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ohtobeleah · 1 year

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Puzzle Pieces //

Chapter Two: “Fire & Grace” (Hawkeye)

Summary: As Jake is plagued with nightmares of what he thinks will happen when the love of his life wakes up—it’s the total opposite that takes him by surprise.

Warnings: Jake Seresin x Reader (Hawk) Angst. mentions of F-18 crash & injuries sustained from said accident. Hospitalisation. Marriage crisis?

Word Count: 3.1k

Author Note: Ya’ll can thank me for the small about of reprieve you get with this one. Before anyone asks, I wrote the Chaos update before the Hawk update—

Season One of Chaos | Season Two of To Have & To Hold | Season Two Puzzle Pieces |

‘Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favour fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate. To know that for destruction ice Is also great. And would suffice.’ ~ Robert Frost

“Hey.” It’s the familiar southern drawl of Robert Floyd that’s drawing Jake Seresin back from the ledge he was boarding on. “You doing alright in here?” It’s a straight yes or no question but the answer is nowhere near that simple. It’s four in the morning and Jake hasn’t slept so nice yesterday morning, he’s got six stitches near his temple and a fierce headache that throbs every few seconds.

“Been better.” Is all the disheveled aviator says back as he grips your hand tight in his. Bradley had brought him a change of clothes, knowing Jake wasn’t leaving your side anytime soon. Never letting his eyes linger away from your face, still and void of any expression as you slept. The anastasia wearing off slowly from the hours upon hours you had been in surgery for.

Jake sat right at your bedside too afraid to let you go for even a second because in that second you could be ripped away from him.

“What are you doing here, it's like four in the morning?” He asked with a query in his tone, Jake swore time moved differently inside the Miramar Base Hospital, it was like a damn vortex. Time either stood still or it went by at the blink of an eye. There was no middle ground, no in between, and as he sat there waiting for you to come back to him he felt like time had stopped all together just to reveal in the pain that he felt in his chest.

“Chaos had an episode—“ Bobs mulling under his breath but Jake catches it clear as day in the silence of the intensive care unit. “Brought Rooster in, thought I’d come sit with Javy.” He was only next door. He’d come out of surgery two hours before you. “Any updates on her leg?”

“Doc said it’s just a waiting game to see if the surgery takes well, but there’s a chance she still might lose it if the tissue starts to die.” It’s at this point in the meek conversation where Jake looks up, from across the room it’s not hard to tell he’d been crying. Bob wishes he could do more for the family he was watching fall apart, the furnace inside him burning with rage. “If Javy wakes up will you tell him it’s not his fault, any of it.” Jake couldn’t will himself to leave your side. He was far too afraid to move.

“I doubt he’ll be awake anytime soon but I’ll keep it logged away.” Bob pressed his lips together into a soft smile that disappeared far too quickly. Tapping the doorway three times before carrying on his way to the room just next door.

He sat with Javy for the better half of the morning. Underestimating just how tired he really had been and for what felt like the millionth time over the past month, found the chair in the corner of the hospital room comfortable enough to curl up on and seek refuge in for a measly few hours rest.

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“I know you can’t hear me.” Jake let his head rest against the mattress of the hospital bed you laid on. He’d gently placed your hand against his cheek, your palm resting heavily against the slight scruff covered cheek that faced the ceiling. “But I miss you gorgeous.” He choked back tired tears as he spoke into the void that was eating him alive. “Just need you to know that I'm here for you when you decide to come back to me alright?”

“What if I don’t want you here?” Your voice was cold as ice as the hairs on the back of Jake's neck stood to attention. “Because of all the people on this earth I'd wanna see right now it’s the person who put me on the F-18.”

“I know, I’m so sorry baby, you have to believe me.” Jake felt the fire in your gaze buring into him as he sat up, his shoulders slumped as his hair went any which way it wanted. “I didn’t know—“

“You didn’t know what Jake? That I was afraid?” You hissed, raising your voice just enough to make him tense at the thought of you being afraid. “Didn’t know I was terrified of flying and you still pressured me into it?”

“I don’t blame you for hating me—“ Jake whispered as he held back tears, feeling you rip your hand away from his as he reached for you. “But baby please believe me when I say how sorry I am.”

“YOU'RE SORRY?” It was the tone you used that sent Jake into the spiral of despair he’d been on the edge of since he watched you and Coyote go down. “I lost my leg because of you, I’ll lose my job, my career! Everything I achieved after I washed my hands of you and your bullshit just to be sucked back in for you to destroy me—“ It was harsh, but none of it wasn’t true. Jake knew it. “I lost everything when I trusted you, I’m glad I don’t remember falling in love with you again, it was clearly the worst mistake I ever made.”

“Jake.” Another voice broke through the reprimanding you were giving him. More gruff, less strained. “Hangman.” There it was again. Pulling him out of the void as Jake shot up with a slight snore, leaving a pool of drool against the mattress he’d fallen asleep in. Still sitting next to your bedside. “You fell asleep.” Bradley frowned as he stepped back to allow his friend some space. “Thought I’d come down and check in, you alright man?”

“Peachy—“ Jake groaned as he sat back, wiping the corner of his lips as he turned to look at you. You were still out. He liked this version of you a Lyell of a lot more than the version his nightmares had concocted. “Bob said Chaos has a setback?”

“Yeah, she’ll be alright though, she’s just now starting to get her memory back in bits and pieces from the crash.” Bradley explained as he walked over to take a look at your chart. “Beck said it’s PTSD and you know how Chaos is when people tell her shit she doesn’t wanna hear.” Bradley mumbled and Jake smiled in response, chuckling for a second because well—Rooster wasn’t wrong. “Says here she’s stable, shouldn’t be too long till she’s back on deck.”

“Think I’m afraid for the moment that happens if I’m being perfectly honest.” Jake let out a soft nervous laugh as he stood from the chair he’d been sitting in for far too long. “I’ve never been more afraid of losing someone, but I'm not ready man.” Jake just stood at the head of your bed watching as you slept, shaking his head to Will away the tears that just poured freely.

“Ready for what?” Rooster asked as he did the same, knowing that the positions the two of them found themselves in were eerily similar yet so different at the same time.

“To find out she knows how to forget me.” Jake's bottom lip quivered at the thought. “I'd rather hear how much she regrets me.” It was hard to admit, but if you asked him to give you up he would in a heartbeat if that meant you were happy. He’d still love you regardless if you were his wife or not. “And pray to God that she never met me, but I can’t hear her say she forgot how much I love her.”

“Can you two please talk a little quieter?” You mumbled out as you groaned, moving slightly as you lulled your head the other way to stretch your neck. “M’tired.” Jake frowned, immediately turning to Rooster who just turned to him with a shrug before deciding that he didn’t need to be here for this.

“That an order Commander?” Rooster smirked, knowing your answer would give him some indication of where your headspace was at. Noticing how the corner of your mouth turned in on itself for a split second. “If so I’ll make myself scarce—“

“If it needs to be.” Jake could have lunged at you, but he settled for something less abrasive and rushed around to your side, leaning in and over to place a kiss to your forehead—When you didn’t groan in disgust his heart exploded in his chest. “Hi—“

“How you feeling Mrs Seresin?” Troubled waters can appear calm on the surface, Jake was just waiting for the moment you realised you hated him. Jake was waiting for you to tell him to get the hell away from him, that you didn't want to see him, didn't want to talk, to listen to how sorry he was.

“Feeling a little groggy from all the pain meds.” You couldn’t really talk properly, your mouth felt so dry. Jake could hear it in your voice as he reached out to hand you the little plastic cup on your bedside. “What have they got me on?”

“An absolute concoction of pain relief my love but hydromorphone to name just one off the top of my head.” he would take this if everything came crashing down around him. Jake would take this slither of hope that you were still his best girl, his wife, if you remembered how much you loathed him.

“Huh, no wonder I can't feel my legs.” You sighed, settling back down after having a small sip of water. Jake just smiled at you, tears streaming down his face as Bradley left the room, making sure to turn his head one final time to make sure Jake had at least managed to sit his ass down this time before passing out from the relief of hearing your voice again. “What happened to your forehead?” Reaching out for Jake's cheek he caught your hand his his, pulling it to his lips as he kissed your palm over and over.

“You don't need to worry about me, pretty girl, I'm far better than alright now that you’re awake.” Jake had grace under fire, you had fire and grace. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“That easy?” you chuckled softly, it quickly turned into a cough before Jake was sending you a worrying look. “I'm tougher than I look.”

“The toughest girl I know.” Continuing to kiss your palm over and over again Jake smiled against you. “I will never forgive myself for putting you in this position my love, I just keep thinking if I could take your spot for a day that that would wash all of your problems away.” Jake would give anything to trade places with you, to take all your hurt and all your suffering and carry it on his shoulders.

“If you were in my place Jake–” Jake didn't let you finish before he was cutting you off.

“You’d see your fire and grace.” He whispered, leaning in as close as the chair beside your bed would allow him to without physically crawling in beside you. Tubes and wires and monitors surrounded you and he was so afraid that he’d bump something and accidentally send you into a parallel universe far far away from him. “What do you remember baby, I wanna know where that brave and beautiful head is at.” You remembered every single second but you just couldn't bring yourself to say it. In the silence that lingered when neither you nor Jake were speaking, amongst the sounds of your monitors and machines you could hear the sound of all the systems failing as Coyote shouted at you to eject.

“Coyote? Is he alright–?” Even on your own deathbed you were worrying about others. Jake couldn't love you anymore if he tried to find room in his heart.

“Doctors say that you saved his life, broke his ribs doing so but you saved his life baby.” Jake explained as he admired you, so broken yet so strong, he could see the light had faded in your eyes but you were still there. “For a while there the medics thought you had amnestic syndrome, you were calling yourself Lieutenant Commander when one of the medics Rach called you Commander and you couldn't remember me, well–us.” You didn't remember that, everything from the time you realised help had arrived to now was still a little blurry, but the accident itself? Every second, every agonising firy moment you could remember as clear as day. “And it's not the hydromorphone that's causing you to not feel your legs baby.” Jake sighed as he looked at you looking at him like you could take anything he was about to tell you. How you and Choas had managed to overcome such fucking adversity and still be the stronger half of both Jake and Bradley they would never understand. “Doctor Beck thinks that your body shut down from the shock.” Jake had to take a moment to prepare himself for the response he'd get from letting you know you might lose your leg all together. “But if your right leg doesn't come good soon, he might suggest–”

“Please don't say it.” you interrupted, knowing where Jake was going.” I can handle anything but that.” You were on the verge of tears. “Jake, honey–if I lose my leg I lose my entire career.”

“You almost lost your life and you're worried about your career?”

“I wouldn't have almost lost my life if you and Coyote would have just backed the fuck off.” Ah. there it was, Jake had expected it to sound cruller and a lot more scathing, but it wasn't. It left your lips softer than he’d anticipated it, wrapped in bubble wrap as if to not wound if fragile estate. “The Navy won't even blink an eye to toss me aside like yesterday's baked goods, you know it, I know it, everyone knows it.” You weren't fighting, or arguing, in fact, you barely had your eyes open as you spoke just above a whisper, still collecting your thoughts and trying to silence the noise of Coyote screaming your name in your head. “Doesn't matter how hard I worked or how much I love what I do, I won't come back from this.”

You were at war with yourself, Jake could see that as clear as day. You wanted to run before you could crawl and he’d seen a very similar issue in a certain pain in the ass a level above where he was right now. Standing, Jake pulled his dog tags up and over his head before he ever so gently placed them around your neck, Yours had been lost in the crash.

“You are Commander Y/n Hawkeye Seresin.” He started with a proud chest. “You won’t always be her, hell, one day you might even be chief of the fucking Navy Y/n.” You couldn't help but to laugh for a moment as you thumbed at the two gold rings that Jake had strung around his tags. He had his ring tattooed early into your marriage but he took his physical ring everywhere in the world with him. When he’d had you bloodied and unconscious in his arms he had taken your ring off in case your hand started to swell. Keeping it safe until he found the right time to give it back to you.

“When I married you I promised you in sickness and in health and I meant that baby, I promised that to Ensign Hawkeye Seresin, and now I’m standing here, reminding Commander Seresin that she is and will always be my wife and my best fucking friend before she is ever some ranking official even though I am the most proud of you for everything you achieved after you left my sorry ass behind.” Jake leaned in to kiss your lips, you hummed against him as the oxygen tube slipped slightly. Pushing it back up into your nose as Jake pulled away to continue professing his love, his admiration for you because there was a moment there he thought he'd never get to do that again. “I loved you well before the Navy was ever involved and I will love you well after the Navy is done with us baby.”

Through a painful sob you just couldn't hold back, you reached out to cup Jake's face as he cried with you, both trying hard to stop your bottom lips from quivering as you asked the one question that had already begun to haunt Jake's nightmares.

“Why the fuck did you have to put me on that jet baby.” You cried through heartbreaking sobs as Jake let his forehead rest against yours in defeat, leaning over you with his hands on either side of your pillow. His tears falling against your cheek as he shut his eyes tight, mixing with your own. “Why Jake, this is so fucking fucked.”

“I'm so sorry.” It didn't matter how many times he said it, but Jake Seresin would never ever forgive himself for the decision he made to push you into facing a fear that resided deep inside you since before he could remember. “I’m so sorry—“ He cried like a boy who’d lost his favourite toy, like his entire world had fallen apart, been turned upside down and on its head. “I’m never going to forgive myself, ever, I hope you know that—and I never expect you to forgive me either.”

You had no idea what tomorrow would bring, or the day after that, or the day after that even. But what you knew for sure was that whatever came your way, Jake was going to be by your side every second. He loved you enough to own his mistakes and he loved you enough to understand that you may never be able to accept his internal apology. But he was here and he was raw and hurting just as much as you.

“Just promise you won’t leave me.” It was all you could muster, a pleading whisper in hopes that your husband wouldn’t leave you. You knew the statistics—they didn’t sway in your favour. “Don’t leave me Jake, please.”

Jake didn’t think his heart could break any more than it had been since he watched you fall from grace, but in the moment you begged him to stay he broke in two, completely. Splitting himself in half at the seam.

“Darlin I’ll never leave you, you’re my fire and grace.”

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Read Bradley x Chaos POV Here

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Tags: 🏷️ @emma8895eb @shawnsblue @justanothermagicalsara @abaker74 @a-serene-place-to-be @blindedbythelightt @starkleila @luckyladycreator2 @caitsymichelle13 @atarmychick007 @xoxaabs88xox @averyhotchner @mintellaine @onlyheretowastetime @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @avaleineandafryingpan @dracosluvbot-reblog @itsemohours @djs8891

#puzzle pieces // jake seresin & bradley bradshaw #jake seresin x f!reader #jake hangman x y/n #jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x you #hangman seresin #hangman imagine #hangman x reader #top gun fan fiction #top gun fanfic

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djsadbean · 2 years

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Evil thought. AU of your AU. The alternate universe idea. LOL. Amazo never went missing. Steven never got the mouse brain because Amazo managed to get the mind reading device off of him just in time but not enough time to let go himself. Just how guilty would Steven feel?

OOOOOOHHH that's SO evil xD I love it!! I'm gonna write for the next chapter rn but I'm DEFINITELY gonna try to draw this somehow during a break hehehe that's so evil

Here's a written version of how I think it'd go in fanfic form hehe (tw of course, uh, science gone wrong?):

He gently knocked on the frosted glass of the door. "Stevie?" He reached into the pocket of his leather vest and pulled out a key. With a swift turn, he unlocked the heavy door and stepped inside.

The dark ceiling loomed over him, beeping lights trailed up the pipes on the brick walls, and tables were dumped with tools and spare parts.

He heard two heartbeats... Both pounding and... he smelled adrenaline? Who was the second person?

With a deep breath, he blasted into the testing chamber, nearly blowing the door off its hinges.

He looked to what looked like a massive control panel.

A mouse...?

"Steven?" He called out.

"Adam? What are you doing here?" He called out from the hall.

"What's going on? You're nervous about something." He called back.

Steven emerged from the dimly lit hallway with a sandwich. "It's not that I'm nervous... I just... I just hope this works."

Adam shot him a weird look. "You're not trying that brain experiment, right? You said you'd wait for your paper to finish being peer-reviewed." He frowned.

"I-I know. It's taking so much longer than I thought and I know this is going to work. Everything is set up and I'm sure I'm about to be the first person in all of history to have direct communication with a mouse." He grinned.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. I've run every test I could think of and almost everything is set! Though, I really shouldn't leave him there on the control panel for too long. He might press the wrong button."

Adam looked over to the panel, watching as the little hand lowered onto a big red button.

Why does that button say-

Adam dashed and ripped off Steven's helmet. The machine overloaded and sparks flew into the air. What felt like a million jolts of power surged through him. He screamed and felt his hands tighten around the helmet.

"ADAM!"

The lights flickered. He felt his head spinning. One last firey jolt of power blasted them to the ground.

The room fell to complete darkness.

Steven fumbled with the flashlight in his pocket and tried to keep his hand steady. The light from his hand shook intensely as he tried to stand up again after who knew how long.

"Adam?!" He tore the fried helmet out of Adam's hands and threw it aside.

His best friend, the person he loved most in the world, lay sprawled on the tiled floor, nearly unmoving. His labored breaths and small groans filled the silence left from the machine hums and beeps ceasing. Steven set the flashlight on the ground.

"Please, please-"

He looked up at his hair.

What?- Why is this part white??

He reached up to the tuft of hair that was swooped back. He took a shaky breath and tried to focus.

Adam's eyes struggled to stay open.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I didn't mean to- I should've waited. I should've waited like you said." Steven pleaded, almost trying to convince himself that he wasn't the type of person to nearly kill his fiance in a very preventable untested experiment.

"Steven...?" His voice, raspy from his screams, barely carried to Steven's ears.

"I'm here, I'm here." He took another shaky deep breath. "I'm sorry, Adam." His breath hitched in his throat, turning into hiccups.

AND SCENE </3

Okay, bc I totally rushed this, lemme ramble coherently!

So in this au of my au (lol), Adam doesn't get the mouse brain bc he wasn't wearing the helmet but parts of Squeaky did merge with him, giving him a bit of white hair. I think Amazo is much stronger and able to resist a lot more of the transformation both bc he's a highly trained superhero and bc he wasn't actually wearing the helmet. Squeaky does die from this experiement and that's a death Steven takes very hard. He was electrocuted which is such a painful way to go.

Amazo doesn't get a new personality but he does blur the line between what's justice and what's going too far. His sense of justice is completely skewed after this and Steven tries to help but is met with incredibly hostile rejections every time. This splits them apart because there is no clear indication of who Amazo is and Squeaky's influence from the grave.

Steven looses himself anyway (just like in canon) and he dedicates his life to trying to stop Amazo and bring back the Adam he knew and loved. He does get hurt trying to stop him and this universe's WordGirl struggles to stop him as well. They try teaming up but Steven is too far gone with guilt and shame. He can't focus and becomes very unstable while Amazo ruins his own legacy within the city and among his loved ones.

This is the worst timeline because nothing is reversible :)

#ehehehe #i might be an evil person myself.#eyo why do i have the ability to craft these really sad stories..... i would like to be a JOY in the world ljkdfhaasdklaj #that might be a lie i love writing angst #djsadbean answers #evil amazo au #drtwobrains #dr two brains #wordgirl #amazing cheese #amazo guy

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 3 years

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Appointment Scheduled

Summary- 2.7k Ransom Drysdale x Reader. Since that night at your parents, you haven't been to see Ransom. Not that he wasn't always on your mind. But you continue to defend your 'FWB' term that is all he is. Ransom gets tired of receiving physical silence from you.

So he made himself an appointment.

Warnings- somewhat mad mean Ransom, reader in denial of her feelings, some in the office over the desk sex. This is a cheater fic, the reader is cheating on her boyfriend and Ransom is encouraging this. Please if this bothers you, do not read it.

A/N- another self-indulgent fic featuring these two? Yes please, it's what I wanted, so it's what I wrote. As always, thank you for reading, comments and reblogging. You all have to thank @sagechanoafterdark for Ellie showing up in the story. We were talking that the reader needs a best friend who is like "Duh, you two are meant to be, it is so obvious." to our reader.

Masterlist

“Ellie no I haven't seen him since my dad's birthday party. I mean a few messages here and there, but nothing more about meeting up.”

You hear your best friend scoff on the other line. She was your confidante, your tried and true, better or worse, the bitch who will help you bury the body friend.

She also lacked sugar coating anything.

“Well, you two are just dumb. One of you has to open that line of conversation, might as well be you.”

You hit the button to the lift, sighing into the phone as you watched the numbers ding. “I don’t know what conversation you are talking about El.”

“Uh, the one where you two have been in love with each other since basically middle school? The one where whenever you feel lonely, that's the man you call? Or how about the one how he runs to you whenever you even put out a HINT that you might need him? That one Y/N.”

“We are just fuck buddies-”

“Really good, rock your world, the best sex and head you’ve ever gotten, buddy. Right?” Ellie’s tone is dripping with sarcasm now and you pinch your nose in aggravation while stepping onto the elevator.

“Exactly like that.” You go a bit quiet. “Listen, I’m at work, so talk later, okay?”

“Sure, I miss you. I wish you would move back to the city.” Ellie softened her tone a bit. “Girls weekend soon? I love you.”

“I love you too and of course!” You hit the end button and stuff it in your bag, staying quiet the rest of the ride up.

Working as a lawyer's assistant wasn’t too bad. Although it's often said couples shouldn't work together, you hardly saw Neil while you were there. He was usually in some kind of pissing match with another DA in the building, which made for some interesting rants from him when he got home.

You dutifully listened, but with little interest. They got old and boring, which was how you were feeling in this ‘safe relationship.’

Really you felt something must be fucked up with you. Neil was a good guy, supportive, he didn't have much of a jealous streak, although you wished once in a while he would get a bit riled up about when someone was checking you out when the two of you went out for a date night. Everything was stable in your relationship, aside from the fact you basically were away to Ransom's bed any chance you could.

Then there was Ransom. The man you were able to actually swear yourself off from two years straight and got your life in order.

So you thought. It took one drink and conversation to fall back to where you two were two years ago. Only this time you found him missing him while you were away, thinking about him more.

You opened your office door and propped it open for your boss's clients to come inside and wait, your boss's door opened on the other side. Shaking off your over-the-top feelings going on, you went to pour Johanna's coffee and grab the files for today's cases. She was on the phone, so you just set them down with a small wave of your hand and settled behind the desk to get started transferring her notes into the system.

Ransom though was never far from your mind when you gave your cell the occasional glance.

Lunchtime approached which meant you would meet up with Neil and head to the small cafe on the corner. He would ask you about your work, you would ask him about his. There would be pleasantries shared. You sighed once more to yourself at the thought of it.

Johanna closed her door with a sudden click. You jumped a bit in surprise as she shouldered her handbag. “You okay Dear?” The woman asked kindly and you smiled, brushing it off.

“Caught up in these files.”

“Ah, yes there is a lot with this case. Sorry about all the extra notes. I know it's a tad boring. But take your break, stay out with Neil a little extra. It's a nice day and you've earned it.” She smiled kindly.

“I will be sure to, maybe Neil and I can breeze around the park before returning.” Fat chance… you thought as you smiled kindly at your boss as she took her leave. You picked at your cell phone, working your lip about to message Neil that you would meet him when a rather loud distinctive tone filled the entryway to your and Johanna's office.

“I have a meeting lined up with Johanna Klein, if you could let her assistant know that Ransom Drysdale is here to see her.”

Dropping your cell phone, forgetting about Neil, you rise out of your seat and go to your door, peering out. Ransom is leaning against the desk to the receptionists of the lawyer's offices explaining how it was your lunchtime and you were out of the building.

Ransom’s voice was about to release, you could see him drawing in the air to make himself a bit more imposing at the idea that he wasn’t allowed to see you when his icy orbs lifted from the receptionist to you, a perfect smirk crossing those pale pink lips that could be so soft at the moment while dropping venom just as easily. “She looks like she is available to me.”

The receptionist spun her chair to see you in the doorway. “It’s okay, Johanna booked him as the last one this morning.” You lied while Ransom made his way around the desk to enter your office. The receptionist looked like she was about to say something more when you quickly clicked the door closed and pulled the shade over the frosted glass to keep from anyone seeing the two of you in there.

“What are you doing here Ransom?” You ask yet again, while he was leaning against the desk with his arms folded over his chest.

“I have an appointment. Seems it's the only way to properly see you again.” He pushed up the sleeves of his long sleeves over muscled forearms. You being you, was absolutely unable to take your eyes off that action.

“Well, I’ve been busy and you never made mention of it again.”

“Kitten…” His tone lowered with a warning. “I didn't think I had to imply that you could come over whenever. But if I'm going to have to do it this way from now on.” He pushed off the desk to stalk the small space to you. “Guess that's what I will do. Book my appointments between-” a slight snarl darkened his face, the crease between his eyes deepening as his hand rested in your lower back and pushed you closer to him.

Overwhelmingly closer. His muscles through the shirt flexed under your hands coming to rest on his pecs and his cologne made your mouth water with the familiarity. The scent of bergamot and cedar gave an almost smoky scent, a touch of sweetness with vanilla had you inching closer to Ransom. “- your time with Neil.”

Your eyes flashed angrily at him then, pulling back a bit in his hold. “What does it matter to you, Ransom?”

“It doesn't. Like I told you before Kitten, you and I will never be over.”

“Feels a lot like jealousy to me then.” You spat a bit. “Since we're just this.” You shrugged a bit, now your temper is getting the best of you. “What was it that Ellie said to me this morning. Fuck buddies.”

“Your term, not mine Kitten.” Ransom yanked you in close again, this time his kiss was a lot different than that night in your bedroom. It was harsh and demanding, forcing you to open your mouth to him and swallow his passion. “You know fucking Neil is skating on thin ice, keeping you all the time.” He shoved you roughly against your desk, your hands flying to the paperwork you were working on before and it went flying for the most part. Some of it fisted in your hand as your ass arched out and pressed against Ransom's groin, making you hiss when he jerked your hips further back.

“Neil is technically my-” You started when a hand slapped over your mouth, fingers digging into your cheeks roughly.

All of it was turning you on, making your thighs squeeze together and you breathe harshly through your nose the more excited you got. “Don’t say it Kitten. Not right now, this is my time. Remember. I made an appointment.”

You felt your skirt get rucked up around your hips and Ransom leaned over, his chest pressing into your back as he flushed hot kisses on your neck, a yank to your shirt dragged your shirt over your shoulder. It wasn't gentle kisses, it was deep leave his mark there that was making you tilt your head and push back into him once more while he fumbled with his own pants to yank them open.

“Yes, yes your appointment. Did you miss this pussy?” You purred, mimicking the nickname you had earned. His fingers pushed aside the bit of cotton that was now sticky clinging to your folds and he stroked you with precision, spreading your slick all around till he swirled a finger against your clit.

“Enough to come searching your ass out.” He remarked when you felt his cock take over where his fingers were, thicker, velvet hardness in your soft folds make you mewl while gripping your desk's edge.

It was the right call, as soon as Ransom felt you start to take him, he pressed harder. Making you both hiss, your head falling against your desk as he stretched you open, his cock filling you quickly. His teeth sunk into your shoulder, registering the sting of it when he rutted into you, slamming your hips into the desk suddenly. “Fuck Ransom,” You hissed out and bit your lip to stifle a moan.

“This perfect round ass that is so fuckable.” His hand came against a cheek while his hips slammed into you steadily. Jerking you on the desk. But it all felt so good, the stink of the slap making you tighten around his cock while you gave a yelp in protest.

Again his hand came around your mouth, stuffing fingers in your mouth which you wrapped your lips around and sucked on them, making your eyes roll when you tasted yourself on them. “Shut it Kitten, suck yourself off me like a good girl while I fill this perfect cunt.” Ransom snapped his teeth near your ear. You moaned, trying to confirm that you would, you would do just as he said while he fucked you harshly from behind.

It clouded your mind, forgetting everything you had been stressed about all morning. Ransom's cock pounded into your wanting body like it was all you ever needed. Your smooth walls flexed around him, tightening till you felt the throbbing ridges that dragged and pulled through you.

It wasn't just his cock driving you mindless. It was the grunted words in your ear. “Perfect little clock slut, Kitten you love getting fucked on your desk don’t you?” He hissed in your ear as another drive made you moan incoherent at him. “Just so cock drunk slut, who is too stupid to answer me.” A tongue was dragged on your tongue, kisses right at the hinge of your jaw made you whine and press back against him. He knew that it drove you crazy to feel the flush of his lips along your neck, driving you mindless. “Just my sweet little Kitten taking it so well.”

All you could do was mewl around his fingers stuffed in your mouth, drool escaping from the corners of your stretched lips and dribbling on the paperwork you had crumpled in your fists. Your chest pressed harshly against the desk, making you wheeze under Ransom’s weight. It was smothering, him all over caging you against the furniture, pumping his cock harshly into your core and your mouth stuffed with his fingers keeping you quiet.

It was too much and not enough, cause you still weren't quite there. The heat burned in your belly, wanting to implode you into oblivion. Ransom gritted his teeth as he wedged a hand under you, fingers feeling for your throbbing clit that ached for his touch.

The roll of his fingers made you moan at the tension. The rush made your spine snap and fight against Ransom, which he felt as you squealed in protest, his teeth snapping near you while he sputtered.

“Just fucking cum Kitten, then you can relax. Your boss will be back any time now.” Nearby you glanced at your phone that somehow was still on the table, the time wavering in your sight, as well as some ‘Where are you?’ texts from Neil.

Ransom wanted you to relax and cum, which is what you wanted as well. The numbing release was right there with his help and you let go. The wave was mind blanking. You sagged under Ransom, and he tightened his hold on you as he used you. But you were in bliss as he grunted over you, hot shots of cum filling you while he sagged in relief against you.

Jerks of his cock still quivered your sensitive walls as he took a few last slow pumps into you before he plated his hands against your messy desk and pulled himself up, pulling out of your messy cunt.

“Gonna have to go the rest of the day like that Kitten.” He chuckled as he straightened your panties back in place and pulled your skirt down over your ass. His hand went around your waist and he helped guide you back to a stand to face him. Brushes of his thumbs over your face was an attempt to fix your makeup which made you wince while you rubbed the drool from your chin.

“How bad is it?”

Ransom winced when you asked. “Pretty bad… looks like you've been crying… or got properly fucked. Take your pick.” He said as his hands dropped to pull his pants back in place and zip them back up, the button going back through the loop.

It was unfair that Ransom didn't get completely ruined like you did when this sort of thing happened. You rushed around your desk to grab some wet wipes to wipe the smudged lipstick and mascara off.

‘You know… I never have this problem with Neil.” You muttered and Ransom snapped back as he watched you, leaning down to pick up some of the papers that fell and shuffle them together while you did a quick reapplication so no one would question it.

“Kitten, obviously the man isn't fucking you right then.” A smirk flashed up at you as he handed you your papers and you were quick to tuck them away.

You broke into a small dirty smile, a roll of your eyes playing with him. “Well… you are correct in that Ransom. Now split, Johanna will be back soon.”

“Nope." A pop of the p that made you huff at him. "I have an appointment Y/N.” He swept down into a seat just as Johanna clicked open the door and stepped back in.

“Y/N, did you have a good lunch? I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. But I was told my next client is here.” She glanced towards the corner of the room where Ransom was picking at his sweater. “Mr. Drysdale, come on in with me, please? We will get started.” She smiled warmly as she went around your desk to let herself into her office, Ransom moving to a stand with a chipper.

“Absolutely, thrilled to get started. Y/N here has been a perfect host in the meantime.” He winked at you with a light brush of his fingers along your arm before disappearing into Johanna’s office, the door shutting behind them.

You could only begin to guess what Ransom was up to coming all the way here. Which you would find out later, either from Ransom or Johanna.

Right now you had to deal with standing up Neil, which when you picked up your phone, chewing your lip that you still could taste yourself on from Ransom’s fingers, you read the message.

Y/N, where are you? I have been waiting for an hour for you.

You started to text out your lie of an excuse hoping that this wouldn't be the day it would all blow up in your face.

#ransom drysdale au #ransom drysdale and reader #ransom drysdale x kitten #ransom drysdale fan fiction #knives out au #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #amber writes #sweater writes #chris evans characters #chris evans characters fanfiction #tw cheating fic

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

hi eve ! i was wondering if you could write a fic where coops are at home just doing stuff and suddenly the electricity goes out because of a thunderstorm like it did that night at dumo's ? and coops just sit there and reminisce ? (man i hope that is how you spell that word, english isn't my first language hahah) idk i just thought that would be neat

There isn’t a lot of sitting and reminiscing, but this prompt was just too cute to pass up. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for making out (courtesy of an anon who was enjoying the hot tub fic) and mentioned future spice

Remus’ hand was halfway to the popcorn bowl when the house went dark. The tv shut off, the dishwasher went silent, and the comforting hum of the fridge disappeared. “Uh. Hmm.”

There was a rustle next to him. “Did the power just go out?”

“I think so. Hang on a second.” Remus stood and padded toward the living room window, wrapping his arms around himself to stave off the chill as their heating cut off; the coming winter would be harsh. Outside, he saw nothing but a row of dark houses and car headlights in the distance under the place traffic lights should have been. Frost crept along the corner of the windowsill as his eyes adjusted. “Yeah, our whole block is out. There’s probably nothing we can do except wait for it to come back.”

Sirius hummed from the couch and opened his arms. “Nothing?”

“Not a thing,” Remus sighed, grateful for the darkness hiding his smile as he settled back down.

Sirius laughed and pulled him down by the arm, spreading his thighs so Remus could lay between them on his chest. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Do you?” Remus asked, only inches from his mouth.

“Mhmm. Can’t have you getting bored, can we?”

“Oh, no, definitely n—“ Remus’ words were cut off by warm lips and he smiled as Sirius’ tongue swept forward. A hand snuck up his shirt and he nibbled Sirius’ lower lip, drawing a low laugh from him; Remus set his elbows on either side of his head and wove his fingers into Sirius’ soft hair.

“Off,” Sirius mumbled with a tug to his tshirt.

“Pushy, pushy, pushy,” Remus tsked, though he separated for long enough to reach behind his neck and pull it over his head. The fabric of Sirius’ long-sleeve rubbed against his chest as he laid down and muffled a moan into his mouth, feeling him melt as Remus tugged his hair lightly. “Yours, too.”

Sirius’ pout was almost audible. “I’ll get cold.”

“I can keep you warm,” Remus said with a sly smile, drumming his fingers on Sirius’ ribcage. He skimmed a thumb over his nipple and laughed when Sirius’ breath caught. “Please?”

Sirius huffed and wiggled around until Remus—being the most accommodating boyfriend in history, thank you very much—sat back to straddle his waist and occupied himself by tracing Sirius’ abs until strong hands hauled him back down into a fervent kiss. “I love it when you ask me for things.”

“Hmm, really?”

“Makes me feel useful.” One hand came up to cradle Remus’ cheek, but the other wandered down his spine and only stopped once Sirius had a solid handful of his ass to knead.

Remus let out a harsh exhale into the side of his neck and pulled Sirius’ thigh up, relishing in his soft noise as he began rubbing the outside through his sweatpants. “This feels familiar,” he practically purred.

“Does it?”

“Making out in the middle of a dark and stormy night with no lights on? Now, where have we done that before?”

He felt Sirius’ pulse give a hard thud under his own. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“One year.” Remus felt some of his blinding want smooth out into affection and kissed the corner of Sirius’ mouth. “And a couple weeks, of course.”

“We should celebrate—“ Sirius nipped his lip and pushed down on the small of Remus’ back. “—more often.”

“Monthly anniversaries.”

“Does this mean we get to have sex tomorrow night after I get a hat trick?”

“It’s Kasey’s birthday party tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Absolutely.”

“Fuck yeah,” Sirius said under his breath, though Remus could feel him smiling. They broke their kiss for a moment to laugh, but quickly returned, much slower than before.

“If we do this right, I get to wake up when you come back to bed and kiss you stupid without any warning.”

“Deal.”

“And you have to cuddle me all night.”

“I was going to do that anyway.”

“Just making sure.”

Remus tucked his face beneath the hinge of Sirius’ jaw and breathed deep as he sucked a small hickey into the shallow dip—he smelled like buttery popcorn and laundry detergent and home. His broad hands ghosted across Remus’ back before pulling him away by his hair to press another kiss to his mouth; he gasped as his stomach swooped. “What do you want to do?”

“This,” Remus managed between kisses. There was an urgency, but not for anything he could name. He wanted the closeness and the quiet of the night.

Sirius waited for a moment. “Anything else?”

He was tempted to say yes, but that would involve more fumbling and possibly even—god forbid—leaving the couch. Remus shook his head and tilted Sirius’ chin up with his finger. “Just this.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, sinking back into the cushions. He smiled into Remus’ next kiss and wrapped both arms around his back; he was hard against Remus’ hip, but didn’t grind into his thigh at all.

“I love you,” Remus mumbled.

“Je t’aime aussi.”

“Are you comfy?”

“Hmm, let me think.” Sirius’ mouth trailed down his cheek and neck before settling near his collarbones. “Laying on my couch, in the dark, with my incredibly sexy boyfriend on top of me just waiting to be kissed after putting up with me for over a year…yeah, I’m pretty comfy.”

“I don’t put up with you,” Remus scoffed, leaning his head to the side so Sirius had more space to work. “I love you. There’s a difference.”

He closed his eyes as tongue and teeth lavished his pulse point, sending a shock all the way to his toes. The winter cold was the last thing on his mind—he was warm everywhere, though the involuntary shiver when Sirius blew gently on the hickey he left was a greatly-appreciated exception.

“You’re sure you’re okay with not doing anything right now?”

“I was promised sexy times tomorrow.” Sirius gave his ass a playful squeeze, accompanied by a nibble to the hollow of his throat. “We have to follow tradition, mon coeur.”

He bent down to Sirius’ ear with a grin. “If the power stays out, we could do it right here. No curtains, no lights on, right in front of that big window.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius said on the tail end of an exhale.

“We could.”

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Despite his words, Remus felt himself succumbing to the cocoon of shadows around them and slid his hands under Sirius’ wingbones for a cuddle. He had already been drowsy when the lights went out, and being that close to the most comforting person he knew certainly hadn’t helped, no matter how horny they were. “We can pick this up tomorrow night? Gives us plenty of time to brainstorm.”

Sirius’ chest buzzed underneath him before he nosed along Remus’ cheek for a kiss. “Sounds perfect.”

“I can call the electric company and tell them to keep our block’s lights out,” Remus suggested.

“Love it.”

“We should go upstairs, shouldn’t we?”

“I don’t care, as long as I get to do this when we get there.” Sirius’ accent had thickened over the past half hour and Remus soaked it in like a sponge.

“Such a stickler about tradition,” he teased, resting his head on Sirius’ shoulder; the couch wasn’t quite wide enough for them to fit side-by-side. Not that he was protesting, of course.

A beat of silence passed between them. “If we go upstairs, we can make out properly without falling off the couch.”

“Oh, thank god,” Remus said immediately, stumbling to his feet and dragging Sirius after him. With any luck, the power would be out long enough that they wouldn’t be able to go anywhere for days.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #making out #rated m #power outage

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darksiders-drabbles · 2 years

Note

It's me again~ I really enjoy your work so I'm back for more!

How about some Samael and reader valentine's day shenanigans?

Big scary man doesn't get enough love!

Samael's Valentine's Surprise

Hi @winterzver, happy Valentine's Day!

Alrighty, you know the drill. “Reader” as a character and gender neutral!

Also idk how tall Samael is I just know that he’s like 3x Death’s height so we’ll just use our imagination here

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, fluff

“What exactly am I looking at?” Samael asked, brow raised.

“It’s a Valentine’s Day gift!” Reader replied, bashful.

“A gift, you say?” He smirked. “And what exactly do you desire in return?” He leaned down to Reader's level, his warm breath fanning over their face.

The flush that exploded across their features at the proximity amused him greatly. Though he was indeed curious as to what exactly the purpose of the gift was meant to be.

“It’s- I- Uhh…” They tried, flustered. “It’s for a holiday. Today. The holiday- Valentine’s Day- is. Uh. Today.” They raised the heart-shaped box over their head to shield themselves from his gaze.

“I am not exactly well-versed in human holidays, little one.” He chuckled and leaned back, deciding to show mercy.

“It’s a day to celebrate… uh” They mumbled, trailing off.

“A day to celebrate…?”

They lowered the box enough to peek over the edge at him. “It’s a day to celebrate... Love?”

He paused, slightly taken aback. But quickly hid his surprise in favor of teasing. “Oh, and are you saying you love me, little one?”

Reader shuffled nervously, avoiding eye contact. “I mean… yea- uh, yes.” They finally met his eyes. “Yes.”

His wings fanned out behind him, large and imposing. “Is that so? And how do you expect to handle all of me?” He laughed, pushing down whatever mushy, gooey feeling he was feeling.

Reader must have seen something in the way he clutched his hands over the armrests of his throne, or the way he didn’t quite look at them when he spoke. Maybe it was the slight tremble in his wings when he stretched them as far as they would go. But the next words out of their mouth threw him for a loop.

“Patience and a lot of lube?” Their voice cracked on the last word and his eyes snapped to them, wide and shocked.

They both sat, frozen, neither willing to break the silence. Eternity could have passed with how long they sat staring at each other.

Their reply echoed in his head. Finally Samael broke, bursting into loud, uproarious laughter. “I admire your boldness, Reader.” He knelt down to get closer to them. “And I will admit, I do happen to take pleasure in your company, as well.”

They flushed again, a small grin gracing their face as they offered the box to him. “I’d certainly hope so, I spent a lot of time trying to get these right.”

When he opened the box, he was greeted with several chocolate cupcakes. Well, they looked more like mini cakes to accommodate his size. The frosting smelled deliciously sweet. The words “Be My Valentine?” were scrawled messily over the top of the treats. For a long moment he was speechless, sitting himself on the floor to better meet their height.

Reader was the one to break the silence this time. “Even if you say no, you can still keep the food. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.”

He drew a finger through some of the frosting, licking it off with a satisfied hum. He saw their eyes follow the movement, before quickly looking elsewhere. He removed his finger with a pop. “Oh, I believe I will enjoy these thoroughly.” He curled a finger under their chin to tilt their head to meet his gaze. He set down the box of pastries. “Though you did not answer my question from earlier.”

“Uh, which question?” They asked nervously, cheeks burning.

His eyes darkened, a smirk drawing his lips over his fangs. “What do you desire in return?”

He saw their eyes widen, gaze darting to his sharp teeth. They drew in a shaky breath, gathering their courage. “Would you go on a date with me?”

He huffed in amusement, deciding to pry. “Just a date?”

Their mouth clicked shut and their flush darkened their features further. He moved his finger to draw the clawed digit down their neck to meet their shirt collar. He could practically hear their heart racing. “Come now, where did all of your courageousness go?”

Reader grasped his hand in both of theirs, taking a moment to breathe. They met his eyes with a small smile. “I mean, maybe more if the date goes well?” They shuffled in place a bit, seemingly gathering their nerves. He smirked, but their next words weren’t quite what he was expecting. “I really do like you, and would like to see you more.”

His heart thundered traitorously in his chest. “Very well, a date it is, then.”

A bright smile that made their eyes practically sparkle flooded their face. He huffed again, amused and flattered. Humans were quite charming, but Reader in particular made him feel much more than he thought he was capable.

“Hey…” They started. “Lean down?”

He raised a brow, but complied, resting an elbow on the ground to accommodate the request. They stepped closer, drawing their hands up to cup his face. They searched his eyes for a moment, seemingly looking for something. His tail swished behind him in anticipation.

“Well?” He goaded.

They scoffed, a wry smile replacing the bright one from earlier. He grumbled, impatient. The waiting was beginning to wear on him. He knew what they wanted, so why the hesitation?

Before he could close the distance himself, Reader finally pressed their lips to his. They were soft and sweet, caressing his cheeks and tilting their head to deepen the kiss. He purred, wings fanning out again. He decided then, that if this is where his patience would get him, he would wait centuries for more.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #darksiders genesis #reader insert #reader #darksiders samael #samael darksiders #fluff #suggestive #samael x reader #ask

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Always

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Draco finds himself on thin ice with his father, he still can’t seem to keep from you.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: angst, secret relationship, poor parental relationship, stress/anxiety about the future, fluff, kissing

A/N: Flash back is in italics. This is an alternate version of my fic here !

The divination classroom. It has always been amongst your favorites. It was far more contrasting to the others, consisting simply of stone walls and arched ceilings, wooden desks and frosted windows. The room of divination was full of mismatched tapestries draping in ruffles from the walls in bursting colors, equally so in the various sizes cushions and chairs with rugs to match. A handful of intricately patterned ceiling fixtures hung down, tassels dangling from them. It was warm and it was welcoming in comparison to the cold and darker rooms.

“Why is it that we’re coming here?” Draco asks with a sigh, trailing behind you as you ascend the last few steps of the winding spiral staircase.

You turn to him with a grin and a raised brow, a look he soon returned as he grasped your hand in his own. “I think we could do with a change of scenery after all. I’m growing rather tired of the astronomy tower, love.”

“What’s wrong with the astronomy tower?” He scoffs in faux offense, his brows furrowing as you tugged him along with you into the vacant room as he looks over his shoulder once more.

“It’s far too cold and cloudy to go up there tonight. Besides, this is one of my favorite rooms in the whole castle if you must know. You will survive just this once, Draco,” you jest lightheartedly, releasing his hand to skip ahead of him as he groaned at your sudden absence and he had no choice but to follow you. Though he felt he’d follow you anywhere, really.

“And if I don’t?” He calls after you just to be difficult, pinching a piece of red velvet fabric between his fingers before his eyes roam back to you.

You turn on your heel and purse your lips at him, narrowing your gaze as you fight your smile. You shake your head as he holds your stare just the same, his head tilting and eyes squinting as he challenged you and you readily gave up on suppressing your grin for a moment longer.

“You didn’t have to join me if this is not to your taste, you know,” you say, and he rolls his eyes as he tugs you close to him by a gentle grip on your hand. “You’re more than welcome to leave, but I have a feeling you’d miss me too much if you did.”

He silenced your very logical words with a kiss, your laughter dwindling as you relaxed against him. His kiss was soft and tender as he hummed against your lips, his hand coming to brush your hair behind your ear as his lips moved from your own to sweep across your cheek. They linger just under your jaw before pressing chastely under your ear, his nose brushing over your skin.

“Must you always pick on me, darling?” He murmurs, his breath tickling against the shell of your ear.

Your soft laughter starts up again at his words, pulling his attention back to your gaze as he pulls back to look at you. You rest your hands on his chest, your fingers splaying across the black fabric of his button up and smoothing over his matching tie. “Yes, I think I must.”

With that, you turned away from him and left his loose embrace much to his dismay, twirling once in the center of the room with open arms. He watched as you smiled contently, your eyes falling closed as you tip your head back and bask in the peace that came with nightfall. In the enchantment of the room. For it was the time where you could love one another as freely as you’d like, for as many hours as the moon remained in the deep navy sky. He wanted desperately to love you in the light of day, without fear of prying eyes and listening ears. But you knew why things were the way they were.

He watched the way the moonlight danced across your skin, glowing against your effortless beauty as it shines in your hair. It left him wondering how someone so perfect could love someone so flawed. He found himself to be an anchor tied to you at times, his mistakes and current standing in the wizarding world something he felt kept you from thriving the way he knew you would, the way you deserved. You already were, far more than he could say for himself.

You radiate warmth and kindness, something he so desperately craved and found he could not keep himself from. To him, you were the embodiment of sunshine and he felt he was quite the opposite, rather bringing storms and rain. Yet still, you chose to love him in spite of it. He felt guilty, really. For having a father who made you feel like your relationship was in jeopardy without ever having the displeasure of meeting the man. For not being able to love you as fully and openly as he so desired.

“Are you going to join me or are you going to stare all night?” You quip, breaking him from his pestering thoughts.

His gaze flickered from the vacant spot you once stood in to where you sat on purple velvet cushioned stool. You smiled as the crystal sphere flowed before you and a grin of his own tugged at the corner of his mouth. He took a seat on the small crimson stool right next to you, finding himself a bit too tall for such a small seating arrangement but he decided against complaining.

The sphere before you contained a fog-like haze that swirled around much like the clouds just beyond the windows.

“Just what are we doing?” He asks, an amused smirk on his lips as he raised a brow.

“You’ve claimed yourself to be the best at telling the future what was it, four years ago? Surely you must be an expert on such a thing now, Dray,” you say, laughing at his scrunched nose and the way he gripped your stool and tugged you closer with one swift pull. “Tell me, what will our future be in five years’ time?”

He chuckles, shaking his head fondly as he looked from the crystal to you. “That’s quite simple, I don’t need some silly crystal to tell me that.”

You raise your brow in amused curiosity. “Tell you what?”

He looks at you attentively, his smirk softening to an adoring smile. “That I’ll love you as long as you’ll have me, and even more.”

You nearly rolled your eyes at his sappy words, but you found them too sentimental and the look on his face far too endearing to do so. That and you couldn’t ignore the heat in your cheeks from such a declaration. But you also didn’t have it in you to miss an opportunity to tease him.

“I love you, very much I do. But I have a sneaking suspicion you don’t know how to use that thing, Love,” You jest, and he rolls his eyes as he fights his smile.

“I’m convinced you love to torment me,” he frowns, unable to sustain it with the way you’re giggling at him.

Despite the lighthearted moment, he finds he can’t enjoy it fully with the worry weighing heavy on his mind. Your question was merely playful, but it had been one that frequented his thoughts far more than he cared to ever admit, more than he ever will admit. In a perfect world, he would have felt confident with the idea of loving you for the rest of his life. Would have felt rather excited for your future together because he loved you entirely too much for his own good. But it was hard to indulge in thinking of such dreams when there were things in particular pressing down on his shoulders.

That one night in particular, to be specific, he would never forget that.

Draco stood at the end of the vacant corridor, palms pressed flat to the cold surface of the window sill as he peered through the latticed glass. The commotion from the ball had been more than enough with just the thirty minutes he’d spent in the large ballroom housed at the opposite end of the long hallway. Even with the distance from the boisterous event it was still just as nauseating—his ears ringing with the clinking of glass and goblets, with the shrill laughter seeping into the space he wished would alleviate his tension. But alas, it did not.

The dusty air in the Manor had not done him any bit of good, not even a shred. His mind was far busier than any overly lavish event his parents could throw, racing from one thought to the next in an endless loop. He grew rather tired of pretending to be interested in any of the meaningless conversations he was subjected to, tired of standing along the same gray wall in the shadows in hopes they’d leave him alone. He could do that perfectly well now that the only company was himself.

The moonlight had trickled in through the windows in broken beams, illuminating every fleck of dust that had been floating around him, casting him in a small pool of light. He knew staying in there a moment longer simply wouldn’t be feasible, he’d go mad. Besides, he was far too distracted with more important matters, so much so he hadn’t wanted it to draw attention to himself. He had been far too distracted by you.

As he looked out over the garden it was inevitable that that had been where his mind would shift to. To each and every night you spent hand in hand within it, or the more than numerous kisses you shared tucked away behind decades old oak trees and crumbling statues. It reminds him of the way your hair glimmers in that very moonlight and just how your eyes sparkle. It reminds him how just how much he wanted to be with you in that very moment; he always found he’d rather be with you.

Fancy ballroom events had never held his interest very much, and the more they occurred the less that interest remained. Especially with the way thing seemed to be spiraling as his seventh year continues to break apart. The attendees only ever wanted to talk to him because he was the Malfoy heir, not because they cared to converse with him and how he was doing, but because they wanted to talk about he who he refuses to give the satisfaction of naming. He didn’t want to talk about things most undesirable, there was more to him than slytherin title, than to be a Malfoy. There was more to him than what he could use his social standing for. He knew that, you knew that.

He wanted so desperately to leave the bleak and endless maze of that manor. To part from that grand window and to be somewhere else, anywhere, with you. He wanted to—

“Draco,” a voice sounded behind him. A voice he’d rather not hear. His father. He squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for conversation. “Have you grown bored?”

The tone he held was not one of curiosity, he genuinely did not care less about whether or not he had been bored. He did not care about very much when it came to his son, his only child. For no reasons other than selfish ones, anyway.

Draco laughed bitterly to himself, his back still turned to his father. “Yeah, you could say that.”

It was quiet, save for the lingering notes of the piano and endless chatter that filtered out into the corridor. The silence from his father was near painful, and he’d be lying if he said his heart hadn’t begun to pound more vigorously against his chest. The absence in conversation was starting to make him nervous with each passing second, and he was beginning to think he’d left altogether. No, it would not be that easy.

“You seem rather distracted, Draco,” he states after a few agonizing moments, and his heart squeezes in his chest at the familiar sense of knowing woven around each word. He swallows thickly as he fixes his stare down on the windowsill. “Is something on your mind? Or someone, perhaps.”

He wants desperately to take a deep breath as panic settles thickly within him, but that would be far too obvious an indication that his assumptions were, in fact, correct. His mind races a mile a minute, however, and he finds himself scrambling to think of an answer.

“No, there is not, father. I’m just not in the mood for discussing luxuries with any of your friends,” he responds, tone sharp and defensive.

He hears a humorless chuckle sound closer behind him, a sound accompanied by the click of his walking stick. Lucius had his suspicions of you, ever since he’d noticed his son’s newfound distraction, newfound stubbornness to follow his rules. It had only further been confirmed by the smile his son seemed to be caught wearing when he thinks no one is watching. He knew it and he hated it.

Draco felt paralyzed in his spot, unable to form an excuse to leave this very situation. He was tense and increasingly bothered by the threatening presence behind him. He was unsure if there would be repercussions of his displeased counter at his question, hadn’t known just what to expect. Hadn’t known until he felt the hand of his father grab firmly to the back of his neck, cold and calloused fingers pressing to his skin just inches from his shoulders. He flinched at the sudden and startling action, breath hitching in his throat as he brows furrow in a wince.

“Listen closely, my dear son,” he muttered venomously in his ear. “I don’t know what it is you’re up to, but that girl of yours, the one distracting you from your orders—I will not tolerate it.”

He gulped at his father’s words, and he was quite sure he could hear the rhythmic and incessant pounding of his heart in the close proximity. His hands had begun to shake as they gripped tighter on the ledge of the windowsill. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The grip on his neck tightens a fraction. “You reek of her perfume, do not tell me you do not know what I’m talking about,” he says through gritted teeth. “You have me mistaken for a fool, Draco. Deal with it, or I will.”

His threatening words are accompanied by a brief shake to emphasize them, jolting him slightly before his harsh grip is released and his footsteps diminish. He was left to stand there alone once more, angry and afraid as his nostrils flare with his sharp inhale and his jaw tensed, eyes lining with tears. His lip quivered under the pressure to suppress it, knuckles turning white under his tightening fists. He knew of you.

“Draco?” The mere softness of your tone pulls him from his distracted trance, that and the way your hand settled on his cheek. “Are you alright?”

His hand comes to rest over your own as he looks at you and leans into your touch without second thought, his blue gaze flickering between your own. He simply nods, his thumb brushing gingerly over your skin as he smiles softly, assuringly. “I’m fine, darling.”

Your returning smile makes his heart flutter within his chest, though he knows that you knew him far better to believe that. But you don’t push it.

When you start speaking he doesn’t entirely know what you were saying in that very moment, for he was much more focused on the way your lips moved with every word, every syllable. On the way your lashes splay against the tops of your flushed cheeks each and every time you look down at that wondrous crystal ball. Or the way your hand pulled from his cheek to rest over his own, playing absentmindedly with the silver slytherin ring worn on his finger. He didn’t particularly like that piece of jewelry, but he only wore it for that habit of yours.

You were so enamoring in everything you had done and he’s sure that will remain true, so utterly spellbinding he feels as though he never stood a chance. You were far more enchanting than the very magic the two of you had known your whole lives, and he knew that to be factual.

“Remember when you—”

His lips had pressed on yours before you could finish your sentence, his hand slipping from under yours to rest warmly upon your cheek. The soft bout of laughter puffed against his lips was enough to let loose a flurry of butterflies within him, a feeling only you have ever caused even with just a mere glance in his direction. The tension in his body dissipated the more he kissed you, the worry dissolving from his mind in that very moment.

When he parted from you he’d thought better of it as he kissed you once, twice, three more times. His lips were pink and kiss swollen, chunks of messy platinum dipping down in his eyes as he gazed at you adoringly. You kissed him again, fleeting and sweet, and it left him smiling softly as his fingertips brushed over his lips. The action made your cheeks stain a deeper scarlet as you looked away momentarily, but you couldn’t help but to return your gaze to him.

“What was that all about?” You ask in playful amusement, still breathless and blissfully awestruck from the burst of affection.

He laughs at that, because you too were delightful and dizzying, and he can’t seem to hide that fact. He dips down and does so again, this time a mere featherlight kiss, his eyes fluttering closed as he relishes in the soft intimacy passing him by. One he does not want to end.

“Just because,” he whispers.

You reach up and smooth the worry creasing between dark brows, your fingers brushing under the hair falling over his forehead and tracing down his cheek. You smiled at the seemingly silverness of his hair in the moonlit glow, the pale blue of his eyes something else entirely.

You rest your forehead on his, noses bumping and laughter mingling before fading into soft smiles. “I love you, always.”

His smile widens a fraction at your words, sincere and true. It makes his heart pound in his chest and his cheeks stain the softest shade of pink as his lips ghost over yours, brushing together with every word. “I love you, always.”

He might not have paid too much mind to that crystal ball for fear of the outcome he felt couldn’t possibly be what he’d dreamt of. He might not have allowed himself to ponder too long on what awaits him for the future for himself, for himself with you. For if he had, he just might’ve seen that life hadn’t intended to be quite as cruel to him as he’d been thinking. Maybe if he gave it a chance he’d see his fate hadn’t been so terrible in the end. But for now, for right now he was content with setting those thoughts aside in favor of kissing you in the moonlight behind vibrant and mismatched curtains. He was content with disregarding his father’s absurd wishes, they did not matter.

He loved you now and he loved you always.

—

Tags: @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @dracosathenaeum @snitches-at-dawn @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @anchoeritic @writeroutoftime @lunalovecroft

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco x you

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someillplanetreigns · 3 years

Text

Hardest of Hearts

Post-Canon Sylki

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: T

Summary: “It was all I had,” she said softly. Was she – no, she couldn’t be. Was she? She was crying. Another trick? He could hear her fighting the tears.

“Revenge. I couldn’t give up the only thing I had.”

“You had me!”He stopped himself saying But I wasn’t enough, was I?

She raised her head. Tears were streaming down her face. She looked snotty and blotchy and so soul-wrenchingly beautiful. “Revenge was all that I deserved.”

Additional tags: fix-it; angst with a happy ending; love confessions; self-esteem issues; Sylvie has issues; but she really is trying; inexperienced Sylvie; post-canon; post episode 6; happy ending

With huge thanks to @violetvapours for betaing this!

You can also read on Ao3

Here he was again, then. Another timeline, another TVA, another interrogation, another ugly little room. They’d left him alone, probably because they were off panicking somewhere over what to do with him. Who would interrogate him? Mobius again? Would that be better or worse, to have that familiar face that no longer saw him as familiar?

They wouldn’t need to play him the tape this time. He could play it all back in his own mind in perfect, agonising detail.

There was someone in the room. He felt the presence, though he hadn’t heard the door. Had he merely missed it? He didn’t look up immediately, prolonging the not knowing for that moment longer. And then slowly, so slowly, he turned his head.

She looked worse even than she had on Lamentis, when they’d been sure they were going to die. She looked like something had broken inside of her. And she looked – so unlike herself – hesitant.

He said nothing. They stared at one another, the room stretching between them like a chasm.

After what felt like eternity, she broke the silence.

“I fucked up.”

“Oh, really?” He lacked the energy for the full force of the sardonic tone.

“I didn’t mean to send you here. I thought I was sending you back to where you’d be safe, with Mobius and B-15.” She made her way further into the room slowly, cautious, like she was approaching a wild animal. Or like she was a wild animal. “I didn’t realise how the branch worked. I’ve been hunting the timelines for you.”

“Well perhaps if you hadn’t felt the need to make your rejection quite so dramatic...”

“It wasn’t –” she burst out, then caught herself. She lowered her eyes.

“Was it satisfying?” he asked, hating himself for it. “Killing him?”

Slowly, so slowly, she shook her head. The knowledge did not make him feel any better.

“It was all I had,” she said softly. Was she – no, she couldn’t be. Was she? She was crying. Another trick? He could hear her fighting the tears. “Revenge. I couldn’t give up the only thing I had.”

“You had me!”

He stopped himself saying But I wasn’t enough, was I?

She raised her head. Tears were streaming down her face. She looked snotty and blotchy and so soul-wrenchingly beautiful. “Revenge was all that I deserved.”

“What?”

She scrubbed her sleeve over her face ineffectually. “You’re so much better than me. That’s it, that’s you, you’re the superior Loki.” Her weak attempt at a joke brought on a fresh sob. “You were the one who cared about saving the universe and innocent lives – I only ever cared about getting back at whoever did this to me. I’m not like you. I’m not good.”

Before he could find words, she ranted on, “His dreamland, where we run the TVA, don’t you see what would have happened? You would have realised. You would have realised that I’m no good, that you deserve so much better, and you would have –”

“Sylvie...”

He was on his feet without even realising he’d stood up.

“I know, I know,” she said, “you’ll say you wouldn’t, but...” She swallowed. “That was my first kiss.”

“That...? Your distraction tactic? That was your first kiss? How?”

“It was not a distraction tactic! I wanted... But I – This is exactly what I mean.”

He moved towards her. Norns knew she could be lying. But... But Loki knew lying. And this...

“I told you, I spent my life running from the end of one world to the end of another. I spent my life alone and angry and scared, and I didn’t have... anyone. How, in all of that, could I trust anyone enough to...” She made a nondescript gesture with her hands. “Whereas you, you’re a prince saving the universe. However much I want you, I can’t have you. I was so wrong that they pruned me as a child. They robbed me of any chance I had to be happy.” A beat. “Or I did.”

He cupped her shoulders gently in his hands, steadied her.

“I know you can’t forgive me. But I don’t know how to stop this mess with the timelines on my own. So if you can just... be the superior Loki and put aside how much you hate me to help me fix it...”

“Sylvie. Stop.”

She looked at him, eyes wide. He could see without feeling that her pulse was hammering.

“What do you want?” he asked. “Not what you think you have to want, or what you are projecting that I should want, or anything else. Just. What do you want?”

She was shaking beneath his hands. “I want to be able go back and not push you away. I want to go back and for us to find another option, not time fascism or time war, something else, some other way.”

“Which is to say?”

“Which is to say... I want... you.”

He slid his hand into her hair and tipped her mouth to his. He tasted the salt of her tears. He suckled on her lip gently, trying to soothe her even as he encouraged her. Tentatively, she pressed closer. He deepened the kiss, drawing her in, parting just for an instant to whisper her name before surging back in as though he needed her to breathe.

“There,” he husked when they finally parted, not going far. “That’s two now.”

She looked at him with such raw vulnerability that he couldn’t stop himself leaning in once more to just brush her lips with his.

“I knew,” he said, finally pulling back to look at her, “I knew that in that moment, what you needed was for me to back you up. For me to say, ‘Have at him!’ and cheer for you when you killed him. The reason I didn’t do that isn’t that I’m better than you. It’s because I haven’t been through what you’ve been through. And it’s because, on the other side of that gambit, I wanted you. Sylvie, you’re... incredible. And it’s not just that you’re beautiful and talented and witty and determined and that you defy all expectations, although you are and do all of those things –”

“So you’re saying I’m you, basically?” It was a teary version of her usual tone, and it made his heart soar.

“Sssh. You are all of those things, but at the end of the day... Sylvie, it’s real. With you, it’s... it’s real. I don’t know if you believe me, or if you feel...”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you,” she whispered to him. “I love you, and I know what I did was... that I...”

“I love you too.”

She clung to him for a long moment, her breathing slowly evening out. She smelt of ozone and smoke and frost and magic.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry that I... How do I unfuck it?”

He moved her so he could look at her again, but kept his arms round her. “You need to trust me. If I trust that you aren’t going to push me through another time door, that you are choosing me, will you trust that I am choosing you? That I am choosing you, and I am the one who gets to make that choice, and I am making it because you are everything?”

She sniffed and nodded slowly. She reached up to wrap herself round him again. “I trust you. I trust you.”

She was fumbling in her pocket, and in spite of himself he had a wild moment of panic. Then she pressed the TemPad into his hand.

“I trust you,” she said again.

Taking the TemPad, he took her other hand in his. He kissed her again, deep and adoring, trying to pour everything he felt into it, and finding she was giving the same.

“Let’s go,” he said. He opened a door.

“We do have a universe to save,” she said, her voice still rough from the crying.

“Yes. Although I believe you have some catching up to do first – that’s only four, and there are so many other –”

She elbowed him, but her smile was radiant. He smiled back. Hand in hand, they stepped through the door.

@dianamolloy @winterisakiller you both expressed interest (thank you!)

If anyone else would like to be tagged in this or anything else, please let me know! I don’t currently have a tag list

#this is my writing tag #hardest of hearts fic #sylki #loki x sylvie #the loki show #loki series spoilers

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mrs-gucci · 3 years

Note

There seems to be a darker, more violent take on Clyde floating around right now and I LOVE it!! I’m working on one for him too!

Since you say open for darker requests, I’d love to hear your take on a more violent Clyde! He could be saving you from a stalker. Clyde can show him what a real bad ass can do and then show you how well he can treat you too lol! He could be protecting you from someone at the bar. He could be showing you his special forces skills after some gets aggressive. You name it lol!

Secrets of the Blood Moon {werewolf!Clyde x Reader darkfic}

author's notes: helloooo! my friend shannon, thank you for this request!! I am also a fan of the darker take on Clyde and I hope I did it some justice!! I worked really, really hard on this one, and I’m super pleased with how it turned out.

**PLEASE HEED THE DARKFIC WARNING!! THIS FIC INVOLVES SEVERAL VERY HEAVY AND VERY DARK THEMES, SO PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!**

warnings: angst. smut. hurt/comfort. a minor car crash. mentions of alcohol consumption. rut. knotting. breeding kink. werewolf stuff. attempted mating bite. murder coverup. clyde feels guilty.

tw's: noncon touching (not by clyde). involuntary attempted sexual assault (werewolf clyde pins her down & dry humps w/o consent, but human clyde doesn’t know he did it nor would ever intend to do it). blood & gore. graphic depictions of murder and violence. human-hunting. depictions of human body consumption (is it cannibalism if he’s technically a wolf when it happens?). werewolf sex.

**this is a work of FICTION. the author does not attempt to condone the actions/behaviors of the characters written.**

word count: 5.9k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea @gildedstarlight (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

Last Night

Stepping out of your car, you’re instantly suffocated by the thick humidity of the West Virginia evening. The sun paints cotton candy across the sky as it sets behind the trees on the mountainous horizon, the almost full moon hot on its tail, slowly rising on the other side of the sky.

The blood moon comes tomorrow, and from the old folk tales your mom used to tell about the deep West Virginia countryside, some weird shit goes down under the crimson moon. You never really believed her. What all could happen in lil ol’ Boone County, anyway?

The moment you step into the refreshing, air-conditioned Duck Tape, you’re immediately greeted by a loud call of your name.

“Y/N!” You smile and wave at Jimmy.

Clyde looks up and smiles at you as you come and sit down at the bar next to Jimmy. He serves the customer before coming over to talk with you and the eldest Logan.

You lean over the bar to give him a kiss, earning a couple hoots and hollers from the bar crowd, which made you both laugh as you pull away.

“How was work, buttercup?” He asks, wiping off some glasses. “Weren’t ya doin’ that one presentation today? How’d that go?”

You’re always so flattered that Clyde actually pays attention when you talk about work stuff. Most guys just smile and nod, but Clyde actually listens and remembers. He even remembered your one year anniversary at the company you currently work for, sending you takeout from your favorite place along with some flowers.

“Yeah, it was alright. Boring as hell, but the partners seemed pleased, so that’s all I can really ask for at this point.”

Both he a Jimmy give a small chuckle, nodding before Clyde mixes your favorite drink, setting it down in front of you a few minutes later. You thank him, and the three-way conversation continues before the bar door swings open.

Something about the man’s entrance makes you look over, already smelling trouble as he steps over the threshold. His eyes are glued on you, a smug smirk etched on his expression.

A hush falls over the patrons for a few seconds, all eyes on the leather-clad man. Clyde’s hackles are immediately up, body tense as the mystery man saunters over, plopping himself down onto the vacant stool next to yours.

Things on the floor continue as normal, the chatter picking back up, and you subtly scoot a little closer to Jimmy.

“Bartender?” A thick New York accent calls.

Clyde walks over, plastering a fake smile on his face, seemingly the epitome of southern hospitality.

“What can I getcha, sir?”

The man gives Clyde a once-over and snickers. “No, seriously, where’s the bartender? I’d like a drink.”

Your grip clenches around your glass. You absolutely hated it when people were dicks about Clyde’s hand.

“Seriously, I am the bartender.” He states firmly. “So, what can I get ya?”

His tone sends a chill down your spine. Normally, Clyde just shuts down whenever someone starts poking fun at his missing hand, but tonight, there was a certain air of frustration, of dominance.

You just thought he’d finally cracked, after years of dealing with this bullshit. But as you would learn, there was an alternate explanation for his sudden outwardly alpha-like behavior.

The guy seems to back off a little bit, just asking for a cold Coors straight from the bottle. You startle a bit when Clyde slams the bottle down on the counter in front of him, and you could swear his eyes turn a light grey for a second before returning to the dark brown pools you’re familiar with.

Everything’s quiet for a little while, the man sipping his beer in silence, before he turns to you. He doesn’t say anything at first, simply allowing his eyes to drink in your seated figure.

“What’s your name, baby girl?” The beer smell of his breath is strong as he leans in. “You lookin’ for someone to keep you company tonight?”

You roll your eyes. Douchebag. “Nope. I’m perfectly content just sitting here, thanks.”

Clyde’s watching the interaction like a hawk as he makes someone’s drink. It’s a wonder he can concentrate on the drink when his thoughts and eyes are glued to you.

His slimy hand touches down on your bare thigh, just above your knee, and you jump in your seat. He grins, trailing it up as he leans in even closer.

“Are you sure? I could show you a real good time...”

Glass shatters from behind the bar and then, Clyde’s grabbing the man by his biker jacket, tossing him onto the floor with an almost superhuman strength. You stand up, appalled, as the man on the hardwood scrambles to get up.

An icy grey begins to frost over his sweet chocolate irises as Clyde clenches his fists by his side.

“Don’t ya dare touch ma girl, ye pervert.” He growls, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. “Someone ought to show ya what respect looks like.”

The bar has fallen pin-drop silent, all sets of eyes focused in on the developing scene. He cocks his fist above his head, snarling as he readies to pounce on the helpless man.

It’s then that Jimmy hops up and puts himself between the two men, holding his hands up in front of Clyde. “Don’t do this t’ yerself. Ye know what’ll happen if ya do.”

This seems to bring him back, the warmness flooding back to his irises. His shoulders slump as he huffs softly, pushing past his older brother angrily, storming into his office and slamming the door behind him.

Shakily, the man stands and puts a twenty down on the table before running out of the bar, bell jingling against the wooden door as it eases shut after him.

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

The rare blood moon hangs in its place against the pitch black sky as you pull up to the Logan’s trailer home. There aren’t any stars in the clear night’s sky, despite it being the dead of summer, but you don’t think much of it as you approach the shadowed porch.

Moths flutter around the dimly flickering porch light while you peek through the windows, which were as black as the night. Not a single light was on.

Odd. The Pontiac’s parked in its normal spot outside.

You flip the threadbare ‘welcome’ mat up, revealing the rusting gold key beneath. Sticking it in the lock, you turn until the door pops open, an eerie creak accompanying it.

"Clyde?” You say, looking around the trailer’s living room as you flip the living room lights on.

You call for him again. Maybe he’s just taking a nap. “Clyde?”

Still no response.

Now, you’re getting worried. There’s no note, nothing noticeably out of place; in fact, it’s almost all too still. It gives you the creeps, how still and quiet it is in here.

The scent of suspicion thickens the air around you, and you just get the most awful feeling in your gut that something bad is happening or is about to happen.

Adrenaline begins to pump through your veins as you quickly walk around, peeking in the kitchen, and in the spare room. The air seems to thicken again the closer to draw to Clyde’s room, and you push the door open with bated breath.

You’re absolutely mortified at the sight before you.

Shreds of carpet, fabric, and mattress stuffing is scattered the floor, and giant claw marks have torn straight through the drywall. The blankets and comforter, at least the remains of them, are disheveled where they lay across the clawed-up mattress.

His vanity mirror is almost fully shattered, and the products that once sat atop are now tossed across the floor. The chilly summer’s night air flutters the curtains on the opened window above the bed.

The first thought that comes to mind is a bear attack of some kind. Now fully freaking out, you’re wondering how in the world a bear got into the trailer, and why it only seemed to attack Clyde’s room. You scramble to grab your phone from your purse with shaky hands, dialing Jimmy’s number in haste.

Was this one of the blood moon enigmas mom warned about? No, no, bear attacks are pretty common around here.

It takes a few rings before he picks up.

“Y/N?” He sounds out of breath, exhausted.

“Jimmy, hey. Do you know where Clyde is? I’m at the trailer, and--”

Something that sounds like a growl rips through the speaker, followed by a woman’s voice.

“Is everything oka--”

“Mellie, I can’t help ya right now! I’ll be there in a second!” He yells in the background. “Sorry Y/N, you were sayin’ somethin’?”

“No, it’s alright. I’m just at the trailer, and I peeked into Clyde’s room...”

“Ya didn’t touch anything, did ya?” His voice is rushed.

You shake your head, eyebrows furrowed. “Uh, no, but--”

The growl comes again, louder this time, and it almost sounds like it’s...a voice. A very deep and very animalistic one, but a voice nonetheless. And it was saying something, although you couldn’t really hear clearly enough.

“Jimmy, do you know where Clyde is?” You’re getting a little impatient.

“Don’t worry ‘bout Clyde, he’s okay, he’s, uhh, here with us.”

“Oh, uh, o-okay.”

But tonight was supposed to be your special night together.

“Y/N? Listen real close, now. I need ya to get outta the trailer and go home, right now. Don’t linger, and refrain from touchin’ anything in the trailer. Lock all yer doors n’ close all the windows when ya get back home, okay? ‘N don’t go outside for the rest’a the night.”

Okay, now you’re starting to get fearful. “What--”

“Jimmy!” Mellie’s panicked voice comes through the phone speaker again, this time a bit clearer. He curses under his breath.

Her cries clearly rattled the eldest Logan, and he quickly tells you to just do what he said and then hangs up in a frantic state.

You’re frozen for a moment, but then you quickly scurry outside to your car, frantically looking around as you scramble to fit the key in the driver’s side door. By some miracle, you hold your hand steady enough to unlock it, quickly shutting the door and turning on the engine, peeling out of there like a madwoman.

Suddenly, as you go to pull out of the driveway, a strange apparition appears at the edge of the wood across the street. You squint, trying to figure out what the hell it is. Whatever it is, though, it’s panting heavily and looks...inhuman.

It’s standing on two legs, but its large, probably almost seven feet tall if you had to guess, and must’ve had some type of black fur or skin since it almost blends in with the darkened forest.

The reddish light of the moon is the only light that reflects upon this mystery creature, before it seems to notice your car idling in the driveway. The crisp light grey pupils seemingly glimpse into your soul as the creature looks upon you.

Clearly, now, you can decipher what exactly it is, although you’re in utter shock and skeptical to think it real: A werewolf.

You quickly put the car in reverse, slamming down on the gas, flying backwards for a few seconds before colliding with the trailer’s tin wall. Your head slams forward onto the steering wheel, trickles of blood dribble down your forehead and nose as your consciousness is lost.

When you come to, only a few minutes later, you groan as the welt forms on your forehead. You look around, groggily, seeing that your car is in drive but isn’t moving. Surely when you’d passed out, your foot would’ve come off the brake and you would’ve rolled away...

Stepping out carefully, you find that some bricks have been placed in front of all four tires, effectively keeping the car at a dead standstill.

Who in the world did this?

Then, you turn your head and walk slowly around to the front of your car, seeing the remnants of sharp teeth marks on your bumper. You’re frozen, a lump slowly crawling up your throat as the realization hits.

A low growl comes from behind you, and your worst fears have suddenly been realized. You slowly, carefully spin around on your heels, afraid that one wrong move may make you tonight’s surprise entree.

Your eyes meet the soul-piercing grey’s of the werewolf, the one you’d seen at the edge of the forest minutes earlier. The one that seemingly saved your life, but...how did a werewolf know what to do?

As you continue to gaze at the large being before you, you’re struck with a sense of familiarity, almost as if you’d met them before. Strange, because you can’t recall ever encountering a werewolf. Hell, you’ve never even seen a wolf before, other than in pictures. Surely you’d remember coming into contact with a seemingly impossible biological phenomenon such as this one.

His presence is scarily comforting, and you find yourself briefly wondering what it’d feel like to be enveloped in his woolen arms. Well, arm, technically speaking. This particular werewolf seems to be missing the lower half of his left paw.

Then, your mind connects the dots, and you’re shocked to your very core. It wasn’t a bear that attacked Clyde’s room, it was Clyde. This werewolf that’s standing before you is Clyde. That’s why Jimmy and Mellie sounded so frantic and breathless on the phone; they must’ve been trying to keep him contained.

But why? Werewolves usually recognize the important people in their human lives...right? That’s why he’d saved you from rolling off...

Your headlights’ reflection was speared by your figure, creating a shadow that covered most of Clyde’s form, except for the very tips of his paws, which had enormous claws emerging from beneath the thick layer of fur.

“Clyde?” You whisper, and he seems to soften for a moment, falling down on all threes.

Just as you swallow the lump in your throat and begin to cautiously approach the creature, hand outstretched to allow him to smell you, his eyes suddenly darken, the once snowy grey now more like the color of storm clouds.

He snarls, white teeth shining in the moon’s moody crimson-tinted reflection, and you immediately backtrack. Oh god, I’m fucked.

Your bottom collides with the front of your car, the engine thrumming lowly as it idles happily, grille warm from the machine inside. The headlights are now fully shining on the creature, fur shining under the bright lights as he approaches, lines of drool strung between his sharp fangs.

“C-Clyde, please,” You plead with the creature. “It’s m-me, Y/N, your g-girlfriend. You know m-me, you don’t w-wanna do t-this...”

It doesn’t seem to do much to dissuade him, the animal within now overshadowing the kind, gentle man you know and love. No, this creature is something else. This isn’t your Clyde.

The wolf stops short of the hood, where you’ve crawled up onto and are laying back, raising his nose up in the air, sniffing. You’re perplexed by this action, but it becomes evident when his ear prick and he says, in that same deep, animalistic voice that was in the background of your call with Jimmy,

“Mate.”

And then, he’s pouncing, trapping your hands above your head with his one arm while his legs scramble to find a good grip on the metallic surface of the car, hips rutting frantically.

His muzzle dips down, wet nose running along your jawline and neck, teeth scraping dangerously against your thin skin. He quickly settles on a spot behind your ear, growling as his pink tongue darts out to begin lapping at the spot.

You’re completely still, both physically restrained and unable to bring yourself to even try to move as the creature drags his fangs across the skin behind your ear. Your car is rocking back and forth with his hips’ violent movements, dragging his enormous cock against your lower stomach.

He pants into your ear, breath hot as he prepares to sink his sharp fangs into your tender skin, marking you as his forever...

“CLYDE!”

Jimmy’s voice pierces through the still of the night. Crickets stop chirping for a moment, and Clyde’s body stills. His head whips around, snarling at his brother.

Mellie’s right behind him, and she peers around him, trying to look at you. “Y/N, are ya alright?”

“YYYeah,” You manage, somehow. “I-I’m o-okay.”

Clyde hops down, all three feet planted on the ground, hackles up as Jimmy takes a step forward. “Mate.”

“She ain’t yer mate.” Jimmy says, calmly. He points to you. “Look at whatcha done to ‘er, Clyde. Would a mate look like that, huh? Look at ‘er, Clyde, she’s all beat up and scared outta her damn mind.”

The wolf visibly stands down, slowly turning his head to look back at you, seeing the scratches on your wrists and the marks on your neck. He sees the bit of wetness on your shirt and shorts, from his slick.

He hangs his head and begins to cry, whimpering and whining as he sprints off, surprisingly agile and quick for a wolf with three paws, across the road and back into the woods.

His blood’s boiling, he’s angry that he couldn’t defend you against Jimmy, mad that his alpha instincts had failed him. Even as a werewolf, one of the most powerful beings in the forest, he was still weaker than and overshadowed by his showboat older brother.

Loud barks of anger rip through him as he masterfully maneuvers through the forest, weaving through the trees, dodging thorns, leaping over the fallen tree trunks.

The sky suddenly begins to empty down onto Earth, the cool summer night’s rain a welcomed refreshment on Clyde’s fur. He looks up at the blood moon, huffing softly as he silently curses the orb for bringing this condition to him each full moon, as he did every single moon before this, and will continue to do with every one after.

He reaches his cave a few minutes later, stopping dead in his tracks when he smells smoke coming from inside. He’s on high alert, now, as he moves to peek into the cavern.

There, he finds a lone man sitting by a very small fire, rubbing his hands together over the heat. He’s clad in head-to-toe tree camo with a shotgun laying just out of arms reach.

This man’s scent feels awfully familiar, Clyde thinks, but it takes him a minute to figure out why. And, when he does remember, Clyde is suddenly not so sympathetic for the unwanted visitor in his cave.

The wolf’s mind falls to a certain memory from last night at Duck Tape. This is the jackass that thought he could get away with feelin’ you up. The one that poked plenty ‘a fun at his missing hand.

Clyde’s still-hard cock presses up against his furry stomach in excitement, tongue licking over his razor-sharp fangs. He couldn’t protect or avenge you last night, again due to Jimmy, but maybe he can now.

Jimmy ain’t gonna get in my way this time ‘round.

He can’t just come running into the entrance, no, that allows him too much time to grab the gun. He thinks, and thinks, until he remembers the connecting cave that he’d recently found on the last full moon. He bets he can get in there and creep up behind the man, do a sneak attack.

He’s salivating in anticipation as he bounds down to the opposite side of the cave, paws padding lightly against the soft gravelly dirt floor, trotting along carefully.

The man is none the wiser to the wolf’s presence, and the hum of the loud rain certainly wasn’t hurting. A loud crack of thunder suddenly rips through the forest, vibrating the ground. Clyde freezes briefly as the young man curls up further, chin resting in the gap between his knees.

Predatory instincts pumping through his veins at an all-time high, he crouches down as he stalks closer and closer to the unsuspecting body by the small fire. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, now right behind the man, moving in slow motion so as to not alert his victim.

When the time is right, just as the next clap of thunder rumbles the rocks, Clyde pounces. He grabs the man’s shirt, dragging him out of the cave with an unprecedented swiftness. The fire is extinguished with the tussle, leaving the cave shrouded in darkness, the shotgun laid abandoned on the ground where he’d put it.

He struggles against the wolf’s grip, fabric ripping violently the further his body’s dragged along. Clyde throws him out onto the forest floor, pawing at the ground like a wild stallion as the disheveled man scrambles to his feet.

His hands are shaky as he holds them up in front of him, as if trying to calm the creature like a domesticated dog. “E-Easy, easy.”

If he could, Clyde would’ve rolled his eyes at the man’s pathetic attempt to talk down at him. He snarls, watching in amusement at the way he startles and stumbles back.

Clyde’s got the man backed against the trunk of an old oak within seconds, and he stands up on two legs, glaring at the much smaller figure. He bares his teeth, a wolf’s version of a devilish grin.

“Run.”

It seems like the man is caught in between being shocked that this wolf just spoke English and being chilled to the core by his word. He sputters for a moment, brain smoking as it churns on overdrive, before his legs carry him as quickly as they can down the mountainside.

The wolf casually trots along after him, in very little rush to catch him. He’s throbbing hard now, the excitement translating into pure arousal. Clyde knows these woods like the back of his hand; there’s no where for this man to hide from his inevitable fate as the wolf-man’s next meal.

His head continuously whips around, meeting the grayish-white orbs tucked behind a thick coat of jet black fur. In a frenzy, he tucks himself behind a large tree, catching his breath.

Twigs snap in seemingly all directions, his breath heavy as his eyes flicker all around the dark, damp wood, the only light coming from the crimson-tinted orb above. He reaches back and wraps his arms around the tree’s trunk, panicked.

A low growl rattles his eardrums and he looks to the side, seeing the black creature right at his side. Clyde’s head snaps to the side, looking directly at his victim.

Crying out in fear, the man leaps forward to make a run for it, but is quickly taken to the dirt by the wolfish creature. The man squirms and screams out for mercy, for God, and Clyde knows what he has to do now.

He quickly sinks his teeth into the back of the mans neck repeatedly, effectively severing the spinal cord, leaving the man completely limp and defenseless. A quick and effective manner of disabling a victim, he’s learned through hunting animals, but keeps him just alive enough to see what’s being done to him.

Clyde flips the limp form over, now on his back, and his eyes are wide as he watches the wolf above him, black fur now stained red around the mouth, stare down at him with a hungry gaze.

His mouth opens, probably to beg for his life, but it’s too late. Fangs sink through his shirt and into the flesh of his chest, just above where his rapidly beating heart lay.

The thump-thump rhythm slows, then stops, the life leaving his body. Sweet copper tang coats the wolf’s tongue as the body is drained of its remaining energy.

There is little feeling better than watching the life slowly and steadily drain from the eyes of a victim, and suddenly, Clyde’s throbbing arousal has reached an almost unmanageable point.

But, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to devour his freshly-caught prey, especially while it’s still warm. So he digs in immediately, carving further into the hole over the heart he’d already created, ripping out the vital organ.

He holds it triumphantly between his teeth for a moment before setting it aside. His craving is more for the meat, he’s never been much of a fan of organs, so he gets to work separating the good meat from the corpse.

Once he’s done, he lifts his nose in the air, howling loudly. He’s never been this hard before, he swears it, and there’s only one person that can satisfy this urge:

You.

For a wolf on three legs, he reaches your house in record time. He can already feel the wolf-ness fading steadily, the human beginning to peek through the cracks. But, his rut doesn’t give at all, and he bounds up the steps and scratches at your door.

You’re startled by the noise, already a gut feeling you know who it is. When you open the door, Clyde’s wolf figure is sitting politely on your doormat. Should you let him in?

He pushes past, whimpering as he does so, before you can make a decision. You shut the door slowly before turning around to face the creature. He seems a bit different than when you saw him earlier, seeming a bit more human.

You stand against the door, back pressed up against it, looking down at the wolf in your living room.

“Y/N.” He breathes, huskily, attempting to ignore the hardness pressing up against his wooly stomach. “N-Need you. Please.”

He’s ashamed as he stands up on his hind legs, wrapping a clawed hand around his oozing cock, jutting his hips out as if to show off for you. The alpha in him needs to show you how suitable of a mate he is, what strong pups he can give you.

“It hhhhurts, b-buttercup.”

The battle going on inside him, animal versus human, is painfully evident on his expression. Your hearts been ripped in half as you watch him struggle with himself, the human trying to overpower the animal, and the animal trying to fight off the human. He doesn’t even know what he did to you earlier.

“What do you need from me, Clyde? I’m here to help you, honey, I’ll do whatever you need.”

His eyes widen in surprise, but its quickly replaced by a look of what can only be described as pure, primal hunger.

“Floor. A-All fours.” The wolf-man manages, desperately humping his hand to offer some relief. “G-Get the lube, ffffuuuck, I mmuhhmight hurt ya without it.”

You rush to get the lube, placing the tube next to you as you pull your leggings down, exposing your bare cunt. Clyde watches with an eager anticipation as you spread yourself for him.

As soon as you’re into position, he practically falls over on top of you, hips rutting uncontrollably as he smoothes lube over his drooling cock and lines up with your entrance.

“B-Buttercup, I...I’m sssorry ‘bout what’s ggon’ happen. This ain’t me, ppuhpplease remember that, mmkay?”

You nod, tearing up at the pure agony in his voice. “I w-will, Clyde.”

His hips shove forward, a choked howl escaping his lips, balls tightening. You cry out, the burn of your walls stretching to accommodate his girthy length more prominent than usual.

Veins bulge out of his neck, jaw clenched as he begins moving, mercilessly plowing into you from behind. He plants his clawed hand next to yours, loud and desperate scratching noises accompanying the wet squelch of your joined torsos.

The carpet is shredded, hardwood floor scratched permanently by his feet as he humps you with a desperation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. This really wasn’t Clyde, but you soon realized that you exactly mind this side of Clyde, this primal instinct, this roughness. It was arousing, bittersweetly so.

When you look over your shoulder at the wooly mass moving behind you, your eyes widen. You didn’t notice the shiny substance from a distance, but now that he’s up close, you see that it coats his snout and has even dripped down onto his breast.

A gripping fear bubbles in your stomach. But then, you rationalize immediately, before you find yourself too deep down in this rabbit hole of worry. He probably just hunted a deer or a rabbit or something. He’s a fucking wolf, remember?

You almost sigh out loud in relief, but you keep it in, instead moaning along with each of his thrusts.

“D-Did ya like muhmmahhmm--ma w-wolf cock?” He asks.

You nod. “Y-Yeah, ohhh god, I liked it.”

“Gonna gguh-give ya real nice p-pups.” His muzzle rubs over the spot behind your ear, the same one that he’d been after earlier, smearing some of the crimson across your skin. He licks it with as much consistency as possible, considering the speed and intensity of his hips. “F-Fill ya u-up, knot ya gggood ‘n deep.”

You’re almost positive he’s talking pretty much nonsense at this point, his rut brain having completely taken over. You know you’re not gonna cum, but it doesn’t really matter; you’re doing this for him, after all.

“Oh g-god, I’m cummin’, I’m gonna--”

He pauses his hips, howling softly as he cums. But this time, something else begins to swell, and you cry out as it does so.

“M-Ma k-knot,” Clyde breathes in explanation. “Keeps it a-all inside y-ya.”

You nod, not really knowing what all he’s talking about but not really caring for an explanation right now.

“‘m gonna h-havta stay inside y-ya fer a lil while. S-Should be ‘b-bout 30 minutes or so.”

His tongue begins moving over your cheeks and neck, something that makes you smile, that helps you remember that your beloved boyfriend’s in there somewhere.

The half hour waiting period passes, and as much as you’ve loved snuggling with your boyfriend (who’s wolf counterpart is relatively cuddly, despite previous reservations), you’re happy to have him off you.

After wishing you a final goodbye, citing the need to ‘clean up his cave a bit’, he trotted back out the door and galloped like a madman (wolf?) back out into the shadowed wood, leaving you alone once more.

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

It’s all over the news when you flip on the TV a couple days later. Hunter Found Slain in Boone County Woods, Bear Attack Suspected.

You have this awful, sick-to-your-stomach feeling that what happened the other night, when Clyde came to your house still in wolf form with a snout and chest covered in blood, had something to do with this.

When the picture of the victim came up on the screen, you audibly gasp, recognizing the face. It’s the guy that was feeling you up at a few nights ago at Duck Tape.

Oh god, no.

Suddenly, the door flies open, and Clyde’s panting as he rushes in and shuts it behind him. He looks pained, bottom lip trembling. “Have ya s-seen the ne--”

“...Police are still investigating the scene...foul play has not yet been ruled out...”

His entire demeanor falls, and the tears fill his eyes. He’s visibly shaking. You stand up and rush over to him just as he collapses on the floor.

You’re freaking out, trying to confirm what it is you’re pretty sure you already know.

“C-Clyde, did you...?”

He looks up at you from where his head now rests in your lap. “I c-can’t quite remember, b-but I think...I think I m-might’ve.”

Sobs wrack through his body as he cries hoarsely. You’re in shock, somehow hearing the words makes the reality suddenly hit like a damn semi-truck. You run your hands through Clyde’s slightly matted mane, soothing him as best you can.

“Clyde, it’s okay, baby. It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” You whisper.

“Y-Yeah it i-is, though. I k-killed ‘im.”

You try to stay strong, for Clyde’s sake, but the tears are swelling in your eyes at an uncontrollably fast rate. “But you d-didn’t do it o-on purpose, h-honey.”

His face seems to drop even more when he sees that you’re about to cry. He sits up shakily, pulling you into a big ol’ bear hug.

“Oh, buttercup, oh god, ‘m sorry. I didn’t m-mean to drag y-ya into all ‘a t-this.”

You sob into his shirt, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close. It’s hard to believe that this man, this kind, gentle man, could’ve done something like this on purpose. Clyde would never hurt a fly.

From what he’s told you, which granted is very little, the line between werewolf and human for him is quite a blurry one. He seems to only be able to remember parts of what happened, and his subconscious is only there for part of the time.

Which means that he’s technically innocent, since he can’t remember nor could he control his canine impulses or instinct. As far as you’re concerned, werewolf Clyde and human Clyde are two different beings.

“I-If anyone ever f-found out ‘bout ma c-condition...”

You pull away and look up at him, holding his face in your hands. “Clyde, I-I’m not gonna turn y-you in.”

“What?” He looks at you with a furrowed brow, like he’s surprised to hear your words. “Y-Yer not g-gon’...?”

Shaking your head, you swing your leg over his lap, hugging him once more while your face settles into the crook of his neck.

“No, of course not. I know you’re a good p-person, and like I said before, it’s n-not you. Your w-wolf side is not really you, Clyde, at least not entirely.”

Clyde looks down at you with an incredibly grateful expression, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He tilts your head up with one of his meaty fingers, immediately pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is relatively short, just a showing of his gratitude, of his love for you. When he pulls away, you maintain eye contact.

“Okay, so most of the solid DNA evidence will have been washed away by the rain and tampered with by the elements over the past few days that the body’s been outside. Plus, they aren’t looking for wolf DNA, and even if they somehow knew, your wolf DNA wouldn’t lead to your human identity, at least I don’t think so...”

Hours and hours of watching countless true crime shows, movies, and documentaries are finally paying off.

“But, do you remember leaving anything, anything that could indicate foul play? Really search your memory.”

He puts his metaphorical thinking cap on, closing his eyes as he tries to recall anything of use from that night, but nothing comes to mind. His eyes swell with tears as they blink open and he shakes his head. “I can’t ‘member anythin’.”

“That’s okay, Clyde. They won’t find out, I promise, they won’t.” You kiss his neck. “For now, let’s just try to relax and we’ll keep an eye on the news. Will you come snuggle on the couch with me?”

Clyde smiles softly, nodding as you pull away and stand up, extending a hand to him. He takes it, standing up seconds later. As you walk into the living room, he says your name, causing you to turn around with a slightly perplexed expression.

“Thank ya.”

You smile brightly. “I love you, Clyde.”

“I love ya, too, darlin’.”

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foilfreak · 3 years

Text

Beauty and Her Beast: Summary and Ch.1

A Salvatore Moreau x Female!FishMutant!oc fic based on this idea I had the other day that a very specific subset of the fanfom went absolutely apeshit for, which I'm here for and decided to act on. I can't make any promises for consistent uploading or even a finishes product by the end of this, but so long as im still interested in working on it, I'll keep working on it, and if im not, then I wont, plain and simple. Anyways, here's the summary and chapter 1, please let me know what you think of the story so far, i hope you all enjoy (you'd better all enjoy), and I can't wait to see you all again for chapter 2. Bye! <333 (Link to ao3 posting will be in comments so check there if you want to read it there instead)

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

Summary:

Now, I’m sure everyone already knows the ancient tales that tell of a beautiful young woman slowly falling in love with a horrific monstrosity of a man. The pure and true love this innocent beauty comes to feel for him, despite his terrifying appearance, is the key that breaks the cruel and twisted curse under which he’d been kept prisoner. This allows the man behind the monster to not only return to his true human form, but then go on to live his Happily Ever After with the beauty who saved him. Everyone already knows of these tales, as well as the messages behind them, however that is not quite the way this particular tale plays out.

The tale I am about to tell bears many similarities to the one above, however there are also quite a few important differences. For while the original detailed a beauty falling for a monster because of the kind and loving man he was behind his hideous exterior, this is a tale of a beauty, with a few monstrous qualities of her own, falling in love with a kind and loving monster, not at all despite his grotesque appearance, but rather, in part, because of it.

This is a tale, where the Beast still falls for his Beauty first, but the Beauty is the one who will be pursuing her Beast.

Chapter 1: Mother's Gift

Few of those who lived isolated from the outer world, high up in the mountains of Romania, would expect anyone of reasonable sanity to be out traveling in this hellish sort of weather. The wind howling a demonic high pitched tune; snow, sleet, and hail pounding into the ground like an endless shower of bullets from the heavens; and hungry lycans still roaming the area, tirelessly looking for their next meal, would be enough to incentivize even the strongest of mortal men to seek shelter away from the deadly conditions of the outside.

A man by the name of Salvatore Moreau however, one of the 4 lords of this mountain region who lived in the reservoir just past the windmills, did not appear terribly concerned with what other people thought of the traveling conditions. Completely unbothered by the horrifying weather and threat of suddenly being ground into doggy food, the hooded man trudged his way through the dark and barely maintained snow paths. Starting at the reservoir and making his way toward the village, Salvatore moved as quickly as his deformed body would permit, an unusually chipper spring added to his lumbering hobble of a walk.

Mother had a gift for him.

Yes, a truly joyous day it was whenever Mother Miranda called upon him to join her and the other lords for a meeting. Miranda was usually so busy with her experiments that she rarely had time to visit her children outside of these ‘family meetings’ they’d been having recently. However, it would appear as though Mother has come up with a solution of some kind to this problem and wishes to share it with them in person. Whatever this solution is, the mutated man has no idea, as Mother Miranda had been quite vague in her message, however the fact that Salvatore was being given the chance to see his radiant mother AND receive a gift from her, all in one day, was more than enough to make up for how agonizingly lonely he’s been these last few months since winter set in, as well as how agonizing it was for him to walk in this weather.

Salvatore arrived at the usual meeting site just as the clock struck 8pm, precisely as Mother had instructed. However, much to the hooded man’s confusion, when he turned the handle on the large wooden door to enter the room, he quickly realized that he was currently the only one present. This was especially strange considering that, usually, at least one of his siblings was always present a little earlier than necessary, usually Alcina or Karl, but occasionally Donna with Angie in tow.

Mother had clearly said in her message that she wanted to start the meeting at 8pm sharply, so where on earth is everyone?

“Moreau” Mother Miranda’s voice called out, immediately pushing all thoughts from Salvatore’s brain as her powerful, yet lucious voice echoed against the halls of the room like a choir of angels.

“Y-yes! W-what… is it… M-mother Miranda? I-i-i came to you… j-just like you asked” Salvatore responds, bowing his head in reverence as he slowly crosses the room and approaches the otherworldly woman.

“So you did, though I suppose you coming exactly when I call makes the most sense. You always were the most obedient of my children” the woman remarks with casual disdain, her voice devoid of any sort of motherly affection or tenderness. Despite the clear disgust and disregard with which Miranda regards the hooded man standing before her, her words light Salvatore’s soul ablaze, filling his mangled body with intense feelings of heat and desire that melt his heart of the cold, icy frost that had frozen it over the course of the long winter.

“Y-y-yes, y-yes of c-course, Mother M-Miranda! I-i would… I would do any-anything... for y-you. A-anything you s-say... anything y-you n-need… I’d d-do it... f-for you. W-without question!” The deformed man says, practically getting on his hands and knees and crawling as he neared closer and closer to Miranda, stopping only when he’d arrived just in front of the steps the raven mother stood upon, his gaze trained at the ground as he knelt at her feet, awaiting his fate at his mother’s hands.

“I know you would, Moreau,” Miranda says cooly, gently brushing the palm of her hand against the black fabric that covers the top of Salvatore’s head, “which is why I’ve called you here today; to reward you for your loyalty and service to me thus far.”

Salvatore sinks sharp and jagged teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as he desperately tries to silence the needy whine that wanted to tear its way from the back of his throat. His body shivered and twitched in unimaginable delight from the sudden tender caress to his sensitive skin. How long had it been since someone had touched him so gently? How long since someone had spoken to him with such kind and soft words. Took the time to gather presents as a reward for years of faithful servitude? How long since someone had loved him like this?

‘Too long’ the disfigured man sighed to himself, reveling in the soft, gentle contact for as long as he is able.

“Moreau. Look at me” Miranda commanded firmly, and despite not wanting his beloved Mother to be forced to bear witness to his hideous face, he complied, lifting his head up and back to allow his gaze to lift from the floor and up at the glowing figure that was his Mother, his beautiful, incredible, intelligent, majestic mother.

The light shining down from above illuminates Miranda from behind. From Salvatore’s perspective on the floor, the light darkens her face and most of her torso and waist, giving a softened, almost ethereal glow around Miranda’s figure. This, along with the rest of her garb, makes Mother Miranda appear even more like the holy woman that Salvatore naively believes she still is. Despite her less than affectionate treatment of him thus far, Salvatore still stared up at the darkened face of Mother Miranda, his eyes shining with reverence, love, desire, and unending devotion.

“Y-yes... Mother?” Salvatore breathed, barely able to speak above a whisper as Miranda stepped away, gesturing for him to follow.

“Are you ready to collect your gift now?” The raven mother asks, speaking more softly than before and even holding her hand out to Salvatore, her pose and appearance mirroring that of a powerful god taking mercy upon her wretched follower, reaching out to reward the years of faithful servitude and worship.

Salvatore, barely able to keep himself calm as he stumbled to his feet, did not grace Mother Miranda’s question with a proper response, instead practically racing to take the woman’s outstretched hand in his own.

“I’m ready Mother… I-I’m ready for... my g-gift now… can I… c-can I have it n-now… p-please?” Salvatore begs, pulling at Miranda’s hand like an overly excited child, seemingly unaware of the disgusted twist of her face when the hooded man’s cold, slimy fingers firmly latched onto hers.

“Of course, my child” Mother Miranda says, pulling her hand back from Salvatore’s and instead placing it along the man’s hunched back, beginning to guide him to wherever it was the raven mother had hidden his gift.

As Salvatore limped next to Mother Miranda, the deformed man couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was that Mother had gotten for him. Was it a new cloak, to replace the worn one he was currently wearing? Perhaps a new set of romance films so he didn’t have to rewatch the ones he already owned over and over again anymore? Or maybe it was something to help with his digestion?

It would be nice to get his chronic acid reflux under control again.

Regardless of what the gift actually turned out to be however, Salvatore was merely pleased that he was finally getting a chance to spend time with Mother Miranda all by himself for a change.

Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d even agree to hold him, just like she always did back when he was still undergoing cadou treatment.

Oh how wonderful that would be!

#salvatore moreau #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil 8 village #resident evil 8: village #mother miranda #beauty and her beast #fic #mine #chapter 1 #re8 #re8 village #re village #salvatore moreau x reader #moreau x reader #moreau x oc #salvatore moreau x oc

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edda-grenade · 3 years

Photo

Sleep.

Adaar and Solas attempt fadewalking for the first time.

#feral verse, 2000 words. on AO3.

They were lying on a hilltop in the forest, on a fur to keep the cold of fall at bay. Well, Adaar was lying down—Solas had sat up to give her a curious look.

“You wish to leave?”

“No! I mean, yes, kinda—maybe—I don’t know.” She groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“You seem very happy, here,” he said, in that slow, careful way he had.

“I am! I am. I don’t want to leave my family, or this place, or you—”

“Me?” His voice cracked, just a little. Adaar glanced at him from between her fingers.

“Yes, obviously. I know you like to pretend you’re some lone wolf apart from all living creatures or whatever, but you’re my friend, alright? You’re not getting out of that so easily.”

“I don’t—pretend…” He sighed, his skin staining with blush, the faint freckles even fainter. His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile, until he gave up and his mouth crooked. Adaar loved it when that happened. She was pretty good at making it happen, too.

“You do not wish to leave, but?”

Now she sighed and clamped her hand over her eyes again. It was easier in the dark, unwatched.

“The world is so big and so full of things I don’t know,” she said softly, “and I want to learn everything.”

“Adaar…”

She hadn’t figured out if she loved that yet—the way he said her name sometimes, how he looked at her. Like she was the sun coming over the horizon, or a thunderstorm in the distance, or the wind dancing through the fields so hard it sang. At least that’s what she imagined the expression would look like on her face—an expression that was meant for immense and somewhat unfathomable things, not for a single person.

“There is a way I could show those things to you. Not all of them, of course—but more than what is accessible to you right now.”

Adaar sat up so quickly her head spun a little.

“I’m listening.”

He explained, and her head continued to spin, although for different reasons. Lucid dreaming, delving into the Fade like into a cave, how the deeper you went the older the memories imprinted upon the Fade would be…

It sounded ludicrous. Like magic, if she had never heard of it before. It sounded amazing.

“Can we just do that?” she asked. “Right now?”

Solas gave her another weird look; his eyes wide and searching for a brief moment.

“I—yes. Come with me.”

They left the little barren hilltop that poked above the forest behind and instead descended into the small cave Solas had chosen as his resting place. She’d tried often to convince him to join her family at the settlement, but he’d steadfastly refused every time. It didn’t bother her as much anymore—the cave looked more and more like an actual home these days, with a fire pit and cooking tools, shelves he’d carved out of the rock to hold utensils using a spell she hadn’t quite figured out yet herself, and a warm, dry place to sleep.

Solas had a ball of light bobbing in the air above his shoulder, and gazed down at the bedstead. It was cozy: a pallet of hay covered in cowhide, with a blanket and fur to keep warm in winter. It was also not nearly big enough for both of them. At least not if they intended not to share breathing space.

“There’s a bigger bed at home, you know,” Adaar said. “Actual walls and a door, too.”

“I would prefer to try it here. I have set the requisite wards quite often, and I’m familiar with the peculiarities of the Fade in this place.”

She shrugged, glancing around at the runes and sigils he had marked into the walls of the cave. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m just saying, you can get familiar with the farm, too. There’s space for you, it’s not a problem.”

“I’m aware, since you keep reminding me so diligently.”

“It keeps being true.”

She smiled a little at how that statement made his ears dip and his head turn away so she wouldn’t see his face. He cleared his throat.

“I have never… attempted to teach this to anyone else.”

“Because you didn’t want to, or because there was no one you could teach it to?” She hesitated, thinking of his arguments with Lavellan's Keeper. “Or because no one wanted to learn it?”

He let out a low breath. “All of the above,” he replied quietly, “at one point or another.”

Adaar slapped her hands together to resist the urge to hug him, then clapped her palms briefly onto his shoulders because not touching him at all was even more frustrating than being shrugged off. “First time for everything. How do we start?”

Solas showed her how to set the wards—they’d talked about spellwork like it before, but mostly in abstract terms. It took a good while, because she kept stumbling over new questions, like how specific a ward could be, how permanent, how big a space it could cover… They were halfway into designing one that might be used to keep beetles out of the grain, until they managed to get back to the task at hand.

She settled on the bedstead with crossed legs while Solas puttered about by the fire pit and brewed a concoction he insisted wasn’t tea to help them fall asleep. Then she got up again and started pacing, as much as was possible, because her legs were too jittery to sit still. She was just glad most of the cave was high enough that she didn’t have to stoop—she halted, gazing at the stone close above her.

“Solas, did you shape the ceiling, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“The rock here has a different texture.” She reached up to touch it and closed her eyes, searching for that low echo of past magic—and found it. “And it’s been worked with magic.”

“…A little. It is not your fault you are so tall.”

A smile bit into her cheeks. “Aw, that’s sweet.”

“It was a practical consideration,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound like he was actually put out. “You insert yourself into others’ spaces inevitably, it was only a matter of time until you would find your way into this one.”

“That almost sounds like a criticism.”

“An observation. Foremost.” He handed a steaming cup of the not-tea to her, then sipped from his own. She breathed in the smell—chamomile, juniper, and something spicy she didn’t recognize—then exhaled a bit of frost across it to cool it down before taking a sip.

Solas was watching her when she looked up from the cup.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it is simply… nice, to see how certain magic has become easier for you.”

“The frost? Yeah, I barely have to think about it anymore.” She blew a puff of snow into his face to demonstrate. Solas startled, grimacing, and wiped the rapidly-melting crystals from his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Adaar said, very earnestly. “Couldn’t resist.”

He shook his head and grumbled something in Elvish, but he was smiling again. That small, helpless, trying-not-to smile. They finished their cups, put them aside, and regarded the bedstead again.

“I shall take the fur, next to the pallet,” said Solas.

“I thought the point was to fall asleep more easily? And to sleep more deeply?”

“Yes.”

“Then why make it harder on yourself? We just gotta… scrunch up a little, it’s gonna be fine.”

There was a long silence.

“I am not used to sleeping among other people,” Solas said finally, his tone even. He wasn’t used to other people—flesh-and-blood people, that was—in general, Adaar suspected, but she kept it to herself. Right now was probably a bad time to bring that one up.

“Alright, no spooning then,” she said instead and sat down and stretched out along one side of the bedding. Then she remembered she had to get rid of her shoes, untied them, and hucked them against an empty wall. Lying down, the scent of lavender became obvious amid the hay and fur; sprigs had been stuck to the corners to keep bugs away. She’d told him about that trick months ago.

It really was cozy; warm and inviting. She curled onto her side, drawing her feet up, and patted the mattress next to her. Slowly, Solas joined her, folding himself up so he took up even less space than usual. It was still a tight fit, especially since he tried to avoid any real contact beyond the brush of fabric.

“I will attempt to find you once we are dreaming,” he said. “With our current physical proximity it should be an easier task.”

“There’s really nothing else to it? We just fall asleep?”

“It is… difficult to put into words. Question your dreams, if you can. The key is to become aware—awareness begets agency, which in turn begets control.”

Adaar tugged the fur and blanket up to cover them. “Alright. Sleep well?” There was a flash of a smile on Solas’s face before he closed his eyes.

“I shall see you soon.”

It was not soon. Adaar’s mind refused to quiet, anticipation thrumming in her limbs. She kept shifting, unable to relax, and she worried she’d spend the entire night sleepless, when she finally woke up again to a dark, quiet cave.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, then? So was this the Fade? It didn’t feel different. She was sleepy and bleary-eyed just as she would be when waking up in the middle of the night, and a cursory examination of the cave with a bit of conjured light—a spell that behaved no differently than any previous time she’d used it—told her it looked exactly as it had when they had bedded down. Except…

Solas lay tucked against her front, his body warm, his breathing even. His temple rested against her collarbones and his folded legs leaned against her hips. He was curled up as he’d been before, but now it seemed less about making himself smaller, and more about fitting into the curve of her body.

Adaar stared into the darkness. That was… unexpected. Solas didn’t seek out physical contact. Sure, he usually melted into it for one or two seconds when it was offered before pulling away, but nothing like this.

Cautiously, she tried to brace herself on her elbow to get a better look, both at the cave and at him. She bit down on a sharp inhale when pins and needles erupted in the limb, breathing through it with care until the sensation passed. But even on a thorough second look, nothing changed. The cave was still the cave, nothing remotely immaterial about it, and Solas still slept soundly, curled up against her.

Part of her wanted to wake him up. Let him know it hadn’t worked, at least not yet, and try to figure out what might be changed, because merely the thought of consciously walking in the Fade was enough to make her heart beat faster.

But he looked so much younger in his sleep. His features softened and relaxed, like he might actually be at peace. Adaar wasn’t sure she had ever managed to catch him this unguarded. When they were together, it felt like he hardly stopped watching her.

She let out a small sigh and settled back down, gently wrapping one arm around his waist. Hopefully that wouldn’t upset him, if he woke up before her come morning. Right now at least, a soft, sleepy noise slipped from him, and he rolled even more thoroughly into her embrace.

#don't worry solas is gonna get slammed with the pining soon enough #feral verse #adaar #solas #saar gets her own tag #inquisitor x solas #soladaar #time for those tags to make a regular appearance in this verse :3c #art tag #fanart #fic tag #fic related #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i

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magicforjournals · 3 years

Text

The Green Dress (A Story About Loki)

Chapter 5 - Gravity

This is long overdue and I apologize! I hope you like it !! Taglist is still open :)

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Warning : Explicit (18+)

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You’re sitting on the couch, giggling, as you’re watching Loki fumble through your cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, looking for a bottle opener for the wine. He had insisted on ordering pizza for you, since the dinner you had prepared for the two of you was no longer edible, and you had agreed it was a great idea.

“Got it!” he says, waving the bottle opener proudly. A wave of desire washes over you again as you watch him walk over to you, his pants falling loosely on his hips, shirt unbuttoned, his perfect body just taunting you.

He plops down on the couch next to you, smiling tenderly, as you brush his hair out of his eyes, no longer combed back. You can’t help but smile, feeling complete with Loki by your side. The pure happiness you felt in his presence was so overwhelming to you, you’d never felt like this before. Without even knowing him that well, you feel like you belonged together, it was almost magnetic, two pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly together. And as much as you loved this pull between you, it scared you. Terrified you to your very core. And for so many reasons. Loki was… well Loki. He had, in the past, caused so much pain and destruction, to your world, even to you. Granted, you were one of the lucky ones that had not lost family members or friends in the attacks, but you had lost the first home you ever bought. Even though you were never overly materialistic, that loss still stung. But Natasha was right, everyone needed a chance at redemption, and you were not against it. On the contrary, you were a teacher, it was deeply ingrained in you to bring people to see the best in them, to work hard to become a better version of themselves. But, you didn’t want to become a lifeline for him. You didn’t want anyone to depend on you that way. It was different with your students, but Loki was a grown man. In fact, he was a god, from an entirely different world and, you, you were just a simple mortal. How could you make a relationship work? How could you ever measure up to his existence? You just had so many questions, so much was just standing in the balance, too many uncertainties.

“Are you ok?” Loki asks, gently stroking your face and bringing you back to reality.

“Yes,” you smile back at him, pressing your head softly against his touch.

“Would you like some wine?” He offers, handing you a glass.

“Thank you very much.”Nodding slowly.

“Anything for you.” He adds with a wink, making you blush.

“I realize there’s not much we know about each other,” you start, grabbing a slice of pizza, bringing your bare legs under you. After you had finally decided to get out of bed, solely because of your rumbling stomach, you had thrown on the same oversized t-shirt from before and slid on a pair of lace panties.

“Not much indeed, what would you like to know?” Loki answered, his gaze locked on your thick thighs he desperately wanted around his face again.

“I.. uhm… everything?” You chance.

He laughs, your heart swelling at the sound. “We’ll be here for days, my darling,” he replies, stroking your cheek once more, igniting another fire through your stomach.

“I want to get to know you,” you whisper.

Grabbing his own glass of wine, he snuggles in next to you, adjusting his position to face you and resting a gentle hand against your arm. “Well I was raised on Asgard, as you know.” He pauses, hesitates before continuing in a soft voice. “But I was born on Jotunheim, home of the Frost Giants.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage, shocked by the revelation. You had heard of the Frost Giants from Thor’s stories, but you never knew that Loki was one of them. If Thor had ever mentioned it, it certainly wasn’t when you were around. “What happened to your biological parents?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“I know nothing of my birth mother, but my father is Laufey, King of the Frost Giants.” That made sense now that you thought about his last name; Laufeyson. The connection had never occurred to you before. Loki takes a deep breath, “Odin found me when he came to Jotunheim, waging war against the Frost Giants. I had been abandoned in a temple by Laufey, he had deemed me too small and weak to be a Frost Giant and had left me there to die. Odin brought me home and Frigga, my mother, raised me as her own, making sure my Frost Giant appearance remained hidden to others. She did it to ensure my safety. I was a child, and I didn’t understand why she would keep me away from a lot of people, or made sure I didn’t get in trouble, but also treated Thor differently. It was all to keep me safe... I miss her.” He whispers. You knew about the horrible fate Frigga had succumbed to. It had taken quite the toll on Thor, and you couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for Loki to lose his mother. He looks up at you, his beautiful green eyes filled with tears, pain and grief apparent in them. As a single tear falls down his cheek, you realize that this seemingly confident, strong man standing in front of you is still profoundly grieving the only being he truly loved and who truly loved him.

Putting your glass down, you reach over to grab his and set it on the coffee table. Slowly, you climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a deep embrace. His strong arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you even tighter to his chest, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he sighs softly, whispering a low “thank you” against your skin. Pulling away, Loki cradles your face and gazes into your eyes before kissing you ever so softly. You whimper quietly in his mouth, drawing him closer and tightening your thighs around him. The kiss turns into one steamy and full of passion, every kiss he gives you surpasses the previous ones in intensity. It sends shivers down your spine as he runs his hands up your back and into your hair. You could stay here and kiss him forever. With a sigh, he pulls back gently, a quiet protest escaping your lips as he chuckles at your reaction. Blushing violently, you hide your face in his neck, muttering a sad “sorry”, which only makes him giggle harder.

“It’s okay darling, don’t apologize,” Loki whispers in your hair. “I just have to restrain myself, I could spend hours just tasting you.”

The sound of his deep voice as he whispers those words so close to your ear transforms you into a puddle in his lap and you hope he won’t be saying things like that again, or you’ll soak his pants.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” He asks, running his hand up and down your spine. “All I know is that you’re a teacher and you are friends with the Avengers. I want to know more about you.” He adds, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as you turn your head up to meet his eyes.

“My life is pretty boring,” you chuckle. “Is there anything you want to know?”

Loki smiles at you and cradles your face. “I want to know everything.” You laugh before he adds, “why don’t we just start with your favorite food?”

“Uhmmm tough one…” you answer. “I really love sushi, it became my favorite when I moved to the city. But, my mother’s lasagna will probably always be my favorite.”

“You’ll have to make it for me then!” He says, all smiles.

“I would mess it up ! No, no way!”

“Well then, we’ll have to practice to make the perfect lasagna won’t we?” He says, playing with your hair. There’s that we again, you think.

“It’ll take years.” You chance, waiting to see what his answer will be.

“That’s okay.”

“What’s your favorite food?” You ask. “Is it some dish from Asgard?”

“No actually. It might shock you, but I love human food a lot more than Asgardian food.”

“There’s no way Loki!” You laugh. “How can our food be better than Asgardian food?”

“I don’t know,” he replies softly. “It just is. I absolutely love your food! And I do have a preference for pizza, if you couldn’t tell.” He adds, pointing to the box on the coffee table.

Laughter fills the room as you both sit up to grab a slice of pizza. You eat in silence for a little while, just basking in each other’s presence. Once you finish your slices, you lean back down against his chest, cuddling up in his lap.

“Can I ask you another question?” Loki whispers in your ear.

“Mmmhmm,” you nod softly.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 26,” you answer simply, shrugging your shoulders. “How old are you? I mean, do gods even age?”

“Yes”, Loki chuckles. “I do age, just extremely slower than humans... “ Pause. Hesitation? “I was born in 965 A.D.”

“WHAT?!” You shoot up in his lap as if someone had shocked you. “You were born in 965 A.D.?! But that would make you…” Your nose scrunches up as you’re trying to figure out how old Loki really was.

“1054 is the number you’re looking for,” he answers you. 1054 years old… that is… too many lifetimes.

“How… How does that translate in human years?” You whisper, still profoundly confused.

Loki sets you down gently on the couch next to him, and covers you up in the blanket you had discarded while climbing into his lap. “Well, it’s hard to really know how old I am in human years. Asgardians live for approximately 5000 years.” An audible wheeze escapes your lips as you take that in. Loki would outlive you. He would also forget you. “However,” he adds, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m not Asgardians, and I’m unsure on how fast the Frost Giants age. If I were to take a guess, based on my knowledge and research about my origins, I would say that I should be around 28 years old. But it’s really hard to tell, after all I’m younger than Thor by almost 500 years, and he would only be 25 years old.” You shake your head, trying to make sense of all the information that was just thrown at you. Thor was older, but acted - and was - only 25. Did that mean that technically, Loki was even more immature than his brother sometimes? He said he should be around 28, but was he really? Age was never really a big concern of yours. Obviously too young or too old wasn’t ok, but Loki was ancient.

“Does my age bother you?” Loki asks, and his worried tone snaps you back to reality.

“Oh!” you gasp yet again. “No… Not really. At least I don’t think so.” You answer honestly. “I thought you were older, but 1054 just took me by surprise... God, you’re really old Loki!” You say, laughing loudly.

“Yeah I know, my back’s been killing me lately too!” Loki says, following you in your laughter.

You keep laughing as you rest your head on his shoulder. What were you expecting? That he was the same age as you while he comes from a different planet and is a literal deity?

“If there is anything that bothers you about my origins, you would tell me, right darling?” Loki asks after your laughing spurt.

“Yes, of course.” You reply. There was so much you wanted to ask him about where he thought this - you two - was going, how he felt about you, but it was too early for that. You’d only kissed him a handful of times and had slept with him on an impulse. Not that you regretted it, no, never, but it was too early to think of you two as anything else than what you were in the present moment.

You shuffle around on the couch as Loki bends over to grab a slice of pizza and your wine glass, which he hands you. “Could I ask you a couple more questions about your life?” He asks politely.

You giggle as you nod your head.

“Tell me about your family,” he says.

You cuddle up next to him as you tell him about your younger sister and brother, how your parents are still as much in love as the day they met, how your entire family; aunts, uncles and grandparents, are all tightly knit. You tell him how your family is one of the most important parts of your life, how they have always supported you in any decisions you made. You start giggling as you tell him that your parents had even supported your decision of nursing a baby bird, that had fallen out of its nest, back to health when you were about 9 years old. Your mother had no idea how to properly feed a bird that young, or even what to feed it, but it didn’t stop her from doing research and helping you get that little baby back to its parents.

“You are so loving and compassionate,” Loki says, in a soft voice while staring at you with loving eyes. “I’m certain that you are an amazing teacher.”

“I truly hope so. I only want what’s best for my students.”

“I am positive that you are the best teacher out there. I’m curious, what made you decide to become a teacher?” He asks.

“I-I’m not sure... “ you answer. “I always knew that I wanted to help people. I could have become a nurse or a firefighter… but for some reason, teaching was always my calling. I used to help my siblings and the kids in the neighbourhood with their homework every week when I was younger. I guess I just always thought of myself as a teacher.” You add, shrugging.

Loki puts a gentle hand on your cheek, turning your face towards his and giving the softest and most passionate kiss yet. “You are truly amazing,” he whispers against your lips. A goofy smile spreads across your face as he praises you.

“What about you, always wanted to be a trickster,” you ask, winking at him.

“Oh, you think you’re funny! I should change you into a frog.”

“Oh my God no, please have mercy Loki, please!” You plead, moving away from him as quickly as you can.

“Too late!” He grabs you by the ankles and pulls you back towards him, trapping you in his arms. “Now you’re my prisoner, however, maybe I should keep you like this, I like you better as a human.” “What a compliment, O mighty Loki.” You tease him.

He starts laughing, as he pulls you in closer.

“You know, in the past, I would’ve given anything to hear people call me that... Not anymore.” He says, stroking your cheek. “You know... I regret my actions. I’ve come to the realization, in the last couple of years, that power was my way to feel retaliate. I thought that if I had power, I could be important, people would notice me like they noticed my brother. I was really angry with everyone, with the world, for what had happened to me as a child. I didn’t realize that my mother had tried to protect me, a baby that was brought to her quite unexpectedly. I was angry with Odin for treating me differently. I was angry with Laufey for abandoning me. I was angry with Thor for always seeming so perfect…” Loki pauses, taking a deep breath. “It wasn’t until after my mother’s death and I took my father’s throne,” he offers you a crooked, apologetic smile, “that I truly realized that power wasn’t what I thought it was, it wasn’t happiness. I had lost my mother, and I could never tell her how truly grateful I was that she had taken me in, loved me and raised me as her own. I have made my peace with my father and my brother, and I have been working relentlessly to make up for my past actions… But I know that trust, once broken, isn’t easily fixed.”

“You know,” you say, taking his face between your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Everyone is deserving of a second chance.”

“But what happens if they mess up their second chance?” He whispers between your hands.

“Third time’s a charm,” you shrug. “I used to be angry at you Loki... for attacking the city, destroying homes… my home. B-”

“I destroyed your home?!” he interrupts you, sitting up quickly, pushing you to the edge of his lap. “How.. When.. I-I’m so sorry.” He adds, tears slowly filling up his eyes.

“It’s ok. I mean, I’m over it now… I think at the time it was harder because it was the first home I had ever purchased. But I had just moved in, barely any of my things were there. So I didn’t lose everything.” Loki looks at you in horror, you can see the pain in his eyes as you tell him how his attacks on the city affected you.

“I should leave,” he says, trying to lift you off of him, as you repeat over and over again that it’s ok. “You should not be here with me, I’ve hurt you. You should be angry with me. Why are you not angry with me?!”

“Loki,” you say, your tone firm, grabbing his face between your hands again. “It’s in the past. The house, it was just wood, something that can be rebuilt. I’m ok, my belongings are ok, I didn’t lose anything that was extremely important to me. A house is just a house.”

“No, it was your home.” He whispers, avoiding your eyes.

“You’re wrong,” you tell him softly, his eyes darting back up to meet yours. “My home is wherever and with whoever I choose it to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Loki says quickly before bringing your face to his and kissing you passionately. He keeps kissing you with more and more passion, whispering soft “sorrys” as his hands make his way up to your hair, fingers getting lost.

You moan softly as you bring yourself closer to him, slowly grinding your hips along his lap. He wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you in tight, deepening your kiss. You can feel him getting harder under you, pushing gently against you and making you so wet. In one quick movement, you’re on your back on the couch, Loki towering above you.

“I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you,” he says softly. “I know I can’t make it up to you, but I need you to know that I will try. I will beg for your forgiveness if that’s what it takes. You are important to me. I don’t know why, but I can’t stay away from you, I can’t stop thinking about you. I need to be close to you.” He adds before kissing you again, almost desperately this time, making you moan. You want him, you want all of him. You were mad, you were upset, but what’s past is past. And Loki seems genuinely sorry about his past, and you believe in second, even third chances. And right now, you just want his lips, his hands on you.

You wrap your arms around his neck as he kisses you, pulling him closer, needing his body against yours. Loki moves his lips to your neck, sliding his hands down the length of your body, grabbing your thigh tightly, a moan escaping your lips. You grind your hips up to meet him, rubbing against his erection. You want him inside of you, you want to feel him pulsing and throbbing as he makes love to you. Slowly, his hand that was groping your thigh moves to the inside of it, making its way to your panties. You feel him run a painfully slow finger along the lace of it, right over your needy clit and you gasp, begging him to just touch you. Pushing the fabric to the side, Loki starts drawing little circles around your clit as you pump your hips up, trying to get the friction you desperately need. He chuckles as he starts rubbing faster, and then he slides a long finger inside of your soaking folds, replacing his finger on your clit with his thumb. Catching your lips again, trapping your moans in your throat, he starts pumping his finger, getting faster and faster before he adds a second finger, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck Loki, I’m gonna cum,” you moan out.

“Cum for me darling, cum around my fingers.” He groans at you.

His words alone push you over the edge and you whimper loudly as you cum all over his fingers, walls clenching down around him, your body shaking from your orgasm.

“Such a good girl,” Loki says, bringing his fingers to his mouth, tasting you.

With shaky legs, you stand up, stripping out of your shirt and soaked underwear. He looks at you with hungry eyes, devouring every inch of your body. He watches you as you kneel down between his legs, undoing his pants and sliding them off. His dick is bulging under his boxers and your mouth waters at the sight of it. Slowly, you reach for it, rubbing your hand along the length of it, Loki’s moan escaping his lips. He lifts his butt up for you to slide off his boxers, releasing his throbbing cock. Grabbing it in your hand, you stroke him slowly, licking the tiny bead of precum pearling at the tip, before licking the length of him, making him groan under your touch. Standing up, you straddle him on the couch, lining him up with your soaking cunt. Gripping your hips, Loki gently pulls you down on him, his thick cock filling you beautifully. You stay there for a second, savoring the feeling of each other, before you start to ride him slowly. Leaning his head back on the back of the couch, he moans as he grips your hips tighter, letting you ride him at your own pace. Leaning down to kiss his neck, you grind your hips on him, making him growl under you. You begin to ride him faster, harder, bouncing on his lap as his dick hits that spot inside of you that you didn’t know existed until tonight and you feel yourself getting closer as you ride him.

“F-Fuck, you’re so big Loki.” You moan, grinding your hips, looking for some kind of friction on your clit to get you off.

“Don’t talk like that, I- I won’t last.” He replies, his hand dipping in between the two of you, thumb starting to rub tight circles around your clit as if he understood your grinding.

“Oh fuck Loki!” You scream as his digit meets your tiny ball of nerves.

“I-I’m so close, don’t stop.”

Gripping your hips tighter with one hand and rubbing faster with the other, Loki brings you to your fourth orgasm of the night. You let out a choked out scream as you cum all over his dick, walls again clamping around him, and milking him as he cums with you. Slowly, you ride out your orgasms, holding each other close. Loki cups your face as your body starts shaking, and kisses you gently.

“You are amazing,” he whispers against your lips.

“I could say the same about you,” you whisper back. “However, I now need a shower.” You add giggling.

“I will take my leave then, give you some privacy.”

You flutter around him before any words leave your lips and he smiles at you, feeling you clench. “I don’t want you to leave.” You say.

“Alright darling, I won’t leave until you ask me to.” He answers, stroking your cheek and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Getting off of him and walking to your bathroom, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. Loki follows close behind and wraps his bare arms around your waist as you turn the shower on. Showering together, you keep teasing one another, lathering soap up excruciatingly slow, lingering touches, soft kisses. There’s a moment where he freaks out, turning almost hysteric, as he rubs soap between your legs, realizing that he came inside of you twice tonight. With a laugh, you reassure him that you’re on birth control and there’s very little possibility you’ll get pregnant. He let out the biggest sigh ever, telling you he should’ve been more careful regardless because he didn’t want to upset your life.

When you step out of the shower, you notice the clock for the first time that night and gasp at how late it is. Following your gaze, Loki apologizes for taking up so much of your time.

“Don’t you dare apologize, tonight was amazing.” You say, getting up on the tip of your toes to kiss him.

Wrapping his arms around you again, Loki kisses you back before whispering how the thought of leaving you tonight pains him.

“Stay,” you whisper back.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“Yes.”

As you lay in your bed, Loki’s arms wrapped around you, you can’t help but feel at peace. You’ve never felt this happy before, never felt like you truly belonged somewhere. But in Loki’s arms, you feel complete and slowly, you drift off to sleep.

———

The sun coming through your window and warming up your face is what wakes you up the following morning. Loki’s arms are still around you and you can’t help but stare at his angelic face. His black hair all in disarray from sleeping with wet hair, his face relaxed with sleep, you could look at him forever. Glancing over his shoulder, you see that your alarm clock is showing 7:45am. You overslept! Classes start in an hour, and you need to be at school before 8:30.

“Loki,” you say, gently shaking him awake. “Loki, we need to get up. We overslept, I’m gonna be late for work.”

“Mmmm…?” He groans at first. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“Stop apologizing,” you laugh. “Just get your butt out of my bed.”

“Yes ma’am!” He says, shooting up and running to the living room to put his clothes on.

Rushing to your closet, you throw on your favorite dress with a pair of nylons and knee high boots before putting your hair in a bun and wiping the mascara from under your eyes. Thankfully, your makeup from the night prior wasn’t really smudged and was therefore acceptable for you to wear at work. Grabbing your glasses, you walk out to your living room to see Loki by the front door, with your bags in hand and a banana plucked from your kitchen counter along with your to-go coffee mug. You see the coffee machine is shutting off after use.

“Breakfast,” he says, waving the banana at you. “I’m driving you to school, so you can drink your coffee and eat.”

“Loki, you don’t have to.”

“I insist, you’re late because of me.” He argues. “Let’s go now!”

You giggle as you grab your coat and keys, locking your door and making your way to his car. The ride to school isn’t a long one and you chomp down your banana while he sings along to the music on the radio, making you smile.

As he pulls up in the parking lot, he tugs on your shirt, pulling you in for a soft kiss. Sighing against his lips, you wish you could stay with him all day. Loki gets out of the car and walks around to the passenger side to open your door.

Extending his hand to you, he helps you out of the car, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. “Can I see you again tonight?” He asks, flashing you that smile that makes your inside twist.

“Not tired of me yet?” You giggle in his arms. “I would love to see you again tonight, but it’s test day today, which means I’ll have about 60 copies to grade tonight. My coffee machine will be working all night.” You add.

“How about I come to cook you an amazing dinner, which I promise won’t burn this time,” he winks at you. “I just want to make sure you eat a proper meal. I’ll leave afterwards if you don’t want me to stay, I promise.” He proposes.

“Uhmmmm….” You reply. “That does sound tempting. Pick me up at 4 then?”

“It’s a date darling.” Loki says, leaning forward to kiss your lips softly.

He grabs your bags out of the back seat and kisses you once more before letting you go. As you walk away, you feel an emptiness settle in the pit of your stomach. You can’t help but turn around to see Loki standing, driver side door open, watching you walk away from him. The way he’s looking at you, adoration in his eyes, makes you want to run back to him. This feeling between you, this attraction, this need to be with the other, it’s as if gravity itself was pulling you towards each other. Unexplainably, you knew, at that moment, that he was your world now, and you were his.

@kingtwhiddleston

#loki x reader #loki x you #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki smut #marvel #marvel fanfic series #mcu #Avengers #tom hiddleston #reader insert #the green dress #green dress a story about loki

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alittlebitmaybe · 3 years

Text

tying you to me

For @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: crafting

Pairing: Geraskier, implied Geralt/Yen in one line

Rating: T for language

Warnings: None

Summary:

As they lay in bed, Jaskier snuggled and breathing humid against his chest hair, Geralt remembers the pattern from Novigrad. A sweater with stretchy ribbing around the wrists and bottom hemline, a high collar. Intricate cabling criss-crossing up the front, making the fabric thick and sturdy. The scroll is stuffed into one of his saddlebags where he’d put it after purchase when he’d cursed himself for wasting the coin.

Jaskier snuffles closer, his grip tightening around Geralt’s waist as he soaks the added warmth through his skin, and Geralt has an idea.

Or: Geralt doesn't know about the boyfriend sweater curse.

Read more on AO3 or below the cut!

Geralt learned to knit out of necessity. Winters in Kaedwen, especially up in the mountains, are bitter cold, and require not only animal skins but woolen socks, hats, scarves, blankets. They keep a flock of sheep for the very purpose. And before—when there were others, even occasionally a proper staff—it would be part of the normal workings of the castle to have several sets of hands dedicated to knitting up useful garments to keep them from freezing their balls off when the frost came.

There are fewer hands now, but also fewer balls in danger of freezing. Geralt and Vesemir handle the bulk of it, these days—Eskel with fingers too big and clumsy to be much help, Lambert too fidgety and quick to rip out all his progress into a tangled mess of wool in a fit of frustration. In the evenings they sit by the great hall fire in mostly silence and take turns spinning the roving into yarn, winding skeins, chipping away at the endless miles of plain stocking stitch, and seaming panels together. (Sometimes Geralt will embellish the design with cables, or a moss stitch—unconventional patterns he’s started to see in the larger cities, sold by the fancier merchants. He may have paid a few crowns for the scroll describing the pattern for one particular sweater he saw in a shop in Novigrad. He has not mentioned this to Vesemir.)

It may be necessity, but Geralt would choose it even if it wasn’t. These are the things his hands are good for: wielding a sword; harvesting various glands and organs; curling into fists; crushing windpipes; skinning rabbits. Bandaging Ciri’s scrapes. Bringing Yen’s pleasure. Curling around the back of Jaskier’s neck, drawing their lips together. And, when it’s over, when there’s nothing to kill and no one to care for, he can create. He can put it all to the side and count off to himself, knit-purl, knit-purl, knit-purl, knit, knit, knit, around and around, back and forth, and this thing will grow from the rhythm of his fingers, from the steady loop and pull that he’s done thousands of times, taught by some witcher instructor decades ago whose name he no longer recalls. He had bushy eyebrows that waggled as he worked. That’s all the memory that’s left of him.

Anyway, it’s easy to allow the hours to pass until Vesemir excuses himself to bed and the fire burns down and takes the light with it. One such night, just as Geralt is squinting at his work to finish this one last row, the hall door creaks open.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says sleepily, “are you still in here? ‘S late, love.”

Knit, knit, knit. “Mm,” says Geralt. “I’m here. Just finishing up.”

“I’ll wait for you, then.” Jaskier pads in his sockfeet across the stone to the armchair Geralt occupies. He sits himself on the rug with his back against Geralt’s legs, knees pulled up to his chest. “Brr. ‘S chilly, too.”

Geralt drops the needle in his right hand, maintaining tension on the working yarn with his left. He runs his free hand through Jaskier’s bed-mussed hair, brushes against his cold ear, down to the soft skin behind it. “Not wearing a coat.”

“Well I wasn’t heading outside, seemed like a—” He yawns, jaw cracking. “—a lot of trouble just to come downstairs. But I now see my mistake.”

“Always have to wear a coat at night,” Geralt says. “Or be under blankets. Or both.”

“Or acquire a personal witcher furnace, unless he’s down here ‘til gods know what hour making yet more mittens for the princess.”

Geralt looks down at the large rectangle he’s been working on. “Lap blanket,” he says. For Ciri, when she’s studying in the library. It gets drafty in there even with the fire blazing.

“For the library?” says Jaskier, tipping his head back to see Geralt. “Good thinking. She’ll love it.”

Geralt releases him and goes back to his work, but knits at most ten stitches before Jaskier shivers again, his teeth chattering before he gets himself under control. Setting the blanket aside, middle of the row be damned, he concedes, “Let’s go back to bed.”

“No, you’re—you’re not done with—” Jaskier cannot finish his sentence for the yawn that overtakes him. “M’kay. Let’s go.”

Jaskier snuffles closer, his grip tightening around Geralt’s waist as he soaks the added warmth through his skin, and Geralt has an idea.

The next evening, after dinner has been consumed and cleaned up, Vesemir and Geralt move to the fire as usual. Vesemir is working up a new hat for Lambert, who has the shortest hair among them and has one practically pasted to his head all winter long.

Geralt spares a glance to his blanket-in-progress, and then veers toward the wooden chest that stores their yarn stash. He puts aside plain ball after plain ball, until finally he admits defeat and turns to Vesemir and asks, “Do we have any dye?”

“No,” says Vesemir, not looking up. He knits with the yarn looped around the back of his neck to keep the tension, instead of around his fingers. He says it’s easier on his old joints. Geralt thinks it looks preposterous, but it gets the job done. “Not a drop. And that’s never bothered you before.”

“I’m thinking of making a gift,” says Geralt. “I think they’d prefer it to be dyed.”

“Ah, the bard. Yes. I suppose he would.”

“I want him to actually wear it.”

“Indeed.”

“He says coats are too bulky and ponderous, and they dampen his spirits.”

“Foolish boy. He’ll learn.”

“So we have no dye? Of any color?”

“None,” says Vesemir. “Though it may be that there are some old skeins in the back of the cupboard by the linens. I recall that some of our forebears had rather expensive taste, for witchers. Quite wasteful of them. If you ask me.”

Geralt murmurs his thanks, pulls on a cloak, and makes his way through the frozen corridors to the cabinet in the laundry. Along the way he passes the study, and overhears Eskel dominating Jaskier in another round of Gwent.

“Eskel, you dirty cheating bastard, there is no way you just had that card.”

“Where d’you think I kept it, bard?”

“Up your sleeve, behind your ear, under the table, I dunno—”

“Down your pants,” Lambert chimes in, and Geralt hears Ciri giggle. She’s been spending too much time with the witchers now that Yen has departed for the season. Geralt should probably intervene more often.

“—maybe you magicked me with a sign thingy so I wouldn’t notice, but I’m sure you didn’t have it in hand a turn ago, I’ll swear that on—”

“Yes, Lambert, I’ve got Gwent cards lining my codpiece, naturally, even a few stuffed between my—”

Geralt rounds the corner and their voices fade away.

As Vesemir said, there is a small box pushed all the way to the back of the cupboard in amongst the linens. He opens it without much hope, but is surprised to find it full to the brim with yarn of deep reds and blues, all of some soft texture very unlike the itchy wool they’re accustomed to. Sniffing it, he decides it is from some type of goat. He also decides, based on its lack of musty odor, that it is not nearly old enough to have belonged to one of their forebears.

Well, in exchange for the use of the yarn, he’ll allow Vesemir his secret.

He carries the whole lot back to the great hall.

“You found it,” Vesemir remarks, now nearly done with the hat.

“Right where you said,” says Geralt. “You don’t mind if I use it?”

“As much as you like,” he replies disinterestedly, “if you’ll leave me the fuck alone while you do.”

Fair enough.

Geralt selects the red—a deep burgundy that will pair with the blush on Jaskier’s cheeks after a few glasses of wine. He pulls the scroll from his trouser pocket, and begins casting on as the pattern instructs.

When he hears Jaskier’s tread in the hall, he hastily pulls the half-finished lap blanket over his new project.

“Bedtime, Witcher,” says Jaskier, peering over his shoulder. “Didn’t make much progress on that tonight, did you?”

“It’s a big blanket,” Geralt grunts. “Eskel’s been practicing sleight of hand since we were boys. Don’t play him for money.”

“I bloody knew it,” Jaskier exclaims. He wheels around and stomps back out of the hall, suitably distracted. “Eskel! You’ll never believe what Geralt’s just told me!”

The sweater is slow going, since he does have to put real work into the blanket every once in a while to keep Jaskier’s suspicions to heel.

Over the next few weeks, it becomes near an open secret in the keep what Geralt is up to. Lambert catches him cursing late one evening as he is ripping back several rows to fix a cable he’d mistakenly crossed the wrong way.

“Whazzat,” Lambert says, crunching on a mouthful of tree nuts.

“Fuck off,” Geralt says. He squints and carefully tries to secure a dropped loop back on the needle. If it ladders down, he’s done for—there’ll be no fixing it while maintaining the pattern. He’s not nearly good enough for that.

“Looks like you’re fucking it up,” Lambert chews.

“I am. That’s why I told you to fuck off.”

“Thought that’s just how you decided to greet me now. That’s what Vesemir does.” He shoves another fistful of nuts into his mouth, though Geralt isn’t sure he’s swallowed the first.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

He manages to pick up that last loop before disaster strikes, and moves the stitches around on the needles to make sure they all look right. Then he shoves the left-hand stitches all the way up to the tip so he can continue.

Lambert leans down to examine the fabric, then runs his finger down the pattern with his eyebrow raised. “This is some fancy shit, Geralt, you giant poof.”

“It’s not for me,” he says.

Lambert swallows, belches, and says, “My point exactly. ‘S for Jaskier, innit.”

Geralt doesn’t bother answering as he approaches the cable he’d made a mess of the first time around. Lambert claps him on the shoulder with the hand he’s been using as a nut-to-mouth delivery tool, which leaves salt behind on his tunic.

“That’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks,” says Geralt wryly.

“Anyway, I’m outta here. This boring bullshit still gives me hives.”

He exits the hall and the door shuts heavily behind him. Geralt finishes recrossing the cable and, turning to check his pattern, finds it covered in greasy fingerprints.

Eskel, on the other hand, sits himself in Vesemir’s usual seat one night and sets to quietly whittling a whistle. After several hours, Geralt holds up the near completed front panel of his sweater and says, “Do you think Jaskier will like this?”

Eskel doesn’t even look at it. “Geralt, you could spit on a log and hand it to him and Jaskier would love it.” His knife stills. “Maybe don’t do that, though.”

To their credit, none of the other witchers say a word—possibly for lack of caring—and Geralt is able to rely on them to keep Jaskier occupied most nights while he finishes the front and back panels and seams them up.

Before he begins work on the sleeves, the pattern warns, the wearer should try on the body to ensure proper fit.

“Well, shit,” he says aloud. He can’t ask Jaskier to try it on and ruin the surprise. He holds it up against himself, trying to judge if they are similar enough size to judge whether it will fit Jaskier. Geralt, certainly, is wider in the chest and shoulders, but as long as he can get it on without stretching it too much he should be able to check the length. And, if it fits Geralt or is loose, it will certainly be too large on Jaskier.

It will have to do.

The next morning he rises early and takes the sack in which he’s been storing his project to Ciri’s bedroom. He knocks softly.

“Ciri?” he calls, mouth close to the door. “Can I use your mirror for a moment?”

“Mnnngh,” he hears. He takes this as an invitation.

The only visible part of her, when he lets himself in, is a tangle of hair escaping from under the pile of furs on the bed. He sets his sack delicately in front of the only full-length mirror in the keep and says, “Morning, Princess.”

“F’ off,” the fur pile groans. “No it’s not.”

“You really have been spending too much time with Lambert,” Geralt comments mildly as he pulls the unfinished sweater out and checks it for damage in transport, though he knows it was safe in the bag and only traveled up some stairs. “He’s a bad influence.”

“I’ve always been like this when rudely awakened at the crack of dawn,” Ciri says, muffled. “Don’t think any of you are special.”

“You cursed at the royal servants?”

“Quite regularly.”

Geralt shrugs the layers off his top half down to his undershirt while she continues to stretch and grumble wordlessly in the warmth of her bed. He pulls the sweater over his head; the neckline snags on his ears but otherwise he should be okay to try to get his arms in. He squeezes his right arm in and up, aiming for the proper hole—

“Geralt,” Ciri says icily, “what, by the gods, is that?”

He turns around, contorted in the confines of the too-tight sweater. She’s sitting up with her hair a wild tangle and her eyes wide in horror. “What’s what?”

“That garment!”

“It’s…a sweater? I’m making it.”

Geralt thinks he may be missing something very important.

“For yourself?”

“…No, for Jaskier. He needs another—”

“Don’t you care about the curse?”

Geralt finishes fitting himself into the sweater and tugs it down over his stomach while Ciri continues to stare at him in expectant horror. Thus no longer trapped, he decides to engage. “The what?”

Ciri slumps forward, briefly puts her face in her hands. “Good gods, Geralt, you really can’t be helped. But I also cannot allow you to give Jaskier a handmade sweater. Despite your…personal challenges”—at this, Geralt tilts his head and opens his mouth to ask exactly what the hell that means, but she barrels on—“I really have become fond of the two of you, so I cannot let you carry on with this foolish nonsense.”

Her voice goes more posh the longer speaks. Geralt thinks she will make a fine queen someday. “Ciri, I—”

“And really,” she continues, “it’s like you’re trying to sabotage a good thing. He does nothing but care for you, and this is how you repay him? Honestly. Melitele’s tits!”

“Melitele’s—? Where did you learn that one?”

“I’m hardly sheltered. And you’re one to talk, caring about my language when you’re about to lose Jaskier for good!”

“For good? Lose Jask—okay, Ciri.” He sits down at the foot of her bed, probably looking downright silly confined to a sleeveless sweater that is at least one size too small for him. He can feel it constricting the rise and fall of his chest and stretching tight in his armpits. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. What curse?”

The expression she aims at him is sharper than at least four of the blades in the armory. “The sweater curse, Geralt. If one makes a sweater for a person one is interested in romantically, that person leaves within a fortnight. Everyone knows this.”

“Oh, of course. How stupid of me,” Geralt says.

Ciri raises an eyebrow that says Yes, obviously.

“So you’re telling me that if I finish this sweater and give it to Jaskier, he will suddenly no longer be able to stand the sight of me and will stomp off on down the mountain, even with the good foot of snow and ice blocking the path.”

She sniffs. “Indubitably.”

“Hmm,” says Geralt. “I think I’ll take my chances.” He claps his hands on his knees as he stands and moves back to the mirror to inspect the sizing more closely. The armholes are definitely a bit small—he’ll have to let out the seam to increase the circumference—but the rest, if he tries to overlay Jaskier’s body onto his own, seems like it should be about right.

Ciri leaves the bed with a fur wrapped around her as a cape and comes to his side. “You’re impossible,” she declares, though the royal snootiness is diminished somewhat by her morning breath and tangled hair. Then she reaches out and touches the textured pattern between the cable running up the front. “Though, you know, it is quite beautiful, if horribly misguided.”

He grins indulgently at her. “Thank you, Princess.”

“Have you heard of the sweater curse?”

Vesemir snorts. “Poppycock. Who told you about that old superstition?”

“Just came across it.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Vesemir looks at Geralt over his spectacles. “I hope that it’s not bothering you.”

“No,” says Geralt. “Of course not.”

He has fuck-all in his hand of cards, but he stares down at them like they might contain the secrets of the Continent.

“It’s your turn, Geralt,” Eskel says.

“I know,” he replies, absently rearranging the cards.

“So…you gonna play or pass?” Lambert asks. He digs his hand into the bowl of nuts at his elbow.

“Not sure.”

“Is something on your mind?” Eskel, again.

“No. Well…do either of you believe in the sweater curse?”

They both look at him blankly.

“Nuh uh,” says Lambert with his mouth full.

Geralt says, “Pass.”

He speaks clearly into the xenovox. “Yen? Are you there?”

“Geralt?” comes the reply, as if she were beside him in the room. “Is Ciri all right?”

“We’re all fine. It’s good to hear from you, too.”

“If there’s no trouble, then make it quick.”

Now he hesitates, but he chokes the question out anyway. “Do you know about the sweater curse?”

There is silence.

“Yen?”

“For the love of the gods, Geralt, please don’t bother me with frivolous garbage. I’m much too busy. Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all,” Geralt says, suitably shamed.

The finished, washed, and blocked sweater rests folded at the bottom of his wardrobe for more than a week before he works up the nerve to bring it down to dinner with him in his knitting sack.

Even with the flaws that Geralt, as the creator, inevitably notices—a few loose stitches three quarters down the back panel, the right sleeve is slightly longer than the left—he has to admit that it turned out well. He could fetch a pretty penny for it in a large city. Silky soft, thick, and vivid burgundy, it would be a stand-out piece among any merchant’s wares even without the detailing that stretches collar to hem and even down the outside of the arms.

Knitting it was a nightmare. He will never do anything like it ever again, so Jaskier had better appreciate this one.

Still, every time he resolves to finally gift it, Ciri’s words echo in the back of his mind. You’re about to lose Jaskier for good.

On the ninth day, he shushes that voice, takes the sack, and marches straight into the hall for dinner. After all, if Yen and Vesemir aren’t worried, then he shouldn’t be either.

Everyone but Jaskier is there already. Eskel looks up from pouring ale into each mug and says, “Hullo, Geralt. What do you have there?” and Lambert says, “Ooh, didja finish it?” and Vesemir digs wordlessly into his mutton.

Ciri’s eyes zero in on the sack.

“Hello,” says Geralt. “Is Jaskier still washing up?”

“Yeah,” says Lambert. “He fell in a pile of snow.”

“Lambert pushed him into a pile of snow,” Eskel amends.

Geralt glares at the accused, setting the sack on the bench at his usual spot.

“He asked for it. Bloody said ‘Lambert, throw me into that snow over there!’ didn’t he?”

“Since you were alone with him at the time, I don’t think I can confirm or deny—”

“Geralt,” Ciri interrupts, “tell me you’re not still planning what you said.”

“I am,” he tells her.

“You were standing not ten feet away.”

“My back was turned—”

“You’re a godsdamned witcher! Or have you gone deaf?”

“Even after what I told you! I thought you were going to think about it!” Ciri pushes back from the table. “I forbid you from giving that to him.”

Geralt snorts. “Or what, Princess? Look, I don’t think Jaskier is planning to leave—”

“Of course he’s not planning to, the curse will make him! Why are you tempting destiny this way?”

“I’m just saying, Lambert, that it wouldn’t be out of your character to shove an unsuspecting bard into a snowbank.”

“Oh, and hustling him at Gwent wasn’t out of your character, so maybe you’re actually the one who shoved him. Thought about that one, Eskel?”

Geralt says, “If he tries to leave, I’ll tie him to the bed until the urge passes.”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust, but then moves past that comment. “At least let me give it to him. I’ll say I brought it from Cintra, or bought it on the way here.”

“And let my hard work go unacknowledged? I don’t think so. And why would you have bought a man’s sweater?”

Among the arguments, no one notices Jaskier enter the hall and come up behind Vesemir, wide eyed. “What did I miss?” he stage whispers.

“Just open your present, bard,” Vesemir mutters, gesturing to the sack at Geralt’s knee.

“Ooh, a present? For little old me?”

He picks up the sack and tests the weight curiously, before opening it and drawing out the most marvelous sweater he has ever seen.

“Jaskier, no!” Ciri cries, and everyone else falls quiet.

“What, why?” he says, looking between Ciri’s stricken face and the furrow between Geralt’s brows. “What is this?”

“It’s for you,” Geralt murmurs. “I made it.”

“You made it?” he repeats dumbly.

“Yes. For you. Because you were…cold.”

“Because I was cold?”

Geralt gently takes it from him and holds it up so he can see the full design. “That night, you came in when I was knitting, and you were cold. I wanted to make you something warm to wear that you would like.”

Jaskier squishes the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

“Do you,” says Geralt, “like it?”

“It’s stunning,” Jaskier breathes. Geralt may as well have hit him over the head with a hammer.

“I cannot believe you, Geralt of Rivia,” Ciri cuts in. “You never listen to anyone. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” With that, she turns on her heel and leaves the hall.

Geralt grimaces. “Do you, er, have any particular desire to leave me?”

“Leave you? Why would I—Geralt, is this a breakup gift? Is it pity?” He panics, pushing the sweater back into Geralt’s hands. “I don’t want your gorgeous pity breakup sweater, Geralt. I’ve played that game before.”

Geralt steadies him, as ever. “No, it’s—Ciri thinks there’s a curse, or something. And that if I made you a sweater, you would leave.”

“Oh,” says Jaskier. “Well, I assure you I will not. And in that case I do want the sweater.” He shucks off his coat right there at the table and pulls the sweater on over his tunic. “There!” He spreads his hands wide. “How does it look?”

The smile Geralt gives him is answer enough. “Perfect,” he says. “You look perfect.”

“Not bad, bard,” Eskel says.

Lambert shoots him a thumbs up. Vesemir does not appear to be paying attention.

Jaskier leans in and kisses Geralt on the lips. “Thank you very much,” he whispers. “I adore it and promise to thank you more appropriately later tonight. For now, shall I go after Ciri?”

“That may be best,” Geralt says. “I don’t think she likes me much right now.”

“My pleasure. Say,” he says louder, “while I’m gone, don’t let my food get cold.” He opens the door and barely feels the usual chill of the drafty hallways at all. Over his shoulder, he adds, “You can get Lambert to tell you all how he threw me in a snow pile today! It was great fun!”

“I told you—” he hears, but then the door closes behind him.

#my fic #geraskier #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #someone pls teach me to write drabbles i'm dying

168 notes · View notes

curlyy-hair-dont-care · 3 years

Text

Floral Pistachio

“We have to go there, Papa. It's grandma and my favourite,” Scorpius cried excitedly, dragging Draco by the hand. “That’s the shop right there,” he squealed and made a dash for it.

Draco jogged the last few feet and entered the shop called L’etoile . He leaned against a counter to catch his breath but the sight in front of him stole it away once again.

There was Scorpius, seated on a table top chattering away with none other than Harry Potter himself.

“Scorpius! What have I told you about running on the streets!” Draco chided, finally finding his tongue.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” the five-year-old pouted before resuming munching on a chocolate éclair.

When did he get that? “What are you eating, Scorp?”

“Chocolate éclair,” he mumbled, cream and chocolate smeared around his little mouth. “Harry always lets me try the specials of the day.”

Harry laughed and gently wiped the boy’s face with a napkin as Draco gaped at them.

“That’s not polite, Scorp,” he sputtered.

“Grandma doesn't mind, and I always thank Harry,” he said indignantly and Harry hid a snort.

Draco huffed and made a mental note to have a word about all of this with his mother. But not today. Today was her birthday and they needed to get back on task, which was buying her favourite cake from her favourite bakery as per Scorpius.

“I’m sorry, Potter. Please allow me to pay for this.”

“Please, it’s on the house. I can’t charge my little taste tester and critic here!” Harry grinned. “So what can I get for y’all today?”

“We’re looking for the ‘Floral Pistachio?’” Draco fumbled glancing at Scorpius who nodded effusively.

“It’s grandma’s birthday and she likes pistachios.”

“Great choice!” Harry beamed at Scorpius. “I just baked one this morning!” he turned and smiled at Draco. “It's got pistachios – obviously – cardamom, rosewater, a hint of lemon, balsamic-soaked strawberries and refreshing rose buttercream.”

Harry brought out a beautiful cake frosted in baby pink and pistachio green, topped with beautiful piped roses. “I just finished piping these before you arrived,” he proudly displayed his creation as Draco looked at it in awe while Scorpius eyed it hungrily. He had evidently inherited his sweet tooth from his dad.

“It’s also known as the Persian Love Cake,” Harry continued, “The story behind the name is that once upon a time there was a Persian woman madly in love with a prince. To make him fall in love with her, she baked him this cake, filled with magical love powers,” Harry said wistfully before remembering his audience. “I’m so sorry, I get carried away sometimes,” he blushed. “So, ‘Floral Pistachio’… I’ll pack it up.”

While Harry packed up the cake, Scorpius dragged Draco to the display case and showed him all his favourite confections.

“Will that be all?” Harry asked.

Draco hesitated. “Could we also have a box of the éclairs Scorp was having? They looked delicious.”

“Of course! These are on the house for my favourite customer,” Harry said as he handed over the items.

“Oh, no, Potter, we can't –”

“I insist! And please wish Narcissa a happy birthday from me.”

Draco nodded as Scorpius piped up, “We’re having a party for Grandma tonight, you should come, Harry!”

“Oh, I wouldn't want to impose,” Harry mumbled.

Draco’s not sure what made him do this, but he added, “You should come. I’m sure Mother would like that. Andy and Teddy will be there, too.”

“Yesss, pleaseeee, Harry,” Scorpius pleaded.

“Okay,” he relented.

Scorpius cheered as Draco gave him the time and Floo details before leaving the store.

Draco spent the rest of the day in a daze. Harry Potter was coming over for dinner tonight.

Harry spent the rest of the day with a smile on his face and a skip in his step.

At 6 pm sharp, Harry stepped out of the Floo at Malfoy Manor. He had left the bakery early, requesting Luna to cover the last few hours for him. After a quick change of clothes, he’d nipped to Grimmauld Place’s wine cellar to select a bottle of wine and picked up a delicate bouquet of blue agapanthus, white oriental lilies and large white roses.

Teddy and Andy were already there and Narcissa greeted him warmly. They made small talk, drank, ate and laughed. Harry was seated next to Draco during dinner and they chatted about Scorpius and Teddy, Draco’s job, and Harry's bakery. It was an unsurprisingly comfortable evening.

After dinner, they all retired to the living room. Draco played a few songs on the piano before cutting Narcissa’s birthday cake.

“Oh, this is simply gorgeous, Harry!” Andromeda gasped when the cake was brought out.

“Absolutely divine as always!” Narcissa raved after taking a dainty bite.

Once Scorpius had finished his second slice of cake, Draco decided it was time for bed. “Come on darling, you’ve had a long day, it’s time for bed,” Draco cooed and gently lifted his son off the sofa.

“Oh sit, Draco, I’ll put him to bed, it's Teddy’s bedtime as well,” Andy said as she took Scorpius from Draco’s arms.

The teen looked like he was about to protest but a look from Andy had him shutting up.

“Can cousin Teddy read me a bedtime story? He does the best impressions!” Scorpius asked cheerfully.

“Oh yes, Nan, can I, please?” Teddy asked, his hair turning a shade of platinum blond to match Scorpius.

“Oh alright, but just one story and you must brush your teeth and change into your jammies first,” Andy relented. “Now say goodbye to everyone and head upstairs.”

After a series of goodbyes and goodnights and I love yous and hugs, the kids went upstairs.

“I should get going too,” Harry said.

“Oh,” Draco replied. Did he sound disappointed?

“Why don't you stay for a cup of tea, Harry dear. I’ll just put the kettle on,” Narcissa said and left the room.

After a few beats of awkward silence, Harry spoke. “Thanks for inviting me, Draco, I had a lovely time.”

“Thanks for coming, and for the lovely wine. Oh and that delicious cake!” he moaned.

Harry flushed. “I meant what I said, by the way. You can come by Grimmauld Place whenever and I can show you the wine cellar. I’m sure you’d appreciate it more than me!”

Draco smiled, then snarked, “Of course, I’m an oenophile. But only if you promise to feed me some sweets as well!”

“It’s a date,” Harry laughed and Draco had a pleased blush on his face.

And if they heard some squealing and shushing coming from behind the kitchen door, they chose to ignore it.

It was past 6 pm on Saturday when Draco stepped out of the Floo at Grimmauld Place as instructed by Harry in his letter.

The house looked cheerful and airy, with large windows, light walls and comfortable furniture. It looked homey and inviting, unlike the house he had visited as a child with his mother. Harry had definitely worked on it.

“Draco, is that you? I’m in the kitchen, come on through.”

Draco followed the sound of the voice and found Harry in the kitchen icing a cake while wearing an apron that said ‘I cook as good as I look.’

“Hey, nice apron,” Draco smirked as Harry broke into a grin.

“Hi, make yourself comfortable. I’m just finishing this up.”

“What is it? Looks sinful,” Draco said.

“Our conversation the other night gave me an idea and I began working on it this morning,” Harry said as he piped the cake with concentration. “It’s a champagne cream and fresh strawberry cake. Perfect for a sweet toothed oenophile!” he declared.

“Here, taste it,” he said, cutting a slice and feeding it to Draco, then popping the rest of the piece in his mouth.

“Mmmm,” they both moaned. “This is gooood! Potter, cut me another piece.”

Harry did as told and fed the piece to Draco then peered at his face for a reaction.

“Is the balance alright? Do you think the strawberries overpower the champagne? I obviously can’t give it to my regular taste tester, Scorp, so you’ll have to do,” he rambled, then saw Draco staring at him intently and blushed. “Sorry, I get carried away sometimes.”

Draco grinned. “It’s cute… You’re cute… I mean, uh, your enthusiasm...” he petered off.

Harry stared at him with an indecipherable expression, then raised his hand to wipe off a smear of cream from the corner of Draco’s lips.

Draco’s breath hitched.

Harry hoped he’d read the situation right and whispered, “I’d like to kiss you.”

Draco nodded and closed the distance between them.

“That was amazing,” Harry panted as they broke apart.

“Strawberries and champagne are my new favourite flavour,” Draco declared, drawing out a laugh from Harry, who pressed their foreheads together.

“Mine is ‘Floral Pistachio’, it most certainly is ‘the love cake’."

This is my Wheel of Drarry Exchange gift for the lovely @hbee. I hope you enjoy this ball of fluff!

A big thank you to @crazybutgood for all the valuable help! You're a star!

#drarry #wheel of drarry mini exchange #drarry microfic #for hbee #baker!harry #bakery au #scorpius is a precious bean #fluff #lots of cake talk #harry is a passionate baker #floral pistachio #cakes #ri writes

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iconicharry · 4 years

Note

can you do a small blurb or imagine where the reader is all bubbly and talkative and Harry finds her annoying. reader always wanted to befriend Harry but Harry one day snaps at her and she stops her usual jokes and playful behavior around him. Harry starts missing her and it's all fluff. pweaseee

i want to be friends with h :’)

“...and I just thought this will look the best on me because I read this thing where you should try on gold or silver jewellery in order to tell if cold or warm tones look better,” she takes a sip of her champagne. “Honestly, I can’t really see this on myself, so I just thought you could do nothing wrong with beige, right?” She chuckles and watches her nephew, freshly turned four, run around the backyard with a horde of other little humans, screeching and giggling.

It’s the first time she saw him again after a long time. Leo, the birthday boy, told her during all the birthday preparations that he wanted Harry to be there. She knows because he explicitly said he “wants uncle H to do that funny hand game they always play” and she can’t lie and say it didn’t hurt her heart a bit. Harry and her got along great, she’d say, her older brother Ezra introduced them two at a get together in his apartment as he graduated college. YN liked having him in their friend group. With his charm and humour he managed to have her wanted to befriend him immediately.

That was until he stopped seeing his friends and only spent time with his new girlfriend. Ezra told her they met at some gala and it immediately sparked between them. His words, not hers. And YN would lie if she’d say she wasn’t one tiny bit jealous, because of course she was. He’s a good friend but to expierence him dropping his friends just like that when he meets someone is worse than just letting it die down.

So here she is, bubbly with excitement as she finally catches up with him, but worry in her as Ezra told her in passing that they recently broke it off. Harry was single. And thats stings. They break up and he suddenly has time for them again? Suddenly, he isn’t too good for them anymore?

“YN, I need to interrupt right here. Hold your thought. I need a wee, alright?” His voice breaks her story from the time she made a leash for her dog herself.

Her brows shoot up, slowly nodding. “Uh...yes. Yes, of course.”

Harry sends a pressed smile before he hurries through the crowd to the bathroom. Locking the door, he leans his hands on the sink, watching himself in the mirror.

It’s hell.

He thought it would be a nice distraction to see all his friends and Leo again. Keep his minds off the obvious things. But they bombarded him with happiness and questions and stories and Harry feels like he is going to explode.

Of course he knows what a shitty friend he was. For fucks sake, he just cut them off as he fell stupidly in love. Yes, it’s fucking wrong of him to appear out of nowhere and get in contact again, after not even explaining what happened. Yes, they are the fucking best for forgiving him and acting normal. But yes, it’s too much to have them all babbling in his ear like nothing happened, too. Having YN talk his ear off. He likes her. Harry finds her cute as fuck. With her pretty little smile that seems to always adorn her face and the sparkly eyes that look at you as if you’d hung the moon. But she even talks not little.

A series of knocks snap him out of his thoughts. “Harry? I know you needed a wee, but Leo is asking for you,” she chuckles, “I’d say you shouldn’t keep the birthday boy waiting.”

A scowl sets itself deep in his features as he freshens up with splashing water in his face and a heavy sigh.

“Remember Leo’s last birthday? He had so much fun with the frosting of the cake you brought.” A silence followed. “You know... he really missed you. I mean— we all did, but I think he kinda suffered—”

The door swings open, sudden and fast, and Harry stands under the frame of the door. His brows are set deep and his nostrils fluttering almost dangerous. “Let’s not talk about it.” Harry tries to contain himself and keep calm.

Confusion washes over her face before she snaps out of it, shaking her head at herself. “Sorry, I was just saying that it was a hard time for us as—”

“I said to let it go, didn’t I?” His body squeezes around hers, stepping out of the bathroom and walking to the kitchen with a quick step.

YN struggles to follow, but does nonetheless. “Sorry. Again.” She watches as he pours himself another drink, downing it in one swing as he glances at her over the rim of the cup as she smiles at him.

By now he just wants to get out of there as soon as possible.

“I read something recently. It was funny because it said—”

“My god, YN!” He loosens it. “Do you ever stop talking? Don’t you have something better to do or be? Make sure the kids are save?”

“I-I don’t know... What do you—”

He rolls his eyes. “Just go to someone else and bore them with the things you read. Pleae spare me.”

By any means, she is not a crybaby, but hearing the person you admire, even look up to, tell you you are just an annoyance with everything you do is bad. Her heart practically breaks open as his restless eyes stare her down. She feels small. Tiny even. And therefore she can’t help the tears that gather along the lower lashes. She tries to blink them away and quickly swallows the clump in her throat that starts to hurt. She rasps an “okay” at him and disappears out of there. Away from the kitchen. Away from him.

Leaving Harry alone.

He curses himself. A hand comes up to tug at his hair in frustration. Now he’s the arsehole. Great.

But someone notices it. Whatever it is. Perhaps it’s how YN sat in the corner of the room while everyone snuggled together on the huge couch to watch Leo’s favourite movie. Perhaps how Harry glanced her direction every few seconds. Or perhaps how she didn’t talk to anyone anymore that evening. But perhaps how everyone felt the tension like thick cheese one pizza. At least that’s what Harry thought as he scooped the big piece of pizza into him. He sadly made it a habit to eat in frustration.

So now she has a pouty, little four year old sitting in her lap. “But I jus’ don’t understand!” His tiny hands grasp her cheeks. “Did I do something?”

“No, love, you didn’t do anything. I just feel like this sometimes.” Her hands run through his silky hair. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“It’s Uncle H, isn’t it?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’m sure, because he didn’t play that hand game with me and you didn’t tell me one of your granny jokes!”

“Hey! They are not ‘granny jokes’!” YN playfully pinches his cheeks.

“So it is Uncle H? What did he do? Did he pull your hair? Because mummy always says I should apologize if I did.”

A sudden burst of love runs through her for this sweet boy. But it drops as she sees Harry entering the room behind the boy and watches their interaction. “No, he didn’t pull my hair. Everything’s fine.”

“Did he steal your pencil?! Oh no!” He gasps.

Harry steps beside them, ruffling his hand through his hair, making it a mess. “I did steal her pencil. You think I should apologize, mate?”

Leo squirms in her lap and holds his arms up at Harry. So he lens downs and easily sets him on the side of his hip. “Of course! If not, I have to get mummy to scold you!”

Harry breathes a chuckle, eyes staying on YN as she avoids meeting his eyes. “Uhmm...”

He notices the hesitation. “Dearest YN,” Leo cups his hands around his mouth and whispers in his ear.

Her head shoots up to them. Harry still stares down at her as the corner of his lips kink up. “Dearest YN.”

“I’m sorry for stealing your pencil.” He repeats Leo’s words, eyes crinkling with the smile he wears. “I’m well aware that you probably like the pencil with how sad you looked today.” He pauses as the boy whispers another sentence. “I now know I shouldn’t do it again and I promise t leave you be if you want me to.” But his smile falters when he sees YN’s eyes dropping to the floor again and then back up. This time with a forgiving smile. “But I hope we can still be friends.”

With a friendly smile she stands up and brushes a strand of hair out of her nephew’s eyes. “Leo, baby, would you leave us alone for a sec?”

He frantically nods and scrambles down Harry’s arms, who tries to not let him fall down.

It’s silent when they’re alone. Unspoken things between them creating an uncomfortable silence that isn’t welcomed. So they begin to speak.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m glad you came to me—”

His hands that just were gesturing between them dropped dead to his sides and YN’s teeth catch her bottom lip, staring at his shoes.

A breathy chuckle escapes his lips. “Can I start?” His eyes search hers, trying to find her acceptance and understanding, and in fact receiving a spark of a smile. “Listen, okay? I’m so- so sorry. I don’t even know what happened there. I...,” he trails of, one hand scratching under his chin where a stubble starts to form. “I was stressed these last few days— weeks— and, fuck, I still am, but I want you to know that I didn’t mean that. I love when you talk about random stuff that you read somewhere, because it’s interesting, it’s funny. It’s just your thing, right? And I love that we can talk about absolutely everything. That person in the bathroom, ...that wasn’t me. That was the grumpy, arrogant side of me that left his best friends because of some person, then got his heart broken and couldn’t even swallow his own fucking pride to apologize to them and waited too long and just acted like nothing happened. YN, obviously you don’t have to forgive me, because I understand I’m an arsehole—”

“Okay, it’s enough.”

Harry freezes, brows drawing a deep line. “W-what?”

YN takes a step towards him and envelopes his huge hands in her small ones. He notices they’re warm and soft as her thumb brushes along his knuckles, calming him down. “It’s enough, H. I get it, okay? I’m not stupid. I know what it’s like and I know you. It’s sweet of you to apologize but you had me since Leo helped you,” a grin breaks out on her face. “I can imagine how tough that time was and still is for you, but I’m your friend and friends are there for you no matter what, no? I wouldn’t say it didn’t hurt a tiny bit, because I know I talk a lot. I’m not mad with you. I just want my friend back.”

She whispers the last part and Harry can’t help the layer of tears that gloss over his eyes and the curl in his lips that creates a deep dimple in his cheek— upwards because of happiness and downwards because of all the emotions— so it’s a weird laugh that escapes his throat at the same time a sob rolls through his body. He sets his stare on the floor and tries to will the tears away with a shake of his head, curls flopping, but YN slings her arms tight around his torso and her face squishes against his collarbone, leaving a quick kiss at his throat. Like a warm blanket he gets swallowed whole. “It’s okay to feel weak sometimes. ’M here for you, H.”

And with that in mind, he wraps his long arms around her shoulders, squeezing her some more, and lets himself cry it all out.

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles request #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurbs #harry styles reader insert #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #best friend harry #myblurbs

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zelzenik · 3 years

Text

all of her longing

prompts 19 & 20 of @zutaramonth 2021: hurt/comfort & longing

Three times Katara asks Zuko for a baby... and the first time Zuko says yes.

click here to read on ao3 or keep reading below the cut!

“Zuko?” Katara whispers into the darkness. She flips onto her side, a few dark curls slipping over her shoulders.

It’s been almost an hour since Zuko dimmed the lights in their room with his bending and a single flick of his wrist. She can tell that he’s just about ready to drift off to sleep when he replies, “Yes, Katara?” His voice is a soft rasp as he shifts his position so that he can face her, reaching out and drawing her close.

Tucked securely beneath her husband’s chin, curled up against his warm body, Katara somehow finds the courage to admit, “Zuko… I think I want a baby.” She can feel the way his muscles tense as he registers what she said.

All of a sudden, Zuko’s more than awake. “What?” He pulls back slightly so that he can glance down at her, golden eyes earnestly searching her face.

“I want a baby,” Katara repeats, her brows furrowing.

Cupping her face with his hands, Zuko presses a kiss to her forehead, hiding a laugh, “Katara, we’ve been married for all of two weeks, and you want a baby?”

Katara isn’t joking, though. “We’ve been together for all of two years now, Zuko.” It’s true. Katara was only seventeen when she began courting the Fire Lord, and now, at nineteen, she finds herself married to him, sharing his bed and holding his tender heart in her careful hands.

“You’re… You’re not serious, Katara,” Zuko manages to choke out in reply. Upon realizing just how earnest on the matter she actually is, his golden eyes suddenly fill with an anxiety that she hasn’t seen from him in years. “I… Katara, it’s too soon for us to have children.”

In this moment, Katara knows that it’s better to drop it than press further. So she does, for her husband’s sake. She remains quiet, wrapping her arms around his bare waist, rubbing soothing circles into the small of his back.

Above all else, above her maternal instincts, above her deep desire to have children, Katara loves Zuko. And, when he hides his face in the crook of her neck, she holds him tightly, peppering kisses along his skin, whispering words of comfort for whatever pain that grips him in the dark of the night. “It’ll be okay, Zuko.”

ii.

“You’re quite distracted, Fire Lady Katara,” Zuko notes, his voice teasing. “Like what you see?”

They’re sparring in the courtyard, both sweating lightly from the pervasive Fire Nation humidity. Seamlessly gliding in and out of forms, they dance around each other in a way that’s unbelievably familiar but still manages to keep them on their toes.

With a coy smirk, Katara arches her back, narrowly avoiding a fiery kick to the face. “So what if I do?” She’s light on her feet as she launches herself away from him, pulling streams of water along behind her.

“I should hope you do,” Zuko replies, rolling his eyes lightly. He pursues her, though, just as he always has over the past five years.

Before they know it, their sparring is long forgotten as they tear down the hallway together with reckless abandon. By the time they reach their chambers, they’re both breathless, panting heavily as Zuko nearly shoves open the front door.

As soon as they’re both inside, Zuko shuts the door behind them, pinning Katara against a wall, hovering over her. The air grows thick with tension as he brushes her nose with his, broad arms caging her in on either side.

“Katara,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along her jawline. “Katara, I love you.”

Tipping her head back slightly, giving him better access to the soft skin of her neck, Katara allows her eyes to close, blissfully. “I love you, Zuko…”

The windows to their room are still open, and their skin glistens beneath the afternoon sun. Their limbs tangle, and Zuko’s fingers run along the curve of her waist, skimming beneath the blue fabric of her simple training tunic.

They’re a mess, really, but they’re a mess together.

Katara doesn’t mean to ask, but the question tumbles from her lips before she can stop it. “Zuko… What if we tried for a baby?”

This time, Zuko seems perfectly content pretending as though he didn’t hear her, far more interested in the bottom edge of her tunic than her question. He pushes her toward the bed and hovers over her, love shining in his eyes.

“Zuko?”

His eyes seem to shift back into focus as he meets her gaze. “Yes?”

“Can we try for a baby?” She asks, completely in earnest. “We’ve been married for several weeks now, and I just…”

Zuko sits up, pressing shaky fingers to his temples. “I… I don’t know, Katara. The council barely approved our marriage to begin with. I don’t know if springing a baby on them so soon would be wise.”

Rolling off the bed, Katara begins to rummage through their closet, looking for a fresh set of robes to change into, hiding her disappointment. “Yes… You’re… You’re probably right, Zuko. We can wait.”

iii.

There’s something very peaceful about the turtleduck pond that had once belonged to Zuko’s mother. Standing at the edge of the water, soft waves lapping at her bare ankles, Katara breathes in once, then twice.

After receiving several pointed comments from various members of the council regarding the current insecurity of Zuko’s line, Katara fled to the pond. Under normal circumstances, she would have snapped back at them in an instant, but now, she’s all too aware of the fact that she’s a nineteen year old girl that many of the more traditional council members believe to be merely a figurehead. Deep down, though, she’s also mindful of the fact that, in some regards, she agrees with them.

This is a subject that she and Zuko have spoken of on several occasions before getting married.

Children.

Really, after the sheer amount of conversations they had during their courtship regarding becoming parents one day, Katara would’ve expected a more positive reception from Zuko when discussing carrying on their family line. She thought that they were of one mind on this, that they’d look toward starting a family as soon as they were married.

But, no… They’re married, and Zuko’s shied away from the topic twice now, and Katara can’t bring herself to push him too far, too soon.

Kneeling beside the pond, Katara doesn’t pay the clods of mud and loose grass any mind as she trails her fingers along the surface of the water. A few turtleducks swim nearby, occasionally daring to quack in her general direction. The air is balmy, and she basks in the gentle warmth of the day.

“Katara?” Zuko appears beneath an archway leading toward the gardens. “I thought I’d find you here.” Then, he’s by her side in an instant, looking down on her kneeling form with concern. “I’ve scolded the council members who spoke out of turn soundly. They had no right to make such remarks toward you.”

Her lips twist into a frown. “I can fend for myself, Zuko.” She can. And she does, when the situation calls for it.

Zuko seems taken aback. “I know that… I just… I didn’t want them speaking of you in such a way.”

“Thank you,” Katara replies simply. “But while I disagree with their delivery and the methods by which they convey such a message, I can’t help but think that perhaps what they say has some merit.”

“You’re not some… harlot or concubine with whom I’m supposed to conceive children, Katara.” Zuko looks scandalized.

Katara’s temper flares as frost forms at her fingertips. “No. I’m not. I’m your wife. Your wife, Zuko.” She stands abruptly, water she doesn’t bother to bend away dripping from her robes. “We spoke about children before getting married, and Dad and Iroh aren’t getting any younger, and we have the security of a nation to think of, and… I was under the impression that we… that we weren’t going to waste any more time.”

“Waste any more time?” Zuko repeats, hurt clouding his eyes. “How is any moment I spend with you a waste of time?” He stumbles backward, nearly tripping on his long robes.

Almost instantly, Katara’s anger dissipates. The surface of the water toward the edges of the pond have begun to crackle with ice, but she steps away from it before she causes any further damage, turtleducks quacking indignantly. “Zuko…” She reaches for her husband, gripping his warm hands in her freezing ones. “I didn’t mean it that way…”

Zuko stands rooted to the ground in silence, allowing her to trace his palms with her thumbs.

Then, Katara reaches out to tug her husband into her arms, not bothering to heed her drenched robes. “Zuko, I love you.” She rests her head against his chest, hoping that the tears glistening along her lashes go unnoticed. “We can talk about this some other time.”

iv.

“Katara?” Zuko lingers just outside of her study, a hand resting on the doorframe.

Fingers stained with ink, her hair piled atop her head in a way that’s likely quite unfitting for a Fire Lady, Katara lifts her head, meeting her husband’s gaze. “Yes, Zuko?”

He steps into the room uncertainly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as he stands by her side. “Are you… Are you feeling okay?”

Forgetting that she’s covered in ink, Katara pinches the bridge of her nose lightly. “Of course.” She’s buried in paperwork and notices and letters, and she’s very likely overworking herself, but she’s also happy, helping others, serving Zuko’s people and, by extension, her own.

A ragged sigh slips from Zuko’s lips as he tugs an empty chair forward so that he can sit beside her. “Katara… I’ve given everything a lot of thought, and I think that I’m finally ready to talk.”

“To talk?” Katara repeats, her brows furrowing. “Talk about what?”

Zuko dips her brush back in its ink well and scoots her parchments across the table. “Children.”

Instantly, Katara’s eyes fill with worry. “We don’t have to – Really. Not until you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Katara,” Zuko replies, his voice a light rasp. “But I think that I am ready, now.”

So, Katara stills her body and gives him her full attention, correspondence and paperwork long forgotten.

“I’m… scared.” Zuko’s confession is soft enough that she almost doesn’t catch it the first time. “I’m really scared.” He clarifies, “I’m scared to have children. You know as well as anybody that I don’t really give a damn about what the council says, as long as they’re not hurting you or our people. But I’ve been using them as an excuse because I haven’t been sure of how to explain this to you.”

Carding his hands through his hair, Zuko unties his topknot, dropping his Fire Lord’s crest onto her desk. “I love you, Katara, and I’m sorry that I haven’t been more clear about how I feel or what I’m thinking.” He hangs his head, suddenly looking less like a twenty one year old man and more like a sixteen year old boy. “When we’d spoken about children in the past, it had always felt so distant, so far away in the future.”

Zuko continues, “But now the council’s pressuring us for an heir, and we’ve only been married for a month or two, and I guess I wasn’t expecting for everything to happen so fast.” He steals a glance at her when he thinks she’s not looking. “I don’t want to be like my father, Katara.”

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

“I don’t want to be like my father,” Zuko repeats again, stronger and with more conviction. “The thought of having children scares me because I don’t know who I’ll become with them around or who they’ll become with me as a dad.” He laughs bitterly, “I’ve always known that you would make a wonderful mother, Katara. I just didn’t have confidence that I would be a good father.”

Katara softens, opening her arms so that he can collapse lightly against her. “Zuko… I’m sorry for all the times in the past where I’ve pushed you.” She drops his gaze. “I had no idea.” Running her fingers through his messy hair, she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you for sharing this with me… And, for what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a wonderful father one day.”

“I think so too,” Zuko agrees in a whisper, as though saying it too loud will cause it not to come true. Then, he flicks his gaze from her eyes to her lips and back again. “Hey… Katara. Ask me again.”

“What?” She nearly laughs, tugging him even closer.

Zuko’s expression shifts, the features of his face softening with joy. “Ask me if we can have a baby.” He pulls her onto his lap, allowing their limbs to tangle despite their heavy robes.

It’s as though the wind’s been knocked out of her. “Can we have a baby, Zuko?”

“Let’s have a baby, Katara.” Zuko surges forward to kiss her again, and they’re both nearly delirious with happiness. “I’m ready now… We can have a baby,” he whispers.

And those are the sweetest words Katara’s ever heard.

#zutara #zutara month #zutara month 2021 #zuko #katara #family portraits #let them be happy #let them be a family #;-;#post canon #post war #prequel fic to family portraits #but can stand alone #zel writes

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