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violentdelights-violentendss · 22 days

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you couldn't keep me off for long 🤺🤺

how about the same three (dazai aku and fedya) but with a reader that runs super cold ?? i love this idea for no reason because dazai would tease, akutagawa would just be funny because haha sickly victorian children, and fedya has fuckign anemia so ofc he's cold 24/7 as well. ur writing style is also delectable i would like to eat it tysm

(me when i read ur things)

OMG I LOVE THIS! (Bro thank you sm i seriously feel like my writing style is shit but I love you…and please never fend off)

to the anon requested the bsd men and cold fic it is underway, I currently have written half of it…the ones with all BSD men take longer to write 😞😞

off I go to writing this ✨✨

BSD Men With a Reader That Runs Cold

In this post: 💃 Osamu Dazai, Ryonosuke Akutagawa, Fyodor Dostoyevsky💃

Pairing: Fem!reader/BSDMen

Synopsis: BSDMen and a gf that runs cold.

Osamu Dazai

Dazai is a man that burns with joy and passion in his everyday life. Consequently, his body temperature almost always runs high. And as the saying goes, opposites attract: you’re almost always cold, and Dazai, the man of your life, seems to have fire licking his skin constantly. He eagerly appoints himself to be your personal furnace, wrapping you in his arms when you shiver, and lending you his coat without you even having to utter a word. But his gestures come with a small price. Your boyfriend always teases you, his cat-like eyes smiling fondly as you glare at him, bundled in a mountain of covers and still needing his body heat. Dazai’s favorite joke is to propose sex as a way to warm you up. No matter how much he teases, however, he will always be ready to rescue you from the freezing cold that claws at your skin, enjoying the time he gets to spend holding you close to his heart.

You walked through the streets of Yokohama, shivering like you were experiencing your own magnitude level 5 earthquake. You were bundled up in a large coat, a scarf and gloves, even a small hat adoring your adorable face, and yet, you were still shivering so hard your teeth chattered.

Your boyfriend, Dazai, was walking leisurely in front of you, wearing only his usual trench coat, seemingly unaffected by the cold that held you tightly in its claws.

“D-Dazai!” You called, feeling as if you couldn’t take another step without shattering into a myriad of tiny ice shards.

“Yes, my belladonna?”

“M’ cold…”

Dazai sauntered over to you, leaning down to peck your nose. “Such a rare occasion, isn’t it, Bella?” He cooed mockingly, caressing your lips with his thumb.

You swatted his hand away, whining. “Stop teasing. I need solutions, not problems.”

“Okay, I have a great solution.” Dazai declared, looking in your eyes very seriously. You nodded, listening, blowing some warm air on your freezing hands, which still felt on the verge or falling off, even with your gloves on. Dazai’s hands took yours in his, warming them up with his own personal heat. “We go back there, and I fuck you so good — ”

“DAZAI!” You shouted, afraid someone could hear you. You rapidly checked around the both of you, terrified that a little kid might have been lurking in a corner. Returning to look at your boyfriend, you found him doubled over, laughing.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” He said, a hint of laugh still dancing in his tone. “Come here,” he said, opening his trench coat. You slid inside, instantly feeling warmer. Dazai closed the coat around you, holding you tightly against him, feeling a little proud when you stopped shivering. “When we get home, l’ll make you some warm tea.” He promised, already seeing your apartment complex in the near distance.

“And then we cuddle on the couch.” You said, starting feel your ears again.

“And then we make out on the couch, yes.”

“DAZAI!”

Your joyful boyfriend started laughing, and you soon joined, your laughter intertwining into a beautiful melody, as you two walked home. Throughout the walk home, Dazai made sure you were completely covered by his coat, a perfect bundle of warmth. He promised himself he would always be there to hug you till you weren’t shivering anymore.

Ryonosuke Akutagawa

Akutagawa was a normal person, who never felt too hot or too cold. When you burst into his life, all joy and laughter, he had to get used to you, and all your wonderfully eccentric behavior. But the one thing he struggled most with, was your abnormally low body temperature. Whenever you told him you were cold, he would stare at the various layers of clothes you were wearing, as well as the winter coat you had thrown over your shoulders. Akutagawa just…couldn’t understand you. He didn’t try to be mean or anything, his mind just couldn’t make sense of it. Akutagawa soon realized that his body heat helped the perennial cold that seemingly nestled, like a frozen rose, in your heart. Whenever you would be shivering at night, Akutagawa would tentatively wrap you in his arms, and warm you with his body heat. He would crank the heat up in your apartment, despite your protests about the price (he had enough money to spend). Soon, you feeling cold became another quirky aspect of your relationship, and also gave Akutagawa the opportunity to always keep you in his arms without explicitly voicing his desire to do so, which suited your touch-starved boyfriend perfectly fine.

You were at the Port Mafia’s annual Christmas Party: an event that lasted all night long, in one of the many ballrooms owned by the criminal organization. The floors were made of polished wood, and the ceilings were decorated with wonderful paintings, and delicate flowers engraved in the dark wooden beams that supported the high ceilings. The moonlight filtered in through the mosaic windows, coloring the partygoers in different shades.

You were sitting at a table, a glass of glittering champagne in your hand. You were wearing a black slip dress Akutagawa had gifted you. It adorned your body perfectly, a slit exposing your right leg. You looked gorgeous, and Akutagawa stared at you for a good 5 minutes without being able to say anything when you had come out of the bathroom, finding you the epitome of beauty.

The night had been fun: you had successfully dragged Akutagawa to waltz with you, holding you close. You could feel Akutagawa’s heart beat against your chest, a small smile twinkling on his lips. The moment had abruptly ended when Mori had called Akutagawa to raise a toast to the Port Mafia with the rest of the high executives.

You, being a low-level Port Mafia member, had given him a kiss to send him off, and had gone back to sit at your designated table. All the dancing had made you sweat, and now the droplets were cooling on your skin, making you already colder than you always were. You had decided to sip on your champagne to warm yourself up, but your exposed arms were not helping. You had started shivering, setting the flute back down on the table, and wrapping your arms around yourself to try and create a little heat.

“Are you feeling cold, (Y/N)?” Akutagawa asked, dragging a chair to join you. You nodded, sheepishly. Akutagawa glanced at you for a few seconds, his eyes zeroing on your shivering shoulders. He exhaled, not believing he was about to do this.

Slowly, Akutagawa removed his coat, an item of clothing that was seemingly fused to his body: he rarely took it off, and only in the comfort of your home, where he knew the both of you were safe from any danger.

You watched him in utter disbelief as he draped it around your shoulders: it was the greatest act of trust Akutagawa could ever commit towards you.

Seemingly not having moved you to tears enough, he scooted closer with his chair, wrapping you in his arms and holding you tightly against him, trying to transfer some body heat.

Akutagawa was known for not liking any form of PDA. You knew. He knew. The whole Port Mafia knew, which explained the shocked glance Chuuya threw your way.

But honestly, you didn’t care, and nuzzled your face in Akutagawa’s chest, glimmering tears sliding down your cheeks and ruining your makeup: Akutagawa always found proclaiming his love to you to be extremely difficult, but clumsily, through his actions, he always found a way to tell you how much you meant to him.

Your boyfriend felt your shoulders shake, and mistook you to be still freezing. He held you even closer, until he noticed the wetness on his chest, harshly pulling you away from him to check on you. “(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” His panicked tone made you laugh through the tears.

“You’re just perfect, you know.” You whispered, bringing his hands to your mouth, leaving a red lipstick mark on his knuckles. “I couldn’t have gotten luckier.”

Now it was Akutagawa’s turn to feel his heart melt, his eyes suddenly watering. He coughed, looking away, trying to maintain his cold persona.

“Akutagawa, it’s our song!” You squealed, suddenly hearing the melody play. “Let’s go dance!” You excitedly grabbed his hand, almost dragging him to the middle of the dance floor, his coat still around your shoulders.

Akutagawa almost protested, but the smile that was engraved in your eyes the minute you started swaying in his arms was a force too strong for him to resist. You two ended the night in each others arms, singing the song’s romantic lyrics to one another, the mosaic windows coloring each part of your faces with a different color.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Listen, Fyodor is anemic, he’s always cold. Russia’s harsh winters must have infected his body, because this evil mastermind is always shivering. And when the two of you got together, and you told him you were a person that generally ran cold, Fyodor smiled, saying he was the same. The two of you share the same struggles on a daily basis, and try to rely on one another for warmth, but with little to no results. The heat in your apartment is always cranked so high that Nikolai directly comes in shorts whenever has to come over. Whenever you two sleep, you have at least 5 covers and huddle in each other’s arms. Whenever you whine that you’re cold, Fyodor does hug you, but you both know it won’t be enough, so he throws a cover on both of you, and only then can you two start to warm up. A warm tea, or a warm milk, are mandatory every night, and you have a multitude of hot water bottles stashed in the kitchen. You use one almost every night. Still, even if Fyodor knows that hugging you won’t change much, he secretly adores sleeping with you in his arms, because the love that you so clearly feel for him is enough to warms his heart.

“Fyodor, I’m still cold,” you whimpered, trying to huddle in his arms. The two of you had been cuddling in bed for thirty minutes, bundled underneath an avalanche of covers and duvets, each of you holding a warm water bottle. Fyodor was feeling…okay. Not warm, exactly but not as freezing as you were. You must have been tired: you usually felt colder when you were tired. Fyodor tried his best to rub his arms against yours, but to no avail.

“I can tell, myshka…you’re shivering,” he cooed, trying to tuck the covers around you. But nothing seemed to be working that night. Fyodor leaned back, trying to figure something out, his already fast mind moving at inhumane speed. “What if I draw us a warm bath?” He asked, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.

Your eyes shot open, a glimmer of hope in your smile. “Yes…please,” you scooted out of his embrace, watching as your boyfriend braved the cold, sliding out of the sheets. You instantly felt colder, now that he was gone. You hugged his hot water battle as well, watching as his tall form slid inside the bathroom. You heard the water running. The harsh sound of water on marble soon changing to water sloshing on water.

You waited impatiently, jumping out of the bed when you heard his sweet voice calling you. You ran to the bathroom, trying to avoid the cold’s claws that reached for you. You almost threw yourself in the bathroom, closing the door behind you to not let the heat from the heater make its escape.

Fyodor looked at you lovingly, helping you slide your clothes off. You didn’t wait for Fyodor, almost throwing yourself inside the large bathtub. You instantly felt the cold hidden in your limbs wither and die, finally feeling at peace. The water sloshed around you as Fyodor joined you in the tub, his pale skin almost taking a pearl-like shade in the dim lights.

You happily swam towards him, falling into his arms. Fyodor welcomed you with a small smile, glad to see your cheeks flushed with heat for once. “We should do this more often,” you thought out loud, playing with your boyfriend’s hands.

“Noted, milaya.” He purred, feeling a drowsy sense of relaxation spreading throughout his body. “This sure is peaceful,” he murmured, sinking further in the bathtub, eyeing your naked body underneath the trembling surface of the water.

“Stop,” you laughed, noticing his gaze, swimming away from him and flicking some water in his face with your foot. Fyodor moved uncharacteristically face, grabbing your ankle and tugging you toward him, and pressing a kiss to your soft skin. You giggled shyly, hiding underneath the water.

Fyodor dunked his head underneath the water, meeting your eyes. You smiled at him, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging you against him. He pulled both of you out of the water, watching as it cascade down both of your bodies. You laughed merrily; Fyodor laid his head on your chest, closing his eyes and humming quietly. You caressed his head, diving back in the water when you felt a sudden chill caress your spine.

You kissed Fyodor lazily, watching with half-lidded eyes as he opened the tap to let more scalding water fill the tub around you.

You two cuddled in the warm water for hours, sometimes kissing, sometimes just laying in each others arms.

You were falling in and out of consciousness, and barely noticed Fyodor lifting you out of the now lukewarm water, drying you and slipping your pjs on you. He then carried you to bed, tucking the both of you in, carefully. You snuggled against his chest, and peacefully fell asleep, finally warm, Fyodor’s hand held tightly in yours.

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Sunscreen (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: You take a trip with Frankie and his three idiotic best friends. They find an interesting purchase in the gift shop.

W/C: 2.9k

Warnings: language, implied sexual content, lots of innuendo and flirting

A/N: HI!!! this is the first fic of the Beyond The Sea series Rach and I are writing! I can’t wait for everyone to read these! I also love @mandoalorian for doing this with me and putting up with my shit!

and happy birthday to the man behind it all!! lots of love for Pedro on this day <3

The moment Frankie steps off the plane and into the hot weather, he feels instantly at peace. He’d never even heard of St. Kitts before Santiago brought it up a few months ago, but as he looks around, he’s already thinking this might have to be the place he brings you on your honeymoon someday, once he gets the courage to propose.

Your bright laughter rings out behind him, a few steps higher as you walk down the stairs for deplaning. “It’s gorgeous,” you grin, wrapping your arms around Frankie’s neck from behind and pressing a loud kiss to his cheek.

“Shut the fuck up and keep it moving,” a loud voice calls from further behind Frankie- it’s Santiago, grumpy from the somewhat-long flight. The energetic man hates sitting still for too long. “You two can make out at the hotel. There’s a whole plane behind us.”

Sighing, you walked along until both you and Frankie had your feet on solid ground. Frankie pulls you into his side with a strong arm, kissing the top of your head and grinning at the way he can already feel a little sweat forming on his brow. God, it’s fucking hot. He loves it. It’s not the grueling heat that plagued the men when they were at boot camp all those years ago; it’s not the sticky humidity that makes Frankie’s curls turn to tufts of frizz beneath his ball cap. It’s just right, he thinks, as a cool breeze rushes through and moves the still heat of the tarmac. “Welcome to paradise, baby,” Frankie grins as he slides his hand down your arm until your fingers lace together.

The resort is beautiful. The lobby is open-aired and gorgeous, with high ceilings and marbled floors. You bounce excitedly alongside Frankie as the two of you walk in, the other three men trailing behind. Benny makes comments to Will about how the two of you are about to be insufferable, and Frankie turns and shoots him a glare.

After you check in, you drag your luggage up to the highest floor. The other three men go to their respective hotel room next door, and Frankie opens the door to your room for you.

As soon as you walk inside, your breath is taken away by the large window, showing you the expanse of the Caribbean Sea, glimmering turquoise. A hand reaches up to cover your mouth, eyes watering as you look up at Frankie. “Oh my god,” you murmur and drop your bags, rushing over.

Frankie had planned this moment. He knew you’d never seen the ocean before just moments ago, but knew you’d love it. You’ve always loved water, loved swimming in pools and creeks and any body of water you could find. The two of you had kept your little window shut during the flight, preventing you from any sneak peeks. “You like it?” he asks as he walks after you, where your face and hands are pressed to the glass.

With eyes sparkling from tears, you turn to him with a grin. “It’s gorgeous.”

“You know there’s a balcony right there,” he teases, putting a hand on your waist and pointing to the side where there’s a sliding glass door. “I’m an idiot,” you laugh and rush over to open it. You step out into the warm air once again, and the smell of sea salt fills your lungs. You can hear the rushing of the ocean, the way it crashes against the shore.

Frankie steps out after you, removing the flannel over his t-shirt. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I think you’re an ocean kind of girl,” he tells you quietly, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I think you’re right,” you agree and grin, kissing the side of his face.

The peaceful moment is interrupted, as always, by a loud whoop from Benny. The sliding door on the balcony over flies open and out rush the Miller brothers and Santiago. “It’s fuckin’ amazing!” Benny laughs as he grips the railing tight, leaning out over it.

“Calm down, Ben,” Will laughs but steps out as well, resting his forearms on the railing. “Look at that. The lovebirds beat us to it.”

“Ah, damn, so they can’t fuck out here now,” Santi teases, causing you to make a face of annoyance.

You lean back against Frankie and roll your eyes. “I was just telling Fish I’ve never seen the ocean,” you admit, placing your hands on his forearms and tracing the strong skin with the pads of your thumbs.

“Really?” All three men ask in sync, surprised.

You nod and shrug. “Parents never took me as a kid or anything, and I’ve never really left the Midwest before I met you fuckers,” you chuckle as you watch the white-capped waves rolling along out in the water.

“Well, you’re welcome,” Santiago grins over at you. It was his whole idea to come, and you’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it. “Could’ve mentioned it sooner though.”

“Didn’t think it mattered,” you shrug, smiling at the way you can feel Frankie’s chest bounce with a laugh. “Come on, let’s go to the beach,” you turn in Frankie’s arms and ask him with a grin, eyes wide with excitement.

“Sure thing, babe,” he nods and steals one more kiss before the two of you walk back into the hotel room.

There’s a voice from the other balcony before Frankie slides the door shut. “We’re going to the bar,” Santi yells. “Meet us there after!”

“What the fuck is this?” Will Miller’s gruff voice conveys across the gift shop, to where you’re admiring a shibori-dyed garment.

Looking up, you hear Benny’s loud laugh. “No way. Why would they even make this shit?” You wander over to where the four men have congregated, all staring at something in Will’s hands.

Santiago does the work for the three of you who have yet to see it and reads the label on the bottle aloud. “Seduction: pheromone sunscreen.” He laughs, absolutely in disbelief. “Awaken her passion with this pheromone-infused tanning lotion. Contains a masculine fragrance and the male pheromone, to attract a female. Damn. Does it work?” He asks the woman behind the counter, who shrugs in response.

Frankie picks up the bottle, and Will grabs another, reading the fine print. “Why in the hell did someone think this was necessary?”

You shrug and lean against him to read it too. “I don’t know. Probably for guys like Will who are desperate,” you tease, earning a playful shove that pushes you into Frankie and makes you lose your balance for a moment. “Fucker,” you mutter and steady yourself on your boyfriend’s arm.

“I’m buying it,” Santiago announces and puts it on the check-out counter. “Fish, I’m going to steal your girl with this,” he declares and pulls you into his side. “The power of the pheromone sunscreen.”

Laughing, you allow it to happen. “Maybe it’ll be irresistible, I don’t know.”

“Hey, don’t awaken my girl’s passion, man,” Frankie whines teasingly and pulls you back, wrapping both arms around you protectively. “If you’re using it, Santi, I’m using it too. It’s only fair.”

“It’s only fair if you don’t,” he shoots back. “She already loves you. It’s not like it’s gonna make her think you’re hotter. It’s only fair if I do it alone, and you’re the control.”

“Hi, I’m not a lab rat,” you speak up and push Santiago’s chest teasingly. “Try it on yourself and see if you can make other girls around here fall in love with you. Better yet, like I said, put it on Will. That’s a real test.”

The quietest of the men is your favorite to tease, mainly because of how he takes it. “You’ve never been in the ocean. I will personally make sure you never get to,” he threatens, lunging after you and making you squeal and dodge it.

“Is it working?” Santiago asks, giving you a full body twirl. You have to admit, the man is good-looking: you’ve always known it, and his glistening abs definitely emphasize it. Sadly for him, nothing about the pheromone sunscreen is making him unbearably attractive in your eyes. Your eyes are hidden behind mirrored sunglasses as you look at him, but you pull them down to roll your eyes at the ridiculous man.

“No,” you say with a sweet smile, taking Frankie’s hand from where it rests on his chest. He’s lying next to you in the two-seat cabana, wearing his swim trunks and ever-present ball cap. “I like this one still,” you grin as you run your eyes up and down his body.

Frankie grins back at you. “Maybe I’ll have to try that shit out,” he laughs, adjusting his hat. “If it’s so seductive, I wouldn’t mind having you all over me.”

Santiago makes a gagging noise and wanders down the beach, to where the Miller boys are playing sand volleyball a hundred yards or so away. “You know that you don’t need that for me to be all over you, baby,” you grin and lean over to give him a kiss. “Can we go swim?” You ask, sitting up and putting your sunglasses on your head.

Frankie sighs softly. This cabana was just getting comfortable. “I was thinking we could tan first,” he says, cracking his neck. “But if you want to, let’s go.”

You squeal and hop up, taking off the sunglasses before tugging on your bikini top and adjusting the bra. Frankie ogles your chest in the swimsuit and you smack his arm. “Francisco Morales, cut that out or I’m going to sit you back down and suck your dick right now.”

Frankie gulps. “Is that an offer, or-”

“Come on, Fishie,” you laugh. Grabbing his arm, you take off running through the sand, leaving him to follow. You both grin as the sand flies around you, the warm wind brushing against your skin. When you reach the edge of the water, you stand at the edge for a second and let the water rush over your feet and ankles. You look up at Frankie with big and confused eyes. “The water is so warm,” you laugh, slightly confused as you wade a little deeper.

“It’s the Caribbean Sea, babe,” Frankie chuckles, walking backwards and holding your hands, leading you deeper into the water.

“I guess,” you chuckle as the warm water surrounds more and more of your legs. “I suppose I just- Frankie!”

Note to self: never turn your back on the ocean, you mentally conclude as a wave hits Frankie from behind and knocks him over, into the salty and sandy water. You laugh a little as he falls over with a large splash, squealing as the water sprays you. He comes up a moment later, shaking his head to get the water out of your eyes. “Come on in, it’s really warm,” he tells you with a laugh, spitting the salty sea water out of his mouth. It’s only about thigh deep now, and you look down at him and wade a little deeper. He swims out and you follow, grinning.

“Hey, Frankie,” you ask, when the water reaches your navel.

“Yeah, babe?” he asks, confused when you drop your hands.

“Catch me!” You squeal as you jump onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms catch you, but he purposely falls backwards until the both of you are under the crystal-clear water.

When you surface, you wipe your face. “That wasn’t what I meant by catch me,” you laugh, swimming over to your boyfriend, who’s surfaced in a shoulder-deep area.

“Doesn’t matter. Now you went all the way under,” he grins at you. “Now you’ve really swam in the ocean- swam? Swum?”

“Have been in,” you offer, laughing and wading over to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, then your legs, and his arms encircle your middle. “It doesn’t matter. I love you so fucking much, Frankie,” you tell him with a wide grin, looking over his shoulder at the waves further out.

“I love you too, baby,” he mumbles and kisses you. His lips taste like the salt water the two of you have been submerged in. His hands grip your hips as he wanders through the water, you hanging off of him like a koala.

You rest your face in his neck, admiring the scent of seawater and sunscreen and Frankie’s skin. Frankie starts singing a terrible version of the Piña Colada Song, making you laugh and press a loving kiss to the side of his face. “Is this your way of telling me you want to hit the bar?” You tease and squeeze him a little tighter.

“Maybe. You know I hate the flying part of getting here.” It’s ironic, you’ve always thought, but you suppose it makes sense that Frankie doesn’t really like airplanes. Helicopters are and always have been his forte, and it’s a feeling you understand: when he isn’t the one flying, he gets antsy. Things are out of his control, and he doesn’t like that. “I just need a strong drink and some lovin’ from you and I think I can finally relax.”

You grin and pull back, kissing him happily for a moment before pulling back and grinning. “Well, one part of that accomplished,” you grin. A realization hits you and you gasp. “Oh my god. You’re Fishie, and you’re in the ocean,” you laugh. “How did you ever get that name?” You ask, suddenly curious.

Frankie shakes his head, his hair starting to curl as it dries. The salty water makes it even wavier. “Doesn’t matter.”

You shrug and rest your head in his neck. You sigh and enjoy the feeling of Frankie’s arms and the warm water, the way a breeze rushes past and makes the back of your neck chilly from the drops of water resting there. Frankie mindlessly watches the other three men playing volleyball, wandering around the water with you. “Frankie?” You murmur into his skin.

“Yeah baby?”

“This has already been the best vacation ever, and it’s the first full day,” you tell him and remove yourself from his body, standing next to him in the water.

He grins and kisses you softly, wrapping an arm around your side to keep you close. “I fully agree.”

The two of you wander up to the shore a while later, plopping back down in your cabana. Will has gone to the bar and comes back with tropical drinks for each of you, which you hold in one hand and sip, your boyfriend’s hand in your other one.

A while later, Santi and Benny run back, covered in sweat from the heat and the game. “How about now, huh?” He asks you, flexing his arms, grinning.

You play into it, gasping and sitting up straight. “Oh, Santi,” you coo seductively, pouting. The face drops immediately. “Nope. Not working.” “Ah, should’ve figured. Anyone attracted to Fish would have weird preferences,” he shakes his head.

Frankie takes the alcohol-saturated lime from the rim of his drink and throws it at him, which makes a smack noise as it makes contact with Santiago’s chest. “Fuck off.”

“I will do no such thing,” Santi grins at him and plops down in the chair next to him. “My sole job here is to pester you two lovebirds and ruin your wonderful vacation.”

Benny, ever the prankster, sneaks up behind Santiago and pours a glass of ice water from the bar over his head. Santiago practically squeals at the sensation and Benny launches off into a run. Santiago follows. “You little shit! Just because you’re a fighter doesn’t mean I’ll kick your ass, Benjamin!”

The two of them occupied and Will up at the bathroom, you sigh as you roll over onto your stomach. “Frankie baby, will you sunscreen my back?” you ask him, propping yourself up on your arms.

“Sure thing,” he nods, sitting up and grabbing the bottle from your beach bag. He gets up and squirts some in his palms before working it into your lower legs, then your upper thighs. When he reaches your ass, he takes a few liberties in squeezing it. “That’s not how you put on sunscreen, flyboy,” you tease and giggle at the motions.

“Just got carried away,” he chuckles and works at your lower back, then your shoulders and arms. “There. All good.”

“Thanks, baby,” you coo and kiss him softly when he sits back down. “You want some too?” He nods, flopping onto his back. You repeat what he did, standing and working on his legs.

The further you get up his thighs, you can hear his breath hitch slightly, the wet swim trunks sticking tight to a hardening crotch. “Frankie,” you coo, working your hands up beneath the fabric.

“Sorry,” he winces, willing himself to force the growing erection down. Naturally, it doesn’t work.

You giggle softly, working some sunscreen into his stomach. “Don’t be. Pull up that shade, baby,” you tell him, referring to the shade that can completely cover the cabana when pulled up.

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckles as you pull his swim trunks down just enough. “Guess I didn’t need that stupid pheromone sunscreen,” he murmurs hurriedly as the shade covers the both of you.

Beyond The Sea Masterlist

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic

#frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #benny miller #santiago pope garcia #william ironhead miller #william miller #will miller #will ironhead miller #santiago garcia

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mehphoobia · 3 years

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HERE

Pairing- Tom Hiddleston x Reader (news channel anchor)

Summary- People say falling in love can be a scary experience. Well, that scary experience for you had a different meaning for you.

Warnings- blood, horror, mystery, thriller, suspense (I suggest get a water bottle for yourself)

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"Susan Hive, another 25 y/o was found dead in her apartment approximately at 10:00 am today. Who is the mastermind behind these brutal murders? the mystery is still with the police to crack. The only witness in the case are the walls of the apartment which are covered in parts of human anatomy never seen before just like the other five murders. This is Y/N of NewsToday with cameraperson David on scene." You sighed after finishing your report and looked at the crime scene. The camera person packed his camera and headed towards the van as he couldn't handle the stench. With ripples on your forehead you contemplated your decision. Should you or should you not tell the officers.

But soon you let aside your dilemma. These were brutal murder cases that had everyone shook.

And you had a lead to follow.

"Who are you?" you whispered as you sat in your chair staring at the photo of the deceased Susan Hive with a man. The face was not visible as he wore a black hat and a black overcoat. "Typical" you said gesturing his attire, which was straight out of a murder mystery. Unfortunately, the officers couldn't find him. But the lead you had could directly deliver this man to you.

"North House please" explaining the address to the taxi driver, you couldn't miss his expressions. "You want to go to the North House?" he asked you with genuine concern. "If you are not comfortable, you can just drop me near the curb" you suggested understanding his hesitation. Reluctantly he drove the taxi and there you were. Standing outside the hospital for mental patients. "How much will it be?" asking the driver for the fare you rummaged through your purse.

"I will wait here miss. You can pay me later" he said. Of course, the deaths in this hospital would scare anyone. But you weren't here for the suicides, you were here for the murders.

"I am here to see someone. A Mrs. Hill." you spoke confidentially to the receptionist. "For an investigation, are we?" the receptionist questioned. "It's confidential" you replied with knitted eyebrows. "oh! of course it is." she chuckled.

The receptionist accompanied you to Mrs. Hill's room. She was the oldest patient, who had been in the hospital for for around thirty years. Every patient, every staff member; she had seen for herself. "Are you here for the investigation for Susan Hive?" the receptionist questioned. Your head whipped faster than the wings of a bee. "You knew her?" you enquired. "Yes, I knew all five of them. They were interning under me." she answered.

"Janice Dean" her ID card read. "Of course" you murmured. Ten days back you had found one of the victim's case file from the officers which had something in common. North House, all three of them worked here and now so did Susan Hive.

"Don't worry I won't bug her too much" putting a and on Ms. Dean's shoulder you reassured her. She offered you a tired smile. With that she unlocked the door and you saw Mrs. Hill sitting on her chair.

"He killed another one didn't he?" she enquired in her shaky voice as if she knew it was going to happen. "Yeah. Do you know you he is?" trying to keep your posture, you asked. "No, but I have seen him." she replied. "Black eyes which weren't even his. Long hair which covered his face and the cuts." "Everyone thought, something was wrong in his head. They tried all kinds of medicines but none of them worked. He kept screaming and yelling every day. It would echo you know. The screams. Other patients could feel it too. But the doctors didn't know something." she explained but suddenly trailed off.

"He was possessed" she declared.

"How did he get out. I mean the patient like--" "Demon" she corrected. "We saw a body lying in his room. We thought its him. He had cuts all over his face so it was recognizable. The post mortem reports found out it was one of our doctors. He escaped as his disguise." explained Ms. Dean.

You couldn't get the fact out of your head as you stepped outside the hospital. With quivering hands, you opened the taxi's door. Looking at your condition, the driver ran to the opposite side of the street and bought you a water bottle. "You should go home miss." the driver suggested. "Beverly Hills Apartments please". The driver nodded and drove you home.

Maybe you should tell the police. It was not your job to go after the killer. Of course it would be one of the biggest news article for your company but this, its not worth it. Just then your phone rang. All of that tension and weird feeling in your chest was replaced by a sense of comfort. It was Tom.

"Hey babe! dinner's ready, when are you coming home?" he asked in his cheerful voice. You chuckled and said, "I started right now. Is my kitchen all right?" you mocked. "Uh..sort of. I'll help you clean though" he replied like a child caught doing something wrong. It was comforting to have him in your life. Amidst all of this, he was the exact person you needed. "Love you honey" you said unexpectedly. He could sense your uneasiness and knew your line of work. It can be terrifying sometimes. "Love you too..Hey, I am right here." he said immediately putting a smile on your face.

You met him three years ago. How boring can news conferences be? it was something you knew very well. But it was a little bit tolerable when a hot shot investigating officer suddenly made his way to you. Tom and you immediately clicked. As if you were meant to be. One date led to another and suddenly he started picking you up from your work almost every single day. You remembered he had proposed on your cruise date which had you in complete awe. How could you say no to such a perfect man. His beautiful eyes which were a perfect peek to your universe, his warm embrace and how he fit in your life perfectly made it so much easier. He made it easier.

The sudden nostalgia calmed your nerves and you took a deep breath in. Within no time you were home. You leaped out of the taxi, paid the man and ran to your apartment. As you were going to ring the bell, Tom opened the door and picked you up in his arms. Both of you giggled as he kissed you passionately. With your fingers curling in his long wet hair and his arms coiling your waist, you could melt under his effect and you did.

"Tada!! Fish N chips" Tom declared in his voice that he called his disney voice. You chuckled at his endearing self. Both of you couldn't spend enough time with each other with all these murders. He too was tensed but never showed it in front of you. The least you could do was to help him out. You watched your favorite drama as the both of you ate your dinner.

After the chocolate ice-cream, he got up to get the wet wipe to wipe your face which was covered in chocolate. You were gone out cold because of the tiring day. He picked up the plates and noticed you had run out of kitchen soap. "Back in a few" he wrote on a post it and pasted it on the fridge. He wore his black overcoat and decided to forego his phone and left.

"Tom? babe?" you woke up around five minutes and searched the house. Suddenly the post it note grabbed your attention. You chuckled when you saw it and you knew a lot of unwanted things were gonna be purchased. Who could help it, its Walmart after all.

You saw his phone and found his headphones on the table. He would sit on his chair for hours and listen to his music but he never shared them with you. So you grabbed the opportunity and plugged in his headphones.

"19-21-19-1-14 8-9-12-12" the first song read. Then you realized it was a recording. "Mr Hiddleston sings?" you scoffed as you pressed the play button.

"Ahhh" a woman screamed and with that you immediately grabbed the headphones and threw them. "Oh God" you whined as you rubbed your ears. You played all the five recordings and all of them were similar. Screams. Then it hit you. The numbers were different and were too wrong to be dates. WHAT IF?

"19,S,21,U,19,S,1,A,14,N 8,H,9,I,12,L,12,L" you wrote on a piece of paper. "Susan hill?" you gasped. All the other four recordings added up to the all the other four victims. You sat there staring at the paper.

"It took you long enough" Tom spoke from behind you. You flinched as walked away from him. "Did you?" you asked. "The screams, oh my soul was cleansed" he said as he put his hand on his chest. Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you looked at his face. He was in content, in peace. "Why did you kill them? What had they done to you?" you enquired.

"THEY LAUGHED!!" he yelled. Your eyes widened as you looked at him. It wasn't your Tom, it was someone else.

He was possessed.

"They fucking laughed when I was being experimented on. I cried for help but they were too busy laughing. Fucking bitches" he scoffed. "You know when I made cuts on their skin how peaceful it felt. Slowly, deeply I dragged my knives on their skins and watching them slowly dying because of the pain. So good. They were the ones who cried and screamed and I was the one who laughed." He was a maniac explaining his masterplan. Little did he know everything he said, you were recording it all.

"You think you can run away with it?" you mocked trying to make him spill out. "How will they know Y/N? I am the chief investigating officer." he ran the tip of his fingers on your cheeks. But you didn't waver, he was a demon. "All this time I have been trying to erase all the evidence" he spoke as he turned his back on you.

"But you?" he turned and walked towards you. He bought his face closer to your neck and kissed your neck. If it were any other day, your eyes would slowly close themselves as he would press you against the surface. But today there was nothing but tears. "You are my favorite. I can't leave any witnesses. But don't worry, your screams will live in my recordings. You know how much I love making you scream now don't you my love?" He laughed sheepishly.

THUD THUD. The bang on the door grabbed his attention. He looked at you made a sign with a finger in his lips. Was this the man you loved? Who was he? You thought as you looked at him slowly unlocking the door.

"Ahh LEAVE ME GET OFF" he yelled in surprised as the police officers pinned him on the floor. Slowly you got your phone in front of him which you were hiding behind you and showed him the 911 number. The officers dragged him away but his hooded eyes would not leave your soul.

Two days later, while clearing his room. You found a notebook with all the five victim's name on it which was struck of with a red marker and also five knives covered in dried blood. "Why?" you whimpered as tears made their way down your cheeks. Your company had printed one of the biggest hit ever and were at the top. You were promoted and were appreciated by everyone but at what cost? You were scarred for life.

Back in the North House, Mrs Hill was sitting on her chair as the receptionist were cleaning her room. "Oh no" Mrs Hill exclaimed. "What is it Nana?" enquired Ms. Dean. "Y/N call her!! NOW"

Something was going to happen.

At the prison cell, all the officers were in havoc as one of the security guard was found dead in Tom's prison cell. Hysterical laughs and water droplets echoed through the hallway as Y/N was written on the wall and was struck of by the dead security guards' blood.

You were sleeping when Ms. Dean called you. "Hello" you spoke in your grumpy voice, the sleeping pills were slowly kicking in. "T-TOM!" her line was cut because of the heavy rain. Just then you got a message that Tom had escaped.

"What? where did he go?" you murmured to yourself and then you heard it. The hysterical laughter and the sound of the recording button being pushed.

"I am right here my love" he said.

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A/N: Hey guys, here is my first Tom Hiddleston fic. For the those of you who don't know me personally I am a contemporary dancer and this fiction I had seen being performed on the stage. I loved the suspense and I loved writing it even more. Writing this was a challenge and it was a wonderful experience and I hope you all like this as well.😘

Tom Hiddleston is such a versatile actor and just fits in any character which is the main reason why I love him so much. It was very easy for me to visualize his demeanor in this character and I tried my level best converting it into words. Let me know what you think about this fic.😃

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My requests are open. So ahead and check my masterlist and send me your plots.

Love yourself...you are worth it❣❣

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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Look Upon the Light

(Chapter 8: Terrify)

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, angst, general melancholy

Word Count: 7765

“I know who you are.”

Shigaraki lifts your console up, turning it this way and that, ignoring your declaration. “The facing got knocked off,” he states, his four fingered grasp lifting it up for you to see. His eyes catch yours, the crimson ensnaring you. “I don’t think it’s going to fit back on. Lucky you, you don’t really need it to operate the machine.”

His pinky comes down against the plastic, joining the rest of his finger pads. The plating is gone in an instant, dissolving into a fine dust and drifting to the mats beneath Shigaraki’s feet.

Moving to Japan has been an absolutely terrible life choice.

Notes: Not beta edited, so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Chapter 1: Encounter || Chapter 2: Observe || Chapter 3: Hello || Chapter 4: Intoxicate || Chapter 5: Taste || Chapter 6: Teeth || Chapter 7: Polaroid ||

Terrify ter·ri·fy /ˈterəˌfī/ verb cause to feel extreme fear.

In hindsight, you should have known. It was too quiet.

The moments that stretched between Tomura’s visits narrowed and shrank. You’d come to expect him whenever you walked into your living room, your bedroom, your kitchen. He stuck to your ribs, pulled at you, wordlessly asking you to stay close. You’d wake to his warmth, his touch, the reds and whites blurring together.

Despite these moments of tranquility, he was tense. Thrumming with an energy that made you shake.

It was dangerous.

But, you’d always known that, even if you pretended that the tiger at your door was as gentle as a kitten. Something was closing in. It felt like the calm before a storm, the air pulling back and pushing forward, misting over the pliant ground.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

Like the best ghost, it only made its presence known in the chill of pre-dawn. Slipping over your sleeping bodies and seeping into your skin, slowly tarnishing, rusting out.

You wake one morning to see Tomura leaning over you. He isn’t touching and is barely breathing, his exhales coming out in little puffs of air. His eyes rake over you like coals, smoldering as they set you aflame.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice heavy with sleep. He doesn’t answer, just continues his silent introspection. There it is again, that creeping sensation that’s been nagging at you. You don’t question him further. Instead, you roll toward him, pressing your cold hands into his warmth.

Something unspoken has been drifting above the two of you for weeks. You knew that you could give it a voice. But, you were unsure if he could. You wanted to tell him about it, to make it solid by speaking it into existence, but you didn’t know how he would react to your declaration. And provoking an unknown reaction out of Tomura was never a wise move.

Did you even need it to be said when you’d already accepted it as fact? You loved him.

And, he loved you. You knew that, you’d never doubted that. His walls had come crumbling down with yours and Tomura was nothing if not passionate and possessive. He couldn’t help himself. He might disguise it as something else, tell himself that it was another thing he was entitled to, but you knew the truth. You clutched at it, keeping it safe, holding it to you so he could never tear it away. Even if he left, even if you never saw him again, you would keep that small piece of him.

You could feel that love when he came to you like this. He would soften, his voice and touches lingering, tender. He wouldn’t let you go. Insisting that you hold onto him, that you come to him. He was at his most desperate in these moments.

Running your hands along his bare legs you look back up at his face. He is leaning closer, practically bent in half as his hair trails against you.

“Come here,” you whisper, arms lifting to pull against his neck. He doesn’t resist and you tug him back to you, trying to leech some of his warmth. He lays his head against your breasts, his low breathing making you shiver. Your hands tangle in his white hair, cascading the tendrils against your palms.

His eyes finally drift closed as the sun peeks playfully against your curtains. You should get up, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him alone in the bed. Burrowing against his slackened form, you fall blissfully into sleep, content to let your whirling anxieties still.

******

It was the little things that tripped the two of you up.

He’d been careful, and you’d been protective of his presence, keeping your movements to a minimum. But, it had always been a matter of time. He wasn’t infallible and you, well, you couldn’t stop time.

At first, the extra patrols made you feel at ease, especially when you were returning to your apartment late. There was a new hero in the area and she seemed determined to make a name for herself. Although you had never run into her, the shops and local papers were chock full of her name. She had brought along two sidekicks, kids really, but between the three of them, the crime rates had steadily decreased.

Then, you remembered what Tomura had told you once, “Guess this prefecture isn’t important enough for any hero to deem it worth their while…I doubt anyone will notice a villain respawning in the vicinity.” Now, the patrols just made you jumpy and you couldn’t help but worry for him each time he stepped out your door.

Tomura became even more inscrutable as the days wore on. He was practically seething, a deep rage bubbling over him and tipping, spreading. It tainted his voice, his movements. However, he was careful to not take his brittle aggression out on you.

No, he was never rough with you, at least, unless you wanted him to be. But, that was a different sort of dynamism he would retreat into. And it was one that you welcomed. Often, it could pull him from the brink of his restlessness.

Even with the distractions, Tomura was still on edge. He’d always worn his emotions in his eyes and body language. You could map every inch of him now and that power never brought reassurance. You didn’t question his anger.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, you just knew that it was a part of him. It sat against his heart, beating in tandem with the muscle. But, it wasn’t his budding aggression that set things in motion.

Instead, something more insidious crept in.

******

A knock at your door startles you, your pen dragging against the drafting paper, an unseemly line etched across the design. Shit. You look at your phone. Although Tomura didn’t text every time he came by, he usually kept his travels to and from your apartment to odd hours, like pre-dawn, or the dead of night. According to your device, it’s just after noon. No, something isn’t right…

The knocking comes again, louder, insistent.

You stand, gulping down your shaking nerves. It could be nothing, you tell yourself as you walk to the door, your feet padding against the wood, just calm down, (Y/N).

Two men stand outside your doorway. They are wearing professional, dark suits and they look like bad fucking news.

“Miss (L/N)?” the shorter one asks, removing his hat and bowing to you.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your heart beating tightly against your chest.

“I’m Detective Ito and this is Detective Yamashita,” he gestures briefly to the taller man, who gives you a cursory bow. “Sorry to bother you during the work day, but we have a few questions for you. Do you mind if we come in?” his voice is liquid and you distrust it immediately.

“Right now? I’m in the middle of a project, is there any way I can get a card and possibly meet with you later?” You try to make yourself stand up straight, projecting a calming lull over your tone. Come on, (Y/N), you’re not bothered by this, if anything you’ve been preparing for this. Handle them and don’t let anything slip, you have nothing to hide. Except for the villain who haunts your bed. No, don’t think that. You’ve got this...

“I’m sorry Miss (L/N),” the taller gentlemen, Detective Yamashita, presses, stepping toward you. “It can’t. This concerns some delicate information and we need to make sure we can clear you. While you’re not being accused of anything,” he amends, catching sight of your narrowed eyes, “we do need to make sure we’re covering our bases.”

“And my rights as an American citizen?” you press, holding your ground. You have a feeling it will be a null point, but it’s worth a shot.

“I’m afraid your visa doesn’t grant you any special privileges. Now, I’ll ask you again, may we come in? Or, do we need to come back with something a little more…stringent?” He lets the final word hang, a warning. Detective Yamashita is clearly playing the role of bad cop in this little interrogation, that’s not an interrogation. Yeah, right.

You pause, biting your lip, thinking. If you push back, then you might find yourself in more hot water, besides, as far as you can tell, you aren’t under arrest. That means they don’t have anything concrete, for the time being.

You bow, “I apologize gentlemen, I don’t mean to be rude, I just don’t understand what two detectives could possibly want to question me about. Please, come in.”

They seem placated by this response and follow you into your living room. You offer them a seat on your couch and bring your work stool around to sit in front of them, hands folded in your lap. Here’s hoping the demure act will work in your favor…

“It’s no problem Miss (Y/N), I know you haven’t been in Japan long. I’m sure it’s unsettling to see us. Now, before we proceed, would you please show us your U.S. passport, work visa and residence card?”

You nod, keeping your face neutral as you gather your paperwork, holding them out to Detective Ito, who takes a small flashlight to them, scanning for any forgeries. Satisfied, he hands them back, a small smile on his lips. Still doing that good cop routine, you think irritatedly, tossing the papers on your media stand.

“We’ve heard that you’ve found a boyfriend while you’ve been here,” detective Yamashita pries, crossing his legs and leaning toward you. “Where is he?”

“Not sure I’d call him that, he’s more of an acquaintance. He lives in another city,” you lie. Keep things simple and to the point, don’t supply anything you don’t mean to.

“Which one?”

“Esuha City,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the detectives.

“Your landlady said he has very distinctive features,” Detective Yamashita pauses, writing something down. Then, his eyes lift, waiting. He’s not going to let you slip past this query.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your head tilting questioningly.

“She said he had white hair.”

You tap at your chin, pretending to think. “Oh, I believe he did. He dyes it a lot.”

“What color is it now?”

“Not sure, I haven’t seen him in a while.” Well, you think snidely, that one is partially true, it had been about a few days since you’d last seen Tomura.

“A co-worker of yours, Mr. Suzuki, also mentioned something interesting about your, er, friend,” Detective Ito pipes up, and you arch an eyebrow at him, not answering, holding back.

“He said that he acted strangely when he came by. Apparently, he was very aggressive. Mr. Suzuki said he felt threatened.”

It’s really shitty luck that interaction has come back to bite you. “Oh,” you feign remembrance, “well, my co-worker, Mr. Suzuki, had decided to walk into my apartment unannounced and without knocking. Naturally, I thought he might have been a burglar. I’m sure my landlady has told you that my unit has been burglarized before?”

“She did,” Detective Yamashita replies, his eyes finally drifting away from yours. “While this might be a long shot, we would like for you to look at some pictures.” He snaps open his briefcase and pulls a collection of images out, pressing them into your hands.

You can feel them both eyeing you carefully as you shift through the images. Some of them are Tomura, some are others, and most are blurry. You lift one curiously. It’s the image of a man standing on a train platform in a dark trench coat. Squinting, you try to see the station name. You can just make out the lettering, Musutafu Station. It’s the one that is close to UA. Taking another look over the others you see the same station tiles, your heart feels like it’s floating away.

Maybe they really are just checking leads, they do seem a bit bumbling, but that could also be an act. Something that makes you drop your guard, something that could put both you and Tomura in danger.

“No, I’m sorry. Although,” you tug out one of the pictures that is not Tomura, “this one looks a little familiar. I just can’t think where I’ve seen them before…”

“That’s the League of Villain’s leader,” Detective Ito provides, and Detective Yamashita glares at him, his eyes darkening.

“Oh! God, is that who you’re looking for?” you ask, eyes wide.

“We’ve been canvassing the area, asking questions of some of the locals. A girl in downtown Tokyo thought she saw him the other day, like I said, just covering our bases.” Detective Yamashita admits, taking the pictures from you.

“But, that doesn’t explain how I ended up in your investigation. Is it because my friend had white hair? I mean, not to be rude, but that feels, vague…”

“Since Shigaraki was seen near the train, we traced other CCTV cameras in the station. We noticed that someone similar to his description was seen exiting at this station, as well as several stops in Tokyo a few months ago. Your, uh, friend, as of now, fits a similar description. We’re just checking the area for anyone who has been in contact with persons similar to Shigaraki.”

“So, no recent sightings?” You opt to ignore that last bit of information, it would make more sense for you to be worried about the bigger picture.

“It’s terrifying to think that a villain might be lurking around. After the burglary, I really considered moving to another complex. I was hoping that that new hero would turn things around.” You duck your head, trying your best to look flustered and scared. They aren’t hard emotions to reach for, given the circumstances.

“He hasn’t been seen in a while, ma’m, please, don’t worry,” Detective Ito says encouragingly, earning him another glare from Detective Yamashita.

“I just, I don’t understand something, why talk with my co-worker?” you ask, your voice low.

They're hiding something. Suzuki could have reported his minor encounter with Tomura to the police, or maybe these men approached him. It was frustrating and frightening. It’s something so small, such a tiny slip in time. You’d honestly forgotten about Suzuki’s visit, so much had happened since then. But now, thanks to Suzuki’s report, there are detectives sitting in your living room. There’s no way you can plausibly deny Tomura’s presence in your apartment. Both Suzuki and the apartment manager had seen him.

“We have reason to believe that he might have-” Detective Ito is cut off by Detective Yamashita’s throat clearing, a rasping sound that reverberates in your small apartment. You gulp, pulling yourself from your musing, your hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Ito, please. I’m sorry ma’am, we aren’t able to give that information out at this time. At present, we have no further questions for you Miss (L/N), but, before we go, do you mind if we take a quick look around?”

“Um, of course,” you smile weakly. What else could you do? The more you resisted, the more suspicious you looked. Your stomach drops as they stand and you feel like you are going to be sick.

These detectives knew about Tomura, there’s no way they didn’t. They might be checking now, but they’ll be back. And the next time they might not…

No, you can’t think about that right now. Just go along with what they want and get them out of here. You can figure out a plan of action when they’re gone.

The detectives are already pacing around the rest of the living room when you finally stand from your seat. Thankfully, this part of their investigation should be easy.

The most Tomura ever kept at your place was the two pairs of sweatpants that you’d bought him and those you can easily explain away. You’d also kept your food purchases to a minimum. Lately, he hadn’t been eating much of anything, so you’d saved on the grocery bill. Thank God for that.

Overall, your apartment looks like it just housed you.

The two detectives putter around for a few minutes, opening drawers, examining shelves and closets. They even peek in your bedroom, but Detective Ito had practically closed the door on Detective Yamashita’s nose when he poked into the dark room. The smaller detective shook his head, aghast at the very thought of entering something so feminine and private. And odd reluctance, for a man who called himself a detective.

Concluding their search, they head back to your front door and you trudge after them, feeling numb.

“Well, Miss (L/N), thank you for your time,” Detective Yamashita bows, followed closely by his compatriot. “If you hear or see anything out of the ordinary, please, don’t hesitate to give us a call. We’d also like to hear from your…friend if he drops by again.”

“Of course,” you demure, bowing back, praying that this is about to end.

“Have a pleasant day, we’ll be in touch.” Detective Ito grins and the two men make their way to the next apartment floor, their feet heavy against the carpet. Once your door is shut you fall down into the floor of your genkan, your heart pounding and hands shaking. Oh God, you have to…Wait, should you text him? You’re not using his name on your phone, but what if they’re already tracing it? Can they do that?

You pull yourself to your feet, your legs wobbly, and drag yourself back to your drafting desk, snatching up your phone. Your fingers tremble as you type in your message. You don’t know if you should put it in some kinda vague, coded wording, or if you should just toss the damn phone out the window and resort to smoke signals. Damn it.

[You: 1:13 pm]

Hey, some men came over. They were asking questions.

Well, it certainly doesn’t seem like a vague text, you think, looking over the message and hitting send. No, it looks like it’s screaming that you’re harboring Tomura Shigaraki. You move to your floor, back braced against the wall, waiting. It might be hours before he texts back. But, you didn’t want him coming over and then finding himself immediately captured by the police.

You bury your face in your hands, a low groan wracking out of your lips. Worst case, he won’t answer at all and all you’d have left of him are memories, not even realizing that they were the last interactions that the two of you would share.

The sudden vibration of your phone snaps you out of your head, and your hands shake so badly they send the device skittering across your mats. You tumble after it, lifting the screen and breathing a sigh of relief. He answered.

[Tenko: 1:23 pm]

5-2 Kusunokicho 7-chome

It’s an address. You highlight the text, hit copy, and paste it into the mapping app on your phone. It looks like it’s a tea shop. You stand, legs still trembling, and grab your purse and jacket, heading for your door. You poke your head out, into the hallway, and gather your strength. If you are going to do this, you need to look natural. Besides, if they are following you, hopefully Tomura would know what to do.

You gulp as you lock your door behind you, a morbid thought jumping into your mind. Well, here’s hoping that knowing what to do didn’t mean killing anyone.

******

The tea shop is busy. It’s raining, so that might have contributed to the bustle inside the shop. You pull the hood of your jacket higher, trying to shield your face from the freezing droplets. Tomura hadn’t texted again and you didn’t feel like it would be a good idea to ping your location on your phone.

In fact, you think belatedly, you might as well switch it off. As you power the device down, you hear a low whistle from the alleyway across the narrow street.

You turn your head slowly, the rain pattering against your face. There is a figure loitering toward the back. It isn’t distinguishable as anything other than dark. Well, fingers crossed you aren’t about to be murdered.

Splashing across the street you duck down the alleyway, thankful you’d thrown on some heavy boots for this excursion. The figure is stationary and you pause a few feet back, waiting. He lowers his hood, red eyes still focused on the street behind you. You almost run to him. You have to tense your legs to resist the temptation, your nails digging into your palms.

“Were you followed?” he rasps, watchful, his eyes flashing at you, the street, and finally, back to you. You shake your head.

You’d taken a route similar to the one you’d transversed when you came to the clinic to drop off the diagram for that prosthetic. Each time you’d switched trains or busses you had discretely studied the faces around you, looking for any repeats, anyone who might be tracking you. You’d even drifted into a few other shops before reaching this street, often ducking out a back door and taking the alleys to the next street over.

You’d been careful, you just hoped it was enough.

“This way, stay alert,” Tomura murmurs, his hands still firmly in his pockets. He leads you down another street and into a smaller back alley. He’s doing his own weaving now, taking you over some of the pathways twice, his eyes always peering over his shoulder, observant and sharp. Finally, he pauses in front of a dilapidated door and shoves his way inside.

“Come on,” he calls back to you, holding the door open, allowing some space for you to slink past him. He follows, yanking the metal closed, sealing you both inside.

You shrink back against the darkness, your eyes struggling to adjust. You can hear Tomura moving toward you, his breathing a low scratch against the silence. He stops at your side, the warmth of his body close.

Neither of you move for a time. You’re both listening. The only sounds you can make out is the rain and your own heartbeat. You close your eyes, your head thumping against the door. “God,” you whisper, your voice thick with disuse.

The sound makes Tomura shift closer, his arms pulling you to him, away from the cold metal. He presses a quick kiss against your temple and tugs you further into the room.

It looks abjectly barren.

There’s an old mattress in one corner and a smattering of trash, mostly cans and takeout containers, strewn over the greasy floorboards. It looks like it’s operating as his bedroom and the thought makes your heart squeeze. It’s fucking disgusting. No wonder he used you as a place to crash in the beginning. No human should live like this.

He flops down to sit on the mattress and pulls you after him. The two of you perch on the uneven surface and you let out a long sigh, overwhelmed. Tomura senses this and doesn’t press you. He lets you catch your breath, welcoming your leaning touch. Once you’ve shaken off your jitters, you begin.

“They were detectives. They said they saw you at a Tokyo station, so they checked CCTV and traced you to the stop by my apartment.” Tomura is silent and you gather your breath to continue.

“They talked with the landlady and they talked with that idiot coworker of mine, you know, the one who tried to come in the apartment that one night. It was vague shit, I tried my best to ask more than I talked.

One detective kept trying to get the other to stop telling me details. He finally shut down the whole thing, saying they’d be in touch and for me to give them a call if I saw anything. I…I just hope this doesn’t fuck things up for you, for-for us…I don’t...goddamn it…” You bury your face in your arms, a sob stuttering from you.

Tomura is quiet, but he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around your quaking shoulders.

******

He isn’t sure what he wants.

It’s not a sensation he experiences often and he’s finding it hard to grapple with. If he’s thinking selfishly, he would keep you with him. He’d drag you to hell and back if he could. He doesn’t want to give you up and he isn’t even sure if he can. A deep welling of possessiveness had overtaken him. You were his, just as he was yours.

It was strange to admit that.

He wanted to break everything to pieces, to decay it into nothingness, but, over the last few months, he’d come to adjust those goals. Not just with you, no, the same leniency applied to this league of his. They should have what they wanted, too.

So, he let you cry against him.

He wants to know what giving is like. To tell you that he could give you something of his. After all, he’d stripped you down to nothingness, taking and taking until you had finally lain bare and open in front of him. You’d started the process naturally, giving coming as easily to you as breathing.

He knew he didn’t want you around the league.

You were too different, too removed from that sense of desperation and fanatical idealism. And you didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t like seeing you in a place like this, dilapidated and crushed, sobbing against his chest, your warm tears soaking into his skin.

No, you deserved to be comfortable. You weren’t a fighter. You would try if he asked, he knew you would. But it wasn’t you. Besides, what did you want?

He would have to let you go. He’d known it from the first moment he’d felt your lips running across his. Still, it had come too soon. Perhaps that could be his gift to you? Letting you settle back into normality.

******

“What should I do?” You ask him, lifting your head from his chest, eyes puffy and tired. His gaze is clouded, the red murky, unfocused.

“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice hollow.

“Tomura,” you admonish, “I...I just don’t want you falling into some trap. Not because of this stupid…I don’t even know what to call it. I thought we were careful...I-I don’t know. I’m just so fucking mad.”

He smiles at your outburst, his scar lilting up. “What do you want to do?” He presses his forehead against yours, exhaling heavily, waiting for your answer.

“Move,” you reply, tipping your fingers up to trace along his jaw.

“Then move, it should be easy for you to get back to the U.S.”

You sigh, pulling your head back. “No, I don’t want to do that. I just mean, move somewhere that’s safe for-”

“The league is regrouping soon. We’ve caught wind of some…information. It’s going to take us farther out of the city. I was going to tell you tonight. I don’t know how long it will be. Could be months…” He speaks slowly, his voice lulling, soothing you, even as you take in what he’s actually saying. I’m leaving, get out while you can.

There is a long silence following his announcement, and you lean against him, burying your face against the rough fabric of his trench coat. So, just go home? Go back to the states? There has to be something that you’re not thinking of…

Tomura tilts your face up, craving contact. He runs his rough lips over yours, carefully letting his hands tap over your neck.

His kiss is light. The fleeting caress makes you press against him, your fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. You moan when he tilts his head, sliding wetly across your lips. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth and you open, tangling with him. Tomura grunts at your eagerness and his nose bumps yours, his exhaled breath shaky, wanting.

You sigh. How were you supposed to just say ok? How could you be ok without having him like this? What if you wanted to try and remain at his side...could you ask that of him? What if…wait…wait…that’s it!

You pull back from him, gasping and he gives you a disgruntled look, a frown creasing his features. “Oh...that’s it! I know what to do!”

“Keep your voice down,” he reprimands, as you lean back to reach for your purse. You dig in the scattered contents and emerge with a small business card, a beaming smile across your face.

“Nico! He said to call him if I wanted to take him up on that job offer. He said I could draft for him. He’s at that clinic, and he said they work in a grey area, but they have some serious connections. It’s perfect. It lets me slip away, I’ve just got to be careful how I do it.”

Tomura snorts at your enthusiasm. “So, you just get a new job and all your troubles go away?”

“No, I tell my job I’m transferring back to the states and I pack up my apartment. It won’t be the cheapest thing I’ve ever done, but if I can pull it off, then it’s the perfect solution. I can find some place else to live, and slip into a new life, one where you can still come and go.”

He stares, his eyes wide in that childlike manner, the pupils blown. You smile and fling your arms around him, kissing along his neck. He grunts and presses you back, pinning your arms to your sides.

“Stop squirming,” he growls and you still obediently, not wanting to agitate him.

“Come on, don’t be like that, Tomura. It could work. At least let me try.” You plead, watching his face, trying to see if you could get a read on him.

“You actually are insane,” he sighs, rolling his eyes and turning his head to look away from your stare.

“No, I love you.”

It just tumbles out, but it’s too late to unring the bell. Besides, you stand by it.

He freezes underneath you, his head whipping back to yours. His eyes are sharp and his lips are lifted in a deep scowl. It’s an intense look he’s giving you, almost raw, dangerous. It makes your stomach flip, uncertainty pooling in your gut. You find yourself looking away and biting your lip, “I mean it, I-”

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else.

He’s pulling you against him with bruising force, his hands trembling as they press into your skin. He can’t even seem to focus enough to land his lips on yours. He tries again, then stops himself, his face lifting away, but he won’t let you go.

His arms are wrapped around you, his grip tightening and relaxing. He tries to look at you, but ends up ducking his head once your eyes catch his, burying his face in your neck, panting against your skin. He can’t stay still. No, he’s groaning, so brokenly against you that you’re worried he’s going to shake himself to bits.

You lift your arms, belatedly, to wrap around his neck. You try to hold him to you, desperate to seep a little reassurance, fuck, a little sanity into his trembling body. Tomura shakes his head at the confinement and shoves you down, against the mattress.

You squeak as your back hits the musty sheets, but he’s pinning you under him before you can protest.

“What did you say to me?” he finally snarls, his lips curled over his teeth. “No. I know you didn’t just fucking tell me that. How could you even- How? I’m a monst- I-I...” He can’t string his words together. His head dips to your neck, his lips rough against your skin. He can’t catch his breath and he won’t keep still.

You’re gasping under him, trying to hold him. But, it’s impossible to control him. You just shut your eyes against the emotions that he’s pulling from you and let him seethe above you.

“Look at me,” he growls, his voice hoarse and ragged. You try to wince your eyes open, but you’re too overwhelmed, you just can’t, you can’t look.

Why, you think distantly, why can’t you look?

You tell him you love him and now you can’t look at him? Are you afraid of what you’ll see? Afraid of the rejection that you know is coming? It doesn’t change anything, you tell yourself, even if he tells you to get out, it doesn’t change what’s happened between the two of you. No. If this is what you want, then tell him that. He has to...he has to hear it.

“Fucking look at me, (Y/N).”

“T-Tomura,” you try, a tear of frustration, of fear, slipping down your face. “Tomura, I mean it. I lov-”

“Stop it,” he moans, his breath hot against your cheek, his lips following the path of your tear, pressing the salty wetness away. He’s straddling your hips and his hands are curled, pressing into the bed.

“Don’t you fucking dare. You don’t mean it. You can’t-”

“Stop it, Tomura. Just, stop. You think I don’t mean it? How can you say that? After everything we, no, God, how can you fucking say that I don’t love you? When I’m right here, telling you that I do? You don’t get to dictate how I feel. What gives you the right to say that I don’t?” you ask, your voice an angry whisper. You can feel him shaking, his body wracked with his shivers and the realization gives you the courage to open your eyes. Your anger melts away at the sight that greets you.

He’s hunched over, his hair draped across his face and his eyes are clenched shut. He looks like he’s ready to fall apart. One of his hands lifts to scratch at his neck, dragging red lines down the scarred skin.

As if they have a mind all their own, your own hands lift, tugging free of his weight to cup around his face. He tries to yank his way out of your grasp but you just tighten your hold. He’s not getting away that easily.

“Tomura,” you call, keeping his face captive in your hands, forcing him back to you. “Tomura, I love you.”

He sags.

His whole body seems to shrink and his eyes finally meet your steely gaze. The red is bright, wild, gleaming in the darkness. You gulp and furrow your brow, a trembling exhale falling from your lips. You have to say it now. There’s no going back. The world is shattering, splintering to pieces above you, but he has to know. Before you lose him, he’s gotta at least know that one thing in this world that he hates so much, cares about him. Fuck, loves him.

“Sure,” you begin, still gripping your fingertips into the side of his head, slowly slipping up to tug at his hair. “I’m insane. I’ve fallen in love with someone who wants absolutely nothing to do with what I can offer.

It’s not going to work Tomura, I know it’s not. But, goddamn it, at least let me try. I know I don’t get to keep you, I don’t even know what you’re fucking planning to do. You could want to burn down the world for all I care. I just...I just want to hold on a little longer.”

He’s slack jawed and his eyes are wide and unfocused. He’s still panting but he’s not fighting against your hold anymore. Finally, he closes his eyes and lowers his head, his forehead coming to rest against yours.

“Say it again,” he requests, his voice muted, thick with longing.

“What? The whole thing?”

He lets out a wheezing laugh and you slowly start to breathe again.

“You know what I want,” he murmurs. You lift his head from you, tilting until you catch his eyes.

“I love you, Tomura.” A low shudder echoes up his spine and his eyes drift closed again.

“Fuck,” he rumbles, tugging his head from your hands. He doesn’t go far. Instead, he flops to his side and drags you over, draping you across him, his arms latching around you, keeping you in place.

You sigh, relieved, dipping your head against him, feeling for his heartbeat. You’re both quiet and the room stills around you. Your fingers are tracing lazy circles over his crossed arms, careful to avoid his clenched fists. He presses his nose against your hair, inhaling deeply.

“Stay,” he says above you, his breath stirring across the top of your head.

You smile against his chest and duck into his warmth. His grip on you tightens, lean muscles coiling, holding you to him. You can feel his lips as they run along the top of your head, tapping soft kisses into your hair.

Ok, so it’s not the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard, but you wouldn’t have wanted him any other way.

******

Your new apartment is nothing to sneeze at. Nico hadn’t been joking about that pay raise. He also was so much more than you were expecting. Not in a bad way, just in a, hey, I know some shit just went down, are you ok, kinda way. He didn’t pry, but he’d gone out of his way all the same.

The rest of the team at the clinic has also been absolutely stellar at helping you to get set up. Need something moved? On it! It’s like a big family and you can’t wipe the smile off your face most days.

As for your old job, they had been disappointed, but they understood why you wanted to get back to America. However, the American side of that job hadn't been so thrilled at your resignation, but you had received a glowing review from your old boss stateside. You liked to pull it up on your new laptop, reading over the words of encouragement and shaking your head at just how seriously you’d taken her advice.

Your Japanese work buddies were heartbroken, Hanabi most of all. But, you promised to keep in touch. You hadn’t quite figured out how you were going to do that, but that was a problem for another day.

All in all, things were going to plan. You had asked Nico for a little bit of extra help with the paperwork, explaining some of the details to him, and he had been quick to get you set up with a new passport, visa and residency card. It was like the old you was just a blip. You’d just need to keep your head down for a while, check the news, and see where all the extra precautions took you. It wouldn’t be easy, but what part of life was?

Tomura had stopped by after you finished setting up your new tv and console. Appropriately, he’d said he wanted to try it out and had then proceeded to ignore you while you set up the rest of the room. You didn’t mind.

The two of you were trying to make the most of the next couple of days. That lead he’d mentioned was somewhere on the outskirts of Tokyo and he wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. He’d reminded you of that fact, over and over, until you’d finally told him to shut up and let you enjoy the time that you did have with him.

“Hey,” you call, unboxing the last of your new dishes, “got you something.” He tilts his head toward you, eyes still glued to his game. Rolling your eyes at his inattention, you wander over, leaning over your new couch to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Pause it,” you demand, dropping a kiss against his temple. He grumbles, but you persist, nibbling on the shell of his ear when he tries to prolong his session.

“What?” He lifts his head up to look at you, his hair falling back against your arms.

“I want to give you something,” you reply, pressing your lips to his forehead before unwinding your arms and stepping around the couch. He eyes you suspiciously as you perch on your coffee table. You lift a key up, wagging it beside your face.

“It’s a key,” you taunt. He smirks and snatches it from you, pocketing it and tugging you forward.

His kiss is soft, so achingly soft that you melt into his arms immediately, flopping against his lean chest.

“Stop being so dramatic,” he grumbles, shifting you to a more comfortable position across his lap. Your legs straddle his hips and he holds you against him, his fingers warm against your hips.

“Can’t say I never got you anything,” you tease, leaning back and grinning down at him.

“Same,” he huffs, reaching into his pocket again and tossing a small phone at you. You fumble to catch it. He snorts at your scrambling and you pout.

“It’s not like you’re throwing it at a normal angle or anything.”

It’s small in your hands, almost obsolete in this modern age. You flip it open and already see a contact programmed in: Tenko Shimura.

“So you don’t bring any more cops around. It also can’t be traced.” His voice is hushed, almost embarrassed. It makes your heart flutter.

“Awe, a burner phone. I’ll cherish it always,” you jab and tilt his chin up, so you can keep kissing him.

******

A low vibrating wakes you. Blearily, you check your phone, only to be greeted with a normal screen, no missed messages or emails. Huh? The vibrating continues and you suddenly realize what it is. Flinging your feet out of bed, you rush to your charger, unhooking the old phone Tomura gave you.

[Tenko: 2:23 am]

Out of the city. Found a new friend.

There’s a picture underneath the words and you click the buttons until it lets you highlight and bring up the image.

It looks like he’s in a forest and you’re shocked he has a signal. But…what the hell is that?

There’s something nestled between all the greenery and it looks ominously like a man. If it’s real, it’s practically a giant, no, actually hulking would be a better word…

It’s practically a living, hulking mountain. Unsure if your sleepy brain is playing tricks on you, you exit the image, deciding that 2 am is not the time to unpack this particular phenomenon.

[You: 2:35 am]

Looks, uh, interesting? Be safe & Love you.

- Fin

Author’s Note:

Ugh, this was such a bittersweet chapter for me. I wrote this fic in its entirety back in the last few weeks of August. I had time before my classes started again and I leapt at the opportunity. In many ways, I identified more and more with the reader insert as I tried to pour out my ideas. I wanted to hold onto this tiny story that I’d outlined, to see if I could make something like this work after such a long break from writing on this scale.

So, out came Look Upon the Light.

It was like a fever dream. I couldn’t stop now that I’d started. After I reached the 8th, and final, chapter, I spent the next two months pouring over what I’d written, editing endlessly. I wanted to make things feel just right.

I went from this bombastic climax to something more subdued. Why not let it be an anticlimactic ending? Life often works that way and sometimes things just, well, end.

Tomura, in particular, has changed so much over the course of this journey.

There were days when I felt like he sounded terrible, nothing like the complex character that I loved so much. But, with my sister's wonderful edits and suggestions, main ideas & patience and countless read-reads of the manga, I got a handle on him and I am so proud of how he’s come out.

Canonically, I feel like this gap in the main story is the only time something like this romance could happen to him. Tomura is in a fragile place. For the first time in his life there’s no one looking over his shoulder and he’s become a character who is worlds away from where he started.

His goals are finally solidifying and he acknowledges that the members of his league deserve to have what they want too. Inside, no matter what has been stripped from him, he’s always been Tenko Shimura: that little boy who wanted to play with the outliers, to make sure that he was letting them feel included too. I indulgently like to think that if someone like the reader existed, their relationship might help him to come to terms with this part of himself.

Finally, this wouldn’t have been possible without you, dear readers. I have cherished each and every kudo, comment, subscription, like, and reblog. I was so scared to put this out. There are so, so many talented writers for this fandom and I was nervous. It had been so long since I’d written anything on this scale, would it sound ok? You all have been so supportive and welcoming and I love you so much. The response I received from posting this let me feel confident enough to explore some of my other favorite characters.

So, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I mean it when I say that you all are amazing and I wish each of you so much joy.

While this won’t be the last time I write for Tomura, there are other facets of his personality that I want to explore, I will wait a bit to do any updates to this story. I want things to catch up and settle within the manga itself before I toss the reader back into Tomura’s life. I do hope that they can come together again, as I have become their biggest fan.

In the meantime, The Gap in the Door will explore some of their other interactions. Some take place around the time of the chapter Polaroid, but some will look into other parts of the story. If you have a prompt, or want to see another glimpse into anything that happened, let me know. These two are so much fun to write and I enjoy head cannoning how they could fit together.

In short, thank you again for all you’ve done for me and take care of yourselves.

Tags: @inumorph, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @possum-person, @akutaguagua

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whirlybirdwhat · 4 years

Text

East Sea of Monsters - Chapter 22

Jimbe has always dreamed of suns

Shoutout to the wonderful @soccersarah01 who beta’d this fic for me - love you!!!

Read the entire series on Ao3 for better quality and author’s notes, especially warnings for content within the fic!! Tag “Ficart” on my blog should also show some fanart and podfics for this fic, as well as the link to translations! give them some love!

Sun - Jimbe

Jimbe is the first son of the sea, and he has always dreamed of suns.

Bright, red and bloody – passionate declarations of dreams and something better. A cry of understanding, in the one burned onto his chest, and a shout to the dream of a queen, a race, a kingdom - heralded overhead in bright colors, lighting up the sky.

Suns are red, and yellow, and orange.

Suns mean freedom – mean something better than this.

In his dreams, Jimbe is always reaching out to them. His webbed hand reaching and reaching – for the horizon, for a flag, for his queen, for Fisher Tiger, for something more.

He never seems to reach it.

All he has, when he wakes up, is his hand clutching his own heart, his own personal sun.

It isn’t the same. He’s never grasped that red sun.

Yet now –

Now, in a battlefield beneath a darkened sky, in a war with death in every heartbeat, in a massacre, a hell, Jimbe holds a dying sun.

This sun – it is not red, or bloody, or bright.

This sun is dark, and dying, and a supernova of the deepest pits of hell.

Jimbe holds Luffy as he explodes into something Jimbe can’t quite see, ripping past the Veil and into oblivion; watches Luffy erupt into grief covered by a brother’s blood, holding a sun brighter, and darker, and far more terrifying than anything Jimbe’s eyes have ever seen before.

(There’s something wet running down his face. He thinks his eyes are bleeding.)

Portgas D. Ace dies in his brother’s arms, a burning hellfire finally flickering out, and Jimbe can finally hold the sun.

(As men die and admirals fall, and the world is shaken apart by a grief and monster with insatiable hunger, he wishes he couldn’t.)

When Jimbe fights him for the first and last time, Ace is as the sun incarnate - the sun burning - even as he chokes on his own ashes and flares through sea water.

Jimbe had wondered, at first, what kind of strength it took for a devil fruit user to use his powers through the hate of the sea. It wasn’t a kind of strength he had attributed to the young warlord.

Then, Jimbe remembers the bones shaped into the hull of the Spadille; remembers the way Ace cracks apart in the corner of his eyes, and thinks it isn’t strength at all.

He knows the stories of the East. Every fishman does – the way waters corrupt, the way the waters are dark, and the way that monsters lurk beneath their surface, far deadlier than those at the bottom of the sea.

(They say the East has no seafloor – that it aches, forever, a wound into the world’s side, dark and infected. That it was the void from whence all hell poured forth, that it was death.)

Fisher Tiger had told him more, when he could bear to speak of it – monsters in chains, the way slaves and guards alike went missing in the night, the way people had sharper teeth than any animal, there, and were twice as bloody.

(Fisher Tiger hears the story of the bottomless East and laughs.

Dark waters, he says, eyes far away and hands aching for a weapon, are not endless. But you don’t want to know what’s at the bottom. Better it be endless, bottomless, then to know what’s there.

He doesn’t speak of the demon from the seafloor he met at the tower of gods.

Jimbe doesn’t ask.)

By the fire in Ace’s eyes and the unholy fire cracking from underneath his skin, there is no other sea that he could have possibly come from.

(A demon – a demon, a son of the devil-)

Jimbe fights Ace for five days. He hungers, and he thirsts, and he’s so tired, but Ace does not falter in the face of Jimbe’s sea, so he must keep going.

Jimbe burns, ropes of fire winding their way up his arms and down his back. Haki is useless when every hit cracks apart Ace’s skin, molding to his fists because of inhuman capability instead of any devil fruit, and the sea fears nothing but the devil.

(And it can only drown false ones.)

Ace lands a punch on the third day, one imbued with haki and fire and false fire. It hits Jimbe on the side of his face, and even as Ace stumbles and chokes on the way his skin cracks apart, Jimbe burns.

It cracks into his skin, searing apart scales and flesh, and he is marked by hellfire.

The other burns will fade, the ones littering his hands and feet, the ones made by false fire, devil fruit fire. The one on his face, burned into the side like a flame, and the ones wrapping around his forearms by scorching hands, will forever remain.

A reminder, some will say, but Jimbe will remember the way the flag burned at Fishman island by hellfire, and will know it is a sign of war to come.

Ace burns away the fog around them, on this island, showing the secrets of the world, and Jimbe fights surrounded by monstrous spades.

Monsters in human shape that tower above the trees, monsters without faces, monsters with too many teeth and too many limbs, monsters that smiled and cheered as their captain burned through saltwater.

Jimbe falls on the fifth day, a smile gracing his face toward an enemy that is so much more than him.

It is a miracle when Whitebeard arrives.

Otherwise Jimbe thinks he might have followed that sun to see where it may have set.

After Marineford, Jimbe shakes at night. He can’t speak of what he saw there, when the sun fell from the sky and became red and dark; when gouges were scarred into the ground and left bloody men in their wake.

After Marineford, Jimbe has another scar from a demon.

This one is not a mark of war.

It is a claim, directly around Jimbe’s heart, as if his future captain understood that the sun there was more precious than anything else.

(A dream)

It scares him, sometimes, that he wants to follow the man who fell the Navy - who ate the hearts and souls and flesh of admirals and spit them back out as dead men walking.

It scares him that he wants to follow Straw Hat Luffy, who wears a crown made of straw - made with room for the horns that sprout off his head -who will be king and who lives a trail of hell in his wake.

Jimbe does not remember Marineford well.

He does not remember –

(The island’s name no longer exists in his memory.

Don’t bring him there, Rayleigh had said, as they followed a submarine towards Amazon Lily. You will all be dead come morning.

Rayleigh smiled like a creature of the deep sometimes.

Jimbe wondered why he didn’t trust it.

Aye, Jimbe, fresh from a war, had agreed, and they didn’t go to Amazon Lily.

They went to–)

The aftermath, beyond the words that fought whatever beast lived in Luffy’s chest, born of loneliness and hell.

Jimbe shakes after Marineford, but now, under the sea, he will not forget the demon who saved an island.

(The brother of the demon who burned their flag.)

Luffy soars overheard, and defeats a legend made of wood and an army made of flesh. 1,000 men are unaccounted for in the aftermath.

Jimbe does not question it, and offers his blood to a demon who doesn’t need it.

(In the end, it wasn’t about blood anyway. It was about the things that bind men, the things like suns on Jimbe’s chest and the vows that still ring in his head.)

Luffy, full of teeth and bloody fangs, smiles at him, then, and Jimbe no longer belongs to himself.

In Impel Down, when Ace is chained to the wall next to Jimbe, the very first thing the demon does is laugh.

“It stayed!”

The scar on Jimbe’s face burns.

“You couldn’t bother to say hello?”

Ace laughs again, sparks flying out of his throat despite the sea stone wrapped around his limbs, and Jimbe knows that all the legends are true. “Why would I? There’s more important things going on.” He dismisses, and he is smiling, mouth glowing, despite their situation.

“Hmph,” Jimbe huffs, and settles down for the long wait.

Next to him, the breath of a demon settles into something slower, and though Jimbe’s eyes are long adjusted to the dark, the soft glow of Ace’s heart beat is a comfort.

(He wonders, when Fisher Tiger was chained next to monsters, if he ever felt this way.)

He does not sleep that first night in a cell with a demon. Jimbe, instead, listens to the thrumming of the sea outside his cell, and tries not to think about how the stone sinks around Ace and the hotness in his cell.

He tries not to think of the wet spots all over the walls, the gouges in the corner, and the way men enter and never leave Impel Down’s cold, cold walls.

Across from him, a man made of sand smirks, his hair still impossibly greased and jewels still lining his hand.

“So,” the Crocodile drawls, “They caught you too? A little hunger, picking us off one by one.”

Jimbe has heard how Monkey D. Luffy saved a country on the behest of a single friend; how the Crocodile was the first to fall and Moria didn’t come long after; how even the Marines whisper that he is hungry and Monkey D. Garp laughs at the lists of missing marines following Straw Hat battles.

A man, who hungered for the top.

Who hungered for dreams.

Odd, that Crocodile would assume Jimbe was next.

“No.” He says at last, the word drawn out. “No,” he repeats, and it echoes around the room, “he did not get me.”

The Crocodile cackles then, and it is nothing like Whitebeard’s Gurararara or King Neptune’s Hohohoho – it, instead, is dark like rumbling sands at night, without form or shape in the dark, and Jimbe shivers. “You will,” the Crocodile says. “You’re already marked for it.”

Jimbe has never met Monkey D. Luffy in his life, and the burn scars that arc about his face in a flaming pattern of death are invisible to his beloved crew, to the king, to anyone who isn’t–

Oh, Jimbe thinks and doesn’t say aloud, looking at the Crocodile once more. Oh.

He is glad Ace is the demon he is sharing his cell with.

Then, at the very least, he knows his heart won’t be ripped out of his chest while he sleeps.

On Fishman Island, at the bottom of the sea that is brighter than the East, there is a feast, and then a pirate challenges an emperor.

Jimbe is not surprised.

He cannot be.

(Hey, Jimbe, did’ya know I have a little brother?)

He can only watch, as a ship of dreams, of monsters, sails off into the sea without him; can only know that his home, his captain is leaving him.

(Aladine says Jimbe is different after Marineford – that every man who set foot upon that island is. It was war, Jimbe dismisses, but they have fought in wars before, have fought admirals before.

It’s different, fighting a demon, fighting with a demon, fighting for a demon.

It’s different when a demon eats you whole.)

Jimbe wants to go home.

Jimbe sees Garp the Fist once before Marineford.

It is in Impel Down, and he is crying from a thousand different eyes.

“Ace,” the grandfather of a dying child says, and it hurts. “Why, dammit! Why!”

His voice is like a choir of growls out of harmony. Still, Ace relaxes in his chains as if it were a lullaby.

“Gramps,” Ace acknowledges, and there is no anger there. “You know… you know why.”

Son of the Devil, Jimbe knows, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? More than Jimbe can see with two eyes made of mortality rather than death.

Garp crumbles, and it is as if Jimbe is seeing the fall of something great.

It’s horrible.

It won’t be the last one he sees today.

Garp leaves after that, to the chuckles of the Crocodile and the howls of the other inmates. There’s bloody marks and gouges on the ground where he was, but there is also something in Ace’s grasp.

It isn’t a key.

Jimbe can’t exactly see what it is, only that when Garp left Ace lunged for some empty spot on the ground, hand slipping out of a cuff with the ease of someone made molten, of someone with scars running down his hand due to a missing pinkie.

(How-?)

When Ace leaves, he leaves behind ash marks and burning droplets at Impel Down. He also leaves something feather soft, that Jimbe can’t quite see, but feels like the comfort of ages.

(Later, when Luffy arrives, he will look into the cell and see not Jimbe, but the place Ace left behind. He will pick up what Garp, what Ace, left between cell bars and he will not smile.

Instead, he will put it into his pocket to the sound of the Crocodile’s jeers.

Did’ya know I have a little brother? Ace had asked Jimbe.

(He knows, now.)

On the way up, when men are eaten alive, the Crocodile will slink next to Jimbe and whisper,

Did you know that the hungry one isn’t the first demon to break out of these walls?

And Jimbe will be left with the reminder that Impel Down has never been able to hold the monsters of the world–

And that they roam free.)

At Marineford, Jimbe stood with an emperor against three admirals (stood with men against a monster).

(Or so he is told.)

Now, he stands before an Emperor and does not shake.

A man who is to follow the future king of the pirates, a man who is to follow Luffy, a demon who has daggers in his mouth and boiling blood in his veins, cannot afford to be afraid of a mere emperor.

Big Mom’s eyes are hungry as she stares into Jimbe, but he does not flinch.

He is claimed - by marks around his own personal sun, by a king, by a monster, by a conqueror.

He is not Big Mom’s any longer.

He never was, from the moment Luffy looked into his eyes and took him.

(Jimbe cannot afford to be afraid of a mere hunger any longer. )

An emperor rages, a deal is done, and Luffy laughs so bright and loud it burns like the sun, as chaos reigns again, conforming to his will.

Jimbe has never felt so alive –

(Not since before Marineford – not since before the world fell apart.)

Jimbe sees Luffy and Ace together twice in his lifetime.

One is at Marineford, when brothers fought together, when the sun went out and the world went black.

(He does not remember it well – Ace’s smile was something almost too private to bear, even as blasts of Conqueror’s Haki illuminated the truth.)

The second, again, is at Marineford, but in it’s bloody aftermath.

When Luffy rings in an era, blood scarred on to his arm by his own hands - a call to his crew, to his family - he stops by the place where his brother died.

Jimbe wonders if this was what Loguetown was like, to see a king stand in ashes.

(The Devil King did not cry at Loguetown, only laughed.

Luffy is crying.)

He sees Luffy cradle bits of Ace’s bonfire in his arms, the only person who could bear to touch it, and sees brothers reunite for one last time.

(There is a chill over Marineford, as Luffy draws in the ashes of Ace’s own body turned funeral pyre. Jimbe can’t read what he writes, but there is a spark, somewhere, in Luffy’s eyes, and something in the air breathes more easily.)

Days after, Marineford sinks to the bottom of the sea, its ravines and cracks from a monster's grief too terrible to sustain – Luffy’s rage, his echoing cry for a new era, is its final send off.

Jimbe wonders if the Eastern sailors found their way home, at the bottom of the sea.

(There’s no sun down at the bottom of the sea.

Jimbe would hate to drown like that.)

In the middle of a raging ocean just off of an Emperor’s domain, Jimbe is home, he’s home he’s home he’s home, aboard this ship of dreams but–

He can’t stay.

He can’t.

There is an emperor chasing them, and Jimbe is not scared and he is strong, but his crew–

His beloved crew–

They love him.

He cannot abandon them here, to the mercy of hungry monsters.

(He cannot take them with him, to the crew of a hungry demon.)

Jimbe tells Luffy, soaked and shaking, as such.

“I CANNOT ABANDON THEM NOW!”

And Luffy–

Luffy, who Jimbe held dying in a battlefield that hazes from his memory, who Jimbe watched rise, who went a dark supernova–

Becomes a sun again.

“JIMBE!” Luffy says, and his teeth are snarling and his eyes are hungry, “I AM YOUR CAPTAIN NOW!”

And Jimbe finally holds the red sun of dreams in his grasp.

(Jimbe is the first son of the sea, and his dream is the sun.

Red, bloody, and free.)

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Halloween Shenanigans

One-Shot

Description: Thanks to COVID-19, your plans for Halloween are ruined, until Steve surprises you with the help of Tony and Bruce.

Warning: Mentions of clit stimulation, hinting at sex, drinking alcohol.

Prompt requested by @donutloverxo . This woman is adamant to turn the whole of Tumblr into thirsty hoes for Steve! I hope you like what I did with your request 😅

My Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

"This is the first time in 20 years that there's going to be a full moon night on Halloween!" you jumped with excitement, "Steve! Stevie?! Steven Grant Rogers are you listening to me?" You placed your hands on your hips, standing in front of the man who was the literal reincarnation of a Greek God.

He looked up from his computer, "Yes dear?"

You huffed, "What are you doing baby? Why aren't you with me?"

"I am with you, right here," Steve furrowed his eyebrows.

"No you are not! You are here with me physically," your fingers traced his unholy biceps bulging from his t-shirt, "but your mind is somewhere else. What is it baby?" you asked him, gently cupping his face.

"I am worried," he admitted, pulling you on his lap, "I am worried about the rising number of COVID-19 cases. And with Halloween around the corner, I am afraid it will spread more rapidly, especially amongst the kids and the youth."

With a heavy heart you realised he was right, "I am sorry… I was just too excited to celebrate Halloween because it's my favorite holiday," you admitted in a small voice, "We have stayed at home for such a long time that I," you sighed, "I just wanted to step out for sometime. But you are right, we will stay inside," your voice was laced with disappointment as you agreed with him.

Steve narrowed his eyes and looked at you, a plan forming in his head.

👻🎃👻

T'was the night of Halloween. The bright, full moon peeked from behind the clouds as you ruefully looked out the window. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice Steve sneak up behind you. "BOO!" he screamed, earning a jump and a loud yelp in response.

"Jesus! Steve you scared me!" you admonished him half-heartedly with a scowl. It didn't last long on your face as Steve's contagious laughter turned your frown upside down.

"For a person who loves Halloween, you sure do get scared easily babe," he said, kissing your forehead.

"Here," he kept a box on your lap, "Put this on and meet in the garage in 20 minutes. I have a surprise."

"Garage?," you gasp, "Are we going somewhere? What is the surprise?" Your eyes widen with excitement as you beam.

Steve caressed your chin and placed a soft kiss on your nose, "Would it be a surprise if I told you what it was? You have 19 minutes and 15 seconds, baby."

You nodded, immediately heading into the closet to change into whatever Steve had gotten for you. It was a beautiful emerald green witch's robe with elegant crystal buttons in the front closing the robe from top to bottom. Underneath it, you were supposed to wear a short skirt and a comfortable top with a collar. However, it was the panty which confused you. It seemed simple, but there was a lump almost in the middle of the panty so that when you wore it, it would be right near your clit. You shrugged, thinking it might be an anti-stealing tag that was forgotten inside. The typical witch's hat and a wand completed the look.

You bounced towards Steve in the garage, almost tripping over the robe in the process. Amused, Steve shook his head and drove for a few minutes, finally reaching a two-storeyed house in the middle of an empty, isolated street. From the roof to the front gate, the house was covered in Halloween decorations. Flimsy spiderwebs, spooky skeletons, carved pumpkins, bright and dark lighting complimented the faux smoke from the dry-ice machine.

You put your hands together and squealed, "Steeeeeve!!! Is this… really? Is this a haunted house?"

His heart swelled at your excitement, "All for you my love," he cooed.

You started running towards the structure but were caught midway by your Super-Soldier boyfriend. "Where do you think you are going?" he asked you, his arms wrapped around your waist.

"Steeeve!" you whined, "I want to go in!"

"Happy Halloween!" you heard a cheery voice greet the two of you. Bruce and Tony exited the house with tablets and scanners in their hands.

"Capsicle!" Tony's voice boomed with wickedness, "Where's your costume?"

"Don't need one Tony," Steve replied.

"Right, because you are a large, scary guy on steroids even in normal clothes. Got it," Tony teased him further.

"Tony," said Bruce in a warning tone. "We have sanitized the entire house and have scanned every object. It is completely safe to enter," Bruce smiled.

"OoooOOoooooo now can I go? Please please please?" you gave your best puppy eyes to Steve. Of course he had to agree, as if he could ever say no to you. "Yes but I am coming with you. I can't have you going in alone after what happened last year" he declared.

"What?! Noooo! You never get scared in a haunted house!" you complain.

"Oh he will this time," Tony smirked, "I installed some top-of-the-line gadgets that use modern technology to open every door in the house. It will terrify him."

Steve scowled at Tony's shit-eating grin as Bruce chuckled with you. "What are the two of you going to be doing the whole time?" Steve asked the scientist duo.

Bruce looked at Tony pointedly, "We will play around with an Ouija board. Tony has a theory."

"Yes! You see I came across an ancient belief which states that every human being has been reincarnated on this planet. I want to get in touch with my past selves to see if I have always been a rich, brilliant playboy," he smirked as Steve rolled his eyes.

Pulling at his deliciously-firm bicep, you urged him, "C'mon Steve let's go!"

👻🎃👻

Once inside, you realised that Tony had pulled all the stops to make the house as haunted as possible. Even though there was an absence of hired performers who usually dressed as zombies and mummies, somehow, the experience was a whole lot scarier because of their absence. Even Steve was impressed by the set-up.

They soon crossed one portion of the house and reached the door which would lead them to the next part. Only, they were met with a message tapped to the door- "Blood turns gore beyond this door. Be careful, or you might slip on the floor. To go further Captain, you will have to solve, a puzzle on the sidewards wall. Erase all the cookies that you may have baked while browsing, or forever be stuck in this place, as the ghosts go hunting!"

You grinned as you saw the tablet stuck on the wall besides the door, the solution simple in your head. You looked at Steve, wondering why was he frozen in place.

Steve kept looking at the tablet and turned to you with a confused expression, "What are we supposed to do?"

Despite where you were, you chuckled, "My Stevie!" you cooed, "Honey you are supposed to delete your browser cookies."

Steve's expression soon changed from confused to slightly scared, "What?! What are browser cookies? Do they bake cookies inside the tablet? Do I have to bake and eat all of them? How do I bake something on this tiny tablet? I don't even have the recipe!!"

You laughed loudly at his reaction as at the other end of the house, Tony and Bruce were setting up their entertainment for the evening. Bruce looked amused as Tony unwrapped an Avengers themed Ouija board.

"What are you hoping to find?" asked Bruce as he took a seat.

"Ummm, I am hoping to be a badass crime-solving detective, or maybe have the ability to speak to animals? Because frankly speaking, that's the only thing that's missing from my life right now," Tony tried his best to be humble.

Bruce smiled, shaking his head, "Do you know how to use this?" he nodded towards the Ouija board.

"Meh," shrugged Tony, "how hard can it be?"

👻🎃👻

You were unable to get scared in the next portion of the house as you kept laughing at Steve's reaction. His terrified expression as he tried to delete his browser cookies was still fresh in your mind.

Safe to say that the 100-year-old something Captain did not take this lightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the door to the control room of the haunted house. Grabbing your arm, he led you towards it, much to your surprise.

The lock easily crumpled beneath his fingers and he opened the door. Making you sit on one of the two chairs, he looked at the complex overlay of numerous computer screens displayed in front of him. "J.A.R.V.I.S?" he called out to the AI. "Yes Mr Rogers?" came the prompt reply.

"What is the location of Bruce and Tony?" as Steve asked in his Captain America voice, you rubbed your thighs against one another in need. The action didn't miss his sharp eyes and he looked at you with a smirk.

"They are in the other section of the house Mr Rogers."

"And are there loud speakers in that room?"

"Yes," confirmed the AI.

"J.A.R.V.I.S do not record the footage of what's about to happen in this room," commanded Steve, his hands on his belt as his straightened, his full height on a glorious display in front of you. He looked at you with hunger, blue eyes dark with passion. Taking his belt, he tied your hands behind your back.

"St-Steve?" you barely managed to squeak, the sudden change in his behavior igniting a fire within you.

He took your head in his hands, and placed a fierce kiss on your lips. "Sshhhh," he whispered in his dark voice, "I only want to hear your moans when you are at my mercy." You could only nod, your panty dampening at his command.

Picking up your wand from the table, he waved it in front of you. "You didn't notice this button at the bottom?" he cocked his eyebrow when you shook your head.

He stood between your legs, stretching them apart. "It's Trick or Treat time baby," he grinned wickedly as he pressed the button, making the small tag in your panty vibrate against your clit.

Your cries of "ooooohh"s and "aahhhh"s filled the room as the familiar warmth spread to your core. Steve asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to broadcast your cries in Tony's and Bruce's portion of the house, but with a slight twist.

👻🎃👻

"Give up maaahn!" Bruce urged Tony with a slightly slurred voice, his glass with the Halloween Blood Punch loosely held in his hands. Struggling with the Ouija board, Tony whined loudly, "But I want to meet me!! Who was I? How was I? I need answerssss!"

Bruce laughed at Tony's reaction, "We can't handle one of you, how can we keep up with multiple 'you's? Call old Pepper too! Ooooooo yes call Pepper!"

"PEPPER!" Tony screamed at the board, "Wherrrre are you? I love you!"

Just then, they heard a sound from somewhere above them.

"OoooOOoooooo"

Both of them stopped.

"AaaaAhHhhhh"

Tony looked up, "Pepper?" he asked in a hopeful voice.

"OOOHHHHH OHHHH AAHHHHHHHHHH" they jumped as moans increased, the voice trembled, resembling that of a stereotypical ghost's. "You called someone!!" Bruce shrieked, pointing at the board, "SOMEONE IS HERE!" he looked around him fearfully, waving his arm around as if meaning to catch the spirit.

"AAAHHHH AHHHHH AHHHHHH GGRRRAAAHHHH"

"Run run run!!" Tony shouted. They ran towards the door and just before exiting, Tony stopped, "Wait!! What about Cap?"

Bruce looked at him with wide eyes as the haunted moans continued to fill the room. He touched his head, feeling around for something, "I wasn't wearing a cap dude!"

Tony blinked twice, "Oh right, sorry."

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!"

They sprinted out of the room as if being chased by hungry wolves. They sat in the car just as Pepper called on Tony's cell. "Hey where are you?" she gently asked.

"Pepper! "PEPPER!" Bruce and Tony shouted together. "Where are you?" "Why were you screaming?" "Did you haunt us?" a series of jumbled questions left their mouths as J.A.R.V.I.S. drove them safely back to the Avengers' compound, leaving you and Steve behind to your sexy shenanigans.

👻•°🎃°•👻•°.°•👻•°🎃°•👻•°.°•👻•°🎃°•👻

Chris Evans and his characters taglist: @onetwo3000

Taglist open! Just comment, send an ask or a message!

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain steve rogers #steve rogers #Steve Rogers x Reader #captain america #captain America x you #captain America x Reader #captain America x y/n #marvel #Avengers #Tony stark #Bruce banner #Marvel x Halloween

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chilling-seavey · 3 years

Note

I just feel like the first time Daniel tells lizzie he loves her OR THE OTHER WAY AROUND COS WHY NOT, it would be so fluffy and all just calling them to say hey can we meet at the park and Daniel sees her and just runs up to her and hugs her and swings her around like ELIZABETH I LOVE YOU - sheesh my heart is on a run for fluff today

Omg I never even thought about their first ‘I love you’s but your idea here is so pre-war Daniel it’s perfect-

September 30, 1914

Daniel knew he was smitten with Elizabeth from the moment they first met. Elizabeth knew she was smitten with Daniel from the moment they first met.

These may be the simple facts but both refused to act on that for at least three weeks before they started formally dating. Saying I love you was just as long awaited.

Elizabeth knew she was in love with Daniel the first day she brought him home and he offered to play piano for her family after dinner. He was so polite and sweet and talented and the sight of him sitting at the piano in her family’s parlour, his fingers gliding along the keys and his soft voice filling the house, never failed to make her heart skip a beat. She only wanted to listen to that for the rest of her life.

Daniel knew he was in love with Elizabeth when she was the only thing he could think about at any given moment. He went to bed and she was the last thing on his mind. He woke up and she was the first thing on his mind. He wanted her to be the only thing on his mind for the rest of time and the idea had him near bursting.

The phone rang against his ear as he stared out his front window of his house, already smiling ear to ear.

“Hello? Fisher residence.”

“Good morning, sir. It is Daniel calling. Is Elizabeth available to speak with me for a moment?”

“Of course, Daniel. One moment.”

Daniel bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet as he waited for her to pick up the receiver. Finally, there was some shuffling and she answered excitedly.

“Hello, my gentlemanly caller. What do I owe the pleasure?”

Daniel didn’t even go along with her cheeky humour, “Can you meet me in the park in fifteen minutes? I have something incredibly important to share.”

“Oh. Yes, I can see you in fifteen minutes.”

“Perfect. Bye.” Daniel hung up the telephone and ran to the foyer to get his shoes on.

The park was closer to Elizabeth’s house than Daniel’s, so he rushed through the streets of their town to get there within the given time slot. He spotted her right away on the path, wearing a long pale pink dress and a matching hat and he just beamed twice as big at the sight of her, taking off at a sprint to meet her.

“Elizabeth Winifred Fisher!” Daniel shouted loudly as he ran towards her with his arms outstretched, a huge grin plastered on his face, his voice echoing through the park to earn more than only her attention, “I love you!”

His sudden declaration had her stopping in her tracks, covering her mouth with a gloved hand in surprise as he ran towards her at top speed. He tackled her into a tight embrace with enough force that she stumbled backwards a step or two and he lifted her off the ground just enough to spin her around once, making her laugh and cling onto his shoulders.

“I am in love with you and I don’t care who knows it!” Daniel yelled gleefully, setting her gently back on the ground.

He was breathless from his run to the park but he still smiled so widely at her that it almost looked like his face was going to be stuck like that, arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

“I have been waiting so long for you to finally say that, you ridiculous man!” Elizabeth laughed, smacking his chest teasingly. “I love you too!”

Daniel grabbed her cheeks and pulled her lips on his in a strong kiss, both of them smiling and laughing into it. Arms wrapped around each other in their passionate desperation, sharing breathless clumsy kisses.

Passersby stared at the young couple kissing in the middle of the park – quite an unusual sight for society in 1914 – but Daniel and Elizabeth didn’t care, too wrapped up in their newly confessed love and their raw adoration for each other to give a second thought. He buried his face in her neck to hold her in a tight embrace and they stood right in the middle of the path just holding each other and smiling ear to ear in perfect silence for a few more moments.

“Was that all you had to share?” Elizabeth finally asked, pushing him back slightly by his shoulders to look at him.

“Yeah.” Daniel chuckled breathlessly. “I said it was incredibly important, did I not?”

Elizabeth laughed lightly and nodded, welcoming his strong kiss to her lips again, her gloved hands resting against his cheeks as he lifted her off the ground again just to hear her sweet laugh and feel the way she clung onto him.

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voltage-vixen · 4 years

Text

Celebrating the Chatelain

(This is featuring Nobunaga from IkeSen)

“How are the preparations coming along, Mitsunari?”

“Everything is proceeding as planned, my lord.”

A clandestine meeting between the warlords was taking place in the council room, while MC was visiting the village running a list of errands Nobunaga had assigned with the objective of distracting her. Tomorrow was MC’s birthday, and Nobunaga wanted to surprise her with the grandest of all celebrations. Enlisting the assistance from his most trusted vassals, Nobunaga designated each of the men a task to complete and was awaiting their status reports.

“MC and I shared a wonderful discussion about how they commemorate birthdays in her time period,” Mitsunari proclaimed, his voice bubbling in excitement. “I’m confident our forces will be able to unite together to create a suitable replica for a party she is accustomed with.”

Hideyoshi cleared his throat and stepped forward, delivering the first of the summaries.

“My lord, I have personally searched through all of the merchants in town and have gathered only the finest items to be used as decorations.”

Nobunaga nodded in approval, and Hideyoshi turned to address Masamune.

“Masamune? How are you and Ieyasu faring on the feast?”

“Fortunately, I’ve managed to keep “this one” on track and even managed to ensure that this cake dessert Mitsunari mentioned was properly baked,” Ieyasu interjected with a sigh.

“Hey now, you make it sound like you were burdened with babysitting a small child, or something,” Masamune retorted back defensively. “I would never not come through on something for the lass.”

“Enough bickering!”

Satisfied with the silence that followed his command, Nobuanga’s gaze finally landed on Mitsuhide, who up until this point had been silently standing among the ruckus.

“Mitsuhide? Will you be able to keep MC in the unsuspectingly in the dark until it is time for the festivities to begin?”

“With certainty, my lord,” Mitsuhide affirmed. “The little mouse shall be as naïve as ever.”

“Why must every word you spout off sound so suspicious, Mitsuhide?” Hideyoshi snapped, displeased by the vagueness of the statement.

“My, my, Hideyoshi,” Mitsuhide mocked. “One must learn to unclench every once in a while.”

For once, Nobunaga didn’t put an immediate cease to the squabbling breaking out around him. Instead, he softly smiled to himself when he envisioned MC’s reaction of being caught off-guard tomorrow. Just MC’s very presence enriched his formerly apathetic life, and Nobunaga was eager to spoil her in the labor of his love.

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

“What the heck? Is this another one of Mitsuhide’s pranks?” MC grumbled, vowing to strangle the fox the next time she encountered him.

Her mood was foul considering the cloudy weather, and Mitsuhide insisted up sending her running around the castle to complete meaningless tasks. Except every time MC finished a chore, she found Mitsuhide had left a note with another set of instructions. This day was turning out to be never-ending, and on top of everything else, today was MC’s birthday. There was still no sign of Nobunaga, and everyone just shrugged her away when she would try to ask for his whereabouts. Frustrated, she glanced down at the scribbled handwriting on the note and tossed it down to the ground before storming out.

You’ve done very well, little mouse. Now scurry on down to the war council room for your prize.

Now fuming, MC slammed open the door and was met with-

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MC!!!!”

MC nearly tripped backwards completely stunned at the sight of these fierce warlords wearing what looked to be poorly constructed party hats on their heads.

This must have been why Mitsunari was asking me all those questions about birthday traditions!

Nobunaga emerged from the crowd and approached her, snickering in amusement at the way her mouth was flapping open.

“Your face is quite animated today,” the Devil King smirked. “Is my fireball pleased with her birthday bash?”

“Nobunaga, did you really do all this for me?”

Overwhelmed by the generosity, a lone tear trickled down the side of her cheek, and Nobunaga gently swiped it away with his thumb.

“Isn’t it the role of a boyfriend to spoil the woman he loves?”

Entwining his fingers around hers, Nobunaga guided her to the center of the room where the rest of her friends were patiently waiting.

“Happy birthday, lass,” Masamune boasted. “Hopefully Mitsuhide’s distraction wasn’t too much of a hassle for you while we were finishing setting everything up.”

“Everyone, thank you so much! I never expected you guys would go to such lengths to celebrate with me,” she sniffled, all previous feelings of her animosity completely faded. “I’m truly grateful to have met you all.”

“Eat something already,” Ieyasu muttered, shoving a plate full of food into MC’s direction. “Otherwise you’ll end up passing out, and then I’ll be the one stuck taking care of you.”

Despite the ruthlessness of Ieyasu’s words, MC giggled in acknowledgement knowing that his intent was concern for her well-being. The aroma wavering from the plate was sweet, and her mouth began to water as she reached for the plate.

“No, we’re leaving!” Nobunaga grouched.

Furrowing the crease of his brow, Nobunaga dragged the confused chatelaine away from the liveliness of the crowd, ignoring the perceptive sneer of Mitsuhide as he tracked out to the hallway.

“Oh no, did something trouble our lord?” a concerned Mitsunari fretted.

“Daresay, I never would have imagined we would witness the day the great Nobunaga allowed the sin of envy to eradicate his sense of rationale thinking,” Mitsuhide jested.

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

“Nobunaga, where are we going?!”

Disregarding the curious glimpses from the maids, Nobunaga continued his quest, refusing to pause until he had successfully led MC to his bedroom in the tenshu. He released the grip on her wrist, and instantly launched into an anxious pace out to his balcony. Confused by Nobunaga’s sudden change in behavior, MC scurried after him.

“Nobunaga?”

MC saw his hands firmly clutching the railing, while the warlord calmly stood captivated by the illuminating lights of the town below them. She wrapped him in an embrace from behind and buried her head into his back. Together they silently stayed still, until Nobunaga sighed and spun around to confront his patient companion.

“The thought of another man gifting you something bothered me for some reason,” he muttered, uncouthly fumbling around with the sleeve of his haori.

“Nobunaga, you wouldn’t happen to be feeling jealous now, would you?”

“No!”

The sharp denial transpired almost too fluently, and the tips of Nobunaga’s ear transmuted into a dark shade of crimson.

Nobunaga was jealous!

“Because that would make you silly if you were,” MC teased, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Only my lucky charm would be gutsy enough to call me silly,” Nobunaga murmured, as he pressed his forehead against hers.

Their noses nuzzled against each other when Nobunaga leaned down to plant tender kiss on her lips. Compassionate smooches were exchanged back and forth, until Nobunaga pulled away and reached into his pocket.

“Happy birthday, MC,” he announced, before handing her a small box.

An excited twinkle sparkled in MC’s eyes when she enthusiastically opened the box and gasped at the display presented before her. Two matching maroon charms were placed side by side. Nobunaga grabbed one of the charms and placed it into the palm of her hand.

“I decided it was purely befitting to share this pair of charms, that way I can share my source of strength with you, the same way you share yours with me.”

MC’s hand squeezed around the charm and moved to hold it closely to her heart. Nobunaga enclosed his hand around hers, and affectionately grazed his hand down the side of her arm.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I promise I’ll cherish my charm forever.”

“No,” Nobunaga swiftly cut in. “Together, we will cherish them until the end of all eternities. I swear this to you on the day of your birth, and I vow to uphold that promise through this life and our next.”

Lifting her up into the air, MC towered down on Nobunaga and she placed her hands on his broad shoulders.

“This will be a birthday I shall never forget. Will you plan my birthday next year, and the year after that too?”

“And the years succeeding those as well,” Nobunaga pledged.

Initiating a passionate kiss with MC to seal their declaration, Nobunaga stepped backwards into his bedroom and carried his partner to the futon. From there, the Devil King delivered the next of her many birthday presents, along with swearing his eternal devotion to the only woman that would ever stand by his side.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen nobunaga #nobunaga oda #ikesen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #nobunaga oda fanfic #ikemen series #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen masamune #ikesen hideyoshi #ikesen mitsuhide #cybird otome #thanks for the suggestion!#nobunaga is always a pleasure to write for since he's one of my favorite #thank you for your kind words #and i hope if your birthday got impacted you were still able to celebrate

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jade4813 · 4 years

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Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 10

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Though John would never consider time spent with Margaret wasted – nor would he ever regret a single second of it – it did make the subsequent days longer as he strove to find a solution to his financial problem. The debt owed to the bank was a few hundred pounds – a paltry amount compared to what was owed him for orders that his workers had rushed through. He hoped each day for a miracle, that he would receive sufficient outstanding payments to satisfy the bank loan and secure his workers’ payroll, but he waited in vain. The bank’s deadline drew ever nearer, his coffers dwindled, and no miracle loomed on the horizon.

Had he been foolish to refuse Watson’s proposed speculation? If it succeeded, the profit from the venture would clear his debt and secure payroll for months to come. If it failed, however, what little funds he had to pay his people would be lost, with no hope of recovery. He would have left his workers destitute, and he felt he owed them more than to gamble with their livelihoods.

But if it succeeded…

He’d never before understood the siren’s song of speculation, which had led his own father to his death. In the aftermath of the elder Thornton’s self-inflicted demise, John had been forced into a life of poverty and self-deprivation, leaving school to care for his mother and sister and sparing as much money as he could each week to pay his father’s creditors, long after they’d given up any hope of satisfaction.

He’d worked hard, and in the secret recesses of his heart, he’d judged his father harshly for throwing away their fortunes on what amounted to little more than a game of chance. He’d never spoken of his recrimination or his shame aloud, out of consideration for his remaining family’s feelings – though his mother had never been one to mince words when it came to her own judgment, and Fanny had been too young and lacked the sentimental disposition required to be overly protective of either her affection for or her memory of the father she’d lost.

Now, however, he understood the temptation that had lured his father to his ruin, though his own sense of honor and the duty he owed those in his charge had caused him to shy away from the risky venture, no matter how high the potential reward. His refusal had angered Fanny, who had sworn that reward was certain and promised to be considerable, but John knew better than most that speculation was merely that, and not even the wisest of men could guarantee a positive result.

And yet, if it succeeded…

If he’d gambled his mill’s future on the speculation and it turned a profit, his business would be clear of debt. His workers would be paid. He could continue to care for his mother in the manner he had for most of his adult life. He could provide Margaret with the life she deserved, if not the life she’d wanted. And nobody would ever have to know how bad things had been.

John shook his head, running his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration and despair. No, there was no use in thinking about what might have been. He’d rejected Watson’s offer. He’d refused to engage in speculation, not when the cost of one ill-judged gamble could ruin so many lives. If he’d thrown his hat into the ring and the speculation failed, he’d lose the mill. The house. His workers would be out of jobs and left to starve, if they were unable to find work elsewhere. His mother’s situation would fall to what it had once been, after many years spent in comfort and security. And his wife…

If he’d speculated with his workers’ livelihoods and lost, recklessly subjecting them possible starvation, to the poverty from which he’d once uplifted himself, he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror without feeling shame. A man who could be so inattentive to his responsibility to others could never hope to deserve Margaret or the love he still wished in his heart might one day be his.

So he applied himself to work, each day seeming longer than the last. His beloved Margaret never chided him for his absence or his neglect, though she always seemed to anticipate the point at which reason was driven to the edge by exhaustion, as she would come to him on those evenings and silently draw him home with her, to sleep by her side. He could not fully confess his fears to her, but neither could he resist her, and his love for her sustained him every bit as much as her tender consideration brought him comfort.

But as the days passed, a nagging sense of doubt grew in his mind, a quiet whisper that warned that Margaret might not be as content as he would wish. Even as his financial apprehensions eclipsed other concerns vying for his attention, he noticed her increasingly troubled expression when she thought him unaware, though the worry lines smoothed from her countenance each time he turned her way. But she never spoke of her concerns, and he – weak, lovesick fool that he was – couldn’t summon the courage to ask, for fear that her preoccupation lay elsewhere. If her distress stemmed from regret, perhaps exacerbated by increasing concerns that he would fail to live up to his promise to provide her comfort and security, his heart would break anew.

Desiring to reassure her of the fidelity of his promise, John was determined to redouble the attention he paid his wife. To that end, he returned home one evening earlier than he typically had of late – the lure of Margaret’s company being far greater than that of the paperwork on his desk – to find her father in their drawing room, the other man having stopped by for a visit. Although slightly disappointed that his more amorous intentions would by necessity be delayed, John always enjoyed Richard Hale’s company and was pleased his calendar was free enough to appreciate it.

His pleasure was only heightened when he saw Margaret’s cheerfulness at the visit. “Mr Bell has invited Father to visit him in Oxford, and I’m encouraging him to go. Don’t you think it’s an excellent idea?” she explained, before turning her attention back to their guest. “It’s been so long since you’ve been to visit, and the weather’s turning warmer, so the roads will be a little easier.”

Mr Hale seemed encouraged by her enthusiasm. “I might go,” he acknowledged. Nodding, as much to himself as to her, he murmured, “Yes, yes. I think I might.”

With that decision seemingly fixed, their conversation turned to other matters for a while, until Richard stood to leave. “I think I will go to Oxford,” he declared, the idea clearly breaking him much joy. John and Margaret wished him well – the latter admonishing him to dress warmly, as there was still a chill in the air – and then he was on his way with their blessings.

Had John known it would be the last time Margaret would share his company, he would have begged the man to stay a while longer. Sadly, prescience was not among his accomplishments.

Although Margaret tried to find contentment in her present circumstances, the things left unsaid between husband and wife preyed upon her thoughts, seemingly increasing her anxiety by the hour. She loved John – more ardently than she ever would have ever supposed – and her silence on that score felt suffocating. She wanted to tell him of her feelings, but questions plagued her mind, sapping away both her contentment and her courage.

She had no illusions that John had come to trust her before taking her hand in marriage. Did he still doubt her integrity? Did he question her faithfulness? Would his opinion of her, once tarnished in his mind, forever carry a shadow of his distrust, even once the truth was known?

Even if she were to put her fears behind her, she couldn’t find the words to share her confession. It seemed impossible to do so without broaching the subject of the scene he had witnessed on the train platform, which had caused him such disgust and brought her so much pain. With so much weighing on his heart already, was it fair of her to upset whatever peace he’d managed to find thus far in their marital harmony?

What if he didn’t believe her? What if he was hurt she hadn’t spoken up before? His anger gave her no cause for alarm, but she couldn’t bear the thought of inflicting additional pain upon him. She would never wish to exact injury upon anyone, him least of all. Not her husband. Not the man she loved. And certainly not now, when his troubles were otherwise so great.

As the weeks passed immediately following her self-revelation, Margaret often found herself on the brink of confessing all to her husband. On each occasion, fear and inconvenient timing silenced her tongue. When the time was right, she promised herself that she would broach the topic of his suspicion and determine whether the trust she so needed to find true happiness in marriage had been regained. If so, she would tell him the truth. And confess to him her love.

In the meantime, she strove to provide him with such contentment, peace, and comfort as was within her power to give. She gave such assistance at the mill as she was able during the day and let her love wash over him at night, her body betraying the secrets of her heart, even if her lips could not. She felt his overwhelming weariness when they made love, pressing her mouth against the deep lines in his brow and offered him her strength when he sagged against her, his cheek pressed against her shoulder. In the aftermath of their coupling, he would fall asleep in her arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest and rhythmic beat of his heart soothing her own cares.

They had been married long enough for Margaret to grow accustomed to the idea but not long enough to overcome the full measure of her shyness – engrained in her from the time she was a child – at her husband viewing her nakedness when she awoke early one morning to see John standing before the fire, preparing his ablutions for the day ahead. He was stripped to the waist, his skin gleaming in the faint light. The fire in the grate was newly lit, its illumination weak and almost begrudging, but it was bright enough for her to see the ripple of muscles beneath his skin as he bent to splash cold water upon his face. She found herself entranced by the solid cord of muscle in his stomach and arms, the play of light and shadow against his upon his bare skin.

Though she doubted he would consider it a compliment, looking at him like this, she could only think how beautiful he was to her. How cherished. He stole her heart and took her breath away.

The sight of him drew her out of bed, the floor cold beneath her bare feet as she crossed the room, resting her hand gently upon his lower back as he straightened. He turned to face her, beads of moisture trailing down his face, and she placed her hand over his, gently tugging the towel from his grasp. He watched in silence as she tossed it aside and didn’t protest when she pressed her free hand against his chest and gave it a firm push, leading him into a nearby chair.

John didn’t say a word as he lowered himself into the seat, but his gaze missed nothing as she cast a critical eye upon the implements he’d laid out beside his washbowl. The shaving razor was open, its blade gleaming, already sharpened upon the strop in preparation for the task at hand. His soap had also already been prepared, the applicator brush resting nearby.

Margaret picking up the brush and mug of shaving soap, working up a lather as she turned back to her husband. His gaze had fallen to her hips, and she realized with a start that, standing before the fire as she was, the outline of her body would be visible through the thin fabric of her nightgown. The thought made her flush, but she feigned ignorance of the view she presented, even as she showed her body off to its best advantage, bending over him to lather his cheeks and chin.

John reached for her, bracing her hips in his palms. His hands were still damp from his morning wash, moistening the fabric of her dress. She shivered, biting back a soft moan of longing, when he pulled her forward until she straddled his chair, her thighs brushing the coarse fabric of his trousers. Unwilling to allow him to distract her from her purpose, she forced her attention to the task at hand, casting a critical eye upon his face to ensure the lather was sufficiently distributed. Then she reached for the razor, her hand trembling slightly as she lifted it to his cheek.

What had seemed like a good idea when she’d started was much more daunting now, when she held the sharpened razor in her hand and prepared to apply it to his bare skin. What if she made a mistake? What if she slipped and injured him? She hesitated, preparing to draw away, but he reached up and wrapped his hand around her own. His eyes were trusting, his gaze warm, as he drew the razor toward his cheek, adjusting the exact angle of the blade before pressing it gently against his skin. Then he dropped his hand, putting his fate entirely in her hands.

Margaret sucked in a sharp breath and narrowed her eyes, focusing the entirety of her attention upon the blade as she scraped it gently against his skin, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief when she managed her first pass without causing injury. Feeling more confident, she applied the blade again, her motions slow and cautious. As she worked, the back of her neck grew damp from the warmth of her fire, and the caress of John’s breath fanned her face as she leaned forward, intent upon her task. She could feel his gaze upon her, but it wasn’t distrust in his eyes. It was desire. Her answering need nearly overwhelmed her, and she required a moment to recollect her composure before she could continue.

With one side completed, John adjusted the angle of his head so that she could complete the job. Her heart pounded when she felt his hands slide under the hem of her nightdress, teasing the soft, sensitive skin of her thighs, and she sucked in an unsteady breath.

As she pulled the razor away, he slipped his fingers inside her, stroking her gently. Her head fell back with a moan, but she strove to gather her wits and regain control. Bracing her free hand on his shoulder, she cast an accusatory glance at his face, only to receive an unrepentant smile in return. However, the consciousness of his own well-being was such that he returned his hands to her hip when she wiped the lather off the blade, lifting it to continue her task.

Margaret’s heart pounded as she slid the razor along the curve of his jaw, and he tilted his head back to allow her greater access to his neck. Her efforts were perhaps not as clean as his would have been, but he didn’t seem to mind. When she finished her last pass, she grabbed a damp towel to wipe away the rest of the lather, but John gently tugged the blade from her hand, letting it fall to the floor. Then his mouth was upon her, teasing the bare flesh above the neck of her nightgown.

She opened her mouth to sigh his name, but the sound was captured by his lips as he pulled her firmly against him, pressing her against his hardness. Grabbing the bottom of her nightgown, he lifted it over her head and tossed it aside, and even in the increasing warmth of the room, she shuddered as she was bared before him. John didn’t seem to find anything amiss, however, as his attention was captivated by her smooth perfection.

Lifting his hand to cup her breast, Margaret found herself enthralled as she always was by his caress. The calluses on his palms were rough against her sensitive skin, but his touch was far from unpleasant. Her head fell back, exposing the curve of her neck, as he brushed a thumb against her aureole until her nipple beaded under his palm.

Her hands had fallen on his shoulders, and she gave in to the temptation to trail her fingertips down his chest, tracing the curve of muscle and bone. She felt first the rapid beat of his heart, then the muscles of his stomach shudder as he sucked in a sharp breath, and knew he wasn’t unaffected by her touch. In the light cast by the fire and the soft sunrise, his eyes were dark and filled with need. She wove her fingers into his hair, pressing him to her, as he bowed his head and sucked her breast into his mouth, teasing her with his tongue. She could feel the strength in his hands when he grasped her hips, guiding her motions as she rocked against him.

Only one layer of fabric separated their bodies, causing Margaret no end of frustration. Pressing her hands against his chest, she lifted off him far enough to reach for the buttons of his trousers. In her haste and her desire, her fingers were clumsy and awkward. Their hands tangled together when he attempted to assist her, causing her to laugh, the sound soft and strained.

She had only just managed to pull him free when he grabbed her thighs and pulled her into his lap once more, pausing only long enough to carefully guide himself inside of her. Margaret gasped as she sank onto him, her response inspired as much by the ominous creaking of the chair beneath them as the sudden fullness of his thrust. Anxious about the unsteadiness of their perch, she tightened her thighs around him and wrapped her arms around his neck, slowly rolling her hips against his.

John tucked his head against the curve of her neck, tickling her with the faint traces of stubble she’d overlooked in her earlier ministrations. His mouth scraped against her skin, eliciting a soft moan, while his hands explored her body, lingering in every spot which had previously brought her pleasure. He kissed the curve of her ear, her cheek, her chin, and Margaret rewarded his efforts with another slow roll of her hips.

Once again, she wrestled with the temptation to speak of her feelings, but this was hardly the time to do so. Her confession – or, rather, confessions, as she believed she had identified a multitude that must be made by now – deserved more consideration than a rashly uttered declaration in the midst of lovemaking. They also required more deliberation than to be hastily blurted over breakfast, or on the way out the door to attend to more pressing concerns and outstanding appointments.

Still, her secret feelings nearly overwhelmed her, swelling within her breast until she couldn't speak for love of him. Leaning back slightly, she wrapped one hand behind his neck to hold him in place as her gaze swept over the face that had engraved itself upon her heart. Their eyes met, and she found she couldn’t tear her gaze away, entranced as she was by the play of emotions upon his face and in his eyes…

Once again, she marveled that she ever could have thought him to be cold and cruel, that she ever could have mistaken his hardness for lack of feeling. Though his features were under his command, frequently schooled into either an impassive mask or a glower of disdain, his eyes betrayed him. Even when he had accused her of impropriety, when he’d told her his passion for her had ended, the chill of his words hadn’t wounded her half so much as that which lay behind those blue eyes, which revealed much, but also saw more than she wished.

Margaret was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of fear at what he might comprehend of her own feelings. In an act of self-preservation, she tore her gaze away, pressing her cheek against the curve of his shoulder as he lifted his hips, plunging inside her.

As she met each powerful thrust with a roll of her hips, Margaret clung to her husband, wishing for nothing more than to prolong this interlude. She felt the muscles beneath her tense and knew he was nearing completion, so she increased the rhythm of her hips, pressing her mouth against his neck to taste the saltiness of his skin as his muscles grew taut and he poured himself inside her. The momentarily respite didn’t last long, however, as he cupped one hand behind her head, holding her against him as he slid the other between her legs, stroking her deftly until wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her and she found her own release.

She collapsed against him, spent and unwilling to let him go, although she knew she couldn’t hold him in this moment forever. The harsh rasp of their breathing filled her ears, but as their hearts slowed and breathing steadied, the room grew quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the grate. When she could put off the inevitable no longer, she lifted her head off John’s shoulder, though she wasn’t yet able to meet his eyes, still uncertain of what her own would reveal.

“Margaret?” His voice was soft and uncertain, and her heart wrenched at the aching vulnerability it betrayed. She was unequal to the task of giving voice to her inner turmoil, so she stared at his lips as she stroked her fingers along the side of his face. Cupped his cheeks in her palms, pressed her mouth against his, drawing his tongue inside her parted lips. In unspoken reassurance, she deepened the embrace until she felt his lingering tension ebb away. When the kiss ended, she drew back to meet his eyes, confident that her own would no longer divulge her secrets.

Climbing off his lap, Margaret rushed to retrieve her nightgown from the floor, quickly pulling it on before turning her attention back to her husband. In the early morning light, Margaret was forced to acknowledge that she made for an imperfect barber, more than one small patch of stubble having escaped her blade, but John issued no complaint. Instead, he used a towel to wipe away what remnants of shaving soap remained, though Margaret noticed that a fair amount had transferred to her person.

Once he had dried his face with a towel, he began to toss it beside the bowl when Margaret grabbed his hand, staying his motion. There, on the bright white fabric, was a small red stain, a sign she had not been as careful with the razor as she had wished. Stretching onto her toes, she examined his skin and noticed the tiniest nick just below his right ear.

“I’m sorry,” she said, speaking as much for her continued silence as the injury she had inflicted upon him.

Touching a finger to the wound, he shook his head. “It’s not deep. It’ll heal soon enough.” He cast a glance at the window, and Margaret knew his mind was turning toward the mill, to the work left undone and the hours that lay ahead of him. Longing to steal just a few more precious moments with him, she helped him to dress, asserting the privilege of such intimacy that only a wife could claim.

The hour was growing late, and Margaret knew her husband was eager to begin his day, but still he hesitated, brushing a lock of hair off her cheek once she had finished straightening his cravat. “Margaret—” he began, a line of worry creasing the skin between his brows, “Forgive me for pressing, but you seem troubled. If something is bothering you, you can confide in me.”

Her heart twisted at the understanding that he had seen more than she’d wished, recognizing the fact of her preoccupation, although he did not yet understand the cause. Pulling him to her, she pressed a kiss against that telltale evidence of his concern. “It’s nothing,” she attempted, though she didn’t need to see his face to anticipate his answering skepticism. Taking his hands in hers, she remarked, “It’s getting late, and work is more important. I don’t want to keep you any longer than I already have.”

John wasn’t willing to be so easily deterred, tightening his hold on her hands. “My work may be necessary, but there is nothing in the world more important to me than you.”

His words gave her hope, and she smiled at him with all the sweetness she felt in her heart. “Very well, but it’s not – I’m not troubled, precisely, but – do you think we could steal some time alone together this evening? There are some matters we should discuss.”

With obvious reluctance at the delay, he agreed, capturing her lips in one more kiss before heading out the door. Little did either of them know that a visit from Mr Bell later that same day would bring news that would drive all other concerns from her mind. For a while, at least.

#like moths to a flame #margaret hale #john thornton #north and south #john x margaret #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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sdottkrames · 3 years

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The World was Wide Enough

@comfortember prompt 8: lashing out

Summary: Peter finds out about Siberia. He’s not very happy about the way Captain America treated his dad mentor. So when he gets hurt on patrol and it’s Cap who comes to help him? Some words are said.

Notes: I’ve had this idea in my head for a long long time, and finally worked up the nerve to do it. I hope y’all like it!

Also, I do NOT hate Steve. I hated Civil War and how they portrayed Tony with a passion, but I adore Steve Rogers with all my heart. Mkay?

Read on AO3: Here

Peter hadn’t meant to hear. He was simply walking by and heard Tony’s voice. He sounded agitated and Peter had just wanted to see if he was okay.

“Listen, guys, I appreciate you apologizing, but what’s done is done. Give it a rest.” Tony said.

“I just...I’m sorry, Tony.” That was Steve. What were they talking about?

“I am as well. Tony, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they were your parents,” Bucky said.

Now Peter was feeling guilty standing there. He definitely wasn’t supposed to hear this conversation. But like a train wreck, he couldn’t look away.

“Barnes, it was mind control. I’m not saying we’re going to be best friends, but I don’t want to kill you anymore, so it’s a start, alright? Here.” Tony pressed a button and a video pulled onto screen. It played for a second, the sounds of fighting filling Peter’s ears. It took a moment to register that it was Tony and Steve and Bucky fighting. Tony paused the video and clicked delete, but not before it showed Steve drive his shield into Tony’s chest. “There. I’ve been meaning to do that. It’s cathartic, you know. Miracle of forgiveness and all that. Now go. And stop apologizing. We’re cool.”

But Peter was anything but.

His ears were still ringing with the clank of a shield slamming into an arc realtor, his eyes so full of Tony’s scarred, crumpled body, too similar to another scarred, crumpled body from years earlier.

Steve and Bucky turned towards the door, meeting Peter’s eyes, and realizing for the first time that he was there. They’d never seen the normally mild, kind boy look so angry. Their hearts dropped as they realized just what he had seen, how it looked, how it had made him feel.

“How. Dare. You,” Peter spit out before turning on his heel without a second glance behind him at the others who were staring at his retreating back in shock.

***

Peter flipped over the gate at the front of the school, and rushed into a nearby alleyway to change into his Spider-Man suit. The feeling of the suit instantly calmed his anxious energy.

Gosh, he loved being Spider-Man, especially when it allowed him to avoid thinking.

Peter had been avoiding Captain America ever since accidentally seeing the video a few weeks ago, when his world had been shattered. The kind Cap who had taught him how to cook and made him laugh with funny stories had morphed into a cold, heartless man who had nearly killed Tony. Tony might’ve forgiven Cap, but he’d had five years to work that out. Peter was still angry.

Realizing he had worked himself up again with his train of thought, Peter firmly yanked his mask over his head to focus on being Spider-Man.

“Good afternoon, Peter.”

“Hey Karen,” Peter said, grateful for the distraction and friendly voice. “Whatcha got for me today?”

“There’s a robbery happening at that electronics store on 69th street,” she answered.

“Lead the way!” Peter shot a web and followed the route Karen projected to him.

It was a routine, even simple job. Two shots of his web, a couple trademark snappy one-liners, and Peter was out of there. He’d even gotten some free headphones from the store owner.

Then he’d helped a young girl find her mom, rescued a dog that had fallen down a storm drain (the dog’s name was Mina, and she was very cute. Mina’s owner had been beyond grateful), and stopped three different muggings. Overall, it had been a pretty awesome night. Peter was just about to head home when everything went south.

“Peter, there appears to be a lady in distress in an alleyway between 75 and 76th streets,” Karen said. “Would you like me to direct you there?”

“Yeah. I’ll go help, then let the police handle any more situations.”

He should’ve just gone home.

Peter got a few good webs in. He surprised the two muggers, and the lady used his entrance as a chance to grab her purse and run away.

“I’d say see you around, but I honestly hope I won’t,” he quipped to the men stuck on the wall. He was about to shoot a web to swing out and let the police take care of the two criminals, but stopped as a tingle raced down his spine. It was too late. Before he could move, a gunshot tore through the alleyway.

Instantly, pain exploded in Peter’s right shoulder. He turned to see the gunman, a nondescript man wearing a hat to shadow his face. Peter forced back the nausea and pain to web him up next to his friends.

“Shooting people in the back? Not cool man,” he said, gritting his teeth and swinging to the top of a nearby building before collapsing against the wall. “Karen,” he gasped. “Call Tony!”

Peter was starting to see spots. He could feel the blood coming from his shoulder and the pain was radiating all over.

“Pete!” Friday must have alerted him already, because Tony's voice was frantic. “Hang on, buddy. I’m coming, okay? Just sit tight. I’m on my way!”

“It hurts.”

“I know. I know. Just hang on.”

Tony's panicked voice was interrupted by another one, equally as panicked.

“Peter?” Steve Rogers stood on the rooftop, staring in shock and worry at the boy slumped against the wall.

“Is that Steve?” Tony asked.

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait, no, Pete!” Tony called, but Peter had already hung up.

“What’re you doing here?” Peter glared at Steve, the anger seeping in and turning his voice into daggers.

“I was out following a lead on a hydra base when I got a notification from Friday saying you were hurt and I-“

“You what?” Peter asked harshly. “Thought that you’d play hero and I’d just forget about the fact that you never cared about me, or about Tony!” Peter was crying now, and he thoughtlessly tried to wipe the tears away, but cried out as the movement made a sharp stab of pain shoot through his whole body. The pain became too much, and Peter started slipping into darkness. Steve’s frantic face was the last thing he saw before he was totally unconscious.

***

“-wouldn’t let me anywhere near him. Tony, I need you to know that I’m sorry. I never meant for a rift like that to happen.”

Peter heard Tony sigh, heard the rustle as he ran his hands through his hair. “Listen, capsicle, I know. We’ve put that behind us. I’ll talk to the kid. He just...he lost his dad and his uncle before, and I think he’s a little protective. He’ll come around, though. He won’t admit it cause he’s nearly as stubborn as I was at his age, but I can tell he misses you.”

“Okay.” Steve sounded dejected, and Peter’s head and heart declared war.

On the one hand, it killed Peter to hear the man he’d admired for so long sound so dejected and to know that he was the cause of Steve’s distress. He never wanted to hurt anybody, let alone one of his heroes who had become family.

On the other, Peter’s head was holding tenaciously to his absolute loyalty to Tony, and the anger and hurt he felt that Steve, his “uncle” Steve, his hero had nearly killed his dad. Because, honestly, wasn’t that what Tony was at this point? There was no use denying it anymore. And Peter just couldn’t lose another father.

As he battled within himself, he heard Steve leave, and Tony came and sat in the chair beside his bed.

“I know you’re awake.”

Shoot.

“Playing dead isn’t going to stop this conversation from happening, Peter.”

He opened his eyes.

“Yeah, hi. First off, how are you feeling?” Tony's voice softened.

“Hurts, but I’m feeling better,” Peter said, wincing as he shifted into a more upright position.

“Careful there,” Tony fussed. “Don’t pop a stitch. Cho says you are incredibly lucky. The bullet hit just the right spot to miss the bones and arteries, so you should be alright in, oh, a day or two.”

“Okay.”

“Second, that's for scaring me!” Tony hit the back of Peter's head gently. “And third,” Peter looked away, but Tony gently pulled his face back to look into his eyes. His voice was incredibly gentle. “You need to let it go with Cap, okay? The guy’s apologized about 30 times to me, and i know he’s only refrained from apologizing to you because he doesn’t have a phone and you’ve been avoiding him like the plague.”

Peter couldn’t deny it.

“I’ve forgiven him, okay?” Tony continued. “Now, and I know it’ll take some time, and you are entitled to that time, but now you need to forgive him, too. I wasted too much time holding onto anger and grudges. I don’t want you to go through that.”

Peter felt the tears running down his cheeks, leaving a scalding trail, and Tony gently wiped them. Peter gave a small nod.

“Okay, Tony.”

A noise from the doorway made both of them look up. Steve was standing there, looking unsure of himself as he shuffled from one foot to the other.

Shooting Peter a look, Tony stood up. “I’m going to go get some coffee. I’ll be back in a little bit.” He patted Steve’s shoulder as he left, and gently pushed him towards the bed.

Peter was suddenly very interested in the plain blue hospital sheets that had been there for years, and he picked at them for a couple heavy seconds before taking a breath.

“You can come in and sit down, Steve,” he said softly.

“Thanks.”

The chair squeaked as Steve sat down, and for some reason, it made Peter smile. He looked at Steve and saw a matching smile forming in response on the older hero’s face. At the small, mundane moment, something unlocked inside Peter.

It’s said that a journey of a thousand miles starts with one step, or that forever is made up of tiny moments. That tiny moment was the first step, and Peter took a breath as he began to let go of the anger he’d been holding on to for weeks and let himself face it.

“Listen, Steve, I should’ve come and talked to you before. I was just so angry, and afraid.”

“I understand.” Steve’s voice was so soft and gentle, and Peter felt the last of the fight leave him. “I know that you lost your father and your uncle, and it kills me to know that I was almost the reason you lost another one. I’m so sorry.”

Peter measured his next words carefully, searching himself to make sure he really meant them. “I forgive you. I forgive you, Steve. If you and Tony are good, then we’re good.” Peter hesitated. “Or we will be. I mean, I’d like to try. If you can forgive me, too?”

Steve didn’t hesitate. “Of course I do, Pete. And I’d like to try, as well. I’ve missed our cooking classes.”

Peter smiled, and ever so carefully moved over a little. He patted the bed next to him and Steve, eyes as big as saucers, climbed in slowly, mindful not to jostle Peter’s wound. Peter leaned into his side.

“I’ve missed you, too, Uncle Steve.”

Tears filled Steve’s eyes at the name, which he hadn’t heard for weeks. His heart swelled, knowing they really were on the way to forgiveness.

Soon, Peter was snoring softly, the pain and medication dragging him back into unconsciousness quickly. Steve was trapped, immobilized by the common knowledge that one does not move when a puppy (or would Peter be more of a kitten?) falls asleep on you. But Steve didn’t mind. He was just grateful to have his nephew back again.

#comfortember #comfortember 2020 #mine #i love my iron dad and spidey son #Peter and Steve friendship needs to be more common #oh captain my captain

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fleursowl · 4 years

Text

hey guys! some of you may not be able to acces the slytherin! remus fic on ao3 so here it is ♥︎

Remus

Remus Lupin was an unusual boy.

Well, no one bitten by a werewolf at a young age could really be considered ‘normal’ (not that there were a lot of werewolf children- they were usually quietly put down), but Remus’ parents, who were slightly more on the eccentric side, had rather helped contribute to this unusualness.

His father, an extremely academic and bright man, had always tried to squash his ambitions from a young age- Remus didn’t yet understand that he wouldn’t be able to achieve a lot of things others could. Positions in wizarding society were not exactly thrown at werewolves, whether they had excellent grades or not.

However, Remus, a young boy full of hope and wonder for the world despite his hardships, simply did not listen. In fact, this discouragement hardened his want, and he nursed a private longing to become Minister of Magic that no one knew about, except for his mother, of course. His exceptionally kind and caring main confidant, always privately disagreed with Remus’ father.

One day after Remus had run out of the room in tears when Lyall had told him he might not be able to go to Hogwarts, she slipped into his room and sat down next to him on his bed, slipping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into her soft, warm body.

“Why campaign for change, when you can work to put yourself in the position that makes the changes, my little Moonshine? Don’t listen to your father- he’s just worried about you. He’ll see sense and come round soon enough.”

After all, Hope Lupin had high hopes for her son, so much that she decided to forgo sending him to primary and schooled him instead.

She taught him everything she knew, with extra help from Lyall on the wizardry side to help him get ahead on his Hogwarts studies. Hope spent many long nights reading any books around the house she could find, or that Lyall brought back for her on magic and its creatures, so she could teach Remus too.

All in all, Remus was extremely lucky. He had two parents who cared for him massively and would move heaven and high waters for him- which was rare even for normal boys, but add the fact that they had to deal with their only son transforming, against his will, into a werewolf every month and still loved him so much really added to their saintly status in Remus’ mind, especially his mother.

This all resulted in Remus stepping onto Platform 9 3/4 smarter than half of the rest of the first years put together, but without the ability to make friends and very, very sheltered against the outside world. He saw absolutely no shame in sobbing into his mother’s cotton shirt when it came time for him to leave, his father smoothing his hand over his hair soothingly. This resulted in a few sneers from older years, but Remus didn’t notice. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have cared- he was leaving behind his best and only friends.

However, Remus was strong- no one can go through excruciating pain once every month without having thick skin and a hardened heart. He was brimming with excitement at going to Hogwarts, meeting other people like him, and learning even more about this new and unfamiliar world he had just stepped into.

James

James Potter was a very sheltered and privileged boy. Growing up, he had never wanted for anything or had to work for it- it was just given to him. Regardless, Euphemia Potter had ensured that he was still polite, bright and extremely kind- if he was a bit of a prick, well, then he’d grow out of it eventually.

James swanned along the aisle of the train, practically trembling with excitement. His dad had told him countless stories about the amazing friends he’d made at Hogwarts, and James was extremely eager to follow in his footsteps. He spotted a fairly empty compartment with just a small, mousy haired boy sitting in it, and slipped inside, beaming at the boy and offering him his hand so enthusiastically he almost slapped him in the face.

“I’m James Potter, and I’m gunna be in Gryffindor? just like my dad.” he grinned, shaking the other boy’s hand heartily and practically ripping his arm from his socket.

The smaller boy squeaked, wide eyes looking at James in awe.

“I’m Peter- Peter Pettigrew. I… don’t know what house I’ll be in? Maybe, maybe Hufflepuff?” the boy stuttered, eyes widening even more when James scoffed, shaking his head.

“Nah mate, that’s a house for stoners and nancies.” he declared proudly, not knowing what either of these things were, but instead directly quoting his father teasing his mother over dinner. Peter let out a nervous laugh, nodding.

“Well, if you say so. So Gryffindor is the best house, then?” he asked, but before James could reply, another boy glided into the compartment.

“Hear, hear.” the boy drawled, a smirk tugging the corner of his lip. “Gryffindor for the win.”

Peter didn’t respond and had resorted to melting into his seat to get further away from the intimidating newcomer, but James turned to him with a brilliant grin.

“Finally, someone with sense. And you are?”

“Sirius… Sirius Black.” the boy said more shortly, and James felt his smile fall a little. Black. He recognised that name, and it seemed Peter did too, judging from his squeak of terror.

Sirius huffed, eyes darting between the two boys definitely, and he shook his head quickly. “I’m not like the rest of my family. I’m going to be in Gryffindor.” He said firmly, looking at the two other boys and daring them to disagree with him.

“Alright then, that’s good enough for me.” James said, his grin lighting his face up once again.

“James Potter. Soon-to-be Gryffindor. And this is Peter Pettigrew, he’s a bit shy.” James said, nodding at Peter in the corner. Sirius nodded, but before he could respond the boys were yet again disturbed by another. James looked at the newcomer curiously- he’d never seen anyone like him before. The boy was amber-eyed, with dozens of mysterious silver scars littering his exposed skin, a pink one running across the bridge of his nose.

Something about him just caught James’ eye, and as he sat down next to Sirius, James was struck with how similarly striking yet extremely different the boys looked next to each other.

“James?” Sirius prompted with a raised eyebrow, and James realised he had ignored Remus’ introduction while lost in his own thoughts.

“Oh, sorry mate, I’m James Potter.” he said, sticking his hand out. Remus’ hand felt oddly warm and calloused in his cool, soft one.

“What house do you think you’ll be in?” Peter squeaked out, but Sirius interrupted.

“Merlin, anything but Slytherin. I would rather die,” he said harshly, and James laughed.

“Agreed,” he said firmly, and Peter nodded along eagerly, but Remus stayed quiet.

“What’s wrong with Slytherin?” he asked, a frown on his face.

“Cause they’re all… the worst! My dad says every bad witch or wizard ever came from Slytherin.” James cried passionately. Sirius nodded gravely, a sardonic smile on his face.

“Can confirm that- my whole family has been in Slytherin. Patterns are reliable.”

“But- just because all the bad witches and wizards have been in Slytherin, doesn’t mean that every witch and wizard in Slytherin is going to be bad .” Remus reasoned wisely, though a little bewildered. “The house of Slytherin values being ambitious, which I think’s a good thing. I, for one, wanna become the Minister of Magic someday.” He declared proudly, his Welsh accent thick in his passionate speech.

The other boys sat and stared at him in shocked silence, their brains processing this new information. Luckily the trolley witch came knocking on their door before the silence could get awkward, and they spent the rest of the train journey trading stories about their first signs of magic and scoffing chocolate that James had insisted on buying for them all.

Remus

Hogwarts was better than anything Remus could’ve possibly hoped for.

It was better than the photos, the illustrations, the images he had conjured up in his imagination and dreamt about almost every night- it was the pure essence of magic, the very root of the word.

His breath was knocked from his lungs when the castle drew into sight, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes, overcome with emotion.

“Hey, you alright mate?” Peter asked, knocking him with his elbow. Remus wiped his eyes hurriedly with his cloak sleeve, nodding.

“Yeah. I’m fine, just got some wind in my eyes, is all.” Peter gave him a knowing look but said nothing more, which Remus greatly appreciated.

The sorting ceremony was nothing like any of them had ever seen. Remus had never seen so many people, and they were all confined into one glorious, magical place. His palms began to sweat slightly- he had never been a people person, and the thought of standing up in front of them all and taking the long walk to the stool made him want to throw up. He turned to the side and saw that Sirius was wearing a similar expression, and squeezed his hand slightly as his mother did to him to comfort him in public. Sirius jumped and turned to him in surprise, but before he could speak, his name was called by McGonagall, and he turned back to the front, swallowing nervously. Remus watched the pale boy walk shakily up to the stool, and held his breath along with the rest of the hall as he waited. And waited. Sirius’s face was screwed up in concentration as if he was having a conversation- or battle- with his conscience.

Eventually, the hat roared “Gryffindor!” and there was a moment of shocked silence, before James broke it by whooping loudly, clapping jovially, and the rest of the hall joined in. Remus watched Sirius’ expression as he glanced over to the Slytherin table on his way to the Gryffindors, and winced when he heard the jeers and hisses. Hopefully, his sorting wouldn’t be as dramatic.

After what seemed like an eternity, finally Remus’ name was called out. He walked up to the stool with trembling knees and clenched fists, sitting down on it heavily.

‘Oh, hello. It’s not every day I see one of you.’ A disembodied voice spoke, and Remus nearly fell off the chair.

‘Don’t worry, no one else can hear. Your secret is quite safe with me.’ The voice said again, which wasn’t exactly reassuring. Was Remus going mad?

‘Right then, let’s see. A very sharp mind, yes, full of wit and a keenness to learn. But also very kind, and loyal. And in addition to this, brave and daring! My my, you have a strong mind.’

‘Ummmm… thank you?’ Remus thought, a little bewildered.

‘But ah, what’s this? Minister of Magic, you say?’

Remus sat up a little straighter in excitement, nodding eagerly.

‘I’ll do anything to get there.’ he thought eagerly.

‘Well then, that settles it. Has to be…

“Slytherin!” the hat yelled, and Remus hopped off the stool. He wasn’t sure how long he had been on there, but it felt like ages. The Slytherin table eyed him speculatively, then burst into applause, accepting this scrawny, scared little boy into their midst. Remus hurried over gratefully, sitting down next to a girl he had seen on the train with a shy smile.

Eventually, James and Peter were both sorted into Gryffindor, which didn’t come as a surprise, but he was a little disappointed that the people he thought he’d be friends with had ended up in separate houses. Still, friendships could be formed in any circumstances, Remus thought firmly. He sat up a little straighter, craning over the crowd to try and spot them, and waved at James with a smile when he did.

James glanced at him and then looked back at his plate quickly, looking uncomfortable.

Sirius levelled him with a strong gaze, whispering something in James’ ear whilst still retaining eye contact with Remus, and the bespectacled boy snorted into his pumpkin juice, looking back over at Remus again.

Remus looked away with flushed cheeks, slouching in his seat and feeling humiliation and disappointment curdling in his stomach.

‘It doesn’t matter. You aren’t here to make friends, you’re here to learn, to gain knowledge, to gain power. To prove to everyone that you can achieve the impossible.’ Remus thought firmly, and pushed any thoughts of a brilliant friendship to the back of his mind.

It seemed Hogwarts would be a journey that he was going to have to take alone.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #slytherin remus #wolfstar fic #peter pettigrew #marauders #marauders era #marauders fic

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary -Chapter 22

Warnings: smut

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @valkyrie-of-the-light, @innerpaperexpertcloud

Her flight arrives at eleven thirty in the evening, Belfast time. Tyler waits at the edge of the tarmac as the jet coasts to a stop; baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, clad in a pair of jeans, combat boots, and a simple white t-shirt under the flack jacket. Leaning against the driver’s side door of a newly rented SUV, hands stuffed in his pockets, biding his time as the pilot begins the final steps before passengers can begin to deboard. A slight rain falls: the pavement slick beneath the soles of his boot as he makes his way towards the jet; the stairs finally being lowered and the door being tossed open by a steward.

He smiles when he sees her, giving a small wave in greeting as he approaches. There’s a lap top bag over her right shoulder, a large -and jammed packed- knapsack over the left, and she wears a simple pair of leggings, a beat-up pair of sneakers and one of his hoodies. The sweater impossibly big on her; falling well below the knees, sleeves rolled up several times. But it’s the hair that he notices. The unexpected change in colour. Gone is her normal chestnut tresses, replaced by a rich mahogany that shines purple under the lights that surrounded the tarmac and small hanger. In all the time that they’ve been together, her appearance has seldom changed; aside from weight put on during her pregnancies and the several inches chopped from her hair. And while stunned by her transformation; he finds he actually likes it.

It’s intriguing. Alluring. Sexy.

“Hey,” he greets from the bottom of the stairs, holding out his hand to assist her the rest of the way.

“Hey,” she cheerfully returns, her feet on the third step when she curls her arms around his neck; his own wrapping around her willowy body, effortlessly lifting her off her feet, chuckling when her legs encircle his waist.

He’s smiling when she pulls away just long enough to remove his ball cap, turning it backwards before placing it back onto his head.

“That’s better,” she declares, and kisses him. Long and slow. That sweet, welcoming kiss that comes with a reunion. It doesn’t matter how long they’ve been apart, days, weeks, months. That first kiss is always the best one.

“I missed you.” Tyler says, as he presses his lips to her temple and tightens his hold on her. Eyes closing as he breathes in the familiar yet still intoxicating scent of her body spray. All the tension, stress, and worry soothed by the warmth that radiates from her body. It’s only been two days, yet it’s felt like a lifetime.

She holds his face in her hands, kissing him once more. “I missed you too.”

His palms briefly glide over her ass as he places her on the ground, then turns his hat back around the proper way and accepts a second backpack from the steward.

“How was the flight?” he asks, as he unloads of the other two bags as well, slinging all three over his shoulders, then placing a protective arm around her as he escorts her to the waiting SUV.

Nik has gone to a lot of trouble. The first rental vehicles being exchanged for replacements under different names. A new hotel on the outskirts of the city. Even new SAT phones: fears that the others have been compromised and calls and texts being recorded or traced. All new numbers, their actual physical whereabouts being kept secret. Nik being the only one with knowledge of where they actually are.

“Long,” she replies, her arm across his lower back, hand just inside the back pocket of his jeans. “But travelling on a Gulf Stream made it so much easier to cope with. I love Yaz and he’s a great pilot, but he doesn’t have one of those,” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder towards the sleek, modern aircraft. “How does Nik know this guy?”

“She said she did some work for him. That he owes her. Maybe they’re actually hooking up. He gives her the jet in exchange for good p…”

Esme frowns. “Isn’t he an old man?”

“So? Maybe he’s a sugar daddy. You know, Nik. She doesn’t want to settle down. Or commit to anything. An arrangement like that would be perfect for her. He lends her his toys; she gets to be his toy.”

She snorts.

“How were the kids when you left?”

“Fine. They dealt with a lot better than I thought they would. I think they like the idea that we’re together. Maybe they think that means I’ll keep you out of trouble. It makes it easier to have Ovi there with him. They adore him. And Chloe. Not to mention they are over the moon that grandma came to visit for a while.”

“I’m surprised. That she was even willing to do it.”

“Well, with Sarge out of the house, she’s lonely. Maybe she’s trying to turn over a new leaf. I notice she’s been better with you. Since you went over there to see her. Whatever you said must have struck a nerve.”

“We had a good talk. Cleared the air,” he loads her things into the backseat of the SUV, then pauses before he opens her door. Reaching out to run a hand over her hair, letting smooth, silky strands slip through his fingers. “What’s up with this?”

“You hate it. Don’t you. Nik wanted to just go with a wig, but you could tell it was fake. So I thought, why not? It’s only hair.”

“Actually, I like it. Never thought I’d see you as a redhead. It’s different. But sexy.”

“It just gets better…” she reaches into one of the pockets on the hoodie and pulls out a pair of dark framed eyeglasses; fake lenses, but real enough looking to pull off whatever ruse Nik has cooked up. “What do you think?” she slips them into her face. “Are they me?”

“You look like a sexy librarian.”

“You have a fetish with librarians? We’ve been married for five years and I’m just finding this out now? Was there a sexy librarian in your past you lusted over?”

“Math teacher, actually. We can pretend you’re a math teacher if you want.”

“Math doesn’t scream sexy to me. Neither does librarian. I was thinking more…I don’t know…” she lowers the glasses onto the bridge of her nose and peers at him over the top of the rims. “…private tutor…”

“Yeah…” he grins, and lays his hands on her hips, using his weight to back her up against the car. “…I don’t think there’s anything you could teach me that I don’t already know. You can try if you want, though. I’ll take one for the team.”

“Such a hard life you have,” she dramatically sighs. “How do you ever cope with being so selfless? What a burden to have to carry. Maybe I can actually be a sexy therapist and you can lie down and confess all your troubles to me. I bet there’s ways I can make you feel better.”

He smirks. “I bet there are,” his hands slide over her hips and around to the small of her back, mouth covering hers in a deep passionate kiss just as his fingers press roughly into her ass and pull her tight against him.

A sensual, lustful moment, hidden from the outside world by the looming shadow cast by the aircraft hanger. Her lips taste like strawberries, the hint of the same when the tip of his tongue briefly brushes against hers. It’s more than want; it’s the relief of having her that close again, the lift of the stress and the worry that had been plaguing him since asking for her help, the gratitude that she’d even agreed.

There is so much to lose. The risk far greater than the reward. And he’s desperate to keep her close; to feel her lips against his, their bodies pressed together, all of his senses filled with her scent, her taste, the sound of her soft sigh when he leans into her and pins her against the car.

“Mmm…” there’s a smile on her lips as she pulls away, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against hers. “…that was…nice…”

“I missed you,” he says, as he lays a hand on her cheek, thumb softly brushing over the orbital bone before drifting across and down the entire length of her jaw.

“I can tell,” she grins, and brushes a palm against the obvious beginning of his erection.

“Not just that. Although that’s pretty fucking amazing. It always has been. But I missed you. I missed us. I just got back home. I thought we’d have more time than we did. And I’m sorry for that. For all of this.”

She turns her face into the hand resting against her cheek, pressing a kiss to his palm. “It is what it is, Tyler. This is your life.”

“No. It’s not. You’re my life.”

There’s a sadness to her smile. But also peaceful resignation. “I long ago realized that I was number two. And I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m saying that I accept it. I accept who are you. I accept what you are. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I never would have called you that night when we were separated. I would have just cut you loose. But I couldn’t. I’ve never been able to. I should have walked away. That first night in Dhaka. But I didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have let you. I would have chased you down. I would have followed you wherever you went. I would have found you.”

“And maybe people will say that’s your weakness. Me. And maybe they’ll say it’s an obsession. An addiction. That we can’t ever walk away. That it’s unhealthy. I even think it sometimes. The way we fight. The way we’re ready to rip each other apart in the worst possible way and then in the best possible way in the blink of an eye. But I love you. More than you could ever realize. And I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Part of him says that the words she’s just spoken should break his heart. That he’s failed in some way, putting the job before her and not concentrating enough on their marriage or their family. Yet the other part of him is relieved. The things she’d said bringing about his own sense of peace. Completeness, even. For years he’d wondered just where he stood, in the shaky balance between mercenary and family man. He’s struggled to keep them separated. And her words have reassured him that he can be both. She accepts it. Her love and loyalty her own blessing and curse.

He takes her face in both his hands, pressing a kiss to her mouth and then to her forehead. Lips lingering there, eyes closed, feeling her hands come up to cover his.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “Thank you.”

One of her hands moves to the back of his neck, then slides up into his hair. Nails scraping against his scalp where the shorn areas are, pressing into the skin before her fingers move up to comb through the longer strands. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” she says.

And means it.

*****

It’s quarter past midnight when they reach the hotel; she’d dozed in the car, lulled to sleep by the soft pattering of the rain against the windows, the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers, and the safety and security that being reunited with him has given her. And when he kills the ignition in the underground parking garage, he reaches over to smooth her hair away from her face, looping pieces behind her ears and the leaning in to softly kiss her awake. Grinning at the content, dreamy smile that slowly spreads across her face.

“We’re here,” he says.

“Okay,” she yawns, and the wraps both arms around his neck and pulls him into her; her mouth devouring his as one hand rips off the ballcap and tosses it aside.

Her tongue aggressively pushes its way into his mouth, his palms cradling her face as he kisses her back with equal…if not more… fervor. It’s been like this for five years; an insatiable hunger, an almost overwhelming sexual attraction. Lust often overpowering love. A honeymoon stage that has far outlasted what either of them had ever expected. By now most couples have fallen into a routine; the stress of raising a family and the often mundane rituals of domesticity putting a damper on the sexual aspects of things. But they’d found it’s only been heightened. As if the bond they share as spouses, confidants, and best friends is only strengthened because they make such great lovers.

“You’re trouble,” Tyler grins, and has to peel her arms away from his neck. “You were trouble five years ago and you’re trouble now.”

“The best kind of trouble,” she declares, and he can’t help but agree.

The underground lot is dimly lit; damp, smelling like mould, gasoline and exhaust fumes. There’s many hidden spots and dark areas where an unknown threat can linger, and as he carries his bags on his shoulders, he keeps a protective hand on the small of her back, a small amount of pressure keeping her walking half a step in front of him. His eyes constantly searching; scanning those dark shadowy places where someone could hide, glancing at vehicles to see if any passengers suspiciously remain inside, checking over his shoulder to make sure that they aren’t being followed.

It was a risk going to the airport to pick her up. Even with a new rental under a fake name. If anyone was watching the hotel and had seen him leave, it would have been easy for them to follow him and then spot them together. Ruining any chance of using Esme as their ‘inside person’. And putting an even bigger target on her back. But there is also no guarantee that she hasn’t already been made the same way he and Yaz had been; word getting back to those responsible before she even stepped foot on the plane in Colorado. Which in turn made her travelling to the hotel alone just as dangerous, if not even more.

She breathes a visible sigh of relief when the reach the elevators. “That was a little freaky,” she says, and nervously bounces up and down on her heels as he hits the up button. Five years ago, she’d been confidant. Fearless, even. But so much as changed since then. Good and bad.

“Everything’s fine,” he assures her, and lays a hand on the back of her neck, lightly massaging the tense muscles. “Just breathe. We’re almost there.”

He practically pushes her into the elevator when it arrives, dropping the bags on the ground and hitting the button for their floor. His own sigh of relief about to escape when he hears the door leading to the garage open, followed by three boisterous voices. Two males and a female.

“Fuck me,” he mutters, and then uses his foot to move the bags to the very back of the lift. A hand wrapping around Esme’s upper arm and pulling her tight against him just as the newcomers manage to slip through the doors before they close.

The scent of alcohol practically oozes from their pores, their voices loud and obnoxious, the female’s shrill laugh piercing, especially in such small confines. But the three strangers all give a polite nod in greet, then turn to face the front of the elevator. Tyler’s hand moves from her upper arm to her side, drawing her even closer. And he feels the way she relaxes against him. Comforted by his smell and the warmth he provides and the pure solid mass of his body. He looks down at her, giving her a reassuring smile, and drops a kiss on the top of her head.

Esme’s eyes are riveted on the numbers that light up above the door, but she can’t help but smirk when the female grabs a hold of one of the males and kissing him passionately, causing him to stumble backwards and collide with the side wall.

“Newlyweds,” the friends says to them, and rolls his eyes. “You guys too?” he nods down at the wedding band that Tyler sports.

“Yeah,” he answers. “We’re here on our honeymoon too.” The lie rolls easily off the tongue. Years ago, it became second nature; either telling small snippets of the truth or none of it at all. Whatever takes away any hint of suspicion.

“Australian, huh?” the young man observes. “I hear you guys have killer beaches and surfing.”

Tyler nods.

“I’d love to go there sometime,” he says, and then turns back around to face the door.

Esme’s watching the young couple against the wall, amused by the drunken make out session. But then suddenly her body tenses once again, a frown on her face as she steps in front of Tyler, placing her hands on his sides. At first he wonders if she’s playing up the whole being on the honeymoon lie, her nose against his chest, her hands sliding along his rib cage, then up onto his lats and back down again. Until her hand stops on the Glock holstered to his right hip.

He drops his head, nuzzling her ear with his nose before pressing a kiss to her ear. “What’s going on?” he whispers.

She lifts her head, their lips mere millimeters apart. “He’s carrying. Left hip. Looks like a Sig Sauer. It has a magazine in it.”

He just nods, then places a hand on the back of her head and kisses her. More of a comforting action than a lustful one. Feeling the way her hands tightly grip the front of his jacket. And he keeps her there, tucked securely into his chest with one hand on the small of her back and the other resting on the Glock.

The floors seem to pass by at a snail’s pace; he can feel her heart hammering against him. “Just calm down,” he whispers, lips against her temple. “Everything’s fine.”

The three strangers are staying a floor below them, and when the elevator finally grounds to a halt and the doors open, Tyler can feel her entire body relax. And he gives a polite nod when the younger man and the couple wish them a good night and an even better honeymoon.

“What the fuck was that?” Esme breathes a sigh of relief when the doors close.

“Nothing. They’re just drunk and obnoxious. You need to bring it down a notch. Why are you so on edge?”

“Oh I don’t know, Tyler. Maybe because I just left the safety and security of my own home to help you go up against the IRA. I’m sorry if that’s a little…upsetting.”

“None of this is going to work if you freak out about every little thing,” he says. “You need to just relax and breathe.”

“He had a gun.”

“I have a gun.”

“You have a reason to.”

“And maybe he did too. Maybe he’s a cop. Maybe he’s private security. Maybe he just has a permit to conceal carry. Just try and relax, love. Just a bit. I know it’s been a long time since you’ve done this sort of thing, but I’m not a rookie. Nothing is going to happen to you. Did anything happen to you five years ago? In Dhaka?”

“Well not for the first five days, no.”

He frowns.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Things going to shit after that was definitely not your fault.”

“Did I not keep you alive? The first five days and the two after it?”

She nods.

“Then calm the fuck down,” he implores. “You’re safe. I got you.”

She smiles, then stands on her tip toes and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin. “So, newlyweds, huh? Five years is a long ass newlywed stage.”

“Sometimes it feels like five days,” he admits. “And other times it feels like fifty. Years.”

“You are such a dick,” she laughs, and his hands slide down to grab a hold of her ass. “Maybe we can be newlyweds again. You know, just for tonight?”

“Just tonight?”

“I don’t know how much you have left in you,” she teases. “One night might be all I get out of you. You’re getting older and your stamina might be starting to go.”

He grins. “Is that a challenge?’

She cocks her head to the side. “Maybe…”

“Well in that case,” his fingers bite into her ass. “Consider that a challenge accepted.”

****

She doesn’t even flinch when the back of her collides with the solid wood of the hotel room door; their mouths locked in a savage, merciless kiss as unrepentant hands yank and tear at clothing. His much larger and stronger body pinning her in place; his fingers hooking in in the waistband of her leggings and yanking them down over her ass and her hips, allowing them to pool at her ankles.

“Really?” he smirks, when he discovers missing undergarments. “You had to make things that easy for me?”

“I knew it would be late when we got back,” her hands push the jacket off of his shoulders, falling to his wrists before he tosses it aside. “I figured you’d be all out of patience. I thought I’d cut you some slack.”

“You know I like to work for it,” he says, and then his mouth is on her neck, her head falling back as his warm, moist lips sucks harshly at her pale skin, marking her as his. Teeth grazing against the hallow of her throat, his beard scratching her tender flesh. Large hands pulling off the hoodie and flinging it aside, palms drifting up the back of the t-shirt. Nimble, experienced fingers finding her nipples, lightly pinching and twist as his mouth once more makes it way back up to hers. Pulling her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down with enough force to cause her to give a sharp yelp, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth.

Her hands yank his t-shirt up his torso, intentionally dragging her nails along his skin, leaving bright red tracks in their wake. Her touch needy and aggressive as she explores his wide shoulders and beautifully muscled back, their kiss only breaking when he pulls back long enough to remove his shirt and add it to the pile of clothes. Desire pools between her legs just at the way he looks at her; a hand on the side of her face as his eyes lock on hers. Intense. Hungry. Burrowing to her very soul. And she reaches for his belt buckle, only for him to grab her by the wrists.

“No,” he says, and forces her arms down to her sides.

She opens her mouth to protest, but he’s dropping to his knees in front of her, his eyes locked on her as his palms push her thighs apart, fingers digging into the soft flesh, a cry escaping her mouth when he places his tongue flat against her pussy, licking a wide strip all the way from the juncture between her legs to the top of her pubic bone. Two fingers pushing the swollen, moist lips open and his mouth zeroing in on her clit. Pulling it between his lips, grazing it with his teeth, her hands burying themselves in his hair.

“Jesus….Tyler…shit…fuck…” it’s all she can manage; mesmerized and even more turned on as she watches him eat her out. Fingers twisting at the longer strands of hair, pushing his face further into her. Head falling back and her hips moving on their own accord; grinding against his tongue with every lick, suck, and nibble that he unleashes on her. A litany of profanities, encouragement, and his name tumbling from her mouth.

One hand grabs a hold of her left leg, fingers pressing deep as he places it over his shoulder. The new position making it possible for his tongue to delve even further inside of her. Thrusting it in and out, mimicking the movement of a cock, before turning his attention back to his clit and slipping three fingers inside of her. No lead up; just those three long digits being forced as far as they can possibly go. Before one hooks forward and finds that spot that she always thought was a myth. And he presses, hard, as he takes her clit into her mouth at the same time.

She comes undone. Throwing her head back against the door. Screaming his name. Those hands painfully yanking at his hair. And he continues his ministrations throughout the entire orgasm, moving those fingers at a slow and steady pace, the tip of his tongue now circling her clit. And the sensation is just too much; tears spilling down her face as attempts to push him away. It’s all too much. Too soon.

He backs off; his fingers slipping out of her, pressing soft kisses to her fluttering stomach as his palms run up the backs of the calves and thighs. Travelling all the way to her hips. Feathery kisses being placed along her pubic bone before moving higher. Making a slow, agonizing journey all the way from her navel to her mouth. Thumbs tenderly brushing away her tears as he kisses her, letting her taste herself on his lips and his tongue.

She reaches for his belt and this time he allows it; eyes on her hands as she unbuckles it and then pops open the button and yanks down the zipper. A low growl forming in his throat as she slides her hand down the front of his boxers and those soft fingers close around his cock. His eyes closed and his forehead resting against hers as her hand works him; slow and lazy at first, then more aggressive. Until his own hips are bucking into her and he struggles to draw breath into his lungs.

“Enough,” he orders, and pushes her hands away once again. “I don’t want to come like that.”

“Well how do you want to do it?” she asks, and something in her voice just sets him off. Igniting that primal, animalistic need inside of him. Arms circling her waist and lifting her off her feet; mouth once more on hers as he uses his strength to hold her against the door. One hand planted firmly on the cool, smooth wood as the other reaches between them to guide his weeping, aching cock inside of her.

“Tyler…” it’s a long, drawn out sigh, her eyes closing at the sensation of that initial penetration. And when he pulls all the way out and pushes back inside with more force, her legs wrap around his waist and her fingernails dig into his shoulders.

He takes her hard and fast. Face buried in the crook of her neck; eyes closed. His palm still flat against the door, the other hand slipping between them so his fingers can find her clit. Applying just enough pressure to cause her to cry out, then using two fingers to rub smooth, quick circles. Until her entire body is shuddering against him and she’s biting down on his shoulder with enough power to break the skin, her scream muffled by thick muscle. He chases his own orgasm, moving the hand from between them and roughly grasping her hip; hard enough to bruises as his thrust become erratic and sloppy. His face still buried in her neck, breathing ragged, a string of profanities and her name leaving his lips as he empties himself inside of her. Legs trembling and weak. Praying they’ll hold him up.

She pulls his head up by the hair and kisses him. Her legs tightening around his waist. The heels of her feet digging into the small of his back as she holds him tightly inside of her. Until his own shuddering subsides and their breathing begins to return to normal. And she giggles into his mouth as he effortlessly carries her across the room and drops her into the middle of the bed. Her legs still wrapped around him; his cock still buried inside of her.

It’s two thirty in the morning and they eat the junk food that she’d packed in her oversized purse. A box of strawberry frosted poptarts, mini Kit Kat bars, and cheese strings that she’d stolen from the kids’ stash in the pantry. Lying side by side on their stomachs with their heads at the foot of the bed and their feet on the pillows, Tyler is just his boxers, Esme in his t-shirt. The tv tuned in to a 24/7 news channel, but the volume on mute.

“Déjà vu,” she says, as she tears open the foil on a package of Pop Tarts.

He arches a quizzical eyebrow.

“We ate Pop Tarts in Dhaka too,” she explains, as she hands him one of the pastries. “The first night we…”

He grins. “I remember.”

“The room’s a lot nicer this time around,” she muses.

“The toilet actually flushes,” he says, and she laughs.

“What about the shower?” she inquires. “Can you actually stand under it?”

“I can,” he confirms with a chuckle. “And there’s even hot water.”

“Holy shit, we’re just living the rich life. Do we even get complimentary bar soap and fuzzy towels?”

“And bathrobes.”

“Do we really have to go home after this? I don’t even have a bathrobe at home. At least I get one here.”

“I’ll steal one. Just for you.”

“Tyler Rake…” she gasps dramatically. “…you committing a devious offence? Never.”

He smirks.

“Did you call home?”

Tyler nods.

“The kids haven’t given grandma a mental breakdown yet?”

“Not yet. But she’s only been there twelve hours, so…”

“I give it three days. Before she’s hitting the bottle hard and weeping as she rocks in a corner.”

“Three days is generous. I had it at a day and a half.”

“That’s longer than it took you to lose your mind while trying to teach the boys how to pee standing up. And you’re supposed to be the patient one. See what I mean? About boys being the hard ones?”

“Bullshit. Millie is a hundred times harder than the two of them put together. Her attitude is enough to drive me to drink. And she’s only five.”

“I wonder where she gets that from. Her propensity for being an asshole.”

Tyler stares at her pointedly.

“Oh, excuse you! I don’t think so. You are a much bigger asshole than I am.”

“How you figure?”

“You have a resting asshole face. All the time. And you’re sarcastic and a total wise ass. Not to mention, you look intimidating. You’re all big muscles and huge shoulders and massive hands and feet. Not to mention you’re absurdly tall. What did your mother feed you when you were young?”

“It was all the vegemite,” he reasons. “And I am not intimidating.”

“Right!” she scoffs. “That’s why the pizza guy nearly wets himself if you answer the door.”

“He nearly wets himself because I told him I was going to tear him a new asshole for calling you hot. Not that you aren’t. You’re insanely hot. But when the twenty-year-old pizza delivery guy is going around town talking about how hot you are and calling you a MILF…”

“It’s actually quite flattering. That the yearlings think that about me. You should be flattered. You have a wife that the guys half your age want to bang.”

“It’s not flattering. It’s fucking disturbing.”

“So are the women at the grocery store that get all wet whenever they see you. But you don’t see me complaining about it. I just sit back and laugh at them and be like ‘stare all you want, bitch. He’s all mine’. You should find it flattering though…” she rolls over onto her back, hands on her stomach. “…I’ve given you four kids and I still have a fairly decent body.”

“Fairly decent? You have a fucking amazing body.”

“Aww baby…” she tousles his hair. “…you’re so biased.”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t make it less true. And no, I do not find it flattering that the pizza boy wants to get in your pants. That’s like Ovi wanting to get in your pants.”

“That’s even worse. He’s practically my kid. Speaking of getting into someone’s pants…”

“Would you let me fuel up for fuck sakes? I can’t run on an empty tank.”

“I wasn’t talking about you! I think Ovi and Chloe have sealed the deal.”

“Yeah? What makes you think that?”

“I said I would do some laundry for him and I found an empty condom wrapped in a pair of his jeans.”

Tyler grins. “Atta boy.”

“I’m not ready for this. I can’t handle him growing up. Where’d the old Ovi go? The one who wet his pants because you scared him so badly?”

“It wasn’t me that made him wet his pants. He’d already pissed himself before I got to him. What was I supposed to do? Let him walk around like that? It was traumatizing enough. I didn’t want him completely embarrassing himself.”

“And people say you’re nothing but a savage hard ass. You’re a big man with an even bigger heart.”

He snorts.

“Right…right…don’t talk about the feels. Tyler doesn’t like to talk about the feels. It emasculates him. Why do you have to be such an alpha male?”

“Because I am. Because that’s what made you fall in love with me.”

“No…no…” she disagrees. “I’m pretty sure it was the eyes and the voice. The muscles played a part too. A big part.”

“Stop objectifying me,” he chides. “I have feelings. I’m not just some piece of meat.”

“Oh yes. Yes you are. Sorry to say. But the best part is the fact that you’re not just any piece of meat. You’re my piece of meat. You’re my trophy husband.”

“That doesn’t work. I’d have to be younger than you. I’m five years older. So technically, you’re my trophy wife.”

“What contest in hell did you win to get that kind of trophy?”

“Whatever it was, it must have been very, very bad,” he teases, as he uses the remote to flick of the tv and tosses it onto the dresser. “Because…” he settles on his side beside her, a hand resting on her stomach. “…I am definitely being punished.”

“You’re such a dick sometimes, I swear.”

He presses a kiss to her temple. “You like my dick.”

Esme grins. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

He moves further down the bed, wrapping both arms around her lower back and then resting his head against her stomach. Letting loose a small yet content sigh when she commences playing with his hair. This is a side of him that no one else got to see. When he is tender and sweet. Needy. He’d long ago found that level of comfort with her. Able to let his guard down completely and just be…human.

“Tired?” she asks, pushing his hair off his forehead, fingertips brushing against his brow. Tips pressing into the top of his nose, gently massaging.

He nods, yawning against her stomach and closing his eyes as her fingers trace the scar across the bridge of his nose and then one that runs vertically down the left side of his forehead.

“Maybe you’ll be able to sleep now. Now that I’m here. I promise I won’t wake you up three times a night. No matter how horny I am. I’ll take pity on you.”

“You don’t have to go overboard now. You can wake me up as many times as you want. Just give me like half an hour. Then I’ll be good to go.”

“I give it ten minutes and you’ll be out like a light. Snoring like crazy.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Sure you don’t.” She lays her palm against his forehead, just letting the weight and the warmth of her hand soothe him. “Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Smiling against her stomach, he tightens his hold on her. “I love you too.”

He’s asleep in minutes.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #chris hemsworth character #sanctuary

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flutistbyday2020 · 4 years

Text

Maybe Chapter Two

Marital Law

We see how Liam came to his decision and Riley has an unexpected ally.

Rating: M for cussing and sexual material

Word count: 1300 ish

September the Fifteenth

Liam didn’t even know how to respond. Neville, the sniveling ass hat he was, had just barged into Liam‘s office, throwing down a law book onto his desk.

The title of this particular book was Marital Laws of Cordonian Nobility. The fact that this book existed was one thing, but the fact that it was almost four hundred pages was another.

Neville slammed the book down, already having the book open to the page he was showing Liam.

“There,” Neville declared triumphantly. “This states that Dukes and Duchesses must be married within two years of claiming their title—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Neville,” Liam warned.

Neville took a step back, threatened by the Kong’s tone.

“Your Majesty, I just think—”

“That will be enough, Neville.”

Liam stood, his tall, muscular frame overshadowing Neville’s. His face was stern causing Neville sunk back even further. What a weak man, Liam sneered to himself.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Neville stated as he bowed deeply. “I do, however, think you should read this chapter carefully. Your title is at steak, too.” Neville bowed again, taking his leave.

Liam sat down to read and reread the chapter. It was airtight— Riley must become a bride and Liam must choose a bride, and soon.

He thought he had secured making an heir, at least, but Riley had flipped shit on him. He thought Riley would blindly obey him, like most women he encountered. Riley was different, though. She was an enigma to him.

He loved Riley deeply and wished she would just love him as much.

Liam sighed deeply, pushing the book away from him. The air seemed thick and heavy now, the weight of his conscience seeming to ebb into the environment. His head hurt now, making his heartbeat echo in his skull. He picked up the book and threw it against the wall opposite of his desk. The book crashed into a vase which exploded spectacularly, into several pieces. The sound of the glass shattering pulled Liam out of his trance.

“I can’t believe I have to do this,” Liam whispered to himself. He slammed his fist into the desk, finding satisfaction when the impact made the desk splinter.

Liam didn’t have a choice, however.

September the twenty sixth

Hana woke before Riley, Duke Ramsford at her side of the bed, whining impatiently. Hana stretched before getting out of bed. Her head hurt from the tears she had shed, her eyes were heavy, and her heart ached. Hana knew, deep down inside, that Riley may choose anyone else.

Hana yawned as she lifted herself out of the bed and donned a robe. She stole Riley’s slippers as she slipped out of the bedroom.

Duke followed her impatiently, dancing around her feet. “Yes, yes. I see you,” she said to the dog. “Mara?” She called out, peering down the stairs. She didn’t hear a response so she set down the stairs herself.

The air was cold, not unlike last night. Hana pulled her robe tighter around herself, shivering slightly. There were no other sounds in the house, so the sound of Duke’s nails clattering against the floor and her footsteps echoed loudly.

Hana decided not to brave the weather, hoping Duke would stay close, and just opened the door to let the dog out.

Riley and Hana ate lunch in an awkward silence.

Riley didn’t know what to say; Hana didn’t have anything to say.

Riley was embarrassed that her hormones got the best of her the night before— she’d never slept with anyone, let alone a woman.

She had made out with Liam once or twice, and there was heavy petting then, but they never took off clothing. She had kissed Drake once, and Maxwell had never kissed her besides on her forehead.

“Riley, are you okay?” Hana asked.

Riley set down her fork. She had been pushing the food around her plate, not actually eating. Her stomach was upset from her emotions running rampant.

“I’m just tired, Hana.” Riley sighed deeply and placed her napkin on her plate. “I’ve been dealing with a lot, between Liam and my Dutchy—”

Hana leaned over the table and kissed Riley chastely, taking her hand simultaneously. “It’s okay, Riley. We’ll figure this out together.”

Riley looked up at Hana, who was so calm and reassuring. It made her tear up— good tears this time.

September the twenty seventh

“I’m just saying Hana—”

“And I’m just saying, it’s not your choice!”

Hana and Riley were arguing for about the fifth time that day.

No matter how they went about the conversation, it always spiked Riley’s temper.

Hana was seething.

The two women stood a good five feet away from each other, gauging reactions.

Riley was apologizing for the position she had put Hana in, while Hana claimed Riley had done nothing of the sort.

“I’m a big girl, Riley! I can make my own decisions!” Hana marched toward Riley. “God damnit, just let me—”

Riley smashed her lips to Hana’s. The passion in Hana's eyes turned her on. She had only seen Hana this mad once before, and she was turned on then, too.

Riley snaked her hands through Hana’s hair and pulled her head back roughly.

Hana moaned quietly. She was confused by the sudden change in Riley’s demeanor, but she didn’t care. She loved how Riley made her feel incredibly sexy. Nobody else had ever made her feel like this.

“I’m sorry,” Riley whispered passionately as she kissed Hana’s neck with fervor. “I don’t ever want to make you feel like I don’t respect your decisions.” Riley bit Hana’s neck gently.

Hana melted into Riley’s arms, moaning lightly.

September the thirty first

Riley lay in bed, the events from the past week unfolding in her mind. She and Hana fought the second to last day of her visit and Riley honestly felt guilty. Honestly, the fight that started the twenty seventh just spilled into the following two days.

Riley insisted Hana didn’t have to put herself out there, Hana insisted that Riley didn’t have to look out for her.

Riley felt guilty for pitting her four closest friends together for her heart. It wasn’t fair, and she knew it. The guilt Riley felt ate her alive. It made her anxious, jumpy, and nauseous.

She hadn’t had a real meal since the seventeenth. Riley had lost about ten pounds, her already frail form even smaller.

Charlotte doted on her Duchess, worried sick. Riley waved Charlotte away every time she expressed worry, saying, “I could stand to lose a few pounds anyhow.” Still, the maid fussed over her, eventually calling Olivia, of all people.

Olivia called late in the evening, demanding an answer from Riley. “What the hell does Charlotte mean, you aren’t eating?” Her voice was angry but concerned.

“I may have lost ten pounds,” Riley admitted. There was no point in lying to Olivia.

“And, pray tell, why aren’t you eating?”

Tears pricked Riley’s eyes. “Oh, Liv,” she said as she choked back a sob. “It’s not a simple answer.”

“I have time,” Olivia quipped, dryly.

Riley explained the whole situation, from the day she and Liam played chess to the minute Hana left her Duchy.

Olivia said nothing the entire time, save for a few noises to let Riley know she was still there. When Riley finished, Olivia was quiet.

“Olivia?” Riley asked.

“I’m here,” Olivia answered quietly. She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her usual biting tone was back. “I’ll kill him myself, Riley. It’s unfair of him and he knows it.”

Riley could feel the anger Olivia emitted through the phone. “I know, Liv,” she mewed.

Olivia was silent once more. “I’ll speak with him,” she said with determination.

Riley didn’t have the energy to fight. “Okay,” she whispered.

“And, Riley?”

“Yes, Liv?”

“Eat some food, for Christ’s sake.”

#trr #trr hana lee #trr drake walker #trr olivia #trr choices #the royal romance #riley brooks #trr riley brooks #trh liam #trr liam rys #trr king liam #king liam

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years

Text

Title: Love, Maybe? {14}

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Angst

Word Count: 3.9K

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. 3 years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

Note: Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.

**Slightly Edited/Proofread**

**Partially Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 14: Finding Vixen

-Vixen-

“Wow, things are moving quickly.”

You spun around the construction site the crew was making progress with the space that would be your restaurant. You couldn’t believe in a matter of weeks what was happening.

“Things move quickly when everything aligns,” Zack responded from behind you. You looked to him and smiled, but as you stared at him, you only saw one face looking back at you. The smile slipped from your lips, and you gulped down the emotion threatening to spill out. Turning your back, you tried your best to pull yourself together.

“You okay Vixen?”

Clearing your throat, you nodded as you took a few steps away to what would or could be the spot for the outdoor eating spot. You bit your bottom lip, while a swell of pride and accomplishment fulled you, sadness and a feeling of being overwhelmed flooded you as well. It had been four days since you’d seen Chris, four days since your entire world had come crashing down, four days since the feelings you thought were long gone surfaced again, four days since the encounter you’d always dreaded and planned would go smoothly went the opposite. Sighing you took a deep breath and turned to face Zack, Kassius and the small team that was assembled for your expansion.

“Are you happy with this so far? Any suggestions?”

Glancing around you took in the demolition that looked just to have begun. You shook your head.

“No, this looks to be the beginning nothing much to make suggestions on. I’d like to look at it again once it’s cleared out, just want to make sure everything transitions right.”

“Absolutely. I’ve seen Giovanni’s in San Fran; I can imagine how particular you are about the visual of your restaurant. As long as we’re on schedule, things should be clear in another day or two,” Timothy one of the members of the team said.

You nodded and made your way to the front door as everyone else followed. When you stepped out into the LA sun, you placed your sunglasses on your nose. Zack approached beside you and put his hand on the small of your back.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I just haven’t gotten a lot of sleep the last few days, and it’s always a hassle moving in.”

Zack nodded and slowly rubbed your back. You tried not to shy away from his touch.

“I can treat you to a relaxing night, dinner, a drink, maybe a massage.”

He smiled softly, and you felt the genuineness of his offer, but you knew it wasn’t something you were going to pass on. You smiled, hoping to soften the blow.

“You’re so sweet Zack, I appreciate it, I really do, but since the move, Ella hasn’t gotten back to her regular sleeping schedule I need to focus on her right now. I’m sorry.”

He looked as if he were trying to swallow the rejection. You hoped he wouldn’t make it a big thing. In all truth, while you liked his company, you really didn’t want to date. You didn’t feel much of anything for anyone, except him. Zack nodded, looked down, and nodded some more.

“I understand. You’re a mom first. It’s admirable. I’m not going to lie and say I’m not disappointed, but I understand. Just uh—I want you to know that I like you Vixen, I didn’t expect it, but there it is. I would like to get to know you better really try to build something with you.”

“Uuugh, jeez Vix. What do you say to that?”

After you looked around you taking notice of how close the others were you decided now wasn’t the right place to let him down. You also didn’t want to lead him on.

“All right Vixen, so we’re going to schedule another walk through once all demo is done, and we’ll make some decisions. I have a few mocks for you to look over and hopefully by then we’ll have some ideas,” Kassius said.

“Yes, I’ll look over these.”

You took the folder that looked thicker than a George A. Romano novel and bugged your eyes out.

“Good lord.”

“Yes, a lot of decisions to be made, this is the fun part,” he finished with a broad smile on his face.

“I’ll see you then. Are you coming, Zack? We’re still on for golf?”

Zack looked at you and nodded once he realized you weren’t going to respond to his declaration. You were glad your shades were darker than the midnight sky because your eyes weren’t hiding anything.

“Yeah. I’ll call you,” Zack said before he walked to Kassius and the two walked off to Kassius’ bright red sports car. You nodded your head to the rest of the team and made your way to your rental car.

You looked into the mirror and shook your head before you started your engine to begin on your to-do list. At the top was picking up some more groceries, then some office supplies and then to pick up some stuff for Ella. You hated the grocery places around the house; they were overpriced for no reason, and the produce never looked fresh. That meant you were going to drive over five miles to get to the supermarket Zack told you about—Gleason’s.

As you drove your mind drifted back to seeing Chris. The last time you’d seen him, you’d told him to have a nice life. You were pissed and hurt, and it seemed like a good enough thing to say. Shit, you didn’t even know why you were pissed, you brought it on yourself. You were stupid enough to think that there was anything possible between the two of you.

You should have known better. The way he carried himself, the way he spoke, and dressed it screamed bachelor, screamed down for a good time and nothing more. Every alarm rang off in your head about him the minute you saw him at the table. Everything in you screamed “don’t,” but the other voice in you said, “just do it, it’s Vegas.” Yeah well, “it’s Vegas” turned into a kid and haunting memories. That didn’t change the fact that he was still gorgeous and his shoulders were bigger than ever.

“Of course he had to be gorgeous. Of course he couldn’t turn ugly or have gained thirty pounds of fat. No, he got sexy as fuck and gained thirty pounds of muscle.”

You groaned loudly and focused again on the GPS that predicted you’d reach your destination in five minutes. Once you parked in the lot, you roamed the aisles pushing the cart before you.

“Black tea, herbal tea, coffee, check.” You dropped the items in the cart and went perusing down the next.

“Rice Krispies, honey bunches of oats, oatmeal, flour, food coloring, sugar, yeast, check.”

You turned down the refrigerator aisle to scan for eggs, milk, butter, cheese, yogurt, orange juice, coffee creamer, jello, cream cheese, and that disgusting iced coffee drink Nexus loved. With your list about half done you allowed yourself to get distracted in the produce section where they held fresh flowers. You loved fresh flowers. There were pink, red, blue, yellow and even white flowers of all varieties. You decided on two beautiful assortments of pink and yellow roses and a separate one of pink orchids, you loved orchids. Tipping your head down to take a whiff of the fragrant flowers you looked over to the other side of the section and saw the actor Nexus was losing her mind over—Anthony Mackie. Quickly putting the flowers in your cart you made a u-turn to get back on track, you definitely didn’t want a run in.

Just as you thought you were safe in the bread aisle holding two selections of bread, one you liked and one Ella couldn’t get enough of you you saw him. Your legs thought you had time to make another getaway, but your brain knew better, he saw you too. Anthony approached you with a friendly smile on his face as he tipped his hat lower. You knew it was pointless, but you still turned and rolled out the aisle. As soon as you made it to the soda and water aisle, he was at your side.

“Vixen right?”

Sighing, you nodded. “That’s right.”

“I’m going to say you didn’t see me, that’s why you walked away; otherwise, that was rude.”

You snorted and shook your head. He had to be kidding.

“I was trying to protect your incognito look. I’m thinking if these people knew they were walking next to The Falcon himself they’d draw a scene and there goes your disguise. By the way, that’s a horrible disguise.”

Anthony chuckled and nodded his head.

“Of course you’re as snarky as your sister. Speaking of, how is she? Is she here?”

You looked at Anthony as he quickly looked up and down the aisle as if looking for her. Scoffing again you responded, “No, she’s not here. Why does it matter?”.

“Just curious.”

“Bullshit!”

You laughed out loud and pushed the cart further and placed other items in your cart. “I can see right through you. Looks like another one bites the dust.”

“Another one bites the dust? What does that mean?”

“It means you’ve been hit with the Nexus haze. Almost every man that speaks to her for any amount of time falls under her spell. You Mr big-time movie star are no different.”

Anthony smiled and shrugged, but he didn’t look as smug as he usually did, no this time he looked as if he felt threatened as if he were worried. He should be Nexus wasn’t half a woman like these barbie doll actresses and models she was one hundred percent that bitch and she was a force to be reckoned with. The two of you walked in silence for a few feet.

“So, I learned a fun fact recently. You’d never believe it,” Anthony began.

“Oh yeah, what fun fact is that?”

“Three years ago, a woman went to Vegas for some fun and ended marrying Captain America himself.” Your brain failed to communicate with your legs, and you just stopped in the middle of the aisle.

“He told him. Shit!”

“But you believe it, because—,” Anthony leaned into your ear and whispered. “You are that woman.”

You looked to him, unsure what to say. You could deny, deny, deny, but you were sure Chris was the one to tell him. You sighed again.

“Don’t worry, he’s my best friend, your secret is safe with me.” You walked again and turned down another aisle.

“Was it shock that had you running like a bat outta hell, or was it something else? Do you hate him?”

“I hate no one; there is no time for all of that. I have too many things to accomplish.”

“Okay, a mature one. He lucked out,” Anthony joked. The humor of it was lost on you. You didn’t bother laughing or smiling about it either.

“It was good seeing you again, take care,” you rushed out as you walked to the cash-out. You didn’t know if you’d gotten everything, but you needed to get out of there. It was insane; every second you spent around him, you felt it was only a matter of time before he saw the truth through your eyes, or seeping from your pores.

You unloaded the groceries on the belt then saw Anthony help. Rolling your eyes, you stayed quiet.

“How do you feel about seeing him again after so long?”

Groaning you turned to him your frustrations seeped out. “What’s it to you? What’s with all the questions? We did what we did, but we also went through with the divorce, it’s all water under the bridge now. No need to keep talking about it.”

Anthony studied you as you continued to unload the groceries so the cashier could do her job. You were usually good at keeping your emotions in check, but everything was becoming a lot more difficult. You hated it.

“Whew, that sounds like a lot of hurt and anger, years worth of it. Maybe not so much water under the bridge, huh.” Antony’s eyes bored into you, and you narrowed yours. Anthony nodded again and stepped back.

“Take care of yourself Vixen. Oh, and could you give your sister a message for me? Tell her I didn’t mean to hurt her, I didn’t plan on it. I was telling her the truth.”

As quickly as he appeared, he disappeared, allowing you to focus again. You moved as quickly as you could to wrap up the rest of your errands. By the time you made it home, the sun was down, and you had a car full of shit. After thirty minutes of unloading and unpacking, you dropped onto the couch to catch your breath. Ella ran to you, you quickly scooped her up and dropped kiss after kiss across her face. She released an uproar of giggles that made your heart swell.

“Top, top, top!”

“No, no, no, take all mommy’s kisses, take them all!”

Her laughter filled the entire room, and soon, Nexus was beside you holding Ella down as she tickled her small ribs. This only made her wiggle and scream even more. The two of you slowly stopped, and Ella settled down comfortably in your arms, holding tightly to you.

“Long day?”

You looked to Nexus and nodded.

“That’s a big book.”

“It is, and I have a few more days to look through and find my aesthetic for the next round of meetings. Things are moving fast. Maybe we can be in and out of LA sooner than I thought.”

Nex gave you a look that said: “be real, aren’t you forgetting something.” You ignored it and flipped through the design pages.

“Vixen.”

“What do you think of this one? It’s airy and modern but still has a traditional vibe.”

Flipping to another page, you have the book your full attention. Seeing another contender, you showed your sister.

“Ooh, this looks very modern like a real celebrity restaurant. Doesn’t say much to traditional comfort but what the hell step into the times, right.”

“Vixen!”

“What!?”

“You know what,” Nexus exasperated. You shrugged and continued to flip the pages determined not to address what Nex clearly wanted you to.

“Vixen, you know damn well you can’t leave LA without telling Chris about Ella.” You groaned and rolled your eyes.

You knew you shouldn’t have told her shit. Now it would be even harder to ignore the shoulds. When you didn’t answer after a few minutes, she took the heavy binder off your lap and placed it on the side table nearest her. Groaning you stood and walked back in the kitchen to busy yourself, hoping it would distract you. You took out the meat for the meatballs you planned on making to accompany the spaghetti—Ella’s favorite. Refusing to take the hint, Nex walked in and crossed her arms before the island. You knew ignoring her would only work for so long, but you were going to milk it for every second you could.

You took out the flour and the other ingredients to make your signature pasta. Once you opened the fridge to grab some tomatoes and herbs for your sauce and closed the door, you came face to face with Nexus’ annoyed face. You snorted unable to hide your amusement.

“This isn’t funny Vix. It’s serious and a huge thing. It’s not just your life; you’re impacting. There are two other people, one small who cannot make a decision and the other who--,”

“Who what Nex? You don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s really like,” you blurted out slamming the cutlery drawer a tad harder than you intended.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Again you ignored her and began washing your produce, focusing on getting every invisible speck of dirt. You’d told her the cliff notes version, beginning, middle, then end. You didn’t tell her the in between. You didn’t want to relive it out loud, you were fine keeping it a trip you took every night before you went to sleep. Once the produce was washed, you got to work chopping and dicing. You knew you were stressed because the knife was moving faster than ever and you knew she saw it too.

“I’m waiting. What does that mean? What is he really like?”

Kissing your teeth, you shook your head, “Forget it, Nex; it’s not important.”

“Clearly it is. There has to be a reason why you never told him about her, a reason you never claimed the child support that was rightfully yours. You know you could have used it while you were pregnant and the parts of the first year. Why? Did he hurt you? does he hit women?”

Nex shifted her stance, and you knew she was ready to pop off. She’d always been your keeper, your protector. You remembered a few girls she’d seriously beat down because they looked at you wrong across the playground. You sighed out, taking a pause with the chopping to give her a reassuring look.

“No, he didn’t hit me.” You saw her shoulders relax and her expression softening; then you returned to the task at hand.

“So he didn’t hit you. He did hurt you though.”

Nexus was no idiot. She knew how to hear what you said and decipher what you didn’t. You did your best to give no reaction as you moved around the kitchen.

“Okay, I get it. You didn’t tell him to spite him.”

“No!”

Though you adamantly rebuked that, part of you felt a way and you wondered if any part of you felt that way.

“Okay. So he hurt you, you ran back home with your tail tucked, and you hid away for the next near three years. What did he do?”

“Nex, please. It’s not important. Let’s drop it.”

“I’m trying to help. You seem to be ignoring or purposely forgetting that you have to tell him. I owe him nothing, and I don’t know him from Adam and my loyalties don’t lie with him that’s with you--,”

“So drop it. Have my back, be my pitbull!”

“Vix, don’t ever get it twisted and think I’m not riding for you one hundred. It’s always been you and me against the world, and it’s still that way. Just—this goes past that. This is a morally right and wrong issue. How would you feel not knowing you had a mini replica of you running around the world?”

“Fine, because I wouldn’t know.” Nexus walked around the island to you and put her arm around you. She could sense your breakdown was imminent. She gently rubbed your bare arm and let the silence fill the room. You closed your eyes, hoping to stop your warring thoughts. Of course part of you knew what she was saying was sound and right, but the other side refused to hear it.

“You’re afraid,” Nexus worded.

There it was plain as day, no hidden pretenses, no shade, no covers, just blatant truth. You were afraid. You were shitfaced scared.

“It’s okay to be scared. There is nothing wrong with it. Hell if you weren’t scared I’d be worried because that would show that you really have no intention of doing the right thing. I know you, Vix, do the right thing is your middle name. Somewhere inside you know you have to tell him, want to or not, have to and should outweigh it this time.”

“This is why I didn’t want to go to that stupid expo or come to this dumb place. It has a way of stealing and crushing dreams,” you groaned out.

“Or realigning them and showing you a new, different, better dream.”

You glanced at Nexus, took a deep breath, and released it. She was right — bottom line.

“Fuck!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Chris-

415-653-7575.

It wasn’t hard to get. All he had to do was google her and her location. He had all her information from three years ago. He had her full name, city, state, P.O Box information. In truth, he had everything he needed, and if he needed more, he could easily get more, it was a perk of being him. In all the years he didn’t use it, didn’t search, didn’t allow his curiosity to take over. Today he did.

It took him less than a minute to find her on Google, her name was uncommon, there was literally one Vixen Giovanni in San Francisco. It took him another minute to find her restaurant. Her restaurant. He was impressed. She said she wanted to open a restaurant and be a chef and she’d accomplished it, and she was successful. He spent nearly twenty minutes just looking through food reviews, articles, and pictures all of her and everything he remembered thinking and feeling those years ago came back.

He suspected it would be like this—feared it really which made him avoid doing this very thing for so long. He was afraid he was right, and he was. It took him the next hour to get the balls to call the number for her restaurant. An hour where he went over and over what he would say. He didn’t know where you were; it had been nearly a week since he saw you, you could have gone back to San Francisco.

He went over and over what he would say if you answered. He didn’t know if he should go with a calm and cool introduction; “Hey Vixen, remember me your ex-husband,” or an apologetic one; “I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from but—.” It was impossible to read you from the quick exchange days ago. You hadn’t spoken, you didn’t look angry, or happy or anything, your expression was blank, and then you were gone. He didn’t know what to expect.

When hour two was near, he bit the bullet and dialed your restaurant. The hostess transferred him to the manager who informed him you were out of town. Due to his quick thinking, he pretended to be interested in a potential business opportunity, it was then the manager gave him your cell phone number. He was surprised it was that easy. Now that was where he was, staring at your number with a bottle of beer on his right side, whiskey on the other and a joint in his hand. He leaned back and took several long puffs before holding them for a breath allowing the drug to haze away all his thoughts. Once he blew out the smoke, he took a long swig of his beer.

“Jesus Chris, it’s not hard, just dial the number. One step at a time.”

He took up his phone and punched in the numbers and hovered his finger over the green button, thinking about his actions one last time. Taking another long pull from his joint, he tapped the button and put it on speaker. It rang once, twice, three times and before he tapped the red button to end the call, a voice called out through the line.

“Hello?”

His brain froze, and speech did with it, so he sat there completely flustered.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

Still, he didn’t speak. Only when the line went dead did he move, he dropped back against the couch and groaned loudly into the night sky.

“Come on, man!”

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****If the spacing is all messed up I apologize. I copy and past from Word and try to anticipate Tumblr messing up the spacing and fix it but once I push post everything always jumbled out. Sorry guys.

#love maybe fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #Chris Evans X black reader #chris evans x you #chris evans smut #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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