#man had to share a watch tower and a living space with them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eupheme · 5 months

Text

— i’ll be seeing you | part ii

[masterlist] | [playlist] | [part i]

invisible man!alfred pennyworth x f!reader

rated e - 6k

tags: invisible man!au, age gap, holiday fluff, light angst, alfred is fully invisible/silent to reader, shared spaces, mutual pining, magical elements, holidays and christmas, blink-and-you'll-miss-it pennywayne, use of alcohol, references to masturbation, kissing

Your time in the Tower with Alfred passes. And even with some secrets revealed, you're still left wondering. Curious - filled with an eagerness to help, to make yourself useful. Finding yourself reaching out. Touching. Believing.

"Bruce is infuriating," You huff, your arms crossing as you lean against the open doorway. "You know that?"

It had been impossible to sleep, as you turned those texts around in your mind.

Trying to read between the lines, knowing how words could twist. Considerable time spent delving deep into the bowels of the internet. Pulling up as much as you could about sorcerers and curses.

Most dismissed as myth.

But then again, most people did not live in Gotham.

The back of your hand scrubs across your eyes, the morning light feeling too bright with his bedroom curtains pulled back, "I asked him last night like you said, but I couldn't get a straight answer. Has he always been this way?"

There's no reply. Silence lingered like it usually did, your lips dipping into a frown. Until there's a touch at your back and you're pressing against the doorframe - letting a pile of linens pass from behind.

Watching as they are set onto the open self in the closet, before the pen is lifting off his bedside table. A quick note, torn free from the pad before it's passed your way.

You have no idea.

There's humor in his words - you can't help but smile, as you read them.

"I want to help you."

You're still looking down. Twisting the paper between your fingertips, before finally looking up, "What have you tried?"

It takes a while for an answer. The usual quick scratch of his pen now slow - hesitant. Tearing a sheet off before beginning again. You have to resist the urge to peek over his shoulder, fingers curling into fists to keep yourself in place.

Finally, his reply.

We have tried everything.

The Waynes had a lot of connections. And I am still the same. I did not tell you so you could take this upon yourself. I told you so that you could understand. There's much that I am unable to speak about. I had hoped Bruce could.

But I should have anticipated this.

An ache radiates from your chest, as you quickly reread. A swell of emotions threatening to burst, as you glance up - into nothing.

"What if I want to?" There's a burn in your throat, in your eyes. It's embarrassing how quickly you've become invested, you wished you could make him understand, "It's not fair, Alfred-"

Hands touch your arms. Fingertips sliding from shoulder to bicep, the movement soothing. A deep breath loosening the feelings that choke you - a hand lingering as you hold the pad for him, as another note is written.

Life rarely is.

You've done more than enough already.

"I haven't done anything," You protest, your voice pitching up, "Please let me-"

There's a weight against the pad you hold. A line scored beneath the last sentence, for emphasis. Your eyes linger on it, until the words unfocus. Trying to understand what you've been told.

That maybe… you were being foolish.

What could you possibly offer, when near-limitless resources and money had already been at their disposal?

The tension leaves your shoulders, as you wilt.

He leaves you with one more. His hand curled around your shoulder, softly squeezing.

Thank you for worrying about me.

The paper stays crumpled in your hand, as you slip back to your own room. Needing the space, trying to respect the gentle dismissal.

To remind yourself that this must run deep for him. It's been hours that you've thought about this, but for him - it's been years. You should not push.

And so - for now - you won't.

But you won't forget.

Days later, you wake to frost on your windows.

Spider-webbing from the cold, arching iron - muting the dark shadows of the cityscape outside. It creeps inside, across the hardwood floors that bite at your toes, before you're wrapping up.

Feet tucked inside the shearling slippers left outside your door. A thoughtful and practical kindness, fitting for the bits of him you've been able to piece together.

A thick sweater is layered on, then soft sweatpants. Today, you're sure to be kept inside, and you've long since given up on standing on ceremony.

It's later than your usual. Inspiration striking just as your eyes closed. The night spent writing down what you could, lasting until the inky black turned a watery gray. The sun has been up for hours, though there is no warmth to it. Not in Gotham.

The kitchen is quiet when you arrive. A slight pang of guilt when you see the coffee mug sitting out next to the empty french press.

It feels so strange - how quickly a routine has formed. It still felt unreal, something that you still did not quite believe. Never thinking you'd find yourself looking for someone you couldn't see.

Even now, your eyes scan across the kitchen - as if his form would appear. Hands busy as you fix an afternoon breakfast, though your mind wanders.

The rejection had lingered. Throughout the evening after you had talked. Another sleepless night gathering information.

Even finding articles about those who had been cursed, though they had all seemed senseless in their intent. Cured, once Faust had been locked away, the magic fracturing until they were released.

There was something different, here. Something Bruce knew that you didn't - still unable to coax it from him. Days were starting to pass too quickly, but there was still time.

You still had hope, even if it seemed like they didn't.

Relief comes when there's that phantom brush at your shoulder. A "good morning", in not so many words. A kettle moving to the stovetop, the fire clicking on.

Alfred gets your coffee ready for you, as he always did. Knowing how much you enjoy it - the warmth, the boost - drinking nearly as much as the cups of earl grey he brews.

You had protested, at first. But it had been a mimicry of your first meeting. That hand at your elbow, guiding you back to your seat. A firmness in the way he tucked your chair back against the table, back in front of your screen.

You had relented.

The pen lifts as you both wait, ink scratching against paper. Your shoulder bumps into something solid, as you lean over to read.

You're up late today.

A yawn cracks your face, at the reminder. It's closer to evening than morning, now.

"I had an idea for the ending, just as I was going to sleep. I knew if I didn't write it down, I'd forget."

A moment, as the kettle is lifted.

"Sometimes I think I work better at night. When everything is just... quiet. Does that make sense?"

That seems to be common around here.

The thought makes you smile.

"Yeah?" You ask, "Is Bruce a night owl?"

The pen scratches, after a pause.

Something like that.

The coffee warms you, fighting the swirl of flakes outside, the moan of the wind. Radiating outwards as you lean against the counter,

"What are you up to today?" You try to ask it idly, a fork spearing another bite of your meal. Always interested in how he spends his time in this old house. Alone without Bruce, except for his memories.

I thought I would bring some of the decorations out. I've been putting it off, but it is December.

"Decorating? For the holidays?" The prospect is exciting - you're already picturing silver stars hanging from the arched doorways. The pure height of a tree that would fit in their open foyer - with its tall, pointed ceiling, "Do you both celebrate?"

For a second, he does not answer. The pen shifting on the counter, his answer with slow, neat letters.

I do.

The singularity of his answer has a pit forming in his stomach. Is it an old tradition? Kept from the days before - an attempt at familiatry, received by a boy that rejects it? Or was it only for him?

Bruce’s trip is open-ended, you both know that. That his offer to you had extended through the beginning of the new year, but the date of his return had not been set.

You find yourself thinking that Alfred still wishes. Hopes that he’ll make it. Wanting to have the Tower ready, just in case.

The words come again without thought, "Can I help you?"

You've written enough for now. An ache in your elbows from the way you hunched over your desk all night, trying to get it all down.

A pause - and you half-expect him to refuse again. But there's a touch to your shoulder, two gentle squeezes.

Yes.

It takes more than a single afternoon.

The decoration lasts days - time spent bringing out boxes from one of the deep closets on the second floor. Sorting out garlands to drape across the fireplaces. Wreaths and candles and boxes of ornaments in glittering shades of black and silver, crimson and gold.

Remnants from another time, each with their own story.

You wonder how long they've had them. If Alfred always puts them in the same place, year after year.

Some, you voice aloud. Handing over your phone so he can key a reply.

These are new. Or - We bought these over from the Manor, when Bruce was young.

A yearning left in your chest to hear the stories with his voice - craving every last detail and memory, instead of the short summary. To scratch and peel back that first layer, making a home beneath it.

Perhaps, you will - with time.

You follow behind him when time allows. Tracking the floating boxes down the corridors that have now become familiar. Steadying step ladders as a hand brushes your shoulder for balance, sending your pulse racing each time. Moving back to give a nod of approval when it's hung just right.

The long hallways turn cozy. So much of the blank space filled with care, under Alfred's watchful eye. Some of that military precision and sternness comes out as he made sure every detail was exactly right. Each item in order, as they should be.

There's a sense of accomplishment in seeing the boxes slowly empty. Ella Fitzgerald and Dean Martin serenading away the hours, their crooning voices following the decorating through the Tower.

And in-between these moments, you slip in other kinds of questions. Self-serving ones disguised in these 'getting-to-know-you's. Though you still want know - no less eager for the answers.

"I'm mailing out some gifts this week." You mention, while untangling a string of lights. It was easier to sound casual, when your fingers are working the knots free, "Do you have anything on your Christmas list?"

It's part-genuine, part-segue. Fully intending to have something wrapped and ready for him come Christmas morning, though there’s more than one layer to your question. Ears perking up, as your phone lifts from the table where you sit.

I believe I have everything I could hope for. What about you?

Your eyes scan the message once, twice. A warmth in your cheeks as you find yourself wishing there was a deeper meaning to his answer, before you realize just how little he's really given you.

"Really?" Your head tilts, with a small smile, "Not even, like - a Montblanc or a Rolex, or something?"

He's already answering, amusement lacing his expedited reply.

Is that what you think I want?

And god, you wish you could hear his voice. An ache in your chest, a wish to learn every little inflection. Leaving you wondering how these words would sound, rolling off his tongue.

“No.” You eventually manage, with a little shake of your head, "I don’t think so. You’re too practical.”

He would never ask for anything so luxurious. Even if he deserves nice things.

The phone stays still, and your fingers twist. Eventually asking what you really want to know.

"What about in general? If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?"

You're sure the answer sounds stilted, out of place. Too obvious, in your intent. But you can't help it, this chance - a hope that he will give you something to work with.

There's a long pause at that. Your heartbeat feels too loud, and you're hoping he'll take your bait. Bruce's words replay in your head, as you resist the urge to cross your fingers for luck. Alfred doesn’t know what he told you, he won’t know what you’re really asking.

From what we've gathered, his curse will be lifted when he gets what he wants.

You need to find out what that is.

Foolishly, a small part of you wishes that just maybe... he’d want you. It would be an easy thing to give, because you’re certain you're his already.

The words appear slowly. Written and then erased before you could see. Written again.

I suppose if I could have anything, it would be a piece of home.

But what I would really like is for Bruce to come home safely.

It tempers you, to read this. How much he must worry and care, even though Bruce was just on a business trip.

You suppose that perhaps, you never grow out of it.

"He will." You tell him - reaching out, until you can press your palm against the back of his hand. Halting where he strings thread through the edges of the snowflakes you cut - preparing to hang them in the windows.

The answers are not as helpful as you had wanted. But you still tuck them away. Perhaps with enough pieces, you'll be able to see something they missed.

And in spite of these roadblocks, a part of you still feels lighter than you did when you first arrived all those weeks ago. A knowledge that this break would be helpful - but that you'd be away from friends and family.

But as the evening comes, as you're tucked on one of the long couches with twinkling lights softening the bright glow of your screen, you think you feel... happy. Content.

Not nearly as lonely as you thought you would be, and with that comes a cold twist of shame in your stomach. Thinking about how easy you have it, compared to him. You're willingly confined to the Tower.

Alfred is shackled. His only connection across the sea, left to wander silently if you had not noticed him.

And now... you're only one mere person, but you hope he never feels unnoticed again.

"Can I touch you?"

His eyes round with your words. The innocent, curious edge, though his thoughts swim into something much more indecent.

A second passing, before more words come in a rush.

"I just... I've wondered. “You breathe, your voice soft. “I believe what happened, I've just been curious-"

His hand reaches to soothe your nerves. Your request surely emboldened by the winding down of the evening. The final touches put on the decorations that now flow throughout the Manor.

Ending with the large tree tucked away in one of the alcoves. Sitting together beside it as the last glittering ornaments are added along the bottom.

His back will be aching tomorrow, with all the bending. Surely needing to rely more on his cane than usual - but for now he's content, where he rests on the stone floor.

Your matching cups of whiskey, honey, and lemon already drained, and then refilled. Warming your bellies, making his own mind soft and hazy at the edges.

He thinks you might not have asked, otherwise. Maybe he would not have been so quick to answer - fingers curling in a now familiar way around your forearm, with two soft squeezes.

Yes.

You can do whatever you like, though you do not know it.

If he only has until the end of the month before you leave and forget all about him, then he will bend for you. All those strict and proper thoughts turning malleable with your touch.

Relief blooms across your features. Your smile comes easily, pleased at the indulgence. A little mark appearing between your eyebrows after, as they sweep over him - wondering where to begin - seeing nothing.

He can help you. Guiding your hand to his wrist, giving you a place to start. There's the flit of your fingers as you find his other, dragging his hand down to your knee where your legs criss-cross, twisting until you face him.

"Tell me if I'm doing it wrong, okay?" Your fingers press over his, mimicking a squeeze.

His own answer comes easily.

Yes.

As if you could.

As if his own heart hasn't lurched - taken off without him.

You start at his fingers, pinching them between yours. So much smaller, colder than his, as you traces over the lines of his palm - pressing into the meat of his thumb.

A little smile, as you move to his wrist. His sleeves still rolled up from trimming the tree, in spite of the chill that always seems to permeate the Tower. The loose circle of your hand growing wider the further you move up, over his forearm.

In all these years, he has truly felt cursed. A manifestation of all those worries, when Bruce had been suddenly left alone. Becoming truly as helpless as he had felt, back then. No more than an errant thought.

It had been worth it. The sorcerer’s spell, one that was aimed at Bruce. Something unlike the others, thrown into the streets of Gotham. Devilry in its making.

Manifesting fears and insecurities, biting bone-deep. Plucking and sifting through things so buried, that they were thought to be hidden.

He knew what Bruce would relive. What he wanted, more than anything. Something Alfred wished for as well, in his heart of hearts.

But he also knew it could never happen. The dead cannot return, and in spite of the chasm of regret and pain, he had made some kind of peace with it.

Bruce had not.

Back then, they did not know for certain what the spell did. There just were inklings and clues, in the days before the attack.

It was enough. A determination to push himself to the front, to take the brunt of that blast for a second time. Like he would, a thousand times over. Shielding Bruce from the agony of his memories.

Only to be forgotten. To be rendered invisible and silent - a constant reminder of his own loss, those years after when Bruce had seemed to just see through him.

A sacrifice worth making. And for years, he had born it.

But in these last few weeks, in this moment - he does not completely and utterly despise what he had become. Because he would not have been able to look at you like this, eyes so fixed on your face.

Catching every unguarded expression. The soft shadow of your eyelashes as your head dips, as if you’re trying to make out his form.

You don’t have what Bruce has. He has no way to offer those contacts he developed - Alfred’s form lit up in shades of warped and molten infrared.

But it’s almost as if you’ve managed to make do without.

He tries to resist the stirring - the soft sigh that threatens to break free, as your fingers press into muscle, even if you can’t hear it. Your path tracing over his biceps as he tries to go still, unmoving in your exploration.

Your other hand rises. Twin touches to his shoulders, tracing the edges of his dark vest, finding the tie at his throat. Knotted that morning from instinct and muscle memory - he has not seen his own reflection in years.

You smile, lower lip caught between your teeth - fingers wrapping around the silk.

“You still dress like your photo.”

A hitch in his breath then, to think that you remember what he had looked like. How you say it so plainly and assuredly, as if you’re certain.

Your look turns thoughtful, as you squint at him again, “If I were invisible, I don’t think I’d wear clothes at all.”

Christ.

A visual flickers through his mind before he can help it - fingers clamping down vice-like around your knee.

You squeak, already forgetting what you said - concern swirling across your features, “I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

He manages to answer, a much more gentle "No" squeezed into your skin - though you still look worried. Already mourning the loss of your touch, as your hand hover, fingers curling.

Alfred wishes he had words. Anything to assure you that you did nothing wrong, but all he can do it catch your wrists. Guide them back to his shoulders, in silent encouragement.

And here, you go slower. Over the crisp fabric of his shirt collar. The slightest shiver when your hands touch his skin, feather-light against his throat.

The smallest quirk of your lips, as you watch the way your hands hover in mid-air. You could stop here but you don’t - a soft sigh as your touch moves higher, pairing with a soft murmur.

“Just making sure you’re real.”

A thumb flattens over the bristle of his chin, fingertips against his cheek. Over the strong curve of his nose - as if you’re trying to piece him together.

The thought has an ache forming in his chest. A tightening - a low fluttering in his stomach.

Unable the help the slightest lean into your palm. His eyes closing at your touch, the flex of your fingers as they move to cradle his cheek.

It would take nothing to shift his head, to press his lips to your wrist.

But he’s always had a strong handle on his restraint.

Even if you are, have been, testing it’s limits.

There is very little that would make him refuse you, save for requests from Bruce. The ones he’s set in place for himself, ones that you've been so carefully nudging at.

Those he would hold above all else.

He had made a promise to himself that he would never ask, even if he could. Even if his own heart had run away with him.

Bruce had found a loophole some time ago, something he thought would work. But Alfred wouldn’t stoop to manipulation. Not then, and certainly - not now.

Even with your careful prodding. It had not been hard to sense what you had been really wanting from him. The intent behind your questions, the fire in your eyes - how focused and serious your expression had turned, for those brief moments.

With them, there had been the smallest spark.

A flicker of something like hope.

But he would not ask it of you.

If it was meant to be, then it would happen. But it would be on your own accord, not his.

Your lips part, as you lean closer. The slide of your other hand, curling around his neck, the tips brushing where his hair is shorn short. It’s as close to an embrace than he’s had in years, his own breath quickening. A low stirring, at the way your head tilts, the careful focus of your eyes.

As if you could almost -

The grandfather clock chimes, two long notes. Sounding more like a dirge in these empty halls, breaking the tight string of tension.

He mourns the warmth of your hands, as they drop. As you blink, eyes confirming the time. Stifling a yawn, arms bracing on your back in a stretch. A movement that his eyes follow, still caught in that shared moment for a second longer.

"I should go to bed. I need to work a little longer." The smile you give him is shy, sobering up at thought. Pushing yourself to your feet before he can move, scooping up the now-cold mugs.

"Thank you, Alfred."

It's not until you’re gone - when he’s in bed and resisting the urge to slip his hand beneath the sheets, to fist the hard curve of his cock - that he’s realizing…

He's not quite sure what you’re thanking him for.

The television washes the dark room in a pale light, as you idly flip through movies. Tired after a long day - unable to bring yourself to open the email from your editor yet. Surely a mile-long list of changes awaiting you.

Instead, you settle on something cozy, something familiar. The thin blanket stretches out across your lap as your legs curl up, tucking yourself into the corner of the couch.

No more than ten minutes pass before he finds you. His presence announced with the creak of a nearby closet. A much warmer, thicker blanket bundled in his arms.

Your smile soft and thankful, eyes tearing from the screen as if you could see him as he tucks it around you. A warmth and a shyness creeping in, trying to sound casual, "Do you want to watch something?"

A moment, before the cushions on the couch dips. A presence settling next to you, your teeth cutting into your lip as you bite back your smile. Not-so-secretly pleased, that he did. That he wasn't too busy to join you.

Unfolding the edge of the blanket, offering it out to him. Your fingers brushing over the woolen knit of his arm - a sweater, from the feel of it.

Something different, than last time. You've taken to imagining him the same as that little photo. The crisp white shirt and inky black vest, not a single stitch out of place.

"Are you cold?" You're always were, in the Tower. It's something you like - drifting off to sleep under the layers of blankets. Slipping on your biggest and coziest cardigan, while sipping a warm drink as you work.

Before he can answer, you're slipping from the couch. His own touch snags at the long hem of your own sweater, a soft kind of protest. One that is ignored, as you head to where the embers in the fireplace glow - the logs you threw on at lunch no more than ash.

"You work too hard," You comment, stacking in more. Enough to last the length of the movie and then a little longer, "You just stay there, alright?"

It's not as neat as he does it. The fire licking at your fingers as you light the match - almost dropping it. Tucking it in with the kindling, hands cupped around your mouth as you blow the embers back to life.

Making sure you're satisfied, that the warmth has started to curl into the tower, before you head back. The movie a quarter-way in now, the second time the main characters are meeting. Time skipping forward - an awkward reunion and one-sided reminisce on a shared flight.

"Do you want me to pick something else?" You ask as you sit down - no longer planning to tuck into the corner, accidently overestimating the amount of space.

A soft collision of your shoulder into a broad chest. Your thigh pressed snugly against his - your cheeks burning as you shift to the side.

An apology slides from your teeth - a deprecating comment about how clumsy you are, as he tugs the blanket from beneath you. The brush of an arm against yours as it's moved to cover your knees.

A hand finding that space before, when you sat in front of him - mapping his features. Curling around the curve of your knee, over the blanket. Another soft squeeze, one that oh-so-subtly pulls you just a little bit closer. Bridging that small gap you had created.

No.

Something had changed then, you think. More than just an exploration, when he had let you know him with your touch. A mutual testing of the water, with the way hands had begun to linger, for conversation.

It takes you another twenty minutes to be brave. The movie passing with your unseeing eyes. Glancing his way on instinct during the double-date that goes wrong - forgetting for a moment that you won’t catch his expression. Meeting only open air, instead.

Finally, slowly, letting your arm tuck under his. Finding the curve of his elbow, fitting yourself against his shoulder. He lets you - loose-limbed in your grasp. Settling his hand over your wrist, fingertips brushing against the patch of skin above the cuff of your sweater.

"It's one of my favorites," You comment - a stream of your thoughts, something that has now become routine. Filling the silence with your words, because he cannot, "Do you like it?"

The two squeezes come quickly. His hand warm, large, against your wrist. Another inch or so higher and a small twist, and his palm would be pressing to yours.

But, it doesn't move.

And neither do you, when the movie ends. When the next begins automatically - another romantic comedy.

Content, to take this moment. Forcing your mind not to run wild - to soak in the tangible feeling of Alfred next to you. The warmth of the room tugging at you.

Eyelids slowly drooping as the night creeps in. Your head coming to rest against his shoulder, cozy and safe where you sit - wrapped in blankets and tucked between him and the plush arm of the couch.

It's chilly again, when you wake. No longer evening, the hours tipping towards dawn. The space next to you now empty - your head cushioned with a plush throw pillow. Blankets carefully and thoughtfully layered to cover you.

But it's still warm, when your hand runs over it. Still retaining his heat, from where he watched over you.

From where he had stayed.

Alfred is relieved when he hears the chime of the elevator. He doesn’t trust Gotham drivers even when the sun is shining - much less when all the rain turns into sleet and snow.

You’d been gone all afternoon. Something about picking packages up for Bruce and an errand, pairing it with a little smile that he barely caught - before you were whisking out the door.

There’s plenty to do, but he can’t help but worry. He’d gotten used to the music you play, your questions, your presence - the Tower seeming so empty without them. That dull ache in his chest turning into something closer to longing, in the days between their night under the tree. His assuredness that he was perhaps, reading into things, lessening with the memory of you pressed so close against him as the movie played.

Perhaps it’s lucky they’re so far up - or he’d have to resist the urge to check the streets below, to see if you were returning.

Snowflakes cling to your hair, your coat, as the doors finally open. A box branded with Wayne Enterprises tucked under your arm, patterned bags trapped between fingers.

His heart twists when you call out for him, and he has to pause - to wait a few moments, as to not look too eager - before he’s taking Bruce’s package from you. Setting it on the bench near the doorway as you toe off your boots.

You hold the bags close, a smiling protest when he tries to take those, next.

“No, I’ve got these,” You coax, “It’s a surprise-”

Instead, he reaches for your coat. Fingers curling around the collar, as you carefully twist to free yourself.

Your head tilting back with the roll of your shoulders. The fabric slipping down, as you go still in his arms. Eyes fixed somewhere above, in the lush garland that strings across the entryway.

His own travel upwards, and he sees it - that rich green and red sprig, just as you murmur the word.

"Mistletoe."

Your eyes drop back down. In the past weeks, it's like he's become properly orientated in your mind. Your gaze meets his more often now than they miss.

He doesn't remember putting it up. The plant woven into another piece of greenery, something they must have missed. Or arranged without thought, in the excitement and haste to move into the next task.

It's not the mistletoe from the Manor. That was lost years ago, in the move to the Tower. A recollection of how Bruce would run to the door, scooped up in his father's arms. A squealing shriek with the bristle of a mustache, pressed against a chubby cheek.

How Alfred might find a stolen moment himself there, later. Afterwards, in the dark.

And when he looks now, at your expression. The pretty part of your lips, your breath held in your chest - he thinks he's quite ready to make some new memories, here.

Because he knows the look. One he's seen before, the way your hands grip onto him just a little more tightly. It matches his own, a near-perfect reflection.

Halting your soft, rushed murmur of "We don't have to, it's just-", the words dying on your tongue as his hand moves up, palm curving around the back of your neck.

Just another small indulgence. A quick brush of his lips, and that will be enough.

You melt, with his touch. Going soft and pliant, the smallest tug that coaxes him closer, just as your eyes slide shut. Waiting.

He admires for only the briefest moment, before he moves. The careful duck of his head, unable the help the quick inhale - toasted vanilla and the sharp bite of winter - before his mouth touches softly to yours.

You make the prettiest sound - a strangled gasp that catches in your throat, as your lips part. An encouragement he needs no coaxing to take, as he draws you unconsciously closer.

His own groan a rough echo as you let him deepen the kiss, sighing into his mouth as your palms slide up his chest to cling to his shoulders.

You’re sweet against his tongue. Where it dips against your lower lip, and then against yours, as you meet him. Another moan and it’s enough to make him forget - to loosen his grasp on that tight tether around his own neck.

A step forward has your back pressing up against the wall. A rattle as the coat rack catches against your shoulder, wobbling.

Neither of you notice. Your hands slipping against the soft velvet of his hair, anchoring yourself to him.

His left hand touching down against your side, sliding up to waist and ribs. Crushing himself against you as if it will save him from drowning.

It’s when his hips cant forward - a jerking, needy grind of his stiffening cock against the soft curve of your hip. One that you match against the thigh that’s pressed snug between yours - that he catches himself.

He's lost control.

Eyes cracking open, growing wider as he pulls away.

Leaving you panting and sagging against the wall - coat slipped from your shoulders and pooling at your elbows. Delicately mussed, lips swollen from the eager press of his mouth.

You don't know what you're asking for.

If they've been wrong, if there's no fix for this life he leads, then it's no way for you to live. He's been horribly selfish, to let things go on the way he has. Reason overridden by his heart and hope.

He had not realized how deep his feelings had gone, until it had taken everything to pull himself away. Leaving him with the soft echo of his name as he leaves - slipping back into shadow.

But you don't pursue. Perhaps you're afraid as well - the lid that will be impossible to close, once fully opened.

He paces in his room, later. Replaying the moment, as his hands work. A message keyed on his phone, only to be erased.

Keyed again. And again.

He could not say if you were still awake. Your schedule behind the closed door of your room was something unbeknownst to him. If only he had the words - real, physical, tangible words, maybe, he would explain.

I did not mean to take advantage of the moment. Forgive me.

It's one of the only texts he's sent you. Something unspoken and agreed about their time spent together. Content with the intimacy of the touches and notes, of sharing your phone.

The screen has only just dimmed before it's lighting up again. The vibration in his palm with her reply.

Not just words. There's a photo attached - an image of the kitchen. His spot, from the angle. One of the bags you were carrying arranged carefully. A tag with his name dangles from the handle, in careful script.

Just a single, short sentence below.

I wanted you to.

He stares at it for a long time. Scrolling back up to the photo. His feet taking him there, though the silent halls, without thought.

It's pretty. A red and gold striped bag, white tissue paper spilling from the top. Something written on the tag as he examines it, flipping it around.

It's not home, but I hope it's close. Merry Christmas, Alfred.

It's signed "Yours", with your name in script beneath. He can't help but think about you writing this alone, after he left you. How unchanged, you were.

And carefully, after a long moment, his hand dips inside. Pulling out two wrapped rectangles. The paper peeled away to reveal wooden frames, the carved pattern along the edges reminiscent of the details in his study.

His photos tucked inside. Ones had held so dear, until the edges had faded away. Carefully preserved, his eyes lingering on their faces as his thumb traces along the stained wood.

The rest drawn out. Unwrapped, though he recognized the patterns, the logos, from a long time ago.

A tin of his favorite tea. A wrapped package of biscuits.

He'd only mentioned it once. In those early days, paired with a lament that he could not get them here. That he had searched, but given up some time ago. No more than an offhand remark - a single line scratched amongst a dozen others exchanged that day. Something he never thought would have been remembered.

And after everything, he can’t help but smile - as something inside him loosens. Cracking, at the edges.

Tucking the items back inside, before he's pushing himself from the table.

He has somewhere to be.

ahh thanks for reading! 💖

#alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth fan fic

86 notes · View notes

yaut-jaknowit · 1 year

Text

It's All About Size

Pairings: Mai'tuiudh (Male Yautja) x Male Reader

Warnings: very suggestive themes, HEAVY size kink, sprinkles of praise, mlm, horny reader

Word Count: 1981

Summary: You're new to the realm of living out in space, stuck with only one other person on the ship. A large, blue Yautja, who trains on a regular basis. He easily dwarfs you. You're tall for a human but not for this Yautja. It's been brewing within your mind for a while now, ever since he picked you up from earth. Mia'tuiudh isn't as oblivious as you may hope he is. You won't be complaining in the end.

Author Note: I was scrolling through the Yautja tag when I stumbled upon an amazing idea. Yautja's and size kink. It's a main thing about them. Also, if you guys got ideas, don't be afraid to shove them into my inbox. It's currently open. I'm happy to write!

P.S. I'm still new to writing same-sex relationship's. If you guys can give me help, that would be amazing! Thank you

Dedicated to @kissmyaft. Thank you for this wonderful idea! You should check out my masterlist, wink-wink. Most of my stuff is gender neutral, just look at the pairings :)

Masterlist

Ao3

The calming noise of a blade sliding through a sharpener washed over you. It’s handle held firmly within your grasp. You weren’t no hunter, compared to the bulky beast honing his skills before you. That didn’t stop him from teaching the ways to be a hunter. If you were going to be on his ship, share his bed and food, you were going to learn. That’s what he told you on the first day.

Said alien danced before you, knocking a drone away from him. Another came up to zap at his glistening scales yet the Yautja was already in motion. Your eyes watched as he easily defended himself from these sparring drones.

Blood started to head south within your body. Even as tall as you are for a man, Mai’tuiudh towered over you. You haven’t met any others of his kind. It made you wonder if he average or not for his own height. Not that it bothered you. Not at all.

Red dusted your cheeks once you felt your pants tighten. Curses already formed within your head as you spun around. You faced the workbench in the back of the sparring room and focused on sharping the hunting knife in your hand.

Mai stopped what he was doing when an ambrosial scent washed over him. A drone was able to zap him on the back. Pain shocked through his system, but he didn’t even feel it. The smell drawing him in.

With a short click of his tusks, the drones stopped moving. They quietly returned back to their holes in the wall. His eyes shot over to the only other being on his ship. A minute smirk growing on his mandibles. Mai has had theories about the ooman. But this sealed his fate to Mai.

Long strides of powerful legs carried Mai easily over to oblivious ooman. Mai was a Yautja of action. He wasn’t about to dance around the ooman. But at the same time, why not tease you? Have some fun along the way. Oh, that thought made his chest rumble.

You tensed at the impossibly close noise, head snapping towards the origin. A gasp almost tore at your throat. There, in all his glory, stood Mai’tuiudh. His navy-blue chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Moisture stuck to his scales like a second skin; not sweat but humidity from the ship. Burnt orange eyes set on you. Your lips pressed together at the sight before you.

It took all of your willpower not to let your knees collapse underneath you. That didn’t stop them from shaking. “Hey-hey, uh, hey. Um, so. What’s up?” God, you were a mess. Just at the sight of him and you were acting like you were asking a girl out back in middle school.

Yet, the blue Yautja didn’t say anything. Mai just kept watching you with those striking eyes of his. His mandibles barely twitched.

Confused, maybe a little worked up too, you slowly turned back around to the work bench. It wasn’t unusual for the Yautja to be silent. He was a hunter after all. Yet, you were suspicious of his actions. But, these knives and whatnot won’t sharpen themselves. He’ll either get bored or finally speak when he wanted to.

Hands rested on your hips. Warmth washed over your back as a blazing body pressed up into you. A gasp finally scratched at your throat. Your hands slapped down on the metal bench and try to grasp it. Heat raced through your veins at the feeling of him. “Ma-Mai, what a-“ his claws start to press into your skin. You force yourself to bite your bottom lip to stop from moaning.

Your growing erection jumped at the feel of Mai. Said alien made it worse. Mai tugged you flushed with his moist scales and placed his jaw on top of your head. One of his arms slid around your torso and held you there. Shit, he’s so big.

He tasted the heavy air and let his chest rumbled. You smelled divine, right for the taking. Yet, he stayed there. “Aren’t you suppose to be sharpening my weapons?” he purred into your ear. Your entire body trembled, one that he relished in. Mai felt his own body behave in return at yours.

“It’s, it’s really ha-hard to focus… when you’re pres-sed up against me,” you stuttered, hands shakily reaching out to grasp the sharpener. Paya, if he knew you were going to react like this, he should’ve done this a long time ago. He’s had his suspicions for awhile now. It was many rotations after you joined him.

Mai ignored what you had told him. “Tell me, why are you behaving this way? If you do, I’ll let you go.” You didn’t want him to let go. On the other hand, to save yourself the growing embarrassment, you would be forced to tell him. If only the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Worst of all, it had to be the truth as well. Mai could smell when you lied.

A short purr rumbled from his chest. The vibrations rolled over your sensitive skin before hitting your hardening cock. Your eyes rolled back, throat closing before any sounds could escape. You bite your bottom lip so hard you tasted blood. Oh fuck, you were in some deep trouble now. You couldn’t trust your voice now, without making a noise that would embarrass you.

The Yautja made a soft noise and peered over your shoulder to look you in the eye. When you absolutely refused to do that, head turned away, he purred again. Same reaction from your body.

Fuck! You had to get him off of you. Now. He was far stronger than you, had the height advantage, and skills to put you face first into the ground. God, that made everything worse.

With reddened cheeks and no dignity left, you spilled what you hidden deep. “Size kink!” you shouted at first, voice two notches higher. “I have a-a size kink, alright?” Those words were said with such defeat. At the same time though, it felt like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders. Though, the embarrassment now would kill you.

Since you finally exposed yourself to the only other being on this spaceship, you believed he would release you. No, he didn’t. Mai tightened his grasp and placed his chin back on your head. “Hmm, you like the fact I’m bigger than you? Stronger than you? The fact I can easily dominate you?” He was loving every second of this. One of your hands grasped at the one on your stomach. His claws biting into your skin when you did. How did he know? Those words…

“Ever since I’ve been to earth, I’ve done my fair share of reading. A smart hunter researches before the hunt,” he mumbled. The hand on your stomach petting at the skin there. Your hormones were going haywire at this point.

That means he’s known almost this entire time.

Since that day, things have changed. You had spilled your hidden secret to him, one he’ll forever tease you about. You, a ooman, loving his size and strength. Though, nothing happened afterwards. You were nervous on the whole ordeal. That doesn’t stop him from randomly coming up behind you, hands skating over your skin. Purrs vibrating your skin. It makes you ache for him. But you never had the balls to ask or even suggest such a thing.

Water dripped down the toned body of Mai’tuiudh. The blue Yautja shook his head, droplets splashing about in the washroom. His dark tresses slapping against his hide. Your eyes refused to move away from his handsome frame; no matter how hard you tried. Everything about him screamed power.

His perfectly shaped ass was facing you as the Yautja bent over to pick his discarded loin cloth up. You would happily take a bite out of it. Your eyes widened at that thought. With a disappointing huff to yourself, you refocused on the tablet before you. Sometimes you could be unhinged.

The familiar musk Mai produced washed over you. You took in a deep breath at that and softly closed your eyes. It’s heavy and fills the room due to the humidity.

There was the soft pitter-patter of Mai’s wet feet as he moved around. Mai dropped his loin cloth somewhere to the side then headed towards you. You didn’t think much of it as you opened your eyes and continued screwing about on your tablet. A simple game pulled up for the fun of it. You have to keep yourself busy or else you’ll go made out here in space.

Two blue legs appeared in the edge of your vision. A brow was softly raised at this but you held strong. If you happened to look up, you might get caught looking. He would tease you all over again.

Mai just stood there, burning eyes set solely on you. His hands twitched at his sides. He wanted you to want him the same way he does. The ache that resonated deep within his bones. It made him want to touch you, tease your softer skin, lick it. Draw out those light noise you believe he doesn’t hear while you’re in the bathroom alone. He wanted to fill you, keep you close in his arms. Be his mate.

With two easy strides down further into the concave bed, he knelt down between your open legs. You kept your eyes glue to the device in hand. Your body tensed, hands grasping the tablet a little too hard. What in the world was he doing?!

Blue fingers wrapped around the top of the tablet and pushed it down. When you still refused to look him in the eye, he used that same hand to tilt your chin up at him. Your eyes locked onto his almost immediately, biting your bottom lip at the sight.

He continued to crawl forward, staying on the balls of his feet. As he did so, you were forced to lay back on the pelts around you. “Good boy,” he whispered and placed his free arm next to your head. At those words, your brain short circuited. All you could hear was him chuckling.

When a warm palm touched your thigh, you snapped back to reality, gazing up at the large Yautja. Mai snaked his hand up, pushing up the hem of your t-shirt. Claws skated over your sensitive stomach before stopping. His entire paw covered almost all of your belly, thumb gently stroking the skin there. He leaned down, creating a curtain with his tresses around the two of you. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this. I’ll stop,” he clicked lowly, eyes boring into yours.

You took great notice of him. His bulky body hovering over yours, easily swallowing you in his shadow. Hand able to take up almost all of your stomach. If he wanted to, he could easily pin you down and fuck you with his size alone; plus his strength, you would never stand a chance against him. No, instead, he was asking.

One final look into his burnt orange eyes. You reached out, discarding the tablet to the side, and hooked your arm around the back of his neck. “Please don’t stop.”

#yautja #yautja x reader #yautja x #yautja x human #yautja x you #male reader #yautja x male reader #male predator #predator #male yautja

586 notes · View notes

lamemaster · 1 year

Text

A Part of Mine (Maedhros x Modern Reader)

Pairing: Maedhros x reader

Genre: pining and lots of pining

Summary: I'm waiting," you said firmly, your voice carrying a sense of unwavering conviction. "I know there's someone out there, someone extraordinary. I won't settle for anything less. I believe in true love, and I won't give my heart away to just anyone."

AN: Posting this to reduce the anxiety I feel before my shift.

As Maedhros stood upon the towering hills of Himring, his gaze fixed upon the distant horizon, his heart was heavy with longing. He could feel a connection, a yearning that transcended time and space. Visions would occasionally visit him, fleeting glimpses of another world, another time, where he sensed the presence of someone he had never met, yet felt intimately connected to.

In these visions, he saw you, a soul dwelling in a realm unknown to him. Your presence shone like a beacon, pulling at the strings of his heart. Though he had never laid eyes on you in the physical realm, your essence captivated him. The visions revealed moments of shared laughter, whispered conversations, and stolen glances that stirred his soul.

But alas, you were separated by worlds and ages. Maedhros lived in the turbulent era of the First Age, burdened by the weight of his responsibilities and the pain of his past. And you existed in a different time, a distant reality.

In the quiet solitude of his chambers, Maedhros would often close his eyes, seeking solace in the visions that connected him to you. He would envision moments where you reached out your hand, yearning for him, just as he yearned for you. His heart would ache with the knowledge that you were bound by circumstances he couldn't comprehend, unable to bridge the divide between their worlds.

Maedhros found himself drawn deeper into the visions that connected him to you, his soulmate from another world. In one such vision, he stood on the outskirts of a lively tavern, hidden in the shadows as he observed your interactions with your friends. Laughter filled the air, accompanied by the clinking of glasses and the muffled sound of music.

You sat at a table with your closest friend, nursing a drink in your hand. The alcohol had taken its toll, and you spoke with an uncharacteristic candidness. Your voice carried a mix of longing and frustration as you confided in your friend, unaware of Maedhros' presence in the ethereal realm of your visions.

"I don't understand," you slurred, your words slinking out with a hint of sadness. "Why can't I find someone who truly understands me? Someone who makes me feel alive, even in the chaos of this modern world?"

Your friend leaned in, concern etched across their face. "Maybe you're waiting for something, someone out of the ordinary. A connection that defies explanation."

You shook your head, your gaze distant yet focused. "I can't explain it, but I can feel it. It's like there's someone out there, someone who exists beyond the boundaries of time and place. And until I find them, I'll remain unmarried, waiting for a love that may never come."

Maedhros' heart tightened with a mixture of longing and hope. Could it be that you, too, felt the pull of destiny, the unspoken yearning for a love that transcended the limits of your world? In that moment, he understood the significance of their connection, realizing that you were not bound solely by the visions, but also by an innate sense of waiting and seeking.

As the vision continued to unfold, Maedhros watched with growing unease as your friends surrounded you, their voices filled with excitement and encouragement. They urged you to give the unknown man a chance, to explore the possibilities of a romantic connection in your world.

His brows furrowed, and a tinge of annoyance settled within him. How could they not see that your heart already belonged to him, even if you were unaware of his existence? Maedhros clenched his fists, his jealousy flaring once more as their words washed over you.

But then, something unexpected happened. You shook your head, a determined expression crossing your face. The light of defiance sparked in your eyes as you voiced your disagreement. The words that escaped your lips resonated deeply within Maedhros, easing the tension in his heart.

"I'm waiting," you said firmly, your voice carrying a sense of unwavering conviction. "I know there's someone out there, someone extraordinary. I won't settle for anything less. I believe in true love, and I won't give my heart away to just anyone."

Maedhros felt a rush of relief flood through him, his earlier annoyance dissipating like mist under the sun's warmth. Your unwavering loyalty and your refusal to settle for less touched his soul, reaffirming the strength of your connection. He saw in you the same devotion and yearning that burned within his own heart.

With newfound hope, Maedhros recognized that you were steadfast in your belief in soulmates, just as he was. Your refusal to succumb to societal pressures and pursue a relationship for the sake of it ignited a flicker of admiration within him. It was a testament to the depth of your character and the sincerity of your feelings.

As the vision faded away, leaving Maedhros alone in his chambers, he clung to the memory of your determined expression, finding solace in the knowledge that you were willing to wait for him. With renewed determination, he vowed to make his way to your world, to find you and prove that the love you sought was waiting for you in his arms.

In the depths of his visions, Maedhros found himself observing a scene where you sat with your mother, going through a stack of potential matches for a date. Your mother eagerly presented each profile, her voice filled with anticipation as she described the qualities and accomplishments of each suitor.

As you listened attentively, Maedhros couldn't help but interject his thoughts, even though he knew his words would go unheard by those around you. He watched as your mother held up a photo of a well-groomed man with a charming smile, proclaiming his success in business.

"He lacks depth," Maedhros murmured, his voice tinged with a touch of disappointment. "There is more to love than mere success."

Your mother continued, unfazed by the invisible presence beside you, showcasing another profile of a gentleman known for his athletic prowess and adventurous spirit.

"He seems adventurous, but does he truly understand your soul?" Maedhros questioned, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and longing.

The vision carried on, each suitor presented and dismissed, one after another. Maedhros found himself growing more restless with each passing moment, as if the wrong match could never truly fulfill the void in your heart. He yearned for you to find the love he knew only he could provide.

Finally, after a lengthy presentation, your mother paused, expecting your enthusiastic approval for at least one of the candidates. However, to her surprise, you looked up with a gentle smile and shook your head.

"Mother, I appreciate your efforts, but none of them resonate with me," you said, your voice filled with determination. "I believe that love is something deeper, something that cannot be found within these profiles. I won't settle for less than what my heart truly desires."

Though your words were directed at your mother, Maedhros felt his heart swell with hope and admiration. He knew that you were refusing these matches because, deep down, you yearned for a love that transcended the boundaries of time and space.

Maedhros found himself engulfed in another haunting vision, this time witnessing a scene filled with chaos and despair. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched you, his soulmate from another world, caught in the midst of a horrific car accident.

The screeching of tires, the shattering of glass, and the cries of panic surrounded the scene. Maedhros stood frozen, his eyes fixed on you, trapped within the twisted metal wreckage of a car. His chest tightened with anguish, his mind racing with fear and helplessness.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to intervene, to somehow reach out and shield you from harm. But he was painfully aware that this was a vision, a glimpse into a reality he could not directly alter or control.

Tears welled up in Maedhros' eyes as he watched the emergency responders arrive, their urgency and expertise evident as they worked tirelessly to free you from the wreckage. The weight of his emotions threatened to consume him as he yearned to be by your side, offering solace and reassurance.

Maedhros clenched his fists, his jaw set with determination. Though separated by worlds and dimensions, his love for you burned fiercely. He whispered words of protection and strength, hoping that somehow, his thoughts and prayers would reach you in that harrowing moment.

As the vision continued, the paramedics carefully extricated you from the car, their expertise evident in every precise movement. Maedhros held his breath, his heart pounding in his ears as they carefully placed you onto a stretcher and rushed you into the ambulance.

His eyes never wavered from you, his gaze filled with a potent mix of fear and love. He yearned to be by your side, to offer comfort and support in your time of need. But all he could do was watch, his heart aching with the knowledge that he was unable to physically be there for you.

The vision slowly faded, leaving Maedhros shaken and overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions. The glimpse into a possible tragedy served as a painful reminder of the fragility of life and the depth of his love for you.

Would your worlds ever converge or was this fate bound to these fleeting visions.

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #silmarillion #noldor elves #silmarillion x reader #tolkien #angst #middle earth #romance #silmarillion headcanons #maedhros x reader #maedhros #modern reader #pining #lots of pining

123 notes · View notes

gliyerabaa · 1 month

Note

Prompt 11 I beg of you... put more gelohie fluff into this world

mat of COURSE YOU PICKED THE ANGSTIEST OF THE FLUFF PROMPTS >:(

11. Person A noticing person B is getting overwhelmed and helping them out.

musicalverse

There they sat, outside the towering doors of the Wizard's throne room. Anticipation practically crackled in the air, as both Elphaba and Glinda knew in their hearts that this meeting with the Wizard would change the trajectory of their intertwined lives forever.

Glinda distracted herself from her nerves by marvelling at the grand architecture of the Wizard's palace, almost otherworldly in its design. Towering pillars led upward into sweeping arched ceilings, engraved with emerald-studded murals of the history of Oz. The fairy queen Lurline cast a jewel-studded smile over the both of them, and Glinda, who been raised Lurlinist but had never had strong religious convictions, felt a stirring in her heart; felt safe and protected under Lurline's watchful eye.

What a grand and marvelous artistic testament to Ozian history, Glinda thought. The Wizard, rumored to be from Another World, certainly took great care in documenting the culture of Oz despite his otherworldliness. He must be a great man--

Glinda was distracted from her thoughts by Elphaba's shivering-- it was audible-- and she quickly diverted attention to her beloved.

"Elphie?" Glinda kept her voice soft, for she had never seen Elphaba this unnerved before, "Are you alright?"

Elphaba responded silently, shaking her head 'no'.

"May I touch you?" Glinda asked, and upon being answered with an eager nod, she took Elphaba's hands in her own, stroking them in a repetitive, soothing motion, "Just breathe, Elphie."

Elphaba visibly relaxed at Glinda's gentle touch, sighing as Glinda drew a hand across her jawline.

"The Wizard invited you here, Elphie." Glinda whispered, "He sees your potential, he knows you are a capable sorceress..."

"But..." Elphaba spoke slowly, her voice trembling and fresh, "What if I'm not good enough for whatever he needs me for? I'm used to being a disappointment, sure, but letting down the most important person in all of Oz? Not even I could stand that..."

"Sure, he may be the Wizard of Oz, but you can't let one person bring you down like that. Our lives are going to change today, Elphie." She took Elphaba's hands again, "But you must realize that it's going to be for the better. You're going to get to work with the Wizard of Oz, and that's a monumental accomplishment in itself. The Wizard will not expect perfection from you, so you can't continue to hold yourself to those impossible standards."

"Right." Elphaba said, not appearing entirely convinced.

"And you know, my dear, whatever comes next..." Glinda glanced at the ring on her finger, running her thumb over the matching band on Elphaba's finger. They'd proposed to each other last night, vowing to persevere through such a monumental change, "We'll be facing it all together."

"Hm..." Elphaba smiled, "You're right. Glinda, you make me feel like I can do anything. For you, I could keep the sun shining, I could defy the very laws of gravity. You empower me, my sweet. I love you."

They kissed softly, briefly, then pulled apart and rested their foreheads against each other, simply sharing breath and sharing space on the precipice of this monumental shift in their lives.

Then, the grand gates opened, and a stocky man stepped forward.

"The Wizard will see you now."

#gelphie #wicked the musical #wicked #my writing #writing prompt #yes i will allude to them being engaged/married every damn chance i get leave me alone

19 notes · View notes

mydarllinglover · 11 months

Text

Alone || Pardoned

"Light it up" Daryl called out to everyone as they took the roamers in the field out, Rick soon enough joined in from above.

Eventually, all the bodies were dropped and the field was theirs.

"Home Sweet Home." Natalia sighed as they left the tower.

"Fantastic" Carl said as they greeted him and Hershel.

"Nice shooting" Daryl complimented.

"You okay?" Carol asked Lori.

"I haven't felt this good in weeks." She smiled.

"Then lets go celebrate." Natalia patted her shoulder. "Sul, go run around boy."

Sully woofed as he ran through the gate and across the gate, his tail wagging dangerously fast, that he might take off at any moment, he stopped at one roamer, growling as it began to get up, Glenn was quick to take it out for good.

"Oh, we haven't had this much space since we left the farm" Carol said in glee as she twirled around on the grass, everyone else joined as they cheered and laughed.

It was nightfall, the group sat around a fire as Maggie turned over meat, Rick paced around the Perimeter, Daryl walked back and forth the over turned bus as he scoped out possible signs of danger, Natalia was stood around the fence facing the courtyard, dwelling on her thoughts as she threw darts at roamers who decided to get close enough to the fence, Sully growled at them from beside her.

"Why don't you go get some food?" Rick had walked past her again, stopping this time.

"Sully, go eat." She told the dog, who obeyed and jogged towards the campfire.

"I didn't mean the dog." He said.

"I'm not used to sitting in a field filled with roamers, neither is my appetite, besides, there's not enough for both of us, he'll have my share."

"We have enough."

"Here, have a go" She offered a dart to the man. "Saving us a job for tomorrow, no way in hell we're stopping at here, right?."

He took the dart with a shake of his head.

"Thanks." He said. "For the gate."

"If I didn't get him, Daryl or carol would've, she's getting good, fast learner."

"But you got it, so I'm thanking you."

"Your people are having a sing-along, should go join them." She looked over her shoulder at Beth and Maggie singing.

"After you." He said, throwing another dart.

"I'm alright." She shrugged.

"Come down in a bit, you should get some sleep."

"Speak for yourself." Natalia replied.

He shook his head as he eventually walked down to the others, sitting beside Lori In the circle.

"She's gonna spend the whole night up there" Lori said.

"I talked to her." Rick responded taking the bowl that was passed to him and holding it up to his wife.

"Nat doesn't think she's part of the group yet." Beth included herself into the conversation.

"She ain't" Daryl told her.

"She's saved half our lives in just a few weeks, Natalia is as much as part of this group as the rest of us." Hershel disagreed.

Daryl looked over his shoulder to see the woman staring up at the stars, seemingly bored of her dart game, there was something about her that he didn't trust, she was holding in a big secret, he didn't like that.

Rick had decided to move the conversation away from the woman, laying out the plans for tomorrow and heading off to the designated lookout spot, Lori quick to catch up as the rest settled down for the night, Sully had decided to bother the redneck with his presence as he curled up next to the man instead of his owner

Rick's plan had entailed that him, Daryl, T-Dog, Glenn, Maggie and Natalia as a group would infiltrate the courtyard, taking out the rest of the roamers in there before moving in, as long as they stayed in a formation and kept to the plan, they should be good.

"Stay here, boy." She told Sully, feeding him a treat as he sat by Carl. "Watch him for me, will ya?"

"Course!" The kid promised as he gave her a small smile.

"We all ready?" Rick asked.

"Let's go have some fun." Natalia muttered to herself, pulling out her weapon of choice and tucking her tank top behind her knifes for easy access in case she were to need them.

"It ain't supposed to be fun" Daryl growled from beside her, shooting her an hard look.

"Suit yourself." She shrugged.

"Ready?" Hershel asked, but didn't get an answer as Rick pushed the gate open.

The roamers in the courtyard came stumbling towards them, growling loud and desperately as they tripped over the bodies that had fallen victim to Natalia's late night game.

"Daryl" Rick called over to the redneck who quickly took out the one closet to him.

The group was quick to take out any undead prisoners that got close to them, whilst keeping an eye out for any coming from different blind spots.

"Get tight. Get tight." Glenn raised his voice as they began closing in on the group, the rest on the other side were banging and shouting on the fence to bring the prisoners attention to them so they could get them through the fence.

T-Dog jogged from the group, ignoring Ricks calls as he reached for a riot shield.

"Don't break ranks!" Rick ordered.

"We need that." T-Dog argued, using the shield to knock a prisoner over and letting Maggie finish it off, before she joined Glenn's side once again.

"Almost there." Rick clarified as they got further into the prison courtyard.

Rick opened up a steel red door, looking over the corner as the rest got ready for another attack, but copied their leader as he was quick to lean against the wall, hiding from the other side.

"What is it?" Natalia asked in a hushed whisper.

Another courtyard was filled with Roamers as 4, suited up in riot gear, caught their scent and barrelled towards them.

Daryl inched closer as a riot geared roamer growled at him, as he shot an arrow at the shield covering it's face, causing it to bounce off and onto the floor.

"Nice going, dumbass." Natalia teased as he glared at her, quick to move his eyes back to the roamers ahead.

Everyone struggled with the riots as Rick reached for the gate to shut out the other courtyard roamers.

Natalia grabbed one that reached out for her, stabbing into it's throat and aiming for the skull as it dropped to the ground.

"Go up, through the gap at their necks" She called to the others.

"Daryl!" Rick called out to the other man, as they both jogged for the gate, kicking back a roamer and managing to close it.

"See that?!" Maggie grinned as she took the advice, a body dropping to the ground. T-Dog and Glenn were quick to do the same.

Eventually, they had taken them all out and the courtyard was cleared.

Natalia walked back to the Roamers with the darts, taking them out and wiping them clean on her jeans before pocketing them.

"Stop" Rick halted Glenn from going back to the others as they looked around.

"Well, it looks secure." The younger man said.

"Not from the look of that courtyard over there." Daryl pointed at the roamers behind the now closed gate. "And that's a civilian."

"So the interior could be overrun from walkers from outside the prison." T-Dog sighed.

"Well if there's walls down, what are we gonna do?" Glenn questioned. "We can't rebuild this whole place."

"We can't risk a blind spot. We have to push in." Rick declared.

Natalia let out a sigh, for a moment, wondering why she chose to go with these people after all, it seemed like a lot of work.

The group made their way to a rusty metal cage, heading towards another red door.

Daryl stood ready to open it as Rick raised his machete, nodding at the man as the door was slid open and he entered.

The group entered the cellblock, all on high alert and weapons raised as they looked around it.

It was a mess and water was dripping from an unknown area.

Rick had walked to the guard tower, snatching the keys from a dead guard and joined the rest, unlocking the door to the actual cells, which was also equally messy.

Natalia and Maggie peered into an open cell, spotting a prisoner who looked to have been shot through the head, they shared a look before moving on.

Growling sounds came from upstairs, where Rick and Daryl had disappeared to.

Soon enough, they were taken care off.

"Go get the others, we'll move these out." Rick told Glenn, who followed the orders and left the cellblock.

Daryl kicked the bodies down and T-Dog made way of dragging them out of the cellblock.

Sully came running, almost tackling Natalia as he jumped up at her.

"Hey, boy, missed me?" She grinned as she petted her dog.

"What do you think?" Rick asked as the others eventually came in, carrying their belongings.

"Home sweet home" Glenn mused.

"For the time being." Rick replied.

"It's secure?" Lori asked.

"This cellblock is."

"What about the rest of the prison?" Hershel asked.

"In the morning, we'll find the cafeteria and infirmary."

"We sleep in the cells?" Beth hesitated, looking around.

"I found keys on some guards, Daryl has a set, too."

"I ain't sleeping in no cage." Daryl decided. "I'll take the perch."

The group went to choose their cells, Natalia made her way upstairs, patting her leg so that Sully would follow.

"You staying up here, too?" Carol asked Natalia, Lori by her side.

"Oh, were you guys planning on it?" She asked.

"We can be cell roomies." Lori laughed.

"Uhm." Natalia looked over the railing, seeing how many people were staying downstairs. "I think I'll take the corner over there." She pointed at the corner further away from everyone else, forcing a smile on her face in hopes to still seem friendly as she walked away from the two women.

Natalia placed her belongings, that was kindly picked up for her into the empty cell before going to find the other man with a set of keys.

"Hey." She greeted as he got comfortable on his perch.

"Hm?" He grunted.

"Was wondering if I could have one of those keys, for my cell." She said.

"Why'd you need it?" He asked, sceptical of the request.

"For personal reassurance."

"Not good enough." He shook his head.

"Daryl, just give it, I don't need to explain myself to you."

"Y'know none of us are gonna attack you in yer sleep."

"I know that, but I'd feel much better if I just had one, don't be so difficult."

"Whatever." He grumbled, picking up the ring of keys and taking one off, chucking it at her before throwing it back down and getting comfortable again.

"Thank you" She grumbled, walking back to her cell and locking the door with her and Sully inside.

"Nat let's go!" Daryl shouted up, it was the next day, and they were planning on scoping out other parts of the prison.

Natalia sighed as she finally got up from the bed, she hadn't slept in a while, who knew that a locked cell in an overrun prison was enough to make her feel safe to close her eyes.

She walked down in the same outfit as the day she met the group, except, instead of a tank top she was wearing a black long sleeved V-neck, the buttons undone, as Rick expressed to Carl about not coming with them as the others suited up.

"You're going like that?" T-Dog asked, looking at her pyjama bottoms.

"Gotta get dressed up for the roamers?" She asked. "I got everything I need." Natalia tucked her shirt behind the belt full of knifes and daggers, shoving a small handgun in the waistband at her back, making sure the knot on her bottoms were tight enough that it wouldn't fall out.

"Let's go." Rick decided, passing the ring of keys to Carl as they left the cellblock, Hershel adding to the group.

The seven walked through the prison, flashlights shining round the darkness, landing on dead bodies and open doors.

Glenn spray painted any corner that they passed, checking it off as clear.

A thud was getting louder as they seemed to be getting closer to it, Rick and Daryl led the group as they rounded two corners, each having their weapons and flashlights held high.

Suddenly, Rick jumped backwards, alerting everyone else to go back.

"Walkers!" Glenn hissed.

They ran down different corners, as more seemed to pop up from them, blocking entry's off as they followed Daryl's lead.

Glenn, Maggie and Natalia got cut off as loads more came in front of them, Glenn grabbed the two women, pulling them into a cupboard and closing the door, as the walkers pounded against it.

"This is cosy" Natalia hummed. "Anyone up for a game of seven minutes in heaven?"

Soon enough, the pounding had stopped and Glenn opened the door back up as the three left.

"Rick?" Glenn called out.

"Dad?" Maggie copied.

"Anyone?" Natalia joined in.

Hershel's distinct cries could be heard in the darkness, sending the three running after him.

Maggie began crying as it was obvious that Hershel had been bitten.

There was no time to think as the walkers had come back, Rick and Glenn picked the old man up, resting his arms around their shoulders.

"We gotta go" Natalia told the other woman, placing her hand on her lower back and grabbing her arm, leading her to follow the rest.

"Rick! We're blocked!" T-Dog shouted, as the walkers came from every direction except for one, which they were forced to go down.

There was only one door, and it was locked with a pair of handcuffs.

"Unlock the door!" Glenn ordered as T-Dog used the bolt cutters and pushed it open.

The group rushed inside whilst T-Dog and Daryl fought to push the doors closed against the walkers.

Glenn and Rick set Hershel down on the floor and everyone helped to hold the crying man down as Rick ripped his trousers and inspected the bite on his leg.

"Hold him down." Rick ordered as he began to take of his belt and tied it around Hershels leg.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Natalia asked, wide eyed.

"Only one way to keep him alive." Rick said, picking up his axe.

Natalia looked away as she continued to help hold the man down as Rick hacked at his leg.

Movement caught her eye from the barred off area.

Roamers, no, they were alive.

Five prisoners were watching them.

"He's bleeding out," Rick dropped his axe.

Natalia turned to look at Daryl, who had caught them as well.

"Duck." Daryl muttered before picking up his crossbow and aiming at them, Natalia jumped to her feet too, pulling out her handgun and pointing it straight ahead.

"Holy shit." A blond prisoner whispered.

"Who the hell are you?" Daryl asked, advancing, Natalia close behind, she got a bad feeling instantly about these guys.

"Who the hell are you?" one copied.

"He's bleeding out." Rick repeated, his voice sounding hazy as he looked around. "We gotta go back."

"Why don't you come on out of there." Daryl told them. "Slow and steady."

A Hispanic man with long dark hair came out first, looking at Hershel before the two people with weapons in their hands, he looked the woman up and down first, seemingly taken aback.

"What happened to him?" He asked, looking back at Hershel.

"He got bit" Daryl answered.

"Bit?" the man asked, pulling out a small gun.

"Yeah, by a roamer." Natalia said, tightening her grip around the gun, taking the safety off.

"Woah, woah, easy now. Nobody needs to get hurt." Daryl expressed as the man pointed his gun at the pair and T-Dog, who had also raised his gun at them.

Glenn ignored the prisoners as he moved past them and into the space they were occupying, looking for anything to help with the old man.

"Who the hell are you people anyway?" The main prisoner asked.

"Don't look like no rescue team." The blond said.

Natalia scoffed at him as she kept her gun pointed at the Hispanic.

"If a rescue team is what you're waiting on, don't." Rick told them as he helped Maggie stand Hershel up. "Come on, we gotta go. Now! Come on, I need a hand here!".

Glenn and Rick raised Hershel onto a trolley.

"T, the door." Rick instructed.

"Are you crazy? Don't open that." A small dark skinned prisoner told them.

"We got this!" Rick assured.

T-dog took out a raid geared roamer as Rick called Daryl and Natalia back.

"We can't just leave them." She told the redneck.

"We gotta go." He nodded at her, walking backwards with his crossbow still aimed, waiting for her to leave before him, which she begrudgingly did.

They ran down the hallways, attempting to get back to the cellblock.

"They're following us." Natalia hissed, causing the group to pause as they heard a voice whisper about following the flashlight.

"Go, let's go." Rick decided, continuing, until they eventually got back.

Daryl unlocked the door, letting everyone in, as Maggie and Rick pushed Hershel through.

"Open the door! It's Hershel!" Rick called out. "Carl!"

Carl opened the door to the cells as Beth cried out.

T-Dog closed the door once Glenn had got through.

Natalia raised her gun, waiting for the first person to walk around the corner.

The Hispanic was the first through the door.

"That's far enough." Daryl said.

"Keep on coming, you can join your friends back there." Natalia threatened.

"Cell block C, Cell 4, that's mine, gringo, let me in." The man said.

"Not anymore."

"Today's your lucky day, fellas. You've been pardoned by the state of Georgia, you're free to go." Daryl told them bluntly.

"What you got going on in there?"

"None of your business." Natalia sneered.

"Or any of your concern." Daryl added.

"Don't be telling me what's my business or concern." He said, pulling out his toy gun.

"You gonna take the two of us out with that little thing?" Natalia teased. "Put it down."

"Why don't you put yours down first, pretty lady." He sized her up once again.

"Chill, man. Dude's legs messed up. Besides, we're free to go." The biggest of the group said. "Why are we still here?"

"Mans got a point."

"Yeah, and I gotta check on my old lady." Another said.

"A group of civilians breaking into a prison you got no business being in. Got me thinking there ain't no place for us to go."

"Maybe we just like the scenery." Natalia shrugged. "Should go look for yourself, what it's like out there."

"Maybe we'll just be going on." The blond suggested.

"Hey, we ain't leaving."

"You ain't coming in either." T-dog told the Hispanic.

"Hey, this is my house, my rules. I go where I damn well please."

"I don't think that's how prison works, buddy."

"Hey, shut your damn mouth, lady."

"Why don't you try and make me." Natalia took the safety of her gun off once again, raising it back to him. "I'll put you down before you can take another step further."

"You even know how to use that?" The little one asked.

"Want me to prove it?"

"Look, there ain't nothing here, so why don't you go back to your own sandbox." Daryl told them.

"Hey, everyone relax. There's no need for this." Rick came out of the cells.

"How many of you are in there?" The Hispanic asked.

"Too many for you to handle." Rick lied.

"You guys rob a bank or something? Why don't you take him to a hospital?"

"Yeah, and we'll make a trip to Disneyland on the way there." Natalia rolled her eyes.

"How long have you been locked in that cafeteria?" Rick asked.

"Going on like 10 months."

"A riot broke out." The big one said. "Never seen anything like it."

"Attica on speed, man." The blond added.

"Ever heard about dude's going cannibal, dying, coming back to life?" The little one asked. "Crazy."

"One guard looked out for us, locked us up in the cafeteria. Told us to sit tight, threw me this piece, said he'd be right back."

"Yeah, that was 292 days ago."

"94, according to my calcula-"

"Shut up!"

"We were thinking that the Army or National Guard should be showing up any day now."

"There is no Army." Rick told them.

"What do you mean?"

"There's no government, no hospitals, no police. It's all gone."

"For real?" The blond asked.

"Serious."

"What about my moms?" The big one said to himself.

"My kids and my old lady? Yo, you got a cell phone or something, that we can call our families?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Daryl grumbled.

"No phones, no computers." Rick said, as Daryl lowered his crossbow, but Natalia didn't chance lowering her gun. "As far as we can see, at least half the population has been wiped out, probably more."

There was a silent pause as the prisoners seemed to take this in.

"Ain't no way." The Hispanic denied.

"See for yourself." Rick told him.

Everyone made it outside as the prisoners looked around the courtyard, stretching.

"Damn the sun feels good." The tall man, Oscar said.

"Good lord, they're all dead." The blond, Axel sighed.

"Never thought I'd be so happy to see these fences."

"You never said. How the hell did you get in here in the first place?" Andrew, the little one asked.

"Cut a hole in that fence over there by that guard tower." Daryl explained, ignoring the glare that Natalia shot at him for revealing that.

"That easy, huh?"

"Where there's a will, there's a way."

"Easy for you to say."

"So what, is this like a disease?" Big Tiny asked as he poked a body.

"Yeah, and we're all infected." Rick said.

"What do you mean, infected?" Axel asked. "Like AIDS or something?"

"If I was to kill you, shoot an arrow in your chest, you'd come back as one of these things" Daryl told him. "Gonna happen to all of us."

"Ain't no way these Robin Hood cats responsible for killing all these freaks." Tomas said. "Must be 50 bodies out here."

"If you think you can do better, try it somewhere else." Natalia told him.

"Where'd you come from?" Tomas asked Rick, ignoring the woman.

"Atlanta."

"Where are you headed?"

"For now, nowhere."

"I guess you could take that area down there, near the water. Should be comfortable." Tomas pointed at the field.

"We're using that field for crops."

"We'll help you move your gear out."

"That won't be necessary, we took these walkers out. This Prisons is ours."

"Slow down, Cowboy."

"You snatched the locks off our doors." Andrew piped up.

"We'll give you new locks if that's how you want it."

"This is our prison. We were here first."

"Locked in a broom closet?" Rick asked Tomas.

"We took it, set you free. It's ours. We spilled blood."

"We're moving back into our cell block."

"You'll have to get your own."

"It is mine, I've still got personal artifacts in there." Tomas argued, pulling his gun back out again, causing everyone to raise theirs once again.

"Woah, woah, woah. Maybe lets try to make this work out so everybody wins." Axel suggested, standing in the middle of two sides.

"I don't see that happening."

"Neither do I." Rick agreed with Tomas.

"I ain't going back in that cafeteria for one more minute."

"There are other cell blocks."

"You could leave." Daryl reminded. "Try your luck out on the road."

"I'm a big fan of that idea." Natalia chimed in.

"If these three pussies and the little lady can do all this, the least we can do is take out another cell block." Natalia didn't like the way Tomas's expression seemed to change up all of a sudden.

"With what?" Big Tiny asked.

"Atlanta here will spot us some real weapons. Won't you boss?"

"How stocked is that cafeteria?" Rick then asked. "It must have plenty of food, five guys lasting almost a year?"

"It sure as hell don't look like anybody's been starving." Daryl commented.

"There's only a little left."

"We'll take half. In exchange, we'll help clear out a cell block." Natalia felt uneasy about Ricks idea, she didn't like the idea of living anywhere near these guys.

"Didn't you hear him? There's only a little left." Andrew said.

"Bet you got more food than you got choices. You pay, we'll play. We'll clear out a block for you then you keep to it."

"Alright." Tomas caved.

"But lets be clear, if we see you out here, anywhere near our people, If I so much as even catch a whiff of your scent, I will kill you." Rick said.

"Deal."

"Rick, I don't trust this" Natalia muttered as they headed back to the cafeteria. "They're prisoners for a reason."

"What else are we supposed to do?" Daryl asked.

"Take them out, don't give them chances." Natalia shrugged.

"No, we don't, you don't live like that anymore, alright?" Rick said.

"Yeah, well, I didn't shoot any of you lot, cause I didn't feel like I had to, I do with them, I got a knack for these kinda things."

"They give us the opportunity, we'll shoot, not until then." Rick decided.

"Pantry's back here." Tomas called out once they reached it.

"You never tried to break out of here?" T asked.

"Yeah, we tried to take the doors off. But if you make one peep in here, then those freaks will be lined up outside the door, growling tryna get in." Oscar explained.

"Windows got bars on there that He-Man couldn't get through." Big Tiny asked.

"Bigger than 5x8" Axel added.

"You won't find me complaining. Doing 15, my left leg can barely fit on one of those bunks."

"Yeah, they don't call him Big Tiny for nothing."

"You done jerking each other off?" Tomas asked. "Sick of waiting back here."

Natalia gave Rick a knowing look, he let out a sigh as he continued, but she didn't miss how he put a hand on his gun.

"This what you call a little bit of food?" Daryl asked as they looked around the loaded pantry.

"Goes fast."

"You can have a bag of corn, some tuna fish..."

"We said half. That's the deal. What's in there?" Rick asked, looking at a big heavy door.

"Don't open that." Oscar rushed to say.

As soon as Rick pulled it open, he was gagging as he closed it once again, the stench filling the air. Natalia plugged her nose with a gloved hand.

"He wanted to know" Tomas laughed.

"Can't wait for my own pot to piss in." Axel sighed.

"Alright, just grab stuff and let's get it back, alright?" Rick sighed, shaking his head.

The four of them, carried out the food to form a pile, the prisoners not bothering to help.

Natalia got down on her hands and knees as she reached to grab stuff from under the bottom shelf, when she stood back up, Tomas was stood right behind her.

"Enjoying the show, creep?" She rolled her eyes.

"Y'know, I've been stuck in here a long time, prison that is, and with the way the world is right now, I imagine you've been stuck as well."

"I don't know what you mean?"

"We could buddy up, I'm not shy from having a cell buddy, could have some fun, you help me out, I'll help you out, real good, back in my old cell, how bout that?" He asked, reaching up and grabbing her ass.

Natalia tugged at his arm, bending it as she shoved him on the ground, reaching for a knife as she held it between his eyes.

"Do not touch me" She said In a hushed voice.

"Nat." Rick said in a warning tone as he raised a hand at her, Daryl had his crossbow pointed at Tomas's head, T-Dog raised his gun at the other prisoners, who all threw their hands up in Surrender. "Nat, put it away, don't do it."

Natalia glared at the man with hate as he tried to keep his breathing normal.

"Natalia, put the knife away, now." Rick repeated.

"You ever touch me again, or dare speak to me like that, I swear to god, I will feed you to the roamers piece by piece, whilst keeping you alive as long as your body can survive, and you'll feel everything, understand?"

Tomas didn't answer.

"I said, do you understand" She trailed her knife along his cheek, drawing a tiny line of blood.

"Yes, I understand." He gritted through his teeth.

Natalia got back up, pocketing the knife as she kicked his body, before picking the food up off the floor from where she dropped it, shoving past Rick. "I told you we should've ended it before it could start."

"Let's just get this all back." T-Dog stated, putting his gun away as he patted Natalia's shoulder as she walked past him, too.

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead daryl

87 notes · View notes

mcufan72 · 1 year

Text

Cold winter days, a lonely woman on a bench, a stranger in the park...

An Encounter in Winter ❄️

Loki and female reader (18+)

Chapter 10

Chapter 9

18+/adult themes/talking/ flirting/ slow burn/fluff/angst/smut

Warnings: fluff, a small quarrel, smut (m receiving), two lovers some time apart and some angst...

At the end of January, you moved to Stark Tower and as one might expect you moved into Loki's apartment. Now it was yours, your shared apartment. You have been hesitant to do it because you neither wanted to invade his privacy too soon nor you wanted to rush things. But you two were too clingy and in love with each other so living together and sharing the apartment felt natural right from the beginning as if it had never been different. And it wasn't that Loki wouldn't allow you to bring your personality and style into your now-shared rooms.

You didn't change much in the apartment, you loved Loki's Asgardian style of living and his furnishings. You just added a few candles in jars and placed them in the rooms, and some of your small pillows in vintage style adorned the cuddly sofa. On the table in the living room was always a vase with a bouquet of your favourite green roses and Loki made sure they were always fresh. He even mounted a TV on the wall and he enjoyed watching series, movies and documentaries together with you.

Loki also insisted that you add your books to his book wall and he gave you a big amount of space in his walk-in closet. He loved to see your lingerie next to his briefs and boxers. Of course, he did and sometimes he picked something of your lingerie for you so you could put it on for him. He wanted to integrate you completely into his life. You were a part of him as much as he was a part of you and after a very long time, you now had a feeling of family life again. You had hated to live alone and so did Loki.

You also felt extremely comfortable in your new job, you had great teammates in the lab and Bruce was the best supervisor and laboratory manager you had ever had. He thought a great deal of you and entrusted you with a high level of responsibility. To work together with him was a great joy and you learned many new things, especially about creatures from outer space and their genetics. This job definitely expanded your knowledge and skills.

The weeks had gone by so fast and it was already spring. The Avengers had a long free time since Christmas, there had only been a few missions for one or two days and not every one of them was needed or had to participate in every mission. It seemed to be quiet in space these times and no invasions were in sight. It has been a really comfortable time for you and Loki and irrationally you thought it would never change.

It was an afternoon in the first days of April and Loki and you strolled through the park like every day. The days became warmer now and today you didn't even need a jacket. Loki wore a green long-sleeve shirt, only half-buttoned and black tight jeans like you. He never seemed to freeze but you didn't wonder about it anymore. And you loved to have a sexy view of his chest. You had a tight-fitting turtleneck sweater on because you didn't find it warm enough to wear just a blouse or a T-shirt. You two walked arm in arm around the lake, your one hand shoved into the back pocket of Loki's trousers so you could caress and kneed his sexy ass the whole time. How were you supposed to not do it? This man, your man, was just too sexy and too adorable.

Instead of the ice skaters on the lake, there were swans and ducks now in the water and they quacked like there was no tomorrow. You stopped there for a moment and watched the ducks and swans swimming in the water or cleaning their feathers at the lake's shore.

"Did you know that swans stay together for life once they have found their partner?" you asked him.

"Noo, but I think I want to be a Swan now because I want to be together forever with you" he replied.

Loki hooked a finger into your turtleneck and pulled it down, just a little bit. You turned your head towards him and he gave you a passionate kiss. He then kissed your cheek and his mouth trailed down to your throat and he sucked a hickey to your soft skin. He always knew to push your buttons right and you laughed quietly and moaned blissfully. His tongue circled around and over the fresh marking before he let go of your throat and pushed the turtleneck up again. There were so many smitten couples strolling through the park that no one paid attention to you.

"Lo, please," you giggled.

"What? I could do this all day, Snowflake."

"Yeah, I know that and I enjoy it but…"

"But what? Your hand on my arse, my mouth on your lips and your throat, that's just fair, isn't it?"

You laughed and he kissed you again.

"Do you know why I love to see you wearing a turtleneck sweater?" he asked you, his signature grin appearing on his beautiful face.

"Nooo, but I'm sure you're going to tell me, handsome."

"I can suck the soft skin of your neck and leave my marks and nobody else can see them but you and I know, they're there. And this I find extremely sexy," he murmured into your ear.

With his arm around your nape, his hand grabbed your chin carefully, turned your head towards him and he smacked his soft wet lips against yours. Your hand rested in the opening of his shirt on his naked chest and you felt his heartbeat against your hand. Why could you never get enough of him? And he was very clingy these days so it was even harder for you to keep your fingers off your lover.

"Come, let's walk to our bench, Lo."

"As you wish, my love." He stared deeply and lovingly into your eyes. You couldn't explain what it was but there was something different in his gaze. Maybe you just imagined it.

The daffodils, tulips, and grape hyacinths were blooming all over the meadow and in the flower beds. The Japanese flowering trees were also blooming and a small amount of the blossom petals whirled around and down to the ground like pink snowflakes. One could say it was almost kitschy but you loved it and for you, it was romantic and idyllic. And it was the first time that you could enjoy spring together with Loki.

You sat close to him on the bench, his arm wrapped around you, your head leaning against his shoulder. You both watched the scenery before you, looking at children playing in the meadow and listening to the chirping birds. Everything could be fine if there wasn't the strange feeling you had in your gut.

"Lo, is there something you want to tell me? I can feel there's something that keeps your mind busy."

He hemmed and hawed a bit before he told you what was coming.

"I can't fool you, can I?"

"No, you can't", and you smiled at him. You lifted your head from his shoulder and turned towards him.

"We…have to go on a mission, a big one. I can't give you more details, I'm not allowed."

"Okay…so the 'businessman' is back to business," you said smilingly. "I assumed it might be something like this and we both knew this day would come."

"Yes, we knew it, Snowflake. We just didn't want to think about it."

Loki appeared to be thoughtful.

"Can we stay in contact while you're in outer space? Via video calls or radio messages?"

"No, that won't be possible. We'll be too far away for that."

"Hmmh, I understand. But it's not too dangerous, is it?" You asked him insecurely.

He hemmed and hawed again and took a very deep breath before he spoke again, unable to look at you.

"There might be the possibility that we …that I… that I could…"

"Lo? Lo, what are you trying to tell me?" You felt nauseous and angsty now.

"I…there's a… possibility that I could get seriously injured or…killed in the worst case. This mission is a very dangerous one ."

"Please what?" you asked, astonished and upset. "You're a god. Aren't you invulnerable or even immortal?"

"Well, that's not entirely true. You know, it's not that easy to seriously hurt or kill me but…"

"Lo, you're a god, gods are immortal, aren't they? You and also Thor…you cannot die…", you asked him, panic in your voice.

"We can and we do…it just seems like we cannot die because our life span is so much longer in comparison with yours. Darling, listen…"

"Wait what? Okay, you…you can't get killed so easily…at least something, that's good...okay, I get that … and when will you have to leave for this… maybe deadly shit?" Your heart raced and you felt dizzy.

"Tomorrow…in the morning…", he answered quietly.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Loki?"

You freed yourself from his embrace hastily, stood up from the bench and made a few steps forward, away from him towards the meadow, crossing your arms in front of you. You were livid.

"Do you know what you are telling me here right now?", you asked him angrily.

"Snowflake, please…listen…"

He stood up and walked over to you, trying to hold you by your shoulders and calming you down.

"Don't touch me", you scolded him and pushed his hands away.

"Do you know what?" You turned around to look at him, a mixture of anger and sadness in your voice and on your face.

"By every single person in my life which I loved to the core I was confronted with a fait accompli. By my father, my ex and my sister! And all of them left me alone very shortly after they had spoken to me and they never came back. Whether I want to see them again or not, it hurts, Loki, it fucking hurts. And it scares me!"

You swallowed your tears and your anger down. You didn't want to shout at him. Not here, and not in public. And never in your favourite place, you both loved so much.

"Do you think I'm just a dumb earth girl? Do you really think I haven't recognised that something was going on after this mysterious meeting two weeks ago? I don't want to know the details, Loki. It's a secret mission and I get that. But it's my right as your girlfriend to know in time that you're going to leave me and that it will be a very dangerous and maybe… deadly mission. I would've liked to be better prepared for it. Together with you!

Don't you think it would've been fair to tell me sooner and not just one day before your departure? You should never underestimate my gut feeling. I can't even think about it that I might lose you on this mission, although it's absolutely clear that you and I will always have to live with that risk. But it would've been nice to be confronted with this upcoming mission earlier but…okay, for you it doesn't seem that serious and significant…"

"Are you done now?" he asked resentfully.

"And please don't suggest that I think that you're a dumb earth girl. That's not fair, Snowflake. You're my perfect woman which I love endlessly and you should know that. I just didn't want you to worry too long before I have to leave... or to worry longer than necessary. I always want you to feel happy and safe. Before I met you I never cared about if I would return from a mission or not. But now I do care. It's a new situation for me, too and I don't know how to do everything right. To make you happy and give you all of my genuine love, that's my purpose. That's why I didn't tell you earlier…I…I just wanted to protect you! What is wrong with that?" he said, vexed by your accusations.

"Now I know it was a mistake to keep silent for so long. I'm not perfect, Snowflake. I never was and I'll never be…I just wanted to protect you 'cause I love you more than my life, more than anything. I never intended to hurt you. I'm sorry, my love…"

You shook your head and stared down at your feet before you looked at him again.

"I don't want you to be perfect, Lo. I just want you to be honest with me and that you tell me about such important things earlier. Please don't take away my right to worry about you. I love you way too much not to do it," you said softly to him.

Your anger was gone. You saw that he just wanted to make everything right, that he would never hurt you intentionally and that he loved you deeply. You pulled him into a tight embrace and he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his head in the crook of your neck. You desperately clung to him, stroking your fingers through his curls.

"I just want one thing, Lo. Come back to me. I beg you, please baby come back to me. Promise…promise me!"

How could he give this promise to you? He didn't know what would happen. He couldn't look into the future. But he truly wanted to come back to you, he would never leave you alone as all the others did.

"I promise Snowflake. I'll come back." He felt like a liar.

"And you, my love, promise me you will come here every day. Always, every day until I'm back. Same time, same place. And I want you to think and dream of me then, do you hear me? Promise me! I need this assurance because I don't want you to break with our ritual. I'll be here with you then, in your heart and your mind."

You just nodded. You couldn't speak. Farewell pain and anxiety choked your throat.

"I need to hear you saying it!"

"Yes, I promise, Lo," you whispered barely audible.

"When I'm back, we will go on vacation, if you want. Would you like that? Where would you like to go, my love?"

You looked at him and smiled, playing with the collar of his shirt. You knew he just wanted to distract you from the concerns and anxieties you had and that he wanted to give you hope.

"Norway…I want to see Norway again."

"Then it will be Norway, my Lady."

He cupped your cheeks and gave you a passionate kiss and you let your tongue play with his. He never failed to kiss your anger and anxieties away.

"I still feel guilty for not telling you earlier…"

"Yeah, it's not okay but…I get why you didn't tell me earlier but don't feel guilty, Lo. I know you did it for love," and you gave him a smile.

"Let's go to the café and then you can tell me everything about a God's physical vulnerability and mortality. I want…no, I need to know everything about it, Lo."

"Are you sure you want to know all this? Every little detail?"

"Yes! I prefer to face the truth!"

"Then I'll do it, darling. But I really don't want to scare you further."

"You don't, Lo. I don't want to let you go with me having false, unrealistic ideas about what could or could not happen to you."

"Always straight to the point, hmm?"

"Yeah, always straight to the point, Sir!"

Loki smiled and nodded. He took your hands in his and first he kissed the backs of your hands and then your palms. He adored you endlessly and you never failed to give him the feeling of still being valued and loved even when he made mistakes. Arm in arm you walked to the café, for the last time before he had to leave you.

The night before he had to leave, he made the most tender love to you while holding your hand the whole time, his fingers laced with yours. He bathed you in love and bliss, peppering open-mouthed kisses to your lips and every part of your body. Loki glanced at you all the time because he wanted to memorize every single detail of your face and your body so that when he is on this mission he would always remember you and your beautiful face and the feeling of your velvety skin on his.

He inhaled your scent deeply and whenever you two reached another climax he softly demanded from you to look him in the eyes. He needed all of this because he knew he would miss you every single second he couldn't be with you. After all that tender love making he cradled you in his arms and you two fell asleep. You held each other as tightly as you could because you wouldn't see and touch each other for quite some time.

The next morning was awful. You and Pepper stood at the helipad to say goodbye to the Avengers. Everyone had already entered the spaceship except Loki. He still held you tightly to his chest and gave you a breathtaking last kiss. Everything you had to say to each other had been said the previous night and he had to leave now.

"Keep your promise, snowflake. I love you, never forget that."

"And you keep yours, Lo, love of my life. And don't flirt with other space princesses. You know that you look extremely sexy in your leather combat suit, don't you?"

"I know! It's because of all the fine Asgardian leather and metal."

"Arrogant, smug God! But you're my god, you know!"

"And you're my goddess. Why should I flirt with a space princess when my goddess is waiting here for me?", and you both chuckled.

Actually you felt like crying but you gave him your radiant sweet smile. You didn't want his last impression of you to be your tears. He should remember just your smile on the mission.

He kissed you on your forehead and gave you a last nod, turned around and entered the spaceship. He didn't look back. His eyes were wet with tears but they didn't fall.

When the ship wasn't to see anymore, you allowed your tears to flow and your heart wanted to break. Deep inside of you, you knew he would come back… just a gut feeling. To let him go was horrible but you also knew that you should quickly get used to it. This wouldn't be the last mission. Pepper placed a hand on your shoulder.

"I know it's hard to let them go. The first time is the worst. Loki will come back. They'll all come back, believe me."

"I know," you nodded sadly.

"Come! Let's drink tea together and afterwards get back to work. That's the best distraction!"

"Yeah, you're right. Let's go!", and you smiled at her.

You kept your promise and your ritual. Every day you walked to the park. Same time, same place, a lonely woman on a bench… from the outside, it might look like this but it wasn't nearly like that. You weren't lonely, Loki was with you, in your heart and your mind. You thought and dreamt of him as you promised and you were absolutely sure, he will come back to you. It just felt as if the time went by way too slowly.

You hated the empty bed at night. You missed Loki and his proximity, you missed him desperately and you hoped he would come back soon…that they all will come back soon. It was so silent in the compound without them. The uncertainty was the worst thing and not knowing if they were all okay and successful.

"Y/n? Wake up, they will arrive soon! Hurry up!"

It was two weeks after they left for the mission when a loud knocking at your apartment's door woke you up in the early morning. Last night you fell asleep on the couch and the TV was still on and you felt as if you hadn't even slept a minute.

"Y/n? Did you hear me?"

"Yes, Pepper, I'll be there in a minute."

You were so tired but the fact that Loki would be back soon made you wake up immediately. Finally! You were utterly happy to see him again.

You jumped off the sofa, sprinted to the bathroom to brush your teeth quickly, got dressed in leggings and Loki's hoodie, and ran to the kitchen where Pepper was waiting for you with fresh, hot coffee.

"When will they arrive?" you asked her excitedly, a big smile on your face.

"Honestly, I don't know, I couldn't understand everything Tony said. The reception was bad, probably the communication system is defective."

"Maybe we should go outside and wait there for them?"

"Yes, good idea!"

You two did what you had suggested and a few minutes later the spaceship arrived.

You two welcomed everyone back. They were all unharmed, they had just some bruises and scratches, nothing too serious. But they were worn and weary and everyone just wanted to take a shower and a nap because tonight you all would celebrate a small reunion party with family and a few friends and acquaintances. Tony would never miss a chance to throw a party even if it's just a small one. He had already planned it on their flight back home.

And then you saw him, your Loki, striding down the gangway. You ran towards him and jumped into his open arms. He hugged you while you wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Have you missed me?"

"Of course not, Sir!"

"I didn't miss you either!" You looked at each other and smiled.

"Are you okay, Lo?"

"I'm okay, my love. Just a few scratches."

"Fine!" you said, relieved, and kissed him longingly.

"I stink and I'm dirty. I need a shower, urgently!" he laughed.

"I don't mind. I'm just glad to have you back."

"I'm glad, too. It's good to hold you in my arms again, my love."

He let you down to the ground again and you two went to your apartment. Loki was already in the shower when you decided to join him. You got out of your clothes, went to the bathroom and entered the shower. Loki had already washed his body and his hair. His forehead rested against the tiles and he enjoyed the warm water rippling down his tired body. He felt happy when he heard you coming into the shower. He just wanted to be close to you again.

"I was scared, Snowflake."

"I know, baby. But you're back…back in my arms", and you hugged him from behind.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, not yet."

"Okay. Then just relax, baby."

Your hands trailed up and down and over his chest and abs, you turned your head sideways, resting your cheek on his back and pressed your body close to him. Loki moaned when your hands reached down and you trailed your fingers over his hips and inner thighs. Your one hand cupped his balls carefully, your other hand grasped his cock and you gently stroked it from base to tip.

Loki groaned sharply and sighed, and succumbed to your seducing touch. You felt him getting hard under your agonizingly slow strokes and you massaged and caressed his balls gently. He moaned faster when you started rubbing your thumb over his tip and two of your fingers stimulating him further by rubbing softly at his frenulum. In constant changes with firm strokes of his cock and massaging his balls his arousal grew quickly and his length twitched eagerly in your hand.

"Does it feel good, Lo?"

"Yess…it feels good…Norns, you're hands are…oh fuck … magical…"

"Then cum, Lo, cum for me, just let go…"

You kept holding his manhood in your hands, still softly stroking and caressing him so he could enjoy his orgasm and the blissful aftermath. You pressed tender kisses to his shoulders and his back until his breath came back to normal and his length got soft again. When he turned around to look at you, you let go of him and he cleaned your hands and his cock under the warm water. He pulled you into his arms and kissed you, longingly and thankfully.

You knew he was close and you were immensely turned on by his moans. Your own arousal was barely bearable and you felt your clit throbbing. You would love to have him inside of you. But you could wait, now it was just about him. You increased the pace of stroking his cock and stimulating his swollen tip and he began to tremble. With one hand Loki grabbed your buttocks firmly, his other hand he placed against the tile wall. His whole body was shaking. He tilted back his head and his muscles tensed up mere moments before he came hard with a loud moan and your name on his lips. He ejaculated all over your beautiful hands and then he looked down so he could see how his cum poured over them.

"Damn, Snowflake, that was good! Thank you my love, I've missed that."

"Me too, Lo, it's so good to have you back."

You two left the shower and dried each other off, went over to the bed and finally, you two slid under the big duvet. You looked at each other and Loki caressed your cheek.

"Your God would like to fuck you but I'm so tired, Snowflake. I'll make it up to you later, my love, I promise."

"Don't worry about it, Lo, just get some rest now", and you cuddled him up into your arms, his head resting on your cleavage.

You just wanted to hold him like this and watch him sleep. Loki was relieved to be back in your arms. He knew that this time he not only returned. This time, he came back home, home to you. His home was you. While you played with his still-damp hair and scratched his scalp, he fell into a dreamless, relaxing sleep.

In the evening you all, including some friends and acquaintances met for the small house party in the dining room and living room lounge to spend the evening together. Of course, the main thing to talk about was the successful mission. Every Avenger told her or his own version and however, at some point, you all could just laugh about the different heroic versions. But it was the best way to process the incidents and exhausting fights. Most of the time you sat sideways on Loki's lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulder and his hand stroked up and down your spine or caressed your thigh. The proximity of each other was all you two needed right now.

"Guys, seriously. We should raise our glasses now… to us and especially to Loki. While we tried to destroy the invaders and defend the planet we were lured into a trap. He sensed it and with his sharp mind, trickery and his incredible magic he saved us all so we could fight against the invaders again and finally, we won the battle altogether. Cheers, ladies and gents!"

"Cheers!" you all said in unison.

You had listened intently and attentively the whole evening and you were impressed by how brave and strong they all were and you were proud of Loki. Once more he could improve his loyalty, his bravery and his care for others. In the end, they all agreed that they were just glad to have done a good job and to be back home now. You gave Loki a tender kiss before you left his lap and went over to the table to eat some more cheese and grapes.

"I guess these invasive monsters will never die out, we'll stay very busy saving and defending innocent lives", Nat said annoyed.

"The universes are blessed to have you all. I still don't believe in monsters but if I had your combat skills I would immediately kill every monster that dares touch or attack me…but I think I better keep wearing my lab coat", you joked after you had returned from Tony's bar with another bottle of wine and everyone laughed.

You refilled Nat's, Pepper's and your own wine glass before you asked Loki.

"Lo, do you want some more wine, too?" and you turned around to the armchair he was sitting in. To your astonishment, he wasn't sitting there. He wasn't even in the living room lounge anymore.

"Where is Loki?" you asked and frowned.

The others shrugged their shoulders. They hadn't recognised him leaving the room either. They all had been busy telling everyone about the mission or talking to each other.

"Excuse me, guys." I just look quickly where my man is." You smiled at them and left.

Loki wasn't in the fireplace lounge where you assumed him to be so he must've returned to your apartment and finally you found him there in the bedroom.

He knew you would look for him. He knew that he couldn't keep this last secret anymore. You deserved to know everything about him. He had already been waiting much too long to tell you the truth. You had been so mad at him when he told you too late about the mission and he was so grateful that you forgave and still loved him.

"Loki? Why are you standing here in the dark? Did something happen?"

He stared out of the window. He knew that this time you wouldn't forgive him. He knew that tonight he would lose you forever.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❤️❄️😳🥺😳❄️❤️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Tags:

@lokisprettygirl @wheredafandomat @fictive-sl0th @smolvenger @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lokixryss @huntress-artemiss

#loki x female reader #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x reader fluff #loki laufeyson #loki x reader fic #loki x reader angst #loki x reader smut #loki #loki x female reader angst #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader fluff #loki au #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson x female reader #loki laufeyson fanfic

78 notes · View notes

neon-prison · 1 year

Note

Can't remember if I sent you an ask for the meme-ory, so ignore me if I did already 😅

🔮- Misty Olszewski

Tysm for the lovely ask <3 <3

-----------

"Do you think Helen would be proud of me?" The question was timid, wrung from a soft, vulnerable place carefully guarded against Night City's greedy clutches.

Misty's hand paused, dusting cloth suspended over the counter as she directed her full attention to Vee. "Do you...think she wouldn't be?" Her voice was cautious, paired with an emerald shrewdness that forced Vee's shoulders into a helpless shrug.

"Sometimes-" The wound in Vee's heart throbbed and split open, bleeding in the intimate space between them, clogging her throat, "Sometimes I question if this is what she wanted for me...Whether she'd look at what I've become and wonder if it was all for nothing." A stray tear betrayed her, worming its way out of Vee's tight grip to trail down her cheek.

A soft shuffle drew her attention to Misty's deck, the pack of cards appearing from beneath the counter to settle in front of her. "What-?"

"Shh." Misty's hushed tone brooked no argument, and Vee shut her mouth.

The first card turned to the image of a bleeding heart pierced with three swords.

"III of Swords." Misty tapped the heart. "It's a card of great sorrow and grief, both physical and emotional. But sometimes suffering is necessary to draw out hidden strength."

She drew her hand over the second card, turning it over and placing it beside the first. A well-dressed man towered over two kneeling beggars, offering each of them a handful of coins.

Misty's voice held a smile, "VI of Pentacles. A card of generosity and security, of giving and receiving. Sometimes you're receiving, and at other times, you are on the giving end. It's an ongoing cycle of life, once you will always be a part of."

The third card revealed itself as a pair of lovers looking beyond a lush meadow, watching children play under a rainbow of ten cups.

"The X of Cups." Misty's fingers lingered over the card for a moment. "Comfort. Stability. Community. A card of bonds and celebration shared with others around you. You're surrounded by people who love you, whose lives you've enriched with your own."

Vee sniffled, clenching her jaw against the wave of rolling emotions threatening to drown her.

Reaching out, Misty grasped Vee's trembling fingers in her own, ignoring the merc's tears to stare at her with a soft, disarming smile. "I never met your mom. But I know you, and I think, wherever she is, she's extremely proud of you and who you've become."

A choked sob finally clawed its way out of Vee's throat, but she relaxed in Misty's grip, inexplicably relieved. She let herself shake for a moment, drawing back to rub her eyes. "Thanks, Misty," she said lamely, unable to find the words to describe what her friend had done for her. "I've always been scared that I- oh no. Shit. Shit. FUCK."

Misty reared back, alarmed as Vee stared at her gold-tipped hands. "What?!"

Vee thrust her soot-stained palm towards Misty like an accusation, "This is...supposed to BE WATERPROOF!!"

Shocked, Misty's gaze flit helplessly between Vee's hands and her smeared face before suddenly doubling over the counter with inelegant guffaws.

"Don't laugh, you musty bitch!" Vee shrieked, tilting her head back as she waved her hands in a futile effort to dry her tears. "Do you know how expensive this foundation is!? Makeup bag! Hurry before I smear everything!"

Misty sprinted to her purse.

---------------

#cyberpunk 2077 #misty olszewski #oc: vee #Vee misses her mom #her mom died when she was 13 in a Tyger's shooting #Vee is a makeup ho #u bet she spending her eddies on the latest and greatest fenty #all the makeup wearing ppl will know this feel

71 notes · View notes

space-mermaid-writing · 1 year

Text

The black cat with blue eyes [Part 1]

Summary: One day Peter drags a cat into the tower he found in the dumpsters and Tony finds himself adopting it, because – honestly – he can not say no to Peter. It turns out the cat has really strange opinions on food, belly scratches and movies. What else? Oh yes, Doctor Strange is missing. But those two events are clearly not related. Clearly…

Relationship: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange

Tags: Temporary Cat!Stephen, Hurt/Comfort, life is trauma, friendship is healing, supreme family (kind of), it starts with angst and ends in fluff, a lot of fun in between, I swear this is fun

Ko-fi | Read it on AO3 | Masterlist | Word count: 7k | Part 2

Author’s note: This started - as so often - as a small idea and then it became something else. Black cats hold a special place in my heart.

This cat is strange...

The streets of New York were busy as usual. People were walking purposefully, caught up in their normal everyday lives. As far as one could speak of a normal everyday life, after half the population had been bliped and then had reappeared just as surprisingly five years later. It had been a shock for everyone.

Those who had gone missing, were now trying to fit back in. While the ones that had survived the blip in the first place were still trying to keep society going.

It wasn’t easy for anyone. People just tried to concentrate on the day at hand. One step at a time.

It was a cloudy day in spray. The sun had made itself scarce the last few days and that put a damper on everyone's mood. Especially the food vendors noticed that, when trying to attract customers around Central Park.

Like Stan, who owned a hot dog stand in the north end of the park. His numbers weren't great today either. There were only persistent joggers or dog owners in the park, none of them falling into the category of his main target customers. Hardly any teenagers after school or tourists who wanted to make their New York trip even more authentic with a hot dog (so they could brag about it back home).

To stave off boredom from the quiet day, Stan stepped up to his booth neighbor, a newspaper vendor. Both men knew each other well, having shared the space for years.

All the while, Stan didn't notice those watchful blue eyes that were observing him from the shadows, just waiting for him to leave his meat on the grill unattended for a moment.

The hunt had begun.

It was pure instinct and hunger that made the cat move. Stalking quietly, eyes locked on its target. One jump and it had a hot dog in its mouth – which should be way too hot, but miraculously it didn't bother the feline - and then fled with its prey.

But not fast enough.

"Hey!" Stan spotted the black cat and ran after it, even though the sausage was long lost. "Darn beast!"

The man stumbled (there was nothing in his way he should trip over, it was as if he had received a push from an invisible force) and the cat disappeared among the bushes.

The animal stopped only when it knew it was safe. Then it hungrily ate its meal.

It was an all black cat, once for sure sleek with beautiful long hair, now scrubby and broken-down. It picked its food out of the garbage or stole it when the opportunity was good. Like it had been now.

Life on the street was tough. There was no dignity left for those who wandered them long enough.

It was just a regular stray. There were hundreds of them in the city. Although, this one might have had an ace up its sleeve – as good magicians always did.

But that was about it.

It wasn't an easy life but a chosen one. The simple mind of an animal helped to forget. And the cat had every reason to want to forget. More than a single mind should ever endure.

The cat finished its meal.

Sometimes it thought of a stray dog it had met on the other side of the world. In another life. It had felt a connection to the other animal back then, like the fellow stray it was. Like the cat was now again. Life had come full circle.

The cat's ears pricked up as it heard a sound, a rustling in the bushes.

It was just a bird, but the cat was leaving anyway. It didn't feel safe staying at one place for too long.

_____________________________________

Peter and his friends were sitting on a bench in the park. It was the weekend and Ned's parents had sent the trio outside so the teens would get some fresh air and sunshine.

It was a crisp day and they wore their jackets as they talked about their upcoming school projects and spring break plans. And, of course, about Star Wars.

They ate the sandwiches Ned's grandmother had packed them. She always made too much, but they were so good the kids ate them all anyway. They were, after all, growing teenagers – at least that was their excuse. (And at least with Peter and his enhanced metabolism, it wasn't wrong).

Peter noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye and picked the ham off his sandwich, which he rolled up. With that, he lured the shy animal out.

"What are you doing?" MJ asked, her eyebrows raised in question as she watched him hold the ham toward the bushes and click his tongue.

"Just wait. I've seen them a couple of times. They look like they could use the food."

Ned was joining in immediately. He had never been allowed a pet, so he was over the moon when the cat eventually approached and ate the meat they threw at it.

MJ was naturally more suspicious. "I thought only baby cats had blue eyes. Most change color after the first three months.

"Maybe a gene abnormality," Ned guessed and that made the girl re-think, because it would actually be cool. Still, she kept an eye on the cat.

The feline remained cautious and while it was offered food, it evaded any attempt at petting. The message was clear: no touching.

It sat under the bench, peering out from between the teenagers' legs and politely lifting its paw to ask for more food. It devoured up every treat as if it was afraid they would be taken away from it.

Finally, the teens stood up and shouldered their backpacks. "Bye, kitty. We gotta go." They waved at him.

"Don't tell my Nana we fed her sandwiches to a cat," Ned told his friends.

MJ took one last look back. The cat was still sitting under the bench, staring after them, tail twitching. She swore those blue eyes were not normal.

_____________________________________

It was raining cats and dogs when Peter ran through the streets of Manhattan. He was late (it was his own fault, because he had dawdled to leave after school). His sneakers were not waterproof and soon even his socks were wet.

Maybe he should have texted Mister Stark and asked him if he could send a car. But Peter still had a hard time asking for anything of the man, even everything they had been through.

It was Peter’s senior year. He was about to graduate from high school and his college application was already out (He had only sent one).

He had pulled the hood over his head and was dodging passersby with umbrellas. As he did so, he was careful not to get too close to the road, because cars weren't paying attention to whether they were splashing pedestrians. Like now, when a car that passed by way too fast. Thanks to his Peter Tingle, the boy had stopped just in time and prevented the worst.

But not everyone was so lucky.

First he thought he was just imagining it, but then he heard it again: a small meowing sound. And when he turned his head to the side, he saw a drenched black cat among the garbage bags that had been placed along the road for collection day.

Peter realized that Central Park across the street and the feline had probably come here in search of food. How it had managed to cross the street alive with all the traffic was a mystery.

The cat – Peter recognized the blue eyes – looked worse than ever. The rain of the last few days had not done the stray any good. It’s fur stuck in weird ways and it looked even thinner than the last time Peter had seen it.

Peter bit his lower lip. His heart ached, but he was still late and it wasn't like he could just take a random animal home.

The passers-by started complaining to the teenager that had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. So Peter stepped to the side, towards the cat. It shook its fur and a few drops flew off it. It did little to help with the soaking wetness. The boy crouched down, put his hand out and went for a classic 'pspsps'. It got him the animal's attention and the blue eyes locked on the boy.

Whatever Peter had expected to see, it was not the resignation he saw. The feline looked so very tired, as if it had already seen far too much in its short feline life.

And didn't Peter know that look, because it sometimes stared back at him from his own reflection.

How many of its nine lives had this cat been through?

The animal approached slowly, bare paws on the asphalt, sniffing Peter's fingers in hopes of food. Unfortunately, the boy had already eaten the lunch he packed this morning.

"Mrrew." It sounded like a soft sigh when the cat realized Peter was empty handed. It was about to turn away when Peter all of a sudden swooped it up in his arms. The cat wiggled and made an alarmed cry of protest, which did not faze Peter.

He opened the zipper of his jacket and took the cat inside. There he held it tightly and continued his way to the tower in fast steps.

_____________________________________

Peter carefully wrapped the cat in a towel and rubbed him dry. The animal still looked pathetic, but by now had quietly resigned himself to his fate. Perhaps he also realized that an unknown, dry place was still better than a wet pile of garbage.

Peter left him in the towel on the couch and went into the adjoining kitchen to look for something he could feed the feline. Fortunately, the refrigerator in Stark's penthouse was always well stocked.

He had just opened the door and winced when he heard a loud string of swearing. Apparently Mr. Stark had found the cat and was not happy about it. Peter rushed back.

"What is this wretched ball of fur doing on my couch?"

"IfoundhimintheraininthedumpsterhelookedsohelplessandhehasnohomesoIbroughthimhere." Peter took a deep breath. It was impressive just how much he could say in one breath.

Tony stared at him. He was a certified genius, but it took his brain a whole moment to filter out the relevant information from this far-too-fast gibberish.

His answer turned out to be a lot shorter. "No."

Peter blinked. "Please, Mister Stark! Just for a few days. Until it stops raining," he pleaded. His lower lip began to quiver dangerously. He had far too soft a heart for a superhero and took everything highly personally.

"Why don't you take him to May?" Tony asked as an alternative suggestion.

"She's allergic to cats."

And, shit, Tony really couldn't refuse the kid anything when he looked at him with his big doe eyes like that. Initially, when he'd found out about the boy's abilities and showed up at his aunt's house, Tony had seen him as someone he could sponsor. Just keep an eye on him.

But then came Berlin, the arms dealers on the boat, and all the other incidents. As time went on, their professional mentor/student relationship shifted more and more to this science parent and kid thing they had going on. And then Peter had followed him onto the flying doughnut.

Tony would never be able to forgive himself for that. Nor would he ever forget the boy crumbling to dust in his arms. He still had nightmares about that.

Now, Peter was standing in front of him, a can of tuna in his hand, looking like Tony was about to throw the boy's first homemade AI robot on the scrap heap.

He recalled a discussion he had with his own father many decades ago. When young Tony wanted a dog and Howard was adamantly against it.

"Fine. It can stay – for now. And we will scan it for diseases.” He gave in. Even if it was just a fuck you, Howard. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to think too hard about his reasons, before he turned to the cat. "And you! I warn you only once, so listen closely: if you piss on my carpet, you'll be back on the streets faster than you can say 'meow'." The cat sniffed at his index finger, which he held out to it. But when he found no food there, he turned to Peter and the can.

"He won't," Peter assured his mentor.

"He?"

"Yes. It's kinda obvious if you look at him from behind."

"Alright, that's enough information. Actually, it's more than I wanted to hear."

The results of Friday's medical scan came back clean. So the cat was allowed to stay – for now.

_____________________________________

It was the middle of the night when Tony stumbled into his kitchen. Nightmares had jolted him out of sleep, and even though he couldn't remember exactly what horror scenario it had been this time, he didn't feel like going back to sleep anytime soon.

He turned on the coffee maker and listened to its soothing sounds when the cat jumped up on the counter and stared at him in a way that only cats could. Tony was too tired to see anything else in it.

"You hungry?...yeah, me too."

Contrary to his initial fear that the feline would annoy him, he hardly noticed his presence.

Tony grabbed a bagel and got cream cheese from the fridge. The cat stretched his neck, his blue eyes now completely fixated on the delicious smelling food. Tony placed a spoonful of cream cheese in front of him, which the animal began to lick contentedly.

The inventor took his coffee and breakfast (could it be called breakfast yet? It was only 3:14am in the morning) to his personal lab and opened the file of his latest project.

He didn't realize he wasn't alone in the room until he heard DUM-E moving around in the background and then a hissing. Outraged and with flat ears and arched back, the pet jumped onto the table, but even there he was not safe from the robot's claw.

"DUM-E behave," Tony instructed his artificial son. "Fri, keep an eye on Blue Eye. I can't have him getting hurt by something sharp."

Mostly because he could not stand the resulting drama with Peter.

Sulking, DUM-E moved to another corner of the room and silence reigned again. Tony looked back at his hologram.

But he could not concentrate. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, a sure sign that he was being watched.

He turned his head and looked into the black void the black cat had become by curling up.

Blue orbs stared back from the void.

Yeah, cats were a different kind of weird.

_____________________________________

Tony quickly discovered that his small roommate refused any kind of cat food. They had even tried the expensive one, but the feline turned up his nose when he saw this weird gibberish mass in his bowl (Tony wouldn’t want to eat that either) and demonstratively turned away.

Instead, he jumped up on the dining room table – something Tony had repeatedly forbidden him to do – and demanded to have whatever food Tony or Peter were having.

Tony had never had a pet and was only now learning that cats had an amazing amount of food they were able to eat. And the one living in his penthouse rent free apparently had a particularly culinary sense of taste. Whenever they ate take-out – and, admittedly, that was most days, because Tony didn't have the time or desire to cook – the cat appeared, meowing loudly and demanding. Whether it was pizza, burgers, sandwiches, Thai, or just fries. Once he even ate the salad.

But Tony drew the line when the cat sniffed at his mug of coffee. „No,“ he said and took the mug away.

„You won‘t like that anyway,“ he explained when he pressed the button on the coffee maker in the morning and lifted the cat off the counter.

„That‘s mine!“ he stated every time he moved his cup away from the feline in the lab.

„Don‘t you dare!“ he shouted when he spotted the cat across the room right next to a whole pot of coffee. He swore there was something wrong with this animal. The way it looked at him with that cocky smirk in his eyes was not normal.

The cat pushed the pot with one of his front paws to the edge of the table board. Tony raised his finger in warning. The cat pushed a little, not breaking eye contact. The pot broke on the floor and the cat jumped down to lick the coffee off the floor.

"I hope you choke on it," Tony growled as he set a small bowl of coffee down for the cat, the next time he fixed himself a cup.

_____________________________________

Tony had never been allowed to have a pet as a kid, and he was pretty quickly convinced that Peter had brought some fucked up result of an animal experiment into his house.

The cat hadn't even put one paw in the litter box. Instead, he sometimes disappeared into one of Tony's bathrooms. Tony followed him exactly once to see what the cat was up to. But the cat had only stared at him for so long until Tony felt like a creep and backed off.

Friday had no video access to the bathrooms – because Tony was not a creep – and so it remained forever a mystery what the cat did in there.

This creature looked like a cat, sounded like a cat and behaved like a cat (debatable! But Tony checked the internet and found a lot of people sharing weird stories about their cats) but Tony was not taking chances. He had seen talking trees and raccoons, flying hammers and spontaneously combusting people.

He crouched in front of the cat, who had flopped down on the couch and now raised his head in what Tony called the death stare, looking at him intensely.

„Blink once if you understand what I say.“

He waited for a reaction – any reaction – but those clear, blue eyes didn‘t betray a single thought. Tony moved his head slowly forward, not wanting to miss anything, until their faces were almost touching.

The cat licked Tony’s nose.

„Ugh, gross!“ Tony jumped to his feet, turning away and missing the one eyed wink.

_____________________________________

After a few days, the cat had settled in well. While in the beginning he had been hiding under and behind the furniture or watching everything from on top of the cupboards, Tony soon found him more and more often sleeping on the couch or following the man into the lab.

Peter loved the feline and whenever he was in the penthouse – Tony swore that was even more often now than before – he would scoop him up on his arms or pet him. The first few the cat had been reluctant, but he didn't stand a chance against the teenager, and eventually he'd given up to complain whenever Peter buried his fingers in the fur.

Even Tony had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that the fur was very soft. It also looked nice and shiny and healthy now, and not as scrubby as it had been in the beginning.

But whenever visitors came to the penthouse – it was admittedly not very often; only a few people had access these days – the cat disappeared. First Peter tried to coax him with food whenever Pepper or Rhodey came around, but with no luck.

"Stage fright, Blue Eye? You aren’t shy around me or Peter." Tony found the cat as soon as the doors to the elevator closed. The feline sat by the window, observing the city and fully ignoring Tony.

Fine, Tony had work to do anyway and went to his lab.

There was one person he had not yet tried to show his newest roommate. „Fri, babe, what day is it?“

„Thursday the tenth, Boss.“

One person, who hadn‘t shown up in a while and was late by over a week.

„Call Dumbledore.“

It went straight to voicemail and that was weird.

You see, after everything that happened on the flying doughnut, Thanos, that five year gap (aka Tony being angry about losing everything, including his final break up with Pepper) and then getting everyone back and defeating the mad titan – he kinda struck a friendship with the wizard doctor.

Maybe it was jump started by the fact that Strange saved Tony‘s life after he had used all the infinity stones at once. Plus he helped Tony build his new arm.

It also didn't hurt that Strange was really nice to look at. Like really nice.

Even after completion of the project ‘new arm who dis?‘ (not the best Tony came up with but he had started it as soon as Dr. Cho had cleared him off medical and he had been full of pain killers), they still met on the first Wednesday of every month to be snarky, arrogant and just being awesome together.

Strange kept an eye on Peter, whenever Tony wasn‘t around and Tony really appreciated that.

There was also a lot of flirting involved whenever the two men met, but that was just part of their charm and completely without any deeper meaning…

Tony was still in denial about his blossoming feelings for the doctor. And as long as he ignored them, they weren’t there. Even if he actually enjoyed the banter and the flirting and the way Stephen’s face lit up when… anyway!

Sure, sometimes the job came between their meetings. Tony may be retired (on paper), but Strange certainly wasn't.

He wasn't the Sorcerer Supreme anymore – due to technicalities as he always was fast to point out – but he still had a lot of duties protecting their reality.

He usually texted Tony when something came up. Maybe it was an emergency, but eight days was a pretty long emergency and Stephen had once mentioned that he didn't like to leave Earth for such a long time at a stretch.

So, Tony did the next best thing. „Friday, call Wong.“

He had kept in touch with the other sorcerer in the five year gap after the blip, albeit sporadically, because they all had more than enough to do filling in the gaps the snapped people left. It still was enough to excuse a friendly check in. Just to make sure that Stephen was okay and unharmed.

"Stark," Wong's always unamused voice greeted him a few seconds later. To this day, Tony didn't know if Wong even liked him.

"Wong," he mimicked his tone, but then got straight to the point, knowing Wong was no friend of unnecessary pleasantries. "Strange missed our awesome facial hair bros meeting last week and he doesn’t answer my phone."

There was a short pause before Wong replied. "He's not here." Did Tony imagine it or did he sound more annoyed than usual today? Maybe he was displeased to be treated as Strange‘s secretary.

„Okay, sure.“ Tony nodded to himself, starting to pace in the room. „When does he get back?“

„I don‘t know.“

Well, that wasn‘t very helpful.

„Did he leave the dimension?“ Tony asked anyway, unwilling to give up this easily.

There was a long pause as Wong actively hesitated. "I don't know," he said again, and that caught Tony's attention. He stopped walking.

„What do you mean, you don‘t know?“

"Strange disappeared a few weeks ago." That alone might have been explainable, but then Wong added, „… and he left the Cloak of Levitation behind.“

That had Tony alarmed. He had made acquaintance with the red piece of fabric that was unusually expressive for a being without an actual face. And Strange never left his weird magic castle without it.

Tony’s mind immediately jumped to various conclusions. „Any enemies that might got hold of him? Kidnapped by evil forces? Has there been a ransom demand?"

"We have no idea. It’s nothing we can trace with magic." His voice was clipped, concealing the paused anger at losing control of the issue. Wong was Strange's friend; he should have taken better care of him. The man couldn't shake the feeling that he had let him down.

"I'll try the tech way then," Tony suggested. "Nothing escapes the modern eyes of the ever-watching cameras."

"Thanks, that's appreciated."

Wong gave him the details of Strange's disappearance, the time period in which it must have happened (it was impossible to pin down exactly), and Tony promised to get back to him if he found anything.

He ran his fingers through his hair after hanging up. One of the most powerful sorcerers Earth had ever seen and someone he considered a friend was missing – that wasn't great news.

"Alright, Fri, run a face recognition search for Strange. Start in New York, then expand it world wide."

"I'm on it, Boss."

Tony propped his forearms on one of the tables and stared into space. If Strange had been gone for several weeks already, without a trace...that was very concerning. Briefly, the image of a cave in Afghanistan flickered before his eyes, but he quickly shook it off and focused on the map of the U.S. on Fridays screen and the small loading bar she liked to display for funsies.

„Where are you, Stephen Strange?“

_____________________________________

The fact that the cat rejected any kind of cat food didn‘t mean that he wasn‘t hungry. He had been starved when Peter had dragged him to the penthouse, and after overcoming his initial distrust, he began to bug anyone available for food three times a day.

"You're a menace," Tony growled angrily as the feline jumped up on the couch next to him and began meowing loudly to tell him that it was time for lunch. "A weird, precisely timed menace."

By now he was able to interpret his fluffy roommate's behavior well and knew that he wouldn't stop making noise until there was food on his plate. (Yes, the cat wanted to eat from an actual plate. Tony had never used so many dishes).

Since the cat was happy to eat whatever Tony was having, Tony had taken to simply ordering two portions at a time. Tony couldn't help but think he had been bullied into having a regular eating rhythm by a cat.

He had to admit that the company was nice. He talked to the feline as if it were a human being - he had already applied this mannerism with his AI sons and it hadn't done them any harm (except for Ultron, but there was always a black sheep in the family) – an sometimes the cat answered with a meow, so that it almost felt like a real conversation.

Tony balanced two plates of sushi to the table - no algae for the cat, just rice and fish. The feline jumped on the table and waited patiently, eyes fixed on the food and tail twitching slightly. He stretched his neck, annoyed that Tony was holding the plate just out of reach. The human teased him only briefly, then finally put the plate on the table and at the same time gave him a kiss on the head. The cat looked very scandalized and puffed out his chest, not amused about the unexpected act of affection.

Tony chuckled and sat down at the table as well. It had been worth fishing a cat hair out of his mouth just for that reaction. „You‘re the strangest cat I‘ve ever met,“ Tony grinned when the cat gave him the stinky eye.

The irony was lost on him.

_____________________________________

Tony had had a long day when he landed on the platform of the tower and the nanobots retreated to the house unit on his chest. Well, it was only afternoon in New York – but not on the other side of the world in Norway where he had helped Thor and Loki with something. New Asgard was developing well. People started healing.

Tony had set up a fund and that involved a lot of paperwork and details he had to supervise. Next time he would take the jet. It might be slower, but he could get a nap on an actual bed on his way back.

"Hey Blue Eye." The cat tiptoed around his feet to greet him (and possibly trip him) but Tony was too tired to do anything more than a quick pet along his back. He only wanted to lie down in his bed, pull the covers over his head and sleep for the next three days.

Unfortunately, it was still too early to go to bed and, besides, he still had some contracts to read and approve.

Tony needed coffee.

The cat stayed at his side and seemed almost understandingly about the absent attention. Or at least he didn’t complain about it. In return the cat got his smaller bowl of coffee – together with a kiss on his head.

At first it had been funny to watch the feline's unwilling reaction to it. Now it was routine. Tony swore if cats could roll their eyes, this one would do it every day.

With coffee in one hand and a Starkpad in the other, Tony made himself comfortable on the couch. He put his house unit down on the small table on the side. He always kept it within reach; it was his safety anchor, if only to ease his mind.

It probably said a lot about him that he never let it out of his sight for more than a few minutes, but he had made his peace with it. Besides, it was better safe than sorry.

It didn't take long until the cushion dipped and the cat joined him. Blue eyes fixed on him and the Starkpad. Carefully, the animal placed a paw on Tony's torso and when nothing more than a hum came in response, the cat climbed onto Tony's chest where he lay down, his paws tucked under his fluffy body.

"No," Tony protested, "No, that's no place for you." After all, his chest was still his sore point, even after the surgery that had removed the arc reactor. Or maybe because of that.

But the cat merely started purring loudly and closed his eyes.

Tony blinked at him, baffled. Surprisingly, the cat did not feel heavy at all. On the contrary, the slight vibration of his purring felt pleasant. Like a small, warm engine.

"Fine, you can stay – for now." Tony turned his focus back to the Starkpad. Reading, he absently buried his fingers in the soft fur.

This was kinda relaxing.

Later that evening Peter came to visit later to ask about New Asgard and its princes – he had wanted to travel overseas, but wasn't allowed – he found Tony asleep on the couch. His hand was on the cat, which was still on his chest. The feline lifted his head when he heard the boy and narrowed his eyes as if to tell the boy not to be too loud.

Peter put his finger to his lips as a sign that he would be quiet. Tiptoeing, he fetched a blanket for his mentor.

(He also snatched a photo. It was too cute not to.)

_____________________________________

The other day Peter helped Tony to tweak some issues with his new arm. It was nothing serious, just a few detail problems that had only become apparent in the long-term use of the prosthesis.

Since Peter was not a medical expert and only lent an extra pair of hands – everything took so much longer with only one functioning arm – Bruce and Doctor Cho joined in a video conference. Between the number of PhDs and genius brain cells they all mustered, the work was a piece of cake.

"I'm taking the boxes out for recycling," Peter announced after they fixed it.

A lot of materials were made in the lab itself, other things Tony had delivered. But he rarely took care of the packaging, always throwing the boxes in a corner, preoccupied by the projects he needed the materials for in the first place. He grew up rich and never had to clean up after himself, but always had staff or robots for that.

Sure, he kept his workspace neat – or at least the neat ambivalent to the creative chaos, he liked to call it. But the state of everything around it was less important. So there was often a growing stack of empty boxes in at least one corner of the lab.

Peter, raised by his aunt to clean a mess before he left, stacked the boxes inside each other. As he reached for one further in the back, he heard a disgruntled meow. Apparently he had just disturbed someone's nap.

"Sorry," Peter chuckled and set the box aside to take another instead. "Mister Stark bought you that fancy cat tree and you still prefer sleeping in that box? Honestly? Mood."

In response, he heard the noise of paws on cardboard as the cat turned around and lay back down with his back to Peter. The message was clear: he didn't want to be disturbed.

Tony, meanwhile, glanced at Friday's search results for Strange, which were pretty depressing: there were none. It was already the third try – Tony had run the search again and again, always adjusting the parameters – and there wasn’t any trace of the sorcerer.

He had even hacked the cameras in the street of the Sanctum (it wasn't quite legal, not even close, but nobody was able to track his traces anyway, so yeah... ), and had Friday analyze the whole video data of the last few months. There was nothing to indicate the sudden reason for his disappearance.

Absolutely nothing.

If the sorcerer was still on Earth, Tony didn’t know where he could possibly be hiding.

_____________________________________

Tony was having a nightmare. He floated in space – the world had crumbled, all worlds had. Snippets of his loved ones popped up like visions from the past. Peter, Rhodey, Pepper, Happy; all of them in a moment of death. Their screams of agony echoed in Tony‘s head.

He tried to reach out to them but he couldn't move in the vacuum of space. His friends were too far away and he was too small in the magnitude of cosmos.

He needed his suit! He was in space and he needed his suit.

Tony tapped his chest, but there was no house unit, no arc reactor. Just an empty, black void where his lungs should be.

Did he even breathe? How could he breathe in space?

As if the thought had become reality, he suddenly got no more air. He tried to kick and scream without moving and making a sound. The feeling of suffocation brought tears to his eyes. He tried to grab something, anything, but there was nothing.

He was alone.

Suddenly he felt pressure on his chest. Not uncomfortable, more like an anchor that reassured him – like his house unit usually did. With his chest no longer an empty void, he was able to take a deep breath and slowly became aware of his surroundings as he awoke.

He heard the hum of an engine in the background, and still felt the weight on his chest.

"Friday?" he whispered into the darkness, his eyes still closed.

"It's 5:37 in the morning, Boss. Today is Monday the fifth. You're free until ten, when a call with the UN is scheduled," the familiar voice of his AI listed the facts. It helped Tony to shake off his dream, to focus on the present.

„Thanks, babe.“

He reached for his chest and his finger touched fur. Surprised, he opened his eyes and realized that the hum of the engine was actually the purr of the cat.

"Hey, Blue Eye." He smiled softly, his throat still feeling sore. "What are you doing here?"

It was the first time he was seeing the feline in his bedroom. Before today he had always slept in the living room and never even pried into Tony's personal room, as if he wanted to give him space.

Ridiculous! First off, cats had no sense of personal space. Exhibit A was on his chest.

Secondly, his bedroom had probably seen more people than his personal lab. At least in the past – not so much recently.

"He sensed your distress," Friday told him. She knew that speaking to him after a nightmare helped him. „And he refused to leave.“

„Thanks, I guess.“ Tony petted the head of the feline. „Are you gonna let me get up to make coffee for us?“ The cat didn‘t move an inch, just looked at him in concern with his bright eyes. „Fine, five more minutes.“

Tony – perfectly able to move the cat if he wanted to – remained lying and scratched the feline behind his black ears, under his jaw and along his back. The purr got louder and contentedly the cat closed his eyes, relaxed into Tony’s torso.

Half an hour later the cat finally stood up, stretched and jumped on the floor. He was meowing, announcing that it was now indeed time for breakfast.

That wasn‘t a bad idea, Tony could go for a bagel. And coffee. Always coffee.

The feline got his coffee served as usual with a kiss on his fluffy head.

_____________________________________

That day he felt better than he normally would after a horrible nightmare. Having a pet wasn't as bad as he had first thought when Peter dragged the cat in.

When Tony was a kid he had begged his father for a dog – probably like every kid did at one point. His father had refused, had said that animals were too much of a responsibility, that they were dirty and that Tony didn't have time for it. Then Tony was sent to a boarding school, and he never asked again.

Later, when his parents died and Tony took over SI, he really did not had time for a pet. Besides, he had been more interested in women and men anyway

For the next few decades, he hadn't given a second thought to getting a pet. Why should he? He had his robots to look after and Jarvis who kept him company.

But it still felt different when Tony went to bed that night and the cat jumped on his mattress. He didn't even acknowledge Tony when he flopped down next to his shoulder, as if he had always belonged there.

Tony didn't complain about the pet in his bed – something he definitely wouldn't have allowed in the past. Somehow he knew it was the cat's way to look out for him.

Ridiculous! - it was just a cat.

But Tony had seen weirder stuff. He stroked once along the back through the soft fur and slipped under the covers. „Good night, Blue Eye.“ If this was how retirement would be, he could get used to it.

Then the cat moved his tail into Tony‘s face.

_____________________________________

„So, we still have no idea where he is,“ Tony concluded his conversation with Wong. It was something that worried him a lot. Strange had been gone for several weeks, as if he had simply vanished into thin air. (He didn't, at least not magically. Wong said they would have traced that).

The other sorcerer sat in his kitchen with a cup of tea in his hand. He looked seriously concerned and that had a lot to say.

They had spoken a few times, updated each other on the case – although there was depressingly little to update.

Today Wong had walked through a portal into Tony’s kitchen. In that respect, he was worse than Strange, who at least texted him like five seconds before he showed up. It was the thought that counted.

"I should have looked out for him more. He hasn‘t been the same after the snap,“ Wong said in something that sounded like regret.

„It was hard for everyone to settle back in,“ Tony acknowledged. „The world moved on while half of the population was absent.“

The sorcerer shook his head. That wasn‘t what he meant. Sure, Stephen lost his position as Sorcerer Supreme to him and in the meantime the Sanctum had also chosen a new Master, but that was not the reason why Stephen had become distant after everyone reappeared. It wasn‘t the reason why he had been almost unstable.

Stephen had tried to hide it – of course he did. That was just how Stephen acted. Especially since he knew first hand about all the responsibilities Wong had to juggle as Sorcerer Supreme.

Wong had seen snippets of it anyway. But it had to be worse than he had assumed. He didn't know what had happened to his friend, but it couldn't be good.

„He told you about the various possible outcomes of the battle with Thanos, right?“ he asked and Tony nodded. „He didn‘t just watch over 14 million futures, he lived every single one of them. That takes a toll on any man‘s mind. It must have been worse than fighting Dormammu.“

„That was the demon he pulled into a time loop and annoyed him until he left earth?“

Wong's eyes darted up in surprise that Tony knew about that. Stephen didn‘t talk about it a lot. „That‘s one way to describe it,“ he snorted.

„So, you think he went insane in between those futures and forgot which reality is the real one?“ Tony's conclusion was, as always, precise and hit the mark. He even took it further. "And when you think about how many futures he's had to watch fail…" How many deaths of family, friends and close ones he had had to watch, over and over again.

Tony had seen such a future once and it had been borderline torture. It still haunted him sometimes, seamlessly joining the long queue of his nightmares.

„He seemed okay last time I saw him,“ Tony muttered lamely. He knew that it didn't mean anything. He had kept it secret from his friends for a long time, that he was outright dying. Back when he had the palladium in his blood.

And he remembered that he had often caught Strange staring into space, like he had simply zoned out. But sometimes he confused basic facts on who was still alive.

Tony hadn't read too much into it. Although he liked the man and enjoyed having him around (Tony was too old to call it a crush), he didn't know the doctor well enough to judge him.

"We are still waiting for some replies from other dimensions. So, there's still a chance." Wong put down his cup and rose. A clear sign that the meeting was over. He raised his hand with his portal ring. "I'll inform you if we-..." He froze as a black cat pawed around the corner of the doorway into the kitchen, stopping equally surprised.

Tony had never seen so much emotion on Wong's face. The sorcerer literally gasped before he found his voice again.

„Strange?!“

#IronStrange #Stephen Strange #Doctor Strange #cat!Stephen Strange #Tony Stark/Stephen Strange #Stephen Strange x Tony Stark #Iron Man #Wong #Peter Parker #Spider-man #SpaceMermaid #This cat is strange

40 notes · View notes

zazter-den · 5 months

Note

i’ll say the same to you! i’m greedy and i’ll hear as much about your pretty catboy self ship (or pretty elezen boy) as you want to share with the f/o questions of your choice. ☺️

Ahh, thank you Bunny! Answering these with my dragongirl Warrior of Light, Ondata. Alongside G'raha Tia. Spoilers Ahead (mostly ARR& ShadowBringers)

nose kisses or forehead kisses? Ondata likes to give Raha forehead kisses, especially when he's worried or has spent too many hours poring over tomes.

neck kisses or thigh kisses? Raha often comes up behind Ondata while she's crafting, typically wrapping his arms around her waist before peppering her neck with kisses.

spooning or one person laying their head on the other’s chest? Overlap question! She, Raha, and Haurchefant all share the same bed so usually the ones on the end cuddle into whoever is in the middle (Usually Haurchefant since he's tall and runs warm)

hugs from behind or hugs from the front? Ondata usually flings herself into tackle hugs from the front, G'raha is a little more worried about disrupting and nuzzles from the back.

“pancake” or “waffle” hand-holding?

Waffle, in every selfship unless mittens are involved. Which sometimes happens on outings in the perpetually frozen Ishgard.

romantic dinners at fancy restaurants or take out dinners on the couch? I mean,,,regardless the man is going to look like a kid at christmas- and from the taste of fish-based Archon Loaf, I can't blame him. I'm dragging him to every restaurant I can find, but I think he falls a little for Haurchefant with that first cup of cocoa like us all

constantly bragging about dating each other or keeping the relationship relatively secretive? Ondata is extremely proud of her loves. Raha never flat out says they're together, but the way he talks about the Warrior of Light, other scholars are like "Oh, so they've been married forever I take it".

playing with each others’ hair or giving each other back massages? Raha is constantly losing pins to keep his hair out of his eyes, until Ondata starts making them herself to give to him. Raha braids Ondata's hair every day as part of their morning ritual, and she gets in a down mood if the routine is messed up.

constantly saying “i love you” or only say “i love you” during really serious/romantic moments? Between ARR and Heavensward, Ondata is hesitant to say 'I love you' to anyone. After the events of the Crystal Tower/ShadowBringers? Ondata says 'I love you' as often as possible. After Endwalker? She is fucking them anywhere that has even a semi shred of privacy.

constantly hanging off of each other or keeping a tame distance in public? Raha is more hesitant to show affection in public, but Ondata is usually pulling his hand through the crowds.

stay at home dates or out on the town dates? Adventures, just as promised.

formal/fancy wedding or casual wedding? Let's be real, Haurchefant/Ondata/G'raha want a small private ceremony- Which Tataru immediately vetoes. She would blackmail so many nobles into giving gifts and favors, look into your heart, you know this to be true. At least she will never complain about the coffers again. Maybe.

(spoiler heavy) love at first sight or slow burn? Both. Raha honestly had Ondata's heart at first infodump about the Crystal Tower and all the crystal based magicks of the Allagan Empire. She was certain they would spend the rest of their lives together, which is why she took him leaving her behind so fucking hard. And when they finally did reunite, originally they both thought they were too late. From day one, Ondata recognized G'raha but knew he had grown to be a completely different person over his time in the tower. It hurt, but she gave him space throughout all of ShadowBringers, not wanting to dredge up the past. G'raha wasn't much better, but how do you tell the love of your life that you watched their entire existence for clues to stop their tragic end? That you loved them still, before you decided to meet a light-bleached death in their stead? No, better to act the uncaring thief than to burden his dear hero with love that stood the test of centuries.

value anniversaries/important relationship dates or nah? any and every major date is a cause for celebration. but there's 3 other dates that are also unofficially observed: the day the crystal tower was sealed, the day that Hades tried to take him, and that day in Ultima Thule. Clearly not a joyous memorial, G'raha never really notices the dates themselves- but he does notice the way that Ondata clings to his back when they wake up hours past sunrise, how she will refuse to let him do anything remotely strenuous, or insists that she treat him to an adventurous date.

There is very little that the Warrior of Light needs- but the Crystal Exarch is at the top of the list, tied only by the Commander of the Silver Fuller.

kids or no kids? Kids. It was kind of an 'Oops' situation after Endwalker. I think defeating [redacted] depression and reuniting would put any previous Heats to shame. I also think that despite being world saving heroes, that they would be scared shitless but genuinely happy and excited. G'raha's eyes are passed down to some, but as a limbal ring, and all of Ondata's kids have at least some of her pearly scales. Given how powerful their parents are, toddler years are a warzone. It's a future Ondata didn't think was possible for herself, and she loves her big family.

Thanks again for letting me rant about my ffxiv char! Ask Game

#I have pages and pages written on my crystal polycule #G'raha Tia's pining is what got Jonathan Bailey his Anthony Bridgerton role- I will fight ne1 on this #zaz ask game #zaz answers #mdni #ffxiv oc #selfship: ondata x raha #zaz selfship

4 notes · View notes

late-to-the-magnus-archives · 9 months

Text

This Dark Thing That Sleeps In Me - a Magnus Archives AU, Chapter Three

This is a DARK AU; it is not a kid-fic, though Jon is young. Bittersweet ending ahead.

Spoilers for the whole show, though this is very much an alternate universe.

He knew this man, knew this man, as if from that past life, and with that undefined memory came only good feelings, and so, he did not struggle.

AO3

Art by @iiiumihottie

Martin sat atop the highest tower of the Castle of the End and watched the sun set in the sea.

He liked doing that. It meant facing away from London, away from the slowly dying world that trapped them all like fish in a net.

No, he thought, that’s a lousy simile, and he pulled out his notebook. “Like a,” he mumbled, tapping his chin with the pencil. “Like… birds in a net? No, the net thing isn’t dire enough. Come on, you can do this.”

His green-lensed glasses (which Sasha had made so he could see during the day) made his hair seem even more coppery, and brought out the rosy paleness of his cheeks. He was dressed head to toe in black (“A phase,” Sasha called it, and she was correct), and he felt properly dramatic. The outfit was pretty great, honestly. The fitted velvet coat with a subtle pattern of skulls, the double-breasted shaping vest (which Tim said he didn’t need, but he felt better wearing), leather boots up to his knees, and a puff silk tie… definitely appropriate attire for doomed words about a terrible world.

He hoped Mike was watching.

Martin exhaled, puffing out his cheeks, and looked at the sea again. Mike probably was watching, but Martin couldn’t tell. Mike tended to do things at such a distance that even Martin’s abilities couldn’t pick him up.

Whatever. Mike had weird hobbies.

Sasha and Tim really weren’t sure about him. Mike was weird; Sasha and Tim were right about that. However, they thought Mike just wanted to sleep with him. Which, fair. That was a very pleasant pastime.

Still. “I swear,” Martin muttered, tapping his pencil on the page. “The jealousy is just absurd. It’s not as though we all don’t share a—oh!” A memory surfaced of Jonah putting down one of the insurrections back in the day, and he scribbled quickly. “Tar unlike tar, sucking down and holding, // black around hands that pointlessly pierce // still pointed into fading air.”

Yep. That would do. Martin was proud of this one. Nice and gloomy, and with a historical reference Jonah would like, it also had a lovely rhythm; maybe Tim could put it to one of his little lute pieces, or—

Martin felt the tug. Like a hook in his heart, somehow unmooring his thoughts and physically lifting his head as though turning his face to the sky. That was Jonah, calling him; Jonah, exercising the power he had over all living beings (and especially whatever Martin was), ordering him to make his way to the throne room.

Martin sighed. “I was supposed to have the afternoon off,” he muttered, and tucked his notebook and pencils away. He stood, coat billowing in the wind, curly hair caught as if with fingers.

The red, red sun really seemed to be swallowed by the vast and bottomless sea, not merely sinking behind it. He’d never had the courage to ask if that impression was true. It was… too much to think about the Vast swallowing the sun.

Tug.

Sigh.

Martin stepped right over the edge.

He fell the length of the tower, straight as his pencil. He fell, completely relaxed, other than one hand lightly on his glasses so he didn’t lose them (again) and make Sasha mad. And then he reached out, grabbed a thick, stone window sill, stopped his plummet, and pulled himself back up and through that space as though he’d landed on a spring.

He hurtled into the room, landing before the throne with a flourish and a heavy sound and his coat spread behind him like dark wings. “Ta-da,” he said, grinning.

As hoped, Jonah smiled. “Very nice.” A sucker for theatrics, was Jonah. He was all in purple again today, a color that somehow spoke of old corpses and the bruising of livor mortis. It fit him well, of course: smooth along his lithe limbs, revealing the power in his slender form. Eternally young, eternally dying; what a contradiction.

“I try.” Martin stood and tucked the sun-blocking glasses into his coat. It was nice to be able to see without pain.

The assembled Court were less impressed with his drama. Jared rolled his eyes and stomped off to the corner as though dismissed. (His latest suit was already straining at the seams; constantly changing, shifting, he went through more fabric than Martin thought a small country might need.) Jude shook her head and conjured tiny flames around her fingers, as though threatening to burn him. But she did that with everyone, all the time, so Martin didn’t take it personally.

Jane was here today. She’d been jockeying hard for a position in Court, and it really didn’t matter that they didn’t need another representative of the Corruption here. It wasn’t like Jonah would send her away—he loved infighting. She, at least, looked amused, though she crossed her hole-riddled arms as if disapproving.

Whatever. Martin hadn’t done it for any of them.

“I have a task for you,” said Jonah, rising from his throne, stepping away from the shiny black edifice with its eye-like rubies. The power wafting before and around him always disturbed, always made simple breathing hard.

Martin would never be used to it. “Oh?” he said.

“Annabelle has had a vision,” said Jonah. “Would you do me the kindness of witnessing it, then acting upon it? I trust your judgment—however you choose to respond,” he added, and that wasn’t praise at all, but a threat.

Martin was deeply startled to find himself in trouble. Do this right, or else, is what that meant. Why? What had happened? Had he done something wrong? He knew better than to ask these things where anyone could hear. “Of course. She’s in the usual spot?”

“Naturally. Good luck.”

Good luck? Oh, boy. It must be really bad.

Martin was an expert at hiding when it was really bad. He smiled, bowed with a flourish, and walked lightly out of the throne room, performing for all the eyes on him. Jude smirked at him, smoke rising from her feet, but she didn’t make a move. None of them did.

They knew better than to try, even if Martin was in trouble for some unknown thing. Martin could defend himself, thanks to what Jonah had done to him. Still, he was annoyed that this threat should come out of fucking nowhere. He’d get to the source of it, even if he had to dig, and then he’d suck it dry.

On his way to the augury, Martin considered the facts.

He knew he was favored. He’d damn well earned it. His position as vampire (the only vampire) was an important one; Oliver had brought all the vampires to an end, long ago, and Jonah had created Martin specially as some sort of response. Martin was unique, transformed from mere mortal to serve Jonah and the End forever.

Of all those who lived in this world, only he, Jonah, and Oliver lived past thirty. It was a wild thing.

Martin had earned that excision of humanity, worked his way up from fucking nobody to Jonah’s right hand. So most likely, this weird threat might not actually have been about him at all. Whenever Annabelle got involved, things were… squirrelly. Uncertain. Which was funny as hell, given that she was the most certain being in all of creation. Everything always felt pretty weird in the between-times, when she’d died and had yet to be reborn.

Martin was good at putting himself in other people’s shoes. If this was some weird, indirect setup to discredit Martin and then remove him, there was jack-all he could do. He couldn’t run; Jonah owned that part of him. He could hardly fight for the same reason; if Jonah really had decided it was the end, then only the lingering drama was keeping him alive. So, believing this was a step toward removing him would do nothing but paralyze him, helpless with fear.

If, on the other hand, he chose to believe that Jonah was scared (which the latter would never admit in a million years), that would activate moderately protective instincts on Martin’s part, and provide a path forward. It was a lot easier to be clever on someone else’s behalf. For pragmatism alone, it made sense to believe the second option. That settled, Martin stepped into Annabelle’s special space.

The augury was not his favorite area. It had no windows. Weird pillars loomed like trees, following no pattern he could understand. Between, around, threaded through them all was so much web that there was always only one path to walk. It was never the same path. It was never expected—but there was always only one.

Martin was a poet. He got the metaphor. He also wasn’t in the mood. “Annabelle, do we have to do this today?” he said, because the only path in front of him curved immediately right into wispy whiteness and went who the hell knew where.

In response, somewhere, she laughed. There was absolutely no way to know where that laugh came from.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Sure. Fire is a thing, you know.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy the game, Martin. He’s not here. He can’t hear you. He can’t… judge you for it.”

Martin was silent for just a moment in the wake of that. She never did that—just went right for the heart of things, for the key to his survival, for his position in the Court. For how he’d made his way with Elias, because he’d originally been of the Web. “Right,” Martin said, lighter than he felt. “So am I gonna have to burn the web, or…”

“So inelegant.” Annabelle lowered as though floating from the ceiling, materializing from a space where nothing had been before, her bulbous body graceful in spite of its proportions. “You can do so much better than that, Martin.”

He beamed at her. “Sure,” he said. “But you aren’t in charge of the bloody world, are you?”

“No,” she said, lightly. “And that is why we forgive you.”

Well, what the fuck. Wow.

She landed before him, towering overhead. All eight of her black, almond eyes crinkled, charmingly horrific, and her white fangs gleamed.

Everyone was showing off today. Martin wished he had a walking stick to twirl. “Look, what’s got him spooked? What on earth did you say to him?”

“You see he is afraid.” She sounded so approving.

“I see he’s going to be angry if you don’t show me whatever it is he sent me here to see.”

Annabelle smiled. “You are unique, Martin, among the End’s creations.”

“Uh-huh,” said Martin, who already knew that and was unimpressed with stalling.

“There is now another.”

He blinked. “Another… what, vampire?” he said, and could not decide in that hot second if he was pleased to no longer be alone, or frightened that he might no longer be of use.

“That would make neither of you unique,” Annabelle reasonably pointed out.

“Still stalling,” Martin reasonably pointed back.

“Very well.” She raised all eight hands.

Between her outstretched fingers, web formed from nowhere.

It grew and lengthened, stretched like dreams, and tightened, and spun, and suddenly, Martin could see. As if the holes between each strand led to another place, glimpses elsewhere in reality. Martin’s gaze flicked between the spaces in the web, focusing hard, working to pull the shreds of things Annabelle showed him into a single picture.

It was a run-down house, larger than most, clearly created before the Victorian era, and just as clearly inhabited by the Corruption. He was shown through the door (magically sealed), past a kitchen ruined with mildew and slime, sent left and right down narrow, stifling hallways wallpapered dark, past a living room (sealed, rotting), past a second (not sealed, filthy). Up the stairs, with all those rooms, every single one empty. To the attic, which contained a small collection of clothes and books, a somehow bright spot in this utterly ruined house.

And then the house collapsed.

Martin startled, unprepared. Chaos reigned, insane because it was shown to him in silence. Oliver’s Fingers swarmed the place, and there was fire, and horror, and violent death.

“Shit,” Martin said. “What the hell was that about?”

“This,” said Annabelle, and the view between the webs pulled back, focused, and now showed him a boy.

It was hard to see the boy.

Martin squinted, blinked, rubbed his eyes. “What’s that?”

“A child.”

“Funny. Seriously, what’s that?”

“Can’t see him well, can you?” she said.

No, Martin could not.

The kid was small and brown and scrawny. He looked maybe thirteen; he wore a weird combination of clothes—there were at least three eras of fashion involved here, which made little sense. His hair was long and wavy, but not in the way of intent; it just looked more like nobody had remembered to cut it in a while.

And he was oddly fuzzy. Martin couldn’t focus on his face.

“I don’t get it,” said Martin.

“The child is foueteen years old.”

“Okay,” said Martin. “Still don’t get it.”

“He remains Uncertain.”

Martin blinked. The boy seemed to grow blurrier, and Martin had to squint to see him again—with his little green vest and his big wool jacket and his boots that seemed too large. “He can’t be.”

“He is.”

“What… no, he can’t be. The End would have claimed him.”

“It did not. The Fingers were there to take him to Oliver.”

“So… it did claim him.”

“Not for sacrifice.”

There was nothing else. “Okay, hold on. That’s not how this works.”

“Yet there he is. Jonah is frightened.”

At least this explained Jonah’s tension. Jonah hated the unknown; when he knew what was going on, he was all smiles and smooth control. When he didn’t….

Honestly, this was enough to frighten Martin, too. “How? Why? “What is going on?

“You’ll need to hurry if you want to get to him first,” said Annabelle. “Here is the part where you have choice: Oliver has dispatched his Fingers to find this boy and take him.”

“Okay,” said Martin slowly.

“You either let that happen… or, you bring him here, alive.”

“I really don’t understand this,” said Martin. “Does it matter if Oliver gets him first?”

“I don’t know. Does it?”

“Come on, Annabelle.”

“He frightens Jonah. What do you think?” she said with a sweet smile.

Martin sighed. That would definitely put the kid in direct danger—but on the other hand, he was fourteen and Uncertain, and he should already have been taken. None of this made sense. “What will Oliver do with him?”

“What do you think he’ll do with him?”

“Right. So you’re useless.” Martin frowned. “Wait. When did Oliver dispatch his Fingers?”

“Half an hour ago.”

So he had to decide right the fuck now. “Shit. Where?”

She gave him an address.

Damned Fingers. Martin could hold them off on his own for a while, but protecting a kid at the same time would be difficult. If he could at least slow them down…

No, that wouldn’t be enough. No one in the Court would help him after Jonah’s little show earlier. Martin had no time to reach out to contacts, who could be anywhere this time of day. So few in London could stand up to the Fingers, anyway, and almost no one would. This was all on him. “Fuck!” Martin said, and raced back through the augury, back the way he’d come, in search of a window.

He found one and leaped.

Flight as a vampire was fast. Very fast. But even doing this, it would take him several minutes to reach London, never mind find this particular address.

He hoped Mike was watching.

He hoped Mike picked up on the fact that he was clearly in a rush—and possibly in trouble.

He hoped Mike would choose to do something about it and help.

Martin had no voice to cry as he flew (his body went away when he did this, somehow, into another form he’d never seen but scared people plenty), but if he could have spoken, he’d just be shouting profanity on repeat.

Jon peered from his branch and tried to gauge if that particular bakery would be worth stealing from.

Two Hunt-Aligned people walked beneath his tree, their eyes yellow, their fingers crooked like claws. Both breathed heavily through clenched teeth, and one of them was frothing, but Jon paid them no mind. It wasn’t as though they would see him. Almost no one ever did.

Carriages and dead horses clopped by. People in fine clothes swooped here and there, laughing, talking; music piped out of shops, and the sun shone on the water so brightly that it hurt to look at. The alleyways had so much mud in them, but out here, it was mostly worn-smooth brick-shapes to walk on (cobblestone, he suddenly knew). The smells were fishy—the ocean was right there—but there were good smells, too. Like that bread.

“What do you think?” he whispered to himself, to his past self, to the Answers that sometimes came.

There were no answers today, but that was all right. Jon had it down to a science. He was good at stealing; not that he liked to think of it as stealing. He always helped out; he cleaned things, or reorganized bad shelving. It’s not like he’d ever stuck around long enough for anyone to complain.

Once he'd realized no one could see him, things... simplified.

At first, it had been just horrible? Frightening. Disturbing? And he still had yet to figure out why, but after a while, it was honestly a relief. No one ever chased him down or threw him out. No one yelled at him. He was never caught, or mistreated, or bitten. Fingers marched right past him on the street as though he did not exist. He’d gotten to the point that he wasn’t sure if he’d even be sacrificed at age thirty. Maybe he wouldn’t. What on earth would that be like?

Regardless, Jon liked living on his own, without Amherst or anyone to bother him. He liked sneaking into people’s houses and sleeping on their roofs or in their spare rooms, cleaning their kitchens for them and taking a little food. He liked the glimpses he got of their lives while doing so. Maybe it was creepy, he didn’t know—but he’d never met anyone else doing what he did, so he couldn’t honestly tell.

That bread smelled good. He licked his lips. Puberty (which sucked quite a bit more than books had warned him) had definitely increased his appetite, and he did not like that, but he sort of understood why. The body needed fuel to grow, and all. Logic said to wait until closer to day’s end, when he could slip inside and stand in an out-of-the-way place and go unnoticed while they closed up. To pass the time, he watched the sea.

Vast. He knew; that water was owned, completely, and to step in it would be swept away. Some days, he was tempted, just because he wanted to know what it felt like.

Some adults of the Lonely spooked by beneath him, bringing cold like a cloud, and he shivered. The sun was low in the sky; he guessed he had an hour or so of daylight left, which meant he needed to figure out where he was sleeping for the night. Possibly the bakery, but he’d learned the hard way that bakeries opened so bloody early, so he wouldn’t get as much sleep as he’d wanted once he finished cleaning their ovens, or whatever, so—

Someone gasped.

He looked. Ah; more Fingers. They didn’t mean anything. They were always here, marching after someone, dragging someone out of their homes or down the street. Except these ones seemed to be… looking at him? That made no sense. How could they be looking at him?

People moved aside. A couple of carriages stopped dead as the small contingent marched, their heads turned definitely toward him, and for the first time all day, his instinct (his past self, his Answers, his whatever it was) spoke up: Run.

His past self was never wrong. He leaped out of the tree and ran.

Jon wasn’t used to running. He was breathless almost at once, but joyful; it felt like flying to go and go and go without having to stop at the end of a hall or turn around, and he laughed, arms pumping, hoping they wouldn’t catch him just yet. Maybe this was it! Maybe they’d finally take him, and he’d learn what it was to die and be reborn!

But not yet! Not yet!

He dove through traffic. Darted between carriages pulled by dead horses, raced around ladies with enormous skirts and startlement, dodged away from men who nearly tripped over him as he raced by.

The Fingers kept coming, marching, and everyone who saw them got out of the way.

No one saw him, and he was slowed by their presence.

He was also running out of street. This road ended ahead at more ocean, and none of the alleyways would work—a dead end would be the end of his flight. Damn, he hadn’t been thinking; he should have gone south down Warminster. Jon didn’t know what to do, how to hide, where to go—

And a man appeared in front of him as if woven out of air.

The man was large, and handsome; he had a kind face, a face that made Jon want to smile, and red-gold hair that gleamed in the setting sun, and little green spectacles that hid his eyes. He wore what was, Jon already knew, the finest pieces of clothing he had ever seen.

The weird thing was… he was familiar. Weirder yet? He saw Jon. “Shit!” said the man, and grabbed him.

Jon yipped.

The man (who smelled so good, making Jon suddenly aware of his own less than great odor) put Jon down behind him, said, “Sorry about this,” and spun in place to kick at the approaching empty things.

They went down like a row of books pushed over from one end, and from them rose a weird, terrible moaning, a horrible, hollow sound that didn’t seem like it could come from throats.

Jon gawked. “You actually hurt them?” He’d never seen anyone do that before.

“Time to go!” said the man, and picked him up again like he weighed nothing.

“Wait, what—” Jon found himself tossed over the man’s shoulder like a sack of laundry.

The man took off at a run. This was… far faster than anyone should be able to run. His stomach turned.

(Jon knew him. He knew this man, knew this man, as if from that past life, and with that undefined memory came only good feelings, and so, he did not struggle.)

“Sorry!” said the man, leaping between people Jon had already dodged, jumping over a carriage he’d already avoided, racing full-speed back the way Jon had come.

Jon couldn’t get his breath back. He never knew people could be this strong. “Are you Hunt?” he gasped.

“Nope!” said the man, and slowed just enough to glance behind.

Lined by rowhouses and hungry sea, by streetlamps and stores, the street had finally emptied in the wake of all this chaos, and now Jon could see just how many Fingers were after him. There were a lot. More than he’d ever seen go after anyone. As he watched, more stepped out of alleys (presumably not dead ends, or maybe called off other missions), adding to the ranks. They came fast, fast as Martin could move, faces impassive, arms pumping hard.

Martin. That was the man’s name.

“Shit!” said Martin again, and ran faster.

This was like one of those crazy books he’d found in the closet, with princesses being carried off by ogres. “You can see me?” he gasped.

“Sort of!” said Martin.

“Am I being sacrificed?” Jon managed. His stomach felt awful, bouncing on this man’s shoulder; it definitely wasn’t great.

“Don’t know yet!” Martin said.

It had been so long since anybody had spoken to him at all. “What’s happening?” Jon asked between juddering footsteps, still catching his breath. “Who are you? Why did you attack them? Won’t they kill you? Why did you grab me? How did you actually damage them? Where are we going?”

“Hold on, chap,” said the man, and did not answer.

The smells were amazing, mixing at this speed. Salt and fish from the sea. Oil and perfumes from various shops, signs swinging as they passed. Blood from various bins, sometimes visibly stuffed with bodies. And however Martin smelled, which was really nice, though Jon could tell he was getting his own mustiness all over these nice clothes, and he felt sort of bad for that.

The man stopped running. It was very sudden.

Before them stood a new guy. Jon knew what this one was without being told: Vast. He was right there, but seemed far away. A scar like lightning crawled up from his indecently unbuttoned shirt, clutching (caressing?) his throat. He had white hair and bright blue eyes, and he grinned at Jon’s rescuer (kidnapper?) as though walking around with smelly teenagers was a normal thing to do.

“Help,” said Martin.

“One date,” said the lightning man.

Jon wasn’t sure he’d heard that right.

“I already owe you a date!” said Martin.

“Right! You’ll owe a second,” said the lightning man.

(Mike. His name was Mike. How did Jon know his name was Mike?)

Jon twisted to look back. The Fingers were coming. He couldn’t figure out for the life of him what was happening. “Why are you doing this?” he asked again.

“Come on, Mike!” said Martin.

“All right, all right,” said Mike. “Backup or rescue?”

“Can’t risk him. Rescue, then backup?”

Mike eyed Jon. Squinted. “I can’t see him very well. That’s weird, mate.”

“Mike!”

“Sure. Rescue, then backup. With your weird invisible kid.”

Jon was thrown.

He gasped. Mike caught him (and he smelled so good, too, like soap and air and ocean and other things Jon couldn’t name, and he felt very self-conscious). “If you die,” said Mike, “I will dig you up and fuck your corpse.”

Jon twisted to gawk up at him.

Mike was smiling at Martin like he knew a secret. No indication he’d just said an absolutely insane thing.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Weirdo.”

So… Mike wasn’t serious? Who would joke about things like that? He wasn’t even Corru-

And suddenly they were high, higher, so very high in the air that Jon could barely see the black and copper spot that was his rescuer, turning toward the things pursuing him.

Jon gasped again.

Then they went even higher, and his rescuer was gone.

chapter four

#rusty quill big bang #rusty quill big bang 2023 #rqbb2023 #tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #magpod #magnuspod #tma au #the magnus archives au #tma spoilers #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #jonah magnus #annabelle cane #tim stoker #this dark thing that sleeps in me

8 notes · View notes

claymorexpunisher · 2 years

Text

Taming the Superstar (18+ One Shot)

Pairing(s): Drew McIntyre/OFC

Summary: Jasmin’s first official night as a member of Black Label gets very interesting…

Tags: 18+, indie wrestler!Drew, choking, hair pulling, some good ole hate fuckin.

Word Count: 1,007

“I think we should leave them…” Jack muttered to Stevie.

”’You think they’re gonna-‘’ Stevie murmured back only to be cut off by a nod from Jack.

‘’I know they are. Lets go.’’

Jasmin walked into the group’s shared apartment and quickly got ready for bed.

Today was her first official day as a member of Black Label and excited as she was about how well they did that night, she was exhausted.

She was just about to give in to sleep when she heard loud music blaring right from Drew’s room.

Feeling a surge of irritation, she threw off the duvet and stalked over to Drew’s room, knocking loudly at his door.

‘’Drew! Open up!’’ She barked.

Usually she was shy and reserved.

She felt bad enough for taking up space in the boys’ apartment but she didn’t have much of a choice.

It was either live with them... or live in a box somewhere.

She was a foreigner on her own so she decided to take whatever help she could get.

But she wasnt one for confrontation unless something really got to her.

‘’Can I help you with something?’’ Drew asked with a raised brow as he leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom.

His expression clearly said ‘You're disrupting me and I don’t care for it.’

‘’Yeah..could you, maybe turn the music down a little? I’m trying to sleep.’’

‘’……Wear earplugs or something. You’re living with five guys. Guys make noise. What did you expect?’’ He replied with a careless shrug.

Jasmin couldn’t believe her ears.

She could feel her irritation shifting right into anger and her face showed it as it slowly turned beet red.

‘’I expect basic respect, Drew. Not for you to be an inconsiderate asshole!...turn it. off.’’ She practically growled, crossing her arms over his chest.

He mimicked her movements, coming closer to tower over her with a smirk on his face that made her want to slap the taste out of his mouth.

‘’Make me, princess..’’ he whispered.

Before either of them could process it, they were stumbling into Drew’s room as their lips crashed together, moving in a hungry pace.

Jasmin couldn’t help her hands from roaming along Drew’s broad chest and underneath his white tshirt and she moaned at the feeling of his muscles flexing underneath her finger tips.

‘’You’re a fuckin brat, you know that?’’ Jasmin mumbled in between heated kisses.

‘’An absolutely insufferable asshole..’’

Drew just chuckled huskily and cupped her ass in his large hands.

‘’I’ve been told once or twice, yeah..’’

But Jasmin was having none of it, though.

Surprising him, she pushed him onto the bed and immediately got to removing his sweats.

‘’We’re not doin this your way, Superstar.’’ She said with a wicked glint in her eye.

‘’Not used to hearin that come outta anyone’s mouth, are ya?’’ Jasmin giggled, now taking him into her hand and giving his cock a few slow and deliberate pumps.

All she got in response was a shuddery moan and that just wasn't enough for her.

‘’Answer me, Drew.’’ She snapped, giving his cock a firm squeeze.

She wasn't sure where all of this coming from but, her body felt like it was on fire as she watched the large man underneath reacting to her words and her actions.

‘’N-no..’’ he stuttered, cursing under his breath as her hand continued to stroke him at an agonizingly slow pace.

His brain felt like it had turned into actual mush.

‘’Yeah?’’ She chuckled softly, letting go off his cock to stand and reach underneath her large T-shirt to remove her panties.

‘’You’re used to runnin shit, uh? Used to acting like an entitled brat and getting your way..every last piece of ass you’ve had let you be on top too, huh?’’

Drew met her eyes with that same irritating smirk and gave a nod.

He was clearly enjoying this display of dominance on her part.

‘’Every. Single. Time.’’

Jasmin just matched his smirk with one of her own once her panties were off, then she moved back onto his lap and guided him into her.

‘’Welp. Not tonight, sweet pea.’’ She said, her voice breaking off into a gasp of pleasure as she sank down onto his cock.

Jasmin tilted her head back, letting her hips stay flush with his for a moment and enjoying the feeling of being filled by him.

‘’Ya know..I’m thinking this living arrangement wont be much of a problem.’’ Drew chuckled breathlessly.

Jasmin let out a winded giggle as she slowly began to ride him.

Leaning forward, her much smaller hand wrapped itself firmly around his throat, while the other took a handful of his hair and gripped it tightly as she practically moaned out her reply.

‘’Don’t get used to this. You’re still a fuckin prick and I haven’t had a good lay in months. Get over yourself. I can find a cock this good anywhere.’’

Drew hummed in response, letting out soft grunts every time Jasmin sank back down onto him.

His hands slowly roamed underneath her t-shirt and finally settled on her supple hips.

‘’..So you’re not gonna get starry eyed and fall in love with me, then?’’ Drew said with a playful glint in his lust filled eyes.

‘’Fuck off. I don’t even expect breakfast in the morning.’’ She moaned, her hips never wavering as she chased after her orgasm.

They quickly replaced conversation with loud moans and grunts that were drowned out by the loud music still blaring from Drew’s room

A few hours later, Jack and Stevie found themselves back at the apartment, finally deeming it safe to return.

Jack took a peek into Drew’s now quiet room to find the Scotsman seemingly sleeping soundly in his bed, no Jasmin to be found.

But still, Jack wasnt fooled.

‘’I know youre not asleep…Galloway, you slut!’’ He exclaimed, slapping Drew’s ankle through the sheets.

He quickly ran out of the room, cackling as he narrowly missed a pillow to the face..

#drew mcintyre #drew mcintyre x female reader #drew mcintyre x reader #drew mcintyre x ofc #drew mcintyre smut #drew mcintyre fic #wrestling fic #wrestling smut

59 notes · View notes

hlizr50 · 2 years

Text

Elorcan Week Day 4 - What the Future Holds

I came up with this idea around the same time I wrote The Trouble with Words Is, and @elorcanweek2022 was the push I needed.

This takes place not long after they return to Perranth. Elide did not want to return to the manor she'd shared with her parents, not yet prepared to live in the same place where she was a prisoner for so long. Instead the manor has become a temporary home for those displaced by the war. And it falls to Lord Lorcan Lochan to give the Lord and Lady's seal of approval.

The Tower of Perranth

Read on AO3

“My Lord?”

With a blink the towering male shifted his attention from the singular turret of the manor to the quaking servant that had met him at the front gate. He still wasn’t used to his title, being addressed by it. Lorcan did his best to keep his muscles loose and relaxed, trying not to intimidate the staff here. He’d sent many a stable hand running away screaming in the smaller estate he shared with Elide near the middle of the city. And considering that he was here to give his approval that the old Lochan manor continue functioning as temporary housing for those displaced by the war or other difficult circumstances, terrifying any of the staff was something he very much needed to avoid. With a nod he gestured in front of him.

“My apologies. Lead the way.”

The man who guided him up the cobbled path between well-groomed hedges was not small by human standards, though he still walked nearly two hands beneath the Demi-fae male. His face was weathered, but kind enough - the corners of his eyes appeared wrinkled from years of encouraging smiles. Lorcan wondered how long he had worked in the manor. If this man had served the late Lord and Lady of Perranth, if he had watched a tiny, raven-haired hellion shriek down the halls and giggle when caught by the safe, loving arms of her mother.

Lorcan didn’t know what it meant to be a grinning youngling with parents who adored him. But if his bride had known that life, even for a brief few years, he was eternally grateful for it.

“I thought I would begin by showing you around the common areas - the kitchen, shared living spaces, laundry, perhaps - and introduce you to the women who run the household. Then, if you would like to see more on your own you would be welcome to do so?” The tawny-haired servant seemed measurably more relaxed as they approached the door, and Lorcan was somewhat relieved that perhaps he had done well in keeping his expression pleasant. Or, at the very least, not a scowl. Elide would be pleased.

“Of course,” he answered as the human male pushed open the arched wooden door, beckoning him inside. The foyer was large and could be considered grand, with arched oak beams curving to support a vaulted ceiling and a polished wood stair leading up to his left. But as they moved into the home it became decidedly more cozy, the ceilings much lower to support more living space above them.

In the surprisingly expansive kitchen he was introduced to Ingrid, Yvette, and Shar. While the manservant had seemed quite intimidated to meet the new Lord, the three women responsible for running the household seemed quite enthusiastic to meet him, with rosy cheeks and shining eyes. Ingrid was tall and severe, but still shared a pleasant smile with him and patted his hand when it clasped hers in greeting. Yvette and Shar, the head cook and head laundress respectively, were far more chatty, and had to dab at their eyes with their aprons more than once as they gushed about how relieved and thrilled they were that little Elide had found her way back home. It had been a bolt to his heart, to see the love the women had for his wife, and he even managed a grateful smile and a genuine offer of thanks for the work they were doing here. Lorcan assured them that the Lady of Perranth would be very touched by their efforts, and that one day she may return there with him to express as much herself.

But not yet.

The servants had nodded in grim understanding, and his guide - who had finally introduced himself as Artur - had left him by the base of the staircase in the entryway, free to explore as he saw fit. Armed with the knowledge that most of the rooms upstairs were as yet uninhabited, he climbed the varnished steps three at a time, more intrigued than he thought he would be to roam Elide’s childhood home. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped he would find something that she would remember, something that had belonged to her parents, but Artur had explained that the manor had been cleared of valuables by Vernon and then ransacked a few times during the war.

Even so, the few empty bedrooms he ventured into were furnished with a decent bed and a modest chest of drawers, and were warmed with blankets and other touches to make them feel more like a home and less like a halfway house, even though it was. Even the sconces on the wall cast a warm glow over the corridor, painting the stone floor - smooth from years of shuffling feet - a buttery gold. But the sconces ended a few of his long paces before the hallway came to an end, and he was met with a door that was different from the rest, the wood so dark it was nearly black. It promised to be heavy.

Lorcan gripped the handle and pushed against it, but the door was locked, which struck him as odd. He had yet to find a locked door in his exploration, at least where entrances to common areas were concerned, and he felt a tingle at the back of his neck as his mind raced through what that might mean. With a swift push of his power from his hand the lock clicked free, and he shouldered his way into a space so dark he needed to pause for his eyes to adjust. The door had indeed been quite heavy, though still not a challenge for the strength in his broad frame. After acclimating to the stale air with a scowl his eyes found the path forward - a narrow stone stairway curling around a center column. Lorcan’s jaw clenched, stomach twisting.

This was the path to the tower.

He tried to keep his breathing slow and controlled as he climbed. What would he find? Would the tower have been cleared like everything else had? Would Vernon have tried to wipe away any evidence of his cruelty? Lorcan didn’t think him one to care about an impression such as that, particularly seeing as he had moved them to Morath, where the wrongdoings here were mere child’s play. There were no windows the entire length of the stair, and the turret had fared so well during the war that not a single crack gave way to bleeding afternoon sunlight. Just unending, devastating dark. Even he was unnerved by it, a male who wielded blackness and death as a weapon.

And then there was another door, not so different from the first. Closed. Locked. But dangling from the handle was a length of iron chain, each link as thick as one of his fingers, with an enormous padlock hanging open, hooked through the shaped metal.

His lungs seized at the sight of it, his mouth an arid desert. That a child would have been locked behind this door in such an unforgiving fashion was unthinkable. Knowing that it was Elide - his beautiful, magnificent Elide…

The door shattered before him with a thought, dust and splinters falling at his feet as the rage writhed inside of him. Only the chain and the lock remained, the iron immune to his magic.

He hadn’t known what to expect when he laid eyes on the tiny room that had been his mate’s home for so long, but if he thought it would quell his vengeful thirst he was sorely mistaken.

A dirty, threadbare blanket puddled atop a pallet likely made of straw. A meager table with a chair laying on its side, one leg broken. A bucket… Fuck a bucket sat against the wall furthest from the bed. Lorcan ground his teeth against the purpose for it. And, near the smallest of fireplaces, was a great iron eye-hook in the wall with a length of chain running through it.

As if the fucking door wasn’t enough.

At least there was a window, gentle rays of sun warming the cruel, unyielding stone.

Lorcan stepped further into the room, and something flashed from the pallet, reflecting the sunlight. Something akin to desperate hope filled his chest, and he prayed to anyone that could hear that he might find a small treasure for her in this den of sorrow as he fell to his knees and pawed at the blanket. As he lifted it and gently shook something small and gold clattered onto the floor between his knees, just as another item fell onto the straw mat. He stared, tossing the poor excuse for a blanket to the side, and marveled at what lay before him. A small ivory comb and a doll, with hair that matched Elide’s midnight tresses. He couldn’t look away from the toy, such a small, innocent thing, as he felt around beneath him for what had fallen - it had to be whatever had glimmered at him in the sun. When his fingers brushed something solid he grabbed for it, tearing his gaze away from the little doll to what now lay in his palm. A gold ring bearing the same seal that was embroidered on every flag and noble uniform in this city - the seal of Perranth. A signet ring, a last remaining token of Cal Lochan.

His eyes burned, both from despair and relief that he had found something, and he tucked the small items into a pocket and rose to his feet before he was too overwhelmed. This thing - allowing himself to feel emotion - was not something he enjoyed. But he would not hide his feelings, if only for Elide’s sake. He stalked out of the room, not wanting to grant the prison with a single moment more than what it was worth, but he paused over the threshold. Where the thick, hateful chain and lock lay heaped upon the stone. And suddenly his lungs were burning with ire and ice once more, his dark eyes seeing nothing but red. Lorcan grabbed the chain, but did not look at it again as he strode purposefully down the stone stairs, then through the dark door and the second floor corridor, down the beautifully polished wooden stairs and out into the groomed courtyard.

It could have taken seconds or minutes or hours for him to burst through the door of the home he shared with Elide. Lorcan didn’t know and he didn’t care. All he needed was her, to remind her - and maybe himself - that she was free.

She was curled in a chair before the fireplace, a novel open between her delicate fingers, her attention intently focused on the page before her. He let the chain slide from his fingers, and it crashed to the floor, making her jump. Elide’s wide stare looked to him, then to the floor.

“Lorcan?”

He was upon her in a blink, pulling her into his arms and clinging to her with a bone-crushing embrace. When her hands slid around his neck and her legs wrapped around his middle he grinned, in spite of his foul mood. He pressed his lips to her brow before drawing back to gaze into the sweet abyss of her eyes.

“I saw the tower. The chains. I… I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I just—“

Luscious, petal-soft lips pressed against his, stealing his breath for the second time that afternoon. Elide paused and took him in, pressing a loving palm to his cheek. Lorcan sighed, leaning into the touch as if it were a pillar of stone. And wasn’t that what his mate was? A pillar of light and fortitude.

“I just needed to touch you, Elide. To hold you.” He kissed her again. “I knew what you’d endured, but to see that chain on the door. To feel the weight of it in my hands. To see the room, hardly better than a prison cell…” The Lord took a shaky breath and drew strength from the caress of her thumb across his cheek and the sad, gentle smile she wore.

“Never again, Elide. I will die before you suffer such cruelty.” Another kiss. Another vow. “I would sooner carve my heart out than watch you shed a single tear. Gods, I love you so fucking much and it wrecks me that I couldn’t protect you from this.”

“Lorcan,” she breathed, an angel’s song as she gripped his face in her tiny hands. “Every moment in my life led me to that forest. All of the fear and hurt. If I had never been taken to Morath, had never met Manon, then I would not have met you. Every hobbling step was worth it, because I am home and I am married to someone who makes me feel treasured and protected. Who has done so from the very beginning, in his own special, brooding way.”

He huffed, the desperate rage inside him melting away as she soothed him, offering him heartbreaking acceptance of her turmoil, with only this land and him as her prize.

“It isn’t enough, Elide,” he insisted as he slid his hand to cup her nape. “Nothing will ever be enough. There will never truly be justice.” His focus was wild, jumping between her eyes as his breaths became harsher. But Elide simply sighed and shook her head, soft strands of onyx floating about her lovely face. She leaned in once more, mouth ghosting over his in the most chaste of caresses. Her fingers drifted back to tangle in his wind blown locks, and her face split into a blinding smile.

“I don’t need justice, Lorcan,” she whispered. “All I need is you.”

@mystical-blaise @headcanonheadcase @mercarimari @ofduskanddreams @vikingmagic33 @booknerd87 @daevastanner

81 notes · View notes

darspeaksout · 9 months

Text

The Longest Dream

On a random Saturday morning, I woke up on the highest floor of an apartment building. My partner was laying next to me. Taking me in his arms, I felt the warmth of his body pressed against mine. The bedroom window which led to the balcony presented us with a view of the city that spread into the distance. Roads leading to condominiums, office spaces, skyscrapers, and the CN Tower far away.

We remained in each other's embrace, exchanging kisses and warm words as the sunlight poured abundantly into the room. To be happily in love with a man in the comfort of our own privacy, to receive this love without any shame or guilt, is something I thought would never be possible for me.

THE PAST

It was over a decade ago when I was a student, crying in a hotel room that I was sharing with some other guys in my grade. Word had gotten out about my sexual orientation and for three long years, I had watched my core group of friends dwindle, one person at a time. Which is why when I joined the out-of-province trip to Quebec, I found myself feeling alone in the hotel room despite sharing it with three guys, and wandering the streets of Old Montreal by myself while the rest of them went off exploring together. Every local shop, sidewalk, statue, and church we visited, I was alone. Physically, my classmates were there. Emotionally, nobody was.

I understood my lonesome expedition to this culturally different province to be my punishment for not being heterosexual, and for letting that fact get out. In my little kid brain, this trip to Quebec taught me that the price of being honest about myself was loneliness and exclusion. I learned that if I wanted people to stay, I needed to be more discreet. I needed to downplay any feminine attributes, or better, eliminate them entirely. I needed to make friends with guys to prove I was still one of them, but not get too close as to arouse suspicion that there was a possibility for romantic attraction. I needed to change myself in order to feel like a successfully integrated boy-becoming-man. I wanted respect, which I would later discover would come at the cost of my authentic self. And so began my future of pretending to be someone I wasn't.

I never talked about that Quebec trip until now. I felt like I had no right to feel upset especially considering that at that age, it was a privilege and a luxury because not every student could afford to go. I spent most nights weeping than I did laughing. I was counting down the remaining days because I wanted it to end. Even though in our hotel room there were two king-sized beds, the three guys I was rooming with all slept on the other one because they wanted to avoid me. I never told my parents this.

There's a guilt that comes with privilege, it's the guilt of feeling like your pain isn't valid because someone always has it worse. Yes, I was bullied. But it was all words and no one ever put their hands on me. Yes, I felt alone. But I was alone while traveling, compared to some students who felt alone and were stuck where they were. This is what I told myself. I should just deal with it.

Suffice it to say that as a kid, I didn't allow myself the space to be upset, to grieve loss, to feel anything. And because I didn't allow myself to feel pain, I couldn't feel joy either. The joy would always be accompanied with guilt. Self-hatred and guilt, or happiness and guilt. Always guilty and never fully living. Even on the days when it wasn't so bad, deep down I felt I didn't deserve to have these moments of peace.

So when it was time to graduate from elementary school and I took home all the academic awards, I couldn't feel proud of myself. What right did I have to feel good when I'd lost most of my friends upon their discovering that I was not straight? Because I was gay, it caused my best friend to distance himself from me. Because I was gay, my friend who was dating my best friend started to become suspicious that I would develop feelings for him. It was my fault they left, I told myself. There was something wrong with me that they couldn't stand to be around. I was the problem.

At graduation, I remember the first award I won was religion. The teacher who stood next to me on stage whispered not to return to my seat just yet. I was confused but then it made sense when they announced my name for the next award. And for the next one. And for the next four. The award goes to Darwin and to Darwin and to Darwin and to Darwin. The room filled with cheers and applause. And each time they called my name, it was humiliating.

I remember putting my head down. People might have thought I was doing it out of humility, but I was actually doing it out of shame because deep down I knew the price I paid for this success was the loss of myself and the loss of acceptance from my peers. When the ceremony concluded, I didn't receive a single "congratulations" from anyone in my graduating class. What hurt most was the people who I considered myself to be closest with didn't congratulate me either. Even though we'd fallen out by then, part of me was hoping they would find it in themselves to be happy for me. I think if I'd had at least one person in my corner, it wouldn't have been as painful.

It was from this experience that I associated my success with people's resentment. You would think this would've discouraged me from further excelling in my education. Quite the opposite - since people wanted nothing to do with me anyway because of my sexual orientation, whether or not I was academically gifted had no effect on their decision to avoid me. I poured my energy into my schoolwork going into high school and all throughout university, which did serve me well. But I felt alone for most of it.

At the school trip, I was an outcast and I had no awards. At graduation, I had awards but was still an outcast. I received the same treatment when I had nothing and when I had something to be proud of. And yet I couldn't be proud of myself. I learned that as long as I'm gay, no one will find it in themselves to be happy for me. If this was my reality then I didn't want to wake up to it. In hindsight, that period of my life was so lonely I wanted nothing more than to sleep forever. To be stuck dreaming good things and stop living in the real world sounded blissful. I was a child then so I wasn't familiar with the word "suicidal," but it's what I felt.

THE PRESENT

Fast forward eleven years later, and life couldn't be any more different. My university diploma hangs gloriously on the wall of my living room, next to my brother's. I wake up to the sound of my parents chatting in the dining room. They ask me what my plans are for the weekend; I tell them I'm driving a couple hours away to visit my partner. They tell me to stay safe and to text me when I get there.

And when I do, we have the whole apartment to ourselves. This time, no one is avoiding sharing the same bed with me. The morning after, we sleep in and drive to the city for brunch. Hands intertwined over the aroma of eggs and coffee, I tell him this: "I never thought this would be possible for me." He tells me he feels the same.

Every local shop, statue, square, and park, we're together. And when I look at my life, I realize I laugh more than I cry these days. I count my loved ones instead of my lost ones. While it's true that having him in my life makes it more fulfilling, it doesn't mean I was an incomplete person prior to the relationship. I'd made the decision to like myself and to enjoy my own company even when I was single. I'd go downtown by myself, visit museums, eat at restaurants, and go on late night drives to various places. The difference between wandering alone as a kid in Quebec and wandering alone as a single adult, is that as a kid I was alone and hated who I was. But as a single adult, I was alone and learned to accept and to appreciate myself. Which means that now that I'm in a relationship, I accept, appreciate, and love myself, and I have someone to accept, appreciate, and love in return. A relationship adds to a person's existence; it does not complete it.

And because I've reached this milestone of self-acceptance, I can revisit that day in my childhood when I won those awards and truly claim that I deserved it, because I did.

I have graduated. Not only from the subject material taught to me in school, but from the experiences I endured as a student there. I've graduated from homophobia, self-hatred, loneliness, exclusion, and bullying. Adults will tell you that school is a place of learning, and if that's the case, I'll tell you that life outside of school is a place of unlearning. Unlearning trauma and unhealthy, destructive ways of thinking. Unlearning the defense mechanisms we had to adopt as children in order to deal with the teachers who didn't enforce respect and the kids who felt entitled to take advantage of their leniency. Unlearning the idea that in order to consider myself as a worthy human being, I needed to be accepted by everyone. If I even have to ask for acceptance, then I'm asking the wrong people.

It's ironic that the place where I experienced such pain is only a five-minute walk away from my childhood home. Whenever I'd drive past, I'd steal a glance searching for the little kid version of myself playing during recess, running around freely, ignorant to the fact that his social world would crumble in a few years. I felt an anticipating doom for that child. Life as he knew it would be no longer. Now whenever I drive by, I don't bother glancing because there's nothing more to look at. I've taken what I needed from that time of my life that was elementary school, acknowledged that it's contributed greatly to how I've developed, retained what was useful and discarded what wasn't, and in doing so, have moved on. There's no need to look back.

That school is like a time capsule of my former world and of the person I used to be. In terms of physical proximity, it's near. But in terms of time, it's as distant as a foreign country. And since I've changed internally by unlearning self-destructive mindsets and habits, my external world has changed too. Although I've lived in the same place for most of my life, it doesn't feel the same because I've changed for the better.

Occasionally, I'll have flashbacks of the bullying that took place on the school's playground. It'll be at random times when I'm making coffee, going to the grocery store, or commuting to work. I'll think back to that tearful night in Quebec as I slept by myself on that large bed and how I wandered alone on the cobblestoned streets during the day. But because it happened a long time ago and because I've changed drastically since, it feels like it happened to a different person entirely. And when I remember that it happened to my younger self, I feel that it was only a bad dream which, while I was in it felt eternal, in reality didn't last long. The longest dream of my life came to an end. I eventually woke up and saw that real life wasn't so bad.

REAL LIFE

"Good morning," my partner says softly. Sunlight enters the window. My eyes adjust to the contours of his face. He asks how I slept.

"I slept well and even dreamed a little," I say.

"Really?"

"Yeah." I run my fingers through his hair, savoring the moment, remembering life wasn't always like this. It took a lot of time, work, and patience. As he's in front of me, I feel joy and nothing else. No guilt, no shame. This is bliss - being in the presence of love, and being in the absence of everything that is not. The things I thought were impossible became possible for me.

"I hope it was a good dream," he says, giving me a kiss.

"It was alright." In his eyes, I see the reflection of the person I grew to love. It's only because I grew to love him that I can love my partner. "But you know what? I'd rather be awake."

THE END

#romance #love #selfacceptance

2 notes · View notes

lilac--sugar · 1 year

Text

To read part one of the past lives series.

TW: A knife, sex (vaguely described), death. In that order.

---

It’s long cycles of different states of consciousness.

Bee to a flower.

A crow tormenting a fox.

A rather peaceful start as bluebirds. They get to experience freedom. The thrill of flying together, share meals together. It doesn’t last. Happy little nest watched over by a rather hungry hawk.

---

Then came their first time with names.

It was his eyes that had saved him. Or perhaps damned him. Wide eyes full of fear, betraying his body. He’s thrown himself between his uncle and a Viking in a surprising show of bravery.

“Please! Spare him! Take me and I’ll be yours to do whatever you wish!”

Lucky for him the Viking could understand a little of the man’s tongue, learned a decent amount from previous raids.

“Edmund, no!” The old man pleads with the younger man and the Viking tilts his head.

“You,” the Viking points at Edmund whose eyes have doubled in size, the feat of it making the Viking smile, “be mine?” He points to himself, and Edmund nods.

“Yes,” Edmund holds out a hand to the Viking who just looks on in puzzlement.

Edmund tries again, juts it out towards him and the Viking shrugs. He takes Edmund’s hand and swiftly pulls him into his space. Bodies flush against each other.

The smell hits first before their bodies register touch. The Viking smells ripe with battle and a variation of burnt herbs that Edmund just can’t put his finger on. He can’t help but notice the streaks of blood painting the Viking’s face, the dotting of moles over his cheeks.

In return the Viking recognizes the thick scent of coal fire. He pulls Edmund’s hand up to his face, examines the black under his nails. Blacksmith. Useful. He smirks.

---

The boat ride is brutal. Edmund hasn’t been to sea once in his life. He spends the first few days sick. The Viking is good at taking care of him, cleaning him up, bringing him water. Edmund refuses to talk to him nonetheless. Doesn’t want anything to do with the man that took him from his uncle, from his home.

Third day at sea and the Viking has left Edmund alone for all of five minutes. He’s perched with his head over the side of the boat, nausea hitting hard and the Viking had rested him there, pointed out at the horizon. Something about watching it helped settle himself just a little.

There’s a shadow spreading over him and he turns, squints up at the cause. A rather large man towers over him, grabs him up by his shirt and makes like he’s about to toss him overboard.

His Viking is there in an instant, bucket of water in hand. He draws back with it, swings hard, lets the weight of the water crash against their head.

Edmund is promptly dropped, the Viking shoving the bucket in his hands. The two Vikings are arguing and Edmund watches as his Viking shoves a ladle to the bigger Viking’s throat. His Viking continues to speak, pointing back at Edmund in a way that he assumes means, “keep away from him.” He pulls the ladle back and points it around the boat at everyone else, other hand resting on his hip, before gesturing to Edmund once more.

The Viking settles down in front of him, ladles up some water and holds it to Edmund’s lips, who gladly drinks.

“What is your name?” He asks, wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Stigr,” He scoops up another sip.

“Stivgr?” Edmund tries, fails to pronounce it correctly. Stigr, grins, shakes his head, repeats himself.

Edmund tries again but can’t seem to get it quite right. It comes out as-

“Steve,” Edmund ducks his head in embarrassment, knows that’s not right.

“Steve,” Steve nods, “I like it. If I am Steve,” He tilts his head in thought, “You will be, Eddie.” He brings the ladle up to Edmund’s lips once more.

“Eddie,” Eddie agrees, brings a hand up, places it over Steve’s on the ladle, “I like it.” He slips his eyes closed and drinks. Steve’s eyes fall to Eddie’s lips, dumbly watches as the water wets them, trickles down his chin.

---

Steve trades gold for a forge, trades jewels for metal, trades one of his best cows for tools and an anvil.

“You want me to work for you?” Eddie crosses his arms in front of himself as he watches Steve haul in more metal.

“Yes,” Steve tosses the metal down with a thud, “And no,” He smirks up at the other.

“Then what is all this about?” Eddie gestures around the room, eyes up the forge, finds it in exceptional condition. It’s better than his one at home. He pumps the bellow and finds it works rather well.

“You will have a place here, a purpose,” Steve says as he runs his hands over the edge of the forge, “No one can claim you do not belong.”

Eddie’s work speaks for itself. Not a single person complains that he’s an Englishman.

---

They spend a few months teaching each other anything and everything. Eddie finds himself taking to the Norsemen. Their Gods, their stories, he’s fascinated and submerges himself in it all.

Steve teaches him to fight, finds Eddie to be stronger than him. He’s surprised because he’s much thinner but the only thing on him is muscle from all the metal work he does. Steve may be bulkier, may work the farm and tend to the cattle, but Eddie isn’t a fragile flower.

Steve thinks about Eddie pinning him down at night, slips off to the barn to think about it harder.

---

It’s been about a year when Eddie hears whispers amongst people in town. Notices Steve hanging meat to cure, how he’s been sharpening his swords, making more arrows.

“When were you going to tell me?” Eddie’s found him out in the boathouse. Their property just a stone’s throw from the river.

“Tell you what?” Steve’s gathering up some rope, doesn’t bother glancing back at the other.

“That everyone is preparing for another raid,” Eddie’s voice is noticeably upset. Steve shrugs, “You’re planning to leave me here.”

“Would you rather kill your own countrymen?” Steve’s just about done winding the rope, it’s neat around his shoulder and elbow.

“What if you get hurt?”

Steve shrugs.

“What if you die?”

“Then, Valhalla will welcome me,” he says matter-of-factly.

“And me?”

Silence pools around them. The rush of water is all that remains.

“Steve,” It’s not a question, it’s a demand.

“Will be safe,” He says finally. In a split second Steve’s lifted off the ground and turned around. There’s a small scuffle. Both fighting for footing, both grabbing at each other and then-

Eddie’s hand drops down, grabs the dagger off Steve’s belt and presses him against the wall of the boathouse. The blade presses cold against Steve’s throat, he doesn’t dare move.

“I go where you go,” Eddie locks eyes with Steve, presses the blade in a hair more. Steve’s breath hitches, body breaking out in tingles, “Say it.”

“You go where I go,” Steve can’t help but notice Eddie’s eyes have drifted down, knows he’s looking at his lips. His heart pounds in his chest. Eddie lowers the blade, takes his time to slowly sheath it. His palm presses in against Steve’s hip, travels lower, inward.

“Fuck,” Steve’s hands fly up, grip at Eddie’s hair, pulls him into a bruising kiss.

A years’ worth of longing floods out all at once. There is no tenderness, just hands gripping what they can, tearing back at layers. Mouths taking purchase on whatever skin becomes exposed. Nails and teeth leave marks, tell a story on skin. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Pain melding with pleasure. Hard to tell where one starts and the other begins. Hard to tell where he starts, and he begins.

Cold wet ground and sharp frosted air touches the edges of them, lets them know there is an end. They had not in fact disappeared into the universe, they’re physical after all.

It’s an act they repeat over and over again until they’re both crying. Too much. Not enough.

Why must they be physical? More. More. More.

Steve leaves in the morning, kisses Eddie softly, slips away.

---

Eddie hears nothing of the raids for months. When boats come back without Steve, he’s told he’s missing.

Another month passes and Eddie catches a cold watching the water. It’s a simple cold but he’s alone. Alone and heartbroken. A deadly combo.

He closes his eyes, “I go where you go.”

---

Two more months and two boats return to shore. Steve’s haggard, emaciated. They’d been captured but managed to break free.

He’s weak but borrows a horse, rides as fast as he can to their home. Only, Eddie isn’t there. A farmhand tells him.

He wonders off, loses himself in the forest.

Steve comes to himself when the moon rises high in the sky. Full and wide.

“You went where I cannot follow,” He tells him. Swallowed whole by grief, he cries for his loss.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw knife #tw sex #tw death

9 notes · View notes