there, buddies!" Ivy said overly excited, in a too high pitched voice for it to be anything but sarcasm, making Loki chuckle quietly under his breath. She heard it nonetheless, and it made her skin tingle rather pleasantly.
The guards on the other hand only stared at them in shock and disgust, looking around the interior of the cell until their eyes fell upon Ivy and Loki on the ground once more.
Of course Loki knew what was causing them to stare... the once white walls of the cell were now covered in the deep crimson of both their blood, as it was smeared and pooling everywhere, even on the ceiling. To the guards it must have looked like a slaughterhouse, a place of massacre and war. And it had been just that, for the last hours. Now however it had become a zone of momentary armistice.
Loki knew that they had kind of overdone it during their fight… but no injury had come of it that hadn't long before been healed. One of the many benefits of magic and good practice. And allies. He was fairly certain that not every single one of his own injuries had been healed by himself indeed.
For now, Loki had to admit that it amused him to see the guards irritated like that. As a child he had enjoyed creating illusions just to mess with them, and he still did enjoy it. Only that this time, it wasn't an illusion.
"We need to report this incident to the king… Right?" One of the guards said to his fellows, and they reluctantly agreed before all hurried off into different directions.
"We should get out of this cell before they return." Loki murmured while standing up and stretching out his sore limbs. Ivy stretched out her hand towards Loki for him to help her up, but Loki ignored her, barely rising an eyebrow at her antics.
"I do have a plan, but you will have to trust me. Can you do that?" He asked instead, looking down at her in all seriousness as he towered over her body. Somehow… he liked the perspective.
Ivy nodded slowly, though remaining seated on the ground, as she still felt shaky both on the inside and the outside. For some strange reason, she had no doubt that she could trust Loki. Maybe that was more dangerous than their fight after all. "What do I need to do?"
Loki only smirked at her, mischief and chaos swirling in his eyes as they probably were in his mind, and to Ivy he had never looked more intriguing.
_______________
Once the guards came rushing back a few minutes later, having gotten order from the allfather to bring Loki to him immediately, they once again stopped dead in their track and stared at the cell. It was pitch black inside, holding a darkly opaque smoke that made it impossible to see.
"Loki, stop this nonsense!" One of the guards exclaimed. "We know of the illusional games you play. Stop it at once. The allfather wants to see you."
The smoke slowly dissolved and they could see more and more of what was happening inside.
Loki just stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, right in the middle of the room, back to wearing his bloodied coat and a wicked smirking directed at the guards. At his feet lay the body of the girl. Her neck was twisted in an unnatural way, her wide eyes staring lifelessly towards the guards.
Upon their shocked faces, Loki merely sighed. "She was beyond annoying. And so stupidly naive! I did you a favor."
Immediately the guards opened up the barriers, pushing Loki back into a corner with their weapons, while he had his hands risen in defeat, showing them that he was no threat. A guard checked on Ivy while three others kept their weapons pointed at Loki.
Suddenly the barrier was closed behind their backs, locking them into the cell within a broken second. Surprised yet again, they turned to see Loki and a perfectly alive Ivy standing outside, smiling innocently at them while their doppelganger illusions dissolved into a faint green glow inside the cell.
The guards shouted and tried to make the barriers go down again, but of course they failed miserably and their efforts were just as vain as their muted shouting.
"I cannot believe they truly are just that stupid!" Ivy laughed incredulously, shaking her head to herself. "How did you know that this would work?"
Loki smirked at her. "You learn a thing or two when you are locked away down here for a small eternity."
"So you have done this before?" She asked with sincere interest. "Escaping, I mean?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I deserved to be in there. And I never had a partner to uphold the second illusion." The tone of his voice told her to not question him any further, though Ivy refused to believe that he had ever truly deserved to be locked away.
For a very long second Loki was lost in thought, until they heard voices coming closer rather quickly.
"Trust me once more?" He asked quietly, and before Ivy could reply, he had already made the cell appear empty and quiet. When Ivy tore her eyes off the cell and looked down on herself, she quite audibly gasped, as she no longer looked like herself, but rather like one of the guards in their golden armor.
Loki turned away from her the next moment, and crossed his arms behind his back. "Take my hands." He commanded calmly, but with determination.
"What?" Ivy blurted out dumbfoundedly, blinking too often and breathing too loudly for her own liking.
Loki rolled his eyes. "You are going to lead me upstairs, and you will act like everything is perfectly as it should be. You are a guard, and you are taking me to speak to Odin. Nothing out of the ordinary."
Ivy's mind finally caught on, and she held his arms together with one –very large and very male– hand, while using the other to gently press a dagger to his back.
A small grin appeared on her face, as she couldn't help but enjoy having this new power over him, him who had only hours before tried to kill her. Half-heartedly, but tried he had nonetheless. Yet, her appearance was his work of magic, and she knew that her power currently didn't suffice to change anything about that.
Thus, with a silent sigh, she had to admit that he was currently still in a position of more power than she was herself. His magic, his body, his knowledge… The goodness in him. All was currently surpassing her own resources.
While what she held hidden within herself as the past source of her magic may be more powerful than everything he could draw power from at the moment, it certainly was more dangerous as well. Foremost, it was very much different, and very much not what she was trying to work with. Her attempts at drawing power from HIS kind of sources were still juvenile, as they were something so different from what she had been used to, what she bad been using as a source for all her life. But he mustn't know that, and she dearly hoped he never would. It was hard enough to suppress something that had been the very core of her being for an eternity, but she was more than willing to draw her energy from a different source from now on.
Still, despite her momentary powerlessness, she smiled while she pushed Loki towards the exit of the prisons.
"Don't you dare enjoying this… I hereby remind you that I have the power to end you in a second." Loki said quietly, for he could almost feel her smirking behind his back. Oh, if only he knew...
They passed the guards at the exit, but weren't hindered in their journey.
"Where to now?" She whispered to him in her attempt at a deep and manly voice.
Instead of answering with words, Loki turned around to her the very moment they were alone, then grabbed her by the arm and brought them into his chambers in an instant.
Ivy, who thanked fate that she looked like herself once again, started strolling around immediately. "This is beautiful, like a piece of a different world… Placed and hidden between all the silly gold of the palace." She mused in awe, before she came to stand in front of a floor length mirror and frowned at her reflection. "I look like I have bathed in the blood of my enemies… that's both great and gross."
Loki on the other hand did not feel like spending any more of his precious magic on anything or anyone, not even himself, at the moment, and sighed at the prospect of doing things the boring, mundane way.
"You may leave now. They will need a while to realize that we are gone." He said blandly as he moved through his space. "Though I advise you to take care of your appearance first. It wouldn't be wise to walk around looking like that."
Ivy turned around immediately, frowning deeply, but unable to keep herself from snapping at him. "First of all, fuck you. I can walk around any way I want. Secondly, I thought we were partners now..."
"Thinking really doesn't seem to be your strongest quality." He remarked, walking into his bathroom as he started to undress. "The fact that I do not hate you doesn't imply that you can stay."
"And what will you do, smartass? They will come looking for you too, and then they'll throw you into the cell again, if you decide to remain here." She groaned in annoyance, but also the slightest hint of worry. Why was he being so difficult?! Yet, once Ivy noticed his rapidly decreasing amount of clothing, she still couldn't keep herself from staring quite shamelessly at his flawless body, put on display like that...
"Like what you see?" He teased, now fully naked and lowering himself into a pool of hot water in the adjoining bathroom.
Ivy suppressed the urge to turn around, to blush furiously and run even faster, because that would only have given him even more reason to be so darn cocky. Instead, she remained standing in the middle of the main room. "I only deem it highly unfair that you get to take a hot bath after all this madness." She called towards him, in actually decently feigned confidence.
"This is my bedroom and my bathroom. Like I said, you are free to leave any time." He snorted in return.
And that exactly was the problem… Ivy didn't want to leave him.
Thus she went to throw herself onto the bed –which honestly looked more like a depot for books than a decent place for sleeping– with a deep sigh, before she moved to sit with her legs crossed beneath her, looking at the many books around her curiously.
"But what about you? A prince without a kingdom is hardly a prince anymore is he?" She called to Loki as her eyes skipped over the many covers and titles. He did not respond, but Ivy knew he was listening to her, and so she continued. "What about the poisoned bread? It was intended for someone in your family, don't you care about that at all?"
"Do I look like someone who cares?" He replied while scrubbing the blood off his skin a little more forcefully than necessary. Really, hadn't he acted hostile enough already for her to see that he wasn't a nice person, a good person?
"Actually, yes." Ivy stated calmly. "Would you have saved me otherwise?"
Again, he didn't respond.
"Look, I know that we both know that my magic is nothing compared to yours..." She started over, thinking of her poor previous attempts to copy his magic.
"I wouldn't say that. I liked your black smoke…" He replied honestly, and he by now knew that she was very much capable of the same magic as him. It only surprised him that someone of her capability was this poorly trained in the art indeed.
"Was that Loki giving me a compliment?" She laughed in surprise.
"Don't get used to it." Loki mumbled more to himself than to her, and Ivy could hear him stepping out of the water a moment later. From her spot on the bed, she fortunately didn't have to spend energy on keeping herself from staring, as she couldn't quite look into the bathroom anyway.
"Do you really want me to leave you now?" She finally asked, after another while of silence, in honesty and without the tease.
"No." He replied quietly, but his voice was not giving away any emotion.
"But you said I cannot stay. You said I must leave." Ivy still couldn't quite resist the temptation, and tried catching a glimpse of him by leaning far enough to the side to peak around the corner, almost falling off the bed.
"I said you cannot stay, because that is very true indeed. We both cannot stay here, in the palace. And I didn't say you MUST go, but that you MAY go… for who am I to keep a bird from flying? You are free to do whatever you want, Ivy." The smooth depth of his voice, in combination with his words, made her heart pick up speed concerningly fast and her skin crawl way too much, which she tried to suppress immediately.
Then he finally surfaced back out of the bathroom, clean and clad in a way simpler form of his previous attire. "But since you are still here, I assume you won't be leaving anytime soon." His voice sounded rather amused by the fact than mad about it, and his gaze met hers a second later.
Ivy watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, his eyes fixed on hers intently, like a predator circling its prey. No, she wouldn't look away first. He came closer and closer, now standing directly in front of her at the edge of the bed.
With a small smirk he placed his hands on the mattress on both her sides, leaning closer and thereby making her lean backwards, until Ivy's back was pressed against the soft sheets. Loki hovered over her, his face a mere inch from hers, and she could feel the warmth of his body scorching on her skin, his breath tickling her neck… there was something in his eyes that Ivy could not quite grasp, but it was driving her positively mad.
But she wouldn't let him manipulate her, and her eyes remained locked with his, showing nothing but curiosity as she certainly would not let him see how much he truly affected her.
"I think you should get off my bed. Right now." He whispered softly, but very determinedly.
"Make me." Ivy responded in very much the same tone, unable to smirk like she had intended, chest rising and falling heavily to almost touch his own so shortly above her.
And in an instant Loki pulled away, standing up straight and turning his back towards her as he sauntered towards the balcony. In his hand he carried a book he had just snatched from its place shortly above Ivy's shoulder on the bed.
Jerk... But two could play at that game, and so she got up from the bed with a new determination, setting her mind on payback.
"If your royal highness doesn't mind, I will also take a bath now. In YOUR bathroom." She said sweetly. "Well, actually… I will take a bath now whether you mind it or not."
Then she started undressing in a painful slowness, losing item by item as she sauntered over to the bathroom, her back facing the balcony where Loki had taken a seat on the balustrade.
Ivy was most certain that he was watching her every move, and she couldn't help herself but enjoy it a little. Both, the tease and his eyes on her. Once she had reached the bathroom door, she had undressed entirely, down to her bare skin (and the magic still clinging to certain places).
"Like what you see?" She teased in the same tone he had previously used, as she turned around in an instant, barely catching a glimpse of Loki ogling her before he dropped his eyes back towards his book so quickly that Ivy almost would have missed it in the first place. But she was fairly certain that he was blushing the tiniest bit.
"Coward." She smirked, before kicking the door to the bathroom shut behind herself. Well, that had been rather bold, even for her, and she was somewhat proud of it.
With the same proud smirk she looked around the bathroom, only to find that indeed the word was very true to its meaning. Right in the middle of the room, filling it almost entirely, there was a large pool filled with steaming water that a few stairs led into.
The smirk dropped from her face and she admired the view, for this truly was a bath for a king. Or a queen… and she would not waste a second of it, enjoy it while she could.
_______________
Outside of the bathroom, Loki was still sitting on the balustrade of the balcony, smirking to himself. She was such a tease… and she surely knew how to fight, she had proven that much in the cell. That only made her all the more attractive, and Loki soon found himself sighing rather than smirking. She had proven herself of use to him while escaping… maybe he should keep her around a little while longer.
But she had been right, they needed to leave the palace as soon as possible. As if that was news to him… he shook his head to himself. However, usually his plans of escape were meant for one person only. And usually he actually HAD a plan for escaping after whatever mischief he had caused.
Now that (for once) he truly hadn't brought the situation upon himself, he needed to improvise and actually plan and think for two. The thought annoyed him, for he enjoyed being the master of his own fate, and his own fate alone.
And yet here he was, waiting for the sassy girl to be ready to leave. How foolish of him. How very very foolish. Maybe he should just leave now, quietly and unseen, to only be responsible for his own fate again. Yes, maybe he should ignore how desirable and tempting the current state of affairs was, and just run.
But if he ever wanted to redeem himself, to get out of this mess and not just far enough away from it, he would need her. If he ever wanted to be left alone again, first and foremost by the allfather himself, he would need her. And if she wanted to ever live in peace again, without him nor anyone bothering her, she would need him as well. Thus, despite his utter dislike of the word, they ought to be a team from now on. But being partners didn't mean he had to stop messing with her.
Then, as if placed to purposely distract him, his gaze fell upon the rags that once had been her clothes, strewn and neglected on the marble floor of his bedroom, and a devilish smile started to spread on his lips.
_______________
Once Ivy had successfully washed all the blood (both her own and Loki's) off her body, she moved on to finish healing her wounds and bruises, and then spent a little extra time simply letting herself drift in the hot water in accordance with her drifting thoughts. After a while of peaceful solitude, she finally felt ready to face Loki again. Almost looked forward to it, even. But she didn't look forward at all to having to wear her dirty clothes again and she cursed herself for not taking them into the bathroom with her. Even a quick, improvised wash in the pool would have been an improvement to their poor condition... but giving Loki the opportunity to make fun of her was not part of the plan, and he certainly would have if she'd gone on to clean her garments by hand. Thus she only sighed and stepped out of the pool at last, sauntering through the bathroom until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and she sighed again.
Cuts, scratches and bruises she could heal until they had completely faded, but not scars as deep as the one on her shoulder. To be honest, she probably would have failed to even as much as properly heal it in the first place. Surely she could have prevented it from hurting, or from becoming life-threatening to her, but the truly magnificent work Loki had done on it was more than she could have hoped for. Despite the still visible scar. Maybe not even Loki could heal every wound to the point of fading.
She traced the thin, ragged line that was still visible right under her collarbone with a gentle finger, admiring his work. It looked nothing like the scars on her back, on the entire rest of her body. Those were leftovers from past wounds she had tried to heal by herself, without having had results remotely as impressive. Ivy just wasn't any good in patching herself up prettily… only effectively.
She had gotten quite good at hiding scars and blemishes from watchful eyes though, which is exactly what she had done a few moments ago when undressing. She hadn't wanted Loki to see them, nor to question her about their origin. They were reminders of a long past life, and thus her own concern only. At least they usually lay hidden beneath her clothing, so she didn't think of them all too often anymore. There would be new wounds, new scars to come anyway, and she had to live with it anyhow.
After the quick inspection in the mirror, she was positive that every new and minor wound had been properly treated and healed by herself. That was good news for once, and she almost would've felt content, if it wasn't for the little fact that she would have to walk back out of the bathroom, completely naked, only to be mocked by one certain god. Great. He had yet only seen her backside unclothed, and she wanted to leave it at that. For now… Her mind added before she could shake the thought out of her head.
As she looked around the bathroom, she finally spotted a closed door that seemed very promising. Grasping for straws now, she walked over and found the door leading her into a small and dark closet that was hardly worth mentioning in comparison to this grand bathroom. It probably was this tiny because Loki almost never actually physically changed his clothing, without the use of magic. But despite the admittedly poor number of options, she finally found just what she had been looking for, smiling to herself as she resurfaced out of the dark closet. Oh, Loki would absolutely hate this…
_______________
Once he heard the bathroom door being opened, Loki tore only his eyes off his book, while his face and body didn't move an inch. That probably was for the better, for if he had lifted his face to greet her, she could have seen his jaw dropping.
Ivy came walking out of the bathroom almost happily, the sound of her naked feet on the marble floor echoing through the room, with her hair still damp and starting to curl again around her shoulders. Now that the raven strands weren't all tied up, tangled and bloodied anymore, they spiraled down almost to the gentle curve of her waist.
But what almost had him falling off the balcony indeed was the fact that she wore one of his shirts. ONLY one of his shirts, on her bare body. And she looked utterly godly by doing so.
Must be the shirt, he tried to tell himself, but failed in even forming a straight line of thought for a few seconds, before he finally regained his composure.
And just like that, he knew that it was his turn again in their little game. A smirk came onto his lips, and he jumped off the balustrade, turning his back towards the open window where Ivy just now came to stand.
"Loki, where are my clothes?" She asked, rising an eyebrow while looking around the bedroom once more to make sure she hadn't missed them. Nope, they were definitely gone.
His grin broadened. "Come here..." He gave her a wave to come closer, his back still facing towards her as he looked down onto the plains of Asgard.
Once she stood next to him, leaning against the railing like he was, he pointed down to the fields way below them. "See that tiny white spot down there?"
Ivy took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself down, then closed eyes for a second and finally turned to Loki, who was still grinning at her almost proudly.
For just a moment, Ivy didn't say or do anything, and Loki almost believed he might have won their game already. Then however she moved so quickly that he could see it coming, but failed to dodge the punch she threw right at his face.
Ivy watched with a proud smile how Loki rubbed his hurting jaw. "Ouch…" He commented utterly unimpressed, even though on the inside he was very much impressed indeed. It hadn't hurt him all that much, but he had expected a different reaction, and certainly not anticipated her speed.
"You deserved that." Ivy said contently, turning around to walk back into the bedroom, while Loki followed closely behind her.
"I deemed your clothing inappropriate and made the decision to get rid of it. Since you want to stay with me for now, I thought this appropriate." He commented with a seriousness in his voice that made Ivy snort.
"Who said I want to stay with you?" She rose an eyebrow at him in amusement.
"You are wearing my shirt." He replied smoothly, thinking he had made a point, which he probably also had.
"And you are wearing down my patience." She replied shortly, while closely observing the reaction on his face. "Does that mean you want to stay with me as well?"
Loki kept on smirking, as he clearly enjoyed this way too much. But so did Ivy, and thus they stood glaring at each other for a while longer, before Ivy finally turned her back to him and started marching towards the doors that led into the hallway.
"What do you think you are doing?" Loki asked, all playfulness gone from his voice the moment she opened the door.
"Getting dressed." She replied with a smirk, looking at him over her shoulder, while walking into the candle lit hallway.
Loki surely hadn't seen that coming. "Ivy!" He hissed, but she was already too far gone. In an instant he moved to follow, soon coming to walk next to her. "I don't know what you are doing, but you will stop it RIGHT NOW!" He spoke very calmly, yet dangerously low and laced with both anger and concern.
"You wanted me to wear something more appropriate for your royal ass, and now you need to suffer the consequences. But, of course, you are free to leave at any time." Ivy smiled innocently, but kept on walking down the hallway nonetheless.
"The palace is crowded with guards looking for you and me, and they will most certainly not be gentle when they throw you into the prisons again!" He tried to reason with her, but without any results. She was one hell of a stubborn tease.
"Well, you better prevent us from getting caught then. You owe me anyway." She mused quietly.
"I don't owe you anything. And I'm not going to waste precious magic on someone as braindead as you." He snapped back, but while they walked, Loki kept scanning the hallway nonetheless. For reasons beyond him, he felt oddly protective over Ivy, and obviously he was not going to let himself get caught either. But for the moment, he only remained silent and watchful, while still going along with whatever she was up to.
And despite his own reason, he just couldn't stop thinking that Ivy was walking around the palace wearing nothing but his shirt and a smirk. And that she was obviously totally unimpressed by the impending danger.
What in all the realms did she think she was doing anyway? He could have just brought them wherever she wanted to go, but since she had refused to tell him her destination, he was left to follow her through the hallways like a lost puppy. Oh, how he hated that. Yet, in the very depth of his mind, he kinda enjoyed the excitement of it all. Enjoyed that Ivy wearing his shirt made his heart beat impossibly fast, and his stomach twist most pleasantly.
Suddenly they heard quiet footsteps in the distance, coming rapidly closer towards their position as they grew louder. Ivy still didn't seem to take interest in it, but Loki grew more nervous by the second. The footsteps were right around the next corner now…
Ivy was still not remotely slowing down, nor doing anything to prevent the inevitable, and Loki realized he had to act. With one swift move he wrapped an arm around her waist and covered her mouth with his hand, swooping her off her feet to vanish into the shadows together before she could make a sound, then pressing their bodies against the cold stone wall and thus out of sight. He inwardly cursed himself for using his magic despite promising not to, but went on to make the dark shadows of the hallway even darker, so Ivy and him couldn't be seen from the out of the light.
Only then, while they waited for the chatting guards to pass, for the adrenaline to ebb down, he realized that he still held Ivy's body pressed to his. The warmth that radiated off her almost made his eyes flutter shut in bliss, and he couldn't remember a time when someone had been this close to him for more than the second it took to stab them.
Then she bit into his finger and the feeling was gone in an instant, leaving him flustered and desperate to regain his composure as he let go of her quickly. And yet, as she turned around to face him, there was none of the expected anger in her eyes, but they were wide and shiny and probably looked exactly like his own in that moment. Surprised, and deeply irritated.
For a few long seconds, they only stared at each other wide-eyed, before Loki remembered who and where he was, only to immediately rise his walls back up again, forcing on the indifferent facade back onto his face. He stepped out of the shadows and into the light once more, waiting for Ivy to lead the way, which she did without as much as a word.
After crossing a few hallways and, on Loki's constraint, dodging into the shadows separately a few more times whenever guards crossed their way, Ivy seemed to finally have reached her destination.
"You know, if you had told me where you wanted to go we could have been there in a second. Without all the trouble." Loki remarked quietly, while Ivy pushed the wooden door open. They stood in front of Sif's chambers.
"I don't know what the lady who lives here is called. I merely know that she must have roughly the same size of clothing as me." With that, Ivy disappeared into the darkness behind the door.
Looking down the long hallway once more, Loki followed her into the room reluctantly. "How did you know she was not in here?"
"She will be attending dinner at this time." Ivy answered while disappearing in Sif's closet, leaving the door open so Loki could see what she was doing.
"So you knew not once where her room is, but also when she will be at dinner?" Loki frowned, but was positively curious and thus had to ask. "Did you also know where my room was?"
"Obviously." Ivy laughed while picking up various pieces of clothing here and there. "I know my way around the palace as well as you do."
Of course she did… Loki rolled his eyes and turned around to inspect his surroundings with mediocre curiosity.
"This should do." Ivy finally said as she walked out of the closet, shutting the door behind her.
Loki turned around and bit down the smile that wanted to spread on his lips. There was truly nothing that didn't flatter Ivy, she could've worn a potato sack and still look gorgeous… it was ridiculous, really.
She had chosen black leather bottoms, which fit her legs snugly, but not as snugly as they were supposed to. Then, to his surprise, she still wore his shirt, tucked it into the hem of the pants. On top, she had put on a black jacket that had leather pads on the arms and was open and flowy in the front. It looked so utterly Midgardian that Loki wondered where Sif had gotten it in the first place.
"You chose my shirt over Sif's armor?" He teased, not able to hide his smirk any longer.
"Green is my color, darling…" She winked at him and didn't fail to notice just how pleased Loki seemed with the fact. "And as for her armor… She wears it literally all the time, and that means everyone would be able to tell I stole it from her." Ivy answered and turned around for Loki to fully see the clothes she chose. "Is this more what you'd deem appropriate?" She chuckled, walking over to stand in front of him with a teasing smirk.
"It will do." He said, averting his eyes to keep himself from staring at her. Both her looks and her being were doing odd things to his mind again. "Now tell me… What got into you that you decided to walk around the palace practically naked?"
"Oh, don't tell me you didn't enjoy it!" Ivy laughed and started strolling around the room, taking in the warrior's belongings and decorations. But as Loki didn't answer, she turned around to him once more. His face showed no more hint of fun and jokes, but instead a seriousness that made Ivy shudder.
"I saw the woman you call Sif a lot during my exploration of the palace and I enjoyed her sense of fashion." She tried once more, but Loki still didn't buy it.
"Alright, if you must know, I… wanted to prove something." She finally admitted, though leaving it at the vague expression.
"I don't know whether you are insane, brave or simply fucking stupid." He commented coldly, after hearing her poor excuse of an explanation.
"Maybe a little bit of them all?" Ivy smiled at him almost affectionately, making Loki roll his eyes at her.
"Anyway, it was a very risky thing to do. You should thank me. If I hadn't stepped in, you would be back in your cell by now." Loki replied in such a condescending manner that Ivy frowned at him, thoroughly annoyed by him constantly belittling her.
"Who says we would have been caught? Or even seen for that matter?" She snapped right back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
"The guards were right around the corner and you showed no intention in doing anything to preventing the inevitable! Did you even think about the consequences of getting caught?!" His voice was dangerously low now, making Ivy shiver a little in its depth, but she would not let him win this.
"Did it ever cross your peanut of a mind that maybe, just maybe, I am not a complete idiot? That I am very much capable of taking care myself? No? Well, let me tell you that I can very well save myself and your sorry ass along with me!" She yelled at him, finally fed up with his constantly hurtful remarks, belittling comments and downright condescending attitude. Teasing and games was one thing, but mocking in seriousness was another.
"Oh, so you weren't dying before I graciously decided to save your life?" He yelled back, anger shining bright in his eyes like stars in the nightsky. At least she had his full attention now.
"Maybe you shouldn't have saved me if you regret it so much now." She breathed as came to stand right in front of him, staring coldly up into his eyes with every intention of showing him how little she cared by now. Cared if she lived or died. Cared about his opinion, about his stupid remarks and about him. But her eyes betrayed her.
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funeral-clown · 5 years
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beth i diagnose you with baby syndrome ok anyway here’s part two of the trifecta aka cablepool
Nathan Summers was the most powerful telepath alive. He was more powerful than his mother. He was more powerful than her mentor. He could reach every mind on Earth at once. 
Every mind except one.
Wade Wilson.
Deadpool.
The one person he wanted desperately to trust the most, yet also seemingly the least trustworthy man alive. He was insane, truly insane, and his mind was a beautiful fractured thing. Nathan couldn’t touch it without cutting himself on stray shards of broken psyche. Wade was an enigma. Seemingly transparent, yet always a surprise.
Nate loved him. Did everything in his power to help him, in his own quiet behind the scenes way. Nothing about Wade was quiet or behind the scenes. Nathan appreciated that about him.
But sometimes he had to ask himself how much of it was real.
Wade flirted, yes, but Cable had once seen him flirting with a headless, armless statue, then crying when said statue gave him the cold shoulder. He was warm and convivial, but he shot people in the head convivially. He broke into his apartment regularly, despite Cable happily offering to provide his own on Providence, and he had the habits of a half feral cat. He would slink in at all hours, covered in blood and smelling terrible but still nuzzling himself under Nathan’s considerably large shoulders and practically purring. He kept odd hours.
Nate didn’t always know where he went, what he did, what he ate, but Wade had a habit of coming back after you’ve fed him once.
In a way, Wade reminded him of home. Not the mansion, not Providence, not even Greymalkin, but the war torn world he grew up in. The ravaged hellscape he learned to walk and talk and love in. It had no shortage of scars, of sick, of twisted minds. Wade was a walking talking reminder of the inevitable, if Cable ever lost sight of his mission.
But aside from all that, there was a man. Underneath everything, there was a funny, kind man, with a sense of right and wrong, who loved food and kids and  dressing up and watching Golden Girls marathons. And Nate loved that man. And Wade said he loved him, too. And he believed him. He really did believe him.
But he couldn’t be sure. No one on Earth could lie to him, except for one man.
Wade Wilson.
Deadpool.
He tried not to let that sting. He tried not to let it show. Wade, in his own way, deserved better than that. No matter what anyone said. He just wished he could be sure.
Apparently, despite his best efforts, Wade caught on.
He was at the large communal breakfast with his people, laughing, smiling, watching the children play. He was content, until he heard the noise of the teleporter belt. A heavy weight draped itself across his lap, and he looked at a familiar red masked grin.
“Did you miss me?”
Nate snorted, a fond smile teasing at the edge of his mouth.
“Why, Wade? Were you gone?”
The theatrical shocked gasp made him want to laugh and bury his face in his neck, but they were in public.
“Why, Priscilla! Was that a joke? I’m rubbing off on you! In more ways than one!”
Wade waggled his non-existent eyebrows and stroked Cable’s TO arm.
With a roll of his eyes, he adjusted his body to better support his companion while still allowing himself to eat. Wade pouted before digging into Nate’s plate of fruit.
“Aaaannnyway, Natey-baby, I come here on a specific mission.”
He grunted an acknowledgement.
“Very sexy caveman. But we have a problem, Cable.”
He froze, staring concerned into his eyes. Well, his eye holes. Wade broke into a grin, bottom half of his face exposed.
“Youuuuu don’t trust me!”
Cable blinked, pushing down his slight guilt.
“Wade,” he said softly, “I don’t know how you got that idea, but-”
“Shush your handsome mouth, you emotionally repressed beefcake.”
He snorted.
“OBVIOUSLY you trust me in battle. You know I’ve got your sexy backside covered. I meant emotionally!” He drug out the last word, making an arch with his hands. Some kind of joke, no doubt. “It’s not a surprise, Nate. You’re the world’s biggest control freak, and I’m the world’s biggest wild card. There was bound to be some issues. And don’t get me wrong, if Bea Arthur’s ghost looked my way, I’d leave you in a heartbeat. For at LEAST a month. BUT! That hasn’t happened yet, so for now I’m all yours.”
“You don’t have t-”
“Shushushushushushushushushhhh!” A gloved finger pressed hard against his mouth, contorting his lips. “I don’t blame you, lover! But!” He flipped open one of his many pouches. He pulled out a glowing container, twirling it in his hand theatrically. “Thanks to our good mutual friend, Doctor Strange-”
“You stole something from Strange?”
“I was GIFTED something from Strange! And not something! THIS, my overstuffed burrito of love, is a truth potion.”
Cable’s eyebrows creased.
“Do you want me to drink it?”
Wade snorted.
“No, dummy.” He flicked the cap off. “I’m gonna drink it.”
And with that, he tossed his head back and swallowed it down. Nate tensed, eyes scanning him for any adverse affects. Wade grinned lazily.
“Hey, there, blue eyes,” he crooned, “Were you worried about me?”
“You know I was,” he muttered tersely.
“Awwwwwwwww, Bable, that’s why I love you. I’m literally indestructible, and you still worry a silly old magical potion is gonna treat me bad.”
Nate’s shoulders relaxed.
“Wade-”
“That,” he continued cheerfully, “And your enormous dick.”
Nate choked.
“I mean. Talk about proportionate. I know you didn’t get THAT from your dad, me and Wolvie have been talking-”
“Oh my god,” he whispered, head starting to hurt.
“But baby, wait, that’s only one of the reasons I love you! I also love you for your stupidly naive plan that’s going to get you killed! I love that you think it’s going to work! I love your hope. And your hands. Just. Great hands. Can your TO hand vibrate? That’s irrelevant. But only sort of. I gotta say, I was disappointed that you didn’t have more metal on your, uh, ROD, if you know what I mean-”
“Wade.”
“I’m just saying, the writers are cowards for not going all out!”
“Wade!”
“Oh, right, I’m talking about your dick again. I really love your dick. And your everything. I even love that you’re a bossy jackass! ESPECIALLY in bed. Like. Yeah.”
Nathan’s eyes shut as his face burned red. Wade’s voice had a way of carrying, and several dozen people who had chosen to breakfast there were all staring. Their expressions ranged from shocked to amused.
“Wade there are CHILDREN-”
“That reminds me, it’s not weird that I want to call you daddy like burning, right? Especially considering my relationship with my father, and-” Wade’s own hand shot up, covering his own mouth.
He laughed, tense, before letting go.
“Right. Yes. Small children. Anyway! What I’m trying to say is, I don’t care if you can read my mind or not. I love you. Emotionally. And mentally. Ha, get it, because I’m cra-”
Nate cut him off with a kiss, chest warm with an unfurling emotion.
“Wade,” he whispered, “Thank you. Really. I love you, too. Emotionally.”
“And physically?” Wade shimmied suggestively.
“And physically,” he laughed.
“And I can call you daddy?”
“Why not.”
“And I get exclusive rights to your enormous pe-”
“Wade.”
“Personality, jeez, Nate, get your head out of the gutter!”
Nathan shook his head, grinning. The entire cafeteria was chuckling and avoiding eye contact, and his own face was burning, and he was in love with the man on his lap, and that man loved him. Enough to ask Stephen Strange for help proving it. 
“Wade,” he whispered, “I love you.”
“I love you too, big guy. I would even love you without the huge dick, because I love you that much.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
“But please don’t get rid of it anytime soon, I would miss it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Ok. Good.” With a loud smack to the cheek and a not-so-subtle grab at the last of his breakfast, Wade got up and started to click through his phone.
“What are you doing.”
“I’ve got to buy enough glow sticks to refill this jar and put it back before Strange notices it’s missing. See ya soon, lover-boy,”
Nathan laughed.
“Good luck, handsome.”
Wade blew him a kiss, winked, and vanished.
Face still pink, Nate went back to his breakfast.
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astouract · 6 years
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Synopsis: After a rough evening with family, you come home to a more-than-welcoming Loki. . .
Words: 1,605
Warnings: MaTuRe CoNtEnT pRoBaBlY
A/N: this one was requested by @missmarveladdict (hi there lovely!), I changed it slightly but I hope I did it justice!! In other news, Christmas requests for this year’s 25 Days of Christmas will be opening soon so keep an eye out! I also wanted to thank everyone who made my day by buying me a cup of coffee on ko-fi.com/astouract. It means the world to me! Thank you lovely people!!
-
Pushing open the door to your room, you released a sigh you’d been holding onto all evening. You wanted nothing more than to get the makeup off of your face and to slip out of your tight-ass dress. Your heels were the first to come off, lazily tossed onto the floor as a thought popped into your mind. Only, it wasn’t your own.
“How did it go?” The voice asked, and you instantly knew who it was.
“The family get-together? Oh, wonderful as usual.” Your jacket was next, shrugged off and thrown onto your bed before you sat down.
There was silence for a few moments, and a sound in your doorway alerted you to Loki’s presence as you began to pull out bobby pins from your hair.
“Want to talk about it?” He asked smoothly, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. He wore a grey sweater with black jeans, and you couldn’t help but be a bit jealous about how comfortable he looked. Meanwhile, your arms were going tired from holding them up for so long-- just to search for all the tiny pins.
Loki chuckled softly, shaking his head at you. “Here, pet, let me help.” He was at your side in seconds, sinking down onto the mattress beside you and tangling his fingers in your hair. One by one he gingerly released each strand, and you leaned back ever-so-slightly into his touch.
“So, how was it really?” He asked softly.
“Oh my God,” You groaned, “Terrible. My mother was even more judgemental than usual, and my father just kept on nodding at everything she said. That’s not even mentioning the rest of my family, half of which thinks I’m lying about my career--the other half just thinks I’m insane and unstable.”
Loki let another tuft of hair fall, guiding it down onto your shoulder with his hand. You felt his fingertips on your bare skin, only briefly before he brought them back up. “What could there be to be judgemental about?”
You shrugged, suppressing a shiver as his fingers combed through your hair to make sure every pin was out. “The fact that I dropped every aspiration that they ever had for me, that I quit school and am now living with multiple men--oh, and they still aren’t over the fact that their daughter is ‘some kind of mutant.’”
Loki paused, resting his hands on your shoulders. “They called you that?”
Nodding, you let yourself lean back on him completely, welcoming the warmth radiating off of his body. “Yeah, not exactly the Parents of the Year, huh?”
You felt his hands move down to your arms, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your skin. He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he was thinking--he knew exactly how you felt, and worse. It had taken him a long time to accept himself for who he was, and even now, you knew there was still a part of him that hated it.
“But I guess that’s something we have in common.” You stated, willing yourself to get up and open your dresser to look for something more comfortable to wear. You always tried to dress as professional as you could for the family “get-togethers,” in hopes that someone would take you more seriously.
You glanced back at Loki, who was leaning back against your headboard. His gaze was already focused on you, and you smiled sheepishly as you walked towards the door. “I’ll be right back.” Clothes in-hand, you stepped into the bathroom to change.
The thought of undressing in front of Loki was utterly embarrassing; even though you’d been intimate before, it was always in your head. Your own hand working yourself up to his words in your mind late at night, and vice versa. He’d never seen your body, never touched you. . . So getting changed in front of him would be incredibly awkward.
At least, that was what you thought, until you realized the zipper on the back of the black dress you wore was stuck. With a frustrated groan, you pattered back into your room, your arms contorted to try to get the zipper unstuck yourself.
“I need your help,” You confessed upon seeing Loki’s amused expression.
He chuckled, rising to his feet and taking his time to get to where you stood. “And why should I do that? That dress looks stunning on you.” You heard the humor in his voice, teasing you as his fingers found the zipper.
“Really? I didn’t think it suited me at all.” He released the tiny piece of metal to brush your hair out of the way, and for a moment you wondered if you’d ever get out of the expensive fabric.
Loki made a low noise, toying with the little mechanism once more. “It suits you, trust me. Although. . .”
He paused, and you felt him lean over your shoulder until his lips just barely brushed against the shell of your ear. You couldn’t disguise the shiver that ran through your body like electricity, alerting you to every slight move he made. You could feel his breath on your skin, his hair brushing over your bare shoulder. You could feel his arrogant smirk.
“I’d rather it was green.”
He returned to his previous stance, skillful fingers working at the stubborn zipper. God, how long could it take to unstick it?
“Or maybe gold,” his voice said in your mind.
“Why green and gold?” You responded, and then you understood. They were Loki’s colors. Turning in his arms to face him, he dropped his hands back to his sides. Something mischievous sparkled in his green eyes as he studied you, as if expecting something from you.
“What are you doing?” You questioned.
He took a step forward, leading you backwards. “Waiting on you, pet.”
You gaped stupidly at him, your heart about to beat out of your chest. “Waiting for what?” Another step backwards, and you came into contact with the wall.
He smiled sweetly, as if you were no more than a naive child. “You think I don’t know how often you think about me? Us?” His hands moved to settle on your waist. “I hear every thought like a prayer. Every wish, every daydream, every. . . Fantasy.”
You took in a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself down through the longing in the pit of your stomach. His thumbs slipped under the hem of your shirt, and one of his legs went between yours. “And this is one of them. . . Isn’t it?” He asked lowly.
Your gaze flickered from his eyes to his pink lips, and you had to restrain yourself from tangling your fingers in his hair. It wasn’t slicked back like it so often was, it was soft and wavy and perfect. The corners of his lips turned upwards in a superior grin, as if he’d heard your impulsive thoughts, and he twisted on his heel to leave.
“I suppose I’ll just keep on waiting, then.” Loki’s gaze dragged down your body, and you involuntarily released a quiet whimper as he ghosted his fingertips across your stomach.
“But that isn’t what you really want. . . Is it?” He asked lowly.
Gulping down your hesitation, you shook your head. “No,” You confessed, snaking an arm up to grip the neck of his sweater, “It’s not.”
Before you could think your way out of it, you tugged him close and his lips crashed onto your own. He tasted of mint, and something sweet, and goddamn he knew what he was doing. One hand pinned you to the wall, while the other cunningly traveled up your torso to cup your bare breasts.
“Had you anticipated this?” He asked against the skin on your neck, groaning lowly in response to your soft whimpers.
It was a mess of lips and hands, his mouth on your jawline driving you mad as he rolled his hips into yours. Your fingers tangled themselves in his raven hair, tugging lightly to guide his lips back up to yours.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you said halfheartedly, shifting impatiently against his thigh between your legs.
“Probably not,” he replied flippantly, grazing the back of his hand across your face. “But that’s what makes it fun.”
He grinned wickedly and raised his hand to snap his fingers, but was immediately interrupted by a resounding knock at the door.
“(Y/N?)” Said the voice on the other side, “I’m trying to compose what Strange calls an email. . . I need your help.” It was Thor.
You sighed heavily, resting your head back against the wall as Loki nipped at the bruised skin on your neck. “Can’t Tony?”
“He’s with Pepper, and I’m afraid this is quite urgent.”
Loki’s hands slid down your back to cup your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before you flashed him your most apologetic frown. “I should go help him.”
Loki rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest. “I’ll wait here then.”
“I’m not sure how long it’ll take, he’s pretty terrible at computers.”
Loki grinned, lifting a hand to run it through your hair. “I’ll wait. Besides, I’ll keep you company while you’re gone. . .” He tapped his left temple, and your face flushed a bright pink when you realized exactly what he was implying.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, then.”
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riverwriter · 6 years
Text
Marked
Because sometimes I can’t help but think about how trapped Draco was. Just a little Dramione one-shot
A harried looking Professor McGonagall woke her in the middle of the night and she was instantly alert. When she realized that her head of house looked not just annoyed but also rather scared she went from concerned to terrified. Anything that could frighten the formidable older witch was certainly something to worry about. It was only her first night back at school from the summer holidays but that didn’t mean much. Merlin, Harry had already had a rather disastrous run-in with Draco, anything could have happened in the hours she’d been asleep!
‘Malfoy,’ she corrected herself silently, as soon as she thought his first name, ‘you have to call him Malfoy, even in your head, neither of you can afford a slip up,’ she continued to chide herself.
After she’d pulled on her school robes- it was already too cold in Scotland at this time of night and inside this drafty castle to even contemplate traipsing around in her pajamas- she followed her professor quickly out of the dormitory, scurrying to keep up with the taller woman’s longer strides. McGonagall didn’t seem to notice her struggle and Hermione’s concern ratcheted up another notch that the formidable professor was so uncharacteristically flustered. She’d asked her what was going on but McGonagall had remained tight-lipped and had only said that she was needed immediately in the headmaster’s office. Her stomach churned with anxiety but she followed along without further comment.
“Acid pops,” McGonagall said briskly when they reached the gargoyle that guarded the Head’s office, barely pausing her stride; it leapt aside and Hermione followed her up the spiral staircase.
The door swung open automatically when they reached it and they both stepped inside. Hermione quickly looked around hoping for any clues as to why she’d been summoned. But invariably her eyes landed on one thing and one thing only, the person whom she’d never been very good at avoiding no matter how many times they agreed it was for the best. The object of her nearly obsessive thoughts for the past few months when she’d been unable to see him: Draco Malfoy.
He stood off to the side just feet away from her looking, well, terrible. His posture was hunched, his robes were askew, and his usually perfectly styled hair was mussed. It was like he sensed her eyes on him, he immediately turned to look at her, and the amount of pain she saw reflected on his face had her gasping out loud.
“What’s wrong?” she croaked before she could even remember that she wasn’t supposed to care about Draco and what might have happened to him.
She had little time to worry about that though, as he was quickly closing the space between them. And then, in a move she wouldn’t have expected from him in a million years, he fell forward onto his knees before her. Ever so carefully he reached for her, obviously expecting to be rejected, she automatically took a step toward him, and as if it was the most natural thing in the world his hands cupped her hips and his forehead came to rest against her abdomen as if in supplication. It was more than she could take.
“Sweetheart,” she blurted, “please tell me what’s the matter,” she insisted.
That got his attention as it was something they’d never allowed themselves- terms of affection- certainly no pet names. But damn it all, he was, a sweetheart and hers even if nobody else knew it, and she couldn’t stand to see him like this. His head had snapped up and he was staring at her now, his face was open and raw with an emotion she couldn't name, but which made her heart ache.
“I know you can never forgive me, but please know how sorry I am,” he begged, sounding not at all like himself, his usually strong voice was raspy and strained.
“I don't think there's anything I wouldn’t forgive you,” she answered with raw honesty.
“This is unforgivable,” he sobbed.
Sobbed.
Draco Malfoy was kneeling on the floor sobbing. This was as bad as it could be. And that's when something clicked in her brain.
Harry had been insisting for weeks that he was a Death Eater. She'd been sure it wasn't true, had known he didn't want it and he was far too young anyway. Sure, he had been acting strangely, but his father was in Azkaban and that fact nearly killed him; strange behavior was to be expected. It didn't mean he'd been marked. What use would Voldemort have for a schoolboy?
Now she knew with agonizing clarity that she’d been stupidly naive. Voldemort had been fighting this war using children for years, did she really think a madman would hesitate to use those who were supposed to be on his side?She'd been so worried for Harry, the boy who needed her, that she’d forced herself to push away her worry for Draco, the boy who wouldn't accept her help. She'd longed for him, but she'd told herself he was safely ensconced in his ancestral home with his mother and that no harm would come to him there. More than naive, she'd been delusional.
She clutched him to her for a moment and then she took his left hand in both of hers. He didn't fight her as she began to roll up his sleeve. She'd known what she'd find underneath and yet the sight of it still made her heart stop and then break completely. There, in ugly contrast to his beautiful pale skin, was the Dark Mark. The skin around the hideous tattoo was red and inflamed, it looked infected. Her horror turned to concern.
“Are you in pain?” She exclaimed.
He nodded.
“But what the hell does that matter? Why are you just standing there? Don't you know what this means? Why aren't you kicking me or cursing me or both?” He moaned desperately.
She frowned at him.
“Why? So that you can hurt more than you're already hurting? Of course I know what it means, and that's why I'm so disgusted that it's on your arm! Because I also know you. Your heart is good and your soul is pure and if you were really the kind of person who believed in what this meant I can only assume that you would be out celebrating your ascension into the ranks of the Dark Lord’s elite army and not here sobbing at the feet of a muggleborn witch!” she finished practically yelling at him, insulted on his behalf.
How he managed to be both the most arrogant and most self deprecating person she'd ever met she doubted she'd ever  manage to fully work out.
“I'm so happy to hear you say that Miss Granger,” a voice interrupted.
They both startled and turned to face their headmaster, having completely forgotten that they had an audience.
“Is it safe to say that your relationship isn't quite as contentious as you’ve led us to believe in the past?” he continued sternly, but his eyes were twinkling wildly and there was a quirk of amusement on his lips.
Professor McGonagall and- Hermione was even more startled to see- Professor Snape stood to one side of his desk staring at them with expressions of utter shock on their faces. Dumbledore kept talking, like he wasn't being soundly ignored by the other four occupants of the room.
“Perhaps you could take a seat and we can discuss what to do about this?”
Hermione finally gathered her wits, nodded, and extended her hand to Draco who was still on his knees before her. He looked at her dumbly and she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
Hermione extended her hand towards the boy- man- she’d secretly loved for years now. “I think the cat’s officially out of the bag, you might as well let me help you up.”
He took her hand and immediately entwined their fingers, but refused to allow her to give him any assistance as he climbed up off of the floor. Somehow, she didn't think that boded well. She knew he was strong and proud, but he was in deep and he was going to have to learn to accept help.
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