#saying “woman NOT rational!!” always left a weird taste in my mouth
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Steve Harrington x Reader
Casuality
Just some fluff, angst and smut
Warning: mentions of alcohol, mentions of sexual activity, a little cursing
How did me and Y/N ended making out in my pool? Bad decisions and booze, that's the answer. I wanted it to stop, but it was good.. Too damn good. I can taste in her mouth the bitterness of the alcohol we drank a while ago. The mix of beer and vodka was still lingering in her mouth.
My hands run in her legs, as her hands tug my hair. There were fire igniting inside us, it was burning with lust and adrenaline. A low moan escapes her mouth, this added fuel to the fire inside us. We both knew that we'd regret this in the morning, but we didn't stop.
Y/N Henderson..
I'm close to her brother, but not to her. We fought monster beside each other, she was close to Robin, Nancy and Jonathan. But not to me, that's why I'm surprised when she arrived in my doorsteps, alcohol in her hands.
"Hey, Steviee!Wanna run around town and get smashed?"
She caught me off guard but I agreed, I was always intrigued by her. I never noticed her in high school but she seems to know everything about me.
"Oh, come on!Steve!I'm not stupid!I know you use that shitty shampoo and conditioner!"
"It's not shitty!It's the real deal!"
"Whatever, let's go back to your house and take a dip in your fancy pool!"
My mind snapped back as we moved to my bed, Y/N's heavy breaths and low moans was all I could hear from her. We drop in my bed, we knew were going to spend all night here. The sheets wrapped around our naked bodies, legs entangled with each others. Moans filling the room, sweats dripping from our hot naked body. We were drunk and stupid. Sobriety and rational thinking was out the window. This night was filled with bad decisions and bad decisions only.
Days have passed since that night, we decided to continue the relationship but we're keeping it casual. We're now sitting in my car, music blasting on the stereo on a low volume. She was looking blankly on the window as I drive her to campus.
"What are you thinking about?" I questioned, snapping her out of her trance. She smiled at me as she relaxed into the passenger seat.
"Whatever your thinking about.."
"Dustin moaning really weird last night?" I joked causing her to glare at me.
"No, but now that's what I'm thinking.." I chuckled at her response as I paid attention to the road.
"Hey, do you want to have a sleep over tonight?"
"Sleepover?What are you ten?Do you also want to braid each other's hair and have a pillow fight?" Her witty remarks always get me laughing, that's one thing I like about you Y/N..
"Come on, we're not gonna be sleeping anyway.." I pleaded.
"Ooh, Stevie gonnna give me the lovey dovey!" She said in a baby voice. Gotta admit, that was weird as hell.
"Oh dear god.." I mumbled under my breath.
"What's that Harrington?" Her glares could literally kill someone, I just gave her an innocent smile, she just rolled her eyes.
"Nothing.."
"I'll see you tonight, then.."
A comfortable silence filled the ambiance of the car, if I know Y/N and I think I do, she'll try to rummage her brain for something to talk to--.
"What was Dustin moaning about?" There it is..
"Oh dear god.." I just shake my head in amusement.
The first time I had ever seen you cry was the day we got home from campus, snots and tears were everywhere. I never saw you cry, even when we almost died twice while trying to save the world. Not a one single tear, but now your here infront of me. Tears in your eyes, as you sobbed into my chest. I don't know what to do, should I comfort you?
"What happend?" I finally asked the lingering thought in my head.
"I saw Dad with his brand new family.."
Y/N's father..
I never really met him but to what I gather from Y/N and Dustin is that he's a coward. He left his family to be with another woman.. Putting the three of you to emotional trauma and abuse.
"I'm sorry.." That's all I could say..
"After all what he did to Mom and Dustin, he have the audacity to be happy while Mom cover up the pain with cats.."
"I hate my dad, I swear if he ever comes back, I'll feed him to the demogorgons.. Why does this always happen to me? Can everything be just fine again?"
I hate seeing her like this.. What should I say? I can't really relate to her, my parents still stood by me.
"I'd do whatever I could do, if you want to get wasted, I'll do it with you, If you want to burn your dad's house, I'll be down with that. Just don't cry, I can't stand seeing you like this."
A small laugh erupted from her, moving beside me, she lay her head into my shoulders.
"Thanks for the reassurance Harrington.."
"That's what I'm here for.."
"Come on Steve, let's make out in your pool.." Y/N stands up, and gave me her hand, I gladly accepted it.
"Why do you have to ruin the mood?"
"How's that ruining the mood?If anything, I'm building the mood." She said in a sultry and teasing voice. I rolled my eyes, does she think I'll get turned on by that. She was crying just a moment ago, she was releasing snots.
"I think you have daddy issues, love.." It was her turn to roll her eyes.
"We all have daddy issues.." I grab her cheeks and peck her lips.
"We both have daddy issues, then." She just gave me the most precious smile that ever existed.. Oh, God. How I love you.
The first fight we had was also our last, it was your birthday. We were hanging out in your room, laying in her bed as the television played Star Wars. The pale moon was dancing all throughout the room, I knew there was something bothering me, we've been doing this for months, keeping everything casual. I'm growing tired of the constant thought that someone will take her away from me.. Don't get me wrong, I love Y/N, I'm not sure how she feel about me though. Y/N's like a close book, hard to read. So many things that I wish I knew, but there's so many walls that I can't break through. ( Where the swifties at? )
"Are you okay?" Y/N soft voice pulled me out of my head.
Am I really okay?No, why? I want us to be in a committed relationship, where someone can't take you away from me. That's how much I love you..
"Nothing, just thinking about us.." A small smile tugged in her lips as she scoot closer.
"What about us?" She asked, her brows wiggling.
"Being casual and all.." The smile she had falter, she moved away from me, running her hands through her hair.
"You know I'm not ready yet.."
"You always say that."
"Steve!I can't have this exact same conversation with you over and over again!" And here we are, fighting.. The anger inside me flicked open, I know it won't do good but I still went ahead and got mad.
"Why can't you say it once?!" Our shouts echoed through the whole house, her Mom is probably worried about her.
"What can't I say?!" She asked confused and angry at the samw time.
"That you love me!" The whole room suddenly got quiet, the look in Y/N's face was hard to read. Are you shocked? Scared? Angry? What? Do you love me like I love you? Please, say the words that I want--no, what I need to hear.
"Steve, we both know that we agreed to keep things casual.." She finally spoke, but not the words that came out was not what I needed.
"Casual?We've been together for almost a year now, how much more casual do you want it to get?"
"I--Steve, I can't do this now.." She backs away from me, opening her door wide open for me to leave.
"Why?" That's all that exited my mouth..
"Because I need space!" She snaps, a involuntary scoff left my lips.
"Space from what?!We barely have a relationship!"
"Just get away!I can't believe your pressuring me!" She shouts, but I stayed to say the words I'll regret..
"Let's just end whatever the fuck this is!"
"Fine!" She screamed as she walks up to me and pushed me out of her room.. Reaching the end of her door, she pushed me. I stumbled but managed to bounce back, before I can even say another word she slammed the door. And there's that..
"Steve?" Dustin came out of his room, a worried expression painted in his face.
"Are you and Y/N okay?"
"Yeah, it's just a--" I stopped at the middle of the sentence, my mouth refused to let the words escape.
"A what?" He questioned.
A break up..
"Nothing, it's nothing.." I lied..
I didn't know why I couldn't say the words. I clearly never wanted this to happen, I didn't know what happend. And I can't take it back, what's done is done..
Life with Y/N was hard, but life without her is much harder. Was I in the wrong? I shouldn't have pressure her, all I wanted is to go up at her house. But Dustin told me, she was really busy with a lot of schoolworks. Where did it get so complicated?
I was walking home when I saw Y/N, just standing in my porch front step. She seems fidgety and nervous, those sweet eyes seem to notice me. Y/N was wearing one of my Van Halen shirts, with a short and just some sneakers. You always looked beautiful in my shirts..
"Steve.." I love how she says my name, but I love it more if she screams my name. Flashes of her naked body grinding on me suddenly appeared on my head. This was not the time but I couldn't help it. I miss her..
"Hey.." I greet..
"I just wanted to--"
"I should be the one apologizing, I shouldn't pressure you like that.." I cut her off, I'm right. There's no need to apologize, I was in the wrong. I pressured her when I agreed to keep it casual.
"Still, I'm sorry too.." Y/N was always nice, never letting her pride get in the way of her life.. An eerie silence once filled our conversation, I never wanted this but maybe..
"Maybe it's best if I give you the space you nee--"
"I love you.." She cuts me off..
"Huh?" My mind went blank, my eyes blink rapidly as I try to sink in the three words you just dropped.
"I don't need space, I love you Steve Harrington.." She confessed cheekily, a small smile appeared on our face.
"I love you too.." She just smiles at me, but she was waiting for something. What is it? A ring, maybe? But this is not a proposal..
"What are you waiting for?Kiss me."
Ohh, right.. The way I moved was slow, I think she grew impatient because you pulled me and our lips collided into one. The way your lips was covered in the strawberry chapstick I gave you, this was my favorite thing in the world. I slid my tongue, it danced with yours. I pushed you in my door, opening it in the process.
When it burst open, we celebrated by going into my bed. Pushing Y/N into the bed was pretty arousing. We didn't need words or foreplay, we're pretty straightforward. Our lips once connected again, heavy breaths and low moans was all I could hear.
We slowly undressed each other, our lips was still intact, rushing into things was never really your motto. I felt your skin made contact with mine, I felt the heat from your body. My hands were making their way to her tender breasts, I slowly massaged it until the nipples turned like tiny stones. A loud moan came out from her mouth, I couldn't resist and licked them, biting them playfully. Another moan came out from her sweet lips, I stopped as I took out my hard and mounting manhood, I rest it unto her thighs. Y/N sits up, looking at me with questions in those eyes.
"What happend?You got tired?" Y/N whisper in her sultry voice.
"Taunting me?Really?"
Before she can even respond I got on top of bed and smirked, your naked body was softly laying in my bed. This made me harder, you're so perfect in every way. My hands are already in your legs, spreading it wide and open. I can see you closing your eyes at my touch, I drove my two fingers inside her. She moans with the contact it made, eyes rolled in the back of her head. I ravish her breast with my mouth as my fingers interact inside her.
"Fuck, Steve!"
I was hitting the right places, she was twisting left and right, her hands were gripping my sheets, I pulled my fingers out and replaced it with my organ. A loud piercing moan escapes her lips as I pump into her, every thrust was in sync with her breathing. I slowly grunt as I pump harder and deeper into her, I yank her legs back, as my other hand gripped her ass. I dug myself further into her, setting off another shattering moan.
"Steve, faster."
I increasing the speed, she wrapped her arms around my back, her nails digging into my skin. Pain and Pleasure was a great mixture for me. I hit every possible spot inside her, the nails dug deeper as I thrust harder and much more deeper. The speed increased once again, as I feel both of our climax building up inside, it can explode any second now. Every thrust I make, every moan she screams, and every sweat that drips was a cherry on top.
"Fuck, I'm coming!"
With that we both exploded into each other, I felt a warm liquid flows between her legs and mine. A small smile appeared on her lips as we were both out of breath, her hair was all disheveled.
"Well, that was fun.." She whisper, her voice hoarsed from all the moaning she did.
"I can see.." I joked causing her cheeks to blush..
"Shut up!"
I pulled out, she shivered at that action. I laid next to her, she looks at me with love and compassion. She pecked a kiss in my lips, cuddling besides me as the moon peaked through my windows. Y/N deserves every love and adoration in the world, I'm going to marry you someday..
This is my first smut ever, I hope it was..nice? If there's anything wrong I did in the smut, you can tell me, I'll do anything to improve it! I also accept request, any characters! Marvels, DC, B99, FRIENDS, Criminal Minds, TBBT, Community, basically anything! I accept anything! You can leave a comment or give me an ask!
Taglist
@sydneekomspacekru
#steve harrington x you#imagines#steve harrington x reader#stranger things#smut#steve harrington smut#oneshot
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Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 4
Will
Cult girl attends her grandmother's funeral and is approached with a highly unorthodox last will and testament.
@wisesandwichshark
Trigger warnings: emotional manipulation and abuse, verbal abuse, death, slight emetophobia, body-shaming, ED mention, pregnancy and family planning
There was no use recounting anything from the leading up to the funeral. You spent that first night wine-drunk, munching on foie gras, watching Arrested Development and diagnosing each character to the best of your psychological abilities. You remembered cry-laughing at the same jokes you had memorized, and reminiscing on all the insane shit your own personal Lucille Bluth pulled on you. That was the highlight of the week. It was all downhill from there.
Firstly, you were sick. That Sunday, you wrote it off as a hangover. Then, the hangover returned with a vengeance, just to add salt to the already open wound of having to pretend to mourn your abusive grandmother. At least the physical pain would give your acting an air of sincerity, you thought.
Hannibal dressed in a solid black tux: it was almost uncanny to see him outside of any of his normal checkered suits. You selected a plain black dress and a strand of pearls.
The funeral was to be held at the same country club Anna’s wedding was held. Your grandmother was like a pharaoh, insisting that the empire she built know that even in death, she reigned supreme. The country club was her pyramid.
Anna asked if you wanted to say a few words. As much as you wanted to get up and tell all her country club friends about the time she reported you as an abducted child at age twenty-two when you refused to leave your boyfriend and move back in with her, you knew that it wasn’t in good taste. You racked your brain for any story that could be considered remotely funeral-appropriate, but none came to mind.
You spent the entire funeral trying not to roll your eyes too obviously at the stories of abuse her country club friends somehow remembered fondly. Your soul just left your body throughout the entire process and you were unsure if it would ever return.
All things considered, it could have gone much worse. Then, it did.
The beginning of the end was when your grandmother’s estate lawyer pulled you and Anna aside to conduct the reading of the will. He showed you to a side room, then excused himself before closing the door behind him.
“Hello, [F/N].” Liam greeted, trying to cut through the awkward silence that came with first seeing each other after four straight years. “I’m very sorry about your gran. She was a great woman.”
You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Lee. I appreciate it.”
“No she doesn’t.” Anna muttered. “And it’s Liam.”
“I don’t mind ‘Lee’.” Liam contested. “My mum called me Lee. I actually quite like it.”
Anna was in one of her ‘I’m so upset, please ask me why’ moods. She sat on one of the heavy armchairs with her legs crossed and eyes to the wall. You weren’t going to bite.
Liam wasn’t so cautious. “Princess, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She pouted, not even dignifying her husband with a look. “I just think it’s interesting that I put the funeral together all by myself and someone couldn’t even be bothered to speak.”
You shot Liam a look that said ‘way to go, jackass’.
“Yeah,” You said, sitting down in an adjacent armchair. “That must suck.”
Anna glared at you. “You really have nothing to say? Really?”
You tensed up. “Let’s see, which charming anecdote would you have me tell? How about that time when she made you wear a fat suit for an hour after you complained about how the low-carb ice cream tasted like chemicals?”
Liam looked in shock at his wife. “Did she really?”
“Once.” Anna confessed, holding up one finger.
You turned to Liam, as if you were sharing some hot gossip. “That was all it took to give her an eating disorder when she was thirteen.”
Hannibal was just a fly on the wall. Anna noticed his lack of reaction.
“And I bet Hannibal knows all about this, huh?” Anna said, throwing her hand in his direction. “Because he just needs to hear all of our private family business, right?”
You stood up from your seat. “First of all, I take offense at the implication that my fiancée isn’t family.”
An evil smile spread on Anna’s face. “But he wasn’t always your fiancé, was he, [F/N]?”
“Holy shit, you cracked the code.” You said, flatly. “There was a point in time when Hannibal and I weren’t an item. Real shocker, that one.”
“You know what I mean.” She sneered, then approached Hannibal. “Dr. Lecter, is it true that before you and [F/N] became romantically involved, you were her therapist?”
Liam looked scandalized. Hannibal was just as put-together as always.
“That is true.” He said, feeling no shame whatsoever.
Anna turned back to you. “Now don’t you think that’s just a smidge unethical? For a therapist to date their much younger patient?”
You narrowed your eyes. You carried yourself with the lightness of a woman who finally had the moral high ground. “So you want to talk about what’s ethical, huh? I suppose that means you’ve told Liam about pineapple.”
All the blood drained from her face. You crossed your arms and held your head up a little higher.
“That’s what I thought.” You grinned.
“Look, could we just pretend to be a normal, functioning family for ten minutes?” Anna pleaded, as if there were anyone other than herself to blame for provoking an argument.
“That’s on you two.” Liam, rightfully, pointed out. He gestured to himself and then to Hannibal. “Neither of us have said anything.”
The estate lawyer must have gotten his juris doctorate alongside a master's in impeccable fucking timing, because that was when he decided to make his entrance.
"I'm sorry for the wait, everyone." He announced. "And I'm sorry for having to pull you aside in your hour of mourning. Usually the last will and testament is handled through email to the beneficiaries, but your grandmother was quite adamant it be approached this way."
"That definitely sounds like her." You said, exchanging glances with Hannibal. You'd talked about this for what felt like hours the week prior. She was going to pull some last-minute bullshit to humiliate you from beyond the grave. Give all the inheritance to Anna and leave a snide comment about you in a legal document. You knew it was coming. All you could hope was for it to be quick.
The lawyer pulled an envelope from his briefcase. "She specifically asked for her two living grandchildren and their significant others to be present."
"Did she say it like that?" Anna raised an eyebrow. "Or was it more like, 'Anna and her husband, and [F/N] and her therapist'?"
"Mrs. Young," Hannibal said, taking your hand. "Until you tell your husband about pineapple, you aren't allowed to judge us."
Anna glared at you. "What the hell? He knows, too?!"
"Yeah." You answered. "I tell him everything."
"Okay, who or what is pineapple?" Liam interjected. "And why do I get the feeling I'm the only one not in the know, here?"
"That's cause you are." You confirmed. "And you have your lovely wife to thank for that."
"Everyone!" The lawyer called out. Clearly, he'd seen his share of dysfunctional families. "Please, let me just read the will and you can continue arguing afterwards."
"Y'know what? Fair enough." You said, crossing your legs. "Let's rip off this band-aid, shall we?"
The lawyer opened the envelope and produced a single page. He cleared his throat.
"I, Beatrice [L/N], being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions-" He began reading the long first sentence. "Including but not limited to, a collective sum of $45 million, the family home and my shares of the country club, to the first of my granddaughters to give birth."
You expected nothing. You expected something. But you never could have expected this.
"Can you please read that last part again?" You asked, unsure if what you heard was the result of a stroke.
"The entire inheritance goes to the first one of you to have a baby." The lawyer clarified, trying to make it sound like a reasonable arrangement.
"That makes sense." Anna said, nodding.
You looked at her, dumbfounded. "How in the fuck on fire does that make sense to you?"
"Well, the money would be going to a good cause." She rationalized. "To raise the baby, right?"
You shook your head. "No, this is insane. Grandma has always had this weird obsession with bloodlines, and now she's trying to incentivize us to carry it out."
"What happens if neither of us can, y'know?" Anna asked.
The lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose. "If neither granddaughter is willing to produce a child, the entire inheritance will go to the Eagle Forum, so my ungrateful grandchildren can learn about family values."
"She hated the Eagle Forum!" Anna objected. "She wouldn't dare."
"She absolutely would." You pressed your fingers into your forehead. "That's upper-class white moderates for you. And she doesn't have to be around to see when they name a fucking wing after her."
"The Beatrice [L/N] center for denying women bodily autonomy." Hannibal said. "It's quite fitting."
"[F/N], we can't let that happen." Anna pleaded. "We can't let Eagle Forum get a penny of that money."
"Why the hell not?" You said. Though on principle, you agreed, you knew this was just another one of your grandmother's power grabs. At the end of the day, she chose to leave her money to the Eagle Forum. And it would be her name on that check, not yours.
"Oh my god, you actually hate babies more than you hate conservatives." Anna stood with her mouth agape.
"Don't put words in my mouth." You snapped. "I don't hate babies. I hate grandma for trying to threaten me into having one. I hate grandma for pinning us against each other and making sure it stays that way."
"What do you have against giving me a little niece or nephew, huh?" Anna folded her arms.
"I'm fucking done." You said, throwing up your hands. "This will be the last you ever see of me."
Of course, that's what you said the last time.
#hannibal lecter#hannibal x you#hannibal x reader#hannibal nbc#more cult girl#cult girl#cult girl 2#tw pregnancy#tw emotional abuse#tw death#tw conservatives
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Please Hate Me //part 38
Fandom: Marvel
Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?
Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers
The pale cheek was rubbery and cold under your finger. You poked it again. "Are you sure he's dead?"
Loki looked at the severed, and a little chewed, bottom half of the ambassador. "Pretty much."
The body had been laid out on top of a desk, with all the books and documents previously occupying it put on the ground. It didn't really matter in the ways of making things messy, because the suite belonging to the recently deceased ambassador was already a dusty, chaotic mess. The room was dark and narrow and made even smaller by the bookshelves lined along one wall, stealing even more space. The carpet used to be gold and thick, but now it looked just worn and tired.
"Do we even have a plan? Like, anything in particular to look out for?"
Loki scratched his chin, looking around next to you. "Plans are for the weak of heart. We've got something better, love—a suspicion. Now we only have to find the evidence for or against it."
You looked at the shelves filled with old tomes to the point of almost breaking the wood. And then at the loose papers piled carelessly along two of the walls and also in the bedroom. The notes were haphazardly scribbled and left in places where a thought must've struck the man, and then left forgotten or lost. Ink was spilled on the less fortunate ones.
"...right."
You couldn't say you were happy about it, but there was little to do about it. Whatever the ambassador was working on before he died could shed some light on his death. Now you only had to find it.
With a deep sigh, you braced yourself and got to work.
It soon turned out you didn’t understand a single word of it.
"You said your spell would work and I would understand everything." You focused really hard on the wall of text in a language you'd never seen before. "And it works fine when I'm talking to the lords here, but not on this."
Loki leaned over your shoulder to peek a glance at the text. "I have no idea. Maybe it works differently on humans? Or maybe you're just a particularly weird individual of your species."
"Thanks."
"Welcome, love."
With nothing you could read, your job there was crippled. Even when Loki assured you he didn't mind doing everything himself and that it wasn't your fault, there was still a sour feeling you couldn't quite shake off.
"I'm going to see if I can find the kitchens and get us something edible." You decided to pass the time on something at least vaguely helpful.
Loki looked up from the notes he'd gathered from the windowsill. He’d made himself comfortable in one of the cleaner parts of the room, although unfortunately it just happened to be near the corpse. "Be careful. And please, don't kill anyone without me."
"I'd never," you promised with a wink and left.
The castle was huge, but empty. At first, you put in on the murder that must've shaken the people living there, but the longer you looked around, it struck you as odd. Everything was clean, even if touched by time. There must be people taking care of it, but you couldn't find any.
Or maybe they were avoiding the outsiders. Technically, you were an alien here.
You walked the empty corridors, enjoying the silent breeze passing through the open panels. It was strange not to see any glass in the windows, but with the weather so mild, there probably wasn't any temperature drop to worry about anyway.
There were shadows sneaking in the corners of your vision. They could be figments of your imagination and sense of wrongness of this place. They could be the things howling in the dark.
No. Thinking about that probably wasn't the wisest idea. In a place where thoughts apparently could shape reality, thinking merry, happy thoughts seemed like a much more rational option if one planned to survive and not be eaten by their own fears embodied. You had such plans, and even if Loki was convinced that you had absolutely no connection to magic unless it hit you in the face, it was better to stay cautious. And happy. What a lovely day it was, after all, with the creeping light avoiding particular parts of your vision, and something definitely following you. How nice would it be to meet someone. Anyone.
Your eyes wandered off into the gardens below, where the everlasting night was laying thick. A fountain shimmered in bluish speckles of water. And behind it, the night opened its eyes.
You might've jumped a little. Just the tiniest bit.
But there was no denying that, just for the briefest moment, your eyes met the Queen's, posed unnaturally still among the statues.
…and people said wishful thinking wouldn't get you anywhere.
You hopped over the railing, and onto the moss-covered ground. The guard you'd seen before was nowhere to be found. You stared around as hard as you could, trying to pierce the shadows and strange light. It took a moment to find what you were looking for.
From up close, the stars overhead and the stars shimmering on her skin looked like mirror images. For a moment, the night sky felt within a hand's reach.
Not one muscle betrayed the Queen had she noticed your arrival. Her eyes were dull and completely blank—to the point where you wondered if you hadn't imagined everything.
You stood right next to her and still weren't decapitated, which was a comfort and a good sign. You bowed stiffly, even if she didn't see it.
"Hi," you said quietly, looking for any sign of comprehension. "I'm one of the people who came here to explain the recent murder."
Nothing. Just the vast expanse of the night enclosed in a fading body and crumbled into a vaguely humanoid shape. The Queen only had one horn intact, white as a bone, and sharp like the crescent moon—the only one to ever be seen on the edge of the universe.
"I wondered if you knew anything about it," you tried again. "We're doing well so far, and I'm sure we'll find the murderer eventually, so don't worry about that, but… We'd still appreciate any and all help."
Birds chirped somewhere in the trees. Shimmering pollen flew on the light breeze squeezing through the thicket. The night turned her eyes toward you.
It'd been a while since you cowered under the sheets, afraid of the darkness. It was a common fear among children, and one that only a few grew out of. Those eyes reminded you of those sleepless nights.
Not a word left the bloodless lips. Not a muscle twitched. The edges of the woman blurred into the night.
"...right. Sorry to interrupt you, Your Majesty."
You backed away a few steps before turning your back to her. A shiver ran down your spine. If that was what fading was, you preferred death.
*
Loki enjoyed reading, he really did. Even as a child, he'd often been found buried among the old tomes in the palace's library, or smuggling particularly interesting ones to his rooms. There was something in the way of the written word that captured his attention way better than whatever training he was forced to participate in for the sake of Odin's misplaced ambition. There was a certain rush in learning facts previously unknown and in understanding the world or the forces in it better.
Loki felt absolutely none of that while going through the ambassador's notes.
Most of them were full of incomprehensible babble of half-finished ideas or references that led nowhere without the books they'd been taken from. Some seemed to be copied pages, which led Loki to the conclusion that the books were not to be taken off the library grounds.
There were a lot of dates and numbers that made little sense to him, so he put them down on the pile of things he deemed irrelevant to the investigation. The pile was growing and now consisted of several piles, forming the majority of the room's contents.
The doors opened. Loki was relieved to see you; the dagger disappeared back up his sleeve.
"That took you awhile," he noticed, throwing the crumbled papers to the right, onto the pile of nonsense. "I was getting worried."
"I'm good. I got you some apples."
The apples were a dusted orange, but tasted sweet enough to justify the unusual color. Loki leaned back in his chair and let you settle on his lap. The feeling of your body pressed into his made you share the warmth and comfort, and made some of the stress building up since morning fade away.
"I met the Queen," you said around a mouth full of apple, and the other hand buried in Loki's hair. "She seemed nice enough. The creepiness definitely runs in the family, though."
Some of the stress came back. "Did she… say anything?"
"Nope. I don't think she’s… aware of things. Which is a shame, because I seriously hoped she could help us."
Loki brushed your back in wide, soothing strokes. "There is a chance she'll regain her senses one day, just for long enough to answer some questions. Fading is a complicated process."
"You know a lot about it."
Loki's eyes dropped to the few remaining apples. "Gods fade too sometimes."
"Will you? One day?"
"I am a Frost Giant, love, even if I was raised on Asgard. I'm not sure how much that complicates my case, and there is no one to ask about it anymore."
"I'm sorry."
Loki closed his eyes and breathed in your scent as he felt you kiss his temple, gently and with enough unfiltered love to make his heart throb almost painfully. He was lucky, even despite the mess politics brought onto him. He was luckier than he ever thought he'd be. And luckier than he thought he deserved.
"Did you find anything interesting?" you asked with a face burrowed into the crook of his neck.
"There was quite a lot of nonsense, but the rest highlights the ambassador's interest in the wars and mass deaths that always follow them."
You froze. The corpse laid on the desk next to you no longer felt like something you could forget about. "...what an interesting guy. "
"Most definitely, but it's too early to judge just yet. I made a list of the books he mentioned most often. I think it'd be worth our time to pay a visit to the library to check them out and maybe ask a few questions to the people working there. They should know something about him and the dead assistant."
"We could get some more apples on our way," you offered, standing up. Loki already missed you.
"Sure, why not. It's not like you'd take the fruit of the sacred trees from the very clearly separated part of the gardens, right?"
"...of course. I'd never overlook that."
You did overlook that in the end, and Loki just happened to overlook it too. Overlooking things was always more fun in good company.
The gardens were a beautiful, lush place, bursting with colors and leaves that danced on the wind instead of falling. Some of the branches were covered in flowers so tiny they looked like ants, traveling up and down the bark. Birds too shy to leave the shadows chirped and sung.
It was a strange change to witness, especially having in mind what the gardens were like in the morning. Whatever put them in a good mood had clearly done a good job. It made the winding paths easier to follow, and the water passing through the fountain shimmer like starlight.
Loki shrugged when you voiced your thoughts.
"In your world, the weather changes just as rapidly," he said, looking at his mirrored image. "Here, it's the very essence of the Edge that's capable of changing."
It was poetic, like most things on the Edge. And just like them, the forest suddenly decided to hate you.
First, the birds vanished, their voices cut short.
Then, something else moved between the curled, twisted trees. Loki noticed too, and handed you one of his knives. The knives had a habit of appearing around him in just the right moments, and you loved them for it.
And finally, the Edge decided how to make your lives difficult this time.
The monstrosity that circled the fountain was a terror of thin legs and bulky torso, armed with too many teeth.
"Is it a spider?" you asked in a voice too high because of your heart leaping into your throat.
"It could be, if someone really hated spiders," Loki said, but there was a smile on his face. "And it might present a problem, if we were still on Earth—but now I'm free and ready to deal with this the old-fashioned way."
You blinked when golden light enveloped him in a flash. The green armor poured onto his body while magic danced around his fingers. The golden helmet you'd seen only once in the battle of New York, now returned in its full glory.
You cheered as Loki stepped out, swinging a spear with a nonchalant ease only available to children forced to learn something for years against their will.
"Kick its ass, babe!"
Loki winked.
The creature didn't want to have its ass kicked. It charged on its eight legs reaching far and fast. Loki striked, gutting its belly and cutting two legs off. It should've died, but it didn't. The cuts should've killed it, but they healed.
Loki's magic should've blocked the furious mass hurtling itself at him. It didn't.
The spell flashed a blinding yellow before it cracked like glass and shattered. The legs that were no longer cut, they hit and didn't miss.
A gold-and-green body flew through the air with a very surprised face. The fountain crashed in a rain of water and marble, covering everything in a thin layer of dust and a thick one of mud quickly forming under your feet.
"...Loki?"
Loki didn't answer, half buried under the stone.
The spider turned its too big head to you. Its legs were black and covered in thick stubble.
"Shit," you whispered.
The spider agreed.
You ran.
#please hate me#loki x reader#loki x you#loki imagine#loki laufeyson x reader#loki laufeyson x you#loki laufeyson#loki laufeyson imagine#loki marvel#loki mcu#loki laufeyson marvel#loki series#i love loki#loki fanfic
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Just A Friend
Summary: You and Namjoon have been friends for about two years and you grew feelings for him. But you think it’s unreciprocated. On a vacation which he invites you to come along in, things take a turn.
Warnings: Starts with ANGST and ends with a whole lot of SMUT! Like a lot, so be ready for: swearing, erotic body touching, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (because of the next listing), impregnation kink, overstimulation, hair pulling, praising, dom!Namjoon, sub!reader.
Requested: YES! The 💒 anon, as they wish to be known, requested this fic. In fact, they provided a lot of detail, especially for the smut, so a lot of props to them! I used a lot of the ideas they provided, so thank them as well! I really hope this is what you had in mind and that you’ll like it sweetie.
Word Count: 4889
Stomping across the bedroom you were staying at, you even consider just picking up your suitcase and leaving. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you were doing here anyway. You had long ago sworn to yourself you would stop hoping for things to change and just give up, but yet, as soon as he asked you if you wanted to tag along you smiled brightly and promptly agreed, heart singing within your chest.
You felt stupid. You felt stupid and angry and rejected. Mostly, you felt hurt and to make matters worse you knew you were the only one to blame. It was you and your own feelings fault.
Namjoon and you have been friends for two years now. You’ve been in love with him for over a year and a half. It brought tears to your eyes, thinking of how much you’ve been pinning for him, how much you wanted him to reciprocate your feelings. But he only saw you as a friend, the chubby female friend that would hang out with him and the guys, introduce them to cute girls or give them advice when it came to women. And that was it.
Two months ago, you decided enough was enough. You would distance yourself from him slowly, just enough to give yourself some time to somehow get over your feelings without having to ruin the friendship. Because, truth be told, you still wanted to keep him close. As much as it hurt to have an unrequited love for him, it hurt more to think of him not being around.
But then he decided to invite you on a trip with the boys to the Alps. He would even pay for the plane tickets and the stay in the ski resort. And he asked so nicely, so excitedly, with that stupid little dimple smile that always melted your heart and all you could do was say yes. You forgo all your plans of getting over him for one last hope that this meant something.
It didn’t. Just as you got ready to go on the ski lessons programmed for this afternoon, you saw Namjoon flirting with one of the female instructors at the entrance of the resort place you were all staying at. It made your stomach turn and left a sour taste in your mouth. You turned around, took off your new windbreaker ski jacket and stomped up the stairs into your room in a hurry.
Taking a few shaky breaths in your room, you decided to light up the fireplace in the room. The plane ticket had the return date scheduled for the day after tomorrow, and even of you went and tried to get it changed so you could leave today, Namjoon had all the plane tickets in his room. You weren’t about to go and ask him for yours.
Struggling to get the flames to cling to the wood, your heard a knock on your door and assumed it was the resort’s staff coming to clean the room.
“No need, thank you” you yelled at the door, huffing at how the fire just wasn’t starting.
“Y/N, it’s me.”
You froze. That was Namjoon’s voice. After considering for a moment to just ignore him completely and carry on as if you didn’t hear him, you sighed and got up. You crossed your arms above your chest and glared at the door with a subconscious pout in your lips.
“I’m not going on the ski lessons, so just leave without me” you informed him in your best detached voice.
“I know, I’m not going either. The boys already left” he responded from behind the door.
“What? Why didn’t you go with them?” you frowned.
“Just let me in, Y/N. It’s awkward talking through a door” he begged, knocking on the door by the end of his sentence.
You hesitated, biting your bottom lips as you remembered him with that woman from before. But then again, why would he flirt if he wasn’t going with them to the ski lessons? Something felt weird about it, so you just launched your arm forward before you changed your mind again and opened the door for him.
He looked as if he had planned to go with the guys, dressed with winter boots, long brown snowboard pants, a turtle neck sweater underneath the blue ski jacket, scarf still around his neck and gloves pocking out from the jacket’s pocket. His short hair was slightly disheveled as if he had a beanie on before.
The moment you saw his concern small brown eyes looking at you, you turned your back and went back to the fireplace, trying to distract yourself from your aching heart with the task at hand before.
“You seemed so excited yesterday about the prospect of going skiing, you went on about it almost the whole plane ride, why did you change your mind?” you heard him asking as he closed the door after stepping inside.
“So were you, so why didn’t you go?” you questioned back, not wanting to answer him.
“I asked you first.”
You sighed, irritated with everything, the conversation, the fireplace that just wouldn’t start, the feelings you had for the man behind you. Everything.
“I just didn’t feel like going anymore, okay? And I’m in a bad mood right now, this stupid fireplace isn’t helping, so maybe you should just go and leave me alone, Namjoon!”
You didn’t mean to yell, but your voice elevated before you could stop it. Giving up on the wood catching fire, you walked away from the fireplace angrily, crossed your arms and went to the window, trying to calm yourself by looking at the beautiful white scenery outside.
“Let me help you with this” he offered, taking off his jacket and scarf, busing himself with the fireplace as you had before.
“Just leave me alone, Namjoon. You know I’m not great to hang around when I’m in a bad mood” you tried to warn him, more so because you really wanted distance from him right now. “You should have gone with them. Maybe you can still catch up.”
“It would have been fun, but even with the bad mood, I prefer your company” he shared.
“Liar.”
You didn’t mean to say it out loud, you honestly thought you had just thought it for yourself, but Namjoon heard you loud and clear.
“What does that mean?” he sounded offended.
You cursed at yourself for not being more careful before turning back to him, eyes set on the large carpet beneath your feet and arms as tightly wrapped around yourself as ever. You tried to think of how to get him to go away without destroying the friendship.
“Nothing. It just makes sense, you’ve been friends the guys for way longer than you’ve known me, why wouldn’t you want to go with them and have fun instead of wasting time here with me? Plus, there was the pretty instructor, who wouldn’t want to go and learn from her?”
You pressed your lips together and kept your mouth from opening again, realizing how saddened you seemed by the last sentence. You needed to keep your feeling at bay.
“So you did went down for the lessons” Namjoon realized, as that was the only way you could have seen the instructor. “What happened, Y/N? Why are you lying to me?”
Hands closing down into fists at your sides, teeth grasping down on your bottom lip as you tried to keep yourself from crying. The atmosphere in the room felt colder than the snow outside. This was probably going to be it. As much as you treasured this friendship and wanted nothing more than to keep it intact, it felt as if you guys were about to fight and things probably wouldn’t be the same after.
“Y/N? Y/N, just talk to me!” It was Namjoon’s turn to grow frustrated. “You’ve been acting strange lately. I don’t know why, but it seems like you suddenly want to get as far away from me as possible, and I feel like I’ve done nothing to deserve that!”
“And you didn’t! You did absolutely nothing wrong, Namjoon, it’s all my own fault, okay?” you barked back, tense arms falling to your sides as you finally gaze back up at him, seeing his own worried but serious stare. “I’ll get over it, alright? I promise, just give me some space.”
“Get over what, Y/N? You’re making no sense!” he continues, irritated, lifting his hands in the air.
“You!” you finally declare.
Your watery eyes can barely stay focused on him as you feel the shame washing over you, after admitting your feelings like that when it was the last thing you wanted to do. But the harm was done now. And as much as it still hurt, a weight seemed to lift off your chest as you confess the deep secret you’ve been keeping for so long.
“I’ll get over you, Namjoon! I’m sorry, I know we’re just friends but…” your voice breaks a bit and you have to look away from him. Only then did you realize he had managed to light up the fireplace, without setting anything on fire, which was a win for such a clumsy guy. It almost makes you smile. Almost. “I’ve had feelings for you for way too long and I don’t think I can get past them without distancing myself from you for a while. I’m sorry, I just-”
Two strides. Two strides is all it takes for him to close the gap between the two of you, an undecipherable look on his unusually stoic square face that you missed as you looked at the ground, before taking your round face into his big hands, forcing you to lift your head just in time for his mouth to capture the words you were about to say.
Completely shocked, your whole body freezes as you feel his fleshy lips clam around yours purposely, hands pulling your face towards him as he keeps pressing his lips further, almost to the point it hurts. All your thoughts clutter in your brain, disabling any rational understanding of what was going on.
When he separated his lips from yours for a split second, you try to speak even as you have no idea what to say, but he doesn’t let you. His hands fall from your face only to go around your back and around your neck, pulling your scrumptious body violently against his own as his parted mouth finds yours and steals the breath you were about to take.
You find yourself closing your eyes, the forceful nibbles he starts around your lips singeing your prickled skin, head still spinning but body giving in completely to him. You lean against him and move your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer as you kissed him back.
He rumbles against your lips when he feels you complacent, sucking on them lightly as he pulls his head back up and looks at you from half-closed dark eyes.
“For how long?” his raspy voice asks.
“Hum?” Your brain is still in short-circuit, eyes heavy and clouded.
He squeezes at one of the lumps at your sides urgently and pulls slightly at the hair at the nape of your hair, trying to grab your attention.
“How long have you had feelings for me?” he demands to know.
You swallow dry at the intensity behind his eyes, your heart beating madly on your chest and your muscles tensing up. A flare of heat rushes to your cheeks as you decided to tell him the truth, too anxious to even try and lie to him when he looked at you like that.
“A year and a half. At least” you add, hesitant eyes jumping between his.
Again, Namjoon almost jumps at your lips and ferociously ravishes at them, smacking them hard together and tracing your soft bottom lip with his tongue. You yelp at the warm and wet touch, and it’s a good thing his hands are keeping you so close to his body since you feel your legs loosing strength as he slips his tongue past your parted lips and swirls it around yours, coaxing you to respond.
You don’t care to know how this is happening. You don’t dare to question if it’s even real or some mad hallucination. You just take it all in, the warmth of him around you, the scent of musk and dew of him mixing with the smoke and fire of the fireplace, the taste of menthol and honey. The feeling of his rough hands holding you close. The small groan he released when you sucked on his tongue and ran your fingernails down the back of his neck.
Not sure how, if Namjoon just couldn’t hold your weight up anymore of if he himself lost his strengths as well, but you felt the world around you swirl and your back hit the floor, the pain only numbed by the hands and arms around you, a barrier between you and the floor.
It knocked the breath out of you, but it was still nothing compared to the way Namjoon bit your bottom lip and pulled it with him as he raised himself up on his forearms, each around your face, legs kneeling around your bulky thighs. He looked exasperated and deranged.
“Two years” he growled, much to your confusion. “I’ve been in love with you for two fucking years and now you tell me I could have had you more than a year ago? Do you have any idea how I feel right now?!”
His face told it all, he didn’t need to say it. Frowned thick eyebrows, creating lines on his tall forehead, thin eyes with a fiery intensity that outdid even the fireplace crackling to your left, full lips set in a straight line as his bottom jaw stood out with how tense he was.
“I never thought you would like me back. I thought I was just a friend” you whispered at him, wide eyes staring with incredulousness at him.
Namjoon dryly chuckles as he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against yours. When he opened them again, they were calmer and sweeter. Loving.
“How many friends introduce you to all their friends, to their parents and take you out on vacations like this one? How many friends call you every day, say they missed you when you were just together, tell you how beautiful you are every single time?”
“Namjoon, I… I didn’t think-”
“No, you didn’t” he interrupted, his frustration bubbling back up. “And now we wasted two years we could have been together pinning for each other. But no more.”
Reuniting your mouths, this time not only is he kissing you deeply, his hands busy themselves with tracing your full body above your clothes. You can feel them slowly going down beneath your arms, softly groping your lumpy sides, grasping at your wide hips and down your fleshy legs, on the way back up finding themselves beneath the thick hoodie you were wearing.
“I’ve dreamed… about having this body… next to mine for so long” he tells you between pecks at your lips that slowly travel down your neck. You tremble both because of his words and of his cold fingers dipping into your skin, swallowed between the rolls on your stomach. “Thought about all the things I wanted to do to you. How heavenly your body must be and how good I could make you feel if you let me…”
His hands pull your hoodie up at the same time his tongue slips up and down your pulse point on your neck, and you squirm a bit as a light moan leaves you.
“N-Namjoon…” you sigh as you close your eyes, hands blindly clinging to his arms and back.
Growing impatient, you feel him lifting his upper body away from yours and you open your eyes in time to see him strip of his turtle neck, leaving his torso bare for your eyes to take in. The sun kissed skin covering the defined muscles, shadows created by the fire on the fireplace making him look sculptured, hard nipples standing out. He looked breathtaking, and that was the exact effect it had on you.
For your surprise, he actually pulls you up so you are sitting in front of him, his strong legs straddling you, as he pulls at your hoodie with a determined gaze set on you. His demeanor makes you offer no resistance as he removes the article of clothing from your body, leaving you with your bra underneath. But his fingers dance across your back as he leans in to steal another kiss, undoing the hooks and the straps slowly fall from your shoulders. He leans back again just to see as he removes the bra entirely from you, exposing your breasts. Through the orange flickering light of the fireplace you see his pupils dilate.
“So fucking beautiful…” he whispers more to himself than anything. “You are much more beautiful than I ever imagined, angel. Can’t believe it took this long.”
His hands cup your breasts and he feels the weight of them, the roundness of them, thumb brushing your puckered nipples as he did so. Your back arches towards his touch instinctively and he does it again. One hand at your shoulders pulls you back down into the carpet, laying your back to it as his head slowly follows you down and his lips wrap around one of your nipples.
You writhe beneath him and whimper shamelessly as he lavishes on your chest, wetting and sucking your erect globes until you are yelping and clawing at his shoulders and down his back, your legs rubbing together under him in search of some friction. So very slowly, he moves his head down your body, leaving your nipples to swipe his tongue on the underside of your breast, then leaving long wet kisses down your pudgy stomach, hands kneading at the soft flesh.
“You feel so good, Y/N. All softness and warmth, so much to squeeze and hold on my hands.” He tells you as he reaches your belly button, pecking around it which tickled a bit. “I bet you taste sweet too. Let me find out, yeah?”
You gasp as he aggressively removes your pants from your body, as if offended by them. They fly off your wide legs in a second, your socks going with them, and leaving you clad only in your panties. You look down at him with overly hot cheeks and uneven breaths, a tight pull in your lower belly at the thought of what he was about to do.
With a hungry look, Namjoon kisses from your ankles up your legs, hands following his mouth on the outside of your thighs as he moved up. They grasp at your pillowy flesh and pull your legs apart, until he is facing your burning center. You cry out loud when he sucks on your clit through the panties, the unexpected feeling at the sensitive button making your hips jump up, only for his hands to grab you tightly and keeping you in place.
He keeps teasing you through the fabric, much to your frustration, panties growing wetter both from your overflowing juices and from the work of his tongue against them, tracing your slit up and down and lapping at it.
“N-Namjoon, p-please!...” you cry out as the tightness on your womb becomes excruciating and you want - no, you need - more.
“Please what, kitten?” he knowingly asks against your covered mound, the rough voice reverberating against you and you mewl at the feeling. “Tell me what you want.”
“I… I…” your brain spins around in search of the right words, but it’s so difficult to think when he flicks his tongue so expertly around you bundle of nerves. “I want you to fuck me. I need you inside, now, please, Namjoon!”
Your hands hit at his shoulder with how exasperated you are and he chuckles against you.
“Get on your hands and knees for me, kitten, and take off the panties. I’ll give you what you want” he promises.
Hooking your thumbs around the hem of your panties, you pull them off you as you turn around and get on your knees like he asked, turning your ass in his direction as you hear him removing his trousers. You bite your lips and can’t help getting even more aroused as you think about finally having him inside, like you dreamed off so many impish nights.
“So pretty, angel. All pink and glistening for me” he tells you and you feel his fingers opening your folds for him to see. “It’s like you want me as much as I want you” he whispers.
“I do, Namjoon. I d- Ahhh!”
You wanted to turn around and tell him how much you loved him, how long you hoped for something like this to happen as well, but then he grabs both of your ass cheeks in his hands, squeezing the abundant flesh and parting them as he leans in and licks up your exposed pussy, catching you completely by surprise and you almost fall flat on your face, the strength of your arms wavering for a split second.
His hands keep massaging your rump and his head moves up and down your velvet skin, licking away the overflowing juices only for you to replace them instantly, your inner walls clenching down on nothing as he keeps nipping and sucking on your clit and his tongue swirls around your entrance.
“F-fuck, Namjoon, I’m gonna… I’m gonna!...”
Your legs and arms are starting to quiver, the tension of your muscles making you sweat alongside the heat of the fireplace next to you, your heartbeat feeling like it’s inside your skull and the most agonizing knot about to burst from within you.
But then he pulls his lips away from your lower ones and you whine profusely at the loss of the feeling, only to have him kiss around your ass cheeks and up your spine, hands gliding up and down your horizontal body as you feel something hard pocking at your legs. You swallow dry.
“So, so pretty… like a goddess” he murmurs against your skin, leaving kisses between your shoulder blades and hands coming around you to play with your breasts a bit. Your whines have turned into almost sobs at how much you needed release. “I love, Y/N. Loved you for so long.”
You turn your head at that, lust blown eyes staring back into yours before he united your lips for a sweet kiss. As your mouths press together, one of his hands positions his length and in a swift sway of his hip, he enters you. You part your lips away from his as you wail at the feeling of him stretching you, the size of his cock reaching deep within and it almost makes you come undone from the feeling only, hands clawing at the carpet beneath them.
“You’re so tight and slick, kitten! Feels so good, like you were made for me” he remarks, backing his hips up only to thrust them back into yours as deep as he could go. “Were you made for me, angel? Are you all mine now?”
“Y-yes, Namjoon. All yours, please. Please, more” you beg of him.
As he starts picking up the rhythm, his hands are clawing at the sides of your hips, guiding you with him at each lunge, and his kisses travel down your back, until he leans back up and just looks at you from behind. You are whaling his name and digging your nails in the carpet. Your skin is all sweaty and gleaming with the light of the fireplace. Hair is sticking at the nape of your neck and back, and Namjoon goes to brush it away but instead he grabs and tugs slightly on it, at the same time he gets faster. You feel the tip of his cock hitting at your cervix at the same time the sting of him pulling your hair kicks in and it drives you insane.
“Fuck, Y/N, you look so good like this, you take my cock so well” he praises with an out of breath speech. “I’ll bet you look so pretty cumming. Are you gonna cum for me, sweet angel?”
“Namjoon, ahh… Ahhh!...”
His praise and the repeated assault on the sensitive spot on your cervix with the tip of his length finally does it. Your walls convulse and crash down around him, the aching coil inside unfurling and pleasure cascading in waves through your body as you moan out his name, falling to your forearms as you can’t keep yourself up any longer.
Namjoon stops for a moment to let you catch your breath, but it isn’t much longer before he starts moving again, still perfectly erect inside of you, your sensitive walls feeling how hot and throbbing his cock was.
“You look better than my dreams. I dreamed of you like this so much, of seeing you come undone and filling you up with my cum until you can’t take it no more” he confesses, pulling your body up until your back meets his chest.
One of his hands grasp your neck and turns your face to him, so he can leave sloppy hungry kisses on your mouth as he keeps plummeting his cock into your overly sensitive quim. The other moves from your wide hip into your stomach and he grabs the protruding flesh above the place where your bodies joined together, feeling the ripples each plunge created on your skin.
“Namjoon, please!” you sob out, tears from the overwhelming pleasure gathering at the corner of your eyes.
“Please what?” he repeats, kissing down your neck as the hand on your neck moves down to swirl one of your nipples in between his index finger and thumb. Your walls automatically clench around him and he hisses. “Ugh, kitten, if you keep clenching around me like that, I will cum sooner than I want.”
“Please fill me up” you find yourself saying. “I want your cum so bad, I want to be filled by you and just you, please! Please make me cum again.”
You had no idea you had such depraved thoughts, much less that you could say them out loud, but when it came to Namjoon you wanted anything and everything. You felt no shame, in fact you couldn’t help but feel a hint of proudness when he cursed and the thrust of his hips grew quicker, face hidden in your shoulder as he bit down on it.
“Fuck, you like that? When you beg like that it makes me want to give you everything you desire, kitten” he says. “Bet you would look so pretty… Your fertile womb overflowing with my seed, I bet it’s begging for it right now.”
“Yes, Namjoon, yes! Please!”
The hand that was holding your stomach drops down until his fingers rub your clit and he keeps thrusting up into you. Your head falls back into his shoulder as you scream, too much stimuli making your nerves catch fire and the dam breaks. You cum heavenly and violently, your slick heat spasming and tightening around him and sucking him dry as Namjoon’s cock twitches inside and spills out his essence.
Both of you fall into the carpet and Namjoon finds the strength to pull out of you and parting your legs to see your overflowing womanhood, a mixture of your juices spilling out. He smiles and kisses up your arm, one arm stuck under your head and the other around your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns on the skin of your belly as you both take time to recover.
It’s comfortable to stay where you are for a long time, twenty minutes going by as you lay side by side with the warmth of the fireplace keeping you contented. At some point you rolled over to face him and you both just smile at one another, your fingers coming up to trace over the dimples on his cheeks lovingly.
“I’m sorry I was so rough on our first time together, angel. I didn’t mean to, I envisioned being a lot more gentle” he apologized, one hand coming up and brushing your hair. You shake your head.
“Not at all. It was perfect, Namjoon. With you, everything is perfect” you reassure him.
“I love you, Y/N. I’m so glad we came on this vacation. Even if we end up never going skiing as long as we do this instead” he teases with a smirk.
“I love you too. And next time, let’s not waste the perfectly good bed over there” you point out, finger aiming to the soft bed that was just a few feet away from where you were both laying, on the ground, on top of a carpet.
“You’re right. It was a waste. Let me correct that.”
“Wait, what? Ah!”
A mixture of a yell and a chuckle leaves you as Namjoon pulls you up with him and drags you back into the fluffy bed, intent on more than making up for all the wasted time you both were pinning for each other unnecessarily.
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The Only Good I’ve Ever Done
During the five years he was blipped away, he thought about the snippets of his life that he would miss the most. The moments that he never appreciated enough. The moments that were so fleeting that he never got to expound upon. Plenty of them involved his family. Times on the fishing boat that he didn’t realize would keep him alive in his adult years. Holding his nephews for the first time and learning there was so much more to life and legacy. But so many also involved her.
masterlist is my url/writing
accepting requests for this pairing
There were a few things about Louisiana that Sam knew would never change. They would always have the best seafood. His sister and nephews would always be there. And he would always hold his breath waiting to run into Leila.
During the five years he was blipped away, he thought about the snippets of his life that he would miss the most. The moments that he never appreciated enough. The moments that were so fleeting that he never got to expound upon. Plenty of them involved his family. Times on the fishing boat that he didn’t realize would keep him alive in his adult years. Holding his nephews for the first time and learning there was so much more to life and legacy. But so many also involved her. Kissing on the cheek during recess. Her cheering on the sidelines during his big game. Senior prom. When she said I love you right before he left to join the Air Force.
They kept in contact while he was deployed. Spotty phone calls and fuzzy video calls sustained them but Sam cherished the letters she sent him more than anything. It was as if each stroke of her pen captured a bit of her heart that she sent away to be with him. Everyone teased him about how he was whipped for this girl. Asked him why he came out to this hellscape if he had such a beautiful woman at home waiting for him. He never answered because he didn’t think they would get it. He was here because he had a lot to prove. Prove to his parents that he could be responsible and mature. Prove to Leila and her family that he could keep her safe and provide for her. Prove to himself he deserved her.
When he was selected for the Falcon program, their communication slowed and slowed until it stopped altogether. He was pulling long hours and participating in highly classified missions and he didn’t know how to balance it. Leila still sent him letters even though he stopped writing back. He read them and felt numb. After so long, she stopped writing too. Every stroke of her pen broke her heart. She didn’t have anything left to give. She stopped visiting his sister and parents. Stopped looking at the houses for sale in the paper. Stopped looking at the bridal magazines in the waiting area of the doctor’s office. Her mom told her that sometimes people grow apart. Tried to help her rationalize Sam’s sudden disinterest. Her father told her that he had been right all along. That Sam was just some boy, not ready to be a man. That she deserved better. Leila held onto the hope that when he came back, she could look him in the eyes and talk to him and everything would be better. That they just needed to see each other again and it would all be okay. He would be hers again.
But his end date came and went. She heard nothing from him. Didn’t see him around town. When she found the courage to ask Sarah, she broke the news Sam wasn’t moving back to Louisiana. And she felt the nail in the coffin go right through her chest.
Sam thought about her when he watched Riley fall from the sky. Thought about her when he jumped out of the building in DC. Thought about her when he was locked in a cell on the Raft. He thought of her when he was snapped away and when he was snapped back and he had never known just how temporary life was than he did in those five years.
And now he stood on a dock in Louisiana and there were seagulls and old friends and she was there. She was smiling and laughing and he didn’t even know how to say hello to her.
She had heard Sam was back in town. She had been actively avoiding anywhere she thought he might be but there he was. A part of her could have guessed this was where they would ultimately cross paths. His family had so much history here. If there was anywhere for him to feel grounded, it would be at this dock.
It was also very clear that he was not going to come up and talk to her. At least not anytime soon. And if she wanted to have a conversation with him, after the years without one, she would have to be the one to initiate it.
“Hi, Sam Wilson.” There was no use in being nervous about it. No use in beating around the bush or pretending that they didn’t have the history that they did. She no longer held any resentment towards him. There had been too many years since then and too many astronomical events for him to hold her hostage. Since the last time she heard from him, she had loved others and lost others and learned how to grieve and how to cope and why her mother always told her the most important thing to be is resilient.
“Hey. I saw you over there and I was gonna-”
“You weren’t. That’s why I did,” she said with a smile. He was different. She could tell in just the handful of words they had exchanged. But he was still Sam. Maybe just a little rougher around the edges.
“If I didn’t know how to be with you Leila, I certainly don’t know how to be around you now.” He figured she deserved honesty after all these years. Besides, he had lost his chance with her long ago. There was no use in trying to save face or act suaver than he was.
“Well, if you’re here long enough we can try to figure it out. Try to find our inner second graders and go back to the simpler times,” she teased. Sam smiled and felt warm at the thought. Sometimes, people were meant to be in your life. You don’t always know how or why but you know you can’t live fully without them. She was one of those people to him. He was one of those people to her. It’d be worth the awkwardness to find some sense of rhythm and belonging again.
“Okay then let’s start simple. I’m here to work on the boat and brought some stuff for dinner if you have the time.” It sounded easy enough. Harmless enough. Two people catching up. There was a lot of that going around since they all had been snapped back. “Unless there’s someone in your life and doing that would be weird cause all the ladies here would certainly spread that around town.” She looked down at her shoes with a sad smile.
“There is but there isn’t. It’s a long story,” she replied.
“I have a lot of long stories too,” he shared. Without thinking, he reached for her hand and she met him halfway. Just the simple act made her feel safe and secure. Made her feel more protected than she had in years. Like she didn’t need to look over her shoulder in fear because he would be behind her. “Come on.”
She followed him to the old Wilson family boat and stood still for a moment once her feet landed on deck. It had been so long since she had stepped foot on the vessel, years of memories rushing back at her. She found her way down into the galley and smiled as she thought about the times with Sam where they had taken full advantage of the privacy being below deck brought them. As kids they had pretended it was pirate ship. As teenagers it was place to steal kisses and exploring touches. As young adults it had been sharing beers and learning about physical intimacy. “During those five years, Sarah let displaced persons live here. The marina felt like a real community again. Like it did back when we were little.” Leila paused at the corkboard with pictures and let her fingers brush the polaroid of her that was pinned there.
“She hasn’t mentioned that to me,” Sam replied as he emptied the paper bag of food onto the tiny table tucked into the corner.
“I’m sure you’ve both had more than enough to catch up on.” She slid into the chair he pulled out for her and took a nervous sip of a water bottle. “Thanks for the food,” she said with a smile as she popped a piece of shrimp into her mouth.
“It’s your favorite place. It’d be sacrilege to eat it without you.”
“It’s weird. The things you still remember about someone after time apart. The things you didn’t know you remembered until you saw them again.” She avoided his gaze when she looked up and saw how soft his eyes were as they landed on her. He had caused her nothing but pain and heartbreak since she had seen him last. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Didn’t deserve a second chance with her heart. Didn’t deserve to look at her like he loved her.
“You said there was someone,” Sam asked, clearing his throat. He couldn’t spend another second with her, falling in love all over again, if there was someone waiting for her at home.
“I was engaged. Pre-blip. He...dusted while we were on vacation. Everyone else came back…” she paused and wiped a tear from her cheek. “I assume he’s happier wherever he is and doesn’t want to come back to me.” In her eyes, it was exactly what Sam had done. Gotten a taste of life without her and decided it was the one he preferred to live. Sam reached for her hand across the table but she pulled it out of his reach.
“I’m sorry.” For what he did or her fiance did, he wasn’t sure.
“Don’t be. I’m tired of everyone feeling sorry for me. I should be used to being alone by now.” She dropped her head into her hands with a sad chuckle. “I didn’t take you up on your offer to be snarky or rehash the past. I’m sorry.”
Now it was his turn. “Don’t be. What I did all those years ago. Not writing you back. Not calling when I got to DC-”
“I can’t relive it, Sam.” It was still too raw. Too real. Too ever present in the back of her mind that she barely survived it the first time, let alone talking it out with him a second time.
“I was scared. Scared of the fact that we had a real future together and real plans and a real chance of making it in this world. I was scared back then and I can’t be scared now. Not anymore.” If he didn’t say what he needed to, wanted to, he would never be able to live with himself. Not with all the loss he had suffered. “And when I watched my partner fall from the sky I was even more scared of not having those things. Of depriving you of your chance to have them. I knew I was committed to a life of service and that there’d be times when I had to put you second and I didn’t want to make that choice.”
“It wasn’t your choice to make. You took that choice away from me,” she responded with a new fire residing inside of her. She had never got the chance to have this fight with Sam. Her spirit had been waiting long enough.
“You’re right. I made the choice to give us a clean break-”
“Clean? Were you high on gunpowder over there?” She slid off the chair angrily and grabbed her purse from where she had tossed it. Her appetite was gone. Her elation at sharing a meal with Sam Wilson was gone.
“Don’t walk away from this. We owe it to ourselves to have this out. End things for good!” he called after her as he followed her onto the deck of the boat.
“I hate you, Sam! I hated you everyday for years and even when others came along I hated you for making it impossible to move on! I hate you for being you and I hate myself even more for still loving you!” she jabbed her finger in his direction then promptly deflated.
“I never hated you, Leila. I never stopped being in love with you.” He wanted to kiss her. Crush her against him and never let her go. Promise her that he was ready to settle down and give her the life they had dreamt about together all those years ago. He took a step and she held up a hand to stop him.
“If you take another step, you have to understand what it means.” Sam grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. Kissed the tip of every finger and held it to his chest.
“It means I will never break another promise to you. Means you’re my forever and you have my heart for the rest of time. It means I will never put you second ever again and will spend the rest of my days earning your trust and forgiveness.” She stepped forward but kept her hand right where it was.
“Kiss me,” she whispered. And he did. It was softer than the reunion kisses of his dreams. His fingers were threaded in her hair, her eyelashes brushing against the top of his cheekbones as she leaned against him to try and get closer, closer, closer. Her hands were softer against his cheeks than he thinks he deserves. They held him with care. A delicate nature that had been removed from his life since the last time he held her like this. Leila’s toes stretched her upwards until Sam read her cue and gripped her thighs so she could jump and be his height. “Keep your hands above my waist.”
“What?” he asked dizzily as he pulled away but nipped at her jaw.
“You still have a lot of trust and forgiveness to earn,” she teased as she unhooked her legs from his waist and landed on her own two feet.
“Damn do you know how to wrap a man around your finger.” He pulled her in for a searing kiss. But he couldn’t help his mind wandering to her fiance. The man who abandoned her in some far corner of the world. Sam wanted to find him and...and maybe his anger at himself now had a different target after all these years. “Do you have a ride home?” he asked tenderly as he swayed with her in his arms.
“Are you offering to fly me back?” she asked jokingly but also seriously. She’d say yes if he offered.
“No. I wish I could but the men in camo don’t trust me outside the base.” She pouted and it punched him in the gut. “Soon. I’ll make it work, figure something out.” The following moment of peaceful silence and companionship was interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket.
“Real work or superhero work?” she asked as he looked at it with a furrowed brow.
“Both. Just need a minute and then...then…” It kept ringing and ringing, he couldn’t get a thought out.
“I’ll go clean downstairs. Don’t take too long.” She kissed his cheek, dragging her hand down his arm before twining their fingers briefly, Sam not letting her escape his grasp until she got too far away to hold onto. He knew he kept putting this on his plate. His normal missions as Falcon. The Flag Smashers. The house and the boat. All of them felt like a weight on his soul but Leila...Leila felt like she lifted it. When she was around, he felt like he could breathe again. He was doing his best to juggle everything and he hoped, and prayed, none of them fell from his grasp. Not again. Not this time.
#sam wilson#anthony mackie#falcon#the falcon#sam wilson fanfiction#falcon fanfiction#the falcon fanfiction#tfatws#the falcon and the winter soldier#falcon and winter soldier#avengers#captain america#marvel fanfiction#marvel#avengers fanfiction#captain america fanfiction#sam wilson x reader
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I know him
A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
summary: could you do a reddie x daughter where she sees apparitions of penny wise but keeps it to herself. but one day when she’s w all the losers they mention pennywise in a short joke and she says she knows who that is n they all freak out wondering how she knows and ask her questions to confirm and somehow she knows everything that happened
warnings: fear of being stuck in an elevator so I guess small spaces, pennywise, a brief mention of vomiting and curse words
The old elevator scared her for as long as she could remember, it’s old doors creaking and closing leisurely, and the inside of it coated in a filthy substance that your dad avoided at all costs and urged you to do the same. Many horror story that roamed the building hallways originated from said moving lift, endless cases of people getting stuck in there and injuring themselves, some minor wounds, some majors.
In one particular case, a man from apartment block B4 broke his hand while trying to escape the grimy space, reaching for help outside of the lift only to have the doors ruthlessly crushing his bones, inducing agony so severely that he had to have his hand amputated.
Or another one during which a woman found herself trapped in it’s confinements while a thunderstorm was happening, and ended up electrocuting and dying before morning dawn.
It’s possible that Richie made those story’s up however, and Emma is the first one to admit that her pops does have a track record of pulling pranks on her, but there is a sliver of truth behind the stories.
Several people reported the elevator for malfunctioning, and the tenant always promised to fix the issue, but he never did, and so the thing continued to be a problem. Emma rarely used it, and if she happened to make use of it’s services, she made she was always accompanied by someone who could help in case of an emergency.
June twentieth though, she returned home from school, secretly excited about the prospect of being on her own for the evening, as Richie and Eddie were going out on a date to celebrate their anniversary, and she already imagined all the junk food she bought and would eat throughout the night, when she stumbled upon a problem.
The apartment Richie, Eddie and her lived on was located at the top floor, the furthest away from the prying eyes of the public, in lieu of their future home being renovated, which meant that taking the stairs was a painstaking chore that left her drained of all energy by the time she made it up.
Normally, she occupied the escalator anyway, but she slipped and twisted her ankle at school that morning, and despite it not hurting too bad, Emma figured that using the elevator was still the better call, so her ankle had time to rest.
She hesitated only briefly, before confidently walking in the lift, and pressing the bottom for the eight-floor. Emma tried to make light off the situation, using humor the way Richie had thought her, telling herself that she better take a large gulp of air, just in case the door refused to open again once they slid shut.
‘I got this I got this I got this’, she murmured to herself, psyching herself up before panic overtook her. Using the elevator was an irrational fear she had, and no amount of times riding helped any good in overcoming it. Realistically, the worst thing that could happen was that she locked in, waiting until a neighbor also needed to use the elevator and noticed that someone was in there, then effectively helping her out, but the thought of spending even five minutes with no way out gave her chills, so she suppressed that thought and waited patiently until the lift moved up.
Only it didn’t. The doors latched shut, but no movements upwards preceded. Clearing her throat, Emma hit the floor number again, rationalizing that she pressed the number too soft to be registered, but the eight lit up and yet again no movement took place.
Emma laughed antsy, breathing in and out deeply, still convincing herself that everything was fine, and a firmer hand was needed to get the lift moving, but when nothing happened, she hurriedly thumbed the open button.
With a screeching sound, the doors began to open, wide enough that tears welt up in Emma’s eyes from relief, but then the doors unfolded just enough to see through them into the open hall, not big enough for Emma’s form to fit through, and then shut again.
Terror infiltrated every pore of her being, rendering her a anxiety riddled mess, her breathing shaking too much to properly inhale. Black spots danced on the edge of her vision, becoming faint enough that Emma stumbled backwards and had to grip the railing bar tight in order not to fall.
The temperature read 35° degrees Celsius, the room hot enough that sweat drops formed on Emma’s forehead, and she lost her cool, her mind conjuring up the worst case scenarios.
She repeatedly pushed the open button, wheezing fresh air in the nik of time, while begging to whoever was listening to save her from this mess. Changing tactics, Emma attacked the alarm bell, but then over-analyzed that too. She had no clue whether or not she was supposed to hold it for a longer period of time, or release it and attempt multiple times.
A phone that connected to the main office was also present, and when Emma perceived that, she lunged for it and held it to her ear as close as possible.
‘Hello, please help me’, her voice cracked, ’I’m stuck.’ Nothing but static greeted her, no person on the other line to help her or comfort her, no help on the way.
The tears began bolstering down her cheeks then, a single one leading the way for many others once the dam was finally broken. In spite of not receiving an answer, Emma repeated the same word over and over again anyway, unable to think of any other way out.
She feared that if she kept opening the door, that that too would stop working, and then the heat building would suffocate her. Or the elevator may crash down, killing her instantly, or starvation and dehydration would take her out before anyone finds her and saves her. The fears may sound un-rational, but to Emma they were very real, and she worked herself up into a near panic attack.
‘Please, please, please, I want my parents’, she continues to sob, hoping against all hope that someone apprehends her message.
Her prayers seemed to have been answered when a white glove creeps through the elevator slot, the fingers wiggling back and forth.
‘Take my hand Emma, I’ll help you out.’
Inhibitions aside, Emma allowed said hand to wrap around her wrist, and urged her closer to the edge of the lift, another gloved hand pushing the lift apart and jerking her through. Ignoring the way the stranger somehow knew her name and the way she was lucky she wasn’t crushed by the doors, Emma heaves down on the ground, her painful ankle all forgotten.
The jitters in her body making her stand on shaky legs until she dropped down on her knees. Lunch had already processed most likely, as she couldn’t hurl up anything solid, but a bad taste lingered in her mouth lingers in her mouth regardless
When the last flow leaves her, Emma sits back, still on the ground, her hands buried in her hair to ground herself.
‘You’re out, you’re okay, you’re fine,’ she reassures herself, refraining from rocking back and forth.
For the first time, Emma glanced upwards to look at the person who saved her. The man, if she could call it that, wore a clown suit, completed with a face caked full of make-up. She inched away from him when their eyes connected, certain that the eyes that stared back were yellow, but upon second glance, she notices they were blue, just like her pops.
‘hmm, are you alright there? You look a bit shaken up’, the man grinned with his teeth visible, yellow and sharp on top while his tongue licked over them like he was hungry. He creeped Emma out, but he did rescue her, so Emma felt obligated to give him the benefit of the doubt.
‘Thank you’, she breathed out, the tears in her eyes running dry. He extended a hand out to her, and she took it, pulling herself upright and shaking the nerves off of her.
‘Who are you?’
‘My names Pennywise the dancing clown,’ he giggled in a weird, unsettling tone, ‘you really should refrain from using that lift, I heard it’s,’ he paused and winked at her, ‘scare inducing.’
‘Right,’ Emma trailed off, the polite smile on her face never fading away. ‘Oh wait, you’re a circus performer right? I heard about it coming to town from one of the posters outside.’
At pennywise nod, Emma relaxed. Sure, he came across as frightening, but maybe that was just her imagination after the scare she had experienced, and it would provide a reason why he was dressed like that.
‘Yes yes’, he explained, ‘do you like the circus? Because I love it’, he twisted his body in a way that made bells go off, the smile on his face unusually large for his face. Speaking of which, his forehead was also massive.
‘Your fathers used to love the circus too.’ The admission sparked new interested within Emma, who perked up and listened to him with all her attention.
‘You knew my fathers?’ she asked, shaking off the worry that loomed in the back of her mind.
‘Why yes of course I do, we were all best friends, and we did so much fun things together. If you want, I’ll tell you all about it.’
Emma hesitated, she had never met this man, and he seemed to be sketchy, but at the same time her interests had been piqued, and she figured that the man wouldn’t have come to her aid if he had something malicious planned.
‘They lived in Derry, Eddie and Richie, and they have always been best friends. But the summer of 1989 was one they’ll never forget.’
Emma frowned, neither her dad nor her pops had ever mentioned the summer of 1989, nor had they ever discussed any other people outside of the losers club, but if he knew their names were Eddie and Richie, there’s no way he hadn’t met them.
‘Ow yes, the summer their nightmares came to live right before their very eyes,’ his voice lilts up in a sing song sound, almost a mocking tone, and he belly laughs, as if the prospect of facing your fears was that funny to imagine.
Emma’s heart began to pound faster when the memories of the lift resurfaced, and she couldn’t phantom anyone laughing at that.
‘It all began with uncle Bills little brother….’
When Emma awoke, she was laying down on the sofa, her legs stretched over side so her feet were dangling. She lifted her head and scanned the room in confusion, blinking away the sleep from her eyes.
She would’ve swore that she had a conversation with a guy, but maybe that was a nightmare that she experienced a little too vividly. The talk was strange to begin with, anecdotes including murder, brutal attacks and near death experiences presented as something that really took place, something her family endured.
A quick search on the internet let Emma to believe that she saw a hallucination induced by her distress, and so she never mentioned anything to her fathers when they returned home from their date.
Perhaps the man had offered help to Emma, and he was uncanny enough that Emma dreamed about him after he left, but the conversation was all in her head and never had never come to pass.
The elevator was at full service again the next day, so she never informed Richie and Eddie of that either, feeling no need to rehash how irrational she behaved.
She adamantly fought tooth and nail to never step near the lift at any time, and since her parents were good at parenting, they accepted that with no questions asked, although Richie would huff and puff walking up and down the stairs, his old man bones creaking in protest changelessly.
-----
‘Chug chug chug’, Bill chants, his hands balled in fist chomping down on the table as he viewed Richie gulping down his glass in one smooth sling.
‘I hate it here’, Stan rolls his eyes, downplaying the nearly there smile that graced his face upon hearing roared laughter.
Losers club meetings always brought a never seen amount of chaos and noise, causing them to be chucked out of restaurants more than once, but they’re never deterred.
Stan advocated on multiple occasion to host the parties in one of their houses, but upon the suggestion of organizing one at his house, he backed down and dejectedly proposed a new restaurant they’re welcome at, for now.
This time, the choice alternated between a new Thai restaurant or a steak house that Richie tipped very generously for last time they visited, the new Thai place being a tad more inviting.
Emma loved losers meetings, because she always got to reconnect with her aunts and uncles, and also because the food was more than delicious.
She adored all the losers dearly, but the one she formed a special bond with was Mike, the history buff who knows more than Emma’s actual history teacher, and the one who somehow knows all the right words she must hear if she asks for advice.
The spot next to him is without fail the one chair that remains empty until she arrives, hanging off the tip of his tongue to hear about all the adventures he undergoes on his far off trips.
Today is no exception, Mike sitting on Emma’s left as she bolsters equally as loud as her uncles and aunts as liquid spills from the side of her pops’s face, staining the new shirt her dad recently bought and now belongs in the trash.
Eddie’s face is set in a scowl, as he thrusts out for a napkin and hands it over to Richie, who takes it with a smack kiss on the cheek as a romantic gesture Eddie repulses away from.
‘Dude, keep your disgusting bear filled lips the fuck away from me’, his face lighting up with a blush he tried but fails to suppress. His repulsion of germs decreases every day, but it’s not gone completely, the avoidance of touching the table with any skin proof.
‘Oh come on Eddie, it can’t possibly bother you that much, you married the guy’, Stan remarks, chuckling when Patty softy taps him on the arm.
A waiter pops his out from behind a wall, his face betraying nothing, but the murderous look in his eyes more than telling enough that this will be the last time they pop in this eatery. He refrains from saying anything though, walking away with a rigid back to no doubt complain to his coworkers about annoying table number five.
Thank god, they’ve only arrived an hour ago, and are still waiting on their food to come, and Emma is excited to try it.
‘Ben and I saw the circus in town two weeks ago,’ Bev steers the conversation in a different direction, bored with the current lack of anything but laughter.
The mention of the circus reminds Emma of the strange encounter that happened, the incubus she can recall in perfect detail. The duality of reality and fiction confusion her to this day. She’s pretty sure she dreamed the whole thing besides her being stuck, but then did Pennywise exists for real? And if not, then who helped her out?
The table turns abnormally quiet, so much so that it shocks Emma out of her thoughts. Stan’s face in particular drains of all color and he taps his fingers on the table to remain calm and collected, Patty scrutinizes his every move, but she is lost for how to react as well.
Ben sips his drink awkwardly, clearing his throat after and lacing his hand with Bev with a warning squeeze. Emma is a second away from asking what in the world is going on, but Richie’s got it covered.
‘Yeah, you saw any one familiar? Like a type of clown hoping we die gruesomely? It’s been a while huh I wonder how he’s doing these days.’
‘Richie’, Eddie hisses exasperated, motioning his head in Emma’s direction to remind Richie their daughter was still in the room with them.
Emma chortles at his joke, covering her mouth with her hand so that no piece of the chip she’s nibbling on accidentally lands on the table, the others following her lead easily. They remain at the edge of their seat, not yet settled, but Richie’s humor calmed them down enough that the tense atmosphere around the room fizzles out.
Emma, unthinkingly and mindlessly adds; ‘That someone happened to be named Pennywise?’
She continues to chuckle at her addition, right up to the point that a glass crack to her left, Ben’s glass splintered in tiny pieces on the floor as his big, shock filled eyes gawking at Emma as if she announced she’s pregnant.
The sound of glass relinquishing disturbs Emma’s laugh, the blast spooking her out of nowhere.
‘What? Her dad asks her pressed, and if she thought the losers looked keyed up before, the consternation they now display is in a whole different ballpark.
Trying to rail the topic back on track, Emma continues to jest the situation, reminiscing on the fictional things in her dream.
‘Yeah, you know Pennywise. The clown that transformed into your worst fears. Stan’s painting, pop’s clowns, dad’s gazebo’s, oh and of course we can’t forgot about breaking dad’s arm right.’
No one else laughs, all of them staring shell shocked ahead, unbeknownst to Emma thrusted back to the summer of hell.
‘Emma,’ Richie address her, his palm rubbing across his chest on the left side, his heart burning with urgency to protect his daughter and his family without a second of hesitation.
Richie rarely uses her name in place of a nickname, so she drops the act and tunes out every other person and sound for the sake of paying attention to her pops.
‘Where did you hear all of that?’
A cold gust of winds breezes around the room, resulting in shivers that shake Emma’s whole body. All members of the losers club focus on her, awaiting her response to the question. Eddie and Richie in particular are most keen on finding out how their daughter somehow, without any of them telling, savvy traumatizing events of their youth.
‘I don’t know, a nightmare. Why is it so important?’ Emma inquires, enclosing her body with her arms in an effort to comfort herself.
‘A nightmare?’ Eddie clarifies, the intention behind his inquire not flying over her head.
‘Emma’, Mike interrupts to stop the impending flood of dread about to unleash over her before it even begins.
‘I know you know so much more than you’re letting on. I understands why this is scary, but it’s of the upmost important that you come clean now.’
Mike can read her better than a book, and that’s saying something for a librarian, so Emma gives in, overwhelming tears sticking to her eyelashes, the attention proving to be too much, begging anyone in the room to explain to her what’s going on.
‘The elevator got stuck in our apartment building, and this guy, Pennywise helped me out.’
‘Oh applejack,’ Richie exclaims, understanding now why she’s so resilient on trudging the escalator. Eddie scrambles up from his chair across from Emma’s seat, and tucking her away safely in his arms, her head underneath his chin.
‘it’s okay Ems, you’re safe, you’re fine.’ He soothes her, suppressing his own sobs at the knowledge that Pennywise had been this close to attacking his daughter, the light of his and Richie’s life. Richie joins him a moment later, pressing both Eddie and Emma close to him in spite of the difficult position they’re in.
‘Yeah, no fucking clown is coming near you again, well except for uncle Stan then of course. He gets a pass.’
Uncle Stan dishes out no jab, inevitably inciting more terror in Emma, who whimpers and hides behind the shield her dads form around her.
The night ends with a sleepover all the losers join in on, each and every one committed to creating a safe space for Emma, and if that means killing Pennywise again, then so be it.
#reddie#reddie x daughter#My writing#richie tozier#eddie kaspbrack#Richie x Eddie#richie tozier imagine#eddie kaspbrak imagine#the loser club imagines#it chapter two imagine#mike hanlon imagine#ben hanscom#beverly march imagine#bill denbrough imagines#stanley uris#richie as a parent#richie as a dad#eddie as a parent#Eddie as a dad
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'i’m the best worst thing that hasn’t happened to you yet' - for winter13 please? :)
Winter Soldier is a freelancer now. It’s surprising given the ironclad grip that Hydra had held over him, but it was...nice. To escape from their grasp, to be on the run and choosing jobs for himself. There was no RSVP checkpoint, no orders that had to be exact.
He got a job, executed it well (forgive the pun), and sometimes had coffee afterwards.
Of course, he took jobs from all over. As long as payment was discreet and so was the job, people were happy to pay a man who had once been a machine.
Jobs from all over meant that there were always requirements. He had no problem disposing of members of Hydra, but SHIELD was a bit trickier. Winter Soldier reserved the right to refuse a job, and had countless times now.
(Countless. Almost made him giddy.)
Agent Thirteen. The newest assignment.
The hit came from someone inside SHIELD. Which isn’t as suspicious as most would think. SHIELD is many things, but thorough is not always one of them. There are people that slip through the cracks because they get a second chance, something that Barnes thinks they could learn from ever since Jasper Sitwell has become...ill-disposed of. And Pierce has died mysteriously with files about Hydra’s involvement plastered to his chest.
But Agent Thirteen is born-and-bred into SHIELD. Her great-aunt was the leader of it all, and she ruled with iron in her bones and a heart that cared genuinely. She stayed late nights at the office, kept a knife on her at all times, and was...surprising.
There was a reason Hydra laid as low as it did throughout the years.
He had heard that Agent Thirteen lived up to the expectations set upon her. But he wasn’t sure that she was deserving of the fate that someone else had in store for her.
So he decides to move next door. Whoever was living there has moved out, so he’s moving in as Jim Wetzel. Typical first name, not last. SHIELD is the absolute queen of taking generic names, having a “just-moved-in” neighbor that’s a little too tense, a little too observant.
Jim Smith wouldn’t do. Jim Smith is too generic. No one names their kid Jim Smith anymore, it’s like sirens wailing loudly.
So he’s Jim Wetzel. He shakes with his right hand, smiles at the woman who says her name is Kate--it most definitely isn’t--and they exchange pleasantries.
“When did you hear about the place? It seemed awfully...fast,” Thirteen says.
“A friend of a friend knows some people a couple floors down, got the message from them,” Jim says with a shrug. “And now here I am. How long have you been here?”
“Almost a year now,” she responds kindly. “Keep an eye out for the washer on the left, I don’t trust it.”
“Good advice,” Jim says with a laugh. “See you around, Kate.”
Kate. What a bad name in the mouth. He’s not sure if it just sounds fake or if it’s because he knows she’s not a Kate.
He has never really moved in before. Not at this level, not for this long. He has furniture, and he went to the thrift store and bought an eclectic collection of plates and mugs, most of which are very weird. One mug might be cursed, he’s not sure yet.
Then he sets up shop. SHIELD’s hours run from six a.m. to about eight at night, or later if you’re a very good employee. Or a very bad one. Either way, Sharon may stay later. So he has ample time to place bugs.
The problem is that she will know all the typical places. Under the television, underneath the bed. (Which he wouldn’t do anyway, because you get...interesting noises.)
So he has to be sneaky with places, think outside the box.
Her apartment really is quite nice. Tasteful decorations, small portraits that are obviously faked. He finds her guns and knives, and one set of poison darts that are innocuously disguised as toothpicks in a jar. He thinks it’s cute.
-
Meanwhile, “Kate” is pretty fucking sure that her next-door neighbor is either a spy or a model. Potentially both. But no one that hot just “surprise” moves in, and no one can hold two boxes with one arm unless they’re Natasha, but Natasha would be smooth if she was struggling. This guy didn’t even look like it was a problem.
So she is suspicious.
But she is also interested in this guy. He’s her type: a little bit dangerous, nice smile, and probably looks good in navy blue.
So when she comes home at eight-thirty, she does check her home.
She finds one bug. She’s sure there are more in places that she would never check, and this means that this guy has been in the business a hell of a lot longer than she thought. It also means she’ll have to run facial recognition on any chance that he’s recognizable, and those chances are slim.
But she cannot dismantle the bugs yet. She has to leave them there until she has enough evidence to be a nice neighbor and confront him with a nice dish of brownies.
It’s odd, living in a place that you know is bugged. She knows that he didn’t touch the bedroom. Hmph. She would have.
She smiles at him in the hallway when they wake up the same time.
“Where you off to, Jim?” She asks, holding her briefcase.
“Gym,” he answers. “Gotta get it in somehow, you know? What about you, work?”
“Boring office job,” Kate answers easily. Kate does have a boring job. It’s all paperwork and accounting and the classes she would have failed if she had taken them in college. “Where do you work?”
“Private security firm,” he answers. Which is kind of true. He is independent. “Just making sure people stay safe from threats.”
“Important work,” Kate says lightly. “Ever go wrong?”
“Rarely.”
She nods, stepping forward as the elevator door opens. “Good luck today, Jim. Hope the workout goes as planned.”
Okay. Bucky knows she’s onto him now.
Shit.
-
Sharon has important shit to do.
But she is not an art student.
So she is trying to convince Agent Jenson to draw someone for her.
“I will buy you the good donuts,” Sharon begs. “You know I wouldn’t be doing this for any other reason.”
“One time when you were bored you made Thea on third floor photoshop Clint into a McDonald’s ad just to see if you all could get it to Times Square and you did,” Jenson says, deadpan. “I’m not sure how Barton doesn’t get recognized, he’s gotten on national news twice.”
“The marketing team describes him as a Florida man, we got lucky,” Sharon argues. “And Barton isn’t involved in this.”
Agent Jenson cannot be convinced.
But Sharon gets lucky because Coulson loves history.
James fucking Barnes.
Jim.
Goddammit. She’s screwed. And it’s only Thursday.
-
When she comes home at ten o’clock (yes she did procrastinate going home, it’s not like you can’t procrastinate death), she has a gun trained on her door.
Right on Jim, who has a knife raised.
“You know, why aren’t we both rational about this?” Sharon asks. “I’m sure you can talk diplomatically, Barnes.”
“I can. But I find more truth in threats and statements rather than diplomacy. Politicians aren’t known for telling the truth.”
“Good thing I don’t have a plan to go into politics,” Sharon says. “So let’s sit down. I’m not gonna hold this gun for twenty minutes.”
And then they sit. That’s awkward.
“I need to know something,” Barnes says. “And I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“Of course you will. I’d be concerned if you didn’t,” Sharon says. “So. Why were you sent to kill me?”
“There are rumors of you being disloyal to SHIELD. I need to know if you’re working for anyone else.”
“No. Not ever.” He nods.
“Who hired me?” she asks.
“A man who goes by Crossbones,” Bucky says.
“Oh my god,” Sharon groans. “Of fucking course it’s Rumlow...”
Bucky freezes. He knows that name. He remembers that man.
“New plan,” he says. “You’re gonna help me get rid of Rumlow.”
Sharon blinks.
She’s used to decisions being made over a series of days. This is...this is new.
“This is personal, isn’t it?”
“You’re smart,” Bucky says bitterly. “He’s an asshole. And I hate him a lot.”
“Got it,” Thirteen says. “Then let’s switch it up. Draw him to where I am. I’ll take care of the rest. You’re on clean-up.”
“I’ve never had a team-up before,” Bucky says. “But I usually think we know each other’s names.”
“Sharon,” she says. “Bucky, right? Or do you seriously go by Jim?”
“Not like Bucky is any better,” he mentions. “But yeah. Bucky. Pleasure doing business with you, Sharon.”
“Better get started,” she says.
(Oh, he’s in love.)
#lovelyirony writes#winter13#sharon carter#bucky barnes#buckysharon#i love them.......they#sharon#bucky#winter soldier#agent thirteen#they are both capable!#and a little bit too good for their own good!
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I've loved both of your spop fics so much holy shit. That's the good character angst. For a potential prompt: I'd like to see how Catra might feel about Scorpia now having the power of the black garnet. I just always think that red lightning looks awfully familiar...
absolutely god tier prompt, anon. legit screamed when i read it :*
(she ra s5 spoilers)
read on ao3
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Catra kept her claws out and dug into her palms the whole time she crept through the wreckage of the Fright Zone with Scorpia at her side. She didn’t know why Adora and Perfuma had insisted the two of them teamed up to dredge the old base for—what, exactly? Tech, supplies—stars forbid, people? Catra thought it was better to raze the place to the ground and let Scorpia start her kingdom on fresh soil.
But she also thought that wasn’t the real reason they were here. Adora needed closure. Scorpia needed closure. And, according to Perfuma, she and Scorpia really needed to talk some things out.
That was true. They needed to. Did she want to? Absolutely not. Was she going to? Maybe. Eventually. Not here, now. She wasn’t … (ready? stable? brave?)
She’d apologized, briefly, in the warm glow of the aftermath. She knew, despite the forgiveness, that it wasn’t enough. There was so much left between them. Catra knew those words weren’t enough to make up for all she’d done.
“Well, gosh,” Scorpia was saying. Catra’s ears swiveled as she forced herself out of her own thoughts. “I don’t really remember what my kingdom was like before the Horde came in. I was raised in the Horde, you know? I don’t know how to rule a kingdom, much less build one from scratch.”
Catra hummed.
They continued to wander, absently picking through the rubble.
“All the other princesses have, like, their own thing, you know? I’m not really sure what my thing is.”
“An annoying overabundance of sincerity,” Catra grumbled.
Oh. That was mean, right? She was trying to do better, but being on this ‘mission’ with the other woman had a ball of anxiety humming sharply in her chest, desperate to crawl out as scathing remarks and sarcasm.
Yeah. That was mean. She needed to do better, at least for Scorpia’s sake.
She opened her mouth to apologize, but Scorpia cut her off.
“Hmm. I think that’s more Perfuma’s thing.” She blushed at the mention of the flower princess, seemingly no hard feelings about Catra’s comment. “Not that I find it annoying.”
The blush did something weird to Catra’s stomach. Which was—like, bad, right? It wasn’t- Okay she- She was maybe a little jealous. Which was totally bad and stupid. She’d had her chance with Scorpia, and she’d made a royal mess of that. It wasn’t fair at all that Scorpia being happy with someone else would make her feel like this. Plus, she was happy with Adora. Happier than she’d ever been. Adora was her soulmate, if such a thing existed.
Still.
The horrible, selfish little creature inside her was chanting mine mine mine mine and she didn’t know how to make it stop.
She looked away, ears twisting.
Scorpia’s boots clunked on the floor as they walked. Catra thought she should probably say something affirming about, she didn’t know, Scorpia or the future of her kingdom or her relationship with Perfuma. But her throat was tight with shame. There was so much she should say. She didn’t know where to start.
Were they still friends?
Catra didn’t know if they were even still friends.
(she wanted them to be. desperately, she did)
“Scorpia—”
The other woman looked at her, expectant.
Her claws dug in.
Her eyes dropped.
“Maybe we should head back.”
(she was such a fucking coward)
“Yeah,” Scorpia said, obvious disappointment tinting her voice. “Yeah, I don’t think there’s much left here.”
Catra sighed as they turned to walk back towards the entrance, where they said they’d meet back after their missions were done. The metallic, somewhat rotten smell of the Fright Zone was getting to her. She’d gotten used to the clean and perfumey smell of Bright Moon. The stale smell of their ship. The Fright Zone’s stench was just bringing up memories.
So focused on walking through the rubble, lost in her thoughts, she didn’t register the creak and the crack until it was too late.
“Watch out!”
Her tail puffed as she startled, only just taking in the piece of ceiling that had started to fall towards her as Scorpia’s shout reached her ears.
And then the flash. Red, scattered, jumping lightning. The sound of the electricity crackling through the air.
Her wide eyes froze on the red electric as it connected with the rubble and exploded it into dust. She covered her head as it rained down on her hair and shoulders.
Her body shook. Her heart pounded, loud and terrified, behind her ribs.
Her face was shocked still into a wide, wet-eyed stare.
Her legs trembled. She couldn’t breathe.
“Whoa, that was a close one! You okay?”
Hot, molten anger flooded her. She didn’t mean for it to. She didn’t want it. But it stopped the tears from flooding her eyes and let her breathe again.
“Watch where you’re aiming! You almost hit me!”
(she almost hit me she almost hit me again she almost shocked me she)
“Sorry!” Scorpia yelped. “It just- It was going to fall on you, and—”
“I could’ve dodged it! You didn’t have to shoot lightning at me!”
Scorpia stared at her as Catra’s form trembled, hands curled to fists and teeth bared in a snarl.
“I’m sorry,” Scorpia said, quiet.
Catra knew she was being ridiculous. But the part of her that wanted to calm down, that wanted to apologize for her outburst and explain herself, was being smothered under the waves of panicked fear that kept her anger flowing.
She hated that she kept talking. She hated it, truly.
“I bet you want to hit me, don’t you? You got a taste for it when you were under his influence—oh, yeah, if you don’t remember, you zapped me real good then, sent me flying about a thousand yards—and you’re still angry at me for everything. You’re still angry and you want to hit me. You missed the others, but you shocked me. Well? Say it!”
She was expecting Scorpia to be hurt, which is what the twisted little anger monster in her chest wanted. If Scorpia was hurt, then Catra wasn’t; she had the upper hand. It was all very logical and rational, you see, not fueled at all by the terrified child inside her. The terrified little child who’d never gotten to yell at Shadow Weaver and all that the Black Garnet’s power had done to her then.
But Scorpia didn’t look hurt. She looked … well, sad, a little. But more than that—calculating. Like she was trying to figure something out.
Her expression smoothed.
Slowly, she sat on the dusty metal floor, pincers raised by her head.
“What are you doing?” Catra asked, chest heaving. Her eyes darted between the raised pincers. “Y-Yell at me, fight back, do something!”
Scorpia was silent.
And in the silence, in the face of the calm, Catra unraveled.
“Stop,” she croaked, her anger snuffing and tears finally leaking from her eyes. Her ears flattened against her head. She sunk to the floor. “You’re not supposed to … You’re not supposed to do that.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Scorpia asked, quiet.
“I don’t know.” She pulled her knees to her chest, tail curling around herself. “Be mad at me.”
“Shock you?”
Catra’s shoulders trembled.
“I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to remind you of—”
Catra’s face disappeared behind her knees.
She could hear Scorpia’s even, measured breaths.
“I wouldn’t do that to someone I care about. And I’m sorry it happened when I wasn’t in control.”
“Don’t say that.”
“What?”
“That you care about me.”
There was a pause.
“It’s true, though.”
Catra wheezed a hiss, digging her claws into her legs. “It shouldn’t be. Not after … Not after everything I did to you.”
“… Maybe,” Scorpia said after a moment. “You did some pretty bad shit.”
A self-deprecating laugh squeezed from her chest.
“But I don’t think I’m ever going to stop caring about you, wildcat.”
The laugh turned a little more desperate, something like a sob. It took a minute for the fight to leave her chest, for her to curl fully onto her knees and, for a moment, sit in the shame. She finally raised her head, wiping tears off her cheeks as she attempted to plaster some sort of smile on her face.
“I’m glad you have Perfuma now,” she said, genuine despite her racing heart and tear-clogged throat. “I was never good enough for you.”
A twitch of a smile pulled at Scorpia’s lips, but even that looked sad. “You never gave yourself the chance to be.”
They stared at each other for a moment, tears streaming down Catra’s face. Slowly, Scorpia’s pincers fell to resettle in her lap.
Catra looked down.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. That was … That was really shitty. I just wasn’t expecting it, and I got scared.”
“Thank you,” Scorpia said. “For my part, I didn’t think how that would look to you.”
Catra wiped at her cheek with the heel of her hand.
“How do you … do that?”
Scorpia’s brows drew as Catra glanced back up at her. “Do what?”
“Just be … I don’t know. So good about stuff. So nice. It’s so hard for me.”
“Practice, mostly.”
Now Catra’s eyebrows were drawing. “What do you mean?”
Scorpia shrugged, turning her gaze to look around the crumpling hallway. “I grew up in the Horde, too. Do you think it came easy to me? You think I got nice by accident?”
“I don’t know.” Catra unfurled a little, resting her chin on her knee. “I kind of assumed you’ve always been like this.”
Scorpia snorted, and Catra was surprised by the noise.
“Nah. Frankly, I used to be a bit of a dick.”
“That … really surprises me.”
“It surprises most people, for some reason.” She looked down to her lap, gently pinching the fabric of her pants. “A lot of people seem to mistake kindness for innocence, naivety. Being kind takes work, you know. It’s a skill, like anything else. You have to practice. You’ll get there in time, wildcat.”
Catra’s ears flicked and flattened.
“I’m not sure I will,” she muttered, glancing away. “Not like you. What, uh … What made you change?”
She sighed, shrugging a little. “I didn’t consider leaving the Horde for a long time. Not until …”
Not until me, Catra thought.
“But at some point I realized that, well … the Horde kind of sucked. But it was my home. My family. My—unfortunate—heritage. I’m loyal; it can be a character flaw. I didn’t want to leave. But I realized that while the Horde sucked, I didn’t have to. When I’d get all … snippy, if you’ll pardon it … it, well, hurt people. My pain was feeding into this whole system, this loop of unhappy people, who were hurt and upset, and just took it out on each other, passed it to the next person. It’s a circle. Self-fulfilling something or other.”
She paused, waiting until Catra caught her eye.
“At some point,” she said, “you have to be strong enough to stop it.”
Catra shrunk, looking away. “I’m trying.”
“I know you are, wildcat. I know you are.” She paused. Nerves skittered across Catra’s chest. “But you have a lot to learn. It’s hard to come to grips with, but kindness is hard. It takes strength and discipline. It takes vulnerability, which is scary. But choosing to be kind is one of the bravest things you can do. The day I chose to be different changed my life. And there’s been a lot of rocky moments, but I’m better for it, and I’m never looking back.”
“Scorpia …” Catra gripped her knees, taking a breath before she looked up at her. Scorpia looked back, patient. Catra swallowed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the person you needed me to be. I’m sorry I … that I was a part of the loop.”
Scorpia’s expression softened. “I appreciate that, wildcat.”
“I want to change,” she told her. “Both for the people around me, so I’m- so I’m not just a part of the circle, but also …” She sighed. “I can’t keep doing this. Living like this is going to kill me.”
“I think it’s been killing you for a while.” Catra’s eyes darted up, and Scorpia smiled at her, soft. “But it’s really brave of you to admit that.”
Catra felt her face flush. “Scorpia, I—” Her grip tightened. “I love you. And- And I’m sorry it wasn’t in the way you wanted, but- but I do, and I just had to say it. So. There.”
Scorpia’s smile went a little dopey, warm and pleased. “You too,” she said. “And it’s okay.”
Catra nodded quickly, looking away. Her face was still flushed; she was sure she was beet red. But her tail was curling and flicking slowly, unable to contain the pleased motion.
“I have a lot to make up for,” she mumbled. “Thanks for being patient with me.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world, wildcat. I’ll be here.”
She nodded again. “Should we- The others are probably meeting back up now.”
They rose, and as they walked, Scorpia let her arm rest over Catra’s shoulders. Against the larger woman, Catra felt warm and safe.
That little, possessive part of her told her to rub against the larger woman’s chest, to mark herself all over and say mine mine mine mine … But that wasn’t true. Scorpia wasn’t hers, and that was okay. She wasn’t Perfuma’s, either. Scorpia only belonged to herself, and that was part of what Catra admired so dearly.
She stamped down the urge and merely walked, her own arm around Scorpia’s waist. Her tail flicked behind them.
Scorpia wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t weak or naive. Her kindness was her strength, and the fact that she shared some of that with Catra, that she loved her, despite everything …
Barely audible, the rumble of her purr.
She squeezed closer.
#still taking prompts!!#she ra#she ra spoilers#spop#spop spoilers#catra#scorpia#she ra fic#spop fic#Anonymous
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Justice League International #8 (1987)
Is it weird that I have a newsstand copy of a comic book when I definitely was shopping at my local comic shop in 1987?
This cover has so many jokes to talk about that I probably won't have time to review the entire issue. My stomach is already sore for laughing so hard! Look at how the box marked "fragile" is about to fall onto the floor thanks to the carelessness of Blue Beetle and Booster Gold! Ha ha! And they're carrying the large box upside down! According to the label on the upside down box, it's going to Paris, France so it must contain Crimson Fox who is almost certainly swearing in French because have you ever tried to masturbate while upside down in a box being jiggled by two men?! The incompetence of those guys is hilarious! But the best joke is the one where the only woman on the team doesn't lift a finger to help and also can't make up her mind about the placement of a gigantic box that hasn't been opened yet! See how funny that is? Because who cares where the box is placed?! It's not like they're moving a desk or an end table and Black Canary is coming up with a floor plan! It's just a box that will need to be opened and then broken down and then thrown out! The other funny part is that yellow spray around Beetle's head and the shape of his mouth because I think it suggests he's about to call Black Canary a bitch! Ha ha!
I probably left out the joke about the hernia although that one might just be implied. Also, it'll probably be a blatant joke later in the story.
The issue begins with Jack Ryder on his right-wing radio call-in television "news" program fiasco of a show Hot Seat trying to get the masses to shit blood over the Justice League. It'll work because the masses in comic books (as well as the masses not in comic books because we've all seen how people who listen to and watch right-wing radio call-in television "news" programs easily believe the alternate reality fed to them because it speaks to their inherent biases and selfishness) are idiots. (That might be my favorite interruption by parenthetical reference I've ever written.) I also know that it will work because Glorious Godfrey only recently did the same thing a year or two ago and it worked. But comic books don't recognize time and space in the same way that we more logical and real readers do so the masses won't remember that they were fooled just a year ago by idiotic television pundits who don't mind seeing the world burn as long as they can cash a fat check over it. I doubly also know it will work because Millennium is coming up and I think that might be proof that maybe Jack Ryder was sort of right because aliens have infiltrated Earth and are pretending to be heroes and possibly even right-wing radio call-in television "news" hosts.
I don't really remember much about Millennium except that it was weekly and there were Manhunters in it.
My favorite comic book characters when I was a kid were Blue Falcon and Dynomutt. I bet Jack Ryder was Sean Hannity's favorite. Tucker Carlson's favorite was probably Hitler.
This issue begins the long running joke that Martian Manhunter is addicted to Oreos. I fucking get it, man. Have you ever tried to melt an Oreo into a spoon, fill a needle with the liquid contents, and inject it straight into your bloodstream? Me neither because that's stupid, you dumb idiot. Why would you even suggest it? You need to inject them straight into your taste buds.
J'onn, Mister Miracle, and Captain Atom are setting up the New York Embassy which leads to lots of jokes about shoddy construction and terrible wiring and lazy movers. At one point Captain Atom electrocutes himself and then destroys all of the wiring because he's the guy the United States wanted to represent them on the new international team. I'd say his penchant to escalate a situation straight to violence proves the United States made the right decision.
Batman and Guy Gardner oversee the outfitting of the Russian Embassy with a little help from Rocket Manhunter #7.
Even Rocket Red has heard about Guy's serious brain trauma and yet nobody has even discussed getting him a medical check-up. What a bunch of bastards!
This is also the issue that begins the "Bwa-ha-ha-ha" gag (I think. Did it happen in an issue previously? Maybe?! Anyway, it really gets going here). That's the gag where somebody laughs when something terrible happens to somebody else. It's a great team building exercise, to laugh at a co-worker's pain! Or if it isn't, it, at the very least, helps develop personal morale. Nothing better than laughing at your manager after her credit card was stolen by a prospective new employee while the entire company was in a meeting, especially after learning that said card was pretty much just used at The Honey Baked Ham. Does that make if funnier? Or is this one of those dark humor things like when the same manager was super pissed at an employee I was training for not showing up for work the day before Thanksgiving only to learn later that she had died of carbon monoxide poisoning the previous night which caused her to erupt into crying jags for the rest of the day which I'm positive weren't for my poor co-worker but for her guilty feelings of being so angry at her. That's dark humor, right?
The "Bwa-ha-ha-ha" gag begins when Booster tries to hit on a Parisian woman and gets shot down. Later, she winds up being the League's Paris Bureau Chief. And also maybe Crimson Fox?
This scene is well done in a book that often tries too hard for stupidly silly humor.
I'd say that these three pages (the scanned page being the third of the three) of interaction between Blue Beetle and Booster Gold is ground zero for what would become a great best friend relationship. Any interaction before this was just of the generic Blue Beetle making a stupid class clown comment to the group. But this foundational scene in Paris already feels like these two at their closest which, admittedly, is mostly Blue Beetle laughing at something dumb Booster Gold did. But I like to view this entire relationship through the lens of a Booster Gold mostly driven mad and insane from having to live through so many alternate timelines. Sure, the reader doesn't know about that aspect of Booster Gold yet (and won't for more than a decade). But I can't help but understand Booster Gold through that lens now. And his need for some kind of consistency and whimsy and, almost certainly, a need to be able to laugh at himself must be expressed through this relationship as a kind of therapy. In a universe where not even the timeline lacks consistency, Booster Gold finds solace in getting his balls busted by Blue Beetle.
Maybe I'm a dick who doesn't understand true friendship but this is totally what it looks like, right?
The issue ends with a Keith Giffen drawn story about the end of the Global Guardians, or at least the end of their United Nations backing. I'm sure it's a set-up for a future story but even if it were just a couple page story acknowledging the Global Guardians and how they're affected by a new United Nations backed team, it would remain an interesting moment. I don't need iron clad continuity in my comic book universe but I am entertained when writers acknowledge the waves their stories are making in that continuity. Plus it's drawn by Giffen which always makes it seem like I'm reading a story from the perspective of a madman.
Justice League International #8 Rating: B+. How come when I publish a manifesto, people refer to it as a 'zine?! How do you get the fucking power to have your photo-copied screed with "art" considered a manifesto?! How many people do I have to rant at to get some Goddamned recognition?! "The Truth About Star Trek Transporters" is not a fucking fanzine, people! It's a manifesto of the alternate reality we're being asked to accept! The alternate reality of an alternate reality where people are being sent to their deaths every fucking mission only to be replaced by clones of themselves and nobody fucking cares! Probably because they're all clones of clones of clones and their ability to think rationally has diminished to the point of dogmatic stupidity! Am I the only one witnessing this while others simply think its some kind of retrograde perspective?! Does my antediluvian intellect subquester the means of proliferating the parallax of reality?! Does the inclusion of three hilarious dick jokes deny me the mantle of manifesto writer, oublietting my ego into an infinite mirror trick of endless zineian declarations?! Fuck this shit! And fuck that satellite that's been following me throughout this meandering conclusion!
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Awww honey!!! You are doing an amazing job! As a matter of fact, I love ALL your works!! If you could maybe one more headcanon, can it be reader being helplessly in love with Hop but him being too dumb to notice lmao just because he'd never think a girl like her would like him, so when he gets stood up, he finally realizes her feelings??? Thanks 💕
thank you!! 🥰🥰 writing for hop has been such a fun and wonderful experience. so this one’s got a major age difference and it’s vaguely canon adjacent!
you’ve been halfway in love with jim hopper since you were an 18 year old coed and he was the 40 year old chief of police newly returned from nyc
he came to break up a frat party that had gotten way too out of hand and you took one look at the mountain of a man and decided that he was the one for you
of course he doesn’t notice you other than to shake his head at the company you’re keeping and to tell you to be smarter than to get busted with the drugs and alcohol you currently have in your underage possession
you clean up your act and graduate early, taking the inheritance you get from your grandmother and open a bakery right in the center of town
(that it’s conveniently located right next to the police station is entirely a coincidence)
hopper becomes a constant presence in your bakery, guzzling down coffee like his life depends on it and sometimes you think it just might
he looks older and more tired than he did four years ago when he broke up that house party and you wonder if it has anything to do with the rumors that have been plaguing the town for the past few years
you’re constantly touching him - his hand, his arm - laughing and flirting even though it doesn’t seem to be getting you anywhere
hopper never asks about your life, not really, not for specifics but you always drop in the fact that you’re single or that you went on a terrible date over the weekend
he usually grunts in response to those bits of information, looking strangely panicky
one day you’re both entering your respective places of work at the same time, his blazer parked next to you camaro in the shared lot
“hey chief!” you wave, grinning widely, “come on over on your lunch break, i’ve been trying out some new recipes and i could use a taste tester”
“i’ll be there,” hopper replies warmly (or as warm as he gets) - you’ve learned that offering up sweets is a surefire way to get him into the bakery
“won’t even tell flo,” you promise with a wink and he laughs, shaking his head a bit at his nosy secretary’s actions (you smile privately to yourself just like you do every time you get a laugh out of hopper)
he’s stepping into the bakery at 1:40 that afternoon, the bell over the door tinkling and signalling his arrival. “so where’s this dessert i’ve been promised?” he asks, leaning casually on the countertop
“right here,” you slide a napkin in front of him “sort of like a jelly doughnut but with raspberry mousse inside and powdered sugar instead of coarser sugar”
he raises a skeptical eyebrow - you’re messing with a classic, the eyebrow says. but he takes a huge bite and wow, what you wouldn’t give to know what that mouth looks like open and buried between your legs
there’s powdered sugar clinging to his moustache and he hums in contentment. “s’good,” he mumbles around a mouthful of mousse
“glad you like it,” you reply reaching forward and brushing the powdered sugar off of his face with your fingers - the coarse hairs of his moustache prickle against your fingers and you involtarilt clench your thighs together
hopper pulls back a little, frowning and fuck - you overstepped, didn’t you?
he scratches the back of his neck. “actually. i was wondering. how...asking someone out, these days, how...”
your face flushes and your mind spins. is he actually asking you out? is this happening? play it cool
“um,” you say, “just ask? most girls just like a man that takes charge - time, place, i’ll pick you up, kind of thing.”
“good to know,” hopper replies and he finishes off the doughnut before saying goodbye and heading out.
“what the fuck?” you mutter to yourself once the door is closed behind him. maybe he’s just waiting for a bit so you don’t think he was too obvious?
and then at the end of the day, you watch hopper cross the street to melvald’s and your heart sinks
he’s only in there a few minutes, but he walks out with a big old smile on his handsome face and you know
of course
joyce byers
of course
she and hopper knew each other back in high school, they have history
you’re just a 22 year old with a crush on a man old enough to be your father.
of course
he probably just thinks of you as the harmless little girl that gives him free coffee and desserts
you could throw up
(you do throw up because you work yourself into such an emotional tailspin)
(no one said 22 year olds were rational)
monday morning rolls around and you could vomit again at the thought of seeing hopper all fresh from his date with joyce
you think about calling in sick but you’re the damn boss and if you don’t show up the bakery’s left to useless teenagers and so you trudge in, looking worse for the wear
hopper makes a grand entrance around 11:30 - this time the bell’s tinkling sounds ominous
“hi chief,” you greet him dully, none of your usual spark or excitement
“hi,” he replies, leaning his forearms against the counter. “so uh think i should probably tell you something.”
you raise an eyebrow - he sounds weird
“was stood up this weekend” and it looks physically painful for him to say that
“sorry to hear that,” you reply quietly, turning your back on him to busy yourself with cleaning the counter
“thing is,” he says “is that i talked to her after and she, uh, pointed out that maybe i asked the wrong woman on a date?”
“oh?”
“yeah. thing is. this girl i should’ve asked out, she’s outta my league”
“is she?” down hopes, get down!
“fuck yeah,” hopper replies earnestly. “gorgeous, smart, funny, young. the fuck would she want with an old fat fuck like me?”
you turn around and pinch your lips together to suppress a smile. “maybe she thinks you’re the handsomest man she’s ever seen and really wants to go out with you.”
“yeah?”
“yeah! fuck hop, i’ve been falling over your for years now.”
“yeah?”
“its a good thing you’re handsome.”
you slide him a coffee and a doughnut and he smiles.
“friday, 7pm? i’ll pick you up and we’ll see a movie?”
you beam at him in response
#jim hopper imagine#jim hopper x reader#jim hopper#creedslove#asked and answered#agh this one got really long and rambly and im not sure what i think about it#hope this is good lol
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Close Quarters
Pairing: Lucifer/Reader; Lucifer/OFC
Rating: Explicit. This is pure filth lmao
Summary:
You're stuck in a closet with Lucifer. That's it, that's the plot. Enjoy!
x x x
The fact is, the closet really is tiny and with her standing up they would be nose-to-nose if it weren’t for the height difference. He's more than a head taller than her, and this close she would need to barely move to kiss the column of his neck. Her eyes follow the line of tendons under his skin from his jawline, down to where his shirt obstructs the view.
Unable to resist the pull of his gaze, she raises her eyes to meet his.
“Hi”, she says again, as softly as the atmosphere requires. Her stomach is already tied up in knots.
Lucifer's smile softens, and he angles his head so that their lips are even closer together. “Hello, there."
Tags: Dirty talk; Slow sex; Shy!Reader; Attempt at humour; Semi-public sex
You can also read it on Ao3
She knew it was a bad idea even before leaving her house.
Honestly, a blind date? Her? Recipe for disaster, obviously. She still doesn't know what compelled her to accept to go to dinner with some random guy that her best friend works with - actually, she knew why: it was to stop her cries of “you seriously need to get laid!”
And sitting at a table of the restaurant, still blissfully alone after an hour and a half, she realises that the guy had stood her up. Which would be very sad, possibly even a hard blow to her self-confidence, if only cancelling plans didn't always give a rush of endorphins: the anxiety that had clawed her all week disappears; her shoulders relax, the high heels she's wearing don't hurt anymore.
She doesn't even give a fuck that she's sitting alone at a restaurant, that's how good the prospect of good food and her favourite book (she had it in her purse, just in case) without a stranger sitting with her feels.
Also, there's this man, a few tables from hers, that with some luck she'll be able to stare at without being seen.
He's sitting with a dark haired woman, but he's so magnetic she barely notices her presence. He's got dark hair, perfectly styled, and stubbles that shadow his strong jawline. She risks another glance at him a minute later, hoping against hope that he doesn't notices, and catches a view of his profile while he talks with the sommelier. He's smiling, a bit lasciviously, looking at the other man from underneath his lashes.
Is he-is he flirting with him? Chances are he is, considering how the sommelier is blushing - and, really, it makes sense. If she was that hot she would flirt with anything and anyone just to see them all flustered.
He looks like a Hollywood actor.
No, better, he looks like Hollywood actors look in your head when it's the middle of the night and you're thinking of that super hot scene that was your sexual awakening as a teen.
In other words: too good to be true. She is probably just making him up, actually.
Fuck, her friend is right - she does need to get laid.
In the meantime, she will not deny herself the small pleasure of imagining, in graphic details, all the ways she could ruin the expensive suit he's wearing.
Which is obviously when a gunshot resonates in the room, scaring the shit out of every client.
Because this is her life: she can't think “hey, I'd like to have sex with than man” without God going like think again, bitch and sending someone to shoot the place!
She thinks this while scrambling away from her table, fight or flight instinct kicking in before she has time to think. “Flight” wins, hands down, because you don't bring uncomfortable heels and lack of military training to a gunfight.
“Lucifer Morningstar!” someone screams behind her back when the shooting stops. “You're a dead man!”
The oh-so-hot man from before is still comfortably lounging on his chair, idly drinking from his wine glass. “Am I now? That's news to me.”
The woman who was dining with him is standing protectively close to him, wearing the smile of a shark ready to kill some innocent baby seals.
Get the fuck out of here, a rational voice in her head says.
“Door. Too far.” she mumbles to herself, eyeing the scene and the feet of panicked clients and staff exiting the restaurant. She is hiding behind some decorative plants, on her hands and knees.
Great sentence structure. Hide, then, go, come on!
And so she crawls away, praying not to be seen, towards the staff-only part of the restaurant.
***
She ends up in some sort of service closet inside the kitchen, comforting both in size and the silence that closing the door shut brings.
There's a distinctive smell of soap in the air, and the only feasible place to sit are some packages of toilet paper, but you know what that tiny supply closet doesn't have?
Menacing figures dressed in black shooting everywhere.
It feels like a home, already.
She stays there for a while, listening desperately for the distant screams and noises of things breaking to stop - or at least for police sirens to come closer.
And for a while nothing changes, but then the door to the kitchen bangs open and for a second she thinks this is it, this is how I die.
Killed in a dusty closet that smells like a hospital.
“Stay here!” a woman's voice intimidates.
“But, Maze-” A man this time, British, the tone of a child that got denied his favourite candy.
“No but's, I'm not gonna let you get killed!”
There's the sound of two pair of feet moving - oh no, oh no, please no - closer to her hideout and she has literally nowhere to hide, so she slaps a hand on her mouth and tries to do her best impression of a cardboard cutout. She manages to shut off the light, though - not that it will do much.
The door of the closet wrenches open, and she doesn't have time to think before a tall figure takes up the little space left, almost falling over her.
The door closes again, lock clicking into place with violence. “And you stay the fuck in there, Lucifer, am I clear?” the woman says, and then nothing more.
Lucifer?, she thinks. The man I was imagining in compromising positions few minutes ago?
And then, after fixing her priorities: the one they were shooting at?
“Like a lock can stop me…” Lucifer (what kind of parents-) is muttering to himself, but his words trail off. His shoulders tense, his head snaps to the side, but she can barely see all this in the low light that filters from underneath the door. “Oh, but I have company. Hello, there.”
He finds and flicks on the light switch a second later, turns to see her still sitting on - on toilet paper, of all things.
Fuck her life, honestly.
“Um, hi.” She gives him a little wave. The effort not to stare at his crotch, which is at less than 20 centimetres from her face, is using up all of her social skills - she doesn't nervously giggle only by the grace of God.
His eyes light up, and a boyish smile replace the frown on his face. “You're that cute girl from before! What a pleasant surprise”, he purrs, biting his bottom lip as he does a once-over of what he can see of her figure. “And you're at such an interesting angle, too.”
He called you cute, the high-schooler in her notices.
He's thinking of you sucking his dick!, screams what's probably still the high-schooler in her, but this time with more hormones involved.
Ah, the duality of (wo)man.
“I guess that's me, yeah”, she manages to say. “And you're...Lucifer?”
“That's right, Lucifer Morningstar. Mind coming up here?” He offers her a hand, that she gratefully takes, and he helps her back on her feet.
There's a strength behind the gesture, hiding under the smooth material of his suit, that makes her head spin for a second.
That, and the fact that the closet really is tiny and with her standing up they would be nose-to-nose if it weren’t for the height difference. He's more than a head taller than her, and this close she would need to barely move to kiss the column of his neck. Her eyes follow the line of tendons under his skin from his jawline, down to where his shirt obstructs the view.
Unable to resist the pull of his gaze, she raises her eyes to meet his.
“Hi”, she says again, as softly as the atmosphere requires. Her stomach is already tied up in knots.
Lucifer's smile softens, and he angles his head so that their lips are even closer together. “Hello. Can I know your name?”
She tells him.
He says it back, pouring his British accent all over it, tasting its sound on his lips. “Is that right?”
She nods, because she doesn't trust herself to talk, trying to calm herself down. Impossible not to think how he would say it in another context - or, not even in another context, just 10 minutes from now, 5 minutes if she has it her way…
She must be blushing furiously by now, but maybe he notices how nervous she is because he mercifully doesn't comment on it.
Nervous? Weird way of spelling 'turned on’.
“You're alright, yeah? I'm sorry for all this - those men are here for me. Worry not, my friend is taking care of them.”
Right on cue, some muffled screams filter through the door.
“I figured. But I'm fine, yeah”, she reassures him. She doesn't know where to put her hands, where the fuck does she put her - “Uhm, does this happen often to you? Getting shot at, I mean.”
“People like to try, sometimes, yes. It has never been a problem until recently”, he adds in a more irritated tone.
This guy is probably dangerous, she thinks, he's like a mafia boss or something.
...Do I really wanna fuck a mafia boss?
“I think we'll be stuck here for a while. Say, how should we spend this time together?” he says, his big brown eyes shamelessly set on her lips.
Yes, yes she does, apparently, so much so that the desire gets stuck in her throat, renders her speechless for a moment before sliding down, hot and heavy, to her stomach and then even lower.
“How should we spend this time”?
What a stupid fucking question.
He knows what he's doing, the bastard. This beautiful, infuriating man who looks so perfect she's starting to think he's just an hallucination. Eyes too dark, voice too smooth. She's never been one to lust after a man in a suit, always too uncomfortable around them and their aura of confidence to find them attractive...but Lucifer's legs are long in his tailored Prada trousers and she is - she is, at the end of the day, just human. What is the saying? Flesh is weak?
Yeah, she does feel pretty weak at the moment.
Actually, she's gonna pass the fuck out if he keeps looking at her lips like that and expect her to do something about it. It's a miracle she’s even still standing!
“We- we could get more comfortable”, she finally says, after what feels like a year but were probably just a few seconds of her staring at him, mouth open like a dumb, sexually frustrated fish.
“Oh? How so?” Lucifer presses their bodies closer, and shimmies a little, as if to show her that there isn't any space left in their hideout. “Not much to do about that, I'm afraid.”
Flush against him, from her breasts on his toned chest to one of his legs pleasantly slotted between her thighs, she needs a second to get her brain back online. She feels hot all over, and the sound of her own heartbeat is deafening in her ears.
His thigh is so tantalizingly close to where she really wants it - the thought of the friction of his trousers against her already-soaked underwear is maddening.
“Of course, I could hold you up if you want to”, he adds, feigning innocence. The effect is somewhat ruined by the low timbre of his voice, but mostly by the feeling of his cock hardening against her stomach. “I'm sure it'd feel better than standing in those awfully pretty shoes of yours.”
Lucifer's hands rest nonchalantly on her waist, his thumbs stroking comforting circles on her ribs - and wow, his hands are big, aren't they? Her breasts would fit perfectly well in his palms, like they were made to touch her there, and then lower, lower, to cover the expanse of her stomach, and then to finally cup her over her underwear…
“Still with me?” he asks gently, bringing her back to the present.
“What? Yeah, I'm still...here. With you” - what the fuck was that, even? Get a grip! - “I had something else in mind, actually?”
“Do tell.”
“Mh, there's that little glass panel on the door? It's too low for you but if we switched positions I could look through it”, she explains. “So we can see who - uh, enters the kitchen?”
Okay, alright, she pleads the fifth: she just wants to 1) feel him pressed against her back, and 2) hide her face from him to calm her nerves. Sue her.
Lucifer doesn’t seem concerned with the faulty logic behind her plan, though; doesn’t ask questions like “What we would we even do if we saw someone enter the kitchen?, or “How would that make us any more comfortable?”. He just smiles, and looks quite delighted at the proposition.
“That’s a wonderful plan!” he lies, but with a playful tone that tells her he’s ready to humor her. “I’m particularly interested in how this change in positions will happen.”
And she’s very interested, too, if ‘interested’ is an euphemism for ‘turned on out of her mind’. To be fair, his mind seemed to also have gone in the same direction as hers, if the tongue-in-cheek smile he gives her is any indication: there will probably be some grinding involved.
Hopefully, a lot of it.
“Shall we try, then?” he asks, and doesn’t wait her response before making his grip on her waist stronger to tug her against him. His thigh slides higher and presses right against her core, where she desperately needed pressure; she gasps at the feeling, wondering in the back of her mind if he can feel how wet he is through the leg of his trousers.
“Oops, my bad”, Lucifer says, but doesn’t seem sorry at all, because he does it again, making her bite her lip hard enough to bleed in the effort of silencing a moan. She answers “no problem”, or maybe just rolls her hips against him on her own, who knows? Definitely not her.
The pressure of his leg eases right after, unfortunately, and the two of them try to rotate on their place without stepping on each other's feet until her back is now facing the door.
“Yay, we’re halfway there”, she murmurs against his neck, using talking as an excuse to move her lips on his skin. Lucifer laughs breathlessly in her hair and lets her hands sneak under his open jacket to rest against his sides.
Fuck, fuck, he’s perfect, she thinks, a wave of desire hitting her squarely in the chest. She wants him so much she can barely think, and she realizes - hearing how fast his heart is beating, feeling how laboured his own breathing is - that Lucifer wants her, too.
The realization is intoxicating and helps her relax under his touch.
She likes the he’s not being all calm and collected; she likes the thought that he will gladly come apart in her arms with no shame.
“Now's the fun part”, he says, arching an elegant eyebrow at her. His hands leave her body to sit on the door behind her, effectively caging her in. She doesn't mind one bit.
The closet was obviously made to accommodate only one person at a time, because they are squeezed close enough that turning around will be quite the...intimate experience.
She has never been this excited for something in her entire fucking life, she swears.
“Here goes nothing” she giggles, and thankfully Lucifer seems to find it more endearing than annoying.
She slides her hands up from his waist to his chest, in an unnecessary move studied just to feel his abs contract under her fingers, and then takes them away from his body altogether. She tries to disentangle their legs, and Lucifer reluctantly helps her by moving his toned thigh away from between hers - for the pleasure of literally no one in the tiny room.
Finally she can turn around - and God bless high heels because her hips are at just the right height to drag against Lucifer's clothed erection with every move.
“Bloody-” she hears him hiss when her they're finally back-to-chest and her ass presses deliciously on his cock. He feels so hard she doesn't know how he's still coherent.
“You have to agree” - she wiggles her ass a bit with the pretence of fixing her position - “this does feel more comfy.” Being able to hide her face is making her bolder.
Behind her, Lucifer bites back a groan by pressing his lips in her hair. His hands flex into two fists and relax again on the cold surface of the door.
“My pants don't feel that comfortable at the moment, I'm afraid”, he murmures directly in her ear. His voice is so low and grumbly that she can feel his chest vibrate against her back with every word. “I'd apologize for this” - he pushes his erection more firmly on her lower back - “but you haven't complained even once, so. Also, can you blame me?”
She makes a questioning sound, lost in the feeling of his lean body flushed on hers.
“Close contact, the thrill of possibly being caught - also, you're wearing lip gloss and your hair smells awfully nice…” He kisses the soft skin behind her ear, playful. “A better man than me couldn't resist.”
She can feel blood rise to her cheeks again, and she hides her charmed smile behind her hand. He's got this seduction schtick down to a t, doesn't he?
The entire thing feels surreal. Stuff like this doesn't happen in real life, you don't just find yourself stuck in a closet with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome singing your praises in the sexiest British accent she has ever heard.
“Say,” he continues, oblivious to her line of thought, “before the Bad Guys stormed the place, were you dining by yourself?” One of his hands disappear from her line of vision to shift her hair all on one side.
“I-yes, I was by myself” she says with what little voice she has left. Lucifer's lips kissing her neck are doing wonders to make her forget about the failed blind date. ‘The guy - oh, that's nice - uhm, the guy didn't show up.”
Lucifer knee slides between her legs until she gets the idea and spreads her thighs to accommodate his better. The friction of his trousers against her clit is heavenly even with her panties still in the way - and, oh, she realizes after a few second that she was absentmindedly grinding against him.
“He stood you up? Obviously didn't know what he was missing.” His hand splays over her stomach and then slides down, until he can gather the soft fabric of her dress in his fingers. “What a rude, bad man”, he says, voice breathless with arousal. He keeps his touch feather-light on her inner thigh, making her shiver and bite back a moan.
She wants, needs him to touch her, her hands are shaking with the strength of the feeling. Maybe he is the actual Devil, she thinks, because this is straight up torture.
But she will not beg him: she has a feeling that Lucifer would just want to hear her being desperate for him a while longer if she did.
“But love, you're in luck - cause I'm much, much better anyway.” He leaves another heated kiss on her neck and moans when his fingers finally, finally, touch her where she wants him. “Fuck, darling - you're so wet.”
Wet? She's dripping, she probably completely ruined the leg of his trousers - and she would be mortified if Lucifer wasn't acting like that's the hottest thing he has ever seen.
His fingers have sneaked inside her panties while she was busy grinding her ass against his straining erection and now he's doing - things on her clit that makes her see stars in seconds.
“Mh, what I would do to you if we were in my bed”, he whispers in her ear. Two of his fingers slide easily into her, and they both shudder at the feeling. His free hand goes to the side of her face to angle it towards him, so he can kiss her lips even at the awkward angle. “All naked and flushed and tangled in my sheets. I'd bury my head between your legs, would you like that?”
She gasps at the words, at the image that paints itself in her head. His fingers crook inside of her, just right, and her her hands are shaking so much she can't even properly hold onto him.
Lucifer keeps talking in that grumbly voice of his, lips so close to hers they're almost kissing at every word. “Would you - fuck, would you close your thighs and keep me there... tug my hair, moan my name, all pretty and desperate? I would love it if you did,” - his touch is as frantic as she feels, his free hand roaming everywhere he can reach but returning, always, to gently hold her jaw - “you'd have to beg me to stop - but I would keep going until you came again, and again...like now, oh fuck, you're close, aren't you? Just let go, love, le-”
She kisses the end of the sentence right of his mouth, right when all the tension coiling hot in her belly snaps, leaving her knees week and mind blank.
Lucifer supports her through the shock waves with a strong arm around her waist. He kisses her much like he was talking seconds before: languid, full of promises, and with a thinly-veiled urgency that, more than anything else about him, makes her stomach tie up in knots.
Oh, isn't he so, so lovely? All dark eyes and low voice and clever fingers-
Mh, she's probably a bit high on endorphins.
“You alright, love?” he asks when her legs stop trembling with the force of her orgasm.
Never been better, she wants to say, but “Nnngh” is all that comes out of her mouth.
“I'll take it as a yes.” She can feel him smirk against her neck. “Are you up for more?”
She almost starts sobbing then and there.
So she could just tell him that she is not, in fact, up for more and Lucifer would just be like ‘It’s quite alright, no problem. Excuse me while I try to make my pants less tight in the crotch area’?
Fuck, that's so hot.
She wants him inside of her, like, yesterday.
“Hell yeah, I am” she says with her face still abandoned against his chest, which is not very sexy of her, but also the best she can do at the moment.
He smiles at that, all bright-eyed and red-lipped because of her kiss, stealing her breath away without even trying.
“That's the spirit”, he says, and dips his head down to lick a hot strip on her neck. One of her hands comes up to sink in hair to keep him there, feverish lips attached to her skin, and he responds with a breathless chuckle and a bite.
Things get - a bit blurry, after that. When she'll inevitably tell her friends about what happened, arrived at this part they will not manage to get more that a dreamy sigh out of her.
When her head momentarily clears and she manages to open her eyes, she finds her hand still grasping at Lucifer's hair - too strong, probably, but when she moves to let him go he makes this annoyed sound at the back of his throat -, and him finally unbuttoning his pants.
There's a rustling of fabric, some movements that she can't see because there's no space to turn, and then Lucifer's hand are back on her hips. “Ah, dat 'eels much better”, he says - or tries to, because the...oh, the condom he's holding with his teeth makes things more difficult.
His hands keep her still while he pushes himself against the line of her back so she can feel him, really feel him, with two layers of fabric less between him and her, pressed against her lower back.
Fuck, she wants him so bad she feels it in her stomach, in the spaces between her ribs, in the knot stuck in her throat. The emptiness of not having him inside her is a physical ache.
“Give me that”, she manages to say, and takes the packaged condom from his teeth to open it with shaky fingers. “Hurry up.”
“Bossy - I like it.” The warmth of his body disappears for few second while he hunches her dress up to expose her legs and ass. “Oh, hello. Pretty from every angle, I see”, he says appreciatively.
She can't resist arching her back and wiggling a little.
He laughs low in his throat. “Yeah, yeah, you minx, you already got in my pants. No need to put on a show”, he teases her - but he doesn't waste a second more before sliding her panties down to her ankles.
She would panic about her choice of underwear but 1) she absolutely does not remember what she put on and 2) they already hit the ground. No reason worrying now.
“Lovely”, Lucifer sighs behind her, and both his hands go at her hip bones, thumbs digging in her lower back. He raises her to her tiptoes - because he's too tall for her despite the high-heels -, so close to finally, finally-
She notices she's still holding the condom. “Wait”, she says in the moment of pure panic that only forgetting a condom can bring. “Wait, fuck, the- the thingy, here, before we forget.”
“What thin-oh, I see.” He takes it from her hand. “Of course, common courtesy and all. We could not use it, but I don't want to give a bad example”, he says, conversationally, while he rolls it on.
What does that even mean?, the rational part of her thinks.
If he doesn't fuck me in the next two seconds I'm going to cry, screams the rest of her mind.
But she’s not thinking anything anymore a few seconds later, because Lucifer is sliding into her in one long stroke. She’s so wet and ready that he’s bottoming out before either of them can get used to the sensation, and he breathlessly moans against her parted lips like he wasn’t expecting her body to take him in so easily.
The hand that’s not pressing on the door goes to clutch his jacket, touch the feverish skin of his naked thigh, slide against his ribs until Lucifer takes a hold of it and guides it back to his hair.
“Keep it there”, he half-growls half-mumbles while sinking his face in the crook of her shoulder. He bites there, softly, when he pulls out and she instinctively tightens the grip on his dark locks.
He pushes back in, then, with a practiced roll of his hips that melts her brain and makes her brokenly stutter his name.
Lucifer sets a slow pace, just how she likes it - and how can he read her body so well to even know that she likes it slow and deep and intense?
She thought that there would have been urgency behind every thrust, that he would finally chase his own orgasm after ignoring his own needs to concentrate on hers.
If nothing else, they should hurry before they get interrupted - by the police, by that strange woman he was dining with, anyone.
Instead he revels in every broken sound that leaves her lips, in how her legs shake every time his hips are flushed against hers again.
“Say, would you mind- oh, ungh” - his words fade out into a muffled growl at a particularly hard thrust - “would you mind if I left some marks?” He licks a hot strip on her neck. “I just want to eat you up”, he explains, playful smirk so wide on his face she can basically hear it.
Marks? As in, hickeys? Oh, oh, yes, she wants them. She wants to touch them and hiss in pain and think of him, in the days to come; she wants a physical reminder that she had such a stunning man in her arms.
She nods, probably letting out some affirmative sound - not that she would notice, not through the pleasure clouding her mind and the burning-hot feeling of him inside her.
His white, perfect teeth bite that spot behind her ear that she could swear has never been that sensitive before; and that's the last sensation she chooses to focus on before she closes her eyes and let's Lucifer have his way with her.
Not that she was, like, complaining. Quite the opposite.
Some time later, she could not for the life of her tell how long, his clever fingers slide from her waist to down between her legs.
“I want you to come like this, while I'm inside of you” he murmures, breath hot on her skin. His fingers stroke circles on her clit, while the heel of his hand presses gently on her lower abdomen - and she would bet that he can feel himself move in and out of her under his touch. “Feel you get even more tight around me, pull me closer. Would you like that?”
“Yeah, yes, oh Go-ah!” - he bit her a bit too hard, but he immediately soothes the pain with a feather-light kiss - “Keep doing...yeah, fuck, that. I-I'm close”, she stutters, bold and desperate and impatient, because she wants to see how he looks like when he comes. Wants to know If it's going to be her name rolling off his tongue, if his grip will get strong enough to leave bruises, whether or not his knees are going to give out like hers certainly will. “Are you? A-Are you close?”
He leaves a wet kiss on her cheek, and exhales there, eyelids heavy and brows furrowed, “I'll be right behind you, love. But you first.”
And then he renews his efforts to make her eyes roll back in her head in pleasure.
She falls off the edge soon after at a particularly slow drag of his fingers, when he's so deep inside of her she knows she'll feel empty for days after.
Her muscles clump around him, keeping him there, while her legs lose all strength and it's only his arms that keep her upright.
True to his word, he follows suit. Lucifer comes moaning her name, certainly putting up a bit of a show for her enjoyment - not that she can complain, with how pretty his lips look forming an almost pained ‘oh’.
So she kisses him, when his eyes flatter back open and their breathing start slowing down, because she can't believe he's right there to kiss her back.
***
“These trousers are a lost cause”, he's saying while they try to get decent.
She still doesn't have strength in her hands, but thankfully all she has to do is lower her dress. And pretend she'll have no problem walking out of there on high heels in a few minutes.
“Yeah, I mean”, she responds, “so is my underwear.”
Lucifer raises one eyebrow and smirks. “Then take it off, love. You can stuff it in my back pocket for safe keeping.”
She opens her mouth to say something, although she can't decide what's more appropriate between “hot” and “gross”, when the tell-tale sound of an angry woman in high heels resonates in the kitchen outside.
One second later the knob of their door falls to the ground with an offended thump!, and the door is wrenched open for the second time in the evening.
It's the same dark skinned woman that she was dining with Lucifer, and also apparently beating the shit out of armed men. She looks at her, then shifts her disbelieving gaze to Lucifer. “Really? When did you manage to get a girl in here?”
“I was here first, technically”, she explains. Lucifer nods innocently while slipping out of the room. “That's true, Maze. It was quite the effort, fitting both of us in there both.”
“I think you fit in alright”, Maze replies.
She would blush, but she's still too high on endorphins to care about her freshly-fucked look. Especially when seeing Lucifer's “just had sex” own look is almost a religious experience - messy hair, rumpled clothes, marks of lipstick everywhere. Would it be rude to take a photo?
“We gotta get out of her, fast”, Maze continues. “I called in one of your favours to keep the police busy for a while - you're welcome, by the way. But they are one their way.”
She starts tugging Lucifer away, ignoring his outraged easy, this shirt's Armani!
He turns to her when they're almost out of the kitchen. “Come to my club one of this days, will you? It's called Lux, I'm sure you've heard.” He winks at her, seemingly not giving a fuck about the cops as much as he wasn't fazed by getting shot at. “I believe I made some promises about a real bed, didn't I?”
And then he's out of the door.
But apparently not of out of her life.
A real bed, uh?
***
23.15 - From: BFF <3
> So??? How's the date going?
23.17 - To: BFF <3
> heyyyy omg the guy didn't show up fuck you very much btw but also like,,, thank god, you know?
23.17 - From: BFF <3
> He didn't show up? D: I'm so sorry! What happened? You're writing like you're drunk.
23.18 - To: BFF <3
> drunk on life babyyyyyyy> srry my brain is still mush because i came like twice if you can believe it lmao
Hope you guys like it <3 Any feedback is more than appreciated!
#my writing#lucifer#lucifer morningstar#lucifer on netflix#lucifer fanfictions#lucifer fanfiction#lucifer mornigstar/Reader#pwp#lucifer mornigstar/OFC#smut
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Dark Desires ( JJK/ Demon AU)
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook| Reader
Words: 6.3K
Rating: NSFW (18+)
Genre: Demon AU
Warnings: pwp. smut. fingering, oral (receiving/giving), cumplay, edging, orgasm denial, dom/sub undertones.
Synapse: You’re a herbalist looking for herbs and the reason behind the mountains being off limits. Surely, the hills must have more medicinal plants, but, what lies there, is something far more sinister.
For my lovely wife @barbika1508 who requested me with a prompt that turned absolutely filthy under her influence. I've got no regrets whatsoever. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Masterlist || One shots Masterlist
“Why don’t you just buy the herbs like every other normal herbalist out there?” Josephine whined dramatically with a hand on her forehead and sat down on the lone stool by the window.
Josephine was a lovely woman in her late forties and she’d been working alongside my grandfather in the quaint little herbal medicine shop that he ran. I’d inherited it about five years back and have been trying my best to run it smoothly with the little knowledge I have and the years of experience I’ve gathered.
And for that, I’d need to handpick the best of herbs and mix them myself for the best medicine. Yes, one could certainly say—I was too nitpicky. But it was just the way I’d liked doing things. My way, or no way.
“Define normal.” I retorted back with a smile, knowing I’d made a good point. Placing the last of the sterilized glass jars into my side tote bag, I was set for my little travel.
“There are twelve packages, named, labeled with instructions within.” I started counting things that needed be done while I was gone for the day.
“If new customers come, ask them to visit again and don’t mess with the ingredients.” She parroted me in the exact tone and rolled her eyes. “I know, kid. It’s the same thing every time.”
Giggling under my breath, I nodded sheepishly. “Just making sure, Fifi.”
Jogging up to her, I hugged her tightly, inhaling her sweet scent of cinnamon and rose with my eyes closed, hoping she’d hold onto me a little longer. I wanted to ingrain her earthy scent and her warmth to my memory, to have something to keep me sane as I traverse the mountains for the rare herbs.
“Be careful darling, and as always,” She pulled away and looked into my eyes. Smiling, I parroted the saying I’ve been hearing since I was ten. “Don’t go looking for a dark cave, or you’ll end up walking into your own grave.”
Kissing my forehead, she stared at me a moment longer, her eyes downcast and teary. Closing her eyes, she sighed and patted my cheeks fondly. “Off you go, young lady.”
Biting my lips, I nodded and turned around. Without looked back, I padded my way across the room and climbed the stairs down to the exit of the little shop. I knew I was going to break the one promise I had made to her all these years.
Maybe she knew it too. Maybe that was why she looked sad and resigned. But I was determined to find out what held in those mountains that caused the people to come back delusional and sick out of their minds. I just had to.
*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*
Tired and out of breath I sat on a boulder, huffing and puffing out through my mouth. As I climbed up the steep roads, I saw many herbs that were uncommon to the woods down below. From Aralia, Dianthus, Cassia and even Vervain. They were much needed almost regularly and required a long time to extract. Finding the fresh herbs was just my luck.
But the collection soon became too much to carry. I’d collected some wild mushroom and berries on my way too, just in case I got lost, I’d have something to snack on or make a soup out of. Considering it rained or I found my way to the spring on the other side of the mountain.
As the day grew closer to noon, the heat became unbearable and I decided it was time to start on my way finding what I came here mostly for.
Finding the true cause of the locals getting sick on this mountain. The women never came back and the men became insane. From hallucinations to night terrors, the symptoms were wide-ranging showing only one conclusion—they encountered something that terrified them to their wit’s end.
The local legend said a monster was sealed here in one of the caves, another claimed it to be a demon’s lair while yet another spoke of a handsome young man trapped inside a cave by a demon as its prey to bring in humans for it to feast upon.
Not that I believed in any of those, but, by the looming cave in front of me decorated with human skulls in pikes and shattered bones as carpet to its entrance, you could say I was pretty close to believing in one of those tales.
Now, either I could walk in there—free the boy and tackle the demon with deodorant spray and matches. Lighting up a demon on fire seemed like a really good idea to me. The pyromaniac in me jumped in glee at the prospect.
Or, my inner-self whispered in the back of my mind. I could listen to Fifi and just walk away before I became my own patient.
There was no herbalist who rivaled me. The town needed my expertise. Yup. I’d walk away and bring back the herbs like promised. The demon was bringing me customers and money anyway. If it was a demon’s doing in the first place. I’d seen enough for the day.
Home, sweet home. Here, I come.
Even though I said that my heart didn’t quite agree with it. Crunching on the little bone shards spread out on the dirt path, I walked on my way to the portal of death. My palms were sweating in anticipation. Heck, even my sweat was sweating. It was certain there was something in there, something not dead, and something definitely not alive. Because, despite the area being decorated with filthy and gruesome things, it didn’t stink. Not one bit. Instead, the air tasted fresh—like spring water and morning dew and it smelled of vanilla cakes. The only things I loved the most in the world other than, of course, a heavenly slice of glazed dark chocolate cake.
Suspicious. Very suspicious indeed. Tilting my head, I sniffed the air some more and my eyes widened as the aroma intensified, became richer, beckoning me to lick the air itself with how deliciously good it smelled.
Licking my lips, I threw all caution to wind and brisk-walked the rest of the way to the entrance of the cave. Hesitating, I stopped for a moment. Just what was I doing?
I was supposed to head home. Even the birds overhead had started to fly back home. If I didn’t turn around now, I’d never make it back by tonight. I had a shop to close, shower and order some Chinese takeout. Yes, takeout was unhealthy, but I was sore from all the walking. I didn’t have it in me to cook for just myself.
Despite me rationally wanting to go back, I couldn’t bring myself to actually turn around and go back. There was something about this place— something that made me walk towards it like a moth to the flame. I could feel the little hair on the back on my neck rising, my skin being dotted in gooseflesh. And despite the obvious warning signs—I kept going.
Staring down at one of the spears with a human looking skull on it, I wondered if it was plastic or plaster of Paris. Didn’t seem unlikely at all. Maybe it was some kind of unfinished haunted house shit? Well, whatever. It was in my way and I’d get it sorted.
Picking up the spear and shaking of the skull of it, I was satisfied as it flew past my shoulder and split open with a satisfying crack. Smirking, I shook my head. Plastic indeed. Someone was really out there trying to keep people out of here. At least they could have had something rotting to make it more believable.
The cave loomed in front of me now, shrouded in absolute darkness. Whatever was in there, I hoped it was worth me risking a heart attack solely from the way it was trying to beat its way out of my chest.
Me?
Scared?
No. I was just nervous I’d hurt the wrong person, or demon, or whatever being was in there. Were they trapped? Or were they a bait? Or was there anything at all? At this point, honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if this was some haunted house setting with fake dummies that light up as recordings of weird voices go on in the background.
Steeling myself for the worst, I rummaged through the bag, looking for the matchsticks. Great, just great. I had stuffed so many things in here, it was practically impossible to find the tiny little box.
“Can I help you?” A voice piped up from somewhere deep into the cave, and it echoed back to me. That only meant the cave was empty because if there were other things, they’d have not let voices echo. A flock of birds flew past my head, making me crouch down. I didn’t quite like them. From far away? Sure, they were beautiful. But on my face? Nah, bro, stay away.
A bright light shone in my eyes, blinding me for a split second. A torch! Of course. I knew I was forgetting something important when I left the store earlier in the day. I wonder if the customers collected their due medicine today.
"Are you possibly deaf? “ The voice asked again and I shivered at the sweet honeyed tone of it. He sounded like a teenager, maybe close to my age too. I was no expert when it came to voices, but it was soft, soothing and calm like no other.
"No, I’m just blind thanks to you.” Rolling my eyes, I turned my head and heard the ticking of his faint footsteps walking away.
“I’m sorry about that.” He drawled, not sounding sorry at all and switched off the light. Blanketing everything into darkness once more as he dragged something into position. Huh. Rude much? Was he may be lost in the mountain? Or dared to spend a night here? Whatever the case, if he was as comfortable being in the darkness, maybe there wasn’t anything scary at all.
A hole opened up at the roof, letting the moonlight in and the whole cave lit up as if there were a thousand bulbs lit inside. Walking around awed, I noticed it was filled with crystals hanging from the ceiling and all around the cave that glittered as the moonlight shone on them.
“Pretty, aren’t they?” He whispered next to my ear, holding me to himself. I could now feel his well-defined chest muscles behind me as his arm snaked around my waist.
"They are. “ I breathed out. My voice a soft whisper and huskier than I’d intended. His presence was doing things to me I’d never admit it out loud. Demon or not, there was something about this cave, that had me staying and now my blood boiling in anticipation.
Dropping the spear from my hands, I turned around in his arms and froze on the spot. Nothing in this world had prepared me for the beauty the man was. No wonder he hid in the shadows. His strawberry blonde hair parted to the left and messy, dark eyes set on me, looking into my soul. They looked so sad, hurt even, as I stared back at him. His nose was just a tad bit crooked and lips thin and so pink that curved just a smidge when my gaze lingered longer than deemed appropriate.
“See something you like?” He asked with a smirk, his eyes dancing in mirth. Narrowing my own, I stared down at his crotch that seemed to be bursting at the seams. Raising my brows, I poked him there, and sure enough, he was hard, a damp patch already forming on too tight jeans. Flinching away from my touch, he grabbed me by the throat, though his grip was harsh, his touch was gentle.
I wasn’t scared of him. I wonder why.
Maybe it was the calming scent that surrounded him, or maybe it was his gentle eyes. But something made me want to trust him. Something in his gaze as it lingered on my eyes made me want him. He was lean, yet there was something powerful about him that thrummed in the air and made me want to touch it to see if it really electrocuted me. Yet, I kept my hands to myself. I didn’t want to disappoint him.
“You have some nerve not just entering where you shouldn’t but also trying to touch me. Are you possibly out of your mind?” He spat out his words, eyes narrowing and jaw clenched. The veins on his neck became more prominent as I stared at them. He truly was a piece of art, and so were the accessories on him. From the leaf shaped black earring, to the multiple rings on his fingers, he was decked in jewels, and I don’t think they were the fake kind.
“So what if I am?” I challenged him and was satisfied to see the fire in his eyes burn brighter. He was angry, but for what? Surely, he couldn’t have owned the cave. It didn’t belong to anyone. Unless…
“Do you even know what you’re dealing with?” He asked, dragging a finger over my slit as he buried his nose on my neck, biting it until I winced and let go of my neck when I shook my head. “I’m a demon, an incubus. You should have stayed away like the priest intended.”
Demon? Him?
He looked more like a fallen angel dressed in all black. If demons looked anything like him, I’d gladly have him locked up in my basement, tied and naked. But that was just me being horny. Right. He was an incubus. No wonder my sex drive was through the roof and I was in a trance as soon as I got a whiff of him. But a priest?
Well, not my business. As long as he fucked me good.
Snarling, he tore through my joggers and showed me his ink black nails as if he could read through my thoughts. If he thought they’d intimidate me, he was wrong. If anything, it only made my pussy clench in need. I wanted those beautiful fingers of his buried deep inside of me, making me scream, but only in ecstasy.
Peeling off my joggers, he looked at my body appreciatively. The cold air making my nipples pebble and body squirm in need. “Look at you, being so needy for me.” Licking his lips, his eyes turned golden and nose flared as he noticed the thong I was wearing underneath. “I’ll reward you if you can satisfy me.”
“I’m sure I can.” I nodded confidently. I loved giving pleasure, it turned me on to no ends. And his body was a heaven I’d wanted to explore. The sheer black shirt he wore did nothing to hide his gorgeous, delectable muscles; those dusky pink nipples and a very mouthwatering neck. I wanted to bite it, mark him my own.
“But can you keep up?”
"I’m certain I can more than keep up, kitten.” Tilting his head to the side, he nodded to himself, “I prey on your life force, in exchange for a night of pleasure. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of, will come true, in exchange for a few years of your life.”
Even though he was warning me, his tone seemed deeper, huskier. If he was turned on before, he must be beyond help now. He was a sex demon if his life depended on sharing with others, and he chased away people from approaching him, he must have been starving.
A selfless, starving demon. Never in my life, would I have thought it possible. Was it a choice, or was he forced into it? Maybe it was because of the ‘priest’ he mentioned. Well, I suppose, as long as he didn’t suck me dry of my life force and spread my bones as the ivory carpet to the entrance of the cave, I guess I was fine with a couple years taken away. I was doing so with unhealthy diet anyway.
“I don’t care if you’re a demon. If I’m going to hell, I’d rather fuck my way to it.” Shivering in delight at his voice and his confidence, I wanted to bend over and let ram into me. It was hard to even stand still under his gaze, but it was the same piercing gaze that held me in place.
Smirking, he dragged his nail from my neck until the hem of my panties, slicing his way through it. It didn’t hurt, but it stung as drops of blood beaded on the trail he formed. Peeling off my ruined flannel shirt and black bra, he thumbed my nipples all the while staring at my face. “Bad, bad girl. You defy me, even though you want me.”
“I’m sorry if I’m not what you expected.” Glaring at him, I held onto his cock over his black jeans and holding a fistful of hair at the back of his head, I guided his lips down onto mine.
His lips were far softer than I’d imagined them to be, warmer and they molded just right onto mine. Biting his lip, I dragged my tongue onto the seam of his lips and as soon as he opened his mouth in a whimper, I smiled in victory. He tasted of caramel and coffee, a heady mix that had my head spinning, my thoughts muddled and before I knew it, his hand was stroking my core, gliding his fingers over my nether lips.
Gasping aloud, I spread my legs a little, hoping he’d take the hint and touch me properly. Sucking on my tongue, he smoothed his fingers up and down my slit and every time he came close to touching my clit, his fingers shied away making me groan in frustration. Pulling away from my mouth with a string of saliva connecting us, he chuckled, “Cat got your tongue?”
“No, you.” I glared at him, my core clenching in need and almost dripping past my thighs. I needed to feel something inside of me before I was driven to insanity.
“Jungkook” He demanded, lifting my chin with his forefinger. His claws now retracted back. “My name is Jungkook.”
“I’m Y/N, please, touch me,” I whispered, making my eyes look larger, hoping he’d take pity on me. It was all his fault anyway. Growling, he pinched my clit, making me jolt in surprise and yelp. Before I could retaliate, he got down on his knees, lifted my left leg over his shoulder and with a wink, dived in as if I were a feast he was starving for.
“Your scent has been driving me crazy since the moment you looked at me”, Licking up my entrance, he inserted his index finger and looked up at me, “And you taste delectable too. Just hope for your own good, I don’t get addicted to it.”
Whimpering as his finger hit that spot inside of me, my knees buckled, and he held me up with his shoulders.
"Ju-jungkook"
"I know"
Inserting two more fingers at once, he scissored them inside me, drawing out light moans of pleasure. The more I squirmed, the faster his pace became and as soon as I'd clench on his fingers, he'd stop and start building his pace all over again. This was more frustrating than it was satisfying and now I just wanted to clutch onto his hair and shove his tongue right over my clit. But, somehow, I knew I shouldn't be as greedy.
Clutching onto his defined shoulders for support in a deathly grip, I was sure I had left behind crescent moons where my nails had dug into his skin. Squirming, I tried to get his nose to rub just the right way over my clit. I needed to cum, but he just wouldn't let me. It was the fifth time when he finally took mercy upon me as my breath hitched and I rocked against his palm.
"Cum for me, Y/N", Jungkook demanded in a harsh whisper, his fingers twisting inside with each flick of his wrist. I whimpered an incoherent response, lost in the haze, body spasming and feet numb. Curling my toes as I felt my abdomen clench, I held onto his hair tighter than before, urging him to do something. Just a little more...
With a nip to my clit, the tiny band that was holding me back came undone as my orgasm took over. "Fuuuuck, Jungkook!" I gripped his hand, trying to slow him down as he continued to thrust his fingers inside me, dragging out the intense orgasm, showing me no mercy as his tongue relentlessly lapped on my clit, over and over again.
Whimpering, my body tilted and lost its balance. Catching me midair, he cooed near my neck, petting my hair and praising me. "There, there, take it easy." As I opened my eyes, I saw his cock straining, angry and red, leaking cum from the tip. It was the probably the prettiest cock I had ever seen in life. But before I could reach for it, he tilted my head away with his forefinger, looking into my eyes. "You okay there?"
His body was tense, eyes flickering over my face and neck, sad and empty. I wondered if he became self-conscious and worried. There was absolutely nothing to worry over. If anything, I was on cloud nine right now. I felt invincible.
"Yeah." Nodding, I tried feeling my body. I felt alive, my skin thrummed in satisfaction. "Fuck, that was amazing."
"Yeah?" He asked, a slow smirk forming on his lips, replacing his earlier frown of concern. "Want to continue?"
"More than anything, Jungkook", I replied, with absolute honesty. If that was just a preview, I wanted to enjoy the movie, the merchandise, and all the fan fiction. I wanted to devour him. Incubus or not, I wanted him. Letting go of my thighs, he stood up as soon as I'd regained my balance. Ripping open his shirt and pants, he threw them somewhere behind him, unbothered. As hot as that looked, I wondered if he owned any more pairs.
His skin glowed from the sparkling crystals, every ridge and sinew of his body carved to perfection. He truly looked so beautiful under the shimmering lights, I wanted him, and I wanted him all for myself.
“There’s still time to back out now.” He whispered as he came closer to me. Shaking my head, I looked around us. There was practically nowhere we could do it. Then where?
“Hold on to the wall, be mindful of the sharp crystals.”
Nodding, I spread my fingers along the rough surface of the walls.
“I’ll let you in on a secret.” Dragging his thumb across my lips, he looked me in the eyes as I pulled his thumb into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it as his gaze darkened, “With every kiss, you lose a little of yourself. If I was starving before, I’m a little satisfied now, which makes me all the more ravenous for your body.” Pulling his finger out of my mouth with a pop, he peppered tiny kisses all over my neck and chest, licking in between as I held onto his hair in a tight hold.
His demeanor changed, he became gentler, yet assertive in his movements. Slowing down, he dragged out every movement of his tongue, lighting my skin on fire. I was burning for him, my skin feverish for more of his touch. His hands were like magic, every inch of skin that they mapped, came alive under his calloused touch, drawing out gasps and moans of his name.
"You’re so hot like this, writing under my touch and I haven't even started." He then traced the shape of my breasts, his hands tender like the touch of a feather. Licking his lips, he then attached his mouth to the twin mounds, giving them equal attention. Even though his touch was gentle, his mouth was completely unforgiving. His hot tongue flicked over the nipple, biting on it until I squirmed away. Holding onto my waist, he laved away the sting of his bite and smiled at me innocently, his doe eyes sparkling with promised dark pleasures. "These are possibly the prettiest fits I've ever seen."
He whimpered as I caught hold of his hot throbbing length in my hands. He was hard within, but oh so soft, and warm in my hands. I wanted to taste him, to feel him come apart on my tongue. To hear him moan my name and become desperate under my touch. "Why don't you fuck them?" I challenged him. If I was proud of something, it had to be my boobs. If he found pretty, who was I to stop him?
Jungkook straightened up and looked down at me through hooded eyes, a slow smile spreading on his lips. Mussed hair, lips bit red, dark eyes and neck littered with love bites; Jungkook was a sight to behold. But when he smiled, all rational thoughts flew out of my head and I stared back at him flabbergasted. He was absolutely ethereal, an angel. His smile made him look like an innocent child, so happy and bright until I saw his eyes, dark, lethal and oh so sexy.
Getting down on my knees, I regarded his cock that twitched under my harsh glare. It was so beautiful, flushed red and veins bulging at it sides, a drop of precum oozing from the top. Before it could drop on the floor, I licked its head tentatively, savoring the bittersweet taste on my tongue. He smelled somewhat earthy and his deep musk made me clench my thighs and rub and together to create some form of friction.
Gliding my tongue around the head, I dragged it all the way to his balls and sucked them into my mouth tentatively. Gripping onto his hot length, I flicked my wrist and dragged his skin lower and licked my way back up, enveloping the bulbous head into my warm mouth.
He shuddered above me, I could feel his thighs tremble underneath my fingertips of the hand that wasn't jerking him off. Groaning low in his throat, he threw his head back and bit his lip until they bled a dark crimson.
Opening my mouth wider, I pushed him deeper inside until it became too uncomfortable for me. He was just too big to fit in my mouth, and thick too. Swirling my tongue, I coated him with a thick layer of saliva and popped him out of my mouth.
With a wink at his astonished face, I pushed my tits together around his girth and moved over him once, twice, until he moaned pushed the bangs out of my face. "This has got to be the hottest sight I've ever witnessed."
"Yeah?" Smirking, I licked the head as it reached my chin with an upwards thrust. Every time I bounced down, he'd thrust along with me, setting a fast pace that was tiring me out. But the look of absolute pleasure on his flushed face was absolutely worth it. Sweat beaded on his forehead like tiny glittering diamonds and I was proud that I ...was the cause of it. Me.
Spitting over his cock, I watched as it glided smoother than before, the friction almost is gone. I could feel it get hotter and swell inside as he chased after his high. Squeezing my tits tighter, I bent forward, licking his abs and he stilled momentarily, bucking his hips faster against my chest.
“I—I’m cumming” He whimpered and pulled back, pumping his length with his right hand. Pulling and twisting the skin with a sharp jerk of his wrists.
“Cum for me, Jungkook, let me taste you.” Opening my mouth, I stuck my tongue out for him. Pointing his cock straight towards my face, I saw his eyes dilate further and brow furrow in concentration. “I’m cumming Y/N, shiiiiiiiiiiit” With a shout, his chest stuttered and mouth opened in a silent scream and I closed my eyes just in time for him to paint my face and chest in hot thick strings of his cum.
Blinking my eyes open, I saw him fall back, breathing heavy with his eyes closed and an arm thrown over his face. Smiling satisfied at rendering him breathless, I crawled over to him on all fours and kissed his cheeks.
Removing his hand from his face, he blinked up at me, confusion marring his face and then surprise. Raising his finger, he wiped his cum from my cheeks and smeared it over my lower lip which I sucked in and relished on his bittersweet taste. Wiping my other cheek where his cum had started to thicken and dry, I licked my finger clean and watched as his mouth hung open.
Smirking, I picked up some more of his cum from my chest with my fore and mid-finger and raised it to his lips. “Lick them clean for me.”
Flicking his tongue out, he licked them clean slowly, dragging his tongue around my digits with slow careful strokes. “Enough,” I whispered, liquid heat pooling once again in my core that clenched around nothing. I needed him inside of me, and now. Glancing down further, I noticed him hard and ready to go once again. Raising a brow, I looked back at him in surprise.
He shrugged and smiled, “I’m a demon.”
Shaking my head, I climbed on his lap, positioning myself over his cock as it strained once again and glided over it back and forth, slathering it in my essence. Moaning at the way the tip of his cock hit my clit just right, I threw my head back and held onto my boobs, squeezing them.
“Gosh, you look so gorgeous like this”, Jungkook breathed out beneath me and raised his hands, replacing mine and tweaked my nipples, pinching them harshly between his thumb and forefinger. Shivering, I jerked back and in one smooth glide, he was sheathed inside of me drawing out collective gasps from us both from the slight burn of sudden intrusion.
He felt like nothing I’ve experienced before, nobody came close to being the perfect fit inside me. He stretched me just right and I had to stop and take a few moments to get used to being so stuffed full of cock. Can’t say I didn’t like it. Far from it, I was possibly going to be addicted to this feeling, I just knew it. No human could satisfy me the way Jungkook did.
“God you feel so incredible inside of me.” I breathed out, with my eyes screwed shut and leaned with my hands flat over his chest. The way his cock was pulsing inside of me, I was worried it might just burst and fill me up with his hot cum once again. Gosh, won’t that just be perfect? Me. Swollen full of his cum.
“I could…” He gritted out through clenched teeth, squeezing my hips in a bruising grip, “say the same about you. Move, please.”
Instead of answering him, I raised my hips and slammed down all the way down. He was now balls deep inside of me and I felt so full, I swear he was almost reaching my womb. Scratching his chest, I raised my hips once again, “Look me in the eyes as I fuck you.”
Holding onto his jaw, I started at a fast pace. Even though it was straining my leg muscles that were already crying from exhaustion, it was worth the sweet, sweet pain. The look on his face as I dominated him was priceless. He was aroused and confused. His eyes were wide, yet they were demure, submissive.
Leaning down, I kissed his temple and patted his cheek. “You’re doing so well,
Jungkook” I whispered by his ear and felt him jerk inside me, hitting my G-spot and I keened, moaning out loud.
Feeling me clench around him, he gripped me by the hips and started thrusting upwards into me, far harsher and stronger than I could have. Taking me by surprise, he sat up and I had to wind my arms around his shoulder to balance myself. Pistoning his cock into me at a fast pace, he breathed harshly into my mouth. We were chest to chest and face to face now. Nudging his nose, I licked his lips and glided my tongue over his as he opened his mouth to me.
Patting my ribs, he halted our movements completely, making me whine in need. I was so close. “Up”
Getting up, he pushed me by the spine onto all fours and got behind me. Pepper little kisses from my neck to the tailbone, he bit my ass cheek and chuckled as I jumped in surprise. It didn’t hurt but stung a little. Just a tad bit. “Pull on my shirt and jeans and tuck them under your chest. I know you’re exhausted. Keep your ass up and body low.”
Scrambling forward, I balled his torn shirt and jeans and bunched them under my collarbone. Surprisingly, they were soft enough and didn’t chafe my skin. Leaning down, I crossed my arms and supported my chin on it. “I’m ready, Jungkook.”
“Good”
Sliding his dick in between my ass cheeks, he slowly inched closer to my asshole and I stiffened. I had never had anal before. I wasn’t even sure if I was ready for that yet. “One day, I want to claim you here too. But, not today.” Sighing in relief, I slumped my shoulders.
Just then, he pulled back and slammed into my pussy all at once, jerking me forward just by the sheer force of his thrust. Holding onto my hips, he pulled me back only to slam back inside once again. Setting up a brutal pace, he moved with no mercy in and out of my core, fucking me raw.
The collective moans echoed around the walls of the cave, forming a sweet melody only we could hear. Letting go of my hips, he held onto my arms, holding them behind me. The new change in position caused his cock to reach places it didn’t before as he hit that sweet spot inside of me repeatedly, making my head fall forward as I cried out his name in earnest.
I could feel it again. I was close to cumming again and it scared me. It was going to be far more intense, I just knew it, and maybe Jungkook did too because all too soon, he let go of my hands one by one and wrapped his hands around my chest instead. I could feel his heart beating a staccato on my back as he kissed all over my shoulders and neck. Mapping my skin with his lips, whispering words of encouragement into my ear.
His husky voice, the heat from his body, his scent, his aura, him, and everything was overwhelming and I could feel the coil in my stomach tighten with every harsh thrust. His soft moans from before were downright broken gasps and grunts as he continued pounding into me. Biting onto my shoulder, he stilled above me and shuddered as he came into thick spurts inside of me, causing my walls to tighten further around him and flutter as I shattered around him, milking him for what he was worth.
Collapsing on the floor, he slid away from me and flopped beside me, breathing harshly matching my own. Flushed a deep red, his face was beaded in sweat and hair messy, yet his eyes—they glowed in happiness. Remembering what he said from before, I propped myself on my elbow and leaned towards him, kissing him fervently.
He tasted of himself, and of me. A taste, I never wanted to forget. Cupping his face delicately, I coaxed his mouth open and drew him in, moving my tongue alongside him in slow, soft movements. At this moment, I wished he was mine. Truly and completely mine.
Pulling away, I looked at his hooded eyes and soft smile that mirrored my own.
“You did so well, Jungkook.” I kissed his temple, and his button nose, looking at him fondly.
“Of course, I did. I’m a sex demon.” Scoffing, he scrunched his nose up, looking all annoyed and so very innocent, making my heart tug and beat twice as fast.
“Thank you, Y/N, really.” He looked at me in earnest, all traces of humor gone from his eyes.
“What for?” I asked puzzled. Surely, he can’t be thanking me for fucking him. That was consensual. We both wanted it.
“For kissing me, for losing so much of your life--- to a demon like me.” Biting his lips, he raised his hand when I was about to speak again, halting me right there. Closing my mouth, I stared back at him annoyed. “I have been trapped here for about thirty years, these crystals drain my energy, my life force, and I couldn't get out with what little energy I had. The first time you kissed me, I was filled with so much life and vigor and then--- now when you kissed me for the third time, I’m finally strong enough to take revenge on the priest who tricked me inside.”
“Do you think he’d still be alive and here?” I asked astonished. Being trapped inside to die from starvation mustn't have been a good experience, especially when he tended to scare away whoever chanced inside anyway. He was an enigma. Or was he just chasing me away, since he was close to death already?
“I wouldn’t know the world outside, Y/N. That was what I wanted before. Now, I just want to go wherever you are.” As soon as the words were out, we looked at each other shocked. Both in absolute disbelief over what he uttered and then, a realization dawned on me.
Maybe, I was falling for an incubus. Maybe it really was foolish of me. But I didn’t care. At this moment, I knew I belonged to him, just as he belonged to me. Even if just for tonight…
“Come back home with me then.”
“Why? Saves all the walking?”
“That. And I’m not done fucking you yet.” I smirked, looking back at his already hard cock, leaking at the tip.
“Let’s teleport to your bedroom then”
#bts smut#bts#jungkook smut#jeon jeongkook#jungkook#bts x reader#jungkook x reader#bts fluff#bts imagines#bts scenarios#bts hybrid au#bts werewolf au#bangtan#bun bun#kookie#gukkie
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Savior: Chapter 5 (There’s Something about Phyrra)
Summary: (Hellboy 2019) AKA Turning a New Leaf AKA Good Samaritans Need Love Too. The B.P.R.D is tasked to infiltrate a black market creature trafficking ring led by a powerful warlock. Hellboy rescues Phyrra who is found being held hostage, a slave for her magic. He must protect her as she is hunted by her master and his gang of monsters. (AU where Broom isn’t dead/Abe wasn’t found)
It will be rated M, it will include violence, swearing, smuttiness, all the good things in life.
Disclaimer: Hellboy belongs to Dark Horse Comics/Mike Mignola, I don’t own anything except the AU and my OC’s.
Phyrra sat cross-legged on the bed, enraptured as Binx animatedly retold her side of the story: how Phyrra had sent her away during her dealings with Elias, then the shock of the pixie being accosted by some woman on her way back to Phyrra’s room. Returning to a wild, bewildered Phyrra acting as if that Hellboy was the only one she wanted around her. Binx used her usual scathing descriptions of how she saw things.
“You were scandalous with him Phyrra! Not at all yourself! I had not seen you like that in many moons! I tried to get him away, but you would not allow it!”
Binx had spent decades protecting Phyrra from the men around: that nasty warlock being the bain of her existence. At least the beast’s attention towards Phyrra had not held any contempt or lascivious intentions, Binx couldn’t say the same for this demon.
Sure he had strode in and took Phyrra away from the wicked man that had held her friend, and by extension herself, for so many years. But the pixie had the unusual talent of reading things unsaid clearly, and she sensed great darkness in this Hellboy. Perhaps Binx was biased in her opinion, she owed everything to Phyrra. It didn’t stop the light that ever emanated from the elven girl.
No creature on earth would ever be worthy of Phyrra, in Binx’s eyes at least.
“But...He saved me Binx, saved us.”
“Yes, yes what a white knight he is.” Phyrra, her mind unwillingly placing a picture of Hellboy in her mind, she felt her face burn.
She was struck with the remembrance that in the last moments before her blankness, she had been in a towel, readying for a bath.
She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. She was in a robe now. Someone had changed her. Maybe it had been this woman? At Phyrra’s urgent question, Binx could only glance away, further prove of what Phyrra feared. “I will concede he was at least a gentleman about it all. Also at least stopped you from further harming that human.”
“Binx,” Phyrra desperate urging in her voice frightening the pixie. “I’m all fuzzy. I cannot remember much. It’s all coming in flashes.”
“What of our time before…” Binx hesitated, the reminder of her friend’s loss of memories stunning her. “What do you remember of your family?”
“Nothing, it’s all blank.” Binx, normally the fire-cracker, looked more fearful than Phyrra ever seen. Binx choked on her reply. She just couldn’t do it. Selfish as it was, Binx had no desire to open the old wounds of Phyrra’s past.
“It is not my place Phyrra. You must recall it yourself.” Phyrra looked at her friend with great confusion, Binx had the answers, but was refusing to give them. It was preposterous.
“Excuse me? Don’t be ridiculous Binx! Tell me!” Binx’s expression was hearty with gloom. Phyrra was already in a fragile state, Binx did not want to be the one to break her. Maybe in a week’s time, if all goes well. Binx rationalized to herself. On the outside, she smiled with great sadness towards Phyrra.
“I...I simply cannot.”
“You are really annoying me dilthen nad (little one).” Phyrra snapped, scooping the miniscule creature up into her hands. Holding her with the intent of not letting go until Binx gave her the justification for this unnecessary behaviour.
Binx decided the conversation was over, dictated by a burst of fire in Phyrra’s palms.
Letting her friend go, she scurried away on translucent wings. Figure it out herself? Phyrra was baffled. At the back of her mind, she could hear the Professor talking about the texts regarding all matters of subjects. Well, if she was to be responsible for returning her memories, that seemed to be the best place to start.
“Fine, have it your way Binx. We are taking a trip to that library,” Binx returned back to her companion, hesitant but firm in her Phyrra’s strength to see through this. Goddess knew the elf had spent many lonely nights of hard survival before Binx found her.
Using her internal clock, Phyrra had to have been talking to Binx for an hour or so. She was brought here last night, Hellboy had slept the whole night by her side. Now it was mid-morning.
Phyrra felt herself unthinkingly pondering over him. Perhaps she should go talk to him first? She needed to know what had happened, and what he had seen from her. He disconcerted her in a way Phyrra has never experienced, she hoped his answers to her questions would aleve that.
“Hey, brought you the clothes. I also ran into someone in the hallway.” Phyrra was halted in her determination as Sorah walked in with a hulking human male, dressed in a fine black suit. Phyrra only had to shift her gaze to the awful purple mottling along the male’s neck to know who this was. The man she had mauled. Had held in her grasp with intent to hurt, maybe even kill.
“Jason Hurse, ma’am.” He was smiling at her with quiet reserve, much too kind of a greeting for what she deserved.
“Call me Phyrra.” She felt her eyes sting, she was a monster. An absolute brute. He should he furious with her, too disgusted to even be here.
“It’s a pleasure, Phyrra.” Jason approached her bedside with ease, completely unafraid of her despite what had occured between them.
“Words can’t describe my guilt. I feel…. Ghastly.”
“Don’t. Hey, you were strapped onto this gurney in this new environment, you did what you had to do. Trust me this kind of danger comes with this job, and I’ve been through worse. I fully understand your reaction to that situation.”
Phyrra was astonished. This human was unbelievable in his humbleness. There was something Phyrra could obviously do to make up for it.
“You are a gracious man. Please, allow me to heal you.”
“Well I’m not gonna argue. It would save me trying to explain this to the missus,” Hurse said good-naturedly. Jason gave his consent as Phyrra requesting to touch the bruise. Both him and Sorah watched in awe as the tattoos on the elf’s body began to glow, the patterns floating off her skin onto Jason’s. After a few quiet moments, Phyrra removed her hand to Hurse’s usual pale toned neck, the injury was gone.
“Phyrra...That was amazing!” The elf shrugged under Sorah’s watch. She was used to being praised for her magic, although it had always been Elias. It left a bad taste in her mouth.
“Woah.” Hurse stood up and shook his arms. “Weird. I feel like I have so much energy.” Taking stock of how his body felt rejuvenated, he glanced at his watch. Cursing at the time, he explained that he was supposed to be meeting with S.W.A.T Team Two right now to discuss the Yeti den findings.
“Thank you Phyrra. I gotta get back to work, but it was great to meet you again, seriously. See you around!” The man bolted out of the room, already late. Sorah and Phyrra regarded each other laughing softly.
“Sorah, would it be possible for me to go to the library?”
“Of course! Your just gonna go to the elevator and hit the button that says 5C. In fact, I’ll walk you over there. It gets a little crazy around her at this time.”
There was much action happening around her when Sorah loaded Phyrra into the contraption: nurses dressed wounds and speaking with patients or each other. Phyrra thanked whoever was listening that no one seemed to pay her much mind, and as always having Binx by her side gave her strength.
Either they had been warned about her presence, or were still wary of her because of what she did to Jason… She would have to seek forgiveness from them all.
The elevator jerked to a stop. Phyrra looked up at the glowing red ‘4B’. Not her floor. The door slid open to reveal a young woman who looked in appearance around the same age, she was dressed very casually with a floppy hat and baggy pants. Her placid expression lit up at the surprising sight of Phyrra.
“Hey! Great to see you up and about. Back to normal yeah?” Phyrra was snapped out of her wallowing thoughts by the bright voice. The woman walked into the elevator and went to press the same button Sorah had not three minutes ago. Phyrra remained suspiciously silent, left so by this girl’s affectionate greeting.
“Right. Sorry. Forgot you woke up not remembering everyone,” The female extended her hand, “Alice, nice to meet ya’.”
“This is the girl that stopped me back at Elias’s. She reeks of death but is perfectly healthy. Quite a strange thing.” Shushing Binx’s harsh words, even though the taller girl could not understand the words, Phyrra accepted her hand.
“You are the one that found Binx?”
“Your little glowly friend? Yup that was me. Hey again.”
“She wasn’t rough with me, and is quite charming.” Binx couldn’t stop the humour entering her voice. If they were to be in contact with these mortal’s for now, she would try and find her amusement where she can.
“I must go around to you all and apologize for my actions, they are reprehensible.”
“Aw, not to worry! All is right as rain, as my mum used to say.” Phyrra found herself smiling at the easygoing, playful way Alice held herself.
“Okay Phyrra. I gave you your chastization, but please try and not beat yourself up too hard old girl.” The elf nodded at the pixie. She understood, at this moment she was going through a great change. Phyrra was in a place she didn’t have to watch what she said and could make her own decisions. The idea was daunting.
“Is she mad at us for bringing you here or something?”
“Of course not, Binx wants what is best for me,” Smiling at Alice, this cordial girl, Phyrra felt the burdens surrounding her ease.
“I believe this is what is best for me at the moment. Would you mind showing me around the library?”
Alice agreed wholeheartedly, even going as far as linking her arm with Phyrra in a show of camaraderie.
The door’s dinged open.
Phyrra could do this. Right now she was with good company, people she could trust. She felt she had a purpose, one that didn’t involve being someone’s pet. And once she recovered fully, she could decide if this ‘being a team member’ would work out.
_
A few hours later…..
Hellboy tossed the beer can into the growing pile detected.
He was a stranger to her now. Hellboy wished, no matter how he told himself not to, for the Phyrra he found to come back. She would wake up and once again only want him around.
Absently strumming his guitar, the memory of their time together haunted him: her first waking up, pinning him with her gaze, the choice she made to stay in his arms, mending his wounds, trusting him so explicitly. Now all he could think about was the disdain and fear she emitted as he tried to touch her. He reached for her fucking hand. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
The last couple hours he spent asking the same mundane question to creature after creature: Where are you from? How were you abducted by Elias? How can we help you find your way home? At least it had made it so his mind was occupied. Now in the comfort of his room, he had nothing else but to wallow in his misery.
He knew she was one of the good ones. He was glad to find out her reactions had been some sort of animalistic sense of survival she had turned to.
Hellboy, during one of his breaks, had snuck into the security rooms, finding the feed of Phyrra’s room. He found the logs in which his father spoke with her. He knew he was being a coward, a worm. His finger hovered over the play button. Father had told him nothing but perfunctory information when he stopped by after talking with Phyrra: She was another prisoner of Elias’s, and seemed to be suffering from amnesia.
Hellboy wanted to hear it from her.
In the end, fate had answered the dilemma for him. Ben arrived on the scene, having been told where the cambion had slipped away; Hellboy whipped around with guilt like a teenage boy caught playing with himself. Ben was holding two sandwiches from the mess hall, wearing a smug grin.
“There you are, come on Hellboy.” The Major threw the wrapped one at Hellboy, forcing him to catch it. “I even asked them to cut the crust off for you.”
There was also the matter of Hurse.
On their way back, Hellboy heard his name being called. Turning around, he was met with the running form of Hurse, the man wasn’t winded when he reached them.
“Hey Hellboy, I just wanted to tell you. I met Phyrra, again.” Happily, he displayed his neck sans bruise. Hellboy knew he wasn’t doing it with any malice, just wanted to be a man showing good will. Hellboy knew Hurse to be happily married for 15 years. It didn’t stop the envy at the idea of Phyrra just healing anyone willy-nilly.
He knew first hand the penetrating, all consuming feeling when she used her ability.
“No hard feelings, she’s a real sweet kid.”
“Shit.” Hellboy realized he was playing the chords to ‘More Than Words’ and stopped immediately. He had to get a hold of himself for Christ sakes.
So he agreed with the fact she didn’t attack intentionally, obviously he knew he couldn’t be with enamoured with an evil being, Nimue crushed that idea. He did want her back to that way incidentally, if only to not have to be so foolish around her. He was getting very frustrated with the conflicted feelings surrounding her. He wasn’t a dealing with feelings kinda guy, he needed to go out, do some target practice, get into some trouble.
Maybe start a fight.
Hellboy stood up too fast, letting out a slurred ‘Woah!’ before balancing himself sloppily on his dresser. That was the first time he had risen in 30 minutes, those beers were hitting him.
Clumsy as shit, Hellboy stumbled about his room, until the telltale sound of light knocking reached him. Who the fuck was bothering him right now? It was the middle of the fucking night.
Hellboy lumbered over to the door, retching it open. A curse ready on his tongue.
It was Phyrra. Looking at him expectantly. Sorah had found her clothes, Hellboy thought belated. She was dressed in a black t shirt depicting the B.P.R.D logo, and pajama pants. It was quite a different sight from the robes that bundled her, or the slight towel she was draped in when he first saw her..
He was way too drunk for this.
What he wanted to say was, “Hey Phyrra. What brings you out here at this late hour?” Instead, what he got out was:
“Oh.”
Phyrra was taken aback by the stilted greeting, but only for a moment. It was quite a late hour, she cleared her throat and pressed on.
“Hello again, I could not stop thinking. At least not until I came to make amends.” Phyrra felt herself strangely nervous around him, sweat collected at the back of her neck but she felt chilled anyways.
After spending the last while in the library with Alice, finding comfort in the woman’s help and presence, Phyrra had found nothing to jog her memory. Phyrra could see the way Alice was struggling to keep her eyes open, she made the decision to call it a night, thanking the woman for her company and asking where Hellboy was. She was met with a wide grin from Alice with prompt directions to his room, before she flounced away in a girlish manner betraying her age.
Phyrra liked the B.P.R.D. It wasn’t hard to find these lodgings much more satisfactory than under Elias’s care, but it wasn’t just that. There was life in the B.P.R.D, agents and various government workers passing her in the hallway with kind looks, sometimes a ‘Hello,” Phyrra wasn’t used to most interactions, especially with mortals. They were quite an interesting kind of people. Her new friend’s Sorah and Alice molding her opinion.
She thought about all this on the way to Hellboy’s domain, now that she was here. Her tongue was undoubtedly tied in knots, she wanted an answer from him, but forcing herself to look up to continue eye contact, she was thoroughly intimidated.
“Thank you is not sufficient to extend my gratitude. I am forever indebted to you for-”
“Stop!” Both of them flinched at his sudden loud interruption.
“Sorry, I mean, you don’t need to do all this.” Hellboy scratched the back of his neck, bumbling the whole thing rather expertly. “I was just doing my job.”
“Okay, but still. I was told of the way I…. Behaved towards everyone here, and how you were there to stop me. That still requires my recognition.”
Fuck, she was so beautiful. There was no doubt about it, he couldn’t feel shame for thinking something so evident. She was like one of those paintings he saw the time werewolves got loose in the Met.
During the midst of the fight, Hellboy had stopped, strangely drawn to a specific one hung on the wall. Hellboy wasn’t some fine art connoisseur, that kind of frou-frou shit was more dad’s style, but he had to admit this was kinda cool. It was a young girl, tangled in what looked to him to be bandages or rope or something. The background had been dark colours made to look like some sort of forest. She was fighting against the binds, hands curled into fists and muscles flexed in tension, her face displaying the strain it was to break free.
She was a cutie, by 17th century standards, but it was her eyes that caught him most of all. They were a curious sort of calm, as if she knew without doubt that eventually she would succeed in her struggle. He could of stood there analyzing that painting the whole night, if he hadn’t of been tackled away from it by some smelly dog.
That girl in the painting reminded him of Phyrra. Many layers made her up. Fierce and wild at times, vulnerable and distant at others. This elf girl was an enigma. One that was currently looking at him with confusion.
He hadn’t said anything in response to her.
He had just been staring down at her like a creep.
“Well, good night then...” Phyrra scurried away from the entrance to his bedroom; well that did not go the way she wanted it to. She would first apologize, he would accept and she would get the chance to ask him what happened while they were alone.
Now away in her thoughts, she couldn’t just blame her own blundering. What had greeted her at his door had halted her, something was off about Hellboy. What was once full of nervous energy, was slothish and bumbling. He could barely get his words out.
No matter, she had cleared her conscience and now could leave him alone, he obviously didn’t care nor desire her apology.
Whatever happened between them could be completely forgotten about. Reliving what had just transpired on repeat as she escaped, Phyrra knew that was an utter lie.
Hellboy watched stunned as she walked away.
“Night…..Hey wait!” Hellboy took a step through the threshold, only to step on the tail-end of his jacket, spilling himself to the floor in quite a hilarious spectacular if anyone were around to witness it.
“Shit.”
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What do you think of kallura?
thoughts under the cut, bc as said in my BYF it’s one of my notps—that being said, anyone who likes them by no means needs to unfollow me. you can like the ship was much as you want, i just really, really don’t and well… here’s why under the cut:
simply put, i don’t like how keith treats her. he wants to leave her behind, and even though we know that it was a somewhat rational decision, so was shiro’s (they need her to power the castle and move around the galaxy, info about aliens, etc.) even if his decision in going back for her was displayed as irrational and emotionally driven. simply put, when someone you love or really care about is in danger, you do not act rationally. think of how keith would have reacted if his brother, shiro, had been taken.
i also thought the way the galra arc in s2 was handled was incredibly poor and messily constructed, with little room for nuance. allura, a black woman, is always seen as wrong for being defensive against her oppressors, who keith, a white male, belongs to. you can see how the race and gender of the characters didn’t help matters of an already complicated dynamic/social issue to portray either. that, and i’m still pissy that keith never said almost anything about trying to reconcile to her on his end.
but most especially that we never got to see coran’s side of things. it was another thing that left the whole arc with a bitter taste in my mouth. like, why not have given allura’s piece in that arc to coran? not only would it give him some depth, some of the weird race-gender dynamics would be gone, allura would already have an arc of learning to trust the galra with the blade as a whole, and coran is shown in canon before the galra keith plotline to have stereotypes about aliens (ie. the uniloo race, from “space mall”). allura is not.
it was one of the reasons why i liked, how even though the elves and humans have a much more grey relationship with each other, callum still apologized for what humans did. he didn’t say, “not all humans are like that.” he was never prejudiced against rayla for being an elf, and even if she was a bit towards him as a human, perhaps at first, none of that mattered. he was straightforward, sorry and personal while also not inflicting personal guilt upon his shoulders, and helped rayla open up to him further.
the other seasons didn’t help much. shiro chose keith as a successor, ergo keith is supposed to be a support for allura while she tackles everything—the loss of a friend/teammate, keeping everyone else afloat, creating the coalition, coordinating with the blade, and then becoming a brand new paladin—all by herself. keith ruins her diplomatic dinner and never apologizes. allura tries to convince keith not to leave, he says he doesn’t want a lecture, and ultimately doesn’t listen to her.
all their interactions just seemed hostile, or argumentative for the most part. one of the reasons i like rayllum is because while they bicker, they care deeply about each other, and it’s always obvious. they always admit when they made a mistake, and always work to make sure the other person is okay. they can tease and laugh at each other, they have a great understanding of one another’s insecurities (rayla too, knows what it’s like to fail at the one thing you’re supposed to be good at). i think their relationship is very beneficial for each other’s arcs.
keith and allura’s is not. their arcs are almost never intertwined, and the series rarely connects the emotional beats of their separate stories together. often times when allura is going through a particularly hard time, shiro is too, and in s3, the perfect opportunity to show keith and allura growing closer, we don’t see anything.
so yeah. i don’t like them. i do think they’re a pair that has merit in fanon though, although i still think they function better as friends than lovers. so yeah, they’re a pair of characters i like in fanon, platonically, because their dynamic in canon, regardless of its nature (platonic, romantic, etc.) killed their relationship for me, unfortunately.
if you want more details on my views on voltron i’d check out my “vld critical” tag at @shiroallura, and even more so, my project over at @voltron-fix-it-fic in which every single character’s relationship with everyone else is revamped, improved, and developed.
hope this answers your question! :)
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Forget Me Not Chapter 11 ~Uncertainty and Mortality~
Claire could barely see through tears rapidly welling up in her eyes. She prayed they wouldn't fall, afraid to show the world she was affected by some measly string of words contrived to deliberately hurt her.
If I had a face like yours, my parents would die of shock too.
With trembling hands, she folded the offensive note that was left on top of her schoolbooks and slipped it in her skirt pocket. This was not the first time it happened, and she knew it wouldn't be the last. Hell would have to freeze a thousand times over before she showed them how upset she was. Straightening her spine and swallowing a golf ball-sized lump in her throat, she sat down and focused on the class that was about to commence. Her herculean effort to hold back the tears was tested further when she overheard a sniggering group taunting her in whispers. They jeered in hurtful undertones, with words that were so wounding that often times she wished she had died with her parents.
Stubbornness prevented her from crying though, afraid Jamie would notice and come swooping in to save the day. That's what he always did. He was a fixer and a caretaker, and she couldn't let him muscle in and assert himself as her repairman. No, I can't have that. Of course, he would still clock something was up, but without the evidence of tears, the subject was easier dropped.
I don't need fixing. If other people have a problem with me, it was my cross to bear. The Frasers have done more than enough, and I don't need them fighting my battles.
..........
She should be used to this by now. They're only words, and words can't hurt her unless she allowed it. You aren't those words. You aren't the shouts and names. You aren't the awful things spat at you like flavourless gum. Get a grip, Beauchamp!
Leaning back on her chair as she stared into the laptop screen, Claire let out a massive sigh of relief. There had been no nasty messages waiting for her in the Facebook inbox neither was there any hints of disapproval in the comments' box when Jamie announced on Social Media that they were together. The picture he posted of them spoke volumes of his possessiveness - they were locked in an embrace, while she looked straight to the camera, with his forehead pressed against her jawline, face slightly turned, revealing only an eye and an upturned mouth that said, My Girl. Although he posted their relationship status a few days ago, the congratulatory comments kept coming, and Claire had been holding her breath waiting for some smart ass remark. But there were none, much to her surprise.
Respite from the vile messages she received almost regularly, didn't detract her from feeling slightly apprehensive at the thought of Jamie bringing Annalise to Lallybroch. Even when pangs of jealousy sliced through her insides mercilessly, her conscience couldn't bear the idea of his ex-girlfriend being left alone in her condition. Compared to Annalise, she had been fortunate to have been raised by a loving family, and she couldn't deny her wish to not be alone when she was given the death sentence, cancer. It was a big ask, but Claire thought it was a plea of a dying, desperate woman.
Jamie had wanted her say in the matter, but they both knew the answer already. Brian and Ellen had raised them to always do the right thing and to never shirk from responsibility, and that had been drummed into their upbringing so incessantly that sometimes little sacrifices were made.
Her thoughts drifted back once again to Annalise. Although they had the same tragic start to childhood, the similarities didn't end there. According to Jamie, Annalise had always felt she was an outsider and never really fitted in. The fact that she had no one around her at her lowest point in life substantiated that story. Maybe Jamie is drawn to women he thinks need saving and protecting? I'm in a good place in life now, and perhaps I would lose that appeal once he realised I don't need safeguarding. Shaking herself, she pushed those thoughts away, reprimanding herself for being melodramatic, a trait that seemed to be trending in her emotions lately.
Claire had just finished going through the menu plans for the grand re-opening of The Fraser Manor Inn when Willie's car screeched to a stop outside the house on the gravelled driveway. He had agreed to take her to Lallybroch after running errands. Declining to go with him earlier to the airport to pick up Jamie and Annalise, she had opted to see them in Lallybroch instead later in the day. I need to go through the food stock and beverage inventory for the restaurant. The excuse had sounded lame to her ears, but deep down, she knew she was delaying the inevitable - meeting Jamie's ex-girlfriend. What am I anxious about? Jamie is a solid guy...as solid as solid go and how often had he said he loves me? Yeah, a round of applause Beauchamp, for daring to exercise rational thinking.
Annoyed with herself, she stuffed her laptop and phone in her satchel, before taking a quick glance over of her reflection in the hallway mirror. She was wearing a creamy sweater over a white shirt, tight black jeans and weathered heavy Wellington boots - ideal for the cold and blustery day. A few times, prior, she had considered changing her outfit, perhaps with an afterthought of making an effort for Jamie or show-offing to Annalise. But in the end, practicality won the day when the weather proved to be too cold for a dress.
Once outside, she ran to Willie's waiting car and flung the door open. Clumsily she threw her satchel in before plopping into the passenger seat. "Hey, you...God, it's bloody freezing! Thank you for giving me a lift." Shivering, she rubbed her hands together for warmth before offering them to Willie to rub in his bigger ones and blow his breath into, an old habit they have shared from the past.
Instead of taking her hands, Willie started the car and pulled out of the driveaway. "Place them under yer thighs. They'll warm up quicker there," he grunted as he turned the heater up a notch, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
"Oh," she shrugged, arching an eyebrow. "Grumpy much?" She wanted so much to know what he thought of Annalise but instead settled back on her seat and waited. Willie had not been himself lately, and she had put it down to the build-up of the re-opening of the hotel.
Letting out a huge sigh, he reached out to squeeze her hand. "I haven't had much sleep."
"I hope it's just lack of sleep, Willie. You've been acting really weird on me these past few days, and I don't like it. One minute you want to talk to me and the next minute you're avoiding me." Claire had been noticing recently, how he flinches a lot every time she was near and wondered what she had done wrong. "I hope it has nothing to do with my new deodorant." She slapped her knee and laughed as she realised she had spoken her thoughts out loud.
Willie didn't laugh. "Would it bother ye?" he asked in a clipped tone.
"Would it bother me what?" she asked, confusion swarming her brain.
"If I avoided ye," he replied, hitting the blinker before he turned right on the road.
"Of course, it would bother me, you silly goose," she said as she rummaged into her satchel, to take out a granola bar.
"Why?"
"Because I love you." She took a bite and offered her snack to Willie with an outstretched hand.
He shook his head at the offering, sparing her only a quick glance. "Ditto."
"Ditto, what the fuck is that?" she asked in a muffled voice, chewing vigorously and glaring at him. Claire knew what the word meant, but this weird Willie vibe thing was beginning to annoy her. He usually would have said I love you back.
Willie ignored the question. "Any unpleasant messages lately?"
"None of your business," she snapped, shoving her bag at her feet.
"I guess I deserved that." This time he laughed, probably an effort to lighten the heavy mood he created. "Now who's grumpy?"
"I'm not grumpy, I'm just annoyed at you. You know what...you really ought to get a life. Maybe it would improve your morose mood...like go on a date, meet a girl....that sort of thing." Claire sat back thoughtfully, processing her internal RAM before continuing. "God, I can't remember a time when you had a girlfriend. I know you did because I can remember a girl vaguely, but that must have been ages ago." She glanced at his profile and saw his throat bob up and down.
"That's hospitality industry for ye...nae time for romance." He slowed down the car as he approached a smaller road leading to Lallybroch.
"Utter shite and you know that! How about Geillis?" Claire said without missing a beat, her eyes lighting up. "She's single, available and she'll understand the long hours working in a hotel,"
"Nah, she's a nice lass but too brash for my taste." He pressed the inside of his cheek with his tongue in an attempt to suppress a burst of laughter.
Claire snorted out loud. She had to agree with Willie on this one that her friend is too cocksure for her own good. "You do know we have some new staff employed in the hotel. Surely, there's bound to be one that meets your discerning taste. But either way, go out there and find your special someone. You deserve that."
He didn't answer, and Claire left it at that, driving in silence for a while. She had been quite sure there was an attraction between Geillis and Willie from the moment they met, but today she wasn't in the mood to play matchmaker nor pry more into Willie's love life. Not for now, at least. There were other pressing matters such as Annalise and her own new relationship with Jamie.
As they pulled up at Lallybroch's driveway, Willie gave her a wink as he glanced at her. "Hey, I'll probably take yer advice and go out on a date, if that makes ye happy and me less dour."
"Good for you, you owe it to yourself. But...umm..." She went silent for a moment thinking Willie hadn't mentioned Jamie nor Annalise. "Willie...what do you think of Annalise? I don't mean to sound like a jealous nag, but I want to know from a man's perspective...do you find her pretty?"
Willie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, contemplating his answer earnestly. "Honestly...what did you call it again? Aye, my discerning taste. My discerning taste thinks ye are prettier."
"Of course, you'll say that. Why did I even bother asking?" She pulled the satchel from her feet and hitched it over on her shoulder. "You coming in?"
"Aye, but I need to make a few phone calls. Ye go ahead and save a scone for me." Before she could get out of the car, he stopped her. "Claire?"
"Yeah?"
"I love ye."
Claire smiled. "Ditto."
Walking up to the house, she couldn't help but think how much Willie, looked like Jamie when he said I love you.
..........
She was about to open the entrance door when it was unceremoniously flung opened, and Jamie grabbed her wrist. She let out a squeak as he dragged her inside, slinging his forearm against her arse to draw her up onto her toes. Smiling and without saying a word, he walked her back towards the wall of the hallway, his beautiful soul-sucking blue looking intently into her eyes. Tangling a hand in Claire's hair, he tongued her lips open, laughing softly when she gasped, before sinking them both to a kiss. Slowly, Jamie moulded their bodies together against the wall, his lips travelling along her jawline before nuzzling her ear. "Hmm, I was expecting my girlfriend to meet me at the airport this morning. I wonder what kept her away?" He pulled back an inch to tuck her hair behind her ear. "So what's happening inside that pretty head of yers?"
Whatever doubts and worries she had, they had all dissipated. "Oh, this and that," she breathed, as she did a mental replay of their Facetime boogie from the other night, sending a kerfuffle of hormones ricochetting in her belly. "Sorry I couldn't be there to see you. I have been busy with work, you know... menus and stuff, and sourcing new vendors for some of the new dishes. Did you know there's a convention booked already a week after the re-opening?" she whispered, running her palms on his abdomen. It wasn't a lie; nevertheless, it was a good excuse, giving her enough time to sort out her thoughts before meeting Annalise.
"I guess I have loads of catching up to do, aye?" he laughed, but the laughter quickly faded away as he searched her face. As if reading her thoughts, which was eerily most of the time, he lifted her chin with his index finger to look into her eyes. "Sassenach, ye have nothing to worry about Annalise, I hope ye know that." He ran his fingers along the seams of her mouth before brushing his lips against hers. "Christ, all I could think about is ye while I was in Paris to a point I was incapable of doing what I was supposed to do. I ken she was my girlfriend, and I can't change that...I can't change the past. I have to believe that sometimes things happen for a reason and that maybe, she was put into our paths so that we can help her. I'm not going to lie...I did care for her, but I didn't love her like the way I do ye. Ye have to trust that."
Claire gave a sharp exhale. There was no more avoiding the subject. "I know, Jamie and that's what I love most about you...you're kind and compassionate that way. See...this relationship thing...I'm already sucking at it. I didn't even know that meeting you at the airport is a boyfriend-girlfriend thing."
Unable to subdue his grin, Jamie caught her full lower lip between his teeth and tugged. "Let's see...ye can make it up for me later, perhaps? In our house? I ken your place is more comfortable, but I don't think I want Geillis hearing all the sounds that you make when I make love to ye."
Her heart started to sprint. "Oh! Our house is it? And you know, you do talk a lot of rubbish...I hardly make any sounds," she giggled.
"Aye, it's our house, and aye, ye do make a lot of sounds. Plenty of adorable sounds, like this..." With a wink, he gave her a look of debauchery, sliding one arm beneath her arse to boost her up and one free hand palming her breast. He chuckled under his breath when she let out a moan. "...and I haven't even started yet."
Her gulp was audible as crimson climbed up her throat, and not really wanting to, she gently pushed him away. "Jamie put me down now. Ma and da can walk in on us any minute." She could hear voices in the kitchen and teacups clacking on saucers. "Let's go meet your other bird, huh?" Best get it over and done with.
Smiling, he allowed his head to collapse on the crook of her neck, heavily breathing in her scent. "Aye...can't be helped. Missed ye so bad, Sassenach," he murmured huskily, lightly fisting his hand on the wall above Claire's head. Pressing his lips against her forehead, he half-heartedly stood upright, not quite ready to let her go yet. "Right, are we good?"
She nodded and took his hand as Jamie guided her towards the staircase. "So what did ma and da say? Have they met Annalise?"
"Aye, they've met over breakfast. Ye ken what they're like, the house is open to anybody and everybody. I haven't really spoken to them yet as I was too preoccupied looking out the window waiting for ye to arrive," he said in an amused tone.
"Why are we heading upstairs? I thought she was in the kitchen," she asked, looking towards the kitchen they passed.
"She was exhausted earlier and needed to lie down. She must be awake now, but I dinna ken which room she took. Ma did say to take her pick of the empty rooms."
"She's probably in Geillis' room," Claire mumbled, pulling her hand away from Jamie's to smooth back her hair.
"Hey..." Halfway up the stairs, he turned to face her, reaching out to gently rubbed the pad of his thumb on her cheeks. "...just saying, ok? If there's anything troubling ye, anything at all, ye ken ye can talk to me, aye? We're together now, and ye best get used to it, really fast." He leaned forward to rub his nose against hers. "It's a boyfriend-girlfriend thing, ye ken... in case ye didn't get the memo." He winked, before taking her hand once again in his and pulling her up the stairs.
"Yeah, got it!" she replied but stopped on her tracks when they reached the landing. Further down the hallway, she saw her books neatly stacked outside her old room, and on top of the pile was her dreamcatcher which use to hang above her bed. It was a gift from her uncle Lamb's friend. "Oh, I guess she's not taking the guest room."
Jamie squeezed her shoulders, obviously surprised as her. "Och, sorry Sassenach, I didnae realised. Dinna fash, I'll tell her to use the other room, and I'll put back the books on your shelves..."
Claire grabbed his arm. "No, Jamie, it's alright. I have a place of my own now, and really, it's silly to keep a room here when I don't really need it. She can have it."
"Are ye sure? It shouldn't take a few minutes and.."
"Positive," she reaffirmed, making her way to her old room. At the doorway, she squared her shoulder and gently knocked on the door, almost forgetting Jamie was stood behind her.
"Come in," a light, melodic voice with French accent answered.
Nudging the door, she let herself in to come face to face with Jamie's ex, sat on her old dressing table. Grudgingly Claire had to admit to herself, Annalise was breathtakingly beautiful, and the lack of hair didn't diminish that beauty. In fact, it enhanced her big cornflower blue eyes and delicately shaped eyebrows. With the sunlight streaming from the window behind her, she looked like an angel, dressed in her... what? Claire's eyes widened when she realised, Annalise was wearing her green wrap-around dress. "Oh, hi...I'm Claire," she said warmly as she stepped forward to shake her hand.
Instead of taking her hand, Annalise stood up and gave her a tight hug and Claire couldn't help but notice, Jamie's ex was wearing the same perfume as her. "So lovely to finally meet you, Claire. I have been so much looking forward to this," she gushed, her voice so soft, it reminded her of a child's. Returning to her chair, she gestured towards the bed. "Please, take a seat." Pausing, she smiled sweetly. "I only realised recently that you and Jamie are together. I would have never guessed as he spoke so fondly and so much of you that he gave me an impression you were siblings. Well, congratulations are in order...both of you make a perfect couple."
Jamie coughed a thank you , and Claire, instead of sitting down, glanced around her old room, noticing some visible changes had taken place already. Her poster of the world map was taken down for one. "Thank you. I see you've made yourself at home, and that dress looks lovely on you."
"Oh..." Annalise looked down, her expression changing into mortification. "I'm so sorry, Claire. I was making room in the wardrobe, and I saw this hanging. It's so pretty that I had to try it on. I'll take it off now..."
"No, it's alright, really. Keep it, it's yours. The dress becomes you, and I haven't worn it in ages. I will take the rest of my things now, so you have more room. The sooner you're settled, the better." Claire knew she was rambling, but she felt she needed to move.
"There's no rush, Claire but if you must I can help you..." Annalise's voice trailed off as Claire dismissed her suggestion with a wave of a hand, picking up the rest of the things to place in an empty box that was already there. Shrugging her delicate shoulders, Annalise turned her attention to Jamie. "Jamie, is it tomorrow you're taking me to see the doctor?"
"Och aye...we need to sort out yer papers at the NHS and register ye as a resident," Jamie started, one hand massaging the back of his neck.
Claire suddenly felt sorry for him being in such an awkward situation that she mentally admonished herself for pointing out the dress Annalise was wearing.
"I'll take her." It was Willie standing at the door, both his hands resting on the doorjamb. They haven't heard him walking on the creaky floorboards that they were all surprised to see him stood there. "Jamie, ye're needed in the kitchen to sort out your department in the Pattiserrie, and Murtagh needs to go over the dessert menu for a la carte with ye."
"Weel, I can do all those things tomorrow and take Annalise..."
"I'm going to drop off some papers to Ned Gowan tomorrow, and it's on the way to the Doctor's," Willie explained as a matter of factly. Turning his attention to Annalise, he smiled. "Prepare yer documents, passport and doctors' diagnosis for tomorrow. We'll need every scrap of those papers to register ye here." With that, Willie didn't wait for a reply and simply offered a perfunctory nod and turned on his heels and left.
"What the hell...hang on a minute. Ye can't just..." Jamie was already out the door following his older brother, leaving the two women to stare at each other in bewilderment.
"What just happened?" Annalise whispered, her one hand on her mouth.
"Brothers...that's what happened," Claire replied, shrugging her shoulders as she resumed gathering the last of her knick-knacks strewn in her old room. "Both stubborn as a bull, ye ken..." she explained in her best Scottish mimick.
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fic: “in the wee, small hours”
TITLE: “in the wee, small hours”
FANDOM: X-Files
CHARACTERS: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder
AUTHORS: the-whump-files {my girlfriend beta’d, but since she’s not part of this community {{she just loves me a lot}} her identity is staying anonymous}
RATING: Teen {some very mild sexual innuendo and language}
TAGS: whump, hurt/comfort, sneezefic, x files, msr
AUTHORS’ NOTES: look, there is not NEARLY enough Scully-centric whump fic out there, and I consider it my life’s mission to change that sad fact.
SUMMARY: In which Scully is sick during a stakeout and Mulder is teasing and there's lots of bantering because what else do you do on stakeouts, right? {Also lots of comforting and snuggles, because of course there are.}
SPOILERS: None! A few references to the show, but nothing major.
FEEDBACK: Always gratefully accepted and appreciated!
“Goddammit,” she hisses.
She should’ve thought this through.
She’s just barely, finally gotten the glove compartment to shut--and stay shut--when Mulder opens the driver's side door. A blast of frigid air follows him in, and she shivers as it dissipates around her already well-chilled form. More cold air shoots out of the vents as Mulder turns the key in the ignition; in typical federal government fashion, their FBI-leased rental is a shitty mid-80s Taurus with a moody heating system. Mulder seems content, though, even pleased: smiling and very slightly vibrating the way he always is when they’re en route to their latest X-File. Scully often finds it charming (she’d never in a million years tell him that) but tonight it strikes her primarily as smug and annoying, and she huffs impatiently from the passenger seat. His eyebrows raise and he casts her an irritatingly cheery sideways glance, which only annoys Scully further.
“What are you so smiley about?” It has been silent but for the pathetic chugging of the engine for the first few minutes of their drive, and when she hears her words hit the air they have more of an edge than she’d intended.
He doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead he hums along to the CD (Tom Waits--he does have good taste; she’s regularly grateful that their musical interests are so closely aligned) for a few minutes, pretending not to hear her, and at first she thinks he really hasn’t. As the song finishes, he answers: “Nothing like a good stakeout to keep life interesting.”
Scully rolls her eyes. “I can think of fifty other things I’d rather be doing tonight,” she says.
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. Watching Law and Order. Sleeping. Cleaning my oven. Shoving bamboo shoots under my nails. Committing hara-kiri. Literally anything else.”
He turns to her, and he still seems amused, but there’s confusion mixed in there now, too; this isn’t quite her thing in the way that it’s his, but she’s not usually quite this violently opposed to it, either.
“Someone’s in a mood tonight,” he comments softly.
Scully sighs. “Sorry,” she says. “Just tired, I guess.” She shivers again, then sticks her hands out towards the vents--cold air is still rushing out of them, even though the engine should be more than warmed up by now. “Mulder, do you have the heat turned on?”
He glances at the dials, then frowns. “Yeah,” he says. “I do. Weird.” He fidgets with them a little, but nothing changes. He shrugs, and turns them off completely. “I guess it’s broken.”
Scully shuts her eyes and resists the urge to groan. Of course it’s broken. She wraps her arms tighter around her chest and pulls her legs in closer to her body. She considers delving into her hastily packed glove box of rations, but decides against it for reasons of personal dignity. “How long until we get there?” she asks.
“Fifteen minutes,” Mulder answers. “Maybe twenty.”
Scully leans her head against the window. “Great,” she mumbles. “Just great.”
Mulder stops suddenly at a newly red traffic light, and the glove box pops comically open; it bangs against Scully’s knees and she hisses in pain. “Don’t tell me that’s broken, too,” Mulder says, but frowns when he realizes it opened because it was full to bursting. “Did someone leave all their stuff in here?”
“No,” Scully says, grunting slightly as she unsuccessfully tries to shut it again but it just won’t fucking CLICK. “It’s mine.”
“Blankets?” Mulder asks, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. “You brought blankets? Scully, did you have something in mind?”
“Oh, my God.”
“Because though we don’t have a hotel room at the moment, that can easily be arranged.”
“Mulder.”
“And is that a flask?” he exclaims, utterly delighted. “Agent Doctor Dana Straightlaced Scully, I’m shocked. Did you bring enough to share with the class?”
“It’s hot chocolate,” she says grumpily.
“My question still stands.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to share this with me.”
Mulder scoffs. “Yeah, I think I’ll make that decision for myself.”
Scully exhales with practiced patience. “Let me rephrase,” she says. “You can’t share this with me.”
“I don’t see why I can’t--tissues? Why do you have three whole boxes of--? Oh,” Scully can almost see the light bulb appear and flash on over Mulder’s head. “Oh.”
“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully says with a tired little sniffle.
“I didn’t say anything,” Mulder says, and if he weren’t driving, Scully knows both hands would be up in the air in mock surrender.
“Yeah,” she grumbles, “but I heard you thinking it.”
Mulder just laughs.
* * *
It’s sleeting and all of 38 degrees outside, and they’ve been sitting in an empty parking lot for close to an hour now. Mulder can feel the rash of tiredness and boredom beginning to scratch at the backs of his eyes; Scully is faring far worse. She hasn’t stopped shivering since they left, and she occasionally sniffles into the cuff of her blazer. Mulder can’t quite tell if it’s from the cold outside or from the cold she likely has; Scully hasn’t said anything, but he suspects it’s a mix of the two. Though, of course, as she has been known to remind him, he isn’t a medical doctor.
Another shiver wracks through Scully, and finally Mulder asks, “You cold over there?”
“No,” Scully says firmly, holding very still as she tries to control her chills. Blue-lipped and pale, she looks like a child who leapt fully clothed into the creek and is being forced to serve her due time-out in a belligerent, adorable caricature of misery.
“You know,” Mulder says, “I seem to recall there being some blankets in that glove box. Just throwing that out there.”
“How very observant of you, Mulder.”
“Blankets are very warm.”
The corners of Scully’s mouth twitch, but she doesn’t smile. “Right again, Sherlock.”
Slowly, very slowly, Mulder opens the glove box and retrieves a purple and especially cozy fleece blanket. Unfolding it halfway--it’s made for a queen bed, but Dana Scully isn’t quite a queen-bed-sized human--he drapes it over Scully’s legs and lap and pats it gently a few times, like it’s a sleepy kitten. The shivering she’d been trying so valiantly to suppress begins to slow almost immediately. “Well,” Mulder says, “would you look at that.”
Scully pointedly ignores him and instead plays absently with the delicate gold crucifix hanging around her neck (it’s one of her tells; Scully is a remarkably cool-headed human being, but even she has them). If Mulder had a betting partner, he’d place money that it’ll take Scully at least ten minutes to make any more use of the blanket, assuming she even chooses to do so at all. Mulder checks the clock: 11:06. He decides to give it until 11:17.
They sit in a silence that’s become comfortable after so many stakeouts in their years together, and 11:17 comes and goes. Scully hasn’t even glanced at the blanket, and Mulder is long past the point of knowing whether or not her stubbornness is endearing or frustrating as hell or some baffling combination of both; all he knows is that Scully isn’t going to fully use it willingly and that he can’t stand to see her shiver one more time. He takes the blanket and unfolds it completely, then drapes it over Scully’s shoulders; she moves almost imperceptibly to allow him to wrap her more closely into it. Once she’s been properly tucked in, Mulder rubs her arms vigorously a few times. He grips each of her small hands in his larger ones; they’re like ice, and he wishes they had a pair of gloves. This will have to do. Not that I mind...
Scully doesn’t look pleased, but she doesn’t shrug the blanket off, either. Mulder considers that progress.
* * *
“Strip poker.”
“No.”
“Come on, Scully.”
“Mulder,” Scully says, “it is freezing outside-”
“Six degrees above freezing, actually,” Mulder points out.
Scully makes a growly sound through her teeth. “It’s six degrees above freezing outside,” she amends. “I’m not stripping out of anything.” She’d wordlessly added a second blanket to her purple fleece one around 12:15, and to underscore her point she pulls both of them more snugly around her. Only her face is visible, really: the pinkened tip of her nose, her freckled cheeks that are flushed in the way they always get when she’s sick. Mulder bites back a smirk.
“That’s it?” he says. “That’s the only reason we can’t play strip poker? Because it’s too cold outside?” He leans back in his seat. “Man,” he continues. “I’m gonna remind you that you said that when we’re on a stakeout in August.”
Scully makes a small sound in the back of her throat that could be from illness, or expressing irritation, or both. Likely both. “Never Have I Ever?” Mulder suggests, but Scully shakes her head.
“I’m not playing a game that involves making personal confessions,” she says.
“Do you really think there are any deep dark things I don’t already know about you, Scully?”
Scully raises her chin a few notches. “I,” she says, her small voice going theatrically deep and haughty, “am a woman of mystery.” Mulder laughs out loud. She smiles a bit--the first time that night--pleased with herself and with her partner’s reaction.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “Twenty Questions?” It’s a pretty harmless game, he figures, one not even Scully can find fault with.
He’s right.
“Fine,” she acquiesces with a yawn that turns into a sneeze. “Hehhh-mptchh! Twenty Questions is fine. Do you want to go first, or shall I?”
“You think of something,” Mulder instructs. “I’ll guess.”
Scully pauses for a moment, and Mulder knows she’s running through various options in her head; she’s wearing her thinking expression, her pensive expression--her mouth set primly and her eyes staring blank--which is just something anyone would come to recognize after working this closely with a person for so long, Mulder tells himself.
“Okay,” Scully says. “Go.”
“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”
“Well,” Scully says, smiling slightly, “technically it’s none of those.”
Mulder stares at her. “You can’t make anything easy, can you?”
“Never.” There’s a little glimmer of impishness in her light eyes when she says it, and it’s equal parts relieving and--okay, fine--and adorable.
He gets eight questions in and he knows for a fact that it’s a TV show, and by question nine he’s pretty sure it’s The West Wing (he is a trained profiler and Scully is sometimes hilariously transparent; it’s her favorite show as of late), and he’s about to ask question ten when he gets an idea. “Does this thing,” he says slowly, as if he’s deliberating it, “have… a stuffy nose?”
Scully makes her patented what-in-God’s-name-are-you-talking-about-Mulder face and says, “Mulder, we’ve established that it’s a television show.”
“Does it have a stuffy nose?” he repeats obstinately.
“Mulder,” Scully says (her consonants are warped and dull, the m in Mulder especially, and while it may not have a stuffy nose, Mulder notes, she absolutely does), “the thing in question isn’t me. And even if it were, the answer would still be no.”
Undeterred, he regroups. "Does this show have an ensemble cast?"
Scully looks at him suspiciously, unsure of why he's suddenly willing to play along again, but simply says: "yes."
"Is this show airing on TV now?" He fires off the next question without pausing, and Scully blinks sleepily as she tries to adjust her groggy mind to his fast pace.
"Yes."
"Does it have a sore throat?"
Yes, so sore, she thinks. She swallows hard and tries not to visibly wince. "TV show, Mulder."
"Is it a drama?"
"Yes."
"Do I like it?"
"Not really, but you watch it with me because I do."
"Is it feverish?" She doesn't even bother gracing that one with a response.
Mulder gets to question seventeen and decides that he’s done being subtle: “Does this thing feel awful?”
“Possibly,” Scully sighs, surprising him. “Slightly.”
“Was that an affirmative answer?” Mulder asks. “It’s supposed to be yes or no, Scully, but I can make an exception.”
Scully blinks, caught in his trap, then scowls. “I just wanted to get the damn game over with,” she huffs. Mulder catches a whiff of her breath--is that… alcohol?
“You sure that flask only had hot chocolate in it, Scully?” he asks. (She’d opened it around the same time she’d gotten her second blanket, and true to her word has not shared a sip.)
“What do you mean?”
“No peppermint schnapps?”
“What?--no, I have not been drinking schnapps.” Scully looks scandalized at the very thought.
“But your breath--” Mulder murmurs, then it occurs to him. “Cough drops.” He offers her a knowing, sideways glance. Scully frowns, but pulls the little package of Ricola lemon throat lozenges out of her pocket, confirming his guess without meeting his eyes. “I take it the thing really does feel awful?” Mulder says, nudging her slightly.
Possibly. Slightly. “Nope,” Scully says, and pops a lozenge in her mouth. “Just have to get my kicks however I can, Mulder.”
Mulder rolls his eyes; Scully must rubbing off on him. “You were thinking of The West Wing,” he says petulantly, too frustrated to let her have her last few questions.
“You knew the whole time,” Scully says. “Didn’t you?”
“Not the whole time,” Mulder says. “Maybe around question three.” It was pretty obvious, he thinks, but doesn’t say.
“Shut up, Mulder.”
* * *
It’s nearing 2:00 and Scully has spent the better part of the last hour trying to sniffle her increasingly runny nose back to composure. They're all out of games; it’s becoming abundantly clear that the stakeout is a total bust. Scully is pale and drawn and shivering again, even cocooned in her blankets. She also keeps having sneezing fits, irrepressible ones, that leave her worryingly wheezy; Mulder has taken to counting during them to hide just how nervous they make him. "It happens when I gehh--hit'chiiEEEww! G-get chilly," she explains during a particularly bad one. "My nose s-starts to run and...and...ahhh...ah'Nngsh! And then I can't st-stop...oh, my Gohhh...God...hihh'hitchiEEw! "
"Sneezing? That one was nine, by the way."
She nods blearily. "Yeah," she says. "That."
"Probably doesn't help that you're sick," Mulder says in an off-hand voice.
Scully isn't fooled. She scowls and tentatively sniffles, mindful of setting her nose off again. "Mulder, for the hundredth time," she says. "Not sick."
He bats at her nose. "Yeah," he says as she halfheartedly bats his hand away, "healthy people are always all...drippy here."
She pouts and looks ready to argue, but Mulder keeps going. "You've been coughing, too."
"It's post-nasal drip, Mulder. That's all."
"And where's that coming from, hmm?"
"Where's it--? Mulder, it's coming from my nose."
"So your nose is runny."
"Mulder!" Scully snaps. "It's cold outside and it's cold in this car; of course my nose is runny. That's a natural bodily response to near-freezing temperatures."
“You know what?” Mulder says. “You're right. About the nose thing." He gives an exaggerated sniff. “Mine is starting to get a bit drippy, too.” He opens the glove box and pulls what might be close to twenty tissues out; he loudly fake-blows his nose on one of them, and then opens the window and throws the rest out into the parking lot. “That’s better.”
Scully gasps. “Mulder!” she exclaims. “What did you do that for? We might need those!”
“Need them?” Mulder says, playing at confusion. “What ever for?” She huffs and rolls her eyes; he isn’t looking at her, but he can feel it. “You haven’t been putting them to much use tonight, Scull.”
She looks slightly flustered and she stares longingly out the window, where the once-good tissues are going to waste on the cold, dark asphalt. “Well,” she says, “anyway, you just littered, which is illegal. You rebel.” If she were in a much better mood and/or vaguely inebriated, she might have punctuated that statement with a punch to his arm. Mulder grins at the thought.
“Covering up government conspiracies is illegal, too, Scully; but that doesn’t seem to stop anyone, now does it?”
Scully sneezes quietly, twice, in response. "Hih'chshh! H'ngsht!"
“There are still some tissues left,” Mulder says, but Scully merely repeats her customary cuff-sniffle and shrugs.
“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says flatly.
“Scully,” Mulder says, wholly exasperated now, “you’re the one who brought them in the first place.”
She sneezes again. “Bless you,” Mulder offers, which only earns him a glare.
“Shut up, Mulder.”
“I was being nice!”
“Well, don’t,” Scully says.
“Fine, I won't.”
They grow quiet again, and this time it’s for so long that Mulder wonders if Scully’s maybe fallen asleep; he almost hopes she has, sleep would be good for her. He worries that she doesn’t get enough of it. He knows he doesn’t. After all the things that they’ve seen, all the things that they’ve done, it’s not surprising. Unpleasant, sure, but not surprising.
It is at that moment that Scully inhales sharply and just barely manages to catch three surprisingly violent, loud sneezes in her cupped hands. "Hep-TSSCH'ooo! Hehh...hetchiiieeeEEEw! Huh-ISCHIIIEEEW!
Startled, Mulder turns to look at her; a few seconds pass and she still hasn’t taken her hands down from her face. If it weren’t for the garish melon glow of the nearest streetlamp--or, more honestly, if he didn’t have such wildly accurate Scully-senses and a detailed mental schematic of her facial features--Mulder would never have been so lucky as to see what he’s pretty sure he is in fact seeing: Dana Scully blushing.
“Mulder?” she says, her voice muffled.
“Yeah?” He does a surprisingly good job keeping the amused/self-satisfied smirk out of his voice for the entire monosyllabic word.
“Could I maybe have some of those remaining tissues now?”
“Feeling a little under the weather, are we, Scull? Gesundheit, by the way."
Scully mumbles something unintelligible into her hands, and as he pulls a handful of tissues out for her, Mulder says, “Yeah, yeah, I know: shut up, Mulder.”
"Actually," Scully says between nose-blows, with a small but genuine half smile, "I was going to say thank you."
* * *
It’s 3:45 and Mulder has reached the point where he’s too tired to even feel tired anymore; instead, he’s weirdly nervy and wired and running on nothing but caffeinated iced tea and adrenaline reserves. Scully nodded off around 3:00, and though he misses her company, he doesn’t have the heart to wake her. Her head is resting on his shoulder and she’s snoring slightly through her congested nose; at one point, she whimpers and shivers slightly, and Mulder takes off his jacket and adds it to the blankets she’s already using. It dwarfs her, but the shivering stops, and that makes him smile.
He loves her. He thinks of that often when they’re out on a case together: on long watches like this one, in the cloying dark of a million different drab motel rooms, under blankets of stars as they race through the night--trying their damndest to solve the unsolvable. It’s never some silly, Victorian declaration of affection, never oh, Scully, my dearest darling, every moment I spend without you near me is well-nigh unbearable. His mind wanders to C.S. Lewis, to The Four Loves. Storge--empathy bond. Philia--friend bond. Eros--erotic bond. And Agape--unconditional love. God love. He doesn’t know that he buys into all this, doesn’t know that he trusts someone as religious as Lewis, doesn’t even know if one can actually experience all four kinds for the same person at the same time, if all that love could even fit into any one person… especially when said person is so very small.
And yet. Still.
He loves her. I love you. Neither of them ever say that aloud; that would be crossing a boundary that’s invisible yet still very, very present. And anyway, that would feel far too easy, too predictable, too trite. In so many ways, their relationship defies words, platitudes, logic. It is infuriating. It is impossible. It is terrifying. It is all-encompassing. It is theirs. He’s hers, and she’s his. They don’t need to say anything for that to be true. It’s always been true. It’s been true ever since a rainy graveyard in Bellefleur, Oregon, where she stood in front of him and laughed, dizzy and thrilled, because she believed.
He doesn’t know if she loves him in the same way; he suspects it, sometimes even lets himself hope it, but this is an area where Scully is all but unreadable. But it’s alright. Being present with her, close to her--that’s enough, for now.
Next to him, Scully stirs, blinks her eyes open, coughs. Mulder very nearly takes a hand and smooths an errant lovelock behind her small ear, but decides against it. The hand drops heavily down onto the car seat. “I think you drooled on me,” he says.
She quickly wipes a hand over the corner of her mouth, a gesture that makes her look about twelve years old. “Sorry,” she says, her voice little and raspy, which makes hersound about twelve years old, too. Mulder is more charmed than he’d like to admit.
“Any updates?” Scully asks, dabbing delicately at her nose with a tissue.
(TissueGate 1999 ended not too long ago and Scully’s already used up over half a box. With what he considers to be an impressive amount of self-control, Mulder has restrained himself from saying I told you so. Thank you very much.)
“Nope.”
Scully’s face works itself into a funny, exaggerated pout. “I could’ve been in bed hours ago,” she whines.
“And missed all this?!” Mulder exclaims, gesturing at the sad expanse of abandoned shopping center parking lot.
Scully giggles tiredly. “Oh, you’re right,” she says mock-seriously. “Missing out on the empty parking lot show would’ve been a veritable tragedy.”
She blows her nose, and this time Mulder actually does tuck the hair behind her ear. Scully looks up in surprise. “Mulder--” she says, half-touched, half-warning.
“I’m just sorry you had to do this when you don’t feel well. That’s all,” he says, hoping it’s a good enough explanation.
She shrugs. “I told you, Mulder,” she says. “I’m fine.”
He narrows his eyes. “You,” he says, “are the opposite of fine, Scully.”
As if to prove his point, Scully opens her mouth to retort and sneezes instead. She shivers, and finally (finally) leans into him, shamelessly greedy for the warmth his body offers. “Okay,” she says. “I may have a little cold.” Now Mulder is this close to saying I told you so, he can’t help it, when Scully holds up a hand. “Just a little one,” she says firmly. “A slight cold. A minuscule one, even.”
“A minute cold,” he repeats, deadpan.
Scully slumps down further, until her head is almost in his lap (which is how he knows she truly is sick and exhausted; someone walking by would automatically assume something much dirtier was going on, and Healthy Scully would never allow that risk). She’s so short that she can easily tuck her legs underneath herself and fit comfortably on the two seats. She shuts her eyes, and when Mulder ghosts a tentative hand over her back, her happy sigh is confirmation enough that it’s okay.
“A minuscule cold,” she confirms, sweet and drowsy.
“Whatever you say, Scully.”
“You’re damn right,” she murmurs, and before Mulder has even finished laughing, she’s already fallen back to sleep.
Mulder glances at the clock. 4:19. If they wait long enough they might even get to watch the sunrise.
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